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“Voodoo business any good?”
Willow blinked, looked up from her liquid poison of choice. And then looked up some more until she could properly see the face of Redd Rockridge. Of the Rockridge brothers, Redd had been the one early in line when God gave out looks. Despite that, the sight of him would sit even the rowdiest drunk down in their seat. The sight of his biceps alone could quiet a bar.
“Excuse me?” Willow tipped her glass away from her lips and gave Redd the Upturned Eyebrow #4, made of a mixture of Disarmingly Attentive and Aloof Disinterest, with a spritz of Disdain – only a spritz, mustn’t let it overwhelm – meant to keep the other party guessing. Redd squirmed under (over, rather) Upturned Eyebrow #4, and while Willow liked to think of herself as a professional, the sight of a man who could probably decimate her with a single punch looking so disconcerted was too much to handle and she broke into a warm laugh – what the hell, she was among friends, wasn’t she?
“There’s no need to tease,” Redd mumbled when it would have looked more natural for him to growl.
Willow blew out one more chuckle at that before managing to compose herself. “Sorry, sorry! But you would laugh too if you saw Superman scared of a mouse.” Redd huffed and turned the other cheek, but not before Willow caught the twitch of a smile. “So. You are interested in learning voodoo?”
Redd whirled his head back towards her. “What?”
“You ask how well the voodoo practice pays,” Willow reminded. “Are you looking to become my disciple? Or perhaps my competitor?”
“Oh. Oh!” Redd curdled into an interesting shade of white, waving his hands emphatically. “No, god no! No offense,” he added after a moment. “I’m just asking, is all, if your voodoo gig’s doing well by you.”
Willow looked down at her sleek dress, her ruffled collar, her silk cloak, glanced around at the gilded walls of the grandest casino-mansion-theater-chapel-bar she knew (the only casino-mansion-theater-chapel-bar she knew, but that’s what made it so grand). She gave Redd a full dose of Upturned Eyebrow #1: nothing added, just pure, unadulterated eyebrow. It was gratifying to see how quickly he grew embarrassed.
“Redd...what exactly are you trying to ask?”
“...How much do your services cost,” Redd said to his shoes.
“For a friend, nothing. The job?”
And here it was, the real crux of the conversation. It seemed for a moment that Redd wouldn’t say anything, preferring a vow of silence over voicing whatever his request was. But then he stepped closer, his broad torso blocking the gaze of anybody who might walk in, and looked down and whispered,
“Can you tell me how Greyson...feels about me?”
She could see his face so clearly, even in the shadows, the way his jaw clenched like it wanted to swallow his words back up, the way his eyes squeezed shut – the way his face, essentially, closed up shop. As though barricading itself against an incoming natural disaster.
Willow, on the other hand, could feel herself open instead – her eyes were so wide, they should have rolled out of her sockets by now. It wasn’t about Redd’s feelings for Greyson; he was the one who confided with her in the first place. No, it was about incoming disappointment, being cornered socially into saying something she knew wouldn’t please anyone, and although being the local voodoo practitioner put her in this position far too many times, she still had to quell the thrum of panic, what will he do, how will he react – even though this was Redd she was talking about. There was a reason Clay was the bouncer, not him. Willow schooled her face into Calm Mystique, but without the mystique.
“I’m not a fortune teller,” she said, daring a tiny bit of reproach. Redd’s face opened once more, too fast for any emotion to catch up, and so he only looked blank.
“But,” he said, drawing out the silence between words as though he was having trouble with the concept of sentences. He leaned back and waved his hands in circles until he finally came up with, “You know voodoo.”
Willow let loose the classic Surly Resignation as well as a sigh and slid off her stool to go behind the bar for another drink. “Yes, I do. And I am very good at voodoo, which so happens to deal with ghosts and hexes and potions, all manner of things you use to affect your body, whether luck or health or fertility.” Willow turned around with a topped-off glass and a bottle still half full. “There are no herbs to let you read minds or see the future or just know things,” she punctuated with the sound of the bottle against the bar.
