Page 67 of Hexed, Vexed, & Undersexed

Reaching over, I push it aside and find a piece of paper underneath withCrystal Moonscribbled on it. Great, got it. Good. And the question is. . .

Drumroll...

Where are Mother Shipton’s prophecies?

Really?

REALLY?!

The fucking Putnams lost them eons ago. . . I bet the damn things don’t even exist anymore!

How the holy hell am I supposed to find something that doesn’t exist, hmm? And I'm going to lose.

The downside of this situation: I'm not going to win.

The upside: I can just stab Bellamy and take the grimoire.

Huh.

Now, this is looking like a win-win, regardless.

Nooooooooooooooooo,my ovaries cry,we need his dick!

Those skanks need help.

I look over at Bellamy who’s still lost deep in thought. I almost want to go over and smack a knee in the back of his head again. Instead, I settle myself into a similar position on the other side of the table, on the floor.

I close my eyes, and just as I slip into a meditative trance, a disproportionate, monotone voice goes, “Double, double, toil and trouble; fire burn, and cauldron bubble.”

Suddenly, hot water begins to pour from the walls down onto the ground. Bellamy lets out a shout as scalding water runs over his junk.

Noooooooooooooo,my ovaries shout again,save his dick!

Goddess, get ahold of yourselves,I snap like a looney to my baby makers.

This must be one of the network's little twists. Quickly, both of us jump onto the table. I glare at the floor in offense. Both of us are perched narrowly on the table, glaring at one another like alley cats about to fight.

“Here,” Bellamy offers gruffly, “sit down in my lap.”

“No!” I snap. “I want to be big spoon.”

“What? We are on a time limit. Stop your crap,” he commands.

In response, I shove him off the table into the scalding water. He screams in agony but doesn’t melt away like the Wicked Witch. Bellamy leaps up and, like a true gentleman, pushes me into the water. It's hot enough to burn and a string of curses pours from my mouth. At least the network will have to mute a whole minute of my speech, surely lowering their ratings.

When I finally clamber back up on top of the table, my skin aches and I look like a drowned rat. I slap myself in Bellamy's lap with a huff—he can be just as miserable as me—but in a surprise move, he snakes his right arm around my waist, cinching me closer to his chest. He rests his head on top of mine, and I follow his deep breathing until both of us are lost into the abyss of meditation.

The claustrophobic, clichéd room disappears.

The network disappears.

My body and his body disappear until we are nothing in time and space.

I don't know how long we're like this before we solidify again—this time somewhere completely different.

We're surrounded by the drab countryside of Goddess knows where. It's rainy and there's an old woman hunched over on a bench under a tree with no leaves. She doesn't look nearly as miserable as I feel—that's what makes me pause a bit. I look down to see that I have a body once more, as does Bellamy. I elbow him just to make sure that he's real. . .

I may have done it harder than necessary.