Magic & Mayhem

by Susan Conley

  Her lashes fluttered closed. “I need something — a piece of jewelry,” she demanded.

  “Alright.” Abby started to slip off her onyx ring, when the amulet came to mind.

  Without opening her eyes, Sasha ordered, “Give it to me.”

  Abby pulled the pine box from her purse and removed the lid. She noticed the red mark on the gypsy’s upturned palm, much like a burn or brand of some kind before placing the amulet there.

  When Sasha hissed and both eyes flew open, Abby’s breath caught. Identical to her nightmare, she felt the sensation of being slammed back in time then immediately jerked forward into the present.

  Sasha dropped the amber stone onto the table and fisted her hand.

  “Dear God,” Abby whispered.

  When the black candle between them went out, Sasha’s cold blue gaze turned to ice. The gypsy’s voice whooshed from her lungs. “Beware.”

  Abby swore she saw a thin trail of smoke filter through the woman’s clenched fingers. She blinked. The fumes had to have come from the extinguished candle, didn’t they? Her mind screamed that this was not the first time she’d seen this. But that was ridiculous.

  “I’m so sorry.” Still concerned, Abby reached out. “Are you all right?”

  Sasha snatched her hand away then pointed one blood red fingernail. “Never, ever wear that amulet, or you will die.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Abby seized the necklace, trying unsuccessfully to convince herself it did not feel hot to the touch. She’d simply been spooked by this overly theatrical performance. That was all. Barely convinced, she boxed the amulet and tossed it back into her purse, then stood. She heard her own breathless, “Thank you.” Shaky legs nearly failed her as she made her way into the hall. It’s only nonsense and gibberish, she repeated silently. Nothing more. The woman was just damned good, that’s all.

  When the door opened, Jack looked up. “Well?”

  “Vague comments about success and family,” she lied.

  “See, that wasn’t scary, now was it?”

  “I never said I was frightened,” she lied again. “I said I didn’t believe.”

  Who was Abby kidding? The air around them seemed laden with foreboding. Danger? But what on Earth could be dangerous here? Duh. This was Salem, Massachusetts, a few days before Halloween. Some psycho passing herself off as a psychic had practically put a curse on her. Not to mention that ridiculous warning that she would die if she wore the amulet. What the hell was there to fear? Didn’t matter. She wasn’t sticking around to find out.

  “Let’s get out of here.” Abby turned on her heels and headed for the door, and she did not wait for Jack to follow.

  An invigorating walk to the car was exactly the diversion Abby needed to clear her head. As they made their way back, her long legs easily matched the rhythm of Jack’s step. A scattering of rain-dampened leaves crushed beneath their feet, releasing the earthy smell of autumn.

  The day had been surprisingly enjoyable, despite the downpour and the unnerving fortuneteller, and suddenly Abby dreaded for it to end. Amidst the surrounding beauty of the countryside, she needed time to put Sasha’s strong reaction to the amulet and ridiculous warning, not to mention her own growing attraction to Jack Hawthorne, into perspective. As difficult as it was to believe, she was hard-pressed to say which bothered her more. But then her history of involvement with men named Jack or various forms of that name could probably defend her concern.

  Jack pointed out a bright red cab. “Witch City Cab. Appropriate name, don’t you think?”

  Abby shrugged. “I think it’s a clever advertising campaign, but it implies people still believe in witches.”

  “Many of the locals do.” He checked the traffic and grabbed her hand, crossing the street before the light changed. “Haven’t you seen the emblems and signs plastered all over town?”

  She shivered. “That’s what I mean.” Fingers still linked through his, she hiked up her purse strap with her free hand. “The whole strategy is so obviously commercial.”

  “True.” He sidestepped a big, blue mailbox where the postman was making the last pick up of the day. “But don’t get the idea witches are a joke here.”

  “Well, maybe they shouldn’t be,” she insisted, not at all sure where she was going with her comment. “From what I understand, witchcraft is more a worship of nature than anything else. You know, the seasons, the circle of life, stuff like that.” Like the full moon, life is a circle. The fact that her word choice mimicked Sasha’s comment niggled at the fringes of Abby’s mind.

