Bubo had many magical gifts, and pointing out the obvious was definitely one of them.
“I just wanted to check the facade," I replied.
Bubo snorted. "It's the same one every time. The only thing that changes is the language the sign is written on."
He was right again. I hadn't actually gone outside just to check the shop's exterior. I was feeling restless.
This was unfortunate given that I, like Bubo, was tied to the shop and thus moved along with it from dimension to dimension. I'd been doing it now for thousands of years, and, frankly, I was starting to feel claustrophobic.
I'd spent millennia trapped inside these four walls. Oh, I had visitors and new items arrived with regularity. The unicorn skeleton was barely fifty years old—an elderly French woman had brought it in when the shop popped up in Paris during the Vichy regime. Yaavik, the balding teddy bear who constantly cursed in Yiddish, had arrived a decade ago, left behind by a rotund young man of Romanian heritage during our last Las Vegas sojourn. The snow globe with the Cthulhu Santa Claus and the ominous "He's Keeping a List" warning—or was it a threat?—had arrived two weeks ago. It had been furtively exchanged for a copper dagger with evil-looking symbols even I couldn’t identify.
But it was still the same cramped space with buckling wood shelves, erratic lighting, and a lingering smell of mothballs that filled me with cabin fever.
I was ready for a change. I was magically tethered to the store and couldn't leave it for long periods of time, but I could take a short break. And I really needed one.
Okay, fine. I'd needed a lot of breaks lately. Nothing wrong with that, right?
"I could drop by the bakery again," I mused. "Patricia baked us some cookies yesterday." I scanned the room, looking for the bakery owner’s treats. "By the way, what happened to those?"
Bubo gave a discreet burp. "They were very good."
"You could have left one for me," I exclaimed. "Cats aren't even supposed to eat cookies. You're messing up your disguise."
"Did you share any of that coffee drink she brought with the cookies?" he asked. "No, you did not. We are even now."
He had a point, but, still, cookies. "What kind were they?"
"The card said 'Chocolate Peppermint Cookies-Cute But Haunted Name To Be Determined.'" He licked his whiskers. "They were tasty too."
"Ha, ha," I said, heading for the door. "That settles it. I'm heading for the bakery to get a drink. Maybe I'll try hot chocolate this time."
"Bring back more cookies," Bubo shouted. "And try not to freeze."
Easier said than done, at least the "not freezing" part. The cold hit me like a wall of ice as soon as I stepped outside. You’d think I’d be able to deal with freezing temperatures after thousands of years in this gig, but no.
I crossed the alley quickly and turned onto sleepy Main Street. December was a slow, lazy time in Banshee Creek, as Halloween, the town’s busy season, was long past. A few eccentric tourists arrived to celebrate Christmas with a spooky twist, but the autumn crowds were a memory. Still, a bedraggled group of ghost hunters, bundled up in thick scarves and furry boots with little skull designs, were asking directions from a friendly woman in pink pigtails. She was wearing a purple vest with the word PRoVE spelled in bright yellow letters.
The weird spelling wasn't a mistake. The letters stood for Paranormal Research of Virginia Enterprises, the local paranormal investigations group. PRoVE hosted ghost tours, kept track of the town's paranormal history, and even produced shows about their investigations. They seemed devoted to their craft.
Which is why I gave them wide berth. The shop's magic kept people from becoming too suspicious, but you never knew with the Banshee Creek paranormal groups. They were sometimes more than they seemed.
The street was lined with small shops, all with some kind of paranormal Christmas theme. The candle shop advertised candy-striped peppermint-scented and Yule-log shaped candles. The botánica offered evergreen wreaths decorated with berries and plastic images of ancient mother goddesses. The pizzeria, aptly named "Poltergeist Pizza," had an all-you-can-eat Bloody Krampus Cannelloni special with the tagline "Defeat the Dark God, If You Can."
That did not sound particularly appetizing to me, but the pizzeria was one of the few businesses that were full of people. Bloody cannelloni seemed to be a winner in this town.
