Love Spell

by Crowe, Stan

Half a flight down, he heard a half-strangled phrase from above. He pivoted to see what he was missing. There, at the top of the stairs, Sullivan was staring down at him, tears obvious on her face.

  “What was that?” he asked.

  “Fey’s not dead,” Sully croaked.

  Clint felt his heart stop. Did she say…?

  “I saw her,” she continued. “She was here. Two nights ago. Right out in that parking lot. She attacked me with a goat.” Sully gave a sobbing chuckle.

  Clint took three stairs at a time back toward her. “Wait, you mean you spoke with her? Like, in person?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “I made a wish.”

  Clint’s eyes widened. “For what?”

  Lindsay hurried back into her condo, but before Clint could follow, she was back outside again, purse over her shoulder, and keys in hand. “I’ll tell you in the car.”

  “What—”

  “Come on, Clint. I think I know where she is. Well, maybe.” Sullivan grabbed his hand as she raced past him toward the bottom of the stairs. Clint flinched automatically at the touch, but welcomed it all the same. Might as well let it play at this point.

  “Where are we going?” he asked.

  “Ever done Vegas?”

  Clint just smiled.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Las Vegas, Nevada was everything Clint had dreamed of. Except for the bit about having no idea where Fey actually was. But he’d heard this tune before a few years ago—“I know where she is! Oh… wait…” He didn’t fault Lindsay (she’d insisted he call her that), though. She’d gotten him closer to a resolution than he’d ever been before, and frankly, he was happy to even see her again, and thrilled that she wasn’t stark raving mad for having touched him again.

  Sullivan managed the drive to Vegas in four hours. They grabbed a pair of rooms in the Luxor simply because it looked cool, and he spent a restless night waiting for dawn, and scribbling a new portrait of Lindsay to keep his mind off worrying about Molly. Molly had been great—attractive, intelligent, dependable—and safe to date. She was a better alternative than a train wreck of a love life, but she was a bit too clingy. Unlike Lindsay. And Lindsay actually knew how to laugh.

  When he finished the portrait, Clint had coaxed himself into trying to sleep. It didn’t work. Fey was alive and once again within reach. He wondered whether he could squeeze a second wish out of her. He’d worry about payment when he found her.

  He rose before the sun, grabbed a quick and quiet breakfast with Lindsay, and then they were on their way.

  As they pulled out onto Hacienda Avenue, he looked over at her. “I never did ask you why you’re still driving this beater.” He gestured at his old Corolla.

  Lindsay spread her hands. “I needed something I could beat up. The firm lets me drive a Benz on company business, but this is my day-to-day. A simple workhorse.”

  He laughed. “Bull. You drive it because it reminds you of me.”

  Shock registered on her face. “Are you calling me a liar?”

  “Hey, you needed some sort of memento after you bailed on me.”

  Lindsay’s face closed in a flash. “You left me first.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Remind me what I said in my note when I drove away without saying goodbye.”

  “You said goodbye when you started sucking face with Secret Agent Gal.”

  “She kissed me, Sully.”

  “Funny, I never saw you try to stop it.”

  Clint sighed and sat back in his seat. “Wait, why are we fighting? What are we even fighting about? I only barely got you back.”

  “Got me back? You never had me in the first place.”

  He smirked. “Oh, Sully. I so had you on the beach.”

  Lindsay turned away. “That wasn’t me you had,” she whispered. “You said so yourself.”

  Great. She had to remind him of that. He pursed his lips. “Sully… Lindsay… Yesterday I pretty much pulled my heart out of my chest and pinned it to my sleeve. Now I don’t know what that means to you, but that’s harder for a guy to do than you might think.

  “Until yesterday, for all I knew, you were nothing more than a really good memory I tried not to think about because that’s all you were—a memory. Next thing I know, I run into you after a Giants game, and then find out that Fey isn’t dead after all. Do you have any idea what that means?”

  Lindsay stopped at the light on Tropicana, but kept her eyes forward. “Yes, Clint. It means I got to spend part of an evening with a cranky old hag who smelled like her live-in goat.”

