Page 65 of Obsession

I recite the ingredients from Mama’s spell book, and how Bettina broke the jar with her cat, who is now my cat, B.B. “I’ve tried several spell reversals, but no luck.”

“Maybe that’s the problem. Your energy’s magically scattered,” Brenda suggests.

“Maybe. But the alternative is to sit around and do nothing?” I counter.

“Get me them papers with your names written on them and I’ll help you break the hex,” she tells me.

“Really?” I ask excitedly.

She nods. “Don’t let anyone else touch the spell remnants. Just you. Lemme know when you’ve got it, and we’ll need to meet at midnight at the cemetery.” I sign for the package and fill up Brenda’s coffee traveler and wave goodbye, feeling a surge of hopefulness.

Texting Azrael to see if he can transport me to Bettina’s apartment, I realize I might be becoming a bit too dependent on angels for their magic. But if I can avoid ten hours roundtrip in the car, why wouldn’t I?

Azrael: I’m tied up with a suicide at the moment. It was a hanging.

Me: Your gallows humor is beyond disturbing.

Azrael: Hey, it’s the dead guy who made that joke. He’s in a much more jovial mood postmortem. See if tasty morsel will take you.

Me: He really might cut off your wings if you call him that again.

I debate whether to call Chris. He’s so dang prickly, not to mention he’s already helped me once. And kissed me once. Ugh, not going there. Tapping my nails on the counter, I decide to press my luck. He answers and I get right to the point. “Chris, will you take me back to Natchez today?”

“I would do that, why?”

“Because friends help each other out.” Silence. “Look, I need the remnants of the spell from Bettina’s apartment. Please?”

“It’s my day off, and I was planning on performing with my comedy troupe.”

“Chris, did you just make a joke? I don’t believe it. Is it the end of the world? Are you here to usher in Armageddon, because I don’t think I’d do well with a plague of flies. Toads I could handle, but not flies.”

He hangs up. I’m learning Chris speak, and that means, “I’m on my way.” Hopefully.

“Sugar pie, good thinking leaning on Chris. That’s a man who likes to take charge. I bet he likes to take charge in the bedroom. My guess is he likes to use those detective handcuffs while he’s taking charge.”

I give her a look and walk back to the break room. Grabbing a pair of disposable gloves and a plastic baggie, I put those items in my purse. The front door chimes, and I hustle out front to meet Chris. “Bye, Grandma,” I say before she can embarrass me, and by embarrass me, I mean open her mouth. She huffs but waves us goodbye.

We materialize in the same wooded area of the city park and walk to Bettina’s apartment. I look over at Chris, and he looks over at me, but neither one of us says anything. So we’re just going to pretend the kiss never happened. Okay, works for me. Except not really, because I can’t stop thinking about it. Wanting to pull my hair out in frustration, instead I grab a hair tie from around my wrist and pull my now frizzy hair back in a ponytail. Thank you, Mississippi humidity.

Chris uses his power to open Miss Mable’s Ghost Tours door, and I lead us to Bettina’s magic room. Although leading was unnecessary, as Chris could have just followed the stench.

Pinching my nose as we walk into the room, I slip on the gloves and scoop up the soggy wads of paper, dropping them in the plastic bag. I also remove the gloves and put them in the bag. No way in hell I’m leaving anything I’ve touched in this witch’s house.

Suddenly, Chris is shirtless, sporting his huge white, feathery wings and holding his flaming sword in his right hand. He brings it down on Bettina’s altar and cuts the table right down the middle, his upper body muscles flexing as he does so. Everything that was on the table is now ash.

Without a word, he marches out of the room. I chase after him as we enter what looks like Bettina’s bedroom. He reaches under the mattress and pulls out a huge book, touching the tip of his sword to it. Poof, the book disintegrates into tiny particles. “Was that Bettina’s book of shadows?” I ask, mouth agape.

“It was.” The window opens, and the magical dust that was Bettina’s altar and book of shadows floats out of the room.

Following at a safer distance, lest Chris accidentally poke me with his sword and poof, I turn to ash, we make one more sweep of the apartment. He returns to his human form, silently reaches for my hand, and we’re back at Memphis Magic.

I look down, realizing I’m still holding onto his big, rough hand, and I quickly let go.

“What will you do with the bag from the witch’s apartment?” His whiskey-colored eyes bore holes into mine.

“I know a voodoo practitioner who thinks she can help me reverse the spell. Why do you ask?”

“Because you should look at the hex not as a curse but as a gift. Be grateful you got away unscathed.”

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