The Banshee Creek Bakery was also quite full. It was located in a tidy brick building with a striped pink-and-orange awning and a cute ghost logo, and it had a line of customers coming out the door. That "Yule Love It Smoothie" that Patricia said she was working on must have been a hit.
The front door was covered with town announcements: PRoVE was hosting a competitive Christmastide hike near the lake that sounded absolutely horrifying in this nasty weather. There was also a celebratory "Traditional Quenching of the Booze Cocktail Hour" at the pizzeria, which seemed more appealing. But wasn't that pushing the Christmas theme a bit? Yes, the old pagan festivals involved lots of toasting and drinking, but no one did that any more. Any excuse for a drink, I guess.
I wasn't looking forward to standing in line in the freezing cold, but Patricia’s overly-sweet coffee drink was too tempting. Eager for a taste, I stepped behind a young mom who was trying to calm down her hyped-up offspring.
"I want a candy corn cupcake," the little girl said, shaking her ponytail for effect. "The real stuff, not that nasty red, white and green peppermint stuff."
"It's not Halloween," her mom cautioned. "They may not have candy corn."
The little girl shook her head. "It's always Halloween here. After cupcakes, we can go to the toy store." She patted the bag that hung across her body. “I brought my piggy bank.”
"I don't think they have a toy store," the mom said, sounding weary. "But we can go to the botánica, if you're looking for a doll. They have that Little Goddesses collection you liked last time."
The ponytail's gyrations grew in intensity. "I want a toy store."
Luckily, the line moved forward and they entered the bakery. I snuck in behind them and soaked in the precious heat. From ugh to bliss.
Patricia O'Dare, the owner of the bakery, smiled from behind the display case.
"Hi, our special today is—"
"I want a candy corn cupcake," the little girl interrupted. "And a hot chocolate."
The mom smiled apologetically. "Make that two hot chocolates."
Patricia grinned at the little girl and reached into the case. "You know what you want, don't you? Here you go. One candy corn cupcake." She took out the white frosted confection triumphantly. "You got our last one. Lucky girl."
The little girl reached up for her treat.
"Laurie will ring you up," Patricia said, gesturing toward the dark-haired woman behind the cash register.
That was my cue. I stepped forward, trying out my friendliest smile. "Hi."
I was still a little rusty at the whole interacting-with-mortals thing, but Patricia didn't seem to mind. She smiled back without reservation.
"Dora," she said, "taking a break? Let me get you the Yule Smoothie." She turned to the back counter, where a tall blender held pride of place. "It turned out delicious—no surprise, since it's basically frozen hot chocolate with toasted marshmallows—and you're going to love it."
"That's exactly what I was hoping," I answered, untruthfully.
I’d been hoping for something hot, but I couldn’t turn down Patricia’s beloved smoothie. "Do you have any of those peppermint chocolate cookies left?"
She shook her head. "Sorry all gone. I still have some Christmas candy corn cookies left, though. I made extra, but nobody seems to like them." She made face. “I guess this town attracts the purists. Would you like those? They are really good, even if not exactly Christmas or Halloween."
"They sound great," I said.
Patricia laughed. "Good. Are you going to the happy hour tonight? Zach has a special winter sangría recipe made with apple cider. It's downright addictive."
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"Sounds wonderful," I replied.
Music and alcohol. That didn't sound bad. I couldn't go, of course. I seldom left the store.
But it was tempting.
I left the bakery in an excellent mood with a frozen hot chocolate smoothie and a box full of cookies. The harried mom was not so lucky, as her tenacious offspring gobbled up the cupcake in record time and dragged her into the December cold in search of a toy store.
"It's around here somewhere," she squealed as she ran down Main Street.
"Sugar," the mom muttered, shaking her head, "always a bad idea."
I walked down Main Street, feeling upbeat. The sun was starting to pierce through the clouds, which, hopefully, heralded an imminent rise in temperature. And speaking of positive future events…
Nah, I couldn't possibly go to the happy hour. That wasn’t my kind of thing at all.
Was it?
I turned the corner and saw my store and my mood soured immediately.
