WishCraft Page 11

  She moaned, then thought before she spoke. She tried really hard to sound like she had no idea what he was talking about. “Rotisserie Guy?”

  “Yeah, when did he leave?”

  Oooooh. She hated when he pushed. So she pushed back. “What do you mean?”

  “Please.” He gestured at the dish with his fork, hazel eyes flashing with humor. “You made this for yourself? Then ate all that? Without waiting for me? I’ll bet you fifty bucks there are two plates in the sink.” He smiled. “Or I can get a pendulum and start asking questions. Every answer on Rotisserie Guy is going to go clockwise.”

  Delilah groaned. She’d thought she was so lucky when Brandon had declared that he had to go into the office and removed himself from her apartment before Tristan showed up. Instead Tristan seemed to know everything, as usual. And he often figured it out without magick. She was so screwed.

  “What do you want, Tristan?” She turned to face him, exasperated.

  “I think the real question is: what do you want?”

  “I want to be left alone.”

  As she had suspected, that didn’t work. “I can’t leave you alone, Delilah. You cry yourself to sleep at night and pick up strange men in bars when I do.”

  “So what?” She plopped her butt down in one of the chairs, recognizing this conversation as a long one, and one she’d need to conserve her strength for.

  “So that’s not safe. It’s not good. And it scares me.”

  She’d managed to hold onto her anger until that last part. “It shouldn’t scare you. I’m okay.”

  “I really have to disagree.” He ate continuously through the conversation. “You’ve been upset and angry and who-knows-what ever since you came out of your little emotional coma after David and Juliet died.”

  “Emotional coma?”

  “You shut down, Li. Completely.” This time he set his fork flat on the table to talk straight to her. The fact that Tristan stopped eating was as bothersome as his words were.

  “That’s not true! I did not shut down. I couldn’t! I did all kinds of things: buried my husband and my sister. I got a job and a new apartment. I cleaned out our house and sold it.”

  “Yeah, and you did it all—all crazy, exciting, scary, new stuff—on your own. And with the emotional range of a spoon.” Frank eyes mirrored her own. “I was really afraid you were going to kill yourself.”

  He’d never mentioned any of that before. But her brain began to click to all the times he had just showed up, when she was at her lowest. He’d let himself in and found her asleep on her couch and carried her to her bed on more than one occasion. She didn’t question why he came so often for food. Maybe he had needed the reassurance that she hadn’t done anything crazy. And she had certainly needed to feel useful. “You were?” Her voice was small, her chest caving in as she absorbed what he said.

  Tristan nodded. He picked up his fork and ate a few more bites to give her time to say something. Anything. But she didn’t have anything to say.

  “I’m surprised anybody hired you or let you into the building. You just seemed to me like you weren’t even in there.”

  “Thanks.” She studied the pattern on the floor, upset that he thought so little of her.

  “Then you got angry. And you were angry at the whole world. You pretty much have been all this time.”

  She shrugged, not wanting to hear any of what he said. Mostly because she figured it was true.

  Tristan didn’t stop though. “Look, you had every right to be as mad as you were. No one deserves what David and Jules did to you.”

  Delilah felt even smaller, if that was possible. “They didn’t deserve what I did to them either.”

  Tristan actually smirked. He still must not have figured out what she’d done. “That did get pretty ugly there for a while.”

  Not wanting to continue where this was leading, she altered the subject just a little. “Why are you telling me this now?”

  “Because you actually accomplished something crying your eyes out the other night. You’re a little better each day. I think you’re finally starting to come out of it. You actually gloated over that silly rotisserie chicken.” His expression turned serious. “It was good to see you closer to happy again. Maybe you should spend all the money on infomercial crap.”

  She laughed.

  Tristan joined her. “That’s a good sound, Li.”

  “So, Big Brother, what do I do now?”

  He sighed and got up to clean his plate, worrying her that his answer required contemplation. She would have thought he’d have that part all mapped out before he’d even started this conversation. Tristan was a planner, if nothing else.

  When his plate was clean and he’d loaded it and the two he’d predicted he’d find in the sink into the dishwasher, he turned and faced her, arms folded across his chest. “You get rid of Rotisserie Guy.”

  Her breath came in sharply. Apparently that motion told Tristan everything he needed to know. But she didn’t protest. Much. “I tried.”

  “You tried? What does that mean?”

  “I tried several times.”

  Tristan had a what-the-hell-are-you-talking-about? look on his face. So she launched her best explanation.

  “I cast a ‘forget’ on him. Then he broke it. So I told him to leave. Then he found me at the bar with Mr. Rocket Scientist—who was, by the way, the worst date ever—and he ran Jeff off. Then, I told him I was breaking up with him and he said ‘no’!” She was practically wailing by the time she got to the end of it.

  Tristan laughed. “He just said ‘no’?”

  “Yes. More than once.” She watched her brother try to hide the humor he was finding. “What’s so funny?”

  “I’m just having a hard time imagining this guy who counters your spells and tells you ‘no.’” He laughed again, then sobered up. “You quit casting on him, right? You know it’s unfair. You know it.”

  She nodded like the chastised child she was. Jules had cast ‘forget’s on her. She knew what it was to feel manipulated that way.

