by Eve Langlais
He shook his head. “You can’t hide from fate.”
Was he alluding to us again? He and I weren’t fated to be anything but adversaries.
“I’m going inside. Alone. You should go home, too.”
“Who says I ever left?” He offered an enigmatic smile. “Sweet dreams, sweetheart, may they be about me.”
“Never.”
“When you touch yourself, imagine it is my fingers. Yell my name when you come.”
“You are unbelievable.” I stepped away from him. “Good night, Kane.”
“Yes, good night. Brother.”
The scythe came out nowhere.
8
I screamed before I realized Kane remained intact, more or less. The oversized blade went right through him. He dissipated as if comprised of mist.
A ghost? Shit, had he died?
I didn’t know I said it aloud until Jace replied, “No, not dead. A mirage that won’t happen again if you add the right protection to the property.”
I gaped at Jace, who stood there with a reaper-like scythe. I couldn’t help it. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You tried to kill your brother.”
“Not even close. As you noticed, he’s not here.”
Good to know I’d not imagined Kane. Bad to know I never even guessed I’d not been dealing with the real thing. It meant my attraction to him wasn’t just some kind of in-person pheromone thing. He had the ability to set me off balance.
That didn’t mean I welcomed Jace’s intrusion. “What are you doing, swinging a knife around?”
“Scythe.”
“Sharp freaking object. What if you’d sliced me?”
“It would have hurt.”
I stared at him before finally saying, “Are you for real?”
“Very, unlike Kane just now. I don’t know what he was thinking.”
“He said he was protecting me.”
Jace snorted. “The only person Kane cares about is himself.”
“He’s your brother.”
“Half.”
Like Winnie and Geoff. Would it change their relationship if they knew?
“How did Kane do that?” A hologram projection was my first thought, but that would involve some heavy tech.
Jace appeared as if he wouldn’t answer at first, and then he sighed. “You know how he did it.”
“Magic,” I said hesitantly as if the word spoken aloud might bite me.
Jace didn’t mock me. “Mostly. Astral walking is an ability only some can tap.”
“Astral walking, that’s when a soul leaves a body to go exploring.”
“More or less.”
“Can you do it?”
“No.” Jace didn’t elaborate.
“You know about magic,” I persisted. Maybe I didn’t need Kane for answers. I could ask the next best thing.
“I do.”
It was like pulling teeth with shitty dental floss that kept breaking. “Care to elaborate?”
“No.”
“You’re hardly being helpful,” I grumbled. “You don’t talk to me in days, almost kill me, and then it’s like riddle me this. As if you’re part sphinx.”
“The sphinxes weren’t that clever.”
“Holy crap, did you just make a joke?” I exaggerated by grabbing my chest in shock and pretending to fall over.
“Doubtful. I find very little amusing.”
“Aren’t you just a ray of sunshine.” And to think this dour man had been a guy I’d been eyeballing when I first moved in. He’d been shoved aside in favor of Daryl. Heck, even Kane had more personality. At least Kane wasn’t always trying to get me to leave Cambden, more like getting me to drop my pants.
“I don’t know what you expect of me. You keep acting as if everything is fine. And perfect.”
“Are you here to tell me it’s not?” was my sarcastic retort.
“No point since it falls on deaf ears. You made your choice to stay, and now the consequence is yours to bear.”
“Implying I made the wrong one and now I’ll die?”
“Death would have been kinder than what some have planned.”
The starkness of his statement demanded explanation, but before I could ask, Geoff emerged, dressed in a track suit and wearing a concerned expression. “Mom, everything okay? Is this guy bugging you?”
“You know Jace.” I jerked a thumb in his direction.
“Yeah, I do, but if he’s bothering you…” My son slewed a dark glance at my neighbor. Coming to his mother’s rescue. Sweet but not necessary. Not to mention, it wasn’t as if my son could do much to the scythe-wielding Jace.
I shook my head. “I’m fine. Jace was just leaving. He came by because he thought he heard something.”
