Love Spell

"The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?"

-Edgar Allan Poe

X

Chapter One: Halloween

The chilly fall night is dark and still when I exit the library. A few lights hover over the parking lot, but they are too dim to really make a difference. One is fading; its flickering death casts an eerie light on my parked car. Beyond that is darkness.

A chill creeps its way up my spine. My eyes dart around nervously while I make my way across the lot, beeping my car unlocked. The sound echoes, making me shiver.

I'm not normally spooked like this, or at least I wasn't a month ago before the nightmares started. Tonight is different; I fell asleep on a desk in a full library and woke up disoriented and alone. The library was deserted when I jolted awake, drooling on my text book. I was the only soul in sight with just the lonely light above, the ancient books around me, and my laptop half bent over. Its empty word document stared back at me, taunting me with evidence of my wasted night.

I knew I had the most dreadful dreams, though I couldn't remember exactly what took place. My heart thumped, my forehead was sweaty, and I didn't need a mirror to know I was completely white. The terror pooled in my stomach. I rushed out of there, a foreboding feeling of someone watching me prickling the back of my neck.

Now I can't wait to get to the car. I stop stalling, stop looking around. I point my key toward my car like its a compass--or better yet, a knife. My boots click against the pavement.

"Rosemary," someone whispers.

I snap my neck around so hard my hair slaps me in the face. The wind picks up and a sea of leaves sweep past my feet.

"Rossssssemary."

I know I should run toward my car. My feet want to go, but my mind is frozen. The rational part of my brain is telling me it's probably my boyfriend Brian messing around. Or it could be my friend Tara. She loves playing pranks on me. Something stops me, however, from calling their names. That something is telling me that this disembodied, strange voice doesn't belong to any friend of mine.

I rush toward my car. Finally I'm there, sticking the key in with shaking hands. It doesn't turn.

"Please," I beg.

I drop it. It's too dark to make out where it fell. I feel around with my hand, cringing at the sensation of wet, filthy leaves.

"Rosemary."

It's behind me now. I burst into tears when I know I can't find the key. That I won't find the key.

A freezing hand clasps my elbow. "Rosemary. Look at me."

I turn, weeping and shaking. "No, no," I plead even as I comply with the voice's instructions.

"Open your eyes," it orders.

"No!" I'm scream, frantic to keep my eyes away from whatever is torturing me. "NO!"

And then I'm screaming as I wake up, back in the library. I'm sitting at the desk; all my things are there as I left them.

"It was just a dream," I tell myself. I let myself relax a little. "Just a dream." My eyes close with relief.

Then I hear nervous laughter. My eyes snap open and I see people are staring at me. The couple a few tables down even stop making out to gawk at me.

I'm shivering and sweating. Tears still fall down my cheeks. My trembling hands run over my body, checking to make sure I'm in one piece. An old professor of mine walks by and takes in the scene.

He looks alarmed. "Rosemary, are you all right?"

"Yes." My voice is dry and still holds the remnants of my nightmare. I clear my throat and try again. "Yes. Thank you. I just had a nightmare."

He smiles unsurely and then does a quick check of my body. I notice he lingers on my breasts and I recall having an introductory lit class with him. He was a pervert then, too.

"Well, maybe you should call it a night then, hmm?"

"Yeah, right. Thank you."

I grab my shit, tossing everything in my bag, and run toward the exit without a goodbye. I don't even care how much of a mess I look right now. Running down the stairs, I pull my phone out and call Brian. He doesn't answer right away and I want to throw my phone in frustration.

Finally I hear loud music playing. "Yo."

"Brian, please. Please stay on the phone with me."

"Hold on, I can't hear you!" he calls over the stupid song blaring in the background. I hear the music fading as he makes his way to his room. "Sorry, babe, Tom has some people over."

"I can hear." I run down another flight of stairs. Thankfully there is only one more.

"What's wrong? You sound out of breath."

"I had a nightmare," I say in a small voice.

"Aw, another one? Was it the same?"

"Yeah. I almost completely turned around this time and saw it." I can finally breathe when I walk out the front doors. I run over to my car and the key works perfectly. "I just got to my car. Thanks for staying with me."

I throw my bag in and haul my body into the seat. My car turns on and I feel like I'm finally safe. I still lock my door, just to be careful.

"You coming over? You sleep better when you're with me."

