Chapter 7
They decided to talk it over more at Margie’s. Nann now found herself more concerned with being a target than solving a magic homicide. She needed to find a way to protect herself. As usual, the bar was full at midday, the tables empty. They followed the sign to seat themselves.
“I’ll have the pizza,” Tink said.
“We ain’t got a pizza oven.” Margie took their order, her salt-and-pepper bun poked with pens.
“It’s on the menu.” Tink pointed it out. Margie’s menus were all stolen from family chain restaurants. The one Tink had was a plastic-coated collector’s item from a Howard Johnson’s.
Margie whipped a Sharpie out of her hair do and redacted the pizza. “Should’ve caught that before.”
“I’ll just have a blueberry pie.”
“Slice of pie,” Margie scribbled.
“No. A whole pie.”
Elf-types loved their sugar. Zinnia ordered her usual, two double cheeseburgers and fries. Nann wondered, as she always did, where the diminutive woman put it. Since she was living under the threat of sympathetic magic, Nann ordered the chili.
“There must be something you can do to protect yourself,” Zinnia said.
Nann thought about it. “The only real defense against sympathetic magic is blue yucca bananas. The plants grow in the Four Corners region. They’re a protected species. Might take some doing. I just don’t know if I have time.”
“You have that magic burglar alarm doohickey on the store,” Tink said.
Zinnia rolled her eyes. “I got stuck out in the rain by that spell once.”
“Can’t you do something like that?”
“It really only works on buildings, or objects,” Nann said. “It will keep people out, but not magic. If a skilled magic worker gets ahold of that doll and pins it, I got no way to stop her. Or him.” But probably her, probably Cindy Paine, Nann thought.
“The cops have it right now, locked up in evidence. You should be safe,” Tink said.
Nann agreed. “It would take time to construct a new one, gather the personal items.”
“Maybe you can make one yourself. Zap Cindy before she zaps you,” Tink said.
“I can’t. I’m a Druid. That’s black magic, really, really dark magic. It isn’t what I do. Besides, I’m terrible at sewing.” The poppets she’d seen were well constructed. She couldn’t hope to compete with one of her own anyway.
“Didn’t Druids used to perform human sacrifice?” Zinnia said.
“That was a long time ago. We don’t do it anymore. Our wicker men are stuffed with effigies, not people. There’s something called the Seven-Fold Law, which is essentially instant karma. Druids used to sacrifice criminals and prisoners of war, and what did we get? The Roman Empire. We probably deserved it. So we no longer perform that kind of ceremony, or any intentionally hurtful magic.”
The food arrived. Nancy looked into her bowl doubtfully, but Tink and Zinnia tucked in. She tried a bite. Spicy! She wiped her mouth and crushed some crackers into the chili to tone it down.
“Hot?” Tink forked some pie.
“Only second-degree burns,” Nann said. “I’ll recover.”
At the bar, a man in a dark suit levered himself to his feet. Nann recognized the too-dark hair, the pinstripe suit—Brock Miller. Watery eyes caught hers and the man walked over, his feet a little wander-y with drink. He put his hand on the table, either getting close or having to keep from falling over. He leaned so close that Nann was eye-to-chest with him. Her eye caught his tie tack: a gold circle surrounding a mystic merlinite stone. She didn’t think it was a coincidence, but her recognition was interrupted by his slurred and too-loud voice.
“I’m sorry about all this mess. All of you have gotten caught up in it. Zinnia, you have a good plan going. I don’t know what will happen, but I hope this town doesn’t die out completely. It used to be a great place, a magic place. Anyway.”
He wobbled his way outside and into a Mercedes-Benz SUV.
Zinnia stared as the car swerved from the curb. “It’s just so weird that these business tycoons with their chartered planes and fancy cars all come from right here, the most depressed town in Upstate New York.”
“And none of them stuck around after they destroyed the environment,” Tink said. “I guess if you have the money, you can live wherever.”
“Cindy’s not from here,’ Zinnia said. “She’s from New Orleans, where the corporate HQ was relocated.”
“Oh, awesome. Voodoo capital of the world,” Tink said.
