When you get home, try to figure out if you’ve, like, annoyed a witch or something

It was a nagging feeling. Something he’d forgotten to do. Something really important. Wilford couldn’t remember what it was, and it was bothering him. Why was it bothering him? That was weird. He forgot to do things all the time, and had never once been bothered by it. Not like this. It bothered him when the thing he forgot to do came back and bit him in the ass, but that hadn’t happened yet. It was more like a weird feeling that he’d broken a promise?

Well, that was stupid. He didn’t make promises. Everyone knew he wouldn’t keep them anyway. But he couldn’t seem to convince himself that he didn’t make promises, because something kept telling him that he had. And he’d broken it.

Luckily, someone barged into his dressing room and interrupted his spiralling train of thought. Unfortunately, it was Nichola, and she was holding a dry cleaner’s bag.

“Fuck,” he said, instantly remembering what she was here for. He’d forgotten about the goddamn stupid gala. But that wasn’t what had been bugging him, because the nagging feeling was still there. It was just buried under a ton of frustration now. “Who committed me to this?” he demanded.

“You. It’s part of your contract,” Nichola said, hanging up the bag on the wardrobe rack behind the door. “And you’re going.”

Wilford rolled his eyes. Like hell he was going.

“Wear the tie with the racing stripe,” Nichola suggested.

“These things are black tie,” he reminded her, hiding behind his monitor as if he suddenly had a mountain of work he intended to get through.

“It’s mostly black. You better find yourself a date.” She started to leave already.

“What about you?” Wilford asked.

Nichola laughed and walked out the door. Of course the witch had thrown him under the bus and laughed away to safety. He hated her sometimes. Wilford waited until he thought she’d be far enough away before getting up and skulking off to find someone to rescue him. Jess would rescue him. That was half the reason he kept her around. He found her in the editing room, arguing with a machine while she tried to do something that went way over Wilford’s head. He pulled her headphones off and sat down in the empty chair beside her.

“What are you doing tonight?” he asked.

“Going on a date,” Jess said, adjusting her headphones so they weren’t tangled in her hair.

“Cancel it. I need someone to come with me tonight.” He looked at the mixer, with all its sliders and dials and knobs, and briefly wondered what would happen if he cranked all of them to their highest level.

Bad things would happen. He moved his seat to put his back to the board. As well as reducing the temptation to destroy everything, it gave him a better look at Jess’ face. She didn’t seem very happy.

“Nnnnnoo?” she said slowly. “I have a date. With my boyfriend. Who is not you.”

Wilford rolled his eyes. “Then who do you got that isn’t counting on getting laid tonight?” he asked.

Jess sighed. “Let me finish this and I’ll find you somebody. Although this,” she pointed at Wilford’s general area, “is reaching the point where it’s becoming less quirky, and more ‘creepy old man.’”

“What do you mean, old?” Wilford asked. He wasn’t even forty. How rude.

Jess didn’t answer. She put her headphones on and went back to work, clearly intending to ignore him. Getting the hint, Wilford got up and returned to his dressing room to hide for the rest of the day. He didn’t seem to be very good at it, because it didn’t take long for Billy to barge in on him as well, holding onto the stack of morning reports.

“Have I forgotten to do something?” Wilford asked him.

Billy stopped in the door and looked around. “That thing at Maze Bank tonight?” he guessed.

“No, I was reminded of that, thanks.” He pushed his monitor out of the way so they could go over everything together. When Billy pulled out the latest research for Wilford’s project, he turned to his keyboard and pulled up poll results. They’d broke their story just in time for the primaries, while several other networks had similar ideas. Everything was chaos. “The hell’s going on with Harvey?” Wilford asked, surprised to see him so low in the results.

Billy leaned over to look at the screen. “Oh, JNN decided he’s a vampire.”

“They think everyone’s a vampire,” Wilford said. “Like those creepy fuckers can talk.”

“I guess clones are more reputable than vampires,” Billy said. He laughed and leaned back in his seat. “I hate those guys so much.”

“They’ll probably be there tonight.” Wilford shuddered. Fuck Jim, and Jim, and Jim, and all the other Jims. There wasn’t a man alive who was called Jim that Wilford liked. It must have been something about the name.

It took them another hour to go through everything and decide on a set list for Friday. By the time Billy was gathering everything back up to go hand it all off, Wilford had completely forgotten that he’d told Jess to find him a date. As Billy opened the door to leave, he nearly walked into someone who barely looked like he was out of college. Billy muscled past him, leaving the little twink standing stunned in the doorway.

“Who are you?” Wilford demanded.

“Uh. Miss Jackson told me you wanted to see me?” he said.

Wilford stared at him for a moment before his thoughts caught up with the situation. He motioned for the kid to come inside and sit down, realising what Jess had meant. In a few more years, these kids would be half his age. Yep, that was getting kind of creepy. It definitely looked better when he was younger.

