by Madelyn Alt
Had I thought his eyes were blazing? My mistake. They were as frigid within as an ice cube touching hot, bare skin. “My employer—”
“Don’t worry, Miss . . . O’Neill, did you say? I’m not holding you accountable for your employer today. Only God can do that.” This wasn’t getting any better. “I simply wish for you to give her something for me. On behalf of my congregation.”
He reached inside his suit jacket, which must have been sweltering on this summer day, and withdrew a small, pleather-bound volume, sliding it across the scarred, antique countertop. “The New Testament,” I said, barely glancing at it.
“I think she could stand to put it to good use,” he said, his eyes raking me as though to determine what, if anything, I was hiding. “It has some very important information in it for her. If she could just take a gander at it, read through it carefully, I’d be more than happy to schedule a meeting with her to discuss her spiritual health. More than happy.”
“I see.” And I did. Boy, did I ever.
“The Good Book,” he said as though instructing the congregation he seemed to hold in such high esteem, “has all the answers she’ll ever need. It will tell her how to think, how to act, how to feel, what to avoid. She’ll never suffer the abyss of her evil ways again.”
Evil ways? Marcus was really rolling his eyes now. In fact, he looked as though he might be considering a confrontation that would be better off avoided at this point in time. “Yes, well, thank you, I will definitely give that to my employer. I’m sure she’ll know just what to do with it. If you’d like to leave your name, there’s a pad of paper and a pencil just there—”
He whipped a business card out of his inner breast pocket and slid it under the front cover of the pleather-bound volume. “I’ll keep in touch.”
“You do that.”
He turned on his heel and caught sight, as if for the first time, of Marcus and Marion listening in. His gaze traveled the length and breadth of Marcus’s person before pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket, consulting it, and then replacing it with care. Then he transferred his attention to Marion, whose nostrils were flaring with suppressed fury. “Why, it’s Miss Tabor, isn’t it. What a surprise to find you here. The library isn’t keeping you busy enough these days? Tsk tsk.” He let his gaze drift down her plus-sized curves, not in appreciation, but in wary distaste. When he got to her shoes, his eyebrows shot up like a rocket. “Zebra print, Miss Tabor?”
Marion opened her mouth, but I saw Marcus’s warning frown and almost imperceptible shake of the head. She snapped it shut again.
Having said his piece, the man walked with highly disciplined precision from the storefront without a backward glance.
“Who was that masked man?” I mused, shaking my head.
“That,” Marcus said in sour tones, “was the Reverend Baxter Martin. Didn’t you recognize him?”
The very reverent Reverend. How could I forget? The Reverend Baxter Martin had first come to my notice during the aftermath of Isabella Harding’s death, so sinister and mysterious in his zealous beliefs that he made a perfect suspicious person. A suspect, if you will. He was still zealous, I could see. Still rather on the sinister side. Still looking for Devils in all the wrong places.
“I guess he heard the rumors.”
“I don’t think there are many who haven’t by now.”
I was starting to feel faint.
“That man,” I said, shaking my head. “What church is he with, again? I got the feeling that he is ready to cast stones at Liss for her evil ways, didn’t you?”
“First Evangelical Church of Light,” Marcus supplied. “And I think you’ve got him pegged. He doesn’t exactly look like the forgive-and-forget type, does he? Good thing he didn’t recognize me.”
“I’m not so sure,” I told him. “Did you see the way he looked at you? What was on that piece of paper he was looking at; that’s what I want to know.”
“The man’s an idiot,” Marion barked. “Who does he think he is, coming in here to act all high-and-mighty?”
“A man of God, I guess. Doing what he’s supposed to do. Passing the Word along to those he feels need it most.” The small book lay on the counter, face up, its gilt lettering all spangly and fresh. I wondered what Liss was going to say when she saw it. “Maybe we should just leave it there on the counter to make all the curiosity seekers feel better.”
“Let’s hope it’s that easy,” Marion said. A little ominously, I thought. “And let us hope your mother is far, far away from the phone today.”
