Witch Hunter Olivia (4 page)

“Uh, sure. You realize I’m not done yet, right? The spell won’t work.”

“Yeah, I know.”

I need to leave in order to clear my head. Heath’s right. I have to track down my brother in order to settle our differences, whether we like it or not, and hopefully get to the bottom of what happened tonight.

Heath sighs. “All right, done.” My quick reply of “thanks” has him turning his full attention to packing up the tray beside him as a frustrated sigh leaves his lips.

He hands me back my blouse, and I slip it on before tugging at the bottom to adjust it to lay properly. “How much do I owe you?”

“It’s on the house. Besides, I can’t charge for a partial with a clear conscience,” he answers with a soft laugh. “When will I get to see you again?”

“I don’t know. Probably the next time I need a touch-up or a new tattoo?” I kick myself mentally for not being honest with how I really feel. Stubbornness … I get it from my father, and it has a way of rearing its ugly head at the least opportune moments.

My one and only make-out session with Heath happened soon after he finished applying the masking spell. His touch had driven me wild, to the point of wanting to make bad decisions. I found myself feeling something between us—a spark—but pushed it aside and attributed it to me lusting after him. That “spark” feeling was completely foreign to me since I’d always had issues with opening up to others. To say the least, it scared the ever-living shit out of me, and putting up a Berlin Wall of non-feeling is how I’ve been dealing with it.

“Sounds good.” Heath shrugs off my comment, but I can tell what I said upset him. “Just let me know when you need anything. But next time could you do me a favor and schedule an appointment? These little late-night sessions aren’t good for business.” His words drip with a serious case of cold shoulder, and I feel even worse about how I’ve dealt with this situation, but I don’t let it show on my face.

I send him a slight smile before leaving the chair. “Thank you,” I say and then begin making my way to the entrance of the parlor. If I hadn’t turned around and moved away, I probably would’ve caved under the pressure of his piercing eyes and began making out with him right then and there. Damn all you conflicted feelings.

“Hey, Olivia?” I immediately spin around, anticipating what his next few words are going to be. Well, hoping, really.

“Yeah?” I reply, trying to keep my emotions in check.

“Remember, Curel lotion is the best for tattoos,” he mentions before continuing to clean up his station.

Why do I do this to myself? I’ve let him in and every word he says affects me and messes with my feelings. I’ve tried to detach myself emotionally from our little heavy petting session earlier that stirred up some stuff within me, but he’s in my head, and no amount of stubbornness on my part will let me forget that. And secretly, I think he’s well aware of this fact.

Without another word, I open the door and step outside. The brisk night air feels even colder now after how my exchange went with Heath, and I hurry over to Scarlet and jump in.

“That was quick,” Tara comments as I settle into the driver’s seat. “I thought at the very least we’d be here for a couple hours.” Her laugh brings a subtle smile to my face, but I shake it off.

Movement by the parlor window draws my attention. I see Heath standing there, peering out at us through a few of the blinds, and when he notices I’m looking, he lets them fall closed just before the shop’s neon sign goes out.

“Yeah, it was a short visit this time,” I reply, feeling the impact of each word as they leave my tongue.
  
 
 

The drive back to our dorm is quiet. I can sense Tara wants to ask about what happened in the parlor, but I can also sense she knows I don’t want to talk about it, hence the silence. I swear, what kind of Hunter am I that I can get this torn up about a warlock? Oh, yeah, that’s right—I no longer am one.

“So, yeah, how about that English class we have tomorrow, huh?” Tara asks out of nowhere. It takes a moment for her question to wade through all the thoughts flooding my mind before I realize what she just asked.

“What?” My confused look meets her pointed one.

“Oh, thank God. You’re still alive. For a second there I thought the awkward-as-balls silence in the car was because you had died at the wheel,” she snickers. “You know how I absolutely loathe the quiet. It makes me nervous, because I’m a talker. I decided to blurt out the only question I could think of that didn’t deal with Heath, your brother, or tonight in general.”

“I see.”

“That’s it? Two words? That’s what I get for all my effort?” she scoffs playfully.

“What else do you want me to say?”

“For starters, you could answer my question,” she quips.

“Boring. English will be boring. Anything else?” I pan my gaze over to her before returning it back to the road ahead.

“Wow. Do you realize you made, like, a million books weep just now by saying that?”

“I happen to like reading, thank you very much, but I’m not a fan of English class,” I reply. “Is that all?”

“What happened back there? Ever since you got in this car, it’s like you had an emotional lobotomy or something.”

“Don’t really want to talk about it.”

“It went that well, huh?” she insists.

