Where There's a Witch

by Alt, Madelyn

  “I spoke to Ronnie. The victim. I spoke to her yesterday afternoon—and it seems like forever ago now. I came upon them while they were arguing, and it was so fierce, so ferocious, I couldn’t allow myself to walk away. Just in case. But Liss . . . in case of what? What did I see in their body language that made me stay . . . but didn’t make me realize what was going to happen?” Minnie was reacting to my frustration, twitching her tail and trying to head-butt my ear. “You say that my intuitive abilities are expanding. I can feel it happening, little by little. So why can’t it work on someone’s behalf? Why can’t I help to prevent some of these things from happening?”

  “Because we’re sensitives, Maggie. We’re not gods. Look at Evie. She has a very clear connection the more that she works to understand her gift. But has she been given the ability to prevent an event that is meant to happen? No. You seem to think that being a sensitive means being superhuman, capable of fighting crime and solving world hunger and leaping skyscrapers in a single bound. I rather think that we are extrahuman. We’ve been given an amazing gift to help us to traverse the rougher waters of life, an additional sense of understanding of the world and of people that most will never have.”

  “Then why sense these things at all, if it’s not meant to help?”

  “Whoever says it’s not helping you?” At my confusion, she gave me a sad smile. “Maggie, darling. There are things in this world that are meant to be. They are written for us on the pages of time. Those of us who believe in the reincarnation of souls believe also that we choose these predestined lessons for ourselves and then proceed to make our lives what we will. And our actions and decisions along the path of life decide the rest . . . good or bad.

  “As a sensitive,” she continued, “one is able to see connections and signs that provide a deeper understanding of the true nature of the world, of people, of the universe. I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t want to have to live without it.”

  Would I? If I could actually choose to go back to the way I was, gifted but clueless, would I do it? It was a fair question. It would mean reacting to my environment and to the emotions of others, being buffeted by them and feeling out of control. And then I thought of the way I had felt since discovering the truth about myself. Empowered. Strong and growing stronger. Knowledge replacing uncertainty.

  I was better off now. I knew it. I just needed to trust that knowledge, and trust myself.

  “By the way,” I said, “these were left on your car and Tara’s scooter.” I handed her the flyers.

  She lifted her half-moon glasses to scan the page. “Oh. Oh my.”

  “The Reverend Baxter Martin is a nutcase. But he has a following,” I told her. “Yet another reason to be careful. He seems to think that having a witch in residence”—I winked at her—“is the cause of our problems. The poor guy. He doesn’t seem to realize he’s looking for sin in all the wrong places. None of the victims have had anything to do with magick, the N.I.G.H.T.S., or the store.”

  She refolded the paper, calmly slipped it beneath a notepad beside the cash register, then removed her glasses with a sigh. “I’ve faced people like him before. And I’m quite certain he won’t be the last. One must wonder what kind of personal hell someone like that puts themselves through and what kind of unhappiness must be at the root of it all. It’s sad, really.”

  And on that happy note . . .

  Minnie had fallen asleep on my shoulders. I tiptoed to the back office and gently lifted her down, setting her in her pen for her afternoon siesta. She opened one eye—the blue one—and blinked at me twice, then stretched her legs out, yawned, and curled herself back into a tight ball. Smiling, I stroked her tiny whiskers as she drifted back off into the oblivion, then tiptoed back up to the front.

  Tara and Evie were at it again with the homemade Ouija.

  I put my hands on my hips. “I thought you’d left those sticky notes behind at my apartment.”

  Tara smirked up at me. “What, you think you got the corner on sticky notes?”

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  “It’s not like business is hopping this afternoon,” Tara pointed out. “It’s either this or Scrabble, and Evil has this truly unfair advantage of kickin’ my ass every single time.”

  Liss looked over from where she was turning down the heat on the coffee carafes and shook her head indulgently. “There’s nothing to worry about here, Maggie. If they’re intent on experimenting with the Ouija, there’s no safer place for it. The wards I use for the store are strong. It is a sacred space. No dark entities can get through here—I’m sure of it.”

  “All right.” I gave in. “I suppose it’s okay—I mean, we’re both here, and if you say there can’t be any trouble, I believe you.” To the girls I called out, “Just as long as you keep the questions about my personal life out of it, thank you very much.”

  Evie giggled. “Should we withdraw that last question, then?”

  “What? Evie! You, too?” I pretended indignation, but I was okay with it because I was pretty sure they weren’t going to get any valid answers anyway. At least, not about me or my love life. Besides, I was a teenage girl once, too. I knew how important these meaningless, giggling, girly games were. I looked over her shoulder. “And stop pushing that pointer to ‘M’!”

