Page 32 of Wicked Flavors

“You … you canreadminds?” she whispered.

“I can do alotof things, Gwendolyn. I can be clever. I can be charming. I can becruel.”

Gwendolyn jumped as Ambrosius was suddenly crowding her again. He wasn’t the tallest man she’d met, but this close, he felt so much bigger than he appeared a moment ago. She tried not to shiver as his finger traced the side of her cheek. Gwendolyn couldn’t see it clearly, but it felt less like a hand, and more like something sharp. Something that could slice her open with very little effort.

“I can also be generous to those who are good for me,” Ambrosius said as his fingers—no, claws—curled around a strand of her hair. “Don’t you want to be good for me?”

The subtle tremor of her frame would have gone unnoticed if Gwendolyn hadn’t been trying to stay perfectly still. She was scared—there was no denying it. And yet there was something in his words that kept her attention, kept her wanting. Gwendolyn wanted to hear more honeyed words, and that felt so ludicrously dangerous.

No, no, no!

Gwendolyn pulled away from his hold, pink hair slipping through his fingers like water. She couldn’t tell if he was displeased at the distance. Honestly, it was confusing, considering how he had claimed he wanted to keep a professional relationship with her two days prior. If he had been a manager at her job, Gwendolyn imagined he would have been written up several times by now.

“I don’t know if I want to be anything for you,” she managed, even though her heart was pounding.

“Gwendolyn—”

“No,” she said firmly. “I don’t want to be your warlock, and I don’t want that doll. I don’t care what I agreed to in the moment—No. I reject it.”

“You reject it…” Ambrosius inclined his head, eyes staring in a way that was truly unnerving.

This time, the room didn’t grow colder. There was no flash of extending teeth or claw, no extra eyes to chill her.

Only his face.

And somehow, that was just as frightening.

“Oh, my bittersweet,” Ambrosius said with a painful amount of gentleness. “You don’t have achoice.”

Gwendolyn stood in the silence of his words. A million thoughts raced, but not a single one could rise above the surface of emotions climbing higher and higher. She might have been outsmarted, but Gwendolyn wasn’t going to be a doormat. Something inside of her—something long overdue—had finally clicked into place.

With the scroll case in hand, Gwendolyn walked toward the door of the shop. She could feel Ambrosius’ gaze watching her. Foolish to turn her back on a predator, but Gwendolyn wasn’t ordinary prey. As her hand settled onto the door handle, she looked over her shoulder at him. He hadn’t moved, and his eyes were still upsetting.

“I’m going to make you regret ever choosing me.”

14

Frustrated

Gwend...o...l...

Gwendolyn wasn’t sure if spite was enough to get her through her predicament.

There weren’t any self-help books on what to do when you found yourself in a contract with a demon. And even if there were, they were probably more tailored towards teenagers or desperate middle-aged women, seeking a romantic partner. All of which could probably be found in the fiction section of a local bookstore.

If there was one thing that Gwendolyn had learned from years of custom doll making, and even prior to that—with simple illustrating—it was how to be creative under intense pressure. Creativity was the only thing that got her through her workday, through her relationship breakups, and even high school. She had originally hoped it would get her through the rest of her life, until her hands could no longer hold a colored pencil or pull a thread through a needle.

Her hand still stung from where she had made contact with Ambrosius’ cheek. Gwendolyn had never hit anyone before—not as an adult, anyway—and was hoping she wouldn’t have to make a habit out of it.

Gwendolyn was determined to use creativity to get herself out of this, or so she kept telling herself as she fingered the scroll case between her hands. She knew there had to be a key to her escape within the scroll case, but she dared not open it with how many strangers were on the bus at the moment. The last thing she needed was for her fate to become a comedy, and potentially lose this precious item.

For now, it would do as a fidget toy as she tried to make her hatred for Ambrosius her horizon. Truthfully, Gwendolyn felt incredibly ill. A nauseous sensation went through her stomach every time the bus shuddered. Even the tiniest shift caused her stomach to pinch. And there were a lot more people on the bus now.

Impoverished moms with their small children—all under the age of six—elderly couples, single parents, general workers, and students. They were all a small glimpse into the city she lived in, and for some reason, something in the air—perhaps someone’s cologne or perfume—was making Gwendolyn feel sick. It contrasted greatly with the fact that she was also incredibly hungry.

Her thoughts might have still been focused on Ambrosius’ smug face, but her stomach was gurgling and gnawing at her insides. It was the kind of hunger that Gwendolyn only really experienced after spending six hours at her workstation, not realizing that she hadn’t eaten like she thought she had. She would usually find her dinner still in the microwave hours later, and whether or not it was safe to eat was a concern for later.

By the time the bus arrived at her apartment complex, Gwendolyn wasstarving, nauseous, and still clutching the scroll case. She was relieved that none of the other residents were around as she exited the elevator and found the hallway empty. Her neighbor wasn’t waiting to pop out from his apartment as she opened the door.

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