Candy Canes & Corpses

by Abby L. Vandiver

  But all seemed fine in the store. The stained glass windows had the usual number of cracks, The Persian carpet remained as threadbare as ever. The walls were lined with dark wood shelves filled with merchandise. A tattered teddy bear sat in a corner next to some vintage Victorian dolls. A unicorn skeleton stood next to the window. An antique Celtic sword hung next to the door.

  Everything looked normal.

  Except for an open drawer at the far end of the room and an empty jewelry box on the floor.

  I aimed an inquiring glance at Bubo.

  "What?" the cat asked. "I was bored." He stretched out and yawned. "Anyway, it was empty."

  "I know," I said, reaching for the stone around my neck. The chain holding it disappeared and only the Eye of Agathor remained.

  "There you go," Bubo said. "No harm, no foul."

  I bent and grabbed the jewelry box. It felt hard and heavy in my hand. "No thanks to you."

  "I wasn't trying to help," he replied. "My self-actualization is to be as unhelpful as humanly or inhumanly possible."

  I rolled up my eyes at him, not too subtly, and then put the Eye of Agathor back in its enameled box. The stone was still in its sulky dark state, but I ignored it. Magical objects that try to make a break for it don't get sympathy from me. I locked the box and returned it to the drawer.

  "Seriously, stay away from it," I told Bubo. "I don't want it to get out."

  Bubo rolled his eyes reciprocally. "You're such a killjoy. Now what about the—"

  But he was interrupted by the ringing of the front bell. Someone was opening the door, probably a customer who hadn't seen the "Closed" sign.

  I tensed, as I always did when we had a new customer. One never knew what would happen.

  But it couldn't be helped. It was part of the job description, part of my conscription.

  I took a breath and turned. "I'm sorry, but we are not—"

  My mouth fell open as I stared at the visitor.

  "Are you still open?" he asked.

  He was an ordinary enough human—tall and husky, with short, blondish hair and glasses. A "Haunted Virginia Tours" lanyard hung around his neck, and he was wearing nondescript khaki pants and a red sweater over a blue button down shirt.

  His red sweater was covered in candy canes.

  "Heck, no," Bubo muttered. "We're closed."

  But our visitor could not hear him.

  "Not really," I responded with an apologetic smile. "But I can let you browse for a few minutes. Are you looking for anything in particular?"

  I strongly doubted it, but I was required to ask. People who came to the shop seldom knew what they were looking for. An interior yearning drove them here, and when they exited the store, they usually carried an eccentric item they didn't even know they needed. Unfortunately, those items usually came with a stiff price.

  Was that what was happening here? Was that what the vision meant? Was it a warning from the Eye of Agathor?

  The young man—much younger than I'd thought, with wide blue eyes and a curiously pale, almost sickly skin tone—straightened his glasses. "My name is Archibald Laurence, Archie for short. I am looking for items related to my ancestor, Sergeant Atwell. You may know him from the library. It is rumored that he haunts the place."

  I struggled to hide my surprise. A Banshee Creek descendant looking for his family history? What was he doing in my shop?

  "You're welcome to look around," I said, "but I don't think I have anything like that. I only just opened a few weeks ago and I don't have any local inventory yet."

  The key word there was "yet." I would undoubtedly have people delivering Banshee Creek items soon. It just hadn't happened yet.

  "That's too bad," Archie replied. "The library has most of the Atwell memorabilia, but they refuse to part with it."

  I bet they did. Holly was very protective of the library's collection, and she wouldn't let go of items related to her resident ghost without a fight.

  "Are you looking for anything in particular?" I asked.

  Likely not. The items in the shop fulfilled secret desires. When a customer found something, it usually came as a surprise.

  And so did the inevitable tragic ending. An image crossed my mind—a young man in khakis and a red sweater lying on the ground.

  I pushed the image away. It did no good to dwell on such things.

  "Letters," Archie replied, surprising me. "Or some kind of correspondence. I went to the library and asked them for everything they had, but I found no papers. That is strange because most soldiers wrote home to their families and sweethearts."

