Bitch Witch

by S. R. Karfelt

  “Now that is a scary thought. Here.” Paul dropped a box on the counter. “These are bath salts. Go upstairs and soak your aches and pains away. By the time you’re finished, dinner will be ready.”

  THE BATH SALTS smelled so good Sarah wanted to put her nose under the water and breathe them in. She wallowed in the bath until the water coming out of the tap ran cold. For the first time in ages she used her blow dryer, and applied lemon oil to the burned bits of hair until it fell shiny and smooth. She felt presentable despite the bruises on her face and the dark circles under her eyes. A moment of standing inside her closet staring at sweat suits and jeans led her to impulsively scoot down the hall to Aunt Lily’s closet.

  It seemed silly to dress up, but she wanted to. As bad as Lily had been in the end, her best childhood memories were of her aunt. Sarah grabbed a long-sleeved silk tunic. It fit her shorter frame like a mini-dress, but her legs were the only part of her not bruised, and her burns looked way better than they felt. She slipped on a pair of red flats to match the dress and headed downstairs.

  At the entrance to the kitchen Sarah stopped short. Henry stood by the kitchen table wearing the suit he’d had on the day she met him. “You caught the celebratory vibe,” he said in Paul’s voice.

  Sarah smiled. “Where did you get that suit? For a second I thought you were Henry!”

  “He left it.” Paul turned in a circle to give her a better look. “I can do G.Q. too.” He pulled her chair out. “I broke all your rules, by the way. I figured it was safe now. So prepare yourself for the best meal you’ve ever eaten.”

  One glance at the table set with vintage dishes, the Archer silver, crystal, and fresh flowers told Sarah he’d put extra effort into the meal. She resisted the urge to tell him he’d long ago made her the best meal she’d ever eaten. Sarah noted every detail, from the fresh herbs mixed into the salad to the crockery that the lasagna had been baked in.

  Paul joked as they ate. He talked about funny things her friend Mindy had done while she’d been in the hospital, and how Father McCloud had demanded he leave the hospital and come by the rectory to replace his stolen shingle.

  “I told him I took it from the overhang in the back where they keep their bikes. Boy, he gave me what for. Told me stealing was stealing and get my backside there and fix it. That was the longest I left you alone at the hospital. When I got back, Mindy was in the bathroom with an orderly and a bucket-sized tub of petroleum jelly. I think I’ll end that story right there.”

  Sarah wanted to tell him not to leave out the good parts, but her heart ached and she worried if she started talking she might cry. All she’d ever wanted was to escape dark matter. Now she had that and she wanted more. Far more.

  Paul dished out dessert as he told her about going to college in Maine and how he hated snow. “Which is why it’s good my dad’s car is finally ready. The only thing worse than walking in snow is driving in it. I wasn’t looking forward to driving a rear wheel drive sports car in bad weather clear to Oklahoma.”

  “It’s only October,” she managed.

  “You can’t fool me. I know how early it comes, and it’s nearly November already.”

  The chocolate lasagna might as well have been sawdust.

  “Timing-wise this worked out great. Now I don’t have to worry about you, not too much anyway.”

  Sarah didn’t look up.

  “My only worry was that you’d be lonely here.”

  Sarah looked at him then, hope dancing in her chest.

  “Nobody should be in this big house alone.”

  A faint smile quirked the edges of her lips. Please, Paul, please!

  Paul stood up and took her hand. Leaning close he whispered into her ear, “How’d you like a permanent roommate?”

  Yes! Blinking back tears, Sarah nodded her approval, not trusting her voice.

  “Come here,” he said, leading her a few steps to the little broom closet. Grinning, he opened the narrow door. A little black kitten meandered out.

  Sarah’s heart plunged somewhere under the basement. “A cat?”

  “Yep!” Paul bent and scooped it into his arms. “I already named him. Revere, meet your mommy.”

  “I hate cats,” said Sarah without heat.

  He held it up so the animal was level with her face. “Look at his little face. You never had a chance to like cats. You’re going to love him. He already went in the litter box!”

