I took her advice, then dragged the table of featured books outside, and flipped the sign to open. Leslie, now hanging dried herbs from the rafters, looked cute and perky in a floral slip dress. Ever since I’d met her, she’d been fascinated by three things—plants, books, and food—so I wasn’t surprised to see a half-eaten sugary cupcake in her hand.
“What are you eating?”
“Choco-coco. You should try it.” She licked the last of the shredded coconut from her fingers.
“You know I don’t like sweets.” I swallowed hard, worried that my drool might betray me. Besides who eats cupcakes for breakfast? My inner adult prevented such behavior; mind you, with Alana working at the Cupcake Shoppe part-time, I had been indulging a little too often, which was strange, considering I’d never had a sweet tooth before.
I turned away from the treats and surveyed the inside of the shop. I’d modeled it after a bookstore from London circa 1920. It was a throwback to the Victorian era with wide-planked floors, velvet drapes, and antique shelves.
“Something wrong, Sophia?” Leslie asked, climbing down the ladder.
“I have a headache.”
“Again? Try letting your hair down.”
I carefully plucked the elastic loose, freeing my long dark hair from its messy bun. “I can’t even remember what it feels like to sleep through the night anymore.”
“You’ve been getting those headaches for a month now. Did you try the sleeping pills?”
“I did. I’m going to make a doctor’s appointment soon.”
Leslie gave me a sympathetic look and made a beeline for the cat carrier. “Come here, girl.”
She didn’t pretend to like animals but she loved my black cat, Daphne, which was why I bothered toting the feline along twice a week—Leslie’s shared custody privileges.
The jangling of the bell brought our attention back to the front of the store. My teenage daughter, Alana, had burst in, cheeks flushed, holding a white-and-pink bakery box.
“Mum!” she barked, mobile phone glued to her ear.
“Yes, dear?”
“Ah, praise the almighty. I thought ye’d gone deaf.”
I frowned and shook my head. At least she had graciously taken the time to pause and acknowledge me—a rare occurrence these days. “Very funny, Alana.”
“Well I was callin’ after ye like a mad woman…oh, hey, Les,” she added sweetly. “Mrs. Walsh sent these over.”
I made a mental note to ask Leslie about the voodoo she obviously worked on my daughter. It was the only explanation I could come up with on why she was nice to her and not me, since we both bossed her around.
“Are those the new mint buttercreams?” Leslie demanded.
Alana nodded. “Peppermint patties. There’s a lemon tart in there for ye, mum.”
I looked at the counter where Alana had set the bakery box next to the last one. The Walsh’s slogan daintily sprawled across the top: A little magic in every bite.
I rolled my eyes. “Rather like heroin. These things are more addictive than cigarettes and coffee.”
“Definitely,” Leslie said with a grin. “But don’t worry, I’ll share.”
I turned to Alana, who was now furiously texting somebody. “What is it you wanted, dear?”
“Hannah needs me at the shop—back in two shakes.”
I shook my head, looking at the Grandfather clock next to the stained-glass window. It was ten past nine. “Weren’t you just there? Besides, you’re supposed to be working here.” Alana was far from lazy, but she’d been bailing on her shifts at the bookstore ever since she started working for the Walshes’ bakery. “What does she need?”
“How should I know?” Annoyance flashed in Alana’s young eyes. “She said she needs to show me somethin’.”
“That’s vague. Something as in…porn, drugs, a new dress?”
I could tell Leslie was fighting to keep from laughing.
Not my daughter though. She rolled her eyes and more than likely readied her insults.
“Fine. Go! But I want you back…” I looked up at the jingle and realized she was already gone.
“Grrr…What is it with that damn sugar shop?” I asked, turning to Les. “I just don’t get it. Why would she rather spend her time sweating over those hot ovens?”
“Is that a real question?” Leslie mocked. “Hell, I’d live there if I could and I’m part-owner here.”