“What’s your name?” he asked. “What do you do here?”

“Uh.” The kid sat down nervously. “Micah. I’m on the fact team.”

“Whose job are you eyeballing?” Wilford asked plainly.

Micah started to panic, looking around the room as if he’d find an answer written on the walls. “Uh. Nobody’s. I like it here,” he insisted.

“Don’t fucking lie to me. I fire people who lie to me,” Wilford said. “Nobody wants to fact check forever. Where are you trying to go?”

Micah didn’t seem to be getting any more comfortable with the situation. Wilford thought he might have to fire Jess for this abysmal choice.

“Uh.” He squirmed in his seat while he thought about his answer. Wilford did not want to take this kid anywhere, let alone somewhere he was expected to put on even the vaguest air of professionalism. “I always thought it would be kind of cool to be like, a foreign correspondent, you know? Like, you know, those people they send out to cover what’s going on in the rest of the world.”

Wilford nodded. That was respectable. It’s what Billy had wanted to do before he fell into monsters and domestic mayhem. “How you planning on doing that?” Wilford asked.

Micah’s face went blank. He didn’t have an answer.

“Who have you been talking to?” Wilford asked. “I don’t remember talking to any professors about you. How’d you get here?”

“No one,” Micah said sheepishly. “I never really talked to my professors. Could they have really done that?”

Wilford tried not to sigh. “Yeah. One of mine got me my internship and first paying job. Another one hooked me up with my first apartment.” He shook his head. “That’s too late for you though. You let that ship sail right on by.”

“Yeah,” Micah agreed. He squirmed in his seat some more.

“Who paid for your college?” Wilford asked.

Micah laughed for the first time, but it wasn’t a happy laugh. “I’m over my head in loans I can’t afford to pay off.”

That was the story he heard from everyone coming in, it seemed like. “What’s your monthly?” Wilford asked.

“Just under five hundred.” He was beginning to look less scared and more embarrassed.

“Still live with your folks?” Wilford asked.

Micah shook his head.

“Roommates?” Wilford asked.

“Three of them.”

Wilford tried hard not to wince. College had been hell, and the first few years after were even worse, but at least he’d never had that hanging over his head. He grabbed a pen and tapped it against his desk while he weighed the situation. The kid was too young — a little less than ideal — but he was desperate. Anybody in his situation would be.

“Here’s the deal,” he said, writing a note to remind himself to check up on payroll and wages. “Were you told why I wanted to see you?”

Micah shook his head.

“You don’t want to be stuck here forever. Nobody does. I don’t even want to be here forever.” Maybe another five years, and then he’d like to move on to bigger things. “You have to meet some people, and I have to go to a bunch of stupid bullshit I don’t want to go to. So for the next couple of months, you’re going to be my date.”

“What?” That panic was starting to creep back.

“Starting tonight,” Wilford went on. “I’ll introduce you to people, you’ll get a free meal and drinks out of it, and you’ll make me look good in front of everyone else with their third wives and bought girlfriends.”

“What?” Micah repeated. “Is there a catch? I feel like there’s a catch.”

“The catch,” Wilford says, “is you have to actually pretend to like me. Tough, I know. But I’m not going stag to this shit, because having a date makes it easier to escape early.” He got up and opened the door to the hall. “Wardrobe can find you something to wear. Be ready to leave at five. It’ll take forever to get downtown from here.” He thought for a moment, watching Micah cautiously get up. “Get rid of the eyeliner. It’s not the right look.”

“Okay?” Micah tried to keep a wide distance between himself and Wilford as he left the room. As soon as he was over the threshold, Wilford swung the door shut and collapsed onto the sofa. The kid was exhausting already. He wasn’t looking forward to the next few months with him.

---

Jackets were so uncomfortable. And in the Los Santos heat, entirely unnecessary. He couldn’t move right in the damn thing, it was hot, and he felt like he was being choked by his tie.

Nichola was right though. The one with the racing stripe did go well with what she’d brought him. His shirt was was a much lighter shade of pink than the stripe, but the charcoal grey suit seemed to make everything seem a little closer in colour. The bright pink lining on the jacket was an especially good touch. None of it was remotely within dress code, but what were they going to do? Turn him away at the door? That would be the best possible outcome, but the universe wasn’t that kind.

He hadn’t brought the right shoes at all, and nothing he had in the building seemed like a good fit, so his DCs it was. The red piping on them didn’t quite go with everything else, but it was better than the alternatives. He wished he’d had time to do something with his hair. It was an absolute mess. He’d had all the time in the world over the summer to get something done with it, but instead he’d focused on stupid things like installing a new sound system and fixing the back yard, and now he looked he wasn’t getting paid enough for basic grooming. Maybe he should have shaved as well. His beard was still in the halfway-there phase, which made him look more dirty than anything. As he fiddled with his hair in the mirror, hoping to make some sort of sense out of it, he wondered why he even cared. He hadn’t cared about his hair or what it looked like in years. He took the first chance he got after he reset to stop pretending to care. Where the hell had this sudden bout of self-consciousness come from? Wilford shook off the feeling, fluffed up his hair with his fingers to make it even more of a mess, and headed out of his dressing room. He found Micah in one of the smaller guest dressing rooms, struggling with his tie. Somehow, every time he tried, the top half seemed to wind up backwards.

