by Ainsley Shay
I refused to cover myself under his perusal, placing my hands on my bare hips.
When his eyes finally drifted up to mine, he cocked a dry smile. “Yeah… well, here, it’s called suicide.”
2
Suicide was my first thought when I woke. That guy was just trying to freak me out. I hated to admit, but it had worked a little. Had people really thrown themselves over that bloodcurdling edge to end their suffering? I pressed my cool hands to my cheeks and sat up. The next several months were going to be gruelingly long.
Aunt Juju was pouring cream into her mug when I came into the kitchen. Her smile beamed brighter than the sun streaming through the large bay window. I lowered my eyes, shielding them from her too-white teeth, and muttered a good morning.
“Good morning to you, too, darling.”
Her drawl seemed to be stronger than it had been before… or ever. Maybe it was because she hadn’t had her coffee yet. Or maybe it was because she was home, and this was where she felt comfortable. It didn’t matter much, but it would take some getting used to.
The scent of coffee roused my senses, the sleepiness I felt receding. I pulled out one of the two green chairs at the small dinette table, then sat on the flowered seat cushion. “Did you know you don’t actually have a beach?”
Giggling, she waved her hand in the air like she was brushing away an irrational thought. “Of course.” She took a sip of coffee, then set her mug on the counter. Holding up a finger, she said, “But I will say, you can get one hell of a tan at the end of Hollow Hill.”
“If you don’t fall to your death as you’re rolling from front to back.”
Aunt Juju’s forehead creased as she tilted her head thoughtfully. “You do make a good point.” Turning away from me, she opened a cupboard. “Breakfast. I have oatmeal, cream of wheat, and a boring flake cereal.” Looking over her shoulder, she smiled. “Which will it be?”
Not that I wasn’t grateful, but I’d rather eat two-week-old pizza or the leftovers from the tuna casserole my aunt had made last night. Which again, I wasn’t ungrateful, but I was either going to starve to death or have to rouse my cooking genes my dad had passed down to me. I was guessing the latter.
“I’m okay, thanks.”
“My dear, you hardly ate anything last night. You’ve got to be starving.” She whipped around, placing her hands on her hips. “Wait! I bet your appetite is all out of whack because of the long drive, moving to a new place, and starting a new school.” Her faced drooped in a pouty frown. “I’m sorry for not being thoughtful.”
Guilt was a loaded gun in my pocket. “No, I’m fine, really. And you’ve been more than nice. I’m just not a breakfast person. That’s all.”
Her face softened. “Okay, if you say so.”
I smiled. “Truly, I’m fine,” I lied again.
Aunt Juju took a deep breath, then matched my smile with her own. “Well, I’m glad.” She picked up her coffee, walked over to the table, and sat across from me. “Listen, school doesn’t start until tomorrow, and I’ve got a busy day making employee schedules and such. But I’m working from home today, so why don’t you take the Volvo and check out your new home?”
Staying in the cramped bedroom or hanging out on the bluff didn’t sound too appealing. But the Carousel had looked interesting as we drove pass. “Maybe I will, thanks.”
Pleased, she nodded. “The keys are on the hook in the foyer.” She stood. “I work crazy hours, and sometimes have long nights. Our schedules will occasionally clash, since I’m not home that much. Running the only food store in town has its perks, but there’s a lot of time that goes toward them.”
“Okay. I’m pretty self-sufficient. I’ll manage.”
“I knew you would understand.” She patted my cheek before leaving the kitchen.
Somewhere from the other side of the house, I heard the shower kick on. I reached across the table, picked up my aunt’s mug of coffee, and took a sip. Wincing, I set the mug back down as the cool sugary liquid filled my mouth. I’d bet my Jetta, which was back home, that there was a half an inch of undissolved sugar resting on the bottom of the mug. “My God, the woman has a sweet tooth,” I muttered in the quiet kitchen. Something I’d have to remember for her birthday or some other holiday I’d be celebrating with just her. And if I guessed on when my parents planned to return, then Aunt Juju and I would be spending Valentine’s, St. Patrick’s Day, Easter, and the Fourth of July together. At least those were the major ones I could remember.
