Interrupted Magic Page 2

  “You’ve had your share of trouble, haven’t you? You never know who’s going to stop in at the boutique and now I have to worry about people knocking on your door.”

  I sucked my lower lip between my teeth to keep from engaging, not in the mood for an argument. Yes, I’d run across bad people at the shop after I’d bought it from Nora, but those experiences had made me stronger. I refused to live my life anticipating trouble. I had appreciated times when Kyle had my back, but I didn’t need him standing guard over me twenty-four-seven.

  “The world can be an ugly place,” he went on. “Trust me. I’ve seen things in my line of work.” He stopped, apparently remembering he was no longer an officer.

  His patronizing tone sent ripples of annoyance over my skin. Time to change the subject. “Well, you’re home for the weekend now, and working on your house is a few steps across the street. It isn’t like you’re miles away.”

  “Like when I’m gone all week. Is that what you’re saying?”

  He was spoiling for a fight, but I wasn’t going to give it to him. I held hopes that our anniversary might shake off some of his gloom. “Why don’t you unpack and take a shower. I’ll make you a nice dinner, or if you’d rather, we can go out. What do you think?”

  “We need to save our money until I’m gainfully employed again.” He took a long slug from his can of Pepsi and shot me a glare.

  “Then I’ll fix what’s in the fridge,” I said evenly.

  They say relationships are give and take, and I’d had my share of insecurities where Kyle was concerned. I’d forgiven him for cheating on me, accepted his help when I didn’t need it. Now that he needed help, he was shutting me out. As much as I reassured him his occupation didn’t matter, it mattered to him.

  He picked up the rest of his Pepsi and downed it. “Is there any soap other than that smelly stuff you put in my shower?”

  The lavender soap I’d left in his shower was meant to soothe him. So much for improving his mood. He fought me at every turn. “Your body wash is on the shelf over the toilet.”

  He nodded, retrieved his duffle, and stomped out. I retreated to my workroom, where a grimoire lay open on the table. Prepared to mix a special order, I approached, but was surprised instead to find instructions for how to break a spell. Daria’s?

  Have the subject collect one of each of the following:

  Three mistletoe leaves

  One stem from a castor bean plant (red)

  One nightshade vegetable

  Mix the ingredients with water to make a stew and have the subject partake two ounces of the broth, after which they must state the desire for absolution from the spell caster. If their heart is true, the spell may be relieved. Illness will follow as the spell is cleansed from the subject. In the absence of intervention, the spell will be resolved when its purpose has been accomplished.

  I had no doubt the concoction would cause illness, although after earning my degree in ethnobotany, I knew the ingredients were the least lethal parts of the plants.

  As if on cue, someone knocked on my workshop door.

  Daria was back.

  Chapter 3

  Tears streamed down Daria’s face. “I was driving home when a deer ran across the road. The rental car I got from the insurance company is totaled.”

  I sat at the patio table across from Daria.

  She blew her nose. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I didn’t know where else to go. I was feeling so much better after we talked.”

  “I’m going to ask you some strange questions,” I began. “Starting with do you know anyone who’s initials are M.S.?”

  “My college roommate. Madeleine Stephens.”

  “Is there any reason Madeleine might be angry with you about something?” I asked.

  Her expression became guarded. “Yeah. We don’t talk anymore.”

  I studied Daria, waiting for her to expound on her statement. She worried the tissue in her hands, staring at it instead of speaking. With nothing to lose, I pressed her about Madeleine’s potential eccentricities. “You asked me when we met if I was a witch. Did you think Madeleine was a witch, too?”

  Daria snorted. “I should apologize to you for that. Compared to her, you seem so normal.”

  Which didn’t answer my question. “Tell me about her. The more information I have, the better I can help you.”

  Daria rolled her eyes. “Not one of my prouder moments, especially after I found out what really happened.”

  I waited. The book had shown me what to do, but performing magic intentionally brought unintended consequences, and I’d had plenty of experience with bad outcomes.

