by Rose Pressey
I eased across the old creaky hardwood floor and paused when I reached the book. My hands tingled when I pulled it from the shelf. Holding it securely in my arms, I sat down in the chair and placed it on my lap, flipping the cover open. The same aged pages that had perplexed me earlier stared back at me. I had no idea what I was looking for—but I knew the book was trying to tell me something. If I couldn’t even read the words, how would I ever decipher the message?
A wind picked up and the pages began to flip out of my control. Then as suddenly as it had stirred, the wind abated and the pages settled. I looked down at the open book and the spell was now in English. I flipped back a few pages. Everything else was still in the strange language. I turned back to the page marked by my finger and studied the words. It wasn’t a coincidence that it had flipped to this page. Had my great-aunt Maddy turned the pages from the great beyond?
I carried the open book into the kitchen and placed it on the large island in the middle of the space. The room was bathed in shades of white. Various apothecary jars covered the spaces around the room. The moon shone brightly through the back door window, casting a ghostly glow across the area.
The page gave no clue about what the spell was for—all it listed was ingredients. Aunt Maddy had almost any item I could ever need for a spell right there in the kitchen. She also had a collection of cauldrons. Not that I needed one. Sure, I owned a cauldron, but with my track record I’d never felt comfortable using it. Except for that time I burned all the pictures and mementos from Tate Monroe. He’d claimed witchcraft wasn’t the reason he’d broken up with me, but I knew that was a lie. It was no coincidence we’d split up the day after I cast a spell to help him with his golf game. How was I supposed to know the higher the score the worse the game? And at least his eyebrows had grown back.
For my potions, I preferred to use a saucepan on top of the stove. My mother always said, “No wonder the Coven doesn’t take you seriously. You use a saucepan, for heaven’s sake.” But honestly, who wanted to drag out a heavy steel cauldron for a potion that wasn’t going to work anyway?
I placed a pan on the stove and poured in spring water. While waiting for it to boil, I retrieved my herbs from the apothecary jars around the room. Vervain, sea salt, frankincense and myrrh were the necessary ingredients. After the water had come to a steady boil, I poured it into a bowl and placed it in the middle of the island.
With more of the sea salt in hand, I sprinkled the crystals around the bowl. Drawing a small circle with the salt, I enclosed the bowl within it. The smell of earth tickled my nostrils and splashes of light—red, green, then blue—covered my vision for a few seconds. A light breeze stirred in the room.
As I placed the herbs in the water, I intoned the words written in the spell book: “Bring the magic to me. Protection from all negativity surrounds me. Harm threefold to thee who sends destruction my way. All hateful actions directed toward me, will be inflicted upon thee.”
A few pitiful sputters of smoke puffed up from the pot. The water boiled no more, the breeze stilled, the lightshow in my vision stopped, and the smell of Mother Earth vanished. Using a teaspoon, I placed a small amount of the potion in the amulet I wore around my neck.
Nothing happened.
Disappointed, I took a seat on the counter stool. I was sure the book had been trying to tell me something. Unwilling to give up, I shifted on the stool and stared at the pot. I closed my eyelids and took a few deep breaths. I opened my eyes again and my reflection stared back at me. I tried to guide my mind to the psychic light deep inside me—well, it was supposed to be deep inside me, I’d never felt much stirring down there. I waited for an image, an impression, for anything to appear. As with every other time in the past, I felt my magic, but instead of a strong vibrating hum, it was more like an annoying mosquito buzzing around my head.
All the water in the bowl had done was allow me to have a glimpse of my own face. Stress, worry and disappointment written all over it. It was the same disappointment I saw on my mother’s face every time she asked if my magic had improved.
My cell phone rang, but I ignored it. See, my mother wasn’t the only one who got upset when I performed magic. Every time I cast a spell, if there was another witch within twenty miles practicing magic, then my spell would screw her spell up too. And I would inevitably start receiving calls from irate witches claiming that they’d turned their cat into a toad and it was all my fault. I was not a popular witch to say the least.
