by Jill Nojack
She hung the handbag on her arm. Yes, it completed her outfit nicely, providing a needed splash of color to the vintage black and gray wrap dress she’d chosen from her wardrobe that morning.
“Looks great,” both Cassie and Gillian agreed.
“Yes, and now that I’ve got the appropriate anchor for the spell, the final element is a freshly dead body. Someone who was taken by surprise. The deceased can’t be waiting for what’s coming, so it won’t be as simple as hanging around the old folk’s home until nature runs its course on one of the residents. The ones who are ready to go zip through to the Summerlands far too fast for us to complete the ritual.”
“Hang on, you’re not going to like, ask us to steal somebody’s soul or something?” Cassie questioned. “Because I love you, Nat, and I know it must be uncomfortable to see dead people all the time, but there’s no way I would do something like that for you. That just sounds wrong.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Natalie crossed her hands over her narrow chest and tapped a foot clad in black pumps rhythmically on the wooden floor. “I need a piece of the afterlife. And to get one, there has to be an open portal. They’re only available until the spirit crosses.”
“Oh, okay,” Cassie said, looking over to Gillian in relief. “I’ll help with that if Gilly does.”
Gillian looked thoughtful, her green eyes rising from her work to fix on Nat’s meaningfully. “Personally, I think there are better ways to deal with one’s ghosts than shoving them aside.”
Natalie stopped tapping and stamped her foot petulantly. “I knew it! Always expecting everyone to do things your way. I don’t know why I thought I could count on you.”
Gillian waited for the storm to pass, her eyebrows raised. When it had, she said, “I wouldn’t be a good friend if I told you anything but the truth. And if this is what you want, I’ll help you. Of course I will. You shouldn’t have to be in pain because you sacrificed your ward to save us from being pulled into the Summerlands when Anat tore the veil.”
Natalie didn’t exactly say thank you, but she uncrossed her arms and let herself relax. She was suddenly so tired that she was sure she’d fall down if she didn’t sit down first. She pulled one of the tall stools behind the counter forward, turned, and scooched backward to sit. She motioned them in toward her. “Good. Here’s what we’ll need to prepare.”
***
Cassie was late for work at the gallery because she hadn’t been willing to tear herself away from Natalie. The details of Natalie’s request had been super fascinating from a witching perspective. There was no way she could have made herself duck out in the middle of it. As penance, she’d volunteered to dig into the inventory reconciliation paperwork she and Dash had both been avoiding for the last couple of months. He sat across from her at the small table near the sales counter, slowly cruising through his own stack of receipts while filling her in on the latest gossip.
They both looked up expectantly when the entry bell signaled the arrival of a possible buyer or, even better, a possible art lover. Cassie ditched the invoices she’d been surveying, and Dash tweaked his Dali mustache into an even finer upward point, releasing the scent of vanilla from the wax that warmed to his touch as he molded the ends into just the right position.
They both stood and put on their best company smiles, but immediately froze with their smiles in place as a middle-aged woman in a form-fitting skirt and low-cut blouse barreled toward them brandishing one of the gallery’s gift bags at arm’s length. “Who do I talk to about returning this? It’s horrid. Years out of fashion. Is this what passes for art in this pothole in the road you people like to call a town? Well, is it?”
Cassie looked at Dash, whose nose was twitching like a rabbit’s, forcing the ends of his mustache to keep time. It was losing its upward thrust.
Cassie realized she’d better get this one; the boss was terrified. “I’d be happy to help. You’re Caroline Akers, right? The town’s new publicist? You and your husband bought that gorgeous Frank Lloyd Wright inspired house out on the boundary of the woods that butts up to the lake, didn’t you?”
Dash dipped his eyes to her gratefully before making a beeline for the back.
Caroline didn’t soften. “Yes, yes. If you like rustic. But this picture. Take it back. And I want the cash immediately.”
