Mountains, Mystery, and Magic

by Samantha Eden

  “By ‘not much’, do you mean ‘absolutely nothing’?” Charlotte scoffed. “I’d doubt it if the daily special at The Lunch Pale has even changed since you left.” Charlotte quirked an eyebrow upward, always a sure sign of trouble. “In fact . . .” She jerked the wheel hard to the right. The car went skidding, squealing as it took Main Street and sputtered to a stop in the parking lot of The Lunch Pale.

  “Seriously, Charlotte?!” I yelled, slapping my thighs. “Your car is a death trap as it is. You’re gonna send us into the next life pulling stunts like that. And what for?” I asked, pointing out to the old diner. “For a greasy cheeseburger?”

  “No,” she balked. “For the best greasy cheeseburger in all the Smokies.” She grinned at me. “Or have you forgotten the fingerlickin’ awesomeness that is The Lunch Pale’s Bacon Double?”

  I had, in fact, not forgotten about the awesomeness. The awesomeness, as it was, stood stalwart in my mind. It was so strong, in fact, that I found my mouth watering just thinking about it.

  “I should really go see Grandma Winnie first,” I said weakly.

  “Can Grandma Winnie offer you two slabs of delicious bacon, melted cheddar cheese, and a sumptuous secret sauce that is almost certainly Thousand Island dressing mixed with a little ketchup? Because I don’t think she can,” Charlotte said.

  “She cannot,” I admitted, looking inside the restaurant. “You truly are the devil on my shoulder, Charlotte,” I said.

  “Everyone’s gotta have one, Cuz,” she answered. “Is that a ‘yes’?”

  I rolled down the window, just enough to let the glorious scent of the burger fill my nostrils. It was the smell of perfection.

  “It’s definitely a yes,” I said, but Charlotte was already out before I’d even gotten a chance to look back over at her.

  3

  Twenty-five minutes and the best burger in all the Smokies later, I was sitting with my cousin, dragging French fries across what was left of the ketchup on my plate and trying to remember the last time things felt this uncomplicated.

  When I left home, it was because I figured I needed a fresh start. My mother had just died, and the idea of staying around the family homestead, around the halls, hills, and hollers that reminded me so much of her, was way too much for a witch like me to take. What I found in Chicago was both good and bad. The hustle and bustle of the city was unlike anything I’d ever found in Spell Creek Mountain, a town that was as sleepy as it was tinged with magic. It irked me at first, keeping me awake at night and all tensed up during the day. Pretty soon, though, I found the noise of the honking horns and the passing cars soothing. I mean, sure, there were no babbling brooks or mountain breezes, but city noises had their charms.

  Sitting here, though, across from someone I loved in a place I adored, I realized how much I had been lying to myself. Whether I was here or not, whether I was about to shove one of the most delicious artery-clogging confections on the planet into my mouth or not, Spell Creek Mountain was a part of me and it always would be. I could sooner change my eye color than that. Though, come to think of it, there’s a pretty simple spell to change a person’s eye color. So, maybe forget I said that.

  “Saints and angels!” I heard a familiar and instantly irritating voice chime out from behind the counter of The Lunch Pale. “Izzy Lockheart, as I live and breathe!”

  “Oh, no,” I said quickly, my eyes widening, even though I didn’t look over at the short, pudgy, overly-excited source of the noise. “Do you think that, if I don’t look at her, she won’t see me?”

  “What? Are you an ostrich?” Charlotte asked, crinkling her brow at me. “Face the music, Cuz. You’re back in town, and that means you get the highs—deluxe double bacon burgers—and the lows.” She jutted a thumb in the direction of the woman who’d just spotted me.

  “But the lows are so low,” I lamented.

  “Well, we don’t live on a mountain for nothing,” Charlotte mused.

