Booke of the Hidden

by Jeri Westerson

  “I do?”

  “Uh huh. Since you nullified the Craft protection we did—” she looked over her shoulder at me disparagingly “—this will have to do.”

  “This will keep the succubus at bay?”

  “Yup.”

  “What about Shabiri? Will this keep her out, too?”

  “It should. I’ll add a little more salt. Demons can’t cross over the salt.”

  “Salt? As simple as that?”

  “Well, you can’t just pour table salt on the floor and expect great results, but in a pinch…as it were.”

  She turned on the fire to high so that the flames just licked the bottom of the pot, and then she asked for a knife. I took one from the knife block on the counter and slid the cutting board toward her.

  “Here you go. Will there be chanting?”

  She set about to carefully chop each herb in turn. “I sense a certain amount of skepticism in your tone.”

  “Sorry. Even with all the stuff I’ve seen I still find it tough to believe that a mixture of herbs and a few chanted words will have any effect on the universe.”

  “You mean like manipulating a few atoms and saying ‘fire in the hole’? That seemed to have an effect on the planet back in 1945.”

  “This is not the same thing as an atomic bomb.”

  “Isn’t it? I’ve been doing research on it…surprise, surprise.” She grinned as she dropped the chopped herbs into the pot. She added a few dollops of distilled water from the plastic jug I gave her and sprinkled in a pinch of salt. “And what we do in our Wiccan practices seems to affect the nature of the world around us. In small ways, of course, but still. So it isn’t so much hocus pocus, but just a little bit of Newtonian physics. A little bigger than on a quantum scale.”

  “I think you lost me.”

  “What I mean is, what I’m doing will matter. Not just the actions and the ingredients, but also because our will has a lot to do with it. Our intentions.”

  “How can that—”

  “Even moving from this position to that position—” she gestured with the wooden spoon from her to me “—makes small changes in the temperature, the position of molecules, and the air displacement in the room. Imagine what it’s doing to the different planes of existence.”

  I was still a skeptic, but at least she seemed to know what she was talking about.

  After adding all the herbs, she cracked the egg on the edge of the pot. She separated it, then tossed the yolk into the pot and threw the rest of the eggshells into the sink. Then she stirred, and I felt that uneasy feeling again. Here was my little Wiccan stirring her cauldron, and now she was beginning to chant. I didn’t understand the words, didn’t know what language it was in, but I felt that chill again. As I watched, the room darkened slightly, or was it just that the stuff in the cauldron was glowing?

  I stepped closer, even though I had meant to step back. Peering in, the stuff did look like it was glowing, faintly, like iridescent paint.

  “Is it supposed to do that?” I whispered.

  “Shush!” she admonished, and continued stirring and chanting.

  Finally, she tapped the spoon on the side of the pot and set it down beside the stove. She turned off the fire and looked into the pot. “Looks good,” she said.

  I leaned over her shoulder and looked in. The glow was gone. And all it looked like was a goopy mess to me. Didn’t smell too good, either.

  “My grand opening is tomorrow. Is this going to stink up the place? And how am I going to let anyone in here when there’s goop smeared all over my window sills and doorways?”

  “You can wash it off tomorrow. But at least you can rest easy tonight.”

  “Tonight I hope to get rid of that bitch in the meadow. So now what do we do?”

  “We let it cool. Which gives us time to get the shop ready.”

  “There’s not much left to do. And I have to knock off early, ’cause I have a date.”

  “With Sheriff Bradbury. So I heard. He’s cute, isn’t he?”

  “Um, cute? I don’t know about that. He’s handsome, yes.” I grabbed a rag and a spray bottle of lemon cleaner. She followed me back into the shop. “Let’s clean this place till it sparkles.”

  • • •

  The shop was as clean as it was ever going to get. I glanced back at the former hole in the wall that had once housed the Booke for a few centuries, but Doc had done a stellar plastering job, and with new paint on it and a display of porcelain teapots in front of it, no one but me would know the difference.

  I looked around, pleased with my new enterprise. “I think this is going to work.”