“Thanks for reminding me.” Nann was glad she’d ordered chili. She was quickly losing her appetite. Still, she stole one of Zinnia’s fries for a chili dip. A mistake. She searched in vain for her napkin to wipe the grease off her fingers.
SHE WANDERED THE BIG house after work, thinking, Pokey following her around. There were five bedrooms on the second floor. Nann had taken the guest room on the first, the room she’d stayed in during her summers here. The place was still filled with her great-aunt’s and great-uncle’s things. Clothing, furniture, linens, books of course, Aunt Nancy spent much of her life owning Greenpoint Books with her sister, Nann’s grandmother, Ann.
“One of these days I’m gonna have to stop living here like a guest,” she told the pig.
There was no radio turned on upstairs. She had to settle for an agreeable oink. She opened the door at the end of the hall somewhat reluctantly. While the house was still filled with memories in the form of future Goodwill donations, this room stabbed Aunt Nancy’s absence home.
This room stood diametrically opposed to the secret altar/home theatre hidden in the basement. Corner windows opened the south end of the house, the lengthy dusk brightening everything. Like most witch-types Nann knew, Aunt Nancy had been a crafter. And, like most crafters she knew, Aunt Nancy had about fifty unfinished projects scattered about. Balls of yarn remained attached to knitting and crocheting pieces. Felt cuttings lay across a table like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. At the sewing table, little baskets held all sizes of googly eyes, buttons, glitter tubes, hot glue sticks, twine, popsicle sticks, elastic bands, beads and a host of other supplies.
Pokey grunted in a corner of the room, tiny hooves clattering against a bookshelf. Nann saw the radio and switched it on.
A deep, echo-y voice boomed out. “You dare ignore me, mortal? I should strip you of your very soul—”
Nann turned the radio dial.
“—for letting me oink and grunt like an animal. Jeeze Louise.” A friendlier Pokey station. Nann didn’t care for Demonic Pokey Radio. “What are you doing walking around with granny panties up here?”
Nann took the underpants in question from her pocket. Certainly not her most flattering pair. Shapeless, unintentionally high-waisted, and yellow, these were reserved for her time of the month. If she was willing to sacrifice them one way, why not another? “We’re going to do some crafting.”
“Oo. Crafting means snack time.”
Nann squinted at her familiar. “How do you figure?”
“Because when your Aunt Nancy did her crafting, she’d give me a snack to keep me out from underfoot.”
“Is this a threat?”
“Veiled,” Pokey said, “but real.”
“How about if I promise you a snack after I’m done?”
“Pinky-swear?”
Nann frowned. “You don’t have pinkies.”
“I don’t have ball-and-socket shoulder joints, either, or you would see me shrug.”
“Pinky-swear.” Nann sat in the office chair at a desk and reached down. She hooked her pinky around Pokey’s hoof. “Now, where’s the sewing machine?”
“You’re sitting in front of it.”
Nann looked at the desk.
“Go ahead. Lift the lid.”
Fumbling, she found the lid doubled the surface of the desktop when opened. A sewing machine rested in a hole beneath. She found a switch, and the machine levitated into place. Nann stared for a while.
“Do you know how this works?”
“You put two pieces of cloth in it and it sticks them together.”
Nann closed the cabinet. In the ten years she and her mother took care of Aunt Nancy, much Druid lore was passed to Nann. But nothing about sewing. Mom was more likely to throw a shirt away when a button popped off.
How was she going to do this? Nann saw a stapler on another table. If it came to that, so be it. She spread the panties out on the cabinet. Lemon yellow, faint print of white flowers, low cut and high waisted. Elastic worn out and exposed on one side. She cut them along the seams until she had a flat sheet of fabric. With a Sharpie, she drew a gingerbread woman. Woman, because she gave the shape a rudimentary figure.
Folding the cloth in half where the feet ended, she cut the shape out. She now had a conjoined twin gingerbread woman, joined at the feet. Nann cast around. The name Stich Witchery popped out at her. She investigated the basket. Fabric tape, this was. Instructions said to set it with an iron. But the tape was over a quarter inch wide. Her makeshift poppet was too small. However, she also found a tube of fabric glue in the same basket. Glue she could do.
