Misadventures of a Tongue-Tied Witch: Boxed Set Humorous Witch Series

by Livia J. Washburn

  “Of course.” We started up the stairs. “Are you all right? That guy h-hit you pretty hard a few times.”

  “Oh, I’ll have some bruises in the morning, no doubt about that. But I imagine you will, too.”

  I held up my hand and in the light of the stairwell showed him where the pavement had scraped it.

  “Ouch,” he said. “You’d better clean that up and put something on it.”

  “I intend to.”

  When we went into the apartment, he looked around and said, “Nice.” The doors of all three bedrooms were visible from the living room. “A little big for you, isn’t it?”

  “I have a couple of roommates. Girls I w-went to college with. They’re at a party tonight, but they should be home soon.” I didn’t see any harm in letting him know that Taylor and Beth might be coming in at any time. I hadn’t totally lost my sense of being careful.

  “Probably a costume party,” he commented.

  “That’s right. You d-don’t like them?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve just never really seen the appeal of dressing up and going ‘Boo!’”

  I felt pretty much the same way. Donovan and I were certainly in tune, at least in some respects.

  “I’ll get the coffee started,” I said as I headed for the kitchen.

  “No, you should tend to that scrape on your hand first,” he said. “I don’t mind waiting.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Go. You need any help with it?”

  “No, I’ll be f-fine.”

  I went into one of the bathrooms and closed the door. The injury on my hand hadn’t really bled, but it was raw-looking. I ran hot water over it, wincing in pain as I did so, and then spread some antibiotic cream on it once I’d dried it. We didn’t have any big bandages, but I was able to position three strips so that they covered most of the wound.

  Looking in the mirror made me wince. My hair looked like a black nest. I ran a brush quickly through it making the waves of hair behave.

  When I was finished with that, I pulled my sweatshirt up so I could look at my side in the mirror. I already had a bruise starting where Dye Job had kicked me, standing out purple against my skin. That was going to be ugly for a few days, not to mention painful. I’m not normally a violent person at all, but I could have slapped her silly right then if I’d had the chance.

  Donovan was studying the DVDs in the shelves next to the TV when I came back into the living room. “You have every romantic comedy made in the last twenty years,” he said.

  “You’re the guy who knew what a meet cute is,” I reminded him.

  “True.”

  I went into the kitchen and started the coffee. While it was perking, I remembered the card he had given me earlier and slid it out of my pocket.

  DONOVAN COLE – FINANCIAL ADVISOR, it said, along with the usual address, phone numbers (office and cell), and email address. So he took care of other people’s money. I had never had enough to need taking care of. You can’t invest what you don’t have.

  “How do you t-take your coffee?” I called through the open door into the living room as I set the card aside on the counter.

  “Black’s fine,” he replied.

  I poured his coffee and doctored up my own – I tend to use a lot of creamer, sweetener, and assorted extra flavors and syrups – and carried the two cups into the living room. I handed Donovan’s to him and sat down on the sofa, waiting to see what he would do.

  He sat on the sofa, too, and not all the way at the other end. Again, close but not uncomfortably so. He smiled at me, took a sip, and winced.

  “My coffee’s that b-bad?” I asked in surprise.

  “What? Oh, no, no! It just stung a little. I’ve got a cut in my mouth from getting punched.”

  I put my hand to my own mouth and said, “I’m so s-sorry! I didn’t even think about that. Here I was, w-worried about my coffee, when you’re hurt!”

  “I’m fine,” he insisted. “It doesn’t amount to anything. I’m sure your hand hurts worse, and your side where that crazy woman kicked you.”

  “I’ve already got a pretty big bruise there,” I said.

  He nodded gravely. “I can imagine.”

  He wouldn’t have to imagine, I told myself, if you lifted your shirt and showed it to him. That wouldn’t reveal as much skin as I’d displayed in that low-cut costume all day. But such a gesture would carry with it a degree of intimacy I wasn’t sure I was ready to experience just yet. I’d always been really shy and awkward around men, afraid to open my mouth because of the stuttering. As a result, my love life had varied from poor to non-existent.

