Chapter 7
1
As I went to settle myself on the couch, she gave me a curious look. “Why don’t you sleep in Brian’s room, since he’s not coming back.”
“I didn’t know he had a room,” I said.
“Oh, follow me.”
She shut off the lights in the living room and guided me up the stairs. Across from her room was the closet, and she led me to another door at the end of that makeshift hallway. “Here it is.”
I opened the door. It looked no better than the rest of the house, except instead of books and papers scattered everywhere, it looked like trash was. The four-poster bed leaned a bit to the left, as I saw one of its legs was bent. There was a TV directly across from the bed, with a video game console on it and assorted games. The dresser was overflowing with clothes, and none of them cheap, as I could see the labels. The shirts I figured I could fit in, but the pants would be too long. I’d have to try them on.
She looked around the room, noting the pizza boxes and take-out cartons and paper and plastic bags. “What a mess,” she muttered.
I almost blurted out laughing, but I stopped myself. Pot, kettle, black, I thought, though I did smile. “I’ll clean it up, no problem. It’s the least I could do while I’m here.”
She only nodded, and then smiled at me. “Sweet dreams.”
The first thing I did was straighten out the leg of the bed. That bothered me the most in the room. The next thing that bothered me was the clothes. Some had been thrown haphazardly into drawers, and looked brand new. I went through the drawers, taking out the underwear and deciding that I was going to ask for a trip to Wal-Mart or something similar over the next day or two, as I was down to my last clean pair of underwear.
Four days. I’d escaped from them for four days and no one, it seemed, was coming after me. Was I hiding that well? Did I actually kill them? Did they fake their deaths? Really, was I just that damn good?
I couldn’t think that way. I folded the clothes, looking at the labels. Ambercrombie and Fitch, The Gap, PacSun…Where did he get the money? Unless he stole it from her.
“Bastard,” I hissed. I tried on the clothes. The pants were snug but long – he was just a little thinner than I was – and I had broader shoulders so the shirts were a little tight there as well. This new body that Grimalkin had given me – though pretty hot, I thought, even without the belt – was too big for a 17 year old frame. With well formed pecs and six-pack abs, muscular legs and arms, it was no wonder that Morrigan was turned on to me.
Morrigan. I wondered how much of the “curse” idea was true, or how much of it was in Dottie’s mind. It didn’t matter. Since Quintin wasn’t going to teach me, I was going to try someone else. But something rubbed me wrong about her, and, I’d find out, about all the Stewarts.
2
The store was crowded even worse than Wednesday. This time, I didn’t bring my backpack but I did bring a wallet. I wore one of Brian’s A-shirts, stretched across my chest so I looked more like a weight lifter than a tourist. The jeans were tight too. I used some of Brian’s hair gel to bring my hair up to a spike. I probably looked every inch some gay guy cruising for something, or some guy looking for a quickie.
I caught some stares as I went into the store and I smiled back at the people. I’m not the droid you’re looking for, I thought, hoping that they wouldn’t remember the handsome blond man that came in. This time, I made a beeline for Morrigan.
She also stared at me, and I saw her almost pick up her jaw off the floor. I smiled disarmingly at her – hopefully – and said, “Can I talk to you? Upstairs?”
“Sh—sure.”
I didn’t even have to cast a spell; she followed me like a dutiful puppy. I went over to a crystal ball: way too big for my needs, and way too much money. “Got any thing smaller? I seem to have lost mine in the move.”
She was watching me move in those tight clothes, muscles rippling underneath. I had her under my spell without it being a real spell. I turned and smiled at her. “Three inches in diameter would be about right.”
She blushed suddenly.
“I think – I seem to remember one.” She walked over in her dark robes and lifted up a curtain that hid the stock under the table. She dropped to her knees and started moving things around.
“I’d prefer a darker crystal, or something more cloudy. This is good for a paperweight but not for scrying.”
“You’re using it for real magic,” she said, and pulled out a box. I took it from her hands and opened it. It was a nice, smoky crystal that, to be honest, I really did like.
“Morr! Got a customer for a reading down here!”
She got up from her knees. “Ex – excuse me. I’ll send Tyler up to help you.”
“Of course,” I helped her up and at that touch, it was electric, as I wanted. She gasped again, and blushed some more, and turned from me. She dashed down the stairs, and I heard her say, “Tyler, please help the man upstairs.”
I put the crystal back in the box and started to the top of the stairs as Tyler started up them. He gave me a look, and if he had power behind them, I would possibly have felt the anger. Instead, I saw it as I took his measure.
Caught for a moment in my stare, I read his strengths and weaknesses, and knew where the anger came from. Oh, are we boyfriend-girlfriend then? Sorry I turned on your girlfriend. Not. I grinned and blinked first.
“You done,” he growled at me.
I pulled out his weakness, “Know anything about the Kabbulah?”
He glared at me. For some reason, the whole Tree of Life and anything more complicated than simple color associations and rhyming spells were beyond him. Key of Solomon? He’d never get it.
“No,” he growled again.
I almost laughed. “So Morrigan reads cards? How much?”
“Fifty dollars for half an hour.”
“That’s rather steep, don’t you think?”
“She’s a Stewart.”
“Oh, yes, a true witch. Tell me, what degree are you?”
“I’ve only been in the coven for two months,” he said. “I’m the last one added to the outer circle.”
“Outer circle,” I laughed. I was loving acting like this haughty magician. “One of a thousand?”
“A hundred and sixty nine.”
“Thirteen times thirteen. Gods, can’t get much more original than that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Tell me, how does one get into the Outer Circle?” I motioned down the stairs. “You do one of the Stewarts?”
I pushed the envelope, and he now turned very cold. I’d touched on his other weakness. “Is that all you’re buying, sir?”
“I think I’d like a card reading.”
“You’ll have to wait for an hour.”
“I can busy myself until then.”
“Please come downstairs. Upstairs is for special customers.”
“Uh huh,” I said, and went downstairs to join the crowd.
3
I opened the door and was immediately assaulted by incense. The room was cloudy with it, the scent cloying. I had an orange ticket in my hand, along with a festive little “THANK YOU!” white bag with my smoky crystal in it.
I sat down in the comfortable padded chair and handed her the orange ticket. “We meet again, Morrigan,” I said.
She smiled at me, and handed over the cards. I turned them over – typical Ryder-Waite deck. Without a word, I shuffled them like a regular deck of cards, a pro, making bridges and shuffling them in my hand. What path should I follow? was my question.
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