by Madelyn Alt
And I wasn’t quite sure what to think about that.
Turning my back on my confusion, the front of the store, and the possibility of another unwelcome view of the disappearing boy (Neat trick! Impress your family! Wow your friends!), I made my way back to the storeroom-cum-office, determined to immerse myself in my work and, with any luck, distract myself from my otherworldly woes.
I had just found the box cutter when Evie Carpenter walked in the back door. A delicate blonde with the face of an angel and a temperament to match, Evie was also the youngest member of the N.I.G.H.T.S., more formally known as the Northeast Indiana Ghost Hunting and Tracking Society, a group I had joined back in October at Felicity’s urging when all the trouble started. The N.I.G.H.T.S., with Felicity at the helm, had undertaken the burden of educating me in all things metaphysical.
Forewarned is forearmed, I always say.
Well, I say that lately, anyway.
“Morning, Evie. You’re here early.”
Felicity had hired Evie to help out during the holiday season, since she herself had been spending so much time away from the store. Evie was still in high school, so that meant after school until eight and Saturdays when the store opened at ten.
“I thought you might need help,” Evie said, hanging up her coat.
I smiled at her as I slid the razor carefully down the line of box tape on the uppermost carton and flipped the flaps open to reveal a treasure trove of newsprint-wrapped mysteries. “Sweet of you.”
She shrugged and collapsed into the antique barrel-backed desk chair. “Not really. Mom’s having her church group by this morning. You know, the Ladies of Perpetual Devotion. Anything is better than that.” She stopped suddenly and bit her lip. “I didn’t mean it like that. You know I love being here.”
“Of course I do.”
“Can I help you with that?” She gestured toward the carton.
“Dig in.”
In no time, the two of us together had made short shrift of unpacking, logging, numbering, and pricing the delicate crystal that had come all the way from Ireland. We set them carefully to one side, in awe of their beauty. Most residents of Stony Mill would never think twice about the repeated spirals, knotwork, and beautiful silverwork adorning the goblets, bowls, candleholders, and plates that shot sparks in all directions in even the dimmest light. The spiritual symbols of Celtic-based Goddess worship simply wouldn’t register. To the initiated, however, the patterns etched into the glassware gave testimony to the religious leanings of the Irish vendor. Like many in the witching community, Felicity liked to patronize other witches whenever possible. Though it wasn’t something she required of her suppliers, the ones she did endorse were some of the finest artisans I’d ever seen.
“Once the holidays are over,” I mused aloud as I set the glassware out on an antique sideboard, “I think a window display of this crystal would be lovely. Look at the way they catch the light.”
“Why not now?”
“And abandon Santa Claus and all of his reindeer?” I asked, holding my hand to my heart in feigned shock and dismay. “Sacrilege!”
Evie grinned. “It’s nearly ten. Want me to unlock the front?”
“Is it? How time flies. Yes, thanks. I’ll just finish up here.”
When I had wiped the last glass clean of fingerprints and positioned it with the others, I stowed my cleaning supplies in the closet and headed back up front. Evie was standing by the front window, her arms crossed over her chest. Something about her stance, a tension I felt more than saw, made me veer away from the counter and head in her direction.
“Anything wrong?” I asked as I went to stand behind her. A shiver ran through me as I did. Easy, old girl, I told myself. You’re on familiar ground here. Nothing to be afraid of.
For a moment, Evie said nothing. Her eyes had that extreme unfocused look that I had come to associate with moments of the otherworldly. Unfocused on anything in particular, but seeing something. Her silence made me even more nervous. Suddenly my chest felt tight, constricted; the air, thin. My fingers opened and closed by my thighs, clawing at something unseen. I gasped once, twice. There was a light in the darkness, a mere pinprick, teasing me, taunting me. I couldn’t get air, I couldn’t breathe, the blackness was too much, too thick, it was smothering me . . .
Chapter 2
My grasping fingers closed over something and I seized hold of it, willing it to pull me out.
“Maggie?”
My breath coming in short gasps, I felt my eyelids flutter open. “I—Evie?”