My eyes roll. That's code for "come over so we can have sex". It's been nearly three weeks and I know he's getting frustrated with me. I've just been out of it; between constant nightmares and endless papers, I'm never in the mood. Brian's lucky--he has a much lighter schedule than I do. And I definitely don't sleep better in his bed. He sleeps so heavily that last time when I woke up screaming and he didn't react, I was convinced he was dead. That trauma definitely took a year or two off my life.

"I would but I have class at 9 tomorrow." That's not a lie, either.

"Rose, it's 8PM. I promise to have you in bed early." His voice is suggestive and for some reason it's a major turn-off.

"I'm really tired. I'm sorry."

He sighs into my ear. "Okay. I understand."

But he doesn't. I know he doesn't. It's just something you say. And Tara is dating his best friend and roommate Tom and he told her Brian is getting tired of having blue balls. I feel terrible but I'm too tired and worn out to do anything about it. I love him. I love the scent of his cologne, the way he burrows into me at night, the soft smile on his face when I catch him watching me. I miss him, miss being normal.

"I'm really sorry. This weekend I'll make it all up to you. It'll be worth it, I promise."

"Okay. You safe in the car?"

"Yeah, good to go."

"Love you," he says.

"Love you, too," I say back.

He already disconnected.

X

"What do you mean?! How the hell can you not come to my Halloween party?!"

"Jesus, keep it down." I look around and meet eyes with the woman who owns the shop. She's watched us intently since we walked in. She probably gets plenty of lunatics in here, or giggling girls who don't take this stuff seriously.

By this stuff, I mean witchcraft. The store is filled with books on the 'dark arts', or so it advertises. Weird herbs and incense are everywhere I turn, and their odors are giving me a headache.

I offer the owner a smile. She just turns away, her hair the color of flame basically giving me the middle finger as it whips around with her.

The other shoppers--an old man, three Goth teens, and a woman who looks like she's been living in the middle of the desert for the past three years--look at us with disinterest and then go back to whatever the hell they're doing. I guess spells are more interesting than the antics of my best friend.

Tara glares at me, tossing a packet of some weird dried up herb into her little basket. "You promised. You always come."

"I'm still going to Tom's party." She gives me a look. "I know, I know. It's not the same. I'm just so tired. These nightmares are seriously wearing me out. Please don't be mad at me."

"Rosemary, pull yourself together." Tara shakes her head. "I can't believe you're getting so bent out of shape over a couple stupid dreams."

"They aren't 'a couple stupid dreams', they're recurring and freakishly vivid nightmares!" I realize I'm screaming now and I take a calming breath. "Look at me, Tara. I've lost weight. I haven't gotten highlights done in like... a month. My hair is unintentionally ombre. I look like shit."

She scans my body. "You did lose weight. You bitch!" She gives me a grin and bumps my arm with hers. I'm forgiven temporarily, it seems. "You do look a little pale. And your hair could use some highlights. Too dark. Let's get some dye tonight."

"We can't all be blonde, bronzed beauties like you, skank." She giggles and I can't help but laugh, too. She sounds like a fairy when she laughs, or at least what I imagine a fairy would sound like. Innocent and happy. Never mind Tara is the opposite of innocent.

I flick her shoulder playfully. "Brian will come without me to the party, okay? Don't worry."

Her smile dims. "Yeah, I'm sure he will. He's real supportive like that."

"Are you ever going to like him?"

"Is he ever going to not suck?" She picks up a random book. Her eyes get excited and I know that look. I've known it ever since we were 6: trouble is coming. "Ro, look! A book of spells!"

"Please don't fuck around with that. Put it down."

"Nooo!" Tara laughs, flicking through the pages. "This is what I came here for, baby."

"It's not going to work. And do you really want Tom to fall in love because you put a spell on him?"

Tara blinks at me. "Um. Yes. He's Tom motherfucking Grant. I'll take him anyway I can get him."

I make a disgusted noise and she laughs her fairy-laugh.

"He likes you without a spell."

Her fingers turn a few more pages. "I need that feeling to stick."

"Have you guys had sex yet?"

She scrunches her nose. "Nah. I'll be doing a spell for that, too." She notices my surprise. "Hey, I can keep it in my pants! Or his pants. Whatever. I like him." The blush on her cheeks can attest to that.

I feel a bit of a pang. I'm happy with Brian--he is so good to me. But I always had a thing for Tom. He hardly notices me; to him, I'm like an annoying kid sister he's forced to tolerate. He barely bat an eyelash when I started dating Brian (which, of course, was meant to make him jealous. Spoiler: it didn't).

