Bewitched: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel (Betwixt & Between Book 2)

by Darynda Jones

  He was beside me again. I felt him. His essence. His aura. Also, he’d slid the cakepan over and put the box next to me. That was a big clue.

  “I’m so sorry, Roane. I practically assaulted you and—”

  “Is that why?”

  I lifted my lids. “Is what why?”

  “Why you’re lying about your powers.”

  I released a long breath to let him know the depths of my annoyance. It had layers. And texture. And made a weird grating sound. “I’m not lying.”

  “Mm.” He took out a candle and set it on the counter. Then another. And another. Soon there were a dozen candles scattered over varying surfaces throughout the kitchen. He placed the last candle on the stove and turned toward me. “Okay, light these with your mind.”

  My expression flatlined. “For real? You’ve clearly seen too many movies.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “It’ll be a test.”

  “I think we should test you instead.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Test if you can see in the dark. Do you have wolf vision when you’re not a wolf?”

  He walked back and stood in front of me nose-to-nose. Then he pressed his hands to the counter on either side of my hips. “How about we take turns.” His hair hung to his shoulders. He raked a hand through it, pulling it back from his face then put his hand back on the counter, his sinuous arms trapping me.

  “Deal,” I said, trying to ignore the fact that a tenacious lock of auburn hair fell forward again. “You first.”

  He shook his head. “Uh-uh. You first, gorgeous.”

  A tingle raced up my spine.

  He eased closer, speeding up my pulse exponentially. “What good is testing my powers if I don’t have any powers to test? You first, then I swear I’ll try.”

  “Are you sure you want me to leave? I’d have to walk all the way over to the stove to turn off the light.”

  The light flickered and shut off, drenching us in total darkness.

  My eyes rounded to the size of my dessert plate. I was certain of it. “Did you do that?”

  He laughed, the sound low and husky, and my nether regions flooded with molten lava. “That was all you and your nonexistent powers.”

  “Maybe it was Percy.”

  “Right.” Tilting his head, he moved closer.

  I parted my knees to make room for him, and his lean hips slid between my legs, the fit perfect. With me sitting on the counter, I was a couple of inches taller than him. I liked it.

  He leaned in, brushed his lips along my jaw, stopping at my ear.

  I marveled at the fact even the softest touch from him caused a trembling in my core. And that he smelled like soap and soft, earthy aftershave.

  “If you light one candle”—his warm breath fanned across my cheek—“I’ll make you breakfast in the morning. Anything you want.”

  What if I wanted him for breakfast? “You got it. Do you have a match?”

  A humorous sigh escaped him. “With your gift.”

  “Oh, it’s a gift now?” His face was a gift. “I’m not so sure I agree.”

  He nibbled on my earlobe, and my girl parts clenched in reflex, which was odd considering they were nowhere near my ears. “You’re five seconds away from losing out on French toast and a seafood omelet.”

  “It’s sad how appealing that sentence is.”

  “Four.”

  I closed my eyes and reveled in the feel of him. “Wait. I’m concentrating.”

  “Three.”

  “Maybe if you did the ear thing again.”

  “Two,” he said, then nipped.

  I sucked in a soft breath.

  “One.”

  “Can I call a timeout?”

  He released a deep, throaty laugh that washed over me like cool water as he stood back and said, “I win.”

  The lids I didn’t remember closing fluttered open, and I wanted to cry when a cool rush of air hit me in his absence. Then his words sank in. I looked around, scrambled off the counter, and almost fell to the ground. Every candle was lit. Every. Single. One. They bathed Roane in a soft glow, and as alluring as that was, I didn’t do it.

  “That wasn’t me,” I said, backing away.

  “You’re the only witch here.”

  “No.” I took another step back, shaking my head. “This wasn’t me.”

  He nodded, crossed his arms over his chest, and perched his lean frame against the counter I’d just deserted. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, gorgeous.”