  Sarah took the kitten.

  Paul bent over and kissed it on the head. “The bad news is what my mother always says to my dad. I cooked, you clean. Goodnight, Sarah. I need a shower before bed.” He smiled at her and walked away.

  SARAH FOUGHT TEARS the entire time she cleaned the kitchen. It took forever with the kitten clutched in one hand. She covered the leftovers with wax paper and shoved them into the refrigerator.

  I can’t believe he’s going to leave already!

  “You’d better go in the litterbox,” she told the kitten.

  Just because dark matter left doesn’t mean I don’t need him!

  “You’re not sleeping with me.” She lifted the kitten to look into its golden eyes. “Ever.”

  I just got out of the hospital! I don’t know how to use light to cast! And how am I supposed to get the burnt dining room table out of the house? Plus, the light said I have to help the people my family hurt—how can I do that by myself? What do I know about helping people?

  “And you’re not getting on the furniture either, or the counters!”

  The kitten meowed in her face. She kissed him in the same spot Paul had. It’s not going to snow for at least a month. He’s such a baby! “I hate pet fur. Don’t you dare shed.” What kind of name is Revere for a kitten? I’m calling him Adolf.

  The sound of her ultrasonic toothbrush echoed down the hall.

  Sarah marched down the hallway to Paul’s room. “He’d better not be using that,” she told Adolf. “It’s mine and I want it back!”

  Paul’s door stood open. “You are not stealing my toothbrush,” she announced as she deposited the kitten on Paul’s bed and swung to face the thief.

  The man in question leaned against the sink, freshly showered, brushing his teeth with her toothbrush and not wearing a stitch of clothing.

  Sarah’s mouth dropped open.

  She’d never seen him run or work out once in the time since he’d moved in, but he obviously did something to deserve the long lean muscles rippling down his body. Despite his predilection for lasagna and other Italian food, Paul’s body lacked evidence of all the calories. His hair had grown. Even combed back and damp it looked like it needed to be cut. He definitely needed to shave with a razor she hadn’t been secretly using. Dark stubble trailing down his chin and throat met darker and thicker hair down the front of his body, all the way down.

  He turned back to the sink, not batting an eyelash at her intrusion. Sarah dropped onto the end of the bed. Paul took his sweet time rinsing his mouth and drying his hands.

  Finally he turned and walked toward her. “What do you think?”

  It took a moment for Sarah to respond, and she opted for fake-sounding nonchalance. “About what?”

  “My tats?” Paul turned around; displaying an impeccable back perched upon two globes of perfection.

  What tat? Sarah bounded off the bed. “Nice. Uh, I need my toothbrush.” And to take a cold shower. Now.

  Paul moved in front of her, blocking her path. “That’s a big cup of nope.”

  “What?”

  “I gave you a cat. Now, you give me custody of the toothbrush.” He breathed the last two words against her face and she smelled the grape of his toothpaste, his clean body-wash, and the underlying scent of him, remembered from that first encounter in the Target parking lot.

  Things in the Netherlands melted.

  Sarah opened her mouth and, “My brush cat, yeah,” came out.

  “Is that a fact?” Paul put his hand on her shoulder, smoothing the silk of her dress. “Do you r
emember that night in the Target parking lot? The night we met?”

  Sarah blinked at him, trying to focus on his words and not the fact that he was naked, and not just regular naked, but excellent, five-star naked.

  Paul continued, “We got wrapped up in that love spell?”

  Sarah’s brain unscrambled. “We did.”

  “And the necklace pulled Henry in too—”

  “Yes, I think it—”

  “I think I know why the spell let us go.”

  “Why?”

  “Because a love spell has nothing to do with real love, does it? Let’s say, hypothetically, that one of the people wrapped in the love spell begins to genuinely have feelings for the other. Real feelings. Good feelings.”

  “Wait. Are you saying that you—”

  “Fell in love with you?” Paul asked, his voice a whisper as he leaned close, too close. “No. But that day in the attic I suddenly cared about you. I wanted to help you. I friend-zoned you that day, deeply enough that dark matter either got uncomfortable, or bored with me.”

