The Yin to His Yang

by Wynter Daniels

  A headache flared to life at her temples. “Miss Percival was completely aware of what I do in my home. My cat rescue is hardly a business. It’s just something I do to help out. Most of the cats are eventually adopted. Only the adult ferrals are permanent guests. In fact, your aunt adopted one of my kitties, Bandit. That cat was always at Miss Percival’s side. The day your aunt went to the nursing home, she asked me if I’d care for Bandit while she was gone.” A lump formed in her throat. “I suspect that she knew she wouldn’t be back. She wanted to be sure that her baby had a good home. Bandit and my cat have bonded now.”

  “Well…thank you for…following her wishes.” Griffin used the hem of his polo shirt to clean his glasses.

  Which gave her a chance to get a better look at his hazel eyes, and the flecks of gold she hadn’t noticed through his lenses. Was that emotion she saw in his crinkled brow and downturned lips? She hoped it was. Otherwise, she’d likely find herself homeless soon. “Were you close?” she asked him. “To your aunt, I mean.”

  He cleared his throat. “It’s been many years since I last saw her.”

  Why hadn’t Miss Percival mentioned any great nephew? Before she had a chance to give that much thought, an older model pickup truck pulled to the curb in front of her house, and a guy who had to be a bodybuilder climbed out and headed toward them. It took her a moment to recognize her friend Joelle’s brother, Asa as he strode toward them with a huge sack over his shoulder.

  “Afternoon,” Asa said as he climbed the steps to the porch and pulled aside the strands of beads. “Is this still a good time? I brought some cat food, as a thank you.”

  The news that her landlord might sell her home out from under her had apparently made her forget that Asa was coming by to pick up the cat he’d decided to adopt. She managed a smile for him. “Of course. Thanks for the kitty food. I think that’s the biggest bag of it I’ve ever seen.” Turning her attention to Griffin, she said, “We’ll have to continue this conversation later.” Hopefully, much later.

  Griffin nodded. “I’ll speak to you tomorrow then.” With that, he brushed past Asa and left.

  She showed Asa through the house and out to the lanai where the cats lived. “The food goes right in there.” She opened the large bin where she kept the cat food.

  Asa set his burden down and used a pocketknife to open the sack. Then he set it inside the large container. “I feel like I interrupted something outside.” He slipped his knife into his back pocket then combed his fingers through his sandy brown hair.

  “No, nothing important.” Only the most upsetting moment of her week. Griffin’s announcement felt a lot like receiving a lethal snake wrapped in the loveliest gift box and tied up with a perfectly starched bow. So what that Griffin was kind of handsome, and that he smelled like the pine trees near the falls?

  “I always find that it’s best to let the cat choose you, rather than the other way around,” she told Asa.

  He chuckled. “Exactly what Joelle said.”

  She stepped out of the enclosure to give him some time alone with the cats and sat down near her grandmother. “Asa’s picking out a kitty.”

  “Mm-hmm. Who was the other man, the tall one with glasses? When I looked out the window at you, you didn’t seem pleased with him.”

  “Just the new neighbor. We were talking about his aunt, Miss Percival, who left him the house.” Her grandma didn’t need to know about the possibility that Stevie might have to leave her beloved cottage. Why worry her? With any luck whoever bought the house would honor her lease.

  But what if they didn’t? How long would it take her to set up another meditation studio, and a garden like she had now? How was she going to find enough money to move? And worst of all, what would she do with all the rescue cats? Who’d be there to take care of new strays in the neighborhood?

  A chill rolled over her skin. She couldn’t lose her home. There had to be something she could do. She was a witch, after all.

  The next afternoon, after a full day of yard work, Griffin finished inspecting his aunt’s roof. The shingles were still in fair shape, and the flashing around the chimney only needed a minor repair, which he could do easily and cheaply himself. He glanced over at Stevie’s backyard but didn’t see her.

  They’d had a couple of brief conversations across the fence that morning, conversations he’d wished had gone on longer. He’d asked her a few questions about the town, things he already knew, like where the local supermarket was, and the best place to buy paint and hardware. He enjoyed talking to her, hearing her voice, watching her gesture with those long, sleek arms.