Frustrated, I dropped my head to the counter. I had to know what this book said and what it all meant. Had it been Aunt Maddy’s book? How would I find the answers?
Movement sounded from above me again and I sat straight up, sucking in a deep breath. Footsteps. Either it was the ghost, or my guest was headed toward the kitchen.
I stuffed the book in a drawer and placed the jars back around the room. I didn’t want him to know what I’d been doing. Guilty was written all over my face in flashing letters. Why should I feel bad? It was my home and I hadn’t done anything wrong—right?
I’d placed the last jar on the counter when the footfalls stopped. My heart rate increased as I spun around. The kitchen was empty. Tiptoeing through the library, parlor and into the foyer, I listened for more movement, but heard none. I made my way back to the kitchen and pulled the book back out. Somewhere within the pages there had to be a clue as to what it all meant or who it had belonged to.
I stayed at the kitchen island for what seemed like hours, listening to Nicolas move around the floor above me—at least I assumed it had been him. Why hadn’t he gone to bed? And furthermore, what was he doing up there?
Chapter Five
At some point I must have dozed off, because I woke to find Annabelle gazing down at me with a horrified expression on her face. Morning sun streamed in through the kitchen windows.
“You left the back door open?”
“I did?” I wiped the drool from my chin, then rubbed the crick in my neck.
“Yes, you did. Don’t ever do that.” She wiggled her index finger at me.
“Yes, ma’am.” I saluted.
I wouldn’t make a very good night security guard. If not for Annabelle, I probably would have slept all morning.
“This place gives me the creeps. No matter how many times I come over here.” She clutched her arms around her chest. “What’s going on now? Is he still here?” She peered over my shoulder.
I nodded as I pushed to my feet. “Yes, he’s still here. I think I heard him stirring around.” Or had I dreamt that?
“Well, I hope he hurries up and gets out of here so I can stop worrying about you. I can’t handle this stress.” She let out a deep breath. “I don’t think I can ever have children. I’d never be able to keep it together. The first time little Bobbie fell on the playground I’d lose my mind.”
“I think you’d do just fine.” I patted her on the back.
“You look like hell,” Annabelle said as she placed her purse on the counter. “Have you been down here all night?”
I attempted to smooth my frazzled hair. “So I took a little nap at the kitchen counter. Big deal.”
She clucked her tongue. “Well, I can’t say I blame you for wanting to be close to the door in case you needed to make a quick escape.”
I shook my head. “Just let me run upstairs and change my clothes. I don’t want my guest to think I’m a slob.”
Annabelle frowned. “Please don’t leave me alone for very long. I’ll have nightmares tonight.”
“I’ll be back before you can say old, creepy manor.”
She didn’t return my laughter.
Once I’d made the trip back up those ridiculously steep stairs, I hurried to my room, grabbed a shirt and jeans from my closet and jumped into them. My clothing consisted of every color in the rainbow—I’d avoided black since the age of twelve. No need to add fuel to the witchy fire. I brushed on a dab of mascara and ran the comb through my hair.
I wanted to sn
eak up to the third floor and see if Nicolas’s door was shut, but I knew Annabelle would lose it if I left her too long. I rushed down the stairs, across the library and parlor, then back into the kitchen. If I whipped up some pancakes and tossed some flour onto my face to make it look as though I’d been hard at work for hours, he’d never know I had slept in a faceplant on the counter all night like some kind of crazy woman. I wondered if he knew how easy it was to make pancakes? I’d add a few strawberries on top to make them look gourmet.
Annabelle studied me when I returned to the kitchen. “You don’t want him to go, do you? You’ve got the hots for a stranger? You like this guy, don’t you?”
Trust Annabelle to cut to the chase.
