by Liliana Hart
Click, click…click, click, click.
“Well, maybe not,” she huffed out. “Unless gigolos have started using typewriters to maintain their client lists.” She sat back on the tall wooden stool and stretched. Her back was killing her. “And by the amount of time that man spends typing, he must be booked for the next twenty years. Right, Nicodemus?”
The cat didn’t even bother to look at her this time. The traitor. He was supposed to be on her side. Where was the sympathy?
“That’ll teach me to take on tenants. Neighbors are a pain in the behind. Remind me to strangle Minerva the next time I see her. I guess there’s a reason she’s been scarce all week. She’s no dummy.”
It had crossed Eloise’s mind more than once that maybe Minerva had placed the man in her path just to give credence to the vision she’d had about the blood moon and a man coming to Cauldron’s Hollow who shone with light and love. She didn’t put it past Minerva to hire an actor and bring him in just to prove a point. Minerva hated to be wrong.
But the story Minerva had told of how she’d met the man had wrung with truth, running into him in the middle of the street, while he stared at The Sorcerer’s Rock as if he’d been possessed.
Any normal woman would have given the man a wide berth. Minerva had walked right up to him and offered him a place to live. She hadn’t checked references or employment. And Eloise wasn’t even certain Minerva knew his name.
The strange thing had been her new neighbor’s reaction. He hadn’t been phased at all by the out of the blue proposal from a strange woman. He’d accepted the offer just as quickly as Minerva had given it.
And in Eloise’s mind, that was something to be suspicious of. She didn’t have Minerva’s sight—not that she doubted her sister—but Eloise was enough of a business woman to know that sometimes you just needed a little proof. And she had more experience in dealing with the truth of human nature—especially when it came to men.
She could be thankful to Sam for opening her eyes to that, despite the pain she’d had to endure. It was important for all of them to remember that magic could be wrong or deceiving on occasion. Look at what had happened to her ancestors during The Reckoning.
It was several minutes before Eloise realized she’d been staring into the fire as if in a trance, and she realized things were blessedly quiet from next door. Maybe he’d finally gone to bed and her lotion could still be salvaged.
“Positive thinking,” she murmured. “Mother would be so proud.”
She chanted a quick cleansing spell and felt the rush of magic tingle along her skin and peace root deep inside of her. Then she opened herself to the magic she’d already poured into the cauldron.
She immediately felt the stirrings of irritation and frustration—the liquid in the cauldron mirroring exactly what she’d felt the moment her neighbor had started pounding the keys of that blasted typewriter.
“That certainly won’t do. All we need is for Mrs. Robicek to go on a terror throughout the town. She already intimidates half the shop owners.”
That was the thing about magic—well, at least her magic. The moment Mrs. Robicek or any other of her customers used the cream she was currently making—face cream infused with cinnamon for anti-aging and a dash of magic to reduce wrinkles—her feelings would seep into the skin right along with the cream.
That’s why she took such care with her temper, holding her emotions tightly inside. She knew many people in town thought her cold and aloof, but they would have been more accurate in saying she was reserved. It was best for everyone that way. She’d learned her lesson after Sam.
“It’s not too far gone, Nicodemus. Mrs. Robicek will have her face cream without becoming a detriment to society. I can tell you’re excited by the news.”
This time the cat squinted open an eye, giving her an indulgent look before closing it again.
“I do thank you for tolerating me, Nicodemus. I know I try your patience.”
She took the strainer from the table and removed the lumps from the cauldron, and then she chanted another spell, removing the tinge of her irritation from the concoction and replaced it with tranquility.
“There, good as new. Almost.” She swung the cauldron back over the open flame so it could heat through again and turned back to grinding herbs in her mortar while she waited for it to thicken.
Click, click, click…
“Oh, for the love of the goddess.” She got to her feet, knocking the stool over in the process, and decided she was going to march right next door and give him a piece of her mind. She didn’t care how late it was.
The furniture in her apartment began to vibrate, her temper well pricked by this point. And when she flung her hand out to steady the trembles, her fingers knocked against the roots she’d been grinding and the whole bowl fell into the fire. They caught fire instantly, hissing and sizzling, and the flames licked higher and higher up the sides of the cauldron.
“Oh, damn. Oh, no,” she said as black smoke billowed into the room.
She coughed once and used the towel to clear the smoke, waving it frantically in front of her. Even after the smoke started to clear her eyes continued to water. The burned herbs had a horrendous odor, and with her luck she’d be smelling like a corpse for a good week.
She tossed down the towel and went to the front windows to slide them open, sucking in a breath of fresh cool air and blinking her eyes rapidly to clear her vision. She heard the creak and groan of more windows going up and she looked over in time to see her bothersome new neighbor stick his head out and suck in his own fresh breath.
She hadn’t gotten a look at him before. As far as she knew, he’d never even left the apartment. He didn’t look like a meth dealer or a gigolo. Not that she had a lot of experience with either. He had dark blond shaggy hair that curled just over the ears and collar and enough of a beard for her to know it had been awhile since he’d seen a razor. Her heart leapt in instant recognition, but she tamped it down, telling herself it was impossible. She’d never even met the man before.
