The Seven Year Witch: That Old Black Magic, Book 2

by Jodi Redford

  Gloria was shaking a wooden spoon at Peach. “I told you not to sprinkle so much growth hormone on it!”

  Ms. Peach frowned at the vial in her hand. “How was I supposed to know you loaded this stuff with too much magic?”

  “I did not—” Gloria growled and thunked the spoon on top of Peach’s head. Fortunately the elderly woman’s heavily shellacked perm acted as a quasi helmet, easily deflecting the blow. Tossing the utensil aside, the cook glared at the orange object. “What the hell am I gonna do with a persimmon that big?”

  “Enter it in the state fair? You’d win hands down.”

  While Gloria pondered Peach’s suggestion, Clarissa bypassed the two women and poured herself a cup of coffee. Gloria cleared her throat. “Uh, in case you’re wondering about the persimmon—”

  “I’m not. I’m sure there’s a perfectly logical reason for a two hundred pound fruit in the middle of the kitchen.”

  Both witches stared at her, momentarily struck mute. It was the most peaceful three seconds she’d ever known.

  Of course it didn’t last. Peach spoke up first, spoiling Clarissa’s bubble of not-giving-a-damn. “Shit, the ETs already got to her.” She shuffled to Clarissa and squinted at her suspiciously. “Okay, I don’t know what mother ship you’ve got the real Clarissa stashed in, but boy is she going to be pissed about you invading her body.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m the only one in here.” Clarissa took a sip from her mug.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Quite positive.”

  Peach stroked her chin. “Who’s the first boy you ever kissed? Wait, scratch that. Those ETs have detailed spreadsheets on stuff like that. Who’s the first boy I ever kissed?”

  “I have no idea.”

  The elderly witch grunted. “Yep, it’s you. An ET would know the answer.”

  Since it would take the remainder of her shortened lifespan to decipher Peach’s off-the-wall logic, she decided to let it go and concentrate instead on more important things. “There’s a young man named Tanner who I suspect will be showing up within the next day or so.”

  “Did you hire him to help with the wedding preparations?” Gloria asked, her expression hopeful.

  “No. He and his mother will be living here.”

  Once again, her words managed to weave a spell of silence over Gloria and Peach. She took another gulp of coffee, basking in the moment.

  “Wait a minute.” Peach straightened her spectacles. “Four days ago you about blew a gasket over Izzy joining the family. Now you’re inviting the whole community to come stay with us?”

  “Two people, Peach. Don’t make more out of it than it is.” Tightening her grip on the mug, she strode for the doorway. She could hear Peach whispering something about constructing tinfoil hats to block their brainwaves in case the new residents were extraterrestrials. Shaking her head, she strode to her office. “Maybe I should have warned Tanner what he was getting himself into here.”

  She scooted into her chair and distracted herself for the next hour, getting her records in order so that when Fiona took over as mistress it hopefully wouldn’t be too overwhelming. In the bottom drawer of the desk, she found her personal Book of Shadows. Lugging out the large leather tome, she placed it on the desktop and ran her fingertip over the gold-leafed engraving of the pentacle on the cover. She cracked open the book and stared at the first page. Do what you will, so long as it harms none. The Wiccan Rede. She’d tried to live by its principles, but all she felt was the crushing weight of failure.

  “Uh-oh. Looks like someone is contemplating a hex.”

  She jerked her head up and met Logan’s mock look of fright. Her brain immediately conjured the disturbing image of Lust’s twisted impersonation of him last night. A shiver racked her body as she contemplated how easily she’d been duped. How simple it would be for Seven to fool others.

  Logan frowned. “What’s wrong? Am I letting in a draft?”

  “No. What are you doing here?”

  If he thought her bluntness rude, he didn’t let on. “I thought I’d swing by and see if you need any help around here for tomorrow’s festivities. Plus I wanted to make sure you didn’t try to weasel out of tonight.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Our date.”

  Shit. She’d forgotten all about it. “I—”

  “Not a chance, shug. You’re goin’.”

  She snapped her mouth shut. Damn. Why did he have to be so bullheaded?

  “So what do you need me to do, boss lady?”

