WILLEM (The Witches of Wimberley Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

dive into. I kicked off my boots, bounced on the bed, and said to hell with perfect bedhead. A couple of hours later my stomach rumbled loud enough to be heard over the Hummer and reminded me that coffee had been breakfast. It was good, but it doesn’t stay with you.
    So I slipped into sloppy deck shoes, grabbed the book, and walked down to the corner Chinese. The place was filled with the overriding and heavenly aroma of eggrolls becoming little golden, hot grease masterpieces. Of all other cultures, Chinese come closest to Southerners in understanding that deep fried equals nirvana. I ordered a special with a diet drink, sat down at a vinyl covered dinette table in the corner and proceeded to enjoy my day off. If days off were about to become a lot more common than was comfortable, I would think about that some other time.
    When I returned to the apartment, Hector was working at his station, which also seemed to have had a Martha Stuart makeover. Neat. Clean. Everything put away. Not even any wrappers in the trash can. I noticed that the overhaul had generalized to his personal presentation as well. He appeared to be wearing clean clothes, but the most shocking thing was how Hector looked with trimmed beard and clean combed hair. I’m not sure I would have recognized him on the street.
    “Hey,” I said.
    “Hey,” he responded.
    “What’s going on?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Well, the place is kind of presentable. As are you. Something you want to tell me about?”
    He shrugged. “You can’t have order of thought in chaos.”
    “A sound philosophy. Well, it’s an improvement. Nobody’ll argue with that.”
    “What are you doing here?”
    “I live here.”
    “Not really.”
    “I have somethin’ special tonight and I quit acting.”
    “You quit acting? Does that mean you got an acting job and quit?”
    “Don’t be mean. I’ve officially decided that acting is not for me and I’m moving on.”
    “Huh. Does that mean you’re also moving out?”
    “Got no plans as of yet, but you’ll be the first to know.”
    “I will need fair notice.”
    “Yeah. Goes without sayin’.”
    Hector turned back to his monitor. Chitchat was over.
    Closed my door, lay down with my book, which was enthralling, but not so enthralling that it could overcome the bio-dip that occurs after a nice greasy lunch. So I fell asleep.
    When I woke I rolled over and looked at the clock. Six-fifteen.
    I jackknifed off the bed like I had a trampoline for a mattress and ran for the bathroom. Thank God I didn’t have any pillow wrinkles on my face. My right side was a little pink-looking but that would settle on the ride to wherever.
    I threw water in my eyes and spritzed my hair where it had been squashed and looked like actual bedhead. The shirt might be a little mussed but didn’t scream, “I took a nap in these clothes.” So I jumped back into the boots, grabbed the coolest pair of shades I own, the Wayfarers, and made it to the curb at six twenty-nine.

CHAPTER TWO
     
    For almost a minute I contemplated that the whole thing might be some sort of prank. Here I was standing on a curb waiting for a car without a clue what to look for, driven by a stranger, to an unidentified place for an unidentified purpose, all while being videoed for future TV airing and humiliation. My voluntary participation in this madness was sounding crazy even to myself.
    My head turned to the left just as the Bentley turned the corner my way. It wasn’t just me. Every other head on the street turned to look at the car. It was a thing of beauty, a deeply polished bronze color with chrome trim. It pulled to a stop in front of me and the driver got out. She was a cute, perky redhead with natural carrot-colored hair partially covered by a chauffeur’s cap. The rest of her uniform consisted of a white tank top, black jacket, black leggings and black ballet slippers.
    She bounced around to my side of the car with a megawatt smile. “Mr. Draiocht, I