A Spot of Bother

by Magenta Wilde

  Suddenly she looked tired.

  I motioned for her to follow me. “Let’s head over to my house. It’s just a couple blocks away. I can make us some coffee …”

  “Do you still have any of that apple-walnut cake you made last weekend?” Tom cut in.

  I gave him an incredulous look, then sighed. “Yes, I have plenty of sweets.”

  “Then what are we doing here?” Tom asked. “Let’s go.”

  He was the first one up the stairs.

  26

  I was right behind Tom, going so fast I didn’t realize he’d come to a complete stop at the top of the steps. I thumped into him as a result.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, peering around him and wondering what stalled his treat-seeking momentum. Seriously, he’d turn into the Kool-Aid man and bust through a brick wall to get to a plate of cookies

  Then I smelt something acrid. Smoky. Angry. I turned to my left and there along the bar I saw a bright blue blaze.

  Scott and Amber had little silvery jars of evergreens and red carnations set up every couple feet alongside napkins, condiments and coasters.

  The greenery blew up in a puff of flame and black smoke, one by one, as quick as flash cotton — Poof! Poof! Poof! Then the napkins and cardboard coasters in between caught fire. In seconds it looked like the entire bar counter was blanketed in blue flames.

  The greenery and paper quickly burnt up, followed by an unsettling silence, which was only broken when Catrina sneezed twice.

  “Well, that was unusual,” I said to no one in particular.

  I started to walk forward, intent on investigating, but froze in place when the wooden front doors begin to rattle, like something invisible was fighting its way in. Or out. I wasn’t sure.

  It stopped almost as quickly as it began.

  There was a loud hiss like a match catching flame. Then popping and crackling.

  And more sneezing from Catrina.

  “Look over there!” someone shouted. “Over the bar!”

  There, I spied sparks at one end of a cedar garland before flames burst from the greens and zipped their way through the rest of the roping, the fire set in motion like dominoes. Once they reached the end of the line, the fire surged to the huge wreath hanging over the door. As it blazed up and outward, a loud creaking like metal bending caused me to clamp my hands over my ears.

  “Call 911!” a male voice shouted out.

  “Where’s the fire extinguisher?” a woman hollered.

  Scott raced to the doorway seconds later as Tom and Roger ran over to help. Tom moved a chair and held it steady as Scott hopped on it and began spraying the wreath with a fire extinguisher. Roger held his arms out to slow the panic and guide people toward the exit. It worked until a large man in a fleece-lined coat picked up a bar stool and set it sailing through the plate-glass window. The flames flared up with the sudden intake of cold night air, and people began pushing and shoving their way out the door and through the window.

  Once most everyone had cleared the space, the wreath sizzled out, gray smoke twisting up toward the ceiling and foamy carbon dioxide dripping down over the threshold.

  It grew quieter again, just the few of us remaining. Most of the people had backed away from the building, though I spied a couple people filming the action with their phones.

  “What the hell just happened?” Tom asked, looking around. “It’s not anything like a grease fire or an electrical thing.” He scratched his head and went to the first jar that had blazed up.

  Mom, Catrina and I followed, examining the spot.

  Catrina sneezed three times.

  “Wow, you must be allergic to something!” I said.

  “Something all right,” she agreed.

  “Watch out!” Scott yelled.

  I looked up and the holiday greens adorning the pendant light fixtures flamed up, quickly blackening the ceiling and showering orange-size fireballs onto the floor below. Scott and Tom were underneath one of the hanging lights, but they darted out of the way in time. So did Mom, Catrina and I as the missiles rained near us, with Catrina sneezing every few seconds.

  Roger had moved from the shattered window closer to the bar, watching things unfold when a few flames, like sparklers gone wild, spread out and showered over him.

  I gave out a yelp as I saw one nearly hit him, and then screamed when a flame the size of a cantaloupe grazed him and I saw the arm of his coat swallowed by fire. I ran over to Roger at the same time Tom did. Before I could react further, Tom had whipped off his jacket and was using it to smother Roger’s coat.

