by Linda Palmer
Ivy's Eyes
By
Linda Palmer
Uncial Press Aloha, Oregon
2016
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events described herein are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ISBN 13: 978-1-60174-213-1
Ivy's Eyes
Copyright © 2016 by Linda Palmer
Cover art and design
Copyright © 2016 by Linda Palmer
Photos: Girl © Can Stock Photo Inc. / dundanim;
Background© Can Stock Photo Inc. / SWEviL;
Dragon © Can Stock Photo Inc. / jroblesart
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Ivy's Eyes
I felt Ember Sandoval before I actually saw her crossing the street on Friday—a curvy woman wearing a sexy red dress and black boots. Although I'd never had an opportunity to look her in the eye, I was sure she was a fake. You know, one of those self-proclaimed witches with so little real talent that she had to sing her own praises.
The bells over the door jingled wildly as she swept into Something's Brewing, the pagan supply store I was buying from my great aunt Tamsyn Reed. In her eighties and quick as a cricket, Tamsyn had more lives than her black cat, Nightshade. I lived in back of the one-story house an ancestor had converted into the shop many years ago. Below it was a small basement where generations of witches had worked their magic and where I now worked mine.
"Hello, Ember."
She nodded to me. "Ivy." As she perused the dusty disorder that was the shop, her wrinkled nose gave me her opinion of everything she saw, including blonde, gray-eyed me.
Although I shared her view of the cobwebs and clutter, I couldn't help but feel defensive. It took time to organize a place like this. I'd only been owner—I used the term loosely—for three months. "What can I do for you?"
"I need a love potion."
Wow. Was than an admission of ineptitude or what? Her own shop, Mojojuju, was right across the street. Trendy and trashy, it lured customers by offering more than the supplies, spells, and potions they'd need to really work magic. She had a coffee corner, hookah lounge, and a séance room. "You can't make your own?"
"Apparently yours work better. I want to test and find out for myself."
Now where'd she hear that? From an unhappy customer? I bit back a laugh. "Sorry. I can't sell one to you."
That got her attention. "Why not?"
"I only sell them to couples, a little spark to rekindle the original fire. If the potion is for you, I need to know the name of the intended vic— I mean man, and how long you've been together."
"That's none of your damn business."
"Is it Tom Grant? Not that I mind. I'm just curious." Tom had ditched me after a week because I wouldn't take our relationship "to the next level." Really? He'd thought I'd do that? While I'd admit to being passionate and even spontaneous if the man was right, when I gazed into Tom's eyes, I hadn't liked what I'd seen. That was the drawback of my secret gift for reading souls. One long look revealed everything. I didn't have a vision. I didn't see an aura. I simply knew, without fail, what kind of person I was dealing with, and sometimes that wasn't a good thing.
"Why would I waste a potion on that turd? He's already trying to get in my pants."
I suspected that was true. Tom had registered as shallow—a man impressed by looks, connections, and bling. "You can get one from Sister Sofia."
"Holy goddesses! That old Hazel hasn't kicked the cauldron yet?"
"No. She's working out of her granddaughter's used book store. Has a corner in the back where she tells fortunes and peddles her magical mixtures. You enter from the alley running behind this shop."
"Well, I'm not buying anything from her."
"Why not? She has way more potions than scruples. Or maybe you should try again to make your own. I have some remedial spell books." I gestured toward the shelves. "Third row down."
Her eyes narrowed. "Word of warning, bitch. Don't mess with me. I can make your life hell."
"You don't have the skills for it."
Hissing like a snake, she pivoted and stalked to the door, where she gave me a hard look before she left.
I slowly exhaled my pent-up anger and rested my elbows on the checkout counter as I watched her cross the street, that bodacious bootie swaying with every step. She and I went back a ways. It wasn't pretty.
My house-slash-shop sat smack in the center of a town that had grown around it. That's because the family had consistently refused to sell out. To say the place was unique didn't begin to go there—tiny yard, gingerbread trim, shingled roof. But I believed locals were used to the sight of a house in the middle of a row of stately brick buildings. As for the tourists who flocked into the city, well, they invariably took pictures to be posted online, always good for business.
Downtown seemed rather dull for a Saturday, the day most working people ran errands. Of course, more than half the citizens of Illusion, Missouri—the Sedona of the Ozarks—didn't keep regular hours. The other half were ordinary and either believed in our gifts or thought the whole thing was a big bag of phooey.
It wasn't, of course. I, for example, had been born with a healer's touch, among other things. And even though my parents had nudged me toward a more sensible medical career—think anything with a regular paycheck, insurance, and a retirement plan—I'd followed my heart and accepted the challenges of being a so-called "white witch." At twenty-three, I was studying hard and doing my best to make a living. I suspected that Tamsyn would've given me the shop outright if I'd only let her, which I'd never. With all her lives, she might survive for decades more, and her money had to last.
