WishCraft Page 20

  Which left Brandon feeling a lot like the tree that got pissed on so every passing dog would know who it belonged to. He lit another sprig of Tansy and ran the chant through again. Angrier now that he was starting to catalog the ways his life had gone to hell.

  Still he couldn’t go back to Blessed Be until he knew that wasn’t her brother running the store.

  His mind could argue the points for days. On the upside, it was LA, and there were likely a lot of Tristans. Just the name sounded very Hollywood. So this one didn’t have any great likelihood of being her brother.

  Except that on the downside, Delilah was a witch and this Tristan was running a shop for witches. The almanac said that witchcraft often ran strongest in families, handed down through the women. But this Tristan was obviously neck deep in it, regardless of his gender.

  Then again, her brother—if he was such a great witch that he ran a shop for it—should have recognized his sister’s handiwork all over Brandon. Right? But the Tristan in the store had seen the smoke, had seen the way it clung to Brandon and followed him around, and at no point had he said, You know, that looks like one of my sister’s spells.

  Plus, even though they might have some similarities, his coloring was nothing like Delilah’s.

  Still, Brandon had to figure it out before he could go back. He reasoned that even if he did find someone to help him, he was still in deep dog shit. Brandon sighed, he didn’t like these analogies. If Tristan was the brother, and there were too many clues to just discount that, then the second he figured out Brandon was casting against his sister, he would let fly.

  Brandon had already been on the receiving end of one witch. Once was enough, thank you. Two would tear him into pieces. His family wouldn’t have anything left to bury. And, being Catholic, they’d never buy the witchcraft angle. Bethy would have decided he was doing drugs, his family would bury him in shame and his sister would fear his soul was going to hell. Which, if he faced it, it seemed to be doing at a rapid pace these days.

  A sharp pain pierced his thoughts and he looked down at his hand to see the sprig he’d been waving around had burned to a nub while he hadn’t been paying attention. His fingers flew apart and the small piece of fuming stick dropped to the floor.

  Angry at his own clumsiness, he stomped on it to put out the last of the red glow, then used a paper towel to pop the whole mess into the trash.

  All out of tansy—again—Brandon decided to try another tack.

  He got out the wide pink candle and the poppet. The book suggested that he color the poppet in like Delilah’s face to help the spell stay directed at her. But, seeing as his art skills were so poor, Brandon was afraid he’d cast a plague or a pox on some poor deformed woman who had nothing to do with any of this.

  Instead, he stayed simple, putting blonde hair on it, blue dots for eyes, and pink lips. Even if it did look like a host of other women in LA, he hoped it was enough to give the impression of Delilah, without it running amok. For a moment he feared it looked too much like his sister, whose coloring, if not her looks, were remarkably similar to Delilah’s. Needing a way to distinguish the poppet as hers and only hers, Brandon hunted for something that didn’t require any artistic skill.

  Eventually he settled on the addition of the Wiccan symbol of the three interlaced circles. Using a bottle cap that he traced, he made a pretty good version right it the middle of the poppet. Now there was no way any energy in the universe could believe that the likeness was of Bethy. Satisfied, he turned back to the spell.

  Above the flame, he wound the white ribbon around the poppet. Over and over until he ran out of ribbon. All the while he spoke the words binding Delilah to the feelings he wanted her to have for him. When he was done, he blew out the candle and went in search of a hiding place for his poppet.

  This spell was supposed to be stronger than the burnt tansy. There was a tangible piece keeping the spell alive—the mummified felt cutout. The binding was supposed to last until he unwound the ribbon or destroyed the poppet in some way. The book recommended burning it.

  Brandon shuddered at the burning idea. The almanac said it was a legitimate way to end spells. But, if anything happened to Delilah after he basically burned her in effigy, he wouldn’t forgive himself. It was one thing to mess with her mind—which so far he hadn’t really managed to do. It would be entirely another thing to cause her lasting damage. And, even as mad as he was, he was not capable of that. He wondered for a moment if Delilah was, then he cast the thought aside. His judgment may be screwy right now, but it wasn’t that far off. He would never have been with her if he’d believed her capable of real harm.

