I faced myself again and thought how odd I looked with brown eyes and black hair. Rand chuckled at the transformation. “Much better fair,” he said and with a blink, my eyes and hair were back to normal. Apparently he didn’t like the altered me.
“Hey! I wasn’t finished.”
He focused on me, his eyes narrowing as he bit his lip. “Perhaps some depth to that hair ...”
I looked in the mirror and watched as my hair seemed to take on its own personality, winding itself into tight coils only to drop in billowy waves around my shoulders. So Rand liked longer hair …
I considered the new look. “Hmm, not bad.”
Rand continued to study me; the smile on his lips signifying that he was enjoying this as well. “That lipstick is too red on you.”
When I looked from him to the mirror, the red disappeared as if someone had swept it away. In its place, a light pink danced across the planes of my lips. I guess he had a point there. I’d never been good with makeup and just settled for borrowing Christa’s colors. And Christa’s makeup was … vivid, like her personality.
“I never thought I was capable of any of this,” I said in a small voice as I gazed upon my reflection.
“This is just the beginning.”
I didn’t respond, but just nodded dumbly.
“Well, Jack and Christa must be tired,” Rand said, clasping his hands in an “I’m going to leave now” motion.
Tired? Then I remembered the spell Rand had put on them and figured they must’ve been dancing for over an hour! “Holy crap!”
Rand waved a hand to calm me down. “They’ll be fine. They won’t even know there’s anything out of the ordinary. Well, I’ll say goodnight, Jolie. I had a fun evening with you.”
He neared the door and paused, as if he wanted to say something more.
I stood up and followed him. “Thank you, Rand, I had fun also.”
He hesitated only momentarily. “I’ve booked you and Christa on a flight home tomorrow. I’ll need to remain here to tie up some loose ends.”
My heart dropped and my throat felt like it was closing in on itself. “So I guess this is goodbye?” My voice was an octave or so deeper than it normally is.
“I’m afraid so.” He fished inside his pants pocket and pulled out his wallet. My heart took a further dump. He pulled out a folded check and handed it to me. “What I owe you and a … tip.”
I smiled, trying to keep up the appearance of being okay, trying to mask the fact that I would miss him … I could feel it already—like a scream sounding from the bottom of a long well. I accepted the check and put it on the table next to my bed. Steeling my courage, I forced myself to look into the abyss of his beautiful chocolate eyes.
“Thanks, Rand.”
He nodded and seemed as much at a loss for words as I was. “You did an … incredible job. I’m very proud of you.”
Tears started in my eyes, and I furiously blinked them away. I knew my voice would crack if I attempted to say anything, so I saved myself the embarrassment and just offered a petite smile. Rand responded by extending his hand. I grasped it, and his electricity pumped through me, saying goodbye in its own way. He dropped my hand and crossed the threshold into the hall. With a quick nod, he started down the hallway. I watched his retreating figure until he turned the corner and walked out of my life.
FIVE
After about a week, I slipped into the usual swing of things and found my life pretty much back on track. It seemed business picked up a bit more, and I suspected Rand had been the reason for my dip in sales, knowing I’d be more apt to accept his invitation to Chicago if I were hard up. I guess I should’ve been pissed off, but the anger abated once I thought about the tip he’d given me. Let’s just say it wasn’t standard English etiquette where gratuity is concerned.
“So what are you gonna do with all that money?” Christa asked, leaning her elbows on the front desk.
I shrugged, slumping in the chair behind the desk. “I don’t know.”
Christa nodded, and I imagined she had some very good ideas as to what I should do with it. “You should buy a new car.”
I swiveled back and forth in the chair, thinking there was a definite squeak coming from it. “Why? What’s wrong with the Jetta?”
“It’s just getting older.”
“It’s only five years old, Chris. Sheesh!” I had no interest in selling my car. For now, the money could just sit there and build interest.
“Or you could come with me when I take my photography trip.”
That was an option.
“Do you even know when and where you’re going?”
