No Rest for The Wiccan

by Madelyn Alt

  My boss breezed in through the purple velvet curtain that separated the storefront from the dark little office and storage space. She stopped when she saw me and glanced at her watch. “Goodness, is it that time?”

  I smiled at her. “You’ve been busy, I take it?”

  She shook her head, her silvery auburn waves swaying gently about her jaw. “Only a bit of meditation in the Loft. I lost all track of the hour.”

  “I’m not late?”

  “No, no. Unless my watch has stopped, you’re right on schedule.” She chuckled. “You seem a little out of sorts. Was your Sunday that bad? Or that good?”

  “Well,” I said, trying for irony, “considering that I spent the whole of it at my sister’s, tending to her every need, her every whim . . . I’ll let you guess.”

  “Oh, dear. That good?”

  “Better. Infinitely. The doctor has put her on bed rest, and she’s kind of running my mom ragged. I promised I’d help out.”

  Sympathy and understanding were two things Liss was very good at. “My, you will be busy, won’t you. Poor thing.”

  My boss, Felicity Dow—Liss for short—was my personal savior and mentor extraordinaire, and a delight to work for. She was also a witch. The good kind, not the euphemism for someone far less desirable. She had come into my life eight months before, at a time when I had desperately needed a good flashlight to help me find my way through the darkness. A talented witch with intuition to spare, Liss had done that, but then she’d done me one better. She had taught me that I could be my own flashlight, so that I’d never have to feel lost again.

  The Darkness would never be the same. Thank goodness. Oh, I wasn’t an expert yet by any means, but I was at least starting to get the hang of this empath thing. Experiencing the emotions and private motivations of another person might never be truly a comfortable thing for me, but because of Liss I was learning the inner tools I needed in order to feel at ease with myself. Even more importantly, I was beginning to discover that things were never cut-and-dried as far as intuitive abilities were concerned.

  Liss was the person I wanted most to be when I grew up at long last. Educated, elegant, and with a personality that was both calm and compassionate, she was exactly what a girl should aspire to become. And of course, her posh British accent didn’t hurt. She’d once told me she had relatives in Scotland, including a nephew who had made a career out of studying topics paranormal, but if there was any Scotland left in her accent, it appeared only occasionally. Which was too bad, really. The more European accents surrounding me, the better. Accents made the world seem smaller somehow, and yet also more exotic. It made me feel better to realize that life wasn’t confined only to this tiny corner of the planet.

  Liss also had a sense of style that was uniquely her own. It didn’t matter what anyone else was wearing; if it suited Liss’s whimsical nature for the day, then it was a go. I had never actually seen her closet, but it must be huge, because I couldn’t remember ever seeing her in the same outfit twice . . . and yet, I knew I must have. Excess was not Liss’s style.

  Today she was wearing a khaki linen safari suit, complete with belted short-sleeved jacket, and a tall pair of riding boots polished to a smart sheen. All she needed was a pith helmet and she’d be ready for her next journey into the nearest jungle. Or at least the next foray into the great beyond. Whichever came first.

  “On a happier note, I hope,” she said, “how was your date with Tom?”

  Yet another sore subject. “Woefully interrupted by a dummy at the local feed mill. Literally a dummy, as in meant to resemble a human being, which some jackass strung from the conveyer system,” I grumbled.

  Liss was shaking her head and trying not to smile. “So . . . want a cuppa?” she asked. “It’ll cure what ails you.”

  Well, I wasn’t so sure it would cure any of my problems, but I nodded all the same. I would need one before I embarked on the full story of my weekend. “I’ll pour.”

  We made our way to the coffee bar at the front of the store. Normally it was my job to fill all the pots and vessels with water, readying them for the droves of regulars we would have throughout the day in need of their jolt of java. Or tea, as the case might be. We served both at Enchantments, though rarely your everyday cup. Our teas and coffees were as gourmet as they come, from many foreign destinations. In fact, our customers often claimed that the coffees and teas we served seemed to transport them to distant lands, and it was that lovely dreaminess that kept them coming back for more. I’d often suspected that my wonderfully witchy boss might have a little something to do with that—a choice selection of words of power spoken over the crates perhaps? Or maybe it was the organic honey we sweetened it with, collected by a commune of bee charmers in northwest Michigan. They, too, were neo-hippie pagans, and who knew what spells were spoken over the sweet stuff up there. I’ve heard tell those Michigan pagans are a wild bunch.