  “Anyone might have done the same thing,” she went on.

  “Why don’t you start at the beginning. What happened?”

  “It was a case of wrong place, wrong time. Her little brother was walking home from work when he saw two guys on a street corner. He said one of the guys pulled out a gun and started shooting. Madeleine’s brother took off running, and when he passed a gas station, he stole a car to get as far away as he could, to Madeleine’s apartment in Milwaukee. I was outside at the time and saw him get out of the car. When the police showed up five minutes later, they asked me if I’d seen the driver. I told them it was Perry, Madeleine’s brother.” Daria shook her head. “By the time Madeleine came out to tell me what was going on, it was too late. I’d already put her brother behind the wheel. She said they’d called the police to tell them what happened, but the police didn’t seem to care. He’d stolen the car, after all. They carted him off to jail. Long story short, in addition to the car theft, they pinned the drug deal he’d stumbled across onto him.”

  That explained why Madeleine was angry with Daria.

  “It’s not your fault.” I patted Daria’s shoulder. “If he was a victim of circumstance, like you say, a good lawyer should have been able to get leniency for him.” Now for the tricky part. “Do you think she could be responsible for your spell of bad luck?”

  Daria’s gaze darted around the yard, at the woods behind the house. “She was scary sometimes.”

  “Scary, how?”

  “She has a thing for pentagrams.” Daria pointed at my chimney. “I wasn’t sure if your—what did you call it? A triquetra?—was the same sort of thing.”

  Time to take the next step. “If she is a witch, there’s a possibility she put a spell on you. The bad luck is more a side effect, the spell running its course.” I paused, waiting to see how she reacted to what I’d said.

  “This has been going on for six months,” she wailed. “I don’t know how much more I can take. Can’t you do something?”

  I nodded. This was what the grimoire had prepared me for. “I’m going to give you a list of things. I need you to find them and bring them to me. Then we’ll see what we can do about breaking the spell.” I wrote down the ingredients and handed the piece of paper to her.

  Daria gasped. “Nightshade? You mean like deadly nightshade?”

  I laughed. “Nightshade vegetables. Like a tomato or an eggplant or a pepper. That should be the easiest of the ingredients to find.”

  “Where am I supposed to find mistletoe in August? And a castor bean plant? I don’t even know what that is.”

  I glanced at the garden, where Nora had grown castor beans a few years ago. The plants had died after the damage from the fire and I hadn’t restarted new ones. “I doubt it will be as hard as you think.”

  She crumpled the piece of paper and stuffed it into her purse. “The very definition of FML.”

  Her slang for how bad her life had become didn’t sit well with me when I was trying to help her. “It’s the best I can offer. You’re free to find help elsewhere.”

  Daria heaved a sigh. “I lived with Madeleine. I’ve seen the things she can do.” She squinted at me. “You’re not like her. Why not?”

  “I don’t know anything about your friend, but I prefer to use the things I’ve learned to help people. Even if I didn’t, I’m a firm
believer in karma.” Harm sent forth returns threefold. Madeleine’s spell, assuming that’s what was causing Daria’s sudden run of bad luck, seemed more punitive than harmful. The grimoire had provided me with the antidote—if Daria returned with the ingredients. Considering her attitude, I figured I’d better make sure she knew I wouldn’t remove the spell gratis. “I will expect payment when you come back.”

  “I’m unemployed. Whatever you charge, I can’t afford to pay you.”

  “I’m willing to barter my services. What can you offer?”

  She pursed her lips. “The only thing I have right now are the dreamcatchers I sell at craft fairs. Would that work?”

  Nora and I had sold dreamcatchers on consignment when Windfall had been a gift shop, and I’d seen them at the Lithia Fairs I’d been to over the past year. The value should be commensurate. I nodded. She gave me one more pointed look and nearly walked into Kyle as she left.

