by Layla Frost
“You must’ve—”
“And how did it turn on and off?”
“Maybe the batteries—”
Another thought hit me. “I don’t feel you.”
“What?”
“I don’t—” Like a physical wave crashing over me, awareness of him slid across my body, goose bumps following in its path. “See?” My voice was a breathy rasp. “I haven’t felt that all week. How?”
“About your date…”
I wanted to know why I could feel him again, but my curiosity got the best of me. “What about it?”
There was a breeze, as if he were moving back and forth. “If someone’s conscience demanded they be completely honest, that’s their decision.”
“Aha! So you admit it?” I began pacing, too, shaking my head as I went. “You made him say all that.”
“Yes, my little hellion.”
“You ruined—”
“But I didn’t make him think any of it. I merely made him say what was already in his twisted brain.”
I covered my head, as if my hands offered any sort of barrier. “You can read minds?”
Every perverse and crazy thing I’d thought rushed to the front of my mind, and I yelped, trying my hardest to clear them away.
Picture a beach.
Banana hammocks.
Baseball.
Tight asses in tight pants.
A tranquil mountain.
Sex by a fire.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“I can’t read thoughts. It’s…” he started, pausing for a moment before finishing, “complicated.”
“Simplify it then.”
“I can read emotion. With you, I feel what you feel. With others, I need to focus and their emotions need to be extreme. It’s complicated,” he repeated, making me think he was hiding something.
“Do you know what I’m thinking?” I gestured around my head like a mad woman. “Like you did with him, can you make me say my deepest secrets?”
“No!” he said vehemently. “I’d never do that to you. His were broadcasting loud and clear—I didn’t even make him say the worst of them.”
My steps halted. “It was that bad?”
“If things went well and he decided to call you again, he was going to make you stop eating curry and spices so he didn’t have to smell them on you.”
“Oh.”
As far as strikes go, that one’s worth more than a billion.
“And he never goes down,” he continued, “but expects it daily.”
And there’s another billion.
Not wanting to waste any more headspace on Dan, I moved on to what mattered. “How did I not feel you?”
“Don’t you want to know what he thought was going to happen?”
Shaking my head, I dryly muttered, “I can guess.”
“I think you should call Lula and Chase. They need to know.”
Shit, he was right. “Don’t think you’re getting out of this that easily. And don’t even think about leaving this room.” Grabbing my cell, I dialed Lula’s number.
“Uh-oh,” she said as the call connected. “This isn’t a good sign.”
“Nope. I have to make this quick.”
“Do I need to get you bail money?” she asked. Like any good friend, her question was the perfect mix of teasing and genuine. She’d have my back, but in all likelihood, she’d be in the cell with me.
“No bail.” I glared at the other side of the room, though I wasn’t even sure if he was still there. “Not yet, anyway.”
“Okay, what’s going on?”
“Dan is a major dick. He’s jealous of Chase and planned to try to sleep with you. Then he met me and expanded his never-gonna-happen fantasy to include both of us. Said we seemed the type. And he picked Italian food, only to dissect his sauce. It was weird. He’s not to be trusted.”
“He won’t remember tonight,” The Voice chimed in.
No longer just the voice, his shenanigans had confirmed he was a… Well, he was a someone. The Voice.
“But he won’t remember tonight,” I echoed, relief filling me.
Thank God. I did not wanna have to explain the flying dildo.
“Holy shit.” Lula’s tone was stunned before she shushed a questioning Chase. “Did he get hammered?”
“Yeah, something like that. So, don’t bring it up because he’s not going to remember, but don’t trust him, either.”
“What a creep. I’m uninviting him to the wedding.”
“I don’t think he’ll be too broken up. I’ll eat his slice of cake.”
“I’ve gotta tell Chase. Sorry it was such a disaster.” Lula’s voice softened, filling with affection and sympathy. “I thought you were being your—okay, our usual overdramatic about being cursed, but now…”
“I know.” My attention went to the side of the room, as I added, “And I’m beginning to think I know why. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Good night,” Lula said to me before a muffled, “So get this shit…”
Clicking off, I asked, “Where were we?”
But there was no response.
He was gone.
Chapter Eight
The Magic of Pushing It Real Good
Denny
“HOW DID IT GO?”
“Shut up,” I snarled, glaring at the empty room. I was beginning to suspect my face would permanently freeze like that.
For a disembodied voice, he had a real knack for pissing me off.
His muffled chuckle added to my rage. “I told you so.”
Snorting, I tossed my bag on my desk. “Yeah, like I’m trusting you.”
After he’d messed with my date, I’d spent a few days researching local people who might be able to help get him out of my life.
I’d started with a psychic outside of town who had promising Yelp reviews. Apparently, Yelp was good for picking restaurants but unreliable for psychics because it’d only taken two minutes to confirm she was a con artist. That had also been enough time to almost land me in a padded room.
