He was glad Yasmin wasn’t here. She’d tell him he wasn’t ready yet. Not for ‘poppet work.’ But he was more than ready.
The question was, was Delilah?
He hadn’t grabbed a shopping basket, and now he was forced to juggle the items in his hands. Poorly. He should cast a spell on himself to keep from dropping things, but he was saving his energy for Delilah.
“Here, let me help.” It was the same woman who had been looking at him, was still looking at him in that odd way. Maybe he had something in his teeth. Or on his face. She graciously took some of the items he was grasping and held them for him.
He was about to ask what she wanted, when she spoke. “Do you know you’ve had spells cast on you?”
He fought down the urge to laugh hysterically and never stop. Only in this store would that be an appropriate pick-up line. “Do you want five dollars so you can tell me which spells?”
“Five dollars?” Realization dawned on her face and with it came a look telling Brandon he’d seriously offended her.
“I don’t need your money.” Huffy now, she began stuffing his items haphazardly back into his hands before she turned away with a sniff. “I was just trying to be helpful.”
“I’m sorry.” He couldn’t follow her; he’d drop his stuff. He called out instead, for some reason trying to mend fences. He felt bad, and he’d been an ass all day. It was time to quit. “How can you tell?”
She came back around the corner, frowning. “I don’t know. I can just feel it. I’m really sorry I bothered you.”
She started to walk away again and Brandon fought for a semblance of normalcy in a life that was spinning way out of his control and definitely out of his realm. “You didn’t bother me. I just had two other people this week tell me the same thing, and they both wanted money in exchange for my fortune.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want money. And I’m Becky, by the way.”
He smiled. “Brandon.”
They didn’t even try to shake hands, his were stuffed full.
For a moment, awkward silence ruled what should have been an easy conversation for him. He never had a problem talking to women before. But now he didn’t seem to have anything worthwhile to say. And the one thing he did want to talk about—revenge against an evil witch—didn’t seem like a good opening gambit with someone he’d just met.
It was Becky who broke the stalemate. “Here, put your things down.” She pointed to an empty bin belonging to a sold out item.
While he carefully piled the things, she carefully selected a stick from one of the bundles along the wall. He didn’t see what it was, so he asked.
“Black birch bark. The smoke reveals things.”
Brandon almost made a face revealing what he really thought of all this voodoo. Then again, he’d gotten candles and cotton ribbon and would pay three dollars for a felt cut out for his own voodoo.
He stood very still as Becky fumbled in her purse for a lighter, then put flame to the bark. She then held the burning stick near him, reaching up to accommodate his height. It smoked like a bad grill, making his eyes water. His body fought for the right to cough, but he didn’t dare.
He watched as the smoke climbed in swirls around him. Becky must have seen something he didn’t, because she frowned and nodded. “A binding spell. Several actually.”
Well, he already knew that. Still he tried to be polite, and he wanted to learn anything he could about what had been done to him. “How do you read the smoke?”
Of course what he really wanted to ask was if it was just a trick. Obviously the smoke swirled like that. It was smoke.
“See the swirls? The way they cling to you? Black birch does that in the presence of spells.” Becky waved it at him, shaking more of the acrid gray clouds where they would cling to him. How in hell would he ever explain any of this to Dan? He was just grateful he didn’t have to.
Still he felt the need to be honest. “I don’t see it.”
Becky didn’t seem offended by that, just smiled and took charge. “Hold on.” She hollered over her shoulder. “Tristan?”
The voice came from the back of the shop. “What?”
“You cleaned this place out yesterday, right?”
“Yup. Always.”
Becky smiled at him. “Look at—”
Brandon interrupted her. “You work here?”
“No,” She shook her head like he was being silly. “I’m just in here all the time. I know the owner. Now, see over here?”
She waved the still smoking stick around the aisle. The smoke dispersed immediately. Then she waved it back at him. It clung. “See? Spell.” She waved it along the aisle again. “No spell.”
Brandon nodded, finally understanding what she was looking at. That was creepy.
Then, to make an additional point, she waved the bark at herself. It cleared almost faster than it rolled off the end of the stick. “No spells.”
Becky took a deep breath. “I have to say, the way it’s clinging,” She pointed with her finger to the haze gathered around him, “Someone has really built it up, or else it’s older but was done by a very powerful witch.”
“How can you tell the difference?”
“Spells by strong, practiced witches make smooth smoke.” As though that just explained everything. Becky went on to say the easiest thing to do was burn black birch bark in conjunction with sage in the presence of the person Brandon thought was responsible. He’d see the connection in the smoke, if he had the right person. The strength of the connection would tell if it was recent or not.
Tristan, the owner, came around the corner just then, and Brandon got a glimpse of his hazel eyes and brown hair. He exhibited that held-back aura that some men just seemed to have, like he was reserving judgment about . . . everything. But Brandon was already gathering his things, so all he did was smile and nod. His brain was elsewhere—there was no way in hell he’d be able to burn that stuff around Delilah without her knowing exactly what he was doing it for. Besides, he already knew who was responsible.
