SHIVER: 13 Sexy Tales of Humor and Horror (50 page)

“Fuck, I think I hurt my head,” Luke moaned from the floor.

“Mr. Hamilton, remove yourself from the floor, please, so we can continue class.” Dr. Philips’ salty grey beard appeared to frown with his annoyance.

Luke grumbled and exhaled a few creative expletives as he regained his seat at the table. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from giggling with glee.

Class continued with other students piping in with their thoughts on Puritans and sex. I zoned out, remembering Luke’s fall and wondering if I’d wished it to happen hard enough to make it so.

After all, we were in Salem. Accused Witches were killed here, but today the streets were filled with shops selling magical potions, cauldrons, and books on Wicca to modern witches and tourists. Not that I believed in witches. Or magic.

“Next week we’ll be discussing
The Crucible
, Arthur Miller’s take on the witch trials that made Salem famous, or infamous as it were.” Philips stood and gathered his things.

“Great, more prudes and bitches,” Luke mumbled.

I shot him a look. “Seriously?”

He met my eyes and a slow, sinister smile spread across his beer bloated face.

“What are you smiling about?” I sneered.

“Prudes and bitches. This class could be about you.”

“Shut up, Hamilton.” I moved around him toward the door.

“If the names fit.”

I flipped him the bird over my shoulder without turning around.

“Aww, don’t be Mad. Oh wait, I guess you don’t have a choice,” he called after me, laughing at his stupid joke about my name.

“Argh!” I stomped down the hall. Outside of the glass doors large raindrops splattered the brick walkway. “Could this day get any better?” I asked myself out loud.

A pale hand with long, familiar fingers held one of those tiny collapsible umbrellas in my line of sight. “Here.”

I looked up to meet the dark eyes of Andrew. His lanky frame towered over mine. From his black Chucks to his almost black hair, he could have been a hipster, but he was too nerdy, too cool, too something, to be that trendy. Maybe it was the glasses; the thick black rims were not exactly stylish. His messy hair hinted at a lack of combing rather than bedroom shenanigans. He looked smart, if intelligence had a facial expression. Too-smart-for-his-own-good smart.

Andrew cleared his throat.

“Oh, thank you. I have my hoodie.” I reached behind to pull my grey hood over my hair. “I’ll be fine.”

“Okay.” He held my gaze as he stuffed the umbrella into his backpack. “No problem.”

Something about him made me tingle. He unsettled me, and I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. I hesitated before I gave him a small smile, and dashed out the door.

The rain sputtered into a mist a few yards down the path, and I pulled down my hood. Maybe my day had started to turn around. Smiling, I searched for Andrew in the doorway or on the steps behind me, but he’d disappeared.

Sam sat at
our usual table inside the campus cafe.

“I bought your favorite… a pumpkin spice latte,” she greeted me. Today, her long blonde hair was in two braids, which were wrapped around the crown of her head. She looked like a milkmaid with the figure of a German beer garden girl.

I inhaled the steam. “Thanks. I need this.” The rainy day called for the warmth of fall in a cup. I shook out my damp hoodie and ran my fingers through my newly bobbed hair.

“Rough day with the Puritans?” she asked.

“Rough day with Hamilton.”

“He’s a flaming toadstool.” Sam never swore. She never used typical curse words, but the intent was the same.

“He really is.”

“What did newt brain do now?”

I explained his comments in class and we laughed over the karma of his fall.

“Maybe it wasn’t karma. You wished for him to shut up and it came true.”

I gave her a sidelong glance. “Sam.”

“Maddy.”

“I’m not a witch. No magical powers.” I wiggled my fingers in front of her face.

“You don’t know that. You’ve never tried.”

“My ancestors might have been from Salem, but we all know those witches weren’t witches.”

“Maybe not the innocents who were killed, but that doesn’t mean magic doesn’t exist here.”

I rolled my eyes. “I think you’ve spent too much time downtown at the tourist shops.”

Sam mirrored my eye roll. “Such the skeptic. Where’s your sense of imagination and wonder?”

“I must have lost them when I stopped watching Disney princess movies.”

“My mom never let me watch those.”

“Ah, that explains it all then. More Snow White and less Wicca.”

“Speaking of Wicca, will you come with me to The Spelling B after classes? I need to buy a new set of Tarot cards.”

“What’s wrong with the set you have?”

“I think Lucy’s bad energy ruined their mojo.”

“Lucy Lucy?” I stared at my roommate.

“I know, I know. Yes,
that
Lucy, but she paid me twenty bucks for a reading.”

Lucy was Hamilton’s girlfriend. She swam in the same shallow pool he did, and believe me, they deserved each other. I frowned at the thought of the two of them procreating and creating more obnoxious humans.

“Her reading was terrible, just so you know.”

“That’s some comfort.”

“Maddy, would you still want to date Hamilton?” She teased.

I shuddered. “We never dated. I wouldn’t call what happened freshman year dating. What was I thinking?”

“You weren’t. You were a horny freshman.” Sam’s laughter sounded like delicate wind chimes, until she snorted. “I still can’t believe you kneed his crotch in the middle of the dorm lounge.”

“He grabbed my boob in front of everyone.” I crossed my arms to protect my chest from the memory.

“I still don’t know what you saw in him.”

“Neither do I. Yuck.” I shuddered. “Let’s chalk it up to hormones. Can we talk about something besides Too Much Tongue Hamilton?”

“Maybe you need some sort of cleansing. We can get you smudged! Or maybe find you a love spell.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

“Smudged?” My skepticism reared its head.

“With sage. We can buy some downtown.”

“Uh huh.” I furrowed my brows. “Won’t I smell like a roasted chicken? I’m sure that will attract all of the boys to my yard.”