Sealing the bottom of the poppet, she shredded the rest of the panty fabric for stuffing. With the legs full, she glued part of the top, added more stuffing and a lock of her hair. Goddess knew she had hair to spare. Teeth clenched, she poked her finger with a pin. A single drop of red dotted the stuffing. A few minutes’ work and she had a rudimentary doll. She showed Pokey.
“What is it?”
“I’m making you a nice collar.”
“Really? It looks more like the ugliest doll I’ve ever seen.”
Nann frowned and set back to work. With colored pens, she added eyes, an embarrassing star-shaped birthmark, red lips, blue eyes, a scar from an ill-fated Radio Flyer excursion in her youth. Now for the tough part. With fabric scraps, she did her best to make a pair of sneakers, yoga pants, an oversized blouse and a tiny copy of her conjure bag.
Outside, the sky went dark. Rain hissed through the leaves and pattered her windows. Nann kept at it. She found curly black yarn for hair. A little glitter provided earrings and a necklace. Getting artsy, she added more color to the lips and a little eye shadow, tiny beads for her blouse buttons, thread for shoelaces.
“All right, already, I’m starving to death.” Pokey put his hooves on her leg and craned up at her. Nann looked at the clock. Oh. My. Goodness. She’d been at this for hours. She added two last things: a little loop she glued on the back, and a purple ribbon to pass through it. Since Pokey was already right there, she tied it around his neck.
“Is there a bell?” He asked. “Am I sneaking up on you too much?”
“Do you want a bell?”
“I prefer sneaking.”
“No bell then.” Nann took his little pig face in her hands. “I won’t do this unless you agree.”
“What are we doing?”
“Someone might be coming after me. If they do, because of the doll around your neck, we’ll both take the hit. It might hurt. It might... worse.”
“Oh, swell, so I’m the target now?”
“No. It’s just to make the spell split. So hopefully, we’ll both survive.”
“Or both die?” Pokey asked.
“Just say the word, and I’ll take it off.”
Pokey seemed to think it over. “Look, I’ve had a familiar die on me before. It wasn’t fun. I really don’t want to go through that again. I’ll take half a hit for you, Nann.”
“I know it’s a lot to ask, Pokey.” Nann felt her eyes prickle. “Thank you.”
“Ha!” Pokey got back down on the floor and headed for the stairs. “You can thank me with that frozen cheesecake in the freezer. And those Little Debbies you have stashed in the top cupboard.”
“What?”
“And some ice cream. I like the kind with the chocolate and marshmallows.” He stopped in the doorway and turned to her. “Hey, I’m saving your life, here.”
AFTER POKEY WENT INTO calorie-laden unconsciousness, Nann kept working. As a Druid, she couldn’t involve herself in black magic. The Seven-Fold Law was a very real thing. Still, self-preservation was Cosmic Law No. 1. She had to think of a better way to protect herself and her familiar. The clock indicated it was nearly sunrise. Exhausted, Nann found it hard to think. Druid lore was handed down, generation to generation, verbally. There was no such thing as a book of Druid ceremonies. While she could do spells from books, it was not the Druid way to let someone else do the work. It took twenty years to become a Druid. She’d spent ten years as an apprentice, listening to Aunt Nancy’s stores. Usually over and over again. To some, that made her senile. But Nann had come to understand that this was the way knowledge was passed down. After a decade as an apprentice Druid, Nann was now a practicing Druid. She had to come up with a solution on her own.
With Pokey snoring in the corner, she made some tea and sat at the kitchen table. Her thoughts were scrambled. Making the poppet acted like any magic ceremony, draining her of energy. Hands around her mug, she charged the tea, and caught her reflection.
Reflection.
Nann wandered the house, following the thought. Reflection. It led her down into the Lady Lair. She booted up Aunt Nancy’s old computer, found Nationwide Paper’s web site, and a photo of Cindy Paine. Control-P. She moved through her home, almost automatically picking things up: mortar and pestle from the kitchen, lime essential oil from the living room, Epsom salt from the upstairs bathroom. She headed into the craft room. Picked up gold thread, a little mirror—she carried it carefully so as not to see her reflection in it, and a pair of scissors.
