#michael malarkey

He hardly knew you, for Christ’s sake. You were one of Damon’s friends, some witchy college kid. Sure, you were pretty, but not his type. He liked bad girls, preferably on motorcycles - not uptight best friends with raging moral compasses.

Enzo stomped to the wardrobe and threw on his clothes. Within twenty minutes, he was sweet-talking that receptionist in the back seat of his car. He was kissing her neck, admiring the total absence of a delicious argan oil scent in her hair - when he felt a cold sweat.

HE WAS CHEATING ON YOU.

The thought crashed into his brain like a damn lorry. Apologising to the girl - Becca or Becky or something - he staggered out of the car.

Enzo had to get to the bottom of this.

-

You turned to enter your philosophy class - only to see a leather-jacketed Englishman in the way.

“Apologies, sweetcheeks. We need to talk,” Enzo said.

“Don't you have any innocent people to murder? Where's Damon?” you said.

You nearly got whiplash as he carried you outside the red brick building. You stood there, trying to get your breath back. Enzo was staring at you with intense annoyance. Really intense. You felt yourself blush under his eyes.

“What the hell?” you said, still panting.

“Wasn't I clear enough before? I wasn't asking.” Enzo said, resting both hands on the wall on either side of your head . “You see, I have a problem. I can't get you out of my damn head.”

You laughed. “Oh my god. You're flirting with me. I’ll pass, if that's okay with you.”

“No, sweetheart,” Enzo said. “I don't fancy you, so you can drop the smug grin. I think some witchy voodoo has implanted you in my brain.”

You began to sweat under your T-shirt.

“It's a problem,” Enzo said in a low voice. “You see, I'm something of a lothario myself.”

“Huh?” you said.

“A Don Juan. A Cassanova.” Enzo clarified.

You shrugged.

“I bed a lot of women!” Enzo said. “And this is not exactly greasing the old works, if you know what I-”

You slid out from under Enzo’s arm. You couldn't let him know this was your fault, especially as you had no solution. “Not my problem, sorry!” you said.

In a flash, Enzo was standing in front of you. “Don't go, darling. You won't make it,” he murmured. The threat sounded almost tender. A shiver went down your spine.

You raised your hands and started chanting. Enzo grimaced, sweat beading on his forehead. He slowly sank to his knees before you, gripping his head, which had to be in agony from your spell. A low groan came from his throat.

“Don't mess with me, darling,” you said, exhilarated by your own power, your ability to wipe that smile off Enzo’s face. Feeling naughty, you twisted his perfect hair, ruining it.

You were about to leave, when Enzo’s face changed into a devilish grin. Touching his finger to his tongue, he smoothed out his hair. He was clearly not in pain.

You began to panic. “Why isn't it working?” you said.

“Oh, it's working,” Enzo said, rising to his feet with the ease of a man waking up in the morning. “It's just that fifty years of saying hello to my own organs every morning gave me one hell of a pain tolerance.” He twirled a strand of your hair. “In fact, I like a little pain from a woman.”

You pressed your hands onto Enzo’s chest, still chanting. This was insane. He should have been crying for his mummy by now.

“Ooh,” Enzo said, his eyes closing. “That hits the sweet spot. Now, will you help me or not?”

-

You and Enzo sat on the floor of your dorm room, surrounded by candles. You had your fingers pressed to either side of his head.

“I think I can reverse the spell by entering your mind and finding a real love, strong enough to overpower the false feelings,” you said.

“Your hands feel good,” Enzo murmured. His eyes shot open. “Where on earth did that come from?”

“Ah,” you said. “It's possible that physical touch is making your feelings for me stronger.”

Suddenly, Enzo leaned you onto the floor, his lips inches from yours. You were both breathing fast. Enzo ran one skilful hand down your cheek, then your neck, then your waist. His gaze was worshipful. You had forgotten how good it felt to be touched like that.

“Get the damned thing done before we do something we’ll both regret,” Enzo said, his eyes fixed on your mouth.

You resumed your sitting position. “Now think of the person you most love,” you said, entering Enzo’s mind.

With a shock, you saw yourself and Enzo - but outdoors, in the nighttime. You were sitting on a bench in a knee length yellow dress, and Enzo was next to you in a green army uniform. He knelt and kissed your swelling belly.

“Don't think about me!” you yelled. “Is that not obvious?"

Enzo looked down in embarassment. “Give me a break woman, you're in my bloody mind. Let's try again.”

-

This time, the scene was different, the colours more bleak, more real. Enzo was standing in a stony prison cell. On the outside was a beautiful black woman with short curly hair and ruby lips.

She leaned against the bars. “When will you ask me to marry you, Lieutenant St John?”

He held one of her hands in the gap. “Giving you my name would be the sweetest pleasure of my earthly life. But you know I can't. Not till I get out of this hell hole.”

“You talk like you're going to die in here,” she said. “It's not right.”

He bent and kissed her hand. “I'm immortal, my dove. Don't you worry about me.”

-

Then you were staring into Enzo’s eyes once more, back in your Whitmore dorm room. One tear trickled down his cheek, and he quickly wiped it away.

“Who was she?” you said.

Enzo looked at you. “It's worked,” he said. “I no longer feel like ravishing you right here. No offence.”

You rolled your eyes. “None taken. Trust me.” You frowned. “But… what happened to that woman? Did you marry her?”

Enzo got to his feet. “Ancient history, love.”

“Come on. I've already seen inside your head,” you said. “What else have you got to hide?”

“Fine,” Enzo said, crossing his arms. “I'll tell you about her, if you tell me what joker you rustled up that love potion for.”

“Deal,” you said. “So tell me about her.”

Enzo smiled thoughtfully, then said, “The woman you saw was Mags. Maggie. The only woman on this blasted earth I've ever loved. Now, explain why a beautiful girl like you is begging for the attention of some Tom Dick or Harry.”

You smiled awkwardly. “Did you just call me beautiful? Are you sure that spell worked?”

“I'm not in love with you, sweetheart. But a man has eyes,” Enzo said, winking. “Now explain.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “It was for my boyfriend, Jeremy. I’m not stupid, okay?” you said. “I know he’s treated me like crap. I just… can't give up hope that we could be something special. Is that so wrong?”

“Hope is a dangerous thing," Enzo said. "I spent fifty years in a bloody jail cell, I know.” He rested a hand on your arm. “Hope doesn't fill your belly. Hope doesn't keep you warm at night. It just kills you a little more slowly than despair.”

You gazed at his distant brown eyes, wondering if Enzo still had hope.

“Anyway, I have no idea why the potion worked on you,” you said. “It was unintentional, I swear.”

Enzo held out his hand. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance. The name’s Lorenzo Jeremiah St John.” He grinned. “Also known as Jeremy.”

—

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