Over Hexed

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  ‘‘That helps. Thanks.’’

  Maggie was speaking again and trying to look confident.

  ‘‘This won’t happen again, I promise.’’

  ‘‘It better not.’’ H.G. sighed. ‘‘That New Mexico location was a honey. There would have been a promotion in it for you.’’

  ‘‘Don’t worry, Mr. Stackhouse. I’ll close the next deal.’’

  Dorcas smiled and nudged Ambrose again. ‘‘Perfect. She’s a location scout for SaveALot.’’

  ‘‘What’s perfect about that?’’

  ‘‘We have a location for her.’’

  Ambrose looked at her. ‘‘We do? Where?’’

  ‘‘That property that Sean wants to buy.’’

  ‘‘But it’s right next to George!’’

  Dorcas tried to keep the smugness from her voice. ‘‘Of course.’’

  ‘‘We can’t have a SaveALot there. It’ll be bad for Sean, and no telling what gonzo reaction we’d get from George. He could wig out completely.’’

  Dorcas gazed at him indulgently. Sometimes he was slow on the uptake, but she loved him, anyway. ‘‘She’ll fall in love with Sean and give up the location.’’

  ‘‘You’d better hope to Hera that happens.’’

  ‘‘It will. And as for George, we’ll take credit for jinxing the SaveALot deal. A near disaster like that will be the wake-up call George needs to stop acting like a brat and buckle down to his responsibilities as the True Guardian of the forest. Then we’ll get to leave Big Knob.’’

  ‘‘Oh. Well, if you put it that way.’’

  ‘‘But you have to remember to turn on the freeway exit sign so she can find us.’’

  ‘‘I need to put it on tomorrow, anyway, remember? Jeremy Dunstan is going to Evansville to pick up supplies for the softball team.’’

  ‘‘Oh, right.’’

  Ambrose frowned. ‘‘It’s damn hard to remember to turn it on and off whenever someone’s coming or going. Maybe we should just leave it on and take our chances.’’

  ‘‘No. Bespelling it so it appears and disappears on command was brilliant, so don’t second-guess yourself. Unexpected people in the area are not good for George. He’s too easily distracted.’’

  ‘‘Yeah, but I really have trouble remembering about the sign.’’

  Dorcas kissed him on the cheek. ‘‘Put a sticky note on the cover of your Book of Shadows and be done with it.’’

  A major plumbing problem kept Sean at the Gilmores’ until after six. He couldn’t very well leave them with no bathroom facilities for the night, not when they were both pushing ninety. Rachel Gilmore was one of the few women in town who never made a pass at Sean, a feature of this job he treasured. Then again, she was legally blind and had no sense of smell.

  Calvin Gilmore could see just fine, and he was a stickler for details. Calvin was the one who had insisted Sean had to match the old screws in the existing cabinets when he added the new storage space in the enlarged bathroom.

  By the time Sean left the Gilmores’, Denise had closed the real estate office and gone home. She was already pissed at him, so failing to show up as promised wouldn’t make that situation any better. Damn it, he did care who owned the property, but she’d caught him at a bad time.

  Sitting in his truck in front of the real estate office, he remembered the other callback he’d promised to make. He had no phone number for the Lowells, so he’d have to drive over there if he planned to talk to them again. Ah, he should forget it. He didn’t have time for whatever they had in mind.

  Then he saw Sylvia Hepplewaite leave the diner and catch sight of his truck. As she started toward him, he threw the truck in gear and headed for the Lowells’. Sylvia was more aggressive than all the other women he’d encountered today. He’d come out to his truck one morning and found her sitting naked in the cab, holding a box of condoms.

  No doubt she would have come into the house, except for the skunks that lived in the crawl space underneath it. His landlord wanted those skunks gone, but Sean had stalled on removing them. They didn’t bother him, and they were better than an alarm system when it came to women invading his privacy.

  Sometimes he wished he was still a virgin, that he’d never given in to the temptation that had surrounded him all these years. Then he wouldn’t have these women who remembered that he used to be eager for all the sex he could get.

  He didn’t hold out much hope that the Lowells could help him with the woman overload situation, but at this point, anything was worth a try. Arriving in the middle of what was probably their dinnertime wasn’t cool, but he desperately needed to get away from Sylvia. She wouldn’t follow him to the Lowells’. He hoped.

