“Summoning is extra tricky. You can’t just do it for fun. You have to have a great need. For example, I can’t just will that spatula to me when I’m perfectly capable of walking over there and getting it.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. Yesterday, you were capable of cleaning a whole house.”
“No,” Gran disagreed. “I didn’t have the time to do it. I had the need and no time. Trust me. I tried it before you got here, and nothing happened. The magic must not’ve thought you needed to see a clean house.”
“But good ol’ Dave did?” I asked.
Gran huffed.
I was beginning to understand that magic was something I’d never truly comprehend. Like people, it was fickle. But it was also smart. I couldn’t tell Gran how much the magic was right. Had I walked into a clean house instead of finding the place in disarray, I might very well have walked right back out.
Instead of creeping around a graveyard tonight, I thought, I’d be in California having a pre-birthday dinner with my dad.
We Skyped later that day, since he was going to be busy on my actual birthday. He also claimed there was a card in the mail, which I knew meant that he’d get around to sending one in the next day or two.
Dad hadn’t been very happy to hear about my boss’s untimely demise. He even threatened to retrieve me from Virginia.
I think Gran put a stop to that—there was possibly some magic involved. I could’ve sworn I saw her twirl her finger under the table and whisper something. Dad calmed down and we ended the call.
“Do you always twirl your finger like that?” I asked, firmly closing the laptop.
“Not always.”
“Always,” Stevie boomed. “It’s kind of her thing.”
“It’s not my thing.”
The cat winked at me.
Brad chose this moment to show himself. He scooted backward down the stairs on unsure feet.
“It takes a while to get used to stairs,” Stevie told him.
“I have to get used to a lot of things.” Brad studied his paws and shuddered. “I wasn’t expecting this transition to be so difficult.”
“It would’ve been worse if you were a rodent,” Gran said. Then to Stevie, “And I don’t always twirl my finger.”
“You never answered me,” I cut in. “When you told me I was a witch, I asked about a wand. I wanted to see yours. I guess that’s it, huh?”
“Would you prefer I go pull a stick from the tree outside? Or better yet, I’ll make you one from unicorn hair. Let me just find a unicorn.”
“Okay. Okay.” I smiled. “No wands. No unicorns. I just hoped something was like the movies.”
“Why would we use wands if we don’t have to?” Gran asked. “Seems rather inconvenient, if I’m being honest. Oh wait, sorry, I forgot my wand at home. Left it in the lockbox with my pistol.”
“Gran!”
“What?” She laughed. “That’s what those movies make them out to be, don’t they? Weapons. They can’t go anywhere without a magic revolver in their pocket. See—” She pointed her finger at me. “I’m always packing heat.”
Then she pointed to the last of the morning’s coffee, now barely lukewarm. The glass glowed bright orange and steam billowed from it.
“You didn’t say a rhyme,” I observed. “And you could’ve used the microwave. See—magic makes no sense.”
“A good phrase will do in a pinch,” Gran said. “And the pot isn’t microwave safe.”
“Your cup is though,” I pointed out as she filled it.
We spent the rest of the day watching made-for-TV movies and taking turns catnapping with her cats and the familiars. Brad’s raccoon inclinations made it tough for him to be awake for the better part of the day.
I made dinner and was ready for real sleep when Gran started shuffling from room to room as if she was looking for her keys. But I could hear her keys jingling. And she never drove her car if she could get out of it.
“It’s time. It’s time.” She scooted past where I was curled up on the couch and scoured the TV stand for whatever it was she’d lost. “Now, where did I put it?”
“Where did you put what?”
“My ring,” Gran said. “It’s the only way to see into the darkness.”
“You’ve never heard of a flashlight?”
“You don’t need a ring when you have us,” Brad said. He and Stevie were waiting at the door like dogs waiting to be let out.
“While that’s true most of the time, it isn’t true in the graveyard.”
“We aren’t allowed inside,” Stevie told Brad. “Witches’ rules.”
