That Magic Mischief (Crimson Romance) by Conley Susan

Author:Conley, Susan [Conley, Susan]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: romance, paranormal
Publisher: F+W Media
Published: 2013-02-11T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

Six fifty-five P.M. In the hours since the debacle of the magical brunch, Annabelle had organized two and a half bags of clothes to donate to the Salvation Army; had purged her make-up collection of any and all lipsticks, eyeshadows, and eyeliners she’d had for more than a year; had arranged her underwear and sock drawers chromatically; had cleaned out the top shelf of her closet and decided, without too much guilt, too keep everything up there just as it was; and changed her sheets — twice. Occasionally, she stuck her head out the door, and even though the room was empty, she stayed inside where it was safe. Did she feel threatened? She sat down on her bed, and wrapped her arms around a couple of pillows. Not really. Just irritated, the kind of adolescent irritation that came from feeling like her life was being organized by forces beyond her control.

Annabelle sat up straight. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe these forces weren’t beyond her control. The thing … Pooka … said that it was there because it was attached to her. Maybe she herself had to take control of it. Maybe she herself had to grab the bull by the horns — uh oh, Annabelle thought. What if it actually turned into a bull? Maybe she needed to get a major grip, on herself.

Maybe she needed to get up out of bed and out of the bedroom. One step at a time, she thought. Time to take back the living room.

She scooped up the cast-off clothing and nonchalantly strolled over to her little couch, upon which she rested the bulging bags. She hummed to herself as she put on the kettle, relieved that the Pooka hadn’t decided to turn off her gas. The cupboards were, as she had suspected, bare; that’s what happened when she got busy. She wondered if the Chinese food guy would hand her some egg foo yung and fried rice through the window? No, there was enough leftover spaghetti and meat sauce to get her through the night. And as for tomorrow …

She had a gig tomorrow! She banged her fists on the countertop. She had research to do, CDs to listen to, batteries and micro cassette tape to buy. Time to multi-task: she tossed the pasta into a pot, added a bit of sauce and turned the gas on low. Pouring hot water into a mug of fennel tea, she booted up her computer to start surfing Dan Minnehan. As she waited for her Powerbook to get ready for business, she packed up her laptop bag, threw in a pad and paper, checked her cassette recorder, realized she had plenty of batteries …

Hey, she thought. For a minute there I forgot I was haunted.

In almost no time at all, thanks to her orderliness, she was as ready as she’d ever be for the music guy interview. She sat down on the couch, pushing the bags aside, and finished off the rest of her tea.

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