He thanked Becky and grabbed about five of the sticks before leaving her and the mysterious Tristan standing there in the aisle caught up in their impromptu discussion of the merits of various herbs.
After paying for his purchases, Brandon left Blessed Be with his brown paper bag tucked up under his arm so the logo didn’t show. It wasn’t like he usually ran into people he knew just walking down the street, but it would figure it would happen today. And if anyone—like say Dan, or god forbid an investor—caught him like this . . . Well, it would be easier to explain walking down Sunset Boulevard in women’s underwear and heels.
So he kept a keen eye out as he made his way back to his car. And he made plans. His house was going to stink to high hell tonight. But at least he’d be able to see what Delilah had been up to.
Chapter 26
The car raced along the Pacific Coast Highway, just as it always did in her dreams. Only this time Delilah wasn’t in it.
She stood at the edge of a bluff, able to see for miles, it seemed. She easily recognized the view. It was the edge of the property, back when she and David first bought it, before the house was built, before the neighbors came.
There had been more than one day when she stood here just like this. At the edge of the land, overlooking the hills and though she couldn’t hear it, she was high enough to see the ocean licking at the shore in the distance. Square and modern, luxury homes cut the horizon into created and organic shapes while sailboats peppered the far background. At that distance they appeared only a shade darker than the surrounding water and sky, their curved triangles reaching up and out as they passed in the distance.
She felt all powerful here, and so she’d come. When she needed to get away, when she was sad, when she needed to think. Delilah would drive up to the property they were waiting to develop and enjoy the fact that they didn’t live here yet. That there still existed a spot in the Los Angeles area that wasn’t yet built to
the heavens and crumbling down.
In the dream, she stood at the edge of a sheer cliff that was never this steep in life. Like most of Malibu, it was bedrock, shifted high into the air. Barring an earthquake that hit nine or higher on the Richter scale, it wasn’t going anywhere. But now, in the back of her mind the land crumbled under her feet, inch by inch giving away, the soil she once believed so stable. The cliff side offered a drop into a deep ravine unlike any that existed in reality. And Delilah stood there at the very edge, not only unafraid, but certain of her invincibility.
Clouds scudded across the sky, darkening the day and interfering with her view. Delilah disliked them. They weren’t what she wanted to see today. So she grasped a fistful of the reeds growing wild at her feet and yanked. With closed eyes, she opened her hand and blew them away. As fast as the deed was finished, the winds came, kicking up the clouds and taking them to somewhere else.
Delilah smiled.
The car kept coming up the turns, racing around corners, skidding on two wheels when it should have slowed down. But Juliet wouldn’t slow down. Delilah knew this. She also knew that it would take her sister forever to get here, no matter how fast she drove.
Delilah altered the landscape while she waited. Using her finger in the loamy soil that formed the top layers of the ground, she cut a winding path at her feet. Then smiled when a tiny stream burbled up at the other side of the property and ran clear and pristine through the center.
Rubbing her hands increased the temperature, until she could lean back and open herself to the sun, enjoying the heat and the breeze that cut it.
David came walking up over the ridge, his suit and tie impeccable. Every hair in place. But he was unable to maintain his footing as she worked on the land. “What are you doing, Delilah?”
He looked truly puzzled, but she could clear it all up.
“I’m making it perfect.” She continued her spells. The car raced up the hill in the background, and David stood in front of her looking as perfect as ever.
She didn’t need to work on him. He merely was, but he was beautiful and he was always . . . perfect. He wore the right things, knew the right people, said the right things, and constantly told her she was beautiful.
Delilah smiled at him, and David smiled back. Only . . .
He was becoming a little see-through. Although the image didn’t waver, she could distinguish the trees that were directly behind him. David was wearing thin.
But Delilah could fix that. With the wave of her wrist, she made him solid again. Exactly the way she liked, then she could go back to concentrating on the things around her. On making it perfect again.
Juliet was getting close. The car was rounding the last turn, and Delilah could see her sister’s bulging belly nearly brushing against the steering wheel. Turning to her husband, she asked, “David, why is Juliet pregnant?”
“Because we’re having a baby.” His was fading out of solid again. He was starting to wink in and out of existence. But even his lack of presence wasn’t enough for Delilah.
“We can’t have that.” She held her hands palm out toward him. Though she never made contact, the push sent him stumbling backwards. When he held out, clinging to his footing, Delilah gouged the earth beneath her with her heel, happily watching the land give way beneath him. He tumbled over the edge into the precipice, screaming the whole time.
She forgot him before the sound even ended. Then, she turned back to the problem of her sister.
A smooth round pebble appeared at her feet. Delilah tossed it in the direction of the car. It didn’t get anywhere near squealing tires. But that was okay. A large boulder had loosened at the side of the earth and tumbled down toward the car.
There was no need to watch, it would make contact.
Delilah turned back to the sun while tires screeched and metal screamed below her. In a moment, the noise ended and the breeze picked up again, whipping her hair and her clothes around her, the day once again perfect.
