Bitch Witch (17 page)

“Just give me a fucking minute, okay, Henry? You’re such a pain in my ass! I’m moving as fast as I can.”

“Don’t get worked up. I just wanted to know you’re good.”

“I don’t need you breathing down my neck while I dig through a pile of crap. Go back to licking Sarah’s ear.”

“He’s not usually like that,” whispered Henry against Sarah’s ear, and she felt his tongue move lightly against her lobe. She shivered.

“For the love of fuck, you’re really doing it aren’t you?” shouted Paul. “Kathleen is going to kick your ass.”

Henry laughed, his teeth grazing Sarah’s ear. She put her hand against his chest to push him away and focus on Paul, but ended up leaving it there.

“I’m glad you think it’s funny, two-timing your girlfriend.” In the basement Paul slammed something, and a crash echoed like a woodpile being knocked over. “Dammit. I think I’ve got your fucking wood from the damn stock thing buried in my hand.”

“Come back, Paul,” said Sarah. She couldn’t say why her unease intensified. Maybe because she’d never heard him swear like that, or maybe it was because less dark matter puffed out the open doorway now, choosing instead to stay downstairs with Paul.

“I’ll come when I’m finished. I can’t see a damn thing down here.” The faint light of his flashlight vanished from Sarah’s view and she heard him thump it a few times.

“You’re finished, please, Paul. Head toward the light of the stairwell.”

“Come back, buddy, don’t push yourself,” said Henry.

In the basement Paul threw something and the sound of breaking glass crashed. “Would you give me a goddamn break, Henry? You think I’m weak minded because I lost it after what I went through? You go to war and see how you handle it! You watch your friends blown to pieces so small you have to wash it out of your hair. You listen to grown men scream for their mothers while they die and then we’ll talk!”

It was getting to him. “Hold onto me and don’t let go!” Sarah grabbed Henry’s hand and raced down the steps. “Fuck the dark, Paul! Just fuck it, you know? Look for the stars. Remember you told me you can’t always see them but they’re there?”

The old stairs creaked and bowed and the only light Sarah had shone from her cell phone. Henry’s fingers slipped away, then he clutched at the back of her blouse.

“I’m fine.” Paul’s voice came from several yards ahead. So much dark matter surrounded him Sarah couldn’t see him at first. “I just cut myself on whatever the hell this glass ball is. I think I’m bleeding.”

NO! Not down here.

As soon as Sarah’s feet hit the dirt floor she relaxed. Dark matter moved through her like caramel through chocolate.
So good.
Sarah felt taller, stronger, more capable, and powerful. This was her domain, why had she worried?

Paul stood next to the old stocks, his arm extended. Drops of his blood dripped onto the dirt floor. Each one of them increased the strength in Sarah’s body, warming her in interesting and wrong ways. Henry’s hand on her shoulder made her mouth water. She hadn’t even kissed him yet. Not really. He smelled good in the dark. The material of her dress pressed against her breasts and cool air blew up under it, icing between her thighs.

The facts ticker-taping through her mind took a sudden turn.
Favors sex in airplanes and showers, likes to dominate.
The last one left her sizing Henry up in his Italian suit and loafers.
Hmm.

“Sarah, are you all right?” he asked, squinting in the direction of his brother. “I think Paul’s hurt. Paul! Hold your arm above your head. It’ll slow the bleeding.”

“I think I know what to do with a cut!” said Paul. He sounded angry, combative.

Henry slid his arm through Sarah’s and tried to move her along. She let go, allowing him to go ahead without her. She didn’t want to hear anymore facts. Dark matter glided along the floor like rising water in a flood. It warmed Sarah’s feet and ankles as it moved upward.

“Mmmm,” she said as it caressed her legs and drifted higher. Stretching her arms above her head she closed her eyes, wanting to feel it
there
, wanting to feel it everywhere.

Someone jerked her arms down. “What are you doing?” asked Paul. She opened her eyes and smiled at him, though surely he didn’t see in the darkness as well as she did.

“Stretching,” she said, and reached to run her fingers over his lips.

He slapped them down. “I’m Paul.”

“I know who you are,” Sarah purred.

“Something’s wrong with her,” said Paul to Henry.

“Nothing Henry can’t fix. Kiss me,” she breathed.

Henry obeyed, bending down and pressing his mouth against hers, twining strong fingers into her hair to tip her head back roughly. Sarah touched him, her hand moving across the zipper of his pants to squeeze.

“What the hell are you doing?” said Paul, pushing against them. “Sarah, what are you doing?”

She pulled away from Henry’s mouth to look at Paul with fresh eyes. In his old jeans and familiar linen shirt he looked delicious, too. “Come here and find out,” she said, reaching for him. Around her the dark matter seemed to snap to attention, transmitting exactly what she wanted to Paul. He glanced down at her hand on his brother and slapped her across the face, hard.

Sarah’s head snapped on her neck, and she saw stars.

“What are you suggesting in this disgusting hole? Get upstairs, Sarah Archer! And don’t you dare cast filthy ideas on me!”

