Bewitched (Betwixt & Between #2) - Darynda Jones Page 0,59

real, Ruthie, did you dose her?”

“Defiance, a lady never doses unless that lady intends to kill, and she’d better have a very good reason.”

“Good to know.” I started to take another sip then thought better of it. Still, the allure of sleep called to me. My eyelids felt thick and scratchy.

Ruthie cleared her throat and asked from behind her cup. “How was Houston?”

I put my cup down. “Oh, no you don’t. If you want to know more about the hottie you’ve been banging for the last four decades, you’re going to have to find out for yourself.”

She pursed her lips. “Banging makes it sound so crude.”

“What would you call it?”

“Shagging.” A smile as warm as a summer breeze softened her face.

“Well, there you go.” I was just about to grill her on the hows and whys of her sudden detachment from the tall drink of water that was Chief Houston Metcalf, when I heard the whimper behind her door again. “Ruthie, are you keeping someone locked in your bedroom?”

She turned, curious as well. “No.”

She stood.

I used that curiosity over finally getting to see her apartment beyond her arts and crafts room to push myself up and off my chair.

She opened the door to a small bedroom, sparsely furnished with only the bare necessities. It was like Ruthie was punishing herself. She had an entire house full of lovely rooms, and she chose to live in squalor. Well, squalor may have been a bit of an overstatement, but I couldn’t help but wonder why. Why live in the basement? Why cut ties with the love of her life?

The sound I’d heard was coming from the other side of her bed. And this being Percival, there was simply no telling what would happen next.

Wishing I had a baseball bat, I eased around a twin bed topped with a sage green bedspread and found a little boy curled up in the corner.

“Samuel.” I rushed to him.

His little blond head popped up, and he looked at me with huge blue eyes from behind folded arms. And he had tears—real tears—streaming down his handsome little face.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

He pointed over and up. “Sir.”

I sat down next to him, my arms aching to embrace him. “What happened with Sir?”

“Him mad.”

“He’s mad at you?”

He nodded and scrunched up his face in what I thought was a demonstration of Sir’s anger.

The cuteness caught me off guard, but the fact that anyone was angry with this sweet baby lit a fuse igniting my own anger.

But what he did next, clawing at his arm and baring his teeth, stunned me. Had Sir hurt him? Was that even possible?

Percy grumbled above us.

Right there with him, I took a deep breath and pretended the anger rushing through my veins didn’t feel like my blood had caught fire. “If Sir is mad at you,” I said melodramatically, “then I’m mad at him.”

He tried to put his hand on my face, and my heart shattered.

“Is he here now?” I asked as nonchalantly as I could.

He nodded and pointed again.

I followed his finger. Since walls didn’t hinder him, I tried to decipher where, exactly, Sir might be hiding. From this position, he was either in the broom closet on the first floor or on the balcony landing between the staircases.

I looked back at Ruthie, who’d been watching us the whole time. “What can I do about this?”

“You’re a charmling. I’m sure there are any number of things you could do.”

“Let me rephrase. What would you do?”

She lifted a shoulder. “It’s a remedy almost as old as we witches are, but the tried and true witch bottle works wonders. You could cast him off this plane, of course, but only you would know how to do that without a witch circle. And those can be a bit shaky, even with the strongest of witches.”

“Witch bottle it is. How do I get him back inside of it?”

“You don’t understand. There is nothing special about witch bottles, other than the fact that they’re darned near unbreakable. On purpose, naturally. People were afraid they would break and release the witch, so they were usually made of very thick ceramic.”

I looked back at Samuel as he tried to play with the zipper on my jacket. It seemed to fascinate him. “Interesting, but what am I not understanding?”

“The fact that any bottle will do.”

“Oh,” I said, remembering what went into a witch bottle. “I don’t have to pee in it, do I?”

A breathy laugh escaped her. “I would highly advise against