The Case of the Love Spell

by Amorette Anderson

  Her question hangs over the table. The cafe is silent, except for the clicking of our needles. Then, after a pregnant pause, I speak up.

  “Yes,” I say, remembering the way Azure pointed her wand at me, and then the way my scalp hurt. “I think it’s real.”

  “Me too,” says Cora.

  “Absolutely,” Annie chimes in.

  I clear my throat. “You know what? Maybe we should think of magic as technology. I mean, all technology looks like magic to someone who doesn’t understand it. Maybe we thought magic was so unbelievable before because we just didn’t understand it.”

  Now I’m thinking of Max, and his long canine teeth. “Maybe there are logical explanations for lots of things... werewolves, gremlins, ghosts... vampires.”

  The women around the table are nodding.

  “You’re right,” Annie says. “And now we get to learn about witchcraft. Which means we’ll have a whole new technology to use.”

  “Spells,” says Marley.

  “And casting circles,” says Cora.

  “Talking to animals,” adds Annie.

  “And listening to trees!” I can’t help but add. One of the best chapters in the book was all about communication with ancient, wise trees. What could possibly be cooler than that? Our knitting needles move faster and faster the more excited we get.

  “Are we really doing this?” Marley asks. “Are we going to become witches?”

  “I think we already have,” Annie says. “At least, that’s how I feel after finishing the book.”

  I look around our table and see nods all round.

  The sun is sinking behind the mountains, though it’s only six. Long shadows stretch across the death cafe, playing across my friends’ faces.

  Annie stands up. At first I think she is going to go turn on the lights, because it has gotten so dark so fast. Instead, she walks to a shelf by the counter, and picks up a box. Returning to our little round table, she pulls a tall tapered candle from the box. With the flick of a lighter she sets it aflame, and then sets it in the center of our table in a waiting empty vase.

  Now I’m really feeling witchy. I think we all are.

  For the first time since I set eyes on that darn book, I actually completely like the feeling.

  “I suppose that makes us a coven,” I say.

  Needles click. Heads nod. The candlelight flickers.

  “Well, then I have two things to bring up.” I say. “Our first two tasks as a coven.”

  Marley, Cora, and Annie look up at me expectantly as their fingers work busily.

  “The first order of business is Hillcrest Pass. The woman with the blue hair told me that Claudine had been controlling the pass with a Portal Control Spell. It sounds like the spell protects the town from magical invaders who could come into Hillcrest over the pass. I think we have to consider how we might be able to replicate the spell. I’m not sure it’s possible, but it’s something to look into.”

  I pause while this sinks in. Then I continue to item number two. Though protecting the pass is urgent, the second item on my list feels even more pressing.

  “Secondly, now that we know that magic exists, I think we need to use it to do good. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about what is good: Truth, beauty, and justice.” Okay, maybe Annie isn’t the only one of us with a flair for the dramatic. “Do you all agree?”

  More clicking. More nods.

  “Well then, I have a proposal to make. Let’s use our new powers as a coven to seek justice. Let’s figure out who killed our fallen witch sister—Claudine Terra.”

  Chapter Eight

  I'm high as a kite as I open the door to my apartment.

  Nope, not on the whacky tobbacky—Annie’s brownies are special, but not that special. I have a natural high. The Knitting Circle agreed to take on Claudine’s case. I am buzzing with energy and excitement. Cora is going to search through Ken’s office and see what she can uncover in Claudine’s files, and tomorrow Marley and I are going to go snoop around at the Terra Mansion. Maybe we can finally make some progress on this case!

  The instant I step into my apartment though, my high is crushed. I can smell it in the air: Turkey vomited again. Buzz kill!

  I hurry through the house, looking for my precious pumpkin. When I find him, lying limp at the foot of the bed, I don’t hesitate before calling Buttercup.

  “Hello?” She answers.

  “Buttercup, it’s Penny. He threw up again!”

  “Petite Peas?”

  “You know who!” I don’t have time for her forgetfulness right now. “My calico cat, Turkey!”

  “Right.”