Wilford walked over and muscled his way in. “Like this,” he said. He knocked Micah on his chin so he’d tilt his head back, and quickly knotted the tie. It was awkward to do on someone else, but it looked good so nothing else matters.

“I’m glad they didn’t give me a bowtie. I thought that’s what you’re supposed to wear to these things,” he said, a touch of nervousness still along the edges of his voice.

“Climb high enough up the ladder without giving a shit, and they’ll let you get away with anything,” Wilford said. He dusted off Micah’s lapels and straightened his pocket square. Wardrobe had done him well. Like Wilford, he didn’t even remotely fit the colour scheme for this thing, but it was boring when everybody wore the same dull black and white penguin suit. Except for that time someone showed up in an actual penguin suit. Wilford was still annoyed someone else had thought of it first.

He shooed Micah out of the room, ignoring the way the kid seemed a little too eager to get back out to the hall. That eagerness faded, and the jittery nervousness returned as they made their way out to the garage, and to Wilford’s car. He unlocked it with the fob, already knowing the night was going to be hell whether or not he showed up with a date and an excuse to leave early.

The drive out to Pillbox Hill was excruciating. Traffic was worse than normal because of a bike race on the freeway, there was about a ten-mile stretch where someone had managed to knock out cell service, making the music playing from Wilford’s phone cut out so he had to actually be faced with the fact that Micah was too goddamn nervous to even try to make conversation.

Once they were at the event, Micah opened up a little more. Wilford kept him close, introducing him to everyone relevant to what he’d been told earlier in the day. There were plenty of people in the room who would be good to get a few words in with, while Wilford grabbed every free drink within arm’s reach. He hated these things. They were so boring, just like everyone there. He didn’t even know why he was supposed to be there. Probably some fundraiser or something. They left before he found out. Unfortunately, getting back into the car brought all that awkward nervousness right back. Wilford could see it before he even started the engine.

“If you’re going to be like this, I’m not taking you anywhere else,” he said.

“What?” Micah asked. His voice had the sort of edge that suggested he was trying to sound a lot more cool and calm than he felt.

Wilford sighed and rubbed his temples. Jess was right. He was getting too old for this. Too many people had gone and fucked up this charade of his, and now he was fucked no matter what he did. Shaking his head, he started the car and started the long drive back to Vinewood. Traffic had cleared up, making the journey a little quicker, but not much less stressful. Neither of them said a word during the entire drive back. Wilford just cranked up his music, rolled down his window, and cruised up La Puerta about twenty miles above the speed limit. He only slowed down once he got off the freeway and into Vinewood. It was still early enough that the streets were still packed with wandering tourists, having no idea where they were trying to go. Getting off Vinewood Boulevard helped, but even on the side streets, there were still people wandering around. He stopped outside the studio, assuming Micah would get the hint to get the fuck out of the car. Instead, Micah just stared at him. Too tired to even try to explain, once again, what his very simple expectations were, he leaned over to the door. Micah tensed up, audibly holding his breath. Wilford ignored him, opened the door, and shoved him out of his car. Micah yelped with surprise at being shoved out onto the pavement, but Wilford ignored that too. He barely waited for Micah to be out of the way before he slammed the door shut again.

Goddamn, he was not looking forward to finding a new solution to these stupid parties.

Leaving Micah stunned on the sidewalk, Wilford got back onto the boulevard. He sped right on by his turn to go home, and turned in the opposite direction toward Rockford Hills. Traffic thinned out once he got off the main arteries and onto the smaller streets that led toward manicured lawns and towering condominiums. Turning toward the garage for one such towering block, Wilford keyed in the access code and hoped there was empty guest parking. By a stroke of luck, it seemed like everyone was out for the night, giving him his pick of spots near the elevator.

Wilford didn’t have a key to Nichola’s apartment. Something about other men having keys to her house made the insecure dickheads she went out with nervous. He wondered if she ever told these guys that several of the keys in her possession belonged to other men. It was tempting to let this cat out of the bag, but that was probably why Wilford never got to meet any of these people.

As he neared her door, Wilford wondered if she’d even been home. He hadn’t noticed her car downstairs, but he hadn’t exactly thought to look either. Having already got this far, he knocked on the door and tried to see if he could hear anything from the other side. A few moments later, locks scraped and clanked on the other side, and the door opened.