“Yeah, well, you’re a sugar addict with a tape worm. Alana’s like me, she doesn’t even like sweets.” I paced the length of the store and almost tripped over an empty box. I looked up and saw more. “What’s with all the boxes?”
“Come here and I’ll show you.” Leslie led the way to the back of the store and handed me a book titled Doorway to the Occult.
“It’s a book on the ancestry of the Ouija board,” I said, stating the obvious.
She looked at me with a guilty grin. “Welcome to our new Witchcraft Section.”
I picked up another and read the title aloud: “The Truth about Wicca. This one looks expensive.”
“It was an online request.”
I frowned. “It’s a little early for Halloween.”
“Maybe some people are genuinely interested in the occult year-round.” She stroked Daphne who gave a little purr in return.
I shrugged. “Still, you thought that warranted a dedicated section?”
Normally I didn’t question Leslie’s decisions. She was an amazing business partner, but there were a lot of new books and we needed to spread our purchases out.
“The book looked interesting so I ordered a copy for the store in addition to the client’s requests and boom—in came this whole shipment. I called the distributor. Apparently one of the warehouse staff made a mistake and it wasn’t worth the money to ship them back so we got a free load of books on magical traditions. Our lucky day, right?”
I acknowledged her with a lift of my chin. “It does cramp the space but I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. They’ll sell in October.”
“I’m going to move amulets back there. That should draw some of the right people.”
“We’re relying on amulets to draw people? Is this in the official business plan?”
Leslie barked out a laugh, which was actually more of a squeal given Leslie’s pitchy voice. She walked to the front counter and grabbed one of the coffee cups.
“I think you need this.”
I held my hand out, accepting it gratefully.
“I was thinking more along the lines of merchandising, smarty pants. It’s June. People will want the amulets for Solstice to read the future. If we place the amulets near the books, then maybe customers will be inclined to grab a book, too.” She set Daphne on the floor.
Peeling back the plastic tab on my cup, I inhaled the sweet, vanilla scent of the latte. My headache finally subsided and, feeling relaxed for the first time in hours, I allowed myself to believe that today would be better. Apparently not: a dark shadow darted in and out of my peripheral vision, setting the cat in motion. Daphne sprang onto the counter, knocking over a copy of The Satanic Bible.
“What the hell was that?” I bent to pick up the thick, black book, and spilled a few drops of my coffee down the front of my shirt.
“Damn it!”
Leslie scoffed. “Relax. The bird is on the outside of the glass. The delivery guy said it followed the truck here. It’s been hanging out since yesterday morning.”
She handed me a damp cloth and I dabbed at my chest. Luckily my shirt was dark and patterned.
“Why is it just hovering there, beating its wings against the glass?”
As if on cue, the bird landed on the window sill.
I took the first sip of my latte, closing my eyes and waiting for the caffeine to power my bloodstream. The cat mewled at the bird as if she could reach it through the glass, making my head pound again.
“That’s enough, Daphne. Come here!” I scolded, which might have worked if she’d been
any other animal, but she was a declawed black diva. I turned to Les, who sighed, and clapped her hands fiercely together, calling the cat’s name. Daphne sprang down from the shelf and purred at Leslie’s feet.
Clearly Leslie’s magical voodoo charm extended to more than just angry teenagers.
“There you are, pretty girl,” Leslie said, bending over. “Now you leave that birdie alone,” she told her, in a tone that brooked no argument.
“It’s a raven,” I said, eyeing it through the window.
“So? You own a black cat but you have something against black birds?”
“I-I mean it’s a raven. Don’t you remember? This happened before?” I was growing more frazzled.
“No . . . I don’t think so.” She shook her head. “But what if it did? It’s not like ravens are an endangered bird. You’re bound to encounter them more than once.”
I frowned, “I guess. Why aren’t all of the drapes pulled back? Are we afraid of the light? Should I expect a section on vampires next?”
“Actually, that’s not a bad idea. We could do it for Halloween and use that beautiful castle painting that Alana did to add ambiance,” Leslie scoffed. “Transylvania and all it has to offer.”