She shrugged. “Well, not totally. Maybe Italy, maybe England. I’ve heard Scotland has some beautiful places … and guys.”
I laughed. “Been reading more Scottish romances, have we?”
Christa sighed, no doubt picturing a hulking Scottish laird in a kilt and nothing else. “Well, even if I don’t know where I’m going, would you want to come with me?”
“I’ll think about it. It does sound fun and I’m not sure I’d want you to take a trip like that by yourself, anyway.” I was silent as I considered it.
“Well, I did really like Diana Gabaldon’s books,” I said, thinking maybe Scotland wasn’t such a bad idea.
She just smiled and returned her attention to the People magazine before her, humming something I didn’t recognize. My gaze fell to the cover of the magazine, and my lips tightened. I didn’t know how she could read such crap. I couldn’t care less what Brad Pitt was up to or how many times Britney Spears was going to have an emotional breakdown.
“Have you heard from Rand?” Her tone was nonchalant, but she might as well have told me she’d drowned a litter of puppies for the reaction Rand’s name had on my stomach.
“No.” My thoughts immediately painted the picture of my last meeting with Rand, how depressed I’d been at the prospect of never seeing him again. Unfortunately, my feelings hadn’t ebbed. To make matters worse, I dreamed of him almost every night, and the dreams were always the same—Rand’s lips on mine, the scent of spice thick in the air, our bodies entwined. I’d wake in a sweat, completely unfulfilled. I wondered when I’d get Rand out of my head and prayed it would be soon.
Christa closed her magazine and eyed me as a painter would a potential subject. She chewed on her cheek, and that meant a deep conversation was on the way. I groaned. I didn’t like deep conversations.
“Jules …” Here it came. “You seem … different since we got back. Like really depressed.”
I sighed but knew I wouldn’t be able to sidestep this conversation. Since Christa was my best friend, I guess I owed her my honesty. “It’s been a little tough getting back into the swing of things since Chicago.”
“Is it Rand?”
I nodded, eyeing a pencil on the top of the desk. Grabbing it, I tapped the eraser against my lips, wishing I could cut thoughts of Rand right out of my brain. “I’m peeved that I didn’t pursue him when I had the chance.”
She agreed with a nod of her head. “He was definitely interested in you.”
I laughed, but the sound was hollow, sad even. “I blew it. But, to be honest, if I had the chance to go back, I’d probably end up doing the same thing all over again. I’m a real head case, aren’t I?”
“No, Jules, you aren’t.”
That wasn’t the only reason for my depression lately. I was having trouble trying to lead a normal life after uncovering the incredible powers I possessed. I’d sit in front of the mirror for hours at a time, using magic to change my hair and makeup. I even started experimenting with various outfits I saw in magazines, recreating them on myself.
Sometimes I’d concentrate so hard my head would ache, and then I’d have to focus on taking the pain away until I fell into a comatose stupor. But I was honing my craft and getting better and better, finding my fastest time now reduced to seconds.
So here I was the same Jolie, but not quite the same. There
was a confidence within me that was truly new, yet I was still too disenchanted with myself to believe such a handsome man as Rand had actually been interested in me. The thought drilled into me day after day … not that it mattered now since I’d never see him again.
Not enjoying my glum thoughts, I threw the pencil against the table and stood, pacing our small front office. I couldn’t bring myself to study the financials, review my appointments for the week, or care about the thin layer of dust covering everything. My mind was absorbed with thoughts of Rand—what he was doing, where he was, if I’d ever see him again.
The buzz of the bell above the door pulled me from my reverie. A woman strode in, her electric blue aura announcing her arrival. I narrowed my eyes, my instincts instantly on the alert. I knew what a blue aura meant.
