That Olde White Magick

by Sharon Pape

  “Are you paying attention?” Bronwen asked.

  I detoured carefully around her. “A hundred percent,” I said. If I hadn’t been before, I certainly was now. Maybe that’s why she came close enough to scare me. Everything my grandmother did had a purpose.

  “You did a beautiful job with the bowl, and I’m sure you’re going to try it on yourself as soon as you have time. I know I would. Just promise me one thing. You’ll take into account the fact that our magick has not been consistently reliable of late. Each and every time you try it on yourself, test it first by teleporting an object. If that goes well, by all means, proceed. If not, let it go for another day.”

  It seemed like reasonable advice. “I promise,” I said.

  “Each and every time?” she said, pressing me.

  “Each and every time. And please tell my mother about my promise so I don’t have to go through this again with her.”

  “As soon as we’re on speaking terms,” she said and was gone before I could ask any questions.

  * * * *

  I was busy showing a new customer around the store that afternoon when the door chimes jingled. I was in the last aisle with Lorna, explaining which night cream would be best for her skin. I excused myself to see who’d come in. The three murders that summer were taking their toll on me. I jumped at the smallest noises and imagined killers behind every door. I was surprised and relieved to find Jane Davies standing on the threshold, holding the door open as if she were prepared to escape at a moment’s notice. When she saw me, her face relaxed, and she stepped inside, letting the door close behind her.

  “There you are,” she said. “For a moment, I thought I was in the wrong shop.” She was looking around as she spoke, and I could tell she was unsettled by the idea of magick, or at least the kind of magick I was selling. Like a lot of people, she was probably comfortable with the old sawing-a-woman-in-half trick because she knew it was only a trick. The very atmosphere of my shop spoke of the ancient and the arcane: lotions and potions, brews and spells.

  “It’s good to see you, Jane,” I said, quickly covering the distance between us before she could decide her trip to New Camel was a bad idea. “I should have told you about my day job.”

  “It’s an adorable little shop,” she said politely.

  “I want you to know that everything in here is for the practice of white magick.”

  Jane mulled that over. “You mean all this stuff actually works?”

  “Yes, but it’s only purpose is to help people.”

  “I see.”

  I could tell that she didn’t and my explanations were only making matters worse.

  At that moment, Lorna brought her basket up to the counter, smiling. “I was told by a couple of people that your products are amazing. I want to buy everything, but if I do, my husband will file for divorce. We’re saving up to have a baby.”

  “That’s wonderful,” I said, excusing myself from Jane to take care of her. Lorna paid by credit card, and I packed her purchase in a mini tote. “Enjoy,” I said. “And remember, you can bring back anything that doesn’t perform to your expectations.”

  When she left, I flipped the Open sign to Closed. It was less than an hour until closing time anyway, and I didn’t want to rush Jane after she drove all the way from Hassettville. I offered her the chair and took my usual spot on the counter. She seemed a little calmer. Maybe having seen normal-looking Lorna buy my products and pay with a normal credit card helped ease her mind about my shop and me.

  “You didn’t have to drive all this way to see me,” I said. “I would have come up to you if you’d asked.”

  “You’ve been very kind to come up twice already to listen to an old woman’s tale of woe. I wanted to do my part.”

  “Did something happen since I last saw you?”

  “I had another visit from the man who brought me Dwayne’s letter.”

  Questions immediately flooded my head, but I shut my mouth on them and let her continue at her own pace.

  “He told me Dwayne never sent him the second half of the money he was promised on completing the job. Kailyn, you don’t know my son, but he would never cheat anyone.” Her voice cracked on the last word. She took a moment to compose herself before she went on. “The only possible explanation is that he’s dead.”

  “Not necessarily,” I said, hopping off the counter to hunker down beside her. I took her hand. She looked at me with hope in her eyes. “Your son may have paid this guy, but he decided to hit you up for more. He knew Dwayne set up a bank account in your name. Scam artists are everywhere these days.”

