Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
There is only one thing in the world that both my mum and my best friend agree on – that I am resolutely stubborn.
They could be right, because in this moment, I try with all my might not to register on my face the absolute shock I feel spiralling round my body. I will not concede that point to Mr Hottie. He will not be proved right.
Beautiful, me? That stupid potion is way more effective than I realised.
“Thank you,” I spit out.
He smirks at me, probably detecting how hard I’m fighting not to let my jaw spasm and my eye twitch.
“You’re welcome,” he says. “Wanna head back? It’s getting a little busy here.”
I peer over my shoulder and find the brow of the hill is already filling with day-trippers, picnickers, and tourists. I genuinely hadn’t noticed.
“Sure, let’s go.”
McGruff isn’t best pleased about being woken from his impromptu nap and dragged down the hill. He walks at a snail’s pace, stopping every few minutes to sniff at some mystery scent.
“Have you taken him to a vet?” Horatio asks as I cajole McGruff into moving again.
“He doesn’t need a vet. He’s just old.” Vets are also expensive.
I had to sell half my precious record collection to afford McGruff’s last trip.
“And lazy,” I say, clipping the lead back onto McGruff’s collar and dragging him onwards, dodging the crowds charging around the Heath now. “You wait until you’re seventy-seven!”
“He’s not–”
“He is in dog years.”
“Is he like a …” he eyes McGruff with suspicion, “familiar?”
I burst into laughter, proper full-on laughter, the force of it preventing me from walking and forcing me to clutch my sides.
Mr Hottie stands there, hand on his hip waiting for me to finish.
Finally, the chuckles subside, and I’m able to wipe the tears from my eyes and speak again.
“I don’t know what was so funny,” he says, a little petulant, “it’s no weirder than finding out the woman who lives across the hallway is a witch!”
That sets me off again and Horatio walks off to read one of the information boards about the Heath. When I’ve regained my composure, I join him.
“Sorry, it’s just, have you met McGruff? If,” I make inverted comma with my fingers, “‘familiars’ existed he’d be the most hopeless one known to witch-kind.”
“The whole thing is so … utterly–”
“–Ridiculous.”
“Incredible,” he says, “and I have no idea how it works.”
“Then I’m sorry,” I say, “ask me anything you like. Within reason,” I add hurriedly.
“Did you always know you were a,” he lowers his voice as we pass through the shadows cast by tall rhododendron bushes, “witch.”
“I suppose I did, but my whole family is witch-folk. I grew up with magic, spells, and potions. It was more strange to discover the majority of the world didn’t, and that I had to hide who I am.”
“That must be hard.”
“Yes, it is sometimes. I guess that’s why I don’t have a lot of civilian friends. I’m hopeless at lying and I really don’t enjoy it.”
“Civilians?” he asks.
“Oh non-witch folk like you.” I prod him in the stomach without thinking, finding his stomach is no more soft than it was yesterday. Still the same washboard. He gazes down at the point where I touched him, eyes a little wide, as if I’ve just scorched him or something.
We pass out of the park, walking back past the pub and the cafe and along the row of tall Victorian houses, returning to our block of 1920s apartments.
Rumour has it – with all its art déco features – it was once used as a location for an Agatha Christie film.
Sometimes I like to lie in the bath and pretend I’m about to get dressed for a glamorous drinks party.
“How about school?” Horatio asks me, as we climb the steps to our floor. The old 1920s lift, with sliding metal cage doors, has been out of order for at least the last two decades. “Did you go to Civilian school? Or did you go to Hog–”
“Do not say it!” I shriek, slapping my hand over his mouth.
I’m a couple of steps above him which means our eyes are now level.
Those intensely blue, incredibly dreamy, eyes staring right into mine.
“You have no idea how much trouble those books have caused us,” I continue to waffle on, ignoring the hot press of his lips against my palm and the warm, moist feel of his breath.
“Civilians questioning things they would otherwise have ignored or would not even have noticed. The need to manipulate civilians’ memories has risen 150% since the publication of those books.
As for that school, sure those kinds of places exist – for the very rich and very privileged.
