Curse It (A Peg Darrow Novel Book 1), page 5
Before heading to my room, I peeked into the living room. Lola cuddled into the pillow I had set out for her. The blanket that accompanied the pillow tucked securely around her prone form. Had she done that herself or had Deval tucked her in? How well did they know each other? Questions for the morning.
Cheddar waited for me in my bed. I crawled in, cautious not to disturb him. He purred loudly from his corner at the foot of the bed, and I petted him with my foot. He must have been exhausted because he didn't attack it. His purr lulled me into a dreamless sleep.
Warm water dripped down my face. The bag of peas had melted in the night. I tried to turn over but a heavy weight lingered on my side. The heavy weight began to purr in a deep rumble.
"Cheddar, you're too fat to sit on my ribs. You're going to fall off any minute, get angry at me for your own gluttony, and take it out on me."
Sure enough he teetered on my rib cage and plopped to the side taking a swipe at my back to tell me how insulted he was. It didn't feel like he’d drawn blood, but my entire body was sore. For all I knew, he had stolen a kidney. Footsteps from the hallway stopped my musings about damaged internal organs. A moment later, Lola opened the door and popped her head into my bedroom.
"Good morning, sleepyhead. Hope you had fun last night."
I groaned into my pillow and pulled the soggy bag of warm peas off my face. "What exactly is it that you remember from last night?"
"Oh, getting back home and seeing you playing some adult games with Deval in your living room. I didn't realize you were an exhibitionist, Peg. You knew I was coming back. I can't believe he didn't spend the night. I always imagined him as more of a gentleman. Maybe he was embarrassed because I walked in on you guys. Too bad, I wonder if he can make French toast." She said all of that without stopping to breathe.
Lola never suffered hangovers. I hated her for it on a normal day. On a day where I had been assaulted the night before and she mistakenly took my being tied up in the living room for a tryst, I despised it.
Grabbing a pillow, I placed it over my head before mumbling, "Half an hour, Lo. I need a half an hour before I can deal with this."
"Oh, okay. I'll go and make us some cinnamon pancakes. I know they're your favorite." Her voice wobbled. She probably had heard the annoyance in mine. The pancakes were likely meant to be a peace offering. I would take them, along with a little more sleep.
Well, at least I tried to; it was hard to sleep over the noise of the orange juicer. She must have suspected I was really upset if she was making me fresh orange juice as well. The pillow came off my face for good, and I sat up. Cheddar repositioned himself on the corner of the bed. His tail twitched while he glared at me.
"Don't look at me like that. I think Lola is making bacon. Why don't you go pester her?"
At the magic word “bacon,” he jumped off the bed and ran out of the room, with surprising agility given his mass, his belly swaying as he ran. Normally I would have gone straight to the kitchen to help Lola. She didn't care what I looked like in the morning, but I needed a shower before I could move with any semblance of normality.
In the shower, I felt my forehead where the goose egg had been last night. It had gone down considerably though my forehead was still tender to the touch. The hot water helped ease the pain, but I should probably take more drugs or a muscle-relaxing tea. I looked down at my wrists. The zip ties had left my wrists with light red marks where they had chaffed. Everybody would think I was into S&M, not just Lola. Further inspection of my body found several bruises on my legs and arms, likely from the fall. All I needed was some dark sunglasses.
Inspection completed, I gingerly massaged mint-scented shampoo into my hair. I hoped it would wake me up. It helped a little as I went through my shower routine. Beauty products were a weakness. My tub was surrounded with various bottles offering to moisturize, volumize, minimize, and anything else one could ize—a guilty addiction that felt good to indulge in for fifteen minutes before I had to return to reality.
By the time I had gotten out of the shower, wrestled a brush through my hair, and dressed in comfy jeans and a gray V-neck, Lola had arranged a breakfast fit for a queen on the small bistro table I’d jammed into my kitchen. There was a stack of cinnamon pancakes so large I thought for a moment she might have invited Bruce over. Alongside was a plate of bacon and the freshly squeezed orange juice.