I went to my room, then changed into ripped skinny jeans and a red button down I tied at the waist. My gray Converse were a staple with most of my outfits; this being one of them. Grabbing my wristlet off the dresser, I raced to the front door just in time to hear the water from the shower shut off. I was not up for having another conversation with Aunt Juju, so I grabbed the keys from the hook and took off toward the Volvo.
I hadn’t noticed on the way here that the car was a stick shift. Grateful to my mom for making me learn how to drive one—just in case, she had said—I slid in, happy I didn’t have to take the pink bicycle.
Crushing the clutch to the floor, I started the engine. The ancient vehicle coughed to life. I jammed the shifter into reverse, stepped on the gas, eased off the clutch, and backed out of the driveway.
A blaring horn caused me to slam on the brake.
“Shit!” I gasped.
A dark red older sports car whizzed pass.
Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and started over. I looked both ways before backing out of the gravel driveway. My heart raced from not only coming way too close to hitting another car, but also for what I would find in Carousel, or more so, what I wouldn’t find.
I turned left onto Veil Rock’s main road, Blood’s Bird Way. It was weird not to see any traffic lights, but it made sense with the few cars I saw. Weirder still, I noticed there were no stop signs. When I made another left turn, I was on Carousel Lane. Huge unkempt shrubs surrounded the backs of the buildings. Only five cars were in the parking lot as I pulled in.
I wondered what the population was in Veil Rock. It had to be less than a thousand. I’d have to remember to ask my aunt later. I turned off the engine, then grabbed my wristlet from the passenger seat.
Please let there at least be a coffee house with amazing lattes and a book shop, I thought as I headed toward what seemed to be the only entrance into Carousel. Scents of grease, acrylic, and incense wafted through the air. The mixture was nauseating. I tried to filter out the scent of coffee, but the aroma never breached my senses.
Just beyond the wall of scrubs was an array of shops, all which faced the center of a courtyard. There was an actual freaking carousel in its center.
“Holy hell,” I whispered. At least I hoped I whispered it, because I screamed those two words in my head. What was this place?
A willow tree canopied the dead and decaying ride. At one time, it might have been beautiful. Over the years, the desert sand and sea-salted air had eroded the horses beyond repair.
A thin breeze shifted and swept through the area. Chills raced along my arms. Movement under the willow tree caught my eye. Just when I thought the sight before me couldn’t get any creepier, a lone, empty swing swayed under the willow.
I shifted my gaze from the center of the courtyard to the shops. Around the rim of the courtyard was a sidewalk. At each of the stores, the sidewalk had an exit that pointed in the direction of the shop’s entrance. Each of the eight buildings were a different size, shape, and color.
The first to the right was Dude’s Diner. It was a light blue, flat-roofed building with double doors. A blinking neon “Open” sign was in the window. Two men sat across from each other in a booth near the entrance. I bet they had coffee, but not exactly what I was hoping for.
Landry’s Laundry Mat occupied the next building to the left. It resembled a small pink house. Next to it was a red-and-white striped wide structure with tables sitting outside. The huge red letters on the ed
ge of the roof proclaimed it to be Poe’s Pizza and Ice Cream.
At least one of my food groups would be satisfied.
The black building with purple edging was a tattoo parlor. More specifically, it was Tito’s Tattoos. Not that I was planning on getting a tattoo any time soon—or ever—but I least I had a place to go now.
The next two shops were salons. One was as modern as modern could be. It was the tallest of all the shops in Carousel. A jutting rectangular structure made of pure white stucco and elongated windows. In silver block letters, State-of the Art Salon was spelled out. Their neighbor, Simple Salon, was the complete opposite. Instead of questioning the small yellow parlor-like cottage, I wondered why they needed two salons in a town the size of Veil Rock.
