Did this mean he wanted to resume his relationship with Sharon? Congratulations didn’t seem appropriate, and yet she was clearly thrilled.
She took a step back. “I know you think I’m a lunatic, but you have to understand. Jason was going to propose to me until LeAnne showed up, and then suddenly he hardly remembered who I was, at least at first. When she was pregnant with Georgia, he seemed to come around a bit, but by then, he’d already married LeAnne, and he was determined to honor his commitment to her. I don’t know how you made him see through her, but I’m eternally grateful. He asked me to forgive him and to give us another try to see if we could work through all this.”
“I didn’t do anything,” I told her. “LeAnne brought it on herself.”
“But you were there. Jason told me you were.” She pursed her lips. “He said you’d gone to help her with the kids.”
“I did.”
“And then he said it was as if her mask had been ripped off and he saw her for who she truly was for the first time.”
Which was also true. Once LeAnne had lost her power, the spell she’d cast on him in order to father a superwitch was broken. I wanted to ask Sharon about the kids, but hesitated. I didn’t have a place in their lives. Any of them. I opened my mouth to speak, then stopped.
What was taking Cassandra so long with those sandwiches?
Sharon glanced at the door once more. Jason appeared in the window, carrying the baby and holding Georgia’s hand. He stopped a moment as he met my eye, then walked into the shop, followed closely by Cassandra.
“Everything okay?” Cassandra asked. “Want me to call Kyle?”
“No need,” Jason said.
I eased behind the counter to put something between myself and Jason. I chose to remain silent until I knew his intentions.
“Aunt Bwinn,” Georgia said, and yet she continued to hold Jason’s hand.
My heart melted. “Hey, little girl. I’ve missed you.”
She stuck her thumb in her mouth, and I sensed the uncertainty in her, the change in her.
“I’ve come to realize,” Jason went on, “if I hadn’t have been so afraid of you, if I hadn’t have let my parents’ bias toward you color my opinion of you, none of this would have happened. I’m the one who told LeAnne there was something different about you, and she latched onto that.”
“What changed your mind?” I asked cautiously.
“Jeannine.”
That was a surprise. I didn’t think Jeannine liked me much better than he did.
“She told me about the baby. Her baby. She told me how she unloaded on you and you let her, and you kept her secret, even when you could have used it to show me how poorly my parents treated you.”
Georgia let go of Jason’s hand and walked to me, looking at me with her big blue eyes, eyes that no longer glimmered. “I had a bad dream,” she said with a pout.
I sat on the stool and pulled her into my lap. Ash jumped onto the counter beside us and nuzzled her. “I’m so sorry about that. Are you better now?”
“Daddy said he’ll take care of me for always, and if I have any more bad dreams, he’ll chase them away.”
I smiled at Jason. “Daddies are good at that.”
“Are you still my Aunt Bwinn?”
“She’ll always be your Aunt Brynn, sweetie,” Jason said.
Tears welled in my eyes. “Yes, I will.”
Sharon took Remy from Jason and adjusted the snowsuit away from his face.
“She takes care of Remy. She says she’ll take care of me, too,” Georgia said.
“What do you think about that?” I asked, risking a glare from Jason. Georgia had made her feelings about Sharon clear in the past.
Georgia cuddled closer. “Okay.”
Acceptance, the way only a three-year-old could give. “Good, because I think she cares about you and wants to love you, if you’ll let her.”
Jason shifted on his feet and stared at the floor. “Jeannine and I were talking, and we wondered, well, I know you don’t have any reason to want to spend time with either one of us...” He met my gaze. “We were talking about Christmas, and we thought it would be nice to spend time together over the holidays.”
“You won’t be heading down to Illinois?” As much as I didn’t claim his parents as relatives any longer, he was their son.
“I think we need to ease into this family thing gradually. I’m not sure how my mother will react to having grandchildren she didn’t know about, and I’m still trying to put my own life back on track.” He shot a glance at Sharon and she positively radiated.
“Come to my house, then,” I suggested. “I’ll invite Nora and her husband. December 21, so as not to take away from your usual family traditions.” If I mentioned the winter solstice, I might trigger another negative response.
Sharon bowed her head, a shadow of uncertainty wrinkling her brow.
“That includes you,” I told her. “If it’s okay with Jason and Georgia.”
Georgia lifted her head from my shoulder and nodded.