  Sweet goddess, she hated it when he called her that. Almost as much as she despised the way her tummy fluttered as his dimples deepened with his grin. “There’s a two hundred pound persimmon in the kitchen that Gloria could probably use some help with.”

  Without batting an eyelash at the odd request, he nodded and ducked from the doorway. Rubbing her temples, she stared listlessly at the opened Book of Shadows. She slowly flipped the pages, visually cataloging the documentation of her beginning days as a witch. The first dozen entries were various spells she’d invented—some of them halfway decent, but most falling more along the lines of what-the-hell-was-I-thinking. Yeah, the spell for increasing her bust size when she’d been a gawky, flat-chested teenager? Not one of her finer moments. Smiling despite herself, she turned to the next page.

  “Err…Clarissa?”

  She glanced up to find Constance eyeing her warily. “Yes?”

  “There’s a woman out on the porch asking for you. I’m not liking her aura. It’s mega nasty.”

  A splinter of fear shafted through her bones. Had Seven reneged on its promise to leave the coven out of this? She jumped to her feet and raced from her office. Outside, she slammed to a skidding halt as she took in who was waiting for her.

  “Clarissa, long time no see.”

  She gaped at her mother, wishing the woman was merely a figment of her imagination. Or even Lust in disguise. But even Seven wasn’t that brilliant of a mimic to have so perfectly captured the alcohol-ravaged features of Jolene Miles—features that had once been almost too stunningly beautiful to gaze upon. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Is that any way to speak to your mother?”

  “I haven’t seen you in nearly seven years. You’re lucky I’m speaking to you at all.”

  Seemingly unconcerned with Clarissa’s agitation, Jolene stepped closer. “I went to see your father. Seems like he’s doing well enough.”

  “He can barely remember his own name.”

  “He remembered me.” Her mother’s taunt held a sickening amount of pride.

  “I want you to stay away from him.”

  “Fine.” Jolene’s shoulders lifted in a casual shrug.

  Her unexpected capitulation stunned Clarissa. “Y-you mean it?” she stammered, almost afraid to hope. She’d been half worried that Jolene would find a way to weasel into the good graces of the nursing-home staff in order to circumnavigate the restricted list. It was exactly the kind of thing she’d do.

  “Sure. But it’ll cost you. Why don’t we make it an even two thousand?”

  And there it was. The reason for her mother’s return appearance after all these years. She should have fucking known. “Let me guess. Barry finally discovered your true nature and is done funding your alcohol and drugs.” It would explain why she hadn’t seen Jolene at Tatum’s, strutting around like she owned the place. More than likely, Barry hadn’t only kicked her out of his life, but also his family’s business.

  Jolene’s garishly painted lips gave an ugly twist, revealing the smear of crimson gloss on her upper teeth. “Don’t talk to me like that, you sanctimonious little bitch. You owe me that money after everything I’ve done for you.”

  “And that would be what? Passing out drunk every night? Slipping me roofies when I was a kid so that I’d sleep while you snuck out and met your dealer? Of course, that was before you started completely not giving a damn whether I wandered outside and got hit by a car.
But most of all, maybe I should be grateful that you ever showed me a second’s attention?” Her limbs shook from the tempest of repressed emotions that strained to escape their bonds.

  A dry, rattling laugh broke from her mother. “Oh my God. You’ve still got a bug up your ass about seeing me with Barry’s kids that day in the park. How fucking pathetic are you? I don’t give two shits about those whiny brats. I only spent time with them to get in good with Barry. Why can’t you fucking realize that?”

  She had seen it. But the damning part was she’d still been devastated, still let her mother’s betrayal force her down the path that’d ultimately led to her own despicable act of duplicity, even though she hadn’t intentionally meant it that way.

  Do what you will, so long as it harms none. She’d broken the biggest commandment of them all. The pain in her heart was almost unbearable. “Get off my property and never return.”

  Jolene’s eyes hardened. “You’re dead to me.”

  “Same goes here.”

