She flops back against the pillow, places an arm over her forehead, and takes a few calming breaths. I must be delirious. Her ankle is choking her with pain, and she wishes she’d grabbed a painkiller or two from the kitchen before she laid down. But there’s no standing up again now, not a chance.
“Hhh-aaa-rrr-mmm-ooo-nnn-yyy.” Another whisper in her ear.
She sits bolt upright, jolting her ankle. The book falls to the floor. Pain beats hard and she groans. Blinking back tears, she searches the room.
No one.
Nothing.
Yep, definitely delirious, and the aching in her ankle is so severe there’s no doubting it’s broken. She sniffles, rubs the tears from her cheeks and nose and settles back against the pillows. She is going to need a cast, but that will have to wait until tomorrow, along with the accompanying medical bills. Sleep is what she needs now. A good night’s sleep, then when she wakes, the pain will be less and her delirium will be gone. She hopes.
Ariana rests her forearm over her eyes to block out the light and tries not to think. In times like this, now more than ever, she wishes she had parents, family, someone to help her out so she didn’t always have to deal with it all on her own. Someone to say Rest here until you get better. Don’t worry about work or money, I’ll help you out until you’re back on your feet.
A sob falls from her lips and fills the silent space because Ariana knows, and has learned, that no amount of wishing can ever change what was and what is. The only influence she has is about what will be. But even that seems an impossible task at times.
Chapter 2
Morning doesn’t bring a reprieve for Ariana. After a rough night on the couch, she carefully sits up, trying not to move her ankle too much. A quick glance tells her the swelling has increased. Stiffness has settled in. There is no way she can go to work tonight.
Two thoughts plough into her mind: Rent money, nine AM.
Ariana smacks her forehead with her palm. She didn’t grab her tips before she left last night. How the hell is she going to be able to pay rent now? Her landlord made it more than clear that she is out of chances.
“Stupid book,” she growls to the quiet room as she spies Spells and Such open on the floor below the couch. She rolls, snatches it up off the ground, and rests it on her lap.
The pages stir until they are standing on end and fluttering in the air. Her heart races as she looks around for an open window, for a source of wind.
I must still be delirious.
But then the pages settle. Staring up at her from the book are the words Healing Spell. Pulse hammering, she twitches to throw the book away from her, but her curiosity is winning.
She peers at the crudely drawn pictures on the page of a cracked skull and the various stages of healing until the bone is back to its original connected form.
Under the pictures is a poem.
Ariana smooths out the pages with both hands, looks at the beautiful script of the poem, and reads it aloud.
Of love and life that burns within
Use that flame to solder and mend
Make broken flesh and bones whole again.
Upon muttering the last word, a strange sensation steals over her, as though anything in that moment is possible. A warm, tingly feeling of wholeness pools in her chest cavity. The impression spreads and branches outward, prickling needles over her limbs, then surges toward her ankle like a gush of lava, fiery and fierce. She sucks air hard past her teeth when it reaches her ankle and turns the skin to blood red.
Immense, scorching pressure floods the area as though her ankle is inflating hotly to bursting point. She screams like a tortured lamb, high-pitched and ragged. She screams again and again. Agony grows until she feels like the flesh is melting from the bone and the bones are being crushed to flaky slivers. Her head reels from the agony. Starry lights shine behind her eyes, blurring her vision until she plunges completely into thick, sticky blackness.
* * * *
The memory of agony greets Ariana before anything else. Her throat clenches tight as she opens her eyes and anticipates more pain. She sits up and all the blood rushes from her head, making her woozy.
She searches the room for one thing and one thing only: Spells and Such. She finds it closed on the floor.
Having experienced such agony, she assumes that the skin of her ankle is shredded, bruised, and bloodstained, but she is too afraid to confirm her suspicions as though actually seeing the damage with her own eyes will make the pain come back.