Just like they do in the Civilian world.
But most of us just went to your average primary school and then onto the Witching Academy.
At least, I did until I got kicked out.”
Horatio takes ahold of my wrist and removes my hand from his mouth. I may or may not be sweating at this point and I’m pretty sure, despite the sunblock, my cheeks are tomato-red.
“You got kicked out?” I nod. “Let me guess, for something not quite legal.”
“You could say that …” My words die away because his eyes aren’t focussed on mine anymore, they’ve fallen to my mouth and he still has a hold on my wrist. I can’t help doing the same, studying his mouth.
He has plush lips, well structured for his face, a rosy-pink kind of colour.
He’s unshaven today and a scruff of stubble marks his jaw.
And then, of course, there is that damn dimple when he smiles.
Those butterflies in my stomach, the ones that have been comatose for so long, start fluttering about like they’re on drugs. I blame the caffeine and all the sugar in those pastries.
Hr Hottie’s tongue slides out of his mouth and glides along his plump lower lip – one that’s just demanding I sink my teeth into it. He leans towards me.
I think he’s going to kiss me.
Mr Horatio Shaw, who owns two Ferraris and has often looked like he’d like to see me evicted from my apartment, is going to kiss me.
And I don’t think I have the willpower to stop him.
My eyes flutter shut. My lips part on instinct. I can feel that heat from his body edging closer. His breath flutters against my cheek. I–
Pop!
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
I snap open my eyes, jolting away from Mr Hottie and nearly tumbling onto the staircase behind me as I do. McGruff whimpers and Horatio mutters something I don’t quite catch under his breath.
I peer up and find my friend standing on the landing. Today his horns are a lime green colour and he’s wearing matching PVC trousers.
“Were you two just about to–”
“Hey Day!” I say with a smile just as unconvincing as the one I’d used on my sister yesterday. “We took McGruff on a walk around the Heath.”
Damien ignores me. “Because if you engage in that kind of activity, you know what the consequences will be.”
Yes, I know. But I’d like to see Damien resist if a tall, handsome man with dimples attempted to kiss him.
I stomp up the stairs, Horatio following after me and McGruff behind him.
“What do you mean by activity and consequences?” Horatio asks.
“You haven’t told him?” Damien asks me, with a disapproving shake of his head.
“I didn’t think it would be necessary to tell him,” I mutter.
Damien examines me with his cold, black, and soulless eyes and then focusses on Mr Hottie.
“Reversing the love potion is already going to be a challenge.” Horatio nods, that much I’ve already told him. “If the two of you engage in any hanky panky, it’s going to make it even harder.”
“Hanky spanky?” Horatio asks.
“Hanky panky,” Damien corrects, “snogging, heavy petting, feeding the kitty, riding St George, tasting the sausage. That kind of thing.”
Horatio rubs at his forehead, looking even more confused. “Is that English?”
“Kissing, touching, sex,” I clarify, unable to look directly at him as I do.
“Right,” he says, then after a pause he adds, “how much harder?”
“A lot,” Damien says with a glare. “Do you want to be stuck in love with Molly forever?”
“Erm …” Horatio scratches the back of his neck.
“Exactly! So keep it in your pants, Mister. I’m already having a hard enough time tracking down fairy toenails as it is.”
Horatio opens his mouth, clearly about to ask me what in Medusa’s name that is. I hold up a hand.
“Don’t ask,” I tell him.
“In fact, that’s why I’m here,” Damien says.
“Oh, so you’re not here to ruin my sex life,” I hiss under my breath at him.
“That is just an added bonus,” he says with a grin. “My supplier needs an upfront payment for the toenails.”
“Is that normal?” I ask. “It’s not a scam, is it?”
“Julian’s a faun so more than likely, but he’s my only lead.”
“How much does he want?” I ask.
“Two grand.”
“What?!” I say, nearly hyperventilating.
Damien shrugs. “Is that a lot?” Being a demon, he has very little concern when it comes to money. He finds it amusing that we humans are such slaves to it.
“You want two thousand pounds to give to a … faun?” Horatio clarifies.