“What good are we if we aren’t able to perform our duties?” Brad asked.
Cats can’t shrug, but somehow Stevie managed it.
“What are they on about?” I asked Gran.
Gran ignored me. She let out a shriek, digging through an old box of even older TV Guides. “Found it!”
A ruby red ring glimmered in the dim light from the kitchen. Gran took up a post beside the familiars at the door. “Well, are you coming?”
“It’s only 11:00,” I objected. “The cemetery is like two minutes away.”
Gran shook her head.
There’s always a catch. I waited for it to come out of Gran’s mouth.
“The cemetery, yes. But I said graveyard. They aren’t one and the same.”
Before I could get a word in, the old broad was out the door, familiars trotting after her. And instead of heading to my car, Gran veered toward the woods behind the house. I had to hurry to catch up.
“Nothing like a midnight stroll through bear-infested woods,” I said sarcastically.
“Bears here aren’t nocturnal,” Gran hissed. “Didn’t you learn anything in school? And I wouldn’t call it infested. Not exactly.”
“It’s a loose quote from one of my favorite movies.”
“A Harry Potter?”
“The Princess Bride.”
“I’m not a fan of princesses.”
Gran studied the ground ahead of us and turned down a faint path. “And if anything,” she said, “I’d be worried about the coyotes.”
The barely-there trail twisted into the wood. Brad and Stevie stayed beside us, their silhouettes flickering in the moonlight. Sometimes animal, sometimes not.
We came to a clearing around a sloping hill. I could just make out the graveyard on the other side. Unlike the cemetery with its chain-link fence, this graveyard had wrought iron. And its gate was much like the gate to the park I’d discovered, only much more ominous.
A crescent moon, brighter than any sliver of moon had the right to be, lit up the clearing.
This was exactly the type of place people had nightmares about—dreams of spooky graveyards where demons, vampires, and witches lurked. It was the type of place that gave me chills. It felt like we shouldn’t be here.
I said as much to Gran.
“Witches are the only people with the right to be in a graveyard at midnight,” she said. “It’s the only time the spirits truly sleep.”
“You don’t mean—”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
I don’t know what I’d thought she meant when she talked about speaking to spirits. A Ouija Board came to mind, not actual spirits. I added ghosts to the ever-growing queue of mythical creatures I didn’t believe existed until moving to Creel Creek, Virginia.
The familiars had stopped ahead of the gate. I turned back. Something about them looked off. Translucent. If I tried to pet Brad, I thought my arm would go right through him.
“Come on.” Gran held up her hand and pushed, and the gates flew open. “They’re waiting on us.”
Waiting for us up on the hill were five more women.
“You know Trish and Agatha,” Gran said. “This here is Hilda Jefferies.”
Hilda was the tallest of the bunch. Taller by a head than the others, close to my height with a dark complexion.
“And Lauren Whittaker, she lives in Ch
arlottesville but tries to make it over when she can. We’re so glad to have you.” Lauren, who could only be a year or so older than me, shook my hand. She had chin-length dark hair and big blue eyes.
“And Kalene,” Gran said with an edge to her voice. “I’m so glad you made it.”
A short mound of a woman gave Gran a curt smile. Kalene was pushing past forty into fifty. She had dark curls the size of fists down to her elbows.
“I just heard from Lauren,” Kalene said, “that we’re adding another to our coven.”
Gran, barely fazed by Kalene’s gate-crashing, smiled. “I’ve told you time and again, we aren’t a coven. We’re five, now six, witches who meet on occasion to trade curses and spells. We’re together in solidarity but singular in magic.”
“You two aren’t singular,” Kalene pointed out.
“Constance, under my tutelage, will maintain the lineage of my family. She’ll obey the rules and the tenets of our order.”
“As witches we toil. As witches we make,” the witches chanted together with Kalene just slightly off beat.
“I just think it’d be better if we were a real coven,” Kalene added. “If we shared our magic equally, not playing favorites.” She eyed me, then Trish.