  I ran like the coward I was. I hurried up the stairs and hid under the covers, boots and all. Ruthie would kill me if she knew.

  “That wasn’t me, right, Percy?” I put my hand outside the blanket I’d pulled up to my chin.

  A vine curled up the side of the bed and around my wrist and palm.

  I brought it to my cheek, closed my eyes, and fell asleep, wondering if I’d ever actually woken up at all.

  Five

  Four out of Five dentists agree:

  lying through your teeth does NOT count as flossing.

  -Meme

  What seemed like five seconds later, I jerked awake to find a curly-haired, cat-eyed bibliophile reading on the bed beside me and an actual cat, albeit a tattered one, curled up in her lap.

  Annette sat against my headboard in an old T-shirt and a pair of sweats so holey they could be nominated for sainthood. “Percy let me in,” she said without looking up from her book.

  I tried to wiggle to a sitting position, but my butt still weighed too much, as it often did before coffee. Also, I was wearing boots. In bed. And the sheets had clearly fused with them. “How long was I out this time?”

  “I don’t know. What time did you go to bed?”

  “No clue.” I reached over and gave Ink’s ears a scrubbing. “I thought you two didn’t get along.”

  She looked over her book, a vampire story she’d read at least a dozen times. “We didn’t. But we’ve had six months to rethink our relationship.”

  I tried once again to ease to a sitting position. The sheets were simply not having it. “I totally should’ve taken off my boots first.”

  “There’s a reason most people do. I have an idea.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Unless you’re going to be too busy packing, what with the big move and all.”

  She’d evidently blown past denial and slid solidly into anger with seconds to spare. I ignored her mini-rant. “Does it involve baby dills or glitter paint?”

  “Not this time.” She flattened the book against her chest. “I know what you need.”

  “A lobotomy?”

  “A manicure.”

  “So close.”

  “There’s nothing like a mani-pedi to ease tension. Your powers will be back in no time.”

  “Ah. I’m not sure I want to trust powers that hinge on the state of my cuticles.”

  “And you never really got to see Salem.”

  “Of course.” Make me fall in love with the town so I’d stay. Clever.

  “I’ve seen it all since moving here. I’ve also worked at like half the stores and restaurants in the city proper.”

  “How many jobs have you had?” I asked, appalled.

  “A lot. I was hoping our business would take off sooner.”

  “I was in a mystical coma.”

  “I know.” She pouted. “I don’t blame you, per se.”

  I laughed. “Thanks. Can I shower first?”

  “Yes, but hurry. I want to get there before Parris does.”

  “Our neighbor?”

  “There’s something about that woman. She’s icky. And she’s a menace. It’s Saturday, and she always steals Fiona from me. Fiona is the best technician there. I kind of love her.”

  “You’ve really settled in.”

  “I had no choice. It was kill or be killed.”

  I frowned at her.

  “No, that’s not right.” She bit her lip in thought. “Survival of the fittest? Yeah, that’s it. I had to survive someh
ow.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t have gotten fired from every place you’ve worked.”

  “Who says I got fired?”

  “Papi. Last night.”

  “He was referring to the one time I did get fired. I kept quitting. I only wanted to work at each place long enough to get to know the owners and the clientele. If we’re going to start our own business, we need to know the locals. We need to blend in. We need them to like us.”

  “Then maybe you shouldn’t have quit every business in town.”

  “Yeah.” She bit the inside of her cheek. “I didn’t really think it through.”

  “I’ll be ready in forty-five. You should probably change into something less devout.”

  She sulked. “But these are my favorite sweats.”

  “They have more holes than a can of Spaghetti-O’s.”

  “And?”

  Two hours later, we walked out of the nail salon with hands and feet we could proudly display in public. Thank God. The state of my toes had really been weighing on me.

  “Feel better?” Nette asked, hope shimmering in her gray irises.

