“Okay!” she said, and with a cheery wave, she walked out the door. “One o’clock! Don’t be late!” And the door closed.
Flynn stood there for what felt like hours, staring at that closed door, his hands on his hips, his mind racing badly, until he realized he was freezing to death.
Okay, so now she had finally reached that pinnacle of achievement, had performed that singular, crowning act that would forever label her a giant loser. It was unwritten rule numero uno, the one thing a girl never did unless she was a certified imbecile—never tell a guy you love him first.
She raced away from the Corporate Suites and into the oblivion of night, trying to outrun her humiliation. Naturally, she was stopped in her escape by a red light.
With a moan, Rachel laid her head against the steering wheel. “Idiot,” she muttered beneath her breath. “Did you really believe all that witchcraft stuff could change the universe? You’re still Miss Fortune.”
A honk behind her brought her head up—the light was green, and she threw the car into first gear, hit the gas, and hurtled through the intersection, made a sharp right, and turned into the lot of a small market. The sign said they closed at midnight—it was ten to. She grabbed her bag, dashed inside with the thing banging against her leg, then race-walked the aisles until she found what she was looking for.
Yes, the baking aisle, with every type of brownie mix known to man. With a box of extra-moist and fudgy Duncan Hines and a carton of eggs, she ran to the checkout, dug in her purse until she came up with the required $3.37, and slipped outside just before midnight.
At one-thirty, she was sitting in the floor of her living room, a freshly-baked pan of brownies in her lap and a fork in her hand. She was methodically eating the brownies between gulps and sobs of bitter, bitter disappointment.
In the middle of one particularly big bite, however, she spied the stupid spell book on a little occasional table in the dining room, and felt a hot rage wash over her. Damn Dagne and her witchcraft! No, no, that wasn’t fair. If Dagne jumped off a bridge, she wouldn’t necessarily follow—wait. Scratch that. She might. But the point was that Dagne hadn’t given her this false sense of confidence, she had given that to herself.
Witchcraft! What was up with that?
Incensed by her own stupidity, Rachel shoved the half-eaten pan of brownies aside, came to her feet, marched across the room to that ridiculous and pink spell book (who the hell put spells in pink leather?), and knocked it off the occasional table with an angry swipe of her hand. The book fell off and landed open.
“Oh please, I’m not falling for that again,” she said defiantly, but bent over nonetheless and peered down. It had fallen open to a spell designed to rid yourself of negative energy.
“Idiots. Whoever writes this stuff is an idiot,” she muttered, and hatefully kicked the spell book. It skid across the wooden floors, beneath the dining table and out the other side and came to a rest next to the hutch. It was, she could see, still open.
Cautiously, folding her arms defensively against her, Rachel walked around the table and went down on her haunches in front of the spell book.
Escaping Negative Energy and Reviving the Chakra with Positive Energy
Rachel squinted again, read the instructions. All she needed was a piece of lavender cloth—had that, hanging around her neck. And the herb anise, which she knew she had plenty of, thanks to Dagne’s spell shopping. Green tea, a bowl made of silver (she stood up, looked at the hutch. Yep, still had the bowl Myron had given her), and an amulet.
Well, hell.
Okay, she didn’t believe in witchcraft, and she would not be sucked into believing that it actually worked, thank you. But on the other hand, she had all the stuff, and she was wide awake, thanks to half a pan of double fudge chocolate brownies. It was just something to do until she was ready to go to bed, that was all.
Rachel picked up the spell book with two fingers and marched back to the living room to prepare the last spell she would ever, ever do.
That night, Rachel went to bed with a tummyache, having devoured the rest of the brownies, but having also swallowed down most of her humiliation. She fell asleep quickly, and was soon dreaming of a field of yellow flowers.
In her dream, she was wearing a long, flowing silk white gown like the damsels in distress always seemed to wear. As she walked through the field, every flower grew taller and taller, and as she touched them, they gave her positive energy. Rachel touched so many flowers, she was practically floating above earth, and was laughing as she went.
Then at the end of the field, she noticed a figure, and as she drew closer, she realized it was Flynn. Still wearing nothing but a cheap, flimsy towel.
Chapter Twenty-Eight