The Wicked Garden (18 page)

And I reviled her
.

Eli was spread out on the floor. “Not again,” she mumbled to herself. “Eli. Eli. Eli,” she called, and poked him in the side with the point of her Jimmy Choo.

...Eli...Eli...Eli...

“Way to go, Peter. Your son’s a goner.” She glanced behind her, and saw that her husband was now lying spread-eagle on the floor.

Before they took the mushrooms, Peter had put Phish on the turntable, and as the sound of the garage band in Carbondale drifted away, it was replaced with “Bouncing
Around the Room.” Eli could hear the music, but he felt like he was underwater. It was a pleasant feeling. Then it was as if two memories were merging into one. He was deep-sea diving—or was it deep-
see
diving?
What body of water am I in?
he wondered. He knew that Gretchel was drifting away, but, at this moment, he could sense her near him.

Then his head began to echo. His whole being was the echo.

Eli heard someone speaking. It was a woman. Was it Gretchel? Was she still there with him? He lifted his head, but couldn’t open his eyes. He lay back down, releasing a little, bubbly chuckle. He gazed up through the depths and saw a group of redheads waving at him. He felt odd, but cheerful for the first time in a long time, and perhaps a bit like his hair—bouncy.

Peter saw Eli in his own hallucination, and thought:
Why in the hell is he laughing at all those skeletons? And why are they screaming to be set free?

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Irvine, 2010s

It was Saturday night. Ame was working. Zach was with Ben at a hockey game in St. Louis. Gretchel and her kids had been packing, organizing, cleaning, and moving house for two weeks—all with the help of Ella, Marcus, and Cindy. Gretchel could hardly remember the last time she had been alone.

And now she was—inside and out.

She lay down on her bed, fresh from the shower, and let out a long overdue sigh. The voices had been just a murmur for the past six days. Now that Gretchel was fully awake and capable of feeling emotion, she was capable of feeling lonely. At least the noisy Scottish broads kept her company.

Old thoughts began rolling around in her head. The shower had been hot. She was sweating even though the temperature outside was subzero. She took off her robe and lay back down. The thoughts in her head started taking shape, and she began having feelings she hadn’t felt in a long time. Lusty feelings.

Closing her eyes, she thought of Eli. It was painful. He was the only man that she would ever truly love. He was the only man that could bring out the life in her, revive the spirit that had been broken when she was teenager. He was the only man who had ever been her equal in so many ways. The only man she wanted to give herself to, for he had given her everything she had always wanted and needed.

But he was gone, and he was never coming back. That was the harsh reality. She had burnt that bridge a long time ago.

She thought of other men, other connections severed. She had patched things up with Devon, eventually, but that was over, too. There
was
someone else, though…. Not Eli—no one would ever be like Eli, ever—but she knew that this man from her past had never quite gotten over her. She could tell by the way he still looked at her.

He had sent her a dozen texts in the last two weeks, and she had ignored every one of them. Once upon a time, he had been one of the hired hands at Snyder Farms. He started working there when she was barely a teenager. He had turned into a handsome man, and—if memory served—he was a decent lay. Better than Troy, certainly, though Eli still had them both beat by a wide margin.

Quit thinking about Eli!
she yelled at herself.

Her feelings were beginning to get the best of her.

Cast a spell, and he’ll come a runnin’
, the Woman in Wool whispered sweetly.

“And suddenly you want to help me? I don’t trust you. Go away,” Gretchel said aloud.

Gretchel hadn’t had sex in three years. Her body had healed from Troy’s torture, but he had wanted nothing to do with her after that, and she would have beaten him off her if he had.

Cast a spell. The scared li’l rodent’ll come
, the Woman in Wool insisted.

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll come, even if he is scared. As long as he’s scared stiff, he’ll do,” Gretchel said aloud. As she laughed at her own dirty wit, she discovered that she was inclined to take the advice that had been offered her. What could it matter, really, if she called this man to her? She wasn’t using him. She was just giving him what he wanted.

Gretchel wandered around the house, gathering what she could find for an attraction spell. It had been so long…. It occurred to her, as she rooted through drawers and looked in cupboards, that a text message would work just as well, but she didn’t want to text. She wanted to do some magic. She wanted that at least as much as she wanted to get laid.

Once she was settled into the cottage, she would build a new stock of herbs and implements, but for now…. She found a pink birthday candle, a pack of matches, and a red Sharpie in the kitchen junk drawer, and a galvanized bucket in the basement. She knew she had a notebook on her bedside table, so she headed back upstairs.

Gretchel carried everything to her walk-in closet, the one place in this house that felt like her space. She surveyed her supplies with a critical eye: not exactly ideal for the type of magic she had in mind. She would just have to do her best with a powerful intent—and maybe some good lingerie.

She sorted through the clothes that hadn’t been boxed up and carted off to the cottage, and settled on a pair of diaphanous black panties and matching bra. She decided to give her hair a blow-out, brushing it until it was a shining wave of flame-red flowing down her back. She found a lipstick she hadn’t worn in ages—a brilliant matte red.
Now we’re getting somewhere
, she thought. She still felt lust, but now that feeling was united with something else: a sense of power.

A fire began burning within her, but this was more than lust. It was control, and it felt odd and slightly unsettling. Paradoxical, even. She was preparing to exert her will over another human being, but, at the same time, as she moved into the spell work, she felt driven by a force beyond herself.

Gretchel grabbed a soap dish from the bathroom and took it to her closet. She lit a match, melted the bottom of the pink candle, and stuck it to the dish. Then she used the red marker to write two names on a piece of paper. She wrote the names three times, going over her writing again and again until they were a nearly-indecipherable blur of red. Then she lit the candle and held the paper over it while she chanted.

