Something Wicked
Authors: Jillian Sterling
Copyright © 2015 Hearts Collective
All rights reserved. This document may not be reproduced in
any way without the expressed written consent of the author. The ideas,
characters, and situations presented in this story are strictly fictional, and
any unintentional likeness to real people or real situations is completely
coincidental.
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SOMETHING WICKED
By
Jillian Sterling
The Hermit.
Shit.
Not the card I wanted to draw.
I glanced up at Tara through my overgrown black hair, which fell
into my face while I drew the cards. She hadn't noticed the card yet, too busy
casting her critical eye around my cramped magic shop, The Witchery. I followed
her gaze to her friend Melinda, who was poking through a selection of
necklaces.
Her sudden gasp told me that she finally looked at the card.
With a toss of her beautiful hair—golden blond and stick straight, not by
genetics, but definitely by design—and stared at me accusingly.
"That's my card? A wrinkly old man?"
Her voice was shrill, a sonic shock considering her stunning
appearance.
"The hermit," I corrected her calmly. This wasn't
going well.
"Hermit?" Her voice climbed up another octave,
creating a whole new high note.
"It's a great card for you" I lied. "Based on
your spread, he means wisdom."
Her response was simply an epic glare.
"And impartial love," I added quickly, nervously
fanning the remaining cards of the tarot deck in my hands.
She pursed her lips. "Impartial love?"
I nodded and looked down, pretending to read her full
spread. A little white lie wouldn't hurt. "Yup, the entire spread is all
about love. You know, about finding love. It's going to be a good year. A
great
year."
My mega-watt smile withered at her ice-queen glare.
"It better be. It's my senior year..."
"Final year," her friend Melinda interjected on
her way over to check out the tarot spread on the table. "You're on your
fifth year, so technically you're a Senior Senior. Like that old dude."
She giggled and tried to pick up the card, but Tara slapped
her hand away. "Don't touch my cards."
"It's okay, we're done." I jumped up and gathered
the cards from the table. "I need to check on your potion. It should be
just about ready."
A defeated Melinda scuttled back to the jewelry. Desperate
to get away from Tara's skulking, I was just a few paces behind her.
"See anything you like?" I asked, tucking the
cards back into their silk pouch. "I think this would be perfect for
you."
I slipped a delicate silver pendent off the necklace tree.
She took it gingerly. "It's pretty. What is it?"
"It's a Celtic tree," I explained. "The
Celts believe you can enter the fairy realm through certain trees. Look closely
and you can see the 'wee folk' hiding in the design."
She pulled it up to her eyes for closer examination before
squealing with delight. "I am part Irish you know."
It took every ounce of my willpower to keep my eyes from
rolling. Instead, I simply smiled.
"Amanda, can you ring them up?" I called over to
my best friend and housemate, who sat on a stool behind the register with her
nose buried in a book.
"A reading and a potion. Can't you do a deal?" I
heard Tara whine as I walked into the potion room.
Amanda punched numbers into my ancient cash register.
"This isn't used car dealership." Her voice matched her sardonic
expression.
Since The Witchery was attached to my house, the "potion
room" just an impressive name for my kitchen. I grabbed a coffee filter
and the two amber bottles sitting on the butcher block counter and got to work
filtering the macerated herbs.
Two sets of footsteps—one light one heavy—pounded on the old
wood floors above me. I scowled for a minute at the noise. How could I focus
positive energy with Finn and his girlfriend-for-a-day parading around up
stairs?
Their footsteps descended the stairs. I hoped they were
dressed. The last thing I needed were naked people running around the house
when I had business in the store.
The sudden slam of the front door made me jump, and I
spilled the oil. It spread out, tinting the worn wood butcher block slightly
yellow.
Finn walked into the kitchen, grunting out a
"sorry" on his way to the fridge.
I snatched a dishtowel to keep the scented jojoba from
dripping onto the floor. Finn pulled out a chocolate milk carton, leaned against
the counter, and chugged straight out of the container, fridge door still open.