But out of all the buildings, it was the next one I was drawn to. The building itself was made of bricks. It had a high pointed roof that sloped in a steep downward slant and then curled at the edges. The entire storefront was two enormous box windows with a glass door in between. An awning ran the length of the shop, shading the sidewalk below it. Its sign said The Warlock’s Workshop. Curiosity unfurling in my gut, I drifted almost unconsciously toward it. The crowded window display did nothing to quench my interest since I couldn’t see into the shop beyond it.
An owl hooted as I pulled open the door and stepped over the threshold.
“Never mind, Boone. Come in. Come in,” a singsong voice called from somewhere in the back.
I stopped just inside the door. My eyes darted from sleeping bats to wands to crystal balls. Everything was eye-catching, like nothing I had ever seen before. Something shifted to my right. Cautiously, I moved my gaze to it. An owl was perched on a tree. A real tree that had roots writhing over the floor of the store. Long, finger-like branches with tiny pink flowers reached out across the interior.
“What the—?”
“Hello, my dear.”
I spun in the direction of the voice.
She continued, “Don’t pay any attention to that old bird. Every day he gets crankier and crankier.”
The owl screeched as if arguing. As interestingly odd as all of this was, I almost expected the owl to begin talking. But it didn’t.
Despite how bizarre everything was, I found myself smiling when I took in the owl once more. The spotted light brown bird had pointed ears and huge yellow eyes. I could have sworn he was giving me the stink-eye. A weird feeling laced through my gut.
The woman had a graying braid draped over her shoulder. Her skin was tan and creased from the sun. It was hard to tell how old she was.
She lowered her glasses to the tip of her nose. The beaded chain they were attached to rattled in the quiet store. “Did you come in for the job position available?”
Confused, I turned toward the front of the store in search of a sign, but I saw nothing. A wink of light flickered near the corner of my eye, and I turned so fast I may have given myself whiplash. “Ow—no… I didn’t see a sign.”
The woman pointed to the entrance. “There. It says, ‘Part-time position available’.”
I was almost positive that wasn’t there a moment ago. “Oh.” I twisted my fingers together. “Actually, I—”
Clapping her hands together, she grinned. “I knew the moment I saw you that this was meant to be.”
She stepped closer to me. Her colorful skirt brushed the floor, floating around her as she walked.
“I’m Isla. Long “I,” silent “S”. Isla Hunt, shop owner and Veil Rock’s only practicing witch.”
A witch? Was there even such a thing? There was no way I could top that introduction, and it was probably rude to ask if witches existed, so I simply said, “I’m Everly Shade, Veil Rock’s newest resident.”
She patted my cheek. Her hand was smooth and gentle. “I know, dear. I know.” Her smile was warm. Her mouth curved upward, and it reminded me of the shop’s sloping roof. Except the curvy roof didn’t appear to be keeping a secret like Isla did. The woman graciously looped her arm through mine, then started guiding me toward the back of the store. “This is going to be the most unique,” she said in her melodic tone.
Apparently, Boone's was the owl. He hooted.
“The most unique—”
“Yes, dear, the most unique.”
Still wondering the most unique what was drowned out by a bigger question… had I just gotten hired at this witchy shop?
3
“Don’t you worry that pretty little head about a thing, I’m going to teach you everything you need to know,” Isla said, pushing her glasses back into place on her nose.
I cleared my throat. “Ms. Hunt—”
She spun to face me. Cupping my chin with her palm, she said, “Please, call me Isla.”
I stared into her blue-gray eyes. “All right.”
Isla dropped her hand. “Excellent. This is going to be the start of a beautiful relationship.”
Trying again, I opened my mouth to speak. “Isla, I’m not sure I’m the right person for—”
She turned away from me, waving her hand in the air. “Nonsense. The universe sent you to me for a reason.”
I had to admit, I was drawn to this shop. Although, I wasn’t sure it was because of the universe. It was only ten in the morning, and it wasn’t like I had anything else to do for the rest of the day. I was also curious as hell as to what all this witchy stuff was for. Succumbing, I said, “Okay, do I need to fill out an application or something?”
