Her mother’s words halted Larena. As if her legs had turned to lead, she agonized to move herself through the room. Although Betty’s observation seemed like an idle comment, Mom’s voice saying the same thing meant something completely different. Betty’s comment passed through Larena, as easily as she’d dismissed her intentions as a simple reciprocation to Ben, scaled down and slight, almost innocent. But said by her mother, the woman who’d shaped her morals and was now rendered so pure, so innocent, the truth hit hard. Larena’s motives weren’t nice. Weren’t intended to be nice.
Unable to look Mom in the eyes, Larena compelled her stiff legs to move. Her throat clenched, the truth suffocating her breath. “Got to get back. Almost time to open,” she stammered as a weak excuse to make her exit, hoping the self-blame would lift when away from Mom. In the mudroom, Larena caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror—a pallor of guilt haunted her.
Outside, ice shards pelted her bloodless face, reminding her of the painful associations she’d formed earlier. The storm was here. It roiled inside her. The gray sky churned. The goats bleated wildly, as if they were blocked from their barn. Like she was blocked from her magic. Anger scorched her cheeks, stinging her skin as it battled the frigid air.
Larena arrived at the shop a different person, filled with hate for dementia, the bills, Sibeal, the Petersons. She slid the heavy door shut with resolve, her eyes watering and narrowed from the onslaught. I have to do this.
In the office, she held numb fingers in front of the portable heater, while closing off the struggle between good versus evil all around her.
From the tote, she snatched the correct size double-pointed knitting needles and cast on the required stitches. Even before she’d finished the first row of rib-knit, the spell oozed into her fingers, thawing the last cold from her joints. It was working. Wearing the hat would give Ben a severe bout of flu, lasting long enough for her to embrace energies from the new moon, Solstice, and the nemeton.
The enchantment formulated in her mind and initiated in a visible knit stitch pattern. Absorbed in the spell’s power, she methodically took the work with her to the cashier’s desk in the show area and opened for business.
Ice sheeted down. A film glazed the parking lot. Gusts rattled the front door, enough to jiggle the bells, which hung on the inside to alert her to incoming customers. She looked up every time, hopeful, but none came.
After tests to confirm she still couldn’t place enchantments into wood, or talk to any grain from oak, birch, or maple, Larena settled into completing her special hat for Ben. Intent upon weaving in the correct magic, she stopped acknowledging the jingling bells, and when the first customers entered, she flinched.
A pair of women who looked to be in their thirties ambled down the aisles.
The hat finished save for tucking in loose yarn ends, Larena put aside the project and rose to help. Close to eleven on a Saturday morning, less than two weeks before Christmas, traffic was unbelievably light, the ice coating the roads probably the reason. She’d never meet this month’s bills if business didn’t pick up.
The taller, a slim blonde, asked, “Do you have any small items for stocking stuffers?”
Wired with the adrenaline rush from intense spellworking, Larena zipped to where she displayed wooden jigsaw-cut figurines and puzzles, as well as ball-catcher cup games, yo-yos, and tops. Her mission to improve efficiency kept her well-stocked to meet the demand from those she called “light shoppers.”
She had always disagreed with both Dad and Grandpa’s idea that the bread and butter emphasis of the shop needed to be on the regular clients. Those customers didn’t fit an easy peg for Larena, always wanting her time to uncover what they really wanted her to do with their furniture, to tell tale tales about nothing in particular, to reminisce about every piece they owned from Lockwoods’. Customers who wanted a specific product without any fuss were easier: no long conversations, lots of smaller product turnover at predictable rates, and the potential of becoming regulars. Except, she didn’t understand why they didn’t return as regular clients.
“Oh, you have a nice assortment,” Blondie gushed and picked up a puzzle painted with flowers.
Larena wondered if the lady shopped for her daughter and what age the girl might be. It didn’t seem right to intrude and ask, yet she longed for an easy, mindless bit of conversation to soothe her edgy nerves.