“Well, damn,” Cassandra said, still wearing her coat and holding the bags that contained our lunch. Streaks of mascara lined her cheeks.
I laughed and hugged Georgia once more before setting her on the floor.
“I’ll call you to see what I should bring.” Sharon crooked her head, motioning Jason toward me.
Jason took a step toward me. He held out a hand—to shake?
“That’s not how we do things in my family,” I told him, and pulled him in for a hug.
Sharon sniffled. “Now you’re going to make me cry.”
I told them I’d call Jeannine to confirm with her, and took the opportunity to cuddle Remy. An hour later, they left the shop together.
“Never would have seen that coming,” Cassandra said.
I laughed. “You and me both.”
She handed me my sandwich and I carried it to the backroom.
On the worktable, a grimoire lay open. I ventured a peek at the recipe.
To encourage fertility.
I laid a hand on my midsection, a deep sense of peace settling over me.
Dear Reader:
Thanks so much for reading this book. If you enjoyed the story, I hope you will encourage others by “liking” my books on Goodreads.com and everywhere the option is offered, and by posting an honest review to the site where you bought this book and/or at other book blogs/reading sites so you can help other readers decide whether it’s worth their time. Authors like and need to get feedback to make each new book as good as it can be.
I’d like to acknowledge the people who helped me make this book what it is. Special thanks to Holly Brandt and Amanda Masters for being expert resources. To JL LeClair and Marci Baun for that second set of eyes. As always, I owe thanks to my critique group, to Terry Odell, Steven J. Pemberton, and to Susan Clayton-Golder, who all make me a better writer.
Continue reading for a sneak peek at INTERRUPTED MAGIC, Book four of the Hillendale Novels.
—Karla Brandenburg
Chapter 1
“Excuse me, are you Brynn Taylor?”
I set the basket of roses I’d cut on the ground, wiped the sweat from my forehead and tightened my ponytail.
The young woman standing beside my garden couldn’t be much older than I was, certainly not thirty yet. She looked harmless enough, dark brown hair that curled around her neck, light brown eyes with a tendency toward hazel. She was an inch or two shorter than my five foot eight, and she wore jeans and a Green Bay Packers T-shirt. A fellow Wisconsinite, no doubt. Her aura was a hazy yellowish-gray—fear—that hung around her like smoke. Until I knew what she wanted from me, I wasn’t offering any information. I’d had my share of unpleasant surprise visitors.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said.
“You didn’t.” Although people often said my eyes gave that appearance. I’d been told they glowed like amber, which frightened people. I straightened and brushed the dirt from
my hands. “How can I help you?”
She glanced at my chimney, at the triquetra someone undoubtedly told her to look for, before she asked again. “I knocked on the door, but no one answered. Then I saw you in the garden. You are Brynn Taylor, aren’t you? My name is Daria Buckley. I found your website, and when I saw you were local, I thought I’d stop into your shop. The woman at Windfall suggested I talk to you.”
She must have made a good case if my business partner had sent her to find me, and yet I hesitated to engage.
“Your website said something about restoring balance using herbal recipes and scents.” She rubbed her forehead and scrunched her face up. “I’m not even sure why I thought you might be able to help me. Maybe I’m desperate. I’m sorry to have bothered you.” She started to walk away.
I didn’t usually question the forces that brought people to me. In fact, I generally had special orders waiting for customers before I knew they would want them—potions or herbs or scents mixed from the flowers and plants I grew. When I’d considered closing the family shop in town, my aunt had told me people would show up at my home. The magic hadn’t provided me anything for my unexpected visitor—yet.
“Daria,” I said.
When she turned, her expression was forlorn.
“Tell me why you came,” I said.
The wariness returned to her eyes. “One of the customers in the shop told me you’re a witch. I have to be honest with you, I don’t want to make a bad situation worse.”
Yeah, I got that a lot, and still people showed up at the boutique or knocked on my door asking for help. “And yet here you are.”
She seemed to consider her position, then narrowed her eyes. “Are you a witch?”
In my experience, she didn’t want an answer to that question. “I’m an ethnobotanist,” I told her. “Nature often provides restorative ingredients. The recipes I use can be construed as magical to someone who hasn’t learned to mix them properly.” I motioned to the patio furniture and invited her to sit. “There’s a reason you came looking for me.” I lifted the roses onto the patio tabletop and sat.
A strong breeze stirred the trees in the woods at the edge of my backyard and a cloud passed momentarily over the sun. The leaves turned over, displaying the lighter green of their undersides.
