It wasn't a question.
"Maybe a little," Beatrix admitted, setting down the tray of glass vials she was holding. She twisted one lock of long red hair around her finger and scrunched up her face. "You know how it is," she sighed. "These warlocks my mother finds to set me up with, they're..." She made a sound.
"Inappropriate?" Shauna offered. "Not your type?"
"That would be an improvement," Beatrix let out a long breath. "I'm sorry if I'm a bit tense—"
"You're more than tense," Onyx interrupted. "Why don't you take that relaxation solution that Wade gave you?"
"Because it works too well," Beatrix shook her head. "And I need to keep my wits about me. The last guy my mother set me up with was really handsy." She scowled at the memory.
"Oh, I remember," Shauna smiled faintly. "You cursed his fingernails to fall off."
"He had it coming!" Beatrix said defensively. "He should have listened when I told him to keep his dirty hands to himself."
"Remind us why you agreed to meet this guy, then," Onyx grimaced. He peeled off his gloves and examined his own black painted fingernails, checking for chips. "I mean, you're always saying you don't do relationships anyway."
"It's just one date. Hardly a relationship," Beatrix said. "My mother just sort of...told me it was happening. You know what she's like."
"She's certainly an intimidating presence," Onyx said, putting his gloves back on and returning to the lavender. "Like an approaching reaper; we mere mortals tremble before her."
"No, she's not!" Beatrix shot back defensively. The urge to defend her mother was instinctual, but deep down, Beatrix had to admit that Onyx had a point.
"You wanted to make your mum happy," Shauna cut in, nodding to show she understood. "And that's very sweet, Bea, but you shouldn't let her control your love life. Not if you don't want to date a warlock."
"It's not that I'd mind dating a warlock," Beatrix protested. "Just... Not one of the ones Mum seems to find for me."
"She does seem to find some interesting characters," Onyx agreed. "Wasn't the last guy into polyamory? I mean, it's pretty common these days, but I guess if it's not your thing..."
"It wasn't just that," Beatrix shook her head. "He was into polyamory, but only for him. He wanted to build himself a harem. Disgusting man."
"Is polyamory considered normal these days?" Shauna wondered out loud. "Your generation is weird. This is exactly why I'm not putting myself back out there on the meat market. No thank you!"
Beatrix laughed, wrinkling up her nose. "You're not that much older than us, Shauna!" She couldn't deny, however, that Shauna had decades on her when it came to maturity.
"What are you going to wear?" Onyx asked. "Not that, surely." He gave a disdainful shake of his head at Beatrix's outfit; black skinny jeans with miscellaneous stains and a faded t-shirt that proclaimed, "Redheads do it better".
"No, I'll put on a dress," Beatrix said. "Brush my hair, put on lipstick, all that crap." She sighed. "This Rowan better be nicer than the last guy if I'm putting in all this effort."
"Where are you meeting him?" Shauna asked.
"Some vegan restaurant he chose," Beatrix shrugged. "It looked okay on the website."
"You should have a pie before you go," Shauna advised. "Don't want to starve through your date."
Beatrix huffed out a breath of laughter. "You're not wrong."
"Go and get ready," Onyx said, giving her a playful shove. "Stop hovering, boss."
"Fine," Beatrix said, setting down the vial she was holding. "Just remember to—"
"Get those in the humidifier, yes, we know," Shauna finished, while Onyx gave her a knowing look. "We've got it covered, boss."
"I know you do," Beatrix said, taking off her gloves and rubbing her eyes. "Sorry, I shouldn't fuss at you. You guys are awesome."
"Indeed we are," Onyx agreed. "You should trust us more."
Beatrix stuck her tongue out at him, but after one final anxious look around the workshop, she left them to it.
✽✽✽
It took less than sixty-three seconds for Beatrix to decide that Rowan was definitely not worth the effort of putting on a dress, setting her long hair in loose curls, and driving for forty-five minutes before getting into a stand-off with a four-wheel-drive over a decent parking spot. He definitely wasn't worth the delicate little sandals she had worn instead of her favourite Air Max 1s, either.
