by Cindy Stark
During Hazel’s first attempt to read the entire book, she’d smiled at the childlike scrawling that detailed how to find edible mushrooms or how to calm a cow before milking. Those spells included who’d taught them and, frequently, the name was Mama.
As she’d turned the pages, the writing had grown smoother with a distinctive flair that Hazel supposed had been common during that time. Those spells had come from many different sources besides Clarabelle’s mother.
Eventually, Clarabelle had become the creator of spells, including the darkest ones that appeared last in the book. If Hazel understood Mr. Kitty correctly, she was expected to learn everything inside, even if she knew she’d never use it.
Not knowing where to start reading this time, she closed her eyes and ran a finger over the edge of the pages waiting for a spark of knowing from the universe. When it came, she slid her fingernail into the space and opened to that page. As she read the words, she drew her brows into a curious and uncertain frown.
From what she could tell, this was a spell for money.
Huh? That didn’t seem horribly awful. Like could this make her rich?
The idea appealed to her. If she had to learn something new, this didn’t seem so bad. And money, if used correctly, could provide lots of positive outcomes.
A coin as an offering.
Blood from the seeker.
She blocked out her mother’s words that warned of anything requiring blood. Blood spells were dark spells regardless of how innocent they might seem.
Then again, her mother had no idea what it was like to be caught between two worlds like she was. Her mom had told her to be careful and protect herself. Practicing this spell would likely fall under that category since she knew Mr. Kitty would make her life miserable if she didn’t do something.
Burn over the flame of desire until the two become one.
That’s it? She could place a drop of her blood on a penny and heat it with fire, and then the universe would grant her more money?
She shut the book with a snap. Mr. Kitty startled and sent her a nasty glare.
Holy harpies. She was so doing that right now. She could be rich by tomorrow. Then she could buy Clarabelle’s house and anything else she wanted. How cool would that be?
Just because her mother had only taught her passive spells didn’t make all the others wrong. Hazel had a heritage of rich blood in her veins, and it would be a shame not to explore it a little.
She assembled the ingredients in her kitchen. A penny. A pin to prick her finger. A lighter and a pair of pliers to hold the penny while she burned it. This was much simpler than the spell she’d tried to grow her lashes longer. There was no way she could get this one wrong.
Before she began the spell, she whispered the words Cora had taught her so that she could conceal any trace of her magic from the world.
“Close their eyes. Cover their ears. Let me practice with no fears. When in this space, no one shall see…the magic that I bring to be. I deem this true, so mote it be.”
Then came time for the pin prick. She wasn’t one who could easily inflict pain on herself, but one small bit of discomfort would be worth the outcome, right? Even if this spell was blood magic, she wasn’t cursing anyone or asking for unearthly power.
Which is what Clarabelle must have done to drain the lake. The thought bewildered her.
Enough procrastination. She placed the pin over her finger and inhaled. With a quick stab, the tip pierced her skin, and she grimaced from the prick of pain. She dropped the pin and squeezed the tip of her finger until the blood welled into a red bud.
Her heart thumped loudly as she turned her finger downward and continued squeezing until a drop fell onto the penny. She carefully secured the penny between the tips of the pliers and then flicked on the lighter. It took a few moments for the penny to heat, but when it did, blood bubbled on the surface.
She cast a quick glance at the tome and carefully repeated the words scrawled on the page.
“A sacrifice is made as my thanks to thee. A willing gift of blood in exchange for money. This wish will be granted, so mote it be.”
When the blood became dried rust on the penny, she released the lighter and dropped it on the kitchen counter. The hot penny glowed with energy as she set it on a ceramic plate, and then she paused to study her work.
She didn’t feel different, didn’t feel richer, and she wondered how long it would take before her spell went into effect. It wasn’t as if her phone was ringing with someone on the other end giving her the news that she had inherited a million dollars from a long-lost aunt.
