WishCraft Page 5

  He’d finally given up and tapped out when the Friday evening crush came in. Friday evenings and Saturday mornings were probably a third to half the weekly business. Most of the clientele was Wiccan like themselves, and that was when they geared up for their Saturday midnight spells. This week had been a little slow because of the new moon.

  At least she and Tristan finally had a good dinner together, and the rotisserie had impressed him. He said the chicken was perfect and didn’t ask her again if she’d been drinking the cooking wine.

  Delilah sipped at the mojito, figuring she’d head back home when she was finished. Her hair was down, and she made the fatal mistake of sweeping it behind her ear to keep it out of the drink. From the corner of her eye she caught a movement and turned to see what had grabbed her attention.

  None other than Brandon and his business partner. For a moment, her heart rolled over. But it was nothing. She could afford to be seen. She didn’t think his business partner had gotten a good look at her the other night and Brandon wouldn’t remember her face. It had happened before that she ran into men she had spelled and none of them ever recognized her. Even when she looked them straight in the face.

  Last year, she’d been hell bent on getting over her husband’s death, and she’d been through a good handful of men. One of them had even been introduced to her by a mutual acquaintance a month later at a party, and he didn’t have a clue.

  So Brandon caught her looking as she tried to reel her bouncing heart back in. That had been a crazy night. She almost hadn’t pulled it off. Due to that near debacle, she hadn’t been out again. Still, since he wouldn’t recognize her, it was okay to look and maybe offer a polite half smile. He smiled, then tipped his head to the side, as though he had a question.

  Quickly she turned away, afraid that if she stared at him he might remember something. But a moment later when she peeked, he was wound up in conversation with his friend.

  Her breath let out.

  It had been silly to hold it in the first place. He wouldn’t remember.

  She sipped at the mojito, enjoying the taste and the fact that she had no schedule tonight. She was off from the restaurant, and it was a new moon, so it wasn’t a good time to cast anyway. She’d probably watch whatever was on The Food Network and curl into her soft sheets.

  There was a faint smile on her lips by the time she got up from the stool. Thanking the new bartender, she passed over a generous tip and made her way out the front door.

  Her arms naturally came up around her when she felt the air. She didn’t carry a purse into bars, and her hands had nothing better to do than express that it was noticeably cooler than when she and Tristan had come in.

  “It was chilly last Thursday, too.”

  The voice stopped her dead in her tracks. She knew that voice. She’d heard it moan and laugh and muse. And now she knew what he sounded like deadly angry.

  Slowly she turned, her eyes round with confusion. How was he speaking to her about last Thursday night?

  His eyes were a hard jade as he stared at her but didn’t move. “I had a green button-down shirt when I left the bar with you. Where is it?”

  At the bottom of a pile of laundry, so I didn’t have to decide yet if I should keep it.

  Instead she made her voice as even as possible and said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He took a step closer to her. A couple came by on the sidewalk, too wrapped up in their own conversation to pay any attention to her.

  His voice stayed hard. “My friend recognized you. I left with you. What did you give me?”

  She shook her head, confused that he remembered anything. And she lied. “I didn’t give you anything.” Then she realized she had come very close to admitting she’d been with him. So she added, “I couldn’t have, I don’t know you.”

  That last part, at least, was true. She didn’t know him. Well, in the biblical sense she did, but she didn’t really know him.

  He stepped closer again, this time grabbing her arm. He held her firmly, not hurting her as long as she didn’t try to pull away. Which, of course, she kept trying to do.

  “Did you take my wallet? Copy my credit card numbers? What?”

  “No!” All she’d taken was a good time and his memory of it.

  “Did you get suggestive photos, thinking you could blackmail me?”

  “God, No!” How could he think such a thing? They’d had fun. She’d had fun. End of story. Or it was supposed to be.

  Luckily they were right in front of the bar, and the doorman stepped out just then. “Everything all right?”

  No! But she couldn’t very well say that.

  He did let go of her arm. But he got closer to her and whispered. “I can report you to the cops.”

  “For what?!” But she’d blurted it out before she thought better of it. The more she said, the more she could be construed as confirming that there was actually a connection between the two of them. So she put on her meanest face and threatened back. Even added a nudge of belief to her words, hoping this spell would stick to him. As maybe the other hadn’t. “You have me confused with someone else. I’m leaving, and if you follow me, I’ll call the police. Good night.”

  With that she turned and stormed off in the wrong direction.

  Delilah stomped a full block over, fuming for help from the universe. She was another block south before she ran into a cab that she flagged down and took back to her building. Paying the driver out of the folded bills in her back pocket, she told him to keep the change and bolted up to her apartment.

  The whole while she’d been in the cab, Delilah had frantically searched for a reason, a way the spell had gone awry. Honestly, it was just easier that they all forgot her. No awkward moments, no explaining, no thoughts or ideas of something further, for them or her. Truly practical magick.

  But as she reached the top floor, having foregone the elevator for speed, she realized that the ‘why’ didn’t matter. What mattered was that he did remember. And he was pissed.

