Dust particles sparkled in the sunlight streaming through the old windows as I yanked several old grimoires off the rickety wooden shelves. Sneezing, I slumped to the floor and opened the one on top of the pile. It was a great-great-someone's book, the pages brittle and yellowed. The family member that this spell book belonged to must have been a teacher. Written in red pen, her handwriting was precise. The witchcraft was interspersed between various food recipes, and the overabundance of aspic told me that this was from the 1950s. Suzy Homemaker Witch was definitely not an X-rated June Cleaver. I pushed it aside.
Finding nothing in the first six books I grabbed, I snatched a few more off the shelf and leafed through those. There was an amorous relative from the late 19th Century, who kept her Book of Shadows more like a diary, sketching in amusing images of her beloved. While it detailed some of their frisky romps (in eye popping detail) with a willing group of other witches, it said nothing about using the acts to cast any spells.
There was a hard knock on the attic door, and I jumped up from surprise.
"What?" I yelled, expecting Amanda to yell back about having lunch or something.
"Hey, can I come in?" Finn responded, and I heard him try the doorknob.
I froze.
"We need to talk," he continued after my short unresponsive pause.
I found my voice. "Now is not a good time, Finn."
I wasn't lying. I didn't bother changing after Diana's Pool, so I was still in my damp shorts and tank top, sans under garments. The ease of removing them did not escape me. And there was a very good chance that I would if Finn walked through that door right now.
"Come on, Iz," he kicked at the door. "It's important."
"How about later?" I called back.
"I'm working later, and so are you," he huffed.
"Where's your girlfriend?" I immediately cringed at how pathetic that sounded.
"She's not my..." his voice trailed off and the picked up again, this time louder. "Come on, Iz, open the door."
I closed my eyes, escaping back into my Finn Fantasy. Blood raced to my nether regions and my boobs betrayed me, nips perking up at simply the sound of his husky voice. My pussy ached. "Seriously Finn, I just cannot stop what I am doing at the moment."
I snapped the book shut in frustration, and dust flew up into my face. That kicked off the sneezing fit.
"You okay?" he called.
"I'm fine!" I shouted through my snot. "I am in the middle of something and even though you disapprove of it, it's important that I figure this thing out."
"Fine, Iz." Now he sounded annoyed. "Just come to the bar later, we need to talk."
"You said that already," I muttered to myself before switching my tone from stressed-and-horny to lighthearted-and-nonplused. "I'll swing by when I'm done at the frat house, okay?"
I could use a drink anyway, even though I really couldn't afford it.
The silence told me that Finn had given up, so I continued to plow through the books.
After about 30 more minutes of searching, I unearthed a small thin volume, barely bigger than a size of a modern paperback. The cover was a plain hard black, and its pages were torn, the writing worn away in places. A date at the front put it at the end of the 17th century, somewhere around Dunkeld in Scotland.
Cousin Niall was a randy fellow! The bulk of his spell work was ripped out of the book, but his copious notes on the acts themselves remained. Maybe it was more dangerous to be busted for witchcraft than for imaginative copulation back then. Man or woman, he happily obliged all sorts of kink. And he didn't only chronicle the acts with incredible detail, he noted the outcome of the spells he was casting. Based on his lore, he wielded some powerful spells, powerful enough to be sent to the castle to council William II.
I leaned against a garbage bag of old clothes and dug into the pocket-sized book. My body reacted to his 17th Century porn. Breathing deep, I tried to focus on the task at hand. Like, how the hell was all this supposed to work anyway?
The doorbell pulled me out of my cousin's sexed up memoirs. I peeked out the window and saw an unfamiliar car in the drive. I tucked the gifted Book of Shadows and Naughty Niall's memoirs under my arm and headed downstairs, ready to kick my midday visitor to the curb. They were probably selling something.
I yanked the front door open. "Thanks, but I'm not interested."
"Um, excuse me?"