  So I didn’t offer to pull my shirt up for him. Instead we sat there and drank our coffee and nursed our own wounds from the encounter with the two lunatics in the pickup.

  “So you’re a financial p-planner,” I said after a few minutes, before the silence could get too awkward.

  “How did you know that?” he asked, then before I could answer he laughed and went on, “Oh, yeah, I gave you one of my cards, didn’t I?”

  “That’s right. How do you l-like it?”

  He shrugged. “It’s all right. I’ve always been pretty good at math. With the way the economy has been the past few years and the beating the stock market has taken, it’s been a struggle at times, but I think I’ve done the best I could for my clients.”

  “I’m sure you did. Don’t bother asking me to invest in anything, though. I don’t have any m-money. In fact, I’ve been working t-temp jobs just to make ends meet…or attempt to meet.”

  I had no idea why I was opening up to him like that. He hadn’t asked for my financial status or my work history. I just felt at ease with him, something that was unusual for me…but very welcome at the moment after the day I’d had.

  He shook his head and said, “Don’t worry, I’m not trying to drum up business this evening. Meeting you comes under the heading of pleasure.”

  “Even the getting beaten up part?”

  “He didn’t actually beat me up,” Donovan said, and for a second I thought I’d offended him. His quick grin told me I hadn’t. “I was just about to show him some of my mixed martial arts moves.”

  “You know m-mixed martial arts?”

  “I watch the bouts on TV nearly every week.”

  It was a corny line, but he was so charming when he said it that I laughed anyway.

  “Anyway, I guess we were both lucky they took off when they did,” he went on. “Man, I hate that there are people like that out there in the world.”

  “There are a lot of things in the world that aren’t very n-nice,” I said.

  “True. But this isn’t one of them.” He took another sip of his coffee, and it didn’t seem to hurt him this time. “Sitting here like this with you…I’d say that’s one of the nice things, Aren.”

  When he said it, it sounded genuine and sincere. I don’t remember which one of us set their cup on the coffee table first, but both cups wound up there and Donovan leaned closer to me. I forgot about being shy, and I didn’t pull back. I had thought earlier that I was a different woman than the one who had set out to deliver those singing telegrams.

  A different woman wouldn’t pass up the chance to have a handsome man kiss her, I told myself.

  So I didn’t.

  He put a hand on my shoulder as he pressed his lips to mine. I tasted the coffee, but mostly I just felt the heat that jolted through me at that contact. His mouth was hard, then caressingly soft, then hard again with an urgent demand. I put my hand on his arm and closed it tight, feeling the taut muscles under his shirt sleeve. He didn’t go too far – no tongues – but his lips worked a special magic of their own that had nothing to do with spells or witchcraft.

  When he finally pulled back from me, he whispered, “I have never in my life been so glad I got punched. Talk about a good cause…”

  I slid my hand up his arm, over his shoulder, and behind his neck. I was the one who did the kissing this time, and I tri
ed to match his effort. Not that I was an expert, by any means, but I hoped he enjoyed it. He seemed to.

  “I ought to go,” he said what that kiss was over. “You don’t want your roommates to come in and find you making out on the couch. They’d probably be shocked.”

  “They’d probably ch-cheer,” I told him honestly. “They think I don’t d-date enough.”

  “That’s hard to believe, a woman who looks like you. But I’m kinda glad to hear it, you know.” He put a hand on my blue jean-clad knee, but it was more of a friendly touch than a sexy one…although I sensed that it could turn sexy with a little encouragement. “You’re sure you’re all right? I can still take you to the ER if you think – ”

  “Do your k-kisses normally send women to the emergency room?”

  He laughed. “It’s been known to happen, but not lately. I’ll quit pestering you about it.” He took my hand, squeezed it, and stood up. “I’m glad I met you, Aren McAllister.”

