Cursed by Chemistry (4 page)

But that kind of magic doesn’t get undone. Especially because he didn’t know how he’d done it in the first place. He’s never intended for the flame powder to be deadly or even permanent. Teaching those hormone-driven frat boys a lesson hadn’t even been in the equation, but they’d learned all right.

So had Adrian. Never step blind in the world of apothecary again.

From the moment Adrian’s father first caught him playing with Shauna, the Barbie next door, he’d been warned.
Those feelings have power. You can’t wield them without losing control.

Barbie grew more powerful the older she became, and in the end, his father had been right. His own infatuation for Shauna had screwed him. Oh, he had kept his distance from the tender-yeared doll, just as his father had cautioned, while one relationship after another failed.

And why? Adrian massaged the tight cords of muscle between his shoulder blades. Good question. What was the point in staying away from Shauna if all the lower pedestals failed him anyway? Go big or go home, right?

Adrian snorted. He went big all right. The moment he decided to take control of the frat-party situation with that innocently powdered sweater, his power contorted into something far worse than he’d ever intended.

Now she wanted him to fix it.

He took a deep breath, trying to cleanse the faint smell of freesia and syrup from his lungs.

He couldn’t. It permeated everything. He blew the air out again and sent the stack of receipts near the cash register fluttering. He’d detected it the moment she stepped in. The tiny grains of infatuation in her seemed to form a tidal wave that sloshed through the entire room.

With his heightened awareness for chemical reactions, Adrian didn’t stand a chance. A scent like that could send an entire fleet of apothecaries to their knees. Good thing there weren’t many of them. Maybe three or four in the state of Utah—less if they came anywhere near his girl. Then there’d be only one.

Adrian paused. Scowled.
His girl
? He shook his head.

The siren’s song of wet heat between her thighs called out to him, and his body caved. Lucky his brain managed to hold on. His body’s reaction had been purely instinctual. A little excessive, but his three-week sexual drought could explain that.

Or so he’d thought. Until she tore through that paper and his deep thinker went from semi-erect to near crashing through the table. She had changed over the years. Gone from adorable and adventurous to…to…preened for the groping hands of high society. Not that his cock cared much.

The entire time he argued with her, it swelled and pointed as if to say
: she’s right there…right…Oh…for the love of…will you just hurdle the table and bury me already? I’m about to explode here!

In that moment, he knew helping Shauna wouldn’t be possible. Even after surpassing his hormonal peak, and screwing three dozen other women, his lust for her hadn’t diminished. It only increased. The urge to spread her boot-clad legs wide…it felt beyond primal.

And that thing she did with her eyes. She’d learned a trick or two with men over the years. But had anyone seen them with the lust-filled glare he could coax out of her?

Adrian paced the length of the room again. He’d kicked her out. But could he really leave her alone after this? Shauna threw fate a major interception by showing up here. She disclosed her identity and blew his cover at the same time. According to Samuel, the FBI was already on her tail. How long had that been going on? It wouldn’t be hard for the feds to connect the dots right to him.

Or worse, the O could be wooing her within the hour.

“Good hell.” Adrian punched a nearby display tower. The powder-filled canisters and pill bottles exploded in every direction. Some hit the ground and busted open on impact, while others rolled a few feet away from the chaos. “Hellhellhell.” His growl intensified to a roar. “Fuck!”

Samuel’s voice lifted with intrigue as he entered. “Bringing out the big-boy words. I’m impressed, A. It’s like duck-duck-goose…only more fun.”

Adrian pierced him with a fierce scowl and pitched a stray canister at his head. “Shouldn’t you be gone by now?”

Samuel’s eyes grew wide. He dodged left. The canister exploded in a cloud of smoke and powder as it hit the wall. Samuel held up his hands in surrender. “Yeah, if some grizzled vagrant hadn’t stopped me in the parking lot.” Samuel shuffled cautious steps through the dust at his feet and held out a large envelope. “He wanted me to give you this.”

Adrian swiped the envelope. His tone grew distant as he studied the paper. “Grizzled vagrant, now look who’s pulling out the big words.”

Samuel couldn’t seem to contain the grin that split across his face. “Not my words, his. I asked the bum who he was. That’s what he told me, A. Grizzled vagrant. Like that was his name or something.”

