by Amy Boyles
“I’m sure he can fix your parts,” Betty said.
I froze. “What?”
She winked at me. “You know, get your parts fixed. Lubed up. Oiled down.”
I. Was. Mortified.
My stomach clenched, sweat sprinkled my palms and heat flushed my body from my neck down to my toes.
Axel waved a hurried good night, and I pushed him through the door. A warm summer breeze picked up the scent of honeysuckles. The aroma trickled up my nose, and I breathed deep.
He pointed to my old jalopy. “There she is.”
“What do I owe you?”
Please don’t make it be much.
Because I had, um, five dollars to my name. I hated to tell him, but I’d have to pay installments for probably the rest of my life at the rate I was going.
“You don’t owe me anything,” he said.
I smiled, nodded. The wind kicked up, wedging a stray hair between my lips. I saw Axel move to brush it aside.
I beat him to it.
Yes, my heart pounded. Yes, dear goodness I wanted him to touch me, but clearly I had a terrible track record when it came to choosing guys.
And obviously a man called Mr. Sexy around town probably has a reputation for loving women and leaving them.
I did not need that drama in my life.
He held my gaze for a moment. Nerves flittered in my stomach. I didn’t know what to say, so I figured why not bring up embarrassing stuff?
“Sorry about my grandmother. She’s clearly very awkward around people.”
“What?” he said.
I almost groaned. Great. Now I had to explain what I meant. “You know, the whole joke she made at the end.”
“What joke?”
Was he kidding? I might die of embarrassment if I have to say it again. “You know, the whole oil thing.”
Axel shook his head. His dark hair brushed the top of his shoulders. “No idea what you’re talking about.”
I cocked my head back. “You’re joking, right?”
He laughed. “Yes. I am. Give that lady a chance to make an innuendo, she’ll take it.”
“I know,” I nearly shouted. “And she’s the one who was sitting with a shotgun when we got back.”
He placed a hand over his heart. “I know. I thought I was a dead man.”
“Me too,” I said, shoving his shoulder playfully.
We paused. The air stilled, yet the pressure of our energy built up around me. “Well, I guess I’d better get back inside. I’ve got a shop to open tomorrow.”
He shook his head. “No you don’t. The familiar shop is closed on Tuesdays. Most of the shops in town are. It’s kind of a witch thing.”
I fisted my hands in excitement. “Seriously? I have the day off?”
He nodded. “Yep.”
I joked when I said, “Well, maybe I’ll run into you tomorrow night. Perhaps you’ll be three for three and save me from another danger.”
The light in his eyes faded. Axel’s jaw clenched, and he said in a dark, hoarse voice, “No. You won’t see me tomorrow night.”
Chills swept down my spine at the harshness of his tone.
“Oh. Okay.”
He raked his fingers over his jaw and said, “I’d better get going. See you around. Good night.”
“Good night,” I said feebly.
With that he left.
I couldn’t help but wonder as I made my way back inside the house, what I’d done wrong. But as much as I wondered that, I also wondered what it would be like to kiss Axel.
I had a feeling he wondered the same thing about me, too.
I woke up the next morning to Mattie and the calico curled up on my bed. Before I had a chance to stop myself, I found my hand stroking Mattie’s head and my other fingers scratching the calico under the chin.
What was happening to me?
“Hi there, Sweetie,” I said, giving her a name other than calico cat.
I got up, showered and met the rest of the family downstairs for breakfast. Both cats followed me.
“So,” Amelia said, scooping a clot of eggs onto her plate, “Cordelia and I were thinking we’d help you figure out your magic today. We’ve both got the day off, too.”
I bit my lower lip. “Funny thing, Axel figured it out.”
Betty’s eyebrows shot to heaven and back. “You’d better watch out for those oil-lubing men.”
I fisted my hand. “Yeah, and can you please try not to embarrass me in front of him?”
A slow smile curled on Betty’s lips. “Spoken like a true granddaughter of mine.”