“At this point, what do you have to lose?”

Nothing. It was the beginning of junior year and there wasn’t an eligible bachelor in sight. I sighed. Pickings were slim these days. Decent guys had girlfriends or were gay. Even the not-so-decent-guys like Hamilton were paired off. Brown eyes behind black frames flashed in my mind, and I instantly wondered if Andrew had a girlfriend. She was probably a theoretical math major, or some esoteric French poetry focus, which required imported cigarettes and red lipstick.

“You’re right, nothing to lose but my dignity.”

“So you’ll come with me? It’s stopped raining. No excuses.”

“The rain wouldn’t stop me. I don’t melt in the rain. Doesn’t that prove I’m not a witch?”

“Only in Oz.” She grabbed her bag and stuffed her books and notes from the table inside, including a random spoon. “Don’t judge. All of my spoons keep disappearing from our room.”

“Maybe they’re finding their way back to their proper homes.”

“Or someone’s been stealing them.”

“Wouldn’t that be ironic?” I nudged her with my elbow as we exited the cafe. Sure enough, the clouds were still heavy, but the mist had stopped.

***

A strand of
bells around the door handle jingled as we entered The Spelling B, Sam’s favorite shop for all things witchy. The scent of incense and dried herbs permeated the tiny, dim space. Tilting shelves bowing with the weight of jars, candles, and books crowded the walls and formed narrow aisles. I tucked my overstuffed laptop bag closer to my body, afraid of the handwritten ‘
you break it, you buy it
’ sign on the door.

Sam headed to the back, mumbling about sage and tarot cards.

“Can I help you?”

I turned toward the voice and met a pair of clear—almost colorless—blue eyes. They were situated in the face of a middle aged woman with an elaborate dark bun held together with red-laquered chopsticks.

“Oh, um, no. I’m not a witch.” I stumbled over my words. “Not a witch, I mean Wicca. Not that there is anything wrong with being a witch. Unless it’s the 17
th
century. And here.” I babbled on and on until a soft hand curled around my wrist.

“Are you sure?” Her smile was kind, almost familiar, but somehow piercing, as if she could see straight through me and realized what a mess I was.

“Sorry. No. I just had a class about early New England. It got pretty heated about Hester Pryne, and we’re studying the witch trials next week,” I babbled again.

“Ah, you go to Hawthorne College?” she asked, leading me over to a counter where an assortment of mortars, pestles, and jars cluttered the flat surface.

“I do.” I peered at the label on one jar.
Evening primrose
. Seemed innocent enough.

“Are you taking Professor Philips class? That one was popular when I went there.”

“You went to Hawthorne, too?” My voice sounded more incredulous than I meant.

“He was old then, and that was ancient history, I know. He somehow never ages. Still wearing the elbow patches?”

I laughed and shook off the unease I had felt when I’d first entered the store. “He does!”

She began opening jars and adding various herbs into a strainer over a blue pottery mug with a pentagram on it. When she poured hot water over the mix, the smell of mint and something earthy hit my nose.

“Here, drink this.”

“What?” I lurched away from the counter. My bag hit a bowl of small stones, which plunked loudly on the uneven wood floor as they fell. I bent to pick them up.

A gentle shove pushed me out of the way. “Stop. Let me read them for you.” She leaned over to study the stones. “Interesting, very interesting.” Her elegant finger tapped her chin. “Oh, look at that. I haven’t seen that in years.”

I gazed down at the pebbles on the floor—some had markings on them that looked like the runes Sam kept in a velvet bag in her desk. I stood there, unsure of what to do with my hands as she continued her examination, softly exclaiming to herself. Finally, she stood up and stared at me.

For a long time.

At least an hour.

Or what felt like an hour.

My face grew hot and my forehead itched. I glanced around, unable to continue to meet her steadfast gaze, and coughed.

She snapped out of her one woman staring contest. “Your tea is getting cold!”

“Tea?”

“Yes, I made you a cup of mint tea. What did you think it was?”

“Um, well.” I looked around and shrugged my shoulders.

Her laughter echoed the chimes on the door, light and ethereal. “You thought it was a potion?”

I nodded, feeling stupid. I took a sip and let the heat soothe my nerves.

“Oh, my dear. No. I’d never give you a potion unless you asked for one.” She studied me again. “Do you want one? Perhaps for better grades? Although, I doubt you need that. Love?”

I met her eyes briefly and blushed.

“Ah, love it is.”

“No, not really. There isn’t anyone at the moment.”

Her eyes flicked back to the floor before she knelt to pick up the stones. “Are you sure?”

I thought of my complete lack of a love life at the moment. I wasn’t desperate enough to date someone like Hamilton again, but things were grim. Grimmer than grim. Saturday night alone, or standing awkwardly at a campus party, nursing a red cup of cheap beer grim. Hell, I’d let Paul Uccello kiss me two weeks ago. His last name was Italian slang for penis. I could never marry a man and end up with penis as my last name.

“See the rune nearest your foot?” She picked it up and placed it on my palm.

“It looks like a B.” I held it in my hand and studied the lines with my finger.

“It’s the symbol for new beginnings. And love.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Perhaps you have a secret admirer.”

I shook my head. “He must be imaginary as well as secret.”

Studying my face, she frowned. “So full of doubt.”

Sam came bounding up to the counter with a box of tarot cards and a bunch of sage bundles. “Hey, did you do a reading? That’s so cool!”

“Not really. I knocked over the bowl of stones with my bag.”

“There are no accidents,” both of them said at the same time.

I rolled my eyes.

“She’s not a believer, is she?” the shop lady/witch asked.

Sam exhaled an exaggerated sigh. “No, and her ancestors are from Salem. Like 17
th
century Salem.”