Adrian mentally shook his head. The name didn’t matter. The chicken scratches that formed the letter ‘A’ and the scent stain of crushed cloves told him exactly who the messenger was.

A eunuch.
The Eunuch,
to be precise; the one-and-only, hobbling, messenger boy of the Oracle. He had no real name and only one purpose. To deliver bad news.

He handed the paper back to Samuel. “You read it.”

Samuel gave him a you’re-being-a-baby kind of look, before retrieving the envelope and peeling it open. All right, so maybe he was. But the Shauna bomb was enough bad news for one night. Maybe if Samuel opened the letter, it would dole all that rotten luck on him instead.

Samuel cleared his throat. “It says, your presence is requested by honor of the Oracle.”

Adrian snarled. “I don’t have time for this.”

“It says make time.” Samuel squinted at the paper. “P.S. Samuel, the candy jar is unguarded. Quick, run.” Samuel looked up. “What do you think he means by that?”

Chapter Four

Show your face and get the hell out.

Adrian gritted his teeth as he approached the glass. Bold letters forming the name “Big O’s Toy Box” were fogged with print smudges and grime from the countless clients who had passed through here.

His lungs tensed as Adrian suppressed his ability for chemical reconnaissance and grasped the handle. Sometimes it was better not to know where things had been.

He set his mental stopwatch for the twenty-one and a half minutes it usually took to get back out and yanked the door open with one hand. He covered half the distance to the Oracle’s pulpit before the door sealed shut. The metallic, autumn air and rush of evening traffic died behind him, replaced with pulsing music and muggy warmth.

The owner leaned forward from the pedestaled checkout counter. His sand-colored hair took on a brash, pink glow from the halo of neon lights overhead. Even for Adrian’s six-two, the counter seemed unusually high.

Deliberately so.

The shiny, plastic structure served two purposes: elevate the Oracle’s ego and put his customers in their place, like scurrying rats, eager to pay and escape with their trinkets tucked under their arm.

Adrian should know. He’d been the rat often enough he’d actually lost his testosterone-driven taste for hardcore silicone and bone-seeping perfume.

At first glance, it seemed odd—why would an oracle run a sex-toy shop? But in truth, the wares weren’t much different. Both forms of business served to provide immediate gratification that no one really needed.

Says the man who just became the next customer in line
. Irritation itched in Arian’s veins. He was hooked, and he knew it. Adrian didn’t want to know how his life—or lack thereof—turned out. He wanted to beat the system and conquer his family’s curse. Doing so meant slurping up whatever flavor of shit the Oracle had to offer and using it to his advantage.

The Oracle squinted through horn-rimmed glasses at his monitor. A grin of delight plied into the globes of fat most people called cheeks. He looked every bit the Buddha’s white-trash cousin. Not the kind of guy who sought enlightenment. He tripped over it, often days, or if lucky, minutes ahead of time, and boasted of his find to any dumbass who would believe him.

And that made Adrian king of Dumbassdom, didn’t it? He breathed an impatient sigh. Maybe more of that autumn pollution outside would cool his mood.

The Oracle’s self-indulgent drone—which had been going on for some time—rose in greeting as Adrian approached. “—not in the number of breaths we take but from the moments that take our breath away…
like
.” The Oracle emphasized the last word with a pointed click of his finger.

Adrian didn’t bother suppressing his eye-roll. For an all-seeing deity, one would think the Oracle would be the first person to discover social networking. Not the last.

Well, let’s be honest, he still thought he was the first.

“What’s got you in such a poor mood, Adrian Sands…Sands….Adrian Sands?” he sang. The Oracle’s thick shoulders dipped to one side then the other in time to the overhead music, like a pair of overweight merry-go-round ponies. That same stupid jingle greeted Adrian every time he came here. “Not that I don’t just
adore
the brooding type.”

Don’t respond.

And what was it about always using his full name? Only his mother had that right, and she’d died the day she gave it to him. The spider-line threads that bound Adrian’s heart pulled tighter. Yet another glimpse of the Apothecary curse in action. One of the many reasons Adrian hated prophecy in all its forms—and the main reason why the Oracle loved to pester him.

“Ohh and bitter.” The Oracle clicked his thick tongue, but his attention held on the monitor.

