Something Wicked

by Sterling, Jillian

  For six months he had kept himself in check, keeping an indifferent eye on her, just like he promised he would. But everyday he spent under her roof, he grew more and more attached to this funny woman, who worked herself to the bone to keep her grandmother's house and to pay her grandmother's debts, putting off her own education in favor of taking care of her familial obligations. He never once heard her complain about it either.

  His breath quickened when he thought about the first time he met her, sopping wet hair soaking the back of her oversized tee-shirt. A towel was wrapped around her waist for good measure, and he remembered the curve of her thigh peeking out of the slit in front. At the sight of her leg, and the promise of what else she was hiding under that towel, Finn almost forgot the 15 minutes he spent ringing the stupid thing she called a doorbell while she was in the shower.

  "It's a Victorian home," she explained the doorbell, water droplets flying around as she tossed her long hair. "The twist doorbells don't have a whole lot of muscle, but they sure are cute!"

  Sitting in the living room over a cup of tea and some mind-bogglingly good Snickerdoodle cookies, her towel crept further up her luscious thighs. He was barely able to keep from spilling his tea while they discussed the particulars of living in the old Victorian with her and her snarky best friend. What he really wanted to do was kiss her, and release the towel from her waist while he was at it.

  Instead, he went back to his hotel room to beat off, just like he was doing now. Nothing changed in six months.

  Nothing and everything. Izzy was still sexy as hell, but now he had to contain both his urge to fuck her and his urge to protect her every time the shit hit the fan. And Izzy was like a monkey flinging poo. Shit constantly flew in every direction.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Did you ever notice how slow coffee brews, especially when you are waiting for the pot to fill? I considered putting my cup under the flow of coffee, but coffee tasted nasty that way. Today definitely called for a good cup of Joe.

  It was 7 AM and Tara was sitting at the kitchen table. Maybe sitting wasn't the right word. She was kind of propped up on her elbows. I didn't want to give her aspirin on an empty stomach—she still looked green from last night's epic booze-a-thon. Hence my impatient wait for the coffee to brew. If she could keep the java down, I'd try dry toast next.

  I turned on the faucet and filled a glass with tepid tap water. I added a dropper full of milk thistle, then placed it in front of her. "This should help."

  She flinched at the sound of my voice, even though it was barely above a whisper. Hope she didn't have anything planned for today, because she really needed to go back to bed.

  And she needed french fries. French fries were like a cure-all for bad hangovers. Maybe pancakes too.

  But the milk thistle would help—it would at least get her home. B12, too, but I was fresh out.

  Tara didn't even bother to lift the glass to her lips. She just kind of lowered her head towards the glass and almost lapped the water out. At least she was hydrating, right?

  "Morning!" Amanda swept into the kitchen, stuffing books into the messenger bag slung across her body. "Oh good, coffee's almost done!"

  With her damp curls bouncing on her shoulders, she looked downright perky. She flashed a bright smile at Tara. "And how are we feeling this morning?"

  Tara lifted her watery eyes and muttered something completely unintelligible.

  "Still not so good, huh?" Amanda wrinkled her nose in faux concern. "Sorry, hon, but you're going to need to move your car soon. I have to get to campus and you're blocking me."

  Tara responded by laying her head on the kitchen table.

  Amanda grinned. She was enjoying this way too much.

  "You're in a good mood this morning," I said.

  "I'm a morning person," she responded with a wink.

  "I think I know you better than that," I snorted, grabbing three mugs out of the cabinet while the coffee perked out its final remains.

  I poured the coffee into the mugs, leaving one on the counter for Amanda and placing another an arms length away from Tara.

  "Want some granola?" Amanda called out, giving the box a good shake before pouring it out into a bowl.

  Tara responded with a groan. Amanda smirked.

  "Tara," I said gently, pushing the mug towards her slightly. "Coffee's ready. And drink more of that tonic, it'll make you feel better."

  She looked up at me, her face twisted with pain. This time she lifted the glass and drank down the milk thistle concoction. "That was disgusting."

