Wicked Game (11 page)

His face lightened slightly, his expression becoming more neutral. There was something soft, almost sweet in his eyes and she was entranced by them, almost forgetting why she had been so upset. She didn’t recoil as he stepped forwards, his hand brushing her cheek, his lips kissing away her tears.

“
Hazelle,” he breathed her name heavily with repressed lust, and she responded to that, both emotionally and physically, wanting him, needing him.

The phone ringing brought her harshly back to reality and reminded her that she had responsibilities. When she was with Kaden the world fell away, time was suspended, the earth ceased to turn and all that was, all that could ever be was them, her and him, him and her, united in a common goal. They may go about it in different ways but she realised then that they both ultimately wanted the same thing.

To be happy.

She hurried to answer the phone in her mother’s bedroom, aware of dark eyes watching her.

“Hello?”

“
Hey, it’s Sophie. You good to go today?”

Hazelle relaxed and smiled.

“Yes…yes thank you, I’m feeling better.”

“
Glad to hear it. See you soon.”

“
Bye.”

Hazelle hung up.

“You’re going to work?” Kaden asked, his voice so light she couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or not. Sometimes he seemed to forget she still had a human life to live. Despite how close they’d become sometimes he was as much a mystery to her as he had been on the first night, when he’d been wearing nothing except a sardonic smile and the only thing he’d been able to think about was getting into her knickers.

“
Yes, I’m better now. You’ll be okay on your own, won’t you?”

“
I’m a demon, not a child,” he said sarcastically, “I might catch the next part of that riveting soap opera we were watching yesterday.”

“
Have fun.”

She went to her room to get ready for work. While combing her hair, staring into the mirror in a trance, she had an epiphany. She threw down her comb with a clatter and rooted through her drawer for the spell book she had hidden there, the one Kaden had insisted was useless to her now. Though she’d conceded on that front for some reason she hadn’t been able to let it go. She stashed it in her handbag before Kaden saw it, shrugging on her jacket and closing the door behind her.

Kaden was not loitering on the landing; he was in the kitchen, topless still, drinking milk from the bottle without pausing for breath. She crinkled her nose at his unhygienic practice though she wasn’t about to criticise a demon, especially not so early in the morning.

She had a thought and jotted down her cell phone number, and the number for her desk at work.

“If you need me for anything,” she said, handing him the scrap of paper. He didn’t make a scornful remark this time. “See you later.”

In a surprise move he gripped her wrist as she was turning away. When she glanced back she saw the lust smouldering in his eyes like flame, the beast in him rearing its head and his sex straining at his pants.

“I can think of better ways to say goodbye,” he drawled, so confident, so sure of himself. He tugged Hazelle to him, with little resistance on her part, and when he pressed his lips against hers in a scorching kiss she responded, naturally.

“
Woah,” she panted when he released her, giddy with glee. The kiss had taken her breath away, like no kiss had before. He was certainly living up to his reputation.

At the office she was rushed off her feet. They had a lot of catching up to do as Sophie hadn’t been able to do everything herself the day before, something that made Hazelle feel a little guilty. Between fetching coffee for David, writing memos and fixing the photocopier she barely had any time spare to think about Kaden or Chris, so it caught her off guard when Sophie broached the subject.

“Who is Kaden then?” she asked mischievously, giving her a playful wink as she wiped ink from her hands. Hazelle’s blouse was already stained, possibly ruined.

“
How do you know his name?” Hazelle asked suspiciously. Had he called while Hazelle was away from her desk?

Sophie shrugged, a slight smile on her sweet, unassuming face.

“
I overheard Mr Thompson on the phone talking to your mom. They seemed quite impressed by him. Did he send you the flowers?”

Hazelle froze. With her illness and Kaden’s strop she had forgotten about the flowers, the ones she now knew Chris had sent.

“Where are the flowers?” she asked calmly. She couldn’t let it show that anything was wrong, couldn’t let the world see how weak she really was. If she couldn’t deal with a creepy stalker like Chris then there was no way she could control a diabolic demon like Kaden.

“
In the staff room…I thought they might brighten up the place. I hope you don’t mind?”

Hazelle didn’t answer; she was already striding away, down the corridor, past the busy offices to the staff room. The flowers were sat in the same, simple crystal vase, on the table as a centrepiece. She could see they were already wilting despite the water, as her love for Chris had wilted and died. The shiny raven feather teased her conscience, and she tried to fathom where she had seen one before, apart from the ritual that had brought forth Kaden. Did Chris know she had
experimented with witchcraft? Did he know about Kaden? If he did he should have the good sense to stay away until Kaden was gone, but seeing as his mind was slightly unhinged he could be forgiven for not thinking like a normal, sane human being that didn’t have a death wish.

