No Rest for The Wiccan

by Madelyn Alt

  For once, smartass remarks and social posturing were the furthest things from Margo’s mind. She scurried out.

  I waited until I heard the telltale squeak of the hinges on Mel’s door down the hall before turning to my sister and clearing my throat. “All right. You can open your eyes now.”

  My perfect, hypochondriac sister squinted at me with one eye. At least she had the decency to look sheepish. “How did you know?”

  I shrugged. I had always been able to read her, good or bad. “How isn’t important,” I told her. “They’re only going to be gone a minute or two, tops. So, what’s up? Why the theatrics?”

  “What’s up. What’s up?” She scowled at me. “First my afternoon of fun is interrupted by my children screaming their heads off, and then I get out of bed to investigate—against doctor’s orders, mind you—only to find you claiming that a door closed all by its little lonesome. Of course the girls are going to follow your lead—and by the way, if you are responsible for this little stunt, you should feel heartily ashamed. And then! Then the TV decides to choose this very moment to go berserk, which, if you are responsible, was actually really well timed and . . . kind of freaky. So, everything being what it is, forgive me if I’m a little overwrought and needing a moment, because I don’t think any of this is good for my already sky-high blood pressure.”

  I was a little irked by the fact that she still half believed I’d done it all as a joke. But then again, if I was standing in her glass slippers, I probably would have felt the same. “Mel, I know this is a little worrisome—”

  “And what about that commercial?” she plowed ahead as though I hadn’t spoken at all. “That was just too weird. Cocoa? What are the odds of that coincidence?”

  “So, you think it’s all a coincidence, then.”

  “Well, of course I think it’s a coincidence. What else am I supposed to think?”

  How much should I tell her? How much information should I trust her with? Yes, she was my sister . . . but past experience had made me leery. “The girls have been talking about their friends Coco and Cee Cee all afternoon . . . but more importantly, they’ve been talking to them. Like they’re in the room with us.”

  “So? Lots of kids have imaginary friends, Maggie. I mean, their whole world is kind of in an uproar right now. Is it any wonder they’ve invented someone to help them to feel secure?”

  It was certainly a possibility. And yet I also knew what I had sensed in that room. The physical feeling of someone there with us. The shiver of awareness.

  “Maybe,” I said softly. “But . . . I keep getting the feeling that this is something more.”

  “Exactly what do you mean by ‘something more’?”

  “Here I am!” Margo called as she sailed through the door. Spotting Mel leaning up on her elbows, she stopped. “Oh, you’re up. Good. Here.”

  She handed me the cloth, still dripping around the edges. Without a second thought, I slapped it on Mel’s forehead.

  “Ugh! Wet!”

  “Nice and cool,” I sang, pushing her back on the bed without remorse. She did bring this on herself, after all.

  Mel gritted her teeth as water trickled down the sides of her forehead into her perfectly styled hair. “I think I’m feeling much better now.” She made her way back to her own bedroom.

  We all followed her. “I just have to use the little girls’ room,” she said. We waited while she went into the master bathroom to take care of business. She didn’t close the door right away; instead, she paused there as though snagged on the doorframe, her fingers frozen on the brass lever knob. “Margo?” she said, not moving. “Did you have trouble finding the fresh washcloths?”

  Not seeing Mel’s reaction, Margo laughed. “No, they were right in the front of the linen closet. Why?”

  Without a word, Melanie released her hand from the door and gave it a gentle push. As one we leaned to the left to peer into the room.

  Every drawer and door on the vanity was open, as was the medicine cabinet and the linen closet. And suddenly a chill current of air swirled around us, touching, testing . . . finally pushing up against me so hard that I took a step back for balance. Was I the only one who felt it?

  “Girls?” Mel cleared her throat. “Did you go into Mommy’s bathroom just now? Maybe you needed to potty and mine was closest?”

  “Mel . . .” Jane stepped forward, her hands clenched together. “They couldn’t have. They were with Libby and me.”

