Cursed be the Wicked (9 page)

“You heard me,” Finn warns him again and then his buddies encourage him to leave. I think he’s gone, based on the quiet that eventually takes over.

When I can fully open my eyes again, I see her. Finn. Leaning over me, with my head in her lap in the middle of the sidewalk. The setting sun is behind her so all I can really see is her silhouette and her voice is full of worry.

She’s whispering something I can’t understand at first. When I groan, she stops. Her next words are clearer.

“Can you talk?”

Her voice is soft and harmonic like an angel when she says it. I smile up at her like a moron. I think that gives her even more reason to wonder if I’m all right.

“Mr. Stone?”

“Call me Coop,” I mumble.

“What?” She laughs.

Things are coming back into focus now and I realize what I’ve just said. People begin to stop and ask if I need an ambulance, which I don’t, so I pull myself up and sit, waving them off.

Hopefully she missed that last comment.

“I’m good.”

The bystanders begin to move along, but Finn’s not buying my instant recovery yet, so I reassure her, despite my slight dizziness.

“Really,” I tell her as I try to get up. “I’m, ow.”

I reach to the back of my head and feel the lump there, looking around to try and figure out what in the hell I clocked it against.

“Well you’re not driving like this. Give me your keys,” Finn insists. Part of me wants to argue with her but I find myself handing the keys over quite willingly.

“We need to get you cleaned up,” she says once we’re inside the car. “Gran’s place isn’t too far from here.”

I nod and rest my head against the passenger’s side window. I feel the inside of my cheek, where I taste blood. I must have bit it when Raymond sucker punched me.

“I don’t know why you had to go antagonizing him,” Finn tells me as she drives.

“He was pissing me off,” I tell her honestly. “What’s his problem with you anyway?”

Her sigh is heavy. “I won’t date him.”

I lift my head and laugh. Ow again. “You won’t date him? Seriously?”

“It’s not funny.”

“Come on, Finn, it’s a little funny,” I tell her. The laughter’s dying down though, because my god, it hurts. She’s still not finding my banter quite as funny as it all sounds in my head, so I go for more information on this guy.

“Why’s he so fixated on dating
you
?” I ask.

Finn’s expression tells me maybe that wasn’t my best choice of words, but I cut myself a break since you know, head injury and all.

I regroup.

“There’s gotta be, what, two maybe even three girls that would give him the time of day with that charm and intellect.”

She grants me a small grin finally and I’m grateful that I’m forgiven for my prior idiocy.

“It’s not that he’s fixated on me,” she explains, “So much as he’s fixated with the fact that I don’t wanna date him.”

I give her the puppy dog look. “Poor guy.”

“He’s too young for me,” she snaps, then mutters the rest. “Mentally, anyway.”

“You might have a point there,” I concede.

“He’s a royal pain but I’ve learned to deal with it. Best way to handle people like him is to just ignore them. All they’re looking for is an excuse, and you gave him one.” She eyes me. “Ray’s whole family has anger issues. Control issues. Can’t stand not getting their way. It’s the only reason he even bothers with me. They’re like big babies. That’s why they’re always throwing Gran’s mortgage in my face like that.”

“She’s behind on payments?” I ask, feeling bad for the woman who was nothing but sweet to me the other day.

Finn nods, staring straight ahead. “She took a second mortgage out on the house to buy the B&B. Which is doing fine on its own and all, but she’s missed a few payments on the house.”

I think she growls a little after that thought.

“They wouldn’t dare confront
her
, but they think I’m weaker than I am.”

She peeks over at me and adds, “I’m not.” Then goes back to watching the road.

“I believe you,” I assure her.

I certainly wouldn’t cross Finn. I’m not sure what compels this idiot, Ray to test her and I make a note to myself that if I see him again, I won’t bother asking questions first. The guy deserves a little pay back.

“Anyway, you shouldn’t have pushed his buttons,” she tells me, as an afterthought. I lean my head against the window and watch as we leave Essex Street.

“I could’ve taken him. He’s just sneaky, that’s all.”