“There’s no need for that rubbish.” She handed me a post-it and a pen. “Just jot down your phone number.”
Rubbish? Didn’t she need my social security number or my address at least?
“I know what you’re thinking, but no worries. You’ll be paid on the half and full moon.” Her voice raised an octave. “And if it’s a cloudless night, you’ll be paid double.”
This woman had to be off her rocker. “May I ask what the pay is?”
“Three hundred dollars a week in cash. Is that fair?”
Three hundred dollars a week? Fair? I gaped, thinking I’d just won the lottery. Then reality slapped me. “But I didn’t even tell you what hours I can work.”
Isla moved around the store, lighting candles and straightening items that didn’t need straightening. “Work whenever you’d like. I’m here practically all the time, unless the other employee decides to show, which is rare. Then, I take a break to eat or do some other random thing. Sometimes I travel to nearby towns to pick up supplies.” She stopped, letting out a deep breath. Slowly, she made her way toward me.
Lifting my hands and holding them in hers, she stared into my eyes. “I realize this is all sudden for you. I’m sorry—it’s just so exceedingly rare when someone like you floats into our lives, and I find I can’t help my excitement.” Lowering my hands, she continued, “I only ask one thing from you.”
My nervous habit kicked in, and I began twisting the red glass bead around my bracelet. If I hadn’t noticed the voodoo dolls, skulls, and spell books lining the shelf, I might have stuffed down the instant anxiety that rose in my chest and continued to creep up my throat. I swallowed. “What would that be?” I hesitantly asked.
“All I ask is that you let me know if you need anything.”
Her icy blue eyes hardened on mine.
“Anything,” she repeated. She quickly held up a finger, then tilted it in my direction. “And with this, I want a promise in return from you that you will.”
I wasn’t sure what I could need from this batty old woman, but there was nothing else to say except, “I promise.”
Isla pulled me into her arms. “Oh, dear, this is going to be the most exquisite.”
I didn’t hug her back. I also didn’t bother to ask the most exquisite what. I’d already been there, and saw it got me nowhere. So, when she pulled back, I smiled and went along with what had to be the oddest moment I’d ever experienced.
“Let’s start with some tea, then I’ll give you a tour so you’re familiar where things are. A fe
w packages arrived late yesterday that need to be put away. But no rush, we can do that later.” She turned quickly, her skirt swooshing around her ankles. “Although there is one box that is extremely heavy. Whenever you know who gets here, he’ll have to help with that one.”
“Who is you-know-who?”
She tsked. “For the most part, he’s useless, but handsome. Even though he has no love for or even belief in magic, I do love him still.”
I wasn’t sure she’d actually answered my question, but I didn’t push further.
“Tea time,” Isla announced. “Come, child, every day is better with witch tea.”
I followed her to the back of the store. She stopped in front of a small table. An array of tea bags and mugs rested next to a single burner. An old iron teapot sat atop it with the body of a dragon forged into its side, its tail curving out and around to form the handle.
“Which do you prefer, Crimson Clover, Sacred Secret, or Jaded Lavender?”
Not knowing what the other two tasted like, I took a chance on the lavender.
“Wonderful choice. I’m going to choose the Crimson Clover.” Isla flipped the switch on the burner. The coil glowed as it heated. “Cream? Sugar?”
“No, thank you. Plain is perfect,” I said.
Frowning, she appeared suddenly sad. She placed her hand over her heart. Then, a small smile appeared on her lips. “You, my dear, are a gift.”
“A gift?” I questioned, wondering if it was because I liked my tea plain.
Isla sighed, seemingly relieved, and let out an insignificant chuckle. “Oh yes, a true gift.”
Speechless, and still left dumbfounded, I said nothing.
She turned back to the table, filled two steel balls with loose tea leaves, and set them each in a mug. Red beads, like the one on my bracelet, dripped over the side of one mug. The other had a purple crystal dangling from its end.
The teapot roared as it steamed to life, and a small flame flew from the dragon’s mouth. I jumped back.