Maybe it was one of those spells that took time. That was fine with her. She had all the time in the world.
Or maybe she’d done it wrong. Or maybe her innocent heart wouldn’t allow her to illicit such magic. Either way, she could say she’d tried to learn.
She turned and startled. Kitty was perched on the table, watching with approval in his eyes.
“Why do you have to do that? Can’t you be a normal kitty who doesn’t maim and scare the daylights out of his owner?”
He chuffed, jumped to the floor, and strode away with his tail high in the air as if to say no one owned him.
She shook her head in annoyance.
By the time she put away her tools, the penny had cooled. She gently picked it up and carried it upstairs with her into her bedroom where she placed it under her pillow. This way, it would be out of sight.
Not that anyone would be in her house to find it. But she’d messed with magic, something she’d promised her mother she wouldn’t do once she was in Stonebridge. After what had happened to poor Clarabelle, she wasn’t taking any chances.
As she lay in bed that night, she considered the options that might lead her to more information on her family. She could go to Clarabelle’s house again and try to reconnect with her ghost. But the last time she’d talked about the past, her questions and comments had upset Clarabelle. She had no desire to do that again unless she was going to tell her she’d be purchasing the house with all the new money coming her way.
Or, Hazel could take a chance and ask the town librarian Timothy Franklin if she could view the special collection of historical books and see if she could glean any information there. She’d hesitated to do that in the past because she didn’t want to draw any extra attention to herself and her interest in the ancient witches, so maybe she should wait a little longer.
Perhaps her best option might be to visit with her friend Cora who she’d recently discovered was also a witch. Cora seemed to hold information close to her chest, but the past events at Redemption Pond might be something she’d be willing to discuss. If nothing else, maybe she could help her find the pond because Hazel had been unable to locate the darned place with her phone’s navigation.
Perhaps her connection to Earth, might encourage nature to fill her in on some details and let her know which direction to look for more.
Three
The next morning, the lottery people had yet to knock on Hazel’s door. She snorted as she dressed for the day. She supposed she would have needed to purchase a lottery ticket for money to find her that way. As much as she wanted to rake in millions, she had her doubts about that spell.
Still, she remained on alert as she walked toward Cora’s Café, waiting for opportunity to pop up and make her rich. Hazel and her new bestie had decided they would walk together three mornings a week after the café’s breakfast crowd had dissipated and Hazel’s assistant had shown up to cover the teashop.
Walking seemed to be Hazel’s best solution to being able to eat all of Cora’s cherry macaroons that she wanted. Since Cora was the one to make the delicious little temptations that Hazel couldn’t resist, it seemed fair that Cora should support her new exercise routine.
As Hazel approached the café, she found Belinda, Cora’s server with the over-inflated self-image standing outside the door with her boyfriend. Belinda flicked her long, dark hair over her shoulder and th
en pointed a sharp finger at Charlie Rossler who towered over her by a good five inches. From the look on her boyfriend’s face, he was none too happy.
Hazel drew closer, not wanting to intrude, but unable to keep from wondering what they argued about. Neither of them looked at her as she approached the door to Cora’s. Belinda held a stony expression, but her demeanor was nothing compared to Charlie’s red-faced and tight expression.
He clenched his fists. “What do you think Glenys will have to say about this? You know she’ll be pissed.”
Belinda exhaled, smiled, and placed her hand against his chest. “Look, Charlie. I know this isn’t what you want, but it is what it is. Our love affair was incredible, and I’ll never forget you, but sadly, the flame has died. You need to accept that it’s over.”
Hazel widened her eyes and focused on the door handle as she reached for it. She’d run smack into the middle of a difficult and uncomfortable breakup scene. One she wanted no part of.
She pulled open the door and hurried inside.
The cozy diner with gleaming golden oak floors and walnut tables was a calm contrast to the scene outside. Cora waved from the back counter. The ambiance in Cora’s space always greeted Hazel with a warm welcome. No wonder the café owner had no trouble keeping her tables full.
