Bitch Witch (15 page)

Sarah rubbed her palm over the surface of Henry’s. The motion produced heat from the friction of smooth skin to smooth skin. The heat entered Sarah’s core, the area she cast from, so warmly that sparks shot from the sides of their hands. Henry seemed fascinated by it, chuckling every time it happened. His breath against her face reminded her of stepping inside a coffeehouse.

“Sarah!” Paul leaned forward and clapped his hands together. “Earth to Sarah! He’s an oil executive!”

Sarah blinked at Henry. For a brief moment that bothered her, but she couldn’t think why, because she lived in a world that needed oil. Henry watched her reaction with faint creases of worry on his forehead. “My car uses oil,” she declared, and was rewarded with a delighted chuckle.

“They all do!” said Henry, and more sparks shot from between their hands.

“That was deep,” said Paul. “You two are making me literally nauseous. Henry is also pro-fracking, Sarah. He’s on one of my father’s committees to get it approved in New York State.”

“We need to be independent energy-wise, as a country I mean,” said Henry.

Sarah nodded. He was right. That was a fact. She wished Paul would shut up. A swoon-worthy humming zinged through her bones and Paul’s complaining knocked into it like a buzz saw, killing her vibe.

“He smokes!” said Paul.

“Just a pipe,” said Henry. “Cherry tobacco.”

“I
love
cherries,” said Sarah. Aunt Lily had an old-fashioned smoking jacket in her closet, with price tags still on it. It had always seemed too formal to Sarah, but she had a feeling Henry would like that.

“I’ve been thinking about quitting.”

“And,” Paul raised his voice to an annoying level for his next pronouncement, “he is against gay marriage!”

“I was,” Henry admitted. “But who cares? It passed.”

“Yeah, it passed,” parroted Sarah. “Besides, we’re straight.” She shot Paul a dirty look.

Preoccupied with pacing, he didn’t notice. He stopped to glare at his brother, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m telling her.”

“Behave.” Henry tried to shove him away with his foot, but Paul dodged it.

“Henry is engaged.”

Sarah’s hand froze on Henry’s palm. Why hadn’t the spell told her that fact?
Because you’re too busy deifying his face to think.
Nobody who looked like Henry could be single.

“No,” he said. “Well, I mean yes, but I haven’t given her a ring or anything.”

“That’s only because you have to get Mom’s ring resized, and gather a flash mob of hot-air-balloon music video dancers for your
impromptu
proposal.”

Henry slid the ring finger of Sarah’s left hand between his fingers. She felt it everywhere in her body. “That ring would fit your finger perfectly as is.”

Sarah’s face warmed with pleasure.
Fact and karma.
“Really?” Her voice came out with a little squeak in it.

“Oh. Are. You. Kidding. Me.”

“Really,” Henry replied, ignoring his brother. “It’s in my suitcase in my car—which is at the police station. I’ll have to go back there and get it.”

33” waist. 34” inseam. 16” collar.

Sarah slid her legs into his lap. “Someday I might let you off this sofa, but first why don’t you tell me about your drilling equipment?” She winked at him without any embarrassment.

“Huh-uh,” said Paul. “This is not happening. Sarah, I’m going in the attic.”

She ignored him, placing her palm over Henry’s again.

“I’m not kidding. I’m going into your freaky-deaky attic and I’m going to figure out what to do about this.”

She wished he’d just go already, and felt nothing but relief when he stomped out of the room in the direction of the staircase. Before she could completely relax again, and before the humming could build up in her bones again, Paul marched back and jammed his finger under her nose, looking from her eyes to Henry’s.

“Do. Not. Have. Sex.”

Sarah felt a flush bloom over her face and saw one on Henry’s cheeks as Paul marched off again.

SARAH DIDN’T KNOW how much time passed. Henry lay beside her on the sofa, an arm under her neck. They continued to rub their feet and legs together, pressing palms and touching noses. Random facts kept fluttering through her mind, most of them about his physical attributes.
Six feet tall. Size twelve foot. Runs a mile in seven minutes.
Sarah undid three buttons on his shirt and asked, “No horse tattoos?”
No tattoos. Scar on left thigh. Has teeth whitened.

“Hah, no. I think Paul was only making the best of his name with that.”

“You need a necklace,” she said, running a finger over the spot where one seemed to be missing.

“I gave mine to Paul. It’s been in our family for ages. It’s a first son thing, but I gave it to him when he got home from Afghanistan and was having…trouble.”

“He told me. Not about your necklace, but about the hospital.”

“He must trust you.” Henry brushed his lips over Sarah’s and a thrill shot through her. He pushed against the back of the sofa to roll her beneath the length of his long body. Sarah felt small beneath him, petite instead of squat. Somehow important areas lined up just right.

Average sized penis. Shaves legs. Battling nail fungus on one toe.

Her spell was incredibly annoying. Sarah stared into his eyes and tried to ignore it.

“You’re lovely,” he whispered. The intensity in his golden brown eyes made Sarah very aware that her dress had scooted up somewhere around her panties. She smiled. He felt good, each touch as delicious as a small cast.

A loud thump startled them both. Back from the attic with a stack of books, Paul proceeded to toss them onto the coffee table one by one.

“I
will
get the hose,” he said.

