by Liz Schulte
She looked up with a twinkle in her eyes. “He was cute.”
“You think so? Kind of skinny and abrasive.”
“But totally hot. Better than anyone at speed dating.”
“Not hard.” I took my seat and picked up my abandoned book. “Do you know Rhonda Wesselton?”
“Wesselton…I don’t think so. Should I?”
I shook my head. “Just wondering.”
“Anyway, look what I found.” She pointed at the book in her lap. “This spell restores that which was lost. Let’s try it.”
“I don’t think that will work.”
“So we can’t try?” Her eyebrows raised. “What could it hurt? If it doesn’t work, then we try something else. But what if it does?”
Part of me itched just to tell her, but I couldn’t bring myself to. I’d wait until we were all together and tell them as a group that my magic wasn’t coming back. That would be easier. “Fine, whatever.”
Kat hopped up and cleared off the table. She went around the shop and gathered what she needed: three candles, rosehip oil, and six stones. We sat across from each other. Katrina arranged the candles in a line and lit the first one, which was brown, and took my hands.
“What this witch has lost, help her find. Bring her that which otherwise hides.” She touched a stone to the right of the candle then nodded to me.
I lit the white candle on the opposite end and repeated the same words then touched my finger to a crystal next to the candle. Finally we lit the middle candle together and spoke in unison, placing our hands on both rocks. The candles flared then went out.
“Do you feel more magical?” she asked.
“I always feel magical,” I said. “I’m glorious fucking unicorn.”(LOL)
She laughed. “You know what I mean. Try to do something.”
“Like what?”
“Um, light this candle.” She pushed the white candle toward me.
I concentrated my energy as I had done a million times before without much effort at all. I snapped my fingers. Nothing happened. I hovered my palm over the wick and tried again. Not even smoke.
I shook my head. “Nothing.”
“It was worth a shot. I’ll keep looking. You should keep trying. You never know. It might just take a while for the juices to start flowing.”
“So that’s how magic works? It’s juice?” I forced a smiled and she giggled.
Katrina hunched over the books that were nearly bigger than she was. I watched her for a few minutes, feeling guilty I was letting her waste her time. Finally I couldn’t bear it and looked away.
If this was how she chose to spend her day, I couldn’t stop her, but I also didn’t have to watch her grasp at straws. I went to the front and took down the rest of the Christmas decorations that were stuffed in every available nook and cranny. I tidied the shelves around the store and dusted everything twice before I went to sit behind the counter. The email list next to the register was almost full. I flipped it around and removed the top sheet, so a fresh new sheet would start the day—whenever customers could make it in again, anyway. But a name caught my eye. I picked it back up for a second look. Wesselton. At least, I thought it could be that. The handwriting was sort of smudged and hard to read.
“Hey, Kat,” I called.
“Yeah,” she said, coming over. “Is it working? Nothing else looks promising yet.”
“What does this say?” I handed her the paper and pointed at the name in question.
“Um, Rhonda Wesselton, I think. Isn’t that the name you asked me about?”
I nodded, stomach tightening. “Yeah, it is. That’s the other person who was strangled to death. Well, technically her death wasn’t considered murder, but still. Look at the name below hers.”
Emaleigh Greer. Suddenly it looked more and more likely that Donavan was onto something.
“That’s weird,” she said. “Do you think the killer came to our store? It’s strange that they’re the top two people on our list.”
“Very. I guess he could have come in, but wouldn’t one of us notice a strange person stewing over the mailing list or copying it down?”
“He could have snapped a picture of it with his cell phone while he checked out. That’s what I would have done. Both of their names, addresses, and phone numbers were at the top of the list for anyone to see. But it could be a coincidence too. Maybe it’s nothing.”
“Probably, but I think we should check it out. What if something supernatural followed us back from the Abyss? We can’t risk our customers being targeted.”
“We should go to the police,” Katrina said, not looking excited about investigating anything.
“Rhonda was ruled a suicide and they think they have Emaleigh’s killer. No one will listen to us,” I said.
Kat frowned. “But if we do this and this creep is a human, we turn over everything we know, right? We don’t need police trouble.”
I nodded, my brain kicking into high gear. “That’s reasonable. Let’s take today to find out everything we can about what’s happening and whether or not it’s the same killer or a killer at all. Then if it looks like it is and it’s human, first thing tomorrow we’ll go to the police. I don’t think they could do anything in this sort of weather anyway. If it is something supernatural, however, we’ll get Frost and Leslie and Selene over here and take care of it ourselves.”
Kat crossed her arms. “For the record, I don’t know anything about investigating murders except for what I’ve seen on TV or read in books. I don’t know how useful I’ll be, unless we can do it magically. And I’m not breaking any laws. This store is all we have. We have to protect it. And you don’t have to look so excited.”
I laughed. “But I am excited. Don’t you see? This could be what we’re meant to do. We were fairly ineffectual in the Abyss, but here we can actually protect people. Humans don’t have to be easy prey. We can actually run interference and save lives.”
Katrina drew in a deep breath and puffed out her cheeks as she blew it out. Obviously she’d rather still be in the Abyss, but I liked this plan. It made me feel more alive. “We could become private investigators of the paranormal,” I said.
