Page 4 of The Trouble With Spells
“Oh, nothing to worry your pretty little head over, asshole. Just a little itty-bitty curse.” Holding his head high, he flounced from my bedroom. Following him down the hall, I tried to hide my smirk at his ridiculous, over-the-top behavior.
Giving him a bland look, I said just as dramatically as he was acting, “Really, a curse? Oh no, whatever shall I do?”
I really needed to listen to my best friend, Derek, and stop picking up random guys in clubs. What had happened to the good old days where you picked a guy up, took him home, fucked him senseless, then patted his ass and sent him on his way?
Nowadays, they all wanted a little bit of fun to be the beginnings of “something special”. A few hours fucking did not a relationship make.
Just my luck I had to pick up a guy who fancied himself a witch or something of the sort. Curse, indeed.
Growing up in Salem, Massachusetts, I’d been surrounded by the lore of witches, spells, curses, and all that hocus pocus nonsense my entire life. You couldn’t live ina town famous for witch trials, without having the occult tossed in your face practically on every street corner.
I didn’t believe in any of it; never had.
Frankly, I was a firm non-believer, and I planned to stay that way. I dealt with cold, hard facts every day. Whatever mind fuck this guy thought he was pulling on me, it wasn’t going to work.
He smirked at me, placing a hand on my naked chest, directly over my heart. Leaning in close, he whispered, “Just something to make you a little less…full of yourself.”
“Whatever.” Rolling my eyes, I opened my front door, indicating it was time for him to go. Fucking hell, I didn’t want to have to call Derek to come arrest this guy if he refused to leave. He’d never let me hear the end of it. “Time to go. It was fun, but it’s over. Have a nice life.”
Smirking–yeah, the fucker smirked–he sashayed his hips from side to side, pausing when he was standing in the hallway outside my door.
“May your luck be as black as your heart, dickwad.” Blowing me a kiss, he sauntered to the elevator, pushing the button.
Slamming the door on his grinning face, I sighed loudly, running fingers through my thick hair. “Jesus fucking Christ. Stop trolling for dick in clubs, Michael. One of these days, you’re going to end up on the front page and not for your winning streak. Cray cray. I’d expect that kind of ridiculousness back home, but not in Boston.”
Straightening the rumpled blankets on my bed, I made sure my alarm was set for six. Five hours sleep, then a run, the gym, and enough time to check in at the office before my first case of the day.
Sighing softly, I settled into bed, my muscles relaxing. At least the blow job and sex had been decent, so it was worth the bit of drama at the end. It had been just what I needed to start my week. My docket was full tomorrow, and I looked forward to making sure a handful of criminals got what they deserved.
Chapter Three
Michael
“We, the jury, find the defendant, not guilty.”
Wait. What? Not guilty? What?
Surely, I had misheard the jury foreman. There was no way they could find the scumbag sitting at the next table, not guilty. The trial had been a quick one, lasting a week. The jury had been sequestered over the weekend and had come back with a verdict this morning. This should have been an open and shut case, the evidence clearly pointing to the defendant’s guilt.
“What just happened?” Shelby, my second chair, asked incredulously, her eyes wide. “Did they say not guilty? Michael?”
Too stunned to speak, I barely heard the judge, or anything else happening around me in the crowded courtroom.All that registered was my winning streak had just been ended by a group of twelve men and women.
Heart pounding, I assured my client we would appeal on her behalf. At least it wasn’t a murder case, or we’d be screwed with double jeopardy. But the defendant had broken into the victim’s house, held her at knifepoint for hours and terrorized her. Thankfully, he hadn’t sexually assaulted her, but she was still suffering from nightmares and panic attacks.
And these people, this jury, had just let him walk.
What. In. The. Actual. Fuck. Had. Just. Happened?
Escaping the courtroom, and Shelby’s questions that I had no answers to, I shouldered the men’s room door open and thanked God it was empty. Grasping onto the sink with both hands, I stared at myself in the mirror, breathing hard.
Shell shocked wasn’t a good look on me.
Why did I feel close to an anxiety attack? It was one case. I had lost one case. I had tried many. And won them all, a little voice in my brain helpfully reminded me. I didn’t like not winning, and neither did my ego.
The twink from last night flashed in my head, and all the mumbling mumbo jumbo he had whispered under his breath. What had he done to me? Had he really cursed me?Of course, he hadn’t. Curses weren’t real. This was just a…I wasn’t sure what this was, but I didn’t like it. Not one little bit.
“Fuck!” I slammed my palms against the porcelain sink hard enough to cause it to shake and rattle.
