by Clea Simon
Chapter 3.
“Do we have any spells for ridding a home of an – uh – negative influence?”
Becca’s question burst out as she pushed open the door of Charm and Cherish the next morning, red-faced from the cold. The January morning had broken bright and clear, the sky so blue it made the looming forecast of snow laughable. Cheered, perhaps, by the winter sun, Becca served the cats’ breakfast with less than her usual fuss and had almost jogged to the shop, the carefully shaded Clara trotting at her heels. Although she lacked Laurel’s facility, the calico was learning to listen to her person’s thoughts, and so was able to pick up on her eagerness to peruse the store’s well-stocked bookshelves. But seeing Elizabeth, the owner’s older sister, there ahead of her, she changed tactics. Clara could feel, as well as hear, the shift as she addressed the older woman, who despite being well into her seventies, was sitting cross-legged on the shop floor. “You know, something that could do a purge?”
“Good morning.” The gray-haired woman looked up from the opened cardboard box before her, her bushy eyebrows rising comically. Rising without apparent effort to her considerable height, which was increased by a halo of gray hair as wild as Laurel’s was smooth, she examined Becca over a nose best described as Roman. Only then, after brushing down the purple corduroy tunic she wore over green velour pants, did she speak again. “You’re in early.”
“I know.” Becca acknowledged, looking down sheepishly. “I didn’t sleep well. I’m sorry if I was brusque, but I’ve got a problem.”
“And you’re wondering if the craft can help you get rid of it.” For all her outlandish attire, the older woman had a way of focusing that made Becca take her seriously. Clara, too, if her person had only known it.
“Yes.” Clara waited for her person to elaborate, looking from one human to the other, but Becca said no more. She was being careful, Clara sensed, a feeling her pet shared. Shaded as she was, Clara knew neither woman could see her, exactly, but Becca had been growing increasingly sensitive to her pets in recent months, and the older woman had made several uncanny remarks in the past, which hinted that she might have some awareness of the little cat’s powers.
Clara needn’t have worried. Elizabeth had eyes only for Becca.
“You want to do someone harm?” Although she spoke so softly the little cat could barely hear her, there was an edge to the older woman’s voice Clara couldn’t identify.
“I’ve thought about it.” Becca seemed to be speaking to the box on the floor. “I don’t know what else to do.”
“There’s always another option,” said the older woman, hefting the box to her hip as she turned to go. “Let me look into dispelling negative energy, for starters. I’ve got some books upstairs. And you, my dear, should open the shop.”
Becca nodded, as if released from an examination, and got to work, starting with a quick check of the crowded shop’s more in-demand stock. After topping off the pyramids of incense – the patchouli always went fast – she replenished the colorful polished stones for offer in their shallow brass bowl by the register. Pouring them out from the box they kept in the back, she then ran her hands through the supply, fishing out a few of the brighter ones – a rose quartz and a tiger eye – to top off the mix, making sure that the card with their possible qualities – “jade for healing, quartz for clarity” – was in place.
As she paused to admire her work, Clara jumped soundlessly up on the counter to sniff at the stones, enjoying the warm glow that came off the cinnabar and the garnet, even on such a frosty day. Becca, she knew, was growing skeptical about the craft, as the other woman had called it, as the months passed. She hadn’t witnessed any magic – and certainly not done any – since the summer, and her pet could see how she considered the stones with longing.
“Even if they’re just pretty, that’s something,” she said softly as she reached out to touch a glittering pyrite so full of energy Clara could feel the tingle in her skin. The sensation added to her decidedly un-feline jumble of emotions. Perhaps it was better if Becca gave up on the idea of magic. That would make it easier for Clara and her sisters to look after her as they should. But Becca would miss it, her pet knew, particularly the weekly meetings with her friends. Besides, Becca was special. Clara was convinced. Surely, her person could sense power, even if it was simply gemstone magic.
The power of the stones was fairly straightforward. The most basic humans could sense their appeal, she knew. After all, almost every customer who made it up to the register picked up at least one, and many of them ended up purchasing the smooth round stones. Over the four months since Charm and Cherish had been open, Becca had brought home six of them. Of course, her pets had knocked them off the shelf where she’d arranged them, and although Becca had only found two, Clara could have told her that the other two – a golden topaz and violet amethyst – were, in fact, now properly placed to provide maximum protection.
Becca must have had some inkling of this. As she watered the succulent in the front window, Clara realized that her person was thinking of those missing stones – and wondering if their disappearance just might be confirmation of their powers. For a moment, the little cat held her breath, waiting to see what would happen. Only just then her person caught sight of the clock behind the counter. All thoughts of magic were quashed as she did a quick check to see that she had small bills in the register – some people still liked to pay in cash – and Becca was ready. Ten on the dot. She turned the “closed” sign over to open, unlocked the front door, and returned to her station behind the counter, waiting for her day to begin.
One hour later, and she had nearly finished the third chapter in Contemporary Witchcraft. This was the second book she’d read while on duty. In part, she had explained to Margaret, the owner, the week before, knowing the stock made her a better salesclerk. In truth, Clara knew, Becca was looking for answers to her questions about what she considered her own powers.
