How Wicked-er Can She Go?

by J. Morgan

  I tried not to vomit when he got that dreamy look in his eye. “So what's the problem? Sounds to me like the potion worked."

  "I thought so, too. I asked her out on a date, and she agreed."

  "And?” I don't know if I rooted for a happy ending, or for the bitch to spontaneously burst into flames over dessert.

  "I took her to the Olive Garden for supper, and it was horrible.” He threw his hands into the air.

  "If you took her to the Olive Garden.” I tried to look shocked but my love of the never ending pasta bowl made it difficult. “It's no wonder."

  "But everyone loves the never-ending pasta bowl.” See, I wasn't the only one.

  "If you're a cheap bastard, you do.” Come on, really. This guy was worth how much? His idea of a fancy date was a fast-food, Italian restaurant. He might as well have taken her to Pizza Hut.

  "Where should I have taken her?"

  "Someplace with ambience. A dark, romantic, out-of-the-way bistro filled with candle light and waiters who barely speak English, wearing tiny aprons. Good lord, man, we're talking true love here. You don't take true love to a chain restaurant.” I'm sorry if I got a little worked up, but, if you feel strongly on a subject, you shouldn't be afraid to speak your mind.

  "I'm not sure I know where that is.” Gregory scratched his head, and looked even more confused, if that was possible.

  "Then you're in luck. I do. Give me a few minutes to get changed, and we'll take a crash course in fine dining.” Hey, my supper went down my shirt. I was hungry, and it had been all his fault, so I felt entitled to mooch a free meal.

  "But I just ate."

  "I haven't. Stop being so selfish. This is for your own good. I sacrifice my virginal nature to teach you about sex, only to have you screw up your chances for true love by ruining a perfectly good dinner. I'm not risking a second screw-up. We're doing this walk-through, and that's final.” My stomach did a little rumble, but thankfully his moaning drowned it out.

  I left him there with his mouth gaping open, and headed for the bedroom. It'd been ages since I'd been wined and dined. Hell, it'd been decades since I'd been anywhere close to a real date. A fake one seemed to be in order. You know something to knock the dust off the tires, and get me in shape, just in case a Colin Firth came to the door. I am working on the spell to make it happen, if you're wondering.

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  Chapter 9

  Come a little closer. I don't want Gregory to hear this. I've had a standing invitation to this place for absolutely forever! The owner was an old friend of the family, from the old country. He came over about the same time Mom did. Instead of setting up in the family business like she did, he turned his hand to something new, namely the restaurant game. Frankly, there wasn't much of a future in being a god in the New World, especially a Greek one.

  Dion's had gotten the reputation for being absolutely the best place in the entire South to eat if you wanted authentic Greek cuisine. The lamb was to die for. Of course, I'd been eating it since before some schmuck invented indoor plumbing. Things might have changed since the last time I'd been here, but I seriously doubted it. Dion was a fanatic when it came to perfection.

  The new place had all of the old world charm I'd come to expect from Dion. The exterior looked like something from hundreds of years ago, nestled amongst a blend of modern-day construction and typical Southern charm. Gregory led me to the entrance with my arm tucked gallantly under his.

  If I wasn't being so decidedly wicked, I would have felt positively giddy being with him. My sudden outbreak of guilt had killed all the joy in my life. I had a pseudo-date to a delightful restaurant with a nice man who wasn't bad to look at, but was I enjoying myself? Hell, no!

  Damn Melina for putting me in this position. My life had been going along quite nicely before she had to put her big nose into my affairs. I'm sure his had been, too, but that went without saying.

  Greg moved in front of me, and swung the door so I could enter. Dang, what was the deal with this other woman? It looked to me like he had all the moves down pat. She must be one of those picky broads. You know the type. Hateful bitches!

  The maître d’ moved to intercept us as soon as we walked up to the velvet rope separating the entrance from the main dining area. One look at the guy, and I could tell he was an asshole from way back. Guess the post office was full the day he applied.

