“Do what?” Before she can answer, I add, “Who’s minding the store?”
Summer waves a hand toward the door. “Winter’s out there.”
Winter is the last person we want waiting on customers, but in a pinch, she often helps out. She, too, has clients, paying for her ability to connect with their loved ones who’ve passed over, but she doesn’t take on many, maybe a handful a month. Ghosts she can handle, she always says, it’s people that drive her nuts.
That’s what I’m thinking, anyway—that we really shouldn’t have her there if it isn’t necessary—when Autumn says much more diplomatically, “Why don’t you prop the door open so we can hear if the bell rings?”
Summer gives us a fine look, stomps back, and sets a heavy ceramic black cat against it. I hear Hoax in the other room screeching at Winter and her sarcastic reply, threatening the bird with dismemberment. Godfrey jets past the doorway, as if he can’t stand the drama.
Smart cat.
Returning, Summer once again asks Autumn if she did it . The papers are filled with birth charts in my sister’s delicate handwriting.
“Did what ?” I ask again with more emphasis.
Summer practically bobs up and down with excitement. “I had Autumn run Tristan’s birth chart to see if he’s romantically compatible with you.”
My sisters have been busy since last night. I start to admonish them but look closer at the two charts placing them side by side. Like the cat killed by curiosity, I have to look.
Autumn is our astrology expert and knows at a glance how many lifetimes you’ve lived, what you’re working on in this lifetime, and what your karma looks like.
“How did you get Tristan’s birthdate and place of birth?”
She’s a computer whiz and can come up with a whole lot of stuff even I can’t find online. Quite possibly, she used some kind of magickal spell to locate the info. “I have my ways.”
She smiles and yep , that confirms my suspicion. She used a spell.
Autumn is often asked to delve into relationships and tell whether two people are a match astrologically. She has pictures of various couples who’ve gone through a handfasting or marriage ceremony hanging on a bulletin board in the office. She and Summer have even officiated a few, both being ordained ministers.
“I barely know the man and you’re shoving me off on him already,” I say to Summer, trying to appear irritated. My voice betrays me and I only sound interested.
“Pluto is in his eleventh house,” Autumn states, tapping a finger at Tristan’s chart. She points at several of the other houses, highlighting the placement of Mars and Saturn. “He’s reincarnated in this realm eleven times, and it appears most of those involved warfare, justice, and a lack of love.”
A pang of sadness hits me. “Maybe this time he’s supposed to find love and get away from the violence.” At least I hope so.
She believes this is her last incarnation on earth and that each of us go through the twelve houses, learning life lessons. Some revisit over and over until they learn the lesson that house has for them, and that means they hang around for more than twelve visits on this earthly plane. Autumn has Pluto in the twelfth house.
Me? I’m a young soul according to what she’s read in my chart. I’m still working on developing my sense of who and what I am in this lifetime. Occasionally, I feel jealous she’s been around a lot more and seems to have all the answers.
Maybe it is her last go on this plane. That might explain the deep wisdom and compassion she has for everyone. People come from all over the United States to spend half an hour with her and have her analyze their charts. Those who can’t travel here make appointments online. If she wanted to, she could probably work twenty-four hours a day. She’s usually booked out nine months to a year in advance.
Summer tries to read upside down from her place across from us. “What about his compatibility with Spring?”
“He has six planets in fire signs,” Autumn says. “Spring has a preponderance of air—four planets plus her rising.”
Summer grins. “Fire needs air to burn. That’s good, right?”
Autumn looks less happy. “Fire eats air, and once it’s gone, it suffocates itself.”
Happy thought, that.
Autumn continues. “The chief’s Venus is in Aries, Spring’s is in Taurus. He’s passionate in love and goes fast when he’s sure about his feelings, while Spring likes to take it slow. He focuses on sensual pleasures, while Spring can be more… utilitarian with her needs.”