“Hey. What are you doing here?” Nichola said, stepping aside to let him in.

Wilford shrugged as he walked into her apartment, kicking off his shoes on the way in. He had no idea why he’d decided to barge in on her. He hadn’t been feeling right all day, and had just decided that this was where he wanted to be. He collapsed onto the sofa, finally taking a moment to wrench off his tie and toss it onto the table. As he undid a few buttons on his shirt, Pete ambled over and hopped into his lap.

“No,” he said, picking up the cat for just long enough to drop it onto the floor.

“That’s a good look for you,” Nichola said as she headed into the kitchen. Wilford looked down at what he was wearing. She’d picked it out. She must have had an opinion on it before she brought it into his dressing room.

Nichola came back and handed Wilford a beer as she sat down beside him. He put the beer aside and leaned heavily against her.

“What’s all this?” she asked, shifting underneath him to free her arm. “You okay?” She reached up to mess with his hair.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Been feeling off all day.”

But he liked this. This felt right. Sitting on Nichola’s sofa, crowding into her while her cat watched them felt like exactly what he should have been doing at that moment. He realised suddenly he didn’t know what he’d do without her. The thought scared him, and he didn’t know why.

“If you’re here, I guess that means you haven’t eaten,” Nichola guessed.

Wilford shook his head. “No,” he said.

“Want to order something? Go out somewhere?” Nichola offered.

“What’s good in the area?” Wilford asked.

“Everything.”

After a moment’s contemplation, Wilford decided he wanted to order something. Leaving again sounded exhausting. He let Nichola pick what they ate and place the order while he tried to figure out why he hadn’t been feeling right all day. Luckily, dinner arrived quickly — some outrageously spicy Thai curry with way too much rice — and offered a good distraction. Eventually dinner turned into lounging on the couch and talking shit about the industry while some boring-ass movie played on TV. When Nichola fell asleep, it was Wilford’s cue to go home. But he didn’t want to. He was comfortable there, in more ways than one. Instead of getting up and leaving like he normally did, Wilford managed to grab the remote without waking Nichola and flipped through the channels until he found something interesting.

---

Wilford woke with a start. The sun pouring through the windows was blinding, but that wasn’t the worst of it.

“Fuck,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes to dislodge his contacts. Even with the spare glasses he kept in his car, this was not going to be a fun drive home.

“What?” Nichola asked, sitting up from where she’d been leaning against Wilford’s side all night. She looked around for her own glasses, squinting at the coffee table in front of them.

“Fucking contacts,” he said. He picked up her glasses from where he’d stashed them on the end table to keep them from digging into his arm. Watching Nichola fuss with her hair for a moment, Wilford suddenly remembered why he was supposed to go home the night before. “Oh, shit!” he said, struggling to get to his feet quickly.

“What now?” Nichola asked. She looked over at the clock on the cable box and shook her head.

“Dogs,” was all Wilford said as he gathered up his jacket and tie. They hadn’t been fed since the previous morning. He was going to have some very needy dogs on his hands.

“Oh, no!” Nichola said, getting up to gather the mess from the night. Without another word, Wilford slipped into his shoes and rushed out of the apartment.

As soon as his front gate opened, he could hear both of the dogs yelping and barking at him from the back yard. They were probably starving. Wilford didn’t even bother parking his car in the garage. Leaving it in the driveway, he rushed up the stairs and into the house, getting immediately ambushed by a collective 120 pounds of excitable animals. He managed to kick off his shoes again and push past them to get to the kitchen. Buster, he was able to placate with an egg, but Bailey still didn’t seem to know what to do with whole eggs. With only one dog whining at him, Wilford grabbed some chicken and tossed it into a frying pan. With that going, he checked the fridge for anything else he could give them. There was some leftover beef and rice from something he’d made a few days before, which he grabbed and tossed into the pan as well.

“I know. Hold your horses,” he said as both dogs began to pester him again.

Once the chicken was cooked through, Wilford divided everything onto two plates, cracking an egg over one of them, and put them both down for the dogs. They practically inhaled it. He’d never forgotten to feed the dogs before. What in the fuck was wrong with him?

Shaking his head at himself, Wilford left the dogs in the kitchen to go shower and change for the day ahead. He thought about maybe spending some time at the gym before he went into the studio, but the way his day was going already, he’d probably drop a weight on his foot or something. He got cleaned up quickly and found some eye drops that never seemed to work as well as they were supposed to. Then again, maybe they’d work better if he’d quit falling asleep with his contacts in, but it wasn’t like he meant to do that.

As he got dressed, he thought about what Nichola had said the night before. It wasn’t a filming day, but he grabbed one of his nicer shirts anyway, and a pair of jeans that didn’t look like he’d had them for ten years. The shirt he grabbed needed cufflinks, but that seemed like a little overkill, so he rolled up the sleeves instead.

