Chapter Nine
Sage
It’s been a whole day and night since I saw him lurking in the corner of my bedroom in what I can only describe as my delirious state.
There’s no other explanation for the way my clit practically buzzed in anticipation as he stood there, staring.
And the even stranger part was when the sensation disappeared just as quickly as he did. Like, literally poof.
Gone.
No more tingle, no more stalker-dream man—that I will clarify I detest in real life—whose head turned into a fucking pumpkin before his white horse galloped off into nothingness.
Actually, there is another explanation. If I had accidentally mixed some belladonna from the herb stock downstairs in with our lasagna, that would explain the hallucination easily.
But that’s ridiculous. I may have threatened it, but I was nowhere near the belladonna on Sunday, the shop was closed, and I’m also pretty positive that we only restocked it yesterday.
The singular client who has it with their pre order once a month took the last of what we had two weeks ago.
Shaking myself out of the very useless thoughts, I finish chopping up the banana in front of me and put the slices over the French toast, just how Danika likes it.
Today is her thirtieth birthday, so we’ve called in the part timer, Lee-ann, to run the shop for us. Neither of us ever works on our birthday, it’s tradition. Or, at least it has been since the year we both turned nineteen.
I pick up the tray of food, coffee, and juice, pleased with my offering. Danika’s bedroom door is closed, but if she isn’t working, she’d happily sleep all day.
“Rise and shine, birthday girl!” My words are nice and loud as I enter her room, all with the aim of waking her up.
Movement from beneath the bedding is accompanied by a low groan.
“Ten more minutes.”
“You sound like you’re thirteen, not thirty.” I laugh, making my way toward the head of her bed to put the tray down.
“Ah…! Fuck!” I trip over a bra lying haphazardly on the carpet, and of course the tray flies out of my hand at the same time, no matter how hard I try to keep it steady as I fall to my ass. “Ow.” Then I look up.
I swear, in moments like this, my life is in slow motion. I see the danger, but I can do fuck all about it.
The coffee cup full of hot coffee is surprisingly still upright, but the closer it gets to my face, the more it tilts…
then spills…and at the same time, the plate full of French toast is also heading for my face.
I have to close my eyes. Why my face? All I can do is wait for the inevitable burn of hot liquid and the bruising, possibly bone-breaking crash from the plate and cup.
None of that happens.
“You’ll be the death of me.”
I open my eyes to find Danika, thankfully clothed in PJs, holding the offending items.
“Hopefully not. But I appreciate the save, that was going to hurt.” I shrug and laugh it off the way I always do, because that’s all there really is to it. I’m just sad that I now have to make more breakfast. Can’t have my bestie going hungry. Not today.
“Only saved it because we can’t be wasting coffee on your face.” With all the elegance she possesses, Danika takes a sip, her eyes closed, and she hums a sound of enjoyment. “Yup, would have been a total waste.”
Her laugh joins mine and I eventually stand and take a look around her room.
It’s been a while since I was last in here, mainly because of the hazards—clothes all over the floor, extension cables trailing from one corner of the room to another, and drawers half open, prime for banging a thigh or shin against.
“Danika Ashbourne. Really?” I recognize the deep voice as Desdemon’s. “Didn’t Margot teach you anything before you came here?” He’s not scolding her, the smirk lighting up his eyes gives him away.
“Are your eyes a different color than the other day?” The question blurts out, like most of the things I say aloud.
“Ah, sweet Petite Sorcière, you noticed.” His grin remains. “I felt like a change, so I have new contacts. Do you like the green?”
Why did they have to be green? They’re darker than his, a totally different shade, but still…green.
“I love the green.” The urge to bury my head into my hands as soon as the words leave my mouth is huge, but I resist because he doesn’t need to know of my inner turmoil here.
“Thought you might.” He winks and takes a slice of the French toast Danika managed to save from being floor food.
“Stop flirting with my best friend, D. She’s off limits.” Danika playfully swats her brother on the arm.
“Oh, I know, but it’s fun all the same.” The way he bites into the toast can only be described as seductive with the slowness of his actions, the deliberate bite and narrowing of the eyes as he does…
“Okay, I’m going to make sure all the things we have booked for today are still a go. You get your ass dressed.” Then I turn my attention to Desdemon. “And you stop playing with your food.”