  Five minutes later he stood on the Lowells’ front porch, fog dampening his cheeks as he pushed the doorbell. It chimed some classical tune, one Sean had heard a million times but couldn’t identify. He looked for the warped porch board he’d seen before. Even with the porch light on, the fog was so thick he couldn’t find it.

  A quick glance over his shoulder told him that Sylvia was walking purposefully down the street toward him. If the Lowells weren’t home, he was dead meat.

  Then Ambrose opened the door and the welcome smell of onions and garlic drifted out. Sean hadn’t eaten since breakfast and he was starving. But his mother had raised him to have manners.

  ‘‘I’m interrupting,’’ he said.

  ‘‘Sean!’’ Sylvia made a megaphone of her hands and called to him. ‘‘Wait up! I need to talk to you!’’

  ‘‘Screw the interruption,’’ Sean said, and dove through the front door, almost knocking Ambrose down. ‘‘Sorry.’’

  ‘‘No problem.’’

  ‘‘If she comes to the door, tell her I’m handling some home repair emergency for you.’’

  ‘‘She won’t come to the door.’’

  Sean ran a hand through his hair. ‘‘I don’t know about that. She saw me come in here, and she’s very determined.’’

  ‘‘Don’t worry.’’ Ambrose smiled. ‘‘No one will bother you in this house. Won’t you have dinner with us?’’

  Sean got over his panic enough to notice that Ambrose was wearing a long black bathrobe that looked like silk. Man, Sean had really intruded on their privacy. For all he knew, they ate naked. ‘‘You know, I should leave. If you’ll give me your phone number, I can call tomorrow, and we can discuss—’’

  ‘‘Do I hear Sean out there?’’ Dorcas came from the back of the house wearing a robe similar to Ambrose’s, only purple. ‘‘It is! You’re just in time for dinner.’’

  ‘‘You two weren’t expecting company.’’ Sean reached for the doorknob. ‘‘I’ll come back tomorrow.’’

  ‘‘Don’t be silly.’’ Dorcas hurried forward. ‘‘I cooked enough food for an army. We’ll make plans while we eat.’’

  Sean’s stomach growled so loudly that he flushed. Come to think of it, this promised to be the first home-cookedmeal he’d had in a while with no strings attached. Most women who cooked for him had ulterior motives.

  Then he had a horrible thought. Surely not, but he might as well ask. In his experience, anything was possible. ‘‘Forgive me if I’m insulting you, but I hope you’re not considering . . . a threesome.’’

  Dorcas began to laugh, but then she put her hand over her mouth and fought to control herself. ‘‘Excuse me for laughing. You poor boy, always having to be on guard. Rest assured that Ambrose and I have no sexual interest in you whatsoever.’’

  ‘‘Now I’m embarrassed that I even brought it up.’’

  ‘‘I can see why you would wonder,’’ Ambrose said. ‘‘There are some strange people out there. But Dorcas and I took a vow of sexual fidelity many, many years ago. It’s . . . important to us.’’

  Sean nodded. ‘‘I can see that, and it’s inspiring. How long have you two been married?’’

  ‘‘If I told you that,’’ Dorcas said, ‘‘then you could figure out how old we are. Let’s leave som
e mysteries unrevealed, shall we?’’

  ‘‘Sure, sure. I just . . .’’ He paused, not willing to say that the two of them fascinated him and he wanted to know more.

  ‘‘Hang up your coat and come on back to the dining room,’’ Dorcas said. ‘‘I’ve made your favorite vegetable soup.’’

  He could have sworn she’d just said she’d made his favorite, yet how could she know? His ears were still a little numb from the cold, so he probably hadn’t heard her right. In any case, a bowl of home-cooked vegetable soup sounded like the best thing in the world.

  Soon he was seated at a round dining table covered with a snowy white cloth that he hoped to hell he wouldn’t drip soup on. Sabrina perched on a carpet-coveredcat tree in a corner of the room and stared at him with green eyes. Red candles flickered on the table, and there were candles in other places, too—in sconces on the wall and in holders on the buffet up against the wall.

  Dorcas must be one hell of a fast table setter, because that third place setting had appeared as if by magic. ‘‘This is great,’’ Sean said. ‘‘Thanks.’’

  ‘‘We always start a meal holding hands and saying a little something,’’ Ambrose said.