“Correct.”
“In order to obtain an ingredient necessary for the potion reversal?”
“Correct again, sir.”
“Fine,” Horatio nods his head, then turns away and disappears inside his flat. I think he may have reached his limit and this was the last I’ll ever see of him, regardless of the pull of the potion.
“I thought you had more self-control, girl,” Damien whispers when he’s gone.
“I do! I have!” McGruff yaps like he disagrees. “I just got caught up in the moment.”
Damien’s eyes narrow into dark slits. “You like him!”
“I do not!” I protest feebly.
“Molly,” he says with exasperation, “this is the man who yelled at you for accidentally turning the communal light off.”
“He’s been really sweet to me this morning. He made me coffee and bought me pastries.” And told me I was beautiful. And talked to me like an actual human being. And listened to me too.
“You human women are so easily seduced,” Damien says in disgust.
“Besides, he didn’t really yell at me. I may have exaggerated that altercation just a little.”
“Here,” a voice says from behind me, and I turn to find Mr Hottie with the biggest wad of cash in his hands that I have ever seen.
“Woah!” I say, “where did you get that?”
“My flat.”
“How can you have that much money lying about the place? I thought you were in banking! Or is that code for drug dealing?”
“I have it in the flat in case of an emergency.”
“Oh my goodness, are you one of those men who has a rucksack packed with emergency supplies and a shovel in case of an apocalypse?”
“We only just came out of a pandemic. It’s perfectly logical to be prepared for another world emergency. You don’t know what might happen next,” he says. “For example you might be poisoned by a witch and her demon buddy.”
“Hey,” Damien lifts both palms, “the poisoning was nothing to do with me.”
“But you are her partner?”
“Are you asking me if we’re sleeping together?” Damien asks.
Horatio shifts his weight from one foot to another and I assume he is.
“Ewww,” Damien and I say in unison.
“He’s like my brother,” I say.
“She has breasts!” Damien points towards my cleavage and I pull at the neckline of my dress.
“Here,” Horatio says, ignoring us both and shaking the money in Damien’s direction.
“Here is the money needed for the ingredient.” And why does that elicit a teeny pang of disappointment, all those butterflies from earlier dropping to settle heavily in my belly?
Mr Hottie is obviously pretty darn keen for this potion to be reversed if he’s happy to hand over his money to a creature he considered entirely fictional twenty-four hours ago. “Do you need to count it?”
Damien peers over to me in desperation. He wouldn’t know where to begin with counting pound notes if his immortal life depended on it.
“You really don’t have to do this. This is my fault. I’ll find the money from somewhere, or we can just wait until the store gets some back in stock.”
Damien shakes his head. “Apparently there’s a current worldwide shortage. Some accident at a witching school in Bulgaria has sucked up all supplies.”
“Cyclops’ eyeball!”
Two thousand pounds! I could ask Prim for a loan.
“Seriously,” Horatio says, thrusting the cash into Damien’s hands. “It’s fine.”
“Great,” Damien says, snatching the money before I can argue again.
“I’ll have the ingredients in no time. Catch you later, chicas.
And remember, no funny business.” His eyes flash and his voice lowers to a menacing growl that has McGruff shaking, “I have my eye on you, Mr Shaw.” His tail cracks through the air and then he’s gone.
“Shit! That was …” Horatio says, the golden colour drained from his face.
“He’s just messing with you. He’s never actually harmed any of the men who have fucked me about.”
Although, that’s not strictly true. He did scare the last cheating, lying boyfriend so badly the dude took himself to A&E convinced he was having a heart attack. He wasn’t – it was heartburn. Still, it was immensely satisfying.
“I’ll pay you back,” I say, wondering how exactly I will.
“Don’t worry about it.” He slides his hand through his hair. “So no,” he adopts Damien’s very English accent, “hanky panky, huh?”
“I’m afraid not. This friendship will have to remain platonic.”
“No benefits?”
I shake my head. “You’d probably regret it once the potion wore off.”
“I wouldn’t,” he says.
And why does that have the stupid butterflies rejuvenating and causing a frenzy once again?