Cordelia curled her fingers around a glass of orange juice. “What’s your power?”
I cringed. “I don’t know if it’s right, but Axel called me a head witch.”
Amelia’s fork clattered to the table. “A what?”
I scooted eggs around on my plate. “I don’t know. Last night with the wraith, I got so scared that something happened. It seemed to slow down, get thrown back. No power left my hands, like with y’all when you do magic, but it did happen.”
Betty cackled. “Holy smokes! A head witch. I declare, this is a great start to the day. A granddaughter of mine, a head witch.”
I frowned. “Is that bad? Is it bad that’s what I am? Maybe I’m not a head witch. Maybe I’m more of a feet witch.”
Cordelia flicked her napkin onto her empty plate. “A head witch is one of the most powerful witches there is.”
My jaw dropped. “What? Really?”
Betty grabbed Cordelia’s wrist. “Yes, but you need training. Lots of training.” She pointed a finger at all of us. “And no telling anyone what she is”—she looked at me—“what you are. Word gets out about it, we’ll have all kinds of witches bothering us.”
“Why?” I said. “I don’t understand. Y’all know I don’t know squat about this whole witch thing. You have to help me.”
Amelia, having picked her fork up, cleared her throat. “Because a lot of times head witches can heal others. Do things with their head magic that others can’t do.”
“Oh.” I laughed. “Don’t worry. I have no clue how to even do magic, other than listen to animals’ voices. So don’t worry about me.”
“Great,” Betty said. “Keep it that way. I believe after breakfast the girls have a treat for you.”
I felt my eyes spark at the mention of a surprise. “Yes? What’s that?”
A trip home?
Even as I thought it, I realized that Magnolia Cove was growing on me, murder investigation and all.
Cordelia slung her purse over her shoulder. “We’re heading to Castin’ Iron.”
I dabbed my mouth with my napkin. “Is that the place where witches go to get those skillets they ride instead of brooms?”
Amelia leaned forward, a wide smile splitting her face. “That’s exactly right. And guess who’s about to be a brand-new rider?”
I gulped. “I guess that would be me?”
Betty nodded. “You got it, kid. Have fun and don’t break your neck because I won’t be able to fix it. I can fix a lot of things, but necks aren’t one of them.”
“Oh,” I said, surprised. “That’s good to know.”
FIFTEEN
Before we headed to Castin’ Iron, my cousins and I dropped in at the pet shop and fed and watered the animals.
Amelia pulled one of the kittens from the cage and stroked it. “You know, I don’t know why I never got a familiar. They’re all so sweet and wonderful.”
“Because you’re allergic,” Cordelia said as she slipped fresh newspaper under the puppies.
Amelia lurched forward. “Ahchoo.” She placed the kitten back in the cage. “Case in point.”
“I’m allergic, too,” I said, “but it seems to be getting better the more I’m around them.”
Cordelia tucked a strand of long hair behind one ear. “So, do they, like, talk to you all the time?”
“Yes, we do,” one of the parrots squawked.
“Pl
ay with me,” one of the puppies yelped.
I laughed. “Pretty much. One of the puppies wants you to play with him,” I said.
Cordelia reached in and pet all the pups. “Can you tune it out? All the chatter?”
I nodded. “It’s getting better. It’s sort of a low hum unless one of the voices breaks through.” I looked around the shop, and satisfied that the animals were okay, I brushed off my hands and said, “All right, who wants to ride a skillet?”
Castin’ Iron was the place to go if you wanted any kind of witchy tool, I quickly found out. They specialized in cast iron and had a small forge in the back. Set off as a separate building on the main stretch of Bubbling Cauldron Road, the front was all rough-hewn unpainted boards, while the inside flourished like a home—bouquets of dried flowers were pinned to the walls, fresh-cut flowers dotted the tabletops, along with sitting benches.
Cauldrons of all shapes and sizes peppered the space. Large, squat ones with deeps bowls hung from the ceilings, short slim ones sat on the floor and a teetering stack lined the wall behind the counter.
