The Christmas Witch

by Carla Caruso

  ‘Psst.’ She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘What do you think of you-know-who?’

  Sutton glanced up, her pale brows knitting together. ‘The courier guy just before? Not sure about the footy shape shaved into the back of his head, but maybe if he changed his hairdo …’

  ‘Not him.’ Mina nodded towards the office. ‘Him.’

  Sutton furrowed her brow. ‘Elvis? Yeah, he’s pretty cool for a dead guy.’

  ‘Jadon, I mean, not the shop music,’ Mina burst out. Then she dropped her voice again. ‘Sorry, I just meant, what are your thoughts on him?’

  ‘Ahh, Hilforest’s new most eligible bachelor.’ Sutton cottoned on, at last. She shrugged a shoulder. ‘Dunno. He’s surly and attractive—a lethal combo for most women. But you know I prefer my men with long hair, make-up and tattoos.’ She unleashed a dreamy sigh. ‘Like Marilyn Manson in the nineties. So, yeah, don’t fret, Jadon’s all yours.’

  ‘I don’t mean like that,’ Mina exclaimed. ‘I mean, what do you think about his attitude and all? Do you think he’s serious about shaking things up here or else, or that he’ll likely disappear as soon as Mr Eder returns?’

  Sutton rubbed her lips together, making her septum hoop dance. ‘Well, he’s definitely different to ol’ scatterbrained Mr Eder. I imagine he’s the kind of guy who actually sees things through. Though whether that means our jobs or the shop are really on the chopping block, who can say?’

  Mina’s heart squeezed. Stock mightn’t fly off the shelves there like at IKEA, but she hadn’t thought things were that dire. Unlike Sutton, she didn’t have a candle empire as a backup plan either—

  ‘Hellooo, Minka!’ a familiar voice shrilled across the store. Somehow, Mina’s heart sank even lower.

  Thanks to rarely wearing glasses, out of vanity, she hadn’t spotted the garish lady-who-lunched, Leonique, sailing in. The woman had mispronounced Mina’s name for so long, she never bothered to correct her. Had she known Leonique was visiting she would have used a flimsy excuse to visit the workshop space out back. She’d had enough to deal with that morning.

  Instead, though, she cajoled her lips into a smile and headed over to where Leonique was assessing a French Provincial side chair. She really shouldn’t have been hard to miss with her orange-feathered hat, green eyeshadow, and blinding array of jewels. Leonique’s look could be described as ‘racecourse-ready’.

  ‘Minka, is that a stain?’ she trilled, caressing the seat of the beige, floral-patterned chair. Her lipstick was smudged at the corners, and champagne stained her breath, despite the early hour. The chair, meanwhile, exuded a nervous red aura.

  ‘Uh …’ Mina leant to study the teeny spot Leonique was referring to. ‘Oh, I think it’s just lint.’ She brushed away the offending fluff.

  For Leonique’s next act, she force-wobbled the perfectly solid chair. ‘Hmm, it doesn’t feel very sturdy, however. If I was to buy it, I’d need a discount to factor in the cost of repair and re-upholstery.’

  This was how the rich got richer: by being cheap.

  ‘Re-upholstery?’ Mina echoed. ‘I thought, uh, the fabric looked pretty good.’ Like she’d just confirmed, there was no stain.

  The chair emitted another wave of anxious red, which, of course, only Mina could see. She felt for it. She could just imagine Leonique re-doing it in a purple giraffe-print or something equally terrible. Leonique poked her nose ever higher. ‘Anything floral I find rather tacky.’

  Pot, kettle, black! Maybe it was the bad start to Mina’s morning or Jadon’s pervading presence, but she found herself steadily eyeing Leonique for the first time ever. Ordinarily, she’d try to divert Leonique’s attention to an item that couldn’t be altered or something, but not that day. ‘You know, you might have better luck finding a suitable chair at a generic furniture store in the city … where you can shop from a catalogue.’

  Leonique held Mina’s gaze for several uncomfortable seconds. Then, with a huff, she clamped her handbag more tightly under one arm, spun on her heel and tottered away. The chair’s aura morphed into a cheery yellow again.

  Mina patted its dark-wood arm, allowing herself a secret smile. She had to celebrate the wins. Slowly, she turned back in the direction she’d come … and nearly had a coronary.

