Wicked Appetite - By Janet Evanovich Page 0,5
in my life. The cat I was pretty sure I could manage. The men had me worried.
Glo put the book of spells on my red Formica countertop and set the pizza box on my secondhand cherrywood kitchen table. She flipped the lid on the box and helped herself to a slice.
“I have a couple awesome spells for your house,” she said. “We might not have all the ingredients for the potions, but I figure we can improvise.”
“I don’t want to put a spell on my house. I like it the way it is.”
“Are you kidding? The vampire just walked right in.”
“He wasn’t a vampire. He was a weird guy with perfect skin and an expensive suit.”
“How can you be sure?”
I took a slice of pizza. “I don’t believe in vampires.”
“Do you believe in the Tooth Fairy? The Easter Bunny?” Glo asked.
“Yes to the Tooth Fairy. No to the Easter Bunny.”
I could deal with a fairy, but I wasn’t buying into a giant rabbit hopping around in my house while I was asleep.
I heard the front door open and close, and a moment later, Diesel strolled into the kitchen.
“Holy crap,” Glo said, admiring the view.
Diesel extended his hand to her. “Diesel.”
“Gloria Binkly. Everyone calls me Glo.”
Diesel took a slice of pizza and looked down at the cat. “Didn’t know you had a cat,” he said to me.
“He’s new.”
“What’s his name?”
“Cat #7143.”
Diesel fed a chunk of his pizza to the cat and turned his attention to the book of spells, sitting on the countertop. “I’m guessing this came with the pizza and the cat.”
“It’s mine,” Glo said. “I just got it. I brought it over so I could put a spell on Lizzy’s house.”
“What kind of spell?”
“One that would keep you out,” I told him.
Diesel gave a bark of laughter. “Honey, you’d need something a lot more powerful than anything in that book.”
“There are some really good spells in here,” Glo said, flipping the book open. “I could turn you into a frog.”
“Been there, done that,” Diesel said. “What else have you got?”
“Here’s one for levitating a dragon.”
Diesel took a second piece of pizza. “Not impressed. Everyone knows the hard part is finding the dragon.”
Glo thumbed through a bunch more pages. “Warts, boils, impotency, insomnia, stuttering, hives. And here’s a whole section on enchanted mirrors and cats.”
We all glanced down at Cat 7143. He was sitting patiently, waiting for more pizza. I didn’t think he looked especially enchanted.
“According to this, I could make Cat 7143 talk,” Glo said, “but the potion involves a human tongue and toenails from a Romanian troll.”
“Tough break,” I said to Glo. “I’ve got toenails from Bulgarian trolls and Irish trolls, but unfortunately none from Romanian trolls.”
“Okay, I know some of these ingredients are a little exotic,” Glo said, “but these potions could be ancient. Probably, when the recipe was figured out, there were lots of Romanian trolls around.”
“I hate to break up this pizza party, but we need to hit the road,” Diesel said to me. “I need your help.”
Hit the road? As in, get in a car? “No way. I don’t know you. I’m not helping you. I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“I’ll go with you,” Glo said to Diesel.
“Jeez Louise,” I said to Glo. “He could be a serial killer, or a terrorist, or a kidnapper.”
“I have a narrow window of opportunity here,” Diesel said to me. “What’s it going to take to get you on board?”
“A miracle,” I told him.
Truth is, I’m not a risk taker. Not with men. Not with money. Not with shoes. I take a multivitamin every day. I lock my doors. I wear a seat belt. I don’t eat raw meat. And I don’t go off on wild goose chases with people I don’t know.
Diesel watched me for a moment and grinned. “Does mind reading count as a miracle?”
“Sure.”
“You like me,” he said.
“No I don’t.”
“That’s a big fib. You think I’m hot.”
“That’s not mind reading,” I told him. “That’s wishful thinking.”
“Do you have any more miracles?” Glo wanted to know.
“Can you read my mind?”
Diesel shook his head. “I can read Lizzy’s mind because we’re cosmically connected.”
“Cosmically connected!” Glo said. “That’s so Salem.”
At the risk of sounding cynical, I thought it was pure baloney. “Can you read my mind now?” I asked Diesel.
“Yeah,” he said. “Good thing your mother can’t hear your thoughts. Did they teach you those words in chef school?”
My attention swung from Diesel to Cat 7143. He was investigating the kitchen, walking the perimeter on high alert, snooping