Heirloom Magic: Every Witch Way

by Megan Berry

  © Copyright 2014 by Megan Berry- All rights reserved.

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter One

  “Miss Jones?”

  Startled, Harper turned towards the gentle pressure at her elbow.

  “Yes?” Harper asked as she turned and encountered the broad chest of a man. Her eyes landed nipple height, so Harper was forced to look up and then up some more. It was a bit shocking, but before her was one of the largest men she’d ever seen in her life. He had to be at least six foot five, if not an inch or two taller, and despite the well-tailored, somber black suit that was obviously trying to diminish his appearance, he was a wall of solid muscle.

  “My condolences, Miss Jones,” he said.

  Harper hesitantly placed her much smaller hand into the large one he was offering up.

  “Thank you,” Harper murmured, not really in the mood for more idle chit chat. Most people moved on after this polite exchange, but the man stayed firmly in front of her.

  “My name is Keaton Bell, Miss Jones,” he began, quite obviously feeling awkward about approaching her.

  “Please, call me Harper,” she responded automatically, but the gentle giant shook his head.

  “That is a very nice offer, but I’m afraid it would not be appropriate. You see, I am the lawyer handling your grandmother’s estate.”

  Harper blinked in surprise, her eyes watering at another sharp reminder that her grandmother was no longer alive. Getting that call had been bad enough; returning to this small Alabama town was another stab to her heart. The funeral was the worst of all, and now, she realized, she’d have to deal with lawyers to settle the estate.

  “Oh,” was all she managed to squeak out—her mind racing a mile a minute, wondering what this man could possibly want with her? He should probably be talking to her parents.

  “Yes,” Mr. Bell said with a somber nod. “Your grandmother requested I speak with you as soon as possible.”

  Harper glanced around at her grandmother’s well-attended funeral, her eyes taking in all the people dressed in black and the overflowing bouquets of obnoxious smelling flowers. “This might be a bit too soon?” she suggested, trying to be as nice in her dismissal as possible, and Mr. Bell had the grace to flush.

  “Yes, I apologize for my inopportune timing. We can save our business for after the funeral of course. She had wanted me to give you this before her…burial.” Mr. Bell held an enormous, meaty palm out.

  Curious, Harper leaned forward to look.

  “Her ring?” Harper exclaimed in surprise as she examined the milky oval stone set in the simple silver band. Mr. Bell held it in his palm wrapped up in a cloth handkerchief, open for her examination.

  “Yes—please take it!” he spoke, sounding strangely hasty, and Harper looked up at him sharply. The man was sweating and flushed, and the hand holding the ring was trembling slightly.

  Harper reached over and plucked the ring from his hand before he could drop it. “Are you feeling alright?” she asked, and the man nodded. His color was already better, and he was watching her like a hawk as she stared at the ring.

  “Are you sure she meant to leave this to me?” Harper felt the need to double check. Her grandmother didn’t have a lot of living family left, but Harper’s parents were both still alive, and she would’ve thought that her gran would’ve left everything to her only son, Harper’s father.

  Mr. Bell was already shaking his head. “I can assure you, Miss Jones, that the ring was meant expressly for you and only you.”

  Harper felt a curl of nostalgia warm her belly when she thought about all the times she’d seen her gran wearing this ring. The woman had never taken it off. “Thank you very much. I will treasure this,” Harper promised as she began to tuck the ring into her pocket for safe keeping. Mr. Bell cleared his throat loudly, causing her to look up at him, startled.

  “I hate to insist, Miss, but you must wear the ring,” Mr. Bell informed her, looking uncomfortable at his own insistence. “It was your grandmother’s wish that you put it on immediately.”

  Harper frowned. It was a strange request, but her grandmother had worn the ring on every occasion that she could recall. Harper smiled down at the worn piece of jewelry and slipped it carefully over the knuckle of her third finger—the same finger her gran had always worn it on. It fit like it had been perfectly sized just for her. Harper gasped when a strange vibrations raced down her finger and up her spine. Harper blinked, it was almost like the ring had zapped her, but that would be crazy. She glanced at the ring and shook her head, it had probably just been static.

  “There,” she said with a small smile of remembrance, and Mr. Bell beamed at her.

  “Wonderful, Miss, it’s exactly what your grandmother wanted.” Tears pricked at Harper’s eyes, and she had to swallow several times before she could answer without weeping.

  “Thank you,” she told him earnestly, looking at him awkwardly for a moment and wondering if she should turn away and continue moving about the room.

  “…Miss.”

  Harper turned back to Mr. Bell.

  “I know it may seem too soon and everything is still so fresh, but your grandmother insisted that I act quickly. Would you be able to meet with me after the funeral?”

