by Amy Boyles
“For your information,” Betty said, jerking her head left and right, “when a witch becomes the person who matches familiars with their owners, they receive their own familiar.”
I sank into a chair. “I don’t have one. You didn’t get me one.”
Betty snapped some dried herbs from a stick above the fireplace. She ground them in her palms and sprinkled it into the cauldron.
“It would’ve been Donovan’s responsibility to do that since you were next in line to receive the shop.”
I shook my head. “But a familiar can’t be bought for a witch. They have to be matched.”
Betty’s eyes sparkled as she said, “Exactly. Your uncle may’ve known more about you than you think.”
I shook my head. “I’m not buying it.”
“Well, you’d better be pulling your wallet from your purse, because you need to get that dragon back. I believe Donovan bought it for you.”
“No.”
She rubbed her chin. “Who’d you sell it to, anyway?”
I yawned. “Some Mysterio guy. He’s in town doing a magic show or something.”
My cousins exchanged a look with Betty.
“What?” I said.
“Mysterio’s a hoax,” Amelia said. “He travels through towns telling little old ladies that he can communicate with their loved ones—dead children, spouses. You name it, and if it’s deceased, Mysterio claims he can speak to it.”
“He comes every year,” Cordelia said. “We haven’t gone to his performance in ages. Though for a wizard, he puts on a great show for witches. There are all kinds of ghosts and whatnot.”
I frowned. “So does he really speak to people’s dead loved ones?”
“What do you think?” Betty snapped.
I shrugged. “No clue. You tell me.”
“For regular folks what Mysterio does is all hocus-pocus—smoke and mirrors. But for us, it’s the real deal—it has to be since we’re witches. Oh, ghosts appear all right, but the ghosts are charlatans, pretending to be other folks’ loved ones.”
I rubbed my forehead, trying to stop the headache threatening to bloom from all this confusion. “So the ghosts are real but pretending to be someone else?”
“Right,” Cordelia said. “Still, the witches who want to communicate with the dead are so distraught they generally don’t realize they’re being taken advantage of.”
“Wow,” I said, “this Mysterio guy sounds like a horrible person.”
“Charlatan,” Cordelia said.
Betty fixed her wig and hiked her old lady jeans up until the waistband rested just under her boobs. “And that charlatan now has a baby dragon.” She pointed an accusatory finger at me. “A dragon that rightfully belongs to you.”
A whirlwind of anxiety knotted my stomach. I raked my fingers through my hair, afraid of what would happen next. “So what are we going to do? Let Mysterio keep it?”
Betty shook her head. “Nope. You and me, kid, we’re going to get it back. If Donovan wanted you to have it, it was for a good reason.” She glanced at Cordelia and Amelia. “Get dressed, girls. We’ve got a show to attend.”
THREE
I had time to eat a light dinner of country-fried steak, mashed potatoes and fried okra. They were all small portions, so that’s what I call light. Then I showered and changed into a little black dress before showtime.
“Where are y’all off to?” Mattie asked.
Mattie was a gray cat that had belonged to my mother when she lived in Betty’s house. Mattie’s general residence was the window seat in my bedroom, but today she lazed on the bed.
“We’re going to see this guy Mysterio. Do you know him?”
Mattie yawned. “‘Course I know him, sugarbear. That man’s been swindling folks since I was a kitten.”
I ran a brush through my hair. “I don’t understand why people let him. Seems to me that he would’ve been run out of town ages ago.”
Mattie shook her head. “There’s always someone who believes in Mysterio, and that someone in this town is Idie Claire Hawker.”
My jaw dropped. “Idie Claire? You mean the town gossip?”
“One and the same. She might not strike you as such, but Idie Claire’s got enough pull in this town that if she wanted to up and move it, that would happen.”
I stared at Mattie. “Idie Claire. We’re talking about the same woman, right?”
