Werecats and Werelocks (Collection) (21 page)

If she could only count on the fact that her spells were solid and know Christian was safely back where he belonged, she'd rest easier.

Felicity made her way back to the bedroom and shrugged into a T-shirt and a pair of jeans, fending off her enormous guilt. He had to go back. There were just no ifs, ands or buts about it.

She would find a way to check on him.

A knock at her door startled her out of her guilt trip as she flipped lights on and the sun faded to a blip on the horizon.

Popping it open a crack, she eyeballed Amber, her green with envy classmate. “What can I do for you, Amber?"

Amber's beady eyes pierced hers as she put a hand on Felicity's door and gave it a shove. “You can open this door right now, Felicity Speillman, and tell us where your ‘science project’ is."

Swinging the door wide, Felicity bristled with anger. “He's gone, you jealous twit. I told you, I conjured him up and that means I can send him back. So that's what I did. I sent him back,” she said with a smug twitch of her nose. Felicity eyed all of her fellow wannabe witches, gathered ‘round Amber in obvious support.

Amber flipped a strand of her long, straggly hair and narrowed her eyes at Felicity. “You did not, Felicity. You couldn't conjure up a Domino's pizza if they hand delivered it to your door and you know it. You were failing spell casting and that's just the truth. So how did you get the hunky genie? We deserve an answer because if you're cheating and screwing one of us out of first place in the class, you'll be sorry!” The crowd behind Amber grumbled with their support of Amber's statement. First place in the class meant the mac daddy of all brooms and Amber wanted that more than she wanted anything else. She'd do whatever it took to get it too.

Felicity snorted. “And you're like what, Amber? David Copperfield? Gimme a break! You've cheated plenty and we both know it. How quickly we forget the black market love potion...” Felicity snapped the accusatory words out like the tail of an angry cat.

Amber twittered and her face reddened as she shuffled from foot to foot.

"Remember that, Amber? Who was it that fell in love with you, Amber? Was it a living, breathing human being? Um, no. It was Caroline's
dog
. Do you remember how he humped your leg forever while your army of sycophants helped you find the reversal spell? I do believe that's called cheating. Am I wrong, ladies?” Felicity looked out at the group of women as she pursed her lips and waited for Amber to answer.

"We're not talking about me, Felicity. We're talking about you and your genie. How could you, almost the only witch on Castoffsphere who can't even conjure up a simple spell, get a spell like that
right
?” she demanded, her nasal voice slicing the air with a whine.

"Well, somehow she did,” a voice called from outside. All heads turned toward her neighbor's thatched hut.

Felicity poked her head out of her door and rolled her eyes. Damn it all!

Christian waved to her from the white picket fence with a far too knowing hand. His bald head was just visible in the light of the outside lanterns. “Pumpkin? That was a splendid display of witchcraft. However, we did forget one little thing."

"I thought he was gone,” Amber said pointedly.

Felicity sighed. “I said he was gone, that I sent him away. I didn't say where he was gone to or where I sent him. Gone can mean a million things, Amber. Gone to the store. Gone fishing. It doesn't have to be another planet."

"Sweetneeeesssss,” Christian called again with a singsong voice. “Um, my clothes. I need my clothes."

For crap's sake! “I'll be right there, honeybuns,” she called as lovingly as she possibly could to continue this farce.
Now shut the fuck up so I can think
.

The ripple of ooooohs and ahhhhhs in the crowd sent Felicity to find Christian's genie drawers tout de suite. She pushed past them and literally hurled them over the fence at his head with a hiss. “What the hell are you doing back? I sent you away!"

"Well, clearly you didn't send me far. I believe you used the word lawn in that spell and I am standing on someone's very well kept one. Ya done good, F.” He grinned with all of his audacity.

"Put those damn puffy MC Hammer pants on and get back over here!"

He did that Yul Brynner thing with his eyebrow, all cocky and smug. “What about your friends? You have quite a crowd there."

Felicity turned to her group of classmates just waiting to ogle her
husband
as she stomped her way toward them, seething. “Go home and take your witch posse with you. Hear me, Amber? Go practice with your
old
wand. I, on the other hand, am going to practice with my
new
one.” Hah! Never a more smugly satisfying diss was spoken.

