No Rest for The Wiccan

by Madelyn Alt

  I didn’t remember seeing one at her house, The Gables, though. “Did you ever—”

  “Oh, yes, of course! When I was younger. My mum and grandmum always said a house wasn’t a home without a cat or three. White ones we always had. White cats are considered unlucky by some people back home, so there were always a goodly number of them lurking about, searching for food and a warm bed. Geoffrey was allergic, though, so we never had pets in our homes here.”

  I thought back, trying to remember how long Geoffrey had been gone. A couple of years now? I also couldn’t help wondering why she hadn’t offered to take the little fuzzball herself . . . although I was very glad now that she hadn’t. “Why don’t you get one now, to keep you company?” I asked her. “Or a puppy, or something?”

  “What, you don’t think Cecil is enough company for an old woman?” Liss remarked with a twinkle in her eye.

  I’d forgotten about Cecil, an animal spirit Liss considered her family’s totem protector, which had followed her all the way from the U.K. I had seen him once in her house, in the shape of a large black dog. “Maybe Cecil would like a little company,” I suggested, not dissuaded at all. “Maybe Cecil is lonely, being so far away from his homeland.”

  She smiled, but I could tell I had gotten her thinking. “Perhaps.”

  A customer came in then, so I went up front to assist him while Liss entertained herself with our new feline friend.

  “Maggie?” I heard her call as I counted out the gentleman’s change. Sending him on his way with a wish for a wonderful anniversary, I watched him go and then popped my head between the curtains.

  “Yes?”

  Liss was seated on the floor, her long legs folded to one side, while she used the new Tickle Teaser to delight the kitten. Torture by feathers seemed to be the ultimate in kitty entertainment, if the rapt attention the kitten was lavishing upon her was clear indication. “What’s her name?”

  I stopped short. “Her name?”

  She looked up at me. “You haven’t named her?”

  “I . . .” I cleared my throat. “Well, no. Not yet. I didn’t even realize I was keeping her until this morning, and I guess I just didn’t think that hard yet.”

  “There’s no thinking to be done, ducks. She’ll tell you herself.”

  I frowned slightly. “I don’t follow.”

  “She convinced you she was yours soon enough, didn’t she?”

  “I guess she did, at that.”

  The smile Liss gave me was gentle. “Well, then, do you really think she’ll not tell you her name?”

  I thought about last night, and our interactions, however brief, this morning. The kitten came over to me and nosed at my fingertips, its bristled pink tongue touching briefly there.

  “Minx!” I said suddenly, startling myself, because I knew instantly that it was right. “I’ve been calling her Little Minx all night and all morning long.” I scooped her up and held her aloft. “She looks like a minx, doesn’t she. Sweetness and sass, all mixed together in one furry little package. Although . . .” I thought for a moment. “I almost think Minnie fits her better. As in, mini-Minx.”

  Liss chuckled. “Minnie, it is, then. Minx when we wish to be formal. What do you think, then, Minnie? Does that sound right to you?”

  Minnie was too busy trying to squirm out of my hands to bother with a silly thing like names, especially when she had already conveyed hers to her utmost ability. I set her down and watched her dart around the floor.

  “One thing’s for certain: She’ll definitely keep the shadows at bay,” Liss commented approvingly.

  I lifted my head. “What did you say?”

  “She’ll keep the shadows at bay. They are attracted to undisturbed centers of energy.”

  Like basements . . . Hmm. I was seeing a whole new reason to love my new fur-baby. “I didn’t know that.”

  “As are other entities of the in-between world. Cats have long been revered by the ancients as the protectors that they truly are. Even a kitten can be enough of a shielding presence to convince them to manifest themselves elsewhere.”

  “What about regular human spirits?”

  “Some say so. At the very least they’re a kind of early warning system. They almost always sense them before we do.”

  Minnie, it would appear, was just what the doctor ordered. With her by my side, my apartment might actually become almost livable again. No more dark, scrambling shadows skulking about the peripherals. No more ominous closet creatures. We would have peace and world order again! I could kiss her.

