The White Raven

by Carrie D. Miller

  “I was actually thinking the same about you.” She gives me an exaggerated series of winks when I look back at her.

  “It wouldn’t be cougaring if he’s older than me,” I say matter-of-factly.

  “Honey, you are definitely older than he is.”

  I stare at her confused for a moment and then realize what she means. I wrinkle my nose at her.

  “He was pretty handsome.” Then my face sours. “But that little bastard of a nephew…”

  “Speaking of, how did that happen? How did you not know something had been taken? You are worse than a junkyard dog!”

  “I think that’s what made me so angry. I missed it! I can’t believe that little punk got the better of me.” I sit in the chair next to her, arms tight across my chest. “I wasn’t in the shop at the time, but still! I should have felt something was missing.”

  “Well, you really are overwhelmed right now. I mean with getting the shop ready, all the delayed shipments, planning the grand opening bash, that tiff you had with little Miss Perfect Pants last week, and now the business with that Stiles girl. Goddess knows what you had to do to get that rooftop terrace set up. And, truth be told, I think the bottle you keep everything stuffed into leaks from time to time. Oh, yeah, and the fact you haven’t been laid in how long?”

  My cheeks bloom red. “Shut up!”

  I’d forgotten about Miss Perfect Pants, as we fondly refer to the “new age” store owner a few blocks away. Mandy has disliked me from the instant I introduced myself a few months ago. Jealousy is never so ugly as when it’s worn like a second skin. She bills herself as a “medium” and specializes in channeling departed loved ones. She does a wonderful display of carefully placed lights, a bit of manufactured smoke, some strategic aromatherapy, and a performance worthy of an Oscar. After she snidely insulted me on our second encounter, I told her as much in front of a store full of people. She actually lunged at me and attempted to claw my face with her stiletto nails. I grabbed her wrist in mid swing. Mandy’s display was overly dramatic which I’m sure was orchestrated to show how unjust my comments were. I left her store with her spewing obscenities at me.

  That night, she had a terrible case of itching scalp. I do love my petty revenges. It’s taken me many lifetimes to embrace the fact that I can, and should, defend myself or retaliate when it’s called for. Though I seem to be pettier in this life than ever before. Then again, this age is full of deserving assholes.

  7

  “No, don’t put the big one in the front. Somebody is bound to knock it off with an elbow or something,” Jo directs Sylvia as they rearrange the crystal ball collection.

  Even though Jo has her own business, which is by appointment only, she spends a great deal of time helping me. I don’t mind in the slightest. In fact, I love having her around and can’t imagine her not being a part of this. I’ve come to consider her a sister and, sometimes, a mother. Her easy way and positive attitude make her company a joy.

  Sylvia huffs. “But it’s so cool looking. You can’t see it behind the others.” Her hands tremble under her mother’s scrutiny. The large quartz sphere slips from her fingers as she places it on the stand. Both ladies shriek and grab for it before it hits the floor.

  “See! Clumsy girl,” Jo snaps, reaching to take the ball from Sylvia who tucks it into her belly.

  “It’s not me! You are making me nervous. Go away!”

  Jo gives her daughter a snide look. “You break it, you bought it.” She turns away, nose in the air, not seeing Sylvia’s tongue jutting out at her.

  I shake my head at them and go back to the shop’s kitchen. It’s funny to watch Jo and Sylvia, who is ridiculously like her mother, spar during the smallest of tasks.

  The front door bells peal through the shop. With my Sight, I see Cal, much to my surprise. I dart to the microwave to check my reflection and run my hands through my hair, tucking the wayward sides behind my ears. Good enough.

  “Hello again, ladies!” Cal’s booming voice is much more amiable than before. Wondering why he’s back, a twinge of irritation flares up at the thought that his nephew took something else and he’s come back to return it. I push that aside; I’ve checked everything twice and all is accounted for.

  Sylvia has moved into the library and pretends to be busy arranging books, ignoring Cal’s entrance. I sense that she’s still embarrassed, but she’s a strong girl and the events of yesterday will be forgotten in a few days’ time. I feel a twinge of envy at Sylvia’s ability to forget and move on.

