My So-Called Magical Life
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My So-Called Magical Life
Witches of Clover Pointe Book 1
Lanie Williams
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 by Lanie Williams
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, address: AuthorLanieWilliams@gmail.com.
Cover Design by Maria Spada
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
Thanks for Reading
About the Author
Chapter 1
If I had to pinpoint the exact day my life went from just slightly weird to certifiably insane, I’d have to say it was the day I almost blew up my best friend’s coffee shop.
To be fair, I didn’t do it on purpose. And I felt really bad after it happened.
It all started when my best friend, Victoria Barnes, told me to take a week off work, insisting that a vacation would be good for me. Unfortunately, for a workaholic such as myself, the idea of a vacation was about as appealing as the thought of reconciling with my cheating, slimeball of an ex-husband. Which is to say: not appealing at all.
“You know, I’m pretty sure forcing a workaholic to take a vacation is illegal,” I said, sipping from a mug of freshly brewed tea. “I bet I could sue.”
Victoria raised an expertly tweezed brow.
“Most people would gladly take a week of paid vacation, no questions asked,” she said, stepping back behind the front counter.
We were currently at The Witch’s Brew, the local coffee shop that Victoria owned and ran in Clover Pointe, our hometown. It was a cozy spot with gleaming wood floors and red brick walls. The shelves that lined the walls were filled almost to bursting with crystal geodes, dried herbs, homemade soaps, and paintings from local artists. String lights hung from some of the taller shelves and emitted a soft glow. Behind the counter, Victoria had installed a giant blackboard where she wrote out the menu and added new doodles every morning. Today’s specialty was one of my favorites: lavender-infused tea. But even my favorite drink wasn’t enough to get me excited about a forced vacation.
“Is this because I suggested a rebrand?” I asked quietly. Victoria stopped wiping down the front counter to give me a sharp look. If she wasn’t my best friend, I might have keeled over from that look. She was a master of the Death Glare.
Victoria and I had met during our freshman year of college when we were both pursuing marketing degrees. Victoria was loud and unafraid, the perfect counterpoint to my shy awkwardness. She introduced me to the wild college parties and I helped her pass Accounting 101. We were inseparable. After college, Victoria married her high school sweetheart and followed her dream of opening up a witch-themed coffee shop. I married a man I met during my sophomore year and, after we both graduated, I helped him start and run his own marketing firm.
Everything was great. At least, I thought it was great. Until I caught my husband in bed with the young receptionist I had helped him hire. Just like that, almost ten years of marriage went down the drain. Now, I was creeping towards middle age and starting over with no husband, no job, and no home to call my own.
Totally not how I envisioned spending the last half of my life.
To help soothe the pain of my husband’s betrayal and the subsequent divorce, I had thrown myself into the one thing I was really any good at: work. Victoria offered me a job helping her run The Witch’s Brew. When she announced that she was pregnant, I volunteered to take the reins for a little while so that she could take time off. She gladly accepted and, for the past couple of months, I had been running The Witch’s Brew by myself while Victoria spent time with her new daughter. Running a coffee shop and managing the few employees Victoria had was just enough to distract me from the dumpster fire of my divorce. During my breaks, I had even been inspired to draw up some ideas for a rebrand of The Witch’s Brew. Now that Victoria was back, though, I was having second thoughts about the rebranding plan.
I eyed the packet of papers that sat by my elbow. A mockup of a logo took up the entire first page and, the more I looked at it, the more it started to resemble a cheap knockoff of a more popular brand. Definitely not something The Witch’s Brew should use. Not unless Victoria wanted a potential lawsuit on her hands.
“Heidi,” Victoria reprimanded, “I always appreciate your business input. It’s just...don’t you think it’s time for a break? It’s been a year since I offered you this job and you haven’t slowed down at all.”
She had a point. But to be fair, I never was one for “slowing down.” Ever since high school, I always had something on my plate, whether it be extracurricular activities, or helping my parents around the house. My penchant for always staying busy continued through college and even more so when my then-husband and I opened up the marketing firm. When I was still working at the firm, I had plenty of things to keep me busy: lunches and dinners with clients, hosting events, or overseeing the firm’s day-to-day operations.
I was relieved when Victoria offered me the job at The Witch’s Brew after the divorce. I have no idea what I would have done with myself otherwise.
“Besides,” Victoria continued, “Your mom isn’t getting any younger. Don’t you think you should be spending more time with her?”
I groaned inwardly at the mention of my mom. I loved her to death, but we couldn’t be any more different. After my dad died a few years ago, my mom quickly became a self-proclaimed psychic and witch, tracking the moon cycles and keeping a Book of Shadows. She even bought a crystal ball. Where I preferred numbers, figures, and cold, hard facts, my mom preferred studying auras and spell work. A few nights ago, I had even wandered in on her and a group of her friends huddled around the dining room table, an old Ouija board between them.