“He’s not so much a stranger anymore. He’s been here for several hours and we chatted when I showed him to his room last night. Nicolas was very friendly. Maybe a little strange, but in a good way.” I wasn’t quite sure why I was defending him. Maybe I was defending myself.
She threw up her hands. “Nicolas? Oh well, then he’s a friend already, practically family. Nothing to worry about.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m sure he’ll be checking out soon. In the meantime, I have to make pancakes for him.” I grabbed the ingredients and poured them into a large bowl.
Annabelle coughed. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like? I’m making pancakes.” I waved the spatula through the air.
“Are you sure that’s such a good idea? I could run out to the bakery and pick up some pastries.”
I threw the towel at her. “You sit down and talk to me while I cook. And we won’t discuss my cooking skills.”
“Hallie, your pancakes always look more like round cardboard disks than breakfast food. Maybe if you pour on the syrup he won’t know the difference.”
“That’s not being a supportive friend.” I glared.
She pulled out a stool and sat down. “So what did you talk about? Did you find out what he does? Why’s he in Enchantment Pointe?”
Annabelle had extremely selective hearing.
“He said he’s traveling to New Haven on business.”
“Sounds suspicious to me.” She narrowed her eyes.
“Oh, Annabelle. Why on earth does it sound suspicious? It sounds entirely reasonable.” I placed a pancake on her plate.
She shrugged as she poured maple syrup on top. “If you say so.”
“I thought you didn’t like my pancakes.” I pointed with the spatula.
“It’s better than having to cook myself,” she said, then shoved a forkful in her mouth. She made a face while she chewed.
I swatted her with the towel again.
“Is he coming down for breakfast?” She pointed with her fork.
I shrugged. “I’m not sure, but I figured I should be ready just in case. I guess he didn’t get much sleep.”
Annabelle stood and pulled a tube of lipstick from her pocket. She marched over to me and popped off the lid. With one sweep, she smudged the soft pink color over my bottom lip.
“Rub your lips together.” She mimicked the motion.
“What the heck are you doing?” I stepped back.
“In case he comes down. You’re going to scare the man away. I might recommend that as the most sensible course of action, but the way you talk, I don’t think you want that to happen.” She gestured with the lipstick. “You said he was gorgeous. In case he turns out not to be a freak-psycho-murderer, you’ll want to look your best.”
“Well, after last night, I’ve set the bar pretty low.”
She clucked her tongue. “First impressions… they’re a bitch.”
A loud knock echoed, followed by the booming doorbell ringing out. We both froze on the spot. If Annabelle was in my kitchen, then who in the heck was at the front door? My mother would never be out at that time of the morning.
Chapter Six
We exchanged a glance. In my three weeks at the manor, I’d never had unexpected guests. Now all of a sudden I was hearing my doorbell twice in less than twenty-four hours. Could a little sign out front bring in business just like that? I wasn’t even on Yelp! yet.
“Who’s that?” Annabelle stuffed the lipstick back in her pocket, her eyes wide.
“I don’t know,” I whispered, as if the person would hear me.
I wiped my hands on the towel and made my way through the parlor with Annabelle hot on my heels.
“Make sure to look out the little window before you open the door. Is your guest still here or not? Maybe it’s him?”
“Maybe. He could have left while I was sleeping in the kitchen. But I figured he’d say goodbye first.” I glanced at the staircase as we moved past. I hadn’t heard any movement since the loud bang. Maybe he’d gone out for a walk and was coming back.
I peeked out the window. My pulse quickened. “It’s a man,” I whispered.
“Not your guest?” Annabelle was practically standing on my back. It was like wearing an Annabelle backpack.
“No, it’s a different man. What should we do?”
“Call the police?” Annabelle whispered in a panic.
“We can’t call the police simply because someone is knocking on the door. I’ll open it and see what he wants. He can’t do anything to both of us. We can take him down if we have to. I’m not afraid.”
