Bedroom Eyes by Hailey North Read Free Book Online Page B

some assistance. From you.”
    Penelope backed away. “Oh, no. Leave me out of this.” She selected two salad plates and pasta bowls and carried them to the table. In a firm voice she said, “Shoplifting was more than enough for me. Why, my heart stopped in my chest when that sales clerk caught me in the doorway!” She arranged the dishes and crossed back to the counter.
    “Oh, phifil! Like I said, no sense of adventure.”
    “There’s adventure and then there’s wrongdoing.”
    “Granted. But we already decided that I am no more a possession of that store than you are. Ergo—isn’t that what you lawyer-types say?—” She peered upward, a sly grin on her face, “you did not shoplift.”
    Oddly comforted by that logic, Penelope turned back to her interrupted dinner preparations, although the last thing she wanted to do right now was entertain a dinner guest. Charming, attentive, and unquestionably handsome, David had captured her attention by his steady yet respectfully restrained pursuit over the past month and a half. But curiously enough, she felt no excitement at the idea of his coming to her apartment, just as she’d experienced no magic at the dinner party he’d hosted at his home.
    Now, if it were the man with the bedroom eyes. . .
    “Stop,” she said.
    “I’m only trying to explain how my spell went awry.”
    “Oh, not you,” Penelope said. “I truly do want to hear how it is you came to be sitting in my kitchen.”
    “Well, at least you’re curious. That’s a good precursor for developing a sense of adventure.”
    Penelope thought of her unchecked fantasies, of how more and more they ran out of control. “I’ll have you know I do have a sense of adventure. I just keep it in check.”
    Mrs. Merlin shook her head. “Better to let it out. Why once upon a time, more years ago than I can count, I used to be a little on the fearful side myself. I tried to do the right things, belong to the PTA and cook spaghetti for the church suppers. But, fortunately for me, my grandmother came to live with us.”
    “And I suppose your grandmother was a candle magician?”
    The small head nodded. “The best there was. My mother lived with us, too, you see, and she strongly objected to my grandmother teaching me anything related to magick.
    “There were fourteen of us in a big house off Rampart and Esplanade,” Mrs. Merlin continued. “Now, those were the days! Except I was always doing the work for everyone else. But once my grandmother began teaching me magick, I started making everyone else carry their own load. Why should I be washing dishes when I could be learning the spell to cure a pollen allergy, the colors of the candles needed to heal a broken heart, the rainbow blend for financial success?”
    “Why indeed?” The fantasy-loving side of Penelope’s mind took over as she listened to the tiny woman. Who wouldn’t rather heal the sick and weave love spells than do dishes? She pictured the woman life-size, dressed in the flowing caftan, holding court on the broad porch of one of New Orleans’ elegant old homes.
    Perhaps it would be that magical time between sunset and dusk when the setting sun kissed the clouds with tongues of fire. And even as the flames leaped in the heavens, the flames of Mrs. Merlin’s candles would catch hold and lift their entreaties to the mysterious powers she invoked.
    “Now, that’s an improvement.” Mrs. Merlin’s voice broke through Penelope’s reverie.
    She jerked back to the reality of her kitchen.
    “Your aura has gone completely blue,” Mrs. Merlin pronounced with a satisfied air. “That suits you far, far better than that muddy-colored armor you wear most of the time.”
    “Blue, schmoo.” Penelope turned to finishing the fettucine, then mixed the ingredients for the alfredo sauce she’d decided to serve. She refused to make eye contact with the gremlin magician, refused to acknowledge the woman had observed a difference in Penelope while she’d