  So he was looking for something specific. How odd. Maybe he really was just a curious tourist.

  "I see," I said, remembering what Holly had said about having to clean out the library attic to appease the Sergeant Atwell fans. Presumably, Archie was one of those fans. "I'm sorry. I don't have anything like that."

  "Do you mind if I look around?" Archie said, eyes riveted on the unicorn skeleton.

  Now, that sounded familiar. This was the dangerous part of the program.

  "Not at all," I replied.

  That wasn't entirely true. I always became anxious when customers inspected the merchandise, dreading the moment when they would reach for one of the items.

  But that didn't happen this time. Archie examined the shelves, read the spines of the books, took a selfie with the unicorn skeleton, and then left, closing the front door firmly behind him.

  "Well, that's a first," Bubo said, craning his neck so he could watch Archie walk out of the alley. "I've never seen anyone leave empty-handed before."

  "It happens sometimes," I replied.

  But Bubo was right. It was very rare.

  A thought struck me and I walked over to the drawer that held the Eye of Agathor. I opened the drawer and checked the box. The Eye was still there, still sulking.

  I closed the drawer, thinking hard.

  "Maybe he'll come back," Bubo said. "Now, what about those cupcakes?"

  I reluctantly turned toward the counter. Bubo would not give up until he obtained a treat. Also, Archie had left without purchasing anything. That meant that, even if the Eye's vision came true, I couldn't be held responsible.

  But I still felt uneasy. The vision hadn't bothered me at first, but now that I'd met Archie, it was different. He was a real human being with a fondness for cupcakes and an eccentric interest in genealogy.

  And, if the Eye of Agathor was correct, he would be dead soon.

  "Cupcake time," Bubo repeated. "Let's focus here."

  I sighed and headed over. Maybe a cupcake would help me think.

  "Are they chocolate?" Bubo asked. "I hope they're chocolate."

  "I think they're candy cane cupcakes," I replied.

  "What does that taste like?" Bubo asked, aiming a suspicious glance at the box. "Walking sticks?"

  "I'm not entirely certain." I reached for the top of the box to open it. "But they seemed to be popular tonight, so they must be tasty."

  "I hope so," he said, licking his whiskers in anticipation. "What's taking so long?"

  I frowned at the box. "It's stuck."

  "It's that sticky tape stuff they put on things. Just pull it off."

  I inspected the box. "No, there's something on the side. Hold on a second."

  I slowly pulled the box open. There was something stuck to the lid, right where it met the side of the box. Several somethings, in fact.

  "What is it?" Bubo asked.

  "I think they're pieces of paper." I slowly pulled them out. "Very old paper."

  I laid the yellowing sheets on the counter. They were covered with drawings.

  "Letters?" Bubo asked.

  I examined the drawings. One looked like a snowy landscape. Another one had a sleigh. Letters were printed on top, but they were hard to read.

  "Mer—" Bubo began. "Is that a 'y'?"

  "Yes," I said. "And I think that's a tree underneath." I frowned. "Is it decorated?"

  "I can
't tell," Bubo said. "It's not a very good drawing."

  "No," I agreed. "But I think it's definitely a tree." I turned over another card. "And this one is a sleigh."

  I leaned back, now thoroughly confused.

  "Bubo, I think these are Christmas cards, antique ones."

  "There's a signature on the back," he said.

  I peered at the spidery writing. It took me a while, but I eventually made out a name.

  Archibald Atwell

  Chapter Four

  THE NEXT morning I took the cards and headed to the library. I wasn't sure what was going on, but I knew one thing for sure: Those cards did not belong in my shop. I had to return them to Holly.

  The sun was out, but the day was cool. I huddled inside my coat as I walked down the newly decorated streets. The botánica, I noticed, already had its blue and white star ornaments out. The bakery had opted for festive greenery peppered with pink and orange bows. PRoVE had spooky-looking purple garlands covered in ghosts and a giant mechanical spider, which was already attracting admirers.