Digging deep for courage, she glances sidelong at her foot. She does a double-take and her mouth falls open before the corners of her lips curl upwards as she giggles. The bruising and swelling are gone. A faint yellow tinge remains.
“You’ve got to be joking me. Really, really joking me.” She rolls her ankle and is met with the smallest twinge of pain.
She shakes her head. Shakes it again. “I…you…you can’t be serious.” She laughs and cries because of the relief, wonderment, and absurdity of the situation.
But rationality sinks in soon enough. That familiar, always-talking voice in her mind yells there has to be a plausible explanation for this. And in that mocking tone that sounds so much like her, ha, miracles, foolish girl. You know where childish fantasies get you.
Ariana frowns as gloom mists around her mind and dilutes the wonderment she had allowed herself to temporarily feel. She swings her legs off the couch and plants them on the timber floor.
No pain.
She increases pressure until she is standing upright. A tiny flicker of amazement seeps through again, but she zaps it like a mosquito and shuts down its annoying hum.
“Quite obviously the swelling went down for…because…for whatever reason and…I don’t know,” she mumbles on her way to the shower.
But Ariana can think of nothing but the spell book. Despite her determination to blow it off as something that has no magical merit, she can’t deny the miraculous recovery of her ankle. No doubt it was broken a moment ago. And now as she rolls and stretches her ankle under the water that tumbles down her body, it clearly is not.
A fierce energy swells within, making her muscles twitch. She can’t refute the spell book any longer. She must find it again and understand what exactly is happening to her.
Ariana rushes to finish her shower and dresses. She dries her hair, ties the long sable strands into a ponytail, and runs out to the living room.
The book is on the floor beside the couch. Can she hear it beating in her ears like it has a heart of its own? She shakes her head.
Don’t go getting delirious, Ariana. It’s a book. A freakin’ book.
But the spell book stares at her and beckons a deeper place inside.
She sits on the rug, her back against the couch, and reaches for it with tingling fingers. The book is warm in her hands as she places it on the coffee table.
“Beautiful,” she whispers, eying the aged leather, and breathes in that old-book smell she adores. A smell that reminds her of ancient wisdom, preserved and cherished like she used to find in the darkened back-sections of libraries. When she was younger, she would hide away in such places and delve into tales of magical lands and creatures: dragons and princesses, wicked witches and virile men on brave steeds.
Ariana turns page after page, filled with weird pictures of plants and vines, spells claiming to create windstorms and make non-living things animate, potions using unknown flowers of bizarre hues, crazed dog-like creatures, and ghostly mists.
“This is the stuff of fairy tales. A book of dreams.”
Her cellphone dings with a message. She reads the screen.
You’re late for work! Where are you?
“Late?” She checks the time and gasps. It’s five-thirty in the afternoon. She must have been unconscious the entire day, not mere moments like she assumed.
“Shit, shit, shit.” She slams the book shut, messages Johnno that she’s on her way, and scrambles to her bedroom to dress for work. On
her way out the door, she checks for an eviction notice from the landlord. When she doesn’t find one, she sighs with relief—he’s given her more time.
* * * *
Johnno meets Ariana in the staff locker room at the back of the bar. He hands her an envelope with last night’s tips. He never personally brings Ariana her tips and it makes her feel uneasy.
Johnno crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the wall. “How’s the ankle?”
She smiles and rolls it around. “Fine.”
“It’s a miracle,” he says, dripping sarcasm.
She shrugs a shoulder, trying to play it down. “Of sorts.”
Johnno sighs. A deep crease sits between his brows. “I’m tired of the games, Ariana. You get carried out of here last night because you can’t even walk and then you turn up here tonight, an hour after your shift was supposed to start, miraculously healed.”
“The swelling died down. It helped with the pain,” she says.
Johnno snorts. “Yeah, right. Or you never had a sore ankle to start with. Quite a performance you put on last night.”
She shakes her head. “It was real, I promise.”