  "Does sir have a reservation?” The snoot rolled off his nose. I wanted to smack him, but thought Dion would have taken offense.

  "Dammit, Baby!” A voice I instantly recognized rolled through the place like thunder.

  My head popped up to see Dion barreling through the kitchen doors. Except for the modern clothing, he looked exactly the same as he had the last time I'd seen him. His hair was a thatch of curly black going in every direction but straight. His body was thick without looking fat, guess you'd call it a football player's body gone to pot.

  It was his face that really got you. Ice-blue eyes peered out from beneath bushy eyebrows, with devilment that bespoke a lifetime of sin. His mouth curled up into an eternal grin, with inset dimples that begged to be pinched. I'd never worked up the courage, but it sat there like a naughty dream in my heart.

  "Dion!” I pushed assface out of the way, and threw my arms around the big lug.

  "Nikki, where the hell you been keeping yourself, girl?” I know I can't be the only one wondering how a Greek god traded in a perfectly good accent for a redneck twang.

  I shrugged. “You know, around."

  He pushed me back, and gave me an appraising eye. “Damn glad to see you took after your Dad's side of the family. Zeus knows I love ya ma, but she's fugly enough to curdle even my home brew.” He let out a healthy guffaw. It stopped dead in his throat when he saw Gregory shuffling behind me. “And who would this lanky piece of driftwood be?"

  "Dion, let me introduce Gregory Hamilton."

  He shoved his hand into Greg's, giving it a pump that sent the smaller man straight to the floor. “Seems the breakable type to me, Nikki. Perhaps you should send him home before he hurts himself."

  "Dion, be nice. He's a client. Melina has me working for my keep now."

  "Well, that's different. Why didn't you tell me he was a mort?” He reached down, and lifted Gregory from the floor.

  "I didn't think it was important."

  "Girl, of course it's important. What if I'd let slip a bit of the secret tongue?” His frown told me I'd committed a social faux pas for our set. The old ‘stay hidden’ rule of thumb.

  "Sorry, Dion.” I really was. Even though witches were more or less out for public consumption, the rest of the community liked to stay in the shadows, at least where humans were concerned.

  "Just remember your manners next time.” He clipped me on the shoulder playfully. “Now, what can I do for you?"

  "A table, please. I'm teaching Greg here the finer points of dating.” My statement sent Dion's eyebrow shooting a foot above his head.

  "Gerald, get Miss Smythe-Ponthynhausen and her escort a table in the back."

  "Something romantic, if it isn't too much trouble, Geraldo.” I knew that would get a snarl out of his butt. I also knew, with Dion next to him, he wasn't about to say anything about it either. I just had to hope he didn't spit in my couscous.

  "You heard the lady. The most romantic table in the joint.” Dion extended his hand toward the back of the restaurant. “And don't worry about menus. You will be served Chef's Delight tonight."

  Gregory was too overwhelmed to speak as we made our way to our table. Dion hurried off to the kitchen to prepare our meal while Gerald showed us to our table.

  True to his word, we found ourselves nestled in a secluded corner, flickering candle light the only radiance in sight. The dim bulbs from the center of the room cast pale shadows that fell short of where we sat, in an awkward silence. I began to figure out where the horrible part of Gregory's earlier statement came in.

  "I've never been to
a Greek restaurant before,” he mumbled, breaking the silence before I could.

  "Then you're in for a treat. Dion is a magician in the kitchen."

  "Somehow I can't picture him as a chef."

  "Well, it isn't his first vocation, but he's taken to it quite well."

  "What was his first vocation? Professional wrestler?” He threw a worried look toward the kitchen.

  I laughed, in spite of myself. When it died down I had to know. “Do you mind telling me what happened on your date?'

  A flash of shame and bruised ego crossed his face. I could tell I'd crossed the line. A part of me kicked myself for being so mean, but the nosey part wanted to dig deeper. For once, the nosey part lost out.

  "If you don't want to talk about it..."

