“He seemed nervous this morning when he came by to talk about the project with me since I’m servin’ as Mike Hasselwell’s liaison.” Sibeal longed to have a businessman of Reid’s caliber on her side. Perhaps the knowledge that his brother already made contact would tempt Reid to do business with her also.
Reid absently rolled the wooden coin through his fingers, not taking Sibeal’s bait.
“I sure hope Ben’s okay.” Sheila sighed. “When I pick up my granddaughter from day care, I sometimes see his wife getting their two little girls. Cute kids, but the wife don’t really fit in. Too skinny and always dressed up in designer clothes.”
“Yeah. Something’s wrong.” Reid shook his head, flipped the wooden coin a few inches into the air, then slapped it onto the table to keep it from rolling. “Ben won’t talk to me anymore. I’m hoping this competition will push him to open up. But it’s his life. I’ll be gone come January regardless.”
Sibeal squirmed in her seat. Contributing to a pity party about Ben’s problems made her uncomfortable. Reid didn’t seem interested in her connection to the mall project. She started to rise. “Well, if I can be of any help…”
Reid pulled out his wallet and slid some cash her way. “In exchange for that, can you tell me about Larena Lockwood?”
The hundred-dollar bill lying in front of Sibeal made her giddy. She badly needed money now. Ben might’ve promised future money-making deals, but this brother delivered up front. She met the penetrating focus of his golden eyes. “She’s born and bred in the coven. A wood witch, also called a tree mystic, or forest sage.”
“What does that mean?”
“She can communicate with the energy in trees and pull out their natural magic with hers. Then she enchants the wood to do her request for anyone who touches it. Her father and grandfather were that sort. A rare witchcraft. Now that they’re gone, she’s the only one in the coven, maybe the state, who’s a wood witch. Her brother might be, but he never applied himself and lives somewhere out east now.”
“Interesting. What about her mother?” he asked. “I understand she’s ill, and Larena has power of attorney over the business and property.”
“True. Her mother Irene suffers from dementia, pretty severe. But I don’t know if she’s lost use of her handiwork ways. My guess is she has.” Sibeal stared into the distance, and a smile lifted her lips as she remembered the easier days of her childhood. “Irene and Lou made a good team. That’s what brought them together. Lou hired her to put spells into the cushions and upholstery to complement his in the wooden furniture frames. And then he married her. Larena inherited her mother’s talent, too, which makes her especially talented and powerful. A witch who’ll have no problem risin’ to the level where her soul will become empowered upon her mortal death.”
“Lordy, Reid. Is that someone you should go up against?” Sheila fanned herself.
“Empowered?” He leaned closer to Sibeal. “Is that some sort of life after death?”
“In a manner of speaking. Most empowered spirits cannot take corporeal forms unless inhabitin’ some inanimate objects. Her grandfather has taken up residence in the row of ironwood trees he planted. He can interact with anyone who passes close.”
“Wow.” Reid ran a hand through his hair. “How old is Larena?”
“I’d say around twenty-five, maybe twenty-six.”
He looked into the candy bag. “I think I understand her strengths: talented, willful, dependable, responsible. What’s her weakness?”
Sibeal twisted her mouth to one side. “She’s lonely. Her family’s passed or dwindled and, while taking care of her mother the past few years, she’s lost many of her friends or they got hitched.”
“One last question. What’s her favorite Babbett’s candy?” He eyed Sibeal, as if the question was some sort of test.
Under his intense scrutiny, she stammered, “I…I don’t rightly know.”
“For that hundred dollars, I expect to know or find out. Go ask that shop owner, purchase a bag full, and bring it back to me,” he said without a single blink. “If you’d like to see more big bills, be prepared to answer more questions. And to sweeten the candy bag, if you’ve answered all my questions and I close the contract, you’ll get another five grand.” He removed a business card from his wallet and handed it to her.
Before Sibeal accepted, she said, “Only if I may borrow that wooden nickel of yours for a day or two.”
