“There's another lovely redhead in town who looks just like you. I made a fool of myself on Saturday because I didn't have my glasses on.”
Zinnia leaned back in her chair. “Oh, Griebel. I'm sure it won't be the last time you make a fool of yourself.”
“She's related to you,” he said, more statement than question.
“Easy now. She's way too young for you, mister.”
He cracked up for a bit, then asked, “How do you like your new lamp?”
Zinnia put two and two together. When Charlize had come to apologize to Zinnia in January, she'd brought a bottle of Zinnia's favorite bottle of tequila in addition to the world's ugliest lamp. That was what had been inside the box. The two women had laughed themselves senseless over the lamp, particularly when they had reached the end of the tequila.
Zinnia asked the gnome, “Did that horrible thing come from your repair shop? The person who gave it to me wouldn't say where it came from, just that it was very old and very valuable.”
“True, true. The lamp is both of those things. Plus it really brings a room together.”
Zinnia snorted. “It's a shame that being old and valuable doesn't make up for a lack of aesthetic beauty.”
Griebel made a tut-tut sound. “I'll have you know it's a stunning piece of ancient craftsmanship.”
“The only craftsmanship was yours, when you unloaded it on someone to give to me. Why did you suggest that particular piece? Was it the flowers? Just because I'm fond of floral patterns doesn't mean I'm bonkers for anything with a flower slapped onto it.”
“You don't like it?”
“Why? Can I exchange it for something else?”
“No refunds or exchanges. Final sale.”
Zinnia sighed. It had been worth asking.
Griebel said, “The only reason you don't see the lamp's beauty is because you are not its intended owner.”
“Good.” She glanced over at the darkest corner of her office. “Do you think I should bring it into work? Or maybe a dark alley between my house and City Hall?”
“You must not do that,” he said emphatically. “Keep the lamp inside your home. When the time is right, it will tell you who its next caretaker should be.”
Zinnia paused to consider this. Griebel was a wily, squirmy guy, but he didn't lie. Not to her, anyway.
She asked, “Is it cursed?”
“Would I pass along a cursed item?” He quickly added, “To you?”
“So, it's enchanted? Charmed?”
“Cursed, charmed, who can say? Only the writers of history. If it's not for you, give it to the one for whom it is for.”
Zinnia was quiet for a moment. How curious it was that the gnome had chosen to phone her just seconds after someone else had called about her niece. Curious, indeed.
The old man on the phone cleared his throat. “How is my young nephew doing?”
“You could ask him yourself. I can transfer you to his desk.”
“No need,” the elder gnome said hurriedly. “He doesn't like it when I check up on him. Such a defensive young man. So touchy.”
Zinnia couldn't argue with that, even though she and Gavin Gorman had been getting along better than ever lately. She'd started supplying him with a compound that he valued greatly. He'd been sweet as honey.
“I should let you get back to your busy job,” Griebel said. “Don't be a stranger. Bring your lookalikes along, and come see me sometime at my shop.”
Zinnia agreed and said goodbye.
She sat quietly in her chair, thinking about her two phone calls. Both had been surprising. Her short-range psychic previews seemed to be limited to her cell phone. She and Margaret had tried to figure out why Zinnia's gift didn't work with her direct line at the office, but they'd found no charms or enchantments. It stood to reason that City Hall had some dampeners in place, and whatever the mechanism was, it was too sophisticated for the witches to detect. If Zinnia really wanted to know, she could always contact Vincent Wick. He did owe her a favor. But it would be better to save that for a time she genuinely needed him.
She looked around her private office, wondering if anyone would mind if she put up some wallpaper—paid for personally, of course. Decorating made her happy. Even just thinking about decorating improved her mood by several degrees.
She found herself smiling. Life for Zinnia Riddle had been pleasant over the past ten weeks. She enjoyed her new job, since special buildings were much more interesting than regular buildings. The position had first been offered to her coworkers, who all had more seniority than Zinnia, but none of them had wanted it. Probably because the pay was the same while the role came with more responsibility. Zinnia, unlike the others, had been thrilled to accept more responsibility. She'd immediately thrown herself into her work. Working hard gave her a purpose, a wind with which to sail her boat.
