by Tegan Maher
Erin sat the watering can down, crossing her arms. “My customer information is private. Especially those who come at night. You, of all people, should know that.”
“Did you sell him something? I need to know. Eve is in jail, and intuition is telling me it has something to do with Roy Porter’s visit here last night.” Then, I remembered my Merry’s comment. “Erin, are you having an affair with him?”
She smiled cryptically. “I have better taste than that.”
“Then you did sell him something!”
“Maggie, I’m as bound by the Witch’s Oath as you are. I can’t tell a soul.” Then, she picked up the watering can and returned to the back room. When she appeared again, she carried a hand-written receipt, which she stuffed into my hand. “The ink will disappear momentarily, so read fast.”
There was no name attached to it, but the timestamp read December 23, 7:18 PM. And the lone item purchased was: ‘Foxglove (2oz.)’.
“Foxglove.” The word steamed from my mouth as I rubbed my hands together, back outside on the sidewalk. Foxglove was known affectionately among witches as the plant that heals life… and steals life. Though used in cure potions, it was also used to poison. It was so risky that we sold it only to our most trusted clients.
I walked aimlessly up Main Street, wading through cheery-cheeked revelers as I sorted out what I knew: Eve had sold Imogene Porter a love perfume, though Immy was already married. Her son, Roy Porter, had purchased foxglove in secret, and the next morning his mother was found dead. Found dead by Rob Porter, who was running for Mayor on a platform of anti-witch rhetoric, and was clearly perturbed that his mother was in my magick shop. Was she such a risk that he would poison her?
“Happy Holidays! Ho-ho-ho!” Santa Sam boomed as I nearly tripped over his sidewalk kettle. He pulled down his beard and smiled.
“You’re in a jollier mood today,” I noted.
“That’s because Santa has a Santa! Things are looking up!”
I smiled and hurried on, glad that someone was having a Merry Christmas.
Chapter Seven
“Hey there, rock star,” Paul said when I answered my phone. “You haven’t seen Eve in the last few hours, have you? She’s not answering my texts.”
“In the last few hours?” I asked, now grateful for losing my fitness tracker watch. I reasoned if I didn’t know the exact time, it wasn’t a lie. “I don’t think so.”
“She’s probably out shopping,” Paul said. “I hope she avoids the mall in Linsburg. Nova and I just got back from the place. It’s nuts, but we got what we needed.”
“Preparations are going well then?” I asked.
“Mostly. Nova had an emotional morning but I think she’s okay now. She really wants everything to be perfect for Eve. I do too, but there’s only so much we can do in such a short time. Anyway, we’re picking up the last of our decorations from Aunt Dora, and then we’ll set up the town square as soon as the shoppers clear out. Don’t forget to bring my blushing bride-to-be! And try to get her to wear something nice. You know Eve, she’s going to want pictures. See you tonight!”
I wondered if an orange jumpsuit would suffice, assuming I could break Eve out of jail in time to make her proposal? My fingers twitched. I was a witch. I could bypass locks, but I couldn’t bypass the fact I had no car to get to Linsburg. Also, all magick came at a karmic cost - witchcraft couldn’t save my sister from jail unless we traveled down some dark paths.
“A coffee with five sugars,” I said to a street vendor, then sat at a bench to drink it. Had Roy Porter poisoned his own mother with foxglove? Surely, he hadn’t had time to craft a potion so quickly. Even Eve’s expertly crafted brews took hours, sometimes days. But what if he added it to an existing potion? Like Magick Mistletoe? That still didn’t seem right. Immy knew enough about magick not to drink a perfume. And the question still remained: why had she bought it in the first place?
I didn’t believe in coincidences. In my world, every detail was part of a larger story; and with faith and focus, the pieces would fall themselves into place. I wasn’t surprised, therefore, to see a shiny silver car rolling my way. Roy Porter jammed his car into a parking space, cock-eyed, leaving it running as he sprung from the vehicle like a jack-in-the-box. His head bowed, he marched purposely towards Santa.
“Don’t lie to me! I know you have it!” Roy shouted at Sam.
