Bump (A Witchlight Novel)

by Jaime Munn

  Grace was consorting with demons through her ebony mirror. She was reaching into a very dark part of the veiled world. It stained her soul, and it was turning the honey coloured light of magic into a poisoned version of itself.

  The realisation that I had to craft protections almost had me laughing outloud at myself for being so naïve. It had been a long time since I had spelled defences. It seemed a lifetime ago. I had dabbled for a long while in exclusively catering to clients and their magical needs. Caution had seemed the wisest path to follow. That was all before I’d come to Whisper Falls. Now I rarely thought of those days on the road chasing nightmares and unravelling curses. It didn’t fit with the life of a shop proprietor in a quiet town, I thought, but Whisper Falls wasn’t as quiet as I had assumed. Nowhere was that quiet, not even the cemeteries. I ought to know that better than others.

  Coffee-on-Main had only the barest sprinkling of patrons. I found myself in and out in a handful of minutes, wondering if it was all my doing. Could banishing a sending impact the world so deeply? Feeling vaguely guilty, I headed to Tangles. The boutique gallery was silent like a grave. I shivered as I entered. The paintings and sculptures where all bright, glossy, and shiny but the mood felt heavy. The shadows seemed somehow darker. I couldn’t help but imagine that it was not only Emma’s soul at stake but the soul of an entire town.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Livia was at the small desk that was the gallery’s sole concession to the purely practical aspects of business. The desk was striking.

  From the smattering of knowledge acquired through art history classes at school, I thought it belonged to the heavily gilded Rococo style. It was gold. Red leather covered the surface upon which sat an elegant MacBook that undoubtedly was all Erica would consider appropriate for her gallery. There was a beautiful pen stand that had probably cost as much as the Mac with a gilded, jewelled pen standing in it. It might have spoken more about my personality than Erica’s, but the beautiful pen made me think that signing a contract or a deed of sale in Tangles was fraught with as much tension as signing one with a devil.

  Livia looked up from the monitor and gave me a weary smile. I carefully set the Coffee-on-Main disposable cup on the silver coaster that sat a little ways in front of the pen stand. Every time I entered Tangles I always ended up silently thanking fate that I wasn’t born clumsy.

  “You look like you had a hard night, Livia Darrow,” I said trying to throw a cheery smile at her and feeling that I had fallen far short of it.

  “You don’t look that shiny yourself,” she shot back and gratefully grabbed her coffee cup, swallowing a large sip. “Ah, peppermint caramel,” she sighed identifying the drink from the menu we’d both long since memorised. “You know, Nilla, sometimes I think you must be psychic too.”

  I laughed. The room seemed to swallow the sound. I cut it off abruptly like a stern librarian had shushed me with a disapproving hardness in her eyes.

  “I needed this,” Livia took another sip from her cup and gave another heady sigh of satisfaction. “At least we’re handling our night out better than Erica,” Livia narrowed her eyes. “She’s coming in later today. I don’t buy it that she had a breakfast meeting.”

  My breath caught. I tried to sound nonchalant as I suggested, “Maybe Sofia spent the night.”

  Livia shook her head, not looking up, her eyes straying back to the monitor as she set her coffee down on the coaster. “No, Kevin dropped her off after you. She’s staying at Truwill Boarding House.”

  I had once had reason to visit Diana Truwill’s Boarding House, and it was exactly as old school as it sounded. It wasn’t a surprise that Sofia had taken up short term residence at one of the few places in Whisper Falls that offered reasonably priced accommodation for those just passing through, but it made me start nonetheless. I wondered idly if Diana Truwill would remember me from the one time we’d met.

  “Kevin had to carry Erica to her door practically. If she didn’t have an eye for the ladies, I would have taken offence to the way she grabbed at my date while he got her from the car to her home,” Livia said idly, only partially focused on her words. Her eyes were darting across the monitor. I guessed that she was probably reading her emails. “I think Kevin enjoyed it a little too much,” her words were clipped and heavy with disapproval, “but I got the royal treatment.”