I couldn't have been happier except for a couple of small things: my nonexistent sex life and my poor profit margin. Not that I had time for the former, even a quickie with ever-ready Tom. That didn't stop me wishing for some quality male company. In other words, I wanted love, and I wanted it to last forever. Far from being charmed, my attempts at romance felt cursed, something I'd have blamed on Ember if she'd had an ounce of talent. As for the latter—cash flow—if I ever had a free moment to renovate the shop and update the merchandise, business would boom as it once had.
Across the street, Ember burst out of her shop to flag down a man I'd never seen before. Tall and slender with wide shoulders, he wore his longish dark hair messy. I noticed that she had a lot to say, undoubtedly the reason she slipped her arm through his and redirected him into her shop. They were talking as they vanished inside. Was that poor guy her target? The man she intended to conquer with a potion? Although I didn't even know him, I was dismayed. Maybe I wouldn't sell her what she wanted, but someone else would. Yeah, it was just a matter of time in a town where most of the businesses catered to tourists in search of supernatural solutions to their self-made, totally natural problems.
From where I sat, I flipped the Open sign in the window to Closed. After casting a lock-up spell on the front door, I dart
ed downstairs to the basement via a door in the kitchen. A wave at the medieval chandelier lit all five candles, providing enough light for me to find my way around. I stepped inside the copper-filled lines of the pentagram deeply etched into the concrete floor, where I lighted another candle by blowing on the wick. Holding it in front of me, I began chanting. "I bind you, Ember, from doing harm to others. I bind you, Ember, from doing harm to others. I bind you, Ember, from doing harm to others."
There, that should provide some protection for whoever she had her eye on, at least for a while. Now I could get back to business with a clear conscience.
* * * *
After I closed up shop for good at six that night, I walked to my kitchen. My cell rang just as I got there. Seeing who it was, I detoured to the den. "Hey, Aunt Tamsyn. How's the arthritis today?"
"Better, but I'm almost out of tonic."
"I'll whip up some more this weekend."
"Thanks, honey. The girls and I were wondering if you'd like to come over for dinner." Tamsyn lived with three other senior witches -Adele Jordan, Thea McClintock, and Raven Willow.
"What are we having?"
"Whatever you bring."
Figured that. So much for that hot bath I craved. It would have to wait until the cougar-coven, as I called them, had been fed. Not that I minded helping out. That was way better than one of them running down a pedestrian with their shared car. Plus they usually rewarded me with a recipe for an amazing potion or a secret spell no other witch knew, which I immediately added to my own incantus. Those four were brilliant and had a world of experience to share. Each also had a penchant for much younger men, but nobody was perfect. "Chinese? Italian? Mexican? What's your pleasure?"
"You pick."
"All right. Will Eduardo be there?" I referred to Eduardo Mendez, a Hispanic witch a good twenty-years younger than the youngest of the magical quartet. Eduardo was passed around like peace pipe, so he'd shacked up with each of them several times. Why he risked changing bedmates, I just didn't know. Jealous witches were never above nasty magic if the occasion called for it.
"Yes, he will. While you're out, would you pick up my meds? I have refills." Some drugs had no holistic equivalent, which meant lots of trips to the drugstore to pick up what they needed.
"Sure. Grissom's as usual?"
"I hear the name is Hutchinson Drugs now."
"That's new. Why on earth?"
"Walter's retiring."
How had I missed that? "Okay. Does anyone else need me to pick up meds?"
"No."
"Then I'll be there in a bit."
"Barbecue."
She'd lost me. "What?"
"For dinner. It gives Raven the farts." Tamsyn giggled. "So romantic."
So Eduardo was currently sharing Raven's bed. The guy surely had a death wish. Or maybe he was simply doing what I was—scooping up the crumbs of knowledge they so recklessly scattered. And he didn't have to pay rent to do it. As for the other guys who occasionally slept over, I could only guess at their reasons. Had they been promised cash? Were they getting free magic? Were love spells involved? Whatever the reason, most were in their late twenties or early thirties, and too good looking to be desperate.
After ending the call, I freshened up in the bathroom and pulled on jeans and my Don't-make-me-get-my-flying-monkeys tee, which had a hole near the hem. But it was all I had clean at the moment, and the long sleeves would be enough to keep me warm.
I was right. With the windows of my VW beetle rolled down and the autumn wind blowing my hair, I listened to the Eagles croon "Witchy Woman" and drove straight to the drugstore. It was crowded—lots of people running errands on their way home from work—but I didn't mind waiting. Why? Because the man Ember had grabbed earlier appeared to be the new pharmacist.
Safe in the back of the line, I didn't hesitate to check him out. The first thing I noticed was his patience with elderly customers who had questions. Not only did he greet most by name, he carefully explained each drug and its possible side effects, if necessary. Some grumbling mid-line was my cue that not every person waiting appreciated his advising customers when he should be counting pills. But a swift glance from him shut them right up.
The second thing I noticed was his brown eyes, so dark I couldn't see the pupils. Was he Hispanic? Native American? Mediterranean? I didn't think the sun had played a role in his even tan.
Finally I got to the counter, where a teen girl named Valeria waited to see what I wanted. "Refills for Tamsyn Reed, please."