I’m not sure she was technically beautiful, but she carried herself as if she were the quintessential embodiment of beauty. Her oval face finished in a square jaw and her rosebud mouth would make a rose envious. Her hair had a reddish tinge, and her skin was so perfect, it looked like expensive china, the kind newlyweds register for. So she could be a poster child for Neutrogena, I wasn’t envious …
Even with her attractive face and Marilyn Monroe-esque figure, there was a hardness about her, a hardness that somehow seemed familiar. Of course, I’d never met her before, so I attributed the feeling to that weird sense of déjà vu that sometimes hits you like a great gust of wind straight from another life.
She ignored Christa who lifted her hand in greeting. The woman’s eyes focused on mine and they were so piercing, my eyes watered.
She hadn’t come for a reading.
“Are you Jolie Wilkins?” she snapped.
I didn’t want to answer—she kind of scared the crap out of me. I couldn’t just stand there gaping at her though. “Yes, how can I help you?”
She motioned to the back of the shop, apparently looking for some privacy. I swallowed hard and led her to the reading room, not missing Christa’s raised brows as I closed the door behind us. The woman didn’t take a seat.
“I’m Bella Sawyer,” she said very matter-of-factly. “You know my father—you brought him back from the dead.”
I could taste my own shock. The same flood of emotions that had seized me when I’d reanimated Jack now drowned me.
I nodded. “Yes, about that …” I started, wondering if one should apologize for reanimating a dead parent. Who knows, maybe she was here to thank me? She didn’t look grateful though. …
She dismissed me with a wave of her manicured hand. “Never mind apologies, that’s not why I’m here. I have a possible job for you—my father told me all about your abilities, and though Rand was less than forthcoming, I know he believes in you as well.”
Rand’s name piqued my curiosity, and I couldn’t subdue the tempest that stormed within my stomach. God, I was in a sore position if merely hearing the man’s name did this to me. “Does Rand know you’re here?”
She shook her head, but her hair didn’t move, every strand perfectly in place like soldiers in formation. “No. He wanted to keep you a secret, but secrets are not possible in our society.” I figured she meant the society of witches or maybe otherworldly creatures. “Anyway, of course I’d pay you well,” she finished.
My mind wasn’t on the job. It hadn’t quite gotten past the point she made about her “society” knowing of me. What did that mean exactly? Was I now on the Rolodex of witches, werewolves, vampires, and God knew what else?
“Are you interested?” she asked impatiently, reminding me that she was still standing there. I couldn’t say I was interested. With her arms crossed against her chest and her narrowed eyes, she looked like she’d take first place in the World’s Worst Boss contest.
“What’s the job?”
“I’ll discuss that with you later. I’m here to invite you to a party.”
A party? I couldn’t imagine Ms. Ice Queen would have any reason to befriend ordinary me. The fact that she’d just invited me to a party was so baffling, she might as well have told me she was with Publisher’s Clearing House, and I’d just won one million dollars. What I could do with that …
She reached inside her Prada purse and produced a card with an address written on it. She handed it to me, and her hand grazed mine. I didn’t feel any electricity like I had when touching Rand. Interesting … I filed that note for future reference.
My eyes fell to the card as I admired the curlicues in her writing. Not a nice witch, but she had nice penmanship. “A party for whom?” I asked.
“Just a party. It starts at ten tonight and if you want to come, don’t be late.” She started toward the door, but stopped and glanced back, a smirk on her face.
“Oh, and I hope you aren’t frightened by vampires.”
My gaze jumped from the perfumed card to her face as I searched for a semblance of humor in her menacing features. But humor wouldn’t live long in a person like her so I reached the conclusion that she wasn’t joking. “Um, I think it’s safe to say I am frightened of vampires. How do I know I’m not on the menu?”
She laughed an ugly and tinny sound and opened the door, heading into the front room. “Much though vampires love the taste of witches, they’d never kill us. They need us too much.” Her smile fell, and her expression turned hard again. “Besides, Rand will be there, and I’m certain he wouldn’t allow a hair to be harmed on your pretty little head.”
I couldn’t picture Rand talking about me with anyone let alone Poison Ivy. What was this woman to Rand, I wondered. “Does Rand know you’ve invited me?”
