“You know you’re going to hell, right?” Henri asked.
Natalie ignored him. She was entirely focused on chipping away at the layer of dirt and gravel before her. Her face was screwed up in grim determination, and she was apparently unaware of her blonde hair clinging to her face with sweat. Henri groaned.
“Couldn’t we just toss it over the fence, or something?”
Natalie looked up at that, and the anger in her eyes made Henri flinch.
“No jackass, we can’t. It has to be here.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s a crossroads, damn it!”
Henri ducked his head instinctively at her shout. There was no need - the street was as empty as ever. There wasn’t a light to be seen within any of the surrounding houses. Curtains fluttered in open windows, because this was a nice neighborhood, and things like burglaries happened to lesser people. Once, Henri might’ve been tempted to put a brick through one of those windows, just because. But he wasn’t in high school anymore.
“You aren’t in high school anymore,” he reminded Natalie. She’d gone back to stabbing at the ground just off the side of the road with the pink trowel she’d picked up from the Target Dollar Spot. At Henri’s statement, she looked up again. She was more confused than angry.
“What?”
He’d spoken up, and now he couldn’t back down. Henri groaned.
“Jesus, Nat, you’re 27 years old. This is some Mean Girls shit. Like, Sabrina the Teenage Witch meets Regina George shit.”
“I’m 26,” Natalie fired back, scowling. She resumed her work with renewed energy. Bits of dirt and asphalt flew through the air. Natalie’s arm shook from exertion. It was a slender arm, fashionably tan, toned, but not in a butch way. Natalie wouldn’t have anyone thinking she was that kind of lesbian.
“We had your birthday last month,” Henri said. “You’re 27. Act like it.”
“Oh, fuck you,” Natalie responded, heatedly. But she was also starting to sound tired. Henri crouched low to watch her dig.
“Look, I’m just saying, there are more productive ways to deal with your problems than a goddamn voodoo curse.”
“Language!”
“Are you serious right now?”
Henri stood back up. Then, as headlights washed unexpectedly over him, he crouched back down. The car passing through the crossroads didn’t slow down, whooshing off into the night.
“Fuck. We’re gonna get arrested.”
“We can be out of here sooner if you would make yourself useful!”
The trowel broke on Henri’s fourth blow, but it looked like a proper hole, sort of.
“Will it fit?” he asked, and Natalie snorted in a way that sounded almost like herself.
“That’s what she said.”
“Fuck you.”
Natalie took the curse jar from her bag. It was a mason jar that had served as a mug until the handle broke off. Henri thought it was for the best, because it had been tacky as hell. He watched Natalie squint appraisingly at the hole. Down on her knees in the asphalt, she tried to put the jar inside.
“Shit. It won’t fit.”
“That’s what -”
“Henri!”
Natalie’s shoulders slumped in defeat even as she tried halfheartedly to shove the jar into the ground. Henri sighed. She looked so...pathetic. He’d never seen her like that. The Natalie he’d known for over 10 years now was cool, collected, maybe a little snobby, but in a way that most people would believe she was entitled to. With a loud groan mostly for dramatic effect, Henri pried the jar from Natalie’s trembling fingers. She cried out in protest when he unscrewed the lid and dumped its contents out into the cavity: some cloudy water, a doll purchased from a New Age store, and an assortment of pushpins. They settled neatly into the space; just barely, anyway.
“Aren’t you supposed to have, like, hair, or something?”
“I took the pins from her desk, okay? And there’s some...coffee backwash in the juice.”
Henri gagged and dropped the jar.
“Oh my god, Nat, what the hell -?”
“Oh, just let me do it!”
Natalie shoved Henri aside with renewed strength and nearly sent him sprawling. He watched, nauseated, as she used her bare hands to scrape the dirt and gravel they’d gotten loose back over the ingredients from the curse jar.
“I’m supposed to be the one doing it, anyway.”
“Girl...is this really how you wanna handle this?”
Natalie was quiet for a moment. Then she released a deep breath.
“No, Henri. Putting a voodoo curse on a coworker is not how I want to be doing this. What I want is for her to fuck off and let me have the opening in marketing like I deserve.”
“And you think burying spit and stolen office supplies is gonna do that?”
Natalie’s face fell. “I want it to.”
Henri reluctantly picked up the jar. Natalie’s coworker’s fence stood immaculate and almost glowing white in the dark just a yard or so away. Henri limbered up for a moment, stretching his arms, rolling his shoulders. Then, he let it rip. The jar sailed up over the fence and into the night. They watched it go, waiting expectantly for the sound of breaking glass. When it didn’t come, Henri pouted.
“I’ve lost my touch. I’m an Old now.”
“You are not,” Natalie replied. When Henri turned to grin at her, he got a halfhearted smile in return.
“Come on, babe,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”
She took his hand when he extended it, even though his skin crawled at the thought of touching saliva. He hauled her to her feet. She let him sling an arm around her shoulders to guide her back toward her parked car. When Henri glanced back, he could just see the sad little lump of the voodoo doll beneath the thin layer of dirt.
“Fuck it,” Natalie sighed. “I’ll just plant some porn on the bitch’s hard drive.”
Henri smiled widely at that and gave her a squeeze.
“There’s my girl. Show her how the Queen Bee gets things done. She’ll never see you coming.”
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