  Jane’s eyes widened. “I didn’t think of that. And you’re right about him asking me for the money.”

  “You didn’t give it to him, did you?”

  She shook her head.

  “How did you get him to leave?”

  “I threatened to call the police. I even got the phone and hit 911 in front of him. That’s when he took off.”

  We chatted for a little while about how she was managing on her own and if I could help in any way. Meanwhile, my conscience was nagging at me for withholding the other, less attractive prospect about her son’s circumstances. How could I tell her that Dwayne, who never cheated anyone, might be a cold-blooded killer as well as the target of a hit? I told myself I wanted to shield Jane until we knew for sure if Dwayne was alive or dead. My overactive conscience contended that I was just trying to shield myself from how she would react or how on earth I’d be able to console her. My inner debate ended in a stalemate, so I decided to follow my heart and wait for definitive proof before I helped Jane plan a funeral for her only child.

  It was five o’clock when Jane checked her watch and abruptly stood up. “I’m so sorry,” she said, picking up her purse. “I didn’t intend to occupy this much of your time. I want to get on the road while it’s still light out.”

  I rose with her. “You’re welcome to spend the night with me and my six cats,” I said.

  “I do love cats,” she murmured as if she was considering the offer. My Saucy passed away three years ago, and I still miss her so.” She glanced around the shop again before coming to a decision. “I appreciate the invitation, Kailyn, but I prefer to go home. I sleep best in my own bed.”

  Her unspoken words were just as clear to me. She wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink in my house now that she knew about this side of me.

  Chapter 31

  Sunday was one of those rare September gifts: cloudless blue skies and eighty degrees. My mother used to say, “It’s a crime to stay indoors when Mother Nature bestows such a day on us.”

  No matter what else had been planned for that day, she packed up the picnic hamper and off we’d go. It was in that spirit that Elise invited me to join her and the boys for a last barbecue that afternoon. Sundays are generally busy days for the New Camel shops, and you can multiply that by a factor of ten when the weather cooperates. Work versus fun, the eternal yin–yang of life. I decided I could manage to have both. When I mentioned my conundrum to Elise, she was immediately onboard with starting the festivities an hour later. I’d keep the shop open until three and then hightail it over to her house. Hightail it? The phrase must have slipped into my vocabulary now that Merlin was back in old-west mode.

  Elise’s menu called for burgers and hot dogs with coleslaw, potato salad, and the last of the season’s corn. I was in charge of dessert. On my way to the barbecue, I stopped at Pie in the Sky, where I picked up an open-faced Italian plum pie. It was only available in August and September and happened to be Elise’s favorite. We had an agreement never to mention that to my aunt Tilly. The shop’s owner had been shrewd enough to install a freezer full of ice cream because who doesn’t want ice cream with their pie? I bought a half gallon of vanilla and made it to Elise’s at three fifteen.

  I waved to Zach and Noah, who were playing a noi
sy game of hoops on the driveway with neighborhood kids. Elise always left the front door unlocked when the boys were outside. I let myself in, stowed the ice cream in the freezer, and left the pie on the counter. I could see Elise through the sliding glass doors. She was on the deck with the grill already fired up. I went to join her. With a long-handled spatula occupying one hand, she used the other to pull me into a clumsy, one-armed hug.

  “One of each?” she asked me as she started throwing meat on the fire.

  “Absolutely,” I said. “In fact, it might be mandatory on a day like this.” I looked around to see if there was anything I could do to help, but she’d already set the redwood table with paper plates, utensils, and cups, as well as ketchup, mustard, pickle relish, and chopped onion. “I’ll call the boys in,” I said, seizing on the one thing left to do.

  Less than ten minutes later we were all seated at the table, mouths too full to say a word. Once the eating slowed down, Elise asked Zach to repeat what he told her that morning.