  This morning, all the receptacles were cleaned, filled, and ready for business. Liss wasn’t being quite truthful when she said she had only been meditating, but I loved her for it. All that was left was placing out the trays of filled pastries and other mouthwatering confections from our favorite café in town, Annie-Thing Good. We’d started placing a regular order with Annie because the trial run had been so successful. On second thought, though, I wasn’t so sure it had been a good idea. Can you imagine what happens when you stare at delectable, de-lickable, mind-alteringly good pastries all day long? My thighs would never be the same.

  I chose a good strong cup of coffee—black and unsweetened, in light of the yummy stuff I was sure not to be able to resist at some point—and made Liss her usual cup of English Breakfast, heavy on the cream.

  “It wasn’t only my sister that made the weekend so interesting,” I said as I worked.

  “Do tell.”

  “Well. My sister’s house seems to have attracted something.”

  “Termites? Wooly worms? A bevy of men in white ox-fords, black pants, and ugly shoes trying to sell her their church newsletter?”

  “Try a couple of spirits or entities.”

  She stopped and looked at me, suddenly serious. “Really? All of a sudden? She hasn’t noticed any activity before?”

  I shook my head. “The house is only a few years old. It’s only lately that she’s been hearing strange sounds. Lightbulbs breaking, the radio or TV turning off or on. That sort of thing. But while I was there . . .” Briefly I described what had happened between my nieces, and then the weirdness in Mel’s bedroom as well.

  “Interesting,” Liss said, that familiar light of intrigue in her eyes. “And the girls . . . have they ever demonstrated abilities before?”

  It was a fair question, one that I was ashamed not to have an answer to. I’d realized something as I’d played with them Sunday afternoon. How much of their lives I had missed out on by avoiding my sister whenever I could. It seemed only yesterday that Jenna was a baby with the biggest blue eyes I’d ever seen. “I don’t think so.”

  Liss nodded. “Something to keep watch for, then. Children as a rule are more open to spirit activity. They haven’t yet built walls in their minds against it, so it doesn’t occur to them to question what they are seeing and hearing as not being a part of this world, this reality. Your nieces can still build those walls . . . or they might accept the gift and retain it. Only time will tell.”

  The gift. I’m not so sure Mel would agree with Liss’s description.

  “What about the activity in Mel’s bedroom?” I asked her. “I could be wrong, but . . . it felt different, somehow, than what the girls are experiencing. Separate from that. It felt . . .”

  Just as I was about to go further into what I had felt standing in Mel’s room, all hell broke loose in the store.

  Three trucks attempted to deliver at the same time, somehow all managing to get stuck in the alleyway, unable to navigate the narrow passages. One of Stony Mill’s finest stopped by to direct traffic, and somehow messed it up
even worse for a time. Pedestrian traffic was unusually heavy, dodging this way and that in between the snarled cars, trucks, and even bicycles as they made their way toward the stores for a bit of summertime antiquing. Despite the fact that one of the deliveries was for us, Enchantments suffered little from the stoppages. Heavy foot traffic always boded well for a smashing good day, sales-wise, and today was no different. We were well and truly swamped.

  Lunch went forgotten in the middle of all the chaos. My cell phone rang around one o’clock. Caller ID showed Mel’s number, so I answered it quickly.

  “Maggie? It’s Mel.” Her voice was scarcely more than a whisper.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, keeping my eye on the customers traversing the aisles. “Why are you whispering?”

  “I don’t want Mom to hear. Listen, do you have any news yet about my . . . situation?”

  “Not much, Mel, sorry. It’s been incredibly busy here today.”

  “Oh. Okay. I’ve just been dying here all morning.”

  The receiver went airless in my ear, and for a moment I thought I heard muffled voices speaking in the background, as though she’d covered the mouthpiece with her hand. “Someone there with you?”