  Clint shook his head. “No. It means… It means… Never mind.”

  He leaned back in his seat and covered his eyes. Did he really need to tell her this again? Hadn’t yesterday’s confession been enough? This close to finally having something meaningful with her, and yet, she was throwing up roadblocks even after initiating a trip to Vegas? It didn’t make any sense. Unless, of course, she was trying to get herself free of the curse. Maybe he was kidding himself.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice like a pillow.

  Without warning he felt her close to him. He peeked out from under his hand, and realized he’d never been more excited to see anyone in his whole life.

  “Please tell me, Clint.”

  He fought the urge to kiss her by pulling out his sketchpad. He handed it to her without looking. She took it, and he heard her flip through the pages silently.

  Then she gasped.

  “Clint? Is this… me? The forest is lovely. It’s just like that one—”

  Do or die, he thought.

  He sucked in a breath, gently pushed the sketchpad aside, and quickly pressed his lips to hers.

  As always, she went rigid instantly, and he thought he could hear her heart racing. For three years, he’d been able to carefully avoid contact with the opposite sex (Molly aside) and that had allowed him some semblance of normalcy despite hiding under Molly’s ever-vigilant eye. The FBI agent had filled his need for female companionship during that time, and while he’d once considered marriage, in the end he knew Molly wasn’t it.

  But here, now, with Lindsay, it was easy to lose himself in her; she was worth risking the madness. He kissed her as if it were the last one he might ever get. He’d think about the repercussions later.

  Then, something happened—Lindsay softened, and flowed into the kiss. It was almost the same as she’d done on the beach all those mornings ago. This time, he could tell that it really was her, and not the byproduct of some crazy magic.

  A car horn blasted him out of his little paradise, and he jerked away from her. Her eyes were ravenous, and she was still leaning into his personal space. The driver behind them mashed his horn a second time, and held it. Lindsay slowly retreated, and fumbled with the accelerator, still keeping one eye on Clint. The old Toyota lurched forward a few times, and then steadied itself. Lindsay’s breathing was shallow and rapid; Clint’s breathing kept time with hers. Part of him knew he should leap from the car while it was still only doing thirty, but he couldn’t bring himself to even take his eyes off her.

  A block or two later, Lindsay pulled off into a parking lot, and the belligerent driver that had been tailgating them flew past with another honk and a one-fingered salute.

  “Did you mean that, Clint?” Lindsay asked between ragged breaths. “How long have you wanted to tell me that?”

  Clint did some mental calculations. “Let’s see… Carry the one… Eleven hundred and three days. Give or take.”

  She leaned back against the driver’s side window, and gazed silently at him for a while.

  “Well?” he finally asked.

  “What happens if we find Fey?” was her reply.

  Clint gave her a crooked grin. “I’ll deal with the goat; you put her in an armbar. We might be able to wring a wish out of her yet.”

  “And just what would you wish for?” Lindsay asked, leaning back toward him.

  “I’m prett
y sure I made it clear back at that red light.” For good measure, he repeated his explanation.

  After reaching a mutual understanding, they hit the Vegas beat with gusto. Lindsay made more phone calls in an hour than Clint thought possible, staring at him intensely the whole time. She was in good spirits despite the number of times she hung up on a note of, “Well, thank you anyway.” Her list of calls to make was shrinking quickly, but Clint told himself not to get his hopes up. They drove to an area on the east side of town when she thought she had an actual lead, but the painted RV they found was not the bus they were looking for.

  During a stop for fuel and something to drink, Lindsay made a quick restroom break. The morning sunlight felt wonderful as Clint stretched and yawned. The nostalgic smell of gasoline hung in the air, and the taste of triumph was on his lips. He smiled at the way the day was shaping up, only to gag on the exhaust from an old, white pickup that sputtered past him, and halted at a gas pump.

