by Linda Wisdom
“And flunked geometry.”
Blair waved her hand in the air, but made sure no multi-colored sparkles accompanied her gesture. “Ah yes, Mr. Henderson. Pretty darn cute for back then.” She grinned. “But alas, I was nothing more than a naïve seventeen-year-old girl in his eyes. I should have gone back ten years later to see if he was still single.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I was afraid if I did I’d find him fat and balding, which would ruin my teenage fantasies. And I had some pretty hot fantasies about that guy.”
They stopped at their respective front doors. Blair turned to say something else to Stasi, and suddenly what felt like a blast of cold wind assaulted the witches, and disaster struck. Just as a stately, shiny navy Lincoln Continental rolled down the street, a ginger colored cat strolled down the sidewalk, the woolly felt poodle on Blair’s skirt shifted its head to bark at the cat, the feline took off running, and the poodle peeled itself off Blair’s skirt in hot pursuit.
“Oh no!” both witches shouted in unison, running after the fuzzy poodle and the cat.
“No harm to any, if you please!” Stasi wailed, throwing out enough of a burst of power to push the cat and poodle out of the way of the oncoming car. The sound of brakes squealing mingled with the poodle’s barks, yowls from the cat, and a woman’s scream.
“Oh for Fates sake, it’s Agnes,” Stasi groaned, as the car jerked to a stop, literally plowing through the dog and missing the cat that had been pushed to safety, thanks to Stasi’s magick.
“I hit a dog! I hit a dog!” Agnes leaped out of the car, her face white. She tottered back and forth on high heels that were more than a little dangerous for her plump figure. She ran around to the front of the Lincoln and stared at the empty road. “Where is it?” She looked up at Stasi and Blair, who now sported a poodle on her skirt again. “Where did it go?”
“Agnes, are you all right?” Stasi ran over and helped the woman to the door of her shop. She pushed open the door and led Agnes to a silk cushioned chair.
“I’ll park the car for you.” Blair ran over to the vehicle.
“But—”
“Let me get you a glass of water.” Stasi ran to the back and returned with a paper cup.
“What happened? Did the old hag finally lose what little sense she had?” Horace muttered as she scurried past.
“Quiet, you,” she ordered.
“Where did the dog go?” Agnes waved her handkerchief in front of her face and accepted the cup. “I didn’t hit it, did I?”
“He probably ran off,” Stasi replied, noting the older woman’s still pale features. “Dogs are very quick.”
“You’re sure it got away?”
“He was still running after the cat.” Blair walked in. “Your car is parked out front.”
Agnes turned then stared at Blair’s skirt where the dog had returned to his spot. “How odd. It looks just like…” She shook her head. “Never mind.”
Stasi shot Blair a get out while you can look. Blair took the hint and beat feet while muttering she had to get her shop open.
Agnes downed her water as if it was whiskey, took a deep breath, and stood up.
“I realize you girls aren’t like the rest of us,” she said stiffly, now having regained her composure, “but tricks like that could affect tourists. Although, I’m sure there are some who would appreciate such magickal stunts.”
“It wasn’t a stunt, Agnes,” Stasi corrected her. “Just a shift in energy. It can happen this time of year.”
Agnes’s narrow features grew even more pinched. “We have honored your wishes by not advertising that witches live here, which could greatly build up our tourism. But it could do even more good at this time of year.”
“We have plenty of tourists that stop here without resorting to gimmicks,” Stasi reminded her, leaning back against a small table displaying white and pastel cotton bikini pants and bras along with Vicki Lewis Thompson Nerd romance novels. “Moonstone Lake has the look of a haunted mining town during the month of October only. We’re not Salem Village, Agnes.” A sick feeling settled in the pit of her stomach as she spoke of the famous New England village best known for its witch trials in 1692. Not one victim executed during that time was a witch, and Stasi had lived in abject fear that she would be discovered while she lived there. Afterwards, she fostered guilt that she had survived when those who had not one speck of magick in their blood didn’t.