  “Izzy Lockheart!” The shrill, high-pitched voice of Fallon Fulcrum shrieked, settling in front of me at the booth I shared with Charlotte. “I am just taken off my feet to see you here. Taken off my feet, I tell you.” I looked over at the woman, plastering on the kind of polite, fake smile you only learn by growing up in the South, a place where your enemies are every bit as sweet as your iced tea and you’re expected to return the favor. Not that Fallon and I were enemies. That was too strong a word. What we were, what we had been since that day in seventh grade when she found out that the love letter she’d intercepted from Scott Grimes with the heart on it and the invitation to play video games with him in his mom’s basement after school was actually meant for me, was acquaintances who didn’t much care for each other. If you’re wondering why people who so obviously don’t like each other are spending so much time pretending to be nice, I’m going to guess that you are somewhere above the Mason-Dixon line. To you, I say, sit back and watch how it’s done Dixie-style.

  “Well, we can’t have that. Now, can we?” I asked, tilting my head to the side and stretching my smile so wide I wondered if my whole face was going to come apart. “Why don’t you take a load off?” I patted the place next to me on the bench, silently hoping she wouldn’t take me up on my offer.

  “Oh, aren’t you sweet to ask?” she said, giving me a faux pout that was about as real as those Press-On nails she was flaunting. “I would if I could, but some of us actually have to work for a living.” She pointed to the name tag on her chest, grinning at me. “Not all of us were born into the great Lockheart estate.”

  By ‘the great Lockheart estate’, Fallon meant three acres of land that sat at the highest habitable point of Spell Creek Mountain and the house and surrounding outer buildings that my great-great-grandfather built with his bare hands—well, his bare hands and a few shortcuts from my great-great-grandmother’s famous spell book—when the town was settled, properties that were now put to use as part of ‘Lockheart’s Bed and Breakfast’, the business my grandmother used to keep herself afloat, monetarily speaking.

  “Now, Fallon, we all have jobs,” Charlotte said, glaring at me and rolling her eyes. “Why, Izzy here is head chef at one of the top restaurants in Chicago.”

  I blushed and squirmed a little in my seat.

  “That’s not what I heard,” Fallon said, her lips tightening into a peculiar little circle. “I heard she got canned after one too many bad reviews.”

  My cheeks went red and my temper flared up every bit as high as one of these mountain peaks. “Oh, that is not what happened, Fallon Fulcrum. I quit on my own, thank you very much. My food has never earned anything other than stellar reviews, and anyone who tells you differently is lying to you.” I muttered under my breath. “Probably the same person who told you those nails looked nice.”

  But not everyone was as interested in the way Fallon delivered the news as in the news itself. “You quit your job?” Charlotte asked, straightening up a little in her seat. “Why would you do that? Does Grandma Winnie know?”

  “Oh, no!” Fallon chimed, putting her hand where her heart would have been if she hadn’t been such a horrible, heartless creature. And people say witches are bad news. “Did I let something slip that I shouldn’t have? Why, you know I would never want to speak out of turn, especially to someone who means as much to me as you have for all these years, Izzy.”

  I blinked at Charlotte, shooting Fallon a nasty glance. “I’m sure,” I said through clenched teeth. “You know what, Fallon, since you’re so keen on your job, why don’t you go back into the kitchen and check on our burgers?” I glared at her. “And don’t forget the hairnet, honey.”

  She looked at me for a second too long, which was Southern for ‘I know what you’re doing, and I don’t like it.’ Then, she smiled at me, nodded, and chirped, “Well, I most certainly will. I’ll put an extra slice of cheese on it for you too.” She looked me up and down. “You know, since you’ve obviously been indulging yourself up in Chicago. Wouldn’t want you to feel like
you’re going without down here.”

  My jaw tightened. Well played, Fallon. Well played.

  My attention turned to Charlotte as Fallon walked away.

  “You gonna answer me?” My cousin asked, her eyebrows arched.

  “Yes, Grandma Winnie knows. In fact, it was her idea,” I said.

  “Her idea?” Charlotte asked. “Why would she suggest you quit your—” Suddenly, Charlotte’s eyes opened as wide as saucers and her face lit up. “Don’t you play with me, Izzy Lockheart. I will be as sore as Sunday with you if you play with me.”

  “I’m not playing with you,” I answered.