  Clint set his energy drink down, not bothering to spare the pickup truck even a glare, and pulled out the complimentary city map they’d gotten from the hotel. Small X’s dotted the map, marking locations that had no record of Fey or her bizarre vehicle. Lindsay had been up front about the fact that she couldn’t make any guarantees. Still, the hope he saw in her eyes echoed what he felt inside. Even if they couldn’t find her, Clint hoped that he could still make something work with Lindsay notwithstanding his issues. At the very least, she hadn’t ripped his head off yet. He grabbed his drink again and took a swig.

  “Clint!”

  A mouthful of liquid alertness got spewed all over his map, and a few ounces of the beverage slipped down his throat the wrong way. He doubled over in a coughing fit, and Lindsay bustled up to him.

  “Clint! I think I found her!”

  Still clutching his throat, he held up his free hand to forestall an inquiry.

  “Quit with the theatrics. Get in the car!” She scrambled in and fired up the engine.

  Clint awkwardly gathered his drink and the wet map, and climbed in beside her. Minutes later, they were screaming down the freeway.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Lindsay knew she was certifiably insane. For starters, she was murdering her skyrocketing career by going AWOL when she was supposed to be grooming a vital client. She confirmed her insanity when she’d grabbed Clint’s hand and dragged him off to Vegas. But now, here she was, verging (again) on closing the only case she ever had as a private investigator. Better late than never, right?

  The morning had been a whirlwind of emotion after a night of no sleep. She’d ridden the slanty elevators up and down for about an hour, talking to anyone else who got on, and talking to herself when no one was there. Security finally asked her to leave when several other guests expressed their concern. Breakfast passed with only a few funny looks from people she assumed she’d discussed Clint with the night before, and then… Clint had dropped the bomb on her.

  He really did care.

  That knowledge had invigorated her desire to finally nail down the elusive wish-granting witch, and force her to break Clint’s curse. After all, Fey owed her something for the abuse. Lindsay dusted off the old investigative habits and tricks, and went to work posing as a “friend” of Fey; she shuddered to think of how many people gave out so much personal information without bothering to verify who it was they were talking to.

  The first lead came an hour into searching. They’d dashed across Vegas only to get lost, and then disappointed when they finally found the site, and realized the lead was false. Hitting a nearby gas station stop, however, turned up some serendipity.

  While waiting in line to purchase a quick snack, Lindsay overheard an ad playing on a tablet held by the man in line ahead of her. Without meaning to be nosy, she glanced at the ad—it was for the Clark County Fair. It looked fun, but Lindsay wished a second clerk would help the poor woman who was manning the till alone, with a small, but growing line of customers. As she waited to be rung up, Lindsay chewed on her lip and bounced on the balls of her feet. She took another quick look at the ad—now ending—and froze.

  “Could you play that again?” she asked the tablet owner, tapping his shoulder.

  He looked back at her. “Huh?”

  “That ad,” she said, pointing at the tablet. “It… looked fun.”

  The man gave her an appreciative once over, and a lopsided grin. “Sure, I guess. Knock yourself out.” He handed her the device, and she reloaded the screen. A different ad came up. She refreshed again, and again, but with no success. At last, the ad flared to life. Lindsay watched images of rides, games, and junk food play over a cheerful narration about the joys of the annual event. And then, as the happy chatter wound down, she spotted it. That unmistakable vehicle of messed up dreams crouched like a lounging lion behind a small row of booths. It was almost too good to be true.

  She decided to go anyway.

  Clint was waiting outside, diligently studying the map, and so engrossed that she had to almost shout at him to break his reverie and get him into the car.

  She threw the car into gear and, without waiting for Clint to strap in, gunned the little engine and pulled out into the road as soon as it was clear. Never before had she been this excited about going to a fair.

  “Clint—what’s the quickest way to Logandale?”

  Seeing the Wishouse again so soon almost made Lindsay cry. Sure enough, it was right where the online video had shown it. A fine layer of red dust gave the bus an antiquated look, and it seemed to emanate a tired aura of “Okay, you found me. So now what?”

