Page 2

chapter one

Meredith stared at what she could see of her “room” in utter horror. A small path led about two feet into the room, but to either side of it, piles of boxes, clothing, and more towered to the ceiling.

“Where to even start?” she wondered aloud again, not having the vaguest clue how to even begin without at least a little magic.

“With beer,” Jimothy suggested, hefting a box that appeared to be solely old newspapers out of the room he would share with his brother. “And a bonfire.”

“He might have a point,” agreed Bodie, picking up a similarly sized box packed with old, moist TV guides.

“Can’t hurt, and the dumpsters we ordered won’t be here til morning.” Jeremiah grabbed a laundry basket full of more newspapers, so Meridith picked up a box of probably old, wet books.

“Who is getting the beer?” she asked.

“Jimothy,” said Jeremiah before his brother could speak. After a scowl, Jimothy dropped his box in the center of the overgrown back yard and then pulled out his car keys with a muttered, “Fine.”

In moments, the fire cracked cheerfully as it began gobbling up the old paper and a box of mildew, and mouse-pooped-upon clothing that looked like it survived since the 80s.

Meredith dragged out another box, one full of what looked like old homework from a kid and began to add the contents to the roaring inferno.

They sorted as they went, but for the most part, everything they came across seemed doomed for the fire.

Jimothy arrived with beer, soon, and they seemed to almost gain a familiar pattern in their group.

The guys hauled out boxes while Meredith manned the fire, going through each filthy box to be sure they weren’t accidentally burning buried treasure.

Rubbing her nose against her sleeve to stop sweat from trickling off the tip, she wondered if the house even held any treasures, or if they would only find trash.

So far? Just trash, but luckily most of it seemed burnable—which would save them a ton on dumpsters.

“We’ve made a path in your bedroom,” Bodie said, popping a beer tab after dropping another box of newspapers at her feet. “Should be big enough to drop a twin sized air mattress, at least.”

Meredith couldn’t think of a single redeeming factor for whatever bed hid further into the depths of her bedroom, so it sounded fine to her. She would have to do something about the smell, but so far, the cameraman, Slater Banks, hadn’t stopped talking or filming her for even a second so far.

Slater, she learned, normally filmed pornos, so the pilot for the show was a welcome change for him.

He seemed to enjoy close-ups, zooming in as a child’s old homework from nineteen seventy something was consumed next to a dry-rotted and mildew or rat urine-soaked Raggedy Andy.

Part of the reason he liked the new gig was he could talk, which they frowned upon in porn since it could ruin the mood.

Meredith wiped sweat from her brow and tugged over another urine-soaked box, raising a brow at his joyful patter.

Probably easier to be the one holding the camera rather than hauling or burning the gross stuff, she decided.

She almost forgot his presence after a while, half tuning him out enough that she didn’t notice when he stopped talking. When she did, she glanced back to find his camera very clearly and closely focused on her ass. “What the hell?” she demanded, swatting at the lens.

Slater at least had the decency to blush, before he explained, “Sorry, I know when I see a money shot, just saying.”

Heat flooded her own cheeks as she wasn’t sure whether to feel complimented or not. Before she could decide, Bodie dropped another box down next to her and said, “Go have a beer, Red, I’ll take over for a minute.”

“Red,” she asked, wondering if he meant because she blushed at first, because the idea of her behind being… She knew better.

“Yeah, your hair,” Bodie said, glancing her direction and noticing her red cheeks for the first time. “Did the camera guy manage to make you blush?” he asked.

“He shoots pornos,” she explained, as if it would explain away the color still heating her face.

“No shit?” Bodie asked. “Hey, Jimbob, did you know we have a camera guy who usually does pornos?”

“Jimothy,” corrected Jimothy, still not looking thrilled with his brother’s impulsive decision. “Jimbob? Seriously?”

“Is the other one Jimbob?” asked Bodie generously, as Jeremiah came out the back door with another basket.

“Are we allowed to punch him?” Jimothy asked Slater.

Meredith, happy not to be the focus of attention anymore, took his advice and cracked open a beer. Her shoulder muscles ached, her lower back throbbed, sweat left her feeling raw under her arms and breasts, and on her neck.

The cold beer slid down her throat a bit like a healing potion, if not as good. She chugged the first and opened a second before she realized all the men gaped at her.

“I thought you were talking about punching each other,” she pointed out.

“Bro, you cannot just chug an entire glass bottle of IPA like that in a crowd of men and not expect us to stop and appreciate,” Bodie said, leering.

She flicked him off. “Were you not allowed to film punching him? What did I miss?” she asked before taking another swig of beer. If she drank it fast enough, her mind might be blurry enough to face the grossness of her bedroom.

