Spellbound: A magical sequel to Bewitched (7 page)

* * *

Following my mother’s advice after the coffee incident, Madison and I spend most nights chatting on the phone. Old school, but it’s the only way we can have a conversation without me snarling at anyone who gets close to her or pawing at her like a monkey with a pet kitten. Sadly, this is probably the best we can do until the curse is broken. Or she breaks up with me. I’m beginning to think the latter is eminent. We’re long distance dating across a small college campus.
 

I’ve even moved seats in Philips’ class after our meeting with him. Hamilton happily assumed the empty chair next to her meant he should occupy it. Earlier this week he loaned her a pen, my old move. I’m sure there are indentations in the old wood table from my nails digging into the underside as I’ve tried to resist punching him whenever he opens his mouth or looks at her.

Tonight’s conversation has moved on from the daily update to our families. If she isn’t scared away from my terrible mood and behavior, there’s nothing left to lose by telling her the truth about my family.

“I changed my name to my mother’s maiden name when I turned eighteen and returned to Salem. My father couldn’t control me anymore and I’ve always felt more like a Wildes than a Bradford.”

“Like the Mayflower Bradfords?” she asks.

“The same. My father can recite each generation and connection by memory. He’s obsessed with history and tradition.”

“You’re old school New England.”

I grin to myself. “The oldest.”

“My grandmother will have such a crush on your lineage. She loves the old families.” She giggles.
 

“I hope to meet her some day.”

“Careful what you wish for. She’ll ask you a million questions.”

“I have relatives who fought in Concord and Lexington, too.”

“Watch out. She’ll ply you with caramels and make you sit next to her on the couch.”

“Should I be worried she’ll try to steal me away from you?”

“I’m younger and quicker.”

“How would she feel about me if she knew I was a witch?”

She pauses and I swear I can hear her tapping her fingers on her desk. When she speaks again, her voice is full of worry. “I’m not sure. Unlike you, my family never talks about magic or our infamous relative.”

Understandable. Those conversations can wait for when or if Madison discovers her own abilities. If. There’s no guarantee that after she turns twenty-one her magic will reveal itself. Assuming she’s inherited skills from her ancestor. It’s possible there’s nothing magical about her. Although my mother is never wrong about her visions.

Madison continues speaking, “You and Tate are a couple of true blue bloods.”

“Not blue enough for my father. Despite Mom’s family going back to the seventeenth century, she doesn’t have the right lineage. A hanged witch is a black mark on the family tree.” I swallow before continuing, “When things went bad with my mother, he accused her of using spells on him to make him fall in love with her.”

“That’s impossible. I thought you couldn’t manipulate emotions according to the sacred code?”

“Apparently something can. Or someone who doesn’t care for coven laws is breaking them,” I grumble. I don’t tell her about my concerns about dark magic. If I don’t speak the words out loud, the idea will have less power over me. My biggest fear is losing her because of something out of my control.

“I know you think Hamilton has some sort of secret power, but trust me, he doesn’t. Your mother had the coven look into his family. Not a single witch among them going back five generations.”

“Then explain to me again why he’s turned into Mr. Charming while I’m stuck talking to you on the phone?” In annoyance, I flick my pen across the room. “How are your sessions going with the Witch Wildes?”

“We drink a lot of tea while she asks me questions, makes me hold crystals, and stare at things.”

“Any progress?”

“I stared at the cat and silently asked him to get off my notebook. He moved about two minutes later.”

“He’s stubborn.”

“There was a fly in the window he started chasing. If he did hear me, he ignored me. Not exactly setting the world on fire with my mad magic skills.” She softly snorts. “Anything showing up in your research?”

I exhale. “Nothing. I’m drinking gallons of dill water and smell like a pickle.”

“This is temporary. Isn’t it?” Doubt creeps into her voice.
 

“I hope so.” I can’t reassure her because I don’t know. I won’t lie to her. I’m not even sure if I can lie to her. “I miss you. We’ve barely begun and now we’re apart.
 

“I miss you, too.”

“Let me take you out for your birthday. I promise to be on my very best behavior.”