By the time he was done, the dogs had licked their plates clean and were lazing in the morning sun by his chair. Wilford set up his coffee machine to make him a cup of coffee while he cleaned up the mess and tried to find some breakfast for himself. He’d fed what he realised was something he’d set aside for himself to the dogs, so it looked like it was a toast and jam sort of day, unless he wanted to drive out somewhere for some real food. Driving sounded tedious, so toast and jam it was.

---

Nichola let herself into Wilford’s dressing room while he deleted emails he couldn’t be bothered to read. God, there were so many emails. And that nagging feeling was back. It wasn’t even a proper nagging feeling, which was even worse. It was like something was squeezing his chest.

“What’s the symptoms of a heart attack?” he asked before Nichola could say anything.

It stopped her dead in her tracks. “Uh. Do you think you’re having one?”

“No? I don’t know.” He brought up his browser and decided to see what Google had to say on the matter, while Nichola rushed over to his side.

“Should I call an ambulance?” she asked. She took his hand, and pressed her fingers against the inside of his wrist.

None of what Wilford read on the screen seemed to really apply to him. He just wasn’t feeling right.

“No,” he said, pulling his hand away from her. “I think I’m just coming down with something.”

“Oh. Okay,” Nichola said slowly. She watched him for a moment, like she was afraid he might suddenly fall over dead. “Do we have a segment on the calendar today?” she asked finally.

Wilford looked up at her. “What? No.”

“Then what’s all this?” She pointed at him, or rather, his shirt.

He shrugged. “You said it was a good look for me.”

Nichola only looked more confused. “It is, but since when have you ever… cared?”

Wilford rolled his eyes. He couldn’t win for anything, it seemed.

“Uhm. Anyway. You have a meeting at three. Don’t forget,” Nichola said.

Wilford wondered when he didn’t have some sort of meeting or other bullshit to deal with. He thought eventually, this crap would go away. It only seemed to get worse as time went on.

“Where’s Kevin?” he asked.

Nichola looked toward the door and shook her head. “I don’t think he’s in yet. It’s still pretty early though.”

Wilford nodded. “I want to talk to him when he gets here,” he said.

Nichola nodded. “Okay. Do you need anything else? Like, personally?”

Wilford almost waved her off. But a thought occurred to him instead. “About last night,” he said.

He already didn’t like the confused look on her face. “What about it?” Nichola asked.

“Jess said something that really got to me. I blew her off about it, but she’s right. I’m too fucking told to be running around with interns and greenhorns,” he said. He shook his head and thought about what he wanted to say next. It felt right, so there was no reason not to say it. “I’m kind of thinking I need to settle down with someone.”

Nichola stared at him silently for a few moments. “You have someone special in mind?” she asked.

“You’re single,” Wilford said. “I had the biggest crush on you for like, three years.”

Nichola laughed. She fucking laughed at him. “Babe. No,” she said, shaking her head. “That is such a bad idea.”

“I know the feeling was mutual,” Wilford said. He was digging an even deeper hole for himself. He could feel it.

“Like, fifteen years ago,” Nichola said. “And it was really confusing, because I thought you gay.”

“Shouldn’t that make it easier? It gets all the dating bullshit out of the way,” Wilford said. This was a disaster. He shouldn’t have said anything.

Nichola sighed deeply. “Wil. You’re obviously not feeling well. Call your doctor.”

Wilford had never been so thoroughly and ruthlessly rejected in his life. But he didn’t have time to dwell on it, because he suddenly remembered what it was that had been bugging him lately. “Fuck!” he shouted, reaching for his phone.

He ignored Nichola watching him nervously and found Dr Taylor’s number in his phone book. “This is Wilford Warfstache,” he said as soon as the receptionist picked up. “I need to make an appointment with Dr Taylor.”

There was an awkward pause. “I’m sorry, sir. Dr Taylor has decided to drop you as a patient.”

If Wilford wasn’t having a heart attack before, he felt like he was going to now. “What? Why?” he demanded. This was not good. This was so not good. What was he supposed to do if he had another meltdown? He sure felt like he was about to the way his day was spiraling out of control.

“I’m afraid he didn’t say,” the receptionist said. “I can have him call you when he’s free.”

“Yes. Do that.” Wilford hung up his phone and dropped it onto the table. “The fuck am I supposed to do now?” he asked. He looked up to see Nichola standing there, watching him with an odd look on her face.

“Should I cancel your meeting?” she asked.

Wilford nodded and buried his face in his hands. Maybe he didn’t need to see his shrink. He probably needed to see his physician. “I’m taking the rest of the day off. Have Bill bring me Kevin’s notes tonight.” Before Nichola could say anything else, Wilford picked up his phone and started scrolling through his contacts again. Maybe if the universe wasn’t completely sociopathic, he could actually get an appointment.