  The thought made him feel better about Delilah, but worse about what he was doing to her—or trying to do to her. He had to remind himself that she had cast on him first. No matter how much that sounded like playground logic to him, it wasn’t quite enough to make him unwind that stupid little doll.

  He needed to put it in a place where she would never find it, but he would either remember it or find it and thus unwind it later.

  He wandered into the bedroom, the palm-sized Delilah in his fist. He wanted to put it under the pillow. If it were there, then he would see it every time he changed the sheets, and he could decide to put it back until the next sheet changing or untie her.

  But if Delilah showed up—as she should any minute now considering the sheer number of spells he’d cast on her at this point—she might throw herself at him. What would happen when she found the poppet? Or if the two of them jostled it to the floor?

  Surely Delilah would recognize what it was. Then he’d be right back at the retaliation problem—by a witch who was clearly much better at this than he was.

  He sighed.

  He looked around again, knowing he couldn’t put the thing in the kitchen—a lovesick Delilah was likely to show up and cook for him at any moment. The living room simply didn’t have enough stuff to offer any real hiding places. If he was going to put the poppet there, then he might as well just toss the thing into the corner like a dust bunny. At last he figured he could tuck the cutout under the edge of the mattress. He might forget about it for a while, but whatever. Too bad, so sad. Delilah deserved what was coming. It was her own fault if he didn’t unwind it fast enough.

  Just then his phone rang.

  He lifted the mattress and shoved the felt and cotton under the corner before diving across for the phone.

  Sure enough, the caller ID showed Goodman, Delilah.

  Finally. He felt the tension drain from him as he hit the connect button. He smiled for the first time in several days.

  “Hey, Lilah.”

  Chapter 27

  Delilah tried not to burst into tears, tried not to be so upset, tried to tell herself it was just the hormones, because she was pregnant. Still, she sat there, holding the stick and re-reading the instructions. Not that there was much she could do about it. It was really hard to misuse or misinterpret a home pregnancy test these days.

  She was pregnant.

  The early predictor stick tested some revolutionary new hormone to be able to tell her days earlier than any other test.

  Oh, yea, Delilah thought wryly as she tried again to hold back the threatening tears. She sat on the edge of the bed and sniffled. She felt sorry for herself even though she’d decided she should be happy about this baby. It still didn’t make her happy about what she had to tell Brandon.

  Her phone buzzed, startling her so she jumped about five miles high. That couldn’t be good for the baby.

  There was only one person she knew who’d be buzzing up right now. She’d called Brandon and asked him to come over, right before she did the test. She hoped that way she wouldn’t give anything away on the phone—because she wouldn’t know anything to give away. She hadn’t even said a word about thinking she was pregnant. Nor that there was something she needed to tell him. A handful of somethings in fact. Just that she’d really needed to see him. Soon.

  He said he’d be
right over, although he must have rushed or hit the perfect opening in traffic to be here this fast. But, ready or not, she had to begin.

  Nervous now, she picked up the receiver, “Hello?”

  “Delilah! Let me up.”

  Brandon sounded so sure of himself. He didn’t ask, didn’t hesitate. So she merely said, ‘okay,’ and hit the send button on the phone to activate the buzzer.

  No sooner than she’d set the phone back in the cradle, her brain crackled to life. She was in her bathrobe. She’d been crying. She looked like crap. Her hair was uncombed and her nose was likely red.

  What on earth had she been thinking?

  Oh yeah, she hadn’t been thinking. All that her brain was able to register was that she had to take the test she’d bought last night, and if she didn’t call him first, she’d likely never tell him. If it were negative she might have never said anything.

  But that wasn’t a concern—clearly.

  She checked the bathroom mirror as she flew by. Yup, her face was definitely red.

  Faster than she’d ever done before, and wondering just how quick Brandon might be today, she pulled out underwear and jeans and stepped into them so rapidly she almost tripped herself. Praying the elevator was as slow as it had been the other night, she yanked on a bra and whipped a red t-shirt over her head.