  Too late, she understood the complete wrongness of what she’d been doing. Never mind that she’d had her own memories altered once and it had ruined her life. Never mind that what she had done was petty in comparison, and what she had taken was something none of these men would likely ever miss. It still wasn’t right.

  Brandon had a right to be mad, she’d messed with his thoughts.

  So now she had to fix it.

  She knew two wrongs didn’t make a right. She believed that. Most of the time. However, right now the best thing for everyone was if Brandon forgot. Really forgot.

  Fumbling the key several times, she finally got it into the lock. She could cast a ‘forget’ from a distance. It wouldn’t be as strong. But it didn’t have to be. He admitted that he still didn’t remember everything. Or even much of anything. He only knew that he didn’t remember.

  Had she been smart, she would have yanked a hair from his head as she left. It would have made the whole thing easier. She could have snapped a photo on her cell phone and printed it. She could have . . . but she hadn’t.

  Right now, she needed something with a connection to Brandon to make the spell as strong as possible. The sheets would have worked, had she not washed them. Had it been closer to the time he had slept on them.

  Her thoughts whirled around her, frantic and unsettled. She could only be grateful that Tristan had left earlier or he would have picked up her broadcasting thoughts loud and clear.

  Scattering her keys and remaining cash across the table as she passed by, Delilah went to get the one thing she had with the best connection to Brandon.

  His shirt.

  She turned over the pile of laundry and pulled the green cotton free, shamelessly sniffing it and pleased beyond words that it still held his scent. She ran back into the small living area and cleared her square coffee table of all the trivial pieces she displayed there, leaving only the wooden surface behind. From the bookshelf she pulled her four
candles in red, green, yellow and blue, placing them in their proper North, South, East, and West alignments.

  She grabbed the box of salt and the lighter, hastily poured a dish of water, and folded the shirt. She peeled off her jewelry and her clothing with metal pieces, which left her in a t-shirt and undies, standing before her makeshift altar.

  Taking a deep breath, Delilah centered herself. She was more powerful than most, both gifted and practiced, but that didn’t matter much if she couldn’t find the focus for the spell.

  A few moments later, she found the calm she had desired, and she began casting.

  Only it didn’t work.

  She poured the salt, she lit the flames, she repeated the rituals. She could feel it . . . not working. It was like something was blocking the flow of magick in the universe tonight.

  She glanced out the window and lost whatever cool she’d found.

  She was working against the new moon.

  Chapter 8

  Brandon stood outside the club feeling the tiny doors in his brain opening. From the moment Dan pointed her out, sitting there at the bar, small memories had started to trickle in.

  Her name, or so she’d said, was Delilah. He counted himself grateful to have woken up the next day with his hair intact, but he wondered what—besides his memory—she’d taken. Surely, Delilah wasn’t even her real name. You wouldn’t use anything that could be traced when running a scam.

  Her reactions out on the sidewalk had been telling. She’d looked at him like she recognized him, like she’d been caught. And several times she looked like she was lying. Why he thought he could distinguish that was beyond him. But, truth be told, there was no knowing just what he knew.

  When she finally made real eye contact, he’d seen the first flashes of Thursday night: her face when she was sitting at the bar, when he apologized for Richard. The grin when he agreed to go home with her.

  All those remembered reactions seemed very genuine, which only made things more confusing. Then again, who knew how much he could trust his obviously faulty brain?

  He stood there alone on the sidewalk, willing more of his memory to return. It didn’t. His trigger had left, stalking off into the night, taking with her his chances to reclaim what was his.

  Upset and determined to get more information, Brandon started after her. She’d stomped off heading east and he traced the angry path she’d tread.

  At the end of the block he stopped, somehow knowing that he wasn’t headed the right way. None of the options before him looked right and none would lead him to her. Not that he knew how or why he knew that. He just did—a fact that made him even angrier.

  Giving up, he lowered his head and trudged back to the bar, his mood darkening as he went. Only when he reached the front entrance did he look up. Facing west on the street, he saw the path to Delilah. Another door opened in his memory and he knew she had led him this way last Thursday night. It was better than nothing, and he decided to see where it would lead.

  His hand reached into his pocket and he hit the speed dial for Dan, who was still sitting inside the bar. Brandon didn’t want to go inside, even for a moment. He didn’t dare lose sight of this piece of the puzzle.

  As usual, they didn’t waste time on useless pleasantries. Dan merely asked, “What’d she say?”

  “That she doesn’t know me, but she’s clearly lying.” As he looked down Hollywood Boulevard, he knew he needed to turn north at the next block. “I remember a few things. I’m going to follow it as far as I can. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  His thumb started to reach for the ‘end’ button, but the voice of reason stopped him. “She could be dangerous. Or be in with people who are. You want me to come out?”

  From the sounds over the phone, Dan was already headed his way. The last thing Brandon wanted was a buddy. For some reason that he didn’t question, he wanted to do this alone. “No. Stay put. I promise not to do anything stupid. Besides, it’s likely going to lead me nowhere anyway.”

