Ben’s stare is so intense that I freeze in place. Not intense in a bad way. Intense in a way that doesn’t seem to jibe properly with my brain. His eyes are dark and smoky, and he’s got the longest, most ridiculous lashes. His gaze flicks over my face, and I wonder if he’s staring at my mouth. I look at his, and okay, that was a mistake. How did I not notice before that Ben Magnus has the most full, most decadent mouth I’ve ever seen on a man? I knew he looked intense, like all his features were too much all at once, but each one separately is . . . really nice. Kissably nice.
Oh god, what is wrong with me? I jerk away, flushing uncomfortably, and cross the kitchen, pretending I’m thirsty. I pull a carton of milk out of the fridge and pour myself a glass, my back to him. What were we even talking about? I can’t think. All that’s in my head is irritating Ben Magnus’s full, pouty mouth. Think, I tell myself as I chug milk. Ubers and magic. Right. I take the now empty glass to the sink. “If you say magic is real, then cast something. Show me something. Anything. Make me believe.”
He moves, and I can feel his presence behind me, looming. “What do you want to see?”
“I don’t know.” I wave a hand at the kitchen counter, where I’ve laid out the strange ingredients I purchased earlier today. “Make them float in the air or dance or something.”
Ben snorts. “You’ve been watching too many cartoon movies. That’s not how our magic works.”
“Of course not.” I suddenly feel stupid for asking. Of course he’s going to agree to show me something, just not anything I want to see. Not anything tangible. He’ll probably pull a quarter out of my ear and call it a day. But for me to believe, I need to see something real. I need to be convinced.
And I don’t know that he can convince me.
I turn and give him a tight smile. “You know what? Never mind. Forget I asked.”
Ben leans in, and for a moment, I think he’s going to kiss me. My eyes go wide in alarm . . . but he only leans in and plucks a stray piece of lint off my sweater. “Oh, I won’t forget.”
I roll my eyes. “Give it up already. I’m not buying what you’re selling.”
“Too late.” He smirks at me. “The next time we meet, you’ll be on your knees, begging . . . for forgiveness.”
On my knees, begging? That sounds dirty and wrong. I mumble something and flee upstairs.
BEN
You’ll be on your knees, begging. By all the gods, what’s wrong with me to blurt something like that out? Why don’t I just pull my dick out and slap her with it? Get rid of all the subterfuge? I press my hand to my forehead and groan inwardly.
I have made it painfully obvious that I am somehow, someway, attracted to my aunt’s useless apprentice. This is bad. This is very bad.
But she just looked so damned sad tonight. Lonely. As if she was lost and didn’t know how to find herself. And I know how that feels. I know what it feels like to see the world moving around you and to feel like you’re not part of it. Like you don’t belong to anything.
Maybe that’s the part that calls me to her.
She needs to catch on to what’s going on around her. I think she’s starting to figure it out. She no longer wears the look of derision on her face when someone mentions magic. Not tonight. Tonight, she looked thoughtful. Tired.
Tonight, she asked me to show her a spell . . . and I somehow made it into innuendo.
I scrub my hand down my face again and study my surroundings. I should go back to my aunt’s taxes. Drusilla gets so lost in witch society that she forgets she has to pay attention to mundane world issues. I should help her with those. Instead, I turn and glance down at the hair on the counter.
The hair I pulled from her sweater.
It’s habit. After years—centuries—of casting, of spells that need personal components, I’ve become adept at acquiring these sorts of things. It’s second nature to pluck a hair casually from someone’s sweater and keep it, just in case I need to cast something. How many times have I traveled to a foreign country just to follow some rich, powerful fool’s assistant to the dry cleaner to get a few stray hairs off their clothing for a spell?
I should throw it away. It no doubt belongs to the boyfriend that doesn’t deserve her. The boyfriend that let her move in with strangers for a job with witches. The boyfriend that didn’t bother to drive her home, just made her get a ride with someone else. I pick it up thoughtfully.
She wanted to see a spell, after all . . .
10
REGGIE
I wake up the next morning to the sound of my phone buzzing and Maurice rubbing against my shoulder. I roll over in bed, yawning, and Maurice immediately snuggles against my breasts, rubbing his head against the low neckline of my nightgown. Scratching his ears, I reach for my phone and flick through the messages from Nick. If he’s telling me more about Diego’s prowess in bed, I’m going to have to shut him down. I love Nick like a brother, but there are some things a girl just doesn’t want to know.
NICK: Two things.
NICK: Okay, three things. First of all, Diego is AMAZING and I need to know if you liked him. He’s kind of insane in bed and I’m obsessed. Is it bad to be this obsessed so quickly?
NICK: Second thing. Your parents called this morning. I swear, they’re like bloodhounds. They scent a bit of money and come out of the woodwork.
I jerk upright, staring down at my phone in horror. Maurice makes a grumpy noise of protest, then settles himself on my bed again. I scroll back, reading Nick’s message again just to make sure that I read it correctly.
My parents. Ugh.
I think of the people I should be closest to in the world, but a sour taste fills my mouth. I think of the times they lied and stole from everyone around us. The checking accounts and credit cards they opened in my name. The scams they ran, convinced they were just temporarily impoverished millionaires waiting for their number to come up. Nick calls them users, and they are. They’ll sob and guilt-trip me and make it seem like the most dire thing in the world has happened, just so I will open my checkbook and give them what little money I have.
Every time, I tell myself I’m not going to fall for it. Every time, they come up with something new to suck me back in. They sweep back into my life for a few weeks, leave again just as quickly. I end up with a wake of new debts in my name and all kinds of guilt and issues.
Trembling with dread, I text Nick back.
REGGIE: What did you tell them?
NICK: That you were unavailable. At the unemployment office.
I breathe a little easier at that.
REGGIE: Thank you.
NICK: You know they’ll call back. They always do.
REGGIE: I know.
NICK: I’m not going to give them your number. I don’t want you calling them, either.
REGGIE: Did they say it was urgent?
NICK: Reg . . .
REGGIE: They did, didn’t they?
NICK: Of course they did. That’s how they sucker you in.
He’s not wrong, and yet . . . I know I’m going to stress about it. What if I don’t call and it’s something terrible this time? What if someone’s been in an accident? Or jail?
NICK: Reggie
NICK: I know you.
NICK: Do NOT call them.
NICK: If it truly is urgent, not only will they call back, but they’ll leave contact information of a hospital or some such. You know that.
NICK: You also know there’s no hospital involved, and they’re just trying to get you on the phone so they can shake you down again.
NICK: I know it’s hard, but don’t fall for it.
REGGIE: I know. Thanks for being a buffer for me, like always.
REGGIE: I really do appreciate you.
REGGIE: What was item #3?
NICK: Oh, right.
NICK: You didn’t happen to eat or touch shellfish last night did you? Before you came over?
REGGIE: Uh, no, why?
NICK: Because poor Diego’s face puffed up like a balloon. He’s allergic. His beautiful eyes are still swollen this morning. He’s taking medication, but I feel so bad for him. We can’t figure out what happened. He just broke out in hives about an hour after you left and his face got all red and bloated.
NICK: We still fucked like animals, but it’s weird.
REGGIE: I promise I didn’t touch any sort of shellfish or eat any. You know I don’t like them.
NICK: I know. I just thought it was weird.
NICK: So . . . Do you want deets? How many inches? How many times?
REGGIE: I love you, but no and NO GOD NO.
NICK: Lol