Of Potions and Portents

by Nyx Halliwell

  I stare at the teas in front of me, wondering which to pick for our visitor, as my mind spins with the heavy accusation laid on me. I pull out a lovely pansy teapot and matching cups.

  Winter looks at the photo, turning it so she can see from all angles. I give her a moment before I ask, “Are you getting anything from her spirit?” She touches what appears to be Annie’s arm and closes her eyes. Again, I fall silent, letting her do her thing.

  The teas that speak to me are an odd combination. The Chief needs to calm down, but I doubt my mint and rose concoction will do the trick. I settle on a Chai blend with the spice and citrus that matches his personality.

  I feel Shade brush my calf, his ghostly body cold, and even though he’s trying to support me, I half-flinch from the feel of him against my bare skin.

  After a moment, Winter shrugs. “I’ve got nothing. Do you want Summer to try?”

  Summer is gifted in psychometry, getting information from things she touches. Usually personal items, like jewelry and belongings. From the picture, she’s more likely to pick up on our visitor’s emotional state than anything else.

  I swallow the lump in my throat, shaking my head at the question. What makes Chief MacGregor believe my simple rollerball of essential oils caused a death. “Do you think she was allergic to something in the blend?”

  My sister shrugs, her protective energy like a heavy blanket around me. “Do you want me to sit in on your tea party?”

  “I don’t think that’ll be necessary.” I appreciate her offer, but I think I’ll have better luck if it’s just the two of us.

  “I’ll be close by,” she says. She leaves and Shade follows, flicking his tale at Hoax as he passes by him on the other side of the door.

  My familiar stares at me from the floor, not daring to step across the threshold into the kitchen. He is unusually quiet as I finish and place everything on a tray, adding a plate of my pumpkin pecan muffins and two of my grandmother’s embroidered napkins.

  Running my hands through my hair, I take a deep breath and try to relax. Then I grab the tray and head to the front shop.

  We have three cute Victorian table-and-chair sets in the bay window that looks toward the hot springs. Visitors like to have a cup of tea, maybe with a muffin or scone, and chat.

  Currently, one is occupied by our neighbor, Hopper Caldwell, who reads a dusty old book, probably from his antique shop, and munches on his favorite blueberry muffin. He’s got a crush on Summer and comes by every morning to have breakfast and talk to her.

  The other is a sunning spot for Godfrey.

  Bad kitty, I mentally chastise. Get down. He knows he’s not supposed to lie on the tables—he’s still corporeal!

  He cracks one eye open and sniffs loudly, then meows—at least that’s what it sounds like to the humans—but what I hear is, “Weak people seek revenge. Strong people forgive. Intelligent people ignore.”

  Yes, he quotes the genius he believes he used to be. I pick him up and shoo him toward the counter and Summer. The tables are off limits and you know it!

  Chief MacGregor is not at the third. He’s staring at a vintage china cabinet that no longer has front doors that we use to hold a selection of my products. We call it the Lotions, Potions, and Herbs section.

  I place the tray on the table before I join him. He cuts a glance to me and asks, “You made all of these?”

  His hands are rough from a long winter, the cuticles dry. “Yes, I grow most of the herbs and flowers myself, and create the products in the kitchen.”

  He looks skeptical and slightly surprised. “And people buy this stuff?”

  I struggle not to let my sudden irritation show. “Quite a lot of this stuff. That’s why our business flourishes here and online.”

  He glances around, his eyes landing on the crystals in one corner, the jewelry nearby, and ritual athames on display under the counter in the locked case.

  “Give me your hand,” I say.

  He looks at me again, eyebrows rising over those blue eyes. “Why?”

  There’s a white clamshell filled with my favorite honey lavender sugar scrub and a tiny spoon on the shelf for testing purposes. I reach out and scoop up a dollop, holding out a hand as invitation for his.

  After a moment, he reluctantly lifts it into the air between us, but stops before making contact with mine.

  “It won’t hurt, I promise.”