He slid it to her and Sibeal took both offerings, then approached the shop counter with more than a little concern. She’d never earned a reputation as a do-gooder. Thankfully, after her display of kindness distributing candy samples, Babbett didn’t question her intention to give Larena a Yule gift. Sibeal discreetly handed the purchase to Reid.
As he and his cousin walked from the market, Sibeal fingered the wooden disk and folded knife in her pocket. Although eager to analyze the brothers’ objects, it was clear she couldn’t have chosen better partners: an accomplice and a hunter, both sharing the same intense drive.
Chapter Six: Shop Visitors
The shop door’s jingle bells tinkled for the umpteenth time. Larena set down the sandpaper block and peeled off her rubber gloves. Attempting to extinguish what seemed a constantly fueled inferno of rage against Sibeal Soot, Larena had spent the morning refinishing. Many furniture projects clogged the workroom. The manual labor now done, she needed to complete the spell work on items for her paying clients and others for the sale floor. If only she could get her head on straight. Refinished furniture that lacked enchantments had little chance of selling, and she needed cash to pay the bills. Initial attempts to make money through the sale of Christmas tree decorations at the market had failed—thanks to the seer.
A near constant stream of customers into Lockwoods’ Antiques had interrupted Larena’s production. Not enough things had sold to compensate her time lost. And shoppers who didn’t purchase did little to boost her meager holiday cheer or to soothe her frazzled nerves. Working up a sweat scraping off thick layers of latex paint gave more release.
She missed having her mother to run the showroom, while she focused her witchcraft and connected to the wood exposed by her physical labor. Now she didn’t have time to notice nuances of grain patterns as they emerged from underneath old, dull layers of polyurethane, yellowed varnish, or heavy latex paint. She loved to slowly coax the wood into conversation as she caressed it with numerous textures of steel wool. Those steps, gently baring grain from its old finish, were crucial for her to best bond with the wood so later it would fully accept her spells. Without time to build those trusting relationships, Larena’s magic didn’t have the strength of earlier projects. Or stronger spells were required to achieve the same effect. That method lacked the subtleties she wanted in her end products.
With her mother’s rapidly declining health, stress over losing her home also adversely affected Larena’s work. And pressure to sell the family’s property escalated that factor. She hoped she could quiet her agitation enough to accomplish at least the minimum spells needed on the half-finished furniture. But after what happened this morning at the market, she wasn’t certain.
In case the current patron turned out to be a casual looker rather than a shopper, Larena kept her bib apron on. Fingering the back ties at her waist to whip it off if need be, she rounded the corner through the open doorway into the showroom. “Oh, Logan. Thank you for coming over so soon.”
“No problem.” The coven’s twenty-something high priest removed his gray fedora, its brim worn on the edges, to release a spill of tousled golden wavy hair. “You sounded upset on the phone, so I delegated a matter to one of my councilmen, Rowe.” Despite the cold day, he wore no coat over his double-breasted, gray, pin-stripe suit. The knot of his tie sagged away from his unbuttoned collar. As a new high priest, he worked long hours trying to improve life in Coon Hollow after the neglect of the previous priestess, Adara Tabard.
“Let me get the letter.” The heat in the wa
rmer showroom caused loose tendrils of hair from Larena’s braid to stick to her forehead. She pulled off the apron and tossed it onto a back counter, then scurried into the office where she retrieved the offer.
Logan met her at the doorway and accepted the open page. As he read, his clear blue eyes darkened to indigo, a result of his particular witchcraft that outwardly displayed powers surging inside him. “Whoa. Eminent domain. They aren’t playing around.” He rubbed the paper between thumb and forefinger. “Seems like standard letterhead, but were you able to learn anything additional from this paper with your mysticism?”
“I’ve been trying, but all I learned was info about Peterson Corp. Our neighbor, Clem Kilfoyle, who recently died, was Jeanie Peterson’s brother. She and her husband Lloyd own Peterson Corp.” Heat spread up her neck. “I’m so messed up from that letter that my reading skill isn’t what it should be. Neither is my sorcery. And I’ve got to make a living.”
