Six-three, he'd told me early on, thirty-nine, old enough to know better but to do it anyway. There was more silver in the dark hair than there'd been in the picture. He smiled and opened his arms and for just a moment, I actually gave in and hugged back. Then he lowered his head and found my mouth and for just a moment, I kissed back. He pulled away.
"God, you taste good. Found time for the gum after all, I see." His mouth returned to mine and I gave in again, but not for long. It seemed to satisfy him, though, at least for the moment. "Hello, my precious half-witch, half-bitch, baby girl," he said.
When the waitress asked if we wanted booth or table, I automatically said booth. I needed that table between us. That didn't work out so well, though, as he slid in right next to me.
"Too close?" he asked.
"No," I lied. Worlds too close. To the waitress, I said "Small guacamole salad and a chili rellano, please. And tea."
He perused the menu briefly and flipped it shut. "Two chicken burritos, please. Unsweetened tea." And under the table, he rested his hand on my knee. An electric bolt of heat shot through me. I knew I should pull my thigh back over. Instead I felt it lean towards him.
I turned to the bowls of salsa and chips as though seeking sanctuary from a church altar. The first bite reminded me with a jolt that even though I loved Rosita's food, her salsa wasn't my favorite as it was made thin and, to my tastes, exceedingly hot. And our tea wasn't even on the table yet. And today, I wasn't even going to love the food because I was going to have a hell of a hard time eating anything. I glanced around. Nobody here that knew me. The attorneys ate at Rosita's occasionally, but almost always on a Friday when they made it a tradition to eat what they termed "funky". And nobody from Scott's accounting firm ever came in here, which had figured highly in the choice of meeting spot.
"Safe?" he asked, amusement in his voice. "Nobody here to run tattling back to the fiancé?" I'd forgotten he had a Floridian non-accent rather than a southern accent.
"So it appears," I said, leaning back. "Good drive up?"
"After I ran out of the rain. Wanta loosen up a little bit before you break?"
"I don't know if I can. And I don't even know what to say or talk about or—"
"Well, you've been just overflowing with questions in the emails lately."
The waitress deposited the plates with the usual warning they were hot, and I picked up my fork, promptly burning the hell out of my mouth on the first bite of rellano. To hell with this. Yes, I'd been overflowing with questions. Questions mostly unanswered.
"Yes, I have, haven't I, and you've studiously avoided answering most of them, too." I turned to face him, but instead of any of my prior questions, I had a new one. "Half-witch, half-bitch?"
He laughed. "For the moment."
"For the moment?"
"Until you figure it out. I'd thought there was no way you didn't know. Or at least have some glimmer of an idea."
"About what?"
"That you're a witch. One of the most powerful ones I've ever run across. And nobody with that much power could possibly not know. At least a little bit. Guess I thought wrong on that one."
Okay, I was in the Twilight Zone. "And you know this how?"
"Because I'm a warlock. War-N-Wit, remember? Inc."
"Inc. Of course." I sat and stared, not believing I was sitting here listening to this. "And you know I'm powerful because—"
"Because you're basically a telepath. You read people. And right now you're thinking that I'm a lunatic, but you just can't make yourself quite believe it. Right?"
"I don't read people, I—"
"The hell you don't. Those thumbnail sketches you do of people all the time? Way beyond descriptions of eye and hair color, baby girl. You read their souls."
"And you're—you don't know what I'm thinking right now!"
"Yes, I do. You're broadcasting. Got to work on those shields, baby girl."
"Even if I'm broadcasting, you couldn't—"
"Yes, I can."
I stared. "Because you're a telepath, too?"
"Mostly. A few other abilities thrown in, but mostly that, yeah. Let me tell you something, baby girl, any good profiler is basically a psychic. Any good law enforcement man is a profiler. And I've lost one guy in my entire career and he went to Mexico and died to get away from me. I called the attorney looking for him and told him to get an exhumation order and I'd bring in the coffin, I was so damn mad at ruining my record."