Only she looked down at herself and saw that the clothing she wore was in tatters. Her hair was a tangled mess. Her feet were dirty. How had she not noticed?
Moaning, she tossed her head from side to side, fighting her way out of the dream. When she came fully awake, she was in her own room and all was dark. Her chest heaved several times in relief as she blinked and became fully aware.
In the dream she killed David and Juliet with a simple wish. But there was nothing mysterious about that, it was beyond obvious where those thoughts came from.
But the tattered clothes were new.
And true.
David had been so perfect she never looked past the surface of him. She’d believed herself in love with him, and him with her, but she hadn’t really known it. And she’d been so busy making sure that she had the perfect life, that she’d never examined herself.
Her parents died, one right after the other, and she had given the perfunctory, required grief its due, but then went back to making her world perfect—never once looking at herself. Never once seeing that everything around her appeared perfect, but she had been in tatters.
She was afraid she still was.
Now there was another baby on the way. There was Brandon, who was already here. And she could no longer afford to turn a blind eye.
Brandon was frustrated. He’d burned the black birch bark all through his house, and all he learned was that burning birch bark set off his smoke detectors. Luckily he didn’t pay for an alarm system and didn’t have to explain this to any kindly operator calling to check in on him.
The smoke did tell him that there were no spells in or around his house, except the ones on him. He’d have thought the bark didn’t work, that it was all a trick worked on him in the store, but the smoke clung to him so badly it trailed him around the house. It was creepy and he wanted it to stop, but in the end his ‘yeah, yeah, I get it’ hadn’t made the gray fog quit its clinging and he’d had to shower to get the smell off.
After he was clean and dressed in fresh clothes, he went back to burning the tansy, thinking he had a better shot of actually accomplishing something that way. Three more times he’d walked his circle, poured and cleaned up his salt, and generally felt like an idiot as he cast his stupid little spells. Still Delilah hadn’t called.
She was no more in love with him than she had been a week ago.
He was ready to call it all crap and just be done with it. But if he admitted that there was nothing to this witchcraft thing, then he was back to wondering what the hell she’d done or thinking that she’d drugged him. Oh, and now he’d wasted a huge wad of money on those stupid herbs and felt cut-outs. Not to mention the time he’d spent in that damn class.
There were logical problems, too, with simply scrapping his new beliefs. Although Brandon would have been the first to admit that it seemed like an oxy moron to have logic issues with giving up a belief in witchcraft, that was the heart of it.
Delilah drugging him just didn’t make any sense. There was no pimp breathing down her neck. She’d never taken his money or his internal organs or even his silverware.
It made sense that Delilah was a witch.
He’d also had spells cast on him. Too many different people told him this. Perhaps he was on a new and very elaborate prank TV show that featured random people no one would care about. Since that clearly wasn’t the case, the spells couldn’t be anything other than true. It was scary that the simplest explanation was the one where his girlfriend was a real witch.
That, unfortunately, all added up.
So if spells really worked—and he was now a believer—why weren’t his working? His almanac said that anyone could become a witch. It was just a matter of practicing the religion. Anyone could harness the ‘energy of the universe.’ All that was required was a way to tap into it. Spells were one way.
So why didn’t his work?
Yasmin’s spells worked. She said the shop clerks were all experienced in the craft and could help. Delilah’s
spell obviously put the whammy on him.
If the ‘energy of the universe’ flowed in and around him, as Yasmin swore that it did, then why wasn’t Delilah on the phone in tears begging for him?
The Beginning Witchcraft book from class recommended a senior witch or magician as a teacher. But what was he going to do? It was clear that Yasmin the Good Witch was in no way going to help with his revenge. He could ask Delilah. Oh, by the way, I figured out about you casting spells on me. I was trying to get this love spell to work. Maybe you could tell me what I’m doing wrong?
Yeah, she might be a bitch, mis-using him and not caring what he felt, but she wasn’t stupid. She’d realize that he was casting on her. Not only would she not help him, she’d likely retaliate. And, as he was learning, he wasn’t a very good witch. There was no way he’d be able to stand up to her.
There was also now the huge problem that he couldn’t go back to Blessed Be.
When he was last in, Becky called the owner over, and she’d called him ‘Tristan.’ As Brandon walked out that night with his purchases, his brain put the pieces together and he jolted to awareness. Delilah’s brother was named Tristan. And, though he’d seen the photos in her house, he hadn’t studied them. Each time he looked, something came up. It was as though she didn’t want him to get too good a look at her family. So he didn’t think he’d recognize the brother from the photo. But now that he thought about it, something about the shape of their faces seemed the same.
Brandon was grateful that he hadn’t recognized the name while he was standing in the store. It might have been the tip-off for the other guy to recognize him. As it was, he’d made it out without incidence.
Of course, there was every possibility that while he knew about Tristan, her brother knew nothing about him. Perhaps Delilah hadn’t told her brother about her new plaything. Or maybe she just hadn’t mentioned his name. There was also the possibility that she marked him. That her brother would recognize Delilah on him.
WishCraft Page 19