Redd stood still for a moment, and then sank onto a stool. Willow slid over a glass and the bottle, which he poured out liberally straight into his mouth. “Sorry,” he said after resurfacing for air. Willow wasn’t sure whether about the request or the bottle, so she guessed.
“It’s alright, I understand.” Another expert sigh, less exasperation and more acceptance. “Voodoo is not exactly taught in schools. I expect these misconceptions.”
“Wish I thought to ask about it before spilling the beans.” Redd chuckled wryly before knocking back another one, this time from the glass. There was a rasp to his voice, a weary bitterness directed inward. Willow could hear the word ‘stupid’ without him saying it.
“There are options,” she offered, leaning on her arm and swirling her own liquor languidly. “I could commune with the spirits and ask if they know, but I’d take their word with a grain of salt.” She considered the locals for a second. “Or maybe don’t take their word at all.”
Redd opened his mouth, frowned a little, and closed it again. Smart.
“There are potions that could make him fall in love with you.”
Redd spat his drink out all over the counter and stared at Willow, alcohol dribbling down his chin. “You don’t actually make those, do you?”
Willow shot him an enigmatic smile over the rim of her glass. “Customers get what they order.” Pushing on before Redd’s expression got much too disconcerted, she added, “There’s one extremely simple method I can suggest.”
“Yeah?” Redd said, wiping his face with a napkin and moving ineffectively to his suit.
“Perhaps, talk to him?”
If Redd hadn’t already expelled his drink, he probably would have spat out more. The napkin disappeared into his fist. “Dammit Willow, I’m here because I can’t talk to him!” Noticing Willow’s instinctive flinch, he straightened and breathed in through his nose so that he could continue more quietly, morosely. “Not without knowing if there’s a chance that I won’t just lose what I already have.”
“And you won’t know if you have a chance if you don’t talk to him,” Willow replied, finishing off her second glass. “Do you really think Greyson would instantly change his opinion of you? Or that he would avoid you just because of awkward discomfort? You two are adults, so talk it out like adults.”
“As if you’re one to talk,” Redd muttered as he poured a fresh cup, then froze and looked up to see if Willow heard.
She had. “What,” she said (distantly, she recognized her automatic shift into Cold Fury), “are you implying?”
Redd had the decency to look bashful, decency being the other trait he was first in line for. But still he responded, “I’m saying, you’re a real hypocrite if you’re gonna run your mouth like that at me and turn around and not talk to Tequila.”
Cold Fury melted through her fingers, and in place was something she couldn’t define; she reached out for something, anything that would be appropriate, but her mind was too slow for her mouth. “That’s different,” she snapped, quite unintentionally. She spun around and fiddled with bottles and glasses.
“Is it?” Redd called from behind. His voice sounded mocking and sincere at the same time. “We all met each other through Lucas. You two are close friends because of that.”
“We’re nowhere near close,” Willow spat.
“You’ve got the same feelings I do.”
“I’m over it.”
“You were literally sitting alone and drinking tequila,” Redd retorted, oozing parental disappointment. Willow whirled back around to see him with the bottle in his hand. And then he used Upturned Eyebrow #1. That bastard.
Willow found her lips pressed tight. “It’s different,” she insisted, quieter. “Everybody knows she loves Lucas.”
“Lucas is married,” Redd pointed out, as if she hadn’t been at the wedding.
“That doesn’t change her feelings.”
“No, but feelings change.” Redd crossed his arms superciliously. “It’s been a while since all that drama, last time I checked.”
“She wouldn’t be interested in me.” Willow’s voice turned a strained sort of husky, and it was taking all of her concentration to keep her throat from closing up. “She only sees me as ‘the creepy voodoo lady next door.’ We aren’t very compatible anyways. That’s why it’s different.”