As I’m leaving the room, they’re both smiling, and I ignore Desdemon’s chuckled reply.
“Oh, Petite Sorcière, that’s physically impossible.”
It’s been a great day, so far. We did all kinds of touristy things in Manhattan and have a ton of pictures from Times Square. It’s not often we take the ferry from the island, super rare in fact, so today has been real nice.
Well…except for the part where a street performer singed the end of my hair on his fire stick.
He was very apologetic, to the point I thought he might cry, then I realized Desdemon was hovering behind me giving the poor man a death glare.
I told the performer it was fine, not his fault, I shouldn’t have been walking past his demonstration…
all that jazz. Like I said, all old hat.
The club we’re currently sitting in is new to me, most likely because one cocktail costs thirty dollars.
I’m all about a delicious drink, but I’m used to getting at least two, sometimes even three for the same price.
To be fair, Desdemon insisted on paying, seeing as it was his choice to come here tonight.
I have no idea how he found the place or got us into the VIP section, considering it’s supposed to be his first visit to Staten Island, but I think it’s for the best. He doesn’t look like he’d fit in with the normal, everyday folk who are letting loose and drinking far too much.
This place is pure opulence and luxury. The deep-red velvet booths and rich mahogany fixtures, the actual real-life crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and the suited-and-booted wait staff all eager to serve.
There’s a band playing on the stage in the center of the room, with all the booths surrounding it, and they’re fucking fantastic.
If there was a dance floor, I’d absolutely be on it.
I had expected some kind of orchestral thing when the band was announced, but was pleasantly surprised by the drums and guitars.
I think their song is even on the charts, so yeah, I can understand the bar tab being high.
I’m on my fifth cocktail, although technically it’s only my third because I knocked number two from the table—which was swiftly cleaned away by our waiter—and I spilled number four on said waiter…
and myself. So now, my beautiful deep-purple pencil dress has a slightly darker shade down the front of the skirt.
“Would you like another, Miss Bayley?” It’s like the server could hear me thinking about him.
“No, thank you. Ask me again when my friends get back.” The rum in this cocktail has gone straight to my head, but I’m nursing this third one like it’s gold dust, taking my sweet ass time with it.
The siblings—as I have now dubbed them—have been disappearing together all day, at random times, like Desdemon is incapable of going to the bathroom by himself.
I’m putting it down to the fact that they haven’t seen each other in years.
Well, apart from Sunday, but that’s barely a drop in the ocean compared to what they probably have to catch up on with each other’s lives.
I won’t lie, I’m disappointed that there’s no dancing, but nobody said anything about a little chair dancing being wrong.
It’s busy here, and I’ve been getting some odd looks, but I suppose a woman sitting by herself bopping around to the music stands out in a place like this.
Most of the clientele are stoic, boring, having rich people conversations over their thousand-dollar bottles of Champagne.
Okay, I’m being a bitch, but goddess be damned, why have I been alone for so long?
“Having fun, Petite Sorcière?” Desdemon stands beside the booth and waits for his sister to slide in first before he follows beside her.
I don’t want to be rude—even though it’s honest—and say no. It’s Danika’s birthday so I’m always going to be all in for whatever, but I also really hate lying. Why did he have to ask me such a direct question?
“It’s beautiful here, and the band is great.
” There, not a lie. “Are you okay, Dani babe?” Danika looks flushed, but also a little giddy.
“Cocktails?” Where I have shared two of my five cocktails with the floor, Danika has easily downed all of hers.
So I can make an educated guess as to why she appears to be having the time of her life.
She opens her mouth to speak, a little more sluggish than usual, but Desdemon jumps in first.
“Yes, the cocktails. It’s getting late and I think my sister has over-indulged for the evening.
Shall we depart?” Before he can move, the waiter is beside him, handing him the bill.
It’s quickly dealt with, and while I feel a little guilty that Desdemon likely just paid a small fortune, it’s only a little guilty.
I’m not rich or fucking stupid enough to look a gifthorse in the mouth.
Wait…depart?
Yes!
“It’s a shame to have to go so soon, but if that’s what Danika wants…” I shrug, completely faking my disappointment, and it’s probably obvious but whatever.