  Jo and Cal are laughing at something funny Cal has said, and she playfully smacks his arm. He locks eyes with me as I come around the corner and his cheeks flush slightly pink; he stammers and takes a step back from Jo. Jo tries not to snicker and turns towards a display cabinet, covering her smile with her hand. His reaction to seeing me again makes my stomach flutter in the most pleasant way.

  “Welcome back, Mr. Jacobs.” I smile sweetly. “I hope your return doesn’t mean that something else was pilfered.” I eye him with playful suspicion.

  His eyes widen. “Oh! No, no,” he says with his hands up in surrender. “Nothing like that at all. I was on my way to a job and thought I’d swing by real quick to apologize again.”

  “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Jacobs.” I’m trying to be formal, yet Jo is distracting me with her infectious smirks.

  “Please,” he says, taking a few steps forward, “call me Cal.” Only the counter separates us now. The intensity of his gaze makes my cheeks warm.

  “All right, Cal.” I have to look away.

  Ask him if he wants a tour of the shop, Jo thinks at me.

  “Excellent idea,” I blurt out. Jo snorts laughter and Cal looks at me confused.

  “Sorry.” I wave my comment away, laughing at myself. “Would you care for a tour of the shop? Do you have time?”

  He looks at his wrist to check the time on his nonexistent watch. “I’m pretty sure I do.”

  “Great! Well, let’s start back here.” I gesture for him to follow me down the hall to my reading room. I mostly want to get away from the many faces of Josephine Riddle.

  I sense Cal’s eyes watching me as I walk. My body tingles under his gaze. I remember I’m wearing old yoga pants that have seen better days. My top is an even older plain T-shirt that used to be dark red but is now a sickly pink. Cal, however, is nicely dressed in pressed khakis and a deep purple button-down shirt, which fits nicely across his chest. Purple looks very good on him.

  Oh hell, did I put deodorant on this morning?

  Jo bursts into laughter in the front room.

  Get out of my head, lady! I snap back at her.

  Well, then, shut your damn mind off and I will! She is still laughing.

  Okay, so that was my fault. I was still “broadcasting” as Jo likes to call it.

  The door opens at my approach, and I invite him to enter first. He smells of bergamot and sandalwood again—the aroma is much stronger than before, though not overpoweringly so. I inhale deeply after he’s walked past.

  Once in the room, I begin to close the door out of habit, then I stop myself. I am feeling very awkward right now. Damn that Jo. If she hadn’t been giving me her damn smirks or reminded me how long it’s been since I’ve had sex, I’d be much less self-conscious right now. And if I wasn’t dressed like I’m prepping for a garage sale.

  “Well, this is my reading room,” I say, fanning my hands out.

  Cal looks around. “Reading room? I don’t see any books.”

  Is he playing with me? I can’t tell. I laugh anyway. “No, not book reading. I read people. I tell them about their lives, their future, or their loved ones, or answer whatever they ask really.”

  “So, you’re a fortune teller?” He looks dubious.

  “I don’t care for that phrase, but I suppose what I do could be construed as telling someone’s fortune.” Feeling naked in front of him, I cross my arms over my chest then let them fall back to my sides. I clasp my hands in
front of me, trying to stop fidgeting under his scrutiny.

  He nods and puts his hands in his front pockets. Walking slowly around the room, he peers at the various curios and wall hangings. He seems to be stalling, or maybe he’s as nervous as I am. I find him difficult to read and resist the temptation to peek into his mind.

  He gazes up at the painting above the fireplace and then looks back at me.

  “That lady looks a little like you.”

  “Yeah, a little. My hair used to be that long.” I self-consciously reach for my hair and secure an errant tress back behind my ear.

  He nods again as he surveys the rest of the room. His eyes fall upon the large black drape on the wall across from the fireplace.

  “What’s that?” He takes a few steps towards it. No one is immune from the appeal of its mystery.

  “A portal to the Spirit world,” I say with a deadpan face.

  His laugh fills the small room. “Right!”

