“I still love you.” Landon absently patted the spot between us. “I just really need you to be quiet.”
I licked my lips as I stared at him for a long moment, annoyed. “Fine.” I tossed off the covers and stood, taking my first gander at the new room. The decorations were ornate, bordering on garish. It was as if someone took a catalog from the most expensive furniture store in existence and opted to purchase every item they could … whether it matched or not. “It’s almost as if Dynasty and Miami Vice met, had a drunken one-night stand, and then made a baby.”
“We’ll watch Miami Vice later,” Landon murmured.
“Yeah, yeah.” His disinterest agitated me. I headed toward the bathroom to my left and, after giving the tacky bathroom the once over I rummaged in the medicine cabinet until I came up with aspirin and filled one of the glasses next to the sink with water. I popped the tablets, downed all the water and then refilled it. After the second glass of water, the leading edge of the dehydration was gone and I could actually stand to look at myself in the mirror. Surprisingly, it wasn’t a horrifying sight. I looked relatively clear-eyed and awake, a small miracle all things considered.
“Holy crap! Where are we?” Landon’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard.
I moved to the doorway, smirking when I saw the look on his face. He was bare-chested, his black hair wild from a night of hard sleep, and his eyes were full of incredulity as he looked around the room.
“Good morning, sunshine,” I drawled. “Welcome to another nightmare brought to us by Aunt Tillie. Fasten your seatbelt and enjoy the ride.”
Landon’s expression was dark when he swiveled. “Do you think this is funny?” His eyes were so red from the hangover that he almost looked possessed. “This is pretty far from funny, Bay. In fact … nope. I’m not doing it. She can’t win if I refuse to play.”
I watched as he pulled the comforter over his head and dived beneath the covers, a small smile playing at the corners of my lips. He tossed and turned, reminding me of an agitated bed bug with attitude, as he tried to get comfortable.
I decided to approach him carefully. “Landon.”
“Nope. I was serious. I’m not playing.”
“Fair enough.” I knew he wouldn’t stick to his claim. For now he needed to feel as if he was in control, though. “There’s aspirin. Would you like some?”
Landon jerked down the comforter so I could see the top of his head. “How do you know it’s not cursed aspirin?”
“I took three tablets myself. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine, Bay. You’re trapped in another nightmare. You have no idea what’s going to happen. We could be in the past. We could be in the future. If it’s the future and Aunt Tillie is hanging around with the pope again, by the way, I’m totally going to become an atheist … or one of those people who preps for the end of the world. Oh, yeah, that’s what I’m going to do. Get ready for the end of the world.”
He was ranting. He couldn’t seem to stop himself. “So … where did we land on the aspirin?”
Landon heaved out a groan. “Fine. I’ll risk the cursed aspirin.”
Somehow I knew he’d say that. I delivered the aspirin and water, pursing my lips as he downed both. When he was done, he seemed a bit calmer … although only marginally.
“Where are we this time?” Landon asked, resigned.
“I don’t know.” I gestured toward the ornate mirror on the wall. “It’s like we’re living in a bad eighties movie or something. I can’t think of another way to describe it.”
“Why would she send us to the eighties?”
I shrugged. “That always was her favorite fashion era.”
“Yeah, I should’ve seen that coming.”
“I’m not sure this is the eighties,” I cautioned. “It merely reminds me of the eighties.”
“Does it really matter?” Landon rested against the pillows. “We don’t have to play, Bay. She’ll let us out eventually. She’ll have no choice. We can spend the entire day in here … in this eighties bedroom … and spend alone time together. We don’t have to look out there and see what horrible things she has planned for us.”
It was a thought, although it wasn’t one I was particularly fond of entertaining. “We’ll get out faster if we play.”
“You don’t know that. We haven’t refused to play yet. We have no idea what will happen if we don’t engage with her ridiculous stories.”
He had a point, still … . “I’m going to look around. You can stay here. I’ll come back and tell you what’s going on when I have a better idea. You can make your decision then.”
Landon was incredulous. “Do you really think I’m going to do that?”
I shrugged. “No, but I think you need to work yourself up to play this go around. It won’t hurt for you to rest while I look around and then report back.”
Landon’s expression was grim. “I’m not playing.” He was stubborn under the best of circumstances. He obstinately grabbed the remote control from the nightstand on his side of the bed and clicked on the television. The volume was high and caused me to jolt as a voice – a voice that was oddly familiar – started to speak.
“Previously on All My Witches … .”
Uh-oh.
“What’s this?” Landon furrowed his brow as he stared at the television screen.
The announcer’s voice droned on.
“Jericho Steele, an undercover police officer, continued to work his case even as danger closed in at every turn.”
“Son of a … that’s me!” Landon jabbed at the television. “Look at that. It’s me.”
As if drawn by something outside of myself, I sat on the end of the bed and focused on the television. The man on the screen was clearly Landon, although he was dressed much differently and apparently had trouble keeping his shirt on … at least if the montage was to be believed.
“This isn’t good,” I muttered.
Landon was beside himself. “Oh, what was your first clue?”
I ignored the sarcasm and kept my attention trained on the television. The voice reminded me of my mother, and I was certain Aunt Tillie did that on purpose.
“Jericho’s biggest problem isn’t the mobster who wants to kill him; it’s the woman who has stolen his heart.” Someone who looked remarkably like me – although with a much more expensive and impractical wardrobe – appeared on the screen. “Echo Waters is a former model, current artist, possible bar owner and potential philanthropist who married an evil man. Michael Ferrigno is a mobster known for three things: his charisma, his ruthless ambition and his pretty if conflicted wife. Oh, yeah, he’s also known for his rather impressive dimples.”
Landon snorted. “She named you Echo Waters. That is just … mean.”
“Laugh it up, Jericho,” I muttered.
“Soap opera names are stupid.”
He wasn’t wrong. I rolled my neck until it cracked and continued watching.
“Jericho is determined to bring down Ferrigno no matter who gets hurt in the process. Unfortunately for Jericho, he might not be able to follow through on his promise because his love for Echo runs deep … really deep, like to the tips of his toes deep. Like if there were giant sharks living in hidden trenches at the deepest part of the ocean, we’re talking that deep.”
“Oh, geez.” Landon slapped his hand to his forehead. “This is unbelievable.”
I lifted my finger to silence him, intent on the television.
“Joining Echo and Jericho on their journey are Cora Devane, a former spy and current fashion designer who married for money and now suffers for love,” the voice said as Thistle’s image appeared on screen. Her husband looked like an extra from Cocoon he was so old and wrinkly. “Cora never loved Dominic Woods, but that’s okay because she gets her thrills with his son, Darko Woods.”
I wasn’t surprised when Marcus appeared in a scene with Thistle. His handsome features looked right at home on a soap opera.