The man at the door looked startled. He had stylish, black-framed glasses and slicked back blond hair, and looked uncomfortable in his suit, like a kid playing dress up. He brushed an errant lock of hair away from his face, which was buried in the manila folder he carried. "Isadora Foster?"
"Yes?" I raised my eyebrows at him and balanced the books on my hips. He looked familiar.
"I'm Daniel Stevenson," he said, not glancing up from whatever he was reading.
"Danny?" I gasped, dropping the books in surprise. This was frat-hole Danny? I barely recognized him all dressed up.
This time, he made eye contact. "Oh wow, it's you! The girl who cleans Pike."
I bit my tongue to keep from blurting out, "Yeah, the girl that cleans your piss off the toilet seats." Instead I bent over to pick up the scattered grimoires.
"Didn't the loan office tell you I was coming?" he asked. I glanced up at him and noticed that his eyes landed uneasily on my boobs, still braless under my tank top.
I clutched the tomes to my breast as I straightened to full height. "What loan office? About what?"
"About the money your grandmother owes, for the home equity line."
"There must be a mistake," I responded. "I paid that off, with her life insurance."
He leafed through the manila file. "No, there was an equity line of credit taken out about 8 months ago. For $25,000."
"I don't know anything about that," I said, my heart beating harder. The last thing I needed was another debt collector at the door right now. "I'm sorry, what bank did you say you were from?"
He cleared his throat. "Well, it's not a bank. I am with a private loan company."
"And that is?" I pushed, my heart sinking further as he stammered out his answer.
"Richmond Stevenson, my father," he said. "I'm sorry."
I exhaled loudly. Richmond Stevenson. Great. The "loaner of last resort." One step above pawnshop. Barely.
"So learning the loan shark business from daddy?" I said coldly.
"It's a legitimate business," he said, his voice rising.
"What's the vig?" My voice cracked as I asked.
"The what?"
"The vig."
His cough sounded suspiciously like a stifled laugh. "You mean interest rate? We really aren't loan sharks, you know. It's entirely reasonable. Why don't I come in and we'll talk about it?"
"You can just leave the paper work right there on the porch. I'll have my lawyer take a look at it," I lied. My lawyer was Amanda. She was not a lawyer, or even a law student, but she was smart as hell and pretty ruthless. If anyone could find a loophole, it was Amanda.
"I really need you to take a look at it now," he said, loosening his tie. "No payments have been made since your grandmother's...you know. And we need to get that cash flowing again!"
He smiled, and sweat beads sprouted on his forehead.
I chewed the left side of my bottom lip. "How do I know this isn't some scam to cheat a grieving granddaughter out of money she doesn't have?"
He ran the back of his hand across his forehead. "Isadora, please," he swallowed uncomfortably. "This is a standard agreement for an Equity line of credit. And it becomes the responsibility of the next of kin to repay it. It's no trick."
"My mother is next of kin, not me," I said, hoping I found the loophole all on my own.
He shuffled through the folder. "From my understanding, your mother is officially a 'missing person' and this house was willed to you. That makes it your responsibility. I'm sorry."
I gritted my teeth. Grams dug this hole raising money for her fruitless effo
rt to get my shiftless mother home.
"Look, no offense, but I only know you as some rich asshole from the frat house I clean. I am not going to just write you a check until I know this is legit."
"Okay, I get what your saying. But my dad's getting impatient. Didn't you get the notices?"
"What notices?"
He looked almost chagrined. "The notices we sent about the loan transfer. One notice came with a condolence card. For the, you know, burial."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" I snapped. "Sorry for your loss, now pay up?"
I cleaned up this asshole's puke off the bathroom floor. Arrogant bastard graduated college and walked straight into a plum career with Daddy while still living rent free and partying down with his "bros." The unfairness of life landed a sucker punch to my gut.
"I can't go back to the office without a check," he pleaded.
"Looks like you have the rest of the day off."
I slammed the door on him and stomped up the stairs. I needed to get in the shower and get ready for work. Maybe Johnny had a good date last night. Then he could go on a bunch more so I could pick up more of his commercial cleaning shifts.