“Utilitarian?” I complain, embarrassment flooding my chest. Couldn’t she have found a better word? “I prefer pragmatic, thank you very much, and honestly, I enjoy sensual pleasures as much as the next witch. I love nature and art and”—I wave a hand over the food cooling on the counter—“food.”
“It’s quite a passionate pairing,” Autumn reassures me. “He’s the Yang to your Yin. A strong aggressive lover, lots of sexual excitement.“
For a heartbeat, I’m lost in thoughts about Tristan and sexual excitement. The timer goes off on the oven and startles me. I consider picking up the papers and fanning myself, since I’m suddenly very warm.
Instead, I shove the papers back at Autumn. “I’m more concerned about protecting him than wooing him. And I need to find out what caused Annie and Jace to die while having sex. I need to prove Sex Magick had nothing to do with it.”
“Could they both have been allergic to something in the blend?” Summer asks.
“I’ve been asking myself the same thing.” I pull the Bannock out and set it on a trivet to cool. I shove another pan in and set the timer. “But unless they were drinking it, I can’t believe they would’ve had any kind of reaction to the ingredients.”
“How soon before the coroner comes back with the autopsy results?” Autumn asks. “I assume they’re doing them, right?”
“Tristan mentioned the coroner, so I believe so.”
“Dara would know for sure,” Summer says, nodding her head.
Autumn and I look at her, lost.
“Dara, Annie’s friend? The one I did a healing on last night.” She looks at me pointedly. “You ran out after her and talked to her, remember?”
“Oh, right.” I bite my bottom lip. “But I can’t exactly call and ask her. We’re not friends, and she’s your client, not mine. Seems insensitive, don’t you think?”
Heck, I didn’t even know her name.
“Yes,” Autumn agrees. At the same time, Summer says, “No.”
The two glare at each other for a second, then Summer turns to me, “Dara is definitely shaken up, but I’m sure she’d be happy to talk to you. Why don’t you take her one of your fresh strawberry cakes, extend some sympathy? It’d be natural then to ask what’s going on. Obviously, it’s an important investigation if Chief MacGregor came by yesterday. Twice,” she emphasizes and winks at me. “I thought you were going to call last night after he left.”
“We talked a little about the land and my gardens. That’s all. I didn’t think it was worth a phone call.” The bell over the shop’s door tinkles, a happy sound, and Summer groans. She turns to head out front, and I’m relieved, since Winter would most likely chase off whoever came in rather than help them.
Over her shoulder, Summer calls “When you didn’t, I was hoping he’d spent the night.”
She waggles her eyebrows and disappears.
Autumn and I exchange a look and I shrug. “I don’t know what’s gotten into her. She’s pushing MacGregor on me like I’m a spinster.”
I sound older than I am. In fact, I sound a lot like Mother in that moment.
Autumn smiles, as if she’s in on a joke. “She’s just living vicariously through you, since she won’t make the first move with Hopper.”
Hopper Caldwell is Summer’s crush. A local antiques dealer, he often brings antique jewelry to her to identify the gemstones. He’s closer to Winter’s age and seems to have a lot of baggage, which is why I suspect he’s introverted and such a quiet fell
ow. He’s a big teddy bear, in my book, and completely opposite of Summer. I think maybe her sparkling personality makes him happy, and he doesn’t have a lot of that in his life.
Autumn flips the cooled Bannock out of the pan. “If you’re worried about the chief, why don’t you make him one of your cakes? When you go see Dara, you can deliver his as well, and place a protection spell on him and his home.”
Brilliant. Yet, the idea makes me slightly jittery. I start to beg off because of everything I have to do today, but what if he were to turn up dead tomorrow because I didn’t see him? “Will you go with me?”
She refills her cup. “Wish I could, but I have three clients, plus, my turn out front. Why don’t you get Winter to?”
A new idea forms. While I’m running around, I might as well stop by Annie’s place. I want to see that sauna, get a feel for the energy in case it was something supernatural.
And if I can convince my grumpy, spirit-whispering, older sister to go, maybe she can connect with Annie.
