Bitch Witch (29 page)

Scowling, Sarah scooped soggy crackers onto her spoon. “He’s not my crush, and I wish you wouldn’t say I tried to kill her.”

“This is the part where I’ll again point out the facts. You
almost
killed her. I suppose everyone has those brief flashes of anger, but most people aren’t witches. You’re like a loaded gun.”

When he put it like that, it made her new lack of ability a little less terrible.

Except now I have no defense against even a loaded gun.

“After your warning shot, she vomited for weeks. The medical community tortured her trying to figure out why. She lost close to twenty pounds, weight she couldn’t afford to drop. Kathleen barely weighs more than a bag of bones and hair anyway.”

Despite a guilty shiver, Sarah gave him a self-satisfied smile. “You don’t like her either.”

“The way I feel about Kathleen has nothing to do with her size, and I didn’t say that I didn’t like her!”

“You didn’t have to. Why’d you ever go out with her? Isn’t that how Henry met her? When she was on a date with you?”

“It was a blind date, and I think she’s perfect for Henry. They get each other. They’re both as deep as the kiddie pool, and as pretentious as lip filler. Don’t take that wrong. I love them both.”

“I don’t think Henry’s like that.” Sarah stuffed another spoonful of soup into her mouth.

“Well, you don’t know him, or you would.”

“She is, though she is beautiful in that big hair suntan way.” Sarah ran a hand over her mess of dark hair. It felt greasy. “Shit! I need a shower!” Lifting an arm she sniffed. “I smell like a horse!”

Paul shrugged. “You smell better than you would if you’d have died. Barely, though. Good lord, Sarah, you were in a coma, and they did wash you. Besides, you seem to forget that Henry doesn’t care what you smell like anymore. Homicidal tendencies are a real turn off for some men.”

“Shut up. This has nothing to do with him!” Though she sure didn’t want to come face to face with Henry like this. “What room is he sleeping in again?”

Paul leaned against the back of the sofa with a sigh and scratched the backside of his horse tat on his bicep. “You’re just never going to stop asking about him, are you? Your near death experience taught you nothing. I don’t know why I’m making jokes about Henry and Kathleen. Maybe you are shallow enough for him. Henry is sleeping in your bedroom. I knew you didn’t want us to use most of those rooms upstairs. I wasn’t sure if it was worse to use your room or the room you keep all those clothes in—”

“Paul! Deal. I was only asking because I didn’t know if I could go upstairs to use my shower! Do you care if I go take a shower in your room? And would you mind bringing me some clean clothes from upstairs?”

“It’s your house, so of course I don’t mind. What do you want? It is three o’clock in the morning. Pajamas or clothes?”

“What day is it?”

“Friday.”

“I guess it doesn’t matter. I got fired so I’m not going to work—wait,” Sarah said, remembering. “Did someone named Jackie come visit me in the hospital?”

Paul’s somber expression vanished. “How did you know? Could you hear what was going on? Doctor Shaw said maybe you could!”

“I remember bits and pieces.” Sarah thought back. “Mostly it was darkness—and not good stuff. I’m trying to remember the semi-conscious bits. You asked her about my job!”

He grinned at her. “Yep, and you didn’t get fired, although I suspect they didn’t really think you were going to make it. Still. They can hardly rescind it because you lived.”

“They sent me flowers!” Sarah banged her soup spoon against the low table, disappointed to realize she hadn’t noticed them. Remembering what else had happened, she smiled and leaned back on the sofa. “You got me my job back! What day did you say it was?”

Paul shook his head. “No way. I helped you sneak out of that hospital, but I am not taking you to work any time soon. How can you think about going anywhere right now? For starters Sarah, and don’t take this wrong, but you look half-dead—no, you look mostly-dead. For another thing,
nobody
pops out of a coma overnight and goes to work.”

Sarah rubbed a hand up and down her arm. “I don’t have the energy to do anything yet. But it’s hard not to cast if I don’t keep myself busy. If I backslide now, Paul, I’ll never be able to get to this point again. Ever.”

“Ever try jogging? It’s repetitive and soothing.”

She stood. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Paul laughed. “Too soon? You have a pile of bills, if you’re looking for paperwork. For now you need to eat and sleep. And shower.”

“All right,” said Sarah, heading for the room she thought of as Paul’s. “What did Henry say when he saw I was home from the hospital?”

“Just get in the shower. You smell like a zombie looks. Wait. You look like one too.”

Sarah flipped him the bird as she hurried toward his bathroom.

“WHAT KIND OF flowers?”

Freshly showered and bathed since only one hadn’t cut it, Sarah sprawled across Paul’s bed waiting for him to finish his shower. She examined her pruney fingers, a side effect of falling asleep in the bathtub. She felt much better now.

“What?” Paul yelled back, and she heard the shower door slam shut behind him. “Hey, did you use my razor? This is gross!”

“Maybe. What kind of flowers did my work send to me at the hospital?” Sarah ran her fingers through wet hair, fanning it around her head on top of Paul’s pillow. It needed to be cut. She squinted in the glare of the overhead light, determined to drink a couple gallons of water that day or whatever it took to wash the meds out of her system.

“I don’t know. The kind in a vase,” came the muffled reply. “It looks like you shaved a chimp in that shower.”

“But what color were they? What kinds of flowers? What kind of vases? Were they small or big?”

“Big and flowery and lots of them. Get out of here. I need to get clothes out of my dresser.” Paul peeked around the corner of the bathroom wall at her.