Hugging the books to my chest, I scampered down the hallway and into my room. That spell needed to work. I was running out of options. And time.
CHAPTER NINE
"Sorry, Iz," Amanda pushed her glasses up her nose, tucking the pages she was reading back into the folder. "Grams signed a binding contract, and since you inherited the house, you get the debt too."
Since I anticipated as much, I was on my second beer.
"Do you think a tequila shot will take the sting out?" I yelled over the jukebox playing Creedence Clearwater Revival. One thing for sure about college kids—no matter what era, they all love their CCR.
"You better slow down. You can't afford a big bar bill right now," she warned.
"Fuck it, if I'm going out broke, let it be in a blaze of glory!"
She laughed and we toasted our plastic cups.
"What do you think Finn wants?" Amanda, passing the manila folder back to me, changed the subject.
I shrugged and shoved it into my book bag. "No clue. He barely acknowledged me. Just waved me in without even checking my ID. Maybe he finally unstuck the stick up his ass about carding everyone."
"No dice," Amanda said with an eye roll. "He had me out side for 10 minutes while I searched for my ID. It was in the damn glove box of the car. Good thing I found it, too. He wasn't going to let me in."
"I swear bouncing is the perfect job for him," I bitched to her over the music. "They are all douche bags."
"Bouncers and loan sharks."
We smashed our plastic cups together again, beer slopped over the sides.
Amanda met me at Huskies after I finished cleaning up after the filthy frat boys. Danny smartly avoided being home. It was still early, but the bar was filling up nicely. Huskies was nothing much, a barely mediocre restaurant during the day turned bar/dance club at night. It was pretty much on campus, and catered to college kids. Very few "townies" came in, even if the Natty Light beers were priced at $2 a plastic cup. Given my financial straits, that was my beverage of choice tonight.
I licked up the booze dripping down my hand—waste not, want not, after all—and caught the eye of a familiar looking dude entering the bar.
"Shit," I groaned, ducking low in the booth.
"What?" Amanda asked, doing the total opposite. She stood up and craned her neck around, searching the bar.
"The Stevenson guy. He's here."
Her eyes widened. "That's the frat-hole that came to the house?"
I nodded and took a huge swallow of liquid courage.
"What are the chances?" That was a rhetorical question. "You think he's following you?" That one wasn't.
"I freaking hope not!" I said.
Amanda sat back down but turned to peer over the back of the booth. He waited for the bartender to take his order. "He's kind of cute."
"How would you know?" I retorted.
"Oh please, Iz! I know aesthetics, boy or girl. Now be honest. If he didn't tell you that you owed him 25 large, wouldn't you think he's cute?"
I pretended to stretch my back to give him a look. Amanda had a point. Looking casual in jeans and a snug t-shirt, he wasn't terribly muscular, but lean, like someone who played hoops with his pals on the weekend. One of those stupid hipster trucker hats covered his short light brown hair. That automatically made him a creep.
"Okay, cute in a Pike sort of way, I guess" I said, referencing the fraternity house.
"That's more of a backhanded complement," Amanda snorted before draining the beer from her cup. "Your turn to buy!"
I dug out my wallet from my bag and checked the cash situation. Enough for a few more rounds, as long as we stuck to the $2 beers.
My bare legs made a sticky sound as I slid out of the booth, and I cringed at the sting of vinyl burn on my thighs. Keeping my head low, I tried to go unnoticed by Danny "Trucker Hat" Stevenson. I held up two fingers and pushed a five-dollar bill at the bartender. Waiting for him to pour the beer, I turned and surveyed the crowd.
The semester hadn't really started yet, but the bar was surprisingly crowded. Every booth was taken—Amanda and I lucked out with the last one—but there weren't people crowded into the nooks and crannies of the place just yet. Without the elbow-to-elbow people, Huskies looked kind of sad and run down. I scraped the edge of my Converse high top along the floor, the grime embedded into the worn wood.
While I was admiring the filth-crusted floor, Danny must have noticed me. When I looked up, I nearly hit my head on the brim of his stupid hat.