  ‘‘Uh, sure.’’ Sean had been at several houses where they talked to their plates before eating, but hardly anybody held hands while they did that. Holding Dorcas’s hand was no big deal, but he felt a little weird grabbing on to Ambrose. Oh, well. The soup smelled fantastic, and the blessing shouldn’t take long.

  Ambrose said something that sounded like a prayer, except it was in a language Sean didn’t understand. It reminded him of the words on a dollar bill, e pluribus unum, so maybe it was Latin. Some sort of high-class prayer, obviously. Sean decided not to ask about it and show his ignorance.

  ‘‘Have some wine.’’ Dorcas didn’t wait for a response before pouring him a hefty goblet of red.

  ‘‘Thanks.’’ Sean was more of a beer man, but he drank the wine to be polite. ‘‘Wow, this is good.’’ He bet they’d paid at least twelve bucks for the bottle. He drank some more.

  ‘‘Have you considered our proposition?’’ Ambrose asked.

  Sean had never felt so relaxed in his life. This wine was outstanding. He discovered he really wanted to build their sex bench. If they thought they could help him in return, he’d give them a shot.

  Gazing at them, he couldn’t remember ever seeing two more beautiful people. ‘‘Let’s go for it.’’

  ‘‘Excellent.’’ Ambrose beamed at him. ‘‘Dorcas, you have that special brandy for toasting moments like this. I think we need some.’’

  ‘‘Coming right up.’’ She left the dining room and hurried into the kitchen. What a speedy lady. She had three tiny goblets and a dusty-looking decanter on the table before Sean could blink.

  The brandy had to be really old because it looked like ink coming out of the bottle. Sean felt very sophisticated as he picked up his dainty glass.

  ‘‘Before you take a drink,’’ Dorcas said, ‘‘tell us again what you want out of this treatment.’’

  ‘‘That’s easy.’’ Sean thought about the women that mobbed him at every turn, his lack of freedom to move around town without being pinched or whistled at, his complete disinterest in sex. He lifted his glass and candlelight bounced off the cut crystal. The Lowells wouldn’t be able to do what he wanted, but what the hell, he’d ask.

  ‘‘Turn off my sex appeal,’’ he said. Then he laughed, because that sounded so impossible.

  Ambrose continued to gaze at him. ‘‘You’re sure?’’

  ‘‘Yeah. You can’t do it, but it’ll be fun watching you try.’’

  ‘‘Yes.’’ Dorcas smiled. ‘‘It will. Bottoms up!’’

  ‘‘Bottoms up.’’ From the corner of his eye, Sean noticed Sabrina watching him. She blinked once, very slowly.

  The brandy wasn’t nearly as good as the wine. It tasted like used motor oil, not that Sean had ever tried used motor oil, but he could imagine how bad it would taste. He gulped the brandy, anyway, so he wouldn’t offend anyone. Then he chased the god-awful stuff with another swallow of wine.

  Between the shot of brandy and the wine, he was feeling no pain. He’d better slow down or he wouldn’t be fit to drive home after dinner. Even his eyesight was affected. Dorcas, Ambrose and Sabrina all looked a little blurry.

  Worried that he was getting seriously drunk, he picked up his soup spoon and started to eat. It was easily the best soup he’d ever eaten. He finished the bowl quickly.

  ‘‘More?’’ Dorcas asked.

  ‘‘Yes, please.’’ He could have dipped his spoon into the big pot on the table and finished the entire batch. Instead he satisfied himself with polishing off the second bowl she served him.

  ‘‘How are you feeling?’’ Dorcas sounded motherly.

  That always affected him. His mother had died when he was eighteen, probably of a broken heart. His dad had run off several years before that after losing the entire family fortune.

  ‘‘Sean?’’ Dorcas leaned toward him. ‘‘Are you okay?’’

  He swallowed the lump that always lodged in his throat when he thought of his mother’s sad life. Never a strong woman, she’d miscarried several times before having him at age forty. ‘‘Sure. So how are you going to make me into a loser?’’

  ‘‘These should help.’’ Ambrose reached into the pocket of his robe and pulled out the ugliest pair of black-framed glasses Sean had ever seen. ‘‘Try them on.’’

  Good thing he was sort of drunk. Otherwise he might not have been able to make himself put on the glasses. When he’d asked them to turn him into a loser, he hadn’t thought he’d end up looking quite this bad. He could wear them for now until he found something better.

