Witchy Dreams

by Amanda M. Lee

  “I’m a great liar,” I countered.

  “You’re a terrible liar,” Jerry said. “I love you anyway.”

  I rested my head on Jerry’s chest, closing my eyes as I tried to wipe the events of the day from my mind. “What if he doesn’t understand?”

  “Then he never deserved you, Bug.”

  I considered his answer, ultimately lifting my lips and brushing them against his jaw line. “You’re my favorite person in the world.”

  “Right back at you, Bug. Right back at you.”

  I WASN’T sure when but, at some point, I fell asleep. Jerry shifted his body from beneath mine, trying to make me comfortable on the couch, ultimately waking me. “Where are you going?”

  “I have a date,” Jerry hedged.

  I glanced at the clock on the DVR. “It’s ten at night.”

  “I’m late,” Jerry admitted.

  “I’m sorry.” I forced myself into a sitting position. “I’ve ruined your night.”

  “Never, Bug. Never.”

  We were interrupted by the sound of a knock on the door.

  “Is that your date?”

  “I don’t think so,” Jerry said, moving toward the door. When he opened it, his whole body tensed. I couldn’t see who was on the other side. “You’re an ass.”

  I was stunned at Jerry’s words. “Who is it?”

  “Detective Taylor,” Jerry said, his words precise, cold, and dripping with disdain.

  My heart started pounding. “What does he want?”

  “You know what I know, Bug.”

  I couldn’t see Griffin, but I could hear his voice. “Can I come in?”

  “It’s late,” Jerry said.

  “You’re obviously up.”

  “Actually, Aisling was sleeping. I woke her when I was leaving. Come back tomorrow.”

  Silence.

  “Is he still there?” Part of me hoped this was a dream. A terrible, terrible dream.

  “I’m still here. Can I come in?”

  I bit my lower lip. Jerry glanced at me, shrugging to emphasize his helplessness. “It’s up to you, Bug.”

  I sighed. “Let him in.”

  I don’t know what I was expecting, but the man who appeared in the doorway was not the man I had met two weeks before. His face was drawn, his skin pale, his features uncertain. He shuffled in the open doorway, glancing between Jerry and me. “Can we talk?”

  “About what an ass you are?” Jerry was full of righteous indignation.

  Griffin shrugged. “Maybe.”

  Jerry’s face softened. “Are you here to apologize for being a bad man? See, I knew you weren’t an ass.”

  Griffin mustered the energy to roll his eyes. “I’m here to talk to Aisling.”

  Jerry bit his lower lip. “I can stay.”

  “Go on your date.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  Jerry fixed his eyes on Griffin. “If I come home and she’s crying, I’m going to … .”

  “What? Beat the crap out of me?”

  “No,” Jerry shook his head. “I’m going to really be mad at you, though. I’m going to call you names that would make your mother blush.”

  “Good to know.”

  Jerry shot one more glance in my direction. “Are you sure?”

  “Have a good date.”

  Once Jerry was gone and the door was closed, Griffin looked unsure. “I’m … I … are you upset?”

  I ran a hand through my hair and rubbed under my eyes. There wasn’t a mirror near – which is shocking when you live with Jerry – but I had no doubt that my eyeliner was dipping into the leftover rouge on my cheeks. “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine.”

  “Thanks for the compliment.”

  Griffin lifted his hands. “I don’t want to fight.”

  For lack of something better to do, I got to my feet and skirted around the coffee table. Only a few feet separated us. I was relieved to see that he didn’t step away from me when I closed the distance between us. “I don’t want to fight either.”

  “I’m just … it’s a lot to think about.”

  “I understand.”

  “I knew there was something about you, I just didn’t know it would be this big.”

  “I know,” I said. “I don’t blame you. If I were you, I would run the other way and pretend that what you saw never happened.”

  “You live with this,” Griffin said. “Every day, you live with this.”

  “It’s a different life,” I admitted.

  “And you’re not a monster?” Griffin was still unsure.

  “You’ll have to ask my brothers,” I shot back. “When I have PMS, they’ll all swear on a Bible that I’m the Devil.”

  Griffin smirked. “Is the Devil real?”

  “We send a lot of people to Hell, although, there are a lot of different hells. I guess it depends on what you believe.”

  “But you’ve never seen the Devil?”

  “Our part of the job stops when we put the scepter into an urn,” I said. “We’ve never seen anything beyond that.”

  Griffin chewed on his bottom lip. “Then how do you know you’re doing the right thing?”

  I held up my hands. “We don’t, I guess. It’s been this way forever, though. We do what we do. It is what it is.”

  Griffin took a step toward me. “And you’re not a monster?”

  “Are we going to go over that again?”

  “And you’re a real person?”

  I sighed. “I’m a real person.”

  “Good.”

  Griffin traversed the distance between us in a second. His lips were on mine – hot with need – before I realized what was happening. I thought about fighting the kiss, but I didn’t have the energy – or the want. His hands were suddenly tangled in my hair – his tongue in my mouth – and his desire was pressed firmly against my thigh. I answered his kiss with my own pent-up need, matching him tongue thrust for tongue thrust and moan for moan.