  He wiped a smear of ketchup off his chin. “So, Aunt K,” he said, having recently dropped the rest of my name, “you know I’m friends with Chris Griffin, right?” I nodded, my Nancy Drew antennae quivering with interest.

  “Well, I mentioned to Mom I’d like to learn to shoot trap or skeet.”

  “Shooting clay pigeons at an outdoor range,” Elise explained when she saw I was lost.

  “Yeah, and it’s completely safe,” Zach said, pleading his case. “Chris has gone dozens of times with his dad.”

  “What kind of gun do you use for that?” I asked.

  “A shotgun,” Zach said eagerly, perhaps hoping to find an ally in me. “Virtually accident proof.”

  What he didn’t realize was that I would never countermand one of Elise’s decisions. Besides, I had a very different agenda in mind with my questions. “What other things do he and his dad do together?”

  “Lotsa stuff. They go to the batting cage and camping, sometimes bowling or shooting billiards. I know my dad never liked that stuff, but it sounds like a lot of fun.”

  “Do they like fencing or archery or martial arts with knives?” I asked, thinking about the knife that killed Amanda.

  Zach thought for a moment before responding. “I never heard Chris talk about any of that, but they do go to an indoor range to target shoot with a pistol. The place monitors everyone very carefully.” He added, “No one’s ever gotten hurt there.” He cast a sideways glance at his mother, no doubt to see if she was warming to the idea of letting him try it.

  “Forget it,” she told him bluntly. “Isn’t it enough that your dad was killed with a gun?”

  Zach knew when he was beaten. He sighed as only a teenager can sigh under the yoke of a tyrannical parent and consoled himself with another hotdog.

  “Zach,” I said, “do you happen to know the caliber of the pistol Chris and his dad use?”

  “I don’t think he ever said.” He’d clearly lost interest in my questions, now that his mom had shut him down.

  Over the years, Elise and I had become fluent in eye messaging. The one she was sending me at that moment said, “Do you believe my kid?” My eyes replied, “Oh yeah.”

  Zach mounted a sneak attack to steal the half piece of corn on Noah’s plate. A minor scuffle ensued until Elise called a truce. She leaned into me and whispered, “He’ll be off to college before we know it, but once in a while he still loves to torment his brother. Gets me a little crazy.”

  “Ma, I’m right here,” Zach said, waving his hand in front of her. “You do realize I can hear every word you’re saying. You want to know your problem? You need to lighten up. Besides, tormenting your little brother is a sacred responsibility. It’s like the eleventh commandment.” He smiled a broad, mischievous smile. “And FYI, I’m never going to outgrow it.”

  “Hey, no fair,” Noah whined. “I don’t have a little brother.”

  Before Elise and I went inside to get the dessert, she gave the boys a warning about keeping the peace. Noah gave his brother a defiant chin thrust. Zach responded by running his finger across his throat like a knife. Elise looked up at the sky, probably pleading for an extra helping of strength and patience.

  Once we were inside, I made her sit down on a kitchen chair and do some deep breathing.

  “Remember what great kids you have,” I said. I waited two beats and added, “Most of the time.” My last words struck her as hysterically funny.

  “Thank you,” she said, out of breath. “One day I will literally die laughing, and it will be your fault.”

  “Isn’t that what friends are for?”

  Zach opened the sliding door and poked his head in. “Seriously, what’s taking so long?”

  “Some much-needed laughter therapy,” I said. “Dessert is on its way.”

  Elise took the small paper plates and more utensils, including a scooper, and I followed her with the pie and ice cream. By the time we finished dessert, she and I had gone from being pleasantly full to feeling like we might explode if we moved. The boys, who showed no signs of similar discomfort, jumped up and ran around to the driveway to see if the basketball game was still ongoing.

  Elise leaned back in her chair and opened the button on her jeans with a groan. “Believe it or not, they’ll be asking for more pie and ice cream in half an hour. Proof positive that growing boys are a species unto themselves.”