  I was about to speak but the loud whine of sirens and the flashing red lights of two fire engines screeching to a halt outside distracted me. Several firefighters ran inside and looked up at the burning light fixtures still dropping down flames.

  “What the fuckl?” one very tall and very beefy fireman barked out. “Is this some crazy pyrotechnics gone wrong?”

  Mom opened her mouth to say something but he shook his head and pointed to her. “No time for talking. Everybody needs to get out now!”

  Mom suddenly grew wobbly and began to tilt over. The fireman quickly scooped her up and carried her out.

  Alarmed, we followed. In a flash he had handed her off to a paramedic who was already preparing to administer oxygen.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, reaching out to touch Mom’s shoulder.

  Tom crowded in and fussed over her, checking her eyes, cupping her chin in his hands. “Fi! What happened? Are you okay, honey?”

  “I was just overcome,” Mom said weakly. “Maybe it was the smoke.”

  Tom nodded and continued to pet her, so I went over to Roger and examined his arm.

  The fire had singed away a good amount of his coat’s arm, but it hadn’t done more than blacken his shirt. “Is it okay?” I asked. “Does it hurt?”

  “It’s fine,” he said as I pulled off the coat halfway and rolled up his sleeve to examine his arm. The skin appeared unmarred, not even a bit pink. I let out a shuddering sigh, grateful that both Roger and Mom seemed fine. Then I burst into tears.

  Roger quickly pulled me in and gave me a reassuring hug. “I’m fine, Poppy. Your mom looks fine, too.”

  The impulse to sob evaporated quickly, and after a few snuffles and gasps I recollected myself.

  “Sorry about that,” I muttered, swiping away a tear. “I just … that was just bizarre. And intense. When I saw your arm on fire and mom fainting, it scared the shit out of me.”

  Roger chuckled. “I’m fine. It’s just some damage to the fabric is all. And your mom looks fine, too.”

  “I’ll say she does.” It was Catrina, watching Mom with an amused expression. In the minutes that had passed, the fire inside the pub had been extinguished and the big firefighter was back over by my mother, leaning over, asking how she was doing. She was batting her lashes at him and placing her manicured hand on his beefy arm as she thanked him.

  “Tom, would you be a dear and get me a cocoa from Emily’s, please?” she cooed.

  He seemed reluctant but he did as she asked. I took the moment to go and check on her, and the big fireman gave me a nod and smile as he left us alone.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Mom smiled. “I just felt overwhelmed for a moment.”

  “And you fainted? I’ve never seen you faint before.”

  “Well, I didn’t actually faint,” Mom said. “I just was — how should I put it? — overstimulated by all that was happening, and then that big hunk of a fireman came along and I thought I could put my trust in him getting me out of the bar safely, and faster than I ever could on my own two feet.”

  Then it dawned on me. “You didn’t fake fainting, did you?” I groaned.

  “Plus, think of how thrilling it was for the crowds to see him carry me out. He looks heroic. And, people will want to come to our shop to hear all about my rescue.”

  Catrina had drawn closer and cackled with glee when she overheard. “Oh
, I can’t say I blame your mother for doing that. I wish I had the cojones to try that myself. I wouldn’t mind being carried around by that guy. He belongs on a calendar more than on a firetruck, as far as I’m concerned. He could be cast as the next Thor.”

  “Yes,” Mom smiled, with a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin. “I’m going to be thinking of that next time Tom and I get to role-playing.” She craned her head in the direction of the firetruck. “I wonder if I can steal one of their hats?”

  I opened my mouth to say something more, but Tom had returned, mug of cocoa in hand for Mom. She took it, thanking him and gracing him with a coy grin. “You’re my hero, Tom. You so bravely helped Scott put out that fire over the door, and then you put yourself in danger again to save Roger.” She capped off the praise with a loud purr, which caused him to straighten up and puff out his chest. She blew him a kiss and he returned the gesture with a real one to her cheek before turning to go and chat with the firefighters.