And of course there were the skillets. Long, thin handles, as long as ones on a broom, with oblong-shaped pans floated in the air.
“Oh,” I mused, “so that’s how you can ride them. They’re much bigger than a regular skillet.”
“Come in, come in,” came a voice from the back. A short little man wearing a leather apron and clothes slashed with singe marks toddled in. “Come in,” he said again. “Take a look around. We make the finest cast-iron skillets for riding anywhere you go. And if you want a custom one, we can do that, too.”
“That’s not true,” came another voice. “He hasn’t done custom in years. Takes him too long.”
A short woman with long white hair popped up from behind the counter. I jumped back.
The man swept over to the woman. “Stop it, Theodora. You don’t know. I made a custom skillet for riding just last…year.”
Theodora smirked at us. “Harry likes to think he fills orders fast, but he don’t. If you were waiting on him to make you a riding skillet before you could marry your prince, your prince would be dead by the time the skillet was finished, and you’d be dead and buried in the ground.”
Harry threw up his hands. “Stop it, woman! These are customers.”
Theodora looked us up and down. “And customers I plan on keeping by telling them the truth. Take a look around,” she said to us. “See what you see. Let me know when you want to try one.”
Amelia and Cordelia pointed at me. “She’s the newbie. We’ve both got ours.”
Theodora’s eyes sparkled. She clapped her hands as she shuffled out from behind the counter, her white hair floating around her.
“Oh, a new witch! I love new witches. Come, come, dear. You get to try a skillet for the first time.”
Harry stepped up. “My family started riding skillets a couple of hundred years ago.” He pulled one of the skillets down and thumped the bottom of the pan. “They hold up better than wood. And look, the cushion on this one is velvet, though you can have whatever cushion you want.”
“That,” Theodora said, poking the air, “is the one custom quality that don’t take long. We can have that fixed within a day. That’s because I do it,” she said, shooting Harry a contemptuous look.
“It isn’t a competition, woman,” he shot back.
Theodora smirked. “Speak for yourself. But go on, give it a ride. We’ve got a whole course out back for you to learn on. Pick a skillet, any skillet.”
I glanced around the room, feeling completely overwhelmed. “But are they heavy?”
Harry chuckled. “Not heavy at all. Here.”
He released the one in his hands, and the skillet simply floated in air. Magic. Right when I started getting used to it, something completely unexpected would happen, like a skillet hovering in air.
A cast-iron skillet that should weigh a ton.
I bit my bottom lip and started to curl my fingers around it.
“Wait!” Theodora said.
I dropped my hands.
“Sorry, dear, didn’t mean to scare you, but you’re that Pepper girl, aren’t you?”
Word travels fast. “Yes, ma’am. I am.”
She clapped with glee once again. “You’re the new Mistress of Familiars. We’ve been waiting for you!” She squeezed my shoulders. “So glad you’ve finally come to us. Oh, what would this town do without you? Your uncle was wonderful at putting familiars with their witches, but women are always better at that sort of thing.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “So the woman says.”
Theodora shot him a shut-it look. “I’m bringing my granddaughter into your store tomorrow for her first ever, and you know what? I might just get one myself!” She giggled like a girl. “It’s been years since I’ve had a familiar, and oh, I love them so. Can’t you just see it? I’m a skillet witch with my skillet familiar. How wonderful.”
I smiled. “Of course. Bring her in. I’ll be there.”
I said it as if I accepted the store as part of my life now. My stomach still twisted at the thought of staying, but not as much as it had before.
Theodora pushed the skillet toward me. “Try it out. See what you think.”
I curled my fingers around the elongated handle. The metal hummed under my touch. I rocked it up and down, feeling the weight.
“It’s so light,” I said.
“Yep,” Cordelia said, sinking down onto a chair. “Light as a feather.”
“Please don’t say, stiff as a board,” I said.
Amelia laughed. “You’re one step ahead of us.”