  Huffing beneath her breath, Jolene whirled and stalked down the porch steps before jumping in her rust bucket of a car and peeling out of the drive in a spray of gravel. Clarissa waited until the vehicle completely disappeared from sight before turning. Her gaze collided with the two figures standing on the other side of the screen door. Constance and Logan. Both were looking at her with a mix of horror and sympathy. She could take a lot of things. But not their pity.

  Her throat constricting, she pivoted and stumbled down the steps.

  Logan watched the beautiful, strong woman he loved breaking down in front of him. His chest seized, aching for her and everything he now knew. Jesus. No wonder her heart was a fortress. He brushed past Constance and swung the screen open. It banged shut behind him as he followed after Clarissa. She rushed around the side of the coven house, but he quickly closed the distance between them and pulled her into his arms. She struggled briefly before slumping against him with a muffled sob. “I—I didn’t want anyone to kn-know.”

  “It’s okay, baby.” He hugged her tight, his eyes closing as he buried his cheek in her hair. Whispering nonsensical words that nonetheless seemed to soothe her, he stroked her back. They stood there for what might have been an eternity, just holding each other. Finally she lifted her head and he kissed her. There was no heat in it, just an offering of comfort. He squeezed her limp hands. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “But there’s a million things—”

  “That can be done by someone else,” he interjected. “Why don’t you go wait by my bike while I go have a talk with your sisters?”

  At first he thought she was on the verge of balking, but after a long hesitation, she nodded. Giving her knuckles one last caress with his thumbs, he released her and went in search of the others. After explaining that Clarissa would be unavailable for the remainder of the day, he hurried outside, relief flooding him when he saw that she was patiently leaning on the seat of the Harley. He’d been partly convinced that she would take the opportunity to run and hide the second his back was turned. She looked at him in surprise when he fetched the new helmet and sunglasses he’d bought for her from the saddlebag. He handed her the glasses and settled the helmet on her head, securing the strap beneath her chin. “I figured it made sense gettin’ you one, since you’ll be loggin’ plenty of road time with me.”

  He’d expected her to rise to the challenge in his pronouncement, not look like she was on the brink of bursting into tears again. He stared at the custom-made pentacle on the helmet, wondering if she didn’t like it. “Hey, don’t sweat it. If you don’t care for the design on this one, we’ll get you another.”

  “No, I love it. Thank you.”

  In his pitiable, sappy state, her declaration would have no less meaning than if she’d said she loved him. His face almost hurting from the wide stretch of his smile, he donned his own helmet and shades before climbing onto the bike. The machine dipped as Clarissa straddled the seat. Rather than gripping the rear sissy bar as she’d always done in the past, she snuggled into him and banded her arms around his waist. In that moment, everything felt right in the world.

  Gunning the engine, he cruised down the drive. Once they reached pavement, he gave the bike more throttle and soon the engine was roaring, the countryside whipping by. At first he didn’t quite have a destination in mind, his only real aim centered on getting Clarissa’s mind off her mother’s visit. But then he remembered the carnival he’d spotted on the outskirts of town. Crazy as it was, the idea of giving her a taste of the childhood she’d obviously been deprived of sounded like the best plan he’d ever had. He nosed the bike in the right direction, and twenty-five minutes later rumbled onto the grassy field being used for parking. Once Clarissa dismounted, he followed suit and met her confused gaze as she tugged her sunglasses free.

  “This is a carnival.”

  He chuckled. “Thanks for clearing that up for me.”

  Her eyebrows scrunched in an adorable way. “What are we doing here?”

  “We’re gonna do what most folks do at a carnival. Eat too much junk food. Shoot at bobbing ducks so we can possibly win a giant stuffed animal. Ride some coasters that’ll make you scream and clutch me.” He was particularly looking forward to that part.

  “We’re going to shoot at ducks?” She looked worried.

  “Plastic ones.”

  “Oh.”

  “Come on, you’re gonna love it.” Winking, he twined his fingers through hers and led her to the admission gate. After paying the fee, he slung his arm around her waist, drawing her close. “So what do you want to check out first?”

  “I—I don’t know.”

  She looked so lost and mystified, like she’d just landed on a strange, foreign planet, that he couldn’t resist kissing her forehead. “Okay, I’ll make a suggestion then. I’m starved and those corn dogs are smellin’ mighty tasty.”