  Jolene smiled, pushing back a loose strand of hair and tucking it under her knit hat. “Yeah. Looks like a great little business.”

  In a burst of camaraderie, I hooked my arm around her shoulders and sighed. “Yeah.” But then I caught the time on the clock on the mantel. “Holy cats, is that the time! I’ve got to get ready. What am I going to wear?”

  “I can help you pick out something.”

  Her face was hopeful. Looking at her drab clothing and ever-present knit hat, I had the feeling she seldom got the chance to do something girly. “Okay, come on up. But I warn you; there aren’t a whole lot of choices.”

  She followed me up the stairs and when I got to the bedroom I opened wide the wardrobe doors. No one had ever gotten around to updating the room and putting in a closet. But then again, I wasn’t exactly a fashion plate, preferring my jeans and sweaters.

  Jolene stepped forward and started pushing hangers around. “Wow, you aren’t kidding.”

  Now I felt a little stupid. Maybe I should have shopped earlier at The Ragged Hem, Moody Bog’s answer to J. C. Penney. But vortexes and succubi didn’t leave me with a lot of free time.

  “I should probably wear a dress, shouldn’t I?” Had it really been that long since I’d had a date? I had forgotten so much. I looked down at my worn jeans and baggy sweatshirt. Maybe I’d gotten a little sloppy in my bachelorette-hood.

  “Definitely,” said Jolene, continuing to rummage. “Sheriff Ed’s kind of an old-fashioned guy. He strikes me as the hold-the-door-open sort.”

  “Really? I don’t think anyone’s ever done that for me.”

  “Me neither.”

  I smiled. “You’ve got time. It will happen.”

  Sighing, she fingered one of my softer sweaters. “I guess. It just feels like it never will happen.”

  “Not if you spend your time moping over Nick.”

  She squinted at me over her shoulder. “I should find someone my own age…and orientation? Is that what you mean?”

  “Don’t worry so much. You’re pretty young to settle for the first boy who comes along. And having a few relationships is good. They teach you things. Like what kind of guy is entirely wrong for you.”

  Maybe I’d said that with a little too much heat. And by the look on her face, I guessed I was right. “What I mean is,” I said, softening my approach, “is that it’s good to go out with a variety of guys. It helps you to get to know yourself as well as them. Keep it light, you know.” And because I felt a little responsible for a vulnerable teenager, I quickly added, “And definitely no sex until you’re ready. And then always use protection.”

  She rolled her eyes, as expected, but I saw a tinge of blush to her cheek. “How old were you when you first…you know.”

  “Oh.” Was I having this conversation with an essential stranger? A teenage stranger? “Well…I was a little older than you. But I’d done my research. To avoid…things.” Yeah, way to be a grown-up, Kylie. Smooth.

  She giggled. “Yeah, I know how to avoid things, too.” Then she frowned. “There’s just no one interested in finding out.”

  “Don’t be in such a hurry,” I muttered, hearing my mother’s voice in that. “I bet there’s someone at school.”

  “There is one guy…but he’s such a nerd. No one really likes him.”

  “Who cares about everyone else? What
do you feel?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, I know I’m a nerd, but he’s a nerd in a different way. And kind of weird. But I guess he’s kind of nice, too.”

  “Just keep it light. It doesn’t have to be a great romance. And maybe you’ll make a friend.”

  “You think I should ask him out?”

  “Why not? Last time I looked, this is the twenty-first century.” I grabbed a hanger and pulled out the dress I had been thinking of. It was a black long-sleeved number. A nice slinky one that came to just above my knees, with a neckline that wasn’t too low but not too high either. “What do you think of this?”

  “Conservative, yet says minx as well.”

  “‘Minx’? I guess I could use a little minx tonight.”

  • • •

  After helping me pick out appropriate bling to go with my slinky dress, Jolene did me the favor of smearing the protective goop on my window and doorframes. It smelled a bit odd but not too off-putting, and after rinsing out the “cauldron,” she finally left me to my fate with a shouted, “Good luck tonight!”