  “What do you think I should do?”

  “Well, how does he look?”

  I take a look at Turkey. He looks over at me with doleful eyes. His body is wilted over the bed. He isn’t even getting up to greet me.

  “Sick,” I say. “Kind of wilted.”

  “Wilted, hm? Not good. Yes, I suppose you should bring him to me. I can start a round of IV antibiotics, and if that doesn’t work we’ll have to consider an x-ray and perhaps surgery.”

  “Surgery?” My lip is trembling. Not surgery. I don’t want to put my little precious pumpkin under the knife!

  “We’ll hope that it doesn’t come to that,” Buttercup reassures me. “The Antibiotics should kick whatever he’s got in the butt.”

  “Do I have to bring him to you tonight?” I ask. “Could it wait until the morning? I hate being apart from Turkey overnight.”

  I don’t know who has more separation anxiety—him, or me. The bottom line is that we both go a little bonkers. He licks a patch on his back until the fur wears thin, and I bite my nails until they’re frayed and stubby nubs.

  Buttercup is unsympathetic. “You said he looks sick. Do you want him to get better, or not?” she asks.

  “Okay, I’ll bring him over” I say.

  It’s nearing nine in the evening by the time I’ve dropped Turkey off, said a tearful goodbye, and am pedaling back to my apartment.

  The streets of Hillcrest are quiet. Serene. If I didn’t know better, I would think that this was just a quaint, sleepy little mountain town, full of peaceful citizens minding their own business.

  Yeah, right.

  Fat chance of that.

  Because of my recent activities, I know that this town is full of jealousy, greed, and at least one very guilty individual. Someone in this town has blood on their hands.

  Hillcrest has two main restaurants, both owned and operated by our town mayor, Cliff Haywater. “The Place” is a burger joint that serves the locals up until eight. After that, thirsty townspeople migrate over to “The Other Place” for drinking and gossip.

  I’m riding past The Other Place, or The O.P. as locals call it, when I catch sight of Chris’s mountain bike parked right out front.

  It’s a good reason to ride faster. I don’t want to see Chris tonight.

  I’m way too vulnerable. Way too anxious over my cat’s health. A little sensitive about... well, becoming a witch. And I have to admit that I’m a bit scared. I’m in the midst of a murder investigation, and the apartment I’m riding home to is going to be empty, dark, and smelly.

  I don’t want to see Chris. I don’t need someone to comfort me, or put an arm around me.

  Who needs that?

  Not this girl. Not this witchy PI.

  I screech to a halt.

  Nope, I don’t need Chris. But a drink would be good, wouldn’t it? It would help me relax once I get home, without chewing on my fingernails ‘til they’re bloody.

  Just one drink.

  I won’t even talk to Chris. Who needs Chris?

  I wheel my bike over to the rack, prop amongst the long line of cruisers and mountain bikes and head into the bar.

  Inside, a warm glow shines out over the little crowd of drinkers. Country music is cranking. Cliff himself is behind the bar, counting up a wad of dollar bills from the tip jar. The bartender, Janine, is doing everyth
ing else—moving so fast she almost looks like she has eight arms instead of two.

  As she slings drinks, she looks up at me. “Penny! What can we get ya, hon?”

  There’s one free barstool in front of her, and I hop up onto it.

  “A glass of house red,” I say.

  I start looking over the room as she files away my order and keeps pouring the ten drinks on her mental list, before mine.

  Chris is at the other end of the bar. I don’t think he’s seen me yet.

  I work on smoothing my hair down while I wait for my wine. Not that I care what it looks like, it just feels better when it’s smoothed over my shoulder instead of all wind-blown from my ride.

  As I get it all patted down just right, I notice Chris catch sight of me.

  Maybe I bat my eyelashes a little bit in his direction—mostly because it’s so darn bright in here and my eyes haven’t adjusted. And okay, maybe a little part of me wants to give him a ‘come hither’ look.

  It works.

  Within minutes, he’s off of his barstool and headed in my direction with his mug of beer in hand.