Evie’s sweet china doll eyes stared into mine, probing deep. Her hand squeezed mine, and it was only then that I realized I’d grabbed hold of hers. My lifeline. “Are you okay?”
I shook myself, searching my memory for the helpful hints Felicity had given me for shaking off residual energy. Deep breaths, in through the nose, out through the mouth, and let the energy ground, or flow, down into the earth. “I’m okay,” I managed at last. “Really. You?”
She nodded. “I thought I saw something, down the street.”
“A little boy?” I asked, my voice fainter than I’d hoped.
“Little boy, red ball. He disappeared into the river.”
“I saw him this morning.” I tried not to shiver. This morning was the first time I had actually seen anything, as opposed to merely sensing a shift in energies. To have it corroborated as more than imagination . . . well, I felt a little like I’d tumbled down the proverbial rabbit hole. Any minute now, I’d spy a big fat cat perched atop the far bookshelf or something, eyeing me with a maniacal grin.
Her pale eyebrows stretched ceilingward. “Wow. Two sightings. It must mean something.”
I didn’t want to think about what it might mean. I cleared my throat. “Not necessarily.”
“Hmm. Well, I guess it might have been an energy imprint. An echo of a memory. You felt something?”
I squirmed, saved from answering in the nick of time by the tinkling of the front door chimes. A teenaged girl slouched in, her dark head bent low, shoulders hunched in the indolent stance of the perpetually misunderstood. With kohl-smudged eyes, chunky shagged hair, a jumble of the kind of costume jewelry guaranteed to attract glares from conservative Stony Millers, and clothes that were black, black, and more black . . . all signs confirmed my first impression. A beatnik reincarnated in the Modern Goth tradition.
I smiled at her as she wandered near, but she drifted past without meeting my gaze. Instead she moved aimlessly among the stacks, picking up the occasional tchotchke, running her finger along the edge of a shelf, always with that same faintly bored sneer.
Evie edged nearer before speaking. “Hi, Tara,” she offered shyly, raising her hand with a halfhearted wave.
Goth Girl scarcely flicked a gunked-up eyelash. “Hi. Evie, right? You working here?”
“Just helping out. You know, Christmas?”
“Sweet.”
Goth Girl went back to her disinterested browsing. I raised my eyebrows at Evie. Evie cast a cautious glance toward her schoolmate’s retreating back, then unobtrusively reached for a scratch pad and pen and scribbled out a message in her precise schoolgirl script. Tara Murphy, the note read. New to town. Eleventh grade. Kind of a loner, but never bothers me . . .
I wasn’t so old that I had forgotten what it was like to suffer through teenage angst and insecurities—poised as I was on the cusp of the Big Three-Oh and feeling the pain, angst was something I was all too familiar with. Unlike Tara Murphy, I now possessed experience to either talk me down or back me up when I felt like thumbing my nose at the world. What I was looking at here was pure Grade A rebellious youth. I could deal with it, even though her bored procession through the store I took such pride in seriously rankled. The myriad lotions and soaps rated only a cursory sniff. Antique linens, soft as butter after decades of weekly launderings, were bypassed without a second glance. Books, china, teas, chocolates . . . nothing. I had begun to wonder why she’d ventured into Enchan
tments at all when she scuffed unexpectedly to a halt before the scarred antique counter.
“Yo.” She looked me up and down. “I’ve never been in here before, so I’ll bite. Where do you keep it?”
I masterfully retained my patience. “It?”
“You know. The witch stuff.”
The implied Duh was pretty hard to miss. But in the last two months I’d fielded quite a number of less-than-friendly overtures from certain female members of Stony Mill’s up-and-coming leisure class—you know, the ones with the bony asses, brittle smiles, and sharp glances who customarily stormed the store en masse like fashionably dressed lemmings—so I could certainly manage a single sarcastic teenager. I was a professional. I could handle it. Besides, at that moment I was more interested in how a teenage girl, new to town, had come by her awareness of Enchantments’ behind-the-scenes purpose. We didn’t exactly advertise.
“Which . . . stuff?” I echoed, purposely obtuse.
She sized me up a moment before attempting a meaningful smile. “You don’t have to worry about me. I won’t blow it for you. My cousin clued me in that this was where I needed to go for supplies. So, wouldja mind telling me where to look? Got some secret stash somewhere, or what?”