“Heath is all surface, Tara. I told you that,” I lie out loud. “He’s a hot bad boy type that girls fall all over because they want to pet his abs and tattoos, but he has nothing to offer me other than a good time.” Damn, that was harsh. I know what I’m saying is the furthest thing from the truth.

“Do you hear that?” she inquires.

“Hear what?”

“Lies. All lies,” she snorts, which causes me to send her one serious glare.

“Okay, you’ve made your point,” I huff.

Tara holds her hands up in submission. “Note to self: no more talking about Heath.”

I sigh, pulling into the parking lot in front of our dormitory. The parking gods must be smiling down on us since there’s a spot right in front of our stairwell. “Hey, I’m sorry for snapping. I’ve just got a lot on my mind at the moment.”

“I know, but if you don’t talk to me, then who exactly are you going to talk to about this stuff?” Tara asks, and she sounds like she already knows the answer.

She’s right. If I can’t confide in her, then who will I confide in? My inflexibility won’t allow me to talk openly with Heath, so Tara is my only other option.

“You’re right, Tara,” I say, beginning to secure the soft-top roof to the windshield of the car with her assistance.

“Of course I’m right. I’m always right,” she laughs, fastening the last clip for her section of the roof.

On our way up to our room, I’m still surprised over the state of our dormitory. Arcadia College as a whole is a very beautiful campus, that’s for sure, but the freshman housing is located in one of the oldest buildings, and it could definitely use some work. Woodman Hall is a traditional redbrick structure that matches the rest of the college, except that it hasn’t seen a remodeling treatment. Our dormitory is the last building on the list, which puts all the repairs happening around this coming summer, almost an entire school year away, and not to mention we won’t be freshmen anymore. At least we don’t have communal showers.

“Ugh. I can’t wait to be a sophomore so we can choose what dorm we live in,” I comment while strolling through the hall toward our room with Tara in tow.

She moans. “Yeah, I hear ya.”

I notice Tara’s eyes keep glancing at the sizeable tear up the side of the skirt I’m wearing. “Sorry for ripping your skirt. But you know, looking at it now, it kind of works in this thing’s favor,” I attempt to persuade.

She shakes her head while chuckling. “Yeah, no. Nice try. That thing’s going straight in the trash.”

I throw my arm up across her chest like a mom does when her child’s in the passenger seat of a car as she slams on the brakes. The door to our room is cracked open, and from Tara’s reaction to my reaction, I’m the first one of us to see it.

“Did you leave our room unlocked again?” I ask, hoping to get her confirmation.

“Uh, no, not that I can remember.”

“Wait here,” I say, inching toward our door.

The closer I get, the more I become paranoid that someone has broken into our room, especially after what happened earlier. My brother immediately pops into my head, and though a second meeting tonight might be hazardous to both of our health, it would save me the effort of tracking him down later.

My eyes hone in on the brushed metal door handle, and there doesn’t seem to be any sign of forced entry. Normally, I’d barge right in with the thought Tara forgot to lock up, but right now I can’t take any chances. I take another step closer and reach out my hand to rest it on the door.

“Do you think it’s your brother?” Tara asks, like, three inches from my ear.

I almost jump right out of my skin. A groan-sigh mixture accompanies my exasperated smack to her shoulder for scaring the shit out of me, and for not staying put like I’d asked.

“Seriously?!” I whisper. She shrugs her shoulders and motions for me to proceed.

Dying has seriously changed how she reacts to things. Tara used to be such a hesitant person, but now it seems not much fazes her. Then again, she is a member of the freaking undead now. What does she need to worry about?

Placing my hand against the door again, I give it a light shove and watch it slowly swing open to the side. It taps against the stopper on the wall and bounces back a bit, creaking the whole way. Well, there goes the element of surprise. Damn this old building.

The room beyond is dark, except for the area around Tara’s desk, which is illuminated by the pink fuzzy lamp that sits on the corner of it. From what I can tell, the room is empty. I step inside with Tara right behind me and scan our surroundings to make sure nothing seems out of the ordinary. Everything looks to be in place, and nothing seems to be missing.

“Huh, maybe I did forget to lock up,” Tara mentions casually over my shoulder.

“You think? And you left your light on too.” I relax a bit and lower my guard.

Suddenly the bathroom door swings open and both of us let out high-pitched gasps. I throw up my hands in an attack-ready stance and I feel Tara hide behind me when I turn to face the door.

There’s the Tara I used to know, I muse to myself.

My guard relaxes again when I see Michele, our next-door neighbor, framed in the doorway. She was one of the lucky ones who scored a single room, but still has to share her bathroom with us. Michele stands there with her arms crossed, tapping her foot. She glares at us from under her long brunette bangs, but there’s a hint of humor present in her eyes.

