Charmed by Michelle Krys Read Free Book Online Page B

nobody’s tried hard enough. I mean, of course nobody wants to go there under
normal
circumstances.”
    She closes the gap between us at such a clip I take a step back. She’s right in my face, looking at me with a fiery intensity in her eyes that I’ve never seen before. It’s a bit scary.
    “You can’t go there,” she says, spittle flying out of her mouth. “You
won’t
go there.”
    So much for the theory of Aunt Penny helping.
    “I
can
go there,” I answer, meeting her gaze. “And I will.”
    She throws her hands in the air and looks around, as if seeking support from the Mexican knickknacks littered across the living room. “You’ll get yourself killed!” she yells. “You don’t know this place. I do. The fact that you’re even thinking about going there is insane. You’ll die!”
    And Paige is there. Rather than persuading me not to try, Aunt Penny’s comments only bolster my resolve to do anything necessary to get to Los Demonios.
    “I knew you wouldn’t understand,” I say. “You were happy to stand back when your own family was in danger.”
    It’s a low blow, and her lip wobbles like a toddler about to cry. But I was done feeling sorry for her a long time ago.
    “I’m out of here,” I say, turning away before her tears have a chance to change my mind.
    “Wait!” she calls to my back. I bound down the front steps toward my car, then peel out of the driveway.

    I left the house with the mission of getting away from Aunt Penny, but it’s not until I’m almost there that I realize I’ve been driving to Bishop’s.
    The lush green hills of Mount Washington pop up before my eyes, and soon I’m pulling up to Bishop’s house. Correction: mansion. The Spanish-style home rises threestories high and stretches for what seems like an entire city block. Towering palm trees and lavish gardens spring up from every corner of the property, and lattices of ivy climb the white stucco walls and coil around the arched windows framed with ornate cast-iron grilles, all the way to the terracotta roof.
    I park in front of the tacky naked-mermaid fountain in the driveway that shoots water out of its nipples (so obviously Bishop’s contribution to the décor) and climb out of the car.
    I don’t even get a chance to knock on the heavy wooden door before it opens, and Bishop is there.
    “What’s up?” he asks, pulling the door wide so I can come in. Instead of his usual badass rocker clothing, he’s sporting a pair of baggy plaid pajama pants and a white T-shirt so old it’s see-through in places. His hair is adorably mussed up on top and flat on one side.
    “Hey,” I answer.
    A rumbling sounds from behind him, and seconds later, his rottweiler, Lovey Lumpkins, barrels down the spiral staircase. Just weeks ago, I wanted to run when he approached, but now I don’t even break my stare from Bishop as the dog’s nails clatter on the marble floors.
    “What?” he asks, noticing my stare.
    “I’ve missed your holey pj’s,” I say. “You look sickeningly cute.” I smile at him as I swat Lovey’s nose out of my crotch. Only Bishop could pull me out of such a horrible mood—I knew I kept him around for a reason.
    He grins. “Yeah, I was thinking about taking a nap, then you came along and ruined that idea.”
    I give him a playful shove in the shoulder and walk inside. He follows me through the foyer.
    “So why are you here?” he asks. “Didn’t you say you had to get home or else Aunt Penny would send a lynch mob after you or something?”
    “We got in a fight.” And like that, whatever good mood I had drains out of me and my anger comes crashing back full force. I toss my keys on the glass table, and the sound echoes off the high, wood-beam ceilings.
    “Let me guess: Los Demonios,” Bishop says.
    “Yep. And get this, she actually wants me not to go.” I pad into the kitchen—my favorite room in Bishop’s house. It features the same wooden beams across the ceiling, smooth archways, and