Sarah dropped her phone and ran for the steps, the stars still sparkling in her vision. She tripped up the bottom step and fell forward. The light from the open door above waited as she crawled up the stairs as fast as she could go. Behind her she heard Henry shouting at Paul and the sound of a punch being thrown.

No!
Horror churned through her middle and the urge to cast vibrated deliciously in all the best spots. Some ugly part of herself liked that Henry would defend her from Paul’s anger.

“Fuck you!” Sarah shouted at the dark matter, horrified at herself for embracing it. Scrambling up the last steps she allowed a small cast, completely devoid of dark matter, to burst from her. “Starlight!”

Sparkling light lit her peripheral vision and she crawled through the doorway onto the landing before turning around. The entire basement had lit up like a tiny galaxy. Paul and Henry’s silhouettes moved against the swirling stars like shadows with Paul forcing Henry toward the stairs, an abacus in one hand and the entire top portion of the stocks in the other.

Sarah crawled across the floor and leaned against the wall, hiding her face against her knees, too ashamed to look at them. As they reached the top step she knew she couldn’t bear to face either of them and shot to her feet. She dashed around the corner, ran up the curving stairway and down the hall to her bedroom before slamming and locking the door.

T
here was no way Sarah could face either man. Humiliated, ashamed, and furiously angry with herself she refused to open her bedroom door. Paul pounded on it and gave up with the parting comment, “You should be ashamed, Sarah, but I know that wasn’t you.”

But it was.

Maybe it was a fantasy that many people wouldn’t engage in, but stuff like that did happen to Archer women. Sarah could remember multiple men exiting Aunt Lily’s bedroom on different mornings. As a child she hadn’t thought much of it. Witch normal wasn’t regular normal and Aunt Lily normal wasn’t even witch normal.

But what’s your normal?

She thought about Paul, his brokenness and kindness.

She thought about Henry and his curious attraction.

No. Never.
She hadn’t meant to suggest anything objectionable to the brothers.
That’s not true. I meant it when I said it.

Tugging her white comforter down, Sarah crawled under it and pulled the blankets over her head to hide.

At three o’clock in the morning Sarah roused and took a shower, dried her hair, and dressed for work. A blue and green print dress with a gold blazer, long pilfered from Aunt Lily’s closet, went perfectly with blue heels and a pink silk scarf. Taking a deep breath, she opened her bedroom door.

Henry slept on the floor outside.
Sends all his clothes to the dry cleaner. Makes his personal assistant run his errands. Listens to opera.

Sarah stooped and put her hand on his shoulder. “Henry, I’m sorry. It’s like being drunk and drugged and king of the world all at the same time. Last time I went in the basement I ordered a pizza just to hit on the delivery guy.”

Henry sat up and rubbed a hand across his face. “No, it’s okay—uh—what did you do with the pizza guy?”

“Well, nothing, but only because he was sixteen and weighed close to three hundred pounds.”

Henry blinked at her, bleary-eyed. Even rumpled and sleepy he looked like he could command a boardroom or maybe tour a winery in his custom-made suit sans tie.

“Which stopped you? The pizza boy’s size or age?” asked Paul, coming up the stairs wearing his usual gym shorts and t-shirt. “I was on the couch. Heard your door open.”

Sarah straightened. “I’m sorry, Paul. I don’t know what else to say. I know not to go down there.”

“You didn’t answer the question.” He handed her the cell phone she’d dropped in the basement.

Sarah shrugged. “Likely the combination of factors saved him.”

Paul looked at Henry. “Are you hearing her, brother?”

“At least she’s honest.”

Paul sighed, returning his attention to Sarah. “Why don’t you hire someone to come clean that crap out and have the basement remodeled into a movie theater or something? Or maybe, I dunno, get walls and a floor?”

“I might need some of that stuff. I’ve got to keep it somewhere.”

Paul arched a brow at her. “If you say so. Well, obviously I’ve put last night’s dinner away by now. I can nuke it for you, or make some pancakes. You’re going to work ridiculously early aren’t you? It’s four o’clock in the morning.”

“I figured I could try my hand at that logic spell first.”

Paul’s face lit up. “Really?”

Standing, Henry took Sarah’s hand and threaded his fingers through it.
Republican. Has never dated a Democrat. Only pretends to recycle.
“If that’s what you want, kitten, I’m in too. I know what I feel is real, and I don’t believe in this spell stuff anyway.”

THE PIECE OF wood from the old stocks rested against the kitchen island. The abacus sat on the counter, an ancient calculator made of wood with red beads strung on white thread. Sarah touched it and sensed an old connection to her Archer blood. Skins of olive oil and goats had once been counted with it. She didn’t have to touch the wood of the stocks to know an Archer woman had once been shackled there.

Paul neatly laid out other ingredients: a dried slice of sour dough bread from the loaf he’d made, a cup of well water, a sprig of evergreen, blank parchment, the shingle he’d detached from the rectory roof. The shingle wasn’t stone or ancient, but composite and slightly damaged from the retrieval process. Sarah hadn’t yet mentioned he’d need to put it back. She had a bad feeling he’d make her do it.

Paul slid a large clay bowl across the counter with a few threads in it. “I hope that’s enough linen. It’s from my shirt seam. I didn’t want to have to really cut into it. It’s my favorite shirt.”