Beyond the kitchen, we headed deeper into the house. At this point, I was ready to glimpse a disheveled, braless woman snacking on gummy bears. Not everyone is as tidy as I am, but geez, she has kids in the house.
Past the kitchen, another hallway took us to a sun room converted into an office. Abby kept going while I darted around the corner. A peek was all I’d needed to leave me floored. A tall figure sat at the computer playing Guild Wars. That figure wasn’t what I expected.
Betsy Lee is a dude. Houston, the erratic rocket has lifted off.
Abby’s footsteps were barely perceptible with all the battle sound effects coming from the game. She was getting closer. Unable to quench my curiosity, I looked around the corner again. A familiar smell reached my nose. The same sweet scent of cinnamon my therapist had.
Also, Betsy Lee is the pseudonym of a warlock.
One of the deadliest foe’s a werewolf can encounter. Back when I’d made a trip into Atlantic City to save my brother, I met one who killed others for cold, hard cash. A pulse of fear raced up my legs just remembering the power emanating from him. The wolf within me forced me to crouch low. Run, it urged, but I didn’t bolt.
Abby was right next to him, but the man didn’t acknowledge her. Abby gave a knowing smile and touched Betsy Lee’s shoulder as if to comfort him. Her charge still didn’t react.
If something happened, I’d make a run for it and I was dragging her with me. Book be damned.
Then Abby deftly looked behind the desktop unit and followed the cord to the router. With a single touch, the Internet fell over and died.
Betsy Lee cursed. “Oh, c’mon, I was almost to the Gate of Madness!”
He slammed his fist on the desk while Abby threw me a wink. “Ugh! What I wouldn’t give for a fucking Internet spell.” With his precious connection gone, Betsy Lee ended the program leaving only one application left: his word processor.
“I guess this piece of shit story isn’t going to write itself,” he grumbled. “Time to off some folks.”
Chapter 3
For the next half hour, I watched Abby work her magic. Not once did the warlock turn around and notice me. Couldn’t he sense me?
My heart was beating fast enough for me to run down a bunch of ornaments in a discount aisle.
Seeing a warlock and a muse write a book together was rather creepy—but amazing, too. A feared spellcaster was typing away at a romantic suspense novella while Abby kept him on task.
Then I caught the sounds of movement from the kitchen. I glanced around to see potential places for me to hide. I didn’t have too many options. Either stuff myself into the hall closet across from the office or hide in the washing machine in the laundry room one door down.
But no one came and they made all sorts of noise shifting through the crap on the kitchen counters. Curious to see who I’d need to dodge, I did some reconnaissance. Might as well see if there’s a few little witches and warlocks roaming about.
I darted down the hallway, stopping every now and then to listen. Once I reached the wall leading to the kitchen, I leaned down and peeked around the corner—not the easiest task in a pencil skirt and low heels.
Two blond kids, one as tall as one of my middle-schooler cousins was searching through the fridge. Another child who looked about five or six waited beside her brother.
The fact that the girl wore a pink skirt and pineapple pajama bottoms wasn’t really what caught my attention.
It was the sad state of the refrigerator. In a house like this one, with a state-of-the-art appliance I could never afford, there was barely a damn thing to eat. No fresh food. Just mystery Tupperware containers and old pizza boxes.
The boy glanced inside, gave up, and then went straight for a wallet hidden under a pile of papers.
Was he seriously going to steal from his dad?
I watched in awe as the kid took out a credit card.
“Aww, Mike!” the little girl complained. “I don’t want pizza again. It makes my tummy upset.”
The boy shrugged. “I’ll get you a salad again.”
“Ew. Mommy wouldn’t make me eat that…”
I concur. Most pizza places didn’t do salads well.
“Just stop it, Carrie,” the boy replied. “There’s nothing else.”
“Can’t we walk to the store again?”
I closed my eyes and prayed for Abby to show up so I could drag her author in here. Two kids walking over five miles on a country road? What the hell?
“We can’t use the credit card in the store,” Mike explained.