Thomas Lane, tall and handsome in black pants and a black military-style parka with lots of unnecessary pockets, stood in front of the door. He was holding a...cage?
At least that's what it looked like. It was a metal box with a handle and air holes. The sides were covered with stickers proclaiming that the contents were "fragile" and "dangerous" and should be “handled with care.”
But the biggest sticker was purple and yellow and it said, "Property of PRoVE."
My hearts sank. Like I suspected, the local ghost hunters were more than they seemed.
Chapter Two
“Coffee break?” Thomas asked as I approached, his green eyes twinkling.
He wasn't as young as he looked. He was also handsome in an odd, otherworldly way, with an ageless quality to that emerald glance that made me wary. As far as I could tell, he was human...but there was something.
"Just for a couple of minutes," I replied, opening the door. "I'm sorry you had to wait."
"Don't apologize,” he replied, following me into the dark warmth of the store. "It beats hiking the hills at negative one hundred bazillion degrees in honor of the Wild Hunt."
Bubo, sleeping on the shelf next to the stuffed raven, gave him a suspicious glance. I ignored the cat, stepped behind the counter, and put my goodies away.
Thomas looked around. "You don't go for Christmas decorations, I see.”
True, my shop was woefully plain compared to the other stores in town. But what was I supposed to do? Everything in the store was either haunted, cursed, or just plain dangerous. Should I have put up an evergreen covered in life-sucking vampire beads? Or a wreath covered with murderous cornhusk dolls?
Not exactly the Christmas spirit.
"I didn't have time to decorate," I answered. "And I hear there will be alcoholic celebrations tonight."
Not the smoothest of transitions, but hopefully it would change the subject.
"That, I may show up for." He put the cage on the counter. “But I’m on a different errand right now” He patted the cage. “This is for you."
A preternatural warmth emanated from the enclosure, a telltale magical sign. Like I said, PRoVE was more than it pretended to be. At least they had enough magical prowess to put a force field around whatever was in the cage.
And enough knowledge to deliver it to me.
Oh, joy.
I peered into the cage. There was something inside, but it didn't seem to be moving.
"Is it alive?" I asked.
"Not exactly," Thomas said, sounding amused.
His tone should have annoyed me, but it didn't. There was something oddly compelling about this man.
I reached for the cage's door. "May I open it?"
He stepped back, arms crossed. "It's all yours now. The paperwork is on top."
Interesting. Deliberately or not, he'd completed all the steps necessary to transfer the item to the store. Whatever was in that cage belonged to me now—or rather to the shop.
I opened the cage and peeked inside. The contents still did not move.
I looked up, Thomas seemed unconcerned. He was examining an old Celtic sword hanging on the wall.
"ΠΡΟΣΤΑΣΙΑ," I whispered, drawing a protective shield around myself.
Then I reached into the cage. I felt around until my fingers touched something soft and yielding, covered in fabric.
I slowly extracted the object. It was a doll, fairly old, but also well-maintained, with blond yarn hair and a glittery space suit with a rainbow printed on the shirt. The sleeves and boots were also tricked out in a rainbow print.
It looked inoffensive, almost cheery.
"Pretty, isn't it?" Thomas asked.
"Yes, yes it is," I answered, turning the doll over.
The space suit was carefully mended in the back. Someone had spent a lot of time carefully repairing a tear in the shiny fabric. I flipped it over and examined the face. Friendly blue eyes stared back at me. I noticed that a patch of hair looked slightly lighter than the rest of the doll's mane. That had been repaired too.
These weren't magical repairs. It was mundane patching. Someone had loved this doll and taken care of it.
"What's wrong with it?" I asked.
Thomas shrugged. "We don't know, but it was in a fire two years ago. One person died. The house was boarded up and condemned. We went in last week to tape a show and found it between the rubble. It looked untouched, no smudging, no burn marks, nothing."
I glanced at the cage. "And that merited all of these precautions?"
He smiled and backed toward the door. "Read the paperwork." Then he gave a courtly bow and exited the store.
