Bewitching Belle

by Debra Kristi

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I say. “But with me and my friends, you’ll find we won’t shy away from the topics of spells and casting.” I suck back a breath and release. “So tell me about your dad and what’s going on with him?” I say, recalling the reason why she was looking for healing spell ingredients.

  She sighs. “My father, he’s been despondent, a lot. And he’s drinking. He never drinks.” She sucks back a ragged breath. “He’s almost like a different person.”

  Personality swings? I can relate to that. Our problems seem oddly similar. My heart weights. “Have you been able to identify any possible reason for the change in his behavior?”

  “No. I wish. Then maybe I’d know what to do.” She breathes deep. “He seems frustrated, angry, scared. I want to help him, but I don’t know what to do or where to begin.”

  “Strangely enough, I understand all too well.” I move my hand back to the phone and hold it in place at my ear. “I’ve been going through something similar with someone I love.” I glance to my collection of herbs and spices cluttering the wall shelf, then turn my thoughts to my garden. Make a mental inventory of James and Jeanna’s gardens.

  What were the items she was looking for?

  “Goldenseal and elderberry, those are the two things you are looking for, right?” I ask.

  “Those are the ones,” she says.

  “I’d be happy to get you clippings of each. Both are growing in my garden.”

  “You are a blessing,” she says. “I couldn’t be more thankful, but… thank you.”

  “Don’t even give it a thought.” I yawn. Cover my mouth in an attempt to camouflage any escaping noise. “I will be back in the French Quarter and Garden District on Saturday. I have commitments in the morning and through lunch, but if you are interested, we could meet up for a soft drink or a bite to eat?”

  “I would like that!”

  We pick a time and place for Saturday, and then end the call. I mentally remind myself to clip her samples of elderberry and goldenseal.

  That night, my sleep is restless, fighting with my overactive mind, desperately trying to solve my mom’s issues and those of Luna’s father. Friday couldn’t creep by slower if it tried. And Saturday morning, I awake with a giddiness similar to a lucky kid on Christmas morning.

  The morning sun slips through the window, delivering positive, energizing vibes. I stretch wide, yawn, and sing, “Witchy woodoo, be with me all day through.”

  The phone rings.

  Chapter Four

  “Mom?” I call down the hall, but she doesn’t answer. The phone rings again. I head down the hallway, hear the shower running, and deduce my mom’s location. The phone rings a third and fourth time. I take the call in the kitchen.

  “Hello?”

  I am greeted by silence, followed by heavy breaths. The breaths turn to a buzz, then static and clicks. Pulling the phone from my ear, I stare at it, determine it can’t be anything good and hang up.

  I will not allow anything negative to ruin this day. Today is about joy and union and new beginnings. I’m meeting with Miri in a couple of hours for a day of fun wedding activities, and after that, I’m grabbing a cold drink with our newest possible coven member, Luna.

  As soon as Mom is out of the shower, I jump in, clean up, get dressed, and head to the Garden District. By foot to the ferry. From the ferry to the trolley. From the trolley to Grandma’s house.

  Two big trucks are parked at the curb, and a storm of bangs and thunder echoes from the home. When Miri moved back in with Grandma after the fire, Mom and I relocated to Algiers. And Michael, he rented a room at his under-the-radar magick school.

  As Grandma explained, income and upkeep became an issue. Any inherited money has run low. She decided it was time for the big house to generate an income. So work is being done to make that happen. What was once one grand masterpiece of a home, will now be two separate residences, plus a small apartment at the back. One to live in and two to lease.

  Avoiding the mess of men and machinery on what I have always known as the front porch, I climb the steps to the newly built side porch and the newly installed entry. It’s a beautiful glass door that opens into a small mudroom. I guess, when all the work is complete, this will be the entrance for my family’s side of the home, since Grandma intends to rent the larger side in order to collect more cash.

  I raise my hand to knock, and grandma appears on the other side of the glass. With a bright smile, she welcomes me into the home. She gives me a big hug, and Miri rushes to us, pulls me away, and wraps her arms around me.