7
I t’s late afternoon before Winter and I can get away. Yesterday’s sunshine is missing. Fog rolled in overnight and hangs around until late morning.
A light rain started after lunch, and even now, the air is so thick with moisture, the trees drip with it, and you can feel it on your face when you walk outside.
Winter seems almost happy to escape shop duties and go on an adventure. Extremely unusual for her, since she doesn’t like being in public. She’s usually bombarded with clingy ghosts, and sometimes, despite her best efforts to protect herself, she picks up spirit hitchhikers.
When they realize she can see and sense them, they go on a campaign to get her to relay messages to loved ones, or seek justice for their deaths. If they don’t realize they’re dead, she has to help them pass over.
Like humans aren’t enough to handle, she has to deal with the dead too. No wonder she’s in a constant bad mood.
I’ve baked three breads, complete with powdered sugar icing, and brought them with us. I should only need two, but I felt the nudge from my spirit guides to bring another. I’m still not sure who it’s for, and I’m anticipating bringing it home to eat myself if the opportunity presents.
I’ve added a few special ingredients for protection and health. It’s not much, but I also have an amulet our father used to wear for protection to give the chief. No guarantee Tristan won’t chuck it in the garbage, but it’s worth a try.
Annie’s place is between our land out on the highway and Raven Falls proper. She and Jace lived in an old two-story farmhouse with approximately two acres of wooded ground.
Winter and I take her VW Bug instead of the shop van, and she’s performed a spell to drop an invisibility cloak on us when we leave the car. Summer also gave us a fluorite crystal, insisting it’d help with our mission to go unnoticed.
We pass a yellow school bus on our way, but otherwise, it’s a quiet neighborhood. The house is off the road by a good hundred yards and surrounded by timber.
She debates whether to park in front to avoid raising suspicions, but there are no close neighbors or curious eyes to see us.
She doesn’t bother with any kind of cloaking spell for the car and pulls it off the gravel driveway and into the back behind the house.
The air here is even heavier with moisture, fog creeping in from the tree line at the edge of the property. The house looks rundown, the whole area deathly quiet, as if out of respect for what happened to Annie and Jace.
We stand there for a long moment, saying nothing. It feels like the right thing to do, paying mute respect to the dead. I feel as though speaking might disturb the land and house, both oozing a sense of mourning.
As I look around and realize how far away the neighbors are, I wonder if it once felt like a private refuge for the couple. There are small flower beds around the foundation, a few snowdrops and crocus valiantly trying to hang onto life while their compatriots already gave up.
A sprinkle of tulips have pushed up near the back door, and their cheery yellow petals are in complete contrast with the faded white paint on the house. In spots, it’s almost gray, and the concrete foundation is flaking.
We probably didn’t need any spell, but I’m thankful for it anyway. Regardless that there are no human eyes here, I feel as if we’re being watched.
“Where’s the sauna?” Winter murmurs.
We start walking. There’s a barn in worse shape than the house, although I see more flower beds, last year’s growth lying brown and wet. There’s a single window in the barn on the side, and one of the panes is broken. Cobwebs and dirt are prevalent.
The backyard includes a clothesline and what looks to have been a small garden. I spot a shed made from worn barn boards to the right. It’s barely bigger than an outhouse, and there’s a tiny window on the side facing us. Muddy yellow police tape forms an odd square, one strip lying on the ground.
I’ve brought a posy with me and see that others have left flowers, candles, and a Christian cross. The couple had no children, and from what Summer told us, no nearby relatives.
Winter suddenly pulls up short and I stop and face her. “Are they here?” I ask softly.
She looks toward the woods and shakes her head. “Not Annie or Jace.”
But obviously something is. “Do you think that spirit could tell us anything?”
She darts a glance at me, then back to the woods. “Guess I’ll find out.” The woods make me shiver. She takes several steps toward them, and I reach out to stop her.
“You’re not going alone.”