Agnes sniffed loudly and stood up. “True, we aren’t, and at least we have a rich history from the Gold Rush.” She dropped her handkerchief inside her handbag and snapped it shut. “You and your friend may make light of what Floyd and I do, but we take our duties seriously and this time of year does bring in more tourists than even the summer season. Reed and Poppy may be new to the community, but they are more than doing their part. I hope you and Blair will keep that in mind.”
For a second, Stasi seriously thought about darkening the moustache above Agnes’s upper lip.
“I plan to start decorating the front windows this week for the month-long event,” she replied, following the woman to the door. “Blair and I’ve always done our part.”
Agnes stopped just short of the door. She looked around as if she feared the shop was filled with eavesdroppers. Stasi had to lean over to catch her words.
“I know my niece comes in here a lot,” she murmured. “Missy is very fragile, and I would like to ask you not to do anything odd for her.”
Stasi swallowed her cough of astonishment. “Odd? What kind of odd things are you talking about, Agnes?”
The older woman refused to look at her. “You know very well what I’m speaking of. As I said, Missy is fragile. I don’t like her coming in here thinking her world will be all the better because you offer it.”
Stasi could feel her blood start to boil. “Missy is a very sweet seventeen-year-old girl who comes in here to buy sport bras because I carry some with lace. She doesn’t need anything odd and I don’t offer anything odd.” She bit off each word. “If I did it would be nothing more than self-confidence, a sense of sensuality within a woman. It’s a state of mind, Agnes, not of the body. Perhaps you should try it sometime.”
The older woman straightened up. “After what Carrie has said, people are wondering just what you do give your customers. I’m sure you know that if you do something that isn’t proper, we have the right to shut down your business.”
“Do not threaten me, Agnes.” Stasi was steaming mad. “Trust me, you won’t win.” Agnes backed up a few steps and hurried out of the store before Stasi could say anything more.
“Amazing, little Stasi has balls. I’m proud of you, kid,” Horace spoke up from his perch on the counter by the register.
“The old biddy,” Stasi muttered, watching Bogie appear in his bed just behind the counter. She placed a Snausage in reach. “Maybe if she’d buy some decent lingerie she’d develop a personality that was actually likable.”
“You’re better off to be mad at her than consider her coming in as a customer. The idea of His and Her Honor doing the horizontal tango is downright scary,” Horace said.
“That’s nothing I’d like to think about either. But her daring to threaten me was beyond the pale. I should at least have ruined her manicure.”
“Ooh, tough talk from scary witch,” the gargoyle taunted. “You lost your balls, Stasi. You need to stand up to that old harridan more. You did pretty good this time, but you could do better.”
“I’m not Jazz who can throw a fireball with more accuracy than a Major League pitcher. And I’m not Blair who can come up with the nastiest, grossest revenge spell. I don’t like being angry and fighting with people. I just want to make people feel better about themselves, their sexuality.”
“Yeah, but you took a stand against Carrie and that was a great first step.”
“Oh sure, a
nd it got me sued.” Stasi went into her office and pulled a small moneybag out of the safe she kept there. She had no need to worry about thieves. Anyone stupid enough to break into the safe would think a diamondback rattlesnake guarded her money. And while the bite would feel very real and the sense of venom racing through their bloodstream equally valid, they’d merely have the scare of their lives. To date, she and Blair hadn’t had one break-in. Plus, she knew Horace could emit a scream that would shred eardrums. He hated anyone interrupting his fourteen-hour sleep cycle.
No one needed a security system if they had the right magick on their side.
“You forgot to set up the coffee maker,” Horace grumbled, making his way to the end of the counter.
“Having a distorted gargoyle is bad enough, but one with a caffeine addiction is too much.” Stasi had the coffee dripping into the pot in no time.