“What about a spell?” Carrie asked.
“I tried to make spaghetti and it came alive and ate a part of the kitchen table.”
So that’s what happened…
My wizard friend Nick told me creating food was very hard for spellcasters. I guess these kids never got that memo.
Carrie giggled. “At least dad stopped working to kill it.”
The kids turned around so I found my hiding spot again. They walked across the room and I heard the sound of a dial tone and someone hitting buttons. The young warlock mumbled faint words under his breath, and then spoke.
“Yeah, I’d like to order a pizza, please.” Mike’s voice now sounded like a barrel-chested lumberjack on speed. If he couldn’t get that right, the likelihood I’d get caught by them was quite low.
Once the pizza was ordered the kids left the kitchen, leaving me alone to ponder my life and how I seemed to keep following trouble around.
###
It was only a late Friday afternoon and a set of complete strangers traipsed through these poor kids’ home. Instead of letting the wood floor hold me up, I explored parts of the house. I’d only have so long before the pizza showed up. I’d need a place to stay tonight. Hanging out in the office near the creepy warlock wasn’t gonna happen.
Betsy Lee’s master suite was on the ground floor. Compared to the living room, this space looked like a home. Between two grand windows along the far wall, a large framed family painting added a splash of color. Five smiling kids—three boys and two girls—surrounded two blond adults. They looked like any other family standing in front of their house on a beautiful summer day.
Even I cracked a smile at the sight.
Growing up, I hadn’t encountered too many warlocks. I’d met plenty of witches. Now that I was older though, the bad apples kept falling off the tree. It was far too easy to recall the bad people who made the good ones look bad. My history with spellcasters had left me feeling wary, but maybe meeting a run-of-the-mill family would be good for me.
A fresh start.
I sighed, thinking of Nick. I’d never asked him about his life growing up. Did he have a family like this one? I looked at the painting again. Where was the witch now? Were they divorced? Where had she gone? Had she died? Maybe she had abandoned them?
Just the very thought dampened my mood.
A half hour later, the pizza arrived and a herd of hungry kids invaded the kitchen. I had no place to go so I found a spot in the master bedroom’s walk-in closet on the carpeted floor. As I sat there, I couldn’t stop myself from laughing my ass off.
Here I was, sitting on the floor with pressed pants hanging over my head and I was hiding from spellcasters that normally trap werewolves for nefarious spells.
I came here willingly…for a friend. Beyond the closet, a window offered an escape path. I could peel out of here and sleep in a nice normal hotel room.
And yet I stayed and closed my eyes for a quick nap. Abby had work to do and it looked like I had some as well.
Chapter 4
I’d never thought the day would come when I could say I’d slept in a warlock’s home, but it happened. A good five-hour long power nap did me good. I stretched and my empty stomach growled on cue. When the full moon loomed, the local buffets turned into werewolf hang outs.
As much as I loved sanitary eating conditions, I wouldn’t have turned a filthy buffet down right about now. And I cou
ld smell the pizza the kids got. A quick glance at my watch showed 10 P.M. Would they be asleep? At least the younger ones?
I snuck out of the master suite to the kitchen. Thankfully, the lights were out. And, of course, nothing had been put away. Two open pizza boxes sat on the heap.
My mind screamed no while my stomach cried out hell yes. The remaining pizza, if you could call it that, consisted of greasy slices with curly, burnt ends.
What kind of slop was that to feed kids? Ugh! Humans definitely made pizza better than werewolves, but some establishments were better off for massive bonfires than buffets.
I was starving, but I hadn’t reached desperate yet.
And poor Carrie hadn’t touched her salad. The takeout container with the meal sat on the kitchen table. At least a few buffalo wings had been nibbled on.
Instead of giving in to my empty stomach, I peeked in on Abby and Betsy Lee. Abby’s charge was working away furiously at the pages. Abby glanced at me and I motioned for her to come to the hallway.
“No,” she mouthed. “I’m on the job.”