  We sat outside until a cool wind sprang up, tossing the tree limbs around, blowing the plates and napkins off the table, and sending the eighty degrees packing. We ran down the paper goods and dumped them in the garbage can Elise had stationed nearby. Gathering up what was left of dessert, we ran inside. Once everything was put away, Elise made tea, and we settled in the family room with big mugs, hoping the hot beverage would banish the sudden chill in our bones.

  * * * *

  I was getting into my car to head home when my cell rang and Travis’s picture popped up on the screen.

  “Hey where are you?” he asked, sounding frustrated.

  “Just leaving Elise’s. She had me over for a last barbecue. Why? Where are you?”

  “At your house, waiting for you.”

  Had I forgotten we had a date? No, I was pretty sure we didn’t. “Did we get our signals crossed?” I asked.

  He chuckled. “No, I’m messing with you. You’re usually at work or at home, so I didn’t bother calling ahead.”

  “I guess I shouldn’t be so predictable,” I said, wryly. “I’m making it way too easy for any crazies who might be stalking me.”

  “Well hurry home; this crazy has some interesting news to impart, plus I really need a bathroom.”

  When I pulled into my driveway, Travis was sitting on the rattan rocker on the porch. He met me at the top of the steps and planted a light kiss on my mouth. Had I made a wrong turn and driven into an alternate universe, one in which he’d never freaked out about my magick and withdrawn from our relationship? I decided not to over think it. “So, what’s this interesting news you used to lure me home?”

  “Bathroom first; then news.”

  I opened the door and let him in ahead of me—directly into what appeared to be a mob of unionized felines. All six of them were congregated in the foyer to demand their dinner the second I walked in. I looked at my watch and saw that I was an unforgivable ten minutes late. Sashkatu was leading the chorus of plaintive vocals with all the aplomb of a starring tenor. Travis, who must have expected clear sailing to the powder room, stumbled over and around the cats until he made his way past them. If only I had my phone at the ready, I could have enjoyed the video replay for years to come.

  He found me in the kitchen, rustling up the cats’ dinner. “A person could break a leg trying not to step on them,” he said.

  I set their dinner bowls on the floor. “Maybe if a person didn’t take it for granted I’d be home, he would
n’t have been in such a hurry to get past them.” I took Sashki’s food to the powder room, where he was waiting, and closed the door.

  Travis had followed me, probably curious about where I was headed with the bowl of food. “Isn’t he going to want out of there?”

  “My mother and he worked it out years ago. He’ll yowl when he’s finished eating and wishes to rejoin his subjects.”

  He grinned. “Do you think you might be spoiling him a bit?”

  “He’s not just any cat; he was my mom’s familiar,” I said, daring to remind him about the family business. “Now, march yourself into the living room. You owe me some news.”

  It was growing dark earlier these days, and I begrudged autumn every single minute of the waning light. The living room was already bathed in twilight shadows. Before sitting down, I closed the blinds and turned on the two lamps that gave the room a warm, rosy glow. Travis waited until I was settled on the couch before sitting down beside me. Right beside me. Don’t read into it, I told myself. “Okay,” I said, “I’m ready to be wowed.”

  “Apparently, if folks in New Camel own firearms, they prefer rifles and shotguns over handguns.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Rifles and shotguns don’t have to be registered in this state, except in New York City. Only handguns do.”

  “That makes sense,” I said after a moment’s thought. “My guess is that handguns are used mostly for protection in your home. We have a low crime rate up here. Most people feel safe, or at least they used to. Is that your big news?” I felt cheated.

  He glossed over my question to ask me another. “How many forty-five-caliber handguns do you think there are in this town?”

  “I don’t know, ten?”

  “Twenty,” he said. “And by the way, that’s pretty low when you take into account the size of New Camel with its outlying areas.” I shrugged, still waiting to be impressed. Travis sounded like he was just warming up. “How many of those are owned by people you probably know?”

  “Travis, please, enough with the twenty questions.”