Lola was dressed for work in sturdy jeans, a thick khaki button-down, and heavy work boots. Her glorious hair was tamed into a French braid
"I made everything you like, Peg.” Lola gestured to the table, biting her lip. “Uh, are you mad at me?"
I sighed and sat down, loading up my plate before answering. She hovered, so I gestured to the other chair. She sank into the chair letting out a sigh. I couldn't be that mad, if I wanted to eat breakfast with her.
"Lo, I am not mad at you. I had the night from hell."
Lola's eyebrows drew together. "Really? I always heard he was good in bed.” She paused. “This is going to be awkward the next time I see him."
Hysterical laughter bubbled out. If I had been a meaner person, I would have let Lola think that the worst part of my night consisted of bad sex. I pictured her giving Deval pitying looks every time she saw him and laughed so hard it was difficult to breathe. By the time I managed to get myself together, tears stained my cheeks.
Lola looked confused for a moment and then smiled, as if she thought she understood the joke. "Oh, it was so bad it was funny? Now I really won't be able to look at him."
That started me going again, and it was another minute before I took a deep breath, and reached for my orange juice, taking a gulp.
"I mean, I guess because he's the prince, I expected him to be incredibly hot in bed, you know? Too many fairy tales,” she said.
Huh? I choked on my orange juice and turned to the side as I coughed it out, narrowly avoiding ruining my pancakes. Lola came over and pounded on my back before cleaning up the orange juice with some paper towels.
Once I was able to breathe again I asked, "Prince?" My voice sounded strangled.
Lola sat back down and gave me a quizzical look. "Yes, Prince Deval, though he goes by Dev a lot. Didn't you know who you were sleeping with?"
The farce had gone on long enough. "I didn't sleep with him, Lola!" It wasn't necessary to shout, her being whopping two feet away from me, but it felt good.
"What do you mean you didn't sleep with him?" She sat back down and fumbled with her fork.
"What you walked in on was a B&E and a hostage situation! I'm not an exhibitionist. Gods, Lola, don't you know me at all?" My nostrils flared while I stared her down.
She waited a moment before answering, obviously thinking it through, "You're right; that was out of place for you. I was happy you were getting laid, and to be fair I was a bit tipsy."
"A bit?" I raised a brow. My voice lowered to a reasonable volume.
"Okay, I was trashed. You know what it's like to drink with shifters." A light blush colored her cheeks. It would have been endearing if I weren’t annoyed with her.
"I do, Lo, and I'm glad you had a fun night. Just next time, if you see me tied up, can you start with the assumption that I'm being attacked? Only go to the conclusion of sex games if I yell out something like ‘Ride ’em cowboy’?"
"Oh, so you are into role playing?"
I gave my friend another murderous stare. "Please go drink a cup of coffee; your wild night has obviously interfered with your ability to think."
Now Lola mirrored my annoyance. That was fine, because she stood up and duteously refilled her cup.
"Get me one too, while you're at it."
"Please," she responded in a snippy tone.
"Please."
She brought the pot back to the table and refilled my cup before sitting down. She gazed at me expectantly.
"He thought I stole something from him."
"Oh, that's not good. Goblins are very harsh with thieves." Her hands tightened into a death grip on her coffee mug.
"I got that impression when he threatened to eat me. Before you jump to conclusions, not the fun way."
"Of course not the fun way. Just so you know though, he wouldn't have actually eaten you. Tortured, maimed, and murdered possibly, but definitely not eat."
I pondered that a moment. "Good to know." I shoved a heaping bite of pancakes in my mouth. Instantly my nerves calmed as cinnamon, butter, and syrup hit my tongue. Yep, definitely a stress eater.
"What did he think you stole from him?" She leaned forward, grabbing my upper arm to get my attention.
"A giant metal chest," I said, my mouth full.
"Oh well, there's nothing like that around here." She let out a sigh, releasing my arm and leaning back.
"Yes there is. Go look in the Arizona Room." I shoveled another bite in my mouth.