  When he was away, Mom pulled a flask out of her pocket and doctored her cocoa. She held the bottle up and looked to Catrina and me. “It’s a buttered rum schnapps. Anyone want a belt?”

  Catrina shrugged and accepted the container, taking a healthy pull. I opted not to, but claimed the enhanced cocoa and took a good sip of that. “Oh, that’s a nice combo,” I said.

  “It’s better with the buttered rum,” Mom agreed. She offered her cup to Catrina who turned it down. “No thanks. Not a fan of liquor with coffee or cocoa. It seems an unkindness to the booze, as far as I’m concerned.”

  A moment later Tom meandered over, followed by Scott and Amber, who both looked downtrodden.

  “Is it bad,” I asked.

  “The fire didn’t do much structural damage, from what I can see,” Scott said, “but it was hopping all over so they sprayed a ton of water inside, and that made a real mess.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “Is there anything we can do for help?”

  “It’s just going to set me back is all, since we’ll have to replaster and repaint, reinstall some fixtures,” Scott sighed.

  “It sucks,” Amber groused, “since we’d gotten off to such a good start this evening. We wanted people to talk about the beer, the food, the atmosphere. Not because fireballs blazed up and we got soaked.”

  “I hear that,” Mom said, holding up her flask for the duo.

  Scott took a pull, and then Amber also took a belt.

  “Thanks,” she said, wiping her mouth with her hand and returning the flask to its rightful owner.

  Scott sat next to Mom and I could see he looked totally beat.

  “You know,” he said. “I really don’t know what to do about this. We’ve had quirks with the paint, and weird smells and cold breezes and things shifting and moving or leaking but it seemed to be slowing down, and now this … .” He waved his hand toward the storefront and shook his head. “I can handle some weird happenings, but random fireballs raining down from the ceiling and wreaths and other shit catching on fire? Customers aren’t going to want to dodge flames. And I’m not sure I want to try and clean up mess after mess after mess. We can’t go a few hours or a few days or a few weeks even and deal with god-knows-what happens next.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be okay,” I offered.

  “I’m not so sure. We can’t shut down and refurbish all the time. I don’t think all those previous issues — the Irish bar, the 1950s restaurant, and all the other incarnations — were flukes. I think there’s something seriously wrong with this location.”

  “How many different businesses have been here before?” Catrina asked.

  “Lots. Lots and lots,” Amber said.

  We all grew silent for a moment.

  Then a deep voice interrupted our quiet.

  “I can understand your concern,” Ash said. He and Jordan had snuck up on us. “From what I saw earlier you were off to a good start. The food is great. The beer is excellent. The atmosphere is marvelous. But clearly something supernatural is at play here.”

  “You’re kind of supernatural yourself,” Mom said. “Can’t you fix it?”

  “Maybe. If I knew what it was, I might,” Ash replied.

  “Do you have any idea?” Jordan asked.

  “Usually I have some idea but this situation is bizarre. It’s somehow obscured.” He turned his golden gaze to Catrina, and seemed to assess her. “You have a curious energy to you.” He extended his hand to her. “I go by Ash.”

  “You go by Ash?” she smirked. “That makes me think it’s not your real name.”

  “Good instincts,” Mom said, causing Ash to shoot her a look.

  “In any case,” Catrina said. “I’ve got nothing much to hide. At least not around you folks, who seem to be carrying around your own suitcases of secrets. I’m Catrina.”

  “Like the Day of the Dead?” Ash asked.

  “You could say that,” she agreed.

  He looked her up and down. “Why do I get the impression you might be able to help?”

  She shrugged. “Because I really might be able to. Poppy has some items I am interested in seeing. I might be able to help solve this problem if I can get all the information I need.”

  “In that case,” I said, “let’s go to my place like we’d planned so I can show you what we’ve found.”