  "No, I guess it was my fault. You were right. The Olive Garden wasn't the proper place to take her. Then, when I should have been making witty repartee, I blanked, and started stuttering. Before it was over, I had wine shooting out of my nose, and my fettuccini splashed all over her dress."

  "Don't be so hard on yourself. Talking to women can be hard."

  "I don't seem to have any trouble talking to you."

  "Well, I'm different."

  "No you're not! My word, Nikki.” He hit his head on the table before finishing. “You are the hottest woman I've ever seen, and I can talk to you."

  Did he just say I was hot?

  Calm down sister.

  I'm calm.

  Sure you are.

  Shut up! Can't you see he's talking about me again?

  "She was nowhere near as beautiful as you are, and I couldn't even say boo around her. After listening to her ramble on, I found I wasn't even that attracted to her. She wanted me to be totally into her without trying to find out anything about me. I don't know about you, but that doesn't sound like true love."

  Oh shoot! I stopped talking to myself, and it wasn't even about me. Wonder if I could get me to talk to myself again?

  "Does it to you?"

  "No, it doesn't.” Good thing I listened to that last bit or I'd totally look like a goob right now.

  "So, I was thinking, perhaps we should call this whole true love thing off. Obviously it isn't for me."

  Okay, this was my out. Skanky bitch had broken him. No way would he go near women again for a long time. I could report to Melina the good news, and go back to doing nothing for a living. As good as that sounded, I just couldn't do it. For one thing, I had to be sure he was out of the true love biz. One bad date did not make jilted-for-life. Promise not to think badly of me but, for some reason, sitting this close to him made me horny as hell.

  The sudden appearance of a platter of pita bread, hummus, and those little lamb thingies in corn meal I love saved me from making a fool of myself by jumping him right then and there. I was losing it. Plain and simple, my brain had gone on hiatus, and my nether regions were officially doing all my thinking for me. Crap! I'd become a man!

  "Greg, I think the problem was the potion."

  He looked up from another round of knock my brain through my ear. “Huh?"

  "Isn't it obvious? Your body rejected the potion and attracted the wrong woman. Happens all the time. It's why witches rarely use them anymore, too many fluorocarbons in the atmosphere for them to work effectively."

  "Then what do I need?” I flinched at the spark of hope in his eyes.

  "A charm. I'm sure I have one at the house that should do the trick.” If I didn't, I sure the hell could find something. “Now, eat some hummus. Dion will get pissy if we don't finish this before the main course if ready."

  Gregory dug suspiciously into the platter, but after a few bites, he happily went back for second and third helpings. His gusto afforded me ample time to consider my options. I couldn't help but wonder at my motives in this. Sure, I wanted to get back to my easy way of life, but was there something else behind my sudden charm answer to his problems?

  As much as I'd like to deny the attraction I felt for the guy, I couldn't. He wasn't a conventional hottie, but he had potential. Last night I'd got a taste of that potential, and it had been ruining me ever since. What I needed was a second taste to get it out of my system. That had to be the answer!

  If I could get him into bed again, then surely it would cure me of this sad addiction I seemed to be forming for him. My long absence from the sex game had a damaging affect on me, that was all. Once I'd had it a couple times I was reasonably sure my metabolism would level out, and I could shake this feeling that had turned my guts into knots. Hell, it had gotten so bad I couldn't stop picking at my food, and I never picked at my food.

  That settled it. The minute we got back to my place. Him and me, in the bedroom, full freak-on until he went blind from the pure ecstasy. More importantly, I once again became the normal witch who started out telling this freaking story. Now, leave me alone; I smell lamb kebabs coming from the kitchen.

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  Chapter 10

  Geraldo personally plopped our steaming plates before us. With a surly bow he retreated back toward the kitchen. Through the hazy aroma of braised lamb, I saw Gregory smiling when he thought I hadn't been looking. He looked kinda cute. I hadn't noticed it earlier but he'd taken my advice and gotten a haircut. Not much of one, but his hair didn't look like it belonged on a troll anymore. Even his clothes were an upgrade. They might not be Armani but they didn't belong to a—insert department store of your choice here—rack either. How did I miss all that? Letting my hormones do my thinking. That's how.