Logan touched her shoulder. “Don’t worry. I won’t let you be driven off your family’s land.”
She drew a shaking hand to push hair from her face but also to hide the moisture clouding her eyes. She’d shouldered too much by herself the last two or more years. The work load had cost her friendships. Logan’s help meant a lot. With tears blinked back, she stood taller and re-found her resolve. “Thanks.”
“And you say that Sibeal Soot is allied with this Mike Hasselwell?” Logan’s voice trailed off as he reexamined the letter.
“Yes. According to her, the antique store will become a coven mall because it’s so close to Bentbone.”
“This is the first I’ve heard of this.” The cleft of his chin deepened with a frown. “It’s not how Council business is supposed to take place. I know Sibeal’s new to the Council, but I can’t see how she’d push a new project in the community without presenting it to Council for approval first.”
Hot words erupted from Larena’s throat. “She said she’d allow me to rent booth space in the new mall—like that was the only choice I had.”
He stared over the top of the letter, eyes set in an unblinking steely blue stare. “Sibeal was just sworn in on Saturday. This attorney’s letter is dated the previous Friday. That means Sibeal took action on this project long before the election. They’re steam-rolling this.”
“They’re going to take our house. And the land, the ironwood row with Grandpa’s spirit, the elderberry bushes where I’ve seen Dad’s a few times just beginning to come back home.” She held back a wave of tears to a lump in her throat, refusing to say most frightening words. I won’t have anything left. No home, no job, no family. “I need to stop them.”
With his jaw squared, he faced Larena. “I’ll get right on this.”
“Do you think there’s a way to stop them from taking my land?” she asked.
“I’ll find a way. You mentioned you were at the market this morning dropping off items to sell. Anything unusual happen there?”
Larena’s shoulders tightened. “Sibeal again. She was one of the workers at the community booth where I placed my tree decorations. Right in front of me, smiling that cold-blooded grin of hers, she wiped out the enchantments I’d put in them. The nerve of that woman.”
“Not good.” Logan shook his head. “I’m sorry to hear that. Otherwise, did business seem normal?”
“I don’t know. I had to leave before it opened to get back here. I doubt any of my stuff sold, although they were pretty enough. I hope to make more things tonight, with stronger spells, and take them tomorrow.”
“Let me know if you have—”
A jangle of bells signaled that the front door opened. A stranger, a tall man who looked to be in his mid-twenties, entered. Good-looking and near six feet tall, he didn’t appear like a typical customer. Confirming Larena’s suspicion, he scanned the display shop too quickly to be looking for an item to purchase, then focused on Logan and her. Heading toward them, he moved with the sure fluid saunter of an athlete.
Larena stepped forward away from Logan. “Hello! Welcome to Lockwoods’ Antiques. Can I help you?”
“Are you Larena Lockwood?” His deep masculine voice resonated from his wide chest and spilled across the room, smooth and slow. Dark red waves of hair fell low over his brow, while the back grazed the collar of his soft brown leather jacket. He wore his plaid flannel shirt tucked into faded jeans with casual but definite notice-me style.
“Umm. Yes.” Larena couldn’t help but notice him. Her voice halted with the alluring distraction. “That is, that’s me. What can I do for you?”
He pulled a small, white paper sack from his jacket pocket and offered it to her. “A gift for you.”
She accepted and peered inside to see cellophane wrapped, spun sugar Dancin’ Divinity Dewdrops. How would this stranger know her favorite candy from Babbett’s? She muttered an uncertain, “Thanks.”
“Hoped you’d like them.” His playful smile turned into a chuckle.
She glanced at him with a tentative smile, but the sugary aroma swirled around her nose and swayed her attention. Now three o’clock, she’d worked through lunch and her empty stomach growled. She wanted one, but dancing like a forest maiden in front of a strange man and the high priest didn’t seem appropriate. Beneath the white confections peeked hints of red. Unable to resist, she dug in and pulled out a Riotous Raspberry Rondelle, another type she loved that produced no outward effect. When she unwrapped the goodie and slipped it into her mouth, the soft raspberry crème exploded into a savory spritz of fruit goodness.