Johnno scoffs. “Oh, come on. I hope whatever it was that was more important than finishing your shift was worth it because I’m letting you go. I don’t appreciate being lied to. And I won’t put up with my employees coming in late.”
Ariana gapes. “You can’t be serious. You’re firing me?”
Johnno shrugs. “You’re a pretty girl. You’ll find another job soon enough.”
Anger boils her blood and her body trembles. “Oh, that easy, eh? I’d like to see you try.”
“You’ll be all right,” he says and turns to walk away.
“You’ll be all right,” she repeats in a whiny sing-song tune. “S-screw you, Johnno!”
He spins back to face her and smirks. “Here’s some advice—”
Ariana slings her bag over her shoulder and slams the locker shut. “I don’t want your advice.” She flips him off and strides away, not looking back once.
Ariana’s jaw clenches tight as she wanders along the dusky streets. Color billows across the sidewalk from the street lamps and window fronts, swathing her in gauzy light. People, busy to reach their destination, weave in and out. She lowers her head, hiding her moping frown.
I can’t be losing my job right now. I can’t. Ariana breathes in and out angrily and quickens her strides. How dare Johnno make such assumptions? How dare he not even listen to her explanation? Yes, last night she had given him her word that she’d be able to finish the shift, but…
“Damn him,” she growls under her breath, hands curling into tight fists.
One miniscule positive was that she got her tips and can now cover her rent. But not even that cheers her up because without a job, it won’t be long before she’s kicked out on the streets.
An intense sinking feeling takes her under like her head is slipping beneath a pool of mud and she may never be able to reemerge.
But she must claw her way to the surface. She must keep going.
After a deep breath in, she pushes all the angst down into the acidic pit of her belly, then she spins on her heel and marches back in the opposite direction toward a bar she is familiar with.
Inside the bar, the music and chatter are loud enough in her ears to drown out the gloom about her circumstances—her inability to get anywhere different in life or reach higher heights. It seems no matter how hard she tries, she is walking in circles, always ending up where she began.
Ariana sidles up to the bar and asks the barmaid for Matt. The barmaid finds him, taps his shoulder and whispers in his ear.
Matt spins and flashes an enormous smile. He has sandy-blond hair and is dressed in long black pants and a black t-shirt. She manages a strained smile back as he jogs over.
She met Matt seven years ago when they were both fostered by the same family. As their alcoholic foster father raged and rampaged about the house, Ariana would hide with Matt in a small cupboard in the basement beside old paint tins and rusting tools.
In the darkness, their breaths loud in the enclosed space, he would tell her fairytales about kings and their beautiful brides, frog princesses, and enchanted forests to distract her from the crashing, screaming and pained cries happening on the floor above their heads.
They share similar pasts—a childhood of abandonment and abuse—and formed a deep bond those many years ago. A bond that has remained strong because Matt is the only person in Ariana’s small world whom she trusts.
“What’s the matter?” he says, leaning across the bar and stroking loose strands of hair behind her ear.
“Nothing,” she lies. “I just wanted to see you.” Her heart warms as she looks at his familiar face, reinforcing how glad she is to meet up with him.
Matt runs his tongue over his bottom lip. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”
She shrugs and lowers her gaze. “I’ve been busy with work and stuff.”
He grins wide. “Yeah, stuff. I know all about that.”
“You don’t mind me dropping by, do you?”
He slides his finger down her cheek and tilts her chin so she is looking into his green eyes. “Never,” he says, voice like gravel. “I knock-off early tonight. Let me get you a drink while you wait. Vodka?”
Ariana smiles. “Thanks.”
With her drink in hand, she finds a seat at a booth upstairs in a secluded corner of the club and waits. People laugh and dance and chatter around her. Seeing happy people creates an aching jealousy in her chest. They don’t realize how good they have it.