  “My toes do.” I did a perfunctory search for Roane. I could’ve sworn I saw him while the technician was doing her own kind of magic. But when I’d looked back, he was gone.

  “A step in the right direction. I’ll take it. So, what was it?” she asked for the tenth time.

  We hadn’t been able to talk about . . . well, anything . . . in front of the technicians, so she’d been digesting what I’d told her about my underbelly tour of the house before we went in and had to hold her questions the entire time we were being pampered. She’d kept squirming, like it was her bladder I’d asked her to hold, until I was worried her head would explode having to keep all that angst inside.

  “I don’t know. But it was very dark and very powerful.”

  “But it couldn’t get past the door?”

  “No.” I chewed on a freshly manicured nail that tasted like battery acid thanks to all the chemicals they’d used while Annette led me through the beautiful city of Salem.

  We dodged tourists and stopped at various kiosks to check their wares. But my mind was too occupied to pay much attention.

  “You’re sure?” she asked. “It can’t, like, escape and kill us all in our sleep?”

  “Salt,” I said as a thought emerged. It happened.

  “Salt as in yes you’re sure? Or salt as in no you aren’t?”

  “The shiplap.” I turned to her as she held a pair of earrings up to my ear. “It smelled like salt all through the passageway and in the attic. Even in the dungeon, the walls were drenched in it.”

  “Which we need to discuss in much greater detail.” She put the earrings back, thanked the vendor, and continued down the path. “I mean, seriously. A dungeon? Are we talking The Princess Bride or Fifty Shades?”

  I thought about last night with Roane, heating up all over again. “It could go either way. What if salt really does keep spirits out?”

  Annette stopped so abruptly, I almost ran into her. “Or in.” She turned and pointed an index finger at me. “Percy has never been able to leave the house. Now Ruthie can’t. Do you think it’s the salt in the wood?”

  I looked around. She’d had led us farther down Essex. “I thought the restaurant was the other way?”

  “Um, it is.” She started walking again, dragging me behind her by my hand. “We just have some time to kill.”

  I’d known her far too long to mistake her hedging for anything other than hedging. “Why would we have time to kill?” I asked, feeling suspicion furrow my face. I wished I were less suspicious in general. Furrowing caused wrinkles. And I was already forty-four. Forty-five. I forced my face to relax.

  “What?” she asked, hedging again. “Oh, because I—I made a reservation.”

  We hurried past shops and cafes and an incredible statue of Elizabeth Montgomery in Bewitched. I’d wanted a picture, but apparently we couldn’t kill that much time. “I thought they didn’t take reservations. That was why you wanted to get there early.” Tired of being dragged, I moved so we were walking side-by-side.

  “They do now.”

  “They’ve changed their policy since ten this morning?”

  “’Parently. Hey, your hair is longer.” She picked up a heavy black lock, trying to change the subject.

  “I couldn’t really get out to get it cut during my hiatus, now could ?” I said through gritted teeth. “Why do we have time to kill?”

  She drew in a deep breath. “I kind of told the coven they could join us for lunch, but a couple can’t be there until eleven-thirty.”

  “You what?” I yanked her to a stop.

  “Hey, you told Ruthie you’d meet them before you bolted.”

  “I’m not bolting,” I said, even though that was exactly what I was doing. “I’m taking a vacation.”

  “You’re absolutely bolting.”

  I hadn’t told Nette about Roane or the light or the candles. What if it had all been me? What if my powers were not only still here—which, they were—but they were taking over? I hadn’t drawn a symbol on the air. I hadn’t used my magics. What if there was something else inside me? Something with a will of its own? I didn’t want her to know any of that, though I did want to tell her about Roane’s nibbling. I got goosebumps just thinking about it. I tugged at my earlobe absently.

  “Bolting, not bolting, either way,” she said, “we need to check out the competition. You know, in case you unbolt and come back to us.” She took my hand again and dragged me toward a psychic’s lair—the exterior black with gold lettering that read The Witchery.