  “But . . . if it wasn’t Margo . . . and it wasn’t the girls or you two . . . and Maggie was with me . . .” Mel’s mind was whirring along, trying to process it all but coming up full-stop against a wall of logic and reason. My sister didn’t do intuition, you see. She’d rather do clueless and blind. It worked for her. Only a little too well, most of the time.

  The current withdrew suddenly. For a moment, my ears rang hollow; and then the air filled in around me in a rush. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a pop-pop-pop before I heard the actual sound of the filaments bursting within the big, clear bulbs in the bathroom fixtures, followed immediately by a chorus of screams and a volley of clutching hands as everyone jammed together into a protective huddle with Jenna and Courtney at the center.

  When it became obvious that there was no threat of glass spraying through the air, Mel rose to her full height of five feet two inches and thrust her fists to her gently rounded hips. “That’s it. Ladies, I’m sorry. I think we’re going to have to call it a day. We seem to be having . . . power issues that need to be addressed. We’ll have our fun another day, okay?”

  Margo and Jane left without complaint. Only Libby paused to silently reconsider the empty bathroom, frowning and gnawing her lower lip, before turning to locate her purse. While Mel returned to her bed, hugging her girls to her side, I showed the others out.

  As soon as I walked back into her bedroom, Mel started in. “What the Devil is going on here today? It’s like this house is going crazy!” At least it was all a whisper. The girls had fallen asleep already, tucked up against the warmth of their mother’s body. “What were you trying to tell me back in the girls’ bedroom? You said something about a feeling. What did you mean? What does a feeling have to do with anything?”

  Well, if I was going to go through with it, now was as good a time as ever. I sat on the foot of the bed and took a deep breath, weighing my words. “I don’t know quite how to tell you this, so I guess I should just come right out and say it. Mel, the girls’ imaginary friend or friends . . . and it seems that it might be plural . . . well . . . I think they are more than that.”

  She looked even more confused.

  “I think they might not be imaginary. Just invisible.”

  Mel sat up straighter in bed, her eyes never leaving me. “What do you mean, invisible?”

  This was it. The moment of truth. By telling her this, I would be opening myself up to derision and more . . . but these were my nieces we were talking about. I couldn’t let Mel go on, unaware of the real issue at hand. Forewarned was forearmed.

  “Invisible . . . but very real.” I paused a moment, allowing this much to soak in. “I think they’re spirits.”

  She stared at me and frowned. “Spirits. You mean, ghosts?”

  “Something like that. Only not necessarily a traditional haunting or anything like that. More like a being that comes to visit, to watch over the girls maybe, or because they’re drawn to their energy. Or—”

  “That’s ridiculous, Maggie.”

  I had expected that. “You have a better explanation for the things that have gone on this afternoon?”

  “There could be lots of other explanations.”

  “Or it could be spirit,” I persisted as gently as I could. “But I didn’t get the feeling that it was anything frightening or threatening. Probably more like a Spirit Guide, or a guardian angel of some kind.” The thing in Mel’s room, on the other hand . . . that one made me nervous.

  “So somehow you’re an expert in these things
all of a sudden?” she said, reverting to sarcasm the way she always did when something made her uncomfortable. “How do you know any of this?”

  I couldn’t exactly take any of this conversation back, so I might as well go whole hog. “I . . . I’ve been studying this kind of thing lately. Because of certain things I’ve experienced. I’m not crazy, Mel. You know me. I might not be everything you ever wanted in an older sister, but when have I ever exhibited delusional behavior?”

  “Well . . . you haven’t. Except maybe when you thought you were going to marry Tony Dearing,” she said, bringing up an embarrassing episode from my angsty teen years that I would love for her to have forgotten. “But . . . ghosts? I don’t know . . .”

  A thought occurred to me. “Wait. When I first got here this afternoon, you mentioned you’ve been hearing noises. Remember?”

  “Well, y-e-e-es. It—it has been a little weird off and on for a while, I guess, now that you mention it . . .”

  “What kind of weird?”