  I could have stopped it.

  I could have made him leave.

  Instead, I gave into the emotion and … fell.

  Thirty

  A typical woman would ask a man what sex meant the morning after. I was determined not to be that woman.

  “So, now what?”

  So much for not being that woman.

  I felt Griffin shift beside me. We had left a trail of clothing between the living room and the bedroom – and neither of us had gotten more than two hours sleep between very enthusiastic rounds. After the initial coupling, things were slower, more sensuous. Now that it was seven in the morning, though, I was starting to see the harsh light of day – and the problems ahead of us.

  “I don’t know,” Griffin admitted. “When I came here last night I didn’t think … .”

  I didn’t believe him. He knew what would happen. Now he was backtracking. I shifted my body away from his, immediately missing his warmth. “It’s fine.”

  Griffin must have read the coldness in my voice. “I don’t regret last night.”

  “It’s fine,” I repeated. “It was just … hormones.”

  Griffin snorted out a laugh. “Hormones were definitely a factor.”

  My heart solidified; I was already distancing myself.

  “They weren’t the only factor, though,” he added.

  Hope soared in my chest, and I immediately hated myself because of it. “I have to work today.”

  “You mean you have to suck souls.”

  “No. I mean I have to collect souls to help them move on.”

  Griffin sighed. “I didn’t mean … .”

  “I know what you meant.”

  “Aisling … I don’t know what this means.”

  I knew he was trying to be honest, but his words burned all the same. “It’s fine.” I moved to get out of the bed, but Griffin’s hand was on my arm before I could finish the trek.

  “It’s not fine,” Griffin said, his voice
firm. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come here last night.”

  I knew he regretted it, hearing it come from his mouth sent a dagger through my heart, though.

  “I’m not a child,” I said. “I know how this goes.”

  Griffin rubbed my arm with his index finger – twice – before pulling it away. I glanced over at him. With the morning light filtering through the blinds, he looked godlike. I immediately hated myself for thinking that.

  “It’s fine.”

  “You keep saying that,” Griffin said, struggling to a sitting position. Without his shirt on, he was more than I ever imagined. He clearly worked out. A lot. His chest was chiseled, but not bare. He wasn’t into the whole manscaping thing, which was a relief. There was a smattering of brown hair spreading across his chest, tapering down his six-pack, leading to … well, we all know what it was leading to.

  Crap.

  “I don’t know what this means,” Griffin said, brushing his hand through his hair to tame it. “I’m still … confused.”

  “Of course you are.” My attempts to rein in the tears were making my voice go icy. Griffin’s sigh of disgust finally gave me the courage to meet his eyes. “I don’t expect anything from you.”

  “You know, you’re really starting to piss me off.” That’s always what you want to hear when you’re in bed with a guy.

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t take that tone with me.”

  “What tone am I taking?”

  “You’re not the victim here,” Griffin exploded. “You’re not the one who was wronged here.”

  “And you are?”

  Griffin shrugged. “I don’t like to think of myself as a victim, but in this scenario I don’t know how to cast myself. You lied to me. I knew you were lying. I even knew you were hiding something big. I just didn’t realize that you were hiding this. This is beyond all … I still don’t even know what to think of it.”

  I scowled. It’s hard to be mad with a guy when he’s right. Hard, but not impossible. “You could have just let it go,” I said. “You could have just handled the mess at the retirement center and pretended you never met me. You could have walked away.”

  “No, I couldn’t.”

  “Why? It’s not like you can tell anyone what you saw,” I said. “If you try, they’ll drum you out and you’ll lose your job. You’d be the crazy ex-cop..”

  Griffin was on his feet, the morning light playing havoc with my imagination when I saw his ass up close and personal as he paced. Dammit! Why did he have to be so hot?

  “You don’t think I know that? You don’t think I’ve run every scenario through my head? You are impossible!”

  “Oh, like you’re some bowl of cherries.”

  Griffin paused. “What does that even mean?”

  “I don’t know,” I shrugged. “I don’t even like cherries.”

  Griffin barked out a laugh. “You are infuriating.”

  I focused on the blanket covering me, picking at it to keep my hands busy. “I’ve been told.”

  “I need to think.”

  That’s always what you want to hear a guy you just slept with – four times – tell you. “I figured.” Actually, I figured he would just walk out and I would never see him again.

  “I … I am intrigued by you,” Griffin admitted.

  I glanced up at him, trying to keep in check the hope building inside of me.

  “I find you fascinating and annoying every time I’m within twenty feet of you,” Griffin continued.

  “Thanks?” I wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

  “I need to think.”

  I put myself in his shoes for a second and then grimaced. “So, think.”

  TWO HOURS later I was on Eight Mile and furious.

  “Think? He needs time to think? He had four orgasms last night. Who needs to think after that?”

  “Did you say something, honey?”

  Eight Mile is a mess. Drug dealers. Homeless People. Prostitutes. It was the latter speaking to me now.

  “I’m sick of men,” I announced.

  The hooker smiled. “Join the club, honey. Join the club.”

  I had already collected two souls today – no muss, no fuss – and was waiting for the final assignment. I was in a particularly bad part of town – which fit my mood – and I was waiting for a gangbanger to meet his untimely fate. Still, the presence of a professional got my intellectual juices flowing.