“You locked me out of the bathroom again.” Her lips scrunch together into a sneer. “Thankfully, you guys are terrible at locking your room, so I came through and unlocked it from your end.”

My eyes pin Tara, who’s standing there looking as innocent as a cat who just ate the family bird. She does what she does best and shrugs before uttering, “Sorry.”

“It’s cool. Just don’t make a habit of it, okay?” Michele says, and shuts the bathroom door.

“Good one, Tara,” I murmur.

“Hey, I may have forgotten to lock our door, but you were the last one in the bathroom,” she scoffs while closing our bedroom door and flipping on the lights, bathing the room in a soft golden glow.

“Details, details,” I comment.

A sneer grows on her face. “Mmmhmmm.”

I slide open our closet and go right for my comfy nighttime shirts. Slipping out of the skirt, I toss it onto my desk chair since it’s right next to the closet.

Tara snatches the garment from the back of the chair and holds it up in front of her. “Goodbye, my dear old friend that I only wore twice but loved every minute of,” she reminisces before tossing the skirt into our shared trash can by the door.

I roll my eyes and laugh under my breath at the ridiculousness of it all. Removing my blouse, I ball it up, fling it into the open laundry bin at the foot of my bed, and swish it. Still got my aim. I start flipping through the shirts before landing on my favorite one. A long, dark purple shirt that hits me right at the knees with the saying “I prefer my book heroines to kick ass.” Pulling it from the hanger, I begin to slide it on.

“Hold the phone,” Tara pipes up from behind me. She moves closer and hovers right near my shoulder. “Why isn’t your tattoo fully colored in? Did you and Heath have your first lover’s quarrel? Is that why you came back to the car so quickly?”

“Really, Tara?” I turn around to send her a playful glare. “You’re still going on about that?”

“What? I think you two would make beautiful mocha latte babies together.” Her smile is infectious, and one tries to spring up on my face.

“You’re seriously ridiculous. It’s not like that in the slightest.” I yank on the shirt and storm over to my bed before plopping down onto the edge of it.

“I’m sorry, but I just call ’em like I see ’em,” she says.

“Well, I’d appreciate it if you’d stop calling them, okay?”

“All right, have it your way. But I feel it in my guts that I’m right,” she comments. “You’ll see.”

“Uh-huh,” I reply before flopping back against my not-so-plush college-approved twin mattress.

“Oh, evil little tangent. Why isn’t your tattoo colored in?” she inquires with a pointed stare.

“I decided not to go through with it.”

“Any particular reason?” she pries.

I groan, knowing she won’t stop her endless quest to find out the truth unless I answer her. “Heath mentioned that Angelica’s the daughter of a High Priestess light witch. And now my brother could be in big trouble, so I need to have a little chat with him to figure out what he wanted with her. Which is why I didn’t get the touch-up on the spell.”

“What? For real? Then what are you doing getting ready for bed? Shouldn’t we be going after Malcolm?” she asks, springing to her feet and apparently ready to head out. “This is his life we’re talking about here.”

“
You
may not need sleep, but
I
still do. Besides, I wouldn’t know where to look for him even if I wanted to,” I reply somberly, knowing Tara has a point. I know damn well I won’t be getting any sleep tonight with this looming over my head.

Tara’s eyebrows both raise and her eyes narrow on me. “That’s a bunch of B.S., Livie. You know exactly where to find your brother, but you don’t want to go there.” She crosses her arms over her chest with a smug look on her face.

She’s right … again. There’s a ninety-nine point five percent chance my brother’s at a little dive bar called The Reaping. It’s in the seedy part of town past the Dark Ink parlor. The place gets even seedier right around this time of night; hence, why my brother should be there. He tends to keep an eye on the place since it’s where a lot of reformed paranormals hang out. He likes to check in on them and make sure they haven’t fallen off the wagon and aren’t up to their old tricks again.

“You know, I really hate you sometimes.” I toss one of the pillows from behind my head at her.

She catches it and throws it right back. “Only when I’m right, and I’m cool with that,” she replies with a smirk.

“Okay, you win, I’ll go find my brother,” I groan, rolling out of bed.

Tara heads over to the closet and draws out a few items before flinging them over to me. After pulling on a formfitting pair of jeans and a black blouse with a bedazzled skull on it, I search around for my favorite steel-toe boots. They’re a little “butch,” as Tara calls them, but they get the job done. I find my little curb stompers and put them on before grabbing the black leather jacket hanging on the peg by the door.

“Time for a family reunion,” Tara states while holding the door open for me to head out first.