I was not still sitting here listening to this. Was I?
"It's not what you're thinking, precious. Witchcraft is the old religion, the old truth, the truth that everybody used to know but has forgotten. It's the magic running underneath, through everything, through everyone, the good, the power, the music of the universe. And everybody has the capability if they want to reach for it. Witches and warlocks are those of us who, consciously or unconsciously, know how to tap into it. Remember telling me about being a really good cook when you don't even like cooking? What's cooking but the most essential form of making potions? Listening to nature and what it tells you to combine with what? When you actually reach for that power instead of just subconsciously using it—" He shrugged. "You have no idea what you'll be able to do."
I sat back, knowing that my eyes were wider than saucers.
"You have the most beautiful eyes," he said. "That blue rim around the dark green that runs into the brown around the pupil."
"I don't have a blue rim around my eyes," I protested, which was an absolute lie. I'd noticed it before, but it was so slight I'd thought I must be imagining it.
"Sure you do. Puts out a blue aura around you. You really should talk to your sister, you know."
"My sister? Antsypants?"
He laughed. "Yeah, Antsypants. Don't know if your parents had any power or knew they did, but they sure named the two of you perfectly. Ariel and Anastasia. Perfect names for a beautiful pair of witches. Antsypants knows a lot more than you do about what the two of you actually are, not nearly as closed to it. Why do you think she seems so—well, bright—and you seem so mysterious?"
"Nobody thinks I'm mysterious except you."
He shrugged. "Yeah, well, like I said. Most people don't have a clue what they're actually looking at. Knocked you out enough on that, I think. Want to move on to other unanswered questions?"
Please. Immediately. Anything else.
"Okay. Did you really remember me from the first time I talked to you? On Mark's case?"
"Absolutely. I recognized you as soon as you answered the phone."
"Recognized me?"
"Don't get ahead of yourself, baby girl."
"Okay. So—you pursued so relentlessly that day because you recognized me?"
"Uh-huh. You were back, you see. Well, not back, exactly, just found. I knew that if I was right, if you were really who I thought you were, you'd come back. And you did. Within a month."
"But then you vanished. For two and a half weeks."
"That was for you. I was sure, but I still didn't have a clue if you knew."
"You've already said I didn't have any idea I'm a witch, which I'm not—"
"Yes, you are, but that's not what I meant. I meant, I didn't know if you knew who I was. And I knew if you did, even if you didn't know you did, you'd contact me. Which you did."
"I still don't know who you are!" I exclaimed. "You're—you're—talking like a crazy person and I'm sitting here listening, which I still don't believe—"
"You're listening because you know I'm right. So let's cut to the bare essentials. We've been here before, you and I, many times, we are one, baby girl, we are each other's eternal soul mates, each other's other half, and I know it and you know it. And if nothing else, I intended to establish enough contact so I can find you easier next time. And if you refuse to believe it and believe in us and I have to wait till next time, then I will. But I will find you again. Because you can run but you can't hide. I just want as much of you as I can get this tim
e so it won't take so long next time." He shrugged again. "Last time I didn't find you till we were both so much older it almost wasn't worth it. That one was a bitch. And I don't intend for it to happen again."
Chapter Nine
The world stood still, closed in, retreated, kaleidoscoped back out into swirls of scenes of places and times I'd never been, never seen. Hot, bright sun beat down on an arena covered in sand and blood, my heart ripping apart as I looked at the bodies lying so still amidst the roars of the approving, raucous crowd. I felt the biting cold, so cold it burned, coming from the snow stretching out across what I knew, knew with absolute certainty, to be the Russian steppes. I cringed from the visions of the shadowed chambers filled with monstrous man-made instruments of pain and the screams rolling out of them. I stood on the mountains in the mists and heard the faint echo of bagpipes. I saw blue water and shining white sand and smelled the salt air.
I swayed and felt the blood drain out of my face. He stretched his arm out and encircled me quickly, pulling me close. I didn't pull away.
"Oh, God! Too much too quick, huh? I'm sorry, I didn't think you'd go into total flashback."