She hesitates before responding. The pause kills me.
 

“Okay, but not a bar crawl or anything wild.”

She doesn’t need to say it, but we both know me taking her to a bar full of drunk guys flirting with her would only end in mayhem.
 

“It’s your twenty-first birthday. Isn’t crazy expected? If you want to spend it out with the girls, I completely understand.”

I barely hear her sigh through my phone.
 

“Sam said she has plans and we’ll go into Boston another time. I’m fine with something quiet as long as I’m with you.”

Of course Sam would lie to her. I think surprise parties are more fun for the people plotting them.

“As long as we’re together, we’ll be fine.” I say the words softly to reassure myself as much as her.

Eight

“Happy twenty-first birthday!” I hold out the bouquet of flowers as a peace offering. Deepest purple, almost black flowers center the small cluster I selected myself. Roses didn’t feel right—too cliché for a girl like Madison.

“You didn’t have to bring me flowers. They’re lovely.” Madison doesn’t move to get up from her nest of books on her bed. The look she gives me is cautious—cautiously pessimistic with a flicker of hope.

“I’m here for our date.” On schedule, I’m standing on the threshold of Madison and Sam’s doorway on November twentieth. I haven’t been invited inside the room, so here I stand, pleading my case.

“You’re early.”

“I’ve missed you. I might have circled the dorm a few times to stall for time.”

She stretches and once again I’m reminded of a house cat. Other than vague answers to my half-dozen questions, neither my mother nor Madison will tell me about their meetings. Madison swears she’s not flying around Salem like a bird or stalking stone walls at night. As far as I know, the coven has never had a shape-shifter in our ranks since the eighteenth century. We’re overdue.

Madison stands and I push off the doorjamb to cross the small space to hug her. I’ve missed her vanilla scent and the way my body envelops hers. Turning the hug into a kiss, I brush my lips over hers before sweeping my tongue inside her mouth.
 

Screw the party. We haven’t been alone in weeks.

I walk her backward until her legs rest against the bed. Bending my right knee, I rest it on the mattress while I slowly lower her down on top of her books. With my free hand, I shove her laptop out of the way before settling on top of her.
 

Horizontal is my new favorite plane.

She kisses me back and tangles her hand through my hair, letting the other hand trail down my back. I curse not removing my jacket before kissing her. The room begins to overheat. Or maybe it’s me.
 

Shifting her body, she wraps her legs around my thighs. Soft moans and murmurs escape her throat as we continue to kiss, letting our tongues spell out what words cannot.
 

Perhaps the key to surviving this curse or hex is to not speak and not be around others. We need a cabin in the woods. Somewhere remote like Maine or Vermont.
 

A phone buzzes and chimes with a text message. The annoying sound breaks our bubble.

Madison pulls her mouth away from mine. I groan and try to recapture her lips.

“I think that’s your phone.” Her voice is breathless.

“No one ever texts me.”

“Ever?” she asks as another text arrives.

Still grumbling, I reach inside my jacket, contemplating throwing the thing out the window. Sam’s name lights up the screen.

We’re ready. Update your ETA.

Right, the party.

I rest my forehead against hers. “I forgot we have reservations. We should probably go.”

Reluctantly I sit up and rest my back against the wall. Madison is a beautiful mess from my lips and hands. Her mouth is red and swollen and her hair is a tangled nest.

“I should probably fix this.” She attempts to run her fingers through her hair.

“You’re perfect.”

“I look ravished.”

“Like I said, perfect.”

With a soft laugh, she pecks my cheek before standing. “I’ll be right back.”

Sitting on her bed waiting for her, I feel my resolve grow stronger. I’m not letting some two-bit curse or broken spell ruin things between Madison and me.
 

While we wait for my mother to present our case to the coven, there’s no reason why we can’t hang out in person.

Other than every time we’re together I turn into some macho, asshole Neanderthal.
 

I don’t even deserve a cave to call my own. Honestly, I’d probably be banished to live alone and take my chances with the mastodons. An outcast even from cave society. How Madison continues to put up with me, I don’t know.