“And chose to go Grim Reaper instead of grabbing a gun?” Geoff said.
“I don’t use firearms.” Jace used more than a few syllables. Mark it on a calendar.
“You should see him with an axe,” I joked.
Neither man seemed impressed with my humorous abilities.
My son took on a caveman role. “Mom, why don’t you go inside while I see Jace home.”
“Pretty sure Jace knows the way.”
Again, I got a dual-testosterone stare. I shrugged. “Whatever.”
I headed inside but didn’t go far, watching from the door as Geoff and Jace headed off. They stopped by the woods separating the properties and argued. My son’s hands waved. Jace remained still, arms crossed, gripping his ridiculous scythe. Add in a cloak and he was ready for Halloween.
Pride filled me that my son had such a chivalrous streak. Brave, too, confronting Jace. I could only hope my neighbor wouldn’t snap and kill my son.
Instead, Jace held out the oversized knife, and Geoff took it then kept watch as Jace crossed back to his property. Only then did my son glance at the house. I doubted he could see me. He used the scythe as a staff as he returned. Before he could catch me spying, I fled up the stairs to my room, wondering what Jace had said to Geoff that convinced my son to accept the scythe.
In my room, I found one last text message from Kane.
Sweet dreams.
More like wet ones.
9
I awoke in a puddle. I couldn’t have said what that puddle was comprised of. Could be cum, given I throbbed between my legs. I’d not been this horny since I got boobs.
Funny how the more I climaxed, the more I craved it. I began to see why some people did it so often. How had I forgotten the relief that came with a good orgasm?
I brought my little purple bullet into the shower but tossed it aside in favor of the showerhead. Put that thing on massage and I was riding it like a cowgirl, trying not to yell yeehaw.
My climax hit me hard, and I leaned into the tile wall, breathing hard, picturing Darryl, but having to concentrate because Kane kept trying to interfere.
Damn him.
Exiting the bathroom, with my hair pulled in a messy wet bun, I found a text on my phone from Winnie saying she was staying at her new friend’s place and would pop by during the day to grab some clothes. Didn’t sound as if I’d see her.
It seemed so fast. Was this how things worked? I didn’t think I’d be comfortable sleeping over at the house of someone I’d just met.
It made me glad Darryl didn’t mind taking things slow. Maybe a touch too slow. The opposite of Kane, who kept pushing. What was his angle? I didn’t believe for a moment Kane’s claim of being consumed by desire for me. He wanted something.
If it weren’t for Darryl, I might have dared him to show off his supposed prowess.
Good thing I had Darryl. Now if only I could enjoy more of him. A shudder went through me as if I’d not just come less than twenty minutes ago.
Dammit. These days I wore panty liners, so I didn’t juice the fabric. My lube jar would dry up at this rate.
Heading downstairs, I found a note from Geoff saying he’d gamed late and would be sleeping in. Only my cat was on hand to greet me, twining around my
ankles, eager for his breakfast.
I crouched and made him wait so I could pet him. The soft stroke of his fur was a pleasure. When I opened the cupboard, he started to purr.
“Listen to you,” I chided. “Your love affair with food is getting a little out of hand.”
I would know. I’d relied on it a little too much rather than dealing with my emotions.
My travel mug didn’t take long to fill, and soon I was headed into the shop. I might be playing hooky that afternoon, but I could salvage part of the day.
Passing the gas station, I didn’t see Darryl’s truck. Not in. Again.
Odd, because for months before that he’d always been there every day before eight, without fail. Was something making him sleep in? Someone that wasn’t me?
My hands tightened on the wheel, and I heard a high-pitched hum in my ears. My jealousy roiled inside me, and for a second, I thought of Martin. Was this how he’d felt? Betrayed. And for what?
No proof.
I was getting upset simply because Darryl wasn’t parked at his work. Shades of psycho stalker. I needed to cool it. Hadn’t the man been by to see me just the day before to steal a kiss?