  I still had some time till Ed showed up, so I decided to spend it on research, or at least as much of it as I could find on succubi, demon amulets, and trying to find something resembling that tattoo on Erasmus’s chest. His very nice, well-defined chest.

  I shook my head. “Not now, Kylie.” I was about to go on a date with someone else.

  I sat at my laptop and tried to look up tattoos. I saw quite a variety of tattoo imagery done in places on the body I never wanted to imagine someone sticking a needle. I looked up demon marks and anything else I thought of to Google, but nothing came close. Clearly, I was not as skilled at this as was Jolene.

  Another glance at my clock and I jumped up from the desk. I ran to the bathroom, freshened my make-up, dabbed a bit of long unused perfume at my pulse points, and stood at the top of the stairs just as someone knocked on the shop door.

  Tucking the amulet into the neckline of my dress, I clomped down the steps, trying not to twist my ankle in those heels, and hurried to the front door. Pausing, I took a moment to brush my shoulder-length hair back, took a breath, and opened it.

  Ed Bradbury looked good in his uniform, but he also looked good in a suit jacket over a dark sweater. Without his Smokey Bear hat he seemed a little lost as to what to fidget with, but he brushed his hand down his sweater instead and gave me a sheepish smile. “Hi,” he said.

  “Hi. Would you like to come in or should we—”

  “Why don’t we just go? Our reservation is for seven.”

  “Then we’d better go.”

  He escorted me to his SUV and opened the passenger side door for me. I squirmed girlishly inside; it had been a long time since a man treated me so politely. “Thank you,” I told him as I slid into the seat and belted myself in.

  I grabbed surreptitious glances at him as we drove. He had a nice profile, the kind one might see on a Marine recruiting poster from World War I; square-jawed, nice nose, take-no-prisoners eyes. And then he turned toward me, catching me staring. My cheeks reddened with embarrassment but his gaze was warm and he smiled. Definitely a nice smile.

  We were headed toward the far end of town to a little restaurant I had wanted to check out when things got a little calmer. It was a converted house made into a chic café, with candlelight and white tablecloths. Sheriff Ed had good taste.

  We went in together and were seated promptly in a cozy corner, with a few “Hi, Sheriffs” along the way. I took in the twinkly lights sprinkled among the branches of the potted trees, the sparkling tableware, the gentle buzz of conversation and clinking glasses, and felt a little easing of the tension I’d been wearing around my shoulders. I smiled at him across the table. “Well, here we are.”

  A dimple creased one cheek. “Here we are.”

  I suddenly remembered our earlier meeting today and leaned forward, keeping my voice confidential. “I hope everything went okay after I left the caves. You know. With the bicyclist.” I hoped no one encountered the vortex. I supposed since he hadn’t cancelled our date no one had.

  A frown stole his smile and I was instantly sorry I said anything. He took his time unrolling his linen napkin and laying it in his lap. “It’s fine. And I really can’t discuss it.”

  “Sorry. Sorry. It’s just…well.”

  “I know.” He brightened. “Surely we can come up with other conversation.”

  “I hope so!”

  Since this was my first time in the café, Ed described the tastier dishes and I settled on some of the local fish. The wine arrived soon after, and once I had a little alcohol in my system I was feeling even more relaxed.

  “So are you a genuine Mainer?” I asked, twirling the stem of my wineglass.

  “Ay-uh.” He winked. He had that slight accent like Doc’s that I found appealing, leaving off the sound of his r’s. “Which means I’m many generations a Mainer. Just being born here hardly counts.”

  “I’ve heard that.”

  “And are you a native Californian?”

  “Born and bred. But we don’t have those rules. If you’ve got one foot in California we consider you a fellow native.”

  “So why pick up and leave? Things are pretty different here.”

  I set my glass down and ran a finger over the rim. “Sometimes, you just have to make a change. And the time was right. So here I am, a fish out of water, I guess. And you’re right. It might take me a while to get used to things. The weather, for the most part. It gets pretty cold here, doesn’t it?”

  “Except for a few weeks in the summer.” He smiled. That sparked a memory again of Grandpa’s house. A memory I definitely needed to explore. Later.