  Jadon loomed again, looking as dark and foreboding as a fallen angel. Seriously, the man was as silent as a cat. ‘Lost a sale?’

  Her pulse raced. She’d saved the chair’s skin only to risk her own. ‘Oh, no, the lady was … just browsing,’ she fibbed. ‘She had an appointment to rush off to.’

  Technically, Leonique could have had an appointment … even later in the week.

  Jadon just nodded. The scent of his woody cologne was embarrassingly intoxicating. ‘I see in the diary you have an estate clearance to inspect this afternoon.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  Sadly, that was where the store got its best finds from: the dearly departed. With Hilforest’s ageing population, there were a lot of deaths too.

  ‘I’d like to join you,’ Jadon said, surprising her. ‘There’ll be another casual employee to cover here this afternoon anyway. I can drive.’

  ‘S-sure,’ Mina stuttered, even though, in truth, she couldn’t think of anything scarier.

  Jadon turned to go, but paused, looking over his shoulder. ‘By the way, can someone change the playlist around here? This isn’t a graveyard. Just because the furniture’s old, the music doesn’t have to be.’

  ‘Certainly,’ Mina chirruped, though she knew one jade ‘money’ plant that’d miss hearing Jailhouse Rock on repeat. Not that she was about to tell Jadon that. She was doing a good enough job of digging herself into a hole as it was.

  Chapter 4

  That afternoon, Mina slid into the passenger seat of Mr Eder’s forest-green Merc parked behind the shop. Jadon was already behind the wheel of the seventies convertible, copying something from a notepad into his phone; likely the address that they were headed to. She rested her clipboard for the estate inspection in her lap and wound down the window, already needing fresh air in the confined space with him.

  Given the chance to look at the address again, she knew she could have directed him, unaided by Google Maps. Unlike him, she’d lived in Hilforest since birth. Mr Eder had only moved back into the area a decade ago, following his divorce, making him a virtual newcomer by the town’s standards. And who knew how often Jadon had visited? Mina had never crossed paths with him before, but then the town did have three-thousand residents. At any rate, it wasn’t the time to discuss it.

  Jadon reached to put the phone in a holder that wasn’t there, then cursed. In Italian. Swear words were the only Italian lingo Mina was well-versed in. For the first time since they’d met, he looked apologetic. ‘Sorry, I’m used to my own car, and a sat-nav.’

  ‘I’ll live.’ Mina gestured at his phone. ‘Want me to hold it?’

  ‘All right,’ he conceded, handing it over. His warmth lingered on the device. Like most men post-coitus, though, the phone only took seconds to fall asleep.

  She pressed the power button to wake it up and a breathtaking image of a storm over two hills filled the screen. In the picture, a thunderbolt tore through fat white clouds against a bruised purple sky. If Jadon had spent more time in the neighbourhood, she might have imagined it as the view from the Hilforest Summit, but it was probably just a generic lock screen.

  ‘Cool pic,’ she said anyway.

  ‘Oh, I took that a long time ago.’

  Huh.

  He reached for the phone again to put in his password, and for a nanosecond, their fingertips brushed. His were rougher and drier than she’d expected for a ‘suit’. She felt a zap of electricity too, its fuzzy tentacles stretching through her.

  A clear sign she needed to hit up Tinder again for a no-strings fling. Get whatever she needed to out of her system ASAP.

  To cover herself, she chattered away as he fiddled with his phone. ‘Nice work capturing that shot. It’s incredibl
e.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Jadon mumbled, like how Mina might respond to an outfit compliment. This old thing from the back of my wardrobe? ‘I’ve always mucked around with storm photos, since I was a kid, I don’t know why.’

  Mina was surprised to learn about this other layer to his personality. Jadon reached to turn on the radio and Wham’s Last Christmas wafted over the airwaves. Her chest tightened. If ever there was a sign that having wayward thoughts about her temporary boss was stupid, it was the reminder of the season. Jadon started the engine, causing the Merc to lurch forwards. Thankfully, the star jasmine flowering on the fence cushioned the bumper.

