Dizzy Spells

by Morgana Best

  I agreed. “It sure is. The good news is that the police sent the photos to the forensic lab to be examined. Obviously, they’ll find out that they’re photoshopped or something.”

  “Then you have nothing to worry about,” Thyme said.

  I chewed one fingernail. “That’s not what I’m worried about,” I said. “It would be pretty bad if the police forensics lab couldn’t tell when images are photoshopped. What’s really worrying me is that someone’s trying to frame me!” My voice rose to a high pitch.

  “Alder Vervain,” Thyme said at once.

  I shook my head. “No, I don’t think it’s him.” I hope it’s not him, I added silently.

  “Well, who then?” Thyme asked. “It fits with the pattern of what his family always did.”

  “Maybe it’s the person who paid him to follow me. Maybe that person is the murderer, and they paid him to take photos of me so they could Photoshop them onto the victim’s photos,” I said. I thought that was clever of me, but Thyme looked skeptical.

  “That’s a bit of a stretch, isn’t it? And we really don’t know if anyone has employed him to watch you, or whether he just made that up.”

  I shrugged. “No, not really. Whoever sent those photos to the cop is obviously trying to frame me.”

  “Well, we can’t let that happen then, can we?” Thyme said. “I’m going to cast a spell.”

  “A spell?”

  Thyme nodded. “A spell to speed up the forensic tests and prove that you had nothing to do with it. Do you mind if we put a ‘Back in ten minutes’ sign on the door?”

  “No, that’s fine. We don’t get many customers on a rainy day, anyway.” I hurried off to do as she asked.

  When I returned, Thyme was in the process of placing dishes on the floor. “Hey, see those four dishes?” she said, putting the last one down. “Put one candle on each and light them.”

  I placed one candle upon each small dish. “What happens next?”

  “This is called a circle of protection. Some witches, before they cast a spell, protect the area from harmful and negative energies,” Thyme explained, walking to the center of the candles. She then pointed at each one as she continued. “These candles each represent one of the elements, as well as each of the cardinal points. We’ll use them to call the quarters.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Is this really going to work? The forensic team will just randomly get the results faster? And I’ve been reading up on witches. Isn’t casting a circle a Wiccan thing, but you’re traditional witches, not Wiccan?”

  “There are no rules, really,” Thyme explained. “Traditional witches are usually eclectic. We borrow a bit here, a bit there. Ruprecht doesn’t cast a circle, but I like to, because it helps me focus. Sometimes I don’t, though.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Sorry to ask. I’m still fairly new to this.”

  “We were all new once upon a time,” Thyme replied, “and questions are good. Ask as many questions as you like.” She turned to the first of the four candles. “I ask that the God and Goddess bless this circle so that I may be free and protected within this space. So mote it be,” she said, spinning and pointing her arms around the circle. “Now I’m going to call the quarters.”

  I was lost in my own thoughts for a moment or two, but then focused on Thyme as she went through all four elements. “Guardians of the North, element of earth, I call upon you to be present during this ritual,” she said. “Amelia, please pass me some of that coffee.”

  I fetched it for her and placed it in her hand, making sure not to step out of the circle. “Here you go. So coffee speeds up spells?” I asked.

  Thyme nodded. “I’m adding it to this spell. See, this is a yellow candle for communication.”

  I then stood quietly, watching Thyme.

  “Spirits and guides, I ask you now for swiftness,” she said. “We seek for the authorities to hurry and find out that the photos of Amelia were photoshopped. I thank and release you now!”

  I looked around the room, and at the same time I could feel a strange sensation all around me. The flames on the candles momentarily flared. At that moment I felt sure that the spell would work—I just wasn’t sure exactly how it would work.

  I smiled as a feeling of hope washed over me. Maybe now things would get sorted out and the police would believe me. Other than a few altered photographs and the corpse on my porch, the cops had no reason to think I was involved in Thomas Hale’s death.

  The spell was over and Thyme had closed the circle. “Okay, all done,” she announced. “We should be hearing from the police sometime soon.”

