Austentatious (16 page)

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Authors: Alyssa Goodnight

BOOK: Austentatious
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He smirked; clearly I was an open book. But judging from the way his body began leaning toward mine, he didn’t plan to challenge me. His hand tightened on mine, mine tensed in his, and I braced myself for the thrill of yet another kiss.
It shuddered slowly through me, leaving me limp with appreciation and sighing at its end. This kiss was way more dangerous than the others, probably because he’d clued in to the fact that I was, ever so cautiously, caving. I couldn’t seem to help myself—around Sean it was like I was no longer “master of my domain.” Figuratively speaking.
Fairy Jane was no doubt smirking to herself over the burgeoning success of her twisted little matchmaking scheme. I didn’t think anyone could argue that I wasn’t taking the romance at least somewhat seriously. Take tomorrow, for example: lunch with one guy, dinner with another. I was seriously in over my head.
12
In which agreements are reached
S
topped at a light on Fifth Street, I realized I should probably head straight home, make myself some hot chocolate, and hunker down with my magical journal and its logic-defying key. I should be curious and eager to do some sleuthing—and I
was
. But right now, I didn’t want to read about Fairy Jane’s interference in other people’s lives—I wanted to deal with her meddling into mine. I needed some girl talk, and not the kind I was used to getting from next door.
Glancing at the clock on the dash—quarter after ten—I was pretty confident Beck was still up, either studying or defying the engineering stereotype in some way or another. I reached for the phone. She answered on the first ring.
“Beck! Hey, it’s Nicola.”
“Thank God! I left you a message hours ago, after I got your spazzed-out message, and I can only assume you have a
very good reason
for blowing me off?” The implication was obvious. “I’m ready to forgive. So anytime you’re ready ...”
I grinned, then bit the inside of my mouth. “Oh, I’m just calling to check in, see how your classes are going,” I lied.
There was a beat of silence on her end of the line, and I could hear funky music from unidentifiable instruments. My imagination ran wild, and I pictured an apartment with lots of jewel-toned floor pillows and dark wood, the air swirling with smoky incense. My nose wrinkled up a little.
“O-
kay,
” she said. “Things are good. I aced two exams this week—Control Systems and Lasers. Is that enough foreplay? Ready to get to the good stuff?”
“What?” It came out half-shocked, half-amused.
“I’m guessing you called with something more interesting than the day-to-day dramas in the College of Engineering, so as your
very devoted
mentee, let me just give you permission to gloss over my less-than-exciting life.”
My smile widened as I took a moment to revel in my life’s recent juiciness.
“Okay then. Way to go on the exams,” I said, trying to legitimatize our mentor / mentee relationship just slightly.
“Thank you. Now spill it. Or do you want a face-to-face? Because I’m totally up for it if you are. I’m actually a little burned out on studying, particularly while Talitha is trying her—well, belly, I suppose—at belly dancing. With all those little coins clinking and fabrics shimmying, it’s unbelievably distracting.”
“I’ll bet. Well, if you’re positive it wouldn’t be interrupting something more important, then in-person would be great.”
“Awesome. It’s Glow Bowl night at the Texas Union.”
My eyebrows came together in uncertainty. “Glow Bowl night?”
“Come on! It’s the perfect place to gossip—no one will overhear a thing.”
Somehow I found myself agreeing to that, and ten minutes later, I was descending underground, into the din. Between the music (that rock / rap combo stuff), the crack of pool balls, the smack of bowling pins, and the animated conversation, I felt confident my secrets would stay with me. Beck would be lucky to pick up the general gist.
It was just now occurring to me that I wasn’t exactly dressed for bowling. I didn’t even have a pair of socks. Eyeing the line of worn bowling shoes getting sprayed with aerosol deodorant on the counter, I suppressed a shudder.
When I noticed Beck waving from a lane to my far right, I tried not to react. While it had recently become somewhat socially acceptable, I would never be caught out in pajamas—particularly the sock monkey variety—paired with a thermal tee and a ski vest. Although I had to admit, with her hair cocked out in twin ponytails, the pink streaking through, she looked cute and enviably comfortable. Like she belonged down here. Me? Not so much. News flash from the UT Student Union ...