Sam seemed confused, shaking his head and opening his arms. After several moments of an argument I couldn’t hear, Sam patted down his red coat, removed a red envelop, and handed it over. Roy ripped it open, his face paling as he read the enclosed letter.
I tossed the coffee and worked my way closer, hoping to catch a glimpse of the note. Creeping alongside Roy’s idling car, I noticed the gifts had been cleared away, replaced by campaign signs. Several pieces of paper flapped around on the front seat, jostled by the heater vent. Receipts.
Were those Immy’s receipts? Or had Roy Porter made other clandestine purchases? Karma be damned, I was going to find out.
I pressed my hand to the door latch, feeling the familiar pulse of magick in my fingertips. The lock gave immediately and I quickly snatched out the receipts. But as I moved to close the door, a loose campaign poster fell out onto the ground and was quickly picked up by a gust of breeze. The ‘Witches Belong in Ditches’ flyer swirled straight towards Roy Porter! The paper slapped him on the shoulder before falling at his feet.
I ran fast as my comfortable shoes could carry me, wheedling through lamp posts, shoppers and ice slicks, then ducked into the nearest open door. Had I been spotted?
My heart beat so hard in my ears that I didn’t hear the woman walk up behind me. “Have you come for your watch, dear?” she asked, tapping me on the shoulder.
I spun, ready to strike before my brain made the connection to her voice. Frieda, the round-faced pie shop owner smiled up at me. “I’ll take it home to Earl for Christmas, if you don’t want it. Doctor says he needs to walk more for his heart.”
“Happy Holidays, Frieda,” I said, poking my head out the door. Roy’s car was gone. I returned my attention to the woman who’d been pushing pies in Dark Root for decades. She was ancient as the woods, but her memory was sharp.
I looked at the proffered watch in her small hand and shook my head. “If your husband needs it for his heart, he should have it.”
She snorted and pocketed the tracker. “Earl’s my hound dog. Thought I could fasten it to his tail. My husband says he walks him every day, but he’s gotten so fat I don’t believe it. Come to think of it, my husband’s gotten fat, too. Maybe I’ll fasten it to him!”
Frieda paused to look at her assortment of pies under the glass counter. “There aren’t many left after, the holiday rush, but I put away some chocolate cream for my best customers.” She winked and nodded towards a refrigerator where she kept her ‘secret pies’.
“Just your strongest cup of coffee, please.” I pushed the stiff pink curtains aside and peered through the front window. Though Roy’s car was gone, I wasn’t convinced he wouldn’t be back. The shops were about to close for the day and I’d still heard nothing from Merry. “No creamer. I have a feeling it’s going to be a late night.”
Santa Sam slumped by, his bare head bent as he clutched his hat. The wind blew his fake beard up into his eyes but he didn’t seem to care. He was far from the cheerful Santa I’d seen just an hour ago.
“The poor dear,” Frieda said, as I was about to step outside and question Sam. She handed me my coffee with a sigh. “What terrible luck.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He lost both Mrs. Clauses on the same day.”
“I don’t understand,” I said, keeping one eye on Santa while I listened.
“Twenty-five years ago, he lost Rhonda on Christmas Eve. She always played Mrs. Claus at the shelter. Now, Imogene’s gone. Sounds like a curse to me. Where will he find someone to help him now?”
“I didn’t know Imogene helped him on Christma
s Eve,” I said. But there was probably a lot I didn’t know about her.
“Yes. She’s been filling in since Sam’s wife passed. They used to come here and share a piece of pie every Christmas Eve before I closed. Then, they’d go give out gifts to families at The Ronda House. They were so sweet together. It’s a shame.”
How sweet together, I wondered? Was there a budding romance? Or an established solid one? Or perhaps unrequited love? That might explain the Magick Mistletoe. If Immy had fallen in love with Sam, would she use witchcraft to ensure those feelings were returned?
“Don’t look so glum,” Frieda said, returning to her spot behind the counter. “A little birdie told me Rhonda House will have its biggest holiday event ever. That will put a twinkle back in his eyes.”
“What little bird?” I asked.
Frieda leaned over the counter, whispering. “Imogene Porter told me yesterday that she was dropping off quite the haul. Anonymously, of course.”