  Perhaps Stony Mill should consider taking a page from the ancients and become a cat-revering society, and just skip out on all of the spirit-infested antiques.

  Just a thought.

  I had gotten quite the late start to the day, but that didn’t cut down on the number of things populating my growing To Do list. And first thing on my list was:

  “I just talked to Mel,” I told Liss as I checked the water levels in all of the makers up front. “She already knew about what happened to Joel Turner at the feed mill last night.”

  “Good news travels fast.”

  “Especially when you’re part of Mel’s crowd, which Libby most definitely is. She called her last night to give her the news.”

  “Speaking of your sister . . . I’ve asked Marcus to come into the store this afternoon so that we can discuss what the best approach would be; whether we’ll need all of the N.I.G.H.T.S., or whether the three of us can handle the banishing of the dark entity.”

  Wait, what? “The three of us?” I questioned.

  “Right, ducks. Well, I assume you’ll want to be involved, since it’s your sister we’ll be helping.”

  Right. Yeah. That was a good point, actually.

  And then I had another thought. Marcus was coming here. It would be the first time I had seen him in weeks. And before I knew it, my traitorous heart skipped a beat.

  I cleared my throat. “I might have to stop in to see Tom before I head over to Mel’s this evening,” I made myself say. The timing was intentional, but at least the excuse was a valid one. For one thing, I wanted to see what I could find out about the accident scene investigation. I know, I know, I was supposed to be minding my own business . . . but some things are easier said than done. There were a couple of things nagging me about the situation surrounding the Turners and the feed mill, the hanging of the dummy, and shadowy figure I felt sure I had seen there last night. Of course, it all could amount to a load of codswallop, but I would feel better just talking it out with him.

  “That’s all right, dear. Marcus and I will talk things through, we’ll pull together all of the supplies we think we’ll need, and then you can call us when things are ready on your end. How does that sound?”

  So why was I feeling so uneasy all of a sudden?

  Chapter 10

  I had been planning to leave before Marcus arrived, but a final spate of browsers crossed that plan off the drawing board. I was just locking down the register and heading toward the front door to put out the CLOSED sign when I saw his motorcycle pull up to the curb. I froze, wondering whether I should turn around and hurry back behind the velvet curtain, avoiding him entirely, or whether I should meet him at the front door with an air of nonchalance and easiness as I never seemed able to master in his presence. Before I could decide, Marcus walked through the door.

  Looking as dark and dangerous as ever with his motorcycle helmet dangling loosely from his fingertips and his leather boots scuffing against the plain wood floor, he was a sight to behold. Not to mention the errant waves escaping from the leather thong at the nape of his neck, and the trademark shades that he had hooked through the neck of his plain black T. Despite the heat and humidity, he was wearing a pair of dark jeans . . . although I had to say, I couldn’t imagine him in a pair of shorts. Ever. They wouldn’t look right with the boots. Boxers, maybe. Although to his credit, he didn’t seem to be affected by the weather in the least. How could he look so co
ol and composed when I felt as bedraggled as a puppy left out in the rain? It wasn’t fair. He probably wasn’t even human. Maybe he was one of the In-Betweens that Liss had been talking about. A member of the Fae realm, come to tempt and seduce me with his otherworldly ways.

  Yeah. Sure. There was no mistaking the kind of blood that ran hot and heavy though Marcus’s veins, and it had nothing to do with the Fae. It was pure, Grade A male, and human all the way.

  Funny, the sheer number of thoughts that could run through a girl’s head in the space of a single breath. Heh.

  He stopped when he saw me, and for a moment I thought I had seen his chest lift with a quick intake of breath, too. Then he gave a slight, lift-of-the-chin nod, and said, “Maggie.”

  Cool, calm, and collected. Good, good. I gave him a sweet but distant smile as I continued my whirlwind accumulation of my things. “Hey there, Marcus. Wow, it’s good to see you. I wish I had known you were going to be here tonight, we could have chatted. As it so happens, I am on my way out.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Mm-hmm. Plans and obligations. You know the drill.” It was on the tip of my tongue to bring mention of Tom into the conversation, but in the end I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t use either of them as leverage against the other. I just couldn’t.