  “Okay, so, next room.” I exit quickly and wait for him in the hallway.

  Back in the front part of the shop, Jo and Sylvia are thankfully out of sight. I don’t look to see where they’ve gone.

  Spanning my hands out, I introduce the room he’s already been in.

  “This is the main section of the shop. After I bought the house, I had the walls removed from the entryway, parlor, and living room to make this area. Knocked out the wall up there so I could have a balcony.” He is nodding approvingly as he looks around the cavernous space.

  I tour him through the different displays and shelves. “This section is candles and incense, then here are the personal care products. Crystal balls and other divination items are there. Over here is jewelry—some I’ve made myself.” He is standing by the case that holds the pendant his nephew nicked and points to it with an impressed expression. “No, not the Eye of Horus pendant. I found that in Egypt years ago.” I continue, pointing at the different sections and describing each. He is nodding and peering as we walk past, obviously unfamiliar with the majority of what I’m pointing to, but making a good effort to show interest. Then I make my way to the room to the left of the front door.

  “And here’s the library.” I love this room. Shelves of dark hand-hewed wood line each wall except for the one with the bay window, which holds a wide window seat, complete with cushions and a cat sleeping in the sunlight.

  “That’s Arial. Great mouser and napper extraordinaire. She’s for sale, too. Cheap.”

  “Ha!” Cal laughs at the sudden sales pitch. “I don’t think I need any cats today, but thanks.” Arial pays us no attention, not even an ear twitch when she hears me offer to sell her to a perfect stranger.

  Cal turns to inspect the bookshelves and jumps at the sight of a big, white dog. “Oh, wow! Pretty dog. Didn’t see her there before. Is she friendly?” He steps towards her and she saunters away, going behind the couch.

  “Oh, yes, Maggie’s friendly but a bit aloof sometimes.”

  “Gorgeous.”

  Maggie turns back to him and fans her tail, clearly appreciating his compliment.

  The bay window provides an unobstructed view of the waterfall fountain in the front yard. I have sat there many hours, mesmerized by the movement of the rippling water. I’ve caught Sylvia doing the same but usually with lazy Arial asleep in her lap. The middle of the room holds an antique couch upholstered in dark red velvet and a red and gold high-backed chair where customers can sit and read if they wish. From the shop’s kitchen, I’ll provide tea, coffee, and pastries for those lingering shoppers. I offer him something.

  “Thank you, no. I can’t do caffeine after noon. Keeps me awake.” He’s pretending to be interested in the books, picking a few up and reading the backs.

  “I do have decaf.” Talking about my shop has relaxed me somewhat, but I can tell he’s humoring me.

  “I’m good, thanks.” He turns and walks towards the doorway. I move aside quickly to get out of his way. He fumbles past me, careful not to come into contact with me.

  “So, when did you open?” he asks, standing by the front door, looking antsy.

  “Not officially until October 31st. We’re having a big Halloween party as the grand opening—more of a promotional thing, really. Unofficially, we opened earlier this month for just a couple of days a week. I won’t start advertising until after the grand opening. I want to get used to all of this before the masses come. I hope come, anyway. We get the occasional tourist, but more locals than anyone else.” I could keep gushing but stop myself. He’s looking pretty disinterested.

  I put a big fake smile on my face. “So, um, thanks for coming by. Apology accepted on the nephew thing. It’s all good.” Speaking fast, I open the front door, wanting to usher him out quickly to relieve his agony.

  “Oh, uh, okay.” He seems surprised at my sudden change in attitude. “Sorry to keep you,” he mumbles as he walks out the door.

  “You weren’t keeping me,” I say quickly, not wanting him to leave. “You just seemed really eager to go.”

  “I did?” He looks embarrassed now. “I didn’t mean to. I just don’t get any of this stuff.”

  I smile at his awkwardness. “There’s nothing you need to ‘get.’ Not everyone believes in magick or divination, and that’s okay. To each his own, as they say.”

  “Right.” He’s standing on the porch looking around, hands back in his front pockets.

  I come out and wave my hands around grandly. “This is the porch.”