She picked up the flowers and dropped them unceremoniously into the trash, vase and all, hearing the tinkle of broken crystal and brushing her hands together after, trying to wipe away the residue of Chris. If only it was that easy. She marched back to reception with her head held high, Sophie watching her apprehensively, and offered her a smile.

“The flowers don’t matter anymore,” she told Sophie, managing to keep her voice neutral, “Please don’t mention them ever again.”

“
Okay,” Sophie said slowly, sounding baffled that Hazelle couldn’t be swayed by such an expensive bouquet of flowers. Sophie failed to realise they were not the grand gesture they seemed. They were a threat, a warning that Chris hadn’t finished making her life a misery quite yet.

Hazelle was currently past caring what other people thought of her. She threw herself back into her work, with a vague hope that Kaden might call her. She trusted he wouldn’t burn down the house, explode the TV or flood the kitchen, so if he did call maybe it meant he wanted to talk to her as much as she wanted to talk to him.

Kaden didn’t call, but somebody else did.

“
Mr Thompson’s office, how can I help you?”

“
Did you like the flowers?”

Hazelle closed her eyes at the sound of Chris’s husky voice. She usually didn’t have much of a temper, too shy to act out in anger,
though right now she could feel her blood boiling. This was all part of his wicked game. He was trying to make her feel the way she had before, so small, so worthless, so helpless. She was determined not to let him win this time.

“
You need to stop calling me Chris, for your own sake, and for mine. This isn’t good for you, for either of us. You know you’re not supposed to have any contact with me,” Hazelle told him firmly, her voice clear and concise. Luckily Sophie was away from her station or Hazelle didn’t know what she’d have said.

“
The occult, Hazelle? Really, I didn’t expect you to go to such extreme measures to rid me from your life. You know magic isn’t real baby, but I can make you feel pretty fucking magical.”

The occult store. The one she had visited to find a way to banish Kaden. Now it made sense. She had seen the raven feathers in the window, as part of the macabre display. He must have been stalking her, spying on her, the way he had been when she couldn’t pass wind without him knowing about it. His unhealthy obsession had been re-ignited.

“Stay the fuck away from me, Chris. I mean it this time.”

She slammed the phone down, fuming and more than a little frightened. He was dangerous, she remembered how unpredictable he was, how possessive, how poisonous and how he would go to any lengths to have her. So now she had to take charge, she had to break tradition and find a way to keep him from her.

She extracted the book from her handbag, the one she had been flicking through earlier on her lunch break, the one she hoped she could rely on now. She stroked the laminated cover, tracing the indent of a pentagram with her finger.

He had left her with no other choice.

She was going to have to curse Chris.

Chapter Seven

Between work and Kaden Hazelle didn’t have much time to research curses. With a sex demon sniffing around her privacy was a luxury that was far and in-between. She sneaked glances at the book between typing invoices at work, when she went to the bathroom, during late lunches when she was alone in the staffroom and when Kaden was too distracted by soap operas to harass her. She bought other books, from light-hearted history of witchcraft and wise women to full blown, black magic books that depicted horrific injuries and deadly diseases she could inflict upon Chris. She disregarded them, knowing that as much as she loathed Chris she couldn’t do any harm to a living creature without suffering from the consequences herself. Whatever she did to him, however she
banned him from her life would have to be pain-free and permanent.

She reverted to the original spell book, the one that had instructed her on how to
worship demons, the one that had brought Kaden to her. At least she knew those spells were genuine, and if she ever doubted that she had the tangible evidence before her eyes, eating all her food, sleeping in her bed, pleasuring her in her dreams. Kaden kept up the charade of being human, unquestioned, unchallenged, but Hazelle could see he was far from satisfied with the situation. She wondered if he had ever been this long on the human plane without real, physical, sexual contact outside the realm of dreams.

Eventually she
decided the best course of action was not a curse but a charm, one that was used to forget unhealthy and unhelpful thoughts. She would tweak it slightly to suit her purposes and make it a kind of curse, one that would obliterate Chris’s memory. If he couldn’t remember his own name then he wouldn’t be able to remember hers, or where she lived, or what she looked like, or who she was, or how he desired her. She would double the ingredients to give the spell an extra punch and guarantee there was no way for him to claw his way back to her this time.

The spell was complicated and called for a lot of ingredients, some that could be found in a typical kitchen or any mall across the country, many that couldn’t. Lavender, thyme, fig leaves, black candles she had, but the scales of a snake shed under the light of a full moon and a mummified rabbit's foot? She was fresh out of those. Fortunately, she knew
of a place she could get them.