The first thing she noticed about Rowan wasn't his greasy man bun, nor his paunchy little belly peeking out from over the top of his creased linen trousers, but his smell. He smelled like sweat, tofu, and musty bong water. Beatrix experienced a moment of absolute fury at her mother for setting her up with this guy, but, still, she forced her face into a smile. Maybe he was a great conversationalist.
"- and that's why I've had the yurt set up on my uncle's property for the last few months. After I was asked to leave the last place, that is. I just need a lot of space, you know? Didn't want to be bothered by anyone," Rowan said, stopping only to take a large gulp of organic white wine.
"I see," Beatrix said, still trying to be polite, not that Rowan especially deserved it. "I like having my own space," she ventured, trying to tempt him into actually asking her a question. "That's why I bought some land out near the mountains. Set up my home and workshop in the same place. And it's wilderness all around, feels really great to be away from the city."
Rowan looked at her and blinked slowly. "I lived in the mountains for a while," he began instead. "Set up my yurt near that Fae community there. You'd think they'd be glad to have someone like me nearby, but would you believe they tried to force me to move on? Tricky bastards, the Fae, I've never liked them. I mean, the women are alright to look at, but—"
Beatrix covered her mouth with her hand to ensure that Rowan didn't hear the noise of disgust she made. Not that he was listening. She picked at her beetroot and walnut loaf and wished passionately she was at home on her sofa wearing fluffy pyjama pants instead of dressed to the nines for this idiot.
Beatrix wasn't paying much attention to what Rowan was saying, instead periodically treating herself to sneak peeks at her watch. She couldn't wait for a socially acceptable amount of time to pass so she could get the hell away from stinky Rowan.
"So, do you want to get dessert, or just come back to my yurt for some sweet action of our own?" Rowan said suddenly, giving her what he must have assumed was a confidently sexy smirk. In reality, it just highlighted that his lack of personal hygiene extended to his rather yellow teeth.
"Excuse me?" Beatrix said, feeling her amused irritation rise to something like anger.
"Come on, you've been playing coy, but we both know where this is going," Rowan said, reaching out one hand towards Beatrix. "I mean, you're a bit skinnier than I usually like - I prefer a woman with proper childbearing hips - but I'll make an exception."
"There is," Beatrix said, with as much calm as she could possibly muster, "zero possibility of me ever going anywhere near your yurt. Even if you did manage to have a shower first."
Rowan looked at her, incredulous and clearly offended. "Wow," he stood up dramatically, folding his arms and letting his chair clatter to the ground. "Didn't realise you were so shallow. So obsessed with Ordinary concepts, like showering and—"
"Basic hygiene?" Beatrix supplied. "Yeah, well, you got me there. I'm really shallow about that kind of thing. What can I say? I just prefer a man who washes regularly. And knows what a toothbrush is."
Rowan gave her a scathing look. "No wonder your mother has to set up dates for you," he said, sniffing loudly before leaving the restaurant with as much dignity as a fully grown man in Crocs could muster. He had, of course, left her with the bill.
Beatrix sighed out loud. Well, it still hadn't been quite as bad as the last date her mother had arranged. She hadn't had to curse Rowan, after all.
A waitress came over, embarrassed and scrunching up her face in sympathy. "Shall I, uh, get the bill for you?"
"I think you need it," the waitress agreed, picking up Rowan's empty plate and Beatrix's mostly full one.
"Yeah," Beatrix said under her breath. "I really do."
✽✽✽
"Come on, pick up, pick up!" Beatrix muttered as she drove down the highway, as far away from Rowan and the trendy vegan restaurant as her little hybrid car would take her.
The dial tone rang again, and Beatrix was about to give up and switch to blasting angry feminist punk rock when a voice answered.
"Hello?" a man's voice, slow and amiable.
"Hi, is that you, Rufus?" Beatrix said. "It's Beatrix, is my mother there?"
"Your mother..." Rufus said thoughtfully. "It's the New Moon. She's busy preparing for the bonfire and—"
"I need to talk to her right now," Beatrix said forcefully. "Even if she is busy. It's important."
"I'll see what I can do," Rufus said, but he sounded doubtful.