  Harper was startled by his insistence. “You should probably discuss that with my father.” Harper searched the crowd until her eyes landed on him. “He is right over there,” she pointed, but Mr. Bell did not turn to see where she was pointing.

  “Again, Miss, my business is with you—no
t your father—since you are of legal age,” he paused and consulted a piece of paper that he pulled from his pocket. “You are twenty-five. Is that correct?” he asked, and Harper nodded numbly, wondering why she was the focus of all of this.

  Mr. Bell nodded as he tucked the paper back into his pocket. “Are you able to meet this afternoon?” he asked again, and this time Harper didn’t protest. Her heart ached to even think about it, but she gave him an affirmative nod. It was probably like pulling off a bandage—best to get it over with quickly.

  Mr. Bell smiled at her nod and replied with one of his own. “I will find you after the service then,” he promised before melting away into the crowd, leaving Harper to stare after him, wondering how such a large man could move with such predatory grace.

  “Oh, you poor dear…” Harper’s attention was torn from the retreating back of Mr. Bell by the exclamation made right next to her elbow. She turned to see a small, rotund woman in black furiously dabbing a tissue at her red nose.

  “…Thank you?” Harper replied, not entirely sure if that was even the correct response. The woman began sobbing uncontrollably and lunged at Harper, pulling her into a hug that had every vertebrae in her back popping uncomfortably. Harper gasped in shock as much as in pain and began to flail around helplessly.

  “Mom!” a voice called out in panic.

  Harper searched through the dark fog that was rapidly beginning to descend over her eyes and saw a young man run forward and start tugging to extract her from the bone-crushing hug.

  “I’m really sorry about this,” the teenager stammered, his face pinkening. “She’s just really upset.” The boa-constrictor-like squeeze finally stopped and Harper gasped for breath, her ribs twinging uncomfortably.

  “Oh, no, now I’ve done it!” the small woman cried, sobbing even harder.

  “It’s…okay,” Harper managed to wheeze, and the teenage boy led his sobbing mother away, shooting apologetic glances over his shoulder.

  Harper managed to compose herself just as the next round of people swarmed her, though she was leery to let anyone else close enough to hug.

  The service was beautiful, but sad. So many people stood up and said such nice things about her grandmother—though not everything they said made sense to Harper.

  After the funeral, one woman had approached Harper and tearfully told her that her grandmother was responsible for helping her conceive both of her pups and that Harper herself would always have the full support of the Howard Pack. Harper managed to keep a polite smile on her face as she smiled and nodded her way through the rest of the conversation, inside broiling with confusion. Her grandmother hadn’t been a veterinarian; what was she doing assisting in the delivery of puppies?

  Another strange little man had approached, given his condolences, and had actually kissed Harper’s new ring!

  Harper was searching for Mr. Bell, ready to get the hell outta crazy town, when the strangest encounter yet met her in the form of an older woman with flyaway white curly hair. “Can you help me?” she demanded, snagging Harper’s hand in her own gnarled talon.

  Harper stopped and frowned, not quite sure what she needed. “Do you want me to find your coat, or is there someone you came with that I can find for you?” she asked, not really sure what she was supposed to be doing here. The woman shook her head.

  “I need one of your potions,” she replied, and Harper blinked, not sure she’d heard her correctly.

  “You want a… coffee?” Harper guessed, wondering if the old woman had dementia.

  “Are you daft girl?” the old woman snapped, her white bushy eyebrows raising into her hair in surprise. “I need the potion your gran always made for my arthritis,” she clarified, and Harper’s mind went blank.

  “I’m sorry, but I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Harper said finally, making the old woman frown.

  “Well, can you make me some?” she asked—with all the grace of a dog refusing to let go of a particularly juicy bone—Harper didn’t know how to respond. This woman had all the grace of a badger and made about as much sense.

  “Irene!” Harper turned to find Mr. Bell glaring down at the demanding old coot. “You know better!” he scolded, and the old woman started to back away from Mr. Bell’s enormous disapproval. It wasn’t until she had backed away several feet that Harper felt like she could finally take a breath.

  What was it with all the strange people around here? Harper couldn’t help wondering as she made a promise to herself not to drink any of the water from the faucet.

  “Apologies,” Irene muttered as she slunk away into the crowd, her limp much more pronounced than when she’d walked up.

  “I’m sorry about that,” Mr. Bell said, passing Harper her coat. Harper briefly wondered how he’d managed to find her coat out of all the other coats in the coat room. “I hope she didn’t say anything to upset you?” he pressed, and Harper shook her head.

  “It’s just been a long day,” she replied, rubbing her fingers over her tired eyes and giving a small yawn. She was still a bit jet lagged.

