Flirting With Magick

by Bennett, Leigh

  FLIRTING WITH MAGICK

  BY

  LEIGH BENNETT

  Booktrope Editions

  Seattle WA 2014

  Copyright 2014 Aurora-Leigh Bennett

  This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.

  Attribution — You must attribute the work in the manner specified by the author or licensor (but not in any way that suggests that they endorse you or your use of the work).

  Noncommercial — You may not use this work for commercial purposes.

  No Derivative Works — You may not alter, transform, or build upon this work.

  Inquiries about additional permissions should be directed to: info@booktrope.com

  Cover Design by Loretta Matson

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.

  Print ISBN 978-1-62015-503-5

  EPUB ISBN 978-1-62015-519-6

  DISCOUNTS OR CUSTOMIZED EDITIONS MAY BE AVAILABLE FOR EDUCATIONAL AND OTHER GROUPS BASED ON BULK PURCHASE.

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2014915174

  CONTENTS

  COVER

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT PAGE

  DEDICATION

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  QUOTE

  CHAPTER ONE Spell to Find True Love

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN Spell for a Safe Car Trip

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN Spell to Heal a Rift Between Friends

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY Healing Bath for a Broken Heart

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO Spell to Banish Anger and Hurt

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX New Home Spell

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO Money Spell

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR Happiness Spell

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  MORE GREAT READS FROM BOOKTROPE

  For Matt, Gryphen, Jasper, and Kynan

  Thank you for my happy ending.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  FIRST AND FOREMOST, thank you to my husband and best friend, Matt. Your support and belief in me has always been way more than I could even give myself. I love you, honey. xxx

  My sons: Gryphen, Jasper, and Kynan. I love you all so much, and thank you for your understanding and patience when Mum’s been lost in another world and has taken more time than usual to attend to your requests.

  My family: Mum and Dad, Trent and Niamh, Chris and Craig, Mark, and Kerrie and Tom. Thank you for your encouragement and support.

  Bindi Ritchie, Leanne Smith, Natty Keane, Aurora Reed, Linda Fausnet, Norlin Mustapha, Jade Zivanovic, Nina D’Angelo, and Emily Dawson, thank you for taking the time to read my baby and providing me not just with praise but with feedback, opinions, critique, and criticism which have helped immensely in making the finished product what it is. I couldn’t have done it without you.

  My book manager, Sarka-Jonae Miller; proofreader, Jacy Mackin; cover designer, Loretta Matson; and everyone at Booktrope: Thank you for the wonderful opportunities.

  Steph O’Connell at Figment Friendly Editing. You are worth your weight in gold, and your talent astounds me. Thank you for making my story so much better.

  To my friends and acquaintances whose eyes didn’t glaze over whenever I talked about my book. Thank you for your unexpected enthusiasm.

  And finally, readers: Thank you for taking the time to read my book. It might not change your life, but I hope it has made your day a little happier.

  mag·ick

  n

  1. Archaic - magic

  2. An action or effort undertaken because of a personal need to affect change, especially as associated with Wicca or Wiccan beliefs.

  CHAPTER ONE

  IT WAS THE BEST FEELING!

  The knot in my stomach untied, and a wave of serenity washed over me, finally rinsing away the last of the anxiety that had been weighing me down. The overdue accounts, the stupid printer that jammed on every third page, and my idiot boss, Tom Lancer’s, irrational demands were no longer my problem. There seemed to be a carpet of air beneath me; I barely noticed the puddles splashing up and leaving muddy spots on my trousers or the jagged pebbles that poked into my feet through the well-worn soles of my favourite flats. Tightening my scarf against the evening’s cold, I quickened my step and dared not look back. Someone could run out and ask me another stupid question about filing. Could I provide more training next week? Would I rethink my resignation? Yeah, right!

  I'd been desperate to leave that hell-hole for a long time, and trying to cram work into the gaping chasm left vacant by my ex, Josh, hadn't improved the enjoyment factor. I'd picked up an interesting book in a New Age shop, and after having been rejected for yet another ‘still pretty boring but a hell-of-a-lot better than this one’ job, I decided to let the universe in on my plans. With a waxing moon, several overly expensive candles, a few herbs, and some creative visualisation, I asked for its help. Two days later, I had an interview. The day after that, a new job. My notice was submitted without a second thought, and then this delicious feeling of freedom flooded over me. The spell had worked.

  The lights were off at my friend Kate’s flat, which was two levels down from mine. She had offered an evening out instead of my customary night in after a tiring week, and I now found myself wishing I hadn't declined. This wasn’t a usual Friday night, and I would have liked a real person to share it with, as opposed to what had become my only option; a voice over the phone.

