Page 59 of Just a Little Wicked (Wicked Sisters #2)

SIX MONTHS LATER

Hot Ghosthunter

I left you a full pot of coffee. I love you, Elf.

Winter

I love you too. Stop calling me Elf.

Hot Ghosthunter

I’ve got a better name for you in the future. Rhymes with life.

Winter

I think you finally found the perfect one.

“ W hat do you think? It’s not bad, right?

” Winter said, gesturing to the view of the ocean outside Erikson’s—no— their kitchen window.

Sunlight sparkled off the waves in the distance, and between the sweeping expanse of window and ocean there was nothing but rocks and pines.

Gulls swooped overhead, having returned for the summer season of terrorizing beachgoers, and little white sails dotted the glittering water.

Missy spun around, her eyes wide. “Winter, it’s not bad? Are you serious? This place is killer. You’ve got exposed beams, wide open spaces, and a kitchen that a chef would murder for.”

It was pretty nice, Winter thought proudly, glancing at the whitewashed walls between exposed oak beams. It turned out that although Erikson’s house in Bath had been finished, it hadn’t had any furnishings.

Or paint. Winter was far from an interior designer, and to be frank, she had no interest in decoration, but even she hadn’t wanted to live with bare drywall.

So when she’d moved in, they’d gotten to work painting and bickering.

More than once, they’d ended up discarding whatever home improvement project they were arguing about and falling onto the floor—or against the wall—or into a chair, and making love, only to start the process all over again the next day.

Winter led Missy to the granite island and went to the counter to make her sister a cup of tea.

She was pouring hot water into the mug when she lifted her eyes and spotted Erikson through the window that overlooked the backyard, shirtless in the sunlight as he chopped wood.

She’d insisted on a woodstove—she’d had one at the Celeste house and there was nothing like the heat and coziness of wood—and he’d happily had a beautiful, enameled woodstove installed, and then he’d gone out and bought an ax worthy of Captain America.

They’d had a cord of seasoned wood delivered earlier that week, and now it needed to be split and put away in the shed.

She gawked with pure appreciation as sweat glistened along the contours of his muscled back and dampened his blond hair until it was dark at his nape.

He lifted his arms over his head, his muscles flexing, and brought the ax down on a piece of wood, splitting it in half.

He turned, wiping his forearm over his eyes, his abs rippling with the movement.

“Are you drooling?” Missy asked, just as Winter realized she was spilling hot water all over the counter.

“What?” she cried in panic, caught ogling her boyfriend. “No. I mean, no.”

Missy’s eyebrows danced. “Is Erikson out there?”

Winter soaked up the excess water with a dish towel and then dropped the teabag in the mug before carrying it over to her sister. “Yes. He’s chopping firewood. Shirtless.”

Missy fanned her hands over her face and took the mug. “Those Grimm boys are something else. How come they couldn’t have a third brother?”

Winter slid into the seat across from her.

She was determined to be a better twin sister to Missy.

She was Winter 2.0. She’d accepted her Wickedness, and her control over her ever-burgeoning power was nearly innate—she only shattered glass items during particularly strong orgasms now.

If she could control her power, then she could do girl talk.

She would make an effort to be closer to her twin.

It was why she’d asked Missy to come over.

“How—um.” She cleared her throat and started over. “Any new er—dates?”

Missy blew across the steaming mug, her eyes twinkling.

Although it was a healthy eighty-degrees outside, she hadn’t wanted iced tea.

“Look at this effort you’re putting into girl talk!

You must really miss me. Well, let’s see.

I went on a date with a guy named Robert.

He took me to dinner, ordered lobster while I got a salad, insisted we split the bill down the middle, and then tried to choke me in the parking lot. ”

Winter’s jaw clenched. “He tried to what ?”

Missy waved her palm dismissively. “It’s nothing. Choking is this big thing now, so these guys think every rando girl just wants to be strangled. Excuse me, but if I’m going to be choked, it needs to be done properly and by someone whose hands I actually want around my neck.”

Winter was speechless for a full thirty seconds. Sure, Erikson applied pressure to the sides of her neck once in a while and it was hot as hell, but she couldn’t imagine choking a date after making her pay for half the lobster. “What did you do?”

“Kneed him in the balls, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

Missy sighed and slumped in her chair. “I was just using him to try and make Gregory jealous, anyway. Got any whiskey for this tea?”