"Good. I'm glad you guys like each other."

"Hello, he's going to love me by Halloween." She pokes my chest. "You should be more focused on your own vagina."

I look to see if anyone is paying attention to us. A Goth boy is smirking while he examines a dreamcatcher. Fucker. "I'm not focused on your vagina at all!"

"Mm-hmm, you're totally obsessed. You should pay a bit more attention to your own and what's going in it. Or rather, what's not going in it." She turns a page in the book and gasps. "Rosemary. Here's a spell warding off nightmares! You should--"

"You have nightmares?" an accented voice asks.

Tara and I look to see the owner of the shop behind us. Up close I can see her eyebrows are also a perfect red and they are arched as she observes us. Her white hand reaches out and takes the large book out of Tara's hands. She smiles at us but I don't know if it's a friendly one or not.

She's so campy I want to laugh, but when her eyes flick to mine I feel my smile slipping.

Her bony fingers covered with rings skim down the page Tara left open. "Hmm. No, this won't work." She slaps it shut and I jump like the baby I am.

If she notices it, she doesn't remark on it. Instead she tells us to follow her, and as if she cast a spell on us herself, we obey. She brings us to the back of the bookstore where there are five rows of shelves. She strokes the bindings lovingly until she finds the book she's looking for. She slides it out, opens it to the middle, and nods.

"Yes, here. For nightmares." She thrusts the book at me. "Wrap a piece of yarn around a black candle and repeat 'I am the Night' forty times. Then drop a tear onto it."

"A tear?" Tara asks, sounding horrified. She glances at me with wide eyes.

The woman nods. "A tear. Anyone's." She smiles and now I think she's trying to be comforting. "This will ward off nightmares and keep good spirits around you."

I examine the book in my hands. It's huge with brown cracked leather. I'm sure it's real leather. It feels so soft beneath my fingers and it has that old book smell I love. The pages are dark beige; the writing is a thick black script. It looks exactly like you would think an ancient spell-book would look like. Still, I think this is total bullshit and the only thing holding me back from peeking at the publishing details is those intense emerald eyes staring at me. I decide I'll wait until she leaves like a polite little girl and then slip it back into its rightful place. Tara is looking at it longingly, no doubt wondering if it has a love spell. Fuck that.

As if the woman can sense my thoughts, she offers me a wide smile. Her teeth are astonishingly white and her green eyes literally twinkle beneath the lackluster lighting above us. The green dress she wears falls down to her feet, accentuating both her height and her skin tone. She's about 38 or 40, though she exudes a much older air. She possibly might be the most beautiful woman I've ever met if she wasn't so scary. I can't place her accent, nor shake off the sensation she's familiar somehow.

"Listen. Take the book. No charge." She smiles wider at Tara. "There are plenty of love spells in there."

Tara is thrilled. "Wow, thank you!"

"I can't," I say. "Thank you but I don't want to dabble with this."

She lifts her eyebrows. "You're afraid," she remarks with surprise.

I'm not ashamed to admit it. "Yes. I don't believe in magic, but just in case I'd rather stay as far away from that book as possible."

"You have nightmares, yes?"

"Yes."

She flicks her wrist. A large charm bracelet glides down her arm--an arm so white I can trace the blue veins with my eyes. "It's simple. A treat from me. A Halloween treat." She shrugs. "If it doesn't work, what harm will come to you?"

"Come on, Rose." Tara is pleading, and nothing good has ever come from that. Typically I cave but I really don't want to this time. I am getting bad, bad vibes from the book in my hands. "Brian will thank you. Come on!"

"You have a boyfriend?" the woman asks.

I nod.

Something strange crosses her face. She looks a decade older. I open my mouth to say something but the look disappears and she shrugs. "I'm sure he'd prefer you calm beside him at night rather than tossing and turning."

She's right. I feel silly--somehow sillier than indulging in a meaningless spell meant for entertainment. This beautiful, kind woman is giving me a gift. It would be rude not to accept it. The leather creaks underneath my tightened fingers.

"Okay. Thank you."

The woman looks more relieved than Tara. "Good. I wish you luck. Come back to Mina when you need me."

I smile and wave. Tara and I walk off.

It isn't until we're driving home that I realize Mina said when, not if.

X

Since I owe Brian an explosively good time, I head over to the mall. I need a sexy dress and maybe some new, naughty underwear.