“Sure. Give me a minute to check our copy of the receipt. I sold this to your husband only last week. It’s by a local artist who went off to the big city and made a name for himself. And he’s recently moved back to town. We’re super thrilled to represent his work.”
“This garbage? I wouldn’t display it in my bathroom! Refund. Now.”
Cassie took the picture and looked down at it, confused. “Really? But it’s remarkable. If my husband brought this home . . .”
“Skip the sales talk and get me my refund. I have shopping to do.”
Cassie punched the gift receipt information into the register. “It looks like he paid with a card. I’ll have to refund it to that. Unless you’d like to exchange it for something you like better? If you want to look around . . .”
“As if there’s anything worth having in this podunk gallery in this podunk town. No thank you. I’ll leave your merchandise for the great unwashed. No one but uneducated housewives and my husband would think anything here qualifies as art. Put it back on the card.” She held out her hand. “My receipt?”
Cassie waited for the receipt to print, then put it into the woman’s outstretched palm. “Here you go. It may take a few days for the refund to show on your statement.” Caroline’s hand closed around it like a bear trap.
As she flounced out of the shop, Cassie muttered under her breath, “And please don’t let the door hit you on the way out . . .”
“Omigoddess, Dash, she was the most unpleasant customer I’ve ever had to deal with,” Cassie said when her boss peeked out from between the curtains that hid the backroom from the public.
He parted the curtains and stepped out, saying, “She’d have given your grandmother a run for her money even in her heyday.” He raised his hands and shook them, fingers splayed open like a jazz dancer. “Spare me any more customers like that one. And saying something so awful about Lou Frank’s work! I cannot understand what is wrong with that woman.”
Cassie picked up the painting again and looked at it longingly as she carried it across the room to the empty space it had left when it was sold. “Me neither. I’d love to have this. It’s amazing, isn’t it? The way he glazes to build up the depth of color, and yet it’s still so subtle and delicate . . . and the expression in her eyes. It’s so passionate and yet somehow wrong, scary in a way. But it’s fascinating. Beautiful.”
Dash pursed his lips. “Hmmm . . . do I know a young lady who’ll be using her employee discount soon?”
“I wish. Even with a discount, I can’t afford to buy art right now. I made Tom agree that we’ll keep the spending down to what we earn from the businesses—only until the attorneys sort out my Granny’s assets and we find out exactly what we’ve got to work with after any debts are paid. The truth is that the house is eating our money up as soon as we get it. If it didn’t, that painting would have come off the wall the minute you hung it up.” She sighed, then placed it back on its hanger, backing up and giving it a lingering goodbye look.
Her attention was torn away by the sound of brakes squealing outside on the street, followed by the impact of metal on metal. They both rushed for the door. When bad things happened in a small town like Giles, they were bound to involve someone one of them knew or someone who knew somebody they knew. Or maybe just the friend of a friend who knew somebody who knew somebody.
A Mercedes had run right up on the bumper of a much older blue Ford in front of the diner, but there didn’t appear to be anything very bad happening. Or at least, there wasn’t until the unpleasant Caroline stepped out of the Mercedes and started shouting for the driver of the other car to get it out of her way.
A tall bl
ack kid in a ball cap, Celtics T-shirt, and jeans got out of the car in front and walked to the back to look at the damage.
Cassie cocked one ear toward where the two of them stood. She had to strain to hear the boy, who talked softly and looked upset more than angry. “I don’t know what you’re yelling about,” he said. “I had my signal on and was already backing up.”
Sure enough, there was an empty parking space next to Caroline’s car. Parallel parking incidents happened all the time on the too-narrow downtown street. Nobody could have been going very fast, so the damage shouldn’t be much more than a dent or a scratch. Cassie headed back to the shop to follow Dash, who had already gone inside. She stopped and turned back when she heard the sound of blows followed by the boy shouting, “Hey, hey, back off!”