  "Can I ask you something?” Gregory asked, startling me from my thoughts.

  I set my untouched fork down and shrugged. “Sure, I'm game for a little Q and A, as long as you'll willing to give as good as you take."

  My warning gave him pause but I could see his curiosity had already won the battle. “I think I can handle that."

  "That's what they all say ‘til the crying starts. So what would you like to know?"

  "How did you become a witch?” He winced and plopped a piece of lamb into his mouth.

  "I was born one.” My admission didn't amount to a breach of the witches’ code, but revealing much more might. If I gave a shit, I'd worry about crossing that invisible line.

  "So, you don't have to sell your soul or anything to become one?” Line got a little closer, but as I said, I didn't care.

  "Nope, but if you knew my mother, you'd call me a liar. Your turn. What made you want to become a computer geek?"

  "When I was a kid, I liked figuring out how things worked. I'd take my video game consoles apart to see if I could make them better. As I grew older, I discovered the inner workings weren't the magic. It was being able to make a chip no bigger than your fingernail tell all the boring-looking bits what to do that gave me the rush I'd been looking for. By the time I was thirteen I could make that chip do whatever I wanted.” His eyes glowed as the passion for his job flowed through. I suddenly wished his eyes glowed like that when he talked about me.

  I had to change the subject before I got weepy. “So, we're kind of alike. You have your magic and I have mine."

  "I guess so. I never thought about it like that.” He ran his hand through his hair, ruining the clean cut look he had going. I liked him better all mussed.

  I twisted my fork through my couscous and thought for a minute. “You have to admit, it's weird having somebody so rationally minded decide to turn to a witch for help."

  "I never claimed to be rational. Come on. I sit at a computer all day, and I mean all day, trying to create magic from binary numbers. There's nothing rational about that.” He pushed his plate to the side and leaned forward. “In fact it was real magic that turned me on to computers."

  "Gauntlet?” Okay, I had an addiction. I loved that game.

  "You know it. I thought if I couldn't be a wizard, warrior or elf, I could make worlds where they really existed. The first game I actually sold was Wizard's Warpath."

  "You made Wizard's Warpath! I waste
d all of 1996 playing that.” And you thought the only thing I did was lay around on my couch waiting for my trust fund check to hit the mailbox.

  Gregory held his hands up. “Guilty."

  "Wow, and here I thought you were a Bill Gates wannabe. Okay, you're a genius, but true love?"

  "Call me a hopeless romantic, but for all my money and job fulfillment I don't have what my parents had. Someone to come home to, someone to share your life with.” It sounded so good, I almost believed it could happen.

  "You do know the 1950s aren't coming back."

  "Yeah, but that's why I came to you. I'm not expecting Leave it to Beaver, but I'd like to think somewhere out there is a person made just for me. They may not be June, but I'm no Ward."

  I hated to burst his bubble, but my guilty conscience wouldn't let my mouth clamp shut. “What if this doesn't work? I'm not saying it won't, but there is a remote possibility there isn't someone out there for you."

  "Nikki, I know there is. Being around you lets me know there is love out there. You're being paid to make my dreams come true, but you actually care about me. I can see it in the way you're going beyond the call of duty to make sure I don't screw this up. I doubt any other witch would do for me what you've done.” He had that shit right.

  And just inserted a guilt complex from Hell right between my eyes. I reached over and took his hand. “Gregory, if it's within my power, I promise you'll get your true love.” Of course Melina would skin me alive if I even tried.

  Squeezing my hand, he appeared so sure of me, only making me feel even worse. “I know you will."

  I cut my eyes away before he could see how two-faced I truly was. “Uh, let's finish this before it gets cold. Dion will have a cow if we waste his hard work."

  "I mean it, Nikki. I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have you working on my behalf,” he said, taking a bite of his lamb.

  I did, though. He'd be a helluva lot better off. “Let's eat and save the mushy stuff for later."