by Cat Larson
I waited for Damon to finish up his call while I squelched the topsy-turvy feeling in my gut. I didn’t know this Penelope girl from Adam, but when Clarisse had told me, a rush of nausea assaulted me.
Sage had left shortly afterward to return to her studies, and that was when I’d packed up Fernando—minus the warm scarves—and set out to get some answers.
Finally, Damon decided to grace us again with his presence. “Now, what’s this about Penelope Green?” he asked.
“Oh, is that her last name? I—” Forgot I heard you mention that through the door.
“Samm.”
“How did she die?” I blurted out. They both gawked at me. Thanks, guys. I wasn’t a circus act. “Being a resident of this town, even temporarily, I have the right to know in case I need to protect myself.”
The gawking increased. Perhaps, I should start juggling staplers or walking a tightrope between the desks—give them a little more bang for their buck?
“What relationship do you have to this woman?” Damon asked.
“Relationship? I have no relationship. I don’t even know what she looks like.”
“You must know enough to ask about her. What is your business in this matter?”
“What?” I couldn’t help feeling just a tad insulted. “I already told you. I have a right to know—”
“She’s not dead,” Mike said, and I stared at him.
“What?”
“Why do you assume she is?” Damon asked, making me reroute my eyeballs. “And why are you even inquiring about someone you have zero dealings with?”
I did not appreciate Damon’s accusatory tone, but since his less-than-stellar people skills was his shtick, I couldn’t take it personally.
“It appears to me that you’re once again inserting yourself into a situation where you don’t belong.”
Okay, that I could take personally.
“Excuse me? I am not out of line here, and it is most certainly my business. Clarisse Jones just told me Penelope was found dead, but she didn’t tell me the cause. So, pardon me, Officer Hard-Boiled for wanting a little more information so I can sleep at night.”
“Clarisse?”
“Yes, Clarisse. She’s the one you should be staring at funny. She’s the freak show here. Not me.”
Damon sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll look into it.”
“That’s it? You’ll look into it?” What the heck?
“What do you want me to say, Samm?”
“Um, for starters, how about ‘thank you for the monumental tip and delivering up a suspect’?”
“I don’t know exactly what Clarisse told you, or why, but take it all with a grain of salt. There’s no reason to believe any harm has come to Penelope Green.”
My jaw plummeted. “Are you freaking kidding me?”
“We’ve got it handled, Samm,” Mike said with a huge grin.
I opened my mouth but there were no words. Either they were just blowing me off outright or Clarisse really was messing with me. But why? Was she just trying to scare me or get back at me for not accepting her stupid party invitation? What kind of sick, twisted person did that?
“I… I guess I’ll be going, then.” I beelined to the door.
“You take care now,” Mike yelled just as I stepped out. Damon didn’t say anything. Big surprise.
I glanced up at the darkness, shaking my head. What a crazy day. I wished I would’ve brought an umbrella, but there hadn’t even been a cloud in the sky when I’d left the shop. If I walked fast, I could probably make it back before the rain hit.
Ring.
Although, it could feel refreshing to get poured on.
Ring.
The dress was sky blue, so it wasn’t like I was wearing white or something. I didn’t need to worry about—
RING.
Oh, that was me. There’d been several passersby with their phones out, making me assume it was one of them. I pulled my haunted cell from the side pocket of my purse. Like Fernando, I tended to keep it with me as much as possible, having a soft spot for it.
I checked the screen then hit Accept. “Hi, Mom.” I wondered if my parents were finally on their way home.
“Please tell me you’ve baked him an apple pie.”
I stopped, redirecting to a corner of a building. I pressed my hand over my other ear. “What now? It was hard to understand before.”
“Please tell me you’ve baked him an apple pie.” Huh? I guess I had heard her correctly. “It’s been over a week. I surely hope so.”
“Apple pie? And who’s ‘him’?”
“It’s only polite, Samm. Remember how I raised you.”
“Okay? But you know, it’d really help if I knew what the heck you were talking about.”
I alternated my hands, rubbing them over goose-bumped arms. The temperature was dropping faster than Chicken Little’s acorn. I’d only wanted to cool down earlier, not get tossed into a meat locker. Be careful what you wish for, Samm.
“Mr. McGuinness,” Mom said.
“What about him?”
“I’d think I wouldn’t have to tell you all he’s done for our family. The least you could do is bake him a pie.”
“Oh.”
Fortunately, I’d been proactive this time, filling my mom in on all the unfortunate circumstances that’d occurred the previous weekend, unlike my first run-in with a malevolent banana. This time I’d made sure she hadn’t had to hear it from her best friend, Mary Fairchild, first. Which meant I’d also escaped her reprimands. Or at least I thought I had.
“Oh? Is that all you have to say?”
“I’ll bake him a pie, Mom.”
I wasn’t sure how since there wasn’t an oven in the shop and I didn’t have the money for ingredients even if there was, but I’d figure something out. I was just happy she wasn’t asking me to make him his other favorite dish—a steaming pile of mushrooms. Blech.
“Good.”
“While I have you on the phone… There’s a locked box underneath Violet’s bed that I haven’t been able to find a key for or figure out the code. Do you happen to know anything about that?”