Wind blasted the front wall of the shop with clinks of ice.
“Trudie, make up your mind,” the other woman urged. “We’ve got to get back to the hotel while we still can.”
“Almost done.” Blondie collected the puzzle and two doll figurines and headed to the register counter.
The lights flickered as Larena rung the sale.
The moment the ladies opened the door to leave, the lights went dark. Outside, thick ice coated every surface, even glazing one side of the women’s car.
Larena surveyed the surroundings. “Power lines must be down. Take care driving.”
From the shop radio a news report interrupted the Christmas music. The announcer stated power was out through the entire southern half of the county as well as the adjoining counties and to be patient since work crews would need to wait for the storm center to pass before repairing damaged lines.
A peak-season shopping day ruined. How would she pay the bills? Would Mom’s doctors refuse further appointments until they were paid up? Larena paced the showroom, driven by mounting responsibilities and raging adrenaline that competed with the storm outside. With no customers and no ability to apply enchantments to the backlog of waiting furniture, she had nothing useful to do in the shop. She hurriedly wove in the loose ends of Ben’s hat and tucked it in a drawer of her office desk.
The small window on the outside wall shook and wind whistled along the casing. Ice clouded the glass, blocking her view of the house. Not being able to see the farmhouse drove her mad. Were Betty and Mom all right? Did the outage scare Mom? Larena checked other windows in the workroom but couldn’t see out.
Her nerves stretched tight and twanged with each gust that hit the shop. Larena gave up and closed the business. She fully zipped her coat and pulled its hood over her head before teetering home.
“Is everyone okay?” she called as she entered the back door. “I decided to close the shop until the power comes back.”
Betty met her in the kitchen. “Got a call from my friend Dorrie. She said they’ve got power in Bentbone.”
“Sheesh, just a half-mile away. How’s Mom?” Larena asked on her way to the dining room.
“Okay. I turned on a battery lantern in her room, and she don’t know any difference.”
In the makeshift bedroom, Larena kissed Mom’s forehead while continuing to talk with Betty, who stood in the open doorway. “I heard they won’t work on the lines until the storm center’s passed. Any idea when that will be?”
“Supposed to end by three.”
“In that case, I’m going to start a fire in the parlor to keep the downstairs warm.” Larena moved to the outer room. “Will you put an extra blanket on Mom? If the power’s not on before dark, we might have to move her to the parlor couch.”
“Do you happen to have more sheet protector pads for her bed? I changed to the last clean one after she had an accident, and I can’t run laundry now. I like to keep a clean one on hand.”
“Yeah. I’ll find some after I start the fire,” Larena said over her shoulder as she pressed her nervous energy into use. She laid logs and kindling, along with some bits of paper. When she opened the flue, the metal chimney door rattled incessantly, as if held captive by the wind. The first match blew out. The second caught, thankfully. From the upstairs linen closet, she located two more rubberized pads and laid them on the dining room buffet.
A thick quilt kept Mom comfortable and entertained as she traced a finger along the stitching pattern and pointed out matching fabric squares.
Larena choked back tears forming in her throat, rememberi
ng her and Mom’s handmade dresses, the origins of those squares. She looked up with a quivering smile at Betty, then paced the downstairs, stopping and checking outside at each window.
Larena considered how to keep busy until she could reopen the shop. She could work on decorations to sell at the market, but needed the electric sewing machine before doing handwork. She needed to continue with her Ogham set and could cut staves from the gathered twigs. However, she’d wanted to find the missing two twig types, holly and yew, first, in case they’d dictate a certain length. With adrenaline steaming in her veins, sitting around doing nothing productive seemed like torture. She could probably make the short drive into Bentbone to get the yew sample from ornamental bushes in the common areas.
Eager to make good use of her time away from the shop to get that sample, she announced, “I think I’ll go into Bentbone and bring us back some hot food for lunch.”
Betty’s eyes widened. “In this storm? I can make sandwiches.”