  That raised a question. Should I decorate the Magical Curiosity Shoppe? Surely not. The whole point of the store is that it mostly went unnoticed. Decorating it didn't make sense.

  Those bows looked nice, though.

  I was contemplating that interesting thought when Patricia opened the door and stepped out of her bakery, carrying a pink-and-orange striped bag.

  "Good morning," she said, smiling. "You're out early."

  "I have something to return to the library," I replied.

  Patricia's smile grew wider. "That's a perfect coincidence. I don't suppose you could take something to Holly for me, could you? It would make my morning so much easier."

  "Of course," I replied.

  A delicious smell hit me as she handed over the bag. "It's a half-dozen of my Creepy Cheesy Croissants. They're from her Secret Santa, but I'm sure she'll guess that."

  "Oh, those sound delicious," I said, accepting the bag.

  But I was mentally kicking myself. I'd forgotten about the Secret Santa game. I had to get Patricia something, and, unlike Holly's benefactor, I couldn't resort to baked goods.

  Too bad, especially because the croissants were mouth-watering.

  "They are," Patricia replied. "And you are an absolute life saver because I have five more orders to deliver. Everyone thought this would be a perfect breakfast treat for their Secret Santas."

  "Clearly, there is wisdom in this town."

  Patricia's smile turned mischievous. "I'm glad to hear you say that, because there will be one waiting for you when you come back."

  "Really?" I gasped.

  "Of course. You have a Secret Santa too."

  And with that pronouncement she headed back to her store.

  Great. My Secret Santa had already gotten me a present, and I still had no idea what to get Patricia. I certainly couldn't get her anything from my shop. Holly had said that all gifts would be appreciated, but that probably didn't apply to cursed dolls and haunted teddy bears. A magical cookbook from the botánica? Candles?

  None of that sounded right. Patricia lived in a haunted town, but as far as I could tell, she had no magical inclinations whatsoever.

  I resumed my walk with a heavy heart. It was a long walk to the library, which gave me ample opportunity to consider my problem. But when I reached the small ivy-covered building, I still had no idea what to do.

  The library was empty and quiet when I arrived. Holly sat behind the counter. Today, she was wearing a sweater with a large Christmas tree appliqué. I guess the holiday season had truly arrived.

  "Hi," I said. " I have something for you." I raised the bag. "From your Secret Santa."

  Her eyes went wide and she started laughing. "What? Oh, heavens, don't tell me that bag contains a Creepy Cheesy Croissant."

  "No," I replied smiling. "It contains six."

  Holly covered her mouth with her hand. "But I reserved one for my Secret Santa."

  I placed the bag on the counter. "I think everyone did."

  She shook her head. "Gift of the Magi, Banshee Creek style."

  I didn't understand the reference. I wanted to ask what she meant, but I wasn't sure—

  "It's a story," Holly said, apparently identifying my confusion. "Haven't you read it? You should. It's beautiful, and we have the book in the literature section."

  She started to turn, as if to get the book for me.

  "Thanks," I said, digging into my coat pocket. "But I actually came to return something."

  As I felt around for the holiday cards, I realized that there was something else in my pocket—something round and hard, and surrounded by a filigree cage.

  The Eye of Agathor had hitched a ride again.

  I took the cards out and closed the pocket firmly. I didn't want the Eye to end up as Holly's newest library acquisition.

  Then I placed the cards on the counter. Holly stared at them curiously.

  "They were in the bakery box I took home after the meeting last night," I explained. "They must have fallen inside."

  But that, I suddenly realized, was very unlikely. The cards had slipped in between the sides of the box. That was not something that just happened.

  Someone had to have put them there.

  Or something.

  "I've never seen these before," Holly said.

  "But they have Sergeant Atwell's signature," I said, pointing.

  "Yes," Holly confirmed. "That's his signature, but I don't think these came from the library. I just catalogued all of our Atwell memorabilia, and I don't remember any holiday cards." She turned toward the computer. "Let me check our holdings."