  I shrugged. "Maybe, but you'll feel better soon."

  "This in no way makes up for what you did," she hissed, pushing the empty glass at me.

  "Whoa!" Amanda's mood changed as quickly as the weather in New England. "You throw a brick in our window, stink up our bathroom with your vodka barfs, and pass out on our couch. You should be writing us a goddamn check."

  "My daddy will pay for the window," Tara's voice was icy even though her face was still kind of green. "But Izzy, this was all your fault. You need to fix that spell."

  I took a big gulp of coffee. Dehydration showed on her cracked lips. Between that and her greenish pallor, she looked an awful lot like a blond version of Regan from The Exorcist.

  "Tara," I squeaked out, wanting to blame the hot coffee burning a path down my throat. Really, I'm a wuss. I hate confrontation.

  But she held up her hand to stop me, swaying a little in her chair. Her eyes refocused. "I want this boy, Izzy. And that love potion has to do it."

  "Free will," I started weakly, but she interrupted me again.

  "There is no free will for this one," she said. "Understand me? None. Or else I will use my free will to find another witch for Pledge Week and for our annual Halloween party. And you can forget any referrals to the other girls for shopping excursions. We'll travel to Hartford instead."

  Then she groaned and put her head back on the table.

  My hands shook in anger and I put down my coffee before it spilled all over the place. Amanda glared at the back of Tara's head. She opened her mouth to tell her off, but I shook my head.

  "It's cool, Amanda," I said, my voice surprisingly calm. "Tara, I can't do a spell like that. I am not that kind of witch."

  "Then you better turn into that kind of witch," she snarled, lifting her head from the table. My mouth gaped open. What a spoiled brat. I took a deep breath, letting my anger override my fear. "Tara, I can't compromise someone's freewill."

  "What about my free will?" she whined.

  I tried to slow my breathing. "Tara, you don't understand. Your free will is not being compromised."

  "I understand perfectly fine," she snarled. "You sold me a faulty potion and now you're trying to blame me."

  "It's not like that!" I protested. "What you are asking me to do is...not right."

  "It won't feel right when you lose the support of the Greeks," she scowled.

  I started to protest but snapped my mouth closed. If I lost the support of the sororities, I'd lose everything.

  "Are you ready for the consequences of taking someone's free will? Because I won't shoulder it for you," I responded.

  "What are you talking about?"

  "This is a road of magic you do not want to go down," I told her. "It can be a dark, dangerous path."

  "Izzy," Amanda warned. She looked a little unnerved. I must be in full on witch mode. Amanda once told me that I looked scary when it happened. Said I looked like I was electrocuted. With flyaway hair, and my green eyes turning yellow, and glowing. When the witch really took over me, I had to admit, it felt kind of nice. Powerful.

  I pulled my spine straighter, smoothed down my hair and continued. Tara would not bully me into magic out of my comfort zone. "If I do this, I will not take the repercussions for you. Because there will be repercussions."

  This got Tara's attention, and she sat up again. "God, stop being so dramatic."

  Maybe Tara didn't notice the witch in
me rising.

  "I will not take the repercussions," I said again, my voice stern.

  "Fine, fine, whatever," Tara brushed it off. "I don't give a shit who take or doesn't take these repercussions. Just make that damn potion work."

  "You've no idea what you're gotten into," I told her.

  "Ooooh, I am so scared," she mocked, dragging herself to her feet. Either the hangover cure kicked in or being a bitch simply made her feel much better. "Look, just fix the spell there's nothing to worry about. Now where the hell is my purse?"

  "On the coffee table in the other room," Amanda grumped. "And don't let the door hit you..."

  I cut her off with a look. She smirked and turned back to her granola.

  "I'll walk you out," I said to Tara's back as she pushed past me, the smell of stale beer lingering in her wake.

  "Are you insane?" Amanda whispered, grabbing my arm before I could follow Tara into the other room. "How the hell are you going to do a black magic spell?"

  I shrugged and she released my arm. I trailed after Tara.