  I widened my eyes.

  “A lady never tells over takeaway coffee,” Livia responded with a mischievous smile. “Even if it is the best coffee brewed by mankind. Let’s have dinner tonight, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  I thought about my uninvited guest and considered putting the evening off.

  “We can make some spaghetti carbonara,” Livia continued. “I’ll tell you my saucy tale. Then you tell me why you were French kissing Erica’s date with your eyes last night.”

  I blinked, mouth parting to protest but Livia waved the unvoiced words aside.

  “No way are you going to start this morning by lying to your best friend.” She frowned at her monitor. “Crap. I have to deal with this,” she said. “Thanks for the coffee, Nilla. See you tonight?”

  I was being dismissed, but took no offence considering the number of times I’d done the same to Livia; sometimes with a magical nudge and sometimes more directly.

  “Sure, tonight, but let’s do it at my place.” I could black magic proof my apartment before she arrived, which would be easier than trying to explain to Livia why I needed to stand at the four quarters of each room in her house before we sat down to dinner.

  Livia nodded distractedly. I wondered if she had heard me. I hesitated.

  “I’ll bring my espresso machine and we can make lattes,” she said.

  I nodded, though she never looked up, and slipped away making a mental note to stop at the supermarket on the way home to pick up bacon, cream, and loads of milk.

  I finished my peppermint caramel coffee and picked up another on the way back to Which Light. That I needed the sugar reserves for the protection spells was the best excuse to spend more money on another helping from Coffee-on-Main. I went with a super sweet and rich white chocolate and toffee blend with an extra helping of four sugars. It was like hot ice cream in my mouth.

  There was a werewolf waiting for me when I got back to the store.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Sofia had her back to me, but the breeze was blowing in her direction. I didn’t have time to do more than recognise her before she was turning my way with a wide and close lipped smile. She waved. I waved back as I closed the distance between us.

  “Hi, Nilla,” she said easily. I knew that she hadn’t drunk half as much as the rest of us. “Witch Light, Which Light,” she laughed. “I love it. Really clever.” The sign on the store was spelled. For the everyday customers it was simply another sign in a store window, but for those touched by the supernatural, it was another thing altogether. They could see the true name behind the illusion.

  I smiled at her. “Sometimes I like to pretend I’m witty.” I managed to get the words out without being tongue tied. I wondered what Livia would say if she saw us now. French kissing with my eyes, where did she come up with this stuff?

  “I thought you were,” Sofia said. “Witty and witchy, though the second was a guess from the way you smell.”

  I flushed. To a wolf, scent was an important sense, more so than sight. To me, it just sounded sexy when a beautiful werewolf told you that she’d been breathing in your very personal brand of perfume.

  I didn’t ask her how I smelled. I’d heard it repeated enough from different werewolves to know that I smelled like a morning in the country; all earthy, and fresh, and full of promise. It was the thread of sweetness that ran through that—like candy floss and the honeyed notes of the veiled world—that spoke to the refined wolf nose of my inner witch.

  Sofia stepped aside as I unlocked the store door and opened it to wave her in. I glanced at the Victorian angel lamp as she passed. It gave no outward sign that it had
noticed her at all and I breathed a tiny sigh of relief. Whether the lamp was a harbinger of omens or not, it was comforting that the werewolf artist had triggered no response. I followed Sofia in with an almost carefree light heartedness. The wicked witch might want me dead, but the sexy werewolf didn’t. It seemed to make all the difference to the day.

  “I’m actually here for a spell,” Sofia confessed as she stood in the middle of the store, curiously examining the lamps displayed on the tables. Her eyes stopped at a few. I noted that they were the lamps with the stained glass shades. Her gaze lingered longest on the angel lamp, her brows quirking up slightly. I wondered if she was trying to decide if she liked or loathed the creepy design. “A gift for a friend.”

