Wicked Game (6 page)

             
And what of the women before her, the ones that hadn't been able to resist him? How did she compare to them?
Could
she compare to them?

             
“Penny for your thoughts.”

             
She glanced up from a transcript she'd been typing, dismayed, but instead of Kaden's perfect face and disdainful dark eyes she saw her boss dressed immaculately in a stylish, thousand dollar suit, ready for a business meeting with the board of directors.               As bosses went Mr Thompson was fair and reasonable, so long as his staff were respectful and reliable. He didn't tolerate tardiness, idleness or discord amongst the staff. She knew she had been flagging today and was about to pay the price.

             
“Sorry sir, I'm a bit tired...I haven't been sleeping well recently...I've been having bad dreams,” she admitted, not going into any detail. The recent dream was still disturbingly fresh in her mind, so vivid, and it was all she could do not to blush at memory of it.

             
He waved his hand dismissively.

             
“That's not what I'm here about,” he said and then he seemed to hesitate, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, unable to look her in the eye, “I was wondering...if...what with it being Valentine’s Day tomorrow if...well...if...”

             
Hazelle stared at him, aghast. He was at least twenty years her senior, if not more, with two kids in college and a recent divorce settlement that had been highly publicised in all the papers. And then there was Kaden, the whimsical, charismatic, sexy incubus. He didn't seem like the jealous type, though she still she dreaded to think how he would react when he learnt she had been asked out by another man.

             
“...if I could take your mother out?”

             
“Oh,” Hazelle said slowly, stunned and humbled. Kaden had made her so much more paranoid.

             
“I just thought...seeing as we are both unmarried and about the same age...and she is beautiful.”

             
There was a slight redness to Mr Thompson's cheeks. Hazelle had never thought to see him shy.

             
“I don't think she has any plans for Valentine’s Day. I got the impression things had cooled off between her and the guy she was seeing. I suppose it wouldn't hurt for you to give her a call.”

             
Hazelle jotted down her mother's cellphone number on a scrap of paper, thinking it might actually be a good idea for her to try dating someone her own age. Mr Thompson was trustworthy enough, he had plenty of money and no wife which would please her mom and he was still attractive for a man of his age, in a silver fox sort of way. When she looked into his warm brown eyes while handing over the number she didn't feel the flicker of fear she felt every time she looked into Kaden's.

             
He thanked her for the number and returned to his office, folding the slip of paper and popping it in the front pocket of his jacket. Hazelle went back to work, a little bewildered, resisting the temptation to call home and make sure Kaden was keeping out of trouble. It was like a constant itch she knew she couldn't scratch, should the infection spread. She had to ignore it, to show that she didn't care about him, didn't think about him, didn't need him.

             
At lunch she ate a chicken salad sub and sent mom a text, not mentioning the potential date coming her way. She wasn't one to interfere in the love life of others and perhaps that was why hers was so bleak, or at least it had been, taking a surprisingly exciting turn of late, one she'd invited but not one she'd ever expected.

             
At five on the dot she grabbed her jacket and clocked out of work, walking to the mail box on the corner to post a few letters and then headed across the street, rummaging through her purse for the car keys. She wasn't paying much attention to where she was going and bumped into someone, rebounding off them and almost falling, managing to steady herself at the last second. She looked up to give a garbled, embarrassed apology, the words in her throat staunched when she saw the simpering, sickening smile of Chris.

             
“What are
you
doing here?” she gasped, her throat constricting as she shook from a combination of anger and adrenaline. She wanted to run, to flee from him, more than she had done when Kaden had appeared naked and horny in her basement. Kaden was a demon but Chris was a snake, a stalker and a master manipulator.

             
“Relax...I was just passing by. This is purely coincidental,” he said casually, his hands in his pockets, glancing over his shoulder at the office block she had come from, “I didn't even know you'd changed jobs.”

             
“You're a liar. I know you checked up on me. You wouldn't have been able to resist.”             

             
If they hadn't been in such a public place she wouldn't have dared to talk to him in that way, knowing how much it must have been infuriating him, knowing she would have to pay the price for it. As it was she knew he couldn't touch her in public, with so many witnesses to see, and he knew that she knew that. He was more cunning than than he looked.

             
“You're not as irresistible as you think you are,” he sneered, but regardless of his words she could see the desire in his dark eyes to have her, to possess her, to own her completely.

             
“Leave me alone,” she said harshly, marching away from him with her head held high, trying not to cry, trying not to show any weakness he could use to his advantage. She knew how his twisted mind worked and she was determined not to let him touch her ever again.

             
“What's the rush?” he shouted scornfully, “Hot date?”             

             
She ignored him. He must have known her life had been empty, lonely, lacklustre and loveless. It was still loveless but she couldn't deny how exciting Kaden was, how something as simple as his touch enticed her, how she wanted more even though she refused him at every turn. Chris would mock her more than anyone if he found out she'd tinkered with the black arts just for a bit of affection.

             
He wouldn't find out. How could he? Kaden didn't exactly have demon stamped on his forehead or branded on one of those prime, perfect buttocks.

             
Fortunately Chris didn't follow her. When she looked back he was gone, though she had the niggling suspicion that this wasn't his first reconnaissance mission, that he knew which car was hers, which office she worked in, and that this wouldn't be the last time she saw him. It was strange that last week she'd had no men in her life and now she had two, a demon and a dirtbag.