Beatrix waited for a long time, drumming her fingers impatiently on the steering wheel as she drove. Just when she thought Rufus had been waylaid by one of his own hallucinogenic mushroom teas, she heard a brief flurry of voices and the sound of the battered old landline phone being picked up.
"Daughter?" a very familiar voice came through the car's tinny speaker. A rich, powerful voice that made you instantly feel like you'd do whatever it took to earn the speaker's approval. It was a hell of a voice to grow up with. Beatrix knew that for a fact.
"Mum," Beatrix began. "Why did you set me up with a stinky, homeless misogynist?"
"A stinky homeless what?" Agnes gave a throaty laugh. "My child, I don't know what you're talking about. I thought you were meeting young Rowan this evening."
"I did," Beatrix replied testily. "That's who I meant. He lives in a tent, he smells like a locker room, talked about himself non-stop, and had the gall to assume that I was warm for his form. Disgusting man! If he's such a bloody powerful warlock, why is he squatting in his uncle's field?"
"I'm sure you're being very unkind," Agnes said in her voice like molten honey. "His mother is a very dear friend of mine, and she assured me he's a most handsome and charming young man."
"Wait," Beatrix had a sinking feeling in her stomach, but she shouldn't have been surprised. "Have you ever actually met him?"
"Well, not on this earthly plane, no," Agnes said delicately. "But in spirit—"
"I don't care what his spirit is like," Beatrix cut in. "He was disgusting. And rude. And arrogant."
"He can't have been. His mother is a highly respected—"
"She might very well be, but she's crap at raising sons," Beatrix sighed. "This is it, Mum. Seriously. No more setting me up with anyone. I'm not going out with any more of these warlocks you find."
"But daughter, how else are you going to meet someone appropriate? You're not at all involved in our community. If you'd only think about moving home—"
"I am involved," Beatrix objected. "I catch up with Wade every couple of months."
"Wade is not..." Agnes sniffed. "He is not the sort of warlock I have in mind for you. He didn't grow up in our world. And he charges money for magical services! It's revolting. An outrage!"
"So do I, technically," Beatrix pointed out, knowing that it would enrage her mother. But maybe she wanted to enrage her a little. Her mother deserved to suffer after setting her up with someone like Rowan. "I mean, business is booming. Did I tell you that we were featured in Glamourous magazine? Orders have been coming in faster than we can fill them, and we're in talks with distributors in Korea, and—"
"Do you want to hurt me, daughter?" Agnes sounded wounded. "Sharing our knowledge, our customs, our sacred connection to the magical world with Ordinaries. For profit!"
"I'm not doing it to hurt you, Mum," Beatrix let out a deep breath. "I just couldn't stand seeing so many of my friends pay through the nose for skincare that didn't actually work. Not when I knew I could help them. And why wouldn't I want to be paid? It's bloody hard work growing all the herbs, harvesting them, performing the rituals. Not to mention getting safety approvals, and holy crap, doing my taxes and—"
"My child, you know this rebellion of yours disappoints me greatly," Agnes sniffed haughtily. "I can only hope that one day you will see the error of your youthful folly. If you'd only meet a nice young warlock - someone more traditional - then you'd settle down with your community and honour our way of life."
"I've told you, Mum," Beatrix said. "I don't want to live on a commune. And I don't want to marry a warlock. I don't want a relationship, I told you. I like being alone."
"You're breaking my heart, daughter," Agnes said dramatically, and she sounded like she might just cry down the phone line. But then her voice changed suddenly. "But we must speak of this further anon, my child. My responsibilities to the community demand my presence. I must get off this infernal device."
"Enjoy the bonfire, Mum," Beatrix said drily. She knew that "community responsibilities" meant that her mother would shortly be leading a troop of assorted nude witches and warlocks in a chant around a sacred bonfire.
You'd think it would be fun growing up with one of Australia's most powerful witches for a mother, Beatrix thought bitterly. Not even a little bit.
✽✽✽
"What a waste of an evening," Beatrix sighed as she pulled her car onto the dirt track that snaked off the main road. "All that effort, for nothing. For Rowan." She spat out the word, still disgusted that he had honestly thought that she might want to go home with him. Maybe Rowan really was a great warlock if he had managed to enchant himself into believing he was a desirable mate.