  “Penny,” he says as he sidles up to me. “I’ve been thinking about you.”

  My heart skips a beat. “Really?” I say.

  Janine slides a glass of wine into the space in front of me on the bar. She looks between Chris and I, and then backs away without another word, a knowing grin on her lips.

  “Yes,” he says.

  “Should I take that as a compliment?” I ask. I have to admit; my voice sounds a little bit flirtatious.

  “Not exactly,” he says.

  Oh.

  “Well, what’s up?” I ask. “Did you give Azure a speeding ticket?”

  “How do you know her name?” Chris asks. He looks genuinely disturbed by this.

  “We had a little run-in at the library,” I say. I’m not ready to tell Chris that I think Azure is a witch, and that she cast an actual spell on me, so I stop there.

  “Oh, yeah?” Chris asks.

  “Yep,” I say. I swallow some of my wine. Chris is waiting for me to say more, so I add, “She wasn’t exactly friendly.”

  “Where did she come from?” Chris asks. “That’s what I want to know. I don’t understand where these people are coming from! No one has crossed over that pass for ages, and now suddenly there are two strangers in town who used the pass as their entrance...? It’s not good.”

  “Where does the pass go?” I ask.

  “Wilderness,” Chris says. “Miles and miles of it. I mean, there’s really nothing over there. The road was originally built for miners, but once the mining boom was over, no one had a use for it.”

  “Well, magical people seem to have a use for it...” I say, more to myself than to Chris.

  “What was that?” Chris says.

  “Mag—” I stop myself short, lift my glass and take a gulp. If I start talking about witch covens, vampires, and Portal Control Spells, Chris is going to think something is seriously wrong with me. I might end up in the back of a cop car being carted to the hospital for a possible head injury instead of sitting here enjoying Chris.

  Oops. Did I say enjoying? I take that back. I am not ‘enjoying’ this conversation with Chris. He is tall, handsome, and standing very close to me, but that doesn’t mean that this is pleasant.

  Okay, maybe it does.

  “Ever since Claudine died, people seem to be using the pass again,” I say. “Maybe the two things are connected.”

  “Her death... and Hillcrest Pass?”

  I nod. “And the people who are using it.”

  “Like Max.” Chris watches me carefully.

  I keep a poker face, the best I can. Despite my efforts, I feel a blush creep into my cheeks.

  “Who I heard you had coffee with,” Chris adds.

  “And Azure,” I say, trying to steer the conversation away from my coffee date with Max.

  “And Azure,” Chris repeats. “And yes, I did give her a speeding ticket. She was very non-compliant. She ripped up the first ticket I handed her, and I had to threaten to take her into the station in handcuffs. She pointed a strange little stick at me, but then said something like ‘you’re not worth it the energy’... which I didn’t understand at all.’” He shakes his head, clearly still baffled by the encounter.

  “I don’t like her.” I scrunch up my nose as if smelling something unpleasant. “I think she’s definitely suspect. Don’t you?”

  Chris nods and takes a swig of his beer. The music ratchets up a notch as a new song starts up. Janine gives a holler behind the bar, and someone else echoes it. Us locals love country music—especially when we’re drinking. I can’t help tapping my foot a little to the beat.

  Chris steps nearer into me. I can literally feel his body heat. I turn to face him directly, swiveling on my seat and tilting my chin so that I can look up at him.

  Goodness gracious, he’s handsome.

  I can smell his cologne. I remember that smell. I remember inhaling it whenever he had his arms wrapped around me. It’s been so long since I felt his arms around me.

  Or any man’s arms around me, for that matter.

  These last five years, since we broke up, I’ve done lots and lots of knitting, and not much embracing.

  I miss embracing. I miss hugging. Touching. Cuddling. Snuggling. Kissing.

  He starts talking again, and I have to shake my head just a little so that I can focus on his words instead of just ogling his lips as he speaks. Snap out of it, I tell myself.

  “You said that Lucy and Claudine had some differences. Do you have evidence of that?” He asks.

  I nod. “Sure. Bess told me... over at the Antique Haven. Everyone knows Bess has a great memory.”

