Bitch Witch (28 page)

“Apparently a six-week coma will break even a love spell.”

“Good to know. But you’re not acting like it’s broken. Anyway, the thing is Kathleen can’t recover in some hotel. Try to remember you owe her. You tried to
poison
her!”

“I did not! I mean, not really,” Sarah protested lamely.

Paul turned a withering look on her.

“Fine. For a nanosecond I wanted to annihilate her, but I never wanted to or really planned to poison her!”

Paul rolled his eyes. “I was there.”

“I didn’t! Not really!”

“You should have seen your face. I couldn’t believe Henry didn’t see it coming. He was too busy simpering over you, blindly wallowing in that stupid love spell.”

“It was just an impulsive thought—haven’t you ever told someone to drop dead?”

“Pretty much not since I saw my friends actually dropping dead around me in Afghanistan.”

“It was reactionary. I didn’t actually want her to die! I’m not saying I was innocent, you saw what happened. I’m just saying I didn’t plan—”

“Sarah, stop. I’ve seen the look on people’s faces right before they kill. I know what it looks like.”

Sarah bit her lip.
He’s right. Don’t gloss it over. You meant it when you cast, even for a moment. Then you were afraid to pull it back because you knew the cost. Just because you did the right thing eventually doesn’t negate your original intention.
“I’m sorry, Paul. I really messed up.”

“That’s an understatement.”

“Thank you for calling me on it.” Her eyes filled with tears.

Paul reached over to pat her on the head a couple times. “Hey. My point was that Kathleen wouldn’t be sick if it weren’t for you. You can be gracious and let her stay in your house, in your mother’s room if that’s what it takes.”

“My mother’s room!”
That is not a good idea!

“Sarah.”

“Fine.” Sarah crossed her arms. “Where’s Henry sleeping?”

“Oh, Lord. Here we go.” Paul’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “The only thing I can imagine worse than watching the two of you slobber on each other, is watching you make an ass of yourself while he’s trying to make amends to Kathleen.”

“Bite me, Paul. Wait. What do you mean make amends?”

Paul rolled his eyes and chuckled. “I’ll admit I’ve been enjoying it. I guess you will too, for different reasons. It’ll probably put some hope in that black heart of yours—once Kathleen knew Henry had returned to his senses, and she’d finally quit vomiting things I think she’d ingested back in high school, she did an about face. She went all, ‘
I don’t think so, Henry. You can’t cheat on me and come crawling back
.’”

Sarah laughed. “I guess you can’t blame her.”

“Of course not. I blame you.”

“Why? I got caught in the same spell. I didn’t even cast that love spell.” Sarah took another sip of water and glared out the window.

“You really looked like you were suffering. Do you think I didn’t realize what you were doing when you made him coffee? And not just some drip-type thing after all your lectures to me about how you can’t cook without casting. You practically danced beneath a full moon waving a wand the minute he walked in the door!”

Sarah turned her glare on him. “I did not! I know I completed the circle of the spell, binding us—”

Paul took one hand off the steering wheel to make an open handed gesture at her. “Thank you! At least you’re admitting it!”

“Look, I never denied that! But the thing is, Paul, I knew after I’d touched Henry I was in deep. So I cast another spell with the coffee. It helped me see the truth about Henry. That way I could keep my head.”

“Apparently that didn’t work very well.” Paul put both hands back on the steering wheel.

“It worked fine. The problem was that Henry’s a pretty great guy. Even without a spell I would have been interested in him.”

Paul snorted. “I call B.S. on that.”

“Why?!”

“Because I know both of you.”

Sarah lifted her short legs to press her ruby red slippers against the leather dashboard of the car. She frowned out the window, blind to the setting October sun as she considered Paul’s comments. They were easier to think about than the dark matter beckoning in the distance or the anxiety churning in her gut.

“How bad is Kathleen?”

“Bad enough. You’re going to need to stay away from her.”

Paul exited the highway and Sarah relaxed against the leather upholstery as the car moved over familiar back roads. “Bet you anything Kathleen has witch blood somewhere in her past.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That night before I cast the poison spell, I made her wine taste like vinegar and she drank every drop. Who does that?”

Paul chuckled low in his throat. “Kathleen has the fortitude of a monk, and she hates wine. She once told me it all tastes like vinegar, but when she started dating Henry she was all over it because he is.”

“That’s stupid.”

“Look who’s talking. I’ve had a front row seat into your shenanigans, Miss
My Car Uses Oil
.”

Sarah laughed, remembering. “That was pretty bad.”

“You were both ridiculous.”

“I’m not blaming the poison thing on her, but Kathleen was trying to provoke me that night.” Sarah sucked the rest of the water out of the bottle and forced it into the cup holder.

“No kidding! Did you expect her to be friendly? Henry dumped her by text message for you, and you were rude and mocking from the second she walked in the door. She’s a good person, and she deserved better than that.”

“She’s a catty bitch.”

“Don’t you have any empathy? She hopped a plane to come see what happened to the man she loves, and you started poking pins into her!”

“
She
was being a snoot and a snob.”

“Yeah, well so was Henry, and you gave him a lap dance.” Paul parked in front of Sarah’s house and clicked open his seatbelt. “You ready?”

