by Bailey Cates
“Really? An actual mumbo jumbo spell?” he asked.
“Careful,” I warned. “You’re marrying a witch, so you’d better get used to things like that. Also, no. Not a spell like that. I was thinking I could make a tea with a little boost to help us, is all.”
He stopped at a red light and looked over at me. “A tea sounds good. Yeah, let’s do that.”
I smiled at his enthusiasm and said, “Well, okay then!”
Mama greeted us at the door, ushering us to the table, where everyone was chattering away. She looked resplendent in her summer twinset, a light lavender that perfectly offset her red hair. Sure enough, when I looked between Mary Jane Lightfoot and Agnes McCarthy, the two mothers had to use the same hair color. They’d introduced themselves, of course, and had chosen seats together.
My dad came over and gave me a hug. As always, he carried a subtle scent of leather and wood shavings that instantly settled my soul. His full head of silver hair gleamed under the lights, and he wore his usual chambray shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots. I wondered if Mama would make him fancy it up for the wedding. She would, I was pretty sure, since he would be walking me down the path to the gazebo, but a part of me didn’t want her to.
“Hi, baby,” he said. “How are you holding up?”
“Okay,” I said. “Though I have to admit, I’m looking forward to a little rest and relaxation next week. Not that we’re taking a honeymoon. Not yet. Just getting back to normal life will be good.”
“Remember to enjoy this, though,” he said. “It’s a big step, the beginning of something new, and a memory you’ll have for the rest of your life.”
I smiled up at him. “Thanks for reminding me of that. I get a little caught up in things and forget to appreciate them as much as I should.”
He kissed my forehead. “My type A daughter.”
Ben came over then, indicating with his eyes that he wanted to talk to me. We moved to the corner, not exactly out of earshot, but it was so loud by then that it didn’t matter. He put his head next to mine.
“I managed to have a chat with Dayleen and her new friend.”
“Effie’s her new friend?” I asked.
“That’s what they said. Dayleen was so concerned about her that she tracked her down at Belford’s.” He gave me a look. “It sounds like she wasn’t the only one.”
My shoulder lifted and dropped. “Mimsey and I paid her a visit.”
“Right. Well, when I left them, Dayleen was trying to convince Effie that Tucker was a good guy who really loved her, and Effie was having none of it. So I don’t know that they’ll actually be friends in the long run, but I thought I’d report back to you.”
I grinned. “Thanks, Ben.”
A shout drew our attention, and we returned to the party.
We’d pretty much taken up the whole restaurant, but the staff didn’t mind. Churchill’s was known for hosting everything from informal gatherings to actual weddings, so they easily handled our crowd. After we’d all eaten, our party moved into the pool room, where the conversation stretched into the evening. The subject of Tucker Abbott’s death came up a few times, but no one said anything about the lottery ticket, so that seemed to still be under wraps.
Rori was quiet almost to the point of being morose, picking at her food and barely engaging in conversation. This garnered a few sympathetic looks and the occasional pat on the shoulder, and I guessed everyone thought she was upset about Tucker. However, I saw my mother eyeing her a few times.
Finally, Declan and I begged off, pleading exhaustion. Hugs and kisses later, we made our way onto Bay Street and Declan’s truck.
We’d barely pulled into traffic when Declan asked, “Can we do it tonight?”
Confused, I raised my eyebrows.
He shook his head and grinned. “The spell, Katie. The spell.”
“Oh. For lucid dreaming. Right. Um . . .” I looked at my watch by the light of the dash. “It’s kind of late, isn’t it?”
He was silent for a few beats, then, “Please?”
My heart melted. “Of course we can.”
His hand found mine. “Thanks. I can almost feel Connell. Maybe that’s my imagination, but I like to think he’s not that far away. Even if you can’t bring him back, contacting him would make me feel better.”
I squeezed his hand. “We’ll try the spell. And if that doesn’t work, we’ll try something else.”
* * *
* * *
I changed my clothes and came out to find Declan in the kitchen with Mungo.
“I brought you a bite of sausage roll from dinner,” he said to my familiar as he placed the morsel in a dish on the dog’s place mat.
Yip!
It took three seconds for Mungo to scarf it up. He sat back and eyed my fiancé.
“You know you ate before we left,” I said. “That was a bonus.”
His response was a baleful look at me followed by an eagerly expectant one directed at Declan.
“How about some ice cream,” he said, opening the freezer door and pulling out a pint of French vanilla.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. You spoil him more than I do.”
“It never hurts to have your witch girlfriend’s familiar on your side.”
“Witch wife, soon enough, my dear. And if you don’t stop feeding him sweets, I won’t be able to lift him—forget about carrying him around in my tote bag.”
“I still can’t believe I’m marrying a woman who carries her dog in her purse.” Declan set a tiny bowl of ice cream on the floor, and the terrier began to delicately lap at it with his tiny pink tongue. Declan returned the ice cream to the freezer as I opened the spice cabinet to start assembling ingredients for the tea to encourage lucid dreaming.
“Katie?” Declan looked at me around the open freezer door. “What’s this?” He held Bianca’s jewelry box in his hand.