  As he stepped onto the top rung of the ladder, a strong gust of wind whipped at him. Tightening his grip, he took another step down, but the wood gave way, cracking under his weight. Thankfully, he caught himself and managed to make it safely to the ground. Weird. He’d inspected the ladder just hours earlier and had deemed it relatively new and perfectly safe.

  He pulled his jacket closed and heard high-pitched laughter from Stevie’s house. Several women wearing workout clothes strode down her walk, each carrying a rolled up yoga mat. Two more followed a moment later.

  Squinting toward the porch, he tried to see past all of Stevie’s decorations, but in the fading light, she was nowhere in sight. He carried the ladder toward the backyard just as the clouds opened up. Coming around the front of the house, he glimpsed a petite blonde leaving Stevie’s place. The young woman raced up the street and practically jumped into her car.

  A little rain wouldn’t hurt him. He took his time, peeking toward the rental house several times, but Stevie didn’t come outside. Why would she? Wasn’t as if he’d made a great impression upon her yesterday, and she’d been dying to see him again. He’d acted like an ass to her, immediately launching into an attack on the state of her house. He probably should have listened to Pandora’s advice and waited to tell her that he planned to sell her house.

  When the rain picked up, he took cover on his porch, although he wasn’t yet ready to head inside. So he sat on Aunt Dorothea’s double glider. Something about storms called to his inner romantic, a passion his ex-wife hadn’t shared. Come to think of it, Marci had shared almost none of his passions. She’d scoffed at his rare coin collection, hadn’t cared less about his love of baseball, and she’d never once joined him on a run, even though she’d professed to adore the high she got from cardio exercise.

  Light from Stevie’s place drew his attention, the strings of fairy lights illuminated her porch just enough for him to appreciate the bohemian appeal of her decorating. He had to admit, she’d created a unique ambiance that was strangely appealing. She sat in a wicker chair, close enough to the edge of her porch that he was able to glimpse her profile, her long, graceful neck, and her turquoise-colored braids. If he were honest with himself, he was enjoying watching her from the dark corner where he sat.

  Suddenly a squall picked up and knocked over something on Stevie’s porch. She gasped a second after he heard the unmistakable sound of breaking pottery. He headed next door to help, but by the time he’d made it there, Stevie had disappeared inside.

  He climbed the steps and found a terracotta flowerpot shattered on the floor, its contents of soil and some sort of succulent were mostly intact. He crouched to gather the shards and pricked his finger on the cactus needle.

  “Back to give me more bad news?” Stevie stood over him, hands on her slim hips, her brow crinkled with worry. She set a small bag down next to the wreckage of her plant.

  “No, I heard something break. Thought I’d help.” A quick check of his finger assured him that his injury was minor. Only a small dot of blood marked the spot.

  The door opened and an eighty-year-old version of Stevie poked her head outside. “What’s goin’ on out here?”

  “It’s nothing, Grandma,” Stevie told her.

  Griffin waved to the woman. “I came over to help. I’m staying next door.”

  The woman
scowled at him. “You’re the one who’s got my girl all tied up in knots, hmm?”

  “Grandma!” Stevie said sharply.

  His gut constricted. Standing up, he offered her his hand to the older woman. “I certainly hope not. I’m Griffin Dunlap, ma’am. Pleasure to meet you.”

  “Mm-hmm. Cledith Mercer, Stevie’s grandma.” At least she shook hands with him, which didn’t lessen his guilt one iota.

  Lightning flashed, momentarily turning the elderly woman’s eyes an eerie white. A deafening clap of thunder boomed, rattling the windows. Suddenly a black streak bolted out the door, nearly knocking over Mrs. Mercer.

  “No!” Stevie cried. “Namaste, come back here.” She took off running after the cat, brushing past all the overgrowth in the yard, but the feline was too quick. “Namaste!”

  The worry in her voice cut straight through Griffin. He ran off the porch, fishing his phone from his pocket and turning on the flashlight.

