Something Wicked by Jillian Sterling Read Free Book Online

on the pages were
handwritten in elaborate script, a cursive writing that was no longer practiced
anymore. It was like an oversized ornate journal. But before I could make out
the words on the page—the handwriting was a little hard to read—a lose page
dropped out, landing beside my foot.
    Unlike the book's yellowed paper, this was crisp and white.
It was a note, and it was addressed to me, my name written out in careful block
letters in black ink. I opened the folded piece of paper, and those same block
letters wrote out: This should fix your spell problem.  
    Shoving the note back into the book, I quickly stood and
looked around once more. The yard was quiet, save for a sparrow chirping away
in the bushes to my left. Who could possibly know I have a spell problem? I did
one last visual sweep of the neighborhood, and once again came up empty.
    I rubbed my finger along the book's cover apprehensively. I
didn't even need to read the contents to know it was a Book of Shadows, a
witch's spell book. There was a whole bookcase in the attic sagging under the
weight of the many spell books passed down in my own family. Grams' Book of
Shadows was stashed in our butler's pantry along with the cookbooks. My own
Book of Shadows, a pathetic work in progress, was wedged between Grams and a
dog-eared, second edition copy of The Joy of Cooking . (It's the edition
that shows you how to skin a squirrel.)
    Hugging the sizable tome to my chest, I turned to go back
into the house. It was time to face facts. I was a solid diviner; my choice of
tools, my Tarot decks. But my spell and potion work just wasn't strong enough,
and that's why the love spell failed.
    We'd never used spells that weren't concocted by some family
member and then passed down over the years. But Gran never said another witch's
spells were off limits either. Maybe this strange book would kick start my
magic. At this point, I had nothing to lose.

 
    CHAPTER SEVEN

     
    With the late August morning sun beating on my back, I hoped
my SPF 75 sunblock wouldn't fail me. But the warmth from its rays eased the aches
in my neck and back from the physical labor of cleaning out toilets and machine
buffing floors. Johnny was right. The commercial buffer was heavy and hard to
maneuver. Getting the English Department floors spotless last night was nothing
short of a miracle, and I was paying for it in aches and pains this morning. My
body screamed in agony so loudly that I woke up at 6 AM, unable to get back to
sleep. So I opted for an early morning reading session at Diana's Pool, a
semi-private watering hole isolated from the other major swim spots. It was a
hike to get out here, but the secluded pool surrounded by rocks and a waterfall
made it worth the work.
    I propped myself up on my elbows, re-adjusting my baseball
cap slightly. Dragging over the Book of Shadows that was left on my doorstep
yesterday morning, I flipped it open to the page marked with a simple red silk
ribbon. It was bookmarking a chapter "For when your magic fails."
    "No joke," I harrumphed and sipped my Dunkin'
Donuts iced coffee, wistfully thinking that I should have also treated myself
to a donut. But I cheaped out. Money would be even tighter if I couldn't get
the damn spell to work, and my confidence level was nil. If Tara canceled my tarot-reading
gig for her sorority, I'd miss the next tax payment on the house. And that
would suck.
    Find your Telos , the chapter began.
    What the hell was a telos again?
    I didn't have a whole lot of time to examine the book
yesterday. The late night cleaning shift sucked my energy and I fell asleep
with the book in my lap last night. I was barely three pages in, but I recalled
seeing "telos" in one of them.
    I replaced the ribbon and flipped back to the beginning of
the book. Too bad homegrown books don't come with an index or a table of
contents. I passed a few yellowed typewritten pages shoved randomly into the
book (one had a meatloaf recipe) before finding the