Winter returned a moment later with an unopened bottle, wondering if it would be evil to look into Gregory’s future and see if maybe he’d get hit by a bus.

He and Missy had been together just shy of four months when he broke it off out of the blue, never really giving her a reason or closure.

Missy had been heartbroken and trying to get his attention ever since.

Her sister poured a healthy amount of whiskey into her mug and peered at Winter over the top. “You’re happy, Win.”

Winter couldn’t help smiling. “Yeah, I am.”

“It’s not just Erikson, either. It’s the move out here. It’s leaving Wicked Good Apples.”

Winter’s smile fell. Missy covered her hand quickly.

“Not in a bad way, Winter. I know you agonized over the decision for months, and I know you miss us. But Brandy is doing a killer job as the farm manager, and ever since that Grimm Reality episode aired, we have plenty of money to pay her salary and keep funding the scholarship program teaching kids how to apple farm. We’re no longer in the red.

We miss you, but I think the world would miss you more now that they’ve heard your music. ”

It was such an understanding thing to say that Winter’s heart skipped a beat.

Missy was right, she had agonized over the decision to leave.

She’d lived in the Celeste family home her entire life.

It was where she had all her memories of her mother.

She’d helped bring Wicked Good Apples back to life, spending countless sleepless nights dragging their tiny business from the grave and making it turn a profit.

She loved Wicked Good Apples, and she knew Erikson would have sold his house in Bath and crowded in with them, or hell, bought a trailer and put it on the property, but he’d asked her a simple question that had taken her three months to consider before she’d finally come to a conclusion: What do you want, Winter?

It had turned out that what she’d wanted in her secret heart of hearts, was to try out for the Portland Symphony.

Maybe someday even the Boston Symphony Orchestra, in Erikson’s home city.

So she’d auditioned, and to no one’s surprise but her own, she’d earned a place in the orchestra.

Her aunts had both cried at her first performance, and she’d never forget the soft look in Erikson’s eyes as he’d watched her draw her bow across the strings, his gaze unwavering, his love as poignant as the music.

Erikson had celebrated her achievement by renting a boat and taking her on the water, where he’d plied her with delicious food and told her over and over how proud he was while he stripped her out of her clothes. She hadn’t even pitched him overboard.

“Thanks, Missy,” she said, because she still wasn’t all that great at expressing her emotions, but she was trying.

Missy squeezed her hand and released it so she could take a healthy swallow of her spiked tea. “When does Erikson have to leave again?”

“Next week. He’ll be in California for almost a month.”

“Is it hard being apart so much?”

Erikson was still starring and producing Grimm Reality with his cohost, Charlotte Hernandez, and that often took him away for weeks at a time, and Winter couldn’t always fly out and visit since she had rehearsals and practice, but they were making it work.

“It’s not the best arrangement, but it’s worth it. To be with him.”

“Of course it is,” Missy said, like it wasn’t even a question. “That man worships the floorboards you walk on. Speak of the devil.”

Winter sensed him, smelled the clean salt of his skin and felt the heat of his chest a moment before he bent over and kissed the crown of her head.

“The floorboards, the mugs, the silverware you touch. I worship it all,” he said, his voice low and slightly breathless from his exertion. “And I especially worship that?—”

“Okay!” Winter yelped, cutting him off, but Missy was laughing, well aware of what he’d been about to say.

“Missy, I didn’t see you drive in,” he said casually, as if he hadn’t just made Winter’s heart race. He tugged a shirt over his head and filled a glass of water.

“That’s because apparently you were chopping wood like you were in an arm-porn photo shoot.”

“Did you enjoy the view, Elf?” he asked, lifting a brow.

She shrugged. “It was okay.”

“God, she’s tough. She was practically slobbering over you out the window. She spilled tea everywhere.”

Erikson gave Winter a smug smile.

“I’m not the only one spilling tea,” Winter hissed at her twin, but Missy only smirked.

Erikson leaned against the counter and said, “I talked to Connor this morning. He said all’s been quiet. Still nothing from the Shadow Council, right?”

Missy sobered quickly. “Nothing that we’ve been made aware of. The Witches are confident the Shadow Council will focus on them now, and they’re equally confident they can handle them. I think they’re underestimating how much the council wants the book. Any progress on finding it?”