I was beginning to get my bearings back a bit. "I'm fine. And it wasn't a flashback, it was—it was—it was a whole lot of whatever it was. Which was nothing. I'm crazy, you're crazy. This is a—shared delusion." I sat up straight. Time to put the conversation back on a normal frame of reference. "Are you through? I have a lot of shopping to do, are you coming or are you a typical man who doesn't like to shop?"
He raised his eyebrow. "I'm not a typical anything, baby girl."
You're telling me. But for the rest of the afternoon, he was charmingly normal as he walked beside me in the mall, offering opinions when I asked, carrying bags without protest. I looked at Kay's Jewelers and remembered I was almost past due to get my ring cleaned and setting checked. Scott was insistent about that as it kept the warranties in place. He'd be really hacked off it I let that warranty lapse.
"Do you mind if I pop in here a minute? You don't have to come."
"Need your ring cleaned and don't think it's tactful to wave your engagement ring in my face?"
I knew my expression just screamed, "Got me! But how?"
"I'm not reading your mind, precious, you looked at the store, you looked at your ring, you looked at me. Not very forthcoming with the big bucks, though, is he? Kay's?"
My ring was not, in fact, particularly large, but it was elegant. I didn't really like flashy and being a typist, actually didn't like large rings on my hands, and jewelry had never meant anything to me except insofar as who had given it to me or who it had belonged to.
"I like it," I said.
"Baby girl, any man putting a ring on your finger ought to put one on big enough to blind folks passing your desk while you type. A stone from the Miami or Houston market. Special setting. One of a kind ring for a one of a kind half-witch, half-bitch. While you're giving your two week's notice, that is."
"You have something against wives working?"
"'Course not. But you'll have a hell of a time commuting from Quitman. And besides, you'll be working with me. You're a natural, I'm thinking you might even be better than me at the prelims. Who do you think the 'Wit' is in War-N-Wit?"
"Suppose Wit never shows up?"
"She's here, baby girl. Oh, I know you don't ever plan to see me again after today. But that ain't happenin'. Goin' to be fighting you hard on that one. But I won't be back up till you're ready, either. That deer-caught-in-the headlights, waiting for me to pounce look is getting to me. Go get your ring cleaned. Ice cream cone when you finish, maybe?"
This was beyond disconcerting, this ability he had to know exactly what I was thinking. And the hell of it was, it could be explained either by his line of work, or by the fantasy that he was a telepathic warlock.
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. "Vanilla," I finally said, conceding defeat.
"I knew that."
He didn't try to hug me or kiss me goodbye. He cheerfully deposited my bags in my trunk and shut my car door. "Drive careful," he said. "And remember—"
"I can run but I can't hide," I finished. "Rain's moving back in, you drive careful too."
"Yes, ma'am."
I drove off, fully resolved not to ever, ever see the man again. Or talk to him. And because I was feeling considerably more like the cowardly lion than a bitch from hell, I'd email him that tomorrow. That resolve lasted for a whole twenty minutes before I picked up my cell phone.
"The weather report just said there's some really heavy rain moving up from I-75."
"Yeah, I got a radio too, baby girl."
"So be careful."
"I will," he assured me.
Chapter Ten
I wasn't such a fool I'd even thought I could fix supper for Scott after spending the afternoon with another man and I'd made it clear I needed the evening alone to finish up Christmas details, wrappings, etc. I was not a happy camper when I heard the key in the door. I wasn't even ready to talk to Stacy after this afternoon, and I sure as hell didn't want to talk to Scott.
"Did I just walk into Santa's workshop?" he asked, glancing at the boxes and rolls of wrapping paper and sheets of tissue. When agitated, I habitually swirled like a tornado between multiple mindless tasks that required no concentration, and was wrapping presents and running back and forth to the kitchen where Christmas sugar cookies were baking.
"I told you I was going to be busy," I said. "Hand me that roll of tape over there, this one's out."