  27

  A half hour later I’d brewed tea and set out some cookies and cakes. Tom, ever eager for treats, quickly sampled one of everything while everyone else took a more measured pace. Ash, always ravenous, wasn’t far behind Tom’s consumption levels. They stood by the bar counter in my kitchen and nibbled their way through the offerings while Catrina, Mom, Jordan, Roger and I sat at the kitchen table.

  I opened the box and set it in front of Catrina. She pulled everything out one by one, examining each item, sometimes weighing it in her hands, sometimes smelling something, and sometimes eyeing it closely with a little magnifying monocle she wore on a chain around her neck.

  “Is that a magical monocle?” I asked as she peered at the cardinal feather.

  “What? This?” she shook her head. “No. I just have shitty eyesight.”

  “Ah, so the magic of science,” I said.

  “Pretty much.”

  The last item she pulled out was the blue glass jar. “That’s a witch jar, isn’t it?” I asked.

  “It is,” she said, nodding. She unclasped the lid and peered inside, waving her fingers over the opening.

  “I think this, in part, is contributing to the problem.”

  “How so?” Jordan asked.

  “Normally, witch jars are filled with various objects and are used to block or trap some bad magic. In this case I think it’s been used to trap or block happiness,” Catrina said.

  “What makes you think that?” I asked.

  “Well, inside I see several items, some probably came from the contents of the box — the flowers, a bit of ribbon, for example — but I also see nail clippings and some hair knotted and it’s a reversed kind of knot. Normally you’d use knot magic for binding, but this seems to be used more for repelling.”

  I leaned over and peered at more of the jar’s contents. “Is that snake skin?” I asked.

  Catrina looked back inside. “Yes. I think so. I think it’s from a copperhead, too.”

  “Those aren’t even from around here,” I said.

  “No,” Catrina agreed, “but I think whoever put this together meant business, and wanted to send the universe a message, I guess you could call it.”

  “Like a keep-away message?” I asked.

  “I think so.”

  “Should that thing even be allowed in the house then?” Roger asked.

  “I think we’ll be fine,” Mom assured him. “It’s not directed at us and we know how to protect ourselves.”

  “And the more we know, the better our offense — and defense, if it comes to that — will be,” Catrina said. “Tell me all you know.”

  I filled her in on what I’d found ou
t, about Cora and Ernest, and Catrina looked over the contents of the box in greater detail, reading snippets from their love letters, examining the feathers, the drawings, the flowers.

  “I don’t exactly understand how these two could be kept apart,” I said. “I mean, they’re dead, so if societal issues were what kept them apart a hundred years ago when the rules were different, shouldn’t dying have freed them from worldly rules and obligations?”

  “If not, that’s an unsettling scenario,” Mom said.

  “It should have freed them from society’s rules and bullshit,” Catrina agreed. “But sometimes there are blocks.”

  “Blocks? Like magical roadblocks?”

  She nodded. “They can manifest in many ways. You’ve seen ghosts, but have you communicated with them?”

  “I have. I see my father’s ghost from time to time. He’s told me a bit about the afterlife.”

  “So you might know it can get kind of, um, cluttered.”

  “I’ve read articles that estimate that there are maybe a hundred billion who have already lived and died.”

  “Good that you know that. You get an idea of how that can complicate things. Besides the huge number of souls, a number of other factors can further complicate matters. How a person was raised. If they were truly honest about themselves about what they wanted in love. If, say, a man only believes that he should fall in love with a blonde woman under the age of twenty-five, and nothing else will do, then his options narrow drastically.”

  “So,” I began, “if he opened himself up to brunettes and lost the age cap, he’d have a greater shot at true love?”

  “Yes, and if he considered that love truly should be about hearts and minds — and passion, if someone is not asexual — then think of how much his options expand.”

  “Are you saying if he weren’t, say, conditioned to expect to marry a woman, he might meet a guy he likes?” Mom asked.

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Catrina agreed.

  “So are we all kind of, well, gay?” Jordan asked, a smile on his young face.