  I didn’t know whether I was more disappointed that it was my witchcraft that had brought her to me, or that she seemed more interested in looking at my wares than at me. I let the emotions bleed through while I turned to the door and locked it.

  I pointed her towards the stairs that descended into the basement. “Magic happens in the crypt,” I said dramatically.

  She smiled at me. Although I knew it went against her instincts, she went down the stairs first leaving me to follow behind. Emerging into the amber light that shimmered through the basement in defiance of the neon tubes and the windowless walls, Sofia stretched like an animal that had spent too long in a cramped space. The veiled world ran through her veins as much as it did mine or any other supernatural creature living in the mundane world. Here on the cusp of the veiled world, we all felt like we were closer to home.

  You might wonder why any supernatural would choose to live outside the veiled world, but all you have to do to answer your question is think about the demons, the gods, the beings that have their origins there. Witches and werewolves were small in the scheme of things given that in the veiled world we would be like midgets in a world of giants. They would swallow us whole in an instant. The veiled world was beautiful and wonderful and magical, but it would eat you alive if you weren’t strong enough to survive. It was a world of supernature and those of us who dwelled on the cusp, on the edges of it, weren’t made of the same stern stuff that had evolved deep in the honey-lit hills and valleys and mountains and oceans of that world.

  Sofia took the room in, eyes flitting over the boxes of stock for the store and stopping at the table where Leah’s grave jewellery still sat untouched. It made me ill looking at it, but I realised that I would need to touch it at some point to perhaps discover who the mystery phantom was who had put me squarely in the path of a witch without a conscience.

  I took a small empty box from a shelf and gingerly scraped the broach into it with a plastic spoon I got from a cup full of them beside a kettle I kept down in the basement in case a client wanted coffee or tea. They rarely did. Perhaps it was the sight of the plastic spoons.

  I closed the box and set it back on the shelf and gestured for Sofia to take a seat at the table.

  “Well that makes it pretty clear,” Sofia said as she sat down, “diamonds aren’t a witch’s best friend.”

  I managed a weak smile. “We’re just not that into hand me downs,” I said as I sat across from her. “We’re much more high maintenance than that.” I realised I was flirting with a client. Though it wasn’t technically against the rules I’d crafted over time, it came pretty close to breaking the spirit of a few of them.

  “It doesn’t get more high maintenance than a moon touched girl,” Sofia smiled. There was a glimpse of teeth in it. I wondered if she was flirting back. My heart quickened. It was a struggle to focus on the fact that she had come to me for a spell. I cursed myself for being so giddy in her presence. It would lead to no good. I even had a recent example of how much no good could come of not paying attention to the details. It still wasn’t potent warning enough to sober my emotions.

  I took a deep breath, not caring that the werewolf was watching me intently.

  “So, Sofia,” I said feeling reckless. Like a teenager wilfully ignoring the consequences. Her name rolled over my tongue almost as sensuously as a kiss. “What spell is it that you’re looking for?”

  There was laughter in her eyes, but she sank back into her chair like she had agreed to the change of topic only temporarily and for my comfort. I wondered if that was only how I wanted to see the moment and not how it was.

  “The moon is a harsh mistress,” she began suddenly more serious. “She can be cruel to her children and sometimes her cruelty is past bearing.”

  I knew that werewolves, like a few other supernatural beings, procreated through bite, infecting those who survived with a virulent magic that changed them forever. It was a wild and unpredictable change. There were many types of werewolf. I had known those who changed at will, those who were bound to the moon, and those who were wolfmen; more freakish than their brethren who switched from one species to the other. The effect of a werewolf’s bite was as changeable as the phases of the moon. To many, it was a curse. It was madness to choose it. I nodded, showing Sofia my understanding.

  “A friend of mine once bought a spelled wolf skin from a witch. It transforms her into a wolf when she wears it.”