“What are you doing?” I had asked, slightly alarmed.
“Shh! We’re trying to get in touch with Lauren’s dead husband!” my mom had whispered, shooing me out of the kitchen.
I shook my head at the memory.
“I think Ma enjoys having the house to herself as much as possible,” I told Victoria. “And besides, the other day she said my energy was bumming her out. My energy! I don’t even know what that means!”
Victoria burst out laughing. I narrowed my eyes at her, trying to replicate her world-famous Death Glare, but that only seemed to make her laugh harder.
“I love that woman,” she finally managed to say. “Honestly, I can’t believe you two are related.”
“You and me both,” I said. “It’s one of the world’s greatest mysteries. Like the Bermuda Triangle. Or my husband running off with a woman half his age.”
At the mention of my ex-husband, Victoria instantly sobered. We tried not to talk about him too much, but when we did, it usually sent Victoria into a rage. Her expression hardened and I braced myself for a wall of colorful curses, especially since we were the only two people in the coffee shop at the moment. I was surprised when she pursed her lips and furiously resumed her polishing of the front counter.
“What? No imaginative suggestions as to where he can shove his cheating ways?” I asked. Victoria huffed in response.
I let out a sigh. Back to square one. In some ways, I knew my best friend was right. But that didn’t make this any easier. I hadn’t taken a week off since…I scrunched up my face trying to think about the last time I had taken time off from work, save for the occasional sick day or doctor’s appointment.
“Exactly,” said Victoria, as if she had just read my thoughts. “And in case you’re wondering, the last time you had a real vacation was when you and that jerk of an ex-husband of yours went to Florida for your honeymoon...like fifty thousand years ago.”
I made a face. It hadn’t been that long. Had it?
“A vacation isn’t going to kill you.” Victoria finished polishing the front counter with a flourish and stuffed the rag into the front pocket of her apron. She placed her hands on her hips and looked at me with a raised brow, challenging me to argue with her. I had to admit, Victoria was still a force to be reckoned with. But that couldn’t stop me from trying to weasel my way out of this vacation.
“All this tea is running right through me,” I said, getting up from the table. I winced when my right knee popped painfully. “I’m going to use the restroom, take some ibuprofen for my dang knee, and then we can talk more about this. I think a week is a bit much.”
“This is nonnegotiable!” Victoria called after me as I hobbled off to the bathroom.
“We’ll see about that,” I muttered. In the restroom, I rummaged around in my purse for my trusty ibuprofen. My body was becoming more and more creaky as I aged and I worried that one of these days, I wouldn’t be able to get out of bed without ingesting half a bottle of painkillers. And that wasn’t even the worst of it, as my mom liked to remind me every chance she got. I had hot flashes to look forward to next and all the other fun symptoms that came with aging and menopause.
I washed a couple of capsules down with some water from the sink and glanced at myself in the mirror. I had never been one to wear a lot of makeup, even when I was working at the marketing firm. I’d usually just slap on some tinted moisturizer and finish off my routine with a couple of swipes of mascara and some lip balm. Ever since the divorce, though, I’d been forgoing makeup entirely (who did I have to impress, anyway?), save for the sunscreen my mom shoved at me every morning.
“You’ll thank me later,” she always said. And I suppose she was right. Except for some crinkles at the corners of my eyes and between my brows, my skin had been looking pretty smooth lately. My strawberry blonde hair, on the other hand, was definitely starting to betray my age. I had been finding more and more silvery wisps around my temples lately. It wasn’t completely white yet, though, and I hoped it would stay like that for at least a few more years. I pulled my hair up into a messy bun and took a moment to gather my thoughts. I had bigger things to worry about at the moment that had nothing to do with my hair or my achy knee.
There was something I wasn’t telling Victoria, something that I had trouble wrapping even my own head around. It was the reason why I was so against the proposed week-long vacation, the reason why I felt better when I was working. And if I told anyone the truth, I was almost certain they’d have me committed somewhere.
The truth was that I was pretty sure something in me was powerful enough to control electricity. Or at least that’s what it felt like whenever I found myself wallowing too much and let my emotions get the better of me. It had started shortly after the divorce and a visit to three different doctors, plus an MRI, revealed nothing. Despite my love of all things factual, I had a feeling that modern medicine wouldn’t be able to explain what was happening to me.