Oh God. I’d forgotten about Mom.
Good thing Tom was sleeping. Maybe he’d miss all of this particular hullabaloo. Goodness knows, he was skittish enough about my woo-woo interests as it was.
Who knew Marion was such a backdoor prophet? Of course, prophecy run amok was rarely pleasant. And when the phone rang moments after Marion and Marcus took their leave, I just knew . . .
“Enchantments Antiques and Fine Gifts. How can I help you?”
“You can help me by quitting that place and getting a real job again, far and away from the ungodly situation you’ve somehow gotten yourself into.”
“Mom. Hiiiiiiiiii.” Extra syllables on the greeting almost always upped the cuteness factor, which in turn diminished the irritation factor, with any luck, on the part of the person on the other end.
“Don’t hi me, Margaret Mary-Catherine O’Neill. You can’t talk yourself out of this one. Not this time. I’ve heard what your boss has been getting up to. As has the entire town by now, I might add.”
“Whatever you’ve heard, I’m sure it’s an exaggeration.”
“Oh, so you’re telling me that your boss, that Dow woman, isn’t a witch, that she hasn’t been consorting with the dead, and that she doesn’t communicate with the Devil in the process.”
“Which part of that did you want me to answer?”
“Don’t get smart with me, Margaret.”
“Mom. What would you have me do? Felicity Dow is the best boss I’ve ever had. She’s a wonderful person. A wonderful woman. Very warm, very caring, very compassionate. She wouldn’t hurt a fly. In fact, when I asked her to help with Melanie’s little problem, she wanted to help. To help, Mom. To help someone she doesn’t know, because it was someone I care about. Does that sound like the work of a woman who’s been—what did you call it?—consorting?”
“The Devil’s people don’t always work on the surface. In fact, if you went to mass with me more often, you would know that.”
And there it was, her usual nudge toward living the good life, the pious life. Her version of my life, actually. “I’ve told you why I don’t really see the need to go to mass with you, Mom. Several times.”
She ignored that, as she had every time I had ever brought the subject up. “That is neither here nor there. You still should go. At the very least you would know right from wrong now. But maybe that’s my fault. Maybe I should have been harder on you to begin with.”
I closed my eyes and clenched my teeth. “Mom . . . come on. I don’t have time for this today.”
“Oh, you have time for your boss and her witchy ways, but you don’t have time to listen to your mother when she has your best interests at heart.”
“I do have time for my boss. Because she’s my boss. I work for her. She pays me. She’s paying me for my time now, in fact. Which I am currently spending not working. On the phone. With you.”
“Are you trying to tell me that you aren’t having anything to do with the other things she’s involved in?” Mom pressed. “That you aren’t . . . ghost hunting, or whatever you want to call it? And that you aren’t involved in any way, shape, or form with her . . . witchcraft?”
I didn’t have to defend Liss to anyone. In my mind, her beliefs were her own, and that was the way it should be. Her actions? Above reproach. “Mom, I’m sorry. I have customers to take care of,” I lied. “We can talk about this later, if you feel the need to push.”
“
Push? That you would accuse me like that breaks my heart. All I want is the best for my daughter. I want to know that you’re safe, and that your spiritual essence is intact. You don’t know the kind of evil that’s out there, Maggie. I do. You need to trust me, it’s nothing you want to get ensnared in.”
“Exactly.”
“So we agree that you aren’t involved.”
I weighed my words carefully. “I’m not involved in anything with Liss that would risk my soul, no.” Because Liss was there to protect me, to show me the way safely through the craziness, the sickness that was attacking Stony Mill on so many levels. Because Liss would never let that sickness attack me. I was safer with her by my side, teaching me the Ways of the Wise, her ways, than I was with any other person I knew.
“Good. Then you need to think about looking for another job, Margaret.”
“Mom . . .”
“The sooner, the better. You don’t want your own reputation to be sullied by your association with . . . the people you have unwittingly allowed into your circle.”