He complied. "Did you get a chance to get your ring checked while you were out? You really shouldn't let deadlines get so close, you know."
Considering my profession, that sent sparks of crimson rage flying out of my head. I felt them.
"Excuse me? I coordinate deadlines for three freakin' attorneys! Do you have any idea what that involves? And anyway, my ring costs 800 bucks. Or would have if it hadn't been on sale for 500, so it's not like we're talking about the Kohinoor diamond here, you shouldn't worry about details so much."
That hit a nerve. "You picked it out, you don't like big jewelry on your hands, remember? And you don't know what juggling numbers for a bunch of different companies means either, do you?"
"Or in other words, I'm just a secretary and you're a CPA?"
"Well, that's what we are, aren't we?" He frowned as he surveyed my mass of confused paper and boxes. "Did you maybe go over your budget a little bit here?"
"And is it any damn business of yours if I did?" I snapped.
"Honey, you don't stop to think of after effects sometimes, I'm just pointing out—"
"Don't. Point. Out."
His face registered the pained patience utilized in dealing with a toddler I absolutely detested. You want to pull out our college transcripts and compare 'em? Take a bet which one of us had the 2.1 average and which one had the 3.9. Which was only because I hated the PE courses, by the way. If you want an athlete, you got the wrong gal.
"You have been ill as a hornet's nest for the last month, you know that?"
Yeah, actually I did, but in fact Scott thought I was ill as a hornet's nest anytime I didn't immediately stop what I was doing and come running whenever he called my name. He had no idea how ill I actually was.
"You are under no obligation to stay and suffer the effects," I said, glaring over the box I was attacking. "I believe I told you I was going to be busy and needed an evening to—"
That was when it hit. The muscles in the back of my neck tightened into a vice grip, my arms went numb. I was dizzy to the point of ceasing to breathe, my heart pounding. I gasped and grabbed the back of my neck, panting. I'd hyperventilated a few times in the days AFH which had scared the living shit out of me as I'd thought I was having a heart attack in my twenties, and that's exactly what this felt like. As unsettled as I was, though, I didn't think I was anywhere near stressed enough to hyperventilate. And I didn't think my brain was the source of the echo ricocheting arou
nd my skull either. "Not now, damn it!!!!"
"Ariel? What the hell? Honey, you've been doing too much, you're white as a sheet—"
Good thing I was sitting down. Otherwise, I'd have certainly fallen. It was getting better, though the after effects were making my muscles feel like jelly. I had to get rid of Scott. As soon as possible. Time to play the delicate Southern flower.
"I'm sorry," I said, looking up with my best waif-like expression plastered on my face. "I ran around the mall all afternoon and started on all this as soon as I got home, and I just realized I haven't eaten and—"
"Good Lord! No wonder you're ill! Well, I tell you what, I'm going to heat some soup in the microwave for you and then you're going to turn that damn oven off and go to bed, how's that sound?"
Sounds like you're a controlling asshole, I thought, but whatever got him out of here the quickest.
"Sounds good," I affirmed, in a fever to whip out my cell phone and hit a certain number even as I derived a bit of satisfaction from the thought of Scott actually fixing something for me to eat for a change. And I was getting shaky, I hadn't eaten a lot at lunch and really hadn't stopped since I'd gotten home, because then I might have to think.
He was back in five minutes with a mug of tomato soup. I took it, wondering how in the hell he'd been engaged to me for six months and didn't know that though I loved tomatoes, I didn't like tomato soup and used it for cooking purposes only.
"The oven timer dinged while I was in there, I took those cookies out and turned it off."
"Great. Thanks. I'm fine now, you go on. I'm just goin' drink this and collapse."
"You're sure you're really all right? I mean, you're not sick or anything, are you?"
The expression on his face begged me to confirm I wasn't sick. And I knew I shouldn't take that personally; I'd never known a man who wouldn't rather do almost anything else other than take care of a sick wife or girlfriend. Well, except clean a toilet.
War-N-Wit, Inc. - The Witch Page 4