The kid had his hands up to block the hits that Caroline rained down on him with her large leather bag. Okay, Cassie realized, this might get ugly. She pulled out her phone to put a call in to the police, but before she could dial, her friend Daria vaulted out of the passenger-side door of the kid’s car and ran toward the fight. Cassie put the phone away; she didn’t want to get a friend in trouble. But no . . . it wasn’t Daria. Whoever she was, she had the same mahogany skin and long, curly black hair, but she was younger and smaller.
Caroline Akers was still screaming about how she was going to sue when the girl started smacking her with a clutch that definitely wouldn’t have the same effect as the older woman’s larger bag. When the mini-Daria clone yelled for the woman to stop if she knew what was good for her, Cassie was sure that hysterical little voice could never come out of Daria.
Cassie rushed down the street as things appeared to be veering out of control. When she got closer, she noted that the girl also had the same generous mouth and big brown eyes as her friend. Whoever she was, she had to be a relative.
The boy had only defended himself so far, but when Caroline turned to the girl and lashed out at her, he reached out to stop her, grabbing the purse.
Caroline screamed anew. “You let go of that, you nasty little thief! It’s not bad enough you back into my car, but now you’re ripping me off in broad daylight?”
The boy let go of the bag and Caroline pulled it away, but as she did, it began to smoke. Then flames licked its sides.
Caroline stared at the bag for a moment before dropping it, glaring at it as if it was alive and had done her an injustice.
Cassie yelled, “I’ll get help,” and flew down the street as fast as her feet would move. She ran back with one of the gallery’s red extinguishers. The kids’ car was rolling away by the time she returned, and Caroline was stomping at her purse, trying to stamp out the flames.
Cassie put them out easily with a phffft from the canister.
Caroline didn’t even bother thanking her. She just picked up what Cassie was pretty sure was an authentic Louis Vuitton bag, now irreparably damaged, and got in her car and sped off, narrowly missing another collision at the first corner as she did.
Cassie couldn’t say for sure who’d run into who, but she knew who she’d put her money on if she had to bet. On the way back to the gallery, she dropped a text to Daria with an invitation to meet after work. She wanted to find out who Daria’s little doppelganger was. And she hoped that she really was a relative rather than an actual, real-life doppelganger, because the town didn’t need any more magical disruptions for a while.
***
It was peaceful where Sean Harper parked in the shaded back row of the Corey Woods cabins parking lot, waiting for Caroline Akers, who was running late. She’d said she had a quick errand to run, and Sean was getting bored; he wasn’t a fan of peaceful. He liked action. He needed to be moving, doing. Still, it was convenient that there was nobody around this time of year except the caretaker, who didn’t mind Sean making use of the empty lot as long as he flipped him a twenty every so often.
“That woman sure keeps her own timetable, doesn’t she?” he muttered to himself after getting bored scrolling through the latest videos in his phone’s Facebook feed.
He drummed with both hands on the dashboard to a familiar song on the radio, which he’d tuned to the classic rock station Caroline always liked. When it was done, he glanced at his watch and then out the car windows again. If she didn’t get here soon, he’d have to get back to the Frank place without an afternoon snack. He’d given up his opportunity for lunch to meet her, and his grumbling stomach wasn’t going to let him forget it. Now he was hungry in all kinds of ways. He should take off and cruise by the downtown diner for something to go. He’d have to work late to make up the wasted time now.
Forget her, anyway. She was way too much work. Even if she’d shown up, he was done with her. She’d make it ugly when he tried to end it—she was that kind—but he knew how to keep her quiet if she went ballistic. He reached for the key to crank the van to life but was stopped by the sound of tapping on the passenger-side window.
Sean turned slowly to his right. Caroline was wearing a low-cut blouse that showed off her perfectly shaped breasts like ripe melons on a gilded tray. A more urgent sensation replaced his stomach rumble.
Okay, one last time.
He leaned across the seat and unlocked the passenger-side door. Once she was in, he led her by the hand into the back where he’d prepared a cozy nest with a small but soft mattress and a pile of throw pillows. He pulled the curtain shut that separated the back of the van from the two passenger seats up front; it made a soft swishing sound. Then he lit the candles he’d tucked in among the tools that hung from the walls. Give ‘em a little romance, that’s how he saw it. If a lady wanted to pretend emotion had something to do with the arrangement, who was he to deny the illusion?