Light the flame,

Bright the fire,

Red is the color of my desire.

She held the burning paper until it almost singed her fingers, then she dropped it in the metal bucket. She focused all her intent on the tiny point of light. As it sputtered out, Gretchel felt her longing surge through her whole body and then fly out into the world, toward the man she wanted—or, at least, the man she wanted right now.

Gretchel took a deep breath, savoring the feeling of a spell well cast. Then she looked for something to wear while she waited.

The living room was dark and a little chilly. Gretchel thought about throwing a fleece jacket over the gray cashmere sweater she had put on, but that wasn’t exactly the look she was going for. All the furniture was gone—given away or sold—so she simply stood by the window, looking out on the silent January night. She didn’t expect to be waiting long.

Fifteen minutes passed.

Gretchel began to feel extremely cold and slightly impatient.

             
Be still, ye randy tart! He’s comin’
.

             
“Shut up,” Gretchel muttered.

Then she heard a knock at the back door. She took her time answering it.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” His voice frosted the air. “Can we talk?” He couldn’t help looking around to see if anyone had seen him.

Gretchel was well past caring what her neighbors might think about anything. “Sure.” She moved aside to welcome him in, but not so far aside that he didn’t have to brush against her as he entered.

He followed her from the kitchen to the living room. Gretchel could feel the invisible cord that had pulled him to her. It was a connection made of momentary need—nothing like the soul-deep union she had had with Eli—but it was real enough for now. She knew that, at this moment, he would follow her anywhere.

She turned to regard him. She saw him all the time, but she hadn’t really
seen
him in years. She touched her neck, as she looked him over.

Tasty
, one of the voices cackled appraisingly.

So tasty
, Gretchel agreed internally.

He was looking her over, too, but he felt compelled to play the role of old family friend. “How are you? How are you doing? I’ve been worried about you.”

“I’m sick of talking about how I’m doing,” Gretchel said.

“Do you need anything?”

Gretchel looked around at the empty room and laughed a mirthless laugh. “I need
everything
.”

He blew out a sad sigh, and Gretchel almost felt bad for laughing.

Enough. The spell had done its job, now she had to work her own magic. She tossed her flaming hair and stepped forward until her bare toes touched the tips of his boots. “Your wife...”

“...is in Kansas City,” he answered.

Gretchel nodded, and began ascending the stairs.

“I have something that needs fixing. Can you help?”

He followed her. He would have followed her anywhere.

The Gretchel he had known—the wild Gretchel, the crazy Gretchel, the Gretchel he had loved—was back. He wanted her, just like he had always wanted her. He wanted to give her whatever she needed.
Oh God
, he prayed.
Let me fix what’s broken, whatever it is, just let me fix it.

Gretchel slid out of her leggings as soon as she reached the bedroom. Then she took off her sweater and let it drop to the floor. She turned to face him, her hands clasped behind her back. Moonlight glinted off her scars, which were just as awful as he remembered. Actually, they looked even worse now that she was so frightfully thin. He stepped into the room, kept walking until he was pressed against her.              

“You don’t miss him at all, do you?” he whispered in her ear.

“Who?”

He pushed her onto the bed. His forcefulness surprised him, but he felt driven by something he didn’t understand and didn’t care to question.

“We need to be together, Gretchel. I’ll get a divorce,” he said, assaulting her neck. “We’ll move out of town, out of state. Let the secrets come out, we won’t care, we’ll be gone,” he said burying his face between her breasts. “We’ll take the kids—your kids, my kid…. I’ll make it all good, Gretchel. Just give me the chance.”

When he threw her to the bed, Gretchel knew that her spell had maybe worked a little too well. All that pent up power, all that suppressed energy…. She had unleashed it, and she was not going to be able to control what she had wrought.

Shut up, man. Now’s no time for talkin’
the Woman in Wool growled.

Gretchel’s fingers worked at his fly.

“Run away with me, Baby Girl. I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

“But I don’t love you. Right now, though…” She found his hard cock and wrapped her hand around it. “Right now,” she whispered in his ear, “Right now, I need you.”

A guttural moan escaped his lips.

“Forgive me, Gretchel. Ask your gods to forgive me.”

The Woman in Wool hissed.

“How dare you?” Gretchel screamed, flinching away from him.

She was hurled back in time, and she watched that night unfold in reverse order: the fire, the accident, the blood, the beating, the gun, the sex, the barn, the warning, the prediction. Then her memory moved into fast forward... and she saw headlights.

“That burden is mine to carry. This is my punishment, not yours.” Her voice was a husky rasp in his ear. “Punish me.”

He looked in her eyes, and it wasn’t Gretchel he saw looking back at him—or at least it wasn’t
just
Gretchel. He knew that she was no more in control than he was. “No.”

“You coward,” she hissed.

She got off on Troy beating her. She liked being punished,
he thought. “No, Gretchel. No.” He had felt compelled to go to Gretchel, and he hadn’t fought it. But now he resisted.

“They’re dead because of me. Punish me you, fucking coward. You left me there, you fucking coward!” she screamed.

He lost the power to fight her. She was pulling him into her madness, into their past.

He raised himself above her, and with a tear-streaked face, he cocked his hand back and smacked her hard. He hovered above her, a grown man crying desperate tears.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Thank you.” Then she arched herself up against his rock hard member. He flipped her over, grabbed a handful of her hair, and rode her like he knew it was the last time.