  She started clapping her hands together loudly. “Then does that mean that . . .” She shook her head, squealing. “Lord, I can’t even say it. I can’t even allow the idea to dance across my mind, as sweet as it is.” She took a deep breath, steadying herself. “Does that mean that, after these long five years, my favorite cousin is moving back home?”

  I let a hesitant smile pass across my face. “I’m considering it.” Of course, I didn’t tell her the real reason I was considering moving back home. If I had, Charlotte’s response wouldn’t have been the joyous exclamation I got next.

  “Stars, stripes, and everything in between! The world is right again!” Charlotte said, jumping up to her feet and raising her hands into the air.

  “Charlotte,” I said in a hushed whisper. “Sit down. You’re making a scene.”

  “Tell me something else good, and I’ll make two,” my cousin said, dancing in front of the booth. “Come on, Cuz! This is cause for celebration. The Lockhearts are back together again.” She snapped her finger and the jukebox came to life and a dance mix of Celebrate, Good Times sang through the air. It was display of magic, sure, but it was subtle enough for me to let it slide. And given how excited she was, I suppose I was getting off lucky that this was all she was doing. She reached out and pulled me up. “You heard me! Stand up!”

  I did as she asked, and with Fallon Fulcrum—hairnet and all—looking on, I started dancing right there in the middle of The Lunch Pale.

  Just then, Charlotte’s eyes went wide again. “You’re having fun, right?” she asked.

  “I am,” I answered hesitantly.

  “Remember that,” she said. “Remember how fun I am, and don’t get mad, okay?”

  “What did you do?” I asked, my eyes widening to match hers.

  “The burgers weren’t the only reason I brought you here,” she said.

  Nodding, she motioned to the door. There, walking into the diner, was a man who, five years ago, I would have said was the love of my life. And here I was, dancing my butt off like some lunatic in broad daylight.

  “Oh,” I muttered. “Oh, no.”

  4

  My mouth fell open as Riley Davis entered The Lunch Pale. I wanted more than anything to go invisible, but I hadn’t performed much witchcraft to speak of in years and invisibility was a complicated spell. Besides, it didn’t matter. He had already seen me. Those bright blue eyes had already locked onto mine. Those full lips had already curved into a smile, and that hand, a hand I’d wanted to hold more than anything in the world back when I was in high school, had already risen and was waving at me.

  “I’m going to murder you,” I said through clenched teeth to my cousin Charlotte.

  “No, you’re not,” she answered, smiling and waving back at the man.

  “I’m going to murder you slowly,” I amended, my eyes still pinned on the man. To say I was obsessed with Riley Davis back in high school would have been an overstatement, but only a slight one. With his sandy blond hair, his perfect smile, and shoulders I was convinced could hold the world up, he was definitely dreamboat material.

  Everyone knew how I felt about him, maybe even Riley himself. He was sweet about it, even if he didn’t make a move on me or anything. He was always kind, always nice, and he always made up reasons to talk to me whenever we came across each other. Still, there was no denying I was squarely in the ‘friend zone’ when it came to the heartthrob.

  Who was I kidding, anyway? He was the quarterback, for goodness’ sake. I might have been a powerful witch and a descendent of one of the town’s founders, but I wasn’t exactly cheerleader material. You see, unlike Charlotte, I wasn’t the social butterfly you see before you back in my teenage years. In fact, I wasn’t much of a butterfly at all. I was more of a moth, the kind you always try to swat away from the lamppost but you never seem to be able to rid yourself of it.

  Riley never treated me like that, though. He always treated me like I was the greatest person in the world. Maybe that was why I was so crazy about him. Right up until prom, and then everything changed.

  “Izzy Lockheart,” he said, his voice still as smooth as butter on a biscuit as he settled in front of me. “I couldn’t believe it when Charlotte told me you were coming back to town for a bit.”

  “Is that right?” I asked through clenched teeth, my elbow jamming hard into my cousin’s ribcage.

  “Oof!” Charlotte yelped.

  “You okay?” Riley asked, looking over at her.