  ‘I’m also used to an automatic,’ Jadon grumbled, trying again, this time with his foot on the clutch. Mina resisted the urge to cling onto her seatbelt. It must have been tough for him being back in the ‘backwater’ …

  They wound through the hilly streets in relative silence. Character-filled old homes with spacious grounds dotted the way. Mina swallowed hard at the sight of one house with a ‘sold’ sign out the front, along with a ginormous gumtree with yellow tape around its trunk.

  Newcomers to Hilforest often wanted that taste of country life, close to the city, but not at the risk of a stressed tree dropping its branches on their heads … or its ‘pesky’ roots pervading their modern plumbing systems.

  The tree would soon be felled, its remains no doubt left on the lawn with a ‘free firewood’ sign. That was even though the gum would have been there longer than the house. She catastrophised further, imagining the home being bulldozed and replaced by some bland dog-box, eroding the town’s olde-worlde charm even more. The council would turn a blind eye, more concerned with lining its coffers. Still, she clenched her fists in her lap, trying to squash the feeling. She had a job to hold on to; she could save her remorse for later.

  The drive only took five minutes, and as Jadon navigated the house’s vertiginous, tree-bordered driveway, she realised it was just a street behind her nonna’s place. Which reminded her that she still needed to drop in to discuss the meet-the-in-laws shenanigans.

  She joined Jadon in climbing out of the car. A red-brick bungalow, with shutters and gutters in desperate need of paint, was perched atop the slope. Its adjacent carport spilled over with rusty vehicles, auto parts, and oddities like a weathered foosball table.

  The house’s front door swung open and a man in his forties stepped out. His tan and popped polo collar were giveaways that he was no longer a hill-dweller. He shook their hands in turn, introducing himself as Redmond, the son of the dead oldie.

  ‘Thanks so much for coming today,’ he enthused. ‘My sister and I are hoping to put Dad’s place on the market sooner rather than later. Boy, we miss the old man, though not his habit for hanging on to junk. You’ll do us a favour taking any of it off our hands.’

  Mina shifted her clipboard under one arm, noting casually, ‘Hey, if it weren’t for people like your dad, there’d be no antiques left.’

  Redmond smiled, though he didn’t look sold. ‘Yeah, well, the place is yours to peruse. Good luck. In the meantime, I’ll catch up on some work emails on the porch if you don’t mind.’

  Rather, it was exactly how Mina preferred to do things—sifting through the dust and lingering emotions without a client hovering over her shoulder. The fly in the ointment would be Jadon joining her for the ride.

  Speaking of which, he made his presence known. ‘Sure. And, after we’ve assessed the place, we’ll provide you with a written report and a total figure we can pay for any items.’ Moving men would help shift the cut-rate purchases later.

  ‘Suits me,’ Redmond said, already looking in a hurry to get back to his very important emails … more important, it seemed, than giving his childhood home a proper farewell.

  Despite Jadon tagging along, the next few hours, surprisingly, flew by. Mina lost herself to the treasure-hunting, even as he traipsed around with a pinched look like he might catch something. It was all a long way from a luxury furniture brand in Milan, she supposed.

  While surveying the backyard, she was distracted by something shiny down the side of the house. Abandoning her clipboard—and Jadon—she followed her nose down the rubbish-strewn pathway between the bungalow and fence. Excitement swelled in her chest as she got closer to her target.

  ‘Holy crap!’ She bent towards a milk crate and plucked out a glass genie-style decanter, nesting with its siblings. Holding the mid-century bottle up to the light, she blew dust off its knobbly purple surface. Despite the dicey mode of storage, it appeared in perfect nick. Amazing.

  ‘What have you found?’ Jadon’s voice sounded in her ear, almost causing her to jump and drop the thing. Which could have, in turn, smashed the rest of the decorative bottles by Italian brand Empoli, collectively worth thousands.

  Tightening her grip on the find, she twisted around. For a moment, Jadon’s proximity overwhelmed her, like she’d inhaled too many paint fumes, but she pulled herself together.

  She gestured at the crate-full. ‘They’re so-called “genie bottles”, from the sixties and seventies, and highly collectable. This particular one—’ she held up her prize, ‘—is a “lavender”, which is worth a motza. I also spied a clear one in there, which could be even more valuable. Trust me, collectors freak out over these things.’ All of which he’d know if he’d ever spent much time at his dad’s store.

  One side of Jadon’s mouth quirked upwards. An entirely new look for him. ‘And here I thought you were going to rub the bottle and make a wish.’