  Chris shakes his head. “That’s not evidence, Penny.”

  Okay, that’s a little annoying. He’s got that I’m-a-cop-and-you’re-not tone going.

  I lift my glass. “It’s evidence in my book. Plus, Lucy acted so annoyed when I asked her about her aunt’s death. Her face turned all red.”

  “Maybe you were annoying her, Penny,” Chris says. “You can be kind of tactless sometimes. And as for her red face, that’s not evidence either.”

  “Chris,” I say. “It’s evidence to me. She’s a suspect too. That means we have,” I lift my hand and start ticking off names, “Azure, Max, Lucy, and Buttercup.”

  “Buttercup?” Chris raises an eyebrow. “The reformed-hippy veterinarian? What does she have to do with this?”

  I’m about to spill all that I know about my suspicions that Buttercup could have been jealous of Gunther’s new love interest, but I stop myself. That would bring Gunther to Chris’s attention, and I’m not supposed to do that. “She’s just... suspicious, that’s all,” I say. “Mentally unstable. Crazy.”

  “Fine. I’ll agree with you there—she does seem to have a few screws loose... or missing all together. I think she did too many drugs when she was younger, and lost touch with reality. Well...” He does that thing where he rocks back on his heels while looking at me intently.

  I like it.

  At least tonight, right now, I like being the object of Chris’s attention. I wait for him to speak.

  Finally, he does. “You might as well know that you made a good call when you said we should expedite the autopsy. We did, and it turns out that the results are pretty alarming. Claudine didn’t die naturally. You were right.”

  I sit up taller on my barstool. I love being right.

  “What was the cause of death?” I ask.

  “That’s classified information.”

  “Chris!” I cry, reaching out and giving him a light shove. Yep. That’s me. Graceful, classy, and ladylike.

  He bounces back, and some of his beer sloshes out of his mug.

  I don’t apologize, or offer him a napkin. “You have to tell me about the autopsy! I care about this case just as much as you do!”

  “It doesn’t matter if you care about it, Penny,” he says, flickin
g his hand to get drips of beer off of it. “That’s against the policy of the department.”

  “So?” I ask. “You should learn to think for yourself, Christopher.”

  “Look where that got you,” he shoots back.

  He’s right. I’ve always had an independent streak, and look where it’s gotten me. Sure, I work for myself, but I’m barely able to pay rent at my office!

  “I’m doing just fine,” I mumble.

  “And another thing,” Chris says. “Why should I tell you the autopsy results, when you’re clearly holding things back from me? You know more than you’re letting on, Penny.”

  “I do not!” I say.

  “Oh yeah?” He asks. “I’m supposed to believe that you—Penny, a personal investigator with a failing business—were just walking down the sidewalk and you happened,” he makes those annoying bunny-ears air quotes around the word ‘happened’, “to find a note that stirred up a whole murder investigation. Coincidences like that don’t just happen, Penny.”

  I open and close my mouth, doing a good impression of a fish hoping to catch a fly. I can’t think of how to respond to him. I push my glasses up on my nose and simply give him a glare, hoping that will suffice.

  Chris glares back at me.

  And—is it my imagination, or did he just step in closer to me? Nope, it isn’t my imagination. I can feel his leg, brushing against mine.

  We haven’t stood this close in such a long time.

  He’s single.

  Single.

  And so am I.

  Very, very single.

  Like, desperate for human contact, buzzed on half a glass of wine, haven’t eaten a proper dinner, tired and vulnerable single.

  Is he about to make a move?

  Am I?

  That would be crazy.

  Wouldn’t it?

  I’m breathing hard, and so is he.

  He reaches out with one hand, and places it on my knee, very lightly.

  A shiver runs up my spine. He’s leaning down a little, hovering over me. I’m frozen, gazing up at him. Is he going to speak, or kiss me?

  Just then, my phone makes a loud and disruptive beeping sound.

  Wow, I have the volume all the way up.

  The sound jolts me. I jump a little. Chris pulls away.