I laughed. “That’s my something borrowed. Amethyst earrings. Bianca said the safest place to keep jewelry was in the freezer. Normally, I wouldn’t worry about it, but they don’t belong to me.”
“Ah. I’ve heard of that. Freezers can protect things from fire, too. I’ve seen it.”
“Shall we try a little lucid dreaming now?”
He nodded. “Absolutely. What do I need to do?”
“Take Mungo out while I get ready.”
So Declan took my familiar for his last walk of the day, and I prepared for the lucid dreaming spell I’d concocted. Lucy had been intrigued when I mentioned it to her over the morning baking and had given me some advice about herbs to add to the tea.
An entire room on the third floor of Lucy and Ben’s town house was devoted to preserving the herbs she grew in her rooftop container garden. They hung in bunches and stewed in oil or alcohol, depending on what medium best extracted their various constituents. Some of those herbs had made it into my own collection, which was much more modest. I’d added herbs from my gardens at the carriage house, from the tea shop down the street from the Honeybee, and had even purchased a couple things online. The box of jars and vials sat in the bottom of the bedroom closet, one of the remaining things that would have to be moved into the carriage house after the wedding.
I changed into my nightclothes, then dragged the box out onto the floor and sat down cross-legged to paw through it.
We’ll need valerian, for sure. And there: mullein. A bit of mugwort . . .
I considered some of the other names for mugwort with a smile as I sorted through the jars—felon herb, naughty man, cronewort. There were other names for mullein as well, including feltwort, hag’s taper, Quaker rouge, and graveyard dirt. Heavy lifting for a plant with leaves as fuzzy as a teddy bear surrounding a stalk of bright yellow flowers. In magic it could be used in place of graveyard dirt, though, making it handy if one didn’t have time for a trip to a cemetery before casti
ng a spell that called for it.
Ah, there’s my burdock root. Now, where’s the peppermint?
I searched, but there was no peppermint in the box. Sighing, I hauled myself to my feet, returned the box, and took the jars of herbs I’d selected out to the kitchen counter. A quick rummage through the cupboard netted a few bags of peppermint tea. Since I was making a tea anyway, that was perfect.
I set the kettle on and got to work. First, I combined the herbs in equal parts in a mortar. As I added each one, I invoked the individual powers that I intended to brew into the mix.
Valerian root to guide sleep deeper.
Mugwort to relax the body and heighten consciousness, divination, and protection during travel—in this case, astral travel.
Mullein not in place of graveyard dirt but to prevent nightmares and keep our dreams focused on Connell.
Burdock root to keep the dreams positive and, I hoped, useful in locating Connell.
And finally, peppermint for clarity, to keep our dreams vivid, bright, and focused.
After I’d triggered the elements of each herb that I wanted to bring out, I muttered a quick spell under my breath as I gently pounded the leaves and roots in the mortar with the pestle.
This tea to drink
Into sleep to sink
Connell to find
His spirit to bind
With Declan’s again
And home in ten.
Declan and Mungo came in then. My familiar settled into his bed on the floor with his head on his paws and watched me work.
My fiancé eyed the mess I’d made on the counter. “What’s that smell?”
“Valerian, mostly. It’s pretty stinky.” I’d always likened it to the odor of sour dirt.
“Do we have to actually ingest it?”
“The others will offset the flavor a bit. Except the burdock.” I shrugged. “It’s a small sacrifice if the spell works.”
“Okay,” he said, but his nose was still wrinkled.
He joined me at the counter. The kettle whistled. I turned off the heat and placed the spell-enhanced herbs in a small teapot. Glancing at Declan, I poured the hot water over the herbs while repeating the spell.
This tea to drink
Into sleep to sink
Connell to find
His spirit to bind
With Declan’s again
And home in ten.
He didn’t bat an eyelash, which was a good sign. Declan hadn’t seen me practice magic often, and I needed him to be totally on board with what we were doing, or it wouldn’t work.
I told him as much, adding, “If you want to get out of your dream for any reason, count to ten and you’ll wake up. That’s what the last line is about.”
“Gotcha. Now what do we do?”
“We drink the tea, and we try to visualize what we want to dream.”
He looked a bit disconcerted at that.
“Tell you what. When it’s finished brewing, we can settle in and simply chat back and forth about what we hope to accomplish.”
“Finding Connell.”
I smiled. “Maybe more detailed than that. Why don’t you change your clothes?”
He returned wearing pajama bottoms and no shirt. I allowed myself a lingering look, but then sternly told myself to focus and turned back to strain the tea into two mugs. We took them into the living room. Declan sprawled on the sofa while I curled into the old recliner that would soon be going to the thrift store. After taking a tentative sip of tea, he made a face but didn’t comment. I had to agree that it wasn’t the tastiest brew, but I had a good feeling about it.
“Can you feel the power from the plants?” I asked him.
“Um, maybe.”
“Try. Close your eyes and try.”
He obeyed, inhaling the steam and taking another swallow. His eyes popped open. “It’s really hot.”
I laughed.
