In the evenings, he read about witches’ holidays, the times of feast and prayer from long before the Jews walked the earth. The religion was as complex as any he’d heard of, and nowhere near what he imagined it would be. He always wondered what Delilah was doing when the moon was full or a feast was called for.
His skill still seemed limited, but while he would have liked to talk to the people at Blessed Be, he didn’t dare set foot in Tristan’s store. He’d been going to Pan Pipes in Santa Monica every Thursday evening for their ‘Beginning Spellwork’ class. While he learned a few new neat spells, all it had really gotten him was a couple of dates.
A few first dates. The class was mostly female—big surprise there. The only other man in the class was gay. Brandon had been pretty certain about that until Frederick had asked if Brandon would like to go out on a date, then he knew for sure. He wished Frederick were straight, for no other reason than that would take some of the females off him—the only available guy in the class.
Most of his classmates were flighty and a few were downright frightening. One seemed to be convinced she was the main source of energy in the universe. Brandon couldn’t figure out how she truly thought that when she was enrolled in a beginner class.
The first night he realized his view of witches was entirely skewed because all he knew was Delilah. This crowd more deserved the general reputation he’d been aware of before meeting a real witch. Most of these people were not real witches. Nor were they on their way.
After seeing a few of the batty women in his class swimming in the deep end without their floaties, a date with Jennifer seemed like a welcome relief. It turned out she was not only sane but a complete skeptic. She was writing her thesis at UCLA and wanted to know why he was in the class. She’d been shocked and appalled when he honestly replied.
“You actually believe there were spells cast on you?”
It had all gone downhill from there. Brandon hadn’t been able to even finish his burger. “I’m leaving now. I know what I saw. And I know what happened to me. I’m not a specimen for your thesis.”
He’d laid down some money and left her there at the table. He didn’t feel so bad about it. She’d been writing notes furiously even as she begged him to stay.
The next week he’d gone out with Millie, who only seemed sane. She was applying herself to witchcraft to get into Harvard Law. She was desperate to get a scholarship. So she was casting for it.
It seemed to Brandon that if she spent half the time studying as she did working on her spells she would be more likely to get in. Millie was utterly offended at this suggestion, even though he’d put it in the kindest frame he could. Still he gave her another chance and didn’t walk out of the date like he had the week before.
That had been an error.
She talked the rest of the evening about the spells she was casting for herself and her friends in lieu of plastic surgery.
Brandon wound up extracting himself from that night, too. About a block away from the restaurant he swore off women all together.
The problem was, he missed Delilah.
In his brain, he’d replayed that last night. He remembered thinking they’d found their common ground and they’d worked everything out. Then, in less than a blink, she’d been accusing him of getting revenge. It was true—he’d done it. And she’d known about it even before she walked in the door.
She’d forgiven him easily, then reneged.
Logically, he was glad to have her out of his life. Delilah Goodman was trouble through and through. First the spells, then the pregnancy, then the fight. Okay, so ultimately the pregnancy had been his fault. But she’d stolen his memories and put that stupid love spell on him.
He still had all that leftover birch bark. Apparently he’d bought himself a lifetime supply. So he checked himself every couple of days. What else was he going to do with a bundle of black birch bark? As promised, the spells slowly faded away. The smoke swirled and dissipated, no longer clinging to him the way it used to. But something was still wrong.
In a snap decision, he drove past his house and kept going toward LaBrea Avenue. His brain churned the whole time until he pulled up in front of Blessed Be. Parking was fairly clear this late on a Thursday night, and he slid into a spot up front.
Brandon ran up to the front and pulled at the door, only to have it nearly yank his arm out of the socket. Crap. Locked. They were closed. But the light was on.
Cupping his hands around his eyes, and leaning his face against the glass, he tried to see in. The light was on in the back office. He banged on the door.
Nothing.
He banged again. The second time it produced results. Of course it did. He sounded like a crazy man out here trying to get in.
The man came out of the back, pale brown hair cut short and combed. This time Brandon recognized Delilah’s brother on sight. But Tristan couldn’t see him. He was already making motions and Brandon could hear his voice saying ‘we’re closed,’ but he didn’t listen.
When Tristan got up to the door, he quit talking. His expression went flat. His hand twisted the lock and he opened the door only part way, keeping his body in the opening. His greeting was as cool as his face. “Brandon.”
“Tristan.”
Well great. Were they just going to stand here and have a pissing contest?
Tristan got the words out first. “What do you want?”
Brandon decided to play it nice. “I need your help.”
When that didn’t bring about the results he wanted, he changed his mind and didn’t play it so nice. He shoved his way past Delilah’s brother and into the store.
Tristan’s eyes narrowed. “With?”
“Delilah.” Not that the one word really explained anything.
Tristan just stood there with his arms crossed, waiting. Brandon knew he was the one at a loss. He was facing a witch, a powerful one, in a witchcraft store.
“Your damned sister put a spell on me.”
“I’m aware. Apparently I sold you the means for revenge. I won’t be doing that again.” He didn’t move.
“I’m done with her. So don’t worry about that.” Brandon ran a hand through his hair. “But she needs to be done with me.”