  “We are going to have so much fun today,” she says, taking my hand and dragging me toward the kitchen.

  “Sure, we are,” I say. “Who wouldn’t have fun tasting a ton of different cakes.”

  “My point exactly!” She blurts.

  Miri’s black cat Bastian runs at our side, threatening to trip us.

  “You trying to kill me?” I say to him, being careful not to stumble over his furry form. At the edge of the kitchen, he stops, sits, and stares at us. Meows.

  “He’s been in a funny mood lately. Ignore him.” Miri pulls a pitcher of water out and carries it to the counter, pours herself a glass, then motions to the fridge, silently asking if I would like anything.

  I remove the orange juice from the door shelf and step beside her, grab a glass from the cupboard above. Pour my juice and then turn to face her. My gaze drops to Miri’s belly. By my judgement, there isn’t any baby belly to speak of. Not yet, anyway.

  “Water, huh?” I say. “Not juice like me?” I raise my glass.

  “Clearing my palette in preparation of the many sweet cakes we will be tasting within the hour,” she replies. I nod, glance at her belly once more. Her explanation makes sense. Maybe it’s the truth and there’s nothing more to her choice to drink water.

  “Michael’s here,” Grandma calls from the other room.

  “Great.” Miri sets her glass on the counter and rushes to meet our brother.

  The moment Michael steps through the door, Bastian is all over him, nipping at his heels.

  “Get off me, you stupid animal.” Michael shakes him off and nudges him away, but the cat refuses to be so easily thwarted, coming back for more. “What is up with this stupid flea bag?”

  Miri and I stand at a distance, watching the crazy cat attack our brother.

  “I honestly don’t know,” Miri says and turns to me. “Did I tell you he was in a funny mood?”

  “This looks like more than a funny mood,” I reply.

  “Well, whatever is wrong with this guy, I need to put some distance between us.” Michael pulls back his leg, as if preparing to spring forward and give Bastian a swift kick.

  Miri rushes forward, grabs Michael’s arm, and spins him toward the door. “Then let’s not waste any more time.” They move onto the porch, and I hear her say under her breath that she had better never catch him causing any harm to Bastian. She then glances back at me. “Could you grab my purse?” I nod, grab her purse.

  Within minutes, the three of us are in the car and on our way to the bakery. I ask about Phillip, figuring he would want to have a say in which cake we choose, and I’m informed he’ll meet us there.

  The baker is expecting us, and a selection of cakes have been prepared, with samples set out for the tasting. There’s chocolate, vanilla, red velvet, ginger spice, lemon, key lime, pink champagne, and bananas foster, to name a few.

  We are each handed a fork and told to take our time. Deciding on the perfect cake for a forever union is serious business. The baker’s assistant gives my brother an odd glance before disappearing into the back.

  Every single day, Michael wears a constant reminder of the time Caleb attempted to do us in. A large facial scar received when the house collapsed. I have grown accustomed to the newer look, even find it gives him a bit of a badass appeal. But to others, I guess it can be a bit surprising.

  “They all look so amazingly delicious. How w
ill I ever decide?” Miri whispers, regarding the cakes and ignoring the assistant.

  Michael digs his fork into the ginger spice, savors the sample in his mouth. “Good stuff,” he says with a nod and a smile. “But maybe you should choose the cake based on what it says about you.”

  “What do you mean?” Miri tests the chocolate, and I start with the pink champagne.

  “Well.” Michael stabs the air with his fork, clears his throat. “You could go with that chocolate because it is dark like your world.” Miri’s mouth drops open. “Or, decide on the vanilla because it is pure like Phillips complete lack of knowledge of what he is venturing into.” Miri’s chin lurches forward. “Red velvet to symbolize the blood that will be shed in the Quarter in honor of your union.”

  “That’s enough.” Miri clenches a fist and steps forward. “Why are you being so mean?”

  Michael laughs. Grabs her shoulder and gently shakes her. “Relax. I’m just having fun with you. If I don’t, who will?” Miri’s lips curve into a crooked frown.

  The door of the shop swings open, and Michael’s gaze is drawn past her to the newcomer.