At this she perked up. “I’m listening.”
“Let’s just see how this case goes first. Donavan said something about having the police reports. I’m going to run over and check if he still has them and if I can get copies. I’ll be right back.”
“Sure, sure. Tease me about getting to spy on people and dig into their lives. You know I’m a nosy Nancy. And then just leave me to the boring spell work while you go talk to the cute guy.”
“It’s so not like that.” I winked at her. “Speaking of nosy Nancys, have you talked to Sebastian lately?”
Her brown eyes darkened. “Nope. He’s completely shut me out. Colder than a mermaid in the arctic.”
Well, that explained the sudden desire for speed dating. “And Sy?”
She smiled slightly. “He’s fun, but he always has to leave. And I know who’s next on your list. I don’t know where Jack is or even who he is. Like seriously, the men I attract can’t seem to get away fast enough. We already have one cat. Don’t make me get two.”
I put an arm around her. “Well, at least when we’re living at Shady Pines the men will be older and move a lot slower. Harder to get away.”
She laughed, but it sounded sad. “You mean, we’ll be older. Sy and Sebastian will be the same. Who knows about Jack. I don’t want to be old.”
She had a point. Elves didn’t age. Well, they aged some, but barely at all by human standards. Jack was the wild card. None of us, including her, knew anything about him or who he was or what his real name was. This was why worrying about the coven was almost a full time job.
“Is it really so bad being alone?” I asked.
She gave me a slightly curled lip.
I shook my head. “Don’t answer that. I’ll be back.”
I bundled up for a second time and trekked
across the street to the newspaper.
Donavan met me with a curious grin and narrowed eyes. “I didn’t think I’d see you again. At the very least, not today.”
“I found something.” I pulled the mailing list from my pocket. “I was doing some cleaning and happened to look at the mailing list signup sheet we keep on the counter. The first two names on the list are Rhonda Wesselton and Emaleigh Greer. I’m not saying that means anything. I mean this is a small town. I’m sure they were both in plenty of the same places, but it jumped out at me. And the close timing of their visit and signing up might be a weird coincidence, but…” But I had lived too long around magic to believe in coincidence.
He leaned back slightly. “I wouldn’t have guessed Rhonda would be into that sort of thing.”
I rolled my eyes. “Exactly what do you think we do at Enchantment? It’s hardly illicit.”
“Perhaps not, but I think you swindle people. Spells, fortunes, magic rocks… .” He gave me a dubious look. “You can’t honestly tell me that stuff works. It’s a gimmick for the desperate to cling to. But hey, a sucker is born every minute. Someone has to take advantage of them, right?”
I mentally counted to ten. I didn’t need to fight with this man. I just needed the police reports. And it wasn’t like there weren’t charlatans out there, especially in this field. The difference was we weren’t amongst their ranks and I didn’t like being lobbed in with them. But he would never believe it. Trying to force someone to believe in magic was about as effective as tearing down a brick wall with a toothpick. “I’m not here to argue with you. I just wanted to see if you still had copies of the police reports. I wanted to do my own research into this today before I take it to the police in the morning.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You’re taking this,” he held up the list, “to the police as evidence of what? They knew each other? They’ll laugh you out of the station. Everyone knows each other here. It won’t change the fact they consider the investigations closed.”
“You’re the one who said you wanted answers and now you’re mocking me for looking for them? But guess what, I don’t need your permission.”
He silently tried to rally his patience, but obviously it was a struggle. “Exactly what sort of ‘research’ are you going to do?”
I winked, because I knew it would drive him crazy. “Why don’t you leave that up to us charlatans?”
His shoulders relaxed and he even cracked a small smile. “Fine. It’s in the back. You want the nickel tour?”
I shrugged, following him past the front counter with two small desks and a tiny office that might have actually been a closet at one time.
“This is customer service and the classified department,” he said. We went through a door that opened into a much larger open room with machinery. “This is where the paper is printed.” He pointed to a cluster of desks. “That’s where it’s put to bed.” We wove between the machinery to an office in the very back of the building. “This is my office. I do about three quarters of the writing, the next office is my former college roommate and editor, and the last office belongs to our general manager who keeps everything running smoothly.”
The room was eerily quiet. “But it’s just you here today.”
He nodded. “The paper was out by five and there was no reason for anyone to hang around in this weather. If conditions clear up, which doesn’t look likely, we’ll have a full house tonight. If not and we can’t get on the road to deliver by tomorrow, the paper will have to be canceled.”
“Then why are you here?”
His office was big, but crammed full. There were shelves and stacks and clutter enough to make my shoulders tighten. How could he live like this? A change of clothes hung on the back of the door, a muted TV sat in one corner broadcasting the weather channel, and a wall-mounted monitor showed the street and front door. That’s how he’d known I was coming.
“Security system?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Just a view to the outside. Mostly it’s for the times when I’m here alone, which happens quite a bit.” He plopped down at his desk. “If I don’t write tomorrow’s edition, bad weather or not, there will be nothing to report,” he said. “Usually, I’m not here for the printing, but my GM’s wife went into labor hence the all-nighter.”