“She is.”
“No, she isn’t!”
Finally, Tristan moved. But only the one eyebrow.
“I’ve been burning that stupid birch bark. And it doesn’t cling anymore.”
Tristan interrupted. “Then you’re clean.”
“But I’m not.” He paced a few steps and turned. “She’s still fucking with my head. I can feel it.”
Calmly—too calmly for Brandon’s taste—Tristan grabbed a birch bark stick and eyed Brandon for a moment before he cupped his hand around the end of the stick and blew a flame to life. Brandon had seen that trick before and didn’t react. He couldn’t tell if his lack of reaction impressed Tristan or not, but he didn’t really care. Finally, Tristan waved the smoking stick at Brandon. “There. You’re clean. Want to go home now, so I can close my shop?”
“It doesn’t show, but she’s still messing with me.”
Tristan shook his head, for the first time displaying some emotion. Unfortunately, it was pity. “I don’t think my sister is—as you so eloquently put it—fucking with your head. Besides, she’s a witch. So anything she could do to you would show up here.” He waved the still smoldering birch stick as though it were proof.
Again he invited Brandon to leave. “Sorry I can’t help.” His smile was fake but his hand motioning toward the door was sincere.
Brandon didn’t take him up on it. He was only growing more frustrated. His hands clenched at his side. “Then why do I still want her? Why do I miss her so much?”
Tristan’s face registered his shock. Great. For once, Tristan seemed human. The words registered awe. “You fell in love with her.”
“No, I didn’t. It was those stupid spells she cast on me.” Brandon shook his head, finally ready to leave.
This had been a bad idea, coming here. Tristan was no help whatsoever.
But Tristan sighed. “Brandon, sit.” He motioned them behind the counter and pulled out a swivel chair.
“I’d rather stand.”
“Please.” Tristan took his own seat and waited. His hands pressed together and he rested them against his mouth as though looking for words.
Brandon sat.
Tristan took a deep breath, his face changing from the cold older brother to more of a concerned friend. “Delilah was really upset after Juliet and David.”
Brandon interrupted. “I know.”
“She didn’t want a relationship. So, once in a long while, she would pick someone up in a bar and take him home, then cast a ‘forget’ on him.”
Still Brandon waited for something new.
“She never put a love spell on you. She only ever tried to keep you away. She didn’t think a relationship would work for her and she didn’t want to get hurt. She did nothing to reel you in.”
But Tristan was wrong. Brandon shook his head. “Sure she did. Why else would I feel this way?”
“Because you do feel that way. There are no spells on you. Anything you feel for Lilah is your own.”
Brandon jerked back. “You’re serious?”
Tristan nodded. “She only ever pushed you away. Well, she tried.”
Was he really in love with her?
Tristan kept talking. “That would explain why the forget spell didn’t work. Why you broke it. Oh crap. Delilah’s out of town. Out of state, actually.”
Brandon nodded. “Why are you telling me this?”
Tristan’s head tilted as he took Brandon’s measure, for this first time reading him instead of judging. “Because . . .”
He didn’t finish, instead, he changed his tack. “You need to tell her.”
“Why? What were you going to say?” Brandon was ready to grab the other man and shake some answers out. Had the whole family been this maddening?
After a sigh, Tristan answered. “I think she’s in love with you, too. But it isn’t my place to tell you that.”
Brandon sat back, defeated. “She isn’t in love with me.”
Tristan raised that damnable eyebrow at him again.
“I cast a love spell on her.”
Tristan had the balls to throw back his head and laugh at that. “I think you tried, but I don’t think you actually did. Delilah said you used Tansy. So I think her feelings are her own.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He wouldn’t have ever thought he’d see the day where level-headed Brandon Stewart got teased for a spell gone awry. “But I also did a binding on her. With a white ribbon and all that.”
Tristan shook his head. “I don’t think you were successful. But I did see some globs on her when we used the birch smoke.” He leaned a little farther forward. “I’ve been trying to figure out why your spells even stuck to Delilah, I mean, she had protections all over her. But I’m beginning to think it’s because I always tried to protect her against harm. And, even as mad as you were, you were never really trying to harm her. Still, I think it would be wise for you to take the poppet apart, just to be sure.”
Brandon nodded, slowly forming an idea. He was going to go to Delilah and talk to her. For the first time his brain considered the possibility of them together. He liked the idea even more now that he was starting to believe he truly owned the feelings. The problem was Delilah might not feel the same way. He might have done that with the stupid binding spell. “When does she get back?”
“Monday night.”
He blinked. He’d expected Tristan to say ‘tomorrow’ or some number of hours rather than days.
Then Tristan did something totally unexpected. He pulled out his phone and started copying information onto a message slip. He ripped the note from the pad and slid it to Brandon. “She’s at Pawley’s Island in the Carolinas. There’s the hotel and her room number and the main phone line.”
Brandon stared at it like it was a snake about to strike him. “Why are you giving me this?”
“Because I’m her big brother. And it’s my job to protect her. Even from herself.”
He didn’t know what to say. Getting the blessing of the big brother was a big deal. He knew that experience from the other side. He stuck out his hand, “Thank you.”