Sarah looked toward the house. The morning glory had died. Heaps of October leaves were blown against the porch steps. She swallowed and whispered, “Yes.”

“Say you’ll be nice.”

“You know what, Paul? I’m not nearly as awful as you seem to think I am. I have no intention of hurting Kathleen.”

“You mean this time?” He opened his door.

“Just shut up.”

L
ight illuminated the doors under the porch roof in a golden glow. Sarah froze halfway up the front steps.

Paul stumbled at her sudden stop, his arm still around her. “What are you doing?”

Sarah’s mouth had gone so dry she couldn’t form words. She pointed at the front doors. The glass in them that had crackled three years ago after the death of her family had changed again. Instead of the familiar crackly cobwebs etched into frosty glass, colorful vines and flowers gracefully flowed over crystal clear glass. Most metaphorical dark matter messages had a basis in the laws of physics. This glass had healed itself. It wasn’t possible. It now looked like the Morning Glory that grew around the house in the summer.

A shiver ran up her back.

“What?” Paul said. “The doors? They’re new. Kathleen picked them. We had to have a lot of the windows replaced too. When you had your little hissy fit you blew out half the glass in the house. Henry took care of it.”

“Oh.” Sarah laughed a dry exhalation of relief. “That was nice of him.”

“Hardly. It was getting cold. He left a stack of receipts for you. Make sure you pay him back. He can be a real jerk about money. I was afraid to offer him some of your piles of cash. I didn’t want him to think you’re a drug dealer or something. He’s pretty down on you.” Paul fished in his pocket for the key, and then took Sarah’s elbow to escort her across the threshold. All the blood in her head felt as though it drained down, and she could hear her pulse beating inside her ears. Automatically she reached further than Paul for additional help. Even knowing she’d rejected it forever, Sarah’s mind and heart swept through the old house, looking for dark matter like the drug it was. It surprised her that she couldn’t sense it even in the basement.

It really left the house!
It was both a relief and a disappointment.

Sarah didn’t make it any further than the sofa in the living room. She let go of Paul’s arm and dropped face first onto the old gilt-edged couch. It occurred to her that she hadn’t eaten in weeks. Maybe Paul had been right. She should have stayed in the hospital. Sarah pressed her face against the soft material, breathing in the familiar dusty scent of old jacquard silk. She closed her eyes to protect them from the light. The house seemed far brighter than she remembered.

Paul tossed a warm blanket over her back and turned on
You’ve Got Mail
, putting her laptop on the coffee table near her head. Meg Ryan was missing her mom.

What must that be like
?

Sarah slept as though she’d fallen back into a coma.

When she woke, Paul watched her from the opposite sofa.

“Feel better?” he asked.

Sarah sat up, pulling a pile of warm blankets closer. They were the thick white ones from her bed, and even her pillow had been tucked on the end of the sofa. “Some. Thanks, Paul.”

“No problem,” he said, pointing at a cup of tea, a bowl of steaming soup, and crackers set on the coffee table. “You’ve been asleep for over twenty-four hours. I was beginning to think about taking you back to the hospital. I will if you don’t eat and drink and pee. The soup isn’t much more than broth. I don’t think you should start with much else. But it’s from that Wegman’s supermarket. It’s good, I had some.”

Sarah pulled the bowl closer and picked up a spoon. Her stomach snarled as she spooned soup into her mouth. “You’re a good friend,” she said between bites. Her stomach roared in appreciation or protest. She couldn’t tell which, and didn’t care. The soup tasted warm and too salty and wonderful. “You know I don’t expect you to cook for me, but hell I do appreciate it.”

“You’re letting me stay here, not to mention my brother and his
fiancée
.”

Sarah shot him a dirty look. “Where are they?”

“Henry took some soup up to Kathleen a few minutes ago. He’s been trying to feed her something every few hours. She’s not really eating well.”

Sarah looked in the direction of the staircase.

“He said he was going to go back to bed,” Paul added.

“What room is he in?”

“Please. Would you
please
try not to be nauseatingly jealous? I don’t think I can take it again. Henry’s not sleeping with Kathleen if that’s what you’re worried about. Not that he wouldn’t be if she felt better, or if she didn’t currently hate his guts.”

Paul’s tone made her smile.

“You’re doing it,” Paul accused. “It’s not very attractive.”

To hide her eye roll Sarah gulped some of the hot tea, holding the mug between her hands to warm them. “Does Kathleen know about me?” At his blank look she added, “That I’m a witch, Paul.”

“Of course not. She wouldn’t believe that if we told her anyway.”

“I have ways of making you believe.” It hit her with sudden horror that she didn’t. Not anymore. She put down the mug.

“You can really be a you-know-what,” Paul said.

Sarah plopped several crackers into the soup and jammed them into the bottom with her spoon. “But Henry knows I am. I mean, he believes it now, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah, Sarah, he does. He also believes you tried to kill Kathleen.”

“Does he know I’m here?”

“He could hardly miss you snoring in the middle of the living room. You sounded like a pack of San Francisco sea lions.”

Sarah straightened, spoon in hand. “Did I really?” Witches didn’t sleep deep enough to snore. “That’s odd.”

“Are you more embarrassed by the fact that your crush heard you snoring than the fact that you tried to kill his fiancée? Because that’s messed up.”