Easy Bake Coven (3 page)

After we settled on the wonderful patio and ordered our drinks, Leslie flicked her stick-straight, dark blonde hair behind her shoulder. “So what was that all about?”

“What?”

“Something scared you. I can still feel your uneasiness.”

I narrowed my eyes. There was no way she heard me talking to Kelly from the doorway. “We don’t use our abilities on each other,” I reminded her as I took a sip of water.

“Yeah, well, it isn’t so easy to turn off.” She played with the knife next to her plate, distracted. “Stop being evasive. It isn’t often anything bothers you. What happened?”

It was hard to hide things from an empath. Leslie could feel the emotions of others if she focused on them. It wasn’t a debilitating gift, but it probably wasn’t a fun one either. I normally didn’t have an issue with it. I believed in thinking through a problem before reacting to it. I wasn’t an emotional woman, so she didn’t have anything to sense most of the time. I sighed and shared the story once again.

“Freaky. I would’ve run away or called the cops.” She laughed. “Probably both.”

I had no doubt she meant it, too. “It was just weird. I’m sure it was nothing. So tell me about the Beltane festival.”

“Oh you know, bonfires, dancing naked under the moon, becoming one with the earth . . . same old, same old. The enactment of the ritual union was really good this year. You should come sometime.”

I struggled to keep from wrinkling my nose. I wasn’t what one would call outdoorsy. It took a second to get past the idea of willingly spending days in the woods for her words to fully process. “You danced naked with strangers?”

She nodded with a giddy smile.

“Whore.”

We both laughed, knowing I didn’t mean anything by it. The girls and I always called each other mean names in jest. We had that level of comfort with one another that could only be born from complete acceptance. “That’s a Devin thing to do.”

Leslie’s brown eyes twinkled. “You would’ve done it too. You should’ve seen some of the guys there. Um, wow.”

“Huh.” The mental image of unshaven, dirty, woodsy, Unabomber type men filled my mind.

“Speaking of completely hot men,” Leslie grinned, “how’s Michael?”

“Michael’s great. He has something planned for tonight. He’s being all secretive about it, but he says I should dress up.”

I’d been dating Michael Christian for about eight months, and he was perfect. Literally perfect. There was nothing to complain about with him. We never fought, I felt special and adored whenever I was with him, and we had the same goals in life. Michael was the first man I’d dated for more than a few weeks. He owned a jewelry store down the street from my studio. We ran into each other several times before we became friends, and then he asked me out. Being with Michael was simple and uncomplicated, just the way I liked things. I still hadn’t taken him home to meet my grandmother, but I’d met his family and planned to introduce him to Gram when the time was right.

“So are you two ever going to get married, move in together, anything?” She leaned in with girlish glee.

I scoffed. “We’re perfectly happy with the way things are.”

Leslie’s eyebrows pulled together. “You know, sometimes I think the only reason you’re still with him is because you’re comfortable with your life being in stasis.”

“That’s how I like it.”

“That’s no fun. Where is the fun? The surprise? The excitement?”

“I hate surprises,” I said flatly. “Does that make me no fun?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re too serious, Selene. If you’d just let life happen and not plan every moment of it, you might be surprised by what you learn about yourself.”

“Says the girl who’s getting her doctorate while working, what is it, three jobs? Are you telling me—”

Movement across the street caught my eye. Cheney Hunt—if he’d given me his real name—stood leaning against the light post, his arms folded over his chest and aviator sunglasses covering his eyes. He was a bit too far away to be certain it was him, but my gut told me it was. I could practically feel his stare searing into me.

“Am I telling you what?” Leslie asked, taking a drink with an amused expression.

“He’s behind you,” I hissed.

“What?” She jumped, twisting around in her seat frantically.

“Stop making a scene. The man from the studio this morning is across the street. Right there.” I nodded in his direction.

Leslie dropped her napkin behind her. “Whoops.” She turned slowly to pick it up.

If he was watching us, there was no way he’d be fooled by that. Irritation built. Who was this man, and how dare he follow me? I slammed my chair back and stood up. “I’ve had enough of this.”

I stomped back through the restaurant and outside with only my cell phone clutched in my hand. I crossed the street, paying no heed to the oncoming traffic squealing to a stop around me.

As I got close, Hunt’s lean, muscled frame came into focus, as well his high, almost fine cheekbones that seemed incongruent with the wild glint in his eyes. When I reached him, he shook his head in a disgusted manner. “You always did like to make a scene.”

“What are you talking about?” I crossed my arms. “I don’t know you. I’ve never met you. Stop following me.”

He took a slow crunching bite out of an apple that seemed to appear out of nowhere. The shoppers walking down the sidewalk stared and pressed themselves as far away from us as they could. “Stop playing games. There. Isn’t. Time,” he said, punctuating each word with a glare.

“You have the wrong person.”

A slow smile crept across his face. “That’s damn near impossible.”

“Argh!” I threw my hand up in the air. Despite the small, horrified voice in my head telling me to stop making a scene, there was no rational thought in my mind. I was angry and annoyed to my very core at this complete stranger. I took a deep breath. “Look, I’m not whoever you think I am. I promise you, I’ve never seen you before in my entire life. What do I have to do to prove that?”