  He relents and I welcome the feel of his warm skin. Turning his hand palm up, I place the dollop of scrub in the center and return the spoon to its clamshell.

  Using both of my hands, I massage it into his skin. I take each finger one at a time, working the salt into the cuticles.

  He watches me intently and I half expect him to jerk away, but after a moment, the scrub and attention I’m paying his skin begins to relax him. His fingers are long and solid under my ministrations, and I take my time, enjoying touching him.

  When I’m done, I use a clean washcloth from the bottom shelf to wipe off his hand, once again taking care to give him comfort. From the counter, Summer watches discreetly, and though Winter has disappeared, I feel her doing the same.

  I take a sample of the matching lotion and rub that in as well. His eyes are steady on mine, and I feel that tingle in my breastbone again.

  It’s thorny when I’m faced with someone who doesn’t believe in magick or past lives, or any of the other stuff we do here at Conjure. So much easier when they believe.

  When I’m done, I reluctantly release his hand. “There,” I say with a smile. I pour as much charm as I can into it as I hold that direct gaze of his.

  His energy has gone completely still, wary. I’m not sure if he’s relaxed or like a bull in an arena, lowering his head and wondering if he should charge at the red cape.

  “Our tea is ready.” I lead him to the table and motion him toward a seat. I’ve laid the picture of Annie face down on his side, and I resume a slightly more professional attitude as I pour hot water over the tea leaves.

  As it steeps, he’s silent, and I withdraw the ingredient list for Sex Magick and hand it to him. “This is all the items in the blend Annie purchased last week.”

  I offer nothing more and wait for him to ask his next question. I see it brewing in his eyes as he glances over it.

  “That’s it?”

  “Did you expect there to be something else?”

  He surveys the list again then places it in his pocket. He doesn’t touch the tea or muffin. “What’s it supposed to do?” I sip my tea and it’s hotter than I like, so I blow on it. Thank goodness the store is empty, except for Hopper.

  I lower my voice anyway. “Annie came to me because she wanted something to increase her libido. Her marriage had been struggling, and she felt they needed more romance and…” I let the rest of the information hang in the air without saying it.

  “And this oil stuff is supposed to do that?”

  He is incredulous. “Well, legally, all I can tell you is that it’s for entertainment purposes only.” I make air quotes and continue the litany the FDA insists we give clients and customers. “We don't diagnose or prescribe, but simply help people help themselves. We have thousands of customers all over the world who love our holistic products.”

  He looks at me as if I’m a shyster, but a beautiful one who just massaged his hand. “So basically, it’s the power of persuasion; if they believe it helps, it does.”

  I shrug and give him that charming smile again.

  He smiles back for a brief moment, then shakes it off, appearing slightly disgusted, as if people are being duped.

  As if he’s being duped. By me and my smile.

  “Do you like your tea?” I ask, even though he hasn’t touched it.

  He glances down, as if it’s a dead mouse, which Godfrey would love to bring him, but when he looks back up at me, I mentally encourage him.

  Come on, I think, you want to drink the tea.

  His eyes widen ever so slightly and then he stares at hi
s cup again. He picks it up.

  “I don’t like tea,” he says, and takes a sip.

  I smile and eat a portion of my muffin. Companionable silence envelops us as he digs in to his as well, no cajoling on my part. I relax slightly, and feel my sisters behind the counter do the same along with me. We’re all so linked together, we often pick up on each other’s emotions.

  Hoax climbs onto one of the perches we have for him in the shop and watches. I’ve filled the dormant fireplace with spring tulips in pots and it cheers me for a second.

  I keep waiting for an outburst from my familiar, one of his curses to be thrown at Chief MacGregor, but he sits there as if mesmerized by the two of us.

  Probably because I have so few friends—it’s tough being a witch in these parts. People tend to run the other way, even those who are into the mystic arts. Although, I have to admit, Summer and Autumn have no problems making friends. It seems as though only Winter and I stink at it.