After stopping in store after store and finding nothing that strikes my fancy, I grab a latte. Depressed, exhausted, and not feeling it anymore, I drag my ass to a bench and drape myself over it.

And then I notice a brand new store. Its name is 'Beware'. A little ham-fisted but the slutty dresses in the window are beautiful, even if the material is scant.

I peek to make sure no one watches me heading over and then sneak in. The dresses are better up close, in spite of the gauzy light the store provides. Obviously the owners are into ambience. There's even a smoke machine somewhere. Mist floats heavily across the floor; I can't even see my feet. A bit much, for sure, but I just spent my time in a store peddling love spells and Eastern European accents. A little smoke won't do any harm.

"You would look marvelous in that."

"Shit!"

I drop my latte onto the murky floor and throw my hand up to my chest.

A man is standing next to a counter, leaning against it and watching me with unabashed interest.

He has that dark, careless hair that only men in magazines can usually pull off. A terrible but admittedly exciting scar runs across his right cheek. He's wearing a plain black t-shirt with faded blue jeans. His jaw is defined, his cheekbones perfect. His nose is prominent and sharp. If he was a celebrity, he'd no doubt be a movie star.

He's beautiful.

Yet something whispers in my head. Something soft, something begging.

Then he smiles and my foggy head dismisses it. Clearly I'm in need of a good night's rest, which I haven't had in a month, and the store's name and look are messing with my mind. The owner, or employee, isn't doing much to set me at ease. "Bad boy" is written all over him, and it's hot.

An eyebrow lifts. "Did I scare you? I'm sorry."

Jesus. Something about his voice sends shockwaves of pleasure all the way down into my toes.

"A little," I admit, smiling.

"Would you like to see that in your size?"

I blink and look over at the dress he's pointing to. It's not as outwardly skanky as the rest. The top is a silver strapless sweetheart bodice with jagged mirrored stones and sequins. The flattering waist is ruched tightly. A midnight blue miniskirt swings across the thighs in a sassy, playful way.

It is breathtaking.

"I'd love to, but I don't really know when I'd wear it."

He moves off the counter and steps closer to me. "I'm sure you could think of something. Make an occasion for the dress." His smile widens. "Halloween, even."

I laugh. "Halloween?! What the hell would I go as in this fancy dress?"

The man turns and produces a black silk eye mask with one lovely, elegant peacock feather on the right side. "You'll be a mysterious woman. Perhaps you're married and you're meeting your lover."

Giggling, I take the mask. "Ha. Or I'm a murderess!"

He smile turns toothy. "Or that. A Black Widow, maybe?"

Shaking my head, I put the mask to my eyes. "Revenge on an old lover."

"Hmm. Or meeting a new one for a clandestine fuck."

I should stop this. That word--fuck--should be vulgar. Inappropriate. Even the way he whispered it was like an intimate caress, far too familiar.

Yet it delights me. My nipples are hard beneath my shirt and I think he can tell.

Clearing my throat, I lower the mask. "I'm not so sure I can pull off the mysterious, naughty air for that."

His eyes glitter. "Oh, yeah, you can."

"Maybe I'll try on the dress..."

"No need. This is your size. I know it'll fit."

That's weird. "Uh, no, I should--"

"I do this for a living. Trust me. If it doesn't fit, you can come back and I'll give you all your money back."

"Really?"

He gets closer. "As a matter of fact, I'm giving it to you as a gift."

My cheeks burn. "No, I couldn't. That's way too much."

"I own this place. And I can do what I want." He flicks a piece of my hair off my shoulder. "And I want you... to have this dress. Understood?"

I nod and watch speechlessly as he bags the dress and mask.

"Come back anytime," he murmurs, handing the bag to me. Then he turns, disappearing into the sea of dresses.

I swear his fingers touched mine a beat too long, but I'm too shy and confused to react. It isn't until I'm back home that I realize I didn't even get a receipt.

X

Friday comes, and with it so does Brian.

"Fuck, yes. Fuck." He pushes my head down harder, fucking my mouth with his cock. "Yeah, baby."

"Mmm." I slip his cock further down my tongue. He's so deep down my throat that I have to fight hard not to gag too much.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck. I'm gonna come." My hand reaches up to grasp his balls, increasing his ecstasy. His voice goes up a pitch as he begs me. "Please. Oh, fuck!"

His balls and cock spasm while he fucks his cum into my mouth. I swallow one spurt only to have my tongue filled with another. He eventually finishes, pulling his cock through my lips.