“Don’t you dare,” I protested. Still, I did like her idea. We’d joked about doing a Halloween castle tour forever. Unfortunately, we hadn’t gotten around to it yet. Maybe this year. “We’re at capacity now.”
“I know. I know. Time for a break! You want a cupcake?” Leslie said, getting to her feet.
“No, I’ve got my coffee. I overdosed on those cupcakes last night. Mrs. Walsh,” I said through gritted teeth, “loves to send my favorite kind home with Alana after her shifts.”
“That bitch! How dare she try to be nice?” Leslie mocked.
“Oh, there’s more to it than that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Remember how I told you Cullen’s Da has a new girlfriend?”
Leslie’s mouth kicked up in a reluctant smile. “Mrs. Walsh?”
“Yep.” I returned her smile.
“Cullen can’t expect his dad to remain celibate.”
“Celibate, no. I think what Cullen objects to is the fact that the woman is Alana’s employer. She’s widowed and so Móraí introduced the two, coincidentally after one of Alana’s shifts.”
“What does Alana think?”
“How should I know? She barely speaks to me.”
Leslie wrapped her arms around me. “She’s still giving you a hard time?”
“Understatement of the year—I’m officially in the running for worst mom in the world.”
“Oh please, don’t be so dramatic. You’ll never beat out that reality mom who encouraged her daughter to pose nude.”
“That’s a relief,” I said sarcastically.
“Alana’s turning sixteen, that’s all. Teenagers know best,” she said with a chuckle.
The beating returned but it was now coming from the other window. I crossed the store and pulled back the heavy velvet curtains. Behind them was a pair of eyes, and I jumped back, startled.
“No more caffeine for you,” Leslie said.
I stepped away from the window, just as the door jingled. In walked the woman I’d seen through the glass.
“Sophia! It is you.”
“Hello?” I said, taken aback.
Daphne scrambled down from the shelf and shot to the back of the store, in a hurry to catch whatever imaginary creature she was chasing. I drew my attention back to the front. This woman looked familiar.
“Mysterious Adventures in Ink. What a clever name.”
I nodded.
“Have you forgotten me already?”
TWO
1494, Romania
A lexandra Cuza formulated her plan as she watched her husband once again enter his lover’s home. Shivering beneath her clothes, she reached up to hold her shoulder where he’d last touched her. How she missed his affection. No! She scolded herself. She could no longer allow herself the luxury of loving him.
She couldn’t stand another moment watching him and the woman he’d replaced her with. They lived in bliss while she suffered. Each and every day she hated them that much more.
Her own father had been a horrible man. Violent and filthy, he’d gnawed away at her mother’s spirit until her mother had finally called upon the dark spirits to take care of him. Alexandra had watched eagerly and followed in her mother’s footsteps after that, always careful to keep her practice of the craft hidden.
Especially from her step-father, Gyorgy Stoltz, for he loathed witches more than her own father had.
And it was that knowledge that was going to set her free. Gyorgy was the town’s magistrate and he would never forgive the woman responsible for the plague, not to mention his own wife’s death. That’s why Alexandra would come back to this tiny cottage in the woods after her own mother expired.
She felt almost giddy at the idea. She would beg the Reddish Wolf to come to the castle to save her poor mother. Of course, her mother would already be dead, but the wolf wouldn’t know that. The Reddish Wolf would refuse but, in the end, she would do the right thing, and it would cost her dearly.
Alexandra had learned enough about manipulation from her mother to know that she had her step-father just where she wanted him. She’d already planted the seed that Elena Maria Catargiu-Obrenović, the reddish wolf, was a witch. The whole village was looking for someone to blame over this outbreak of sickness. It would be easy enough to convince them that witchcraft was to blame. Then her step-father would be in the perfect position to avenge his wife’s death, all while giving the people of this small village someone to hang. Now all she needed was the Priest’s collaboration.
