by Ashlyn Chase
“Yes. This is April. Take good care of her.”
“Oh, we will. Are you going to wait for her?”
“I figured I’d do some errands and come back. Getting all that black out of her hair might take a while, right?”
Lana parted April’s hair with her fingers, assessing the job before her. “It depends on the color that goes over it. What color do you want, April? Brunette? Auburn? Or maybe a deep plum?”
April laughed. “Purple? Naw. I’d like to go back to my natural color, it that’s possible,” she said, cautiously.
Lana tipped her head and scrunched her nose. “It looks like a medium to dark blonde. Are you sure you don’t want something a little prettier?”
“I can’t afford to keep it up. If it ain’t pretty, it ain’t pretty.”
Lana shrugged. “Okay. You can always play a zombie in the upcoming 5K race.”
Mrs. Reese gasped.
“Does it pay?” April asked, totally brushing off the insult. “In cash?”
“I doubt it. I was just kidding. Do you need a job?”
“I sure do. But I need to be paid in cash.”
“Hmmm…do you live around here?”
“I don’t think so.”
Lana raised her eyebrows and glanced over at Mrs. Reese, who gave her a quick head-shake.
What was that about? Does she want to protect my privacy, or is there some other reason she doesn’t want people to know my situation? Something about that head-shake made her wonder if she should keep her circumstances to herself.
“Okay. How long do you want to fart-around, Danielle? Stripping all this color could take some time.”
“Take whatever time you need. I have a book in the car. If I come back too early, I can read.”
“You got it.”
“Oh, and if she’s done first, have Isabelle give her a half-hour massage or basic facial or something.”
April whirled on her. “I can’t ask you to spend your hard-earned money on me like that.”
Mrs. Reese waved away her objection. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve been wondering what to do with my tax return.” She glanced at her watch. “What do you think, Lana? Will two hours be enough time to ‘fart around’ as you so delicately put it?”
Isabelle called out from the chair where she’d been looking on, “Anybody who’s been farting for two hours ought to be going to the doctor, not doing errands.”
The bakery closed for the day. Rebecca flipped the sign over, and Dru thought he noticed her glance shyly in his direction. Truth be told, he was feeling a little shy himself. Now what? Should I kiss her goodbye? Somehow, the moment didn’t seem right. It would come out of nowhere. Yet he had kissed her already. Maybe he could put off leaving for a little while.
“Rebecca. Before I go, can I ask you a few questions—about Wicca and the coven?”
Her face brightened. “Sure. Let’s go into the back. Grab something to eat and I’ll pour us some coffee before I dump what’s left.”
As she lifted the heavy urn, he rushed to her side. “Let me get that.”
“Okay. I’ll get the food.” She let him take the urn from her. “What would you like from the display case?”
“I said I’d try not to eat the profits, but since there were no profits at all…” He caught the frown on her face and decided not to continue that conversation. “Uh…I’ve been eyein’ those lemon squares all day.”
She placed two lemon squares on paper plates and followed him to the kitchen.
He set the coffee urn next to the sink and returned for the milk and cream pitchers. “How do you take it?” he asked.
She slumped into one of the two chairs beside a small bistro table and dropped her head into her hands.
“I don’t know…”
He paused a moment. “You don’t know how you take your coffee?”
“Oh!” She leaned back and laughed. “I thought you meant—never mind. I take it with milk. No sugar.”
“I guess you don’t need sugar, ‘cause your sweet enough.”
She rolled her eyes, but at least she was smiling. “You being here…” she began. Then she waved off the rest and said, “What did you want to know about Wicca?”
“What were you about to say?”
“About what?”
“About my bein’ here.”
“Oh. Just that you make me feel better…and worse at the same time.”
Dru wrinkled his forehead. “I’m not sure I follow.”
“You make me feel good about myself as a woman, but I’m such a dismal failure as a business owner. With you seeing that, I can’t deny it much longer.”
He sat across from her and covered her hand with his. “My momma had a sayin’. When you lose, don’t lose the lesson. Has it been like this for a while?”
She shook her head. “No. Never this bad.”
“That kind of leads into what I was going to ask about Wicca.”
She sat up straighter. “Please. Ask away.”
“Do you think I did this?”
Her brows shot up. “You? What do you mean?”
“Well, I ruined the spell and all. Do you think the goddess is gettin’ back at me?”
“Of course not. Why would you think that?”
He shrugged. “I…well…I guess I don’t know as much about the religion as maybe I should.” And catching up on all the particulars is a lot harder than I thought it would be.
Rebecca placed her hand over his. “The Goddess isn’t like the vengeful God of the bible’s Old Testament. She wouldn’t punish you. The worst that would happen is simply nothing.”
“In other words, the spell was a waste of time.”
“We don’t know that yet. And even if that’s the case, you did what was right for the good of all. That’s what the Goddess wants. A hotel fire would be so much worse than an aborted spell.”
He didn’t know if she was being honest or trying to make him feel better. “So, you’re sayin’ the goddess either answers your spell in the affirmative or she don’t. That’s it.”