  She clenched her teeth. ‘I only blow on dandelions for that.’ He really could have been more appreciative. ‘Want to help me lug the crate indoors?’

  ‘Of course.’

  As they carefully carried the dusty crate between them, Jadon edging backwards, Mina looked anywhere but at him. She feigned being mesmerised by the house’s brickwork … and the shelving at the far end, where a metal suitcase rested on top. Oh. That suitcase looked like it was sliding forwards, centimetre by centimetre!

  She squeezed her eyes shut, mentally chanting to herself, fervently willing the item to stay put. It was quicker than screeching ‘look out’ and waiting for Jadon to react. She’d since realised it wasn’t a suitcase but an old fold-up picnic table that’d weigh a tonne. And it was slipping in the direction of Jadon’s head!

  When she fluttered her eyes open again, she was relieved to find him now gazing at her with concern. It was far better than seeing him ‘wearing’ the table.

  She darted a look over his shoulder. The picnic table, thank the moon, had shuffled back into place. Her eleventh-hour visualisation had worked, and with only the barest of noise and wind! Aside from Jadon looking like he’d scored a free blow-dry, he appeared none the wiser. Of course, it was a no-no to do such blatant spell work, but time had been of the essence.

  ‘You okay?’ he asked, pausing in his backwards shuffle.

  ‘Oh, yeah. I-I just felt dizzy for a second there.’ She attempted a laugh. ‘Too much dust up my nose maybe.’

  His mouth set in a grim line. ‘I think we should call it a day. I reckon we’ve seen everything we need to. I can drop you back at the shop.’

  ‘Oh, um, that’s cool,’ she babbled. ‘I was going to walk to my nonna’s place anyway. She’s just around the corner.’ Mina’s mum lived there too. She’d moved back in after her third divorce to enjoy her spinsterhood with company.

  Determination still etched Jadon’s face. ‘I’ll drive you there.’

  Fudge sticks. What had she done? The thought of him meeting her eccentric elders, when she was meant to be impressing him professionally, was too much to bear.

  ‘Oh-kay,’ she squeaked anyway, seeing no way out.

  Rather than true concern for her wellbeing, he was probably just worried about overworking her. Occupational health and safety and all that. She bit down on a sigh. What she wouldn’t have done to make herself invisible, at least once the crate was safely inside. Too bad weaving her magic on
e time in Jadon’s company was risky enough.

  ‘It’s just the one up ahead with the wrought iron fence and stone pillars,’ Mina directed as Jadon slowly drove down her nonna’s street. ‘But here will do.’

  Too late. He parked right out the front of the century-old sandstone villa. Mina dared to peek through the car’s half-open window, assessing the house as though through a stranger’s eyes: its fancy spire, intricate verandah, and her nonna’s gothic patch of black flowers—from roses to lilies—which her mum’s Bantam chickens were free to roam about. The kids from school had been right, without knowing it … the place looked like a witch house.

  She fumbled for the car door handle, unable to move fast enough. ‘Well, um, thanks again for the ride. Guess I’ll see you tomorrow—’

  ‘Hellooo!’

  Mina’s innards coiled up like a landline cord. She knew all too well the owner of the throaty voice echoing down the drive. A voice accompanied by the squeak of tiny wheels … meaning her mum was bringing (wheeled) baggage.

  Sometimes Mina could sense impending doom, but Jadon’s presence was overpowering. If only she’d been a nanosecond quicker grabbing the door handle … While she still could, she mumbled ‘goodbye’ and yanked her handbag strap over her shoulder. She leapt from the car into the shade of the purple-flowering jacaranda tree out front. Unfortunately, her mum was already on the footpath with her two-wheeled lawn spreader.

  That day, her mother’s getup included a black floral-print kimono, a rosary bead necklace (somehow, she hadn’t yet gone up in flames at church), and wet-look leggings. With her bleached blonde waves and eyes as green as a cat’s, Sofia was never how people ordinarily imagined Mina’s mamma to look.

  Quickly, she stepped into her mum’s path, hoping to obstruct Jadon’s view before he took off. ‘Oh, hi, Ma.’

  Her mother just leant sideways, ignoring her, and waved through the glass. ‘G’day there. You’re either Mina’s new boss or a hot date.’