Page 11 of Sugar, Spice, and Magical Moonlight (Midlife Menace #2)
“Other than the man-eating sirens, the magic-canceling coral, the gnome infestation, and extremely rude barista?” It was unfair of me to complain about Ric’s island paradise.
I’d book a vacation to Hades if Ric’s chefs would be there, but I was trying to make a point, darn it, and I was pissed at him for being a demeaning jerk.
“No. It’s paradise, but it would have been nice if you had told me ahead of time where we were going, considering your decisions affect all of us, Ric.
” I released a slow breath while looking into his golden gaze. “All. Of. Us.”
I took a step back when his nose flattened and golden fur sprouted on his face.
Ric and I had never argued before. Maybe I’d pushed him too far.
I didn’t know what happened to sphinxes when one pissed them off.
At least with Colin, my only fear was being assaulted by his rancid breath, which was enough of a reason to let him win the argument.
Hopefully, my boyfriend had better control over his temper than his appetite.
Muttering a curse, he closed his eyes, and his face slowly shifted back into the chiseled features of my handsome Latin lover.
I was not prepared for the flash of hurt in his eyes when he opened them again.
“I’m not going to argue with you, Luci.” Then he turned his back on me and headed for the hall door.
That was it? No smashing things against the wall or screaming in my face? He was just...leaving?
“Where are you going?” I called as he jerked open the door.
He stopped as if he’d hit an invisible wall, his spine and shoulders stiff. “I’ll sleep in another room tonight, if that’s okay with you.”
“Okay,” I breathed.
No, it wasn’t okay, but I didn’t want to sleep with a condescending troll boil tonight.
My shoulders fell when he slammed the door behind him.
I sure as hex hoped our relationship could recover from this, but I refused to be with a man who talked to me like I was a child, even if my stunning spell had been very childish and hexing stupid, and even if he was amazing with my son, and even if his tongue was made of magic. So much magic.
I threw off my clothes and crawled under the covers, trying my best not to think of that tongue. Goddess, help me, it was going to be a long night.
AFTER CRYING MY HEART out, then tossing and turning all night, I finally accepted that I wasn’t going to sleep.
I was still unpacking my feelings about my first fight with Ric.
After my divorce, I had never expected to meet a man who would want to date a woman with lots of emotional baggage and a special needs preteen.
Not only had Ric easily welcomed us, he’d also accepted his job as Des’s protector without question.
For that reason alone, I would be eternally grateful.
And the way he was with my son... not even Des’s own father was as understanding.
In four short weeks, they’d become the best of friends, hanging out together during the day and talking ruggel stats almost every evening at supper.
Des knew the statistics of every ruggel team in history, and Ric never tired of hearing him go on about the highest-scoring players or the games with the most injuries.
Colin had forbidden our son from speaking about the sport at the table.
It was so hard to get Des to say more than three words about anything except for ruggel, and Des’s father had silenced him.
One more reason I’d had to get us away from Colin.
But Ric, amazing Ric, was so good for my son.
He was an attentive, incredible boyfriend, too, and not only because of that thing he did with his tongue.
Okay, that was a lot of it. He could literally make me come with a few licks, all because of “the purr.” If I’d known about “the purr” before, I would’ve exclusively dated feline shifters.
It turned their tongues into vibrators on steroids, and just the act of thinking about it made me frustratingly horny, almost horny enough for me to crawl back into his bed, apologize profusely, and agree to become his willing slave, so long as he licked me.
But no. I was too stubborn (and stupid) to do that.
I’d much rather cry my heart out while admitting no fault.
I should’ve listened to him when he told me not to make the video.
I should’ve known the masses were too brainwashed to listen to reason.
My aunt and her Insurgi had somehow controlled the narrative, and even though the rest of strigadom thought I was the most powerful witch in the world, that wasn’t enough to earn their trust and respect. No, I needed another way.
Swiping tears from my eyes, I sat up against the headboard and reached for my phone on the nightstand.
Ethyl had installed the WitchTok app a few years ago, even though I never used it.
Why did I care to watch a bunch of talentless witches doing stupid magic tricks to music?
I swiped on the app and searched for the Enchantress, nearly dropping my phone when a cloud of glitter burst from the screen. Like I said, stupid magic tricks.
Her page came up at the top of the search.
She had more followers than striga, which made no sense.
Then I remembered the gnome population. If recent news reports were to be believed, the annoying vermin worshipped the WitchToker for some strange reason.
I swiped down her page until a video titled “A special message from the Enchantress” caught my eye.
I clicked on it, and the screen faded, then panned to a strikingly beautiful woman.
Her dark hair was slicked back, an amethyst and diamond crown upon her head as if she was striga royalty.
Last I checked, she wasn’t. No, she was just some no-talent WitchToker who had most of the magical world transfixed by her smoky voice, smooth, ebony skin, violet eyes, and pouty lips.
She was built like a supermodel, with a long, swanlike neck, narrow shoulders and hips.
Her arms were so rail-thin, she had obviously never indulged in a cinnamon roll or, gasp, a slice of cheesecake.
She was wearing a white chiffon Grecian gown that could have passed for a wedding dress.
The deep front cut dropped to her navel, revealing the sides of pert breasts.
Clearly, she’d never breastfed a hungry baby before, though my breasts sagged before I’d had Des.
I’d never had pert breasts. When I was younger, my nipples had already anticipated Father Time and drunk Uncle Gravity and were in a race to reach my toes.
Nana Clara had said it was because I slouched, always with my nose in a book.
The Enchantress no doubt wore a back brace or else had a giant wand wedged up her ass to have achieved such perfect posture.
I knew her type. She probably measured every calorie and carb.
No third, okay, fourth slice of pizza for her.
No, she looked more like a celery juice and tofu on grain-free crackers type of witch, indulging only in low-carb martinis with extra olives to go along with her sleep meds.
She took her coffee black with artificial sweeteners, nothing else for breakfast, as she fasted until supper while secretly dreaming all day about gorging on donuts, or in her case, a few grains of rice.
Was I harsh in my assessment? Maybe. But I didn’t care.
Something about her was faker than fake, and I couldn’t believe I seemed to be the only witch in the magical realm who wasn’t impressed by the coy tilt of her head, her shimmery lip gloss, or the way she drew sparkly hearts in the air with her wand.
“My darling Enchanters,” she cooed in an unrecognizable foreign accent that could’ve been French, or Spanish, or maybe even Italian.
I wanted to gag when she pursed her lips.
My face heated when she started talking about the Phoenix, whom she and most of strigadom assumed to be me. There was no mistaking the disgusted undertone when she called me “a middle-aged, divorced, American baker.”
She blamed me for the destruction of the Tribunal headquarters. As if the legion of demons, the sphinx the size of a dragon, and the taco-eating, flatulating troll had nothing to do with it.
Then she called herself “the most beloved striga on WitchTok.” Ego much? I snorted when she asked me to reach out for a private meeting while blowing kisses toward the screen. As if I’d want to meet with that phony reality star!
She ended with a bunch more flowery trollshit while telling her Enchanters to “practice mindful magic.” What in Hades did that mean?
I couldn’t stand her. And Ric and Ethyl wanted me to meet her? I’d rather have a blind and drunk druid give me a Pap smear and a root canal while forcing me to listen to a sales pitch about my broom’s extended warranty.