by Deanna Chase
Magic in the form of white light curled around the wooden spoon and seeped into the potion. It immediately turned sunset orange, exactly as she’d intended. Abby grinned, relief rushing through her. She’d done it.
She reached for an empty plastic bottle, but before she could transfer the potion to the bottle, it suddenly curdled and turned a sickly green color. “What the…”
She lifted the mixture and sniffed. “Oh, no. Gross.”
Frustrated, she poured the entire mixture down the drain. Once the copper pot was scrubbed, she set her shoulders and tried again.
Two hours and four batches later, Abby was low on ingredients and completely out of patience. Every single time, no matter if she changed equipment or the timing, the potion turned the same putrid green and smelled like the inside of a used sneaker.
“What am I doing wrong?” she yelled and threw the wooden spoon across the shed. It clattered to the ground, bounced twice, and stilled. Abby scowled. It was as if the wooden spoon was mocking her, just lying there innocuously as if it had done nothing wrong.
A knock sounded on the door, followed by Clay’s worried voice. “Abby? Are you okay in there?”
She flung the door open. “No. I’m not okay. I’m not even close to okay.” All the emotion she’d been holding back while trying to make a potion she hadn’t made for ten years came rushing to the surface. She turned, retreated to the counter, and slumped forward, holding her head in her hands. “My magic is broken. I rejected it, so it rejected me!”
Clay stepped through the door and quietly made his way to the work station. Peeking into the copper pan, he grimaced and said, “What happened?”
Abby dropped her hands and stared blankly at the wall. “I have no idea.”
“What were you trying to make?”
She turned, her eyes pinched with pain. “A potion to help with my dad’s nausea.”
“Oh.” The word came out in a whisper.
There was no need for Abby to explain what a big deal it was that she was even trying such a thing. He’d been there ten years ago when everything had gone sideways when she’d been trying to help Charlotte.
Clay straightened his shoulders and said, “The only way to figure this out is to walk through it step by step.”
“I already did that,” she said stubbornly.
“With a second set of eyes? Have you let anyone analyze what might be going wrong?”
“No.”
He gave her a mildly impatient look. “Come on, Abs. You know as well as I do that sometimes we’re too close to a potion or recipe to see where things are going wrong. Let me shadow you while you try one more batch.”
“It’s no use. Obviously healing potions aren’t my calling. That was made crystal clear ten years ago.” She stared at him, practically daring him to challenge her.
He crossed his arms over his chest, studying her as if he was trying to decide if it was worth it to argue.
“Bring it on, Garrison. Everyone else has weighed in. Why not you?” She was itching for a fight and needed to vent her frustration. And even though she knew he didn’t deserve her wrath, he was the one who was directly in her path. “Spit it out.”
He let out a small snort of derision. “You don’t want to hear what I have to say.”
“Really?” she asked, irritated at his less-than-supportive attitude. “Try me. Go on. I’m waiting.”
“If you’re sure…”
“I’m sure, dammit,” she yelled, her fists balled at her side as she let go of the last bits of her control. “What is it you’ve been holding back for the last ten years? Tell me exactly what you think of me. How I hurt you and everyone around me and… and…” A sob clogged her throat and she couldn’t get out the words that she’d been holding in for as long as she could remember.
Clay took a step forward and wrapped Abby in his arms. She stiffened, holding her arms together in front of her chest as a sort of shield from his love and support. But that didn’t stop her from resting her head on his shoulder as her body was racked by silent sobs.
“Shh, Abby. It wasn’t your fault.” He stroked her long blond hair, whispering over and over again. “Charlotte was sick. Very sick. You have to stop doing this to yourself.”
She shook her head almost violently. “The potion should’ve made her stronger. Instead, it put her in a coma and the next thing I knew…” She didn’t finish the sentence. She couldn’t. The images were there, right in the forefront of her mind. Her best friend, who’d been counting on her, was gone.
“You have to find a way to let this go, Abby,” he said gently. “Charlotte wouldn’t want you to hold on to this for forever.”
She knew he was right and had told herself the same thing a million times before. But being back in Keating Hollow and trying to process her dad’s illness, it was too much. And now that she couldn’t even make a simple potion that had been second nature all those years ago, she just felt broken. “I know,” she finally said, pulling away and wiping her eyes. “It’s just that with my dad’s diagnosis and not being able to get this damn potion right, I can’t seem to keep myself together.”
He glanced in the pan again. “How about we try it together? Let me see if I can help.”
She hesitated, not sure she could focus after her outburst.
“Come on, Abs. Who better than another earth witch to evaluate your witchin’ skills?” He grinned at her and raised his eyebrows in challenge.
That cocky, playful look on his face reminded her of simpler days when life hadn’t yet dealt them a plateful of heartache and disappointment, when they’d pushed each other to learn to be better, more skilled witches. It was the memory of their innocence and optimism more than anything else that prompted her to say, “Okay, Garrison. But I’m warning you now. I’ve tried everything I can think of, so you’ve got your work cut out for you.”
His grin widened. “Bring it on, Townsend.”