After the weekend, spent with Kaden lounging around the house and running errands, work just seemed like another chore, one she had to get through before she could do what she was determined to. Sophie was on vacation, a postponed romantic one with her fiancé, and the temp that had taken her place was reserved, almost standoffish, keeping to herself and minding her own business. Hazelle usually found people like that rude and disagreeable.
Today she was glad for it. If the woman were to ask Hazelle what she was up to after work Hazelle was so stressed, so anxious she didn’t think she’d be able to lie.

When five o’clock came round Hazelle called a quick farewell to David, grabbed her jacket and dashed from the office. It was a warm day, the early spring breeze tousling her hair as she stood on the street corner, scanning suspiciously for any sign of Chris stalking her. She was always on her guard these days, every hair on end, every nerve on edge, every muscle conscious of the fact that he could be lurking nearby, in a shadowy alley or one of the cars with tinted windows, watching her, enjoying her, desiring her from afar and plotting to take her, though hopefully not for much longer, if all went to plan.

She drove to the occult store with the window rolled down, feeling stifled and sticky, too warm and nervous about what she was going to attempt. The book told her what would happen if the spell worked successfully, but it had given her no indication as to what would happen if she cast the spell incorrectly. Would it backfire? Would she lose her memory instead? She didn’t think it would do well not to remember herself around a sex starved demon like Kaden. It was just a risk she was going to have to take.

She parked around the corner from the store, where her car hopefully wouldn’t be seen by Chris if he was skulking around. She kept her eyes peeled for him, looking all around her, spinning as she walked and stumbling in her heels. She would have to invest in more appropriate footwear for avoiding stalkers.

The street was deserted, quiet with only a couple of empty cars and a foul smelling smog spilling out from a grate. Satisfied, she stood before the store, the raven feathers and dusty crystal ball still sat in the window, cracked crystal reflecting her distorted, pale, frightened face back at her. Shaking her head and closing her eyes she knew she had to get a grip. Doubt was her enemy and hesitation meant she was more likely to make a mistake when it came to casting the spell.

She opened the door, the little tinkle of the bell alerting whoever was working today that they had a visitor. With the clatter of the bead curtain Hazelle looked up, expecting to see Marguerite glowering at her, her face permanently disapproving of anything Hazelle did. Hazelle had mentally been prepping herself for an argument with the older woman,
and she was taken aback by the small, pretty, delicate looking girl that stood before her, no older than sixteen or seventeen, her curly mahogany hair falling across coffee coloured skin with much more carefree innocence than her mother. If this wasn’t Marguerite’s daughter Hazelle would eat those raven feathers.

“
Can I help you?” she asked politely, her caramel eyes so warm and welcoming. Apparently she had even less of the family intuition than her mother did.

“
Yes…I’m looking for Marguerite, is she here?” Hazelle was sure the girl would sell her the spell ingredients she required, but she’d rather consult with someone who had more experience. The girl was too young and almost too pretty to be a witch.

“
She’s out grocery shopping. I’m her daughter, Johanna.”

“
Johanna!” a voice rasped from beyond the veil of beads.

“
I’m with a customer, Mama Belle,” Johanna called, keeping her voice light and breezy, though Hazelle could see her scowling.

There was no retort.

“What can I help you with?” Johanna asked pleasantly, as if they hadn’t been interrupted. Hazelle was intrigued by the voice beyond the veil, believing it to be the girl’s grandmother.

“
I need some ingredients. It’s quite a long and bizarre list,” Hazelle said apologetically, holding out the scrap of paper she had used to jot down the components of the spell.

“
Then you came to the right place.”

Johanna took the paper, unfolded it, and skimmed the contents.

“You weren’t kidding. Are you a practising witch? I didn’t get that vibe from you,” Johanna asked, sounding surprised.

“
Oh no! This will only be my second spell.”

“
Well these ingredients are rather exotic for a second spell,” Johanna muttered, frowning down at the list, “Powdered horn of narwhale, sun ripened honey, bats wings, raven feathers…”

“
She’s casting a memory curse.”

The voice came unbidden from beyond the bead curtain, stronger than before, less hoarse and commanding more attention. Johanna paused and turned towards the voice.

“Bring the girl to me.”

Hazelle had been curious to see the old woman, but that was before she had been busted. Would she now be denied what she needed? She didn’t know of any other occult store in the
city and doubted they would be as well stocked as this one. Hazelle was half tempted to snatch the list from Johanna’s hands and make a run for it, though that would have been risky in heels and she would still be stuck at square one, with an insufferable stalker and a sex demon she wasn’t so sure she wanted to be rid of now.