  She licked her lips. “That does sound good.”

  “Then let’s go nab ’em. We can munch and stroll.”

  One corner of her mouth lifted. “Is that a technical term?”

  “Yep. You see, I’m a true carnival connoisseur.”

  They found the corn-dog vendor and bought two of the fattening but mightily delicious treats. After slathering his in a river of mustard, he took Clarissa on a tour, giving her the skinny on all the attractions. She gazed wistfully at the mock shooting gallery, where various prizes were strung up on enticing display.

  “You’re a crack shot, shug. You should go for it.”

  She nibbled on her bottom lip. “I do think Izzy would like that big pink gopher.”

  Tossing their garbage in a nearby bin, he hustled her toward the gallery. He shelled out the necessary cash, despite her protests, and handed her the toy rifle. She clutched the thing like she had no idea what to do with it. Pretty damn weird, since she’d fired off a real one more than a time or two. Then it dawned on him. She wasn’t so much unsure of the toy but of the objective of the game. Giving her tense shoulder an encouraging squeeze, he pointed toward the targets whistling by on the track. “You see the clowns with the bull’s-eyes in their mouths? You wanna nail those suckers.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “I probably should have guessed that.”

  The carnie running the booth scratched at his mustache. “Well now, not necessarily. In fact, you’re at least the ninth person today who had to ask.”

  The stiffness eased from Clarissa’s shoulders, and Logan made a mental note to sneak the carnie an extra five for his kindness. Lifting the rifle, she took careful aim and systematically pegged each of the clowns, putting them down for the count. He bit back a laugh at the hawker’s incredulous expression. The old timer shook his head and gaped at Clarissa. “You sure you’ve never played this game before, little lady?”

  “Positive.”

  Rubbing his chin, the carnie relieved her of the toy weapon. He slid his gaze to Logan. “Best mind your P’s and Q’s with this one. Otherwise ya might end up with a
rump full of buckshot.”

  “You’re tellin’ me.”

  “Okay, Annie Oakley. Which prize shall it be?”

  Clarissa’s eyes went huge. “I won?”

  The carnie guffawed. “That’s usually what happens when you smoke every dang target.”

  “Oh wow.” Her attention drifted to the pink gopher. “Can I…have that one?” She indicated her choice by pointing her index finger.

  “Shore thing.”

  She accepted the stuffed animal like she almost couldn’t fathom how she’d won this holy grail of prizes. There was no way in hell Logan was going to spoil her joy by telling her the toy probably came from China and cost less than what it took to win it. While she clutched the gopher to her chest, he flipped the carnie a Lincoln. Pressing his palm in the small of her back, he steered her toward the next sight. The rich, buttery smell of caramel corn wafted to his nostrils, making his stomach rumble. “Time for dessert.”

  She blinked at him. “We just ate.”

  “We’re at a carnival, shug. You haven’t eaten until your gut feels like it’s gonna bust and the Mylanta is callin’ your name.”

  “That doesn’t sound very fun.”

  “It is. Trust me.” Before she could hem and haw, he followed his nose to the proper vendor and scored them a bag to share. They walked through the rest of the amusements until they came to the section of the midway where the rides were located. The flashing lights, music and gleeful shrieks from the other carnival goers appeared to have Clarissa dazzled. She stared at everything in wonder. Within the depths of her eyes, he spotted the little girl who’d never been allowed to just play and do all the things a kid was supposed to enjoy. It made him sad and angry for her, as well as all the more determined to give her everything she’d missed out on.

  He squeezed her hand. “Come on, let’s go snag a ride on the Ferris wheel.”

  She gave him a dubious look. “Aren’t we supposed to wait half an hour until our food finishes digesting?”

  “That’s only for swimmin’,” he assured her before cupping her elbow and guiding her in the right direction. The wait for the big wheel was relatively short compared to the coasters that seemed to attract the majority of teens gallivanting about. Within a few minutes they’d reached the head of the line, and the attendant ushered them inside their own private little cart. Clarissa figured out the seat belt on her own and buckled herself in, her expression bordering on trepidation. He squeezed her knee. “Relax. These things hardly ever get stuck.”