  “Well, nothing like this afternoon. But . . . well . . . lightbulbs keep burning out. We’d put a new one in, and within a couple of days it would need changing again. Greg called an electrician to check things over, but they didn’t find anything wrong. And sometimes I’d walk into a room and the TV would be on, even though I was certain I had turned it off already. Or the radio. And . . . once I could have sworn that I smelled fresh bread baking in the oven. And . . . well, you know me; I don’t bake! And . . .” She broke off and lifted her gaze to mine, her eyes wide and stricken. “Maggie! Why am I starting to believe you? Oh my God! What am I going to do?”

  “What you’re not going to do is, you’re not going to panic.” I sat down on the edge of the bed and looked her in the eye.

  “But—spirits—ghosts—”

  “Are by and large benign in nature,” I assured her as soothingly as possible. “Most of them were human at one time or another. When you remember that and treat them as such, it takes some of the mystical out of the equation. People can be good, they can be bad, but they’re still just people.” I had learned a lot about the spirit world in my short tenure in Felicity Dow’s employ. Sometimes, I even surprised myself.

  “But they’re around my babies.”

  I nodded. “But the girls don’t seem afraid of them at all. In fact, they even seem playful with them.”

  “But you know what the nuns always said about anything supernatural. How can we be sure the spirits are good and not . . . evil?” she asked, folding her arms more tightly around her sleeping angels. Then she shook her head. “I can’t believe I’m even considering this.”

  I might not always get along with Mel; we might not be the closest of sisters; but when push came to shove, when bad came to worse, when ghosts came to Stony Mill and started scoping out my family’s most innocent members . . . well, blood was thicker than water in more ways than just the physical, and it was always better to err on the side of caution.

  “I have friends who might be able to help,” I said, crossing my fingers that it was the right thing to do. “Friends who are . . . more experienced in this kind of thing. They’ve been . . .” Wait. Did I really want to tell my Gossip Queen sister about the weirdness in Stony Mill? So far, the paranormal disturbances had flown under the radar of the bulk of Stony Mill’s conservative contingent. To bring it to the light of day . . . was that smart at this point in time? I made a quick reverse and change of approach. “They are experts who investigate claims of supernatural occurrences, and who try to help both the people and the spirits who might be involved.”

  “Skeptical” did not even begin to cover the doubt twisting Melanie’s features. “You mean, like the Ghostbusters?”

  “I guess you could say something like that.”

  “And these are friends of yours?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hm. You have just become almost interesting, Maggie. Congratulations.” She smirked. “Bet you Mom doesn’t know.”

  I raised my brows at her. “And she’s not going to. Or you can deal with the invisible friends yourself.”

  “Kidding! Sheesh.” She paused then, considering me thoughtfully. “Is your boss involved in this with you?”

  I froze. “Why do you ask that?”

  “I don’t know. You’ve been . . . different since you’ve worked there. I can’t quite put my finger on it. And your boss . . . she has that air around her. As though she’s somehow above this world.” She made a wry face. “I’m probably being silly.”

  Hm. Maybe Mel did intuition better than I thought. “Well . . . yes. Yes, Liss is involved. But it’s nothing to be afraid of, you have to trust me on this, okay? We’ll figure things out.”

  She nodded, looking down at the shining heads of her daughters, her gaze softening in a way that made the gears in my heart ping with a longing that I would rather ignore for now. Talk about a ticking biological clock. Oy. She leaned down and kissed each daughter gently on the forehead.

  “Don’t worry, Mel,” I told her softly. “The girls will be fine.”

  She looked up at me, and I could both feel and see her uncertainty. “They had better be. They’d just better be.”

  Chapter 5

  I was exhausted when I was able to leave at last. Greg had stayed out far longer than Mel or I had expected, citing a dead cell phone battery when Mel asked him why he hadn’t called. Which led to a discussion about priorities and a lack thereof. Which led to a discussion about why it was that hormones run so fast and furious in pregnant women. Which led to a bona fide argument about . . . well, I didn’t stick around to find out.