Leaving the gas station behind in my rearview, it wasn’t long until I saw smoke threading into the sky. I pulled over as the wail of a siren screamed from behind. I remained on the side of the road, clutching the wheel, dread pitting in my stomach. Eventually, as the smoke lessened, I pulled back onto Main Street.
The trucks and gawkers were blocking the road. The hum inside me threatened to make me explode because I knew whose store got hit by fire.
Always with the fucking fire. But this time, it really stung. That shop had been one hundred percent me. My do-over. My chance to prove my worth.
Ashes.
The fire truck idled out front, and people milled, pushing against a caution line to watch. I parked and jumped out, running to get as close as I could. When the cop would have stopped me, I exclaimed, “That’s my shop.”
“Sorry, ma’am.”
Sorry? That store was my baby. My second chance. Gone.
So unfair.
It took a moment to register that someone was speaking to me. “What?” I turned a dazed and confused look on Officer Murphy, who bore an impressive mustache and partial beard, a rugged and wide man, and I’d never much entertained thoughts of sleeping with him, mostly because our encounters always involved trouble.
“I said”—his voice lifted to cut through the din around us—“most of the damage is smoke related.”
“Meaning everything is ruined.” I rubbed my forehead, massaging the tight spot. “It will take months to fix. A good chunk of the stock will have to be tossed out.” Things like furniture might clean up, but books and other more delicate items would be ruined.
“At first glance, it seems like the fire started in the back, by your electrical panel.”
“Guess I should contact my insurance company.” Did my policy cover electrical fire? I’d soon find out.
Officer Murphy wasn’t done with me. “Where were you around seven this morning?”
“Why?”
“Just answer the question, ma’am.”
Did he seriously ma’am me? I stared at Officer Murphy and his gruff mien. “Don’t tell me you think I set this fire.”
“We have to look at all possibilities.”
“You just said it started by the electrical box.”
“Never said it was a malfunction, though.”
“You think it’s arson. Probably the same person who kept messing with my sign.” They’d done it enough times I worried they’d strike again.
“You can’t assume they’re related.” My cautious policeman, who’d yet to catch anyone. That might be part of the reason why I didn’t want to climb him like a tree. Murphy just kept disappointing me.
“You don’t think it’s odd that it’s always my shop being targeted?”
“Coincidence at best.”
“How many times before it’s a pattern?” I flung my hands.
“Could be someone getting back at you because of the curse,” he opined.
“Do not refer to that stupid curse.” I thought I was done dealing with the small-town gossip mill that claimed my family was descended of witches. Times like these, I wished I could cast a spell and make everything all right.
Officer Murphy was called away, leaving me to stand alone in a crowd. Literally, people Many glanced in my direction, but none would meet my gaze or talk to me. I would have sworn I heard a whispered “witch.”
Great. How many people thought I’d done this? Never mind it made no sense. Why would I burn my store?
I trudged back to my car, the old urge to collapse and cry strong. For a moment, I thought of getting a bottle of booze and drinking it until I fell over. In the movies, heroes did it all the time. Got drunk to deal with the trauma of life. But then I’d have a hangover to contend with, maybe some puke and whatever questionable decisions I made. What if I slept with the wrong guy?
Last time I got that wasted, my husband was convinced I’d cheated on him.
Would I cheat on Darryl?
I should hope not. But that wasn’t the reason I chose not to get blasted out of my mind. Drinking wouldn’t fix anything. Only I could.
Once I reached my house, I dug out the insurance policy and began making calls. Fuck whoever set my shop on fire. I wouldn’t give up. Not now. Not ever.
Talking to the adjuster proved less painful than expected. Geoff appeared to still be sleeping. Winnie was at her new friend’s, and Grisou chose a patch of sunlight over me.
A shower removed the smell of smoke that I couldn’t seem to shake. I moved about in autonomous mode, ignoring texts from Trish. I read but didn’t reply to Darryl’s, Sorry about the shop. See you later.