Johanna touched Hazelle’s shoulder gently and guided her to the curtain. It swayed in the breeze ever so slightly and beyond it Hazelle could see a sort of gloomy storeroom, firelight licking at brass candelabras and dancing across a bookcase crammed with tattered volumes, some of them looking as if the spines had been stained with blood. What had she gotten herself into? Blood, and sex, and black magic.

She swallowed nervously and glanced back at Johanna, who suddenly didn’t look so sweet and innocent with her face half hidden in shadow. She swept back the curtain for Hazelle, granting her entry to an area that was clearly out of bounds for an ordinary customer. Hazelle didn't know if she should feel privileged or like a prisoner. She hesitated before stepping over the threshold, warmth from the fire failing to unravel the knot of ice that had settled in her stomach. Johanna was behind her, letting the curtain swing back into place with a rattle of beads.

The room was small and stuffy, a thick layer of dust covering almost everything, giving off a musty, derelict smell. There was no natural light, the windows covered by blankets nailed to the
rotting wooden frames, promising perpetual darkness if it hadn’t have been for the fire and the few candles scattered around the room. There were many random odds and ends that didn’t belong in the main store, torn books, rusted daggers, soiled robes and cracked crystal balls like the one she had seen in the window. Hazelle almost missed the bundle of purple and mauve scarves and shawls in the corner, and wasn’t able to distinguish a face until it spoke.

“
Come closer child,” the old woman wheezed, beckoning with a wizened, claw like hand. 

Hazelle looked back at Johanna but she was distracted, gazing into the fire, her eyes reflecting the flames. There was something strange about this family, even for witches.

Hazelle took a tentative step towards the old witch slouched in a Victorian armchair, her feet resting on a faded poufy, wrapped from head to toe in scarves and shawls, one resting on her head like a turban. Her eyes reflected the fire too, though they were not golden but shimmering white with blindness.

“
Closer,” she crooned, gesturing again.

Hazelle obliged her, coming as close as she dared to, wishing she had just bought the stuff she needed and left quickly. Her curiosity for th
is witch was far from quelled, and as mysterious as Marguerite was this woman actually
looked
like a witch, like some voodoo high priestess that could predict the future and control the dead. Hazelle was dealing with demons though, not death.

“
You have darkness all around you, clinging to you, suffocating your aura,” the witch muttered ominously, frowning, “There is great darkness in your life, and great passion.”

Oh, she
had that right. Kaden was a lot of things, he was darkness, and passion, and danger, desire and delight. He infuriated her, charmed her, fascinated her and confused her more than any human ever could. But she hadn’t come about him, not this time.

“
Why do you wish to cast a memory curse?” the witch asked bluntly, with none of the politeness of her granddaughter and all of the directness of her own daughter.

“
I do have darkness in my life,” Hazelle agreed, her voice quivering, “And I wish to rid myself of it.”

“
Come closer child, do not be afraid.”

Hazelle glanced back at Johanna who was watching the scene unfold silently. She shrugged and kept her distance, looking as disturbed by her own grandmother as Hazelle felt.

The old woman was smiling softly, her hand outstretched, waiting patiently. She didn’t smell like a kindly old woman, like lavender and home cooked dinners, instead she smelt like sandalwood and patchouli, with a hint of the spice she could sometimes smell on Kaden’s skin, especially when he was aroused. Maybe it had something to do with the magic coursing through their veins, seeping from their skin, intoxicating and otherworldly. The scent of pure power surrounded this witch, and lingered in her descendants.

When Hazelle knelt by the witch she pressed a withered palm to Hazelle’s cheek. Her skin was like old leather, dark, very warm and
well aged, yet somehow comforting. Hazelle resisted the urge to break down and cry, to weep and beg for help in expelling the darkness from her life.

“
You have a good heart, Hazelle. Despite the darkness trying to destroy you I can see that, even if I am blind.”

“
Thank you,” Hazelle said quietly, not knowing what else to say to such a compliment.

“
Give her what she needs,” the witch raised her voice, talking to her granddaughter now.

“
Yes, Mama Belle.”

The old witch removed her hand, her eyes staring straight ahead, through Hazelle, as if seeing something that Hazelle couldn’t. Taking that as a dismissal Hazelle stood, brushing dust and cobwebs from her knees, oddly glad to have met the old woman and somewhat encouraged by her support. If she were doing wrong, if she were incapable of doing this, if she couldn’t deal with the consequences than surely an experienced witch like this would have warned her off it?

Johanna was waiting for her by the bead curtain, holding it back.

“
Remember child, light and dark cannot exist in harmony forever. One must defeat the other or both are doomed to die.”

Hazelle paused at the curtain, glancing back at the old woman, filled with undeniable dread.