  Lightning exploded all around, and sheets of rain pelted them. Stevie was soaked. Water dripped from her braids and her clothes as she shoved tall bushes aside, calling for her pet.

  “Get out of the rain,” he told her. “I’ll find it.”

  Ignoring his offer, she continued her hunt. He followed her through the thicket and hooked her arm. “It’s dangerous. Please let me.” It was the least he owned her after he’d showed her his worst the moment she’d first laid her eyes on him yesterday.

  A powerful gust blew through the trees and pushed Stevie against him. She backed away. “Sorry.”

  He hadn’t minded at all.

  Thunder rang out. A split second later the cat shot out from under some bushes then disappeared.

  “There she goes.” Stevie hurried toward the edge of the yard.

  He searched the immediate area, but couldn’t spot the cat.

  A blast of wind knocked over the last remaining trashcan at the curb and started it rolling down the hill.

  “No!” Stevie cried. “She’s in the can.”

  Griffin didn’t waste a moment. He sprinted after the runaway can. Headlights hopscotched across the asphalt. An SUV drove toward him.

  Please, no.

  He waved his arms as he ran. The vehicle pulled to the side just as the can crashed into a streetlamp. Making it to the spot a few seconds before Stevie, he crouched at the open end of the can and offered up a silent prayer that the feline was all right.

  The cat leaped out and onto his chest, digging its claws deep into his skin. Gritting his teeth against the discomfort, he clutched the animal to him, petting the wet fur. “It’s okay. You’re fine.”

  After a moment, the black cat lapped raindrops from Griffin’s chin and nose.

  Stevie relieved him of the kitty and held it in her arms like a baby. “You naughty girl! Thank the goddess you’re safe.” Meeting Griffin’s stare, she smiled. “I don’t know how to thank you. Namaste was my first rescue, my little love.”

  His heart drummed furiously as he watched her. Something warm and unexpected uncoiled inside him. Until his eyes started burning, and his nose itched. He turned away to sneeze, and again.

  “Are you allergic to cats?” Stevie asked.

  He shrugged. “I guess I could be. I’ve never been around them much.”

  She sighed. “Sorry about that. Come on.” She tipped her chin toward her house. “The least I can do is get you a cup of nettle leaf tea with honey and apple cider vinegar. That’ll help.”

  The only familiar item she’d mentioned was honey, but it was worth a try. “Sure, thanks.” He sneezed again.

  “Bless you.”

  “Thank you.” Grabbing the can, he started back toward her house.

  Stevie adjusted the cat in her arms but it reached both of its front paws out to Griffin. “What are you doing, silly girl? Looks like you’ve made a friend, Griffin. I think she’s got a crush on you.”

  He patted the kitty’s head. “Sorry, Namaste, you’re not my type.”

  As they approached her door, Stevie stopped on the porch. “About the trashcans…in the future, I’ll be more diligent about bringing them in from the street. I’d had a crazy two days of classes and cat rescues, which is no excuse.”

  He held open the door for her. “Understandable.”

  Stevie set the furry little escape artist on the sofa then faced Griffin. “Make yourself at home. I’ll get your tea started.”

  Even in damp purple yoga pants and a black tank top, she had a rare grace and elegance about her. Something regal radiated from her, and he couldn’t help but treat himself to the view as she strode from the room.

  He took advantage of her absence to check out his surroundings. One wall was mirrored, and on the floor in front of it was a neon green yoga mat and a Bluetooth speaker. The few pieces of comfortable-looking pieces of furniture occupied only about a quarter of the room, while the rest of the space was empty, save for a few oversize colorful pillows. Even with little furniture in the room, something about the space felt…homey. He wondered what it would take to create such a warmth in the house he was buying in New York.

  Hearing Stevie still banging around in the kitchen, he crossed the floor to check out a darkened corner that held a small table with several unusual objects on it. In the center, there was a ceramic statue of a heavyset woman holding a sphere over her head, similar to ancient artifacts he’d seen in history books back in high school. A brass incense burner and a miniature black cauldron flanked the woman. To the right of the cauldron, there was a decorative knife with a pink blade. He picked up the object and held it toward the light. The hilt had a star carved into it similar to the one Stevie wore around her neck. No, not a star—a pentacle, the same symbol he’d noticed on various items in his aunt’s house—a stone box, and a blue candle.