Abby went through each of the steps just as she had before, while Clay stood off to the side observing. He was so quiet and she was concentrating so hard that she completely forgot he was there when she finally tapped her magic again and said, “From bone to earth and earth to bone, may this healing potion be the center stone.”
The magic behaved just as she expected it to, and once again when she was done, the liquid turned putrid green. She threw up her hands and turned to Clay. “I can’t keep doing this. Either the ingredients are bad or my power is tainted.”
“I don’t think it’s the ingredients,” he said.
“Great. So it is me. I knew it.” She started collecting the various utensils and shoved them into the pot. Her movements were agitated, and because she was afraid she’d start crying again, she added, “You probably need to get going. I don’t want to keep you.”
“I don’t have anywhere to be.” Clay took the copper pan and rinsed the failed potion down the drain. “There’s no rush to get home. Olive is still with her friends.”
Abby grabbed a clean towel and her all-natural citrus cleaner and went to work wiping down the counter. “Okay, but you certainly don’t need to be doing my dishes. Go on, Clay. Go have a beer or something. I’m sure hanging out with your crazy ex wasn’t exactly on your to-do list.”
He chuckled. “You just let me handle what’s on my to-do list. In the meantime, let’s talk about why your execution keeps falling short when it comes to that potion.”
“Because my magic is cursed?” she asked flippantly.
Clay finished washing the copper pan and set it aside before turning to face her. “No, Abby, it’s not cursed at all. But I do think you’re either holding back or your magic is blocked.”
She shook her head, frustrated with his conclusion. “Neither of those things are true. I’m putting everything I have into this, and my magic is there, it’s just not cooperating on this spell. I can still make my soaps and lotions without any issues.”
“Soaps and lotions that require far less skill and precisio
n,” he said as if she wasn’t already aware her skincare products used minimal power.
“So?”
“You don’t need everything you’ve got to make those. But for a healing potion? It’s a different story. And if you ask me, the power you were giving off… pretty weak, to be honest. Next time, dig deeper. This isn’t a time to be cautious.”
“I was digging deep,” she mumbled. “All it got me was a pukey sludge.”
He finished the dishes and turned around, watching her as she packed up her potion-making tools. When she was finally done and just standing there, unsure of what to do with herself, he said, “I think you should talk to someone about what happened.”
Her face burned with heat, and everything in her shut down. “I’m not going down this road again, Clay. Thanks for the help, but we’re done here.” He opened his mouth to say something, but she reached for the door and swept her arm out, indicating it was time for him to leave. “I don’t want to talk about this. Good night, Clay.”
He stood there staring at her for a few beats, but then he finally nodded. “I’m going. But first, promise me you’ll look into ways to unblock your gift?”
Abby shook her head. “I don’t think so, Clay. It’s… it never works.”
“If there was something that might work, would you try it?”
She hesitated. It was a good question. Everything about her magic was a rough road to travel. Memories, disappointments, heartache. She really didn’t want to relive any of it, but for her dad, she’d do what she had to do. “Yeah, I guess I would.”
“I’m going to hold you to that,” he said, his lips splitting into a pleased smile as he pointed a finger at her. “Don’t think I won’t.”
“Oh, no chance of that,” Abby said and all but shoved him out of the shed. Once he was gone, she gathered her things and tapped out a text to Noel.
I tried. Many times. All of the batches failed. I’m sorry.
Chapter 15
The lunch rush had just died down when Clay made his way into his office. He’d already spent far too much time behind the bar that week, more than usual. He’d told Rhys it was because Sadie was still out nursing her wounds. She’d ended up with two deep gashes that had needed more stitches than he could count, and she was under strict orders to not lift anything over a couple pounds until the flesh started to heal.
But filling in for Sadie hadn’t been the only reason he’d spent more time in the pub. If he was honest, it hadn’t even been the main reason. The other servers, along with Rhys, were more than capable of picking up the slack. But every time Clay holed up in his office, he found himself itching to get back out into the restaurant where he spent the majority of his time staring at the front doors and waiting for a certain blonde to walk back into the pub.
Of course, she hadn’t. He hadn’t seen her since she’d tossed him out of the brew shed a few nights ago. She hadn’t even shown up to make more of her soaps and lotions, at least not while he’d been around. Her absence was driving him insane. Now that he knew she no longer had a significant other, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. When he’d had his arms around her, he’d felt things he hadn’t felt in a very long time. He wanted to protect her, be there for her, love her.
“Stop,” he muttered to himself and focused on the notes he’d written for his current beer recipe. He wrote Winter Brew Holiday Ale on the top of the sheet and went to work on calculating the ingredient conversions for a large batch.
“Clay?” Rhys said, after a short knock on his opened door. “Don’t mean to interrupt, but there’s someone here to see you.”
Abby. But even as he dropped the pen and stood, he knew his assessment was wrong. If Abby was there and wanted to see him, Rhys would’ve just sent her back, and he certainly wouldn’t have referred to her as ‘someone.’
“Who is it?” Clay asked, following Rhys into the front of the house.
