Page 27 of Hooked on a Witch
Mosquitoes hovered around her bare legs near the edge of her khaki shorts. Some of the flying demons braved attack and some floated in wait. She batted a few away from pale skin that could stand a few days in the sun and contemplated going back inside.
The curtain at the corner window moved. Even out here, Eli watched. She should find it comforting but instead felt stifled. Mosquitoes were preferable to Eli’s glowers, which were part betrayal she’d given him the slip the night before last and part eagle-eye supervision. She’d pursued a career as a contract cameraperson, taking short jobs on documentaries, a few reality TV shows, and on occasion traveling with a reporter for the sole purpose of freedom. Freedom from a druid lurking nearby as her assigned protector. On jobs to the more remote locations, like a few months ago when she went onExtreme Survivoras a request from Jen, a bodyguard couldn’t go because he was too obvious. What kind of cameraperson needed a bodyguard? Her father hated those jobs. In her mind the risk outweighed the benefit to have a few days of not being watched.
Her mother’s headstone read a rather generic:Do more than listen. Understand. Do more than exist. Live.
Unhelpful. It’d probably been chosen by a local engraver.
Unlike her, her mother had lived without regret—vibrant, even if strong-willed and always moving forward. Shannon wallowed in regrets, most of which revolved around her mom. The biggest was being the cause of her death. If Shannon hadn’t signed on to be a cameraperson on theExtreme Survivorreality TV show, even though Jen had needed her in that godforsaken jungle, then her mom wouldn’t have sacrificed her life to save Shannon when a producer went crazy.
I’m sorry.
She opened her eyes and wiped tears from them. A shadow stretched in front of her. Her head snapped around, irritated by the intruder.
“What’re you crying about?” Merck moved to stand in front of her. He clenched two white camellias by their small stalk in his right hand.
“Nothing. Why’re you here?” Her heart stuttered and tumbled over itself as her gaze drifted across his cheekbones to his lips.
“You visiting with ghosts? Do they talk to you?” He nodded his chin toward the headstones a few yards away beneath the large oak. The question didn’t carry a hint of sarcasm, only curiosity. He seemed genuinely sad for her. He’d believe her if she said yes. How many men would even consider ghost-talkers believable other than him? The trees swayed hard with gusts of wind as if reacting to the emotion on Merck’s face.
“They don’t give me any answers. Can you talk to them?” she asked.
“Wouldn’t know. I haven’t run into a ghost yet. Here. These are for you.” He thrust the flowers her way. His hands fidgeted, a quirk so at odds with the exterior toughness he presented to the world.
“Thanks.” She inhaled their powerful fragrance, flattered that he’d come all the way over here to bring her two flowers. “They’re beautiful.”
“I’ve got them all over my property. You feeling okay after yesterday?”
“I’m fine. Are you spying on me?”
“I just thought I’d check on things on my way in to the office. See if anything odd is going on over here.”
“Check on things?” She glanced around. “Did you pick up something not right around here?”
“Nah.” Although the denial didn’t carry conviction. He squinted toward the house and scanned the yard before returning to the headstone.
Then he nodded to her legs. “You’re welting up.”
“I’ll live. There’s no way they can suck enough out of me to kill me.”
“The bites will itch like hell in about ten minutes. Come with me.”
“Where?”
“I’ve got something in the car that’ll help the itching.”
She hadn’t even heard his car pull up. She gazed up at him, heart pounding. Damn her traitorous body, feeling things for the man standing in front of her that she hadn’t allowed herself to feel since she was a naïve high-school girl back when she’d wished to have this particular guy see her as more than a kid. He did, eventually. The memory of their first kiss replayed in her mind. She didn’t know what she expected from him. For him to kiss her again? Touch her? She was surprised by how much she wanted it.
Snap out of it. You’re going to die. That’s where your mind needs to be right now. Get him to help you.
Merck had to be the “he” who her mother said would help her. If he wasn’t, then he might know someone or something safe she could use to find the Trident, maybe something from his collection of weird items.
“I promise if you come to my car I won’t cuff you unless…” his voice dropped to a sensuous tone, “…that’s what you want.” His lips curved in a wicked half-smile that did funny things to her insides. She swallowed, her throat devoid of moisture.
“No cuffs. It might be nice not to have the itching.” She gripped the camellia stalks tight between her fingers and followed.
He opened the front seat passenger door and waved for her to hop in. She watched with fascination as he removed an unlabeled brown bottle from the glove compartment. He emptied a bit of beige ointment into his palm. An astringent smell burned her nose, drawing her back to days when they had horses down here. She missed the ornery Quarter Horse she’d ridden every day after school.
She tucked her legs away from him when he neared with a dab of the stinky concoction. “Horse liniment doesn’t work on bites.”