I feigned a growl and motioned harder for her to come to me. The girl-I’m-not-playing expression I gave probably worked. She left Betsy Lee’s side and the author faltered for a moment, but kept going at a slower pace.
Good. Maybe he’d remember to feed his kids and take a shower. I could smell him from the other side of the house.
“What’s wrong?” Abby whispered. Her voice was so soft I barely heard it.
“What’s wrong?” I gestured around us. “Have you seen this house?”
She didn’t even blink. “Yeah, I had to help her finish her last thriller a year ago. That plot line was sooooo creepy.”
I tilted my head. “Her? Isn’t Betsy Lee a guy?”
“I know that, but I’m used to saying her…”
I rolled my eyes. “The kitchen is unfit for kids.”
“And?” She took a step back toward Betsy Lee.
“What about the empty fridge? You ever looked in there?”
“Not really.” Abby added distance between us, forcing me to follow her back into the office. “I don’t eat when I work.”
I sucked in my lips. Wow, it’s like that, huh?
“So you show up to work and everything else around you is ignored?” I whispered with a hiss.
She sighed. Her arm reached behind her toward what really mattered to her: Betsy Lee. “It’s not like that. If we were in danger, I’d let you know.”
“I’m talking about the kids, Abby. Do you come here for every assignment and just watch them get neglected?”
Her stony face faltered for a moment and I almost regretted putting her on the spot like that.
I crossed my arms. I was done here. “I’m going out. Do you want anything?”
She shook her head, a decision made as she touched Betsy Lee and spurned her author to write like mad again.
I didn’t look back as I snuck out the door to the patio. Neither Betsy Lee nor Abby heard me leave.
Maybe they didn’t care.
###
Two hours later, I got back to the house after navigating through the minuscule grocery store in Dryer. South Toms River at least had the Stop & Shop Supermarket. That place wasn’t as large as A&P or Wal-mart, but it had more than the shop in Dryer.
Now that I had the goods, I had to deal with the fun part: Getting this shit into the house.
A quick glance through the kitchen window revealed a room with a single occupant: the youngest girl, Carrie.
She sat at the kitchen table poking at that sad-looking salad. Good kid. At least she hadn’t given up.
Just when I thought Carrie planned to eat the food, she looked about, then whispered over her meal. A second or two later the lettuce twitched, and then as if it had a mind of its own, her dinner tried to make a run for it. Carrie grabbed the nearest dirty plastic cup.
“Die!” she yelled. After a few good hits from her mighty mug, the pesky food moved no more.
I sighed, happy I grew up in a household where our food stayed put.
I didn’t have to wait long for Carrie to turn off the light and leave the kitchen. Once the sounds of her footsteps faded toward the kids’ rooms, I entered the house through the front door and quickly carried the grocery bags into the kitchen.
I tried to be quiet, but the plastic bags made too much noise as I grabbed fruit and slid old Tupperware containers across the ceramic tile floor towards the trash pile.
I made great progress—the fruit and vegetable drawer had actual fruit—until something moved along the edge of my peripheral vision.
Carrie’s salad, or perhaps I should say what used to be her salad, slithered across the floor towards my foot. Inch by inch, the lettuce legs propelled the creature my way. Crouton eyes focused on me. Its slime trail led from under the table across the floor.
Now that is wrong on so many levels. Now I got veggie roaches…
I hurried to finish unloading the bags. Task complete, I turned around to see Carrie looking at me.
That sneaky kid had tricked even my keen werewolf hearing.
“Hey.” What else could I say? I was a stranger in her house.
“You have to smash it a few more times,” she said softly.
“What?”
“That.” She pointed at the slimy salad that was determined to go for my foot again.
“Oh, yeah.” I dug my right heel into the lumpiest part of the salad. After a few hearty stabs, the sentient salad was quiet again.
After that I waited for her to speak. Maybe scream bloody murder, but she just stared at me.
“Are you Daddy’s new assistant?” she asked.
“No…I’m Natalya. I’m his assistant’s assistant.” I’d say chauffeur, but things were already weird. “You’re Carrie, right?”