Do. Not. Respond.

The Oracle’s head swiveled atop the thick folds of his neck. His thin lips pursed to one side. “Boy, you need a vacation or a massage or something.”

How does someone lisp with a tongue that big? Probably something he’d mastered over several centuries. Oracles had an unusual lifespan. Unlike Apothecaries—thank God. Death, at the ripe ole age of sixty or so, would be Adrian’s one release from his loveless misery. But then again, in death he would probably be written in the night sky, a perpetual arm’s-length from his one true love. That’s the kind of fate the universe hands you when you go screwing with the world’s most famous star-crossed lovers.

Or if your grandfather does it for you. Or even your great-great-great grandfather—

“Why, you pouty little drama queen. You’re darkening my entire domicile.” The Oracle lifted his head from the screen and snapped the laptop shut.

Adrian crossed his arms. “I haven’t said a word.” Until now. Damn it. Adrian closed his eyes and tossed out his mental stopwatch. No telling how long it would take now. “Just get to the point.”

“How am I supposed to make a living here, selling joy toys to the masses, with you acting all—” The Oracle waved his arms in a conjuring motion. “—wilty-wallflower on me.”

“The point. You do have one, right?”

“Your heart hasn’t even been broken yet.” The Oracle continued his rant unhindered.

Adrian plucked a travel-sized packet of lube from its clear, plastic candy bin and pretended to study the back label. He muttered under his breath. “Could have had a million other guides, and this is what I’m stuck with. An attention-deficient deity.”

The Oracle’s lips twisted in mock disgust. “Love sucks. You’re a hermit beyond your years, boy.” The Oracle turned. “Why did I bring you here, anyway?”

“Is that rhetorical?”

The Oracle’s grotesque orange and yellow, candy-corn sweater jiggled as he let out a pelican’s bark of laughter. “Of course it’s a rhetorical. I already know why I brought you. I know
everything
.”

“Then you shouldn’t need
anything
from me.”

“I don’t.”

Adrian paused. Most days, he could pacify his urge to strangle the deity and keep his opinions in check, but this time proved more difficult.

He’d forgotten just how powerful Shauna’s pheromones had been and about their unpredictable half-life. The effect on him was wearing off, but as always, it came with the most annoying of adverse reactions.

Angst.

That love’s lost, heart-sickened, why-don’t-I-eat-a-bullet feeling that always overcame him. The entire basis for gauging just how dangerous Shauna could be for him. And vice versa.

A cold net of awareness collapsed over Adrian. Good hell. The Oracle’s timing couldn’t have been better, and judging by the Oracle’s smarmy expression, he’d planned it like that. Adrian wasn’t here for some sordid task. He had been summoned…for entertainment?

He narrowed his vision to the Oracle’s slender nose. It didn’t really fit his face. Pointy, not bloody enough. It could stand some rearranging. As far as mortality went, the common cockroach didn’t have nothin’ on these guys. To die, Oracles must suffer a violent death. And for that job, Adrian just might start polishing his resume.

He stepped forward, ready to hurdle the counter.

The Oracle raised both hands. “Okay, okay. I do want one thing.”

“Get to it then,” Adrian snapped.

The Oracle’s thick tongue darted out, and then disappeared again. He glanced to the Eunuch whose thin frame skulked out from the cyan and fuchsia beaded curtain that guarded the back room.

The Eunuch moved forward with an outstretched hand, his smile strained and bright. Several dollars were clamped between his bony fingers.

Adrian frowned. “What’s this?” But the guy didn’t speak, not in front of the deity. A lesson Adrian still hadn’t mastered.
Damn it
.

Adrian’s attention rounded back to the Oracle as he drum-soloed along with the pulsing overhead music. His eyes squeezed shut in rapture, a pink, jelly dildo in one fist and a blue one in the other. They flopped back and forth, smacking the laptop’s cover then the Oracle’s wrist, and back again.
Sure hope those don’t find their way into some lady’s purse later.
Adrian swallowed back the gag that threatened to mar his hopefully impassive features.

“Maybe I should come back. When you’re medicated.”

“Already told you, Adrian Sands, I don’t need medication to function.” He wanded one dildo along the chair-puddled length of his body. “This is one-hundred percent pure awesomeness. Connecting to my enlightened state—”