Sullied! “Mom, I’m not looking for another job.”
There was a pause, and then she said carefully, “I know you must feel you need to be careful around them, to not anger them . . . but Margaret, Father Tom will stand by you. Father Tom will help us protect you. The Church—”
“Mo-ther! I have nothing to fear around my friends. They’re my friends. To hurt me or anyone else would never enter into even their wildest imaginings. They’re good people, and that’s that. And furthermore, Father Tom needs to worry more about his own quirks and foibles before narrowing his eyes in censure at anyone else’s actions or thoughts.” I took a deep breath for composure and clarity, because the conversation had pushed a lot of old buttons I had thought forgotten, but were quite active after all. “I am twenty-nine years old, Mom. Almost thirty. I am a grown woman, and I have always felt like a defensive child around you, no matter what I do. And I just find that really, really sad. You see me as some kind of lost little girl, incapable of directing my own life. When you question my taste in friends, what you’re really questioning is my ability to choose for myself. But don’t fool yourself into believing that it’s all for my own good. What you really don’t want is for my actions to embarrass you, because your friends aren’t nearly as forgiving or accepting as mine are.”
On the other end of the line, Mom had gone coldly, deathly silent. “Well, I can see that my advice isn’t going to be listened to. What you do with your life, Margaret, is up to you. As always. I was just hoping to save you from some of the heartache I have experienced. We’re more alike than you might think, but I suppose you’ve never wanted to see that. Don’t worry, though. I won’t intrude anymore.”
She hung up before I had a chance to soften my accusations in the slightest, but it didn’t matter. The argument had left a sour taste in my mouth, one part annoyance, one part longing, one part guilt. In self-defense, I decided to work to rid myself of the extra, chaotic energy that had settled in my bones by going into hypercleaning mode. I had frightened more than one “shopper” with my wild feather dusting by the time Liss made her reappearance from the Loft, looking as refreshed and calm as I did not.
“Hull-o. What’s this? I thought we had finished all of the dusting this morning.”
“We did. Then I talked with my mom—well, argued with my mom is probably a more fair assessment—and needed something to distract me, so dusting it is.”
“Do you think it will help?”
“I’ve worked off the desire to eat an entire chocolate cake on my own, so that’s a good thing.”
“I see.”
“Mm. And did you know,” I asked, slapping the feather duster ferociously at a particularly dusty—well, kind of dusty . . . well, at least a little bit dusty—cut-glass vase that hailed from the artisan enclaves of Ireland, “that all of the people who have been popping in for a look-see today haven’t actually been customers at all? That they have been—”
“Rubberneckers?” Liss supplied sweetly. “Eager for a glimpse of the Witch of Stony Mill and her evil ways? Yes, I am aware of these things.”
I stopped abusing the vase and gaped at her. “And you aren’t upset? Doesn’t it make you angry that they are only in here because they think you’re Voldemort’s twin sister, and they want to catch a glimpse of you in your element but in a safe, sideways manner, because they all think to look evil in the eye is to invite it in? Doesn’t that make you mad?”
“Should it? Because, really, it says more about them than it does about me, doesn’t it.”
Chapter 14
I blinked at her. I couldn’t help it. All of a sudden, I got it. In a moment of complete and utter clarity that was almost frighteningly simplistic, I understood everything. Why everyone was here today. Why my reaction might have been human, but didn’t help matters. Why Liss’s calm poise set her miles and away above the rest of us poor mortals wallowing in the mire beneath her feet.
Liss smiled at me, and shook her head. “Maggie. My dear. The views of others reflect not at all upon you unless you allow them to. Their views are colored by their own life experiences: their fears, their loves, their hatreds, their needs, their insecurities. Nothing you can say will ever change their minds. Only they can do that. What better way to show them the error of their ways than to demonstrate to them that the Light that they revere is in every path to spirituality? To lead and instruct by being the best that we can be, always? And that darkness can be found in anyone, in any faith, and that it is not so much to be feared so long as it is in balance with the Light within. Balance is the key. Tolerance is the way.”