And then he had to open his mouth.
“Geez, lady? Are you trying to kill me?”
Eloise narrowed her eyes and her hands clamped tighter on the windowsill. There was a reason she kept a tight rein on her temper, but boy was this man testing the limits of her control. But to be fair, it had been a long time since anything had happened in Cauldron’s Hollow to test those limits.
“Ask me that again,” she said. “I dare you.”
Chapter Five
Barrett considered himself a good reader of people. He had to be in his profession. It’s how he made his characters come to life. So he was reasonably certain he was standing off with a woman on the edge of control.
“Hold on a second,” he said, sticking his head back in the window.
He heard a muffled mmmph come from next door and grinned. A red head and her temper. She practically sizzled with it.
He grabbed two beers from the refrigerator and left through the front door to the balcony. She was still standing there with her mouth open in a surprised O, her head sticking out the window.
“Might as well come out here,” he said with an easy grin. “The smoke and smell will need time to clear. We should start over. I’m Barrett. Barrett Delaney. Your sister rented me the apartment.”
“Yet she still lives,” Eloise said.
Self-preservation was the only thing that kept his smile from growing wider. No wonder Minerva hadn’t been around the past week.
Eloise stared at him for what seemed like minutes, and he stayed completely still, afraid if he moved that she’d turn as skittish as the cat that had already made his escape out the window and was licking his paws on the front porch.
He couldn’t stop starting at her—couldn’t explain the reaction. It had never happened before. But the overwhelming urge to love and protect this woman above all costs hammered at his heart.
He realized she must have said something when she said his
name. He liked the way it sounded on her lips.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?”
She rolled her eyes. “I said okay. Let me make sure the fire is tamped down. I won’t be able to work anymore tonight anyway.”
When she came out her front door a few seconds later he handed her the beer as a peace offering.
“Thanks,” she said, taking it from him. Their fingertips brushed and Barrett sucked in a deep breath at the contact. In his books he would’ve said the touch ignited sparks between them, but it would have been nothing more than a metaphor for attraction. He had no way to explain the actual sparks that shot up from their connected flesh.
If her grip hadn’t been solid on the bottle he would’ve dropped it. He looked up at her face but her expression was like a blank page.
“Static electricity,” she said, taking the bottle and moving out of reach. “I’m Eloise Goodnight. Thanks for the rent check. How long do you think you’ll be staying?”
He barked out a laugh and appreciated her answering grin. She had dimples. And her eyes were just brown. They were dark and rich, the color of expensive whisky.
“Don’t let the door hit me on the way out, huh?”
She shrugged and took a sip of her beer. “We don’t get a lot of visitors in Cauldron’s Hollow. We’ve learned to be wary of strangers.”
“An odd sentiment to be sure, considering most places rely on travelers to help support their businesses.”
“Well, we never claimed to be like other towns. That would be boring.” Her lips quirk in a rueful smile and he had the sudden urge to kiss the corner of her mouth.
“No, not like other towns. I’ve watched this past week out my front window.”
“Mmm,” she said, nodding. “You have the best view of the street.”
“It makes a wonderful setting for my book. And the people who live in it.” And he’d already decided his heroine was going to bear a startling resemblance to Eloise. Especially that temper. He’d been so hard as a rock the minute she’d arched that brow. And when she’d dared him to ask her again if she was trying to kill him he thought he damned near might combust on the spot. He’d had no choice but to stand in front of the open refrigerator a few seconds to get his body back under control.
Her brow creased. “You’re a writer?”
“That’s the sound of my ego crumbling.” He smiled and put his hand over his heart as if she’d pierced it. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that him being a writer bothered her. He didn’t know why he was so sure of that, but it was something to think about. Writing was what gave him life. A purpose and a legacy.
“There’s a man that stands across the street every day at eleven o’clock,” Barrett said, trying to put her back at ease. “He takes a croissant and two cups of coffee and stays precisely twenty-five minutes. But he never drinks the second cup of coffee, and no one comes to share it with him. Who is he?”
Eloise smiled, her eyes lighting with pleasure and he vowed to put that look on her face as often as possible.
“That’s Walter Grace. And he’s having coffee with his wife, Georgia. She passed on about five years back and he’s been doing it ever since. He says he likes to keep her updated on things that are going on around town.”
“Do you think she ever answers?” Barrett asked, charmed by the story and already trying to figure out a way to work it in.
“Maybe,” she shrugged. “Who’s to say that death severs all connection between true soulmates?
Barrett could feel her pulling away, but he wasn’t ready for their time together to come to an end. He wanted to know more about her. Just wanted to hear her voice. Share the same space.
“Why don’t we go for a walk?” he suggested. “It’s going to be a little while before we can go back in the apartments. And I haven’t been out to explore the town yet. I’ve been too busy working.”
“Might as well,” she sighed. “It isn’t pretty in there.”
“You want to tell me what happened?”
“Lets just say the sound of your typewriter can be startling in the middle of the night.”