Henry sat up, pulling Sarah into his arms. “Get used to us, little brother.”

Paul focused on Sarah’s eyes. “Your attic puts the creep in creepy.”

“I know, right?” she said, but turned her eyes back to Henry’s.

“She’s definitely a witch, Henry. Just in case you missed it when she pinned you against the front door with your feet dangling in the air.”

Henry frowned.

“I am sorry about that,” said Sarah.
Dry heels. Regular manicures. Drinks expensive wine.

“I’ve seen her pull fire out of thin air.”

Henry’s frown deepened. “Would you show me?”

“Sure thing,” said Sarah. “Hold your palm over mine and don’t panic. This kind won’t burn.” A small handful of flames leapt from her hand to Henry’s, dancing between them.

He grinned. “Now that’s something else. It tickles. How do you learn to do this stuff?”

“My aunt taught me this.”

“But you never took any classes?”

Sarah laughed. “No. I’m a natural.”

“You’re not in show business are you?”

“No! Definitely not.”

Paul came closer and slapped their hands together, putting the flame out. “It’s not Criss Angel magic! They’re Salem witch—
witches
, Henry.”

“No, now, that mess was not the Archers,” said Sarah. “I mean not entirely. The Puritans were ridiculous.”

“They’re the kind who sacrifice cats and sometimes people to the dark side,” said Paul.

Henry’s eyes widened.

“Not me!” said Sarah. “You know, nobody can help what family they’re born into.”

“That’s true,” said Henry, still looking uncertain.

Cracks his ankles. Sleeps five hours a night. Drinks protein shakes for breakfast.

“Last night she cast a spell at the movies so some teenage boy couldn’t stop holding onto his dick.”

“You did what?” Henry let go of Sarah’s hand and frowned up at Paul. “Come on! You don’t really believe that stuff is real, do you? Don’t make me worry about you even more.”

Sarah interrupted. “I
was
mean to the kid because I was afraid he was going to get Paul into trouble.”

“You are so thoughtful,” said Henry, smoothing her dark hair away from her face and draping his arm around her shoulders again. “You have the most beautiful eyes. They’re so light, the palest blue I’ve ever seen. It’s striking against your skin and dark hair.”

“Thank you! I like yours too. Brown eyes with black lashes is deadly sexy.”

“Nobody has ever said that to me before.”

“It’s very Hollywood.”
Uses monogrammed handkerchiefs. Caught pink eye at the gym earlier this year. Keeps track of his illnesses in an Excel spreadsheet.

“Just stop talking. I am so embarrassed for you both,” said Paul. “So, Sarah. I found all these spell books. This is some cray-zay. Can you use these on normal people? Like there’s this one,” he dug through a thick black book, “that will make other people do what you say. I think it affects your voice. But I thought if you could do me a favor and put this on me, Sarah, maybe I could make you
get a clue
and quit drooling on my brother—who until a few hours ago was actually drooling in love with another woman!”

Sarah looked into Henry’s eyes.
Does he really love someone else?
Why couldn’t that fact come to her?

Paul leaned over to grasp her chin and force her to look at him. “Focus, witchy-woman. Can you put this spell on me?” He tossed the heavy tome into her lap, opening it to the page he wanted.

Sarah glanced at the spell. “It would require you to drink the blood of a singer.”

“Well, what about this one?” said Paul, tossing a leather bound book on top of it and thumbing through pages of parchment. The writing looked old, like calligraphy. “This one helps you see things from a logical perspective. You and Henry could both use a glass of that.”

“I’m logical,” said Henry. “When you enlisted you told me you were doing what you’d always known you should do. Well, as soon as I saw Sarah I knew—something. That never happened with…uh….” His voice trailed off as he seemed to search for the name of his girlfriend.

“Right,” said Paul. “It’s logical to fall in love with a woman you just laid eyes on, who you know zip about. She might as well be a different species than you are. She’s. A. Witch. You had a problem with Kathleen because she’s Catholic and Irish.”

“I’m Catholic,” said Sarah, frowning at him.
Agnostic. Goes to church on Christmas and Easter. Hates chicken.

“You are?” said Henry.

She shrugged. “Well, not technically.”
Jogs on a treadmill in his office. Loves sushi. Hates cats.

“All right then.”

Sarah leaned her head against his shoulder, perusing the handwritten logic spell. It helped distract her from the random facts about Henry. Oddly enough none of the details made him less appealing, not even the toenail fungus.
I’ll just make him keep his socks on.
He appealed to her so strongly that if it weren’t for Paul, she would drag Henry up to her bedroom right now.

Which would only increase the strength of the love spell.

The logical spell seemed like a good idea. It would require making a potion and breathing it. She was already so deep into dark matter; it would make little difference in the penance department. “I need a slice of sour dough bread, a cup of well water, a sheet of blank parchment paper, a shingle from the roof of a man with his priorities in place, a sprig from an evergreen tree, a piece of undyed linen, a splinter from stocks, an earthen bowl to mix it in, and an abacus. We have most of this stuff right here. Paul, didn’t you make sour dough bread a couple days ago?”

“Yes, and there’s some left over. Does it matter if it’s stale?”

“I think that would make a better potion. The only problem is getting the shingle from the roof of a man with his priorities in place.”

“You don’t know anyone?” Henry winked at her.