“No thanks to this curse, I have few pleasures in this world. After seeing old Agnes, who I’m positive wears old lady panties and one of those girdles made back in the 1950s, no way I want to look up her dress.” He covered his eyes with his paws while his horns seemed to swivel in opposite directions.
Stasi poured coffee into a small cup and inserted a straw. She carried it back to the counter and set it in front of the gargoyle, who uttered sounds of joy before latching onto the straw.
“You know that wizard will be back,” he said once he’d had enough caffeine to be a bit more personable.
Stasi closed her eyes against the vision of dancing red hearts over her head that she could see in the floor-length mirror near the counter.
“There’s no reason for him to come back unless he’s here to see Carrie. Maybe someone needs to dump red paint on her head,” she muttered, restocking scented sachets that resembled silk or velvet bustiers, wedding gowns, or evening gowns. These she didn’t imbue with any form of magick and allowed the scents of vanilla and lavender to do their work instead. The sachets she tucked into each package looked like silken pink or coral roses and gave the buyer a sense of well-being and heightened sensuality. Nothing made her happier than seeing smiles on her customers’ faces. A smile that was now on her face as she thought of tourists who would stop by to find lingerie to perk up their day. A smile that disappeared the minute she walked back to the counter and found a sheet of papyrus lying near the register.
“No!” She slapped the counter near the papyrus, but didn’t touch it.
Unfortunately, her presence was enough to trigger it. The document rolled upward and actually bowed to her.
“Greetings, Witch Romanov, ye have been served with additional papers regarding the case Anderson vs. Romanov. Please read and respond immediately.” The papyrus returned to its resting place.
Stasi’s snarl was worthy of a pissed off Were as she read the words detailed in elegant calligraphy.
Her fingers flexed, sparks flying around her as she paced the shop.
Horace made his way over to the document and leaned over it. “Wow, she’s really mad at you. She wants your powers stripped from you, monetary damages, and even your property. I can’t believe the wizard would allow this.”
“Well, he would,” she said grimly, picking up the box of bustier sachets she had left near the display and shoving them under the counter where they’d be handy when she needed to restock. “He’s a lawyer and a wizard. Both are nasty.”
“I don’t know. Your Eurydice is about as scary as they come.”
Stasi’s heart skipped a few beats at the name of the head of the Witches’ Council and headmistress of the Witches’ Academy. The witch was formidable, and not one witchling attending the academy dared go against her. Not until one of Stasi’s class cast that illegal spell.
Stasi never admitted it to anyone, but she had been scared witless when she stood with her fellow witchlings and was banished to the outside world. She was grateful she didn’t know who’d cast the spell. And she knew she wouldn’t have survived long if she hadn’t been with Blair, who’d been her best friend all through the academy.
Through the centuries, she’d had adventures she couldn’t have dreamed of, kept her heart whole—since she knew she would outlive any man she met—and discovered that she enjoyed making women feel good about themselves.
And now she felt as if her life was falling down around her. She bit her lower lip to keep the tears from falling.
“Hey.” Horace waddled over to her and hesitantly patted her arm. His leathery wings shifted back and forth sending a faint breeze into the air. Concern wasn’t something the gargoyle did well, but he was trying. “It’s okay, Stasi. You’re going to win. You’ll see. That skank is trying to make you miserable and you can’t let her know she’s upset you. Hell, if you want, set me outside her house some night and I’ll give her the most miserable night of her life.”
Stasi looked down at the stone creature. “Stop looking at my breasts!”
He shrugged. “A goyle’s got to do what he can.”
She uttered an incomprehensible word, stalked out of the shop, and headed next door. Blair was dancing to the sounds of Bill Haley and the Comets’ classic hit “Rock Around the Clock” as she arranged a selection of Madame Alexander Wendy and Ginny dolls from the 1950s.
Blair spun around and caught sight of Stasi’s expression.
“What happened?”
“Horace was comforting me.”
She froze. “Excuse me?”
Stasi nodded. “He was patting my arm and saying nice things. Well, except for calling Carrie a skank.”