It always started as a feeling in my head: a low buzzing that mimicked the sound of a giant, fluorescent light. It then slowly progressed until I felt as if my whole body was made of static and the air around me crackled. At that point, a light or two might blow out, but I always tried to get a hold of myself before it got that far. I definitely didn’t want to destroy any more of my mom’s lamps and I dreaded what might happen if I let it get further out of control. The only way I could seem to keep it somewhat hidden was by distracting myself as much as possible. Luckily for me, work was the perfect distraction. And I had a sinking feeling that a week-long vacation from said perfect distraction could very well be dangerous.
“This is insane,” I told my reflection. “Completely insane.”
As I continued to stress over my options, I started to feel the telltale signs of another “attack.” The humming was quiet, but definitely there. I glanced up and my stomach dropped when the lights in the bathroom began to faintly flicker on and off.
“Crap.”
I bent over the sink and splashed cold water on my face, trying to calm down.
“Please don’t do this now,” I chanted into the sink. I continued to splash cold water on my face, but that only seemed to make the problem worse. The humming inside my head continued to get louder and the lights flickered more persistently. A sudden banging at the door had me jumping and almost cracking my head on the mirror.
“Heidi? What’s going on in there? Are you okay?”
As quickly as the humming in my head had started, it stopped, as if Victoria knocking on the bathroom door had flipped some kind of switch. I glanced back up at the lights, relieved to see that they had stopped their flickering. I took a deep, gulping breath.
“Uh, yeah,” I said to Victoria through the door. “I’m fine. I just...accidentally choked on some ibuprofen.”
Smooth, Heidi. Smooth.
“I thought I heard you saying something.” Victoria sounded suspicious and I resisted the urge to bang my head against the mirror. Why did my best friend have to be so dang observant? Especially now?
“No, I wasn’t saying anything,” I said. “It must have been the air conditioning coming on or something.”
“Uh-huh.” Victoria didn’t sound convinced at all. “Well, you better get out here. There’s someone here who’s demanding to see you, despite my attempts to persuade them that this isn’t exactly the best time...or place.”
I frowned at Victoria’s tone. Who could possibly want to see me right now while I’m at work? Unless…
Oh, no.
I quickly dried my hands and face before rushing out of the bathroom, almost knocking Victoria over in the process.
“Ow, be careful,” she said, rubbing her forehead. “And try not to kill anyone out there! I’ve heard bloodstains are really hard to clean up!”
I barely had time to register Victoria’s words before I spotted the couple standing in front of the menu. Even though they were facing away from me, I knew exactly who they were. I dug my nails into my palms as I faced my ex-husband and his mistress for the first time since the divorce.
“Josh,” I said through gritted teeth. While I was pretty sure Victoria wouldn’t have to worry about bloodstains on her shiny wood floors, I wasn’t so sure about any potential electrical damage I might cause as a result of this encounter.
Especially since the buzzing in my head had returned with a vengeance at the sight of my ex.
Chapter 2
All things considered, Joshua Werner had aged fairly well. He was still tall and mostly lean, with the same thick, blonde hair that seemed effortlessly windswept (although, after being married to him for almost fifteen years, I knew exactly how long it took him to get ready in the morning, and that hairstyle wasn’t as effortless as it looked). Today, he was dressed in low-slung faded jeans, a plain white t-shirt, and sneakers. It was an outfit that he wouldn’t have been caught dead in while we were still married. He always used to tell me that jeans were for teenagers and slackers. And that a real professional (at least on
e who wanted to be successful) always wore perfectly pressed slacks and crisp shirts, no matter the occasion. It seemed as if he had changed his mind about that and I wondered if his new girlfriend had anything to do with it.
I reluctantly let my eyes slide to the woman who had a claw-like hand wrapped around my ex-husband’s bicep. I had helped Josh hire Cynthia when we began further expanding the firm. She had been a young, bright marketing student from our alma mater, and I thought running the receptionist desk and assisting with various accounts would be a great way for her to beef up her resume (and give her valuable marketing experience to boot). She repaid me for the opportunity by sleeping with my husband.
At the sound of my voice, Josh turned around, and, with more than a little satisfaction, I noted that his belly had begun to hang over his waistband. It seemed as if he hadn’t managed to escape at least some of the effects of aging. He graced me with a tight-lipped smile.
“There you are,” he said. “I thought you might have run out the back door.”
I repressed an eye roll.
“What do you want?” I was proud that my voice remained calm and collected, despite the boiling anger I felt.
He cleared his throat, shifting from foot to foot, and my eyebrows shot up almost to my hairline. My ex-husband usually oozed arrogant confidence, which served him well as a businessman but proved to be teeth-grindingly annoying, especially during the divorce. Seeing him shuffle around nervously was a new experience, though, and I had a feeling that I wasn’t going to like whatever it was that he had to say.