Magic & Smut
Dear Reader,
I know, I know…I promised you this chapter ages ago, and here we are, fashionably late like Spencer showing up to literally everything. In my defense, I’ve been battling my own ghost witch (she’s called “Distraction” and she’s relentless), attempting spells that backfired spectacularly (much like Erin), and generally living that “I’ll do it tomorrow” life.
I could blame a cursed typewriter, a vampire roommate who keeps irregular hours, or claim my werewolf ate my homework, but honestly? I just got distracted by Halloween snacks and existential dread like a normal person.
Please accept this revised Chapter 6 as my peace offering, along with this bonus haiku as penance:
Cat stares at the wall
Nothing there—or is there? Shit.
Now I can’t sleep either.
Thank you for your patience, your grace, and for not cursing me with any mysterious ghost witch spells. I promise the next update will come faster than Lizzie moving at line cook speed (but probably slower than Spencer finding trouble).
With love, apologies, and questionable decision-making skills,
Your Perpetually Behind Author,
Harlo
P.S. If you see any typos, that was definitely the ghost. Blame Sadie. Don’t worry, you’ll meet her soon.
Erin and I were the first to emerge into the living room, restless energy pushing me forward. I kept moving to dodge any more ghost talk, knocking on Spencer’s door with barely a pause before barging in. “Spencer, I need…”
The words died in my throat. I’d expected Spencer’s room to be nice, but this was something else entirely. The bed dominated the space, a California King or something even more absurd. It was the kind of mattress that required a map to find your way back to the edge. Spencer’s parents had interesting taste, to say the least.
“Beautiful,” I finally managed.
“Thank you,” Spencer purred, striking a pose against the wall that would make a cologne ad jealous. His muscles rippled under his shirt with theatrical precision.
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “I meant the room, not your abs, though yes, you’re very impressive.” We both knew he lived at the gym, and with his genetics, he barely had to work for those results.
Spencer flexed his pecs in response and I wandered deeper into the room, peeking behind a partial wall to discover a marble shower built for a small orgy. Three shower heads, one center, one on each wall. After seeing that bed, it tracked.
I ran my fingers along the cool marble, then drifted to the window overlooking the dark, angry ocean. Rain still hammered against the glass, streaming down the gutters faster than they could handle. “This weather better clear up,” I muttered.
When I turned back, Spencer had his notebook out again, scribbling away. I shook my head. “Could you be any more obvious?”
He grinned, completely unrepentant, and whispered, “Deadline.”
I snorted and followed him back to the living room, where Erin was setting up her spell with the intensity of a bomb technician. Crystals clinked against the table. She dropped one and cursed under her breath, gathering her supplies with shaking hands.
We all knew what was coming. The second Erin looked around for an assistant, we exploded into a chorus of “not it!” while slapping our noses. Zora was a half-second too slow.
“Dammit!” Zora groaned while we cackled like hyenas.
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Erin said with mock primness, “and that you willingly volunteered.”
“You know we’re kidding,” I said, trying to keep Erin’s mood from souring.
She smiled but shot us all a withering look before returning to her preparations. Zora shuffled over, and Erin handed her an open box with stern instructions not to spill it because it was expensive.
Lizzie approached next, offering her stained shirt. “Are you sure you can do this?”
Erin ignored her, rubbing something red and sparkly into the fabric. The substance made the stains look worse, much worse. “Oh, that doesn’t look good,” Lizzie observed.
Still being ignored, Erin pulled a small blue feather from her hair and I wondered when it had that gotten there. Erin began chanting while waving it over the sparkly mess. The stains started to bubble. They turned briefly purple, which seemed promising, and then… Poof!
A spark. The feather caught fire.
“Ha!” Erin started to celebrate, then registered the flaming feather dropping onto the shirt. “Uh—”
The celebration died as flames spread across the fabric, turning the former stains into charred holes.
“Oh, Erin…” I breathed, still frozen in shock.
Erin’s eyes went huge. She just stood there, completely paralyzed. Zora snapped into action first, grabbing the shirt and sprinting to the kitchen to douse it under the faucet.
When she returned with the dripping, destroyed shirt, Erin found her voice. “I got the spot out.”
“For fuck’s sake, Erin,” Lizzie exploded. “You got the spot out, then you flambéed it!”
“I… I…” Erin stammered, deflating under Lizzie’s glare.
“No more magic,” I said firmly.
Lizzie examined the shirt, making sure no embers remained before taking it back to the bedroom. She should’ve been furious. I would’ve been. When she returned, her expression read pure defeat.
“I’m sorry,” Erin managed, each word seemingly painful to produce.
I nearly fell over. Erin apologizing without prompting was rarer than her successfully completing a spell.
“It’s okay,” Lizzie sighed, though clearly it wasn’t.