Still waiting on her to return from the bathroom, I stack the books on her bed. I notice they’re all about the Puritans who settled Massachusetts, including Cotton Mather’s book on the witch trials. Nothing like light reading on a Saturday night.
 

Madison comes back and I want to throw her down on the bed for another round. I’m about thirty seconds from thumping my chest like a gorilla and dragging her away like King Kong. I’m sure some women like the whole chest-pounding, grunting he-man act, but that’s not me. Worse, apparently it annoys Madison. That’s pretty much the opposite of what I want to do.
 

I need to quell my inner alpha and get her to the surprise party Sam’s throwing tonight. I’m not sure if Madison even likes surprises. She definitely doesn’t seem to like the surprise twist of my personality change.

Can’t blame her.

“Shall we?” I fake a gentlemanly smile, holding my arm out for her hand.

With one final kiss to the top of her head, I escort her to her twenty-first birthday.

Too busy pouting over my fate, I’ve completely forgotten the power of the date for her.

* * *

My only job tonight is to bring Madison to the Black Book where Sam has arranged for everyone to be waiting. Easy enough. Martha baked a Death by Chocolate cake and volunteered to host the party. Sam’s invited everyone she could think of who Madison might call a friend.
 

I know for a fact Hamilton hasn’t been invited.

Outside the black-painted clapboard house, we pause.

Madison questions my dinner location with a raised eyebrow. “Since when is Martha open for dinner?”

“I put in a special request.” I kiss her once, twice again before resting my hand on the door handle.
 

When I push open the door, the sound of bells jingling alerts the rest of the party. Shouts of, “Surprise!” quickly follow.

Panic and then delight flash across Madison’s face. “What did you do?”

“It’s all Sam’s doing if you’re looking for someone to blame.”

“I’m going to kill her.” Smiling, Madison walks inside.

Imagine my surprise when the lights flick on inside the dark interior of the café and Hamilton is lurking in the back of the crowd like an unwanted bear at a picnic.

Not only do my caveman instincts kick in, but a new sensation of insecurity threatens to overwhelm me.

“Why is he here?” Did she invite him? She laughed at his stupid pun in class this week. When I tighten the grip around her hand, she flexes her fingers between mine. I’m not sure if the gesture is intended to comfort or warn me.
 

“I have no idea.” Her smile remains plastered on her face as she whispers next to my ear.

Sam pushes her way through the crowd. “Happy birthday!”

“What’s all this?” Madison’s hold on my hand hasn’t lessened. I slide my fingers from hers and rest my hand on her lower back.

“It’s your birthday party, silly.” Sam points at the banner of triangles spelling out Madison above the birthday cake also bearing her name.

“Shouldn’t we be at a bar doing shots named after weird sexual acts?” Madison sounds relieved not to be at said bar.

“I figured you’d want something a little bit more classy.” Sam’s worried eyes meet mine. “We have champagne.”

“Madison?” I let my hand trail up her back and give her shoulder a squeeze.
 

“It’s wonderful.” Her eyes shine with tears. Oh, no. I’m not sure how to handle these tears without knowing if they’re happy or sad.

Tate steps around Sam to hug Madison. “Happy Birthday, M.”

His calming presence is welcome. The knot forming between my neck and shoulders lessens.
 

“Andrew, how’s it going?” Tate asks, but his eyes focus on a spot behind me.
 

I don’t need to turn around to tell Hamilton is sucking all the oxygen from the corner. “Good. Fine.”

He slaps my shoulder. “Glad to hear it.”

If he’s trying to absorb my bad mood, he’s once again failing. Still I smile at him and tug Madison closer.

Unfortunately, as the star of this party, everyone wants to wish her happy birthday. We stand near the cake while a never-ending stream of friends repeats the same two words. Most hug her. Some give me the side-eye while others, mostly women, ogle my hand on her shoulder. A few tipsy ones even tell her how hot I am. Loudly. Two feet away from me.

The invisibility scheme appears to still work if alcohol is involved.

I’m thinking we might survive the evening when a gruff laugh precedes Madison being lifted off the ground beside me.