For someone with hanging crystals, burning incense, and hocus pocus supplies, she was not open-minded about the spiritual world. I’d barely even begun my story when her eyes had gone wide and she’d lunged for her phone. I’d hoped she was gathering powerful reinforcements, but she’d threatened to call the cops if I didn’t leave because I ‘clearly needed help’ and ‘none of that shit was real.’
Not a pleasant experience.
Nor were the following two. Those had ended with the ‘psychics’ telling me it would take a hefty bank loan to fund the process, not threats, so at least they were an improvement.
I’d been leery to try again, but one of the women in town was always bragging about her niece being a witch. Not wanting The Voice to overhear, I’d left the house to call her, but it’d been a colossal waste of time.
Sitting in my desk chair, I spun around. “The witch I talked to suggested I salt and burn your body.”
“Only two issues with that,” he pointed out.
“And those are?”
“There’s no body since I’m not dead.”
“Says you.” Since he didn’t know—or at least wasn’t sharing—who he was, it was a dead end anyway. Still, I asked, “And the second?”
“Digging up graves is hard work, and I don’t think Sam and Dean are available to help.” He chuckled again. “Does she really think TV shows are an accurate method of witchcraft? Maybe she’ll regale you with stories of her teenage years with her aunts, her vampire slayer best friend, or her hapless husband, Darrin.”
As the proud owner of seventeen Supernatural tees, I knew my shit. I’d been able to keep it together when she’d suggested salting and burning the bones, but when she’d asked for money in exchange for ancient symbols and the Latin chant the brothers commonly used, I’d asked if I should be on the lookout for Crowley and some crossroad demons.
I couldn’t hold in my laughter. “Okay, she was another
fraud.”
“You think?” he muttered snarkily.
I’m rubbing off on him.
If only…
Shaking my head to clear my dirty thoughts, I sighed. “I give up.”
“Does that mean you’re cancelling the meeting with the psychic magician?”
My brows shot up. “How did you—”
“If you’re setting secret meetings, maybe don’t write them in your schedule and then leave it open to that page.”
I mentally smacked my forehead. He didn’t need his talents to track me since I’d been writing him a step-by-step guide to my life.
“Any chance you’re planning on just leaving?” I asked.
“Where you go, I go.”
“That’s what I thought.” Pulling out my phone, I brought up a number I’d come across on some message board.
A moment later, a craggily voice asked, “What?”
“Mr. Hale?
The entire vibe of the room changed. The hair on my arms stood up. My chest was heavy as I sucked in air, my lungs suddenly panicked there’d be a shortage.
“Hang up the phone, Denny,” The Voice ordered, no playful teasing in his tone. “Now.”
There was a low growl through the phone. “How did you get this number?”
“Uhhhh… Google?”
“God damn internet is everywhere. No fucking privacy. Don’t call here again.”
“Listen to the man,” The Voice ordered quietly. “Hang up. Now!”
“Wait!” I shouted into the phone, holding up my middle finger to The Voice. “Is it true you can help me with a… visitor?”
“What kind of visitor?” Mr. Hale asked.
“The, um, hard to see kind.”
“Is this your cell?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll text you instructions. Follow them exactly or don’t bother at all. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Leave wherever you are, and I’ll be in touch within the week.”
My brows lowered as I looked around. “Leave?”
“There’s no such thing as a peaceful hard to see visitor. Get. Out.”
With that ominous order, the call disconnected.
“What did you do, Denny?” The Voice asked. The small breeze let me know he was pacing. “Didn’t you learn not to talk to strangers on the internet? Stranger danger.”
“Hey, I’m not ten.”
All my attempts at getting rid of him had been met by his amusement, as though he thought I was cute. This was the first time he genuinely seemed concerned.
“Why does it matter? Who is he?” I asked.
“I don’t know.” At my disbelieving expression, he added, “Honestly, I don’t. But as soon as I heard his voice, I knew something was wrong. This is bad.”
There was a pit the size of the Grand Canyon in my belly that told me the same thing.
Hell.
_______________
With Halloween less than a week away, the town began to fill with mystic believers and fans of the dark arts. Every hotel, motel, B&B, and inn were full. There were lines out the doors of businesses, and tours were booking fast. The gathering crowds of self-proclaimed witches and warlocks swore they were the most powerful yet.
It was amazing how many of them looked like stoner college kids, one bong hit away from a hacky sack circle.
Careful not to hit anyone, I backed my car out of the driveway. “Are you there?”
Only silence.
Since talking with Mr. Hale the day before, I hadn’t felt anything. I hadn’t heard anything. Though The Voice had fooled me once before, I was really starting to believe he’d finally left.
I missed him.
Obviously, that irrational feeling was a sign my craziness was no longer impending.
It was there, my tinfoil hat as technicolored as the padded room I needed.
I may have liked him a bit—okay, a lot—but I still felt exposed and vulnerable because I had no clue when and where he’d show up.
Since tying a bell around his neck to alert me he was there wasn’t an option, I needed to do… something. I couldn’t live with a privacy-invading busybody.
So, I’d done what anyone in my place would do.
I’d talked to the stoners.
