by Madelyn Alt
Good magick.
I slid my hand along the gallery rail as I made my way toward the wall of cabinets, mostly big solid antiques. As was my habit, I circled around the center rug that marked the ritual area—to me it was sacred space, just as much as her forest glade, and not something to be crossed lightly and without regard. My deference might also have something to do with the protective Invisible Threshold wards Liss cast over the area, although as one of her inner circle, it’s not as though I wasn’t allowed to spend time there.
I found the candles right where she’d said I would, in a drawer clearly labeled “Candles, Red and Pink—for all romantic magickal purposes.” Bingo. I selected three, a power number. Going for the big bang, without bankrupting the store for my own personal gain. I preferred to cache my romance karma, thankyouverymuch. Better safe than sorry.
“Might I suggest that you take a sampling of rose petals and violets from the bulk stores as well?” Liss called up the stairs, ever helpful. “Although now that I think of it, you might not want to burn it in his presence. Marcus is a smart cookie—it’s not as though he doesn’t know what the herbs are for. A sachet, perhaps, to tuck into your pocket?”
I decided to forgo the herbs. She was right: Marcus wasn’t oblivious. And besides, while I wasn’t against a little bit of pump priming, I really didn’t think much of it was needed in this case. I did, however, grab a little package of dried catnip to keep the wee one well plied.
Call it insurance.
Liss was waiting for me when I returned once again to the main floor. “Or maybe some fresh fruit. Strawberries, cherries, apples are all good for love. Add in a bit of chocolate, and a savvy witch is in business.” She arched a meaningful brow.
I shook my head at her persistence and grinned in spite of myself. “Good night, Liss.”
A savvy witch also knows when to butt out. Which she did. Gracefully, of course. “Good night, ducks. And good everything else, too,” she said with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.
Honestly, maybe she should rethink her stance on finding love again, I thought to myself as I gathered Minnie into her soft-sided carrier and hit the gravel parking spaces behind the store. If her current zeal for the topic was a true measure, it seemed quite possible to this armchair therapist that she was living vicariously through others as a defense against reentering the dating game for her own gain. Always a matchmaker, never a match of her own. P’raps the two of us would have to have a talk one of these days. When the time was right.
In the meantime, I had places to go ...
And so it was with a wildly beating heart that I loaded Minnie into my aging VW Bug (early on in our partnership my dad had jokingly compared her to Stephen King’s Christine due to her cantankerous and unpredictable nature, and the mostly affectionate epithet had stuck), and headed home to my basement apartment in the aging Victorian on Willow Street for a quick pit stop to freshen up before my scheduled meet-up with Marcus. My best friend, Steff, who lived upstairs, wasn’t at home, but that was no surprise since she was a nurse and worked long hours.
“What do you say, Minnie?” I asked the Furry One, who blinked at me sleepily from her spot in the sun on the passenger seat. “Have a little kibble while I get dressed?”
Lifting Minnie’s carrier, I made my way across the surprisingly - green - for - August - thanks - to - a - bevy - ofrainstorms lawn to the sunken entrance to my apartment. Eager to escape the steam, I let myself in, grateful for the immediate blast of cool darkness. My basement apartment wasn’t exactly Home Beautimous material, but at least it was always temperate, despite the weather raging outside. I set down my things on the old dining room chair just inside the door, all except for Minnie’s carrier, which I placed on the floor. Immediately she began pawing at the zippered escape hatch.
“Hold on, silly. So impatient!”
The moment she could wiggle her way out, she did, squeezing through the partly unzippered gap like a squirt of ink. Once free, she shook her head hard enough to see stars.
She blinked blankly until her vision cleared, then scampered off to the kitchen. I knew what was coming next; I stood to one side to watch the entertainment unfold. First, the industrious pawing at the food dish until it scooted right off the soft braided mat that kept the kitty dining area mess free. Next came the unrelenting flicking with hooked claws at the bottom of the door to the cupboard where I kept the kitty kibble. Finally, she hopped from the chair to the tabletop to the counter, meowed at me—loudly—and while I waited to allow her to finish what had become a nightly performance, she proceeded to knock any item within reach to the floor. Notepad, pencil, key ring. When her beady little eyes fixed on her next target, I moved in quickly.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa there, Turbo. Not the glass,” I said, putting it in the sink. “I take it you want food?”