She stiffened, rose, and walked around the table to the door leading to my screened in porch. She opened the door and looked out.
"Sweet hell and hades, you are freaking dead! I could ask for a favor. Maybe you’d only be maimed. Remind me, are right or left-handed? We can trick them, and maybe you can keep your good hand."
Turning in my seat, I pointed a pancake-filled fork at her. "Lola, come back and sit down."
She gave me a wild-eyed look and paced back in forth a few times, muttering to herself before she threw herself back into her chair. I could see sweat forming on her forehead and a whiff of tequila permeated the air. She did have a wild night. The safe was obviously as big of a deal as Deval said.
She jabbed her finger at me. "Peg, this is very serious. I don't know the queen, but my foster father does. I can ask him to speak on your behalf."
I grabbed her hand and held it in my own. "Lola, other than that Kit Kat bar when I was a kid, do you know me to have sticky fingers?"
"No, but times have been tough lately. Why didn't you tell me that you needed a loan?"
"I don't need a loan. I didn't steal the chest-safe-thingy. It was used as a casket at the murder scene I went to last night." I released her hand.
Lola wilted into her chair and placed a hand over her heart. "Oh thank gods. He believed you right?"
"Enough to try to hire me. I’m going to share the results from the aura trace I’m doing this afternoon." I paused puzzled for a moment, “How did you not see the safe last night when Bruce brought it in?”
“I was getting ready in the bathroom, you know I need time to prep.”
That was an understatement.
She leaned forward and helped herself to a big bite of pancakes, the hand holding her fork shook. She was a stress eater too.
"You actually helped, by showing up. He might not have believed me, if I didn't have the connection to you."
She smiled shakily and continued to eat. We ate in silence for a bit. She was recovering from her near heart attack, and I was recovering from my earlier annoyance. Once we ate enough that I was considering unbuttoning my jeans, I asked the question that had been bugging me.
"What exactly is so special about that chest? He called it a safe. Also, how the hell did he get past my wards?"
Lola shook her head. "Nope."
"What do you mean, nope?"
"I can't tell you that if he hasn't already. It would go against my family's code."
"Lola, are you a witch or a goblin?"
She glared at me. "That's not fair. Would you tell your family secrets to another witch just because she was a witch?"
"I would if she was my best friend."
"Well, you've always known the rules, why pout about them now? You were never allowed on goblin territory, and you knew there were secrets I couldn’t share. I’ll always help you in any way I can, but I cannot, without permission, give you details about safes."
Meeting her stubborn stare, I nodded. She would always have divided loyalties. It just had never affected me directly. “Can you ask if you can tell me?"
"Yes, but you would be better off asking Deval. He's royalty and can get away with more than a ward of the goblins. Also, how the hell did you not know the name of the goblin prince?"
Oy. "I’ve only ever heard him referred to as Prince Dev. You know I'm not that into the antiquated royal mumblings."
"You are a freaking Fortune, woman. You need to be better versed on the political comings and goings. This is why I don't like you doing this job."
"What does the goblin royal house have to do with being a Fortune?"
"You're not invested in this. At the very least, you should be able to tell me who the Phoenix movers and shakers are. If you were more interested in learning about the dangers out there and how to avoid them, I wouldn't be worried. You've reluctantly dipped your toe in. If you keep doing it half-assed, you're going to get killed." Lola stood abruptly. "I need to drive to Globe today, and I’m late. I love you, but get your life together."
They were harsh words coming from a woman who couldn't tell the difference between sex games and someone being held captive. They hit home nonetheless. She was right. Lola grabbed her purse and was stomping toward the door when I stood up and followed her. I grabbed her shoulder and turned her around before she could open the front door, pulling her in for a tight hug.
"Thank you. I know I am a pain in the ass, but I needed to hear that. Just to reiterate, in the future if you see me tied up please assume I need help."
Lola, who began the hug with her arms stiff at her sides, laughed and reached up to embrace me. "Deal, and for the record, if you should see me tied up, assume that it’s wild sex and leave quietly.”