  Normally, Hoax would at least beg for a piece of muffin, and I’m glad that, for whatever reason, he’s gagged himself and is quiet.

  I’m returning to my tea when I hear a familiar whisper, as if the bird is standing right by my ear, and nearly jump out of my skin. Do you need a lifeline?

  I gaze to the perch to make sure he’s still there. He is, his whisper sent telepathically. He flutters his wings at me.

  I shake my head at him ever so slightly.

  “Can you tell me what happened to Annie?” I ask the chief.

  He finishes his muffin and wipes his fingers on the napkin. “She and her husband were found dead in their homemade sauna behind their house.”

  “And you think that’s due to my essential oil blend?”

  “Waiting on the coroner’s report, but there’s no obvious cause of death. I’m exploring all angles.”

  This tells me nothing, and my intuition tells me Chief MacGregor simply wanted a reason to see me. Could that be possible? “Both died at the same time?”

  “Yes, and they were slathered in that oil stuff.”

  “Possibly an allergic reaction?”

  “Nothing like I’ve ever seen.” He finishes his tea. The cup clanks into the saucer and he wipes his mouth on the napkin. Tossing it on the table, he rises. “Thanks for the tea and muffin. I’ll be in touch if I have more questions.”

  I watch him walk past the display of Summer’s crystal jewelry before he leaves. Across the way, she meets my gaze, her face full of curiosity.

  I reach across the table and pick up his cup, staring at the leaves left behind.

  My stomach bottoms out, the tea and muffin warring to come back up. “Oh, curses,” I say.

  Winter suddenly appears next to my shoulder, as if she’s an apparition come to life. “Hex me,” she comments, seeing the same thing I do. “Is that what I think it is?”

  Along with being a kitchen witch, I often see portents of people’s death. I look at the outline of the Grim, a black, menacing spectral dog in the cup, and feel my heart sink.

  “Afraid so," I say quietly. “Chief MacGregor is not long for this world.”

  3

  It’s my night to work, and come nine o’clock, I still have three customers. I try to assist them so I can close, and manage to do so with two.

  The third leaves, but I suspect she’ll be back tomorrow to buy the goddess statue she was eyeing for fifteen minutes.

  Some are new to magick, and have to think about things before they make purchases that may contradict their upbringing or current belief system. We get quite a few looking for holistic products, like soaps, organic foods, and my bakery items. Soon, they’re buying candles and statues, oils and crystal jewelry.

  Once the shop is empty and I’ve locked the door, I flip the open sign around, clear out the day’s earnings from the register, and make a note on inventory we need to restock. Since Valentine’s Day, we’ve sold three times the number of products compared to this time last year, and it’s creating havoc with my supplies.

  I’m happy about the sales, don’t get me wrong, especially the internet ones, but I’m feeling a little overwhelmed. Summer’s branding and online marketing has been a smash with her YouTube channel and blog, and it’s very exciting to see our followers grow. At this rate, though, we may need more help.

  I planned to have all the shelves fully stocked with plenty of backup for Beltane, but I’m already out of three of my most popular items.

  I feel the urge to stay up all night and make several batches of the blends, but I still have to finish the poet garden in the morning, bake bannock breads for the celebration Saturday night, and run the store again tomorrow evening. I’ve been shaving time off my sleep every night this week already, and I need to rest and rejuvenate.

  On the flip side, I doubt I’ll sleep, partially due to feeling guilty about not getting more product created for the shelves, and because of Chief MacGregor’s visit earlier. He unnerved me on many levels—physically, emotionally, and mentally. My energy is scattered because I keep seeing those cornflower blue eyes and feeling his hand in mine. Since I already dream about him on a regular basis, tonight should be even worse.

  I’m sad about what happened to Annie and her husband. I didn’t know her well, but she seemed like a nice woman who was trying to revive her relationship.

  At least she had one. Here I am, twenty-two, with just a close friend outside of my sisters, and not a serious love interest in sight.

  Except for the one who’s death I saw today.