He eyed me while I mopped up the mess.
"You need something?" I asked, not masking my
exasperation.
He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth.
"Nope."
"Then could you close the door to the fridge, please?
You're wasting electricity."
I rubbed at the oil with the towel, careful not to get any
on my skin. Then I gingerly gripped the glass jar to finish filling up Tara's
bottle. The smell of vanilla and jasmine lingered in the air.
Finn kicked the fridge door closed with the toe of his work
boot. I peeked at him through my overgrown bangs. A shame he was so damn
infuriating.
Finn's olive skin was tanned to a late summer deep brown.
His dark brown curls flopped messily around his face. Tattoos snaked up both of
his muscled arms, leading to wide, muscular shoulders. Standing in the late morning
sun in his faded jeans, t-shirt clinging to his muscled torso, Finn looked like
a fitness model instead of a college bar bouncer. My heart beat a little faster
as more than the summer heat worked its way down to my lady bits. Got milk,
indeed.
"Where's girlfriend-for-a-day?" I asked, reminding
myself that Finn was a player, bringing home a different co-ed several nights a
week. Sounds of sex carried in an old house. Based on the high-pitched squeals
that echoed through the heating vents, it was an area he excelled.
"She had to take off," he said nonchalantly.
"Things to do."
"By the sound of that slam, she was awfully mad,"
I continued. "I didn't see a car in the driveway. How's she getting
home?"
Finn shrugged. "Bus, I guess. I gave her directions to
the stop."
"How gallant of you," I didn't bother masking my
sarcasm. "No wonder she slammed the door. That was shitty."
"She'll get over me," he said, adding with a grin,
"Eventually."
"Your ego is outrageous," I grumbled, refocusing
my attention on the potion in front of me.
"What kind of crap are you making now?"
I bristled. Typical Finn. Sexy as hell but he was a first
class ass.
"It's for a customer."
He nodded towards the shop. "That sorority bitch out
there?"
Tara's nasal complaints carried into the kitchen, and I
followed his gaze through the partially opened door that leaded to the shop.
Trim and toned from Zumba, or whatever fitness fad the rich girls on campus do
together, she was clad head-to-toe in summer white—little white denim Daisy
Dukes, white spaghetti strap tank, white sandals with heels so high I wondered
how she walked. Her bronze skin complemented the crisp, stain-free white of her
clothes. Her fake blond hair was stick straight, nothing out of place.
I turned towards him, potion bottle in one hand.
"What's it to you?"
He shrugged; his eyes slowly work their way over me. Withering
under his appraisal, I tugged anxiously at the edges of my tank top. My faded, frayed
second hand boy jeans hung sloppily at my hips, held up with a belt I
improvised from one of my grandmother's old colorful scarves. Amanda called my
look (as it were) "carefree bohemian chic." Really, it's culled from
the racks at the Salvation Army down the street.
Amanda thought my particular style was good for business—said
I looked the part of a young witch. Amanda was getting her MBA in marketing.
I needed to get a cork stopper for the bottle, which
necessitated squeezing past Finn, whose sinewy body was now stretched between
the fridge and the island in the middle of the kitchen. I considered giving the
potion to Tara uncorked, but telling her to "be careful" on the ride
home probably wouldn't fly, especially considering her pristine outfit.
"Suck it up, Izzy," I groused silently to myself.
"It's just Finn, a smelly boy."
Actually, Finn wasn't smelly at all. There wasn't that tell
tale moldy "guy" scent that permeated the dorm rooms and Frat houses
on campus that I cleaned for a part time job. That was one of the (very few)
reasons why he still lived here.
As I negotiated around his muscular limbs, I caught his
scent. Very masculine— slightly sweaty with hints of sandalwood soap, not at
all unpleasant. Today a muted floral perfume mixed with it reminding me that he
was a cad.