“Did she say how she paid for it?” I asked.
“Yes. She said she no longer had to take her heart medication, so that freed up some pennies. Shows you doctors don’t know everything.”
“I thought the heart medication was for her husband?”
“No, her husband passed away over twenty-five years ago. That’s how she met Sam - they were in the same support group.”
As Frieda started closing down the shop, I took the crumpled receipts from my coat pocket and smoothed them on the nearest table: Purchases of candles, calendars, t-shirts, and toys, bought from all over town. A receipt from my shop was indeed for Eve’s Magick Mistletoe. Like all the other purchases, it was paid in cash. But there was another purchase from my shop on that same morning: a red candle, red string, hawthorn, hibiscus, and Rose oil. Ingredients used in spells of the heart. This one wasn’t paid in cash, but with a credit card signed by R. Porter.
Before the revelation could fully set in, that Mayor Porter, who ran his re-election campaign on an anti-witch agenda, was practicing witchcraft, one final receipt caught my eye. A cash purchase made from The Imaginarium for a brand new brass bell.
It was all crystal clear now, as I tucked the receipts back into my pocket. Though magick had played a part in Imogene Porter’s life, it had nothing to do with her death. Not through Eve’s perfume, or her son’s potion. In fact, this time, magick was used in desperation. Desperation to save a life.
Chapter Eight
The Outskirts of Linsburg
Christmas Eve, Early Evening
“I’ve had no luck with Brad,” Merry said when I answered her call. “Maggie, I’m just going to work on getting the bail money.”
“I don’t think that will be needed now. I think I can get her out. I’ve got Shane’s truck and I’m heading there now. But I need to make a stop along the way first.”
“What’s more important than getting Eve out of jail? Especially tonight! Paul’s expecting you to show up with her at midnight.”
“And I will. Gotta go.”
I pulled into the Rhonda House parking lot. There were a few vans and a handful of newer cars, but mostly rusted out vehicles and bikes. Outside, the shelter was lit up with red lights and decorated living evergreens. Inside, the shelter smelled like Lysol and cocoa. I raced down the halls, passing doors with name plaques, reaching the cafeteria nearly out of breath.
In the middle of the spacious room, Santa Sam sat on a red throne. A line of excited children stood before him. Another throne, equally as tall, stood empty beside him. A furred hat was draped over the armrest.
I quietly folded into the scene as Sam rang an untarnished new bell. He handed out gifts with a smile, though his eyes often flashed to the empty chair beside him.
I wove my way through the line, until I was standing beside him. “Is this seat taken?” I asked, sliding on to the throne and donning the Mrs. Claus hat. “I heard you might be looking for help.”
Sam smiled, nodding with appreciation. “My wife, Rhonda, started this house. Holidays were her favorite time to be here. She played Mrs. Claus until she passed, and then Imogene took over. Two of the finest people I’ll ever know. I’m sure they’d approve of you sitting in for them.”
“It would be my honor.” I looked at the shiny brass bell in his hand. “It’s beautiful,” I said.
“Self-ringing too!” he said, setting it on his palm to demonstrate.
For the next hour, I handed out gifts alongside Sam. With each grateful smile, I was reminded of the blessings I had in my own life - my family, my home, my health, my job. Everything I needed, I already had. “I’ll be back next year, if you’ll have me,” I said an hour later as we turned off the cafeteria lights and headed for the door. “My whole family will help. It will be a new tradition.”
“But you’re the only Mrs. Claus,” he said, as we stepped into the chilled night air.
“Do you have someone to spend Christmas with?” I asked when we arrived at our vehicles. “My Aunt Dora makes a delicious goose, and my mother has a way of making even vegetables taste good. We’d love to have you tomorrow for dinner.”
He smiled, shaking his head. “I won’t be alone. I’ve got three cats and two dogs. Besides, it’s the one day when I really let myself remember Rhonda. I’ll be fine.”
My eyes once again fell to his self-jingling bell. “Immy would be very happy to know you’re not giving up.”