  “Not too late, I hope,” Phillip says.

  Michael leans forward and whispers. “Or, here’s a thought. Go with the cookies and cream to symbolize Phillip’s ability to soften your rough edges.” Miri gasps and Michael sets down his plate with cake sample, pushes past us, and greets Phillip with a shoulder slap and lightning speed man-hug. “Hey man, good to see you.”

  I give Phillip a hug and Miri gives him a kiss.

  “You’re right on time,” she says.

  “We just got here,” I interject.

  “Plenty of time to weigh in on the decision-making process.” Miri hands Phillip a plate with cake sample. “Did you have a flavor already in mind?”

  “Maybe.” He takes a bite of the sample Miri provided. Its bananas foster. So very quintessentially French Quarter. He swallows, savors the flavors, and shakes his fork-held hand, as if the motion will quicken the clearing of his mouth and throat. “This is good,” he finally says. “But I was thinking of maybe going with a spiked red velvet cake.” He delivers the statement as if it is a question.

  Michael shoots Miri a sideways, brow-raised peer.

  Michael may have forever ruined my thoughts on red velvet cake, relating it to the shedding of blood. I will have to steer Phillip toward something else.

  As the baker requested, we take our time, slowly narrowing down to five, then three, and finally two. The wedding is planned to be a small gathering and one tier would likely suffice, but Miri and Phillip decide on a two-tier cake so that they may have two flavors.

  Chocolate dream on the base and spiked red velvet on top.

  Phillip and Miri fill out the required forms and settle the down payment. He then kisses her on the cheek, tells her he’ll see her tonight, and dashes out the door… back to more fireman training exercises, or something. His career choice is another thing that has been molded by Caleb’s actions. I’m not so sure Phillip would have chosen the fire department over one of his other options, had Caleb not burned down the house while we were still inside.

  Anyway…

  We finish early, and since we have to drive past the French Quarter to get back to Grandma’s, I ask Michael to drop me off at the corner of Canal and Rampart, on the grounds that I am meeting a friend nearby.

  “I’m not going to drop you off out here by yourself. You gotta know the Quarter ain’t safe for you.”

  “This is outside of the Quarter,” I argue.

  “Technicalities,” he blurts.

  “Mike, she knows the dangers, but needs to start walking her own path at some point. She’s old enough to now do so,” Miri interjects.

  Michael scoffs. Turns the car around the corner, then another corner. Before I realize what is happening, we are pulling to a slow stop in front of Caleb’s old house. The building is pristine, no remaining sign of fire damage, nor of repairs having been made.

  Silence slips over the entirety of the car as our heads turn, and we all stare at the place where we used to live… before Caleb tried to burn us alive. No words need to be spoken for me to know we’re all remembering that night. Thinking of the horror, change, and growth that came from that event.

  For me, everything is printed in a never forget file, stashed at the back of my brain.

  “This city has a magickal way of wiping away the significant signs of evil,” Miri says, at nothing more than a whisper.

  “It’s got masking down to an art,” Michael adds and presses the gas, taking us away from the scene. At the next corner, he makes a right and drives the remaining distance to my destination. He pulls the car along the curb in front of The Grill and twists in his place to better see me in the backseat. “You going to be okay?” he asks.

  “Sure. I have magick on my side.” I wink at him and he frowns. The line is one I’ve heard him use and now I am turning it around on him. I glance past the car window, to the restaurant beyond. Through the all glass doors, I spot Luna sitting at the all-pink counter. “Besides,” I add. “My friend is already inside waiting for me.” She glances toward the street and I wave. She jolts and waves back.

  “Alright then,” Michael says. “You’d better be safe getting back home.”

  “Of course.” I push open the door and step free from the car.

  Miri rolls down the window and reaches for my hand. I clasp and squeeze. “I’m going to be fine,” I say.

  “Oh, I know.” She smiles. “I just wanted to remind you to get your dress soon and make sure you pick something both lovely and comfortable.”

  “Right, because you wouldn’t want me so pathetically unfashionable that I upstage the bride.” I smirk.