  “Who was that?” Kyle asked.

  “Someone looking for help.”

  He leaned toward me, his expression tight. “For the record, I don’t like random people showing up.”

  I recognized his mood for what it was and opted not to point out this wasn’t his house.

  For now.

  Chapter 4

  Kyle grilled the steak and shrimp for dinner while I put together a salad. When he brought the food inside, I poured him a beer and we settled at the table to eat.

  He closed his eyes and sighed. “This is so much better than pizza or hamburgers.”

  “I thought we should have something special for the anniversary of our first date.”

  He huffed. “How do you even remember things like that?”

  Nice. As much as I wanted to shake him out of his depression, four months of this was getting old. So much for my latest attempt, and I wasn’t certain I was willing to make another. I pasted on a smile and went back to a safer topic of conversation. “You and Chip could take a little grill to use when you’re away from home.”

  “And make what? Hot dogs? Bratwurst? Beans in a can? Not that I’m complaining, but I miss real food. Thanks for this,” he said. “I’m sorry for being so cranky. I worry about you when I’m not here.”

  “You won’t be working in Door County forever.” I took a bite of my shrimp and hummed. “This is delicious. Thanks for cooking.”

  “Yeah, and when I’m done in Door County? Then what? I’m an unemployed bum again.”

  “You’re not a bum.”

  “This isn’t how I pictured our life together,” he said again before he took a sip of his beer.

  “You mean sitting together on a Friday night, eating a nice dinner?” I tried to tease a smile from him.

  “We should have been married by now.”

  “We still could be.”

  Kyle frowned. “Not until things get better.”

  I’d reached the end of my patience. “Who gets to decide what’s better?” I asked. “I thought I had some say in all of this.” I set down my utensils. “You’ve been there for me for a lot of ‘worse.’ It’s my turn to be there for you. That’s how this whole thing works. Or did you have a different idea of for better or worse?”

  “We’ve been over this.” His dismissive tone rankled. “It doesn’t get much worse than this,” he said half to himself.

  “It could be a lot worse. You could have someone trying to burn you alive in your own house, or inviting you to visit and then trying to kill you.” Both of which scenarios I’d managed to survive.

  “I’m not going to drag you down. I want to be able to take care of you. I’ve got applications in with other police departments. With a little luck, I’ll be back on the job soon.”

  I’d learned to live my life trusting the world would provide and no longer worried about what tomorrow would bring, something Kyle struggled with. “I think I’ve told you I don’t need anyone to take care of me.” We’d had this conversation before.

  We finished eating in silence, and after Kyle helped me wash dishes, he made his excuses to go home. With a quick peck to my cheek, he was gone. I should have more than a kiss on the cheek from a man who was supposed to love me, but after four months, I wasn’t sure I cared anymore. In fact, I was pretty sure he didn’t care anymore, either. It was time we sat down and made a decision, one way or the other. Tomorrow would have to be soon enough.

  I retreated to my workroom to pour candles and grind herbs for the boutique. Ash joined me, curling into her bed on the window ledge while she attentively watched the wildlife in the woods beyond the yard.

  When Kyle didn’t appear for breakfast on Saturday morning, I did another pass through the workroom, where the books called out one more special order to be mixed. After I finished, I gathered my botanicals into a basket and called Ash to her cat carrier. I checked for movement in Kyle’s house across the street, and when I didn’t see any, I typed a quick text reminding him we had a Saturday game night date with our friends.

  To my surprise, I got a return text suggesting he could meet me for lunch. Did that mean his mood had improved? Or was he as ready as I was to resolve the tension between us? Seeing his friends often helped. I stepped outside and found Kyle standing on his front porch. We both walked to the street but remained on our respective sides, a symbol of the divide that had grown between us.

  “Lunch would be nice,” I said in response to his text. He stared at me a long minute, saluted and returned to his house.

  The distance between us was growing farther every day.