  The waiter came with our salads and set the plates down before us.

  The sheriff cut his greens, gazing only at his plate. “I heard a rumor today. About you and the Knitting Society?”

  My fork paused midway between plate and my mouth. “Uh…what did you hear?”

  He chewed, then dabbed his lips with the napkin before replacing it in his lap. “Oh, just that you didn’t stay very long, and Ruth Russell has some sort of vendetta against you.”

  “Vendetta?”

  “Maybe that’s too strong a word. But you definitely got on her bad side.” He finally looked up at me, quirking a brow. “Care to elaborate?”

  I took a bite of greens that had been on my hovering fork and chewed purposefully. I swallowed, grabbed my wine glass, and took a hearty gulp. Amused, Ed watched my every move. “I have nothing to say. She just doesn’t like me.”

  “To tell you the truth, I didn’t think she was your kind of crowd.”

  “I was just trying to get to know the village folk better. And to learn a bit about Moody Bog’s history. Is that so bad a thing?”

  “No, not at all. She’s definitely the person to talk to about the founders. Though she can be pretty protective about her own family’s part in it. A more reliable source was Karl Waters, but…”

  We both chewed quietly for a time, thinking our own thoughts. It wasn’t good to be maudlin on a date, so I quickly shook it off and leaned in. “Why don’t you tell me about Ed Bradbury?”

  He shrugged, giving me a bit of that “awe shucks” sort of mannerism that I found oddly appealing. “Not much to tell, really. Born in Moody Bog. Small family. Mom and Pop retired. Got a degree in law enforcement. Did a brief early stint in Bangor and returned here and eventually worked my way up to sheriff. I’ll likely stay here until I retire and probably even after that. I’m a Moody Bog boy.”

  “Wow. Must be kind of—” I wanted to say “weird” but at the last minute, switched it to “—comforting, plotting your life out like that.”

  “I’m just the kind of guy who likes to know what I’m going to be doing in ten, twenty years. What about you?”

  “Me? I’m happy when I figure out what I’m going to do that afternoon.”

  His gaze took in all of me and a small smile curved his shapely lips.
“You’re a bit of a free spirit, then. To tell you the truth, that kind of lifestyle scares the heck out of me.”

  “It hasn’t done too much for me lately,” I muttered. His brows questioned, and I said more articulately, “I like to be able to roll with the punches. Open myself to new possibilities. It might seem crazy to some to strike out across the country to start a new life, but I guess it’s sort of the old pioneer spirit. And I wouldn’t have met you.”

  “True enough.”

  He took a quick drink and finished his glass. He reached for the bottle in its ice bucket and offered some to me before he poured himself more. “So…this Mr. Dark,” he began casually, or what I’m sure he believed was casual. “You say he’s an old friend?”

  Thoughts of Erasmus Dark easily filled my mind and I didn’t want them to, especially with this rather handsome and polite man sitting across from me. “Do you really want to talk about him?”

  He watched me steadily for a moment. I could tell he wanted to ask more. Perhaps it was the policeman in him. Or perhaps just the man. A tiny bit of me was hoping it was the latter. He suddenly smiled again and shook his head. “Come to think of it, no. Why don’t you tell me all about this tea business instead and then about exotic sunny Southern California?”

  We talked, and when dinner arrived, we continued our conversation. I almost forgot he was a cop and I was a succubus stalker.

  By the time dessert and coffees were served, I excused myself to go to the ladies room. I had a smile on my face as I wended my way lazily between the tables. Pleasantly buzzed with wine and good company, I could admit that I really liked Ed and he seemed to like me. I could almost forget my indiscretion of the night before and I was beginning to regret my little self-imposed curfew, but I reminded myself that these things shouldn’t be rushed. Take the advice you gave to Jolene. What’s the hurry? If I hadn’t rushed so much, last night never would have happened…

  That made me frown as I strolled through the arch to the restrooms. Before I had a chance to push open the door, someone grabbed my wrist. I sucked in a breath to shout when another hand clamped over my mouth. “Don’t scream,” he hissed in my ear and dragged me through the exit.