Poor Becca. Clara couldn’t read. Like most cats, she considered books suitable for sitting on at best. But as Becca tried to work out the puzzle of her own situation, she had ended up reading passages aloud, and while Clara might not have any insight into the scrawl and scratching that made up human writing, she could easily interpret her person’s thoughts once she voiced them aloud.
“I still don’t understand.” Becca stared down at the page, as if the black and white symbols could give her an answer. “I made that pillow appear out of nowhere. But since then…”
While Clara was grateful that her person had given up the idea of using magic against that nasty neighbor – at least for now – the comfort was short-lived. Becca might be distracted, but the questions she now repeated were so familiar, her voice so wistful and confused, that her pet longed to rub up against her person. It would be a poor comfort, she knew. But while Laurel, with her powers of suggestion, might be able to redirect Becca’s curiosity, Clara had no way to distract her person.
If only she could implant the truth in Becca’s mind – that she had nothing to do with that one act of magic, so many months ago now, that had started Becca on her current path. True, Becca was already interested in witchcraft by then, her curiosity piqued by the discovery of an ancestor in an old and timeworn chronicle. But the act that had apparently confirmed her person’s latent powers – the summoning of a tasseled cushion from the ether – hadn’t been managed by Becca at all. In truth, Clara well knew, it was Harriet who had created that pillow for her own comfort, heedless of the person who was practicing a summoning spell right nearby.
If only Harriet had been a little more careful – or less lazy – their person would not have gotten the idea that she had magical powers. That would not only have relieved her of her current frustration, Clara knew, it would have cleared the way for her cats to actually take care of her, as all the best cats do.
As it was, all Clara could do was watch as Becca slumped back against the wall behind the counter, book in hand, looki
ng for answers she wouldn’t find. Just as Clara was considering a distraction – maybe knocking over that candle would rouse her person – she picked up a change in the air. Not a scent, exactly. More of a vibration. Still, it sent the cat scurrying moments before the bells over the shop’s front door alerted Becca as well.
“Welcome to Charm and Cherish.” Becca’s voice lifted with her smile, as she greeted a young woman with dark, shoulder-length hair and a pale, heart-shaped face that appeared free of makeup. “Feel free to browse, but if I can help you find anything, please let me know.”
“Thank you.” The newcomer, who appeared to be Becca’s age or possibly a little younger, returned her smile, a curious lilt to her voice, but then she turned away. Her tan duffle coat and black beret, slightly old-fashioned, added to the hint of an accent to suggest she wasn’t a local. An exchange student, perhaps, an impression made stronger by the violin case that hung over her shoulder. Clearly that case was made for traveling. Cambridge was full of students and tourists, and like any city attracted a cosmopolitan crowd. Could this woman be a student at one of the area music schools? Auditioning for the symphony perhaps? Although Becca found herself musing about the day’s only customer – and Clara, picking up on the general direction of these thoughts, sniffed the hem of that duffle coat with care – there was little else revealing anything about the new arrival. In fact, after a few minutes, Becca returned to her book, and Clara found herself distracted by a bug that had was climbing up the front window as if eager to return to the cold outside.
“Excuse me?” The visitor’s voice, already quiet, softened the “x” to almost sound like the “s.” Becca looked up with a smile, to see the newcomer leaning over the counter. Although she couldn’t have explained how exactly, Clara had the feeling that she’d been standing there for a few moments already, gathering the nerve to speak. “Do you know anything about this?”
She extended her hand, holding a small slip of paper, and Becca’s polite smile widened into a grin.
“You’re looking for a detective?” Becca answered the question with one of her own, which Clara heard her with a sinking feeling. Just when she was hoping that her person had given up on this. Seeing the other woman’s hesitation, Becca caught herself. “I mean, you’re interested in hiring a witch detective?”
“Well, I’m not sure.” The young woman searched Becca’s face, her large, dark eyes ringed with fatigue. “I am hoping someone can help me, but I don’t know…”
Her voice, already quiet, trailed off. Becca reached across the counter to lay her hand on the other woman’s.
“I’m sorry,” she said, matching her tone to the customer’s. “I didn’t mean to pry. I’m the witch detective, you see. And I have had some success in helping people solve some mysteries – or at least sort out some things in their lives.”
She paused and bit her lip. A sure sign, Clara knew, that she was thinking something over.
“In all honesty, I’m not exactly sure if I have any powers. You know, magical ones.” Her voice sank to a near whisper. “But I have had a summoning spell work, and I do think that I’ve got some sensitivities that help me uncover that which is hidden.”
The visitor took this all in and then nodded, her face thoughtful. “That might be what I need.”
“Wonderful!” Becca brightened visibly and, despite her misgivings, Clara felt her own whiskers perk up. “Would you like to make an appointment? Of course, we could speak now.” Her voice dropped down again. “I doubt we’ll be disturbed.”
The customer flashed a smile, even as her dark eyes darted once more toward the front of the store. “I am being silly, I know,” she said. “But I was just coming from the conservatory and I saw this shop...”