The pharmacist, a few feet away and once again filling scripts, gave me a wicked sexy grin. "Miss Tamsyn. Wow. You look different. Have you lost weight? Or maybe it's your hair. Were you this blonde the last time you came in here?"
Determined not to look too deeply into those chocolate eyes, I laughed. "No. It was more—"
"Strawberry? Butterscotch? Chardonnay?"
"Hunter orange, I think."
He hooted, a sound I felt clear to my toes. Yeah. A huge zing! that caught me by surprise. No wonder Ember was after him, poor guy. I kinda sorta wanted to throw my pointy black hat into the ring, too.
"Are you her daughter?"
"Niece. Ivy Warren." I reached across the counter to offer him a handshake.
He held onto it a second longer than I expected. "Amos Hutchinson. Please call me Hutch."
"Does the drugstore belong to you now?" I asked on a hunch.
"Me and the bank."
By now his assistant had what I'd come for. "Two of Miss Tamsyn's meds didn't have refills. I have a call in to her doctor."
I winced an apology. "I've tried to help her keep up with them, but she ignores me."
"A prerogative of old age, I think." Hutch stopped what he was doing and personally handed me the sack. "I'll deliver the others once they're done. Do you, um, live with her and her friends?"
My heart flip-flopped. Was he interested? "No. I live right here in town. Over her—I mean my—shop, in fact."
"What shop would that be?"
"Something's Brewing. It's that house in the middle of Main Street."
"Oh yeah. Your window arrangement entices me."
I tried to remember what I'd put in it. "The miniature fantasy pieces? Why? Are you a Javan collector?" I referred to a witch known worldwide for his amazing pewter creations.
"I am, yeah."
"Then you should definitely drop by."
The man behind me obviously fumed as he checked his watch. "Hey, bud. Could you hit on her later? I'm in a rush, here."
With purpose, I focused on the guy's shoes for a nanosecond before turning to Hutch and taking the sack he offered.
He shook his head and gave me a wry smile. "Sorry about that. Everybody's in a hurry."
"No worries." I shifted my gaze to the teen that was helping me. "You'll put this on Tamsyn's bill?"
"Already did."
"Thanks." I turned, but deliberately didn't go far. I wanted to see if my itty-bitty fell spell would work. Sure enough, Hutch's complaining customer tripped over his own feet, but not because his shoes were miraculously untied. He fell because the laces of both his shoes had somehow untied, met in the middle, and retied.
The floor shook with his landing.
Shocked and chagrined by what I'd done, I started toward him, but thought twice and fled the drugstore instead.
"Shame on you, Ivy! Shame. On. You." I ducked into my car and sped from the lot. I definitely shouldn't have done that. Wasn't I all about health and happiness? But the image of big-mouth falling flat on his face still made me laugh, especially now that he couldn't see me. The depth of my magic startled me just a bit in spite of the fact that I never stopped studying and practicing. I hadn't meant for him to land that hard.
With the local radio station now playing "Love Potion No. 9," I negotiated the maze that was the back streets of Illusion. Whoever had planned the city all those years ago must've been high as a full moon. There wasn't a single north-to-south or east-to-west
road. Instead, they intersected like the lines of a pentacle within a pentagram. Sharp corners, improbable cul-de-sacs, roundabouts in the middle of nowhere.
It was dark by the time I bought the food and pulled into the drive of Thea's sprawling country home. I saw the community car—a vintage luxury sedan—and Eduardo's sleek black jaguar parked under a tree there. Grateful for shopping bags with handles, I carried the food easily. Adele, who was seventy-two, answered the door dressed in a caftan so colorful it hurt my eyes. Her long gray hair was twisted into a heavy knot on the top of her head. A comb that matched her earrings held it there.
I went straight to the kitchen, where the dining table had been prepared for six. One by one, I removed cartons of aromatic goodies from the bag. Chopped pork, buns, sauce, slaw, baked beans, crispy fried okra. Raven walked in just as I reached for the last item. She was dressed to the nines in tight black velvet pants and a sheer tunic with gold trim on the neck and sleeves. Raven wore her platinum hair short and spiky, a style that actually suited seventy-year-old her.
"Barbecue?" She didn't sound pleased.
"That's what Tamsyn ordered."
"Oh my goddesses. Tams! Get in here!"
Uh-oh. I quietly walked behind the bar. Adele and Thea joined me there. We waited.
"What?" My aunt practically growled the word as she stomped into the room. At five-two, one-seventy-five, Tamsyn had the look of someone's sweet, plump grandma...until you got to her hair. Hutch had been kind to call it anything other than what it was. I could add other adjectives, as well—fine and sparse, for example. Her pink scalp definitely clashed with her hair color.
"You know what spicy food does to me."
"So?"
"So why did you order this?" Raven swept her arm to include everything on the table.
"Because we haven't had barbecue in forever. Why should we have to suffer because you can't handle it?"
Raven trembled with fury. "Of all the—" A crystal pitcher on the table suddenly sparked and rose all by itself to fly toward my aunt. Midflight, it reversed and shot toward Raven. Back and forth it went, splashing sweet tea all over the tile floor.