Yeah, I had to keep up that façade of confidence for Annabelle’s sake. But what I actually needed to do was try another protection spell—one from a book that I trusted. Apparently I was going to need it.
“Speak for yourself,” she said. “Okay, okay. You’re right. We’ll kick his ass if he tries any funny business.”
“That’s the Annabelle I know.” I winked and nodded, signaling I was ready to open the door.
“Let’s do this,” she said.
I took in a deep breath, and grabbed the handle. Annabelle picked up Nicolas’ umbrella, which I realized at that moment was still there. With a turn of the knob, I eased the door open.
A tall, dark-haired man stood in front of us. Damn. He was gorgeous too. What the heck was going on around here? I hadn’t seen one good-looking guy in Enchantment Pointe for at least a year and now there were two at my home in less than twenty-four hours. Did they know each other?
I stared into the face of the rising sun as it peered through breaks in the clouds. The leaves whispered in the wind, sending the smell of fragrant blossoms our way. Moss covered the stone fence that surrounded the manor and trees lined the drive. The man’s black sedan was parked in front of the manor. At least he wouldn’t claim that he’d walked here.
The fog and the darkness might have moved along, but the air still held a note of creepiness. This new stranger wore a black suit that was tailored perfectly for his frame. His hair was short and a little curl hung down on his forehead. I wanted to reach up and ease the strand back into place. His blue eyes sparkled in the sunshine.
“Hello. My name is Liam Rankin. I noticed your sign for a bed-and-breakfast. Do you have a vacancy?” He looked over my shoulder into the foyer.
I knew he wasn’t looking at Annabelle, but instead, he was looking at the house. Was he looking for something? Someone? Nicolas, maybe? This was in no way a coincidence.
He blessed us with his gorgeous smile.
“Um, yes, I do have a room.”
“Wonderful. I just got into town. I’m visiting a friend but I refuse to sleep in that lumpy bed of his for one more night. I’ve slept in tents that were more comfortable than that thing he calls a bed.” He flashed that dazzling smile again.
I cast a glance at Annabelle, but she was too focused on Liam. Oh, what the hell. What was one more killer? I’d survived the first night.
I’d halfway expected Annabelle to whack him over the head with the umbrella, but her expression didn’t say ‘I want to hurt him.’ In fact, it said the exact opposite.
“Hello,” she said.
Her voice came out as a purr. I knew that look in her eyes. I saw it every
time she watched a Johnny Depp movie. I couldn’t say that I blamed her. He was an exceedingly handsome man, just like my other unaccounted-for guest.
“Pleased to meet you.” He kissed her hand just as Nicolas had kissed mine. “Who do I owe the pleasure?”
“I’m Annabelle Preston and this is Hallie LaVeau. She owns this place.” She tilted her head in my direction.
At least she’d remembered not to use Halloween.
“What a beautiful name,” he said.
I offered a smile and my hand in the hopes that he’d give it a professional shake, but I got the same kiss too. His mouth left a tingling sensation on my skin. There was no way I could allow him to stay without asking an extremely important question.
“Are you friends with my other guest?”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Your other guest?”
“Yes, his name is Nicolas Marcos. He just checked in last night and I assumed that you know him since my place is a little off the beaten path and neither one of you had reserved a room.”
I sounded ruder than I’d intended, but it was a legitimate question. I offered a smile to counteract my bluntness.
He scowled. “No, the name doesn’t sound familiar. I’m sorry I didn’t make a reservation. It was a last-minute decision, you understand?”
“No reservation is necessary,” I said.
“You say this man just showed up in the middle of the night?” He looked from me to Annabelle and back to me.
I crossed my arms in front of my chest. “That’s right. His car broke down and he had to walk here.”
“That’s odd. I didn’t pass any stranded vehicles on my way over.”
I smiled, trying to hide my suspicion. “You look as if you could be his brother.”
He shrugged. “Well, like I said I don’t know him.”
I didn’t believe Liam Rankin. Not one bit.