Gypsy Witch: A Paragon Society Novel (Book 2)

by David Delaney

  "Good," said Dahlia. "Next, the girl cared enough about your wellbeing to make her friends wait while she walked over to the car to check on you. I say you ask her to lunch or coffee or something. You've got nothing to lose. From what you've told me about her, I guarantee she won't laugh in your face. She'll probably say yes, but prepare yourself for the friend-zone, because that's a likely outcome."

  "I don't want another friend, damn it!" Jimmy was frustrated.

  "I get that. I really do. But does it have to be this exact woman?"

  "I would like it to be. Yes."

  "Well, the world is a disappointing place."

  "I thought you said you'd help me," Jimmy whined.

  "I am helping you, dip-shit. You just don't want to listen," Dahlia huffed.

  "What more can I do with Maddie than just coffee? There has to be something."

  "Wait. Her name is Maddie?" Dahlia asked. "You don't mean Maddie Sinclair?"

  "Do you know her?" Jimmy said hopefully.

  "Yeah. She's in my photography class. She was in the car when we had the accident . . ." Dahlia's voice trailed off.

  The accident? Jimmy had seen pictures of the car after the accident Dahlia had been in with a few other students. He had been shocked that nobody had been killed or injured. He had no idea Maddie had been in involved. But none of that mattered now. Dahlia knew Maddie. He had an in. He bounced in his chair in excitement.

  "Jimbo, you need to relax."

  "But you know her! You could totally hook me up."

  "We met for the first time on that photo field trip, and then after the accident—"

  "None of that matters," Jimmy said, shaking his head. "You know her."

  "I'm acquainted with her, yes," Dahlia agreed. "Jimbo, you know I love your brain and you're not hard to look at . . . but Maddie is . . . "

  Jimmy stiffened, "What?"

  "You might want to start with someone less—"

  "You think she's out of my league."

  "It's not that. You said it yourself: you've never had a real date. Jimbo, a girl like Maddie . . . you need more experience."

  "That's why I have you. You can help me . . . prepare me."

  "Jimbo—"

  "Dahlia, please . . . I know there's something I could do, something that would get her to notice me and take me seriously."

  "Sure there are other things you could do, things that someone like Maddie might respond to. But, Jimbo, I really don't think you're ready for—"

  "I'm ready. Tell me," Jimmy demanded, cutting Dahlia off mid-sentence, and then quickly adding, "Please."

  "Well, some girls just want you to take charge. You know, they respond to a self-confident swagger. For instance, you could just walk up to her, grab her by the shoulders," Dahlia grabbed a hold of Jimmy's shoulders, "and just plant one straight on her lips. That's how I got my high school girlfriend to go out with me."

  "What? Just . . . just walk up and kiss her? That's your advice?" Jimmy couldn't believe Dahlia would suggest something so aggressive. "Um, that might work in the gay dating scene, but I would end up expelled, in jail, and on the sex offender registry and that registry is for life," Jimmy scoffed.

  "I told you that you weren't prepared for Plan B. Ask the girl to coffee, Jimbo. It's your only play. Look, I'll even join you guys, if it'll be less intimidating."

  "There's got to be something else. Something to help me stand out, so I'm not just another guy asking for a coffee date."

  Dahlia's eyes lit up. She opened her mouth to say something, but stopped herself. Jimmy seized on her reaction.

  "What?" Jimmy demanded. "What were you just thinking?"

  "Nothing." Dahlia tried to play dumb.

  "Dahlia, I'm begging you," Jimmy pleaded. "I'll try anything . . . well, anything that doesn't involve assault."

  "Look, it's kind of involved. We'll talk after class, okay?" said Dahlia.

  Jimmy nodded. If she tried to ditch him after class, he would chase her across campus. He needed to know what she knew, because whatever it was, Jimmy was sure he could make it work.

  * * *

  Jimmy sat dumbfounded. Dahlia was intelligent, like top one percentile kind of intelligent, but Jimmy could see by her face that she was serious.

  "Witchcraft?" Jimmy repeated, still in disbelief.