She pulled up outside her house, rising up from between the trees like an enormous log cabin, and turned the engine off. A vast dark shape came hurtling towards her car at top speed.
"Gumbo!" Beatrix wrapped her arms around the frantically licking mass of fur. "I'm sorry, my darling boy. Did you miss me? I missed you. I would much rather have spent my evening with you, gorgeous baby."
For his part, Gumbo - an enormous black and tan dog of unknown heritage - licked Beatrix resolutely under the chin, looking up at her with adoring eyes.
"Come on, let's get inside," she said, pushing him off her and fumbling for her keys. "I need some chocolate and true crime after the night I've had."
Wagging his tail furiously, Gumbo followed her to the door. Beatrix's house was another thing that seemed to upset her mother. Maybe she should have expected it.
Her mother had, of course, been horrified when Beatrix purchased this plot of land, nowhere near the commune where she had grown up. It was bad enough, Agnes had said, that Beatrix had insisted on moving out, going to an Ordinary university, and taking an Ordinary job, but she had assumed it was merely youthful rebellion. But buying land and setting up a business? That was entirely too serious, too real to be written off as an experiment.
But Beatrix really had thought her mother would like her house. After all, she had worked hard with a local architect to source recycled materials, and she was sure that it was the most energy-efficient building in Sydney, particularly after the magical modifications she had made. But, Beatrix thought as she clapped to switch on the lights, perhaps she should have known better.
Her mother would never approve of a dwelling with electricity, and Beatrix had let Onyx go to town with smart technology in her little eco lodge. From the ambient lights controlled by her phone, the speakers embedded into every wall, to the fridge that she could look inside when she was shopping for groceries, her mother hated the lot. Agnes barely tolerated the single battered landline telephone at the commune.
Gumbo followed her into the kitchen as Beatrix searched through the reclaimed timber cupboards and gleaming stainless steel fridge, his mouth already drooling in anticipation.
"You've had dinner!" Beatrix admonished him. Gumbo gave her a deeply hurt expression. "Fine," she said. "I suppos
e you do deserve a treat, with me being out all evening. And I deserve one too."
She opened the pantry and took out the dog biscuits, along with a box of homemade chocolates filled with honeycomb ganache for herself. Browsing the fridge, she selected a can of the locally made craft beer that Shauna had recommended to her. It was rather more hoppy than Beatrix preferred, but the high alcohol content was exactly what she needed after her evening with Rowan.
Gumbo sat obediently as soon as he saw the treat in her hand, his tail wagging furiously from side to side on the polished concrete floor. He licked his chops in almost religious adoration, but he didn't move a muscle as Beatrix placed the treat in front of him, waiting for her signal.
"Go on!" she said, and Gumbo jumped forward, swallowing down the treat in a single grateful gulp. "Dude, you'd enjoy it a lot more if you'd actually chew, you know. I don't know how you even taste it like that."
Gumbo, however, seemed extremely satisfied as he followed Beatrix to the living room, where a comfortable leather sofa provided ample reclining space for both woman and enormous dog. Beatrix slipped off her sexy - but uncomfortably tight - little black dress, leaving it in a heap on the coffee table beside her basket of embroidery supplies. She sat down gratefully, letting her body sink into the well-worn leather, Gumbo's massive snout on her bare knee.
"I missed you too, buddy," she said softly, scratching between his ears. "No more dates, okay? Just me and you. You're the only man I need in my life."
Gumbo whined contentedly and closed his eyes.
"You're the laziest damn dog," Beatrix shook her head. "You were sleeping the whole time I was out." It wasn't a guess - Beatrix had checked the wireless cameras spread throughout her house and had seen her huge dog fast asleep on the sofa, his snout occasionally twitching as he dreamed of long walks and bags of treats.
She flicked on the TV, selected a particularly large piece of chocolate, and cracked open her beer. Why would she bother with dating anyone when she could have this?
Witch Way Now: A Paranormal Romantic Comedy (Raising Hell Downunder Book 4) Page 2