  But when he looked through what he assumed were clear lenses, the strangest thing happened. Dorcas and Ambrose went from blurry to sharp focus. The power of suggestion was amazing. He took the glasses off and everything got blurry again. Huh.

  ‘‘The glasses are a nice touch,’’ Dorcas said.

  ‘‘Yeah.’’ He put them on, and his vision cleared immediately. Bizarre. ‘‘Thanks.’’

  ‘‘More soup?’’

  He was embarrassed to take thirds, but hunger won out over embarrassment. When the soup was all gone, Dorcas disappeared into the kitchen and came out with a huge chocolate cake and a carton of vanilla ice cream. He ate two large pieces of cake topped with ice cream.

  By the end of the meal, he was sleepy. God, he was sleepy, but that stood to reason. Too much booze, too much food and a hectic day added up to exhaustion. But there was the sex bench to discuss.

  ‘‘Did you want to show me the plans for your bench?’’ he asked.

  ‘‘We can do that another day,’’ Ambrose said. ‘‘You look tired. Why don’t you stretch out on the sofa for a while before you drive home?’’

  The thought of stretching out anywhere sounded great, but he barely knew these people. ‘‘No, I should leave.’’

  ‘‘I’m not sure that’s wise,’’ Dorcas said. ‘‘You have had a fair amount of wine. I would hate for you to be picked up.’’

  ‘‘Me, too.’’ He remembered that Judy usually drove the squad car on weeknights, and she was still mad at him for refusing to go along with her handcuff games two years ago. She’d write him a ticket for sure.

  ‘‘Take the sofa,’’ Ambrose said. ‘‘No point in pushing your luck.’’

  ‘‘Okay, thanks.’’

  They showed him back into the living room with its explicit stained glass, although it wasn’t as vivid at night. Dorcas found him a pillow and Ambrose rustled up a soft blanket.

  He took off the glasses and the contours of the room blurred. He must still be buzzed. ‘‘All you’ve done is give me these glasses,’’ he said to Ambrose. ‘‘That doesn’t seem like enough.’’

  Ambrose gazed at him. ‘‘You’d be amazed at the difference they make. Keep wearing them and think unsexy thoughts.’’

 
Sean was too tired to argue. ‘‘If you say so.’’ He settled himself on the purple sofa and pulled the blanket over him. At the last minute, Sabrina hopped up on the sofa and curled up at his feet.

  Next thing he knew, faint light was coming through the stained-glass sex picture and Sabrina was no longer cuddled at his feet. He glanced at his watch and saw that it was almost seven. The house was quiet, but he wasn’t about to go in search of his host and hostess. No telling what they were doing or if they were wearing anything while they did it.

  His vision was still fuzzy, and he wondered if he might be in the grip of an extreme hangover. Once he put on the glasses, his vision cleared, and he didn’t have a headache.

  Time to head for home. Leaving the blanket and pillow folded on the sofa, he slipped out the front door, locking it behind him.

  Dorcas overslept, and by the time she peeked into the living room, Sean was gone. She called out to Ambrose, who hurried down the stairs, tying his bathrobe.

  ‘‘So he flew the coop,’’ Ambrose said.

  ‘‘Yes, and I so wanted to see what his physical transformation looked like.’’

  ‘‘I still think we should have limited ourselves to altering his pheromones.’’

  Dorcas rolled her eyes. ‘‘You’re no fun. Besides, now we can more easily monitor his progress. When he’s acting heroic, we’ll know because his hair will behave and his vision will clear up. And vice versa.’’

  ‘‘That’s assuming the potion works.’’

  ‘‘It’ll work.’’ Dorcas gave him a kiss. ‘‘Let’s make some coffee and plot our strategy for George. I’m on a roll.’’

  Chapter 3

  After getting no sleep the night before, Maggie knew she should be tired, but she was wide-awake as she drove her rented Escort toward Big Knob. The luck of the Irish had never worked for her before, but today was the day for four-leaf clovers and pots of gold. It was pure luck that she’d stayed an extra hour at work yesterday. If she hadn’t, she would have missed the e-mail from the Realtor here telling her about a potential location for SaveALot.

  In a deal like this, every hour counted. She’d learned that the hard way after MegaMart had beat her out on three different occasions. She couldn’t say this to H.G., but there had to be a mole in the company, somebody who was getting kickbacks for leaking info. How else to explain that MegaMart had been a step ahead of her every damn time?