I would have answered her, telling her how brilliant she was, but the brass bells on the front door jingled yet again. I let my breath out and braced myself for yet another intrusive presence interloping on store property for the sake of looking evil in the eye. But it was only Libby Turner, looking harried and distressed and oddly disheveled, which I chalked up to the heat and the loss of her husband. Any woman was entitled to look not quite her best when the rest of her life was in a shambles. Heck, some of us didn’t even have that excuse to fall back on.
She walked with purpose up the main aisle of the shop, and stopped in front of Liss and me at our usual positions behind the counter.
“So,” she said, giving Liss the eye, “you’re the witch?”
Liss drew herself up to her full height, resplendent in her summery chic linens, silvery streaked auburn waves, and half-moon glasses, and in the most pleasant voice possible, said, “Well, I am the shopkeeper.”
Libby looked confused and pushed her fingers back through her hair, which, on second thought, must have been the reason the glossy brunette strands had been so out of place. “But . . . well, I thought . . .” She glanced at me, then back at Liss. “But Mel said . . .”
Mel said. Of course she did. I sighed.
“And I am also a witch,” Liss said evenly. “But I don’t let that stop me from having a good time.”
“No. No, I don’t suppose that would be at issue,” Libby said, her smooth brow furrowing. “Um . . . could I just get right to the point?” she asked, glancing at me again as though seeking support.
“I think that would be wonderful,” Liss encouraged. “Go right ahead, dear.”
“Well . . . the thing is . . . Mel told me all about what you did at her house the other night—”
Of course she did.
“—and I was wondering if you could possibly come out to the feed mill and to my home and do the same kind of thing.”
“Have you been having trouble with spirit energies, my dear?” Liss asked.
“Yes. Well, no, not exactly. Not yet.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand, dear.”
Libby took a deep breath. “I want to make sure we keep it that way.”
“Oh. Oh, I see.”
I frowned. “You’re worried that Joel is going to come back from the other side? That he’ll a
ppear to you and frighten you, perhaps?”
“It does work as preventive maintenance, doesn’t it?”
“There are things that can be done,” I answered. “Liss, of course, is the expert in that.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Liss said with a modest smile. “You’re getting quite the education yourself of late.”
Not that I was trying.
“What kinds of things? Do you mean rituals and things like you did at Mel’s house?”
Liss answered this time. “That, and there are protective wards that can be used that would probably do the trick. A general blessing of the site, welcoming the Light and banishing the darkness. Straightforward, really.”
“Will the wards and things help to keep out unwanted persons from here in town, too?”
Liss considered her carefully. “That can be part of the process, yes.”
“Great. Wonderful. When can you be there?”
I blinked. “What, you mean today?”
“Well, yes. Of course. The sooner, the better, wouldn’t you say?”
“Um . . .” I looked at Liss. “Well, yes, sure. I guess. I—”
“I’ll pay you, of course,” Libby said, taking my hesitation as a bargaining chip. “Whatever you like, within reason.”
“No, that’s not it—”
“What would it take? One hundred dollars? A thousand? I don’t know what this sort of thing goes for. Am I even in the ballpark?”
“Libby, we wouldn’t charge you for the service. If we can help you, then that’s wonderful and we’re glad for it,” Liss reassured her. “But . . . are you sure this is what you want? That you won’t regret it later on?”
Libby shook her head, her mouth set. “No. I won’t change my mind. This is the way it has to be. I can’t always be looking over my shoulder, wondering whether Joel is there around me, watching out for me. That’s no way to live. And Joel wouldn’t want that either, to be tied here by earthly obligations and a needless sense of responsibility. He needs to be able to move on, and I . . . if I can’t be blissfully ignorant, at the least I . . . don’t want to be wondering. I mean, who knows what the future holds. In the event that I should someday remarry”—she frowned and rubbed her palm wearily over her forehead—“I don’t want to think that we’ll always be watched. That’s just a bit too—intense—for me. And Joel deserves better.”