by Anthology
She started to weave, and would have tumbled, if Lee hadn’t grabbed her arm. “Here.” He guided her toward the divan.
“I’m sorry,” Lee said as he handed her a handkerchief.
At least she thought it was a handkerchief. She turned the fine, super soft paper-ish square in her hand.
“It’s a tissue. Don’t you know what a tissue is?”
“I’ve seen them, I’ve just never really used them. Mother always thought they were extravagant.” Her mother had never been one to fritter away anything, and disposable tissues like the Hollywood women used with their cold cream, seemed a terrible waste.
He smirked. “Never thought about it.”
She dabbed her eyes, wincing because it was coarse against her skin. She glanced around, unsure what to do with the tissue.
Lee took the tissue and tossed it in a little container nearly overflowing with trash next to the table where he’d gotten the tissue.
Ruthie glanced around the room, taking in the place. It certainly wasn’t anything Evelyn would have liked.
He rubbed his head. “I know I’m going to regret this.” He sighed. “How did you become trapped in the recipe box?”
“A rather nasty djinn named Malik trapped me in there.”
He raised his eyebrow. “A djinn?” He didn’t sound like he believed her.
“You know, a genie? Like Aladdin and his magical lamp?”
“I do.” He still held the recipe box. “So are you a djinn?” he asked as he walked into the next room.
She shook her head. “No. Well not exactly.”
Ruthie followed Lee into the kitchen. It was more galley style with fancy counters and very clean white appliances. She ran her hands over the countertops, shivering from a slight draft, and turned to see Lee go to the ice box. He removed a beer and opened it.
Without a bottle opener!
“Fascinating,” she said, taking a seat at the little kitchen table. A little rickety, the table wobbled and the seats were not exactly comfortable. So she proceeded to sit on the edge of the chair, in case it buckled under her.
“What is?” Lee asked
She gestured to his bottle. “Your bottle opened without an opener.”
He blinked. Then stared at her like she had worms coming out her nose.
Well, maybe she did.
After all, this was not her world.
Not even close.
6
As a werewolf, Lee had seen a lot of crazy shit. The mythical population of the world—especially here in Liverly, KS, near the hell gate—was explosively large.
He’d met vampires, fairies, even a couple of the nastiest of all the mythicals, the soul-stealing sheldevak. He’d even stumbled on a few ghosts, but this was something different.
What he was he supposed to do with a chick cursed by a djinn? That went outside his comfort zone. Seriously.
“So you’re chained to a recipe box?”
“Yes,” she said as she brushed an auburn strand out of her face.
He noticed she didn’t lean back in the chair. He could get his arm between her rigidly straight back and the back of the chair. How she looked at him, the way she tipped her head to the side, when her blue eyes met his, it was stunning.
But still…
So what if she was pretty.
Okay, hot, with the polka dot dress and the shoes, and the—
Focus, dumbass.
“So what the hell?” he asked.
She blinked, like she needed a moment to process what he said. “Oh, I see what you mean.”
“What do I mean?”
“That you do not understand who I am, and how this situation came together. Interesting colloquialism, to shorten the phrase like that.”
He rubbed his head with his free hand. “If you’re going to analyze every word I say, then we’re going to have a really long night.” He took a deep tug of his beer. “And I’ve had a tough day. So cut to the basics, would you?”
She nodded, looked at the ground, then back at him. “Simply put, I have always helped Evelyn prepare the meals. We had to make the best of the situation.”
He let her last sentence sink in. “You mean Grandma knew this happened?”
She blinked, like she thought he was stupid. “Of course she did. Why do you think she was so comfortable with your, um, special genes?”
He nodded. It was true—Grandma Reynolds had never minded, or come to think of it, ever seemed to care, that her son had married a werewolf. The rest of the human-only side of the family however, wasn’t quite so warm and fuzzy about the wolf side.
Sad, because family was very important.
Whether to werewolves or to humans.
At least it should have been.
He never thought about Grandma being comfortable or not with the beast side of the family. She just was.
“So Granny always knew about mythicals, huh?” He muttered, more to himself than to her.
But she took it like a cue.
“Yes. She was always fascinated with mythology as a girl, and when she found the djinn’s bottle, I remember not being horribly surprised. If anyone were to find evidence of a secret, magical world, it would have been Evelyn.”
“Interesting.” Not really, but he had to say something. She was so, well, sweet. He’d known girls like her before—so sweet they could have been made of chocolate.
But like chocolate, there was only so much he could take of the sweetness before he spit it out.
Even if she was hot.
Hot or not, there was still a bit to this mess.
“So you live in the box? Helping Grandma cook? That sounds stupid.”
She glared at him, crossing her arms. “I didn’t ask to be put in the box. I simply wanted to be able to remember recipes, not become them.”
He raised an eyebrow. “So can you get out?”
“Not unless…” She paused, mid-sentence, her eyes wide. “Wait. When did Evelyn die?”
“Three years ago.”
“And how old was she?” Ruthie asked, her voice very soft.
Lee shrugged. “I don’t know. Why?”