  While she typed into the computer, I examined the cards again. They looked genuine. They were signed. I had acquired them at the library.

  How was it possible that Holly didn't know about them?

  I looked back at the table where the bakery box had been. The sun was still low in the sky and the table was shrouded in shadows, but I could see the corner where the box had been placed. Thomas said it was his box and PRoVE likely had its own collection of ghost memorabilia. Maybe he had been the one to—

  But as I stared at the table, the shadows slowly coalesced into a figure, a dour-looking Civil War soldier still dressed in his uniform. He stared at me intently then vanished.

  A shudder ran down my spine. Sergeant Atwell wasn't scary, not exactly. He seemed, however, to be trying to tell me something.

  I just didn't know what.

  "Nope, these cards are not ours," Holly said. "I'd love to add them to the library's collection, but I can't claim them. Maybe someone wanted them to go to your shop?"

  I sighed, still staring at the table. "Maybe."

  But that was not necessarily a good development. It was never good news if an object was attracted to my shop.

  "Then they may get in contact with you."

  "Maybe," I replied again, unconsciously reaching for the coat pocket that held the Eye of Agathor.

  Or maybe they already had. I just had to figure out what they were trying to say.

  "Thanks for your help," I told Holly. "I think the cards should remain in the library. Can you accept them as a donation?"

  "Are you sure?" Holly asked. "I don't mean to brag, but our Sergeant is pretty popular. These are likely worth a pretty penny."

  "I'm sure. I know you said they didn't come from the library, but I really did just find them in a box. I don't feel like they belong in my shop."

  At least I hoped they didn't.

  Holly's eyes lit up. "Of course. I'd have to have them authenticated, but that shouldn't be a problem. We have several Sergeant Atwell experts in town."

  "Great," I replied, feeling relieved. "Now that that's taken care of, all I have to do now is figure out my Secret Santa present."

  "Oh, that's easy," Holly said, raising her Banshee Creek Bakery bag. "Just go to Patricia's place and pick something. There's no such thing as too many Creepy Cheesy Croissant
s."

  A slightly hysterical giggle escaped me.

  "Thanks," I said. "I'll keep that in mind."

  "Oh, before you leave," Holly peered at the computer. "Give me one second."

  And she walked off toward the library stacks, leaving me to consider my predicament. I'd taken care of the maybe-possibly-probably-cursed holiday cards, but I still had no idea what to get Patricia. Baked goods were out of the question. She was dating Zach Franco, the owner of the pizzeria, so pizza was also out of the question.

  A gift from the candle shop was starting to look very attractive. Maybe they had some Christmas candles. That would be a nice present, wouldn't it?

  "Here you go," Holly said, returning from the stacks with a book. "Let me pull up your file."

  "Oh, I don't think I have a library—"

  "Yes, of course you do," Holly said, checking out the book. "You're right here. Dora Pendragon, Magical Curiosity Shoppe."

  "Oh, great," I replied, confused.

  The shop's magic must have conjured a library card, like it conjured up money in the cash register and the dry cat food that Bubo hated.

  "Here you go," Holly said, handing me a book. "Gift of the Magi is the third story. The book is due back in two weeks. Enjoy."

  I left the library with the book and walked back to the bakery to accept my Secret Santa gift. I mean, I hadn't had breakfast yet.

  Not that I needed the food. With the shop's magic, I could survive perfectly well without it. I'd just gotten used to indulging in the past few weeks. I should probably stop that. I never knew when the shop would jump to another dimension. It could be today. It could be tomorrow.

  It could happen at any time.

  That had never bothered me before, but now it did. What would I do without my afternoon Frozen Frankenccino?

  "Hey, Dora," Patricia said as I walked into the bakery. "Here's your croissant."

  The bakery was, as usual, the epitome of cheerfulness, with striped tables, a pink-and-orange checkered linoleum floor, and transparent cases full of baked goods. However, my favorite drink, the Frozen Frankenccino, was no longer on the menu. It had been replaced by the Abominable Snowfrappe. Would it taste as good? Somehow, I doubted it.