Sweet Mr. Virgil Fletcher’s eyes lit up as Hazel neared his table. “Morning, Miss Hazel.”
Hazel paused next to him, trying to avoid focusing on his toothless grin. The elderly man refused to wear his teeth, but from the looks of his nearly empty plate, he seemed to do fine without them. “Good morning, Mr. Fletcher. Looks like you’re enjoying your breakfast.”
He nodded in satisfaction. “Miss Cora makes the best food in town. That’s why I come here every day.”
Indeed, he did. “Where’s your grandson?” The thirty-something man lived with his grandpa, and everyone in town called Quentin a saint. Hazel was glad the elderly man had someone to take care of him.
Mr. Fletcher shook his head in a dismissive way. “He’s got other things to do this morning besides bothering with me. He’s always working on them crazy computing things he’s got. But he’s a good boy.”
Hazel chuckled at his reference to Quentin’s job as a computer programmer. The older man suffered from a bit of dementia, but not enough that he couldn’t fully enjoy his life. In fact, things rarely bothered him, so he was probably happier than most. And he was lucky that Quentin could work from home and be around to care for him if he needed it.
“Yes, Quentin is a good man.” She glanced toward Cora who motioned her over. “I need to be on my way now. Cora’s waiting for me, but you have yourself a good morning, okay?”
He gave her a fierce salute, and she wondered if he’d served in the military during his younger days. “Will do, ma’am.”
She left him with a smile and headed to the back counter. “Ready to go?”
Cora beamed. “Just about. I’m waiting for Belinda to come back from her break.”
Hazel slid onto the brown leather seat of one of the shiny silver stools along the counter and waited. A few people wanting an early lunch sat in booths and at tables, but for the most part, the place was empty.
Hazel pushed her unruly auburn curls away from her face. “She’s just outside the front door. With Charlie. Arguing.”
Cora drew her brows together in a worried look. “Again? That’s the third time this week.”
Hazel rolled her eyes. “Sounds like there’s trouble in paradise. I’d like to feel sorry for her, but from my perspective, she seems to bring most of her trouble on herself.” Especially with her condescending looks and quite-often snippy attitude.
Her friend gave her an understanding smile. “I know you don’t like her, and I know she can be a handful, but I have to take pity and help her where I can.”
“Why? I don’t think she appreciates how good you are to her.”
Cora shrugged. “She and I are alone in the world, discarded by our families for our abilities and beliefs.” She stopped, wide-eyed, and pressed her lips together.
Hazel’s jaw dropped in surprise. “You mean, she’s a wi…” She quickly cut off what she was about to utter.
Cora blanched. “Please don’t say anything to anyone. I shouldn’t have let that slip.”
Hazel shook her head several times. “Of course. I won’t breathe a word.”
Her friend still seemed concerned. “I guess it came out because I trust you so much.”
Hazel tried an earnest expression. “Really. I promise. I know how important this is, and I won’t say anything.”
Cora relaxed a little. “You have to understand, Hazel. She has no one to help her or teach her. You’ve had your mother and your aunts to guide you and support you your whole life.” Moisture glistened in Cora’s eyes, and she quickly blinked it away.
Hazel sensed Cora’s ability to whisk away her emotions, and figured it was a skill she’d had to teach herself to keep her feelings hidden so that she could stay strong. She wanted to reach out and hug her friend, but she’d found that many times people were turned off or offended by her ability to see through their thin veneers so she refrained. “Yes, the Blessed Mother did grant me a wonderful childhood.”
Still, just because Cora and Belinda had shared a similar upbringing didn’t mean Cora should be loyal to Belinda regardless of her behavior. But, she wouldn’t argue that with her friend for now.
The door to the café swung open, and Belinda stormed in. She might have looked cool and composed outside, but whatever Charlie had said to her in the meantime had changed Belinda’s whole demeanor. Cora’s server walked past them without acknowledgment and pushed through the swinging door into the kitchen.