  "Where's your other housemate?" Tara asked as she poked around the living room looking for her bag. She moved like molasses, I assumed from the hangover.

  "Don't know," I said, feeling my pulse leap at the mention of Finn. I'd heard him stomp down the stairs while I readied the coffee this morning. "He left early."

  "Does he always leave early?"

  I shrugged. "No idea. He keeps to himself mostly."

  I saw her purse on the floor under the coffee table. Of course, it was a freaking Birkin. That one bag would cover the cost of my college classes for a year. Full time. The words "not fair" caught in my throat. I swallowed them back down and snatched up the overpriced cowhide and handed it to her.

  She took it from me and rooted through it, coming up triumphant with a pair of sunglasses. Of course they were Gucci.

  I opened the front door wide, and she flounced right past me.

  "And you should totally do that dark witchy shit at the Halloween party. It'll go over like gangbusters," she said, blinking in the morning sun. Clearly, she noticed that I went a little scary witchy in the kitchen. Obviously, it didn't phase her one bit.

  As she stepped through the threshold, karmic justice took over. She tripped.

  "Whoa!" I said, grabbing her from behind before she landed ass over teakettle. "You sure you're okay to drive?"

  She righted herself, and snarled at me. "I am fine to drive. You, however, should pick up the junk on your porch. Someone could break their neck out here."

  And with that, she put on her overpriced sunglasses, whipped her snarled hair around and stalked to her car.

  Only when the engine to the Mercedes turned over did I see what she stumbled over. It was a strange book— oversized and pretty thick, with a worn leather cover. It looked ancient.

  I glanced around, half expecting someone to pop out of the bushes. But apart from a few cars burning down the road, there was no one there. Not even a dog walker. I squatted down and examined it like I was a CSI and it was a piece of evidence. I ran my fingertips along the leather cover. I could feel the grooves where there was once a symbol stamped into it. Time wore it down so much that barely a mark was left. I picked the book up, feeling my wrist give slightly under the weight of the thing. Turning it, I noticed its binding was cracked. There was no doubt it was an old thing, and in pretty fragile shape.

  Carefully, I opened it. The words on the pages were handwritten in elaborate script, a cursive writing that was no longer practiced anymore. It was like an oversized ornate journal. But before I could make out the words on the page—the handwriting was a little hard to read—a lose page dropped out, landing beside my foot.

  Unlike the book's yellowed paper, this was crisp and white. It was a note, and it was addressed to me, my name written out in careful block letters in black ink. I opened the folded piece of paper, and those same block letters wrote out: This should fix your spell problem.

  Shoving the note back into the book, I quickly stood and looked around once more. The yard was quiet, save for a sparrow chirping away in the bushes to my left. Who could possibly know I have a spell problem? I did one last visual sweep of the neighborhood, and once again came up empty.

  I rubbed my finger along the book's cover apprehensively. I didn't even need to read the contents to know it was a Book of Shadows, a witch's spell book. There was a whole bookcase in the attic sagging under the weight of the many spell books passed down in my own family. Grams' Book of Shadows was stashed in our butler's pantry along with the cookbooks. My own Book of Shadows, a pathetic work in progress, was wedged between Grams and a dog-eared, second edition copy of The Joy of Cooking. (It's the edition that shows you how to skin a squirrel.)

  Hugging the sizable tome to my chest, I turned to go back into the house. It was time to face facts. I was a solid diviner; my choice of tools, my Tarot decks. But my spell and potion work just wasn't strong enough, and that's why the love spell failed.

  We'd never used spells that weren't concocted by some family member and then passed down over the years. But Gran never said another witch's spells were off limits either. Maybe this strange book would kick start my magic. At this point, I had nothing to lose.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  With the late August morning sun beating on my back, I hoped my SPF 75 sunblock wouldn't fail me. But the warmth from its rays eased the aches in my neck and back from the physical labor of cleaning out toilets and machine buffing floors. Johnny was right. The commercial buffer was heavy and hard to maneuver. Getting the English Department floors spotless last night was nothing short of a miracle, and I was paying for it in aches and pains this morning. My body screamed in agony so loudly that I woke up at 6 AM, unable to get back to sleep. So I opted for an early morning reading session at Diana's Pool, a semi-private watering hole isolated from the other major swim spots. It was a hike to get out here, but the secluded pool surrounded by rocks and a waterfall made it worth the work.