  My whole flat wasn’t much bigger than most living rooms, but it was cosy, comfortable, and just the right size for one person. It had one bedroom—big enough for my queen size bed and little else—, a combined laundry and bathroom, a little galley style kitchen more suited to a submarine, and a bright and airy sitting room, all of which were decorated courtesy of eBay, flea markets, and Grandma. I liked to think the combination of vintage furniture and colourful cushions was eclectic and charming, rather than cheap and sad. The flat heated quickly on a cold Melbourne night when there was nothing better than grabbing some takeaway, popping open a bottle of wine, and watching whatever brain-dead movie was on the TV. I opened up the steaming hot burritos I'd picked up from the local restaurant and poured myself an extra big glass of Riesling, thinking I should have looked for a spell to win a holiday on a tropical island to escape the cold. Now that would have been a great way to spend a free week!

  Dinner was finished, and the wine was having a lovely effect on my already elevated mood when the phone rang.

  “Abby, darling. How was your last day?” My mother’s singsongy voice flowed softly down the line. I relayed the last week’s events to her in detail. My car had broken down and had taken three days to be fixed, which normally wouldn’t have been a problem except that those three days hap
pened to be torrentially rainy and windy. It was fine to walk to work on nice days, but I drove on rainy days (or lazy, disorganised, or sleep-in days), so never really bothered with a waterproof coat, only a useless bunch of warm but not very water resistant ones. My umbrella was also about as useful in the wet as a sieve so I turned up to work, that first day of three, soaking wet. I finished early that day to buy a coat, but the only one I could find was more than twice what I was willing to spend. I really needed it, so I had handed over the ridiculous amount of money for the bloody thing that probably wouldn’t see the light of day after that week and was left broke by the time I’d finally gotten my car back. Thank God it was payday today! I poured myself another glass. Oops, not that much. Oh well; I suppose I have to drink it now.

  “Um, what else? Not much... um, oh, that cute guy from that show came into work.” The wine was really doing its job. “I mean my ex-work, the other day.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “You know. That nice looking one... from that music show... the host. Robbie something from ‘Hot, um, something or other’. You know.”

  “Oh, yes. That guy.” Mum had a habit of humouring me. “So he came into your work? Did you talk to him?”

  “No, not really, just said ‘hello’.” Robbie Myers was the host of “Hottest Hits Now,” a music program aimed at teenagers, and he was looking for new representation with Lancer Morris Management (LMM, aka my ex-employer). “He had an appointment with Brendan Morris, one of the agents.” It was the day I was minus coat, so I had tried not to draw too much attention to the fact that I looked about as sexy as a mop. When the meeting was over, Brendan introduced the new client to all the staff. As I was the Office Manager, I politely waved an acknowledgement and quickly hid behind my computer. Robbie was very cute, in that boy band, teen idol, music show host kind of way. I bet he just knew it, too. He was almost out the door when Brendan called him back so I could take down his details. Damn it.

  “Oh well, maybe next time.” Mum consoled me needlessly.

  “No, I’ve finished there now.”

  “Oh, yes, that’s right.” She was just being polite. She didn’t really care who he was or whether I would get another chance to speak to him. Neither did I. During my time at Lancer Morris, a tonne of semi- famous people had walked through the door. It was pretty exciting the first time you saw such-and-such from whatever show, but after you speak with them and realise their lives are no more thrilling than your own, you don’t get so excited anymore.

  “Oh, before I forget,” Mum interjected. “Your Aunt Marie called wanting your phone number. Luke relocated to Melbourne a few months ago; his band’s playing somewhere near where you live, and he wanted to ask if you could go along. You’ll probably hear from him.” Luke and I hadn't crossed paths since we were five years old at family get-togethers, running around naked under the sprinklers in the backyard. The last I’d heard of my cousin he'd been a moody teenager, strumming his guitar and listening to “that awful music”(Aunt Marie's words, not mine) in his room. It would be interesting to see what he was like now.

  I finished our conversation before she had a chance to ask about Josh. I quickly promised to call again soon, adding an excuse as to why I wasn’t spending my free week visiting them. “Can’t afford the petrol, Mum. Say ‘hi’ to Dad. Love you.” Then I hung up.

  It took three attempts to get Dianne’s number right. Bubbly and optimistic, Dianne Hayward was my closest friend. We met at sixteen when she was the new girl at school, had a similar sense of humour, and her confidence complimented my timidity. Our friendship rapidly developed from there. Back in the days when we were single and carefree to the point of silly, we would wander the nightclubs three nights a week. We served as each other’s rescuer should one of us get too drunk to realise who we were kissing, and egged each other on when objects of our desire came onto the scene. Then she met Simon. He swept her off her feet, and I lost my main wing-girl-– until Kate came along, anyway.

  A flustered “Hello?” from the phone interrupted my thoughts.

  “Sorry. Are you busy?” Obviously a dumb question.

  “Hi, Abs. Um, well, Simon just got home today, and we’re kind of… catching up.”

  “Oops. Good for you. I just called for a chat, nothing important. Have fun.”