Maybe she kept a stash of money in there. If that was the case, I could bake Mr. McGuinness ten apple pies.
“Of course, I do. That’s where the family grimoire is stored for safekeeping until your father and I return. When we do, it’ll revert back to my possession.”
“The family what now?”
She sighed loudly. “Honestly, Samm. Sometimes I wonder if you’re really my daughter.” Gee, thanks, Mom. “Grimoire—the family’s personal spellbook. More like a book of shadows, really…” Her voice grew excited. “You know, I’ve been so distracted lately, trying to leave the village, what with the lemurs taking a shining to us and all, that it hadn’t even dawned on me to check the grimoire!”
“Okay?”
“Sammara, you must open it and start practicing again. If I remember correctly, there’s a location spell inside that’ll work even if the intended person is shrouded by choice or against their will. It’s rather complicated, even for an experienced witch, but I have faith that—”
“Hold up a second here. You’re speaking too fast, and it might as well all be gibberish.”
“You must open it,” she repeated.
“First of all, I’m a recovered witch and have no intention of—”
“Sammara Eve Hain! You do not disrespect your mother!” My head dropped to my chest. “Open that box and find that spell right now!”
“Okay, can we please just start at the beginning? I already told you I haven’t been able to find a key or figure out the code. How do you expect me to open it?”
“There is no key. And have you ever thought of trying your birthday for the code? Hmm?”
“My birthday? Why would I try that?”
“I didn’t think so.”
“Why would my birthday be the code?”
“Violet chose it. She misses her big sist
er more than you would know. Or care.”
“Can we set aside the guilt trip and talk about this code she picked? I’m assuming the family grimoire thing is valuable or it wouldn’t be locked up at all.”
She snorted. “You wouldn’t have to assume anything if you’d just stuck around until you were eighteen and could see for yourself.”
I groaned. “At any rate, back to this code… Using a birthday is just as bad, if not worse, as putting a house key under the front door welcome mat.” Which Violet also did. “You never, ever use personal information, unless you couldn’t care less about security. Not that I’d expect Violet, the most technically challenged person on the planet, to know that.”
“Only family members can open it so that’s hardly a concern.”
“But if we’re the only ones who can open it, why bother with a code at all?”
She huffed. “Really, Samm.” Really what? Was that not a reasonable question? “You spend far too much time living in your head. Can we get back to a sensible discussion now?”
Huh? If anything, I didn’t spend enough time there. A fat lot of good it did me to have all those weird gut feelings when Clarisse had told me about Penelope. She’d only been toying with me. If I’d have stayed with my intellect, maybe I would’ve seen through her deceit.
“Are you in the shop now?” she asked.
“No.”
“The moment you get there, you must open it. You must locate Violet. I have limited resources where I am, so it’s all up to you now.”
Nothing like a little pressure. I wanted Violet back more than anyone; she was my only hope of reversing Fernando’s spell, but if it meant returning to my witchy roots and throwing away everything I’d worked so hard for?
“So, um, limited resources, huh? I take it you’re still in Peru, then.”
My parents had been spending the past few months researching a “marvel leaf” in the Peruvian rainforest but were trying to cut their trip short due to their missing daughter. No amount of reassuring on my part had convinced them that everything was fine with Violet and that she’d show up before we knew it. But now, I was a little relieved my mom hadn’t listened to me. I could use her help. My dad’s magic was dormant, but if Mom were home, she could do the locating spell herself and find Violet. It was a win-win.
“No, we left Peru.”
“You did?” That perked me up. “Are you back in the States?”
“No, we were rerouted to this microscopic country due to inclement weather. I don’t think this place even has a name. We’ll be back as soon as possible, but until then, remember what I said—it’s all up to you.”
“You’re a skilled witch. Can’t you, like, change the weather?”
“Sammara Eve Hain!” she screeched, and I held the phone away. Wow, twice in one conversation. Usually, I only got the full-name treatment once per lecture. “We are ethical witches. Do you have any idea of the environmental consequences if we did such a thing for mere personal gain? No, I don’t suppose you do, seeing as—”
“Okay, sorry. I get it.” My tongue was burning, itching to ask how Violet got away with all the less-than-ethical mischief she’d conjured up during her many hissy fits. “Speaking of weather…”
I watched as a bolt of lightning sliced through the sky, followed by a peal of thunder that almost made me hurl the phone. I cowered closer to the wall. On second thought, maybe I should hold out my cell and see if a massive spark of electricity would force it to go back to normal.
“Where are you?” she asked. “I certainly hope you’re not outside at a time like this.”
“It’s not like I planned it. When I left the shop, it was hot and sunny. It’s been really weird—”
Another thunderous crash made me jump, clutching my purse tighter. And then the rain came. I turned my body sideways, huddling into the corner of the ‘closed for the season’ gift shop. Just what the town needed—even more precipitation to add to the melted foot of snow from the night before. The connection crackled; it wouldn’t be long until we lost contact.
“I do hope at least you’ve put the mugwort back up. The last thing I need is to worry about another daughter.”
“Yeah, about that. Do you know where I can get some more? Violet’s, uh… ran out.”