             
Now that Chris had revealed himself to her, now that he had made first contact she would have to try and find a new job, or at least move to another department in a different building. It was a pity, she was content with her role there, comfortable with her colleagues, and though she wished she could be brave, confident and not intimidated like all the self-help books taught she was frightened of him. She didn’t know how far he was willing to go to posses her. To most men no meant no, but to Chris no was like a starter pistol, a confirmation of challenge.

             
Hazelle let the tears run freely now that she was safely locked in her car, her vision so blurred she had to dry her eyes before she could drive. She stopped at the mall, remembering to pick up some extra-large underwear for Kaden, not sure if she could survive seeing him again in such tight, snug boxers with her innocence still intact. She checked her make-up in the rear view mirror, wiped away smudged mascara, touched up her lipstick before making her way into the mall.

             
When she'd finished shopping she drove across town to the occult store, a place she'd heard about around the water cooler at Halloween, though never had any reason to visit before. Now that reason was half-naked in her house, eating her food, flirting with her mother.

             
In hindsight this should have been her first port of call when buying ingredients for the summoning spell. She'd have been able to talk to somehow with experience, with knowledge of the magical and mystical forces she had meddled with, maybe someone who would have discouraged her from doing the spell and saved her from this sticky predicament. But that was before she had believed in magic, before she could accept that these people weren't charlatans out to make a quick buck or two from other people's misery and desperation.

             
Well, she was desperate now and she was willing to give them every last nickel she had if they could help her fix this mess.

             
The store was a little shabby on the outside; not surprising seeing that it was in such a shoddy area of downtown where drug dealing, muggings and rapes were more comment than hot dinners. The neighbouring stores consisted of a tobacconists, two liquor stores and a grungy looking tattoo parlour that was blasting out heavy metal music. This was the last place she'd wish to be seen by her co-workers, or worse, her mother.

             
She looked back at the occult store, paint peeling from the weathered shutters, some rusted shut. The large display window was dirty and smeared, a frayed fuchsia curtain hanging as a backdrop that hid the rest of the store from view. A cracked crystal ball was on display with a smattering of raven feathers, scattered gemstones in an array of colours and bird bones strewn across a star spangled scarf. There was no name printed on the door but there could be no mistaking that this was the right place.

             
There was the soft tinkle of a bell above her head as she opened the door hesitantly, alerting any staff to a potential customer or, considering the dire neighbourhood, a two-bit thief. It was gloomy inside, most of the natural light blocked by shutters, candles and oil lamps around the room doing little to alleviate the darkness. The whole place smelt strongly of sandalwood and she saw incense burning on the counter, silver smoke lingering in the fragrant hush, making her feel slightly nauseous.

             
It was like an old fashioned collection of curiosities, before museums had existed, with bookcases crammed full of mouldy books, cabinets boasting all manner of intriguing and obscure objects that she would have stopped to examine had she not been so dedicated to her cause. The breeze fluttered a black bead curtain hanging in a doorway, and a moment later it was parted by the hands of the woman that walked through it, her hair wrapped in a tight, high bun, the brown streaked with grey though her face showed little sign of ageing. She was dressed in a long, flowing magenta skirt and a hand woven shirt, a multitude of gold chains varying in length hanging from her neck and huge loop earrings dangling from her ears, reminding Hazelle very much of a gypsy.               Gypsy or not, she didn't look pleased to see Hazelle.

             
“What can I do for you?” she asked, her voice clipped and with a hint of the creole accent Hazelle recognised from her high-school trip to New Orleans.

             
She was not as filled with hope by the woman as she thought she would have been, but she had no other option, no-one else to confide in.

             
“I'd like to discuss a spell,” she began gently, unsure of the proper way to broach such an unusual and unsettling subject.

             
“Marguerite? Who is that?” a voice croaked from beyond the beaded veil.

             
“Nothing mama, just a customer,” Marguerite said loudly before she took a step towards Hazelle, lowering her voice, “Ask your question and leave.”

             
Hazelle was more than a little discouraged by this woman's bluntness. From the unforgiving expression on her face it was if she had genuine dislike for Hazelle, a stranger, someone she couldn't have known existed before today when she'd walked through the door for the first time.

             
“Say someone...not me...a friend,” Hazelle corrected herself quickly, the lie stinging her tongue, “Say they found a spell book and in it was a ritual to summon a demon for...for fornication. For pleasure. And say she had thought about casting that spell...”

             
“Then I would say your...
friend
...is very foolish,” Marguerite said coldly, her pale eyes narrowing with suspicion, not the least bit deceived, “Demons are not to be meddled with. They are violent, cruel, uncompromising creatures. They have no mercy, no morals, nothing redeemable or human about them. I would tell your friend not to summon the demon.”

             
Hazelle took a deep breath, feeling guilty, “What if she already did?”

             
Marguerite's face showed no surprise, no anger, no emotion at all. She simply walked behind the counter where the old fashioned cash register sat, reached down and withdrew a pack of tattered cards, the colours faded, the corners dog-eared. She placed them on the counter face down and then ran a hand across them lightly, spreading them in a semicircle.