By the end, Willow’s face burned with the shame of dropping her professionalism, even in front of a friend. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Redd but she couldn’t bring herself to move either. It felt like any unconscious twitch would spiral into a total loss of control and she would do something to embarrass herself further.
“Wow,” said Redd in an indecipherable tone – or perhaps Willow was too concentrated on keeping herself together to pay attention to it. “And I thought you said you weren’t a fortune teller.”
Willow couldn’t help it – she barked out a laugh. She clacked her mouth shut in an effort to maintain some veneer of, of stern stoicism? Humorless offense? The various faces she had tumbled about erratically. “I’m not, but I know how to read what the evidence points to – “
“Hey Sherlock, you missed something.” Redd leaned back and held out his arms, his expression unamused. When Willow simply stared, he threw his hands down with a sigh. “Her goddamn pianist who’s been playing for her for years, who’s sitting here chatting with you right now? Ever thought of that?”
She hadn’t.
The look on her face must have said it all, because Redd busted out another sigh and slumped forward on the counter conspiratorially. “Look, I’ll give it to you straight – “
“Very funny.”
“I didn’t mean it like that. Look, Willow,” he murmured. “Blue. Tequila’s not in love with you,” and in the microseconds between words Willow could feel her heart burn into a pile of ash, her throat collapse, her entire innards writhing in response, “but that’s ‘cause she doesn’t know you so well, on account of you two not really chatting much or hanging around together or nothing. She doesn’t think you’re creepy – or, well, maybe a little, but she doesn’t see anything wrong with that. There’s nothing saying she wouldn’t be open to a relationship with you, as far as I know.”
Willow snorted. “I am infused with confidence.”
Redd shrugged his wide shoulders, looking like a mountain range for a moment. “I’m not about to say she’s gonna jump into your arms or anything. Just pointing out stuff you oughta know.”
Willow gazed down into her glass, watching the tequila wave at her as she swirled it. “I suppose we both needed a kick in the pants.”
“You’re gonna talk to her?” Redd was beaming now, so genuine, so hopeful. She wished she could let that smile stay, but instead she ducked her head.
“I...don’t know.” With a rueful chuckle, she added, “You were right about me being a hypocrite. I feel just as frozen as you did.”
“Ah,” Redd said sympathetically with no grain of self-satisfied superiority to be heard, and Willow could almost fall in love with him if she weren’t already batting on the other team. “Maybe we need the right incentive?”
“What could possibly be incentive enough?”
Redd snapped his fingers. “A bet.”
Willow choked on the last of her drink, but managed to gulp it down instead of spraying it on anything expensive (which was everything). “Excuse me, but betting on the affections of other people hardly feels moral – “
“No no, it’s not like that, Blue, I promise! It’ll be a race to talk it out with them like goddamn adults. You’ve got twenty bucks on you?”
“Our incentive is supposed to be twenty dollars? You can’t be serious.”
“Are you just gonna say no to twenty whole dollars?” Redd waggled his eyebrows at her, waving his dollar bill suggestively, not that Willow knew what the suggestion was.
The twenty kept up its seductive dance until Willow rolled her eyes and said, “Alright. Fine. I’ll take the bet.”
Redd spun around on his stool and hit the ground running, almost crashing through the door as he went. In the few seconds that it took for Willow to process his sudden flight, he had already made it around the corner and out of sight.
“Where are you – wait, we’re doing this now?! I’m not ready, I need to – “ She had to prepare what to say, she had to think about the best time and place, she had to –
– vault over this damn bar if she wanted to make up for lost time. Willow kicked off her impractical heels and left them for later, running faster than she ever had in her life, because like hell she was gonna lose twenty dollars over this.
But even though she privately assigned Affronted Indignation #2 to this thought, this situation, she caught herself biting back a smile as she grabbed a banister to swing her momentum around and up the stairs, where she knew Tequila’s room was.