Gotta hand it to the guy. He knew how to make an exit.
As soon as Thomas left, Bubo leaped onto the counter and sniffed the doll. I sighed, grabbed my drink, and took a long sip.
I really needed it right now. Not only were the local ghost hunters onto me, they were making deliveries.
Not good.
"Doesn't smell like smoke," Bubo said, then sauntered off to examine my cookies. “No magic smell either."
"It's cute," I said, propping the doll on the counter and reaching for the papers taped to the top of the cage.
“Obnoxiously cheerful too,” Bubo agreed. "Doesn't look like it belongs here, does it?"
I nodded. The store's merchandise tended to be rather on the decrepit side, lots of sepia tones and various shades of dust and decay. This colorful doll with its dimpled smile stuck out like a rainbow-colored sore thumb.
I opened the envelope, which contained a printed memorandum from someone named Cassandra Jones, PhD. It looked pretty fancy and had a lot of big words like Röntgenoluminescence screening, residual ghost possession, and pyrokinesis.
"What does it say?" Bubo asked, leaning over my shoulder to read. "Is it snakes? You know I hate snakes."
"The good news is, it isn't snakes," I replied, scanning the document. "The bad news is...well, there's a lot of bad news."
The gist of it was simple. Found in a fire in California fifteen years ago. One person dead. Tracked to another fire a year later. That one was in Arkansas, two people died, and the doll was found in the house. Five years later the doll appeared in a children's shelter in Idaho. A few days before, a nearby house fire had resulted in three deaths.
The memo went on and on. Dr. Cassandra Jones had tracked the doll through shelters, donation bins, and online listings. It had been bought, sold, and transferred dozens of times, and every single time there had been a fire nearby, sometimes it was a house, other times a business or a storage unit.
But always someone died.
And the doll moved on. This thing had compiled a long rap sheet, and it wasn't even that old.
I was reluctantly impressed. The soul-stealing sword on the wall Thomas had been admiring was five centuries old and it had killed maybe half as many people. This pyrokinetic doll would set a new mortality record for the shop.
Bubo glanced at the ceiling. "Please tell me this place has magical
emergency sprinklers."
"Not that I know of," I replied, folding the pages and placing them in a drawer. “We’ve never needed them before.”
The doll stared at me with innocent blue eyes.
I shook my head at it. "You are going to be trouble. I can tell." I scanned the store. "Now, where should we put you?"
"As far away from me as possible," Bubo said, jumping onto his pillow on the top shelf.
He wasn't the only one leery of our new arrival. Yaavik the teddy bear stretched to cover as much space as possible, ensuring that I wouldn't be able to squeeze the doll between him and the Chinese Torture Box. The candle fragments that made up the Hand of Death scuttled around, occupying most of the surface area of their shelf. The Victorian porcelain dolls, always snooty, crossed their lace-covered arms and stared at the rainbow doll with undisguised hostility.
"Look, guys," I said. "Someone is going to have to make room, or—"
I was interrupted by a knock on the front door.
"Hello?" someone asked tentatively, opening the door a crack. "Are you open?"
"Yes, we are.“ I replied.
The store was always open, at least as long as I was inside. That was part of my magical geas.
I recognized the customer immediately. It was the mom who stood in front of me on the bakery line. Sure enough, the little girl with the ponytail followed her into the store.
"See," the girl said, looking around. "I told you they had toys."
The mom frowned, staring at the desiccated raven on the top shelf. "I don't think this is a toy store, honey."
Toy store? I didn't have to glance at Bubo to know that he was rolling his eyes hard enough to dislodge the orbs.
"Yes, it is," the girl said, her inquiring gaze landing on the rainbow doll next to me.
That was my cue. "Welcome," I chirped. "Unfortunately, we don't carry toys, just collectibles and curiosities—"
"You have dolls," the little girl interrupted, eyes still focused on out new acquisition. "I want a doll."
The mom pulled on her daughter's hand. "Their stuff is old, honey. We can stop at Toys 'r' Us on the way back home.”
Spells and Jinglebells Page 12