  “It was only the one time.” Delilah didn’t add that she’d tried several other times and couldn’t get the spell completed. Tristan didn’t need to know that. She still deserved a few secrets.

  “So you’re keeping him?”

  “More like he’s determined to keep me. Although I can’t for the life of me figure out why.”

  It was the standard ‘big brother’ grin he gave her. “Maybe he sees the Delilah you were before you got worked over. She’s been starting to come back out lately.”

  “Or maybe he’s just an arrogant ass. He believes his memory loss was because I drugged him to steal his wallet.”

  Tristan laughed again. “That’s as good a guess as any if you don’t know what really happened.” Then he spoke straightforward again. “If he’s really an arrogant ass, you should get rid of him.”

  She so desperately wanted to say ‘yes’—that Brandon was just a jerk. But he didn’t really seem that way. All she could do was shake her head ‘no.’

  Tristan tried another tack. “If you’re keeping him, then I get to meet him.”

  Delilah groaned. It was like he’d taken over some of Mom and Dad’s worst characteristics after they’d died. Like, now that there were no parents to insist on meeting and badgering the boyfriend, it was his duty. And, once he knew Brandon’s full name, he’d spare nothing to check him out. Tristan would scry to see what Brandon did normally, cast on him to check all the angles. He’d likely even have the police run a criminal check and then do his own full Google search.

  And he didn’t pull his last punch either. “If you’re keeping him, you have to come clean.”

  Delilah filled the dishwasher and hand washed everything that required it after Tristan finally left. The motions were rhythmic and she used the time to think.

  Tristan talked of coming clean, but she wasn’t planning on having Brandon around long enough to make it worthwhile. Although, she figur
ed it would be a good way to run him off if all else failed.

  As she dried the pans, she realized that she didn’t want to be that crazy bitch he dated that thought she was a witch. She didn’t want to have to prove anything. What was the point of telling him if he was just going to leave because of it anyway?

  It would have been a real catch twenty-two had she wanted him to stay. She would have felt the need to be honest, and that in and of itself would have driven him away. Delilah reminded herself it was a good thing she didn’t plan on keeping him around.

  She stretched to hang the last pot on the rack mounted on the wall, realizing as she did it that her shoulders ached, and so did her legs. She’d been going for so long on such poor sleep that last night’s deep slumber didn’t seem to refresh her so much as it made her crave more.

  With no pressing plans for the day, and knowing that if she stayed awake she would have to contemplate Tristan’s idea of telling Brandon the truth, or at least consider introducing the two men, she figured sleep was the best option.

  Her weariness pulled her into the bedroom and under the covers, but it seemed it was Juliet who pulled her under sleep. Her sister was waiting there in the shaft of sunlight through the window the moment she closed her eyes.

  “Come’on Lilah. Let’s go for a ride.” Juliet tossed the keys and caught them again, the grin on her face and the light in her eyes infectious.

  Somehow Delilah pulled herself up and followed. This was the Jules she had known for so long. The one who had never betrayed her. So for a little while Delilah was able to follow her younger sister without a trace of the bitterness that had settled in her heart.

  They left the apartment—Juliet’s old apartment—and made their way down to the garage. A sleek black coupe awaited them, and as usual Delilah asked to drive. Juliet shook her head and Delilah found a measure of comfort that some things were immutable.

  Juliet had scrimped and saved for that car. It was far more than she could afford. She’d eaten nothing but Ramen noodles for months on end to save the down payment, then she continued to be frugal to make the remaining monthly payments.

  As Juliet guided the car up into the Hollywood canyons Delilah stared out the open window admiring the glorious weather of the day. Red blooms lined the drive and houses crowded close to the street like they might climb into the car and come with you. They reached the crest of Mullholland and the Valley opened before them, squares of streets as far as she could see. The car made the sharp turn easily, and they followed the peaks of the hills, one of their favorite drives since they had been children.

  Delilah ran her fingers along the leather door trim, admiring the workings of the coupe and thinking again that she’d like to drive it. As usual with these dreams, she seemed to know it wasn’t real. She had an innate understanding of the future that would destroy them all. Still, in the dreams, she didn’t yet bear the scars of that what she knew was coming.

  So, after a moment’s contemplation, Delilah asked what she had never dared in life. “Jules, did you push the deal on this car?”

  The corner of Juliet’s mouth quirked up, but she didn’t answer.

  All three Goodman children had been schooled in the religion of the craft as well as the magicks. There had been no question about it. Her parents had withheld certain skills until they felt the kids were old enough to use them wisely. With Tristan and Delilah it meant they simply hadn’t been taught the secrets until they were of age. For Juliet, with her peculiar brand of thought magick, it meant the Goodmans cast a series of binding spells on their youngest daughter.

  They had lifted the last of them on Juliet’s twentieth birthday. And Juliet had never fought them in that regard. She knew she wasn’t to use the craft to harm another, to advance herself, or for material gain. But Delilah always had a nagging doubt about the car.

  With their parents gone, Juliet had acted as though it was all okay. She cited the circle of life and that she would merely wait for the two to reincarnate when asked if she missed her parents. And she went on as if nothing had happened.