I close my eyes but Finn pokes me.

“Don’t go to sleep, I wanna look at that lump on your head to make sure you haven’t lost any more brains than you’re already missing.”

I grin but listen to her. And before I know it, we’re pulling up to an old two-story Victorian home. Its wood siding used to be white but now it’s gray and splintered. The lawn needs a good mowing and the hedges that line the perimeter are overgrown. There’s a hanging bench swing on the porch. A lot of the houses around here have them.

It’s the dilapidated black front double door that grabs my attention though. My stomach lurches when I see the red frame surrounding it and the old silver plated door handles that resemble cat’s tails.

I know this house.

Chapter 6

Witch’s Den

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” I muse, when Finn puts the car into park.

“Why would I kid around when you’re bleeding like that?”

I don’t respond. I’m mesmerized with the fact that Finn’s grandmother’s house is the old “haunted” place my friends and I used to prank every October when I was a kid. I want to laugh at the humor of the situation but it hurts too much so I simply shut up.

As kids, we swore a witch lived here because how could anyone but a witch live in a house with old overgrown trees and bushes and cracked sidewalks and unkempt grass?

We’d dare each other to creep up to the front door and ring the doorbell at exactly midnight on the weekends. We thought the old woman that lived here would still be up, watching for intruders. We thought if we did that, knowing we’d be cursed by her if we were caught, we were brave.

I did it once. In sixth grade. I even thought I saw the shadow of the witch in her window, eyeing me as I did it. I ran my ass off to get home that night, but as far as I could tell, she never made a move to come after me, and she never cursed me that I know of either.

Or maybe she did.

I never went up to her door again after that.

The house looks exactly the same as it did then, maybe worse.

It’s crazy how memories are coming back so vividly. I was around eleven, I guess, still trying to fit in, be one of the cool kids. I actually thought I
was
one of them until I found out those kids were only hanging out with me to gather intel on my mother. It was later that year, after Mom was arrested, when I started getting harassed daily by Danny Moss.

And holy hell.

It clicks when I remember Danny’s name. That’s where I know that guy from.

Raymond. Ray.

Ray Moss.

Danny Moss’s little brother.

Ray must have been three when I hung out with Danny. That would have made him nine by the time I left Salem. He was a jerk back then, too.

I let out a small laugh. One that wouldn’t hurt my head too much.

Some things never change, I guess.

“What’s so funny?” Finn asks me. I give her a shake of my head.

“How long has Geneva lived here?” I ask, trying to change the subject
and
find out if her grandmother is the woman I harassed as a young kid. I never actually saw her up close and personal back then.

“Forever as far as I know,” she tells me.

Damn.

“Something wrong?” Finn asks me.

I’m having a hard time reconciling the fact that I’m about to enter a house I feared growing up. Geneva was so open and honest the other day, so politely giving up her time without worrying too much about her previous engagement.

Clearly she’s not thought of as a witch these days. Not the kind I thought she was, anyway.

“No, I just—”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.”

I snort. “Yeah, something.”

“Well come on.” She opens her car door. “I promise there are no ghosts here but if we don’t get that head of yours looked at, you might pass out and become one.”

I look over at her, wondering if she’s serious. Then she places her fingers gently over my hand and I know she’s teasing. Her fingers are soft and warm. They practically demand that I relax, so I do. She leans toward me, inspecting my head and I can smell her shampoo. Having her this close to me makes my palms clammy and my heart races to keep up with the thoughts inside my mind.

“I should probably go.”

“I’m
not
joking about the lump,” she says. “Let me take care of you. It’s the least I can do after you defended me.”

Her words make me uncomfortable even though I know she’s just joking with me.

I’ve never
taken care
of anyone and I don’t know why I did what I did today. I just couldn’t stand the way Ray talked to her, the way he disrespected her like that, or how he clearly thought he had the right to do any of it.

When I finally nod, accepting her offer, her fingers slide away from mine, then she gets out of the car.

My hand is cold again.

I shake the nerves off and push my door open. I meet her in front of the rental and follow her inside.