Why not now? Wasn’t I more important?
The only one who didn’t send me a message was Kane.
It disappointed me more than it should have.
I barely tasted my lunch, which consisted of some avocado oil, pan-fried broccoli, seasoned and served with a melted cheese sauce, minced jalapeno, a dollop of sour cream, and sprinkles of bacon. Usually one of my favorite lunches. My spirit and appetite just weren’t into it.
I found myself walking down to the lake, having to forge a path in the light snow, my boots crunching the surface and sinking into the soft ground inches below. The air hung still and frozen. Not harsh enough to hurt the lungs when breathed, but I puffed mist.
Winter truly gripped the land. The lake wore a solid surface of ice. The snow cover on it was seamless, lacking even animal tracks. The mill wouldn’t be mining for anything during the winter. Which reminded me, their product was set to launch soon. Bottled mud. Something with medicinal purposes, not that I knew how it worked. I’d played around with the mud from the lake, made pottery with it that I fired in a kiln. Worked it with my hands. Never fixed anything with me. Not my sagging boobs or flubbery belly. The paper cut on my hand didn’t miraculously heal.
So what exactly did the mud do? I’d never really looked into it. Surely there’d be a review for it somewhere on the internet. Maybe my mud wasn’t as good as the stuff they’d been excavating at the deepest part of the lake.
I should get my hands on a bottle. Kane would probably give me one if I asked.
I wouldn’t ask.
Huff. My puff of breath hung in front of me, a reminder of the cold that told me I should have worn a hat and gloves. I pulled up my hood and shoved my hands into my pockets.
Of all the places to live, I’d chosen a cold one. Not somewhere tropical or even temperate all year round. However, I doubted anywhere else would have rivaled Cambden. There was something alive about this place. As if the location resonated with my soul. It whispered to me.
As I stared across the icy expanse, I saw swirls of movement. Nothing was there, but there was chatter. Hushed sounds. As if the place tried to speak to me.
I knelt and placed
my hand on the crusting snow. Cold. Blank. Nothing jumped out at me.
But the restless feeling wouldn’t leave. I needed an outlet. A spell.
I leaned forward and traced a sigil I’d seen in the recipe book before I lost it. The name of the concoction that shared the page with the mark was Total Recall. Which made me giggle as I thought of Arnie in that movie set on Mars.
Curious, I’d tried making the soup following the recipe on that page. Ate a big bowl of the savory stuff, I didn’t get flooded with recollections, but the shape on the recipe page stuck with me.
Could it help me remember? I wanted to know everything. I traced it. Round and round, loop left and over, then again to deepen the lines because a strong spell demanded perfection. By the time I was done I’d recreated a fair impression.
Total recall time. I leaned forward and touched my tongue to the starting point, saliva to charge it. I blew hotly to activate it.
Nothing happened. I spat on the mark, making sure it didn’t mess up any lines. Nothing. What would it take to fire it up? Blood?
I eyed my paper cut. Gotten the day before and barely scabbed over. Would I really gash myself for a spell that didn’t work?
The red smear answered that question. I kept the open wound pressed to the mark and spoke aloud, “Show me what I can’t remember. Show me everything.”
The mark ignited in blue flames that startled, but I couldn’t pull free. My hand was stuck. The flames licked higher, and in their dancing tendrils, I could see…
Me and my dad on this beach, picking rocks. Nice flat ones that would skip across the surface.
A younger me, holding Grandma’s hand as we kick at the water.
A woman bolting from the woods, a bundle in her arms, racing to the water’s edge and flinging her package.
A baby.
It was me. I hit the surface with a splash.
A moment later, Grandma was in the water, swimming for me. My mother was on the shore, screaming and tearing at her hair until my dad arrived and pinned her arms to her side.
It wasn’t the only time she tried to drown me. The next time I was a few years old and she held me under water, sobbing, “I’m sorry.”