The man continued, “I’m Reid Peterson.”
At the mention of that last name, a sugary swallow lodged in her throat.
While she coughed, Logan strode to her side and offered his hand to the newcomer. “I’m High Priest Logan Dennehy. Are you here representing Peterson Corp.?”
“I am.” The man’s easy eyes, the color of honey, flowed over Larena before he shook Logan’s hand. “I’d like to discuss with Miss Lockwood her opportunity to accept a contract with Peterson Corp.”
From underneath a cough, she spat, “Opportunity?”
“The attorney’s letter stated the property would be taken by eminent domain if she didn’t agree to sell to you. Not any opportunity.” Logan straightened to his full height, a couple inches taller than the stranger.
With a half shrug, the businessman replied, “Depends on your orientation. Payment of five hundred grand will go a long way.”
Larena’s temper flared so hot, the raspberry candy spritzes popped up her nose and into her tear ducts, where red sparks flashed into her field of vision. She lowered her head to be able to view the man and gave him her best attempt at a glare. “Offering a deal is one thing. Forcing me out is another.”
“And what’s this I hear about a coven mall to be established in this building once you’re in possession of the property?” Logan leaned forward and demanded, “Is one of my Council members working on your behalf?”
Reid’s golden eyes lingered, studying Logan and Larena. His expression remained controlled, unreadable, and, therefore, a frustration.
Unable to wait out his silence, Larena blurted, “Sibeal Soot?”
The shrewd businessman didn’t flinch at their accusations. “Change can be good. This will bring revenue to your coven, which largely, by your own choice, remains closed to the outside.” He drew his shoulders back, chest out, and lifted his head. “I was at your market earlier. Noticed at least fifty new booth spaces filled by area artisans who aren’t coven members. Wise, but why not continue reaching out to new sources of revenue? We at Peterson Corp. would coordinate any technology, in the set up and maintenance of the mall, that violates your Council’s code. We’d be a silent partner so your members could live according to your standards.”
Muscles along Logan’s jaw tightened and released. “I understand the business opportunity would be useful. But not at the Lockwood family’s expense. I’m not willing to put Larena and her mother out of their home. Why can’t y
ou use the Kilfoyle property? The barn there?”
“That structure is falling apart.” Reid’s tone remained cool, mannerisms in control. “Constructing a new Kilfoyle building would be feasible but still cost considerably more than the sum of what we’re offering to Miss Lockwood, plus the renovations we’d need to make to this structure. And, also important, considering our marketing plan, Kilfoyle’s property isn’t in Coon Hollow Coven.”
Larena raged at his composure and clenched shaking hands deep in her skirt pockets.
“Then unless she willingly accepts your deal, you’ll need another option if you expect my backing,” Logan replied, his storm-dark eyes flashing.
With an easy nod and smile, Reid took a step backward, his amber eyes still holding Larena. “It’s a generous payment and I’ll be glad to negotiate extra conditions with you.”
Unable to break his gaze, it pulled her forward, too close to this adversary. She crossed her arms over her chest to form a barrier, then dropped them to her side. Casting away the discomfort, she attempted a new strategy to gain control and took a confident step closer. She looked directly into his smoldering eyes, her words articulate and pointed. “You didn’t tell us what Sibeal is getting out of this deal. Are you paying her? What for? To drive me off my land?”
Reid held his ground. A corner of his mouth twitched and his smile wavered, but did that indicate guilt or satisfaction? Either way, he clearly didn’t feel pressed to answer and walked with a steady, deliberate pace out the door.
The door’s ringing bells woke Larena from her stupor. She faced Logan. “What was that about?”
“No idea. Hard to sense the man’s motives. Seems determined. Wish I’d gotten his card.”
“Hmm.” She peered into the candy bag, pulled out Reid Peterson’s business card, and took a reading. “This paper agrees with you—determined but not much else. Let me copy the contact info for you.” At the sales counter, she recorded the data on an index card and passed it to him.
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