  As it’s been doing all evening, my brain swims back to Chief McGregor. The only way to switch gears is to think about what might’ve happened to Annie. I have so many more questions now than I did earlier when he blindsided me with his accusations.

  Winter promises to restock the shelves with the inventory we do have, and I’m finishing my closing routine when Summer appears from one of the side rooms with a client.

  We have two rooms for private sessions along with our office that houses our computer, printer, and file cabinets. They’re barely bigger than alcoves, but for past life regressions, psychic readings, and Summer’s energy medicine work, they come in handy.

  She talks to her client as they walk to the door, and I see the woman has been crying. That’s not unusual. Many times during Summer’s energy work, emotional stuff comes up.

  After my sister lets her out the front door, she turns to me. “How are you doing?”

  “Fine,” I say automatically, “Did you have a good session?”

  “A friend of Annie’s,” she tells me. “She’s quite shocked about what happened.”

  A friend of Annie’s? “I need to talk to her.” I brush past Summer and zoom outside, hustling down the steps. The woman parked in the back corner, far from our single solar light, but the almost full moon overhead illuminates everything with a soft glow. I have no trouble seeing her face as I approach.

  “Hi, I’m Spring.” She looks up from unlocking her car door as I draw closer. “Summer said you’re a friend of Annie’s. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  She looks me over and decides I must be okay since I’m Summer’s sister. “It’s horrible. I can’t believe what happened.”

  “Were the two of you close?”

  Her head bobs. “We’ve been friends since she moved here from Minnesota in fifth grade. I just can’t believe it.”

  I hate to intrude on the woman’s grief, but she may be able to answer questions for me that Chief McGregor didn’t. “She purchased several bottles of essential oil from me last week. She seemed like a very nice person.”

  “She was.” Another bob of her head, a tear sneaking out from the corner of her eye. She swipes at it. “She and Jace were trying to recapture some of their earlier passion.” She glances around, as if worried she’s said too much or there might be an eavesdropper. She lowers her voice. “She told me about some of the products she got from you. They were trying that love attunement thing she read on your blog.”

  T
he 21-day Passion Attunement is where couples make time each day to explore. They meet for at least five minutes, completely unclothed, and spend that time on one part of the other person’s body. Massaging, stroking, kissing. It can be anything from a shoulder to a finger, but it reconnects them physically.

  I nod. “I’ve found that it helps a lot of relationships."

  “They were only on day eleven, but she said it was amazing. It was like Jace was a totally new person. He was attentive and paying a lot more attention to her, even when they weren’t in the sauna.”

  The words sound harsh as I say them. “I heard they died in there.”

  “It was their favorite place to…you know.”

  Hmm. “And there was nothing in there that might’ve attributed to their deaths?”

  She shakes her head this time. Her hair swings with the movement. She ticks things off on her fingers. “A bottle of wine, two glasses, and a couple”—she drops her voice to a whisper—“sex toys.”

  I know I sound nosy, but I’m curious all the same. “Sex toys?”

  “Nothing 50 Shades.” She withdraws a tattered Kleenex from her pocket and sniffs. “Just some edible underwear and a feather tickler.”

  She doesn’t mention the Sex Magick blend, and I don’t either. “It’s strange, isn’t it? Do you have any ideas what could’ve caused their sudden demise?”

  She blows her nose and dabs her eyes. “No clue. Annie was happy, they’d been having sex like rabbits. Jace was amazing. I can’t imagine what happened.”

  I let her go and return to the store. Summer has made me a cup of tea, Winter has arrived to stock shelves, Godfrey is bedded down in his usual place under the counter, and Hoax is impatiently fluttering his wings, ready to leave. I thank my sisters for the help, taking the cup with me as I head out the back, Hoax on my heels.

  The fresh air does me good and I stop halfway to my cabin to look at the moon. There are a few clouds tonight, but they only serve to emphasize the beauty of the sky and the glowing ball above me. The full moon falls this year on Beltane, increasing the energy, and I’m already feeling it. My sisters too.