  “So how exactly is this spell going to work? How will it affect the people doing the forensic tests?”

  Thyme smiled. “The worst thing we can do is to try to figure out how a spell is going to work. I asked that the police would get the results that the photos were faked quickly. The spell was to speed things up. How that plays out is rather irrelevant. Don’t even think about it. Now we’d better hurry and open the shop.”

  Chapter 14

  “They’ve put onion in it again,” I complained bitterly. “I clearly told them that onion makes me sick.” I tossed the whole salad into the trash.

  “Couldn’t you have just picked the onion off the top?” Thyme asked me.

  I shook my head. “No. I get sick if I eat anything that onion’s touched. Well, that only leaves the beet fritters.”

  After my trying day, I’d invited Thyme home for dinner. Obviously, I wasn’t going to cook, so I’d bought take out for us at the Middle Pub on the way home.

  Bayberry Creek was a three pub town. In Australia, towns are often categorized by their number of pubs, an Aussie pub being a combination of hotel, bar and often a restaurant. All three pubs in Bayberry Creek served good food, but the menu at the Middle Pub was my favorite. They just seemed to be a little overly fond of onion.

  The TV suddenly turned on by itself.

  Thyme let out a squeal. “How did that happen?” she asked.

  I groaned. “It’s the house. It’s become obsessed with watching Mixed Martial Arts tournaments and a whole lot of old martial arts movies—you know, Kill Bill, Seven Samurai, or anything with Bruce Lee, Jackie Chan, Steven Seagal, Jean-Claude Van Damme, Cynthia Rothrock and all those actors. Sometimes I’m in the middle of watching a good movie and the house suddenly changes the channel. To tell you the truth, I’ve given up, and I end up watching those movies with the house.” I realized how strange that sounded as soon as I said it, but if anyone would understand, it would be Thyme.

  In fact, after several attempts to watch The Notebook with the house changing the channel every few minutes, we finally gave up and watched Enter the Dragon.

  We had just finished our meals when there was a loud knock on the front door. I exchanged glances with Thyme. “Who could it be?”

  “Answer it and you’ll find out,” Thyme said smugly. “I’ll take these plates to the kitchen.”

  I rolled my eyes and hurried down the long hallway of the house, dodging Willow and Hawthorn as I went. Why do cats always try to trip you up when you’re in a hurry?

  I could see the silhouettes of two people through the stained glass panels of the old doorway. It was hard to tell if the people were male or female through the pink and green glass.

  As I reached for the brass doorknob, I peered through the glass panes, wondering if more bad news was about to be delivered to me.

  I opened the door with my heart in my mouth. Standing there were the two detectives, Harrison and Sassafras.

  “May we come in?” Harrison asked.

  They weren’t holding handcuffs, which I took as a good sign. Harrison was holding a folder. I wondered if he went anywhere without it. After a moment of staring at them with my mouth open, I opened the screen door and let them in. They followed me into the living room.

  Thyme hurried into the room. “Is everything all right?”

  Harrison simply glanced at me as he opened his folder. He thr
ew some photos onto the coffee table. They slid across and stopped just short of going over the edge. “These are the photos of you and the victim that we were sent.”

  I raised my eyebrows at Thyme, but she simply shrugged. The detective’s tone was accusatory. Had they found out that I was telling the truth, or did they actually think that the doctored images were real now? Panic set in as my breathing became labored.

  “You don’t have the results back from forensics already, do you?” I asked him.

  When Harrison shook his head, my heart sank. “No, one of the uniformed officers who is a keen photographer had a look at the photos.” He leaned over and picked up one of the photos, and then held it up as if he were making a presentation. “If you pay close attention to the edges of your image in the photos, there’s an imbalance with the lighting. It’s hard to see if you don’t know what you’re looking for. They have been doctored.”

  I breathed a big sigh of relief. “Does that mean you believe me now?”

