Witch's Mystic Woods

by Marsha A. Moore

  “She’s a fighter. Always willing to help others. We’d be wise to do the same in turn.” Kandice Kerry crinkled her crimson lips into a tight bow. She spun and hurried toward another booth, red stilettos punctuating the snap of her warning.

  Sibeal stared after her with a curled lip. Genuine good could come to the community, both mortals in Bentbone and witches in the coven, if her plan to create a better shopping venue with the Peterson Corporation came to fruition. No one need know her primary self-centered motives, although it ripped through her that she didn’t have a confidante, other than her not-so-present brother. She struck that anguish aside, and with a clear conscience, discharged Larena’s spells from the rest of her ornaments. When the last fanciful stuffed tree decoration flattened, Sibeal leaned a hip against the table edge, straightened her white Peter Pan collar, and smiled over the assemblage of deflated and worthless trinkets.

  Satisfied, she pushed away and strolled the main aisle. The loading doors had been lowered. Most sellers loitered near their organized displays, which had been gussied up for the holidays with bows, streamers, and garlands. Ten minutes prior to opening at nine o’clock, Sibeal checked the glassed entrance and clucked her tongue. Plumes of frosty breath puffed from dozens of customers. That would only be the beginning of sales for the day. Sibeal had to do something about reducing that number and making the coven feel the pinch of lost revenue if they were to fully embrace her plan for a new mall inside Lockwoods’ Antiques.

  In a daydream of frost-laden air, Sibeal visualized her future. Commended by strict traditionalists who adhered to lifestyle regulations dating from the time of coven founding in the Thirties. Lauded for progress by those coven members who pushed for advancements. The new mall would not only follow the fundamental rules but incorporate all modern technology. That was the beauty of partnering with Peterson Corp. They would assume responsibility for all modern technology used during the new venue’s building and operation. And in order to circumvent the rule not allowing outsiders to own coven land, the title could easily be deeded to both the Coven Council and Peterson Corp. A trivial matter now that she held a seat. She had everything to gain: new business opportunities, security to maintain her family’s standing in affluent coven cliques, and new invitations to mingle with the right people, both witches and non-magicals.

  A chilly breeze of outdoor air blew past. Sibeal snapped her attention toward the door.

  A troop of late-coming artisans from Bentbone wandered past, still unfamiliar with the market’s workings. New High Priest Logan Dennehy had recognized the need to encourage more revenue and opened fifty booth spaces to area artists from outside the coven. They paid a premium for those spots and might be willing to pay more at the Lockwood property mall. Sibeal’s plan would be welcomed by all. Except for Larena Lockwood.

  A blast, too sharp for today’s weather, shivered Sibeal’s shoulders. She drew her holey shawl closer, but cold wormed down the length of her spine. Hmm. No magic. Curious.

  Before she could investigate, a dinner bell clanged from the direction of the central customer service booth. “Wishing you all an abundance of Yule sales,” Kandice chimed out. Her bright voice twinkling with magical optimism reminded Sibeal of the time she’d eaten too much bespelled rock candy. The sugary treat melted on her tongue but curdled her stomach for hours afterward. The coordinator’s bubbly enthusiasm prompted a wave of cheers from vendors as they welcomed the incoming customer mob. Kandice’s enchantment threatened to undermine Sibeal. What could she reasonably do to thwart a woman who was revered in the community?

  A sly grin spread across Sibeal’s mouth and almost exposed her wicked intent. So simple and so perfect was her plan, it couldn’t revert onto her. She ducked near an outer wall, bent to the floor, and gathered a beetle, sluggish from the cold. Trapped in her closed palm, she drew the bug near her face and whispered, “Travel straight and true to the thin, red pole. Leave my gift there and you’ll be free from winter’s toll.” She blew onto her cupped hand and set the insect on his way.

  Moments later, a garbled scream for help rang from the coordinator, and Sibeal grinned. A small group gathered around the crumpled woman, offering assistance.

  “You seem happy that lady’s shoe heel broke,” said a young man whose gravelly voice belied his apparent mid-twenties age.

  “Just a bit of holiday fun. No harm done,” she replied with a chuckle, too rapt in her success to care much about the outsider.