  “That might explain why it moved from you to Henry, but—”

  Paul rubbed his thumb on her cheek, carefully avoiding her bruises. “It got bored with you too, when you started to like me. I think that happened the day you bailed me out of jail. Or maybe even sooner. You went from bitch witch to tenderhearted friend helping a wounded warrior.”

  “Paul, that makes sense!” Sarah exclaimed. “And it was so much stronger with Henry because it had gone unchecked for so long. It blindsided me. I couldn’t think straight!”

  Paul shook his head. “That’s ancient history now. Remember the logic spell? Remember when it said, “You go together”?

  “Yes—wait. How do you know what the logic spell said to me?”

  Paul leaned down to look into her eyes and waited.

  “Did it say something to you?”

  He nodded.

  “It said “you go together” to you too?”

  He nodded again.

  “Wait. You mean it didn’t mean me and Henry? It meant me and—”

  “I have another theory, if you’re interested.”

  The way he said it had Sarah’s complete attention. She swallowed and nodded too.

  “When you used dark matter you never needed to sleep much, and you couldn’t really feel pain.”

  “That’s true, but I’ll have you know there’s really no down side to not feeling pain.”

  “Maybe, but I think it’s more about feeling anything. You feel everything now. You once told me that sex wasn’t much fun for witches, but now I wonder if that’s still true.”

  Sarah’s mouth dropped open. “Oh, that’s a really good theory.” What if that’s true? Oh, my stars, what if that’s true?

  “I think it’s worth compiling some scientific data to find out.”

  “I think you’re right.” Sarah swallowed. “So, is that why you’re naked?”

  “I’m simply trying to get your attention, Sarah Archer.” He leaned forward and kissed the tip of her nose. Sarah’s heart slammed against her ribs. “It hasn’t been easy with love spells and comas. My fabulous cooking and the little kitten were breadcrumbs you heartlessly ignored. You forced me to kidnap your toothbrush and show you the entire poem.” He motioned with both hands to his tattoos.

  It took effort to keep her eyes on his. “But you friend-zoned me. You said you wanted the blonde at the bakery more than me.”

  “That was before I really got to know you. Do you remember this part of the poem?” Paul turned his leg out and motioned toward his inner thigh.

  “No,” she whispered, staring.

  Brushing his bristled cheek against hers, Paul whispered in her ear, “What is education in Massachusetts coming to? This is the part where it goes, ‘Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride, booted and spurred, with a heavy stride.’”

  Sarah turned her eyes to his again. “It sounds like you’re trying to cast a spell, except there’s no magic in it.”

  Paul lifted Sarah under the arms and sat her on the edge of the bed. “Au contraire mon frere. It’s the real kind of magic.” He leaned down and pressed a hand against her torso, carefully avoiding her scar. Gently he moved her across the bed, past the kitten, and crawled after her on his hands and knees, corralling her until her back rested against the pillows.

  Paul stretched out beside her and smiled, saying in a normal tone, “I don’t want to hook up with you, Sarah. To be clear, I want to make love to you without anything that has to do with spells or dark matter.”

  Sarah wrapped her arms around him and pulled him closer, until their foreheads touched. “You don’t mind that I’m an evil witch?”

  “I don’t mind that you used to be,” Paul whispered against her lips. “There’s light in you, Sarah Archer.” He brushed his lips over hers. “And that’s only one of the things I’ve grown to love about you.”

  Sarah left Adolf on the front porch, safe from the snow coating the ground, and told him to stay. He listened. Paul stooped to scratch his ears and tell him goodbye.

  “I can’t believe Mommy renamed you after a fascist, genocidal maniac.”

  Sarah didn’t have the heart to argue that one madman didn’t get to own a name. She followed in Paul’s footprints, not even trying to hide the tears streaking down her face.

  “It’s not safe to drive that car in this weather,” she told him.