“What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything. The stuff doesn’t last forever, you know.”
Especially, when the original bunch had been ripped down and tossed out with the trash. I did reattach the couple of pitiful twigs that Clarisse had blown down, but it was more of a joke than anything.
“She has a supplier for the herbs she doesn’t pick herself.”
“So, back to my original question, then—where can I get more?”
“Get Violet back; that’s how you’ll get more. Until then, you’ll just have to pray nothing happens.” Well, peachy. Good thing I didn’t fully believe that mugwort worked to keep out malicious characters or else I really would’ve been in trouble. “Find that spell, Samm.”
“If I’m already browsing through the book, is there by chance a spell to manifest some cash? I’m a little short on funds and—”
Had that ear-splitting sound come out of my tiny mother? She could give the thunder a run for its money.
“I’m going to forget you even asked that. Do you seriously think we are not productive members of society? I swear, it’s like I’m dealing with a toddler all over again. Did you not pay attention to anything I taught you, or are you just that adept at blocking everything out? If you took even a fraction of that energy and channeled it into your natural talents, you’d be quite powerful. But no, you want to squander—”
“Okay, Mom. I won’t mention it again, and I’ll open that box.” That was all I’d promise for now.
“Good,” she said, matter-of-factly as if she hadn’t just been harping on me. “And don’t forget about that pie.”
“I won’t.”
“And visit Mary at the hotel, for goodness’ sake. Nearly three weeks in town and you haven’t done that yet? How do you think that looks on me?”
“Yes, Mom.”
“And—”
The line went dead, along with my battery, as was customary after such calls. It only charged up when it wanted to, not when I did.
I slipped the cell into my purse, sending out a silent thank you. That was some divine timing right there, saving me from more scolding.
Me, powerful?
Ha. Not when I was talking to my mother.
Chapter Four
As my teeth chattered, I considered my options. The rain didn’t appear to be letting up anytime soon. I didn’t relish the thought of walking the few remaining blocks in a downpour, but I didn’t want to hole up next to a brick wall for however many more hours either.
I peeked around the corner, drenching my face. All right, Bigfoot Café, it is.
At less than half the distance back to Violet’s and a guaranteed place to warm up without the guilt of not purchasing anything, it seemed like a no-brainer. I’d been meaning to pay Clare a visit anyway.
I ducked in and out between buildings, shielding my purse with my body, until I arrived at the coffee house. But somehow, I’d still managed to enter with a plastered-on sundress, squishy flip-flops, and a drowned-rat hairstyle.
A fat drop of water dripped down my cheek and plopped to the ground. I should’ve just gone back to the shop.
I sloshed over to the restroom. “Hey, it’s Easy—”
“Hold that thought, Zed.”
I went inside and unzipped my relatively dry purse and gave Fernando a once-over. Lucky him was sleeping—sleeping!—so I set him and the purse down and parked myself in front of the hand dryer, swiveling the nozzle around until I was less soaked.
When I left the bathroom, I did a quick scan of the café to see if I recognized any faces, namely Griffin’s. Nope. His regular writing corner table was unoccupied. I stepped up to the counter.
“Easy Coffee
Girl, what can I do you for?” Zen Zed asked, pushing a long dreadlock away from his grinning mouth.
“Is Clare around?”
“Sure. It’ll be a sec. She just ran to the back.” He popped up a large cup. “Extra-dark roast coming right up. Just brewed ten minutes ago.”
Ugh. He was killing me. “No, thanks.”
Three dollars was three dollars more than I had to spend. What good was being a witch if you couldn’t whip up a wad of cash? Although, maybe I could create some strong, fresh coffee instead. Then I wouldn’t have to drink that tasteless instant freeze-dried crud. Surely, granting myself a delicious pot of daily java didn’t cross any ethical boundaries, right?
But I couldn’t exactly ask for my mom’s opinion because she’d just berate me for drinking it. Coffee tended to clash with our family’s unique constitution. Humph. It was all a moot point anyway since I wasn’t predicting any spellcasting in my future, coffee-conjuring or otherwise. By the time I even became competent at practicing again, my mom would surely be home.
“Samm?” I swiveled my head toward the small brown-haired girl coming up to me. I used to think she was so plain-looking, mousy even, but she was actually quite pretty in an unassuming way. She just preferred to blend in with the woodwork instead of bedazzling it.
“Hi, Clare.”
“I haven’t seen you here in over a week. How are you doing?”
“Much better, thanks.”
She whacked Zed on the arm. “What are you doing standing around? Pour Samm a cup of coffee.”
“Already asked, doesn’t want any,” he said in a very Zen-like manner. Hence my nickname for him.
Clare looked offended. “You don’t want any coffee?”
Yeah, that was pretty strange. Hopefully she didn’t ask to feel my forehead next. “No, I’m okay.”
“How about our new latte?” She gestured to the monthly special, the lavender latte. “It wasn’t supposed to change until April, but I couldn’t resist starting it a week early. It’s so fun and springy. Fits in with the showers too, don’t you think? Let me make you one. They’re delicious.”
“It’ll match your hair,” Zed said with a wink.
