Bitch Witch

by S. R. Karfelt

  By the time the congregation started their slow progression toward the altar for communion, Sarah had had enough penance and snuck out the back with half a dozen other sinners. A quick swing past a couple drive-thru’s netted breakfast, chai lattes, and sandwiches to take on the hike. Sarah got two of everything. If she was going to eat like a hog, so was Paul.

  Twenty minutes later she pulled up in front of her house and parked her Jeep behind a Shrewsbury police car.

  No!

  She looked up and down the street, but nobody parked in front of Sarah’s property unless they had broken down or were going there. She took her time getting out of the Jeep in her dress, tugging her purse over her shoulder, and gathering the food and drinks, allowing her mind time to race over what this might be about and should she or shouldn’t she tell the truth about whatever they wanted. Sarah made it halfway up the sidewalk before she could see through the greenery growing over the porch. Two cops stood by the front door.

  Dammit!

  This would surely take a big cast to get out of.

  And I just went to church!

  Sarah couldn’t get a good look at them until her feet were almost to the steps. What she saw made her almost trip.

  It wasn’t two cops. It was one cop with Paul.

  Shit! What did he do? Both men turned away from the door and waited for her. The cop took a step closer, but Paul simply watched her, dressed to the nines in a suit.

  Oh, he better NOT have gotten that out of the attic!

  But she knew he had to have.

  Placing only one foot on the bottom step she said, “What’s going on?”

  The cop said, “Ms. Archer? Do you know a Paul Longfellow?”

  Sarah put another foot on the step and paused to look at Paul. What the heck?

  “Yes,” she said. “I know Paul.”

  “Thank, God,” Paul whispered. “Do you know where he is?”

  Sarah frowned at him and shot a glance at the cop. Is he pretending to be someone else? Crap. What kind of trouble did he get into?

  “I’m not sure where he is,” she said, holding Paul’s gaze. Help me out here. A clue would be nice. “I just got home from church.” It was worth going just to sound so damn innocent.

  “When did you see him last?” the cop asked, eyeing the cardboard container with two chai lattes.

  “Ah, we went to the movies last night. Is this about that?”

  All innocently Paul said, “What happened last night?”

  Sarah glared at him. Really?

  “Ms. Archer, it’s crucial that we locate Paul Longfellow. Did you see him this morning?”

  Sarah didn’t think she could manage another lie to that cop, but she sure wasn’t selling Paul out no matter what kind of trouble or weird he was up to at the moment. Even if he had snuck into the attic and taken that suit after she specifically told him not to go up there. He looked as ridiculously hot in it as Sarah had thought she looked in the matching dress.

  “How about you tell me what’s going on?” she asked the cop.

  “He’s missing, that’s what’s going on,” answered Paul. “I’ve been trying to find him for the past two weeks.”

  Good acting. She wouldn’t sell Paul out, but when they got inside he was in trouble.

  Sarah walked up the rest of the porch steps and spoke to the cop, allowing the ball of energy in her middle to slip out in her words, “As you can see, officer, everything is under control here. You can leave now.”

  The cop galloped down the stairs to the sidewalk and to his cruiser without another word.

  “You are so irritating,” said Sarah, shoving the drinks at Paul to hold.

  “What?” he said. “I can’t believe that he’s leaving. Look at him! He’s getting in his car!”

  Sarah grabbed the front door knob and twisted. It was locked.

  “Really?” She spun toward him to impart another glare and fished in her purse for the new key. “I can’t wait to hear this story, but more importantly, I told you not to go in the attic. That suit has a spell on it.”

  Paul glanced down at it. “A spill? From what? Where?”

  Sarah unlocked the door and held it open for him. “Be obtuse, and I seriously do not want you up there! Well, get in, what are you waiting for?” He scooted over the threshold and Sarah kicked her shoes off. “Okay, I told you not to open the damn door if someone came. Between that, the effing cop deal, and going in the attic after I said not to, don’t whine about me doing this.” She turned toward him, hands still full, and motioned with her chin.