“You are Selene Warren from New Haven. You are 26 years old. Your grandmother’s name is Edith Meriweather and you haven’t told her you’re a practicing witch yet. You graduated from college summa cum laude in political science. You went to your high school prom with Daniel Waterman and wore a—” he paused for a moment with a faraway look in his eyes, “gray silk and lace gown. You probably would’ve looked better in a warmer, more golden color, but you never really look bad, do you, Selene?”

I sputtered and had no words to counter with because he was exactly right. How could he know that? He didn’t go to high school with me. There was no way I would’ve forgotten or missed him. The only thing I managed to squeak was, “The dress didn’t come in gold.”

He gave me an annoyed, patronizing smile. “A shame.”

“Who are you?” I whispered.

He reached out, but his hand stopped short of touching me and he held it there for a moment before letting it fall back to his side with a sigh. “I told you.”

“Selene!” Leslie’s voice came from across the street.

I glanced over, feeling like a heavy weight was pressed into my chest, but when I looked back Cheney was gone. I searched up and down the sidewalk for him, but there was nothing. A moment later a hand touched on my shoulder. I whirled around.

“It’s okay. It’s me.” Concern colored Leslie’s face. “What are you doing?”

“Did you see where he went?”

“Who?”

“The guy I was talking to. The one from the studio this morning.”

She shook her head slowly. “I didn’t see anyone, Selene.”

I didn’t go back to the studio after lunch. I texted Kelly that I had a headache and went home. My work could wait one more day. I got in the shower and turned the water as hot as it would go, letting it rain over me until it burned and made me hiss with pain. I eased the cold water on and the temperature reached a relaxing point. I tried to wash away the strange day. Cheney must have gone to my high school. It was the only conclusion that made sense. Maybe he was a nerdy kid who filled out as he got older and I didn’t remember him. But why would he come looking for me now, and what did he mean there wasn’t time? There wasn’t time for what?

When my skin was sufficiently pruned, though I was no closer to answers, I got out and toweled off. Wrapping my gold silk robe around me, I padded through my closet into my bedroom and lay down on my bed, biting the inside of my cheek. I left all of my yearbooks at Gram’s house when I moved away, so I couldn’t look him up, but I couldn’t sit still either. I got up and slipped my cell phone out of my purse, scrolling through my contact list until I came to Emma Ewing, the closest thing to a best friend I’d had in high school. She also never left New Haven and knew practically everyone. If anyone would remember him, it’d be her.

“Hello,” Emma’s clear voice came through the line.

“Hey, Em, it’s Selene.”

“Oh my god,
Selene
. How are you? It’s been ages. I was just thinking about you the other day.”

“Oh, I’m great. How are you?”

“Fantastic. You know Nick and I got married, right? We’re expecting our first baby.” A shrill, excited sound came through the receiver and made me hold it away from my ear.

“That’s wonderful! Congratulations,” I said with genuine enthusiasm. Emma had dated Nick since the eighth grade. It was amazing it took them this long to get married.

“How about you? Are you seeing anyone?”

“Um, yeah. I’ve been seeing a guy for a while.” My mind raced with ways to steer the conversation back on target. I didn’t really want to play catch up, because that’s what Facebook was for. “I ran into someone today. I think he was from high school. Do you remember a Cheney Hunt who went to school with us?”

“Hmmm, Cheney? No, the name isn’t familiar. Did he say what year he graduated?”

“I didn’t even think to ask.”
Damn it, damn it, damn it.

“I’ll ask Nick tonight and see if he knows. I saw your grandma the other day. She was giving hell to a meter maid.”

Heh. Gram was a feisty old broad.

“I swear, I thought the poor woman trying to give her a ticket for double parking was going to cry.”

“If anyone could make her, it’d be Gram.”

Emma laughed. “When are you coming to visit again? We should have lunch.”

“Yeah, that would be awesome. I don’t have plans to come at the moment. The studio sucks up most of my time, but soon. I’ll give you a call.” I paused for a moment. “Oh, I have another call coming through. I’ll talk to you later, Em.”

I hung up, feeling slightly guilty about lying and supremely frustrated that I was no closer to Cheney’s identity. Someone had to know Cheney. I didn’t make him up. I couldn’t explain why Leslie hadn’t seen him. She must’ve missed him—maybe I obscured him from her view. I called Grandma. Maybe she’d know something. The phone rang and rang and rang. Grandma refused to get an answering machine, and you’d think voicemail was inviting the devil into your house if you listened to her talk about it. I pressed end again and tossed the phone back in my purse. Foiled.

I tried to distract myself by thinking about Michael—smart, sweet, courteous, responsible Michael. He never played video games and often surprised me with tickets to the opera and theater. We were perfect together; we made sense. On top of all of that, he was also kick-me-in-the-teeth gorgeous. Tall with blond hair, wide shoulders, chiseled features, and cornflower blue eye—just thinking about him made me sigh. I got pretty lucky with this one.

I wandered back to my closet and picked out a taupe sheath dress with a tie waist and a cluster of rosettes on the shoulder that highlighted my naturally gold skin. I let my hair fall in a natural wave, loose and flowing over my shoulders, then applied a mauve tinted lip gloss and a bit of eyeliner and mascara. Looking at the finished product in the mirror, I smiled. All in all the effect was exactly what I hoped it would be: approachable, but mysterious. Touchable, but forbidden. Lips that were utterly kissable. Michael Christian wouldn’t know what hit him.

The door bell rang promptly at eight causing my cat, Stewie, to run and hide because he hated pretty much everyone but me. Michael stood at my door with a bouquet of pink roses and a gorgeous smile.