Hazel met Cora’s gaze with a questioning one of her own.
Once again, Cora tried to give her a reassuring smile, even though Hazel sensed the uncertainty churning beneath. “Give me a minute to grab a jacket, and we can be on our way.”
Hazel was sure Cora was going to do more than get her jacket as she headed into the kitchen, but she supposed it was kind of Cora to care about the girl.
A few minutes later, Cora returned, her expression neutral. “She’s coming out, and we can go.”
Together she and Hazel headed toward the door. Cora reached forward to push it open, but her hand never touched the metal bar as someone pulled it from the other side. The grandson of the toothless Mr. Fletcher, all six-foot-four-inches of Quentin Fletcher, filled the door.
He stopped seconds before barreling into them. His thinning dark hair looked as though he had run his hands through it one too many times, and the dark circles under his eyes gave him an unhealthy look. “Where is she?”
Cora blinked, looking surprised. “Where is who?”
Anger and anxiety rolled off him in waves, and Hazel put her hand on Cora’s elbow as though to warn her that he was in a dangerous mood.
Quentin narrowed his eyes in anger. “That witch, Belinda.” He glanced over their heads, searching the café.
Hazel cringed at his flagrant use of the word.
Cora shook her head in admonishment. “Now, Quentin, you know we can’t toss those accusations out so lightly. I don’t know what Belinda has done to make you so angry, but I’m sure if you calm down, we can discuss it with her and figure things out.”
“I appreciate what you’re trying to do Cora, but that witch has gone too far this time.” He jerked his chin up in recognition and shoved past them. Hazel turned in time to see Belinda notice Quentin marching directly for her, and she widened her eyes into ovals.
She froze for a moment, but as he neared, she swiveled toward the door that led into the kitchen. Quentin grabbed her arm and jerked her back before she could disappear inside.
Quentin’s anger boiled like a screaming teakettle. “Don’t you run from me, you deceitful little witch.”
Hazel and Cora rushed forward, reaching them just as Belinda jerked her arm free from his grasp. “Don’t touch me
again, or you’ll regret it.”
Quentin pointed a condemning finger at Belinda. “You’ve stolen money from my grandpa for the last time.”
Cora inhaled in surprise. “What’s this, Quentin? You think Belinda has stolen money?”
Belinda shook her head vehemently. “That’s a big, fat lie.”
“It’s not a lie,” Quentin yelled.
He filled his lungs. “Yesterday, I discovered that my grandpa has withdrawn fifty dollars almost every day this week. When I questioned him this morning, he didn’t remember visiting the bank, but he said something about helping out a pretty little filly.”
Belinda took a step back. “That doesn’t mean it’s me.”
“He couldn’t remember Belinda’s name, but he gave me a description,” Quentin said, ignoring her comment. “It took me a while to figure out who he was talking about, but when I checked again with the bank, they’d said that he had been dropping in first thing in the morning. He always has breakfast at Cora’s, so I put two and two together.”
He pointed a condemning finger at Belinda. “It’s you.”
Belinda dropped her jaw in disgusted surprise, but Hazel sensed a touch of deception there as well. “I didn’t steal anything from him.”
“Belinda?” Cora eyed her employee with concern. “Did you take money from Mr. Fletcher?”
Belinda looked as though she’d been caught in a liar’s trap. “I didn’t ask him for money, and I didn’t steal anything from him. Yes, he’s left me some nice tips, but I didn’t ask him to, and that’s his prerogative.”
Cora closed her eyes for several long moments as though she was digesting this information and deciding what to do. “Belinda, you know Mr. Fletcher struggles with his ability to see rationalization.”
Belinda shook her head. “Actually, I have no idea what he struggles with. That’s not my concern. If Quentin doesn’t trust his grandpa with his own money, then maybe he shouldn’t let him wander the town unattended.”