“I’m sorry. I don’t have your, you know.” He made a finger-flutter gesture I took to refer to some kind of magic.
A huge yawn overcame me. “Okay, let’s make sure we’re on the same page. Close your eyes again.”
He did, and I followed suit.
“I’ve been thinking about this. Last night we focused on remaining lucid when we were dreaming but didn’t direct ourselves to dream anything specific. When Dad took me on my shamanic journey, he was helping me to find part of my lost spirit—my magic. Connell is your lost spirit, so let’s try designing a dream kind of like that. That journey felt like a dream, really, even though I was awake. Sort of. It’s hard to explain. But I did see Connell under the tree of life.” I settled farther into the chair. “Dad told me to imagine a tunnel leading to the lower world.”
Declan didn’t say anything.
I cracked an eye open, then sat up. My darling fiancé was lying on his back on the sofa, and his deep, heavy breathing and slightly open lips testified that he’d already fallen into a deep slumber.
“We’ll try again another time, sweetie,” I whispered as I got up and covered him with an afghan.
Mungo came over and looked up at me with laughing eyes.
Shrugging, I took Declan’s tea, which he had barely touched, and downed it. Back in my chair, I closed my eyes again, debating whether to go to bed and leave my honey on the sofa. The image of Connell as he looked in Declan’s ancient family photo album came to mind. Spry, wearing breeches and riding boots, a stove pipe hat, lively eyes set deeply into a wrinkled face. I thought of his loud brogue and how he’d first made himself known to us in a séance.
Katie . . .
I felt more than heard my name, but I recognized it was Connell calling to me. My first instinct was to tell Declan, but instead I kept my eyes closed and tried to relax.
Where are you?
Don’t know. Lost. No bearings.
Declan stirred on the sofa, and I felt my tenuous contact with Connell waver and then resolidify.
How can we find you? I asked.
I need some breadcrumbs ter follow, lass.
How do we do that? I hoped the desperation and frustration I felt didn’t come through.
Send another spirit . . .
The connection was fading again.
Another spirit? How?
He didn’t answer.
I concentrated and reached out with my mind. There! Just a pinprick of his consciousness, but it was enough to hear him.
Not suffering, lass. Only want ter come home.
And then he was gone.
I gathered all my energy and tried to reach him again. It didn’t work. I tried harder. Suddenly, I realized I had my hand out in front of me, physically reaching in reflection of my mental searching. Letting out a whoosh of air, I opened my eyes and dropped my arm.
Declan was sitting up on the couch, staring at me with wide eyes.
“Were you there?” I asked. “Did you hear him?”
Then I realized my skin was still faintly glowing with blue-tinged light. Suddenly shivering, I rubbed my arms with my hands. “Oh. That’s why you’re looking at me like that. Sorry.”
He ran his hand over his face, then gave a nervous laugh. “Don’t be sorry. It’s a bit . . . disconcerting. And no, I didn’t dream during that little nap.” His head tipped to the side and he looked over my right shoulder as if trying to remember something. “No, that’s not right. I did have a little dream there. Just a flash. I can’t say I was aware of dreaming at the time, but I do remember Connell.” He pushed the afghan aside and leaned forward. “What did he say?”
“He’s still lost,” I said. “He wants us to send another spirit to him to, as he put it, drop breadcrumbs for him to follow back to us.”
Declan’s jaw slackened. “Another spirit?”
I held up my palms. �
��Just the messenger here.”
“But how do we do that?”
“No idea. I’ll check in with the spellbook club and see if they have any ideas.”
Frowning, he stood and held out his hand to me. “It couldn’t be easy, could it?”
I took his hand, letting him bring me to my feet. “Maybe not, but we’ll figure it out. At least there’s hope.”
He pulled me into an embrace and nuzzled my hair. “Yes. I feel a lot better knowing there’s hope.” Pulling back, he cupped my face with his hand. “Thank you, darlin’.”
I kissed him so he wouldn’t see the tears that suddenly threatened.
Because it was sweet that he was thanking me, but he never would have lost Connell in the first place if it hadn’t been for me.
Chapter 22
The herbal spell had worked. Not the way I’d thought it would, but still. Now Declan was sleeping peacefully, and I couldn’t help but wonder whether the tea might augment my ability to sense his dreams. Actually, his weren’t the ones I was worried about. I didn’t need another food dream from our neighbor startling me awake with a craving for fried green tomatoes or some such.
Nonetheless, I allowed myself to relax enough to welcome slumber. Relieved when I didn’t get a hint of any thoughts except my own for nearly half an hour, I snuggled deeper into my pillow and miraculously began to drift into sleep despite the knowledge that in less than forty-eight hours, Declan and I would be married.
Tomorrow is the big day. The beginning of our new lives together.
Rather than making me worry about all the wedding details, the thought brought with it a sense of peace and a confidence that everything was handled and the next days would be smooth as silk.
Two thoughts floated through my mind before unconsciousness overtook me.
I thought everything was handled, and then Judge Matthews canceled.
And:
But that worked out better than ever with Uncle Ben marrying us. Whatever happens, it’ll all be fine in the end.
* * *