  He gave her a once over with intent green eyes piercing from an otherwise icy face. His stern demeanor squelched her joy and shot through her with the same bone-chilling cold as before. “I’m lookin’ for Sibeal Soot. Are you her?”

  “That’d be me.” She eyeballed the non-magical stranger, trying to determine how he knew her. He dressed sharp in a contemporary way, which stood apart from the coven men’s double-breasted suits. Underneath a navy pea coat, this fellow wore a v-neck sweater over a button-down striped shirt, slacks, and shiny loafers. His brown hair rose into a gelled carpet but was trimmed neat on the sides and nape. “What can I do for you?”

  “Name’s Ben Peterson.” He thrust out a wide, sturdy hand, which looked at odds with his polished clothing, as did the way his thick fingers floundered with a ragged tremble. “Mike Hasselwell referred me to you for help with the Lockwood project.”

  At the drop of his last name, as well as that of the lawyer, her contact to the Peterson deal, she accepted the stranger’s handshake without question, then instantly recoiled. His skin had the sting of problems. Big ones. She didn’t want to take on more. Rather than restate her question and chance emphasizing her willingness to help, she chose to stay quiet.

  “I…I need…” he glanced around and lowered his tone. “That deal needs signed as soon as possible.”

  “Oh, I most certainly agree.” The boy was on the right track. As subtle encouragement, she met his gaze but was alarmed by his bloodshot eyes.

  “I hear you’ve got…um…ways that’ll push the sale along.” He scanned the surroundings once more, then let go of the stoic mask. “If I can offer a hand to speed things up…”

  Sibeal tilted her head and considered the possibilities. To appear natural to onlookers, she stated in a loud, cheery voice, “Let’s take a stroll to the artisan area. I think you’ll find what you’re lookin’ for there.” She led the way to the back section of booths where he might feel more comfortable among fellow non-magicals and she definitely would.

  Away from prying eyes of all but a few witches, she pursued his proposition. “Thanks for your offer. One question: have you ever met Larena Lockwood?”

  His hands shook more noticeably and he shoved them into his coat pockets. “Err, yes. Though it was short. She probably don’t remember me much.”

  Sibeal frowned and crossed her arms under her saggy bosom. “I’m afraid I’m needin’ someone who’s not—”

  “Fact is, I haven’t met her,” he blurted.

  Damning herself for not holding his handshake a fraction longer to get a reading about this boy and his future, she spun to face him. Instead of what she should be doing—preventing a successful market day—she stood wasting time with this greenhorn. Pent up rage spewed out. “Be straight with me. Have you or not?”

  He rocked in place. “Please, ma’am. I’ll do anything you ask. I gotta close this deal. I work on a small salary plus commission and have a family to feed.”

  “Oh, that’s rough.” She feigned concern to validate reaching for his arm so she could gain a reading about his potential reliability.

  His hands twitched from his pockets and out of her grasp. Again, scanning those present, he lowered his tone, “I can make it worth your while, near five grand, doing business outside of Peterson Corp. after we’re done here. I know people.”

  “Then answer me straight.”

  Sweat beaded along his forehead. “Truth is, I never met her. But I’ll introduce myself if need be.”

  “That’s the right answ
er. I can use you.” Truth was, either answer he gave would’ve been correct, but she required more assurance of his desperation, an essential quality for a subordinate. “Give me a way to contact you, and I’ll need a personal object of yours. Just for a while. You’ll get it back.” She’d get her reading one way or another.

  He felt through his coat and pants pockets. A shaking hand presented her with a business card and a pocketknife. “I want it back. It belonged to my grandpa.”

  In Sibeal’s palm the treasure stung like the man’s touch, full of pain but also shame. What pressure was he under? The vibrations too volatile to handle now, she tucked the knife into her skirt pocket and withdrew her own card for him. “And I’ll be interested in hearing about your future projects.”

  He nodded. “You’re in.”

  “Good. I’ll call you soon to discuss the details.”

  He quirked a brow that froze in place as the mask of ice resettled. “How soon? I’m in a hurry.”

  “Tonight okay?”

  “Fine.” He spun and scurried through the shoppers toward the exit.