Finn sits me down at an old kitchen table. It doesn’t appear Geneva is home, and I’m relieved. I feel guilty for the way I treated her as kid.

“I’m gonna grab some things to clean you up,” Finn says, and walks away. I let myself look around now that she’s not paying attention. The home of the woman I’d grown up believing to be a witch is nothing more than, well, a home.

The wall paper looks to be about a hundred years old. There’s an old mixer on the counter and a sink full of dishes. She has a cuckoo clock hanging over a doorway leading to the dining room. There’s a dated looking phone sitting on a small table in the corner with a note pad lying next to it. I see stacks of books two feet high sitting on the floor, but no witch’s cauldron and definitely no broomsticks.

“Here we go,” Finn says when she comes back into the room. She wastes no time as she begins dabbing at the blood around my mouth with a clean cloth.

“That’s the easy one.” She grins when she sets the material down. Her fingers move to the sides of my head and move through my hair, feeling for the lump. Her knee nudges at my thighs as she comes to stand between them.

I close my eyes and breathe in, letting the scent of her musky perfume fill my lungs.

“Does that hurt?” she asks, testing the tenderness of my wound.

I hum and force my hands to stay still when she brushes against my jeans in just the right way. I bite back a groan as my eyes open and I’m given a front row view of her chest. As she breathes in and out, and her breasts rise and lower, I fight the images forming in my mind of pushing everything off of this table and showing her what it is she’s doing to me.

She leans in more to reach for some gauze and the way she’s pressed against me makes me lose myself for a moment. I nuzzle her neck and breathe in deep. When I realized I’ve done it. I freeze.

So does Finn.

I think I hear her breathing hitch and I hold my own and as my eyes open, slowly, I wait for a knee to the groin, or a slap in the face but neither happen. Instead, Finn stands upright again and finishes what she’s started.

“That should do it,” she says with a rasp to her voice. She leans back and smiles down at me, pressing her lips together tightly. Her cheeks redden and I go to make some lame attempt at an apology.

“I—”

“Gran’s got plenty to eat, I’ll fix you something here,” she tells me and I follow her lead on the conversation.

“No need, Finn, really. It’s getting late, I should probably head back to the B&B anyway, maybe work on more of that article I’m supposed to be writing”

That’s the right thing to do.

“Why are you staying
outside
of Salem anyway?” she asks while she puts things back into the first aid kit she’d taken out. “Seems like grabbing a place in the heart of the city would make more sense.”

I let out a chuckle. “Long story.”

I’m both relieved and disappointed that she’s no longer as close as she was. I tell myself she’s not my type anyway, that it’s just as well I didn’t make a move.

I’m lying though; she’s completely my type. From the long hair and dark eyes, to the hard exterior and soft heart, to the way she challenges me every time I turn around.

“The place you work for must have one sucky travel agent. I don’t get why they would leave all the travel details up to you.”

If she only knew my reasons for not being able to stay in Salem and how completely ridiculous it all is, even to me. Finn fills a bag of ice and presses it against the back of my head. She takes my hand and guides it to the ice bag.

“Hold that,” she breathes then turns to go put her supplies away.

I follow her every move. The way she reaches up onto her tiptoes when she tries to get the first-aid kit onto the top of the refrigerator. How it makes her skirt hike up just enough to let the backs of her knees peek out. When she’s firmly down on the ground again, I force my eyes away. When I look up, Finn’s watching me, watching her.

When our eyes meet, I see a hunger that matches my own. It’s funny, I’ve been toying with this idea of making a move on her for the past two days, but now that I see the possibility of that attraction being returned, it hits me.

I can’t do this.

I can’t start something up with a woman that lives and breathes Salem, Massachusetts. She clearly loves this city. And she’s not going anywhere. She’s got Geneva here to look after.

My eyes dart away from hers for just a second, when I think of the irony of the situation. I look back to her but Finn has already turned away and pulled open the refrigerator door.

“So what are you hungry for?” she asks, bending over to see what’s inside.

