Bewitched (Betwixt & Between #2) - Darynda Jones Page 0,30
And a lot of tickets.
We pulled up to Percy and parked next to my vintage mint green Volkswagen Beatle, a.k.a. the bug. Annette didn’t trust me to drive, as though I’d lost the ability in six months of abstinence.
Our neighbor, Parris Hampton, was out gardening. Which was ridiculous. Judging by her wardrobe and nails, Parris had never gardened in her life. Also, she paid a nice man named Rocko a small fortune to keep her yard looking pristine. If not other things. Rocko was built.
Bottom line? She was spying. Waiting for Annette and me to get back so she could get the scoop on where I’d been.
She waved when we got out.
“Hey, Parris!” I walked to the edge of Percy’s property.
Parris lived in a mansion on one side of Percy. Her husband, Harris, lived in a mansion on the other side of Percy. It was weird, but I guess it worked for them.
“You look fantastic.” Parris gestured toward me with her never-used trowel.
I wondered if she knew what it was for. “Thank you.”
Roane must’ve parked behind the house. We heard his motorcycle growl and then shut off.
She pulled a wide-brim hat lower over her eyes. “I dropped by a couple of times, but you were asleep.”
In the last two days, I had yet to ask my family what they’d told people. Frankly, there just weren’t that many to tell, so it hadn’t occurred to me to inquire. “Yes, they told me,” I lied. “I appreciate it.”
“Well, Ebola is a hard disease.”
I blinked. “Ebola?”
Annette walked up and patted my back. “Doesn’t she look great, considering?”
“She does,” Parris agreed. “When you’re feeling up to it, I’d love to share another bottle with you two. I don’t get to girl talk often.”
“Absolutely,” Annette said. “But I think we should get Deph back to bed for now. Don’t want to overdo it.”
“Of course. I should probably go in. It looks like rain.”
We said our goodbyes and headed inside. “Ebola? Are you kidding?”
Nette cringed. “Sorry. She ambushed me. I panicked.”
“No worries. I’m telling everyone you’re trying to kick heroin.”
“That’s fair.”
Roane walked in from the kitchen, drying his hands on a towel. “Coffee’s on if anyone wants some.”
Annette looked at me. “Does he know me at all?”
He grinned at her. A sweet thing. Innocuous and sincere. But the grin he gave me, when she turned to hang up her jacket, bordered on feverish. It was full of longing and desire, like the wolf in him was hungry. I’d never met a man who could communicate so much with a single smile.
We followed the kilt-clad hottie into the kitchen.
Annette’s laptop perched on the breakfast table along with the pocket folder holding the messages. An ancient phone sat on the counter by the table, which was why she’d set up shop there. The glow still seeped out of the edges of the folder.
Roane poured us each a cup and joined us at the table.
I about ovulated. He never just sat with us like that.
Annette took a few sips and opened the folder. “I want to know who that man was,” she said, suddenly determined. She brought out dozens of messages and spread them over the table.
“The man in the café? I do too.”
“James Vogel,” Roane offered. “I went to school with him.”
It was so strange to imagine Roane growing up. Roane as a teen. Roane in school. A school for humans. It was like he was above it all. But maybe that was only in my mind.
“He’s an ass,” she said.
“He always was. He was what one would call a nemesis.”
“What?” I asked him, surprised.
“At first he was just a bully, but it became much more than that over the years. Much more, volatile, until one day I had to . . .”
When he didn’t finish, Annette asked, “Kick his ass?”
“Something like that.”
“I’m sorry, Roane.” No idea why, but I somehow felt responsible. He’d been made human from a wolf. I did that to him. He didn’t know the language or the customs or how to behave. Statistically, children with social challenges were bullied much more often, though I couldn’t imagine he’d been bullied long. Still, how would I know? Maybe he went through hell. So many kids did. The unfairness broke my heart. The thought of Roane going through something like that threatened to swallow me whole.
The look he gave me hovered somewhere between gratitude and curiosity, as though he was trying to read my thoughts.
That would be so bad. I dropped my gaze to the messages.