  “Oh, really.” Jack gave her a sideways glance.

  “Besides, you’re just a little too well-versed on Salem,” she insisted, needing but, for whatever reason, not wanting to forget the seer’s words. “I still say you’re probably a tour guide who poses as a lawyer on the side. You know, court for kicks.”

  “Like you, I’m just an avid history buff,” he corrected. “In fact, you’re looking at the newest board member of the Boston Historical Society.”

  “My mistake,” Abby conceded, duly impressed. A gusty breeze ruffled the array of damp leaves covering the ground, and she brushed a wind-blown lock of hair from her cheek before looking up at Jack. Suddenly serious, she couldn’t help asking, “How many witches would you say live in Salem now?”

  “Rumor has it, several thousand.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. Even their police logo, The Witch City, pictures a hag on a broom.”

  Abby shuddered, trying to stifle the vivid images of her nightmare, as well as the pointed warnings of the fortuneteller. “I find that a little perverse.”

  Eager to change the subject, Abby glanced down the quaint street. There was something so welcoming and familiar about it. About the whole town, really. The streets in most cities could be interchangeable, but Salem didn’t feel that way to her. She took a deep breath and really could imagine walking through this village over three hundred years ago on a day just like today with the intoxicating scent of autumn in the air.

  “Earth to Abby.” Jack snapped his fingers.

  Shrugging off his smirk, she pointed to the nearby shops. “These boutiques look interesting. Want to — ”

  “Forget it. I don’t shop.”

  “Well, I do.” She headed straight for Wax ‘N Wane. “Guess I’ll just have to find another tour guide who does.” Ignoring his low, contagious laugh, she walked through the front door without looking back.

  Inexplicably drawn, she perused the rainbow of scented candles and oils. Without a thought about her aversion to fire in general and the fire in particular, she chose quickly. Working her way back to the front of the store, Abby had already carefully selected blue, gold, purple, yellow, and lavender votives.

  “When’s your birthday?” she asked, making her final choice — a pink one.

  “June twenty-first.”

  Abby frowned at the pink candle in her hand and added it to the small wire basket hanging from the crook in her arm. She did not believe in coincidences. “Pink is for your zodiac sign of Cancer,” Abby explained as she paid the clerk. “Your birthday falls on the summer equinox.”

  Jack opened the door for her. “And summer equinox is significant because?” he asked, drawing the word out.

  She shrugged as they fell in step. “No reason, I guess. My birthday is September twenty-first, the day before the autumn equinox that’s known as Mabon — the Harvest Festival.”

  As they worked their way through the throng of tourists, it was Jack’s turn to shrug. “What the hell is a Candlemas?”

  Abby blinked. “I’m not sure.” The information came to mind slow and deliberate like long awaited, late-blooming flowers. She cleared her throat. “Wait a minute, it seems to me it’s the four great feast-days of the Celtic year. I t
hink there’s one during each season.”

  Jack whistled. “Really?”

  “Well, yeah. They were — ” she took a breath “great Sabbats of the witches where they celebrated around a bonfire.”

  “Did your homework on Salem, huh?”

  Abby offered a shaky smile. “Sure did,” she lied, certain she hadn’t, so she must have read about it. Just not recently. Of that she was also certain.

  As they walked down the street Abby still couldn’t shake the feeling of déjà vu. Something about the idea of Salem and bonfires and these houses seemed overwhelmingly familiar. Working their way toward the next intersection, she couldn’t help but notice the residences off to the left. But one tall, cryptic house in particular stopped Abby in her tracks. Its peaks might have resembled steeples, but nothing else about the home felt church-like to her. Obviously several hundred years old, the charcoal color and thick iron fence added to its ominous presence.

  Abby’s sack from Wax ’N Wane rattled as a shiver yanked her to attention.

  “Now there’s a haunted house, if I ever saw one.” Definitely not kidding, she continued, “You’re the tour guide and I know this is Salem, but that place has to be inhabited by some infamous witch.”