  “You’ve been with a lot of guys, right?”

  The hooker glanced down at her tube top and thigh-high boots, and shrugged. “You think?”

  I ignored her sarcasm. “What do you do when a man sleeps with you – four fricking times, for crying out loud – and then says he has to think the next morning?”

  The prostitute smiled. “Thank the heavens that I demand money upfront?”

  Of course. “Don’t you date … what’s your name?”

  “Epiphany.”

  And I thought strippers had imaginative fake names. ” Do you date, Epiphany? I mean, you can’t work every night.”

  “Not according to my pimp.”

  I frowned. “Is he a dick?”

  “All men are dicks, honey. That’s why I have a profession in the first place.”

  “Does he beat you?” What? I’ve heard stories.

  Epiphany laughed, waving off my concerns. “That’s a movie thing, honey. If he beat me, I wouldn’t make much money.”

  “But he still takes your money?”

  Epiphany shrugged. “It’s like a corporation,” she said. “I need the corporation to find clients. They know where the clients are. When I find those clients, they get a share. That’s just how it works.”

  Men are scum. “But you do all the work.”

  “It’s not really work,” Epiphany hedged. “I just kind of lay there.”

  “Don’t they want blow jobs and stuff?”

  “I’m lazy.”

  That was probably why she still needed a pimp. Still, I kind of liked her. “You should probably find another corner.”

  “Are you claiming this one?” She looked surprised.

  I glanced down at my outfit: Simple jeans, my new Justice League Converse, a hoodie and lilac tee. “No.”

  “Then why do you want me to leave?” Epiphany looked annoyed.

  I considered lying, but that seemed like too much effort. “Because there’s going to be a shooting here in about three minutes and you don’t want to be in the crossfire – or questioned by the cops.”

  Epiphany raised her eyebrows. “You a gang ho?”

  “Yep.”

  Epiphany nodded her head. “’Thanks for the heads up.”

  Once she was gone, I waited. I heard the screech of tires from two blocks over before I realized the door of the house behind me was opening. I glanced behind me; the guy on the porch already had a semi-automatic in his hand and was waiting. He knew something bad was coming.

  “This isn’t going to end well for you,” I warned.

  “Shut your mouth, bitch.”

  “Darnell, that’s your name, right? Darnell, you’re going to get shot in a few seconds.” I don’t know why I was talking to him. It wasn’t as though I was trying to save him or anything. It just seemed the right thing to do.

  “Shut your mouth!”

  “You’ve been a bad guy. You can still fix your life.”

  “Shut up!”

  “You’re going to Hell.”

  Darnell faltered. “Do you want me to kill you?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Then stop telling me I’m going to Hell. I’m in the right here.”

  “Something tells me you deserve it,” I continued. “You’ve got ‘dick’ written all over you. You could still … .”

  It was too late. The 1975 Chevy was already on the street, the windows down. I slipped the ring in my pocket on my finger – moved a few feet away -- and waited. It didn’t take long. Darnell opened fire first, but the two guys in the Chevy
were more accurate. As Darnell fell, I saw his eyes search the spot where he had last seen me standing before I disappeared.

  I wanted to feel remorse. I wanted to feel sympathy. All I felt was annoyed. Men are really stupid – and this one deserved what was coming to him.

  Thirty-One

  “I know I don’t have to tell you this, but men suck!” I threw open the front door to the condo in dramatic fashion.

  I had expected Jerry to be on the couch waiting for me, Blue Moon ice cream in hand, a stack of sappy Blu-Rays on the coffee table, and open arms and ears to listen to my crappy, crappy day.

  Jerry was on the couch all right, he just wasn’t alone. I couldn’t see his friend’s face – it being pressed against Jerry’s as they rolled around on the couch – but I recognized the figure all the same. Aidan.

  “You have got to be kidding me!”

  Aidan and Jerry scattered, both seeking opposite ends of the couch and – if their heaving chests were any indication – huge gulps of oxygen.

  “I … um … it’s not what it looks like,” Jerry said, rubbing his hand through his hair and trying to straighten his shirt.

  “Yeah,” Aidan agreed, mirroring Jerry’s movement as he tried to put himself back in order. “It was an accident.”

  “An accident? What, did someone trip and accidentally stick their tongue in someone else’s mouth?”

  “Don’t be crass,” Jerry chastised. “It was just one of those things. I was watching television, waiting for you because I knew you were still upset about what happened. Where were you, by the way?”

  “Working,” I snapped. “I’ve had a really crappy day.”

  “You already said that, Bug.”

  “Why?” Aidan asked, instantly alert. “Did you run into another wraith?”

  No, I had sex and then got jilted before the sun was barely up the next day. “No,” I shook my head. “It’s just been a bad day.”

  “She was upset about the whole Griffin thing,” Jerry said. “She thinks he’s gone for good.” Jerry raised a hand to his heart. “It’s really sad. I think she really liked him.”

  Something occurred to me. “Where were you last night?”

  Jerry blinked, the change in conversation jolting him. “What?”

  “Where were you last night?”