  He lets out a hearty laugh. Several bistro tables dot the long porch. Customers are welcome to sit and enjoy the front garden and the occasional fairy that comes by.

  I didn’t realize how much I’d been sweating until a breeze wafts through my thin clothing and chills me. I pray he doesn’t see how cold I’ve gotten. The bra I have on does nothing for coverage. Oh gosh, he’s noticed. I catch him looking down at my chest, and he grins as he turns away to survey the front yard.

  “So, uh, you live here too?” He doesn’t face me when he speaks. Movement at the end of the porch has caught his eye. He may have spotted something flying around the New England aster bush. The fairies do love their purple blooms. More than once I’ve caught them plucking the flowers and donning them as hats and skirts. Fairies can be quite hilarious when they’re drunk. Just don’t laugh at them—you’ll regret it. Sylvia knows this firsthand.

  “Yes. Upstairs.” I cross my arms over my chest.

  “Cool.”

  Quick! Ask him out before he leaves! Jo’s thick Boston accent assaults me out of the blue. Where the hell is she? I don’t look around.

  “Listen,” I say, looking at his feet. “I’ve found a cute little local bar not far if you want to grab a drink…with me.” I’m lying. I have no idea where the nearest bar is. “You know, just like, whenever.” I sound like a teenager—I feel like one too.

  “Yeah, sure, that’d be cool.” Teenager number two joins the conversation. He starts down the steps. He’s almost to the gate when he turns. “I’ll give you a call.”

  “Sure,” is all I can get out of my mouth, and I extend my hand in a thumbs up. I mentally smack myself in the forehead for doing such a stupid gesture.

  I watch him walk casually down the sidewalk—he’s trying to make it appear casual, anyway—with his hands behind his back, checking out the surroundings.

  Childish titters come from the aster. I stop myself from telling them to shut up. You don’t tell fairies to shut up. I eyeball the bush a moment and lower my head in shame. A fresh round of tittering follows me into the store.

  “Well, that was just sad.” Jo is standing behind the counter, shaking her head.

  “Shut. Up.” I drag my bruised ego into the shop’s kitchen for something alcoholic.

  “Oh my gawd, that was so painful.” Jo follows me into the kitchen.

  “Didn’t you hear me tell you to shut up?” I rummage around in the freezer for ice. Damn it, I forgot to turn the ice maker back on after it overflowed. Magic
k ice it is.

  “Well, if it helps, he was just was uncomfortable as you were.”

  “I sure hope so.” I slump into a chair, drink in hand.

  We both hear heavy footfalls coming up the steps and give each other questioning looks.

  “Aven?” Cal’s voice carries into the kitchen as he opens the front door. Jo’s eyes go big. She grabs the drink from my hand and shoos me out of the chair.

  Wide-eyed, I step out of the kitchen. “Hello. Forget something?”

  “Yeah, I did.” He laughs at himself and pushes his hands into his pockets again. “I don’t have your number, so I can’t call you—so I’m back.”

  I don’t hide my grin.

  “How about Saturday? Drink at Phil’s around eight?”

  “Sure. Sounds good.” Where the hell is Phil’s?

  “Is that Phil Spicker’s place on Webb?” Jo pops out from the kitchen. Cal nods. “I know Phil. He and I go way back. He makes some killer fries.” She pats her ample belly and returns to the kitchen.

  “See you then.” He nods at me and is out the door in less than a heartbeat. I can just see his hands come up to cover his face. My grin gets bigger.

  I turn to Jo and gape at her. I’d already written him off as yet another guy scared away by the barest hint of magick—or perhaps by the Garage Sale Queen look.

  Jo takes a sip of my gin and tonic. Her face puckers. “How can you drink this nasty stuff?”

  8

  Josephine Riddle sits on the floor in her cozy parlor amidst a scattering of colorful and bejeweled pillows. This is her sacred space—the place she uses when casting spells, for meditations and vision walking, or anything else that requires quiet and focus. Living in a small house with a teenaged daughter is often a challenge in the quiet department, but when Jo is in her sacred space, quiet is the law. That is one of the few house rules Sylvia actually obeys.