“Because we had until she was ninety-two. Had she turned ninety-two yet?”
Lee shook his head. “No, she wasn’t over ninety.” He took a sip of his beer. “She must have been eighty-nine. I remember my sister telling me we needed to plan a special party for her, when she turned ninety, but she didn’t make it.”
A pain shot through him, remembering how frail Grandma had been in the end, and he wished there’d been more they could have done for her.
Ruthie closed her eyes and nodded, her lips moving softly, he guessed trying to figure something out. This time when she brought her gaze back to his, a determination had appeared that wasn’t there before.
“Evelyn would have been ninety-two this year. This year, this Christmas Eve marks the seventy-fifth anniversary of the curse.”
“So?”
“If we can’t get me out this year, I’ll never get out.”
Lee nodded. Then her words sunk in. “Wait, ‘we?’”
“Yes, you and me, Lee Reynolds. This is my last chance. Please, Lee? Please, will you help me?” She blinked those big blue eyes at him, her expression so pleading, so sweet.
So ladylike.
Damn.
“What do I have to do?” Lee asked.
“Just cook.”
What in the hell had he gotten himself into?
7
Three days before Christmas
Ruthie burst out of the recipe box, like she’d been under water holding her breath for too long.
Strange, because she’d never felt such an urgency to come out before—of course, it probably was because this was it—her last chance to get out.
To be a real person again.
As she emerged, she found herself face to face again with Lee, Evelyn’s grandson.
Her breath caught.
A stocking cap covered most of h
is blond hair, but his eyes, so rich and brown—they reminded her of a glass of tea sitting in the sunshine.
How she had ever confused him with his father, she didn’t know. Lee was so much taller, and his build was less, well, cylindrical, than his father had been. Granted, his dad did have brown eyes and the blond hair, but really that’s where the resemblance ended.
And Lee had that widow’s peak. It framed his face and made him look so devilishly handsome.
Like a wicked little—
“Ruthie?” Lee said, staring at her.
She felt herself blushing and looked away. “Sorry, I…”
“I got the stuff,” Lee said, gesturing to several grocery bags on the nearby kitchen table. He didn’t look terribly happy about it, though.
She crossed the kitchen to the supplies, and started reaching for the ingredients, but her hand passed through the bag. “Oh poop.”
He raised an eyebrow as she started to twirl. When she stopped, she was physical again, and touched the thin plastic bags.
“Does the spinning help?” Lee asked.
She smiled. “No. It’s just fun.”
He snorted.
“Haven’t you ever twirled?” Ruthie asked, swishing her skirt against her legs.
“No.” Lee pulled the items from the bags and began organizing them on the table. His shoulders were stiff, and his demeanor seemed more annoyed than anything.
Ruthie wondered what was bothering him—besides the obviously bizarre situation. After all, they were going to attempt to make the meal which would save her from her curse.
Not normal holiday activities, to be certain.
“Is everything all right?” she asked him.
“Fine.”
Well, he didn’t sound particularly fine to her, but what did she know. She turned her attention to the ingredients on the table, picking up different cans and packages to study what Lee had brought home.
“Wait. This isn’t what I asked for.” She held up a bag full of dried fruit. “I asked for currants. These are raisins.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “They’re all raisins. I know, I’m a chef.”
“But the recipe clearly states we need currants, not raisins. There’s a difference in flavor.”
“The raisins absorb the liquid better!”
“But the recipe insists—”
He slammed his hand down on the counter, making her jump.
Ruthie took a few steps away, keeping more distance between them. His anger surprised her—was he the right person to help her with this problem?
Surely he wouldn’t actually hurt her.
Would he?
Lee froze and glanced at her. The frustration on his face shifted, and suddenly his eyes softened. He looked at the floor for a second. He shuffled his feet, muttering something under his breath before he brought his gaze back to hers.
“Sorry.” He paced away from her, ran his hands through his hair, and softly counted to himself.
When he finally turned around, the anger and frustration in his expression before had disappeared. Mostly.
“Listen, Ruthie. I am doing this. It’s crazy, but I’m going to help you. Because that’s what Grandma would have wanted. I’m not Grandma. I don’t cook like she did. I put my own flair on everything.”
She blinked. “Um, but… but…”
He raised his eyebrow. “Tell me something, Ruthie. Have you deviated from the recipes since you’ve been trapped in the box?”
She shook her head. “We never did.”
“Maybe that’s your problem. You didn’t deviate.”
Now she was starting to get frustrated. “You do realize if I don’t get out of this box in four days, then I’m never getting out. I’ll be stuck forever.”
“And that’s any different from your current situation, how, exactly?”
He had a point.
She might as well see if changing the recipes a bit would help. She didn’t like it, but what else could she do? Making the same old recipes every time had become monotonous. And not yet freed her.
Something different could be the spark she needed to finally be free.
He laid down the shopping list she’d given him and continued fiddling with the ingredients. “So tell me why we have to cook this stuff?”
“Because to free myself, I must make a perfect Christmas dinner.”