  “Stop it.” She slaps my hand and waves me away. “Now go have some fun.”

  “That I will.” I turn and make my way into the restaurant. The walls are pink, the theme screams fifties, and the seating is all counter-style. A large counter snakes through the establishment with metal and vinyl stools at equal intervals. The aroma of cheeseburgers, fries, and grease is thick.

  Luna is sitting at the counter, sipping on a cold drink. When I step through the door, she slips off her stool and waves, a slight, shy shake of the hand.

  “I got here early so I went ahead and ordered a drink. I hope you don’t mind,” she says.

  “Not at all.” I slide onto the stool beside hers and grab the menu. She returns to her seat. “What would you say to sharing an order of fries?”

  “Sounds perfect.” She waves at the waiter. He motions, signaling he’ll be with us in a moment. She folds her hands on the counter in front of herself and angles her head to gaze at me. “Thanks for going out of your way for me. I really appreciate it.”

  I’m unable to fight the smile that jumps to my lips. “You’re totally welcome. Who knows, we could end up becoming fast friends.”

  Her brown eyes twinkle. “I’d like that.”

  With a smirk, I yank my bag close to my side and dig deep within, pull free a crumpled paper bag. Hand it to Luna.

  “Your goldenseal and elderberry. I assume you want this for the quarter moon on Wednesday.” She nods. “You best be sure it’s actually healing you desire, because if it is cleansing that is required, you’ll want to wait until the waning moon at the end of the month.”

  My words cause her pause, her lower lip drooping ever slightly. “I—I don’t. How can I tell?”

  “Sorry about the wait. What can I get you girls?” The waiter steps up to the opposite side of the counter, pencil and pad in hand.

  “Fries would be good,” I blurt. “We’re going to share. Oh, and a coke for me.” I glance at Luna’s partially drunk cold drink sitting on the counter. “Do you mind if we get the fries extra crunchy?” I ask her.

  “I don’t mind at all. I love them that way,” she replies.

  “Great.” I turn my attention back to the waiter. “Then we’ll have the fries extra crispy w
ith a side of ranch dressing, in addition to the ketchup, also on the side.”

  “Gottcha. That will be right up.” He smiles and walks away.

  “You know…” I press my elbow into the counter and shift to face her. “My mother has been having issues for almost two years now. I have tried healing spell after healing spell, and nothing has worked. But neither have they made her any worse. So, if you are trying a healing spell and it doesn’t work, we can always move on to cleansing work.”

  “You would do that for me?” Her shoulders straighten and shift back.

  “Sure. Why not?” I reach forward and rest my hand on hers. “What are we if we do not help our fellow witches in need?”

  Her eyes brighten and her face warms. An energy vibrates around us. It’s comfortable and exciting and invigorating, all at once.

  “Fries and a coke.” The waiter sets our order onto the counter. We jerk and spin toward him.

  “Thanks,” we both say in unison, then glance at one another and giggle. He merely shakes his head and departs.

  “They make the best fries,” Luna says, snagging a fry from the tray and dipping it in the ranch dressing, then the ketchup.

  “You’re kidding me, right?” I blurt.

  She pauses, the fry hovering in her hold, inches from her mouth. “About the fries being devilishly tasty? Not in the slightest.”

  “No, not about that. The double dipping.” My gaze travels from the food in her grip to the two sauce containers.

  Her peer follows mine, and her mouth widens into a large O shape. “I’m so sorry. That was rude of me to mix the ranch in the ketchup.”

  “I don’t even care about that. If you hadn’t been the one to do it, I would have. It’s my favorite way to eat fries.” And I’m slightly thrilled to discover Luna likes to eat hers the same way.

  “Seriously? That’s funny. It is super yummy, though.” She pops the fry in her mouth and devours it.

  Grabbing two fries pressed together, I also dip and devour. We eat fries, sip cold drinks, and jabber like we’ve always known each other. Slipping into our developing relationship is as easy as curling up with my favorite blanket. I tell her about my coven members, James and Jeanna, and she tells me about her parents.