  Paul shot backward under her power, shoving the door shut with his body. He remained pressed against it, his feet dangling a couple inches off the ground. He swore and dropped the lattes.

  Sarah reflexively caught them with her essence just as they hit the marble, repeating the simple spell from last night with another flick of her chin. The lids and liquid arced through the air into their containers and the plastic lids snapped firmly in place. The recycled cardboard carrier landed neatly on the bureau Paul had cleaned and organized last week. Plopping her bags and pocketbook beside them, she tugged a cup out of the carrier and took a sip of the still hot tea.

  “This shit is so good,” she said, eyeing Paul. He looked terrified. She waved a hand and he slid down to his feet. “I’m sorry. You just really pissed me off.”

  He lifted a trembling hand to his face and pressed it against his forehead.

  “Oh, crap. I’m so sorry!” Sarah set her drink down and ran over to him, wrapped her arms around him and hugged. “It was a joke! I thought you were doing better!”

  He wrapped his arms around her and held on, his freshly shaved cheek pressed against the top of her head. It was different than their other hugs. Suddenly she was very aware of his body beneath that suit and a freshly ground coffee, ironed shirt, expensive soap smell she’d never noticed before. Today he smelled completely different. He smelled right. In fact, he smelled perfect. It reminded her of that night in the Target parking lot, only better. He tightened his arms and it felt right.

  Sarah twisted her head to inhale another breath of him and saw his neck. Something in her stomach twisted. “Paul, where’s your tattoo?”

  “I’m not Paul,” he said, his voice a low rumble against her body.

  From behind Sarah, Paul’s voice said, “Henry, what are you doing here? Sarah, why are you hugging my brother?”

  SARAH MANAGED TO let go of Paul’s brother. Everything in her wanted to hold onto that man, but she blindly grabbed the drinks and breakfast instead and marched perfunctorily into the kitchen without a word.

  “Why are you here?” Paul asked behind her.

  Henry cleared his throat and Sarah knew he was craning his neck, trying to see her. She could feel it as easily as she could feel the shape of the bagels in the bag clutched against her stomach. She set the items on the stone countertop, grabbed three plates out of a cabinet and yanked open a drawer for a knife.

  “I’m here because we’ve been looking for you. Are you surprised, Paul? You didn’t call anyone, but the insurance company did. They called Dad and said you’d been in an accident. We’ve been worried sick! Dad hired a private investigator to find you. I took a leave from work. Mom had to go on Xanax!”

  Paul followed Sarah into the kitchen without replying. He had on his gym shorts and grey t-shirt, his hair mussed in his typical bedhead fashion. Henry followed, an almost exact replica of Paul, but with neatly combed hair, no tattoos, and a James Bond-style suit.

  Sarah put half a bagel onto each plate and cut a pastry in half to share between her and Paul, giving Henry the whole one. For the first time in three years she moved to the espresso machine and set about making a cup of coffee.

  “I’m not a child,” said Paul.

  “You’re their child,” said Henry. “And you prove you’re responsible by acting like it. You could have called!”

  Sarah poured cold water from the tap into a metal container.


  “I’m fine,” said Paul. “The accident was a parking lot fender bender. I wasn’t even in the car. I’ve been waiting for the dealer to fix the damage. They’re ridiculously slow.”

  “We didn’t know that!”

  Sarah ran her fingers over fresh roasted grounds. Some stuck to her skin. Their scent smelled like Henry. She blew gently to dislodge them into the filter. Around her, every atom in the universe swirled into a gentle dance of perfection.

  “Now you know,” said Paul. “Tell them I’ll be back when the car is ready. That was the deal the whole time wasn’t it? I’m handling picking up the car exactly like I said I would.”

  “You didn’t say you were going to disappear for weeks.”

  Sarah added cold water, hit the button to begin brewing and tapped out a rhythm against the machine. She could feel it through her entire body. One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three. She wondered idly how the love spell had transferred from Paul to Henry.