  Once home, I fell onto my bed and pushed my shoes off with my toes. They dropped to the carpeted floor with a plop. It was the last sound I heard until I awoke early the next morning, eyes gritty, mouth dry, and goose bumps covering my entire body despite the oppressive heat outdoors. Groaning as I recognized the muscles I had strained by cleaning on my hands and knees the food spills and tracked juice trails on Mel’s kitchen floor, I resolutely shut my eyes and drew the soft pink comforter around my body. The moms of the world, I’d decided, were unsung heroes in my book. I had no idea how they did it, making a mental note to call my own mother and give her kudos for making it through raising me, Mel, and my brother.

  But I had another task to accomplish today in between my usual Monday morning busyness at the store. Family duty would be at the top of my list.

  Sighing, I rose and went to the bathroom, flipped on the light over the sink, and turned the water in the shower on full blast until steam started to rise. Water, the great purifier, healing and holy. Water, beloved of the Goddess. Water, bringer of life. Shower time was usually meditation time for me, a necessary morning ritual for my peace of mind. It woke me up, it refreshed me, it centered me before beginning my day, and it got me going. Not a bad bargain, for something most people took for granted.

  Today, though, there would be no lingering. I was in and out before my muscles even had a chance to unkink. One pair of lightweight capris, a ruffle-edged T, and a pair of ballet flats later, and I was out the door. I didn’t even stop to make a PB&J for lunch.

  Enchantments was my home away from home, and the longer I worked there, the more I appreciated it for the blessing it was. The store was located on River Street, one of the oldest parts of Stony Mill, where a stretch of old-style warehouses had been turned into picturesque, Rockwellian-style storefronts, primarily antiques and collectibles, with a few others interspersed throughout. My boss, Felicity Dow, had purchased one of the old warehouses when she moved to town ten years ago with her late husband, and had proceeded to turn her gift and antiques business with its popular tea and coffee bar into one of the most thriving of the bunch, thanks to her keen eye for presentation and her insistence upon serving only the highest-quality goods to her customers.

  But unbeknownst to the somewhat stuffy matrons of Stony Mill society, Enchantments served a higher purpose. Behind the scenes, the store was also a witchy
emporium, one of the largest metaphysical storefronts in Indiana, which meant some of our customers traveled long distances to browse our secret merchandise in the upstairs Loft. Of course, not all of the metaphysical stuff was hidden away. Few Stony Millers would suspect that the leaded crystal etched with a sprinkling of stars and a crescent moon was actually the work of an artisan of the Craft hailing from Ireland, nor that the photographic prints of stone circles and other pre-Christian locations such as Glastonbury Tor were the vision of a Gardnerian High Priestess better known for her work in the fashion world. Witches and mundanes shopped side by side without friction . . . possibly because the regular folk didn’t realize the other group existed. Or maybe I was underestimating the tolerance levels of our town populace.

  Eh, probably not.

  I parked Christine, my beloved VW Bug, in the usual spot, but I didn’t bother to lock up. We didn’t have a lot of petty crime here in Stony Mill, and we were right around the corner from the shared space of the Police and Sheriff Departments, which was right across the street from the Courthouse. I wasn’t the only one in town with terrible lock-tight habits. There was an unspoken level of trust in our town, one we all took very seriously. Making concerted efforts to lock your house and belongings might be viewed as distrust of your neighbors. Even with three recent murders, that level of trust hadn’t been affected. Yet.

  Old habits do indeed die hard.

  It was a relief to step out of the heat and humidity into the aggressive air-conditioning of the store. Christine had been made in a time when AC wasn’t considered standard. Though come to think of it, her heater rarely did the trick either. As soon as I stepped over the threshold, the lenses in my sunglasses fogged up so thickly that I could have been facing a hundred ghostly faces and I wouldn’t have seen a one.

  But there were no ghosts staring me down from the store office. There never were. No wraiths, no h’aints, no ghostly voices. Not even the odd shadow figure. The store was one of the few safe havens in my life, and a welcome one.