She nodded. “I guess you’re not here to take care of us. A few years ago when Mommy and Daddy lived together, we had a lady who helped.” She smiled and my heart broke. “Before Mommy left last year, things were different.”
“I’m sure they were.”
The salad twitched so Carrie kicked it into a corner. “I’m hungry.” She looked at me expectantly.
Was I supposed to do something?
She stepped around me and opened the fridge. “Ohhh, juice boxes and Lunchables. The good kind.” She plucked a portable kid snack from the stack I left. I watched with suspicion as she searched the countertops for a plate. With her forearm, she tried to brush off a purple plastic plate with hardened pizza sauce on one side and discolored peanut butter on the other.
I shuddered, unable to take it anymore.
“Stop!” I hissed.
I snatched the soiled plate and gave her a few paper towels instead. “Just use that.”
“But I don’t eat these without a plate.” She presented her lunch meat squares and cheese with a dead serious face.
Since Carrie was determined to have a plate, I set about doing the dishes. I knew where this was going and what was about to happen, but I had to let it go and release the OCD Kraken so to speak. Armed with every disinfectant I could find under the sink, I washed the dishes, wiped down the floor, and tossed the empty boxes into the recycle bin in the garage. The squirmy salad might not have disappeared, but at least the kitchen was clean and Carrie had a plate for her snack.
Now that she ate and the room smelled like antiseptic heaven, a peaceful feeling settled over me, but this little victory wouldn’t last as long as it took the kids to dirty every dish and empty the fridge.
###
When I woke up in the walk-in closet on Saturday morning, my weekend was halfway over.
I’d used a dapper black suitcoat as my pillow and a light-blue bathrobe as a blanket. My late night shower had helped me relax, but now every muscle in my back was stiff from sleeping curled up in the corner.
Not once did the warlock visit his bedroom to sleep. His work continued to consume him.
Now that I’d run i
nto Carrie, I gave up sneaking around and headed to the kids’ rooms. A stray sweater in the middle of the hallway was the first hint I’d found the right place. Another few feet down the hall, a Monopoly game—with all the pieces and money in place—sat ready. Did anyone put anything away in this house?
Four doorways led to rooms. In the first room I spotted a familiar face. Carrie, along with a mountain of tiny plastic dolls, was stretched out on her eldest brother’s double bed while Mike was in the other corner sketching on an artist’s workbench.
He glanced at me with suspicion.
“Hey, Natalya,” Carrie said.
“Who are you?” Mike asked. He looked like he was about to get up. Even though he wasn’t that big, it was nice to see someone around here wanted to take care of things.
“This is the lady who brought all the food last night. She works for daddy.”
“Thanks,” Mike said gruffly.
Carrie motioned me over. She had on a different shirt, but the same skirt and pajama bottoms. “Want to play Fashion Witch Dream Rescue? I’ll be the bad witch if you wanna be the good one.”
I offered her a smile. “Uh, I’m good.”
Mike’s room was pretty big. Betsy Lee had invested a pretty penny for a home this large on the countryside. Dark blue walls might’ve damped the room’s mood, but the numerous windows let in so much light. On the opposite side of the expansive room, a corner was filled with bookcases and books. Many of them I recognized as educational materials. Field’s Manual for Budding Spellcasters to Know Your Wood: Your Magic Wand and You.
The books had dust on them. Not surprised.
He kept a pretty clean space for a boy. Growing up, my brother’s room should’ve had an “enter at your own risk” sign. You could smell the funk through the closed door. He was pretty cool for letting his little sister play in here.
Without seeming too obvious, I tried to see what he was working on. Most shoppers at The Bends disliked having a clerk looking over their shoulder, too, so I walked around until I had the best angle to peek at what Mike drew. I expected perhaps an anime character or something—not a replica of the portrait I saw on the wall in Betsy Lee’s bedroom. I had to clench my fists from saying something out loud. For goodness sake, these kids needed a freakin’ parent.
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