  "Jimbo, if you don't get that tone out of your voice, I'm gonna walk. And you can keep all of your love life questions to yourself and find a new lab partner," Dahlia threatened.

  "I'm sorry. It's just . . . witchcraft? I can tell you're serious, but it makes no sense. Dahlia, witchcraft . . . magic . . . spells. All that stuff . . . it isn't real. It's fantasy. It makes for fun plots in movies and books, but—"

  "And whom, exactly, gets to determine what is or isn't 'real'?" Dahlia responded, making finger quotes in the air.

  Jimmy ran his hand through his hair. "Science. Observable, repeatable experimentation . . . You know all this. We're sitting outside a Chemistry laboratory, for crying out loud."

  "Listen, dick-less. Where do you think chemistry comes from?" Dahlia asked. "It's just Alchemy, dressed up with shiny equipment and digital readouts. And it's a proven fact that Alchemy was stolen by men – from women who practiced an ancient craft that included herbs, oils, and other elements found in nature. The only thing the thieving men changed was the name—"

  Jimmy couldn't listen to another feminist diatribe. "Dahlia, Dahlia, please. I get it: man bad, woman good. They stole Alchemy blah, blah, blah. I'll grant you that alchemy – or witchcraft, if you prefer – was the precursor to Chemistry, but that doesn't mean the more outlandish claims made by these ancient practices are true. There are no spells or curses or magic wands."

  Dahlia stiffened. A small, cruel smile spread across her face. She dropped her courier bag to the ground and slid across the bench they were sitting on. She snuggled herself right up against Jimmy's side.

  What the hell? thought Jimmy.

  "James," Dahlia began, and Jimmy knew he was in for it when she used his proper name instead of Jimbo or Jimmy. "What is Newton's Third Law of Motion?"

  Jimmy blinked rapidly. "Ah . . ."

  Dahlia snapped her fingers in his face. "Aaaahhhh," she mimicked him. "Come on, James. You're a smart fellow. What is Newton's Third Law of Motion?"

  Jimmy stammered a bit, but was finally able to answer, "For every action, there is an opposite and equal reaction."

  "Good, James. I knew you had it in you. Now, in simple terms, please, what does conservation of energy teach us?"

  "Um . . . that mass or energy cannot be created or destroyed," Jimmy answered. "But there has been research that—"

  "Shut it." Dahlia slashed the air in front of Jimmy's face and he clamped his lips together tight. Dahlia continued, "In witchcraft, the spells that are performed follow these exact scientific principles, among others. I know it sounds unscientific. I know every pedantic argument you're biting your tongue not to make. And I can't fully explain how it works. It just does. I've seen it with my own eyes."

  Dahlia leaned in even closer, resting her arms on Jimmy's shoulders, their noses almost touching.

  "What you need to ask yourself, James is: are you going to let your ego stop you? If there is an infinitesimal chance that what I'm saying is possible, that a simple little spell could help you woo the woman of your dreams, wouldn't you have to take it?"

  Jimmy was confused, angry, and a little aroused. His eyes darted down to Dahlia's breasts, which were pressing lightly against his chest.

  Dahlia rolled her eyes and pushed him away. "Pathetic."

  "No, wait. I'm sorry," Jimmy said, in a panic, worried that Dahlia might walk away. "Yes. The answer to your question is yes. Please. I'll try anything."

  Dahlia regarded him quietly for a moment as if judging the commitment behind his words. She nodded once. "Okay." She pulled out her phone and started texting, her thumbs flying across the screen. "I'm going to set you up with one of my favorite booty calls. Her nam
e is Tinkerbelle, but she is known in magical circles as the Gypsy Witch."

  Jimmy almost laughed, something he was certain would piss off Dahlia. Instead, he pretended to cough, very unconvincingly. Dahlia eyed him suspiciously.

  Jimmy pointed to his throat. "Swallowed funny. Uh, her name is Tinkerbelle?"

  "Yeah, but spelled with an E on the end. The last thing she wants is to get sued by Disney. Those guys are a-holes."

  Jimmy had to be nuts. He had just agreed to meet with a witch named Tinkerbelle in the hopes that she could do – what? Jimmy realized he hadn't even asked Dahlia what it was that Tinkerbelle could do for him.