He was like a one-man show. The paper wasn’t huge or anything, but still big enough that keeping up a daily had to be borderline impossible. “What will be in tomorrow’s paper?”
He smiled slightly. “You’re the psychic. You tell me.”
I raised an eyebrow. “I never said I was psychic, but since you asked, I’m pretty sure you’re going to lead with snow.”
He laughed. “Touché.” He held his hands over his desk for a moment as he thought. Then his face brightened and he lifted one of the stacks and pulled out two folders. “Organized chaos,” he said, checking the names on them before handing them to me.
“Can I make a copy of these somewhere or can I have them?”
He scratched the side of his face. “I guess that depends.”
Was he flirting with me? I looked at him in a new light. Katrina wasn’t completely wrong. He was cute despite his curmudgeonly personality and disbelief in magic and tendency to piss me off. I smiled… but only a little because I really didn’t have time for this shit. “On?”
“On whether or not you will give me a quote for the paper.”
“A quote about what?” Out of everything he could have said, that wasn’t what I expected. Why would he possibly want a quote from me?
“A quote for my second headline after the snow. ‘Both victims of recent tragedies visited new occult shop.’”
My heart sputtered to a halting stop. Being demonized by the New Haven Chronicle wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I came over.
5
FROST
I staggered as the words clawed into me. My ears rang and I mentally flailed for an answer. Did it look like my parents knew they were going to die? No. But what did that mean? Were they stupid? The only thing every book on magic agrees on when it comes to necromancers is that dark witches give birth to them and always die afterwards. My mother had to know she was a dark witch. Hell, she left me a letter telling me how to bring her back. Orion was trying to confuse me.
“Why are you here?” I asked.
“Perhaps I have an interest in all of this.”
I nodded slowly. Of course he did. There was no other reason for him to be here. Spirit guides were a bunch of bullshit. At least mine was. He wasn’t here to help or guide me. He wanted something. We all had to walk through this world alone. “And what’s that?”
He shrugged. “You’ll have to stick around to find out.” He vanished into a gust of wind that went through me, sending chills down my spine.
I closed my eyes for a moment, collecting my thoughts, then turned toward the door. Leslie was still standing there, looking thoughtful—which was better than the sadness and pity I’d seen on her features moments ago. I straightened my shoulders, waiting for sympathy to spill out of her that I would shoot down as fast as she could speak. I didn’t need more pointless words. I needed help finding the damn spell.
“Where do you want to start?” she asked.
“Bedroom closet,” I said just as softly.
She nodded. “Then let’s get to it.” She turned abruptly and headed across the hall. She pulled the first box out of the closet and handed it to me. I put it down near the bed with a puff of dust. By the time I straightened up, she already had the second box out. Within twenty minutes we had everything cleared out of the surprisingly deep closet and scattered around the room.
Leslie sat cross-legged in the center of a group of boxes. “Anything in particular that you would like to see or keep?”
I shook my head, still thrown by the fact that she hadn’t asked about what she heard. I knelt on the ground, sitting back against my feet. Leslie cracked open the first box and pulled out a wad of paper. She unwr
apped it carefully. Inside was a Smurfs glass. If she thought it was at all strange, she didn’t say anything. She merely sat the glass to one side and pulled out the next item.
Taking her lead, I opened the box closet to me. Inside was a collection of mismatched china. Some blue and white pieces, some with painted pink roses, and others with gold trim. One thing was glaringly obvious: why this stuff was packed away. It was all so normal, especially compared to what was displayed in the house. It didn’t fit her dark witch shtick.
Neither of us spoke until the very last box had been emptied and we stood in the room staring at the piles of completely normal stuff all around us.
“Maybe when you become a dark witch you suddenly believe you should be living in the gothic romance novel you always aspired to.” Leslie raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth twitching upward. She bent down and picked up the Smurfs glass. “Sorry, Smurfette. Ain’t nobody got time for your shit. We’re waiting for Heathcliff to come knocking on our door. Plus, there’s red velvet and gargoyles to hang.”
I smiled. She had a valid point. “But why would you replace your dishes? What’s even in their place? Is there such thing as a witchy plate?”
She shrugged. “That’s easy enough to find out.”
We ran downstairs and into the kitchen. The china cabinet was filled with jars of strangely colored liquids and containers of spices I couldn’t quite place. The cabinets held similar items and most of the bowls, cups and plates were clunky red-glazed pottery. Leslie flipped over a plate. “The initials are FW. You have any idea who that is, by chance?”
“The inventor of ugly plates?”
“Obviously.” She put the plate back and frowned at the kitchen. “This is really strange though. Like, it’s so over the top, it almost seems…” She waved a hand around her.
“Like it’s for show?”
“Exactly. You don’t think that maybe someone else decorated her house like this, do you?”
It was my turn to frown. “Why?”
She shrugged. “To perpetuate an image. Like I know you don’t agree, but maybe Orion has a point. Maybe she wasn’t as bad as someone wants the world to believe. Maybe you need to figure out her whole story.”