  Marcus nodded gamely. “Too bad. I haven’t been around much.” Not that you’ve noticed.

  I heard the thought attached as clearly as if he’d stated it aloud, and I stuttered to a halt. Had he been expecting me to make the first move? I knew instinctively that I’d read him correctly, but . . . how? I must be imagining things. Projecting thoughts upon him. Or maybe I was reading something else. Body language and expression. Was that it?

  I turned and looked at him, speculating. “Yes, we’ve both been busy, it seems.” And in my head, I thought, But perhaps that’s for the best.

  For now . . .

  His thought response came as instantaneously as my own. I pretended not to have picked up on it, but it was hard when my pulse made a shockingly immediate leap in response.

  Down, girl. Down!

  What was going on? I wasn’t a mind-reader. Was I really picking up on his thoughts telepathically? I couldn’t be. It just wasn’t possible. An empath I might be, but that was all. Wasn’t it?

  I really needed to take back control of my life.

  And I was about to do just that when Minnie attacked . . .

  By soaring from the uppermost shelf, where she had somehow managed to climb unnoticed, in a fearless arc straight to Marcus’s shoulders. I giggled, having served as her target myself many times throughout the afternoon—rarely had she let me out of her sight. But Marcus was at a slight disadvantage. Seeing only a black flash in his peripheral vision that then caught and held through the thin material of his T-shirt, he froze. “Um, what is it?” he asked carefully.

  Minnie answered the question herself, balancing effortlessly on her tiptoes as she leaned over and chirped a teeny, tiny meow in his ear.

  “Marcus, meet Minnie. Minnie, this is Marcus. I’m sure you two will become fabulously acquainted very soon.”

  “I think we’re becoming acquainted already,” Marcus said with a nervous laugh as Minnie began to lick his ear. “If this was some other female, I might actually be turned on right about now.”

  I turned away with flaming cheeks, because it was too close to a dream sequence I’d had a couple of weeks ago that had filled me with guilt—which was really too bad, too, because it had been a hellaciously good dream.

  Tom, I reminded myself. Time to go.

  Was it wrong of me to want to give Tom a real chance before I allowed myself to lose focus for another guy? Not that that was my intention. To lose focus, I mean.

  “Then again,” Marcus said, following behind me, “it has been quite a long time.”

  “Oh?” I asked, trying not to seem interested, and thinking it was probably better that I get out of there ASAP. “Not seeing anyone right now?”

  “No. There was this girl,” he replied, “but here I am . . . still waiting.”

  Really. Time. To. Go.

  I turned to face him, to tell him good-bye. He had taken Minnie down from his shoulders and he was now holding her on her back, cradled against him in his big hands as he might cradle a newborn child, while he scratched her chin and belly. And from the way she was melting in his grasp, her head lolled back and her oversized hind feet gone limp, you just knew it was good.

  “I think she likes me.”

  Minnie. He was talking about Minnie. “So I see.” And then, “Listen, I have to go.”

  “Right. Yeah.” He followed behind me again as I stowed the antique jewelry from the front window in the safe. “So, what’s this I hear about the owner of the feed mill? You and Liss been at it again?”

  “At what?”

  “Fortuitous coincidence. Right place, right time.”

  “Well, I prefer to think of it as being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but . . . I suppose you could say that.”

  “I know Noah Turner,” Marcus remarked. “He used to come into the bar that the band was playing regularly, over in Saint Edmunds. Drinking to beat the Devil, but he never picked up on any of the women who wanted to go home with him. Talk was he might be gay.”

  “Gay, really? I didn’t get that vibe. I thought he was just . . . oh, I don’t know . . . more yuppie than gay. Definitely out of place at the feed mill, though, with his expensive loafers. Miles of personality between him and his brother Frank. So, heavy drinker, huh? What about Joel? Did you know him?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. Heard plenty about him today, though.”

  “Yeah? Like what?”