He nodded, slinging his empty sack over his shoulder. “We went through a lot together. Losing your spouse is something only someone who has also been through it can fully understand. I looked forward to having our pie together every Christmas Eve. Perhaps you’d like to fill in for that tradition, too?”
“Another honor.”
“She knew she was going, Maggie. She knew her heart was giving out.”
“I know.”
Her son knew, too. He must’ve been at wits end to resort to witchcraft. Roy hadn’t been trying to craft a poison at all, but a cure. Only, he was too late.
“Immy will always be with us,” I said, hugging Sam beside his old suburban. Then, as an afterthought, added, “Sam, I saw you give something to Roy yesterday. I think it was a letter. What did it say? He seemed very emotional.”
Sam blushed. “It was mixed in with all the gifts. I thought it was for me and accidentally read it. It was a note from Immy. She wrote: Dear Roy, my wish for you this year is love. Give this perfume to your wife and your marriage will be healed. I’ll miss you. Mom.”
“Magick Mistletoe,” I said, understanding the last piece of the puzzle. Immy was trying to prevent her son from being all alone, the only way she thought she could—with magick.
As I drove to Linsburg to get Eve, I wondered how I would explain it all to Officer Braden. But perhaps it didn’t need much explaining: Immy had died of natural causes—something easily proven by her doctor or son.
Chapter Nine
Christmas Eve
Just Before Midnight
“Dammit, Maggie! I need to pee!” Eve glowered as I turned onto the two-lane road leading back to Dark Root. Snowflakes tapped against the windshield before dancing back into the night.
“You should’ve gone at the station,” I teased, eliciting another withering stare. But I was in too good a mood for it to bother me - It was Christmas Eve, my sister was free, and Paul was about to propose.
“I would never, ever, ever, use one of those jail toilets.” Eve pulled her seatbelt strap away from her bladder.
I did feel a little bad that she spent the entire day in the Linsburg County Jail. But she could’ve used the bathroom there if she wasn’t so… Eve. Besides, I couldn’t stop. We were late as it was.
“You’re welcome, by the way,” I said, speeding down the well-worn road.
“For what? Finally coming to get me? It took you long enough! Did you know the only thing you can do in jail is read?”
“And do you know how difficult it was talking Braden into releasing you? Especially when you’d been ranting
to him all day that you were robbed. You were giving him a motive.”
“That’s ridiculous! If I had killed the thief, I wouldn’t be telling him to find the thief.” My sister’s face softened as she stared out her window. Her hair was frazzled and her eyeliner smeared. Her clothes were crumpled, too. “I’ll miss Imogene. I can talk about it now that she’s gone and we are no longer under oath. She came to me for potions, but never for herself. Always for others.” Eve began sobbing so hard I had to pull over. “Immy should have told me about her heart condition. I could have helped. I could have crafted something.”
“Don’t blame yourself. Magick can only delay the inevitable for so long.”
Eve reluctantly nodded, wiping her nose with the back of her hand and taking a deep breath. Her eyes were nearly swollen shut. I didn’t have time to comfort her further, as it was now 11:57.
“We need to go!” I said.
“I think you’re hitting every bump on purpose,” Eve said as we barreled into town.
We slowed only when we pulled onto Main Street. The shops along either side were all dark, the holiday lights and music silenced for the night. There was a gentle, almost holy quietness covering the town. Even Eve stopped complaining.
I slowed the truck to a crawl, knowing that when we arrived at the town square, everything between my sister and I would change. If she accepted Paul’s proposal, she would be a wife. I wanted to savor the last moment of having her to myself.
“Drop me off at my apartment.” Eve directed. “I’ll sneak in. I hope Paul got all the presents wrapped and—”
My sister gasped as a hundred white candles flickered before us, placed in elegant holders all around the town square. Holly, pine and poinsettia garland was draped along the railing, and strands of white lights crisscrossed overhead. Paul stood in the center of the wooden gazebo, a guitar slung over his shoulder, holding Nova’s hand. Our entire family stood in a semi-circle around them, from the eldest to the youngest: Dora, Jillian, Ruth Anne, Merry, Shane, June Bug, Marshall, Montana, and Luna. All eyes fell on Eve as we stepped out of the truck.
