Fiction River: Hex in the City by Fiction River Page A

the petals moved up toward the sun, not down. The tingle grew as I willed the petals to continue up, their reach to the sun, a blooming in the morning light. And it did. Bloomed fresh and bright as if it was its first, a new bud. New petals grew and peeled back to reveal a blood red heart that kissed the air with a gentle fragrance. The scent of garden strolls, four-star dining, and sensual interludes.
    I pulled my hand back and away. Shocked and amazed at what I saw. Had done? Maybe. But three wilted petals, brown edged and curling, lay below the towering beauty of the new rose. A testament to the change. What had happened.
    What had happened?
    “Magic, Harold.” A hawk-faced woman with hard clear blue eyes lowered herself into the chair across from me, her tone sharp and full of power. The tan sleeve of her thin beige overcoat pulled back over a long thin arm as she hailed Jacqueline with a single wave of her fingers. Her back to the woman, Jacqueline still turned immediately at the summons, politely excused herself from the table she had been attending to, and wove her way to my table.
    “Hot chocolate, extra hot. As in I-could-sue-you-but-I-won’t hot.” The hawk woman winked at Jacqueline, though her face remained severe. Jacqueline still giggled. “Whip cream. Shot of raspberry.” She dismissed Jacqueline with a nod and her attention shifted to me. Jacqueline scurried to fetch the childish drink.
    I just stared at the strangest, most rude woman of my acquaintance.
    “You should try one sometime. A little sweet in your life would not do you harm.” She said and absently picked up one of the wilted petals off the table. She rubbed it between her two fingers, then looked up at me. Her eyes pinned me to my chair. I shook, not just the Parkinson’s. Then shook it off.
    “My Lady,” I started, since Miss seemed more than inappropriate to address her with. She shifted in her seat, eyes still on mine, and crossed her legs. Long, elegant legs. Her jacket parted at the knee to reveal her skirt edge, red. Blood red like the petal she rubbed between her fingers. My eyes darted back to hers and found she had raised a single eyebrow at me. “My lady, though you are a lovely addition to my morning, some people would think it rude to join another party’s table without an invitation.”
    “Well, then thank goodness that isn’t you, hmmm?” her voice, low for a woman’s still held a distinct feminine quality. And the low purr of a cat. A cat of power. With a voice box made by Peterbilt.
    “So, do you like my present?” she asked.
    “I am not sure what you mean, Ms…?” I let the question hang.
    But she ignored my pry for her name. Blatantly ignored. Quite unladylike.
    “You now possess the magic to restore life to the flower. Single flowers to start. And small plants. A little bit of practice and whole bouquets will freshen at your touch.” Jacqueline arrived at that moment with the Lady’s hot chocolate. Whip cream, white and frothy, swirled into a mountain peak up over the lip of the tall white mug. “Thank you, Jacqueline.”
    Jacqueline sauntered away with a little happy skip, as the hawk woman lifted the mug to her lips. She tipped the mug and moaned in her throat as she swallowed. She set the mug down and licked thin pink lips with a smack. Whip cream lined her upper lip and dotted her nose with a dab of white froth. So unladylike.
    Then she smiled, and the bright sunlight became like a shadow in the face of it. Her face glowed with happiness. I had to blink my eyes against it. Then the light receded, and I could look at her straight on once again. She sat like a normal woman. A normal woman who radiated power, bore true the adage “alight with pleasure,” and spoke of magic. With very nice legs.
    “My Lady,” The title felt more true by the moment, “who are you?”
    “Little confused are you? A bit of a change for you?” the Lady teased fiercely, and took another sip of her hot chocolate. The