I clutch my phone to my chest, sighing as I stew over the new development with my parents. It’s not like I have money. I haven’t gotten my first paycheck from Dru yet, and even if I had, I’d have passed anything extra to Nick to pay for my half of the rent and utilities. I hate that they’re back, though. I should be excited to hear from my parents. It’s been a while since I last talked to them, but there’s only a gnawing sense of discomfort and worry instead of love.
Maurice rubs up against my chest again, pawing at the neck of my nightgown, and I absently scratch his ears again before getting up and changing into jeans and an old T-shirt. I pull my hair back into a messy knot atop my head and throw on my sneakers, then grab my phone, shoving it into my pocket. It’s so odd that Diego had an allergic reaction on their date night. What a piece of bad luck . . .
Almost as if Diego were cursed.
Oh.
Oh no.
Show me something. Anything.
Oh no, no, no.
Make them float in the air or dance or something.
That’s not how our magic works.
You have to be willing to get rid of her if things don’t go as planned.
No fucking way. There’s no way Diego’s shellfish reaction has anything to do with Ben.
You’ll be on your knees, begging . . . for forgiveness.
With a whimper of anger and frustration, I storm down the stairs and slam into the kitchen. Sure enough, Dru is seated at her table near the window, a cup of coffee in her hands. Her white hair is still in curlers, even though she’s put on lipstick and a pretty gown of royal blue with sheer, billowy sleeves.
Across from her, sprawled like he owns the place, is the bane of my existence. Ben drags a spoon through a bowl of cereal, doing his best to look bored. He’s not fooling me, though. I march right up to him, practically trembling with fury. “Did you curse someone?”
He arches one of those dark brows at me. “Why would I do that? Magic isn’t real, remember?”
Aunt Dru lifts her coffee cup to her lips. “Uh-oh.”
I clench my hands into fists, fighting the urge to smack that smirk off Ben’s face. “You son of a bitch, that’s my best friend’s new boyfriend!”
He tilts his head. “Not your boyfriend?”
“I don’t have a boyfriend!” I shout.
“Oh my,” Aunt Dru says. “I do believe she’s telling you that she’s available, Caliban darling.”
“Not for him,” I snarl. I’m so mad I’m shaking. “He needs to fall off a fucking cliff. How dare you? How’d you do it? How’d you know to target him?”
Ben gets to his feet, and his large body looms over mine. I continue scowling up at him, unafraid. He’s trying to intimidate me, and it’s not working. He reaches forward and I jerk backward, but he only picks at my shirt. “You have a piece of lint.”
What does lint have to do with anything? Confused, I gaze up at him . . . only to see a smug expression on his face. Is he . . . is he taking a stray bit of lint off my shirt and using it as a spell component? Like a forensic analyst would capture DNA on clothing?
Because as I stand there, I remember Ben did that last night, too. Plucked a hair off my shirt. Either he has a lint obsession, or he’s using those hairs against me. A sound of pure animal rage escapes me. “You didn’t.”
“You asked me last night to show you something,” he says in that silky, too-reasonable tone. “You didn’t say what. Don’t get mad at me.”
“MAGIC ISN’T REAL,” I bellow, and I don’t know if I’m trying to convince him or myself.
“If not, then what’s the problem?” Ben’s eyes are dark slits, his expression impossible to read.
“I don’t understand this nonsense,” Dru chimes in. “Of course magic is real. How else do you think you got the job when no one else applied, darling?” She looks at me with innocent eyes. “The ad you answered was bespelled so only someone qualified to be a familiar could actually read it.”
“Bullshit,” I say automatically, and then wince when Dru’s eyes widen. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just . . . I . . .”
“She doesn’t believe you,” Ben points out helpfully to his aunt.
“It was just an ad in the paper,” I say, trying to keep calm.
“Mm-hmm” is all Dru says, the look on her face pitying. As if I’m the crazy one.
I’m starting to feel crazy. Does magic exist or not? Even entertaining the thought feels utterly ridiculous, and yet . . . I’m starting to have doubts. Yesterday, Penny had been so confident (and logical), convinced that I’d somehow lucked into a secret society of some kind that she was still on the waiting list for. But . . . you can’t put a magical ad in the paper.
Can you?
Scowling at both of their smirking faces, I turn and stomp back out, whipping my phone out of my pocket again. I frantically search through my photos, finding the ad I’d made a screen capture of a few weeks ago. The ad that I thought was for a freaking card game. I quickly send the picture to Nick. I’m going to call them on their crap, and then I’m going to quit because they’re gaslighting me.
REGGIE: You can read this, right?
I move to the foot of the stairs and sit on the bottom step as I wait for his response. As if he can’t resist tormenting me, Ben saunters into the doorway and leans against it, watching me. “So what’s the plan, then? Are you going to quit?”
“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” I mutter.
“Yes, actually. It would solve a lot of problems.”
“I’ll just bet.” I don’t point out that I was considering that very thing—that I should quit and just walk out the door and not look back. I don’t need this crap, and my parents can’t con me for money I don’t have, after all.
But it would mean walking away from an obscene amount of money. It would mean walking away from another job, one that doesn’t involve wearing a uniform, cleaning fry grease, or twirling a sign on a street corner. I’d be crazy to walk away from a high-paying job that gives me room and board just because my boss is delusional.
“Well?” Ben prompts.
“I’m ignoring you.”
“And doing such a good job of it, too.”
I do ignore that. My phone pings with an incoming text, and I suck in a breath as I scan Nick’s response.
NICK: The ad about the Persian rugs?
I grit my teeth in frustration and type a response.
REGGIE: No, the one above that.
REGGIE: Please don’t joke around, I’m very serious here.
NICK: I . . . don’t see anything.
NICK: Did you send the right file?
REGGIE: Never mind!
This proves nothing. Nothing at all. Nick just isn’t looking in the right spot. I look up at Ben and glare at him with all my might. He only smiles and walks away, as if he knows he was right, and it makes me absolutely crazy. Doesn’t he have a home somewhere else? I could have sworn that Dru said he didn’t live here.
Maybe if I hint heavily enough, he’ll leave. Probably not, though. He’s going to wait and see if I quit, and . . . I don’t think I will. Because I keep coming back to that dollar amount, over and over, and it trumps everything. Even witchcraft.
Turns out I have a price, after all. That’s depressing.
Dru enters the foyer, regal despite her long, swishing dress and curlers. She eyes me, studying my spot on the base of the stairs, then clasps her hands in front of her. “If you’re done having a hissy fit, do you want to do the job you’re being paid for?”