  Delilah had never really wanted to know about the car. She didn’t want to get upset about it. Later, when she might have thrown it in her sister’s face, there were far bigger concerns than a mere car. But here, in the safety of her dream, where she was no longer so angry, and the answer wouldn’t hurt, she tried again. “Juliet, did you give the car salesman a push to cut you a better deal on the car?”

  Juliet still didn’t speak. But this time she lifted her hand as she drove around the curve. Her thumb and forefinger were held just a smidge apart. Still Juliet had grinned, almost as though she were proud of herself.

  Just a little bit.

  Chapter 17

  Brandon typed the message carefully.

  “You said I can’t call or come pick you up. So I am texting and you have to drive over.” He thought for a moment and added, “Dinner. Steaks and corn—I can grill. Come at five. Bring a salad? and an overnight bag. See you.”

  He hit ‘send’ and slid the phone into his pocket, wondering if she’d come. The better part of him said that he’d get the steaks and get ready, and if she didn’t show, it would be her loss. Another part of him fought the idea that it wouldn’t just be her loss.

  Still he couldn’t figure out what it was about her that he simply had to have. He’d dated other women that he’d been very interested in. Yet he always managed to play the games, waiting before he called, keeping his distance and not being pushy. He’d been through women who did the hard-to-get thing and it always turned him off. Even when he admitted it was no worse than playing the forty-eight hour rule.

  Maybe it was because Delilah didn’t play hard-to-get. She was hard-to-get. He didn’t expect a return call from Delilah. If he was lucky, she’d simply show up.

  He pushed the thought to the back of his head and settled in to work. There wasn’t a lot of time to get the presentations prepared. Not if he wanted to find a patio set and get the steaks and be ready to go by five.

  Strange ideas came to him and plagued him during the day. He pushed them out of his brain, but they continued to nag at him.

  Delilah’s husband cheated on her and wound up dead.

  Brandon could laugh away the coincidence. But she said the man cheated with her sister. And later said that the sister was dead, too.

  He entertained thoughts that maybe the two had died together, and that was how Delilah found out. Except she said she’d been in the process of divorcing the husband when he died. So she’d known.

  Divorces often got ugly . . .

  He shook it off. His thoughts were what was ugly. He tried to convince himself that he knew her. But he really couldn’t quite lie to himself that badly. In the end he knew things about her. And he wanted to say he knew her, but he couldn’t. Then he fell back on the fact that his instincts about women were pretty sound.

  Except for that one crazy stalker ex he spent six months trying to shake. And the one who tried to bang as many of his friends as possible and rub his face in the fact that he was losing out. Luckily, he hadn’t really cared. So maybe he didn’t really have such good instincts after all.

  Finally, he decided that he was in it up to his neck and it was better to just deal with things and try to get some work done. Maybe tonight he’d ask her flat out if she’d killed her husband and her sister.

  Four hours later he called it a day. He had everything as ready as possible for Monday morning, even though he would have to come in early. And he’d managed to keep only every other thought to Delilah and the evening ahead.

  He locked the office behind him and hit the road. Three stores later he was standing in front of a table and chairs that he really liked but was uncertain about. It just didn’t seem like solid furniture. And his imagination was fighting him, the image of Delilah in temporary furniture made it seem like that’s what he intended. He knew that wasn’t what he wanted, even if he wasn’t certain about what he did want. Then again,
maybe she was completely temporary. He wasn’t even sure she’d show.

  “It looks as though the fate of the world rests on that table and chairs.”

  The voice startled him, but he turned to see a man in a green vest who worked for the store. Brandon thought of Delilah resting on one of those chairs. “I think maybe the fate of my world rests on the table and chairs I choose.”

  He was about to admit that he’d gotten way too melodramatic for the moment, when the man nodded and stuck out his right hand. “I’m Mark, and I may have just what you need.”

  Following the clerk, Brandon made his way through the huge store. They ended up outside under the awning that housed the garden department, standing in front of a wrought iron set that was both beautiful and permanent. Mark pointed out pillows for the seats and Brandon stared at them before deciding that Delilah might like the blue and yellow floral print, but he had to survive his friends sitting on it, too. Red was definitely better. He thanked Mark and had the whole thing rung up.

  When the big SUV was loaded with a heavy box containing the square, glass-top table and another with four matching chairs, he hauled it to the grocery store and had the butcher cut him two filets. He picked out fresh corn and refused to buy anything for a salad, telling himself Delilah would bring it.

  Brandon repeated the thought like a chant a few times, upset that he was so uncertain whether or not she was coming.

  Halfway home, he passed a liquor store and doubled back. He picked out a good beer, a red wine, and fixings for gin and tonics. Then grabbed a set of plastic outdoor beer pilsners at the checkout.

  He groaned the entire way to the car.

  Why?

  Why was he so obsessed with a woman who only wanted him when he was right in front of her face? Even then, half the time she was determined to shove him away. Yet he kept coming back for more punishment. When had he become such a masochist?

  Looking in the stuffed-full trunk of his car he thought he could pin-point the day. He’d started the night Delilah had taken him home.