  “I said I wasn’t going to call, and I’d text if I needed something. It wasn’t necessary. Don’t treat me like a child, Henry. For starters, you’re only seven minutes older than me.”

  Twins. Of course.

  One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three. The universe hummed a distant sound of approval. Sarah watched the liquid dispense, weaving her spell into every drop. It’s the only way I’m going to keep my wits, though if I have to be in a love spell, I’ve hit the jackpot.

  “You don’t consider an accident as needing something? We knew you didn’t have much money on you. It looks to me like you got lucky here. Are you going to introduce me to your benefactor?”

  Sarah spun away from the machine with a cup of coffee in a small white stoneware cup. She put it into Henry’s hand and closed his fingers around it. “Black, strong, the way you like it. I’m Sarah Elizabeth Archer, Paul’s friend. I’m a witch.” Guiding Henry’s hand, she lifted the cup to his lips.

  He took a sip willingly, his eyes locked on hers.

  “Sarah, what the heck?” Paul hissed from somewhere, but Sarah only had eyes for Henry.

  Henry swallowed a mouthful of coffee and something in Sarah’s gut spun with pleasure. Her cast for facts about him could only work if she was completely honest too, so she told him the truth. “That’s the first thing I’ve made in three years. I think I’ve been waiting for you. Sorry I shut the door with you. I thought you were Paul. He never mentioned a twin brother.” With her thumb she swiped moisture off his bottom lip, then turned and hoisted herself to sit on the counter. Grabbing her latte, she refocused her gaze on Henry and took a sip.

  Paul looked back and forth between the two of them, but Henry never took his eyes off Sarah.

  “Oh, hell,” said Paul. “The spell. It tied you to my brother somehow, didn’t it?”

  “So it would seem,” said Sarah. Her new spell took hold and facts about Henry passed through her. Fastidious. Determined. Intense. Enchanted with me. She smiled.

  “You touched him,” said Paul. “Several times. You made him something to drink!”

  “I did,” said Sarah. “And eat.” She held his plate up. “Well, technically someone else did but I brought it to him. I’m pretty sure it still counts.” Using her witch senses she checked the atmosphere around her and her smile turned into a grin. It counted. The love spell had grown so powerful she couldn’t fight it. She didn’t want to. Somehow it had moved from Paul to Henry, and the only thing she could do was accept it with one caveat, by weaving a new spell. Fact. No matter what the love spell did now, her spell would keep her aware of the cold hard facts.

  Henry took the plate from her and walked around the counter as he took a bite of the bagel. He set the plate down and took off his suit coat, draped it over one of the tall stools and sat down.

  “So you’re bound together?” said Paul.

  “Deliciously,” said Sarah.

  “Why didn’t you fight it? I thought you didn’t want it?”

  “It appears I was wrong about that.” Deliciously.

  The fact that Sarah was a witch who’d slammed Henry against the wall and bound him into a spell didn’t seem to bother him much. They sat together on the sofa, on the same cushion. Still in the thin dress she’d worn to church, Sarah’s soft thigh pressed against the side of Henry’s hard one. If it felt as good to him, she understood why he’d been so quick to forgive the slam. He’d removed his shoes and tie and rested an arm around Sarah’s shoulders, placing a sock covered foot over hers. He left it there as though claiming her. She could have purred with pleasure.

  Their blood may as well have been magnetized to each other. Facts from her spell floated through Sarah’s mind, but they consisted of things like the cleft in Henry’s chin, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, his absolute devotion to his younger brother. All things that made him more attractive.

  If that’s possible.

  “This is ridiculous,” said Paul, still sounding disbelieving. “You two don’t even know each other.” He leaned an elbow against the fireplace mantle and watched them. “Sarah, you do realize this isn’t my brother. I mean, of course it’s my brother, but he’s acting like an idiot.”

  Henry tugged Sarah closer without responding.