Mattie rubbed her paw over her whiskers. “Same one. Only one. Now sugar, you best be gettin’ along if you’re going to watch the show. Starts at eight pm sharp. Most of the town’ll be there. Folks always love to see what Mysterio cooks up for ‘em.”
I slipped on a pair of heels. “All right, and thanks for the head’s up.”
I zipped downstairs, where the rest of my family waited for me. Betty was handing out small canisters that looked like pepper spray. She pressed the warm steel into my palm.
“What’s this?”
“It’s a spray that’ll keep you from getting caught up in Mysterio’s antics. It’ll help you keep a cool head.”
I glanced at the sleek black lacquered coating. “Why do I need my own? Can’t you just spray me and we go?”
Betty pulled her corncob pipe from a pocket and shoved it in her mouth. “Sometimes y’all need extra. Mysterio has a strange effect on women.”
“He’s old,” I said. “At least fifty.”
“You youngsters,” Betty said. “A fifty-year-old man chasing me would be a dream come true.”
Cordelia smacked her lips. “Maybe we can help you achieve that dream.”
Betty snarled at her. “Watch it. When I need one of y’all to help me find a man, I’ll let you know.”
We walked from the house to Bubbling Cauldron Road, where most of downtown sat. The town theater, aptly named The Magnolia, was crowded. Folks jammed the sidewalk. Could I blame them? Mysterio only came around once a year. You had to see him when you could. After all, how often did folks get to see ghosts live in the flesh?
Okay, so maybe they weren’t exactly in the flesh, but I think you get the picture.
The line moved quickly and Betty was able to snag tickets front and center. “How’d you do that?” I said.
“I told the house manager I’d wither certain body parts if he didn’t give us the best.”
Amelia leaned over. “Ew. You threatened him?”
Betty rolled her eyes. “I never said whose body parts would get shriveled.”
“Very saucy of you,” I said.
The lights blackened. “Shh. Watch the show.” Then she dug something out of her purse and squirted me.
“Uh. That’s cold and now I’m all wet.”
Betty winked at me as she shook the canister. “Better wet than taken.”
“What? Is this a Liam Neeson movie?” I said.
Amelia flared out her arms. “Is he going to show up? He can take me anywhere.”
“He’s old enough to be your father,” Betty said.
Amelia fluffed the tips of her pixie haircut. “I’d erase my age limit on men for him.”
Betty grinned. “Really? I’ll remember that.”
Amelia rolled her eyes. “Don’t think about fixing me up with a Liam Neeson lookalike. Last time you tried to match me, it turned out horrible.”
“Shh,” Cordelia said. “It’s starting.”
The house had gone black. Low lights glowed onstage. A flash of lightning cracked on a platform and Mysterio appeared, arms outstretched. His voice boomed when he spoke. A shiver raced along my spine as he commanded the theatergoers to submit to him.
“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen. For those of you who do not know me, I am the great Mysterio. Tonight,” he punched the word, “I will connect you to your loved ones. Tonight you will be dazzled by the otherworld, amazed at who you will see again. You will be left without wondering, without fearing about what happened to your loved ones when they crossed over. For tonight, you will have answers. So now, let’s start the show!”
<
br /> A cloud of smoke erupted where he stood. The audience exploded into applause. When the smoke cleared, Mysterio appeared at the foot of the stage with his hands cupped in front of him and his eyes closed.
“A John is coming through. Does someone know a John?”
“Only half the people here,” Cordelia whispered in my ear.
I smirked. No doubt that was true.
A hand shot up. “I do. I know a John.”
I leaned forward. The hand belonged to Idie Claire. Boy, my family wasn’t kidding when they said she loved this whole ghost thing.
“And John,” Mysterio said, his voice wavering, “John was your…”
“Father,” Idie said.
Mysterio pressed his fingers to his temples. “He died from harsh circumstances.”
“In bed. It was the end of his life,” Idie said.
Okay, so maybe not harsh circumstances, but he did die.
“John wants to come through,” Mysterio said.