“We’re going for PG13,” explained Slater. “So, yeah, all swearing will get bleeped and anything like fighting or other inappropriate behavior won’t be filmed. The livestream basically has a delay, so subscribers won’t realize they’re behind, but we would have time to make minor corrections.”

“Is there a laugh track?” Meredith asked, but in her defense, most witches didn’t find themselves spending a day doing manual labor.

“Yes, actually!” Slater said with excitement, clearly not picking up on her sarcasm. “We have lots of room to add sounds, including music overlay, if the budget allows, depending on subscribers.”

“Fantastic,” Meredith said. “If we’re not allowed to punch Bodie, can we smother him in his sleep?”

Slater seemed flustered, at a loss because he didn’t expect someone to ask to kill a competitor, apparently.

Meredith smirked, glancing at Bodie, but he didn’t seem nervous about her empty threat.

Instead, his head tilted, and he seemed to consider her carefully, as if his first impression might have been off with her.

She snorted. Since not one of them would ever guess she was a witch, she figured a lot of their first impressions were more than a little off when it came to her.

Slater finally found his words, explaining with fervor, “There will be still-frame cameras focused on each of your beds for the nighttime subscribers, so they don’t miss a second, but there will never be a camera in the bathroom, unless to film while you’re working there. Your contracts?—”

“Do you honestly think a bunch of influencers off a social media app read the fine print, my guy?” Bodie asked, laughing. “Do you honestly believe the Jimbobs can read ?”

“Seriously, I want to punch that guy,” Jeremiah said to his brother.

“Same,” said Meredith raising a hand as if to add her vote. “If they decide to let you, I’m willing to look the other way.”

Bodie flushed and shifted from foot to foot.

Meredith saw a few of his videos online, so she knew his caustic and snide remarks were part of his trademark—along with his savvy and city-slick styling of modern spaces.

Usually, though, he wasn’t living with the people he sniped at, preferring to yell at his camera guys or other crew.

If he wants to work with us, he will have to come up with a different technique, Meredith thought. The chances of any of them actually helping him or trying to make his life easier were zero to nothing currently.

She wasn’t sure why she so easily considered the Jimbobs a part of her team.

She caught the thought, and then immediately chastised herself for using Bodie’s awful nickname.

It would take her a while to be able to tell Jeremiah and Jimothy apart, but in her defense, the two brothers shared a similar build and eye color, as well as hair.

The only actual differences seemed to be the amount of wrinkles around the older one’s eyes and perhaps in the number of grey hairs dotting his brown locks.

If she remembered correctly, Jeremiah was the older brother, but so far, that was the most she knew.

She would do better, she decided, taking another long gulp of beer before dropping the bottle into the box they designated as recycling and grabbing another beer. Since they were her teammates, she should take the time to get to know them.

Not teammates, she reminded herself again. Although she would be living with the three men for the next month, they weren’t her teammates or roommates—they were her competitors. That didn’t mean, though, she couldn’t make temporary alliances to better her chances.

Alliances could mean the difference between winning or losing, if we have to vote on stuff. She watched a lot of reality television, and she hoped it would give her an edge over the men. Well, that and my magic.

Since no one punched Bodie, she decided the brothers weren’t willing to give up the entire competition for the pleasure, either, and she knew she wouldn’t do it, so she turned to the camera man and noticed the woman.

Her hair was long, nearly to her waist and straggly, about half of it faded brown and the other half greying dramatically, as if she dyed it at some point then just stopped, letting the natural hair grow freely. She wore a bathrobe over a buttoned-up nightgown, and she looked…

Pissed, Meredith decided.

“Why are you burning my things?” the woman demanded.

The camera turned to focus on her, as did all three of her competitors. Once the woman had everyone’s attention, she threw her hands in the air them smashed them down. “Stop burning my things!”

When she raised her arms, the entire stack of their bonfire rose up in the air as if airlifted by a crane or something.

The camera swung around to it just in time for the woman to slam her hands down, making all of the fire crash and spray, pieces of flaming fabric, paper, wood, and debris all raining down on them.

Meredith ducked for cover, surprised when Bodie hovered above her, trying to bodyblock her from the disaster. Once the fire all settled, catching a few weeds on fire, they all looked around, completely baffled.

“Where did she go?” Bodie asked, his fists clenched as if he was ready to do physical battle with the tiny old woman.

“Was she a witch?” Meredith asked aloud, before catching herself and adding, “I mean, how else did she pick up a bonfire and throw it like that?”

“I think it was a ghost!” Slater said with way too much enthusiasm than his words deserved. He quickly rewound the video before flipping the screen so they could all see her clearly there, and then vanished when he focused on where she was before she threw the fire.

“Are you suggesting the absolutely gross hoarder house also has ghosts?” Meredith asked, expecting someone to disagree, to explain why she was wrong.

Instead, they all stared at each other, shellshocked, while Meredith chugged another beer.