"Imagine running into you here, of all places," he said with a grin that kind of crinkled up the skin around his light blue eyes.
I blinked stupidly for a second. Maybe it was the booze, but his teeth were blindingly white.
I guess he thought my silence meant that I didn't recognize him. He yanked off the ridiculous hat. "Don't recognize me? Or are you still mad about earlier?"
"Yeah, because I am always chummy with frat-holes that say I own them money." I said flatly, turning my attention to the bartender who finally returned with two more plastic cups of cheap beer.
"Right now, I'm not a—what did you call me—a frat-hole. Or a lender of last resort. How about I be just Danny?" he asked, a good natured grin spreading across his face as he stuck out his hand to shake mine. I held up the cups to show both my hands were occupied.
"Well, Just Danny, does this mean that I no longer owe the 25 large?"
The beer was going straight to my head. Did I eat tonight?
"I wish I could get you off the hook," he said. "But it's a fair, binding contract. Did you have a chance to get a lawyer to take a look yet?"
He almost sounded genuinely concerned. Almost.
"It just really took me by surprise," I explained, swaying a little bit. "I mean, one minute I have my nose in a book, and the next, hello! You owe twenty. Five. Thousand. Dollars. You are like the opposite of Publishers Clearing House."
"You're very funny."
There he goes, flashing those white teeth again. The interest from my loan must go straight to his dentist.
"And very cute," he added.
I smiled in spite of myself. He was definitely disarming.
"I should go back to my friend." I nodded my head towards the booth, where Amanda was shooing away a group of three co-eds and their token male friend.
"How about me and my buddy Rick join you two?"
Did he just invite himself over to our table?
"Well, uh," I stammered, suddenly feeling neither terribly funny nor cute. "It's just, maybe, not such a good idea."
"Boyfriend?"
"No, not one those!" I laughed.
He winked at me. "That's a relief."
"We," I pointed between us. "We're enemies."
He choked on his beer. "Enemies? Or frenemies?"
"Well, I
think enemies. I owe you money," I paused. "I owe you a lot of money. And...you're an ass when I clean the frat house. Maybe we're mortal enemies."
"But I know your name. Isadora," he said, rolling out the word syllable by syllable. It sounded vaguely pornographic.
"My friends don't call me that," I said.
A look of disappointment flashed over his face.
"How about I buy all the drinks tonight?" he charmed. "So in a way, your money is actually going towards getting a nice buzz."
"Okay," I relented. Free drinks were too tempting when broke. "But we continue being mortal enemies tomorrow."
"Deal," he said, motioning for his friend to follow us.
I turned and kind of staggered to the booth. I was just in time. Amanda was cracking her knuckles, like she was about to deck one of the group trying to usurp our four top.
"About time," Amanda groused when I dropped her beer on the table. "I almost had to throw down with those idiots."
"Amanda, I'd like you to meet Danny Stevenson, the guy who wants to take away our house. And this is his friend..."
I plopped into the booth, my blood alcohol level just high enough to dull the pain of the vinyl burn on the back of my bare thighs as I moved down to make room.
"Rick," Danny added helpfully before sliding in next to me. "And I thought we were taking a break from being mortal enemies tonight."
Amanda pursed her lips. "Clearly I am not as drunk as you."
"Did you eat dinner?" I asked her.
She nodded. "Did you?"
"I don't think I did," I responded, taking another swallow of beer.
She snatched a menu. "We'd better get something in you before the kitchen closes."
I took it out of her hands and shook my head. "Not enough cash. Maybe we should go?"
"I told you, it's on me," Danny said.
"The beers! There was nothing in our deal that said you had to feed me."
"It would be an honor to share a table with two beautiful women, so we are happy to feed you both," he said gallantly.
Amanda snorted and side-eyed Rick, who was sitting next to her, beaming.
"I'm gay, you know," she said flatly.
Rick only looked more interested. Amanda bit down on the lip of cup and chewed the plastic, shooting me daggers with her eyes.
Something Wicked Page 6