“It’s only half a mile, maybe a block more to the Dog House lunch spot. Our stove’s old and needs replacing. Without the electric starter, we shouldn’t fiddle with lighting the gas burners. The last time I tried to light it by hand, the gas surged and caught my sleeve on fire. And I need to gather a yew twig for a set of Ogham staves I’m making.”
“Well, seems a bit foolhardy if you ask me, but if you have to, be careful.” Betty peered out a window. “At least it’s turnin’ to snow now, so you might get some traction.”
Larena bundled up, stuffed pruning snips into her purse, and pulled on her boots with the deepest treads. She armed herself with a snow shovel from inside the back door. “I’ll get food from the Dog House if they’re open. If you need anything, call there for me. I’ll take the Econoline van. It’ll be safer than that old box truck. I doubt anyone will see me since I’m just going to town.”
“Good thinkin’.” Betty chuckled. “I won’t tell a soul. You take care.”
Gusts pushed Larena all the way to the garage shed as she barely managed to keep her feet under her. The garage door, frozen along its lower edge, required some scraping but finally freed. She scooted into the deep, padded vinyl seat of the nice van. A turn of the key rewarded her with a gentle purr of its engine. She patted the dash. “This isn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done but I need that yew branch. Get us there and back safely.”
The tires crunched against the ice-coated gravel but held.
Betty frowned and waved from the bay window as Larena crept past.
On the road, tire tracks had melted patches. Or traffic had melted the snowy film to expose the more dangerous ice—she couldn’t tell. The half-mile seemed like five driving ten miles per hour. She pulled into the public parking area a few stores away from the Dog House, which looked to have power. Lights shone through its picture window.
Hands clutching the door, she carefully placed one foot then the other onto the ice, thicker in the open lot than back home. Hood covering her head and pruner in hand, she took baby steps to reach the row of yew bushes near the public bathrooms. The branches hung low under weight of the ice coating, and the red, bell-like berries looked like cherry-centered lollipops. She leaned down and dug deep into the base of one large bush. The whipping wind stung her eyes and yanked off her hood. Unable to see clearly, she felt for a thick stem. The thickness of the piece she needed would require her to cut close to the ground and leave the bush with a bare divot. In this weather, she didn’t think anyone would notice her and complain. She snipped a long branch, its top brushing her knees.
“Larena, have you folks lost power, too? Is your mom okay?” a deep male voice asked from behind, and she whirled around, not knowing whether to hide the yew branch. Reid Peterson stood squinting at her, dark red hair streaming forward. His hands were shoved deep into his leather jacket pockets, arms tight to his sides as he blocked the viscous wind from battering her. When she didn’t reply, he continued, teeth chattering. “Both my place and the office are out, so I came to town for some hot food. Would you like to join me?”
The branch grazed her stockinged shins, slipped free from numb fingers and mind.
Chapter Thirteen: Negotiations
Reid picked up the frozen branch Larena had dropped, hoping the helpful gesture would encourage the stubborn woman to agree to his offer for lunch. If he could just get her to talk with him, he knew he’d wear her down to agree with the deal. Or at least get her closer. “Making Christmas decorations with evergreens?”
“No.” She snatched the branch, whirled, and set off too fast for Reid to keep up across the ice-covered parking lot. Less than three yards from him, she lost her footing.
Only a step behind, Reid caught her under the arms before she crashed. “Take it easy. I’m not a demon.”
“Really?” She pulled away and spun to face him, her green eyes glinting and nostrils flaring. “Could’ve fooled me, the way you’re stealing my land.” She adjusted her hiked-up quilted coat. “Thanks for saving my tailbone and for the flowers, but if you think those will get me to sign your contract, you’re full of it.”
“Okay, I’m full of it. Sorry.” To appear less threatening, he dug his hands into his leather jacket pockets while trying to come up with a better tactic. Her accusations stung since they were true of his intentions but not his deeds. With his pride wounded, only the truth made itself available to him. “I’d like to find out why you’re opposed. Maybe we can meet in the middle. You know, negotiate—share ideas of what I can offer that will make it worthwhile for you.”