“Horace is never nice. He’s a Peeping Tom and a pervert. He’s happiest when he gets a flash of breast or thigh.”
“He did stare at my breasts for a second, but I think he was trying to make me feel better. I received another papyrus from the Wizards’ Court.” Stasi ran her fingertips over the edge of a Red Flyer wagon that sported a hefty price tag.
Blair’s crinoline petticoats made a dry rustling sound as she crossed the shop and hugged her friend.
“She wants me stripped of my powers.” Stasi’s words stuttered around the lump in her throat. “She wants what makes me me gone.”
Chapter 5
Thanks to the weekend coming up, traffic through Moonstone Lake was fairly heavy as people stopped off either to visit the shops or for a bite to eat.
Stasi was grateful to be kept busy as she assisted customers with lingerie choices. She was pleased to see that her new stock of silk and lace chemises in bold colors went fast.
“I always spend a fortune when I come in here,” one woman told her as she added five leopard print bustier sachets and two in black velvet to her selections. “And your shop always smells so good.” She inhaled deeply, her breasts rising up and attracting Horace’s avid attention. “I wish you sold it in potpourri, although I don’t know if my boyfriend would like our house smelling like my favorite mochaccino.”
Stasi did an internal happy dance as she mentally added up more than $1000 in purchases. The mental reminder that she’d need the money if Carrie won her lawsuit tried to intrude, but she hip-bumped it out of her mind. She’d had her self-pity party that morning and she refused to let thoughts of the woman ruin the rest of her day.
“Perhaps I’ll start stocking various potpourris,” Stasi said.
“I think that’s why I buy so much when I come in,” the woman chuckled. “It’s like walking into my favorite coffee house.” She glanced outside where a man stood in front of a dark blue BMW, a cell phone to his ear while he stared impatiently at the shop window. “I guess his patience is wearing thin, but once he gets a load of what I bought he’ll change his mind. I’m sure I’ll be back when we come up in a month. You’ll have your Halloween ghost town going on then, won’t you?”
Stasi nodded. “A lot goes on then.”
The woman picked up her bag and left.
“Those definit
ely aren’t real,” Horace announced, once the door closed. “Think her boyfriend paid for them? Along with that ass implant that’s easy enough to see she had. It sure looked like Botox and a chin implant had their way with her, too. She’s got more plastic in her than Barbie. Maybe you should take her suggestion and stock potpourri.”
Stasi shook her head. “That’s Emma’s specialty with her body and bath line. Besides, then the individual scents wouldn’t be as unique.” As if her name had been uttered, she was called to the front window. Her fall-themed display included a burnt orange chemise and chocolate colored camis and boy shorts hung on padded silk hangers, and autumn toned leaves were scattered along the shelf, along with twinkling orange lights strung along the back of the display. This was her favorite time of year and Stasi tended to go all out.
She looked out the window and stared at Carrie Anderson, who stood across the street in front of Sam’s Dry Cleaners. She carried plastic-wrapped clothing in one hand, a coffee to-go cup with the bakery’s name imprinted on the side in the other, and a dark scowl on her face. Stasi knew if looks could kill she would have been molecules scattered to the wind by now.
“Why do you hate me so much, Carrie?” she whispered. “What started all this?”
Horace peeked through the linen half drapes at the back of the window. “Is she saying witch or bitch?” He studied the shape of Carrie’s mouth as she spoke.
Stasi turned away. “To her it means the same thing.”
“Too bad you can’t zap her back a few centuries. Let her try to survive with no indoor plumbing, no grocery stores, and having to take care of all her kids without the benefits of television and DVDs. Wouldn’t it be nice to see her grubbing away in a garden? Or working as a scullery maid? Come on, Stasi, can’t you just imagine her emptying chamber pots?”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“When do you think the wizard will show up again? He’s going to hear about her ranting and raving, unless she’s ranted and raved to him, and you know he’ll come up if that’s happened.”