Witchy Woman Read Online Free

completely free of the psychic vibrations that plagued her, but this was as close as she’d ever come. This was her haven.
    Tess still intended to have that hot soak in the tub. But first there was the matter of Nate Wagner. She would have to call him, or she would drive herself crazy wondering what had happened to him on the subway.
    She took the card out of her purse again and sat on her sofa, leaning back against the pastel silk pillows. She didn’t consciously seek vibrations from the card, but a few reached her nonetheless. This time she got a distinct impression of deception—not an evil or malicious sort of lie, but a mild omission of the whole truth. Nate Wagner, apparently, hadn’t represented himself with a hundred-percent honesty. Interesting.
    She dialed his number, her heart thumping wildly. The phone rang once, twice. Come on, she thought. Please, be okay. Despite her apprehension, she was actually breathless at the idea of talking to him again.
    He answered the phone on the fourth ring.
    She was unbearably relieved to hear his voice. Whatever bad luck had transpired, he was still alive. “Hi, this is Tess DeWitt. From the antique store?”
    “Yes. Hello, Tess.” He sounded both surprised andpleased to hear from her. “Did you remember where you saw that other vase?”
    Oh, yeah, the vase. She had lied to him too. She didn’t like lying, but sometimes it was a necessity. He wouldn’t have understood if she’d told him the truth—that the instant she’d touched the cool, artificially aged porcelain of the “Ming” vase, she had seen a sweatshop in the Philippines where those vases had been manufactured en masse no more than two years before.
    “No, I really don’t remember,” she said.
    “Oh.” She could almost hear what he didn’t say: Then why are you calling?
    “Actually, the reason I called is …” She thought about telling him of her premonition that the two of them would become lovers. Depending on how much the idea appealed to him, he might or might not accept her ridiculous explanation. “… because I was wondering,” she said instead, her words coming totally from impulse. “Do you want any help with your antiques story?”
    “What kind of help?”
    “Well, I’m no expert or anything, but I do know most of the shops, and sometimes I can distinguish a reproduction from the real thing. I might also be able to point out some of the more ridiculously overpriced items. Would that be helpful?” What was she doing? she thought in a mild panic. Making a date? Was that smart? Was that sane? Was she trying to bring on a self-fulfilling prophecy?
    “As a matter of fact, it would. But your friend said you didn’t like antiques.”
    “I don’t happen to have any in my own home, but I still appreciate their quality and beauty.” As long as she didn’t have to touch them a great deal. “Are you interested?” Why was she doing this to herself? She was uncomfortable around old things; the older the object, the more vibrations it stored.
    “Sure. How soon can we get together? You could bring Judy too. Sounds like she might have some interesting anecdotes to get me started.”
    Tess was a bit disappointed that he’d requested extra company. But he probably wasn’t interested in her as a woman, she reminded herself. Maybe the “vision” she’d had was nothing more than the fantasies of a frustrated, twenty-eight-year-old virgin who in all likelihood would remain a virgin, until someone invented a way to make love without prolonged touching.
    “I’ve committed myself to help Judy pick out a gift for her aunt Dora on Saturday,” Tess said brightly, “but maybe we could meet you afterward—say around one o’clock?”
    “Great. How about in front of that same store?”
    “No,” she said quickly. She didn’t want to go anywhere near that shop. “There’s a store on Newbury Street called the Picket Fence, at the corner of Gloucester. Horrendous prices. Let’s start