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Authors: Jillian Sterling
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stressed-and-horny to lighthearted-and-nonplused.
"I'll swing by when I'm done at the frat house, okay?"
I could use a drink anyway, even though I really couldn't
afford it.
The silence told me that Finn had given up, so I continued
to plow through the books.
After about 30 more minutes of searching, I unearthed a
small thin volume, barely bigger than a size of a modern paperback. The cover
was a plain hard black, and its pages were torn, the writing worn away in
places. A date at the front put it at the end of the 17 th century, somewhere
around Dunkeld in Scotland.
Cousin Niall was a randy fellow! The bulk of his spell work
was ripped out of the book, but his copious notes on the acts themselves
remained. Maybe it was more dangerous to be busted for witchcraft than for
imaginative copulation back then. Man or woman, he happily obliged all sorts of
kink. And he didn't only chronicle the acts with incredible detail, he noted
the outcome of the spells he was casting. Based on his lore, he wielded some
powerful spells, powerful enough to be sent to the castle to council William
II.
I leaned against a garbage bag of old clothes and dug into
the pocket-sized book. My body reacted to his 17th Century porn. Breathing
deep, I tried to focus on the task at hand. Like, how the hell was all this
supposed to work anyway?
The doorbell pulled me out of my cousin's sexed up memoirs.
I peeked out the window and saw an unfamiliar car in the drive. I tucked the
gifted Book of Shadows and Naughty Niall's memoirs under my arm and headed
downstairs, ready to kick my midday visitor to the curb. They were probably
selling something.
I yanked the front door open. "Thanks, but I'm not
interested."
"Um, excuse me?"
The man at the door looked startled. He had stylish, black-framed
glasses and slicked back blond hair, and looked uncomfortable in his suit, like
a kid playing dress up. He brushed an errant lock of hair away from his face,
which was buried in the manila folder he carried. "Isadora Foster?"
"Yes?" I raised my eyebrows at him and balanced
the books on my hips. He looked familiar.
"I'm Daniel Stevenson," he said, not glancing up
from whatever he was reading.
"Danny?" I gasped, dropping the books in surprise.
This was frat-hole Danny? I barely recognized him all dressed up.
This time, he made eye contact. "Oh wow, it's you! The
girl who cleans Pike."
I bit my tongue to keep from blurting out, "Yeah, the
girl that cleans your piss off the toilet seats." Instead I bent over to
pick up the scattered grimoires.
"Didn't the loan office tell you I was coming?" he
asked. I glanced up at him and noticed that his eyes landed uneasily on my
boobs, still braless under my tank top.
I clutched the tomes to my breast as I straightened to full
height. "What loan office? About what?"
"About the money your grandmother owes, for the home
equity line."
"There must be a mistake," I responded. "I
paid that off, with her life insurance."
He leafed through the manila file. "No, there was an
equity line of credit taken out about 8 months ago. For $25,000."
"I don't know anything about that," I said, my
heart beating harder. The last thing I needed was another debt collector at the
door right now. "I'm sorry, what bank did you say you were from?"
He cleared his throat. "Well, it's not a bank. I am
with a private loan company."
"And that is?" I pushed, my heart sinking further
as he stammered out his answer.
"Richmond Stevenson, my father," he said.
"I'm sorry."
I exhaled loudly. Richmond Stevenson. Great. The
"loaner of last resort." One step above pawnshop. Barely.
"So learning the loan shark business from daddy?"
I said coldly.
"It's a legitimate business," he said, his voice
rising.
"What's the vig?" My voice cracked as I asked.
"The what?"
"The vig."
His cough sounded suspiciously like a stifled laugh.
"You mean interest rate? We really aren't loan sharks, you know. It's
entirely reasonable. Why don't I come in and we'll talk about
"I'll swing by when I'm done at the frat house, okay?"
I could use a drink anyway, even though I really couldn't
afford it.
The silence told me that Finn had given up, so I continued
to plow through the books.
After about 30 more minutes of searching, I unearthed a
small thin volume, barely bigger than a size of a modern paperback. The cover
was a plain hard black, and its pages were torn, the writing worn away in
places. A date at the front put it at the end of the 17 th century, somewhere
around Dunkeld in Scotland.
Cousin Niall was a randy fellow! The bulk of his spell work
was ripped out of the book, but his copious notes on the acts themselves
remained. Maybe it was more dangerous to be busted for witchcraft than for
imaginative copulation back then. Man or woman, he happily obliged all sorts of
kink. And he didn't only chronicle the acts with incredible detail, he noted
the outcome of the spells he was casting. Based on his lore, he wielded some
powerful spells, powerful enough to be sent to the castle to council William
II.
I leaned against a garbage bag of old clothes and dug into
the pocket-sized book. My body reacted to his 17th Century porn. Breathing
deep, I tried to focus on the task at hand. Like, how the hell was all this
supposed to work anyway?
The doorbell pulled me out of my cousin's sexed up memoirs.
I peeked out the window and saw an unfamiliar car in the drive. I tucked the
gifted Book of Shadows and Naughty Niall's memoirs under my arm and headed
downstairs, ready to kick my midday visitor to the curb. They were probably
selling something.
I yanked the front door open. "Thanks, but I'm not
interested."
"Um, excuse me?"
The man at the door looked startled. He had stylish, black-framed
glasses and slicked back blond hair, and looked uncomfortable in his suit, like
a kid playing dress up. He brushed an errant lock of hair away from his face,
which was buried in the manila folder he carried. "Isadora Foster?"
"Yes?" I raised my eyebrows at him and balanced
the books on my hips. He looked familiar.
"I'm Daniel Stevenson," he said, not glancing up
from whatever he was reading.
"Danny?" I gasped, dropping the books in surprise.
This was frat-hole Danny? I barely recognized him all dressed up.
This time, he made eye contact. "Oh wow, it's you! The
girl who cleans Pike."
I bit my tongue to keep from blurting out, "Yeah, the
girl that cleans your piss off the toilet seats." Instead I bent over to
pick up the scattered grimoires.
"Didn't the loan office tell you I was coming?" he
asked. I glanced up at him and noticed that his eyes landed uneasily on my
boobs, still braless under my tank top.
I clutched the tomes to my breast as I straightened to full
height. "What loan office? About what?"
"About the money your grandmother owes, for the home
equity line."
"There must be a mistake," I responded. "I
paid that off, with her life insurance."
He leafed through the manila file. "No, there was an
equity line of credit taken out about 8 months ago. For $25,000."
"I don't know anything about that," I said, my
heart beating harder. The last thing I needed was another debt collector at the
door right now. "I'm sorry, what bank did you say you were from?"
He cleared his throat. "Well, it's not a bank. I am
with a private loan company."
"And that is?" I pushed, my heart sinking further
as he stammered out his answer.
"Richmond Stevenson, my father," he said.
"I'm sorry."
I exhaled loudly. Richmond Stevenson. Great. The
"loaner of last resort." One step above pawnshop. Barely.
"So learning the loan shark business from daddy?"
I said coldly.
"It's a legitimate business," he said, his voice
rising.
"What's the vig?" My voice cracked as I asked.
"The what?"
"The vig."
His cough sounded suspiciously like a stifled laugh.
"You mean interest rate? We really aren't loan sharks, you know. It's
entirely reasonable. Why don't I come in and we'll talk about
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