  “And I’m really g-glad you came along when you did, Donovan Cole.”

  He angled his head toward the shelves of DVDs. “We hold our own rom-com-wise, don’t we?”

  “We’ll see,” I said.

  I didn’t try to stop him as he went out the door. He gave me a wave, a charming crooked smile, and said, “Call me tomorrow and let me know how you’re feeling. And don’t forget to tell the insurance company that you have a witness to back up your story.”

  “I won’t. And I will. Call you, I mean.”

  I eased the door closed behind him and locked it. I had thought that I was feeling overwhelmed when I left my parents’ house. Now the events of the evening were really too much to digest.

  So I didn’t try. I just rinsed out the coffee cups, then took a long, hot shower that I hoped would soak some of the aches and pains out of my body. I tried not to think about everything that had happened, from Ronnie Holt’s personal near-disaster to the kisses I had shared with Donovan Cole, with the Apocalypse Incident and life-long curses and the witches’ council in between. Yeah, I tried not to think about it.

  But it was still a long, long time before I was able to go to sleep.

  Chapter Nine

  I was still awake when Taylor and Beth came in. I heard them moving around and could have gotten up to ask them how the party went, but I didn’t feel like it. Besides, if I did Beth was liable to see the bandages on my hand, and being a doctor, she would want to know what happened. She would want to examine me, too, and I didn’t want her poking around on my bruised side. I was confident that I wasn’t seriously injured.

  When I woke up the next morning, I was stiff and sore, but not too bad. The bruise had turned even deeper shades of blue and purple, but it hadn’t spread much. I took several deep breaths without any pain. No cracked ribs, then.

  I stayed in my room until Taylor left for the office and Beth headed to the hospital. That was a little cowardly of me, maybe, but I just couldn’t face them yet. Too much had happened, and I still wasn’t sure how I felt about most of it.

  Another hot shower helped physically. After breakfast, I called the 800 number for my insurance company’s claims department and told them I had been rear-ended by a hit-and-run driver the night before. The person I spoke to wasn’t happy that there was no police report, but she gave me a claim number and told me the name of a paint and body shop where I could take my car to get it fixed. I told her I had a witness, but she said it wouldn’t be necessary to talk to Donovan. I had never put in a claim of any sort before, so I guess she was willing to take my word for what happened.

  I had promised Donovan a call anyway, even if the insurance company wasn’t going to be contacting him, so I dialed the number on the card he had given me. It was late enough he was probably in his office.

  But the call went straight to voicemail. Trying not to feel too disappointed about that, I said, “Hey, Donovan, it’s Aren McAllister. I just talked to the insurance company, and they don’t n-need a statement from you. Thanks anyway. And thank you again for all your help last night. I’m f-fine this morning, by the way, and I hope you are, too. Talk to you later.”

  Would I? I asked myself as I hung up. Would I talk to him again? I had fulfilled his request to let him know how I was feeling, and with the insurance matter apparently on its way to being settled, I shouldn’t have to contact him about that. Would I have any legitimate reason to call him again…other than those two kisses we’d shared, that is?

  I had a lot to do this morning, I thought as I took a deep breath, so I might as well get busy at it.

  The guys at the paint and body shop were nice and obviously had plenty of experience handling insurance claims. Since the car was drivable and they were going to have to order the new bumper for it, they told me to bring it back in a few days. By then maybe I could make arrangements to either rent or borrow a car so I could still get around.

  I think they were curious about the witch costume hanging in the back seat, but they didn’t ask any questions.

  From there I headed to Sherry Cathcart’s office. She had told me to call her this morning, but it was easier to just go by there since I had the costume to return.

  She looked up at me and smiled when I came in. “I knew you’d be here,” she said. “I remembered last night after you left that you hadn’t gotten your clothes.”