“My mother always said when the leaves turn upside down, a storm is brewing,” Daria said.
So she was superstitious. “Yes. An old wives’ tale. I’m familiar with it,” I said.
Tension pinched her brow. “Here’s the thing. I feel like there’s a dark cloud hanging over me. I lost my job. Then someone stole my credit card and maxed it out. Then my car was stolen. Yesterday, I was drying my hair and the blow dryer flew out of my hand and broke the mirror. On my way over here, I tripped on every curb I crossed.”
“Oh, my. You have had a run of bad luck.” I pursed my lips, considering. “You do know that the broken mirror is another old wives’ tale, though, right?”
“Seven years of bad luck. At least that means it will end.”
Likely, her string of accidents would end, as well. “Sometimes bad luck has to run its course.”
Daria sighed. “Never mind. It sounds stupid saying it out loud.”
“No, you’re here. We might as well figure out if there’s a problem.” I patted the basket of roses. “The solution could be as simple as giving you rose essence.” Which could relieve psychosomatic symptoms.
She glanced at my chimney once more. “Isn’t that a witch’s symbol?”
I followed her gaze, scanning the other chimney charms in the neighborhood, one of the things that made Hillendale unique—the owl across the street, masonry daisies trailing down the side of the house next door, Neptune holding a trident a couple houses down. “The symbol on my chimney is called a triquetra. It represents the three fundamental elements—air, water, and earth—the cycle of life. Some also say it’s a rune of protection.”
Daria massaged her hands, her eyes fixed on me as if she couldn’t make up her mind. “Can you restore balance to my life?”
I’d had my own string of bad luck when I’d first arrived in Hillendale. When Aunt Nora had taken me in, she’d suggested the universe was trying to get my attention. Nora hadn’t done anything to restore balance, at least not to my knowledge. I’d had to find my own way. What did the universe want with Daria?
Tears streamed down her cheeks and I instinctively reached for her hand. I pulled a rose from my basket and held it under my nose. “Here’s what I propose. I can make a cup of rose chai tea. It won’t hurt, and it might be exactly what you need.” I had been picking roses, after all. Rose essence would comfort her. I didn’t understand the magic, but it always seemed to know what was called for. “Why don’t you sit here a minute while I heat the water.”
“That would be nice. Thank you.”
I carried one rose into the kitchen, filled my teapot with water and set it on the burner. Through the window, Daria’s yellow-gray aura hung in the air like smoke. Would a grimoire be waiting for me in my workroom, one that would tell me what I needed to know? I didn’t want to leave my visitor unattended long enough to find out.
I washed the rose and plucked a couple of petals, adding them to the teacup. When the teakettle whistled, I poured the hot water into my teapot and spooned chai spices into the steeping ball. After arranging the pot and the cup on a tray, I carried everything outside.
While I poured, I gave Daria a reassuring smile.
Daria dipped the steeping ball a couple of times before she laid it on the tray. Curls of steam carried the spicy aroma. “And this will help?”
I shrugged. “It’ll make you feel better, if nothing else.”
She blew across the top of the cup and took a sip.
“When did you first notice things going wrong?” I asked. Talking about her problems might do as much good as the tea.
Daria eased back in her chair. “It started about six months ago.”
“Can you pinpoint an event that might have triggered it?”
“No.” Her abrupt answer led me to believe the opposite was true.
She took another drink of tea and set the cup down. “I don’t know what I was hoping for when I came here. Everyone has a string of bad luck now and then, right? I’m sure it will pass.” Daria rose from the table. “Thank you for the tea.”
I couldn’t help her if I didn’t know what I was dealing with. I nodded and watched her walk away.
Another gust of wind blew through the trees. My ponytail fluttered against my back. A storm was surely on its way—literal? Or figurative?
Also by Karla Brandenburg
The Hillendale Novels
Family Alchemy
Unintended Consequences
The Hidden Grimoire
The Epitaph Series
Epitaph
The Twins
The Mirror
The Selkie
The Sculptor
The Garden
The Northwest Suburbs Series
Cookie Therapy
Return to Hoffman Grove
Living Canvas
Touched by the Sun
The Mist Trilogy
Mist on the Meadow
Gathering Mist
Rising Mist
Other Novels
Intimate Distance
Heart for Rent, with an Option
While We Were Shopping
The Hidden Grimoire Page 20