Lorenzo's eyes followed Mrs. Jenkins' movement as she reached into the depths of her tote bag and pulled out a book of some sort.
"When I came to bring you food a few days ago," she said, handing it to Lorenzo. "I found this tucked away in a corner."
The moment his eyes fell upon the book, the witch's words suddenly rang in his mind. . .
Black. Hardcovered. Plain.
JOURNAL!
He vaulted to his feet abruptly, startling the older woman as he snatched the book from her grasp.
This. . . this must be it. The journal that evil entity has been torturing me for!
Mrs. Jenkins paused, eyeing him suspiciously. "I thought it was one of mine that's why I took it home with me. By the way, what are you doing with an old diary with so many dog-ears yet nothing is written on it?" She immediately caught herself, raising a defensive hand. "I didn't mean to read it, I just happened to notice the blank pages while drying it out for you. It was so soggy when I found it."
Lorenzo didn't hear a word she'd said. He was totally lost in the relief and happiness surging through his veins.
When he finally turned to her, his lips broke into a wide smile and he swept her into a crushing hug. "Thank you, Mrs. Jenks, you're a lifesaver. Thank you, thank you, thank you!"
Mrs. Jenkins strained a cough all the while struggling in vain to extract her frail, small body from his more muscular own. "Oof, Lorenzo! I can't breathe! You're squeezing the life out of me!"
As soon as Lorenzo released her from his vice-like grip, his entire focus returned to the journal once more.
He could feel Mrs. Jenkins' eyes heavy on him. He knew she was curious, seeing that she wasn't making any attempt to leave. In no time, she would voice out her mind.
And he was right.
"What is it about this book that has got you so excited?" She asked. "Is it that important to you?"
Oh, you have no idea, Mrs. Jenks. My entire survival depends on this piece of junk!
Lorenzo cleared his throat. "Well, you could say that!"
As he flipped through the pages, he began to wonder why that nuisance of a woman. . .WITCH. . . was making such a huge fuss over a journal with blank pages.
Then, all of a sudden, he felt that tingling in his eyes again, one that was starting to feel strangely familiar.
He saw a letter. . . then a word. And, before he knew it, the formerly blank pages were now filled with written words and a few strange symbols here and there.
What the hell is happening to me? Am I cursed or something?
Just to be certain he wasn't losing his damn mind, Lorenzo held the journal before Mrs. Jenkins and asked, "Are these pages really blank?"
Mrs. Jenkins's brows knitted together as her gaze flitted over the open book. "Unless I'm going blind, but from what I can see. . . they are blank."
Lorenzo's jaw went loose. He glanced from the older woman, to the journal, and then back at her. "You're telling me, you can't see the words written on these pages?"
Mrs. Jenkins studied the journal once more for a bit longer this time. "No, Lorenzo," she shook her head. All I see are empty pages."
What? How is this even possible?
Am I losing my shit? Do I really need to book an appointment with my therapist?
Lorenzo's mind was spinning but even at that he noticed Mrs. Jenks was giving him that signature stare of hers. One he recognized so well.
"Don't look at me like that."
"Like how?"
"Oh, please. You know what I mean. I'm not high. I've been clean for two years, you know that. And I'm not going down that lane again."
"Thank God, because you were really starting to scare me there. I should be heading out now."
Before she left the kitchen, Mrs. Jenkins cast him one last look over her shoulder. "Call me if you need anything. And please, for goodness' sake, go get some sleep. You look like you desperately need it."
Lorenzo nodded absently. His entire attention was now glued to what was written in the journal that nothing else mattered. He knew he shouldn't be prying into someone else's personal thoughts, but he couldn't help himself.
Curiosity was ripping him apart, but, with each page he turned. . . with each discovery he digested. . . he felt an inexplicable fear creep up his spine.
"What the hell. . ."
* * * *
[LATER THAT NIGHT...]
Lorenzo was sitting on his living room couch with a glass of scotch in his hand when Xanthe found him.
"Look, I've grown tired of coming here every night to torment you," Xanthe admitted in a sigh. "So let's resolve this amicably, yes? Hand me my journal. . . PLEASE."
Lorenzo's eyes narrowed at her as he took a leisurely sip from his scotch. "Why do you always come at night, though?" he queried flatly. "Is it some kinda 'witchy' thing?"
Xanthe paused. "Well, it's difficult to find you here in the day, so I don't have much of a choice."
Lorenzo nodded. "Hmm! Make sense. Anyway. . ." He pulled out the journal from somewhere behind him and waved it in the air. "I have your precious little journal right here."