Behind him, a figure appeared from wisps of smoke. There stood a man wearing a plaid shirt, a wide-brimmed farmer’s hat and black boots.
“Daddy never farmed,” Idie said.
I bit back a laugh.
“This is how the spirit looks,” Mysterio explained. “Your daddy said he felt this way on the inside, even though he lived a different sort of life.”
Betty rolled her eyes wide for me to see.
“Okay,” Idie said quietly.
“He says there’s something important that’s hiding behind a portrait.”
“What?” Idie said. “We don’t have a portrait.”
Amelia giggled.
Mysterio cleared his throat. “That’s what he said. But maybe he didn’t mean portrait. Maybe he meant…toilet?”
Idie pressed a finger to her lips in thought. “Maybe so. Maybe that’s what he meant.”
The ghostly figure pointed toward the door as if he needed Idie to hurry up and find whatever was hidden behind the toilet.
I tried not to laugh.
“That’s all John has to say,” Mysterio said. He waved a hand and the apparition vanished.
“Another voice is coming through. Another voice—this one is harder to focus on. I hear the name Salt. Does anyone know a Salt?”
No one said anything. Mysterio cleared his throat. “Wait. That was a nickname. The real one is coming. Sassafras. Does anyone have a loved one by that name?”
My throat dried. My mother. Sassafras had been my mother. I shot a confused look to Betty, whose eyes were about the size of buckeyes and ready to pop right out of her head.
I slowly raised my hand. “I know a Sassafras.”
Mysterio smiled at me. “Come to us, Sassafras. Come let us see you and you see us.”
A plume of smoke rose up behind him. The wisps coiled and tightened, hardening until a figure appeared. A woman with long flowing hair bobbed above the stage. Her hair and dress floated as if she were submerged underwater. Her eyes were completely white, the irises missing and her mouth quirked into a secretive smile.
I gasped. So did Cordelia and Amelia.
“Aunt Saltie,” Amelia whispered.
“Mom,” I whimpered.
The ghost stared out into the audience. She didn’t move, didn’t interact. I wanted her to look in my direction, to find me.
I started to stand. Betty grabbed my hand as if warning me not to, but I couldn’t help myself. This was my mom. The woman who died giving birth to me. I wanted to look her in the face—even if it was a ghostly one.
The figure turned in my direction. I felt the eyes light on me. A flood of emotion rushed through my body and I became dizzy.
“This woman was important to you,” Mysterio said.
My voice squeaked. “Yes. Yes.”
Mysterio moved his hands as if leading an invisible orchestra. “She wants you to know that she loves you. Very much. She also wants you to know you’re on the right path, doing the right things.”
“Does she…does she visit me often?”
The figure floated wordlessly as Mysterio wiggled his fingers toward his temples—he looked as if he was receiving transmissions from outer space.
“She’s with you more than you know. Our link is fading. Sassafras is leaving us.”
I reached out. “No. Don’t leave.”
The crowd gasped. Like it was some major faux-pas to admit I didn’t want a loved one to leave. I didn’t care. This was the closest I’d ever been to my mother. Yes, I realized she was dead, but this was still something to me—a shimmering ray of light that I could grasp onto and hold, if only for a moment.
Mysterio’s voice boomed. “There’s something she wants you to know—but she’s asked me to share it with you after the show.”
The ghostly figure of my mother reached out as her image faded to black. Hot tears trickled down my face. I palmed them away. When I sat, Betty plucked several tissues from a packet in her purse and handed them to me.
“He must’ve known you were coming,” she said.
I squinted at her. “You don’t think that was Mom?”
Betty’s lower lip tightened. “I’ve never seen Mysterio conjure a true relative. All the others seem to be fake. Take Idie’s. You think that was her dad?”
I shrugged as I wedged into the seat. I didn’t know if that was Idie’s father. It’s not as if I’d met him before he died.
But the image of my own mother had been real. That was her. It looked exactly like every picture I’d never seen. But Betty was clutching strong to the fact that Mysterio was a charlatan.