---

Clinics were only a step above hospitals in terms of places Wilford would rather not be. Usually, he could clamp down on the crushing sense of loathing he had for the sterile, white atmosphere, but whatever he was dealing with had made him a nervous, jittery wreck. He fought the urge to flee while he was poked and prodded at.

“You ever felt like this before?” Dr Lee asked as he fiddled with the blood pressure cuff.

Wilford shook his head. “Never. It started yesterday.”

Dr Lee nodded. “What was yesterday like? Anything out of the ordinary?”

Wilford thought, and again shook his head. “Nope. Got up, went to work, went to this stupid party. Started feeling funny about an hour after I left the house.” He tried to ignore the blood pressure cuff. He hated it. He was pretty sure it wasn’t supposed to make him feel trapped.

“What medication are you on right now?” Dr Lee asked.

“Xanax about once a month. Ran out of Ambien a while ago, but I kind of quit needing it since my surgery,” he said.

“Good,” Dr Lee said. “That was in… June, right?”

Wilford nodded. “Yeah, at the end of the month.”

“What about alcohol? Other drugs?”

“Lot of weed got me through recovery. Just started drinking again. Went to a party a few weeks ago, but otherwise haven’t touched anything else since the surgery.” God, that stethoscope was cold. Why was it so cold?

“How much are you drinking?” Dr Lee turned away to log everything into his computer.

Wilford shrugged. “A few beers at night. Glass of whiskey here and there.”

There was an awkward silence while Dr Lee typed away on his computer. “Piss anyone off lately?” he asked.

“It’s my job to piss people off. I don’t think there’s anyone in the country I haven’t pissed off,” he pointed out.

“Good point,” Dr Lee said. He turned around. “I want to order some labs and imaging, just in case. When you get home, try to figure out if you’ve, like, annoyed a witch or something.”

As if that was going to be easy.

Three hours later, he was home with instructions to take some aspirin and consult his metaphysical advisor. He was about to check Google, when a thought occurred to him, so he grabbed his phone instead.

Of course, that creepy butler answered the phone.

“I’m afraid Madam Celine doesn’t do private readings, sir,” he said. Wilford wondered if it was possible to sound any more condescending. Before he could ask, he was interrupted by someone on the other end.

“Benjamin, who is it?” a woman’s voice asked. Probably Mark’s wife.

“It’s Mr Warfstache. He’s asking about private readings,” the butler said.

“Oh. Yes.” There was a shuffling silence, and for a moment, Wilford thought he was being hung up on. “Mr Warfstache,” Celine said warmly. “I’m sure Benjamin’s told you I don’t do private readings, but you are a friend of my husband’s. And I’m sure you could have gone to anyone.”

“It’s something I’d like to keep under wraps if I can, and you know how this city is,” Wilford said.

“Of course,” Celine agreed. “I was just heading into town. If you’re home today, I can stop by for a quick reading on my way in.”

Wilford was caught a little off-guard by the willingness to do the reading. “Uh. Yeah. Home all day,” he said.

“Excellent. I’ll get your address from Mark.” Without another word, she hung up.

---

He wasn’t expecting her to bring an entire suitcase full of gear. He looked at it as he let her into the house, while she looked around the room. She seemed especially interested in the vaulted ceiling. As she looked toward the kitchen, her face lit up.

“You have dogs!” she exclaimed. She put her suitcase down and walked over to the patio door, where both dogs were curiously watching what was going on inside. “Oh, aren’t you just precious!” she coo’ed at them.

Without even asking, she opened the patio door and stepped outside with them. Both dogs immediately crowded in on her, sniffing and licking at her to see if she had any treats. While Celine enthusiastically played with the dogs, Wilford started clearing off the kitchen table, using the jacket he’d tossed there months ago as a pouch to carry all the mail over to the sofa, where it could be looked at momentarily before he threw it into the fireplace. It didn’t take long before the dogs knocked Celine over, but judging by the way she was laughing, she didn’t seem too bothered. She stayed down on the floor with them for another couple of minutes, before she finally pulled herself back to her feet and brushed off the long dress she was wearing. She’d have dog hair on her for days after that.

“Come on,” Wilford said, herding the dogs back outside. “Get out.” He shut the door and made sure the dog door was locked so they’d stay out of the way. As Celine started setting up the table as she needed it, Wilford leaned into his office to make sure the patio door in there was open so they could come inside if they wanted, and then closed the door between the office and the dining room.

“Sit down,” Celine said, already sitting and ready to go. Wilford sat down across the table from her, looking at everything she’d laid out. She hadn’t just brought her cards. She’d laid a woven cloth over the table, and covered the cloth with candles, a crystal ball, and a quill pen with ink and what was probably honest-to-god parchment. “What are we asking today?”

Wilford shrugged and shook his head. “My doctor can’t tell if I’m cursed or having a heart attack.