He noticed as her dull face suddenly lit up upon seeing the journal. But when she dived for it, he withdrew the journal from her reach just to taunt her.
But that was a terrible idea.
Before he knew it, her feet gave way and she came crashing down on him, pinning him to the headrest of the couch.
He wanted to shove her away, but her face was only a hairsbreadth away from his and any slight movement would cause their lips to meet.
And he had no intention of letting that happen. AGAIN!That one kiss was enough to leave him scarred for a lifetime.
But, in that moment, he felt her knee lodge itself in his groin, heavy and immovable, squashing his future generation. Suddenly, his decision to stay still abandoned him.
He shifted under her weight to free his cock from her crushing knee, but that slight movement only seemed to make matters worse.
Xanthe's body stiffened, but only for a split second before it turned to a mass of mush on top of him.
He noticed blood rushing to her pale cheekbones, turning them red, as her eyes travelled down to his lips. . . and lingered. Then, her breathing hastened.
Was she getting turned on by him?
Well, he couldn't blame her. He had THAT effect on every woman.
Under normal circumstances, he'd have gotten a kick out of her reaction, but the deadly smell oozing from her body. . . Lord have mercy. . . had him pinching his nose for his dear life.
"Are you gonna get off me?" Lorenzo grounded out nasally. "Or do you plan on killing me with your stench?"
"Oh, sorry."
Xanthe hurriedly dragged her body off him, her hands straightening the wrinkles on her dress. The one, he noticed in disgust, she'd been wearing since the first day they met.
Lorenzo wrinkled his nose. "So, you really are a witch?" he said it like a question, seeking some kind of evidence as if he hadn't seen enough.
Xanthe's face hardened, her patience hanging on a thin thread. "Don't tell me you still have doubts after all you've been through these past nights?"
Lorenzo lifted his shoulder slightly. "What can I say? I'm not easily deceived." He paused before asking, "Where's it?"
"Where's what?"
"Your wand?"
Xanthe's frown deepened when she realized what he was implying. "What would I need a wand for?" she hissed. "I'm a witch. Not a fairy."
A blank expression glazed over his face as he stared at her for a moment. Then, he shrugged again. "Well, if the little I gathered from your journal is true—"
"Hold on!" Xanthe boomed, cutting him off. "You read my journal!"
Confused, she lowered her head and began to whisper to herself. "But how? A witch's journal can only be read by whom she grants permission—" She halted abruptly when the lights in her head came back on. "Oh, that's right. He's immune to sorcery."
"I'm immune to what now?" Lorenzo asked immediately as his ear picked up the last line.
Xanthe met his gaze, holding them for a moment like she was contemplating whether to explain further or not.
Finally, she sighed in resignation and proceeded to wag a finger in his face instead. "How could you read my journal without my express consent? That's violating my privacy, you know that, right?"
"That's rich coming from you," Lorenzo scoffed, unapologetic in every sense. "Anyway, I don't know if what's written in your journal is true or not. Honestly, I don't give a shit. But you seem to have an EVENTFUL life going on and I definitely want no part in it." He handed the journal to her. "I hope this will be the last time we meet each other.
Annoyed, Xanthe sharply snatched the journal from his grasp. "That makes the two of us."
"Finally we agree on something. You'd better keep your word."
"Oh, I certainly will."
"I never want to see your face around here again, got that?"
"Your face is something I don't look forward to seeing either. Have a nice night. . . or NOT!"
Frustrated, Xanthe tossed her hair and proceeded to storm towards the exit.
She couldn't wait to get away from here. Away from that unpleasant man's house. But, suddenly, her legs stopped dead in their tracks just about halfway to the door.
"Uh. . ." She turned back to him, a coy smile spreading across her lips. "Before I leave, could you please spare me something to eat?" Her voice suddenly turned syrupy sweet as she rubbed her stomach. "I'm quite famished."
Lorenzo frowned and pointed to the door. "GET OUT!"
* * * *
Lorenzo had slept like a rock the past night, so soundly that he didn't hear his alarm ring. And for the first time in NEVER, he shamelessly ambled into S. Construction long before resumption hour.
HE WAS THE BOSS AFTER ALL!
His mood was at its best today. Sheikh Hassan would be arriving soon, and their multi-million dollar agreement would be signed.
He could already taste the achievement. Sweet and heady like fine wine. And nothing. . .no man or witch. . . would ruin it for him.
Just as the buzz of excitement hummed all over Lorenzo's body, Walton suddenly burst into his office, panting like he had just run a marathon.
"Mr. Staniforth," he gasped, gripping the edge of Lorenzo's desk for support. "We have a situation. . ."