Tristan grasped his fingers in a firm handshake. But didn’t let go. “If you cheat on her, I’ll have to kill you. And it will hurt.”
Brandon laughed. “Trust me, that isn’t going to happen.”
Tristan released his hand. “Then go. Unbind your poppet and have fun at Pawley’s Island.”
Brandon tipped his head. “You think I’m just going to go hop on a plane?”
“Aren’t you?”
He laughed. “Hell, yeah.”
Delilah sat at the bar with a martini in front of her. She’d made a promise to herself not to cast against anyone again. No more sex followed by ‘forget’ spells.
But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t do some of the rest. She was a witch after all.
“I have a booth back there. Sit with me and I’ll buy you a drink?” The voice was smooth and Delilah turned, martini stem clutched in her hands.
A young man with a short haircut stood before her. His brown eyes were kind rather than leering and the fingers wrapped around the beer bottle looked like they didn’t intend to hurt a fly. He was just what she should go for.
“Oh, thank you, but—”
She caught sight of the olive, twirling on its toothpick.
Clockwise.
Why would it go clockwise? Why would it say ‘yes’ for this man? She wasn’t anywhere near over Brandon yet. If there was one thing she learned on this trip already it was that she likely wouldn’t ever be.
The young man watched her decide, his eyes anxious. “Please?”
He was so polite. And he looked to be younger than her. Delilah stalled. She turned slightly away, and set the martini back on the bar. She stilled the olive. “Oh, I don’t know.”
She tapped the glass with her fingernail. That would do it. The clockwise circle had been a fluke. And when it didn’t go the same way, she’d have her answer.
But the liquid sloshed and the olive twirled, and it did go the same way. Clearly clockwise.
That was odd. But who was she to argue with the olive? The olive was just a way to ask a question of the universe, and the universe was always right.
“All right.” She smiled and followed him to a booth with a wide view of the ocean out the window.
He said his name was Sam. He said a few more things, but she only nodded a little and didn’t listen much. She was having a revelation, even though she wasn’t sure why she was having it now. If the universe was always right, then things happened for a reason. That was nothing new to her. She’d cut her teeth on that idea. But she’d had a hard time applying it these past few years. David and Juliet dying, even losing her baby . . . there was some higher purpose to it. There had to have been. Or her whole system of faith was off.
Delilah didn’t know what that purpose was, but finally she believed in it again. The last weight of her sister’s and husband’s deaths lifted off her shoulders. Brandon leaving . . . well, she sure as hell didn’t see the purpose in that one yet. But she was where she was supposed to be. Sitting here at this booth talking to Sam, with the people walking by outside the window.
For a moment she watched them run and jump and struggle with the sand, then she leaned forward and began to pay attention to the conversation. Sam was interesting. He’d done a lot; he was on leave from the National Guard. Delilah offered to buy his drink instead, but he laughed and waved her away.
She was on her third martini, several hours later, enjoying her evening with Sam. And maybe that had been the whole point, to not sit around and mope about Brandon. But she realized it had gone dark outside. “Sam, I’ve had a great time. It’s getting late though, and I have to get back to my hotel room and get some sleep.”<
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“Of course you do. I have to check back in tomorrow. Leave is over.” He grinned and she couldn’t help but smile back.
Until something bumped her hip hard enough to scoot her further into the booth.
She registered the shock on Sam’s face first. He was standing to his full height with his fists clenched but held rigidly at his side. He wasn’t going to use them, just yet. Delilah had a flash thought that she admired his restraint, when she registered the voice.
“Hey, Lilah, you out picking up men again?”
Brandon! What was he doing here? “Brandon?”
She looked at him in shock, but he only smiled at her. Somehow a real, genuine smile graced his face, and his cheeks nearly formed dimples.
Sam looked back and forth between the two of them. “You know him?”
She nodded. But Brandon spoke first. “Does he know what you are?”
Delilah blinked. And in that moment, Brandon turned to Sam. “Did you know that she’s sixty? As in, sixty years old. She’s a witch, that’s how she keeps her looks.”
“Sixty?” Sam squinched his eyes at them.
“Wait—” was the only word she got out.
Brandon was talking to her now. “You’re not going to deny that you’re a witch are you, baby?”
“No, but—” She practically sputtered it, but sixty?
Sam was giving them bizarre looks. “Delilah? Are you okay?”
She didn’t get a chance to answer.
Brandon smiled and waved his hand indicating her form. “Of course she’s fine. She’s amazing for twenty, let alone sixty! Her secret is that she bathes in virgin’s blood. It’s how she stays so young looking.”
Sam looked a little sick to his stomach, but he clearly wondered what was going on. Thing was, Delilah didn’t have an answer for him.
Brandon did. He sighed in great theatrics. “And you just would not believe how hard it is to get virgin’s blood these days.”
Delilah laughed.
Sam asked if she was all right and she could only get out a few words, “Thank you, Sam.”
He nodded at her and pulled out a stack of bills to cover the drinks. Brandon waved him away. A look passed between the two men. Delilah could only decipher it as some weird passing of the baton, where she was the baton. Sam smiled at her as he left.
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