“No idea. But she’s pretty enough.” His assistant flashed him an appreciative smile. “Why does it seem like you’ve put a spell on all the hotties in town? Do you spike their brew or something?”
“Or something,” Clay said truthfully. He actually did spell the beer… or at least the ingredients. But as far as he could tell, his efforts had never resulted in a love spell, thank the gods. “It’s probably more my sparkling personality.”
Rhys snorted his reply and pointed to a woman at the end of the bar. She was wearing a formfitting suit and had her hair swept up in a fancy twist. Gold cuffs encircled one wrist and a matching pendant was displayed just above her cleavage.
Expensive was the word that came to mind when Clay assessed her. Vender? Sales rep? Marketing exec trying to get a piece of the Keating Hollow Brewery money train? It didn’t matter. He was the one in charge, and he was the one who had to deal with her.
Clay made his way over to the woman and placed his hands on the bar. “What can I do for you today?”
She looked him up and down as if assessing him then said, “Clayton Garrison?”
“Yes.”
She reached into her messenger bag and pulled out an envelope. “You’ve been served. Have a nice day.”
Clay clutched the envelope, staring after her as she breezed out of the bar. Then the anger set in. There was only one person who’d be suing him. Gritting his teeth, he tore the envelope open and cursed when he read the notice.
Val was suing for custody.
The sounds of the chatter and din in the restaurant faded away around him, and all he heard was the crinkle of paper as his fist closed around the notice. She’d threatened to sue for custody, but he hadn’t quite believed her. He’d thought maybe she was bluffing just to get him to relent and let her take Olive back to Southern California for some acting career his little girl didn’t even want.
Everything in him tensed, and anger coiled in his gut, quickly coursing through his veins until he was practically vibrating with the toxic emotion.
“Boss?” Rhys asked. “You all right?”
“No.” Clay turned hard eyes on his assistant. “I have to go take care of something. Can you manage here without me for the rest of the afternoon?”
“Sure. Not a problem. What’s wrong?”
Clay carefully folded the crumbled notice and put it back into the envelope. Then he answered with one word. “Val.”
Clay walked into the office of Lorna White and glanced around at the cozy atmosphere. Overstuffed, cream-colored chairs filled the space near the front window. A matching loveseat sat in front of the crackling fireplace.
“Clay, hello,” Paige, Lorna’s daughter, said as she stood and walked over to him. “Mom was wondering when you’d finally come visit us.”
“She was expecting me?” he asked, wondering if Yvette had said something to her.
Paige brushed a lock of her black hair out of her eyes and shrugged one shoulder. “She’s met Val. No one expected you to get out of the marriage without some sort of battle.”
He let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, I got out of the marriage. But now we have custody issues.”
“Oh, Clay, I’m sorry to hear it,” she said, concern and sympathy radiating in her tone.
“Thanks,” he said. “Is Lorna free?”
She held up one finger. “Give me just a minute.”
As Paige disappeared into her mother’s office, Clay took a seat in one of the overstuffed chairs. The office was unlike anything he’d expect from a lawyer’s office. There wasn’t anything sterile about the place, and if he didn’t know better, he’d think Lorna White was an interior decorator or event planner. The atmosphere was just too comfortable.
“Mr. Garrison.” Lorna strode out of her office and took a seat in the chair next to him. “I can’t say it’s good to see you. Not under these circumstances, anyway.”
Clay offered his hand, and she clasped it in both of hers. “I have to admit, I would be happier if this was a just a social call, Lorna.” He handed her the subpoena for the custody hear
ing. “She’s suing for full custody.”
Lorna grimaced. “Playing hardball, is she?”
“It’s the only way she knows how to play.”
She nodded her understanding. “How’s that pretty little girl of yours doing with all of this?”
He shook his head. “She doesn’t know yet. But Val has been trying to force her into acting. Olive isn’t into it, but she’s been going along to please her mother.”
“Acting? Wow. That’s a lot for an eight-year-old. How do you feel about it?”
Clay shook his head. “To be honest, Lorna, I hate it. And I fear Val thinks that if she can book work for Olive that it will somehow further her own career.”
“Do you have any evidence of that?”
“No.” Clay sighed. “Only a couple of things Olive told me about her mother trying to book them jobs together.”
“Okay.” She flipped open a notebook and jotted down a couple of notes. “I assume you’re here for representation?”
“Yes, but…” Clay grimaced.
“What is it, Clay?” Lorna studied him, her head tilted to the side.
He blew out a breath. “I don’t have a lot of cash on hand. Between shuffling Olive back and forth from here to Los Angeles and supporting Val, things are a little tight.”
She waved a hand. “Let’s not worry about that now. It’s more important that we keep your girl here in Keating Hollow.”
“But, I don’t know I’m going to pay—”
“We’ll work something out, Clay. Please, don’t worry about it.”
Clay rolled his shoulders easing some of his tension. “Okay. I’ll make payments, as much as I can. Do you need a retainer?”
She shook her head and stood. “Let’s go into my office. We can go over everything I need to know.”