  Behind her the carnival went on. Diligent moms counted noses while smiling dads hauled stuffed animals the size of their children. Cotton candy stuck to kids like fluffy face paint. The sounds of games and a rodeo announcer buzzed behind her, and cowboys that would normally have made her heart drum faded into the background of her mind. For a moment, she pictured Clint in a Stetson and a pair of jeans—no plaid shirt required. She blushed at the thought, but then smiled naughtily to herself.

  “Unbelievable,” Clint drawled. He stepped up to the bus, and ran his hand almost reverently along its painted side, making small trails in the dust. “Un-frickin-believable.”

  Lindsay noticed he had the beginnings of a tear in his eye. “I guess we could stand here gawking in disbelief all day,” she replied, “or we could knock and get this over with. What do you think?”

  Clint’s jaw hung open, as he walked slowly around the RV. He turned to Lindsay, and a smile slowly replaced his astonishment. “Do you know what this means?”

  She smiled in return. “I think I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

  Clint stepped closer, and she knew the Nevada sun wasn’t the only thing to blame for the heat that rose in her chest. “I want to go somewhere with this, Sully. Lindsay. You know what I mean.”

  She nodded. The old dragon she’d once fought was purring with satiation. The prospect of being alone with Clint later was a staggering pleasure. Once again she found herself struggling to avoid seizing him on the spot and losing herself to the curse’s bidding, but she pushed the unnatural lust aside with her will, and on the promise that soon this twisted dream would be over. Clint would finally be where he belonged.

  “Let’s go inside,” he said, nodding toward the door. She bobbed her head in agreement, and then locked up as his fingers slipped between hers. She closed her eyes against the feeling of fire in her veins—a feeling she once thought she’d banished from her memory forever, but found to be as fresh as the very first time she’d touched him—and focused on stopping herself from hyperventilating. When he tugged at her hand she responded automatically.

  “Hello?”

  When no one had answered on his third knock, Clint decided he might as well invite himself in. Fey would almost certainly be peeved, but his one experience with her suggested that she probably always had some kind of a bee in her bonnet. He chose not to worry about it. The place looked the same way it had when he�
��d made his own wish, and the pungent air conveyed him back in time to that fateful encounter almost half a decade ago. Had it really been that long? He’d stopped counting the days shortly after Lindsay had left him in Seattle.

  The strangled lighting of the bus, combined with the eerie silence, set Clint on edge, and he wondered where Fey was. Fey wasn’t large, but the wishouse wasn’t fraught with many hidey holes, as best he knew. A noise at the back of the bus startled him. Lindsay yelped and Clint felt her grip tighten immensely. A short, dark figure tottered out of the deep shadows, and then plopped down on the faded linoleum with a bleat.

  Clint laughed in relief, and Lindsay let out a breath.

  “Hey, Altimus,” she said.

  The goat answered almost conversationally.

  “Where’s Fey?” The creature merely blinked, and then rose to nuzzle Clint and Lindsay in turn, before plodding back to the rear of the coach.

  “That’s odd,” Lindsay said, as she began searching the place. “I wonder where she went.”

  Clint shrugged. “Knowing her, she’s probably riding a bull over in the arena.”

  He liked the way she laughed at the remark—it was so real, unlike most of the girls he’d once crushed on.

  “Actually,” Lindsay replied, “she’s probably hitting on the cowboys.”

  It was Clint’s turn to laugh. “Oh—before I forget. She’s going to ask us to pay for our wish. She had this rule—”

  “I know, Clint. I just did this.”

  Clint felt his heart sink at the reminder. “Oh, yeah. That’s right. I was about to say that you could maybe wish this all away. Stupid one-wish-only rule. But maybe we could… make a wish together? As a pair?”

  That brought a huge smile to her face. “I like that idea. After all—I’m a lawyer. I pay my bills by finding loopholes, right?”

  He smiled. “Maybe. But even if she lets us, how are we going to pay?”

  Lindsay’s shoulder rose and fell. “We’ll think of something.”

  “What did she charge you?”