Chapter Twenty

CHAPTER TWENTY

She knew she needed to do two things, before he came over.

One was to concoct some kind of anti-horny potion, for herself. The other was to find a way to get her hands on that one ingredient neither of the guidebooks was willing to describe. Because she felt pretty sure by now that it was key to cracking the make a werewolf stop feeling horny for me potion. The idea buzzed in her head whenever she made yet another failed attempt to create such a blend.

So she did what needed to be done.

Even though doing it was fucking hell .

She felt like a mass of quivering, overheated Jell-O as she biked into town. And not just because of the now-constant thrum of weird arousal. There was also just plain old embarrassment, trying to destroy her peace of mind. All she could think about was listening to him, like someone obsessed with him, and then doing the very dirty thing she had done a little later on, in an even more obsessed way than that.

And the memory made her face flame about every thirty seconds.

So of course Nancy was going to notice. But she plunged into the bookstore, regardless. If she asks, I'll tell her I recently rode my bike up Mount Doom , she said to herself firmly. And she believed it would work, too. It sounded perfectly reasonable.

Until she got inside, and saw who was with Nancy.

Right there, leaning on the counter. Marley Maples. Marley Maples, dressed extra awesomely. Boxy little leather jacket, red distressed skirt, blue tights, chunky-heeled boots. And that sharp little smile just to underline her probable intent: one wrong word, one hint that you're doing anything as ludicrous as wanting to fuck the guy who called you a fat ass, and I'll put you in the paper .

She could even imagine the headline—"Woman Last Seen in High School Being Weird Is Hot for Her Former Enemy." And came very close to running back out the door at the thought. In fact, it was only imagining another headline that stopped her: "Town Weirdo Dashes Away to Perv Some More over Local Man."

Because true, that sounded bananas. But so were all of Marley's articles.

And worse: they were smart. They were very smart. Marley was smart.

Her black eyes glittered as she took Cassie in.

"Good to see you again, Cass," she said, cool as anything.

While Cassie did her best to avoid saying a single self-incriminating word. She smiled and nodded and walked over to the shelf, heart hammering for two reasons, now: the thought of Marley guessing about Seth, and the idea that Marley would somehow know about the supernatural guidebooks she wanted to grab.

Despite suspecting that Marley probably wouldn't.

And sure enough, when Cassie turned around with the book she'd selected— Weird Terms and Wonderful Definitions —both Marley and Nancy had that blank look about them. Neither seemed to register what she held in her hands.

Though was it Cassie's imagination, or did Nancy's gaze seem to linger on the book? Like a witch's might. Or maybe a cobble's. And after a second, a frown even slid between Nancy's soft brown eyebrows. Like she was trying to identify someone through a thick fog. "You okay, Nance?" Cassie found herself saying.

But Nancy answered as though Cassie had been asking about something else altogether. "Oh well, you know. Things are kind of tough at the minute," she said, in a way that tugged at Cassie more strongly than she could have imagined, for someone she still didn't know that well.

But before Cassie could ask what she meant, Marley swooped in. "Better than you're doing, huh, Cass?" she said. "What with that dipshit hanging around you all the time. My sources say he stops by your place every morning. So, you know, just gimme the word and I'll write something scathing about him, until he leaves you alone."

All of which should have felt nice. It kind of put Cassie in the clear, on the question of can they see how horny I am for him? But unfortunately, Cassie kind of suspected that Marley was really saying something else. Like she was maybe wanting Cassie to know that she knew. Or trying to make Cassie feel like she was being watched by whoever these sources were. Or possibly she just wanted to press Cassie until she broke.

And sure enough, a second later, here it was.

"Unless he's not bothering you at all," Marley said.

Then she raised one already pretty arched eyebrow.

While Nancy looked back and forth between them, visibly uncomfortable. "Here's your purchase, Cass," she squeaked as she handed Cassie a carefully wrapped parcel. Because, bless her, she clearly wanted to get Cassie out of this, as much as Cassie wanted to be out of it.

And now all she needed to do was say a quick "Gotta run," and she was free.

She was out the door, and down the street, as fast as her bike would take her.

S HE CRACKED THE book as soon as she got through her front door. Stood in the hallway, flipping the pages, until she found a clue about the mysterious molloch. But it took cross-referencing the book's mention with a site she found online—one that seemed to stutter in and out and randomly showed her some very weird things—to get the answer she needed.

Then it was just a matter of waiting for Seth to show up.

Though he took his sweet time doing it. It was around four in the afternoon by the time he clomped up the porch steps. Much later than whatever Marley's spies had told her. Late enough, in fact, that Cassie was starting to worry.