7
Dishes cleared, I turned my attention to the real work. I needed to perform the trace spell on the safe so the goblin prince could come collect it. The trace spell was fairly complicated, so a pre-spell meditation session was in order. Walking through the screened in porch, I came to my own personal oasis otherwise known as my yard.
It was a large lot with numerous citrus trees, surrounded by a block fence. As long as the neighbors weren't having a backyard karaoke party, I was afforded a peaceful space. Grabbing a cushion off one of the outdoor chairs, I went and sat it under a large grapefruit tree.
Despite it being November, the ground was dry because it hadn’t rained for a few weeks and because I avoided irrigation during the winter months. The weather wouldn't be considered cold by anyone who lived further East, but it was brisk to a native Arizonan, right around sixty. Sitting down cross-legged on the cushion, I leaned back against the tree trunk, resting my wrists palm up on my knees. Meditation wasn't necessary to perform an aura trace, but I found the ritual helpful.
Soon I would be surrounded by wisps of various essences, and I needed to be centered to better interpret what I was seeing. That and the potion to incite the spell would take at least an hour. One wrong stir or incorrect ingredient measurement could lead to disastrous results or just wasted time. This wasn't my first rodeo. I’d done a couple of theft cases in the past couple weeks and on a few secret admirer letters friends had received in high school. Aura traces were always a handy trick to have up one's sleeve.
Sitting outside, I soon reached a meditative level that allowed all thought to clear my mind. Cheddar was kind enough to come sit on my lap a half hour in, breaking me from the trance. I scratched his head before pushing him off my lap to his disgruntlement. Standing, I stretched. The cold caught up to me a bit, and I rushed back inside where hot coffee waited.
Another mug poured, I set the cup next to the stove and started rooting around my cabinets for my spell pot. In actuality it was a large stockpot as opposed to the cauldron most people thought of. Some witches mastered the art of crock-pot spells. I wasn't brave enough to try that. The idea of walking away from a potion to let it do its own thing for hours on end was too risky for my sensibilities.
Pot found, I began going through my spell cabinet for the various herbs, oils, and odds and ends I would need. Half an hour later, everything was bubbling nicely. I turned down the heat and gave the potion one last stir before putting on the lid allowing it to simmer. The house smelled like lavender and vanilla. It could be argued that aura potions were some of the nicer smelling potions. They contained no insects or small animal parts.
The fact that I had to drink this particular potion made me particularly happy that it lacked creepy crawlies. I went to the cupboard and grabbed my potions mug. I kept one mug for the purpose of potions because I needed to make sure it was thoroughly sanitized every time I used it, like a first-time parent who sanitized every inch for a newborn baby. It directly opposed my usual, ‘if it looks clean, it’s clean’ stance.
The last thing I needed was to have a little leftover aura trace in a cup of coffee and start tripping in public. Even though that wasn't what was happening, it would sure look like it. People weren’t kind to humans who appeared high as kites, and they were extra unkind to witches who did.
I poured the mug about half full and placed the lid back on the pot. The potion would keep for another couple of hours. If the first dose wasn't strong enough, I had extra plus some for round two with the poppy. Mug in hand, I headed to the Arizona room.
I studied the safe for a moment before sighing. There was no better way to do it. Sitting inside it would give me the most accurate aura readings, I wanted to sit on top where the dead body hadn't been hanging out, but at the end of the day, I knew that would be half-assing it. In I went. It was surprisingly roomy, and I was able to sit cross-legged with my back against one of its walls. Looking at the potion, I took a deep breath. Even though the potion smelled like gourmet lavender and vanilla cupcakes, it would taste awful.
Closing my eyes tightly, I tilted the mug to my lips pretending it was a cheap tequila shot someone bought for me. The trick worked, and despite a slight gag reflex and mild burn, I survived. I set down the mug in front of me, keeping my eyes closed, and draped my arms along the sides of the safe, much like someone would do in a hot tub. The thought of hot tubs made me think of vacations somewhere tropical, and then bam, the potion hit me hard.