  He said good-bye and hung up before his friend could protest. His feet started down the walkway and he made the right-hand turn before Dan could get out Gin’s front door and follow him.

  When he faced Poinsettia Street, he was again flooded with memories. ‘Delilah’ smiling at him, and tugging him along, her hand small and warm in his. He remembered passing through her apartment door with the black C15 in the middle and kissing her just inside the entryway. Heat flooded him at the memory. Anger followed quickly as he realized just how thoroughly he’d been played.

  He trudged up the street, stopping and looking again for his rooftop, knowing he had done the same last week. Last week there had been a large sliver of moon, but tonight all the light came from the city lamps. Again, when he looked up the street, the vision triggered a memory of which place was hers. Or, which place she had taken him to. The building she’d said was hers.

  Upset and overheated by his own memories, he trudged up the hill. He’d slept with her! He remembered soft sheets and wide smiles. Feeling goofy and smitten. Now he just felt used. She’d gone a long way for a handful of credit card numbers. Not that anyone had used them. He’d put alerts on every account he had, and no one had tried anything.

  Maybe she’d just used him for sex. Dan would have asked why he was upset about that, but he was. He’d have given it willingly. But this . . . this felt vaguely creepy. Still mad, he climbed the front steps and yanked at the building door. Only to be thwarted by the security system.

  Crap.

  Of course the door was locked. In his memory he could see her hand, fishing a ring with two keys out of her back pocket. One fit her apartment door, and the other this security door to the building.

  It was the end of the road.

  This was where she had taken him. But now he couldn’t get in. Even though the flimsy buzzer system could likely be snipped, cut, or short-circuited by the cheapest of thieves, Brandon had no such skills. For a moment he paced, not yet ready to give up.

  His brain started to fuzz as he stood there. As though he’d had too much to drink, as though someone were slipping him a drug right then. His thoughts were harder to grasp, and he fought the sudden urge to just call it a loss and walk away. Certain he was more than a little nuts, and trying to act against the feeling that his head was starting to swim, he grabbed the door and tugged it again. Still it didn’t budge.

  His eyes read the entire list of names on the directory, but he couldn’t find hers. Either he hadn’t ever known her last name or she wasn’t listed.

  Fighting against the spinning sensation in his brain, Brandon pushed one of the buttons on the directory at random. After a few tinny rings, a female voice said, “Hello?”

  It wasn’t her voice. Brandon hit the button to hang up. He tried another. A man. Again he hung up. Two more answered their intercoms, obviously not expecting anyone. Two just rang and rang. The seventh button rang once, and the door began to buzz.

  A surge of triumph shot through him, and he lunged for the door, yanking it open.

  He took the elevator, as they had that night. She’d smiled up at him, chatting aimlessly about nothing at all. While the elevator made its slow crawl upward, he searched through the jittery new memories blooming in his head. He examined them for artifice on her part.

  And found none.

  There hadn’t been anything that night to tip him off. To make him think he’d been drugged.

  The ding of the elevator brought him out of last week and into the present. He’d promised Dan he wouldn’t do anything stupid, yet here he was doing just that. Still, that knowledge wasn’t enough to stop him from walking the hallway until he hit the door marked C15.

  For a moment, he stood there fighting the waves of rolling sensation that hit him. They’d seemed to get stronger as he approached her unit. He tried to savor the color and the letters on her door. The exact size and shape of his memory, they vindicated his crazy flight from the bar.

  Another round of dizziness
hit him and anger surged at what she had done to him. Somehow it still had an effect on him here.

  Enough was enough.

  Without thought, his hand reached out and clenched the knob. For a split second he was surprised that it opened, and in that moment he remembered chiding her sweetly about not using a proper bolt.

  The door swung wide, right into the tiny living space of the apartment.

  ‘Delilah’ stood before him, wearing only a white t-shirt and tiny flowered underwear. Big blue eyes stared at him in surprise, startled by him bursting in or shocked that he had found her. Brandon couldn’t figure out which.

  His missing green shirt hung from her loose fingers and a row of candles was lit on the coffee table, casting her lithe form in dancing gold. Her blonde curls caught shades of red from the flames, making it look as though fire cascaded around her shoulders.

  Her mouth opened in a tiny ‘o’ and her chest heaved as she stared.

  It occurred to him that he should laugh. She actually looked frightened of him.

  But he couldn’t laugh. He couldn’t think. Nothing penetrated beyond the image of her standing in front of him holding his shirt and the sudden knowledge that all the spinning in his head had stopped.

  He was finally at the center of the storm, and she was the cause of it.

  His own mouth was open as he stared at her. All of it came gushing back in a great flood. Rolling in her white sheets with her. Feeling drunk and making her take him with her to work. The heavenly little cream-topped pumpkin cakes that made everything he’d eaten all week just not ‘right.’ Her eyes, wide and luminous, when she’d been sighing underneath him. The feel of her skin under his lips, and the feel of his skin under hers. The look and sound of her lush mouth curling when she laughed. The noise she made when he entered her.

  How had he forgotten all that?