Most of them had looked at me like I was the one tripping. One had actually tried to put his hand through my face, convinced I was his spirit guide. The only real help I’d gotten was when a witch had been kind enough to share the link to her Wiccan message board.
I’d posted late at night and had woken up to hundreds of responses.
Most were questions for me. My predicament had drawn excitement, curiosity, and even mocking skepticism from the group, but little actual assistance. For a bunch of supposed witches, they had very little knowledge of anything paranormal unless it came from books, TV, or movies.
Only one person had offered me any hope.
Following my GPS, I headed toward the address she’d sent.
Like The Voice had pointed out, talking to strangers on the internet was risky. Meeting up with one was likely a preamble to my very own Unsolved Mysteries episode. But the address she’d given me was for a business a few towns over and it was the middle of the day, so I was comfortable with walking by to check it out.
Or maybe my desperation had overtaken my common sense, and I was flinging myself into the kind of danger usually reserved for campy horror movies.
Either way.
I didn’t know what I was going to do if it was another scam. The Voice wasn’t bad. I certainly didn’t want anything to happen to him because, contrary to Hale’s claims, The Voice was peaceful. I wasn’t sure how I knew, but I’d bet my life he’d never hurt me. He seemed to care about me more than most living people did. But that didn’t negate the fact he’d had the ability to force Dan to spew his inner thoughts, and I personally had a lot of those I would like to keep to myself.
He needed to go, I just didn’t want him to go permanently, in the dead kind of way. Hence why I was visiting the witch and not waiting for Hale.
Hale meant danger and damage. Hale meant harm. Again, I wasn’t sure how, but I knew it deep in my soul.
Unless a certain busybody voice was using his mind tricks to make me think that.
Growing more and more frustrated with my circular thoughts, I stopped at a red light and banged my head against the steering wheel.
If I wasn’t crazy before, I will be soon enough.
I lifted my head and glanced out the window before doing a double take. A whole cluster of people were staring, having witnessed me using my forehead as a hammer.
Tempted as I was to cross my eyes and stick out my tongue, I fought the urge.
I had a strong suspicion the gossip would be bad enough as it was.
_______________
Pulling into a public parking lot, I put my car in park and looked around the cute area. Wednesday afternoon shoppers milled about the little stores that lined the main street, giving it a retro small-town-Americana feel.
While some may have been surprised to learn a witch had a shop in such a place, I knew what could hide in wholesome small towns.
“Speak up now,” I said to my empty car.
Nothing.
More confident in my decision, I got out and made the short walk to the address. I could’ve window shopped for hours, but I forced myself onward until my phone pinged, informing me I’d reached my destination.
What it hadn’t told me was that it was my dream destination.
Taking a step back to the edge of the curb, I scanned the glass storefront. Novel Idea was a novelty shop that was positioned between a bookstore and a candy shop.
I don’t know how legit this witch is, but I’m certain she’s an amazing human and I want to be her in a non-creepy way…
Okay, in a bit of a creepy way.
My shopping senses tingled as I excitedly pushed the door open. A jingle of chimes filled the air and the
smell of fresh coffee, sugary cotton candy, and old books filled my nose all at once, letting me know the stores were interconnected before I even saw the openings.
I’ve died.
I’ve died and landed in my own personal heaven.
Displays of board games, mystery boxed figures, and comics filled the small store. There were more shelves I couldn’t see from my position, but before I could browse, a woman jumped out of a back room.
Her petite body was tense and defensive as her wide green eyes looked me over. I may have been an inch or so taller with a bit more weight on me, but I had no doubt she could kick my ass should she want to.
And I got the distinct impression she wanted to.
Wanting to defuse the situation before that happened, I gave her a goofy wave. “Uh, hi. I’m Denny. I think we talked online?”
Her face lit up, all traces of hostility gone. “Hi! Phew, that explains it.”
“Explains what?”
“You have magicks all over you. It practically lit up the whole store.” At my grimace, she gave me a reassuring smile. “It’s better it lit up than went dark. If it was black magicks, you’d be hogged tied on the floor right now… No offense.”
“None taken.”
Her voice was so pretty, she could’ve meant all the offense in the world, and I’d likely have been okay with it. Actually, she could’ve told me that if her dog had a face like mine, she’d shave its ass and teach it to walk backwards, and I’d have asked for her to repeat it so I could hear her speak again. The melodic lilt was just that beautiful.
Her nose crinkled as she sniffed. “It’s strong magicks, more powerful than any I’ve encountered. A male, old and unlike anything I know.”
“You can tell that by scent?” I asked.
Her brows lowered. “What?”
I pointed to my nose. “You were sniffing.”
She laughed, shaking her head. A messy bun of blue and pink hair wobbled with the movement. “No, no. Allergies are kicking my ass.”
Embarrassment heated my cheeks and I cringed at my stupid question.
Stop being so awkward, Denny.
And while you’re at it, try being taller, brunette, and a few years older so you’re more established in your career.
All of that is about as likely as you not being awkward.