Page 2 of Wicked William

“Alright,” I finally say, my voice cautious and measured. “I’ll hear you out.”

Maisy’s face lights up with relief, and for a brief moment, I find myself captivated by the warmth of her smile. Potent, this girl is.

She tries to explain herself, but talks in circles. I watch her earnest expression as she insists on the truth of her vision. Her eyes, an intense shade of green, seem to hold a world I can’t quite understand.

“Mr. Duke,” she says.

“Call me William.”

“William, I know it’s hard to comprehend, but you need to trust me,” she pleads, her voice soft and urgent. The sincerity in her tone makes it difficult for me to dismiss her outright. “So in my vision, I’m working for you. Here, in this house.”

“In my house? Doing what?”

“I’m a very talented cook,” she says. “But also maybe cleaning? In my vision, I lived here.”

I look around my hundred-year-old bungalow. “I live alone in a small house. Why would I need a live-in maid and personal chef?”

“My bedroom has a brass bed and a faded quilt with yellow and blue patches.”

Okay, so she described my guest room. A room that no one has everguestedin, but I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for how she could know what it looks like.

“That sounds nice,” I say, not giving away the truth.

“It’s very nice. Also, you eat horribly. Especially for an adult. Your mom taught you how to cook, but you survive on frozen pizza.”

She could be describing any single man.

But my mom did teach me how to cook. And I almost never do it. I do make sure to eat a lot of salad. To go with my frozen pizzas.

“I know you don’t believe me. Or you don’t want to believe me. But I’ve come a really long way.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. Again. “What exactly do you want from me?”

“I know it’s hard to trust a stranger, especially one who claims to have had a psychic vision. But please, let me prove myself to you. Let me cook you a meal, show you what I can do. If you don’t like it, I’ll leave.”

“Really?”

“Well, no. I’m very tenacious.”

I am getting ready to say no when out of my mouth comes, “Okay, you can cook for me. But just one meal, and then we’ll see.”

What the hell am I doing?

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