THREE
I could feel my cheeks burning. “Madam Brun. I’m so sorry. I almost didn’t recognize you. You’ve lost weight.” She’d also lost about fifteen years.
She bounced her luxurious dark curls with one hand and placed the other hand on her narrow hip, sashaying across the room.
“I married a doctor. I guess you could say I’ve had a little work done.”
That was putting it mildly. This man was clearly a magician. I couldn’t believe this was the same psychic I’d consulted sixteen years ago; she looked more like a younger sister or daughter.
The psychic smoothed the jacket of her expensive pant suit down and set her purse on the counter.
“You remember my friend, Leslie?” I asked.
Leslie held out her hand which Madam Brun let dangle.
Leslie cleared her throat and walked away. I knew what she was thinking and it rhymed with itch.
“What are you doing here? In Ireland, I mean?”
The last time I’d seen her she’d been dealing tarot cards and her body had jiggled almost as much as the elaborate coins that hung around her neck. Her frizzy hair had been tied back with a bright scarf, and her wrinkled eyes lined dramatically in kohl. She looked sixty at the time and now I wouldn’t have guessed her a day over forty-five.
“Oh, working, traveling, you know how it is.”
“Not really. Cullen would probably have a better understanding of that. Not too much travel involved in owning a bookstore.”
“No. I bet it’s a different sort of fun though. Look at all these books,” she said, picking up a thick volume. “The Witches Encyclopedia.”
“Yes, we just got a new shipment so it’s a little full in here.”
“It’s fabulous and I’ve been curious to see the place since I received the grand opening evite. Finding you here, located so close to where I’m staying, is such a coincidence.”
I saw her eyeing the open box of cupcakes and lifted it towards her.
“Thank you dear,” Madam said, taking the last vanilla bean. “I haven’t had breakfast yet and I’m famished.” She bit into it, rolling her eyes in ecstasy. “Did you get this from the Cupcake Shoppe up the street?”
Did everyone know that place? I thought begrudgingly. I g
lanced over at Leslie who was standing rigidly with her arms crossed in front of her. She cracked a smarmy grin.
“Yes, my daughter, Alana works there—she’s friends with the owner’s daughter.” I added.
“Really? Maybe I’ve met her,” she said, using a napkin to wipe a big glob of frosting from her lower lip. “We rented a flat across the road a month ago. I’m excited to try the new peppermint patty she’s adding to the menu today.”
“We just got a fresh box of those in this morning. Would you like one? Leslie loves to share with our customers,” I said, ignoring the angry, sideways glare Leslie fixed on me.
“That is so sweet but one is my limit. I’ve been meaning to look you up and when I spotted your sign today I thought it looked familiar. Fate is bringing us together once again.” She popped the last bite into her mouth, swallowing it almost without chewing.
Her words, although innocent enough, reminded me of that last visit when she’d warned me over and over again: Your daughter must never come into contact with that book.
“Anyway, Remus is waiting for me but maybe we can do dinner soon.”
“Remus?”
“My husband.”
“The Doctor. Congratulations. When did you get married?”
“Ten years ago. I’ll tell you all about it the next time I see you but I’ve got to go,” she said, opening the door to leave. “I’ll pop back in later.”
I walked to the counter where Leslie was cleaning the coffee machine and simultaneously demolishing a strawberry cupcake.
“Seriously, girl, doctors need to run tests on you. It is unnatural for a person to eat so much without gaining an ounce.”
She turned her scowl on me. “I don’t like that woman.”
“You’re just mad because she ate the last vanilla bean cupcake.”
“Daphne ran away from her,” she confirmed, unscrewing the lid of the chocolate hazelnut spread. “That cat is an excellent judge of character.”
“Wrong. Daphne is a diva—and you are the only person she likes all of the time.”
Leslie smirked. “Exactly my point, she is an excellent judge of character. Speaking of judging one’s character, this weird book came in with the shipment. Did you order a psychology book on the nature of evil? We were charged for that one.”
Cruel Fortunes Omnibus: Volumes One to Four Page 70