She made it sound like we were trafficking in illegal substances, for heaven’s sake. I opened my mouth to steer her away gently, but Evie appeared at my elbow again.
“I’ll show her. Come on, Tara. This way.”
I wasn’t sure I was comfortable with it, but I didn’t have time to worry much. The stairway door had just closed behind the two girls when the front chimes sounded again. I looked up and broke into a grin. “Gen! What a surprise. Doing some shopping this morning?”
Like Evie, Genevieve Valmont was another member of the N.I.G.H.T.S. She was also a former nun who had left the church for reasons unknown, which gave her a unique perspective when it came to the spiritual theories behind the afterlife. As big as a man, and usually dressed like one, Gen was never to be found without a dog-eared romance novel in the back pocket of her oversized overalls. If that seemed a contradiction, well, we all knew the truth of the matter. Genevieve Valmont’s heart was as vast and deep as the mighty Great Lakes, and after her many years spent worshipping at the feet of Christ, she now secretly yearned for a flesh-and-blood man to fill the void. I couldn’t say that I blamed her. I’d been preoccupied with that topic myself of late.
“Hello, sweetie. Thought I’d pop into town for a bit of Christmas cheer. My, the store looks good!” She beamed over all the sparkling white lights, silver ribbons, and fragrant evergreens. “I’ve been rattling around that old bait store for days, waiting for the weather to cooperate so ice fishing can finally kick in. Thought maybe I’d get a bit of the Christmas list pared down.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place. Have any idea what you’re looking for? I could point you in the right direction.”
“No need. I think I’ll just peep about a bit, if it’s all right with you. Maybe something you have in here will spark some ideas.”
“Take your time. Want a cup of tea?”
“Mmm, you talked me into it. Yes, please.”
“Chai?”
“Pekoe. Plain.”
“You got it.”
She followed me over to the snack counter. “So . . . how’s that young man of yours?”
I made a face as I strained the steaming water over the tea sachet. “If you mean Tom Fielding, he’s not mine. In fact, I haven’t even spoken with Deputy Fielding since Felicity was released from custody. And when I ran into him the other day at the grocery store, he ducked behind the frozen foods and pretended he didn’t see me. I don’t know about you, but I just don’t think that screams Lasting Relationship.”
Tom had caught my eye in October, but following a difference of opinion, he had disappeared faster than I could say, “I’m sorry.” What’s a girl to do when she falls for a guy who has closed himself down to the experience? I was still working that out for myself.
Gen trailed her work-roughened fingertips over the brightly hued canisters of gourmet teas that Felicity liked to import from her native Britain. “Hmm. Well, never say never, hon. From what I hear, there was a real spark to him when he talked to you. Sparks like that don’t just go out without some doing.”
Considering that his last words were filled with hurt and suspicion amid the shattered glass of Enchantments’ skylight windows and the red-blue strobe of police lights, I rather doubted that.
I was saved from further conjecture over my love life (or absence thereof) by the arrival of a group of girls who breezed into the store on a swell of giggles and squeals. I’d had enough experience at Enchantments to know their group’s presence probably wouldn’t mean a sale, but at least it would serve as a distraction. Leaving Gen with steaming cup in hand, I stopped by the cash register to don my Shopper’s Helper hat. Literally. Everyone loves a Christmassy atmosphere this time of year, so Evie and I had adopted fuzzy green Santa hats, complete with a fluffy pompon dangling from the tip that lit up with multicolor lights powered by a hidden battery pack. Snicker if you like, but Enchantments had seen a steady flow of paying customers despite the flagging economy, and I liked to think the atmosphere here had something to do with it.
The girls had their backs to me, purses slung casually over their shoulders. Unlike Goth Girl, these three wore fashionably flared low-rise jeans and pretty leather jackets that just skimmed their narrow hips. I moved into their side view. “Can I show you girls something?”