The crowd of witches cackled as Amber skulked off into the fading light, her pack of friends following her.

Christian came up behind her and placed his hands on her waist, whispering in her ear. “How about we go inside and work on some more spells, lamb chop? Maybe this time you can hurl me across the Milky Way or something?"

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” Felicity howled as she marched back into her hut on feet that were cold and wet, but fueled by her frustration. She turned to face him as he entered behind her, closing the door with a gentle nudge.

"Look, you maniac! I am not your wife. I
can't
keep you. I have too much going on to even remember to feed my cat, let alone a husband!"

"Well, here's the thought I had while I was in the neighbors’ backyard picking up my innards from the very green lawn. I don't know what they do over there, but it really is nice. Very lush. Maybe some special fertilizer? Anyway, how about I help you with this magic thing? I mean, I am a genie and seeing as you're so hell-bent on pretending to be a witch and whatever this dimension has, it seems to hold some kind of importance to you. So I'll play along with your wannabe witch tendencies, but I do have some tricks up my sleeve.” His confidence oozed from the stance he took in her kitchen, hands firmly planted on his narrow hips.

"You don't have sleeves, Mr. Clean. Just pants that belong on an aging rapper and look who's talking about magic. You couldn't get yourself out of a bottle. How on Castoffsphere do you propose to help me?"

"You know, pet, you scorn my affection, dump me unceremoniously on some Astroturf and now, you mock my ability to make hocus pocus. Quite frankly, I'm deeply hurt.” Christian hung his head in mock despair. “When a genie is banished to his bottle he can't hope to escape unless the person who banished him releases him, or someone summons him from the bottle. You, my wife, did just that. How can I thank you properly?"

Felicity sauntered over to him and jabbed a finger in his ribs. It was time to straighten some stuff out because this was making about as much sense as a bowl of Lucky Charms without the marshmallows. In essence, the already crazy world she lived in was becoming crazier still. “Okay, I need some answers. First of all, when did we get married?"

"The year was nineteen twenty-two. We lived in Hollywood at the time, now known as L.A."

"That was eighty-three years ago!"

"Yep, it was. Happy anniversary, baby,” Christian said with a grin. “Come gimme a kiss to celebrate.” Pulling Felicity to him, he ran a light finger down her nose.

"Stop it. I wasn't around eighty-three years ago, Christian. That's impossible."

"I think you're teasing me, sweetheart. You were pretty wigged over my so-called indiscretion and you did have quite the fit. Maybe you're the one telling fibs here. You couldn't still be angry now, could you?” He cocked his head to look down at her with laughing eyes.

"We have to get some stuff straight. I might look like your wife, but I'm not. I can't be. It's cosmically impossible. There has been some kind of crazy mix up. I'm a witch. Fatima was a genie. Biiiig dif in our worlds there, Kojak. I'm sure it had to do with my lame attempt at witchcraft. I was drunk ... but I'm not the wife who banished you to your Coke bottle.” Felicity leaned back in his arms and pursed her lips. “Whatdja do to piss her off, anyway? It must have been something really awful, huh? Eighty-three years in a bottle is almost a lifer."

"You know what I did, sweetums, but humoring you seems to work better than fighting the tide. You claimed I was flirting with some young starlets at a party. You flew into a rage. You said some hocus pocus, mumbo jumbo and then, bam—instant bottle."

Flirting
? Just for
flirting
? Wee doggie, his wife must have been some jealous wench. “Isn't eighty-three years an awfully loooong time to banish you? How come she could do that and you couldn't do anything to stop it?"

Christian leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose. “You, er, I mean she was one irate genie, honey, and eighty-three years to a genie doesn't seem like much when you consider some are stuck in bottles and lamps for centuries. We
are
immortal,” he reminded her.

Yeah, immortal. “Okay, then, why don't you explain something else,
snookums
. How is it that you seem pretty well versed in the new millennium? You don't sound at all unfamiliar with the slang or culture in the new millennium. I think you're full of horse puckey."