  “What? Oh! No. No one. Listen, Maggie, I’d better let you get back to work. Say hello to your boss for me. What was her name again?”

  “Felicity,” I told her, getting a funny feeling again. “Felicity Dow.” I’d almost forgotten Mel’s singularly spot-on moment of intuition last night.

  “That’s it. Tell her hello from me, and I guess I’ll see you when you get here, unless the two of you come up with something before then?”

  “Right. Bye, Mel.”

  I didn’t have time to dwell on the call too long. The rest of the afternoon was as busy as our morning. But by the time four o’clock rolled around, the crowd at the store was finally thinning, we’d gotten our delivery and could maybe-kinda-sorta start to see the light at the end of the tunnel as far as maybe-possibly-hopefully being able to go home at the end of the evening. My feet hurt from standing too long, I was starting to glaze over, and my cheeks ached from smiling all day.

  By six o’clock, Liss and I were sitting on tall stools behind the counter, resting our tired tootsies. She rolled her head around on her shoulders, stretching her tense muscles, then looked over at me and smiled. “It’s only been a day, and already I miss those girls.”

  Those girls were Evie and Tara, our two teenage protégés and part-time helpers. They, too, were members of the N.I.G.H.T.S. and were quite special and talented in their own right. Normally at this time of day they’d be lolling about on the stools with us, chatting about the latest spirit investigations just as easily as they would about boyfriends and movies and the latest fashion mags. This week was special—they’d be gone through next Sunday. Evie had talked Tara into going along with her to camp, for company. Tara immediately had visions of midnight cemetery jaunts and streaking naked through the woods, and leapt at the chance. By the time she’d realized it was church camp, it was far too late to turn back. I couldn’t wait to hear all about it.

  “You should just go home,” I told her, taking in the weariness lining her eyes. “You look exhausted. I can handle things for the rest of the evening.”

  She shook her head. “Impossible, I’m afraid. I’ll be here late tonight—I have a couple of people scheduled to come in. One of them designs beaded handbags using antique frames. They’re gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous. And then the second is a friend of Marcus’s. She’s interested in starting up a metaphysical store over the state line in Ohio, and Marcus was hoping I could give her a few pointers.”

  Inadvertent though the mention was, she’d gotten my attention. I couldn’t help myself. “Her?”

  She stopped, and reached out and covered my hand with her own. “Oh. Don’t worry, dear. I’m sure it’s just a friend of his. I didn’t get the feeling of any stronger connection between them.”

  I shook my head. “No big deal. It’s not like we have anything . . . you know . . . Tom and I . . . I mean . . .” I didn’t know what I meant. As far as anyone was concerned, I was a single woman. Single, semiunattached, and free of true mutual arrangements of any kind. Emotional attachments, well, they were a little more difficult to define. And I didn’t know whether Tom would agree to the semiunattached label either. I didn’t know anything.

  Why did finding true love have to be so darned confusing?

  Sympathy shone in her eyes, but Liss had the sense to leave well enough alone for now. “Well. Be that as it may . . .”

  She was about to say more when the brass bell attached to the front door tinkled. Another customer. Whatever reassurances she had meant to give me would have to wait for another time. Which was all right with me, since they embarrassed me just a little. Liss was able to read my mind a bit too clearly for my comfort. Sometimes I wished I could hide my thoughts better. At least until I was ready to expose my innermost neuroses and ultimate humiliations to my nearest and dearest. That wasn’t too much to ask, was it?

  “If you wish to control it, you have to learn to shield a little better. And maybe faster,” Liss whispered helpfully, rubbing my shoulder. “You’re an open book, and you know I can’t help riffling the pages.” Smiling, she turned to welcome our customer. “Can I help you, my dear? Are you looking for anything in particular? Or just browsing?”

  “Um . . . oh . . . well . . . A-Actually I was hoping to speak with Maggie there . . . if that isn’t against the rules . . . ?” A soft voice, almost timid, and somehow familiar.

  “Of course not,” Liss said. She swept her arm out to reveal me standing behind her.