  Jack coughed.

  As Abby waited for an explanation, she unclasped her hand from his to instinctively touch the pine box in her purse.

  “A woman by the name of Bridget Bishop lives there.”

  Abby’s heart pounded.

  “The house has been in her family for generations.”

  Abby’s free hand slipped the lid off the pine box in her purse and located the amulet.

  “As a matter of fact, Bridget is a friend of mine.”

  The stone heated in her grasp.

  “So, in a word — no, it’s not haunted.”

  When Abby’s mind screamed, that’s what you think, she filed it away with the fortuneteller’s warning. Believe me when I tell you someone has been waiting for you for a very, very long time. But beware. There will be grave danger if three paths cross.

  She jerked her gaze away from the house. “Which way?”

  “I’m parked over there.” He pointed to the silver B.M.W. convertible. As the light changed, they joined the rest of the tourists and crossed the water-puddled street. Jack held the door open and pointed toward the passenger seat.

  “Next time. One rule,” he told her. “No shopping. Now get in.”

  Abby slid onto the front seat. “Oh, you’ll shop, Hawthorne.”

  She saw Jack laugh as he rounded the car. As he slipped behind the wheel, Abby laid her head back and stretched her legs the full length of the floorboard. In a day filled with unnerving familiarity, the engine hum released an unfamiliar feeling of contentment that could have lulled her to sleep had she not been so disturbingly aware of the man seated beside her.

  She studied Jack’s profile against the still blustery, late afternoon sky. Windblown hair, black as midnight, curled across his forehead. The impact of his disturbingly distinct features stirred something deep inside her. And the more time she spent with him, the more deeply she felt it. Despite her confusion, Abby gave in to the smile tugging at her lips.

  Jack glanced her way. “What’s so amusing?”

  “Nothing.” Abby focused her eyes straight ahead, but even the picturesque streets of Salem proved little distraction.

  “If you say so.”

  Jack drove the last few blocks without saying another word, and as they pulled up in front of Hannah’s Inn, Abby suddenly dreaded the long night ahead.

  “Thanks for a wonderful day.” Turning to face him, she deliberately reached over and laid her hand on his. The jolt was immediate, but she was careful to keep her palm in place. Studying his face, she was certain he felt the same sensation. “All kidding aside, you really are a terrific guide.”

  “My pleasure. How about dinner tomorrow night? I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty.”

  Abby broke their unspoken connection. She grabbed her bag from Wax ‘N Wane and slipped her purse over one shoulder before stepping out of the car. Facing Jack from the curb, she rubbed her tingling palm down one jean-clad thigh and saw the unmistakable recognition in his dark eyes.

  Jack bussed down the passenger-side window.

  “Sure, that’d be great.” As Abby closed the door and watched him drive away, a little black kitten brushed against her leg and gave her a forlorn meow.

  “Hey there, fella.” She reached down and picked up the black ball of fluff. He was small enough to hold in one hand. Gently rubbing his head, Abby cooed, “You’re just a baby. And so skinny. You must be starving.” As she held him close and felt his little body purr softly against her neck, a verse popped into her head.

  “Whenever the cat of the house is black, the lasses of lovers will have no lack,” she recited quietly. “What in God’s name?” Like too many other unexplainable insights today, Abby had no clue how she knew that phrase.

  Overwhelmed by confusion and loneliness, she whispered, “Looks like it’s just you and me tonight. So, here’s the scoop. I’ll get you something to eat, and you keep me company.” She paused as if to listen. “You’ve got yourself a deal — ” the named just popped into her head “ — Shadow.” Abby cautiously looked around the inn and shoved the furry creature in her shopping bag before slipping inside.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Salem, Massachusetts

  1 October

  Year of Our Lord, 1690

  Darkness swirled around Abby much the way a cauldron’s bubbling brew chases a wooden, shirring spoon. The gusty October breeze snatched at her bonnet and whipped the hem of her black cotton skirt. Her petticoats snapped around both ankles as she made her way down the narrow dirt path. Stumbling as she ran, Abby hurried home, glancing frantically behind her as though the devil himself was on her heels. Thunder rumbled in the distance, matching the pounding of her heart.