  “Like he was considered a hard-ass by most of the farming community. Tightfisted, greedy, coldhearted sonuvabitch. Word is, the accident couldn’t have happened to a nicer fellow.”

  “Yeah, well, one of those saintly, salt-o’-the-earth farmers strung up an effigy from the conveyer system two days before Joel had his little accident. Left it there for him to find with a warning tacked to its chest. And Turner’s wife said they’d been receiving threatening phone calls at home. She said Joel had installed a security system there to keep her safe.”

  Marcus nodded thoughtfully. “Wouldn’t surprise me, actually. Farmers are, by and large, a tough lot. Stoic, you know? It takes a lot to move them, but one way that’s guaranteed is by hitting ’em below the belt—the money belt. From what everyone is saying, the big upgrades Turner made out there at the feed mill were being billed to the farmers, lock, stock, and barrel, one load of grain at a time, and there wasn’t a one of them who was willing to forgive and forget. Especially with the buyout of all the other feed mills . . .”

  “They felt they had no other options,” I finished for him, chewing my lip thoughtfully.

  He nodded. “The timing of this accident was stellar. Who knows what might have happened otherwise?”

  There was that niggling feeling again. I really wished it would go away and leave me alone.

  Marcus handed over Minnie. “You were going, remember? Places to go, people to see?”

  “Yeah.” Our hands brushed, featherlight, as I took the snoozing kitten from him, but I successfully ignored the contact. At least, on the surface. “Thanks.”

  Liss came through the curtain just then, and I pulled back to a safer distance. “Oh, is the little darling asleep again? I see you’ve met our new mascot, Marcus. Isn’t she a dear?” Before Marcus could respond, she turned to me. “Maggie, I thought you would have been off already.”

  “I was just going.”

  I tucked Minnie into the fancy soft-sided carrier that Liss had so thoughtfully purchased—the little furball would really be stylin’ in this baby—and grabbed my things before heading out the door. Between the mental nudges from On High that I didn’t want, and the physical nudges from Marcus that I really kinda-sorta did, I couldn’t help feeling like I was on the run. From myself.

  Guilt ha
s always been a terrific motivator. I’d been on the receiving end of it a lot growing up, and it would appear that it was still capable of meting out its special kind of magic on me. I started beating myself up about Marcus the instant the door closed behind me. Chiding, castigating, chastising, up one side of the issue and down the other. And you know what? In this one instance, the guilt was well earned. Why couldn’t I make up my mind? I wasn’t the type of girl to rattle a man’s cage just because I was on the outside, free as a bird to fly from this cage to the next. I never had been. So why now?

  A honeybee flits from blossom to blossom, Margaret. It makes sweet honey, but it never finds the perfect flower to assuage its hunger. Better to stick close to the hive.

  Consciences. Always a good source of confusion. I mean, wisdom.

  A kitten toys with a mouse for hours before ending the play forever.

  Well, at least that was slightly more on point. But it wasn’t necessary. I was perfectly capable of hauling myself over the coals over my lack of focus.

  To that end, I headed immediately for the police department, where I thought I would be able to find Tom . . . assuming he wasn’t out on the road somewhere, in which case I would leave him a message to call me when he was free.

  I was in luck. His squad car was parked before the low-slung brick building, front and center. I parked in an open space across the street and grabbed Minnie’s carrier case from the passenger seat to take with me. I didn’t know what the PD’s policy on animals was, but she was fully contained, I reasoned, and there was no way I was leaving her in the hot car.

  My intention was to head immediately for the dispatch desk to ask for Tom, but I never made it there. I opened the door, stepped inside, and stopped short. Tom was standing in the center of the sparsely furnished lobby, in all his uniformed glory, with two men. One, a smallish young man he had evidently taken into custody. Upon closer inspection, the man wasn’t as young as I had first assumed owing to his small stature. His face was lined at the eyes and mouth, and grubby with grizzled whiskers—but not as grubby as his clothes, which were liberally streaked with something that looked like mud but didn’t smell anywhere near that clean. He stood by with saucered eyes as witness to the full-fledged discussion going on before him between Tom and Man Number Two.