I ran my fingers over the bumps and grooves of the iron. It looked exactly like a skillet you could cook with, only the pan was stuffed with a cushion for sitting, and of course the thing was ungodly long.
“How does it work?” I said.
“The magic is in the iron,” Harry said proudly. “I’m a flying wizard by birth, so that’s the magic I pour into the skillet. The power in the skillet feels your magic, they mingle and you go.” He zoomed his hand toward the sky. “That’s the simple beauty of it.”
“Simple beauty of something,” Theodora grumbled. “Come on. Grab the one you want and we’ll go outside.”
I held on to the first one Harry had given me and followed her through the crowded, dark store that seemed to have more nooks and crannies than a cave, until we reached a back door. Theodora slung it open, revealing an obstacle course of sorts.
Ropes and orange cones marked out a path. The ground under the path was padded, which I thought was strange.
Theodora clapped me on the back. “Now, all you need to do is get on and go.”
I slung one leg over. It was awkward, I won’t lie.
“Pull the handle until your tush rests on the seat,” Theodora prodded.
So I did, though my bottom rested wobbly on the thing.
“That’s it,” she said. “Now, ease down. The skillet won’t drop you. It’ll hold.”
I sat like she said.
“Cross your ankles behind you; it makes it easier.”
Next thing I knew, my ankles were crossed and I was floating on a cast-iron skillet. Pretty sure I threw my head back and gave a roaring witch cackle to go with it.
Harry laughed. “She’s getting it.” He came up and lightly touched the handle. “Now, all you need to do is think where you want to go. Every skillet here knows the path. So focus on it and go forward.”
With my hands clamped tight and my ankles locked, I shifted my gaze to the course and thought, Go through it, or something like that. It was probably simply go, which the skillet did.
Without me.
The skillet zipped out underneath, leaving me flat on my back on the ground. I blinked, the wind knocked from me and my eyes wobbling around.
Theodora popped into view. “Oh, that one didn’t like you.”
“What?” I said, confused.
Harry popped in the other side of my
line of sight. “Sometimes a skillet doesn’t like the rider. Nothing personal. Let’s get you another one. See if it’ll be better.”
Amelia ran up. “Already done. Here, Pepper, try this one.”
Cordelia helped me up, and I rubbed my bruised tush. “It looks the same as the other.”
“They all look virtually the same,” Theodora explained, “but the personalities can be different, like with anything.”
I took the skillet from Amelia and sat again. This time the going was a bit better. I glided down the course, the ride smooth and starkly fun until I got about halfway down.
That’s when the skillet knocked me off.
But luckily this time I had the padding. So that’s why the course was padded. Clearly I wasn’t the first person this had happened to.
“Of course not, dear,” Theodora said when I grumbled about it. “Almost everyone gets knocked off.”
Amelia raised her hand. “I got knocked off.”
“Me too,” Cordelia said. “Those skillets are picky. I had to come back three times before I found the right one.”
I cocked a brow. “Really?”
She nodded.
Harry took the last skillet away and handed me a fresh one. “In fact, in all my time I only remember two people who haven’t been knocked off a broom.”
“That’s correct,” Theodora said. “Only two.”
I eyed the new skillet skeptically before taking it. “What’s this one like?”
Harry pointed to the black cushion studded with silver knobs. “Oh, this one hates everyone. We’ll see how far you get, and that’ll tell me which way to go.”
My jaw dropped. “It hates everyone and you want me to try it?”
Theodora nodded. “Come, come. Dear, sometimes a little hate tells us a lot about a person.”
“But I don’t hate. That doesn’t even make sense.”
“We mean the skillet,” she said. “If it allows you to stay on for only a second, that’ll help Harry figure out which way to go next. If it keeps you on longer, then we know more. Very simple. Should’ve put you on this one first, but we didn’t think of it.”
“I thought of it,” Harry said, “but I didn’t want to get yelled at for suggesting it.”
I rubbed my bruised rump and said, “Do I really need to do this?”