The tallest turned in my direction. I recognized her as a girl my sister Mel used to baby-sit, years ago. Only then she’d been just a kid, a doctor’s smart-mouthed daughter with freckles across the bridge of her nose and hair the color of the sun. The young woman she’d turned into was polished and obviously self-assured as she turned to me. I saw her gaze drift northward to take in my hat, and for a moment her lips twisted in a smirk. “Yes, actually. My mother saw an antique clock in here the other day. Wendy Roberson?”
“Yes, of course I remember Mrs. Roberson. And you must be Mandy Lynn.”
The smirk transformed into a chilly smile. “Amanda, actually.”
Oh. Okay. “You probably don’t remember me. My sister used to watch you during summer breaks.”
“How nice.” She didn’t even blink.
Her mother had been a lot nicer. It appeared Mandy—er, Amanda—had grown up in more ways than one. I pasted on my best Difficult Customer smile. “You’ll be wanting to see the clock. I believe it was just over here, if you’ll follow me?”
The clock, a delicate Moroccan-influenced mantelpiece in deep reds and golds, was a specialty piece imported from Spain. It clocked in at just under five hundred dollars.
“I don’t like it,” said a petite thing with sleek chin-length hair, crinkling her nose. The blond highlights in her light brown hair were so artfully done, it was hard to tell what was natural and what was not. “It’s too dark and too old. I mean, couldn’t they even fix the face? It’s all cracked and wrinkled.”
“You don’t have to like it,” Amanda told her bluntly.
“This little baby is guaranteed to get me out of the doghouse. Trust me—my mom is dying to have this on her bedroom mantel. And besides, it’s an antique. The face is supposed to be wrinkled. It’s not like they have Botox for clocks, you know.” To me she said, “Wrap it up, please. I’ll take it.”
I tried very hard not to show surprise when she opened her purse and took out a wallet brimming with green. What on earth was a seventeen-year-old girl doing with that much cash? I mean, sure, it was Christmastime, and people would be more likely to have money on them, but . . . wow. I carried the clock to the counter. “Would you like to select a wrapping paper?”
She scarcely looked at them and fluttered a hand at me. “Oh . . . anything. Whatever you think my mother would like.”
Evie and Goth Girl Tara emerged from the hall as I made my way behind the counter. “Oh, good. Ev
ie, would you mind grabbing a box out of the back for me? A one-by-one-by-two should do just fine. We’ll just fill in the spaces with popcorn and bubble.”
I was so preoccupied with my task of preparing the clock for its nest that I didn’t even realize the atmosphere in the shop had shifted until Amanda spoke.
“Well, what do we have here, girls?”
Distracted, I glanced up to find Evie hadn’t moved an inch, while before my wondering eyes a standoff worthy of the Old West was unfolding. Tara Murphy was standing frozen in place, books clutched against her chest, her dark-rimmed eyes narrowed dangerously while the three Junior Miss candidates circled like sleek wolves around her. Amanda, in what I could only assume was the usual lead position, stalked closer to her, her face alive with predatory anticipation. She grabbed the books out of Tara’s hands. “To Ride a Silver Broomstick? The Witch’s Book of Spells and Power?” She looked up at Tara in surprise. You’ve got to be kidding.”
Tara stared her down, but said nothing.
Amanda laughed. “A witch. Evidently we have a witch in town, girls. Right here, under our very noses, in fact. What next? Vampires? Werewolves? Leprechauns?” She made a booga-booga flare of her fingers at Tara’s face. “Spooky.”
Had it been turned my way, Tara’s face would have scared me to death. “Back . . . off!” she growled.
“Or what?” Amanda countered with a daring born of a lifetime of knowing exactly who she was. “You’ll put a spell on us? Hex us? Please.” She held one of the books up by the corner as though it was a pair of dirty underwear. “Where do you get books like these?”
Well, now. Time to step in. “Excuse me. Evie? Box. Please. Ms. Roberson, I need your approval of a gift card.”
Evie snapped out of her daze and scurried away. Tara yanked her books out of Amanda’s hands. Each narrowed her eyes at the other, two cats sizing up an adversary and getting ready to let the claws fly. Tara’s pale face was high with color. Amanda curled her lip in a cruel sneer. Then she laughed and turned back toward me, an all-too-obvious dismissal. Behind her, Tara’s face burned even brighter.