  I propped myself up on my elbows, re-adjusting my baseball cap slightly. Dragging over the Book of Shadows that was left on my doorstep yesterday morning, I flipped it open to the page marked with a simple red silk ribbon. It was bookmarking a chapter "For when your magic fails."

  "No joke," I harrumphed and sipped my Dunkin' Donuts iced coffee, wistfully thinking that I should have also treated myself to a donut. But I cheaped out. Money would be even tighter if I couldn't get the damn spell to work, and my confidence level was nil. If Tara canceled my tarot-reading gig for her sorority, I'd miss the next tax payment on the house. And that would suck.

  Find your Telos, the chapter began.

  What the hell was a telos again?

  I didn't have a whole lot of time to examine the book yesterday. The late night cleaning shift sucked my energy and I fell asleep with the book in my lap last night. I was barely three pages in, but I recalled seeing "telos" in one of them.

  I replaced the ribbon and flipped back to the beginning of the book. Too bad homegrown books don't come with an index or a table of contents. I passed a few yellowed typewritten pages shoved randomly into the book (one had a meatloaf recipe) before finding the definition.

  Telos is the magic you intend to conjure.

  Oh, duh, the intention. Grams totally was not into the magical buzzwords. I flipped back to my bookmarked page.

  With your focus on your telos, it is time to bring your life energy to the surface and get your magic back.

  Life energy? Grams taught me to conjure with intention and spells, not life energy. How does one even conjure with that? But getting my mojo back was the point. I had to read on.

  This Great Rite is rarely practiced in the modern craft. It's considered taboo, its methods unorthodox to some covens. But this powerful form of divinity will bring you a magical bounty and great personal fulfillment.

  Well sign me up! I happily flipped the page. Then my jaw dropped.

  There was a black and white ske
tch, smudged in places, of a naked woman with long hair sitting against a rock beside a waterfall. Her legs were slightly bent and open, one hand on her breast and the other exploring her nether regions. Her head was back, resting on the rock, and her face was a mask of pure ecstasy.

  I gulped and looked around, embarrassed. I was still completely alone, so no one could see that I was reading some sort of homemade porn. I squinted at the background of the picture. The location looked strikingly similar to Diana's Pool.

  I allowed myself a moment to marvel at the coincidence. It was a beautiful place, remote and wild, rocks all around a clear, crisp pool of water. The small but powerful waterfall at one end cascaded into the pool, churning up the water directly under it.

  With the shock of seeing the illicit illustration wearing off, I read on.

  Sex magic is powerful magic. It captures your life force and channels it into your telos; the resulting eruption conjures a spell that is beyond your wildest imagination. It is the source of spiritual creation. Just like a man and a woman make love to conceive a child, the act of sex magic creates an explosive force on the spirit plane, and imbues your magic with extraordinary power. Sex magic connects the mind to the body, the body to the spirit, teasing out your magic until your final orgasm.

  I snickered. Forces and eruptions, shuddering and explosions. This was one horny witch.

  I flipped through a few pages, fidgeting a little bit as the sun's rays heated my skin.

  Solo Sex Magic. Do you need a partner for sex magic? In a word, no. Of course, the more partners involved, the stronger the spell, the better the result. But sex magic works just fine, even for the solitary witch.

  Harrumph. Solitary witch. That stung a bit. I read on.

  For solo practice, take a ritual bath. An outdoor lake or stream is ideal to tap into the power of the earth, but a man made bathtub will do. As you bathe, light four candles: one North, one South, one East and one West. Once you recite your favorite cleansing incantation, you are ready to begin. You can remain in the water or leave the ritual bath when you are ready to embark on your journey. Now, chose your telos. This must be a single objective, what you need your magic to accomplish. As you focus on your telos, consider the following...