  “We have to wait for forensics to give us the official word,” Harrison said, “but for the purposes of our investigation, we now know that those photos are fake.”

  “And that means that we think someone altered those photographs for a reason,” Sassafras said, his eyes narrowed.

  “Of course they did it for a reason,” Thyme interjected, glaring at the cop. “Someone’s trying to frame Amelia. Can’t you see that?”

  “The evidence does suggest that someone is trying to frame Miss Spelled, but who would want to do that?” Harrison asked, focusing his gaze on me. “And how did they get photos of you?”

  “I really don’t have a clue,” I said. “None of this makes any sense to me!”

  “Oh come on,” Sassafras shot back. “If you expect us to believe that someone is trying to frame you for murder, you should be able to name at least one person that would want to do such a thing. Are you saying you don’t know a single person with a motive to bring harm your way?”

  “No!” I said. “I’m the victim in this and I don’t appreciate being treated as a criminal. I don’t know why anyone would do this, but someone has!”

  “Yes, someone who also has access to photos of you,” Harrison added.

  “Maybe this person killed Thomas Hale and just wanted to pin it on the first scapegoat that they were able to find,” Thyme said. “Perhaps they only chose Amelia because the body was found on her porch.”

  Harrison put his hands on his hips. “We aren’t saying that suspicion is still focused on you,” he said, staring at me, “but until we know exactly what’s going on and who’s behind it, we need to investigate every possible avenue.”

  I sighed and looked over at Thyme. She didn’t appear any happier with the officer’s response than I was.

  “I still think you have to have some type of idea who would do this to you though, in all honesty,” Harrison continued. “It would help if you could give us a name. Do you have any enemies? Who would want to do you harm? Maybe an ex-boyfriend? A disgruntled business associate? An unhappy customer?”

  “I really can’t think of anyone,” I said. I had sent my ex-boyfriend to the hospital with food poisoning, entirely by accident of course, but he was hardly likely to kill someone just to frame me for murder. He was upset, but he wasn’t that upset.

  * * *

  Later that night, after Thyme had left, I decided to try a spell of my own. According to my notes, vanilla and sugar were added to spells to make people well disposed to the spellcaster. I sure needed that. The cops were no doubt still somewhat suspicious of me, and Kayleen shook her fist at me every time she saw me. That morning, I had even gone to the Post Office to pay for a Post Office box and a mail redirect from my home address to the box. I was irritated that I’d had to go to those lengths and expense just because my mail lady had a personality disorder.

  I assembled the items for the sweetening spell: self-lighting charcoal disks for burning incense, as well as sugar, vanilla, honey, and clove buds for friendship, and rosemary for happiness.

  I stood in my kitchen and wondered what to do next. I wasn’t going to cast a circle. After all, Thyme had said that it wasn’t necessary for traditional witches, and I was a traditional kitchen witch. At any rate, I wasn’t sure I would do it correctly.

  I wrote my intent on a piece of paper: ‘Everyone around me is happy.’

  I got my ovenproof dish and set it in the middle of the table. I half filled it with sugar, and then drizzled honey around the edges. Everything I’d read said that honey and sugar were used in sweetening spells. I put clove buds as well as sprigs of rosemary from the garden on top of the sugar. Next to the dish, I placed my small cauldron. It had been my aunt’s. I put sugar in the cauldron.

  I fetched the bottles of self-lighting incense. I had sandalwood, basil, pennyroyal and rosemary. One of the books in the house’s library stated that these were the ingredients for ‘happy home incense’. I mixed them together in a small dish.

  I had also learned that birthday candles are ideal for a quick spell. I shoved the birthday candle down into the sugar, and luckily, it stood upright.

  Now to start. I took a deep breath and lit the birthday candle. I picked up a charcoal disk with tongs, and held it over the flame. It fizzled and sparkled for a while, and when it stopped, I dropped it into the cauldron. I then grabbed a handful of the happy home incense and dropped it in the cauldron as well. At once, it produced thick white smoke, which quickly filled the room.