“Do you think you’re cursed?” Celine asked.

Wilford shrugged again, even less certain about his answer this time. “I’ve been cursed before, but if that’s what’s going on, it’s a different kind.”

“Okay.” Celine nodded and picked up her deck, shuffling it a few times. Then, she cut the deck twice, laying it out in three somewhat even stacks in front of her on the table. She pulled a card from one of the stacks and set it face down on the table in front of her. Drawing from each of the three stacks one by one, she laid out more cards, all face-down, in the shape of a cross. With everything laid out, she reconsolidated her three stacks of cards and set them aside. “So, let’s see what’s going on,” she said, flipping over the card closest to Wilford. The card meant nothing to him, but Celine nodded all the same.

“This one represents an inner voice, or intuition,” Celine explained, pointing at the card. “But it’s reversed. So we’re dealing with some sort of loss of self, or a hidden agenda somewhere.” She looked up at him, and Wilford nodded.

“I’ve been feeling really weird the last few days. I thought I was coming down with something, but the doctor disagrees,” he explained.

“Right,” Celine said, nodding. “Do you feel like you’re still in control of yourself?”

Wilford almost laughed. “God, no.”

“So, you definitely feel like there’s some sort of force operating beyond your control?” Celine asked.

Wilford nodded without saying anything. The way she looked at him made him feel like she could see right through him. It felt like she was reading him as much as she was reading the cards. Without another word, Celine flipped over the three middle cards, and immediately frowned. She seemed like she was going to say something, but she stopped herself, almost as if to reconsider what she was seeing. She looked away for a moment, and looked back at the cards.

“There’s a lot of conflict here. It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.” She pointed at the middle card. “This one tells me that there’s a lot of friendship around you. You have a lot of people who care about you. They want to see you be happy, and you want to see them be happy.”

That hit deeper than Wilford realised it would. “I think I fucked that one up this morning. Said some things I should have kept to myself,” he said. Maybe they could both be adults about it and forget he said anything.

Celine nodded. “So this one fits a little better,” she said pointing to the card on her right. “It’s reversed, so I see a lot of confusion and chaos right now. Things aren’t going the way that you expect them to.”

“You could put it like that,” Wilford said.

“But this one,” Celine said, pointing to the card on her left. “I’m seeing a lot of loss, and grief, and mourning here. So we have a lot of people who care about you, but you’re conflicted about them. Maybe you’re starting to wonder how much you really care about them. But you’re also grieving for something. When you said something you shouldn’t have, how was it taken?”

Wilford thought back and shook his head. “I don’t think I fucked it up that bad. I don’t think she’s going to take a hike or anything.”

Celine looked down at the cards again, seeming like she was trying to find another meaning in them. “So you don’t know what this is?” she asked.

“No,” Wilford said. “I’ve been feeling weird, but nothing like that.”

Celine hummed and stared at the cards. “If we think about it metaphorically, this could tie not to the friendship, but to the loss of self. But having the friendship between these two intense negatives makes me feel like it’s not metaphorical somehow.”

Wilford frowned and looked down at the cards. All he saw were some fancy cards with fancy names. It didn’t mean anything to him still. He got no feeling from them, letting him know that they were on the right path. Completely lost with the whole situation, he shook his head and shrugged. Taking it as a signal to continue, Celine turned over the final card. Again, she looked at the entire spread with intense confusion. Wilford would have thought she was new to this, the way she frowned at it, but nothing she’d said so far suggested that she hadn’t done this a thousand times before.

“I think your doctor was right in telling you to consult the metaphysical,” she said slowly. “This card should be a natural progression of the first, but…” she sighed and shook her head. “But again, it’s completely contradicting the first. This one represents opportunity. This confusion and loss that you’re feeling is for your own good?” She shook her head at the cards, as if she disagreed with them. “You say that you haven’t been feeling like yourself. Was it all at once, or did it slowly build up?”

Wilford thought about her question. “Slow. It started—” he stopped himself short, realising exactly what she was saying. “I noticed it yesterday.”

Celine nodded and looked down at the cards again. “Okay. Let’s look at this as a whole. You think you might have been cursed. I think I agree with that. What exactly did you say that you shouldn’t have?”

Wilford rolled his eyes at himself, but he suddenly couldn’t find the words to repeat what he’d said that morning. It was like there was something deep in his chest blocking everything from coming out. He didn’t know what it was, and it scared him.

“Have you ever felt this, right now, before?” Celine said, watching him carefully.

Wilford shook his head.

“Tell me what you said.” There was a sudden hardness to her voice, like she was issuing a command.

Wilford took a deep breath and sighed. “I—” He’d never felt this hesitant over anything. What in the fuck was going on? “I realised I liked someone a lot more than I thought I did. I thought the feeling was mutual.” He shrugged. “She laughed at me.”

“You suggested a relationship?” Celine asked. She looked down at her cards again.