But as soon as she laid eyes on him, she could see there was nothing to worry about.

Or maybe everything to worry about, depending on your point of view.

Because he looked like someone who had been recently fucked. And so thoroughly that he appeared to be half asleep while standing up. His gaze was lazy, satisfied. His movements kind of lax—like someone had oiled all his joints. And he let out the most contented sigh as he swung into one of the kitchen chairs. Like he had turned into the opposite of everything he'd been for the last week. For more than the last week, if she was being honest.

God, seeing him in this state made her realize just how fucked up he had been before.

How skittish, how jerky and jittery.

So it was heartening to see.

But at the same time, fuck . She wished she'd managed to make that anti-horny potion for herself. Something really strong, to take away the urge to ask him questions she probably did not want to know the answers to. Questions that, truthfully, she already knew the answers to, anyway. He's like this because he probably spent all night and all day coming his brains out , she thought, before she could stop herself.

And all she could do after that was plunge into a different topic, to give herself some kind of fighting chance. "Okay, so I think I've figured out what molloch is for this cure. Dragon scale. Which I am very much hoping is just a fancy supernatural weed, and does not require me to don a suit of armor and find myself a lance," she said, as firmly and funnily as she could.

And if her voice shook as she did?

Well, that was fine. He didn't seem to notice.

"You're totally right, it doesn't," he said.

"Oh thank god."

"You might need a flame-retardant suit, however."

God, the teasing way he said it. That skewed smile, the light in his eyes.

Then just as she was about to lose it a little bit: "I'm kidding, I'm kidding. I know where we can get some essence of dragon scale. Kind of a trek, and the office it's in might be locked, but it won't be a big deal to get around."

"You mean you've just put me through brief terror for nothing."

He spread his hands. "What can I say? I like seeing your eyes go wide."

"Your eyes are gonna go wide when I get you back for this."

"Go ahead and get me back. In fact, I want you to do it. Really hard."

"Oh yeah?"

Oh no , her brain cried. But too late, too late. Now they were doing something that felt way too much like flirting. Like they had at the kitchen table—only worse, so much worse, because that hadn't been intentional. And they hadn't really made it personal. But here he was saying you and she was saying you and…

Was he standing up?

Was he coming toward her ?

"Seth, we really need to concentrate on getting this stuff," she said, in a voice that sounded far too much like a breathless gasp. Honestly, it was a miracle he listened, and stopped, and let her continue. "So just tell me where we need to go."

And after that he finally seemed able to focus.

Sort of. She could tell he had to avoid looking at her to do it. "We need to figure out how we're going to get there first. Because obviously we need to go together, and neither of us has a working car."

"We don't need cars. I have the Hoover."

"Right. And how am I gonna get there on that?"

"Well, it will still fly when you're riding it too."

"Cassie, the problem isn't how much weight or non-witchiness the magic can take. The problem is that I will have to be jammed right up against your butt in order for us to both safely fit. And as things stand, I can barely cope with saying that I'll have to be jammed right up against your butt in order for us to both safely fit," he said, and although her brain started babbling about him being into that, and what it would feel like, and whether they'd accidentally rub against each other whenever she turned too hard, she managed to keep it together.

"So, then, you just ride in front," she said.

And got some incredulous eyebrows for it. "I'm honestly worried that you think that will be any better."

"I don't see why. Then it'll just be me jammed up against your butt and—oh no , oh wow , you like that. You're saying you like that. Oh god, okay that's.… Yeah, that's a lot of information I shouldn't have uncovered."

She had to fully turn away from him, then.

Her back to him, hands on the rim of the kitchen sink, for support. And even that didn't help. Her legs had just gone, they had completely gone, it was almost impossible to stay upright. The only way she managed was by counting sheep in her head—like she was trying to sleep—instead of thinking for even one second about what he had meant.

Because even one second was too much.

She got a mental glimpse of him arching his back, and—

"Okay, we really need to go," she burst out frantically.

But he wasn't even paying attention. "If it helps at all, this talk isn't affecting me too badly. I think the potion you gave me is really helping to even out that instant jump from one to seven thousand, on the horny scale," he said, all cheerful.

While she tried her best not to die.

"Yeah, well, probably best to hurry anyway."

"You're right. So let's hear some other ideas."

"The other ideas depend on something pretty weird."

"Like what?"

He raised an eyebrow. But this one wasn't incredulous. It was worried.

And it was right to be too.

Because the answer was this:

"On you still having that rusted-out old Chevy in your yard."