Rebecca bit her lower lip. “Well, sort of. As long as you don’t try to do any black magic, you’ll be okay.”
“What happens then? Not that I’m plannin’ to try that, mind you. I’m just anxious to learn more about magic in general.”
“Well, the Witch’s Rede says it all. The quick version is, ‘Do no harm.’ If you willfully cast a spell to negatively affect or manipulate something or someone, it’ll come back on you three times. It’s called the law of three.”
“Hmmm. Sort of like Karma on steroids?”
Rebecca laughed. “Sort of. Believe me, you’re better off casting spells for good things for yourself rather than focusing on others. As they say, living well is the best revenge.”
Dru couldn’t hide his confusion.
“What’s wrong?”
“I thought I heard somewhere that spells shouldn’t be done for personal gain.”
Rebecca burst out laughing.
“What?”
“You’ve been watching too much TV. Witches who do spells for personal gain are more apt to be granted their wishes.”
“Why is that?”
“Because they’re the ones who really want it. The more energy that’s poured into a spell, the better it works.”
“Yeah. That makes sense.”
“Visualizing the positive outcome is a big part of manifesting whatever will happen too. You’re better able to picture the exact outcome you want.”
Maybe I should visualize Shasta more. “So how did you visualize your bakery succeeding?”
“I pictured a short line of customers coming to the cash register with dollar bills in their hands.”
“Maybe you should have pictured a whole crowd waving credit cards.”
“I was afraid to. Until you came along, I was by myself.”
He nodded, but didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t promise he’d be there for her. As soon as he found Shasta
he’d be taking her home…one way or another. That thought made him desperately uncomfortable. Of course she’s alive. I don’t know why she hasn’t called me, but I’m sure there’s a good reason.
Rebecca broke the uncomfortable silence. “I—um…I can sell some of the pastries tomorrow, but the bread is now ‘day old’. Would you like to bring it to the homeless shelter?”
He felt for her. How the hell could she stay open when all she’d made for two days was less than twenty dollars? And if she gave away day old bread, would that cut into her business? He had a lot of questions, but she didn’t seem to appreciate his asking them.
Well, hell. Someone had to point her in a profitable direction. He didn’t see her father helping—especially if he kept demanding his money back. Dru wished he could do a spell to make her old man forget about the loan, but that would probably be manipulation and it might harm the old coot. He wished he knew why her father suddenly needed the money.
As if she’d read his mind, she said, “About my Dad…He’s been, um…dealing with a personal situation.”
“And he’s dragging you into it?”
“No. Not really. He was doing so well with Gambler’s anonymous, and I thought his moving to casino-free New Hampshire was a sign that he’d really confirmed his commitment. But I have to remind myself there are always sports to bet on and a couple of tracks nearby.”
“Shoot. So you think he relapsed?”
“Maybe.”
“I’m sorry.” He wished there was more he could do. He didn’t even know what to say. She seemed to squirm uncomfortably. Maybe he should just change the subject. “I didn’t realize you weren’t born and raised here. Where did you move from?”
“Massachusetts, near the Connecticut border. A lot of people come from Mass. We’re called Taxachusetts refugees.”
That gave Dru hope. It was entirely possible that Shasta came up here for the same reason. Tax-free income. Tax-free sales. Maybe she had a job and was just working really hard. Too hard to pick up her cell phone though? Probably not.
“What about your family, Dru? Are your parents alive? Do you have more siblings?”
“No and no. Shasta and I don’t know who our daddy is, and now that mamma’s gone we never will.”
Rebecca’s hand covered her mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“No need to fret. We had plenty of male role models growing up on the ranch. Our momma worked as a cook and housekeeper from the time I can remember. When she got sick, the owners took care of whatever medical bills we couldn’t. They treated us like family, and momma insisted she’d had a good life.”
“Still. You must have wondered why she wouldn’t tell you about your father.”
“Of course, but we learned not to ask. It just made people uncomfortable. Even after she passed away, no one told us anything we didn’t already know.”
“So, it sounds like you knew something…”
“Just that Shasta and I are full brother and sister. Our daddy must have stuck around for a few years. If anybody knows more, they promised not to tell us for whatever reason.”
Rebecca squeezed Dru’s hand. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what that’s like. My parents are crazy and irresponsible, but at least I know who they are.”
He shrugged. “It’s like a puzzle with a piece missin’. Not enough that you can’t see the big picture, but it niggles at you, just the same.”
Rebecca bit her lower lip. “So, what did you want to know about the coven?”
Changing the subject seemed like a good idea. “I saw Hanna snap her fingers and make the tools on the altar disappear. Then she snapped them again and the whole altar disappeared. Is that normal for all witches? Or is she just some kind of expert?”
Rebecca smiled. “She’s an expert. But there’s more to it, I know there is.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you remember Michele? The girl who’s place you’re taking?”
“How could I forget her? I ruined her protection spell too, apparently.”
“Don’t worry. She can take care of herself. She has some pretty impressive magic too. She confided in me, so don’t go repeating any of this…okay?”
“Don’t worry. Another bit of cowboy wisdom says, ‘Never miss a good opportunity to shut up.’”