“So get them,” Sarah said. “I’ve always wanted to see all your tats anyway.” She sat up and her wet hair ran rivulets down the Snoopy sweatshirt Paul had chosen. Her pants were too loose, and she recognized them as from her too-small pile. It was a heady feeling sliding into jeans two sizes smaller than usual, but she definitely hadn’t lost twenty pounds like Kathleen.
Maybe five. After six weeks in a coma I lost maybe five pounds. Life is so freaking unfair to short people.

“Don’t think I won’t march right out there,” Paul said, hovering behind the wall.

“Waiting,” she taunted.

Paul stalked around the corner with a towel wrapped tightly around his waist. Sarah’s eyes widened. She hadn’t taken the time in a while to appreciate how beautiful he was. For some reason it had never occurred to her that Paul would look every bit as good as Henry; perhaps even more so soaking wet and wrapped in a nice fluffy white towel, with all of his tats gleaming and slick against lean muscle.

Paul stopped at the foot of the bed and put his hands on his waist. “Well, at least you look like a clean zombie now. You do need to eat a bit more.”

Sarah dropped back onto the bed and put her hands over her stomach. “Maybe not just yet.”

“You’ll have to force yourself at first. I’m serious. You look like a vampire heroin addict between fixes. Your eyes are freaking me out.”

“Don’t sugarcoat it.”

“They’re like a strung out rabid raccoon. You look hungry. Feral.”

Sarah sat up. “Shut up, Paul! I am hungry, but not for food! I want dark matter. I want to fling open the doors and run naked into the woods where it lives and beg it to take me back and make me feel better!”

“You’d pass out before you got halfway across the yard.” He crossed to the dresser and grabbed a crumpled t-shirt off.

“I think you might be missing the point.”

“I got the point, but I figure since dark matter spent the last six weeks torturing you, you’re smart enough not to do it.”

“Let’s hope so.”

“And smart enough to have some more soup, so you don’t weird me out with your hungry predator eyes.” Paul sniffed his shirt, shook it out, and pulled it over his wet body.

“Speaking of weird,” Sarah said evenly.

Paul grinned at her. “At least it’s not witch weird. I am glad you’re all better and home, even though you should have stayed in the hospital. I missed having someone to freak me out and argue with.”

“I’m here for ya.”

“It was weird sitting next to your hospital bed. I hardly got any grief, and no one swore at me.”

“Well, the witch is back.” Sarah hugged her knees. “At least partially. Did you bring my toothbrush from upstairs?”

“There’s a bunch in the drawer in my sink.”

She shook her head. “I want my ultrasonic one. Obviously you’ve never used one. If my house caught on fire it’s the only thing I’d try to save.”

“Don’t be so picky.”

“That’s not being picky. I haven’t brushed my teeth in six weeks.”

“Now there’s a pleasant thought.” Paul grabbed jeans off the floor and fled to hide behind the wall by the bathroom, peeking around the corner as he tugged them on. “Use one from my drawer, but please don’t use mine.” He threw his towel onto the sink and moved into view as he zipped his pants. “After six weeks I’m picky too.”

Sarah scrambled off the bed, knocking pillows to the floor. “Yeah, I can tell by the way you don’t even wear underwear.”

“Hey!” Paul held his hands up. “I haven’t done laundry since you went in the hospital. I ran out! Cut a guy some slack! Where are you going?”

Sarah didn’t turn. “To my room for my toothbrush.”

“Look!” Paul called, and Sarah heard him rooting in the sink drawer. “There’s like two dozen different kinds. You’ll have to make do with a manual toothbrush, princess. You’re not allowed upstairs.”

“Pfft,” said Sarah, and darted out of the room, slamming and locking the bedroom door behind her.

“Sarah!” Paul shouted from inside the room.

Sarah laughed as she hurried through the brightly lit kitchen. Paul pounded on his bedroom door, and his usual PG-13 swearing went up a couple notches. In seconds Sarah had zipped through the living room and hit the stairs. She made it halfway up before noticing Henry standing frozen at the top. He held an empty breakfast tray.

Sarah stopped in her tracks. “Hi. Henry.”

He shifted the tray and nodded, one curt jerk of his head. Even at five o’clock in the morning he wore khakis and a button down shirt, his hair slicked back with just a bit of an Elvis curl happening on his forehead. He looked every bit as beautiful to her as he’d looked under the love spell. ‘
You go together’
bobbed into her mind, and despite everything she wondered if the logic spell could have been right.

Sarah listened, half expecting to hear random facts about him flitting through her mind, but nothing came. “Uh, how’s Kathleen?”

Holding the tray defensively against his body, he bared his teeth and hissed, “You leave her alone.”

“Of course. Look. I wanted to talk to you about Kathleen. I want you to know I don’t mean her any harm, and I’m sor—”

“Don’t you lie to me, you witch! You could have killed her!” Henry took a step down, looking like he might throw the tray at her.

Sarah fought her instinct to take a step backward. “Henry, I am sorry. You don’t need to worry. It was a bad situation and I wasn’t myself because of the sp—”

“What did she ever do to you, you soulless bitch?!”

That hurt. Sarah put a hand on the railing. “For what it’s worth I took the bulk of that spell to protect her. But I know I made her sick, and I am sorry I did that. She didn’t deserve it. It’s no excuse, but I got mad and—well, it’s really easy to do. One impulsive flash of anger got away from me. I was so jealous because—”

Henry took another step closer. “I don’t want to hear your excuses, and you’d better be sorry! She’s worth a hundred of you. Kathleen wouldn’t harm a fly, and you—you—
witch
! No wonder your ancestors were burned at the stake. As far as I’m concerned you should join them!”