Retrieving the cork, I scooted past him again, but this time
my arm brushed against his midsection. I pulled my hand back quickly. Did I
just rub up against his crotch? Did I just feel an erection? And did I just
find it impressive?
"Well, I'm just going to get back to it." I choked
out, nodding towards the shop and looking everywhere but at Finn.
"I've got to shower before my shift at Huskies. You
think you can keep your hands off the dishwasher or toilet flush for the next
20 minutes?"
"Right," I sighed, turning to the butcher block to
cork the bottle. My ancient hot water heater folds under the pressures of
modern living, and Finn always bore the brunt of it. He once threatened to hold
back on rent if I didn't stop flushing while he was in the shower. As if I did
it on purpose. (Okay, maybe once. Or twice.)
This time Finn shimmied past me, brushing his body against
my backside. I froze when I felt him reach around my body, pinning my arms. He
took the bottle from my hands.
"You're better than this, Izzy," he whispered, his
breath soft on my left ear. "This is bullshit and you know it."
I snatched the bottle and turned to face him. Our faces were
mere inches apart.
"This pays the bills, and keeps the hot water on,"
I shot back at him. "You may think it's bullshit, but you're not exactly
an enlightened thinker."
My voice was ice, even though a wave of heat was still
sitting in my lower regions. He was invading my personal space. Why did it feel
so good?
"Maybe you're the one that needs to open your mind a
bit," he responded, bumping my arm as he stalked away. It was just enough
of a jolt for some potion to leak over the top, a few drops slid down my thumb,
settling on my wrist and forearm.
"Damn you, Finn," I shouted, rushing to the sink.
"You just doused me!"
Thrusting my hand into the cold running water, I rinsed the
spilled potion off my arm. Shutting off the water, I turned to give him a piece
of my mind, but he was already out of the kitchen. His heavy footfalls clomped
up the stairs.
"You better apologize," I shouted up after him. He
answered with a slam of the bathroom door.
Finn didn't believe in magic. He never masked his annoyance
at my potion making, always throwing out one comment or another about it. It
was usually about how I was better than this. I guess he meant better than
being a snake oil salesman. Typical for a nonbeliever.
I still needed to deal with the Princess Tara. Great. Finn
made me grumpy, not the best mood for facing her. I took a breath, plastered a
fake smile on my face, and walked back into the store. Amanda, Tara and Melinda
all stared at me.
"What the hell was that about?" Amanda broke the
weird silence.
"Nothing," I said brightly. "Just Finn."
She smirked. "Do we need to carve another notch?
I nodded, my own smirk lighting on my face. Every time Finn
hooked up, we notched a side of The Witchery's counter top. There were a lot of
notches.
"Finn?" Tara asked, suddenly interested. "The
hottie guy that works at Huskies?"
"That's Finn," I sighed.
"But I don't know that hottie is the description we'd
use," Amanda snorted.
Tara shot her a dirty look, and then looked at me
expectantly. "Is that the love potion?"
I handed her the bottle. "Yes it is."
She uncorked it gave it a sniff, wrinkling her nose.
(Really, who hates the smell of vanilla and jasmine?) "So what do I
do?"
"Just make sure to focus on projecting love on whoever
you fancy when you dab it on," I explained.
She looked disappointed. "What about who I want to give
love to me?"
I shook my head. "It doesn't quite work that way. The
Craft is not about taking away someone's free will. If you focus on giving your
love, you should receive it in return. But it may not be exactly what you
expect, or from who you expect."
"What I expect," she started, the pitch of her
voice raising with each word, "is the potion to work."
"Oh, it'll work," Amanda said flatly.
"Trust me, Tara," I sighed. "It will work,
but you cannot bend someone's will to meet your own. Just keep an open mind,
okay?"
I cringed slightly, realizing I just echoed Finn's
sentiment.
"Okay," she said, still eyeing me suspiciously.
"Did Melinda book you for the third week of September to come and read the
new pledges' tarot cards?"