  Running into the bathroom, she pulled a brush through her wet hair, the best she’d be able to do under the circumstances. At lightning speed, Delilah slicked on lipstick, rubbed in concealer and applied powder, hoping it covered the worst of the sins. She had time for only one more thing, if that. As a blonde, that had to be mascara. That would get her as close to presentable as she could be. She whisked the mascara brush at her face begging the gods to let her only get it on her eyelashes and not catch her hair or smudge it on her cheeks.

  This time the gods took pity on her. They certainly hadn’t before.

  Heavy knocking came from her front door, but she wasn’t ready yet. Delilah took a deep breath to steady herself and evaluated the face in the mirror. There was nothing about the woman who stared back at her that looked anything other than hastily-put-together. Nothing that said, I’m pregnant with your baby. Love me, please. Keep me forever.

  Nope, everything about her screamed unstable, and now what?, and oops.

  She walked as calmly as she could to her door and pulled it open.

  Brandon sauntered right past her like he owned the place. “Delilah, baby, what’s up?”

  She frowned at him. Had he really just said that? Maybe he’d eaten a bad toadstool. Then again, maybe it was just her. There was certainly no way she could convince herself she was thinking straight right now.

  She had to come clean. Had to. Just look what fate handed out for punishment if she didn’t. Delilah was steeling herself with a deep breath, when he spoke again. “I thought we’d go out today. Do something. Or maybe just stay in.”

  Huh?

  Then, at last, he looked at her. And he frowned. “Are you all right?”

  Finally, he sounded like Brandon. That gave her the courage to speak. She opened her mouth, but once again Brandon beat her to it. She hadn’t gotten a word out since he arrived.

  “You look like you’ve been crying.” He said it with the same inflection he would have used to ask what color her table linens were.

  “I have.”

  “Why?” Still no real concern.

  Now she was the one frowning and she reminded herself, think before you blurt! Then she realized if she took the time to think first, she’d never get it out. So she blurted, “I’m pregnant.”

  He stepped back like he’d been slapped, his mouth falling open. His eyes blinked rapidly as though the movement would help him process his thoughts faster. Then he looked at her, really at her, and she felt it like a sharp stab. Not the reaction she’d been hoping for. Well, it probably wasn’t what he’d been hoping for either.

  He leaned in, still scowling, his face just a few inches from hers. “Is it mine?”

  “What!” She just exploded. “What? Are you serious?”

  He stood stone still. “It’s a legitimate question, Delilah.”

  Fury burned through her and she fought the urge to send the room into a maelstrom. As if that would teach him. He’d probably run screaming out the door and she’d never see him again. Although, after that last remark she was thinking she might not want to. Still, she had to get through this. Sanely.

  Focusing her energy on a candle sitting silent on the bookshelf behind him, she held her tongue and her anger in check. The candle popped to life. The tiny flame dancing, once, twice. Then it winked out. It didn’t satisfy her, but it helped.

  She kept her voice controlled. “I’m tempted to tell you that it isn’t yours. Just so you’ll take your damned accusations and get the hell out!”

  The stone façade that had been his expression broke and words gushed out of him, none of them making any real sense, “Really? How? I thought . . .”

  Her anger broke, too, and she sighed, “Honestly, I have no idea. Because I thought we were careful, too.”

  She hung her head to cover the fact that she was fighting tears.

  Quickly, Brandon was at her side, the Brandon she knew, his arm around her shoulder. He lowered her to the couch, tucking himself alongside her, whispering soothing words the whole way. “It’ll be okay. We’ll figure it out. Don’t cry.”

  Then, as though he suddenly thought comforting her was a huge error, he abruptly pulled away. Putting space between them and a chill in his voice, he looked at her. “What are you going to do?”

  She stared. Her mouth hung open as she gaped at him. How could he possibly think it was the wrong time to comfort her? She really did burst into tears then. But Brandon remained stoic.