“You think this is all because your mother left us ten years ago, don’t you?” Hilda stooped down and wrapped an arm around Kalene’s shoulder. “Trust me, dear. We were just as disorganized when your mother was here.”
Lauren shrugged at me. “It was before my time too.”
“Mine too,” Trish said.
Despite the fact that this meeting was supposed to be about me coming into my witch-hood, I realized there were other things in play. There was history here, history that I couldn’t learn in one night. Something I couldn’t learn in weeks. It would take time to get to know these women.
I wasn’t going to let Gran’s cynicism cloud my judgment. I hoped to get to know Kalene and Lauren just as I had Trish. If I stayed in Creel Creek, the three of us would be the future of whatever this group would become, be it a coven or single witches together in solidarity.
Gran hmphed. Then she nodded to us and started up the hill toward the lone tree standing atop it. We followed.
She reached the tree and put her palm against it. The others did the same in turn. I put my hand on the coarse bark last.
“Let’s do what we came here to do,” Gran said. “Each witch will bestow a gift on you, Constance. A gift to last a year and a day, running out at the stroke of midnight that ends your next birthday. These enchantments will ease the transition from the world you knew. May they comfort or protect or aid you.”
Gran turned to the other witches. “And remember, only grant what you have to spare—what you can stand to live without for a year.”
“Who goes first?” Agatha asked.
“You’re as good as any,” Gran told her.
Agatha closed her eyes as if meditating. Her hand went rigid, then it glowed as Gran’s had done when she warmed the coffee.
Immediately, I felt the heat of it. It took all of my willpower not to draw away in surprise. Yet somehow, my body sensed this warmth was mine to have, and I relaxed into it like a hot bath.
“I grant you enhanced comprehension of spell books.”
Hilda went next. “I grant you protection from potions aiming to do you harm.”
“Hilda,” Gran scolded, “we talked about this. Didn’t you learn anything from Trish?”
I let the magic flow through me before I asked, “What’s wrong?”
Trish leaned in. “While it sounds good in theory, it also nullifies the effects of alcohol.”
“Oh, that’s too bad.”
Trish muttered under her breath, “Worst year of my life.”
“You next,” Gran told her.
Trish had to think a moment. She squinted at the moon then decided. “I grant you protection from Halitosis Hal. May all of his advances be thwarted.”
“You’re giving that up?” I asked her.
“It’s not a big deal for me. I’ll never have to thwart his advances. Just be glad I specified Hal and not that fellow from the store the other day.”
This was almost too much to process, but Gran did just fine. “Another beau? You’re two-timing the sheriff already?”
“Gran, stop! I’m not dating the sheriff or that awful guy from the store.”
The whole lot of them giggled at my expense.
Kalene went next, granting me enhanced potion-making. She was even less foresighted than Hilda, not realizing that she would lose some of her potion-making skills for the whole of the year, a skill, that as I understood, wasn’t strong in the first place.
Lauren attempted to ease that burden, also granting me skill in potion-making.
Finally, it was Gran’s turn.
“As your blood relative and the head of this makeshift assembly, I have the ability to grant you something a little more powerful than the others. Something a little more nebulous. I grant you the ability to see trouble before it sees you.”
I felt something flow through me. It was nothing like the burning of Agatha’s gift, more a tingle. Everyone pulled their hand from the tree, including me.
“What does that even mean? Like precognition?”
Gran smiled cheekily. “You’ll just have to find out.”
“She always talks like that,” Trish confided. “The enchantments have to be really specific. Usually, at least. We can’t grant you protection from an evildoer because, well, none of us are protected like that. But Hilda, she’s been building immunity to poisons her whole life.”
“I eat four roots and three berries every morning with my coffee,” Hilda interrupted. “Started with one root and half a berry twenty-eight years ago.”
“And I naturally thwart men,” Trish said. “Been doing it since middle school.”
I chuckled. “I’m going to save my praise until I know it’s working.”