She wonders if this is how it’s always going to be for her. A lifetime of struggle. This constant battle to get by makes her so mentally and physically exhausted her bones ache with the need for relief. For a young woman with no real education, no family, and no contacts, life’s a tough gig. And losing a job makes it even tougher.
Damn Johnno.
* * * *
Midnight hasn’t arrived when Matt finishes his shift and meets Ariana at the booth. The many vodkas Ariana has drunk are slipping through her veins and clouding her mind. Her shoulder brushes against his as he sits next to her, his green eyes already heavy-hooded with arousal.
He gazes at her cleavage and bare thighs in her short skirt. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you all shift.”
She smiles.
“I’m glad you showed up.” He leans in and kisses the arch of her neck. His soft mouth and breath against her flesh are tingly and warms her cheeks. “It’s been too long,” he says in a deep, throaty voice.
She drags her teeth over her bottom lip as a coil of lust unravels in her belly and ebbs and swells through her body. “It’s only been a few weeks,” she says, her words slightly slurred.
Matt runs his tongue across her earlobe. His warm breath in her ear feels tickly sweet. “You looked so sad when you walked in.”
Tears tighten her throat, but she swallows past them. She faces him and places a finger to his lips. “Shh. I really, really don’t want to talk.”
He smiles and looks at her for a long, silent moment, his face drifting closer and mouth edging toward hers. This is how it is between them. He knows the rules. Sex with zero intimacy. Zero attachment. Zero chance of getting hurt.
His lips press against hers, softly at first, then his tongue meets hers and the urgency grows. It’s all heat and groping hands, everything she needs to stir the lust that lives in her veins and cells like a life force—the one thing in her life she can count on to be there.
He fists her hair with one hand, plants the other on her waist, and pulls her onto his lap. She straddles his hips, leans in, and kisses him, loving his liquor tinged taste and the heat from his body curling around her and pulling her closer to his chest.
His hands slide over her curves, gather her skirt.
She wants this. Needs this.
Stoking this lust is like vitamin D or water, essential to life.
“Let’s go to my apartment,” he breathes, his lips still grazing hers.
She leans back, smiles down at him, and nods.
They leave the bar and hail a cab once outside. After a short ride, they are at Matt’s apartment. He opens the front door and grips Ariana’s hand, pulling her inside. His apartment is small, not remotely glamorous.
Ariana follows him down the short hall to his bedroom decorated in beige hues, dark paneled aged blinds, and a double bed with black bedding and sheets. She presses a hand to his chest and pushes him toward the bed until he falls against the mattress.
A stabbing dissonance stirs inside as she watches him, his gaze roaming over the length of her body, anticipating. She fights the erotic urges with some level-headedness and the discord sharpens. It’s pointless to fight this, though—level-headedness never wins against this swelling desire. Never has. Sex is food for her soul; she needs it as much as she needs air.
She joins him on the bed and they rush to undress each other, all the while kissing and caressing. Too soon, yet not soon enough, he enters her and she is lost in that void between reality and escape.
Her thoughts are so foggy with want and need that she is able to drown out her loneliness…and her past.
That’s what she likes the most, how this sexual charge hides the emotions and hinders unwanted thoughts. It’s the only time she feels in alignment with who she is and who she wants to be. The only time she feels normal, wanted, and whole.
She pushes Matt on his back and climbs on top, straddling his hips.
And then she moves, taking her pleasure, giving pleasure to him, faster, harder, pushing herself to that place where she all but explodes around him. He chases her there.
Brilliant sensation pools between her thighs and tugs at her belly. Tingles of bliss surge to her limbs and make her head light.
This is how it works between them. They derive intense pleasure from one another, then go their separate ways until the next time. Nothing more.
Matt shudders and groans. His hips jerk as he comes. Ariana continues to ride him until she clenches and ripples with her own release. Their bodies slow, she stops rocking and rests on his chest. His breaths are heavy at her ear, and she can feel his fast beating heart against her chest.
The Book of Spells and Such Page 2