  ***

  Throughout the rest of the morning, Sibeal used her witchcraft to deter customers. At the entry, she greeted as many as possible with handshakes. “Welcome to Coon Hollow Coven’s Market. I’m Sibeal Soot, the coven seer. I can predict gift ideas that’ll be well received.” Quick readings informed her whose Christmas gifts they shopped for. And more importantly, the exact gifts that would please those recipients. If the items weren’t in the market, she whispered her advice. “Uncle Bob’s secretly hopin’ to get a power drill.” “Your babysitter Susie loves the earrings you wear from Potters’ Lane Shop in Bentbone.” “Your cleaning lady’s husband just lost his job but was too embarrassed to tell you. She’d really appreciate a gift card from Walmart to pay for groceries.” This method turned many away on the spot or after brief empty-handed passes through the booths. Sibeal took care to let enough enter and actually shop so she wouldn’t be found out.

  Kandice’s earlier shoe mishap sent her home with a twisted and swollen ankle. Sibeal chuckled to herself. Such a pity. The fashionable coordinator would miss seeing her vendors wringing their hands.

  Lunch hour proved trickier since many shoppers were regulars, coming purposely for lunch and stocking stuffer treats from Babbett’s food stand. The vendor’s reputation had spread far throughout the county and beyond. She’d be needed as a prominent part of the Peterson mall. Sibeal didn’t dare risk getting on Babbett’s bad side by deterring her customers.

  Instead, Sibeal reminded them of her services. “After you’ve had lunch, if you need help knowin’ what gifts to get for folks on your list, as a seer I can help.” Many she knew and, by their vibrations crackling through the air, could read names and preferences of their family members. No direct contact required.

  “Hello there, Sheila.” Sibeal addressed a plump, middle-aged woman, a walking advertisement for the horrors of leggings that no tunic top could hide. “Nice to see you. Be sure to pick up some Whistlers for your husband Don’s stocking.”

  Sheila touched the arm of an attractive broad-shouldered man, who looked to be in his late twenties and stood a head taller. She honked a laugh through her hooked nose. “I was debating between those and Hummers, but who can argue with a seer? Certainly, not me. I’ll be sure to pick up a bag. Thanks.” She brushed dyed dark frizzy hair from her face and gestured to the man. “This is Reid Peterson, my Aunt Jeanie’s oldest son.”

  Sibeal’s ears pricked at the mention of the Peterson name. “Jeanie and Lloyd Peterson’s son?”

  “Mm hmm. Reid, this is Sibeal Soot, one of the two coven seers.”

  “Welcome to the Coon Hollow Coven Market.” Sibeal offered her hand, in hopes of gaining a reading of his future path that might include her mall. “Have you been here before?”

  Instead of accepting, he briefly touched a hand to his lowered brow. Beneath shaggy, dark auburn waves, the tawny eyes of a hunter held her with a predatory stare. “Yes, but years ago. Looking forward to lunch at Babbett’s.” Judicious with his words, the deep, near bass tone of his voice commanded attention.

  “I’m sure you won’t be disappointed.” Intrigued, her smile twisted so much she couldn’t iron out the kinks. To mask her enthusiasm, she waved toward the central food court. “Her stand is there on the right. Enjoy.”

  The two headed in that direction, while Sheila pointed out highlights of the venue.

  “Time for me to grab something to eat,” Sibeal said to the next group of incoming customers as she left her post and fell in line, quiet and listening, close behind the pair.

  “Was sure nice of you to sweet-talk my boss into a longer lunch hour.” Sheila patted Reid’s arm. “It’s good to take time to visit with family during the holidays. You’ll have to come by home to see Don. He’ll be jealous I got to see you. What’ve you been up to?”

  “Pretty much doing whatever Dad asks. Just assigned Ben and me a new job yesterday. Or, more like, he pitted us against one another in a contest. First one to secure the deal wins.”

  Sibeal wondered if he was talking about her project with their company. Had the competition made Ben desperate?

  “That’s strange.” Sheila snorted. “But Lloyd’s always been an odd bird. Wonder why he did that?”

  “No idea. He has his reasons.”