  Libby Turner was standing in the main aisle, as tiny and birdlike as ever. In light of the weather, she was wearing a plain tissue-weight T and a pair of skinny-cut linen Bermuda shorts in colors of sea and sand. The aqua of her shirt contrasted beautifully with the smooth sheen of her dark hair. An obviously expensive bag—different from yesterday’s—and a pair of cork-wedge sandals that added an additional four inches to her petite frame completed her quietly fashionable look, but what intrigued me the most was the weight of fear hanging about her shoulders. I sensed it there, heavy and black and thick enough to reach out to me. Not this time, though; I hastily strengthened the invisible boundaries crafted of my own energy that helped me to deal with others without absorbing theirs. But I saw the shadows of it in her eyes, and her fingers were clenched tightly around the bag’s braided handle.

  I waved at her, pretending I hadn’t just glimpsed something I wasn’t meant to. “Libby. What a surprise to see you here. Are you in the market for something? A gift, maybe?”

  She shook her head so hard that the long layers in her hair swung crazily about her jaw. She glanced at Liss, then back at me. “No. I have a question for you . . . if you don’t mind.”

  Liss began to pull back her energy in a quiet retreat. “I’ll get out of your way, ducks. I have a few phone calls to make before my evening appointments arrive, and—”

  “Actually . . .” Libby had reached out with her hand, but she pulled it back just as quickly, as though she had been about to put it into something dangerous but caught herself in time. She cleared her throat. “Actually, if what Melanie says is true, then perhaps you had better stay, too. I don’t mind. I could use as much information as possible, for my own peace of mind.”

  “Melanie?” I frowned. “What about Melanie? She’s all right, isn’t she?”

  Liss paused in midretreat, watching the dark-haired young woman.

  “Mel’s fine. I just left her house a little while ago. She’s . . . well . . .” Libby winced, hedged, grimaced, sighed, and winced again, then summoned her courage up around her to fumble on in a rush: “Is it true, what she said, about you all doing spirit investigations?”

  Mel-a-NIEEEE! I felt my stomach drop and hit the floor with a dead thud. Emotionally speaking, of course.

  My mouth had fallen open. I closed it and cleared my th
roat. “Well, that depends,” I said as calmly as possible. “What—exactly—did Melanie tell you?”

  Libby took a deep breath. “She said that you hunt ghosts and that you have a lot of experience, and that they, meaning she and Greg and the girls, have at least one in their own house, and how can that be when their house is only a few years old, that’s what I want to know, and she said that if we or anyone we know is having trouble, we know who to call, meaning you two, so I guess you all consider yourselves to be Ghostbusters or something, huh?”

  The words had come out all in a rush, and now she looked at us expectantly, her big dark eyes opened wide with a blend of hesitation, curiosity, and . . . something else. Something shuttered off behind the windows of her eyes. I knew she was afraid of Liss and me—that much was clear the moment she walked in the door—but there was more to it. Something had her spooked, big time.

  Liss glanced at me. I wondered what she was thinking. I knew it had been a mistake to reveal the N.I.G.H.T.S.’ activities to Melanie, but sisterly concern had gotten in the way of logic. I had just wanted to help, and now it appeared I had let the black cat out of the magickal bag of tricks.

  “Well, now, dear,” Liss said, taking Libby by the arm and steering her ever-so-casually toward the office—away from the few stragglers still milling through the aisles. “What exactly are you here for? Why did you come to us?”

  I plopped a BACK IN A MOMENT placard on the counter by the cash register and hurried to follow in their wake.

  Once we’d stepped past the purple velvet curtain into the office, her eyes grew wider still until they adjusted to the dim light filtering in through the pair of small windows someone had installed high off the ground for security. Too high up for a person bent on theft to attain easily, too small to allow adequate light through. As windows went, they were pretty useless, when you thought about it.

  “Here. Sit.”

  Liss scooted a chair out for her. Libby took it, but kept her bag clutched to her body on her lap. “Thanks.” She glanced back and forth between me and Liss. “I guess I came on a little strong back there. I do that sometimes when I get nervous.”