  Relief, warm and welcome, washed over her as she finally spotted the small, log house. No candles in the window. No smoke curling from the chimney. No one there to greet her, but home nevertheless. Once inside, she fumbled with the door’s heavy wooden beam, wrestling the rough-hewn barrier into place. Not at all eased by the makeshift lock, her breath still heaved as she lit a brass lantern and nervously peered out the window into the night.

  Tall evergreens moaned and swayed, dancing helplessly to the rhythm of the eminent storm. Someone was out there, she had felt the eerie presence all the way home. Still could. As lightning split the sky in the distance, Abby saw the woman. Cape flying. Skirt flapping. Standing atop a hill at the edge of the clearing, her pale face shimmered in the wake of the electrifying bolt. Arms raised, her dark hair billowed around her head like an unholy halo.

  Eyes riveted on the surreal figure, Abby’s free hand instinctively sought the amulet that hung heavy around her neck. The smooth stone pulsed beneath her skin.

  Thunder crashed, rattling the windows.

  Lightning scorched the heavens.

  Blinded by the glare, Abby blinked.

  When she opened her eyes, the woman was gone.

  Abby searched the blackness as the sky opened and rain unmercifully pelted the windowpanes. Heart pounding, she whimpered and backed away, planting her heels against the heavy wooden door. Like a bible to protect against evil, she clutched the necklace. Trembling fingers held fast the stone amidst the menacing gloom. One tiny beacon, shaking but steadfast in a terrifying sea of darkness.

  • • •

  For the second night in a row, Abby sat bolt upright in bed, an unspoken scream still lodged in her throat. Pulse pounding, desperate to get her bearings, her eyes darted wildly. No log cabin or driving storm. No spirits … past or present. No one outside her door.

  As her breathing slowed, the serenity
of Hannah’s Inn bathed in the early morning light further calmed her. The exquisitely lush quilt. The enormous, down-filled pillows. The tiny kitten nestled beside her. Relieved, but not at ease, she laid back down, the amulet still unexplainably cocooned in her grip.

  Shadow stretched himself awake and sidled over to Abby, looking her square in the eye. She scratched behind his ears and heard him purr.

  “Breakfast, you say,” she teased. “Why, yes, we have — ” glancing at the tiny cans lining the dresser, she continued “ — hearty chicken, tuna or salmon in rich gravy.” When his tiny, rough tongue swiped her cheek, she nodded. “Salmon it is.”

  Abby scooped up Shadow and crossed the room. More than pleased by her makeshift litter/shoe box and gourmet cat food assortment, she opened the pop-top can and filled his bowl. A nearby shopkeeper had been more than helpful in supplying her new pal with all his personal kitty needs.

  As the mantle clock struck seven-thirty, Abby nearly jumped out of her skin. Something about the chime struck an odd chord with her. Whether it was the plaintive sound or the essence of time itself, she realized there were twelve long hours to fill until she would see Jack again. What to do, she wondered, with half a day to kill?

  The moment the question entered her mind, Abby felt ridiculous. After all, she was staying in one of the most historic, most sought after tourist sites in the country. This was autumn in New England, for God’s sake, not monsoon season at Swamp Lake. Looking outside, the sun shined brightly and the cloudless sky was late-October blue. A beautiful fall morning surrounded the extraordinary countryside. With literally dozens of places to go and sights to see, why did she feel so uneasy?

  • • •

  Abby had returned from an afternoon of sightseeing, showered and dressed for dinner. Admiring the gorgeous amber stone, Abby was reminded that she had not only flown to Boston to pick up her inheritance, but she had come to contemplate her life. What it had been. What it is now. And what she wanted it to be. Having given it considerable thought, she decided to push aside her aversion to necklaces and wear the amulet. To hell with the stupid fortuneteller and her ridiculous warning.