  At nine-thirty on this August morning, the humidity levels were already stifling with what promised to be a hot day. I walked the footpaths to town, onto Broadway, past the statue of the artist, whose interchangeable canvas today depicted the cobbled street and the downtown area.

  The sidewalks on either side of the street were alive with tourists. The bakery always did a booming business before the restaurant beside it opened. The florist, like my shop, didn’t open until ten. A number of people went in and out of the five-and-dime, browsers who might cross the street to check out both the bookstore and the boutique-slash-gift store Cassandra and I owned.

  When I reached Windfall, Cassandra had already opened and was positioned at her sewing machine in the front window, working on alterations.

  “Early customers?” I asked, letting Ash out of her carrier.

  Cassandra turned in her seat to face me and brushed a strand of ice-blonde hair off her face before she tightened her high ponytail. “What do you think about opening at nine every day during tourist season?”

  “No objection, as long as you don’t mind if I don’t show up until ten. Are there people out shopping at nine o’clock?”

  Her cheeks pinked beneath her foundation makeup. “I don’t know. I was here at nine-thirty, and nobody’s been in yet, but if anyone is, they’ll have a place to spend their money, right?”

  I retreated to the backroom to feed Ash, who waited patiently beside her food dish. Once she was nose down, I glanced at the glass-faced cabinet that held the notebooks Nora had passed down for mixing bath salts and checked the level of Epsom salt in the plastic tub. The other half of the backroom was taken up with Cassandra’s overflow inventory of original clothing designs, more than usual with the approaching change of seasons.

  I returned to the front of the shop, where Cassandra had resumed sewing. “I was thinking of moving the bath salts supplies home to give you more room in the back,” I told her.

  “They don’t take that much room,” she replied without looking up. “Seems to me you’ve had a fair amount of sales from offering to mix a special blend for customers on-site—including repeat sales on the website. You can’t mix personalized blends if the ingredients aren’t in the store.”

  “True.” I wandered to the botanicals display table to check inventory. I’d brought fresh bars of soap, candles and bottles of essential oils from home to restock, and made a note of which bath salts were running low.

  The bell ov
er the front door rang. Officer Roxanne Purdy stuck her head inside. “You ladies are open early. Everything okay?”

  I still hadn’t gotten used to Roxanne doing the morning rounds through town instead of Kyle.

  “All good,” Cassandra replied. “And so you know, we’re talking about opening an hour earlier.”

  Roxanne pointed a finger at Cassandra and winked to acknowledge. She raised her head my direction. “How’s Kyle holding up?”

  “Period of adjustment,” I replied.

  She nodded. “Sucks. Give him my best.” With that, she left for the next shop.

  “I’m here if you need to vent,” Cassandra said.

  “I appreciate that, but you can see first-hand how he’s doing at game night tonight.” Hanging with our friends did Kyle a world of good, as it did for me. After growing up with no friends, I stopped to appreciate how much my move to Hillendale had changed my life. In addition to the friends I’d made, I’d inherited others through my relationship with Kyle. We’d established a standing Saturday night date once a month in order to maintain those friendships.

  I retreated to the backroom to gather supplies, preparing for the Saturday influx of customers. I hummed, reminiscing about Windfall karaoke days with Nora, her way of energizing herself when the gift shop had been bustling with people. The impromptu singalongs had fallen by the wayside after she’d retired.

  Ten o’clock rolled around while I stocked my product. Customers wandered in to browse. Our Saturday had officially begun.

  My special-order clients identified themselves early. I never knew who they’d be, but trusted the magic to match the products to the people. As more people filed in, Cassandra abandoned her sewing and we bustled around the store helping customers, giving me a good look at today’s outfit. She wore what she’d described to me as a godet skirt that looked as if it had been dipped, a rich peach color at the bottom fading to white at her waist. Her gauzy top didn’t quite reach her waist, with one wide strap tied in a bow at her shoulder and the other strap off her shoulder. One of her original designs.