cut off, you dumped him in a ditch, and you left a scary revenge note, complete with a literary quote and a go-fuck- yourself.”
“He lied to me.”
“True, and circumstantial evidence pointed to his definitely being an asswipe. But since then he has behaved respectably, by either man or wolf standards.”
Candice sighed. “I can’t call him. I feel like an idiot.”
“Do you want me to cast a little—”
“Hell, no! Godiva Tawdry, promise me right now that you will not put any kind of love spell, or anything like a love spell, on Justin.”
“Okay! I promise. But I still think you should call him.” She brightened. “Hey, I could have Romeo talk to —”
“No! God, I feel like I’m trapped in a dream where I’m back in high school trying to figure out my locker combination and realizing I’m butt-ass naked. Just leave it alone, Godiva. If Justin wanted to see me again, he’d figure out a way to do it.” And she knew it was true. Candice had only been with him for a short time, but she believed in his tenacity. He’d set his sights on seducing her, and he’d certainly accomplished his goal. If he had any desire to talk to her or see her, he’d get it done. But even though his behavior had changed drastically since the night she’d almost had him neutered, he had stayed completely away from her. Not that she cared.
“Candice?”
“Oh, sorry, what did you say?”
“I asked what your last poetry assignment was about.”
“We have to write two poems about heartbreak. One free verse. One sonnet. And neither can be clichéd.”
“Oh, a real uplifting assignment.”
“Yeah, it’s just one laugh after another over here.”
“Are they done?”
“Almost. I just have to finish tweaking the couplet to conclude the sonnet. Then I’m going to set them aside for a day or so, and do a quick rewrite before I have to turn them in next week.”
“After you do that, why don’t you and I get all dressed up and go into Denver for some excellent Italian food? I’ll even drive.”
“I’m not flying on that damn broom of yours.”
“I said
“I’ll think about it,” Candice said.
Godiva paused. She was almost afraid to ask the next question, but she knew she had to. Her talent was, after all, healing. Resolutely, she said, “Candy, what happened with Justin really did break your heart, didn’t it?” It took her friend several seconds to answer her.
“Yeah,” she finally whispered into the phone. “Isn’t that stupid?”
“No, it’s not stupid. It’s what can happen when we love someone, and you have rarely let yourself love anyone.”
“Ironic, isn’t it? And I’m the one who’s been married a zillion times.”
“You didn’t really love any of the ex-husnumbers. But there was something about Justin that got to you.”
“I wish . . . ,” Candy began.
“What, honey?”
“I wish your magic worked on me.”
“So do I, honey. So do I.”
After she hung up, Godiva sat staring at the phone a long time. There had to be some way she could help her friend. After all, it was her fault this whole thing had happened. First, she’d cast the drawing spell that had brought them together. Then she’d spilled the beans about Justin’s promiscuous ways. Who knew the wolf was going to have some big, hairy epiphany and learn to zip his pants? And now the gossip tree said that he was really getting his shit together. Seems he was spearheading the acquisition of a new restaurant for his family, and the eavesdropping fairies, who seemed to have a real soft spot for the wolf, had even heard whispers that he’d reenrolled in college. Was it just her? Wasn’t it obvious to everyone that Justin was trying to make himself worthy of Candice?
And Candice was moping around like she’d been stuck in a classroom with the horrid Desdaine triplets (Godiva shuddered—Goddess! What a wretched thought! Those girls were the brat pack.). Something had to be done.
Maybe if Justin knew how miserable Candice was . . . maybe then he’d call her and they’d live happily ever after!
But she’d promised Candice she wouldn’t cast any love spells on him. Godiva tapped her long fingernail against her chin. Then she smiled. Candice was writing poems about heartbreak. What if Justin were to read them? He wouldn’t know that they were an assignment! He’d just think she was pining over him—which she was. That was it; the fairies would be only too happy to help....
Humming to herself, Godiva began gathering four-leaf clovers . . . the little dried white things from the tops of dandelions . . . a pinch of frog snot . . . and various other delightful things she would need for the spell. . . .
Candice rubbed her neck and stretched. Well, the couplet that ended the sonnet was done. Good thing, too, it was getting dark and she should move inside from her porch. But she didn’t get up. She liked sitting out there. And it wasn’t because she remembered another evening on the porch, one that had been filled with hope and magic and love. . . .
No. It was just that the woods were quiet, and their somberness reflected her recent mood. It was nice to sit out on her balcony and write, even if what she wrote was damn depressing. She lifted the paper that had the final draft of both poems written on it and shook her head sadly. They were good. She knew it. But if they did evoke feelings, the feelings would be sadness, loss, longing. . . .
She put the paper down, remembering how not long ago she had dreamed of writing things that evoked brighter emotions.
What was wrong with her? So she’d had a little fling that had ended abruptly and, quite frankly, not very well. It was ridiculous that it was still making her feel this sad. She closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of the chair. What was it about Justin that stayed with her? Was it just because he’d been so damn handsome? That couldn’t be it. Ex-husband numbers one and four had been very handsome men. Well, was it the sex? No. Ex-husband numbers one and three had been fantastic in the sack. She’d gotten over all of them, more easily than she usually cared to admit. So why was Justin still haunting her dreams?
Against her closed eyes the warm evening breeze had picked up. It felt good, almost like a caress against her skin. It made her think of the summer, when dandelions dried and their little white heads blew all over fields of four-leaf clovers. She sighed and relaxed, feeling suddenly sleepy. . . .
. . . Until she heard the wild flapping and opened her eyes in time to see her homework papers being lifted by the crazy wind. She leaped up, grabbing at papers, sure she saw translucent pastel wings fluttering in among the notebook pages as her poetry scattered out into the forest.
“Fucking fairies!” she screamed, running after the trail of paper.
An hour later she had still not found the final drafts of both poems. Grumbling about hanging sticky flypaper and a giant bug zapper to get rid of the fairy problem, she gave up, resigning herself to rewriting the finals again. At least she’d just finished both poems that day. It shouldn’t be too hard for her to remember exactly what she’d written. . . .
He’d gone for a walk. Justin hadn’t even understood why, but all of a sudden it had been very important that he take a walk in the woods, and before he knew it, he was heading south. Toward her house. He’d just realized how close he was to her little log cabin when the wind changed directions and, in a flutter of iridescent wings, two papers blew straight into his hands. He felt a jolt at the familiar writing.
Poetry . . . her poetry!