She began to purr and sauntered back and forth along the counter. And then, just to seal the deal in the event I was a little too dense to understand her meaning, she waited until I had bent down to open the cupboard before stretching out a paw and deliberately pushing the saltshaker over the edge. It missed me by inches, dousing me with a shower of salt crystals as it fell. “Hey, knock it off!”
She tilted her head quizzically to one side as if to say, But I just did . . .
Touché.
I scooped the crunchy kibble into her bowl and set it down on her mat. Before I could straighten again, Minnie had taken a falling leap from the counter, landing gracefully, and started crunching away happily. I only wished I could eat with that same lackadaisical absence of guilt. Instead I had to worry about the elastic on my underwear creating unsightly ripples.
You know, sometimes I think coming back as a cosseted house cat wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
I watched her until I realized I was postponing the inevitable . . . What was I waiting for?
Leaving Minnie to nosh at her usual breakneck pace, I bypassed the lights blinking on my answering machine, because I knew it was bound to be nothing more pressing than the daily calls from my mom, just “checking up on me,” and I really wasn’t in the mood to handle her queries and complaints just yet. Instead I slipped directly into my bedroom. I’d worn ankle-cropped pants with ballet flats and a close-fitting tee to the store this morning—which was fine—but I thought maybe I’d kick things up a notch. One flirty, drapey, baby-doll cami and a pair of strappy Mary Jane peep-toes later, and I felt I’d heightened my sex appeal enormously. To this I added some earrings that sparkled and flashed when I moved my head, and then I deepened my makeup just a tad. After shaking out my hair, which had been twisted up in clips all day to keep its unruly waves from frizzing in the August steam, and running my fingers through it, I looked in the mirror to find I actually looked quite . . . good. Maybe even better than I’d intended. Hm. That was a happy surprise.
“What do you think, Min? Do I meet with your approval?”
Minnie had finished with her evening feast and was now perched, round bellied and satisfied, in the middle of my bed, watching me. She tilted her head sideways and gave me an inquisitive stare.
“Now, don’t go giving me that look. Yes, I’m going out tonight. But you get to go, too—we’re going to Marcus’s house.”
Minnie yawned, but I knew it was all an act. Pretending to be disinterested when inside that fuzzy little noggin waged schemes and daydreams of mayhem and mischief, and possibly even world domination. She perked up again the instant she saw me pick up her favorite toy, a stick-string-feather combo that would have her dancing around like a Spanish flamenco dancer, but before she could leap I popped it into a canvas tote along with her nibble treats, then cast an eye around me for anything else Minnie could possibly need.
Yet another stalling tactic on my part, and an obvious one at that.
I couldn’t believe how nervous I was about tonight. It wasn’t the possibility of rejection that was making me as distracted as a cat in a room full of parakeets—with Marcus, rejection had never rea
lly crossed my mind. It was the possibilities that were making me run both hot and cold today. And what possibilities they were! Because my deepest fear was that I was falling for him, fast and hard, and my track record with love hadn’t been what anyone would call “exemplary.” In fact, I was the poster girl for sad tales with bad endings. I had definitely been left nursing a wounded heart once or twice before. But that shouldn’t be a concern with Marcus. Should it?
Hello?
Bueller?
Good grief, my sister was right. I was neurotic.
I took a deep breath. There was no reason to worry. Not this time. Things were going swimmingly with Marcus. So much so that it was easy to forget the strange events that had brought me to him. The weirdness in town. The murders. The rise in the tide of spiritual energies, light and so-not-light. My unexpected awareness of said energies, an awareness that, once acknowledged, had kept growing and growing and growing, until now it had evolved into something I didn’t understand, with no clear end in sight. But none of that mattered, as long as this one thing in my life was going well.