  “Not that he doesn’t act like an idiot on a regular basis, but he definitely doesn’t act like this kind of an idiot.”

  Sarah’s spell offered information with less bias than Paul. Weighs 180 pounds. Allergic to Sulfa drugs. Has never had a cavity.

  Sarah rubbed her palm over the surface of Henry’s. The motion produced heat from the friction of smooth skin to smooth skin. The heat entered Sarah’s core, the area she cast from, so warmly that sparks shot from the sides of their hands. Henry seemed fascinated by it, chuckling every time it happened. His breath against her face reminded her of stepping inside a coffeehouse.

  “Sarah!” Paul leaned forward and clapped his hands together. “Earth to Sarah! He’s an oil executive!”

  Sarah blinked at Henry. For a brief moment that bothered her, but she couldn’t think why, because she lived in a world that needed oil. Henry watched her reaction with faint creases of worry on his forehead. “My car uses oil,” she declared, and was rewarded with a delighted chuckle.

  “They all do!” said Henry, and more sparks shot from between their hands.

  “That was deep,” said Paul. “You two are making me literally nauseous. Henry is also pro-fracking, Sarah. He’s on one of my father’s committees to get it approved in New York State.”

  “We need to be independent energy-wise, as a country I mean,” said Henry.

  Sarah nodded. He was right. That was a fact. She wished Paul would shut up. A swoon-worthy humming zinged through her bones and Paul’s complaining knocked into it like a buzz saw, killing her vibe.

  “He smokes!” said Paul.

  “Just a pipe,” said Henry. “Cherry tobacco.”

  “I love cherries,” said Sarah. Aunt Lily had an old-fashioned smoking jacket in her closet, with price tags still on it. It had always seemed too formal to Sarah, but she had a feeling Henry would like that.

  “I’ve been thinking about quitting.”

  “And,” Paul raised his voice to an annoying level for his next pronouncement, “he is against gay marriage!”

  “I was,” Henry admitted. “But who cares? It passed.”

  “Yeah, it passed,” parroted Sarah. “Besides, we’re straight.” She shot Paul a dirty look.

  Preoccupied with pacing, he didn’t notice. He stopped to glare at his brother, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m telling her.”

  “Behave.” Henry tried to shove him away with his foot, but Paul dodged it.

  “Henry is engaged.”

  Sarah’s hand froze on Henry’s palm. Why hadn’t the spell told her that fact? Because you’re too busy deifying his face to think. Nobody who looked like Henry could be single.

  “No,” he said. “Well, I mean yes, but I haven’t given
her a ring or anything.”

  “That’s only because you have to get Mom’s ring resized, and gather a flash mob of hot-air-balloon music video dancers for your impromptu proposal.”

  Henry slid the ring finger of Sarah’s left hand between his fingers. She felt it everywhere in her body. “That ring would fit your finger perfectly as is.”

  Sarah’s face warmed with pleasure. Fact and karma. “Really?” Her voice came out with a little squeak in it.

  “Oh. Are. You. Kidding. Me.”

  “Really,” Henry replied, ignoring his brother. “It’s in my suitcase in my car—which is at the police station. I’ll have to go back there and get it.”

  33” waist. 34” inseam. 16” collar.

  Sarah slid her legs into his lap. “Someday I might let you off this sofa, but first why don’t you tell me about your drilling equipment?” She winked at him without any embarrassment.

  “Huh-uh,” said Paul. “This is not happening. Sarah, I’m going in the attic.”

  She ignored him, placing her palm over Henry’s again.

  “I’m not kidding. I’m going into your freaky-deaky attic and I’m going to figure out what to do about this.”

  She wished he’d just go already, and felt nothing but relief when he stomped out of the room in the direction of the staircase. Before she could completely relax again, and before the humming could build up in her bones again, Paul marched back and jammed his finger under her nose, looking from her eyes to Henry’s.

  “Do. Not. Have. Sex.”

  Sarah felt a flush bloom over her face and saw one on Henry’s cheeks as Paul marched off again.