Beck hopped up to greet me with a giddy look in her eyes and a mischievous smile curling her high-gloss lips, and I relaxed a little. Giving me a quickie shoulder massage, she turned me toward the lanes and gestured up at the video screen suspended above. Apparently we’d be playing incognito as “Mentor” and “Mentee.” I couldn’t wait to see which of us was which.
“Go get your shoes,” she yelled in my ear, “and come right back here. I’ll find us some balls.” She wiggled her eyebrows and turned with ponytails flying.
I figured it was going to be virtually impossible for me to tell her about my date in this obnoxious environment. While one of us was on deck, swinging a nine-pound ball in a dangerous arc, the other really should stay out of the way. And I wasn’t about to shout the whole thing at twenty paces. It should definitely be interesting.
As I was sliding my stockinged feet into a pair of slightly moist leather bowling shoes, Beck walked up cradling a neon orange ball, its three holes turned toward me. “This work for you?”
Fitting my fingers into the holes, I nodded, and she half rolled/half dumped it into my hands.
“You’re just a tad overdressed for bowling.” She shook her head dismissively. “Don’t worry—nobody cares.” Stepping closer and widening her eyes with a very gratifying urgency, she prompted, “Take it from Sunday brunch.”
“Now?” I glanced around uncertainly, concerned that someone might be waiting for the lane, ready to step up and complain if we were caught squandering precious Glow Bowl minutes.
“He’s up,” she said, indicating the six-footer in loose-fitting madras in the lane to our left.
I tried to shake off the
Punk’d
vibe and just go with it. This was less of a girl talk and more of a drive-by. But what did I know? Maybe this was how it was done now. I took a deep breath, ready for launch, just as Beck held up her hand. ‘Hold that thought. Your turn.”
Evidently I was bowling as “Mentor” this evening.
I turned to face the clutch of ten pins at the far end of our lane. Stepping up, trying to resist the thoughts of Sean that persisted in tickling my concentration, I strode forward with measured steps, swung the ball back, and let fly.
Gutter ball.
I glanced at Beck to see her frantically waving me over.
“Go—you’ve got a minute before your ball comes back. And we can let that guy cut in if we need to,” she said in cavalier fashion.
“Okay ... since brunch ...” My normally ordered mind was stumbling over all the unexpected happenings of the last day and a half. Probably best to go chronologically. “Let’s see: I got passed over for a promotion—again, decided to switch jobs, found the key to the journal—
you have no idea!
, had a surprise visit from Sean at work—he brought flowers, we went to dinner, I got serenaded. We kissed, and I agreed to another date. The complete nutshell.” I glanced back toward the ball return to see my ball waiting patiently. “I’m up.”
Feeling slightly more relaxed now that it was out in the open, I stepped up, swung the ball, and watched it glide smoothly down the lane. This time it hit just right of dead center, and with a satisfying crack of pins, I picked up the spare.
“You, my friend, are unstoppable!” The smile Beck flashed had my lips curling up cautiously in response. “Tell me about the journal—is it even better with the key?” Her eyes were impossibly wide and her attitude unflinchingly giddy.
I met her gaze, wondering if Beck was above I-told-you-sos. “Turns out you’re pretty in tune with the wackiness in the world. The journal was a gift from Jane Austen—
the
Jane Austen—to her niece.”
Beck’s eyebrows dropped into a wrinkle of disbelief. “You have proof?”
That knocked me on my ass. “Proof? Seriously? You need proof, Mulder?”
“I don’t
need
proof; I just assumed you
had
proof. Besides,” she said with a smirk, “it’s not long before I’m a full-fledged, degree-toting engineer. I gotta walk the walk on occasion.”
“Okay, fine. My proof is that I saw the signed inscription she wrote, and it looks legit.”
She interrupted before I could continue with my seemingly impossible explanation.
“So why didn’t you see it before?” she quizzed, hefting her ball from the ball return.