So ... what was I so afraid of?
Sheesh!
Minnie’s placid stare seemed to echo what the voice in my head was whispering:
So? What are you waiting for?
What, indeed?
Chapter 2
Taking a deep, fortifying breath, I made myself move.
The first step is always the hardest, Margaret ...
The voice of my conscience all too often took on the vocal stylings and attitudes of my late Grandma Cora. It wasn’t something that I relished—Grandma C had always been a pragmatically stern woman of country ways and devout sensibilities, and that side of her had never failed to come across loud and clear, even as a whisper in my head. Does everyone out there have a snarky conscience? Or was I the only one?
It was because of that that I now turned a dubious eye inward. Because . . .
Since when had Grandma C ever been on my side? Suspicious minds, Margaret, the soundless voice tsked. And just what was that supposed to mean?
Only that they always find what they expect to find. Remember that.
Hm. There was something to that, actually. Deepest fears always seemed to manifest into the direst of circumstances at the worst of times, somehow, some way. It was the biggest reason Murphy’s Law was viewed as truism with a capital T. It was up to all of us to do our best to banish the Murphmeister from our lives. I understood that. In theory. Practical application proved trickier, but I was trying.
And you see Marcus as good for you, I think? the Grandma C conscience voice prodded.
Yes. Oh, yes.
Well?
For once, Grandma C had it going on. And with her and Liss and Minnie on my side, how could I resist?
Crosstown traffic was clearing by the time we ventured past our quiet neighborhood. Not that Stony Mill rush hour could ever compare to or compete with a larger city, but with narrow streets and parking along the curb, safe passage could at times be a complicated process. I cut across via the byzantine residential routes, wending through subdivisions, until I hit the sleepy older neighborhood on the outskirts that Marcus called home. Before I got to know Marcus, I would never have envisioned him living in a one-and-a-half-story Craftsman-style bungalow, complete with a deep porch and low-slung roofline. The spiky iron fence at the front might not have matched in theory, but the river stone posts separating the sections made it work. The house was far from modern, but it possessed a quiet dignity that felt comfortable and familiar. I loved everything about it, from the faded linoleum in the kitchen, to the carriage barn in the rear that had been converted into a garage-slash-motorcycle workshop, aka the ideal Man Cave. Now that was what I had always expected from my Marcus.
My Marcus. I smiled at the very thought.
I parked at the curb. Deep breaths, Maggie my girl, I told myself. A quick check in the mirror I’d long ago Velcro’ed onto the visor assured me that neither the heat nor the humidity had demolished my best beauty efforts yet, though getting out of the elements would certainly help. I glanced over at Minnie and smiled.
“Here we go.”
I grabbed my bag, Minnie’s carrier, and the canvas tote of kitty goodies and let myself in through the front gate. It made the usual squawk of the hinges as I closed it and dropped the latch into place. The cobbled walk under my feet felt like the curving yellow brick road of Oz, leading me to . . .
“Hello, sweetness.”
I felt a flush of pleasure sweep through me as I looked up to find Marcus waiting for me in the crook of the old-fashioned wooden screen door and looking nothing like the wily wizard. I stopped in my tracks at the base of the steps. Even from deep in the belly of the porch, his eyes seemed to glow in welcome. My heart did a little bounce and wobble.
Oh, yeah, I was in big trouble, all right.
I lifted my hand and gave a weak, fluttering wave. “Hi.”
“I’ve been waiting for you.”
Another wobble, and this time my stomach got into the act. Keep your head on straight, girl, Grandma C’s voice intoned inside my head. Nice and easy. “You have?”
“Mm-hm.”
“Oh.” I was having trouble getting the gears in my brain to function. All they did was whirr. Madly.
“You going to stand down there all day?” he asked, a lilt of amusement lifting one corner of his mouth as he leaned a shoulder indolently against the inner door frame. “Or did you want me to come down there and get you?”