She gives me a wry grin. “I’m not going at all. I just want to get closer to whoever is hiding behind that overgrowth there.” I glance in the direction she’s looking but see nothing. Reaching for my magick, I close my eyes and try to sense the presence she’s picked up on. All I feel is the heaviness of being watched.
“I’m going to check out the sauna,” I tell her, and she nods.
As she moves toward the tree line, I scan the offerings left beside the sauna and bypass the yellow tape to go up the single step to the door.
The hinges are rusty and squeak when I open it. The pall that hangs around the house and barn is twice as heavy here. As I look into the shadows of the tiny sauna, the overwhelming smell of Sex Magick hits my nose.
I feel a heavy sense of foreboding, my stomach nauseous. From the forest, I hear a bird call, and stop to listen before stepping inside. Birds bring me messages, and since we’ve arrived, this is the first I’ve heard.
I glance over my shoulder to the woods and the bird call. Winter has stopped a dozen feet from the edge of the forest and seems to be talking to someone. No sign of the bird, but it sounded like a crow.
They’re abundant here, but when one makes its presence known, it may signal death, darkness, or change. They’re shapeshifters and can teleport from one dimension to another.
I want to see if any messages or feelings come through the air, but all I sense is this ongoing heaviness left behind by death. Telepathically, I ask the crow to call again if he has a message for me, or a warning.
All remains silent.
I don’t have to go entirely inside to see the interior, but it’s so filled with shadows, I squint. There’s a wood stove in one corner, a bench across from it, a stack of wood, and a container of black coal. It’s been cleared of any wine glasses and the other items Dara claimed were in here.
As I close my eyes and take a deep breath, I pick up the scent of something else. It’s somewhat familiar, but seemingly out of place.
My mind scrambles through various suggestions and discards them. I feel the answer on the edge of my brain, and I’m ready to grasp it, when I hear the crow again, this time closer.
Before I open my eyes, a deep voice asks, “Miss Whitethorne?”
I give a little yelp and turn too quickly. My balance deserts me and I tumble into the last person I expect to find.
My face ends up buried in the chief’s chest,
his two strong arms going around me and keeping me upright.
He steadies me on my feet and looks me over from head to toe. “What in the world are you doing here?”
I’m stunned. “I… Wait, you can see me?”
He gives me a questioning stare. “Of course.”
Holy goddess did the invisibility spell wear off? Did it not work to begin with?
Winter’s spells are top notch. They always work. I send a help me look toward her, and see she’s frozen in place watching the drama play out.
He follows my focused attention, but doesn’t seem to notice her, and looks back at me. “Are you all right?”
No, I’m not. I’ve just been caught by the Chief of Police at the scene of a death that involved one of my products.
I try not to stammer or look out of place when I answer. “I came to pay my respects.” I pull the posy out—thank magick, I brought it—from under the light cape I’m wearing. “I didn’t know the couple well, but after your visit yesterday, I felt the need to honor them.”
He’s still holding onto my arms and there’s a solid current of electricity tingling them and racing into my chest. As it did the previous day, his dormant Fae energy fires up that spot around my diaphragm and makes it hard to breath. With him this close, wooziness creeps over me and I sway on my feet.
Lines of concern etch his forehead and he lowers me to the step. “You better sit down,” he says. He keeps hold of me as he bends in front of me, his eyes locking with mine. “You don’t look so good.”
I take a deep breath and rub the spot burning between my breasts. “I’m fine,” I lie. “You just startled me.”
He releases one of my arms but seems reluctant to completely let go. His hand is a hot brand on my bicep, even through my clothes. “You had to look into the sauna to pay your respects?”
His tone is accusatory, or perhaps disturbed at the macabre idea of me staring at the spot where two people died unexpectedly.
I’m disappointed he thinks that, although it’s actually true. Feeling slightly petulant, I tell him the truth. Let him think what he wants. “I thought perhaps Annie’s spirit might be hanging around and I can talk to her, tell her I’m sorry.”
Of Potions and Portents: Sister Witches of Raven Falls Cozy Mystery Series, Book 1 Page 4