Winter and Erikson shook their heads. Connor had made it his life’s mission to discover where the book was hidden, and it was driving him mad that he couldn’t. Erikson helped when he could, but the show kept him pretty busy, and Winter hadn’t had any luck finding more with her timewalking.

“Are you sure you can’t just zip back in time and find it?” Missy asked, for maybe the hundredth time.

“The Witch and Wicked put a powerful shielding spell around the time.”

Missy’s eyes went unfocused for a second as she thought. “Can you . . . I don’t know, search by blocked periods of time, then?”

Erikson sat forward, instantly alert. “That’s not a bad idea. Can you, babe?”

“I . . . I’m not sure.” Winter tilted her head. “It’s worth a try. Maybe I can give it a shot before the barbeque at Wicked Good Apples next week. Aunt Daisy invited several Wickeds over for the?—”

Her ringing phone interrupted her train of thought. It was face-up on the island, and she was about to ignore it when she saw who was calling. Her brow furrowed. If this particular person was reaching out to her, there could be only one reason for it: shit had hit the fan.

She snatched up the phone and stabbed the answer button. “What?”

Atlantes didn’t waste time with greetings. “I need help.”

Winter put the phone on speaker. “My sister Missy is here, and Erikson.”

“Why should I give a fuck? Oh, wait, Missy is the disease-bearer, right?” Atlantes’ voice was dark and growly over the line, and Winter could practically picture him frowning as he was forced to make the distasteful phone call.

“Yes.”

“I am much more than a disease-bearer,” Missy sniffed. “I am also an absolute joy and a treat for all who meet me, even rude assholes who spill whiskey on me at weddings and then speed away without so much as an apology.”

There was silence on the line. Then Atlantes, completely ignoring her, said, “Something is wrong with the Witches’ magical network.

It’s . . . rotting. There’s a disease eating away at the webbing, and the moment I eradicate it in one section, it’s already rotting another section.

The entire Northeast portion is in peril. ”

“Why should we give a fuck?” Missy parroted his words back at him with a can-you-believe-this-guy? shake of her head at Winter. “Sounds like a Witch problem to me.”

“Sounds like the Wickeds owe us,” he retorted.

He wasn’t wrong, and they all knew it. “What do you need from us?” Winter asked.

Atlantes hesitated, like he’d rather eat live worms than speak the next words. “I need to meet with the disease-bearer. She might be the only person who can diagnose the problem.”

“I have a name ,” Missy snapped. “It’s Missy, and if you call me disease-bearer one more time, I’ll create a plague just for you.”

“Missy,” he grunted.

Missy tossed her curly red hair behind her shoulder. “Fine, I’ll help you. But I have a price.”

“You owe us?—”

“You’ll take the deal,” she interrupted. “We may owe you, but what you want is a hell of a lot more than a diagnosis, isn’t it? You want me to solve your problem.”

He didn’t deny it. “What do you want?”

“Ten dates.”

Winter gaped at her. “Have you lost your mind? You couldn’t pay me a million dollars to date Atlantes!”

She shrugged. “I don’t actually want to date him, obviously. He’s got a piss-poor attitude and he’s rude as shit.”

Atlantes made a snarling noise.

“But he’s hot, and I have an ex to make jealous. So, ten dates Atlantes, where you pretend to be wildly obsessed with me. If you do that for me, then I’ll do everything I can to figure out what’s wrong with your network and fix it.”

In the taut silence that followed, Winter could practically hear Atlantes thinking of all the ways he could get out of the arrangement, but he must’ve truly needed Missy’s help, because in a voice vibrating with rage he shouted, “Fine! I expect you at my house at nine sharp tomorrow morning.”

Before Missy could reply, the line went dead.

“Are you sure about this?” Winter asked skeptically, staring at the screen as it went black.

“He doesn’t seem like a good fake date.” Erikson’s hand settled over hers, and she gave him a soft smile that made his eyes darken.

She knew he loved that she reserved her most vulnerable pieces of herself for him; that she trusted him with her entire soul.

Missy nodded as she rubbed her hands together like a movie villain.

“He’s just the kind of guy that will make Gregory jealous: tall, dark, surly, and handsome.

The best part is that Atlantes is so offensive and off-putting that I don’t have to worry about him getting any ideas about this arrangement.

” Missy’s eyes took on a wicked glint. “He’s perfect. ”