Well, that option did present some distinct possibilities . . .
Flustered, I cleared my throat and made a show of displaying my things as I mounted the steps. “I come with baggage.”
“Do you, now. Hello, Minnie.” He reached down to take them from me, setting it all inside the door, which he still held propped open with one foot, then turned back to face me. His clear blue eyes searched mine. I couldn’t help wondering how much he saw there. “And you . . .” he said, his voice trailing off as he took my face between his hands and lowered his mouth to mine for one long, heart-stopping minute.
Big trouble.
Oh yeah.
“Hell-ooo, Miss O’Neill.” The low croon teased my tingling lips most pleasantly.
“Hello, Mr. Quinn,” I breathed back, linking my fingers together behind his neck.
“I’ve been waiting to do that all day.”
“You have?”
“Mm-hm.”
“That’s funny. Me, too.”
The slow curve of his lips was all I could see. Truth be told, it was all I wanted to see. Without another thought I slid my arm around his neck and kissed him soundly, pressing myself to his body tight enough that he was forced to reach behind himself to grope for the door frame with one hand to support us both. His other arm was wrapped up and between my shoulder blades, his long fingers cradling the nape of my neck. I couldn’t have gotten away if I’d wanted to.
I didn’t. Want to, that is.
Nervous . . . had I been nervous? How ridiculous. This was exactly what I had been hoping for. What was there to be nervous about this?
I didn’t know how long it was before I drifted away from the enchantment of his mouth and back to the realization that we were standing on his front porch, displaying the full measure of our mutual fascination before God, Goddess, and the entire county. I pulled away slightly, regretfully, my hands lingering on his chest. “We should probably go inside. Someone might see.”
He raised one eyebrow in amusement. “And?”
“My mother has a lot of friends.”
“You ashamed of me, Maggie?”
“Of course not.”
“Or are you just afraid of your mother?”
I frowned at that. I was less than three weeks away from my thirtieth birthday. A woman, full grown and in charge of her own destiny. I did not need my mother’s approval for my life. On the other hand, it certainly did make life easier if the two of us weren’t at loggerheads with e
ach other.
Tricky, tricky.
“I’m not afraid of her,” I told him, and I couldn’t help nibbling on the inside of my lower lip. “I’m . . . wary of her web of spies, that’s all.”
“I see. Well, in that case, maybe you’d better come on inside.” He took my hand and tugged. “I have a special way of dealing with spies and busybodies and other unwanted entities.”
I knew he was just being funny, but I had seen firsthand how he dealt with unwanted entities, and in truth the experience had both frightened me and made me feel very safe in his capable hands, all at the same time. There was something deeply reassuring about his knowledge and mastery of all matters spiritual, a certainty I did not yet possess. Maybe I never would. But one thing I did know: next to Liss, Marcus made a pretty good counselor of the mysterious. Between the two of them, I was covered.
I followed him inside, privately enjoying the warmth of his hand holding mine.
“What’s all this?” I asked him when my eyes had adjusted to the more shadowy interior. Unusually shadowy. I couldn’t help noticing that all the curtains were drawn, and that set up in front of the big windows were what appeared to be cameras on tripods, as well as a couple of other odd-looking devices whose purposes I couldn’t guess. Heavy wires, neatly bound with plastic tie wraps, snaked across the hardwood floor and down the hall toward the bedroom he used as his own private digital compound. While on his stint in the military, Marcus had served in Intelligence. Something told me he hadn’t completely gotten that lifestyle out of his system.
“This? Nothing, really. Call it . . . insurance.”
Marcus wasn’t usually this circumspect. I peered up at him curiously. “Insurance for what? What’s going on?”
He shrugged away the question. “Nothing I can’t handle. Trust me on this.”
I had no misgivings about his ability to handle, oh, just about anything. Without a doubt he had an innate understanding of how to handle me.
“Cameras. Wires. What’s this?” I asked him, pointing to a round dishlike object.