  I hung up, embarrassed at having interrupted an intimate moment, and cursed myself for forgetting that Simon was due back that day from two weeks away for work.

  As it was still early, music videos on TV kept me company while I thumbed through my new spell book and felt the buzz from the wine wear off. Flicking the page, the words Spells for Love leapt out at me in all their purple glory. This could be interesting. “The most important step for a love spell is to first acquire self-love.”

  Fair enough, but perhaps I could skip that bit. There were no real issues I could think of. Sure, I thought my face was slightly too round, my waist a tad too wide, my legs a little too short… and the list did go on and on. My figure was slightly more 'coke bottle' than 'hourglass'. But somewhere during my twenty-five years, I'd learnt to focus on other areas, such as my ample bust or shiny hair. And I was always told I had lovely eyes. So, yes, I thought I liked myself enough. Did I have ‘self love’? Put it this way, there wasn't any breaking down crying and begging for Josh to reconsider when he left. Except for that bit when I stupidly asked, "why don’t we try long distance?” which was met with an 'are you serious?' look.

  My pride was strong enough to calmly let him know that of course I was hurt, but I could deal with it. That is until I aimed a cup at his head. I didn’t actually throw it; it was part of a really nice set. I wish I had picked up the supermarket cup, but to swap would have looked really uncool. Besides, the way he recoiled showed that I got my point across. Okay, so I wasn’t that calm, but hey, I could have acted worse. Of course, I wasn’t going to let him off easily or let him leave without knowing the mess he’d made. That was why I yelled at him to go fuck himself. I even had enough dignity to wait for the door to finally close behind him before I let the tears fall freely.

  Yep, I think I'd handled it rather well, in fact. So there was a great, big tick for the self-love column!

  On to the hard stuff… “Spells to Find a New Love.” Now we were talking. Upon reading, each spell got more complicated than the last. Drawing on a mental picture of my pantry, I only had one or two recommended ingredients for each spell, nothing to substitute, and I really couldn’t be arsed going down to the supermarket at that time of night. Perhaps I could put it off for another day? However, it would be a shame to wait, as Friday was apparently the right day for a love spell, and the calendar confirmed the moon was in the waxing phase, perfect for a spell for gain. Plus, I was in the mood.

  Then a fantastic idea hit me. I had a small horde of essential oils from an aromatherapy fad I went through and some candles I’d collected over the years but kept forgetting to use. I pulled my rose oil and a magenta candle out of a dusty corner of my linen cupboard—the book said these were both symbolic of romance—and headed to the bathroom. I imagined my bathroom in a protective, lilac coloured bubble, and after lighting the candle, I ran the bath and added a few drops of the rose oil to it. I then added some olive oil, strictly for pampering purposes. With a pen and notepad in my hand, I dropped myself into the warm, bouquet scented water and spent a few minutes relaxing before I began to write:

  Qualities I Would Like in a Partner:

  nice happy

  funny sensitive

  good-looking sexy

  caring talented

  And the list went on...

  And on...

  When I finally finished, making sure to include such things as 'not scared to commit or even get married', 'would like to have kids', and 'likes animals,' I laid back in the bath, breathing in the aroma, and reread what I had written. With every word, Josh’s face kept entering my head—his close-cropped, toffee brown hair, his warm honey eyes, and his gorgeous smile, wh
ich only a select few really got to see. Trying to shake the image away only made it worse, until I eventually saw a series of movies in my head of things we had done together and things that maybe could’ve been...

  Determined, I read each point out loud, concentrating hard on some faceless stranger who I was sure, somewhere out there, possessed all or at least some of those qualities.

  As the water cooled, I climbed out, blew out the candle, took down my imaginary protective bubble, and quickly changed into some warm pajamas. It bothered me that my mind kept going back to Josh, worrying that somehow my inadvertent thoughts of him could affect the outcome. I carefully folded up the spell and tucked it inside my bedside drawer before finally, exhausted from the intense concentration, I climbed into bed and had the most restful sleep I'd had in months.

  ***

  The ‘ouch factor’ of my leg and bikini wax the following morning was considerably less than usual; I figured it was due to my body realising it was the first day of a work-free week and not wishing to spoil it by being too sensitive. As it was the middle of winter, the chances of my legs seeing the open air were minimal, but my four-weekly waxing was a habit dared not break. Josh used to run his hand over my bare legs on a nightly basis. “You’re due for a waxing, aren’t you?” he would ask when he felt the merest hint of stubble. I wondered, uncomfortably, if he was running his hand up anyone else’s legs right that moment.

  Feeling particularly perky considering the late night before, I spent the rest of the day with Kate, shopping for things I didn’t realise I wanted. As always, she managed to convince me to buy cosmetics in colours I most likely wouldn’t use, shoes I could only totter in for five minutes, and a thigh skimming skirt I would never have the courage to wear outside the house.