But soon the winds would be changing direction. New family members often came, much like her new job, with more responsibility. Zinnia didn't know how she felt about that, but she found herself frowning.
A fresh pot of her tea, the regular, non-magical kind, would help.
She got up and walked out to the main office area. There was a loud crack as the heel of her shoe broke. She looked down, stunned. The heel had simply snapped, like a diseased tree in a snow storm. As if by magic.
Margaret Mills was looking at her with mild interest. Zinnia instinctively gave Margaret a dirty look. Was this payback for that time Zinnia had whipped the other witch's shoes off? Witches weren't supposed to keep score. And they didn't cast sneaky spells on each other.
Margaret commented, “A snapped heel is bad luck, Zinnia. You should go to a shoe store straight after work. You need to purchase a new pair before sundown, or you'll get showered with bad luck.”
Zinnia was not amused. “I have to replace my shoes before sundown? I've never heard of that particular superstition. Did you just make it up?”
“Everyone knows that about a snapped heel. Right?” Margaret looked for support from her new deskmate, Liza Gilbert. Liza, however, had headphones in her ears. The young woman hadn't heard anything.
Margaret frowned and shook her head at the oblivious Liza. She got up from her chair and came over to where Zinnia stood, albeit lopsided thanks to one broken heel.
“Yup. It's broken,” Margaret said.
“Thank you for your expert opinion.”
“Since we're chatting, I've gotta say I don't like this new office setup.” She rolled her eyes in Liza's direction. “That one is no fun at all. I miss sharing a desk with you.”
“Well, I don't miss getting kicked in the shins.”
“I hardly ever kicked you in the shins.” Margaret put her hands on her hips and leaned her torso forward, ready to charge like a rhinoceros. “Wait. Is that why you took the special buildings promotion? To get away from me?”
“Of course not, Margaret. You're one of my most treasured friends.”
Margaret snorted. “You must not have a lot of friends.”
Zinnia shifted her balance and steadied herself with one arm around Margaret's shoulders. Then she looked the woman in the eyes and said, “Oh, Margaret. Who needs friends when I have you?”
Zinnia lifted her face skyward and enjoyed the spring sunshine as she walked past the old stone buildings and churches lining the streets between City Hall and the shops of Wisteria. A shadow passed, darkening the sidewalk. She caught a glimpse of an enormous bird, too big to be anything but supernatural. She kept her pace and looked straight ahead. Best to ignore these things and stick to your own business!
Just to be safe, though, she quickly darted into a store and waited for the giant bird to move on. The store sold vintage teacups, among other things. Zinnia took some time to browse the selection and pick out a few pieces for her house. One could never have too many pretty teacups.
After the dishes had been wrapped up, Zinnia crossed the street and headed for Open Toad Shoes. She had cast a steadfast spell on her b
roken heel, but it wouldn't last on the long walk home. What odd luck that today, the day she left her car at home and walked to work, would be the day her shoe broke? Magic clearly had something in mind for her. What had Charlize said? We can resist our fates, or we can accept and adapt. Fate punishes those who resist.
Fate or magic had something in mind, so Zinnia would play along with Margaret's superstition. She would buy new shoes today. Not much of a sacrifice, really.
She opened the door to Open Toad Shoes and said hello to the owner, Thomas Rose. He gave her a surprised look, his mouth dropping open below his large, white mustache. Zinnia barely noticed his reaction. Her eye was drawn by a curious selection of saddle shoes. Who would wear such a theatrical thing? She bent over to examine them.
The shopkeeper went back to helping another customer, a redheaded woman. After some friendly chatter, the woman selected a pair of boots. Zinnia glanced over her shoulder at the footwear. Good choice, she thought. They were very nice boots.
Thomas Rose said to the first customer, in a voice loud enough for Zinnia to hear clearly, “I hope you don't mind me asking, but how closely are you two gorgeous redheads related?”