  I turned my attention to the birthday candle, but it had already burned down to the level of the sugar. At that moment, the sugar burst into flames. My studies had indicated that sudden flames were a good sign that the spell was being fulfilled, so I didn’t know whether to be pleased or alarmed. The decision was made for me when the flames reached the ceiling.

  I grabbed the first thing I saw, the self-lighting incense, and threw it on the flames to douse them. It had the opposite effect. By the time I’d filled a bowl with water and thrown it on the flames, the kitchen was filled with smoke.

  I ran into the hallway to get some fresh air, and saw the silhouette of someone outside the front door. No doubt I hadn’t been able to hear the knocking over the crackle of the flames.

  I hurried down the corridor and opened the door. It was Camino. She handed me a gift-wrapped box. “A small gift for you, dear. I’ve noticed you only have those flimsy pajamas.”

  “Come in,” I said, and shut the door behind her.

  We walked into the living room and I at once unwrapped the gift. It was a koala onesie with oversized matching koala slippers. “Oh thank you, you delightful, wonderful woman,” I gushed, throwing my arms around Camino and hugging her.

  “You’re so welcome, dear,” she said. “And what lovely white smoke filling the room. How pretty it is as it makes it way around and around.” She giggled and clapped her hands with delight.

  I smiled at Willow and Hawthorn who were purring loudly and rolling around the floor.

  I hugged Camino again. “It’s wonderful to see you!” I exclaimed. “I haven’t seen you for hours.”

  Camino smiled. “Amelia, you’ve done a spell! How clever of you, you adorable girl.”

  I beamed. “Thank you for your compliment, dear woman. It was a sweetening spell.”

  “I thought as much,” Camino said. “I wondered why the house was purring.”

  “Oh, I thought that was just thunder,” I said. “What a wonderful sound!”

  Camino hurried to the windows. “Let’s open all the windows in the house and get this smoke out. There’s only so much sweetness one can take.”

  Chapter 15

  I looked up at the front counter as the door chimed. I was placing four cupcakes in a white cardboard box for Mrs. Smythe, an elderly woman who came in once a week and always purchased the same thing, four vanilla cupcakes with pink strawberry frosting. My breath caught in my throat as I saw who had just walked in. Craig.

  I’d had a crush on Crai
g since I’d moved to town, but that had waned somewhat since I’d met Alder Vervain. I thought there was chemistry with Alder, and not so much with Craig, but was that just because Alder was mysterious? The mysterious—and possibly witch-hating criminal, if Thyme was right—Alder, versus the good, wholesome firefighter Craig.

  I placed Mrs. Smythe’s order on the counter, and then took the payment. It was exactly the right amount, down to the change. Some customers handed me fifty dollars for a four dollar cupcake. If only all customers were like Mrs. Smythe. She thanked me, took her box, and turned for the door. Craig stepped back with her, and held the door open for her. When she was outside, he returned.

  “Hey,” he said with a smile.

  “Hey,” I replied, doing my best to sound cool and normal, and most likely failing. “Do you need a cupcake?”

  “I always need a cupcake, but I came to ask you something,” Craig said.

  “What’s up?”

  “Will you have lunch with me today?”

  I wasn’t sure I had heard him correctly. “Sorry?”

  Craig grinned, an easy, lopsided smile. “I was wondering if you wanted to come out with me for lunch. I was thinking… Oh well, I don’t know. It’s probably stupid, probably not your thing…” His voice trailed off.

  “No, it’s totally my thing,” I said hurriedly. I’d had a crush on the man for ages, and just because I had recently taken a weird liking to a potentially dangerous man didn’t mean I shouldn’t give Craig a chance. No, in fact that was even more reason why I should give Craig a chance.

  “Well,” Craig said, “what time do you go to lunch?”

  I could tell he was somewhat embarrassed. “Around twelve, usually,” I said. “If that suits you?”

  Craig nodded. “I’ll see you then.” His face flushed red, which I thought was cute. He turned and left.