  “Understandable, I’ll try not to keep you too long.”

  Harper winced, hoping he didn’t think she’d been trying to get out of their meeting. She thought about trying to explain, but decided to let it lie instead of stuttering her way through an explanation that would only confuse things further. She followed him down the street, past large planters filled with cascading flowers, a large wooden gazebo in the center of town, people bustling everywhere, and kids drawing with chalk on the sidewalk, to a small office across from the local grocery store.

  Mr. Bell took a key from his pocket that looked miniscule in his large hands and deftly opened the door. “After you,” he offered gallantly with true southern hospitality—men in Chicago weren’t half as polite. Harper stepped into the tidy, air conditioned office, gawking around.

  It was a small, simple space. The front door opened to a little waiting room with a white secretary’s desk that sat outside a frosted glass door that read: Keaton Bell-Esquire.

  Keaton motioned her into his office, and Harper found herself stepping into a surprisingly masculine room with an overpowering scent of leather, musk, and pine. “Take a seat,” Mr. Bell said as he went around the large L-shaped desk and hovered over his own leather wing-backed chair until she’d seated herself.

  “There are a few time-sensitive things that we need to deal with first,” Mr. Bell informed her as he reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a huge stack of loose papers and folders. Harper stared at the stack, her eyes going wide.

  “A few thing huh?” she couldn’t help asking.

  Mr. Bell grinned, flashing extremely white teeth with especially sharp canines. “This is more than your usual cut and dried case,” he admitted, and Harper leaned back in her chair and watched the lawyer sort through the paperwork to familiarize himself.

  “Ahh… here we go,” Mr. Bell sighed, tearing an envelope open and dumping several sets of keys out onto his desk. He then picked up a thick document that Harper assumed was her grandmother’s will.

  “Are you sure my parents shouldn’t be here?” she blurted out, unable to help asking again.

  Mr. Bell frowned at her, no doubt because she sounded like a broken record. “Your parents will be brought in as the will stipulates, but Mrs. Jones wanted me to speak to you privately about your inheritance first,” he explained, and Harper finally nodded her head, giving up on her guilty feelings that she was somehow pulling something over on her parents. This was the way Gran had wanted it apparently.

  Mr. Bell picked up the first set of keys and slid them across the table towards her. “To my only granddaughter, Harper Elizabeth Jones, I leave my family home located at 5122 Bramble Wood Crescent,” he read, and Harper sat up a little straighter in her seat.

  “What!” she squeaked out, unable to help herself. Mr. Bell nodded, but did not stop to let her adjust to the news.

  “I leave my 1955 Chevrolet 3100, Betsy. Th
e memory of us driving around on hot summer days in that truck has made me smile many times over the years.” Harper let out a ragged sob, and Mr. Bell paused long enough to pass her a tissue and to slide over another set of keys—presumably to her grandmother’s most prized possession—a truck she’d lovingly dubbed Betsy. It was an old-fashioned name, but Betsy was definitely an old-fashioned girl.

  “I leave you my ring, which I hope Mr. Bell has already provided to you,” Mr. Bell paused and nodded, and Harper stared down at the cloudy stone on her finger and cried harder. “I also leave you my business.” Harper stopped sobbing and looked up at Mr. Bell in surprise. As far as she knew, her gran didn’t have a business. “You are a smart, level-headed girl and you deserve to have something more in your life than to work for those corporate robots in Chicago,” Mr. Bell read out her grandmother’s words, and despite her pain, Harper chuckled. That sounded just like Gran!

  Mr. Bell slid over the last set of keys. There were at least ten keys of varying sizes strung on a round loop with a keychain depicting a bat flying against the backdrop of a round yellow moon. Harper picked the set up and stared at it with curiosity. Some of the keys looked like normal house keys, others were smaller, probably for locked cupboards of some sort, and the last one was a peculiar black skeleton key that looked ancient.

  “Your new business is going to require a steep learning curve, Harps,” Mr. Bell read, and Harper smiled at her gran’s words coming out of the large lawyer—it was a little bit eerie. Harps was what her gran had called her for as long as Harper could remember.

  “What is it?” Harper interrupted, unable to stand the suspense a moment longer. Her mind was reeling with curiosity about what kind of business her grandmother had left her.

  “It is an apothecary shop located at 4700 Maple Crest Lane,” Mr. Bell informed her, reading the address off the paper, and Harper blinked in surprise.

  “Apothecary shop?” she repeated, not sure she’d heard him correctly, but what other word could she have possibly misunderstood that sounded like the word apothecary? Why on earth did her gran own one? “I…don’t know what to say,” she told him honestly, and Mr. Bell nodded sagely.