“I think you came in for a reason.” Becca nodded as she spoke. “And, honestly? I’m grateful for the interruption. We haven’t had a customer all morning. I’m beginning to think nobody out there is interested in magic of any sort.”
With a sigh, Becca turned to look out the window, and the newcomer followed her gaze through the store’s colorful front window. Painted with bright zodiac signs and other mystical symbols, it offered a vibrant frame for the day outside. At some point in the morning, clouds had begun to roll in, dimming the brilliant blue of the morning. They were carried along by a brisk wind off the river that appeared to be hurrying people along. Bundled up and bent over, pedestrians scurried by, oblivious of the warmth Charm and Cherish could provide. Following Becca’s gaze, Clara saw a variety of people bending into that wind, tuned into their own thoughts – if not their ear buds. The only exception – a harried-looking young mother struggling to convince the child in her stroller that mittens needed to say on – was nearly run over by a wiry little man. Her squawk was audible, even inside the store, but the dance as the man backed up – hands raised in apology or excuse – was over so quickly the cat didn’t have a chance to catch their scent.
“See?” Becca turned back to the other woman. “They’re in their own worlds.”
But something had changed for her potential client. Her smile was gone, replaced by an open-mouthed gasp.
“Are you all right?” Becca started toward the end of the counter, the better to aid the visitor if she had taken ill.
“No, no, I’m fine.” The other woman turned her wide eyes on Becca, raising her hands as if to ward her off. “It’s just – I forgot an appointment. The time.” She pointed up at the clock on the wall. “I must leave now. Goodbye!”
And with that, she raced toward the door, pulling it open so roughly that the bells were still jangling as she disappeared into the crowd.
“How odd.” Becca stood there, watching her go. Though whether it was concern for the departed visitor or disappointment over losing a potential client, Clara couldn’t tell. As it was, she stood there, staring out at the street. Only when she turned back to check the clock herself and then reach for her book again did she stop with a gasp and pull herself up short.
“Miss! Miss!” Dashing around the counter, Becca opened the door, a chill from the gusting wind blowing inside. The resulting cacophony of bells was so loud a few of the passersby stopped in their paces to peer into the colorful shop. Ignoring them, Becca stepped out onto the sidewalk, wrapping her arms around herself for warmth as she pulled herself up to her full five-six and scanned the crowd. “Miss?” She called again, louder. “Miss? Hello?”
Nobody answered, and the two pedestrians who had stopped turned away before hurrying on. “Miss?” Becca called once more, before, with a sigh, she gave up and came back inside – where she stood, rubbing her hands up and down her arms for warmth and looking down at the violin case that the visitor had left on the floor.
Chapter 4.
“I don’t know what to do.” In desperation, Becca had rung Elizabeth. The older woman, who lived with her sister in the building’s penthouse apartment – three flights up –had come right down, a weathered book under her arm. “I called out, but she was gone. Then I figured, well, she’ll notice and she’ll be back any second. But it’s been almost a half hour and there’s no sign of her. She’s got to be frantic.”
Elizabeth didn’t respond. Instead, she placed the thick leather-bound volume on the counter and turned her attention to the case. Covered in brown cloth, with a wide strap that had allowed the young woman to sling it over her back it now lay on the counter where Becca had placed it.
Becca snuck a glance at the book, the embossed lettering on its cover too worn to read, and turned back to the violin.
“I thought of calling the conservatory, but I didn’t even get her name, and I couldn’t find a tag or any kind of identification on it.”
“And inside?” Elizabeth reached for one of two metal catches.
“I didn’t look.” Becca’s fingers stiffened on the counter, as if she were resisting the urge to pull the case toward her. “I didn’t want to, well, intrude.”
Elizabeth turned her attentio
n to Becca, those bushy brows rising in surprise. Her voice was serious when she spoke again. “Are you picking up something about this case, Becca? Something, say, that your cats would notice?”
Becca looked up at her and took a breath, as if about to speak. But after a moment’s notice shook her head. “Funny you should say that about my cats,” she said, almost to herself. “But no, nothing really. Only, well, I wouldn’t look in someone else’s bag.”
“You would if someone had left it, and you were trying to find the owner.” Elizabeth sounded much more matter-of-fact as she popped first one catch and then the other. “And we have been talking about purging negative influences. But since I’m here.” She opened the case, her eyes growing wide under those bushy brows. “Oh, my.”
“What is it?” Pushing the book aside in her haste, Becca leaned forward, and Clara – still shaded – jumped up on the counter beside her. Although the outside of the case appeared identical to those carried by any of the hundreds of students who passed by daily, lifting its lid was like opening a time capsule. The stained blue velvet lining might once have been lush, but now it was worn almost smooth. The satin pull on the rosin compartment was threadbare, the leather catches frayed, and the wooden spinners that hold the bow in place showed wear from many hands. The violin itself, cradled like a jewel, appeared easily as old, its rich red-brown finish was almost rubbed off in spots while in others it glowed with age.
“That’s – I could be wrong.” The older woman reached out to the instrument, her fingertips just grazing the wood, while Clara – unseen beside her – found herself sniffing a corner of the case, where the velvet had been torn and glued back on. “I think this may be a very old instrument.”