She chuckled but scratched her head as if trying to make sense of that. “Okay. Well, here it is. Michele told me when she was a child her mother and Hanna were good friends. Hanna showed them a goblet she guessed was made by some kind of alchemist in the middle ages. She said one sip from it would give a witch supernatural powers.”
“So Hanna must have filled it up and had a party?”
Rebecca chuckled. “No. She must have had a sip at one time, though. There were a few people who took care of it periodically, so nobody would know exactly where it was. As you can imagine, a lot of witches would love to get their hands on it.”
“I guess so.”
“I know so. The Stregareha witches are especially interested in finding it.”
“Who are the Stregareha witches?”
“Traditionally, they’re Italian. I imagine the American covens might have accepted members from other ethnic groups by now, but I don’t know for sure. They’re pretty secretive.”
“So gettin’ back to Michele and her mother,” Dru said. “Did Hanna give it to them to drink out of?”
“No. Michele thought she might have offered to make her mother one of the supernatural witches. But either her mom declined or that wasn’t Hanna’s intention at all.”
“Why else would she show it to her if she was supposed to keep it hidden?”
“Michele’s mom was sick at the time and eventually died. She may have wanted to cure her or something.”
“Michele doesn’t really know?”
“No. She wasn’t supposed to be listening. They thought she was happily occupied in the play room.”
He smirked. “I know how that goes. Shasta and I were always eavesdroppin’ on the adults. Did they ever find out she was listenin’ in?”
“Oh, yeah,” Rebecca said. “When they went to the kitchen to make tea, Michele snuck over to the table where they’d left it, and as soon as she touched it, it lit up like a Christmas tree.”
“Whoa. That must have scared her.”
“It made an impression. She never forgot it, even though she was only seven at the time.”
“Did that make Michele supernatural? And if so, why was she so scared?”
“As far as I know, Michele didn’t acquire any supernatural powers, but magic came to her easily. The reason she was so afraid is that a guy she had been dating was kicked out of the coven for using black magic.”
“And she was afraid of him?”
“Yeah. With good reason. He became obsessed with her, and when she tried to get away from him, he tried to kill her.”
Ah, so that’s why she did a spell for protection and freaked out when her bottle broke, leaving a stain that looked like blood all over the carpet.
“Can I walk you home?”
A small smile flickered across Rebecca’s face. “That’s sweet of you, but I think I’ll be okay. I live upstairs.”
“Oh! Convenient.”
“Yes. By the way, I have a key for you. That way I can keep working without having to keep an eye out for you every morning.”
“You trust me with a key to your home and business?”
“Just the business. The door to my apartment is locked, and until I have a chance to clean the place, it’ll stay that way.” She chuckled.
Dru was no closer to knowing what to do with Rebecca than he was ten minutes ago. To kiss or not to kiss? He never thought he’d have such a hard time with that question. Of course he wanted to kiss her. He’d wanted to all afternoon. But now, even though the awkwardness was gone, there was a table between them. His body cried out to hold her, to kiss her…to make love to her.
She had asked him to take the
bread to the soup kitchen, and of course he’d agreed. If his sister had fallen on hard times, maybe lost her cell phone and all her money in a mugging or something, it was possible that was how she was surviving.
“Well, I guess that bread won’t deliver itself.” He rose from the table, smiling, and held out his hand to help her up too.
She grasped his hand and as soon as she was standing, he swooped in and kissed her. She responded instantly. Her hand slipped around his neck and her fingers clutched his hair. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her against him.
She opened her mouth and welcomed his tongue, meeting and swirling it with hers. He’d never had such an instant reaction to a woman before—especially one that seemed to completely reciprocate.
He caressed her until he felt the dip at the small of her back and she let out a little moan. His body wanted to explore hers more thoroughly, but he was a gentleman and refrained from squeezing her ass. Regardless, his primal urges wouldn’t leave him alone.
Dammit. I’ve got to get out of here, before I throw her down on the floor and have my nasty way with her.
He broke the kiss, but didn’t step away.
Her breasts were rising and falling. “Wow.”
“Funny. I was just thinkin’ the same thing.”
They grinned at one another. Dru let go, took a step back, and cleared his throat. “I’d better go before…” He didn’t quite know how to finish that sentence, but her nod said she understood.
“Uh-huh. Well, thanks for all your help today. Will I see you tomorrow?” Rebecca asked.
“Count on it.” He set his cowboy hat on his head and winked before he left the kitchen to gather up the day-old bread. It was time he concentrated on his real mission—finding Shasta.
Dru dropped off the bread at the homeless shelter, casting a furtive glance around the rooms. If Shasta had run out of money, she might be forced to stay in a place like this. The amount of people that could be housed there was staggering to him. However, it didn’t seem overcrowded at the time. Winter might be a different story.
He was both comforted and disappointed when he didn’t see her. He showed her picture to a couple of guys sitting out front and they just shook their heads. Maybe she had found someone who had taken her into their home. Someone kind, who was caring for her. He knew it was wishful thinking, but he needed to focus on good possibilities as well as bad.