  “It’s nearly forty degrees. It’s already melting. My dad’s having a fit that by the time he gets his new car it’ll be last year’s model. I promised him, Sarah. But I’ll come back in the spring for a visit.” He opened the passenger door and tossed his backpack in.

  “A visit?” Her chin wobbled. “After the last couple days?”

  “I told you, that’s up to you.”

  “Do you want to leave? Is this really even about your dad’s car?”

  He leaned down and kissed her cheek, whispering into her ear, “You know what it’s about.”

  “I’m afraid.”

  “I know. Goodbye, Sarah.” He kissed her on the forehead, hovered for a moment over her lips, then straightened. Without looking at her Paul walked around the car, got inside, and within seconds was driving away from the curb.

  Sarah watched, her heart aching with loneliness already.

  Don’t go. Don’t go. Don’t go.

  Please, make him come back! She watched as the car stopped at the end of the block and waited for another car to pass.

  Light slid into Sarah’s mind. Red light. A second later a whistling sound echoed over the snow, heading down the street. Adolf hissed from his perch on the porch. The whistling followed Paul’s car, catching up with it and landing as he tried to turn onto High Street. It sounded like a meteorite dropped through the hood and tore the engine out. A sonic boom vibrated over the neighborhood and the percussion set off car alarms up and down the street.

  Sarah gaped, reminded of her first encounter with Paul all those weeks ago. Adolf had hurled himself off the porch to tunnel under the snowy leaves.

  The guy who cut the grass in summer came running with a snow shovel in hand. He bolted across the yard and around the side of the house heading in the direction of the greenhouse. Farther up the street Paul got out of the car and slammed the door shut with a bang. Sarah waited as he stalked up the street toward her, his expression furious. He’d barely gotten within earshot when he started yelling.

  “Are you kidding me? Are you freaking kidding me? You do not do that kind of crap to a war vet! Woman, you have got to be out of your mind! I’m going to need to go back into therapy and take medication. Lord! Even my legs are shaking!” Paul stopped several feet in front of her. “What the hell were you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking,” Sarah admitted.

  The thundercloud of dark brows over his eyes lifted.

  Paul took a step closer. “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  He turned to look up the street at the car. Several pe
ople had gathered around it. He turned back to her. “You couldn’t text me that? You know I would have turned around! I told you last night all you had to do was say you’d think about it. That’s all I needed to hear. Did you really have to blow up my dad’s car? Again?”

  Sarah crossed her arms. “I didn’t think it would work. I guess I can use light for bad stuff too.”

  Paul fought a smile. “That’s not funny, or good.”

  Sarah shrugged. “Sorry. I don’t think the light is happy with me either.” The zig-zagging patterns of lightning dancing through her head lightened and faded away, now that she’d acknowledged it.

  “Life is short and I’m old-fashioned, I told you. If I stay we’ll have to talk about commitment.”

  “But I’m not old-fashioned,” Sarah pointed out.

  “You’re very old-fashioned. You’re not traditional.”

  “Yeah. That,” she said.

  “But you said you were thinking.”

  “I am, Paul, and I’m willing to talk about it if that’s what you need. We can discuss it every day for years if you like.”

  “If you’re going to be like that, I might have to bust my warlock outta retirement.”

  She smiled. “I love when you talk dirty.”

  “You’re not the only bitch witch in town,” he drawled.

  “Pretty sure I am.”

  Paul moved the last few steps between them and wrapped his arms around her. “Don’t be afraid, Sarah. A relationship simply means you’re going to be with your best friend forever.”

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for reading Bitch Witch. Your feedback is important to me, so please take a moment and leave a review. It’s the best way for me to know what you’re thinking, and your reviews are instrumental in getting the next book published.

  The idea for Bitch Witch hit me last summer during a night run to Target. As a full blue moon rose over the parking lot, I tossed paper towels, coconut yogurt, and a step ladder into the back of my little Jeep. Because I’m an introverted writer who spends most days wearing my workout clothes (because I am going to get to it soon) I tend to run errands after dark.