  “The competition?” I asked. “Nette, there’s no competition. I’m not a psychic.”

  “Her name is Liliana Lovett, but she goes by Love. She’s a little . . . off-center, but she’s super nice even though I’m certain she’s hiding something.” She speared me with an all-knowing glower and tapped a finger against her temple. “I see a darkness in her past.”

  “Like last night? It was pitch black.”

  “She’s running away from something. I can feel it.”

  “Are you sure you’re not checking her out because she’s your competition? You’re the fake psychic, after all.”

  “That hurt.” She feigned being put out. “But you could be right. A little. I just want your impression because she’s really good. Damn it. Better than I am. She’s also a witch, but she’s not part of your grandmother’s coven.” Turning to me with the most damning evidence of all, she added, “And she’s new in town.”

  “She isn’t,” I said, disgusted.

  “She is.”

  “Where’s a pillory when you need one? Am-I-rite?”

  Nodding, she tugged me all the way inside the gorgeous little shop of horrors, decorated with witch-themed paraphernalia new and old, and I kind of fell in love.

  We’d walked in during a session. A girl was having her palm read in a small, raised area with a three-foot iron rail and a swing gate. She leaned forward toward someone I assumed was Love, her attention rapt, eager to hear everything the psychic had to say. Two other girls looked up at us from the waiting area, where they were browsing through a plethora of trinkets and bobbles that were for sale. All three were in their early twenties and dressed in costumes, even though Halloween wasn’t for weeks.

  Love looked only a little younger than me with an elegant jaw and nose and long blond hair that she’d low-lighted with black and purple streaks. Her profile painted her as a young Lauren Bacall.

  I kind of fell in love again. The last time I’d felt such an instant kinship with someone was when I’d first laid eyes on Annette in ninth grade. This was very similar. There was a pull. A gravitational force.

  “Oh,” Annette whispered, leaning close. “I forgot to mention that Love doesn’t like me.”

  I snapped out of it. “I’m sure that’s not true.” Who wouldn’t like the adorable creature standing next to me?

&nb
sp; “Oh, no, trust me on this one.”

  I pursed my lips. “How do you know?”

  “She told me.”

  “Oh.” I glanced over my shoulder at the beauty. “Did she give you a reason?”

  “Not in so many words. She just kind of kicked me out and told me not to come back.”

  “And yet here we are.” I took Nette by the shoulders and turned her toward the door. “And now we should go.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Love said, breaking off her reading. She scooted back from the table and looked around. Her gaze landed on me and Annette. Mostly Annette. “I’m getting interference from the peanut gallery.”

  “Sorry.” Annette waved an apologetic hand. “We’ll shut up.”

  Our talking had broken her concentration? How much concentration did it take to rob people blind?

  The other women in the store gaped at us. One brought out her phone, grasping for her fifteen minutes of viral fame.

  Love’s fiery gaze turned livid. “I thought I told you not to come back.”

  “Yeah, but you didn’t say for how long. And I needed”—Annette’s gaze darted about wildly before landing on—“a refrigerator magnet in the shape of a cauldron.” She grabbed it and held it up like a trophy. “Found one!”

  “What in the fiery hell did you do to her?” I asked, my voice low.

  She pasted a smile on her face and spoke without moving her lips, like a ventriloquist. “I’ll tell you later.”

  Love walked from behind the rail and strode toward Annette. It was a small store, so it didn’t take long. Only before she reached us, she stopped short. Or something stopped her short. Her mouth formed an O. She looked at me and took a step back, as though astounded by what she saw.

  I wanted to be flattered, but I knew better. “Crap,” I said under my breath. “Do I have a praying mantis in my hair again?” That was such a horrible experience.

  Annette seemed mesmerized by Love’s reaction. She reached over and patted me absently, unable to take her eyes off the blonde. But she kept patting, her hand eventually finding its way to my face.

  I slapped it away and told Love, “We’ll just be going.”