The tension hung heavy until Lizzie retreated to the kitchen, where the familiar clang of pots and pans announced she was cooking through her feelings. It was her therapy, though sadly, she couldn’t even enjoy the results anymore. Spencer claimed the couch corner, propping himself up to write. I leaned against the kitchen island while Erin dug through the snacks from Mabel’s, emerging with chips.
Zora, helping Lizzie, fussed, “Don’t spoil your dinner.”
“Don’t worry,” Erin said around a mouthful of chips, “I’ll eat that too.”
I had to smile. The munchies were definitely hitting me. Someone giggled, Lizzie, I think, and that was all it took. We all dissolved into laughter, harder and longer than the moment warranted, releasing all the bad energy.
Erin flopped into a chair, immediately buried in her phone, no doubt swiping through dating apps. Spencer kept writing. Lizzie and Zora worked on food. I found myself drawn to the bookshelves.
Bex and I bonded over books, staying up until dawn discussing random novels. We’d shared our first kiss in the stacks of her first big library job. She’d be so jealous she’d missed this collection.
Running my fingers along the spines, I grabbed a few and settled on a floor cushion, partly to browse, partly to prove I could still sit cross-legged without my joints staging a rebellion.
“What do you think he’s writing?” Erin whispered.
“Spencer?” I whispered back. “Not sure.”
“Want to look?”
“Quit being nosey,” I scolded, but I was already cracking open a dusty leather-bound journal with faded green edges. The handwriting flowed wildly across yellowed pages.
The wait proved too much for Erin. She snatched Spencer’s notebook before I could stop her, and within seconds, her eyes went saucer-wide. A deep blush crept up her neck. “You’ll never believe it.”
Spencer emerged from the bathroom. “Believe what?”
Caught red-handed, Erin spun around, hiding the notebook behind her back. She gathered herself with visible effort. “I didn’t know you could write like that.” Her tone was sincere, but the blush gave her away.
Lizzie and Zora approached from the kitchen. “The food is…what’s happening?” Lizzie looked between Spencer and Erin.
Spencer’s eyes found mine like a drowning man spotting shore. I tried to help. “It’s nothing, just…”
“That is NOT nothing,” Erin interrupted. “That’s smut! Spencer writes smut! I love it!” She giggled like a kid with a secret.
Spencer froze, shoulders dropping. He was completely exposed.
“What do you mean, smut?” Lizzie asked.
Still smiling, Erin explained, “I mean he could make Jackie Collins blush.”
Spencer swept past Erin and snatched his notebook back. I walked over and squeezed his shoulder. He was preparing to bolt. I tried to give him control of the situation. “Why not now?”
Lizzie stepped forward, confused. “Wait, have you been writing smut all evening?”
Zora giggled behind her hand.
Spencer shook off his nerves, and a smile finally quirked his lips. “No, not all evening… Some of it was dialogue… about the smut.”
I chuckled. “So he writes smut.”
I’d known for a while that Spencer was writing. I also knew he made serious money and donated most of it to the animal shelter and local charities, but I kept that to myself.
“Who is GV?” Erin asked abruptly.
I cursed under my breath. The story was unraveling, but I waited to see what Spencer would do. He’d asked me to keep his pen name secret.
Spencer took a deep breath and looked at his notebook. The embossed initials GV gleamed on the spine. He raised his eyes, more confident now. “Grace Valentyne.”
“No…” Erin shook her head in disbelief.
Zora stepped forward, voice quiet but steady. “I’ve known since you wrote The Heat Between the Sheets.”
We all whirled to stare. Spencer’s jaw dropped even as his smile grew. “How?”
Zora shrugged. “After Xander Rosenberg reviewed your book on our website, he told me he was sleeping with the author. I did some digging and found you.”
Spencer grinned, looking guilty but relieved. He slinked to the couch and stretched out on the chaise like a satisfied cat. Letting go of secrets must feel incredible.
Erin approached first. “Spencer—or wait, should I say Grace?”
Spencer looked less certain.
“You burn through lovers like a forest fire…” Erin dropped to her knees beside the couch. “Teach me your ways!”
It didn’t take much to send us crashing back into giggles, this time with renewed energy.
“Honestly, how many people have you…?” Erin asked with genuine curiosity.
Spencer smiled, actually counting in his head. “Not as many as you’d think…”
“Give me a number,” Erin insisted.
Spencer played coy. “I’ll say this… it’s less than fifty. I’m just hitting my stride.” He sat up, pleased with himself.
“EH! EH! EH!”
We all jumped as the kitchen timer shrieked.
“Fuck me upside down and backward, that thing is loud!” Lizzie cursed, rushing to check on dinner. Zora followed, eager to help.
Erin sat slack-jawed. “Fifty? Fifty?”
Spencer raised an eyebrow and secured the leather strap across his journal. A small commotion erupted in the kitchen as Lizzie and Zora began setting the table. I watched Erin watch Spencer, knowing she wouldn’t let this go anytime soon.
I shook my head. For now, we’d eat.
Leave a Reply