“You really don’t have to feed me, Finn,” I tell her quietly.

“Don’t start with me, Mr. Stone. It’d be rude of me not to feed a man after he went to the trouble of standing up for me with Ray and his silly friends, only to get himself beat up in the process.”

Her snarky take on what happened earlier distracts me from over thinking things that may or may not have just happened between us.

“I didn’t get
beat up,
Finn, he got lucky.”

She even hums sarcastically. “Mmm hmmm.”

When I don’t answer right away, she stands up straight and repeats herself, slower this time. “What. Do. You. Want. For. Dinner?”

I grin. Hell, I can’t help it. And I finally give in. “Whatever you’ve got, honest.”

“Good answer,” she quips, then pulls out what looks like leftover lasagna from her grandmother’s fridge and begins heating it up. I set the ice bag down that she gave me and stand to go help with getting some dishes out. She stops me with her hand against my chest.

“You sit, I can’t have you passing out from head trauma in Gran’s kitchen.”

“Finn, I’m fine.”

“Famous last words,” she teases with a raised eyebrow. Then she pushes me back down into my seat and soon whips up a couple of plates, complete with re-heated garlic bread and freshly shaved Parmesan cheese.

It’s the best dinner I’ve had in weeks. Maybe even months.

While we eat, it’s quiet, but not uncomfortably so. It’s kind of nice actually, and I notice for maybe the first time that nothing really ever feels forced with Finn, even when we’re arguing about something. It just is what it is. And what it is, is fun.

She asks an unexpected question as I’m taking a particularly large bite of my lasagna.

“So why’d you tell me to call you Coop back there?”

I nearly choke on my food, then take full advantage of the amount of time it takes to chew to search for an answer.

If I was to go with it, and explain to someone, particularly someone from Salem, that my nickname is Coop, there’s a distinct possibility that they’d put two and two together pretty fast. I’m just not in the mood to spend this trip talking that kind of “shop” with anyone. Besides, I like that Finn doesn’t treat me like the freakish son of Crazy Maggie Shaw. I’d like to keep it that way.

Once I swallow, then gulp down some water, I laugh it off.

“Did I say Coop? That’s weird.”

“Oh? Why?” She tilts her head.

Yeah, why?

“I just, I don’t know anyone named Coop. Are you sure I said Coop? Maybe I was saying I needed to get the scoop.”

Finn scowls and shakes her head. “No, you definitely said to call you Coop.”

My temperature rises under the suspicious stare of Finn but I didn’t rename myself Cole Stone for nothing. I can do this. I can play it off.

“Huh,” I say. “Maybe I was remembering something from something I read somewhere.” I hesitate, then decide to add, “In fact, yeah, I think I was. No I definitely was, something about Crazy Maggie something.”

“Shaw,” she finishes for me.

“That’s right,” I tell her. “Crazy Maggie Shaw.”

I take another bite of my dinner and want to throw up. I can’t look up. This is too close for comfort. But just when I think I’m busted, Finn drops the subject.

“People say the most bizarre things when they think no one’s listening.”

I peek over at her but she’s not looking at me anymore.

I breathe easier, eventually, but there’s something about Finn. I don’t know what it is. She’s peculiar, bizarre, the way she likes to talk in riddles. And she certainly has at least a few frenemies of some sort in town. She looks at me like she knows more than she’s letting on, she lives where I’ve wanted to escape from my entire life, and that is the part that keeps me from sweeping her up in my arms and kissing her the way I’ve been dying to since I met her.

That last thought has to stay in the forefront of my mind. I have to keep this interest for Finn in check. For both our sakes. Besides, I’m here on business, not pleasure.

My cell phone buzzes inside my jacket pocket and I don’t bother checking the number.

“I’ll be right back,” I tell Finn, then go into the foyer to take the call from my boss. “C . . . Stone here.”

Nothing.

“Helloooo.”

More nothing.

I check the number that just called. I’m confused because it’s not Bill Fenton calling to check in like I thought. It’s local. I call the number back but there’s no answer and the call doesn’t go to voicemail.