  “And there’s th-this to return, too,” I said as I held up the costume on the hanger where I had put it. “I’m afraid I didn’t have a chance to get it cl-cleaned – ”

  “Don’t worry about that,” she said as she stood up and took it from me. “I’ll take care of it. I hung your clothes up, too, but they’re still in the bathroom. I’ll go get them.”

  The bathroom was at the end of a short hall, beyond a little alcove where there was a counter with a microwave and a miniature refrigerator on it. While Sherry was gone, I found myself looking at her computer, which she had left on, of course.

  I wondered if there was any information about Angela Vandermeer on there.

  Without thinking about what I was doing, I stepped closer to the desk and leaned over so I could get a better look at the monitor screen. Sherry had a page up that had orders for jobs listed on it, but they were today’s. I thought maybe if I scrolled up…

  I had no right to do anything with her computer, of course. I knew that. And I was starting to think of her as a friend – she had waved a gun in a man’s face for me, after all – so it felt a little like a betrayal on my part as I grabbed the mouse and moved it. It was just that I’d felt a sudden surge of insatiable curiosity about the woman who had ordered that singing telegram for Ronnie Holt.

  The program listed a month’s worth of transactions at a time, so all I had to do was go up on the page a short distance, and there it was, Angela’s name along with Ronnie’s name and address and some number codes that didn’t mean anything to me, probably something to do with Sherry’s bookkeeping system.

  No address or any other information for Angela, though. But her name was underlined in blue, so I clicked on it as I listened for Sherry to come back from the bathroom with my clothes. She should have been back before now. I was taking a big risk.

  Another window popped up. On it were Angela’s name, address, and credit card info, right down to the security code on the back of the card, along with the words of the singing telegram I had delivered. It looked like my guess about her providing them to Sherry had been right.

  I committed the address to memory, then Xed out of that window and dragged the original one back down to where it had been as I heard Sherry’s footsteps in the hall. I was standing beside the desk but not leaning over the computer when she came back into the room.

  “All right, here you go,” she said as she held out a hanger with my jeans and shirt from the day before on it. “Sorry it took me a minute. I had to, ah, use the facilities.”

  “No problem,” I told her. My heart was still pounding so hard it seemed like she ought to be able to hear it. I couldn
’t believe I had just done such a thing. “Did you have any j-jobs for me today?”

  She made a face. “No, I’m sorry. This is kind of a seasonal business, and it always drops off for a while right after Halloween. But the closer it gets to Christmas, the busier we’ll be.” She gave me a considering look. “How do you feel about being a sexy elf? Or a sexy Mrs. Santa Claus?”

  The elf I supposed I could understand, but…“You really get c-calls for a sexy Mrs. Claus?”

  “Honey, you’d be surprised what some of the men in this world think is sexy,” she said with such an air of jaded world-weariness that I had to smile.

  She brightened and went on, “But I’ve got your number, and I’ll call you the minute I get something that’s right for you, okay?”

  “That’s fine,” I said. I tried to look a little disappointed, for Sherry’s sake, but I wasn’t, at all. I had other things to do.

  And they started with Angela Vandermeer.

  I said goodbye to Sherry and left. She probably hadn’t been able to see the damage to my car when I pulled in, and if she saw it as I was leaving she would just have to be curious about what had happened.

  My dad had been curious about Angela, and I was, too. As he had said, there were a lot of spells already floating around in the world, relatively harmlessly. But if she had known what she was doing and had really meant to hurt Ronnie Holt, somebody needed to have a talk with her. Since I had served as the instrument of her revenge, I thought that somebody ought to be me.

  It wasn’t common for me to go out of my way to talk to somebody, but that was what I was going to do now. Angela’s address was on a street on the edge of downtown, not far from the Bay Bridge. There were some new condominiums in that area, and I thought she might live in one of them since her address included a unit number. I headed up Ocean Drive in that direction.

  When I was on the right street I checked the numbers and saw that my hunch had been correct. Once a sort of rundown urban neighborhood, the block had been cleared and luxurious condos had sprung up. Angela had to be doing all right to live here.