"Just because I was stuck in my bottle doesn't mean I couldn't stay current. I can still use my magic, per se. I just couldn't get out of my bottle. So I whipped up a thing or two to keep me in the know. Like newspapers and satellite TV. I was far too addicted to that Home Shopping Network."

A hip, cool, informed genie, eh? Only Felicity Speillman could have conjured up a genie that looked like Yul Brynner and talked like Snoop Dog ... She repeated the phrase that had become second nature to her. “I am not your wife, Christian."

"I think you are and you're still just a wee bit angry with me. I can help to make that better,” he whispered as he let his lips slide over the arch in her neck.

Felicity found herself bowing her body into his and then caught herself. She pushed off his strong forearms. “Uh, no. We have more talking to do, Aladdin."

"You really are misinformed about your genies. Aladdin was not a genie."

"Whatever. So where was this bottle again?"

"Well, I was in Hollywood and then what became L.A. Buried under a house was my best estimation. Like I said, I'd frosted your Wheaties. You were pissed.” Christian chuckled, his firm belly shifting against her own.

If she could just remember what had brought Christian here in the first place. “What I still don't understand is how I got you here? I can't even remember the spell I was shooting for."

Christian shrugged his wide shoulders. “Of course you do, sweet lips. You know exactly how you got me here. If anyone should be asking questions, it's me. Like, why are you pretending to be a witch?"

"It's a vast conspiracy to take over the witch world by scorned wife genies everywhere,” Felicity half joked. “I'm not a genie, Christian. I'm not your wife either. Maybe we bear a striking resemblance, but I am not your
wife
. I'm a witch and I have the parents to prove it."

Christian sighed with a long puff of air. “Fine. Whatever the game is that we're playing, I'll play along. How's that? I know you enjoy a good chase, muffin."

Muffin this
. “How can you help me with my magic anyway? I'm a witch. You're a genie. Ya know, like rub the lamp and stuff, and if you're a genie, why haven't I been offered my three wishes?"

"I can help you to memorize these spells you seem so determined to master and you didn't get any wishes because you're my wife. Family and any family members of the Djinn are null and void from participating."

Could he really help her? Felicity gnawed on the inside of her cheek with unsure teeth. What could a genie teach a witch? “But you still aren't my husband,” Felicity stated flatly.

Christian pulled her closer and molded her to him. “Okey-doke. You believe what you want to. For now, I have no bottle. How about we cut a deal? I help you and you get your broom. In the meantime, I have a place to stay."

Her broom.

Damn it all, she really needed her broom. Her parents would never forgive the wasted money on this damn flunky school if she didn't leave with a broom. Plus, Daddy had said he'd buy her that VW bug she wanted if she graduated. Screwing that up probably meant a Geo.

And he did whip up a mighty fine magic carpet...

This was like making a deal with Lucifer himself, wasn't it?

Felicity stuck her hand under his nose. “Deal. But we have some rules that have to be followed. Ya feel me?"

Christian squeezed her a bit harder and nodded. “Oh, I feel ya and—"

"And that deal doesn't include feeling me
literally
."

Christian let her go, causing Felicity to stumble backwards. He grinned. “You got it, pookey."

Oh, she was going to get it all right ...
Pookey
...

Christian smiled, crossing his hands behind his head and watching the flit of fairy lights twinkle on the ceiling above him. Life was good. He had a place to hang his carpet and a hot chick to do it with.

Who was a clever genie indeed?

Sighing, Christian decided to address the latest concerns between him and his
wife
.

Essentially, he would be toast if Felicity found out he really
wasn't
her husband.

You deceptive magic maker, you
. He was a pig of epic proportions, but that hadn't stopped him from not only trying to make Felicity believe they were married, but also not minding the idea too much himself.

He snorted as he rolled over on her tiny couch and fought the stabs of guilt he was having. Technically, F
did
own him. After all, she had managed to wrest him from that bottle by whatever half assed witch-like means she'd done it with, but she wasn't his wife.

And he wasn't going to tell her any different.

Misleading?

Er, yep.

Necessary to survival?

Um, double yep.

He'd been in that damn bottle forever. It was true, he had been flirting with starlets when his wife banished him, but it was done out of spite over Fatima's cheating heart.