She rolled her eyes in exasperation. “No, I’ve already told you he doesn’t know I’ve come here.”
Well she wasn’t a warm witch, but if Rand would be at the party, I felt safer. “Okay, I’ll be there.”
“Oh, and wear a costume. It’s a masquerade,” she added before turning on her stiletto heel, frowning at Christa and throwing open the front door with a great show of indifference.
Once the door closed behind her, Christa faced me with wide eyes and I just shook my head. “Christa, I have a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.”
~
I glanced at the clock on the dash of my car. Crap. It was five minutes to ten, and I remembered Bella had been very specific about being on time. I narrowed my eyes and leaned forward, peering through the dirty windshield. As luck would have it, I was out of window washer fluid, and the dirt road kicked up a cloud of dust that obscured my view. Maybe this was a bad omen. I shirked off the feeling, knowing full well that my washer fluid is never full. I’m not a very responsible car owner.
My attention returned to the anxious humming in my stomach and I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of idiot drives out to the middle of nowhere, alone, to a party full of witches and vampires? I didn’t want to answer the question …
Well, idiot or no idiot, I was lost and running out of time. If I didn’t see the house in five minutes, I’d take it as fate telling me not to go. Something along the lines of the fox trying to get the grapes and upon not reaching them, deciding they would’ve been sour anyway.
I rounded a bend, and a twinkle of lights in the distance interrupted the dark night. Depressing my foot from the accelerator, I turned onto a gravel drive. The house before me wasn’t old or impressive like I’d imagined it would be. Instead, it was just a ranch house probably built in the seventies. The driveway was long, and attendants were parking cars. Jags, BMWs, and Porsches littered the driveway, making my little Jetta look like scrap metal. But I reminded myself that material things didn’t impress me.
The valet opened the door and held out his hand.
“Thanks,” I murmured, dropping my keys into his open palm. As fate would have it, the wings of my fairy costume caught in my seatbelt, and I had to battle with both in order to free myself as the valet looked on, trying to choke back a laugh.
About my fairy costume—Tinker Bell would’ve been proud with my mint green wings and st
rawberry pink dress, which I will admit, was on the exceedingly short side. Most of the time I’m not too keen about showing off the ol’ bod, but when have you ever heard of a fairy in a long dress?
With an exasperated sigh, I jerked on my wings, but they refused to budge. This only further amused the attendant, who openly chuckled. I glared at him and when his attention shifted to my lap, I pulled down on my dress and gave him a scowl. Before I could straighten my wings, another valet appeared.
He reached inside and unhooked my wing from the seatbelt, giving his coworker a this-girl-is-an-idiot smile. I was so pissed off, I refused to take his offered arm and instead, followed him down the steep drive, wobbling in my four-inch pink hooker shoes.
He paused before a set of double oak doors then opened one of the doors and bowed low. I ignored him.
With a sigh, I turned to face the foyer, and my mouth dropped open. It wasn’t the great expanse of white marble floor or the Corinthian columns lining the walls or even the ornate tapestries that caused my disquietude. It was the fact that inside, this was a three-story mansion, and upon seeing it from the street, it appeared to be a one-story ranch house.
I forced myself forward, the tapping of my heels against the marble echoing the palpitations of my heart. The vestibule flared into a giant receiving room where jackets and other unnecessary pieces of clothing were strewn this way and that, some lucky enough to have found a hanger. I continued to follow the sounds of music and laughter, wondering what in the hell I’d managed to get myself into this time.
The hallway stopped at a wide set of stairs. Swallowing hard, I started up the steps. At the top of the staircase, I faced the grandest ballroom I’d ever seen—a white baby grand piano played itself, and Louis XIV armchairs and love seats decorated the perimeter of the room, the white marble floor paling against the ornate gold work of the furniture.
Fire Burn And Cauldron Bubble, A Paranormal Romance (Jolie Wilkins) Page 7