***
Seated in the Toadstone Tavern after work, Cassie took a tiny sip of wine before continuing her story of the day’s excitement outside the gallery. She didn’t want to have to explain to Daria why she wasn’t drinking, but she didn’t want to do any harm to the maybe-baby, either. From here on in, though, she’d just hang on to the stem of her glass like she was too busy talking to bother with it. “Okay, so, this girl is yelling at this woman, who is a real . . . well, let’s say I’m not on her side on this. And the girl—I thought it was you at first. She looked so much like you. Until she smacked the woman back.”
“Around one o’clock? Really?” Daria asked. “She was supposed to be at her first day of school. Mama registered her this morning. Instead she’s already running around town with a boy. That girl is too much!”
“Girl who?”
Daria made a wry face. “My cousin Twink. I’m sure I’ve mentioned her. She used to be a good kid and, you know, you expect a teenager to do some stupid things once in a while, but she’s been nothing but trouble since she hit her teens. At least that’s how her mother tells it. Delia, that’s my aunt, Twink’s mother, wants Mama to whip her into shape, but my mama is too old and too mean to deal with another teenager. Especially a wild one.”
“Wow. But if anyone can get her under control, your mama can.”
“I know, right? Who wouldn’t fall in line when the Terror of Giles is eyeballin’ ‘em? I sure did.”
“The poor kid. Your mama will definitely hear about it if she hasn’t already. That Caroline Akers, the accident woman—she’s a piece of work. I’d bet she really did run into the boy’s car when he was backing in to park with his turn signal on and everything, but she’s just the kind of wench who won’t let it go until she has both of them in court. Just, you know, if it happens . . .”
Daria dropped her forehead onto her hand. “I can’t think how I’ll stop mama losing it. And my place isn’t big enough for me to take Twink in if mama tosses her out. There’s no place left for her with her father out of the picture now. Maybe I can find a bigger place.” Daria shook her head. “No, who am I kidding? I don’t have the money. I’m still cobbling together contract jobs to make ends meet. And they say a college education is the key to a good job. Yeah, right.”<
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“I might know a place,” Cassie said. “For you and Twink both. I mean, if you really think she just needs a chance and you’re willing to help her out?”
“I work from home with most of the contracts I get, so I’d be around to keep an eye on her. But not in an efficiency with one small bed, I couldn’t.”
“Nobody’s staying in the living quarters at the shop right now. We use the kitchenette downstairs, but with the main kitchen upstairs, I could slap on a door at the end of the hall that leads into the parlor. It would be a nice place for the two of you. Furnished and everything.”
“Seriously?”
“Sure. And cheap rent. Having somebody in the building instead of having it sit empty means less possibility of the shop being broken into. It’s a good deal for both of us. I hope Twink isn’t into shoplifting or knocking over convenience stores?”
“Not that I’ve heard of. But who knows?” Daria gave her friend a wry look, followed by a big smile. She lunged forward suddenly, grabbed Cassie, and engulfed her in an enormous hug.
Cassie barely kept her wine from ending up in her lap by holding the glass out away from the squeeze as Daria followed up with, “You’re the best! This solves everything. I’ve got to go tell Twink right now. Call you later for the deets?”
Cassie didn’t have time to reply before her friend was out the door and zipping along the sidewalk.
3
The next day, two cats prowled silently through the early morning woods. The new leaves above them barely stirred as they stalked the forest floor for small prey.
The black male watched the female calico’s ears prick up as she shoved her petite nose into the air, sniffing. He raised his own nose and the scent hit him too. It was much more interesting than the damp smell of last year’s fallen leaves turning into mulch beneath their feet, where the final, shaded pockets of snow were melting. His companion bolted in the direction his sensitive sniffer knew could only lead to trouble.