He winced. “Sorry about that. I didn’t think about the sound carrying over. I should have considering I can smell your cooking and hear you talking to yourself every now and then through the vents.”
She looked at him oddly and then drained the rest of her beer. “You done with that?” She took the empty bottle from him, careful not to touch him this time. He had to admit he’d wanted her to again. He’d wanted to see if he’d only imagined the feeling—the spark.
He watched as she took the bottles inside to dispose of them and grab a light jacket from the coatrack by the door. He hadn’t noticed the cold before, but damp air and cold wind seeped into his bones.
“It smells like rain,” he said.
“We’re due for a soaker, but probably not until morning,” she said, zipping her jacket. The she looked down at the cat. “Stay close, Nicodemus. We’ll be back soon.” And then she said something in a language Barrett didn’t recognize and he could’ve sworn the temperature on the balcony warmed.
Barrett arched his brow at the cat and gave it a long look. The different colored eyes were a bit disconcerting, and he could have sworn the cat nodded when Eloise gave him the instructions.
“For someone incorporating Cauldron’s Hollow into your book, it seems odd you haven’t made the time to look around yet,” she said as they made their way down the circular staircase to the street below. It was just the two of them and the flickering gas lights casting an eerie shadow over the street.
She’d think him a lunatic if he told her he hadn’t needed to get out and see the town. That the pictures of Cauldron’s Hollow were so vivid in his mind and dreams that he could recall it with startling accuracy.
“I had plans to do a little research tomorrow,” he said, thinking it the safest response. He looked down at his watch and noted the time. “Or I guess today if I’m being accurate.”
“You strike me as the type who likes to be.”
“Oh, really? What else do I strike you as?”
They started up main road, across the uneven cobbled streets toward the fountain an the sculpture of the woman.
“Persistent,” she said after a few moments of silence.
“I’ve been known to be. But I’d also add open minded to that. Who is she?” he asked when they stood in front of the fountain. “There’s no marker.”
“Because everyone in Cauldron’s Hollow knows who she is. She’s ours. Not meant for the curiosity of tourists.”
The defensiveness in Eloise’s voice had his brows raising. “Well…ouch.”
She cut her eyes at him and smiled. “I told you we’re not used to newcomers in town. Our hospitality might be a little rusty. Don’t say I didn’t warn you when you head out on your research tomorrow and everyone stares at you.”
“That’s pretty much what they did the day I drove in, so hopefully they’re over it by now.”
“Don’t count on it. Our memories are long.” She hugged her arms around her middle to ward off the cold and looked up at the statue of the woman. “Her name is Amelia Goodnight.”
“Ahh,” he said. “I can see it now. You resemble her.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“I recognized you. As you’d go back and forth from your apartment to the shop. But I didn’t know why I recognized you. It was driving me crazy. Tell me about her. Who was she?”
“A woman. A wife and a mother. Fearless. Someone who stood up for what she believed in no matter the cost.” Then she turned and looked him in the eyes. “A witch.”
He nodded, unsurprised by Eloise’s news. It was starting to make more sense now. The differences of he saw in Cauldron’s Hollow in his visions. The way the women had been condemned and killed. It would’ve been during the witch trials.
“You can see her power.”
She didn’t break her gaze from his, searching him like she would a germ
under a microscope. “Most people can’t see. They believe, because there are eyewitness accounts and stories passed down through generations. But they can’t see the true power. And you can. Who are you, Barrett Delaney?”
“What? You think because I don’t know the history that I can’t be open minded? I’m a writer, sweetheart. Compared to some of the things I’ve seen and researched in my line of work, I’m not surprised a place like Cauldron’s Hollow might inhabit a few witches. I’d be more surprised if it didn’t I’ve seen things that can’t be explained by logic. I know there are things bigger than me and any of the rest of us in the universe. ”
He smiled, trying to put her at ease. She’d been expecting his rejection, or at least for him to make fun of her declaration. And it made him all the more curious about Eloise Goodnight and what made her stand in that protective stance, her arms crossed over her chest as if waiting for the next blow.
“Let’s keep walking and I’ll tell you a story,” he said, not waiting to see if she agreed. He moved around the fountain and felt a sigh of relief when she fell into step beside him.
“It was a time of unrest” he began, the story coming to his lips with the ease of one who’d lived it. And under the guise of religious freedoms communities and governments were built. But there were rumblings of dissatisfaction that could only be recognized behind the privacy of one’s own home for fear of persecution. Except for a place secluded in the midst of the thick pines and oaks, surrounded by nature’s beauty and protected by the very ones who’d fled their homeland to find the freedoms all sought.”
Barrett closed his eyes and breathed in the night air. He didn’t know if the story was real or if it was all just a figment of his overactive imagination. But the compulsion to tell her wouldn’t be repressed.
“These protectors built their home high on the hill, so they could watch for those in need and any who might seek to harm. The people were grateful, because while they were distanced from the grumblings of dissatisfaction, the rumbles were growing in volume and spreading like wildfire from town to town.