  It was a clever but dangerous solution to the problem I thought. It sidestepped the potential consequences of a werewolf bite and gave the wearer of the pelt a choice in the type of creature she would become, but at a cost that was just as unpredictable. I wondered what the witch who had spelled the wolf skin had required of her in return.

  It was not a simple spell. The power that would be needed was staggering to contemplate. Like in fairytales, I could theoretically make a frog prince with a curse, and a fair amount of power, but to craft something that would work its magic over and over again was not surprisingly far more complex.

  I wanted to ask Sofia more about the wolf skin and the spell but knew better than to pry into the affairs of werewolves.

  Sofia frowned, biting her lower lip nervously. “I was wondering if there was something to be done for a friend who can never be anything other than a wolf.”

  My mind ferreted at her meaning and arrived at a conclusion that made me blanch and stare at Sofia wide eyed. A werewolf that couldn’t transform back into a human being, given the story of the wolf with the spelled skin, immediately brought to mind the image of a spelled human skin.

  “I didn’t mean…” Sofia trailed off, aware that in some way she had exactly meant that. She half rose. I held up a hand, not wanting her to go away thinking that I thought she was a monster for wanting to help a friend.

  “I won’t spell a human skin,” I told her. “Not even one from a cadaver in the medical science lab.” I wondered if I needed to tell her that unintentional things happened when you messed with dead tissue. Her wolf skin friend had gained more than a spell that transformed her into a wolf. Did she know how much deeper it went and how much her spelled pelt had truly cost her? “Let me think about this,” I told Sofia. She dipped her head slightly in acknowledgement, as though wanting to withdraw from the conversation. “And, Sofia, don’t ask another witch.”

  I choked at the thought of her asking Grace the same question. Grace St John would have no qualms with spelling human skin. The price would be unimaginable. I wondered if Grace had spelled the wolf skin as well. In its way, it was no less sinister a spell.

  Sofia nodded slowly. I wondered if she had already asked another witch. She’d sounded too innocent in her question though. Her hesitation came from something else, but I didn’t ask her.

  She rose from the chair. I echoed her. Together we headed up the stairs in silence. As I let her out the door, I reached for her arm and held it. She looked at me, a sliver of teeth showing. This time I knew it was not playful.

  “Your friend, the one with the wolf skin, does she know that there’s a cost that she didn’t pay to the witch who spelled it for her?” I held onto Sofia despite the quiet growl locked in her throat. I didn’t think we would be French kissing again, with our eyes or our lips, and it saddened me
more than it should have. “Tell her that the skin takes its own price. I can’t tell what it might be, but it’s there, and maybe she wants to know that.”

  Sofia nodded. I let go of her arm. She stepped out onto the pavement but then turned back to me.

  “Thank you, Nilla.”

  She gave me a hesitant smile. Then hurried away like she wanted to strip off her clothes, transform into a wolf, and outrun the memory of what I’d said and what she’d asked.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The rest of the day categorically sucked. The only respite was when Livia brought in the lunch break coffee. We finalised our dinner plans before she hurried out. She was still manning Tangles alone. Erica had been a no show at work all day, which was not like the gallery owner. I wondered whether it was something I should be worried about, but my mind had too many problems already.

  I closed the store a little early. Made a dash through the supermarket and then hurried home. Defence spells had never come naturally to me. They were rigorous in their crafting and demanded complete focus. I always felt wrung out from them like I’d been working a double shift at a busy fast food franchise, but at least they didn’t leave you smelling like greased up burger and fries.

  I glanced at my wristwatch as I set the groceries on the counter in the kitchen. By my calculations I had little under two hours to work through the apartment before Livia knocked at my door. It didn’t feel like enough time to spell every room, so I mentally triaged the place into segments from most important to least. The spelling started with the open plan kitchen/lounge. I would have preferred to start with my bedroom as the first set of spells in a series were almost always the surest and strongest, but I felt protecting my guests from becoming collateral damage in Grace St John’s vendetta against me was more important.