  When they took a place in line at Babbett’s, their conversation shifted to mundane items like the menu.

  To not be noticed as an obvious snoop, Sibeal allowed another person to go ahead of her.

  Their orders filled, Sheila and Reid took seats at a table for four.

  Sibeal racked her mind to think of a casual way to join them but came up empty. Upon reaching the counter, she ordered her usual magical hot chocolate, which calmed the repulsion she felt toward outsiders. “With a bit of your special red pepper, too.”

  Babbett shook her head, large hooped earrings swinging to and fro.

  Sibeal smiled without a reply. She felt no need to explain why she wanted the auditory-enhancing pepper.

  The petite shop owner’s thick, waist-length chestnut braid whipped as she filled the order. Her nimble hands added dashes of a dozen ingredients, then scooted the paper cup across the counter. “Five dollars.”

  “Five?” Sibeal’s eyes bugged. “That pepper must be scarce as hens’ teeth.”

  “Eavesdropping costs, you old hen-huzzy.” Babbett smirked.

  Sibeal handed over a twenty-dollar bill and took the cup, which, thanks to the warm contents, was still imprinted with Babbett’s essence. Enough for a reading. During the coming year, the reputable vendor would move her regular store, attached to her coven home, to a location next to this building. Babbett’s popularity would strengthen the market’s revenue. The future reading gave no indication of the shop owner joining the Peterson mall. Did that mean Babbett’s path crossed Sibeal’s, rendering that thread unreadable? Or that the merchant wouldn’t participate in the new venue? Criminy, Sibby. Think fast. She needed Babbett’s cooperation and also had to learn more about Reid and Ben Peterson.

  When Sibeal sipped her hot chocolate, the magic tingled from tongue to eardrums. As she reveled in the sensation, a devious strategy surfaced, masterful in the way it would solve both issues.

  When the vendor returned with change, Sibeal transformed her grin from smug to benevolent and lifted a palm. “Keep that, and give me fifteen worth of your holiday candies so I can pass out samples to the customers. I can help drum up sales for you.”

  Babbett’s dark brow twitched but she complied and gathered a large paper sack full of treats. She passed it over the counter with a warm smile. “Thank you. I’d appreciate it.”

  Pleased with her success, Sibeal sprang from the food stand and forced her happiness outward as she offered candies to each table. Keeping an ear open to Sheila and Reid, she circled closer, waiting for the conversation to turn back to his business. No matter what they discussed, the man exude
d easy confidence and charisma, unlike his brother.

  At last, Sibeal overheard them mention the Kilfoyle property, and she sidled to their table. “Care to sample some of Babbett’s special holiday candies?”

  Sheila peered into the bag. “Any new types?”

  Taking advantage of Sheila’s interest, Sibeal slipped into a seat. “The green and white striped candy canes are new this season. They tickle your nose, and only when you giggle, does the effect slow. Kids like to see how long they can hold back the laughs. And the red taffies help you remember lyrics to all your favorite Christmas songs.”

  “I’ll try a candy cane.” Sheila pulled one out and handed Reid a chocolate covered elderberry cluster. “Try this one, called Discerning Dollops. Supposed to have fairy magic since the berries inside come from the fairy forests.”

  He eyeballed the confection. “Hmm. What does it do?”

  “While the taste is on your tongue, you’re to be able to make shrewd transactions like the clever fairies.” Sheila licked her confection and winked. “Not that you need any more business smarts.”

  Reid took a bite. “Well, in that case. Mmm. Tasty.” He dug in his pocket and pulled out a handful of change along with a wooden disk. “Maybe I’ll buy a few to eat while I’m calling my Wall Street connections. Extra shrewdness might help. It’s all about knowing the right people and being in the right place at the right time. Might have a job lined up for the new year, or sooner if I can get things done here.”

  “Why do you want to leave?” his cousin asked as her nose twitched and her lips curled, despite the seriousness of her tone.

  “Tired of Dad pulling my strings. I’m staying for this last project only because I think I can help Ben get back on track.”

  “Oh?” Sheila’s eyes crinkled as she tried to smother a laugh, then gave up and let it all out. “Ah, better. That candy has a real kick. So sorry to hear Ben’s having troubles.”