She glared at him, her eyes narrowed, flashing amber sparks. Pink spread up her neck and over her cheeks. Was she aiming to tell him off, hit him, or cast an evil spell? She clenched her free hand and bit her lip, clearly seething.
He wished he’d never approached her. The Lockwoods’ furniture already caused his skin to blister. What was she about to do to him? Likely something that would prevent him from honoring the start time with Sachs. What am I thinking, trying to persuade a witch? He turned and took a slippery step, wishing he, too, could flee, but was trapped with her by the same ice.
Behind him, her boots crunched the slippery surface, thankfully heading in the opposite direction.
When he reached the sidewalk, he glanced back.
She stood at her van with her hand on the open door, staring at him.
The intensity of her gaze made him shiver. With nowhere to hide, no cars to duck behind, he braced for her magic to hit him. He scanned his body. His feet and hands didn’t respond, numb from the cold. Or were they paralyzed from her spell? His pulse sped and heat flooded his face. Did she cause that, too?
With her sight still fixed, she shut the door and stalked toward him.
He took a steadying breath and continued toward a restaurant. Maybe if she realized he wasn’t pursuing her, she’d let him go. He surveyed himself again. His heart thumped against his ribs. That had to be his own nerves, or so he tried to believe. He swallowed hard, forcing any doubts out of his thoughts.
“Wait!” she cried, the one word tinged with regret.
A smile pulled at the corners of his lips as he paused and turned her way. She might be a witch, but she was a woman, too. By walking away, he’d unknowingly played the “hard to get” card. Time to turn on the charm. Maybe he’d win the deal after all.
Animosity gone, she caught up to him and said, “Um, I’d like…I think we should have lunch.”
He couldn’t help flashing a grin. “Great. Where would you like to go?”
“I have to pick up food at the Dog House to take home, so—”
“That works for me.”
Although only half a block from the restaurant, their slow pace on the ice made the walk feel like half a mile.
He almost didn’t believe this good turn of luck and was reluctant to say anything or support her arm on the ice, fearing she’d bolt. Taller by nearly a foot, he slowed his pace so she wouldn’t need to take reckless wide strides. His singular g
oal: get her comfortable with him at a restaurant table where he could make real headway toward securing the deal.
When they reached the old redbrick two-story building that housed the Dog House, he opened the door for her. Chivalry while working a deal was useful but could also undercut his goal. To best maneuver the conversation in his favor, he needed to see Larena’s eyes, which seemed to convey myriad emotions. He stepped around her in order to direct the approaching waitress.
“Either you two don’t have no electricity or you’re takin’ a break from spinnin’ donuts in the parkin’ lot.” The mid-thirties brunette chuckled at her own joke. “Booth, table, or counter for you folks today? We’re wide open so you can have your pick.”
Larena started to reply, “I can’t stay long, so counter—”
“A booth, please.” He said in a commanding voice and took a step toward the area of his seating choice.
In the restaurant, usually packed at this hour, only two groups of customers were present. A trio of old, unshaven men, their heads half-buried in knit caps, sat at the counter, hee-hawing in an animated conversation. Four middle-aged guys dressed in thick coveralls occupied a table and nursed mugs of steaming coffee. Underneath their heavy treaded boots, puddles had formed on the restaurant’s original, sagging wood floor.
The waitress led Larena and Reid to a spot along the front window so glazed with ice it permitted little of the gray light to enter. She placed two menus, updated with trendy vintage font, on the glossy wood table. “Care for some coffee or tea to warm up?”
“Hot tea, please.” Larena slipped onto a high-backed, black vinyl bench.
“Coffee for me. Thanks.” Reid sat and motioned to the sole occupied table as he pulled off his jacket and buttoned the cuffs of his flannel shirt. “Looks like linemen taking a break to thaw out. They’ll have a long, hard afternoon.”
Witch's Mystic Woods Page 14