“You won’t have to wait long,” Trish said. “You’ll be seeing him tomorrow.”
“I will?”
She nodded. “Yep. I’m supposed to deliver a message. We’re meeting at the store Monday morning—we get to find out our and the store’s fate.”
16
In Witch We Learn Who’s the Boss?
We convened the next morning at the front of the store, between the cash registers and the aisles. We had just enough space for all of the employees. Workers from all shifts, some I’d yet to meet, and others I knew, like Trish. Hal was there too.
He made a beeline for me, muttering to himself, like when he put his number in my phone. That was a phone call I’d never be making.
Just when I thought Trish’s protection spell didn’t work, Hal stopped abruptly and went the other way.
Whew. That was one bullet dodged. Now, to see what this meeting was all about.
“All right, now. Let’s quiet down.” Sheriff Marsters—Dave—stood between my and Trish’s registers, addressing the throng of Caulfield Grocery employees. “I know you’re wondering what’s going on, and why you’re here. And probably who the heck this guy is.”
Dave pointed at Cyrus Tadros, the man Trish and I met the day I discovered Mr. Caulfield’s body.
Cyrus, who’d nodded along with Dave’s words, kept nodding, apparently expecting the sheriff to give more of an introduction.
Dave looked at him expectantly.
“Oh, that’s my cue?” Cyrus asked.
Dave grunted.
Maybe I was reading too much into things, but something was off. The way they eyed each other showed tension between them. But whether it was about the murder or something else, I wasn’t sure.
I nudged Trish and tried to whisper a question.
She shushed me before I got anything out. “Shh. I want to hear this.”
“I guess that’s my cue,” Cyrus said. “That’s one way to do it. Not exactly what I would’ve done, but anyway… What the sheriff was trying to say is I have the
answers you’re waiting for.
“First off, you’re probably wondering if you still have a job. The answer to that question is yes—yes, you all have jobs at Caulfield Grocery.”
He cleared his throat. “Now, Mr. Caulfield didn’t have any relatives. He never made a will and his estate will have to be settled by a court, which will almost certainly take years. But the city council was concerned and petitioned for a temporary executor to be appointed. My name was suggested—”
“By you,” Dave said, loud enough for everyone to hear.
“Right, well, I did see this as an opportunity,” Cyrus replied primly. “Not only financially, I think this might be a great way of getting to know the community outside of the vineyard.”
“The vineyard?” someone from the peanut gallery asked.
“Oh, that’s right. Real introductions.” He glared at Dave, who was on his way out. “My name is Cyrus Tadros. My father was Edward Armand—the owner of Armand Vineyards.”
There were a few nods and some mumbling.
Scanning the crowd, I took stock of everyone. I saw a few shocked faces. Maybe, like me, they didn’t know the vineyard was still operational.
Jade Gerwig, the butcher, was glaring at me. She held my eyes until I was so uncomfortable I had to look away. And when I looked back, her beady black eyes were still locked on mine. A chill ran down my spine.
A faded memory rang warning bells in my head. I remembered Jade’s fight, or argument, or whatever with Mr. Caulfield the day before his murder.
Mr. Caulfield had wanted Jade back that night. She said she wasn’t going to make it.
What if she did?
Cyrus went on, “I understand that Dad and Eric, that is, Mr. Caulfield, had a bit of a rough history. It’s something I don’t know much about. I’m hoping to make things right by keeping both of their legacies intact.
“As a few of you know,” his eyes went to Trish and me, “I didn’t grow up here in Creel Creek. I only saw Dad a few times. But I’m happy to be here now. And I’m happy to keep this place going. That is, with your help.”
With our help seemed right. I wondered how he thought he was going to run the grocery store and his father’s vineyard slash winery. While I’d had my disagreements with Mr. Caulfield and how he ran things, the grocery store was his life. He’d been here all hours of the day. From what I’d seen of the vineyard, Cyrus had his work cut out for him there.
Midlife Curses: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Mystery (Witching Hour Book 1) Page 10