Two redheads? Related? Zinnia turned around to find herself staring at a nearly identical copy of herself. The effect was like looking in a mirror.
Zara Riddle! Zinnia's niece. There was no doubt. The pair had the exact same coloring, from red hair to hazel eyes, and the same oval-shaped faces. Zara was younger by sixteen years, but other than that, they were remarkably similar. No wonder the shopkeeper had done a double take when Zinnia had walked in.
Thomas said, “You must be sisters.”
“I don't have a sister,” the younger one said, breaking eye contact and looking down at Zinnia's clothes, a floral blouse and flower-dotted skirt. Zinnia was glad she had worn her nicest outfit that day. Best to make a good impression right from the start. Zara had been in Wisteria since at least Saturday, so Zinnia had already lost two days. Her breath caught in her throat. She shouldn't have been feeling so much emotion, but she was.
Zinnia was at a loss for words. Where was the conversation? She rewound it in her head. Zara had mentioned she didn't have a sister. Right.
Zinnia replied with a playful, “Such a shame you don't have a sister.” The words spilled out before she could consider them. Zinnia's spine stiffened. She'd simply been trying to keep up the conversation, but she'd inadvertently lied to her niece. What a way to start a relationship. Zara did have a sister. She had a sister and she probably didn't know.
Zara looked her aunt in the eyes. “But I do have a few stray relatives,” she said with a knowing look. “Weird ones.”
Zinnia suppressed a smirk and played along. “Is that so?”
The conversation continued playfully. They exchanged names, just to be absolutely certain, and Zara confirmed that she had bumped into one of Zinnia's friends—not that Zinnia considered Griebel Gorman a friend. Zara's hazel eyes twinkled when she described Griebel's appearance. Did she know he was a gnome? Did Zara know about magic after all? Her mother, Zirconia, had sworn her daughter didn't know, and that Zirconia had “protected” her, and yet here Zara was, in Wisteria. A town brimming with magical creatures.
Zara gave her aunt a pleasant smile. “Well, this is quite the coincidence,” she said knowingly. There was that twinkle again. She had to know about magic having a mind of its own. How could she not?
Zinnia tested her by replying, “Don't tell me your mother raised you to believe in coincidences.”
Zara leaned back and gave her aunt a surprised look, her hazel eyes wide and her brow furrowed. Thoughts were definitely churning inside that sharp mind. What could Zara be thinking? Was she eager to get to know her aunt? Or had she been poisoned against her by Zirconia? Zinnia's older sister had been dead for five years—nearly six—and yet her controlling ways still extended out into the world from her grave. That bitter ex-witch.
Zinnia looked away quickly, ashamed she'd been having negative thoughts about her sister. That “bitter ex-witch” had been Zara's mother. This meeting today had to be difficult for Zara. Seeing someone who resembled Zirconia so closely had to be unsettling.
Thomas Rose, who had always been such a sweet, simple man, clapped his hands like a schoolboy being presented with a birthday cake full of sparklers. “How wonderful,” he exclaimed. “A surprise family reunion happening right here in my shoe store. I knew something was afoot, so to speak, when I noticed you were foot twins.”
Zara's face wrinkled up. She sneezed three times, and then her face relaxed. The scent of peppermint hung in the air.
Zinnia detected a change in the room tone. Something had been altered. Magic was afoot, but what kind?
“Zinnia, darling,” Zara said in an otherworldly tone. “You simply must come for dinner at my house. We shall have rack of lamb, and you can meet my daughter. How about seven o'clock? We'll have cocktails at seven and dinner by eight, like civilized people. How does Friday work for you, darling?”
Zinnia was so shocked, she could have been knocked off the shoe store bench with a feather. Her niece seemed to be possessed by someone or something. Zinnia turned away slowly and began taking off her shoes. It had to be a muscle memory from being inside the shoe store, because she didn't know what she was doing.
Keeping her composure as best she could, Zinnia said, “Friday works for me.”
Just then, Thomas returned with a pair of boots for Zinnia to try on.