Yet if that hadn’t been my mother, who was it?
I watched the rest of the show in silence, thinking the whole time about Mom and how I wanted to talk to Mysterio more, see what it was she had wanted to share privately with me.
“Probably the treasure map to my jewels,” Betty said. “I don’t trust that man.”
The show was over; the house lights had come on. Most of the folks in town were heading toward the door.
They were moving slowly, but one woman with long dark hair and wearing bright red lipstick nearly knocked me over to reach the exit.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said.
I instantly recognized her. “Gretchen Gargoyle,” I said.
She brushed her long hair from her shoulder and squinted at me. “Do I know you?”
I grimaced. “Yeah. My aunts brought me to your store, Witch’s Wardrobe, a few days ago.”
Gretchen’s face hardened. “That’s right. You destroyed my shop.”
I twisted my fingers nervously. “I’m sorry about that.”
She eyed me up and down. “Sure.”
The dress designer strode away and I felt like a Grade A idiot for about half a second, until Betty hooked her hand around my elbow.
“You’d better get a move on, kid.”
I agreed. “Yeah, I want to know about that message from Mom.”
“That line of hooey? That’s a crock. You don’t need to worry about it. You need to get that dragon.”
I rolled my eyes. “Not this again. Okay, I’ll get the stupid dragon, but I don’t see why I should. I don’t want to be liable for the animal.”
Betty pressed her lips together so hard her chin nearly touched her nose. “You don’t see the importance of it? Kid, by ordering that dragon, your uncle may’ve saved your life.”
We reached the lobby, where we followed a slowly trickling line of people. “What are you talking about?”
“If you pair with that dragon, what do you think it would be good for?”
“Burning down villages and stealing treasure?”
Betty thumped my head.
“Ouch.”
“Use your brains. What else can a dragon do?”
I shook my head in frustration. “I don’t know.”
“Protection. That dragon can offer you protection.”
I lifted my palms, still not understanding. “From what?”
Betty s
houldered her handbag. “From whom, not from what. Who’s the one person you’ve been trying to avoid since you got here.”
The blood rushed to my feet as I suddenly realized what she was talking about. The mysterious Rufus had attacked me before I came to Magnolia Cove. He’d also attacked me a few days ago, when he’d been allowed into town for his mother’s funeral. He’d said that since I was a head witch, he wanted my mind.
I stopped, forcing Betty to pause. “You’re saying…” My voice faltered.
Betty nodded. “I’m saying that dragon can protect you from Rufus.”
I cleared my throat. “Well, then what the heck are we waiting for? Let’s go get it.”
FOUR
I waited outside Mysterio’s dressing room, behind a long line of folks. It was several minutes before I had a chance to speak with him. The place was pretty lavish. Persian rugs covered the floor, framed posters of past presenters draped the walls and low watt lamps were sprinkled around, giving the place a warm glow.
Mysterio pulled on a black turban with a feather sticking from it. “You’re here about the ghost who had more to tell?”
I grimaced. “Yes, I am, but I also came to tell you I made a mistake. I never should’ve sold you the dragon. See, it was a gift to me. I didn’t know that at the time, but I do now. Is it okay if I take it back?”
Mysterio gestured. A large birdcage floated up to us. Mysterio yanked off a silky purple covering. The little dragon lay curled up on a bed of straw. When it saw me, it yawned and blinked.
“Mama.”
Wow. Now I really felt bad for letting it go.
Mysterio ran a thumb along the side of the cage. “You may not have it. You sold it fair and square. Do you realize how rare a dragon is?”
I toed the floor in embarrassment. “Yes, well I do. But here’s the thing—I need the dragon for myself.”
Mysterio eyed me. He leaned forward and gave me a smile that sent a shudder ripping along my spine. “Maybe we can come to an understanding.” He wiggled his brows as his gaze swept over me, giving me the heebie-jeebies.