He stared at her, a bag of flour in his hand. “Seriously?”
“It can’t be anything else, it has to be a perfect meal.”
“Wait, you don’t know?” He slammed the bag on the table. Flour puffed into the air as his temper flared again. “You mean to tell me you don’t know exactly what it is you have to do to get out of the box, yet you’re expecting me to get you out?”
She couldn’t help smiling at the slight dusting of flour covering his navy blue shirt and stocking cap. And while she should have been put off by his temper, seeing him covered in flour was too funny not to laugh at, though she covered her mouth to keep the giggles under control.
And she was starting to see why Evelyn was always so amused by the fiery tempered wolf-grandkids.
“It’s not funny,” he snarled, trying to brush the flour off.
“Yes it is.”
He yanked off the hat, which left his hair stuck up in a dozen different directions. This was more than Ruthie could take, and she burst out a big laugh.
He ran his hand over his head and growled as he attempted to pat his hair down.
This got Ruthie laughing even harder, which made Lee start cursing again. Though this time the foul language that came out of his mouth—
“Lee Donovan!” Ruthie said. “Watch your language!” While she wasn’t a saint, there were certain things she would not tolerate.
Coarse language was part of it. Certainly a singular curse could slip out every once in a while, but that string of cuss words was a bit too much.
Lee blinked, then stared at her like she was out of her mind. Maybe she was. He wasn’t exactly normal, now was he? And she was scolding him for his language.
Possibly not the best course of action.
Surprisingly, he looked remorseful.
“Sorry,” he said. Then he shook his head. “Good God, you make me feel like shit—”
“Because you are,” Kevin said as he came in the kitchen. “What the hell is all that, dude?” He gestured to the table.
Lee’s gaze cut from her to the table, then to his brother. “Christmas dinner.”
“What the fuck are you making,” Kevin asked, and he took a few steps across the kitchen—right toward Ruthie.
“Man, watch it,” Lee said, yanking Kevin away from Ruthie.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Kevin jerked out of his grip.
Ruthie darted into a corner to stay out of foot traffic, and waved her hand to make herself more ghost-like.
“You’re gonna walk right into her,” Lee said.
“Who?”
“Ruthie,” Lee said, looking at her, but his eyes went wide. “What the hell?”
“What, where?” Kevin said.
“She’s right there. How can you miss her? She’s in a polka dot dress. With, you know, frilly things.” He gestured to her. “Sort of.”
Ruthie looked at her dress. “You don’t like my clothes?” she asked, feeling uncomfortable . It was her favorite dress. She’d been wearing it the night she and Evelyn made their wishes—it was a lovely holiday dress.
She fiddled with the buttons on the front, unhooking the top white one and then fastening it back.
“No, you look fine. Just, uh, vintage,” Lee said.
Kevin stepped directly in front of Lee. He was roughly the same height, and he blocked Lee from Ruthie’s sight for a second. “Dude, look at me.”
Lee pulled away, and Ruthie could see he was irritated with his brother. “What?”
Kevin pulled a penlight from his pocket and started flashing it in Lee’s eyes. “Are you okay? What are
you seeing? Are you feeling bad?”
“Wait, what?” Lee tried to push his brother away, but Kevin wasn’t having it.
“He can’t see me,” Ruthie said, trying to get Lee to stop forcing the issue. She knew Kevin wouldn’t be able to see her—he’d never had any desire to be in a kitchen unless he was eating.
“You can’t see her?” Lee said, staring at his brother.
“There’s no one there.” Kevin continued the impromptu examination. “Seriously, how’s work? Are you feeling okay? Boss still being a dick?”
“Wait, what?” Lee asked, staring at his brother.
“What’s going on, Lee? Why are you seeing vintage women?” Kevin asked. “Are you that stressed out at work?”
“I’m…” Lee’s gaze kept darting to Ruthie.
She shook her head. “He can’t see me, Lee. It won’t do any good to try and convince him otherwise.”
Lee shook his head.
“Are you alright bro? You need something?” Kevin asked, concern covering his brow. “Should we go see the doctor?”
“I’m fine.”
“Did I hit you too hard when I threw you through the door?” Kevin asked.
Ruthie balked. “He what?”
Lee glanced at her. “Threw me through the door.”
Ruthie put her hands on her hips. “What in the world? Kevin how dare you! That is your brother, you have no right to throw him through the door—”
Kevin, unable to hear Ruthie, continued talking. “Dude, you’re repeating stuff. I’m taking you to the doctor.”
“I’m fine. Get off me.” Lee shoved his brother away.
Kevin raised his eyebrow. “I’m gonna keep an eye on you. You’re acting weird, even for you.”
“No, you’re not,” Lee pushed him toward the door. “Now get out of here. I’ve got cooking to do.”
“It’s four days until Christmas.”
“So you should go shopping. You haven’t bought dick yet.”
Kevin didn’t like being dismissed. “Don’t worry about me.”
“I won’t. Now get out of here,” Lee said.
Kevin snorted and left the kitchen. Though he kept glancing back at Lee.