  "Hey, Dahlia. What exactly, do you think Tink—" Oh crap, that rhymed. He was going to lose it. It took all of Jimmy's self-control to finish asking his question without giggling. "What do you think she can do for me?"

  "A love spell, silly."

  "Oh, right. Of course."

  Jimmy had definitely just back flipped into the absurd, but he was past the point of no return. If he tried to squirm his way out of the situation, he would offend Dahlia and lose one of the best lab partners he'd ever had. Nope, his fate was sealed. He was on his way to meet with Tinkerbelle the Gypsy Witch. The gods of science and reason must be rolling over in their graves.

  CHAPTER 3

  Packing for the recruiting run took all of five minutes, simply because I had exactly one duffel bag's worth of belongings. My supposed, but very public, death had resulted in the loss of everything I owned. The house where Aunt Tina and I had lived was left a total loss after the blood mage attack. A few things had survived the fire, but try showing up to claim your property when you're officially dead. It's impossible.

  I paused in the process of packing my duffel, having caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I still wasn't used to seeing the muscle-bound giant that stared back at me. Being a shape-shifter played havoc with things like hair growth, and I was currently sporting almost shoulder-length locks. It also didn't take long for me to realize that keeping a clean shave for longer than half a day was impossible, and since I'd always hated shaving anyway, I had purchased a pair of clippers and was able to keep my beard at a manageable and respectable scruff. Wyatt liked to bust my balls, saying that I was going through my 'Thor' phase.

  As I stared at my reflection, I decided to give my abilities the once over. I concentrated on my hands, transforming them into their beast-form equivalent. I flexed my powerful, talon tipped fingers. Then I focused on letting my beast peek out from behind my eyes. The normal rainy-day-grey color of my irises was instantly replaced with glowing white light. I stood there, with clawed hands and glowing orbs for eyes. I was a living, breathing nightmare.

  Shifting only specific parts of my body was something I'd started practicing every day. And this scary, partially shifted form was a trick that I was certain would come handy someday. I let out a low growl and my neighbor's dogs started barking.

  Oops.

  I kept forgetting that animals were much more sensitive to my shifter mojo, and apartments didn't exactly provide the best privacy. One of my next-door neighbors was a funny old retired guy with two yippy Chihuahuas named Bogie and Bacall, and whenever my shifting practice went too far, the dogs helped me remember that I was now an apartment dweller.

  Due to the fact that I was a newcomer to the supernatural community and training to join Lucy and Wyatt's team, the Society was currently providing me with a weekly salary. I was still processing the fact that an ancient secret society had an accounting department and provided employee benefits. One of the benefits was a semi-furnished apartment in Burbank – a small one-bedroom located in one of those large complexes that entertainment studios used to house the large numbers of cast and crew needed to produce the tons of content Hollywood is famous for.

  The apartment was nice enough: a small couch, a television, a twin bed, and a kitchen stocked with just the basics. It was a place to live, but it wasn't a home. I didn't bother with adding any personal touches, except for a small picture frame that held a photo of Aunt Tina and me at the beach when I was a kid, a photo of my mom, and a photo of Elyse. I didn't see the point of collecting a bunch of extraneous crap when I considered my current circumstances temporary.

  Finding and destroying the dark forces within the Paragon Society: that was my only focus. My current living conditions, all the training, and especially being cut off from those I loved were things I had to endure. When the people behind the attacks on my loved ones and me were discovered, I would end them and reclaim my life.

  Lucy and Wyatt were just as dedicated as I was in bringing down the Cabal within the Society. And once we'd cleaned house, I could resume a normal life – well, as normal a life as possible when you're the Ollphiest. I knew the future I had planned on no longer existed, but having Elyse and Aunt Tina back would be a big start to building something new.

