Page 17 of Hopelessly Teavoted
It had takenagesto get rid of the creepy little wooden doll that kept popping up, but how were they to know how potent Hawthorne wood was?
Just as she had to her father decades ago, Vickie caved to Priscilla Hart.
“Fine, the consequence for my gift is that they owed souls, to be collected for a lesser devil. When they legally disowned me, that debt transferred automatically. I have to collect three souls for him.”
To her credit, Priscilla only nodded. She didn’t bother with any reassurance; they had both been around such magic long enough to know it simply was what it was. But when a wicked smile crept up her friend’s face, Vickie knew she was in trouble.
“I’ve got a good idea,” Priscilla announced. “I’ll talk to Evelyn if you talk to Azrael.”
Her eyebrows waggled, and this? The matchmaking tendency? She came by that honestly, too, and it was all Persephone.
“Priscilla, you live with your brother. Can’t you just talk to him?”
“He’s been so different since our parents died. He needs a friend who isn’t a relative, Vickie,” Prissy wheedled. “Besides, the consequences of that kind of debt could be serious. He’d want to know. As your childhood best friend. Who has fewer and fewer people in his life.”
The dead parents card was too much to ignore, and Priscilla knew it.
“I’ll think about it,” Vickie said.
Shaking her head, Priscilla reached for the nachos and took a large, sour-cream-laden bite.
“Damn. I was wrong about these. I want to hate this kind of gimmick, but I love them.” She stared at the chip as though the remaining shredded chicken and guacamole on top of it might hold the secrets to the universe. “I will always need these terrible nachos with my glass of alcohol from now on. It’s awful. Awful, I tell you.” She shoveled another into her mouth, managing to look glamorous even when dabbing shredded cheese and salsa off her cheek. That kind of composure had to be an art form of some sort.
“About Azrael,” Vickie reminded her. So what if a part of her wanted more details? They had been friends for ages, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the incident.
“Sorry,” said Priscilla, “those are the terms of the deal. Hey, I just remembered.” She sat up straight, lifting her glass. “Isn’t it your birthday soon? We could have a little catch-up the day of. You. Me. Evelyn. Azrael.”
Vickie swallowed, shaking her head.
“I, uh, have plans.”
The plans were inventory-related work tasks, but Priscilla didn’t have to know that.
Prissy shrugged. “Some other time, then. I bet Az would want to wish you a happy birthday too.” She waggled her eyebrows, and Vickie shot her a look.
“It’s a busy month,” she deflected. It wasn’t untrue.
Priscilla gave her a hard look, but let it go. She shoved another bite of nachos into her mouth, and that was that.
Vickie sighed. It looked like she had no choice but to let Priscilla think she could insist her way into Vickie and Azrael being something again.
They could be friends, she decided, watching the server make his way over with her burger. Friends were nice.
CHAPTER 5Azrael
Three days after his first visit, Azrael was back at the shop, unable to help himself. But in his return, he’d forgotten Sultry Sundays, his mother’s old weekly tradition where people dressed up as the strange, the seductive, and the sensual. Some drew inspiration from music videos and movies, and some from whatever whim struck them. When he pushed open the door and strode into Hopelessly Teavoted, he was unprepared to find Vickie scantily clad and forcing him to admit the foothold she had in his memories.
For a brief moment, Az was an awkward nineteen-year-old again, frozen before leaving for college eight years ago, pining for his best friend. Today, he had actual business with her, and for that, he could put aside the guilty longing and the volatile cocktail of hormones that was not helping his eyes, those betrayers, stay above her neckline and out of trouble.
He needed to stay centered. To keep his mind from wandering. Coffee, maybe. Tearing his eyes away from Vickie, he made his way to the counter.
“Hello there,” said the girl at the register dressed as Frodo Baggins, of all things. His Tolkien-obsessed father would have loved that, and the thought made his heart twist. She was just a kid, and she smiled briefly beneath the sort of piercing that went through her nose and out both nostrils. He thought thatmaybe this was in style, but he wasn’t sure. He’d always been afraid of needles, a fact his sister had exploited endlessly with illusion hexes in their childhood. “What can I getcha?” The chirp of her voice was a friendly little sound to match the polite bob of her pink Afro as she nodded her head in greeting. Vickie was out of eyesight now, which made things easier.
“A coffee, please.”
She smiled, swiped his card, and then handed him a mug. Lost in thought, he walked to the self-serve area.
At the coffee counter, he filled it up, sprinkling in a little bit of sugar, then walked over to the wine-colored wooden chair he had always loved best.