  His father had always said that Aunt Dorothea was just as weird as Griffin’s mother and that both women had dabbled in the occult—that they fancied themselves to be witches. And witchcraft was what had caused his parents’ divorce, which had him on unsteady ground in the first place. He’d been only five years old at the time. He and his dad had moved half a dozen times since then, but not one of their residences had ever felt like home. After he’d married Marci, he’d been so sure that he’d finally feel settled, only he never had. He swallowed past the thickness in his throat.

  Stevie’s footsteps transported him back to the present. He turned to face her.

  “Here’s your tea.” Her gaze fell to the knife in his hand, and her brow lifted.

  Feeling a little like a snoop, he returned it to where he’d found it. “I was just admiring your…” Glancing back at the unusual trinkets, he mentally searched for the right word. Were they tools of witchcraft? Or just some bizarre collection?

  She closed the distance between them, and he again noticed how gracefully she walked, almost glided. Picking up the knife, she said, “This is an athame. I use it to cast a circle.”

  Her explanation didn’t clear up anything for him. “Cast a circle?”

  She nodded. “Witches cast circles to create sacred space in which we do spells, and venerate our gods.”

  Apparently, his dad had been right about Dorothea, and maybe his mom, too. But for the moment, the notion that Stevie identified as a witch bothered him more than the others. Although in truth, he knew little about what it meant to be a witch. “Is that anything like Satanic—”

  “Definitely not.” She handed him the tea. “Most witches around here practice white magic like I do. We use stones, herbs, and oils in order to manipulate energy, and bring about changes.”

  Taking a sip from the cup, he contemplated her explanation. The tea was good—sweet yet tangy.

  Did she really think she could do magic? Or did she just enjoy the idea, much like his cousin, Aurora used to call herself a princess? Her parents had indulged her to the point that she really believed herself to be royalty. She’d insisted that everyone in the family bow
to her, and address her as Your Highness.

  “So you cast spells?” he asked Stevie.

  She sat cross-legged on a thick pillow on the floor. “Sure. All the time.”

  He opted for the sofa. An overweight white cat with an orange tail and black around its eyes hopped onto the couch cushion next to him. “Like on people? To make them do things they might not otherwise do?”

  Stevie snorted a laugh. “Not at all. A spell is merely…a prayer with props.” She gestured toward the feline. “That’s Bandit, by the way, your aunt’s cat.”

  He drank more of her brew and realized that his eyes no longer stung. “Did you cast a spell on me, or put one in this tea?”

  Another laugh and her eyes lit up the most dazzling shade, like sparkling amber. “Why would you think so?”

  He drew a deep breath through his nose. “Allergy symptoms are gone.”

  A mischievous grin settled on her lips. “I know a little about herbs—which ones help allergies, and which ones turn a landlord into a field mouse.”

  “To get snatched up by a cat, hmm?” No doubt that she was the most disarming witch he’d ever met, albeit the first. Or at least the only one who admitted that she was one.

  The reminder that she might be evicted when he sold the houses settled on his shoulders like heavy stones. Despite the fact that he’d only just met her, and hardly knew her at all, he liked her. Which was going to make selling her house a little more difficult.

  Griffin could barely keep from staring at her flawless skin, and glossy, pink lips. But he couldn’t let himself be distracted from his mission, no matter how pretty Stevie was, or how enticing her lavender scent. He had to remember that although her cottage wasn’t the derelict sort that he’d assumed it to be when he’d first seen the yard, Stevie was walking a thin legal line by holding classes there, and having a makeshift cat shelter on the premises.

  Could she be trying to charm him into ignoring the fact that she was running more than one business out of the house? Would she do the same to any prospective landlord? There was no telling how many guys had been captivated by her cat-shaped eyes, or her long, slender neck.