  “Just fine,” Charlotte muttered, grabbing her side. “Just gas, I guess.”

  “O–oh,” Riley stammered. “Okay.”

  “There’s better news, though,” Charlotte said.

  Don’t say it, Charlotte, I thought. Don’t you dare.

  “Izzy is thinking about coming back home full-time!”

  She said it.

  Riley looked back over at me, something I couldn’t quite place flashing through his eyes. “Is that right?” he asked. “That is good news.”

  “Is it?” I asked pointedly, placing my hands on my hips and giving him a steely look. “Is it really? Because of all the people in town who might be happy to see me return, I wouldn’t put you at the top of the list.”

  “Izzy!” Charlotte said. “Let’s not do this here.”

  I gave my cousin a quick glance. “If you didn’t want it done here, then you shouldn’t have brought me here,” I said, cementing my stance.

  “Is this . . . is this about prom?” Riley asked, the smile still infuriatingly plastered across his face.

  “No, it’s about the last election results,” I scoffed. “Of course, it’s about prom. What else would it be about?”

  “Well,” he said, shrugging. “It could be about a lot of things. I mean, prom was over ten years ago, Izzy.”

  “For you, maybe,” I said under my breath.

  “For you too, sweetie,” Charlotte whispered beside me. “Time moves the same for everybody.”

  That wasn’t what I meant though. Prom might have felt like it was a long time ago for Riley, for Charlotte too, maybe. For me, though, it might as well have been yesterday.

  I could remember all of it like it was happening right now, like it was playing out in front of me. Riley asked me to be his date. I couldn’t believe it. I figured things had finally progressed between us. Maybe he had seen what I knew all along, that we were perfect for each other. By the time prom night rolled around, I had convinced myself that it was the first step in what would be our epic love story. I dressed in a white gown, my mother’s old prom dress, and I looked like walking Heaven, if I do say so myself.

  Not that Riley would ever get to see it, or anyone else at the prom, for that matter. I waited there, at Lockheart Estates, for hours before I realized he wasn’t coming. I cried myself to sleep that night, and in the morning, when I went to him for an explanation, he refused to speak to me. In fact, he never spoke to me again, not until this very moment.

  “We were young,” Riley said, nodding at me. “You’ve changed. I’ve changed. Can’t we just let it go?”

  “Oh, I have let it go,” I said, fuming like a coal train running around the tracks. “I’ve let it go completely. In fact, it’s so let go, that I don’t see any reason for us to talk whatsoever.”

  “That’s mature,” Riley murmured.

  “You don’t get to talk to me about
maturity,” I said. “Not when you stopped answering your phone, when you stopped answering your emails.” I shook my head. “Did you know I had to hear it from the ladies at the church auxiliary that you moved to Nashville? Heck, I didn’t even know you were back until you walked in.” I looked at him again, taking in the uniform and the badge on his chest for the first time. “Or the fact that you’re a Barney Fife now.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Riley answered, his smile returning. “We both know that being Don Knotts is a life goal.”

  “Stop,” I said, trying not to laugh. “This isn’t about your being a cop. Cops are awesome. This is about the fact that you were my friend, maybe my best friend, and then you were just nothing, and I didn’t even get an explanation.”

  My phone buzzed. Looking down, I saw that it was Grandma Winnie calling. This must have been important because she hated the phone almost as much as she hated the computer, and that was a whole lot.

  “Excuse me for a moment,” I said, brushing past him, walking out the front door, and answering the phone. “Hey there, stranger,” I said, trying to sound better than I felt at the moment.

  “Where in H-E-Double hockey sticks are you?” she answered, frustration evident in her voice.

  “What’s with the whole ‘double hockey sticks’ thing?” I mused.

  “I put a swear jar near the lobby of the B&B. It—”

  “I’ve heard all about the swear jar, Grandma,” I said, shaking my head. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m wondering where my granddaughter is,” she answered flatly. “The same granddaughter I asked to come here, the same granddaughter who swore to me that she’d drag her ungrateful behind to me the instant she got to town. Have you happened to see her, by any chance?”