  Delilah sniffled. Well, this was how it would be then. “I don’t really know what I’m going to do. I didn’t even realize that I might be pregnant until yesterday. And I took the test all of ten minutes before you buzzed. So I apologize for not having it all figured out quite yet.”

  She stood and went to the fridge for a coke, only to realize when she opened the can that she shouldn’t be drinking caffeine if she was pregnant. Crap. She poured the whole thing down the sink while she tried to keep herself together. Steeling herself for what was ahead, and making her first choice for her baby, she poured a glass of ice water instead, then turned to look at Brandon. “Do you have any ideas?”

  He looked at her like she was an alien from another planet, not like she was the woman he’d helped create this baby with. “Are you going to keep it?”

  She pushed her teeth together for a minute, trying to think of the right thing to say, whatever that was. When the right thing didn’t come, she settled for not destroying the relationship she had with the father of her child. Delilah forcibly reminded herself that he usually wasn’t such a dick. “I’m going to try.”

  He didn’t say anything. Just looked like he’d been pushed too far into a corner and his fight-or-flight response was kicking in.

  She did what she could. She cut the strings. “Look, if you want, you can walk out the door and forget about all of this. I don’t need or want your money or your help.”

  So much for not alienating him. Her brain churned through a life without Brandon, a life as a single mother. She’d spend David’s life insurance policy on this child. On the child she could have. Maybe to make up for the one she’d lost.

  Brandon yelled, snapping her out of her thoughts. “Look, I just found out about this ten seconds ago. So I’ll apologize for not having it all figured out quite yet.” He threw her own words back at her and rubbed his hands over his face. He crossed his arms. He uncrossed them.

  He stood.

  He sat.

  Delilah remained still, watching him. In her mind, she was making plans. She’d buy a house. Away from LA. If she moved, then she wouldn’t have to see Brandon. She wouldn’t see Tristan much either.

  Scratch that.<
br />
  She’d buy herself a condo nearby. But she wouldn’t tell Brandon. If the price was right, she could have enough left over so she wouldn’t have to work for a while after the baby was born. And if she could keep her commute short, she’d be able to continue working up until much closer to her delivery date.

  If she made it that far. Contradictory thoughts tumbled one over the other. Maybe she shouldn’t move until closer to her due date. Whatever that was. She knew she’d be heartbroken all over again if she lived in the new place she’d bought for the baby and then there was no baby. But if she waited too long, it might be too stressful to move.

  Brandon paced.

  Then turned back and faced her. “What do we do?”

  “I need a doctor’s appointment. To be sure that I really am pregnant.” At least before I go buying a condo, she thought.

  He came closer and grabbed the test stick from her hand. She’d picked it back up, clung to it, maybe as proof in case he doubted her. In case she herself thought she was crazy.

  He looked at the blue lines in the little plastic windows. She watched as his eyes darted back and forth, comparing her lines to the ones printed right there on the stick. “This clearly says you’re pregnant. Are they sometimes wrong?”

  Delilah shook her head, and was getting ready to answer him when he asked, “Then why do you need to see a doctor to be sure?”

  She stepped away, for the first time needing some space from Brandon. She took a deep breath to steel herself, finding the explanation to be harder than she expected. “I am pregnant. But sometimes the baby isn’t growing, or the hormone levels aren’t high enough. Things like that.”

  He frowned. “Like you might miscarry?”

  She nodded, and turned away, tears forming in her eyes. She didn’t want to miscarry this time. Sure she had a good excuse for the last one, but that didn’t change the fact that there was no real way to rectify it.

  Suddenly, she desperately wanted this baby. Involuntarily, her arms wrapped around her belly, as though she could protect the life growing there with her hands. There was no way Brandon would agree to get her pregnant again if this didn’t take. This was her one shot. Delilah sniffled and again Brandon put his arms around her, crooning to her that they would figure it all out. Just as she gave in and leaned into him, he suddenly let go, backing away like she burned him. It left her stumbling, but he didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t care.