Zinnia forced herself to continue the polite conversation. Whatever force was at work on Zara, Zinnia couldn't let on that she knew. Her niece did have powers, and she'd been saddled with the most dangerous one of all. She was Spirit Cursed. Or, to be more politically correct, Spirit Charmed. The poor thing.
Zinnia asked, “When did you move to Wisteria? Myself, I adore living here, but most of the country has never heard of the place.”
Sounding more like herself and less like something otherworldly, Zara said, “What makes you think I'm not here on holidays?”
Careful, Zinnia. Zinnia couldn't let on that she'd talked to Kathy Carmichael about the librarian job. Zara struck Zinnia as the type of independent woman who wouldn't appreciate having her fate be meddled with by others.
Zinnia covered coolly, logically. “You invited me to dinner at your house, which I presume is here in Wisteria.”
“Oh, yes. My house. How I've always loved the sound of that phrase. My house. Mine. I'm going to be working that phrase into every conversation I have for the next year.”
Zinnia felt herself relax. Her niece was charming. A bit daffy and talkative, but in a pleasant way. “You're so much like your mother,” Zinnia said. “She did love having things that were all her own.” Zinnia leaned over to tie her laces and hide the tears that welled in her eyes. “I miss her so much.”
The younger redhead didn't say anything.
A moment of silence passed, and then Zara was writing her address on a slip of paper.
The address was on Beacon Street. It was the exact address of Winona Vander Zalm's house. If the Red Witch House was Zara's house now, that meant... Winnie was no longer of this world. Zinnia kept her shock to herself. But how shocked should she have been? Winona Vander Zalm had been old. Older than most people would imagine. The only surprising part about the news was that Zinnia hadn't heard it before now.
The two women talked for a moment about the house and its previous owner. Zinnia finally found the courage to ask her niece, “How did she die?”
Zara shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. “Peacefully, in her sleep. Or so I heard. It all happened long before I arrived on the scene. I only got here on Saturday.”
“The day before your daughter's sixteenth birthday.”
Zara's red eyebrows rose. “For a lady I haven't seen in years, you sure keep close tabs on me.” There was suspicion in her voice.
Zinnia panicked and lied. “I have an excellent memory for dates.” She did not. She'd forg
otten her own birthday in January. But what else could she say?
Zara edged toward the store's exit, looking uneasy. Her eyes narrowed. “Did you follow me in here?”
Had she? Zinnia couldn't say for sure. She'd followed something. A feeling. A superstition.
“Of course not,” Zinnia said, trying to sound casual and fun. “Don't be a ding-dong.” She immediately regretted calling her niece a ding-dong. She hadn't used the term in years—no, decades. It was the insult she and her sister used to trade, because all the other bad words had been banned in their house.
Thomas Rose clicked away at his computer and announced the total for Zara's new boots.
Zinnia waved her hand and said, “Put my niece's boots on my tab, please.” She turned to Zara and tried to set things as right as she could. “I know it doesn't make up for missing out on so much of your life so far, but I hope you'll accept this small gift from me. It's the least I can do, considering your kind invitation to dinner.”
Zara looked confused, but just for a moment. “Uh, sure, but you might change your mind after you taste my cooking on Friday.”
Zinnia sensed it was time to do something. What did people do in a situation like this? Hug? She should hug her niece. She started extending her arms then pulled back. She ended up awkwardly grabbing her niece's arm and making an alarming sound as she nearly lost her balance.
To cover, she said, “Zara, darling, I'm sure whatever you whip up, it will be intriguing!”
Too much, Zinnia! She tried to pull back and be more normal, but another alarming sound came out of her mouth. It sounded to Zinnia an awful lot like a cackle. A witch's cackle. Oh, floopy doop. This was not going well at all.
Chapter 32
One Week Later
Margaret Mills couldn't hear enough about Zinnia's recently-reunited family members.
“That Zoey does sound sharp,” Margaret said. “I don't know about Zara, though. She sounds like a loose cannon.”
“Takes one to know one,” Zinnia said.
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