“Yeah,” Wilford said, still wondering why he’d done it.

“Did you feel like you were in control when you did it?” Celine asked.

“No,” Wilford said. “Even at the time, I knew it was a bad idea.”

She nodded again. “Whatever the intent was, I doubt that was it,” she said, lightly touching each card with her fingertips. “I would suggest reaching backwards beyond the point where you started to not feel like yourself, and examine every conversation and interaction you’ve had. I think your doctor was right to advise you to speak to me. Often, all it takes to fix a situation like this is a good apology.” She reached across the table and grabbed both of his hands. Wilford wanted to recoil, but he didn’t dare. “I think this was meant to be a teaching tool. Figure out what you’re supposed to have learned, and demonstrate that you have. If that still doesn’t work, call me again. There are other ways to lift these things, but it’s always easiest to go to the source first.”

Wilford nodded. “Right.”

Celine pulled away from him and started cleaning up her cards. While she did that, Wilford got up and started to head back toward his office. “Do you take cheque or cash?” he asked.

She looked up at him, giving him a bemused smile. “You gave me an excuse to get out of the house. Consider the bill settled.”

“Right,” he repeated. He wondered why she was still with the man if they hated each other that much, but he didn’t dare ask about it. Not then. It wasn’t the right time.

Celine quickly packed her things into her suitcase and stood back up. “It was nice to get to meet you properly,” she said.

“Of course,” Wilford agreed. He walked over to the front door to see her out. “Can you get that thing down the stairs?” he asked, looking at her suitcase.

“I got it up here. I can manage,” she said. She flashed him a friendly smile before leaving through the front door.

With her gone, Wilford unlocked the dog door again and collapsed into his chair in the living room. He thought about what she’d said, about going back to figure out where everything started. There was a lot of work. A lot of shouted arguments with people at the studio, he’d blown off a few execs. He’d probably pissed off that Micah kid, but that was after he realised he’d been feeling weird. Unless Micah had reset and preemptively cursed Wilford. It was an absurd thought, except it was exactly the sort of thing Wilford would do. It was exactly the sort of thing he had done. Maybe he couldn’t cross that kid off the list just yet.

He’d forgotten he’d relayed a message for Billy to stop by until he saw Billy’s big SUV pull through the gate. Wilford stood in the kitchen, trying to scrounge up something for dinner while he watched Billy disappear from view to climb the stairs. There really wasn’t much in the fridge. He needed to get better at regular shopping trips. Or at least get better at regularly ordering the basics online. Billy let himself into the house and walked around into the kitchen.

“Heard you’re having a bad day,” he said. There was an odd tone to his voice. Almost like he didn’t want to be there.

“It’s getting better,” Wilford said.

Billy didn’t say anything. He stood awkwardly by the fridge while Wilford dug through it. There was half a jar of black bean paste. He could do something with that.

“Did you bring Kevin’s notes?” Wilford asked.

“No,” Billy said. “I, uh. I couldn’t get to them.”

Wilford stood up, looking at Billy from over the fridge door. “Didn’t he come in?” he asked.

Billy shook his head. “His neighbours called the landlord last night. I guess they could smell something burning in the apartment, but it wasn’t setting off smoke alarms. The landlord went in. The coffee pot had boiled dry. They found Kevin fully clothed, in the shower. Water running. His neck was broken. Police weren’t letting anyone in.”

“What?” Wilford asked. Suddenly everything hurt and felt numb at the same time. It was like he’d been hit by a truck.

“They put the time of death around this time yesterday.”

Wilford threw the jar at the wall. It exploded, leaving a sticky mess on the wall.

“Why the fuck am I hearing about it now?” he demanded. He couldn’t breathe. It felt like something was choking him from the inside.

“We’re not family,” Billy said. “That’s how it works.”

Wilford leaned against the counter, just trying to breathe. It was obviously murder. Nobody showered in their clothes. Wilford wanted to grab his save log and go back a few days. Keep Kevin later. Send him out on some tedious assignment to keep him from going home. But it didn’t work like that. It would have happened anyway, just under different circumstances. Whoever wanted him dead would have found another way to do it.

Wilford had wanted him dead more times than he could count. But he’d always reset if Kevin didn’t. He wanted him dead, but not gone.

“Do they have any ideas?” he asked finally.

“Not that they were telling me. His family are trying to keep it out of the news, which is why we didn’t hear about it until now.”

“You tell Nick?” Wilford asked.

“Yeah. They’re pulling us off the air for a few weeks,” Billy said. “We’re probably going to be investigated.”

Wilford grabbed the side of the counter. Why in the fuck were they going to be investigated? Nobody at the studio would have done this. Wilford made sure of it. He fired everybody who seemed like they’d be even half as much of a threat as he would.

“Fine,” he said.

Billy sighed. He didn’t seem to have much else to say.