“I needed the key. The key brings back everything that’s been written in the book since the very beginning—we’re talking a veritable tomb of diary secrets. My entries, the ones that disappeared and were replaced with snarky little instructions? They’re back. The book is huge with the key in and a skinny mini with it removed.”
“Whoa.” After a pause, she said, “I should probably bowl. Be right back.”
Despite glancing curiously back at me several times while she waited her turn in the bowling queue, Beck evidently managed to shake off the shock and come back raring to gossip.
“And there’s more weird where that came from,” I told her. “And honestly, I need some advice.”
“Shoot,” she said, sipping from a jumbo Diet Coke.
Taking a deep breath, I confided, “I think Fairy Jane may have left the journal. So to speak.”
Beck squinted. “She’s gone? What makes you think so?”
“No, not gone per se, just foolin’ around.”
“You’re saying Jane Austen is fooling around in Austin, Texas?” Her gaze was unwavering.
“Well, I don’t know how else to describe it! She’s messing with the calendar in my kitchen, and she’s finagling things I don’t want finagled!”
“Come again?”
I closed my eyes, digging deep for a calm, rational-sounding response. “Today I not only agreed to transfer departments at Micro, thereby backseating my bid for management, but I agreed to go out with Sean after I promised myself I wouldn’t get involved. That doesn’t sound like me, does it?”
“You’re switching out of Product Engineering? Into what department? Will I stay where I am, or can I come along as your intern, sort of a two-for-one package?”
Hell, I’d forgotten all about Beck. I shook my head. I’d deal with that later.
“Try to stay focused. What I’m saying is, I don’t think
I
did either of those things on my own—I think someone interfered, worked some magic, messed with my head. Does that seem possible to you?” I couldn’t believe I was asking this. “Is that common for ... magical things?”
A grin stole over Beck’s face. “This is painful for you, isn’t it?”
I rolled my eyes. “A little, so could we just get to it?”
“Go bowl. Let me think on it for a minute.”
I couldn’t concentrate knowing that no matter what it was, I wasn’t going to like Beck’s answer. I’m lucky I managed to bowl down the right lane. I think I downed a total of two pins in the entire frame. When I got back, her mouth was set in a grim line. “Come up with anything?”
“Well, I should probably preface this by saying that I have no real-world experience with anything magical, other than your journal.”
“Lucky you,” I muttered.
“And,” Beck continued, “any magical advice I’m able to give you is drawn from books, movies, mythology, etcetera.”
“Talitha’s not into magic?”
“Sadly, no.”
“Fine, fine,” I assured her. “I’ll take whatever you’ve got.”
She held up a finger. “Probably best if I played this frame.”
I waited for what seemed an eternity for her to come back.
“Okay,” Beck said, “so now that you’ve actively engaged the journal, i.e., the magical item, it’s invested in you. The spirit that’s enchanting it—we believe, Jane Austen—clearly has an agenda, which you, in both words and actions, are resisting. So it would appear that she’s stepping beyond the bounds of the journal to convince you.” She nodded sagely. “Sorta scary shit,” she said, grinning hugely.
“So she’s not going to let up?”
“I don’t know ... maybe?”
“Maybe? This is my life! How the hell am I supposed to deal with this?”
“Well, how bad would it really be to go along with it? She’s not asking you to do anything dangerous or illegal.”
I stared at her, taking in her pink hair, sock monkey pajamas, and the bowling alley around her. Honestly, I couldn’t believe any of this was happening. She slung her arm around my shoulders.
“Okay, executive decision: Let’s put a kibosh on the magic stuff. I’m willing to take a lot on faith, but for obvious reasons, I’d like to see this stuff for myself. Right now, why don’t you relax and tell me about Sean. We’ll get to the Micro situation later—it can wait.”
In no time, Beck and I had developed a rhythm, seamlessly alternating bowling frames and concentrated bouts of gossip as I temporarily tried to overlook the invasion of magic into my well-ordered life.
“What kind of flowers?”
“Red gerbera daisies.”
“Definite points for originality.”
“As a bribe, they worked wonders.”
Beck raised her eyebrow, but I could tell she was impressed. I hurried up to bowl with a blithe smile on my face and remained undeterred by my paltry two-pin showing.

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