  With my rent covered by the Society, the money deposited into my account every week went toward a new laptop, an iPhone (Android sucks balls – that's right, I said it), and a much larger mattress because my legs hung off the end of the twin that came with the apartment. But, by far, my largest monthly bill was for food. When you suddenly grow almost a foot taller and add fifty pounds of muscle, the amount of money spent on food skyrockets. Thanks to YouTube and related lifestyle blogs, I learned to maximize coupons and my freezer and cupboards where now bursting with life-sustaining goodies, such as Hot-Pockets, Hostess Honey Buns, and cases of Dr. Pepper.

  It was when I went to purchase my laptop that I realized Lucy had decided to have fun with my new identity. The laptop wasn't cheap, and so I needed to show a picture ID to complete the sale.

  The perky brunette who had helped me with the sale paused, staring at my newly minted fake driver's license. I was convinced that she knew it was a fake. Instead, she gave me a really big smile.

  "Jacob Black," she said.

  "Huh?" Oh, right. That was my new fake name. "Yep, that's me," I agreed, a little too enthusiastically.

  "So, can you turn into a big bad wolf, Jacob?" she asked, in a flirty voice.

  Can I turn into a wolf? Holy crap. How did she know I was a shape-shifter?

  I started looking for the nearest exit.

  My confusion must have been written across my face, because she said, "So, not a Twilight fan then? I thought that maybe your girlfriend . . ." She emphasized girlfriend, obviously fishing for a reaction from me, before continuing, ". . . would have let you know that you have the same name as one of the main characters."

  Twilight? I was going to kill Lucy.

  "Oh, right . . . yeah." I hooked my hands into claws and gave a goofy little growl.

  She giggled at my ridiculous display.

  Yep, Lucy was a dead woman.

  As soon as my fake credit card cleared, I practically ran for the exit. When I called Lucy to ask what the hell, I couldn't even enjoy my righteous anger because she never stopped laughing.

  My appeal for a new, new fake identity fell on deaf ears. Lucy pointed out that new identities that could withstand rigorous background checks didn't exactly grow on trees. Even Wyatt thought it was hilarious and took to quoting cheesy movie lines at me.

  I accepted my fate, and to the world at large I became Jacob Black, at least when I had to show ID for anything, which I did my best to avoid. Lucy did point out that, on my official fake birth certificate, my middle name was Orson, so introducing myself as such was totally cool.

  The other thing I spent my money on was a new World of Warcraft account. What can I say? Once a gamer, always a gamer. There was no way for me to access my old characters, so I started a fresh level-one toon. I was tempted to look up my old guild mates and ask to join their guild, but I realized that even one slipup on my part could put my new identity at risk. Luckily for me, Wyatt was a gamer and the treasurer of a WoW club at his high school and he invited me to join their guild. The game continued to be a therapeutic activity where I could escape from the crazine
ss of my life and just Zen out.

  My phone buzzed with a text, pulling me from my thoughts. I checked the screen. Lucy was downstairs ready to hit the road. I quickly dashed off an email to Elyse:

  Hey,

  I'm heading out on my first official mission for the Society. Nothing too exciting. Just checking on some odd magic activity up around San Jose.

  I miss you.

  Love, Orson

  I didn't hold out hope that Elyse would get the email anytime soon, but it made me feel closer to her when I shared what was happening in my life. I touched the frame holding the photos of the women who were most important to me, hefted my duffel bag over my shoulder, and looked around the small apartment one more time. Maybe I could get a few movie posters or something, just to break up the white walls.

  * * *

  I stuffed my duffel into the tiny area behind the back seat in Lucy's Mini and then, pushing the passenger seat as far back as it would go, folded myself into her tiny car.

  "We couldn't rent something a little bigger for this trip?" I asked.

  "Nope, this is my car, and I love driving my car."

  I twisted and turned until I found a semi-comfortable position.

  "You know San Jose is a whole day's drive, why couldn't we fly?" I complained, my knees already starting to ache.

  "Because I like to drive my car, and it gives us privacy. We can't exactly talk about Society business on a crowded airplane."

  I nodded, conceding the point. It was going to be a long day. "So, what do I need to know about recruiting runs?" I asked. "Besides the fact that they're usually a waste of time."

  Lucy frowned at me, "They're not a waste of time. They just rarely produce the intended result."

  "Um, last time I checked, that's the definition of waste of time."