She put it all on the dining room table. Aunt Nancy’s altar in the Lady Lair would’ve been more appropriate, but it wasn’t Nann’s. Someday, Nann would have to create her own altar. She put fresh candles in holders, lighting them with a wave. Laying the mirror face down on Cindy’s photo, she cut the paper to the same size as the mirror. On the back of the photo, she wrote Cindy’s name in mirror letters, along with the phrase, “Back at you.”
Carefully, she bound mirror and printed picture with the gold thread. Epsom salt went in the mortar, along with the lime oil. Limes were green, the Druid color. Plus they smelled nice. Nann mixed the salt and oil.
“Bound in gold, with blessed oil specked
This talisman will now reflect
Ill will toward me and redirect
To the caster, magic’s effect.”
The words came unbidden as she placed the bound mirror in the mortar, covering it with oiled salt. Outside, the rain stopped. Light filled the dining room from top to bottom. Sunrise. In the stone mortar, the fragrant mixture crackled like Pop Rocks. As Nann watched, the bound mirror became sealed in rough crystal. She removed it, studying it. Would it work to save her and Pokey? She had no idea, really. In the kitchen, she found a sealable baggie and put the amulet inside.
Just about falling over, she made her way upstairs. Without undressing, she fell into bed for a few hours’ sleep.
Chapter 8
Nann’s sleep was so stuffed with dreams, she wondered how she got any rest. She grabbed the dream diary from her nightstand, writing before the dreams faded. Mostly, she remembered a magician in a top hat. He did a lot of card tricks. Even though he wore white gloves, there was a ring on his hand with a fat dark blue stone. What did it mean?
The night’s storm washed the air to a crisp, if brisk, cleanliness and huge autumn clouds piled in the blue sky. Nann felt pretty good, confident (mostly) in her all-night ceremonies. At the same time, with just a few hours’ sleep, she chugged coffee from her go-cup and let Cricket drive. Bleary-eyed, she spotted an ambulance and firetruck outside one of Port Argent’s bed and breakfasts. She was pretty sure that was the place Roger and Cindy were staying. An uneasy feeling stole over her. But ten minutes later, she was outside of town, heading through harvested fields toward Calamity Corners.
She opened up her shop, Cemetery Cent
er looking more like its actual name, Amity Center, beneath the dramatic sky. Whistling, she booted the computers, wrapped a few online orders, and put them by the door for the mailman. If not for the constant stream of business from her internet shops, she’d have hardly any business at all. Roll with the times, she told herself. It was the Druid way.
Nann dusted and watered the plants by the windows. She paged through the latest Penguin catalog, spotting some books to order through her rep. As the morning warmed and humidified, she switched on the overhead fans. She looked at her calendar. New moon tonight. Dammit, she usually had tea with Marquise Charlotte, the vampire who lived (or whatever you called a vampire’s state of being—unlived?) on the third floor of the commercial building. She’d have to beg off. Nann already spent one night up until dawn.
Still...
Amity Corners was boring. Even on slow days in her Brooklyn store, Nann could at least do some people watching. Here, she was lucky to see more than three cars drive up Cemetery Street. Of course, being in a small depressed town had its plusses. There weren’t garbage trucks, buses and construction noise all day long.
Luckily, everyone in this little town was bored. Before noon, Zinnia popped in with sandwiches.
“You want tuna salad or ham?” she asked.
“Tuna. I’ve sworn off pork products, because of my pet pig.”
“Oh. Right. Didn’t I eat him when you took down the Pied Piper?”
Nann squinted. Zinnia did turn into an alligator (or other crocodilian) on the full moon. “Did you say eat him?”
“What?” Zinnia’s eyes went big and shifted away. “Meet him. That’s what I said. C’mon, eat your pet? That’s silly.” She wolfed down the ham-and-cheese.
“Huh.” Nann thought that she might want to keep Pokey away from Cemetery Center a couple weeks from now. “Anyway, have you heard anything from the board?”
Zinnia shook her head. “I’m guessing there’s a bunch of legal red tape. Probate? Something. But nothing about the buy-out plan.”
The Witch is in the Details Page 6