  “I didn’t push it this time either, Maggie, honestly,” protested Evie.

  I eyed Tara, but she just shrugged. “Me, either.”

  “Hm. Well, cut it out anyway.”

  “Maybe it’s just ‘M’ for ‘marry.’ You know, as in yes, you will get married someday.”

  The pointer slid to “no.”

  “No?” I groaned good-naturedly. “Even worse!”

  The grin that broke out on Tara’s face could not be considered anything but wicked. “All right, then. Let’s clarify this. Will Maggie get married?”

  The pointer glided to “yes.”

  “Thanks, girls,” I said, my voice laced with irony. “I’m so glad that some unknown spirit energy knows the ins and outs of my social agenda.”

  “And who will Maggie marry?” Tara asked, not looking up from the homemade Ouija.

  A slick, quick flick to “M.” I reached over and put my hand over the glass before it could spell out anything else.

  “Hey! Not fair!” Tara protested. “Just when it was getting interesting!”

  “Play nice, children.”

  I didn’t pay much attention to the girls after that. I fielded a few phone calls myself, did a thorough cleaning of the beverage area, and swept the wooden floor beneath the old oak barrels filled with hard candies imported from the UK and the apothecary bins of bulk spices.

  “U . . . L . . . C . . .” Evie’s voice calling out the letters caught my attention as I puttered around the store.

  “Hey! Didn’t the spirit at your apartment call out those same letters, Maggie?” Evie asked.

  “Yeah, it did,” Tara answered for me. “Don’t you remember? ‘You’ll see’?”

  Surely not . . .

  Had the spirit followed me here? Was that why the letters U-L-C kept resounding through my mind during the quieter moments of the day?

  It was far more likely that the girls were influencing the pointer again without realizing it.

  “W . . . A . . .”

  Oh good. A new word. Not the same spirit, I was right.

  “T . . . C . . . H . . .”

  “Watch . . .” Tara said, drawing the word out in the way people do when they’re expecting more information that’s slow in coming.

  “S ... I ... S ... T ... E ... R ... Sister. Watch and “S . . . I . . . S . . . T . . . E . . . R . . . Sister. Watch and sister? Or watch sister?”

  I froze again. Sister. My sister? My sister was majorly pregnant. She still had an entity that lurked in the laundry room in her basement. Was she in danger in some way? Or, I thought, maybe it meant I needed to watch her penchant for spreading gossip. Argh. Why couldn’t these things be clearer?<
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  “Is this Elias?” Evie asked.

  “Yes,” Tara read off.

  “Why are you here, Elias?”

  “W . . . A . . . R . . . N . . . Warn.”

  “Warn who? Us? All of us? Or just one of us?”

  “Yes. Talk about a muddled question, Evie.”

  “Pfft. Fine. Elias, do you know who killed Veronica Maddox?”

  “Yes. Yes!”

  Excitement made Evie’s voice quiver. “Can you spell the name of the person who killed Veronica Maddox?”

  “Yes.”

  There was a long pause. I glanced over. The overturned glass they were using for a pointer was circling around, their fingertips gently but firmly affixed to its bottom, but it didn’t move to point at anything.

  Then, without further provocation from them it began to move once more.

  “W . . . A . . . R . . . N . . . Y . . . O . . . U . . .”

  “Warn you. Who, Elias?”

  “M . . . A . . . G . . . Maggie, I think he means you!”

  Liss was paying attention now, a frown tugging her brows together. She peered down at the counter where the glass was moving in circles. “Do you two believe this is the same spirit who followed Maggie home yesterday?”

  Their responses were excitable babbling, obviously affirmative.

  “I won’t add my energy to the glass,” Liss said, “but I want you girls to ask this spirit—”

  “Elias,” Evie provided.

  “Elias, whether he has been staying with Maggie.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I think that Minnie drove him aw—”

  But the pointer slid to “yes.”

  I closed my mouth, trying not to feel creeped out. “An attachment? You mean, Minnie didn’t successfully drive him away? He’s planning to stay?”

  “It happens to the best of us,” Liss said soothingly. “But don’t worry too much. It’s quite likely he was just attracted by your energy. I’m sure he’ll soon be ready to cross over, now that his spirit has been released.”

  “Released. From the cave-in?”

  She met my gaze. “It makes sense, now, doesn’t it?”

  That it did. A little too much for my taste.

  I was about to say more when the front door opened, sending the brass welcome bells into a cacophony of jangling action. The girls were engrossed in their game and scarcely noticed. I made my way toward the woman whose high heels were clicking across the waxed plank floor, ready to welcome her. She slid her bag farther up on her shoulder as it began to slip.

  “Hello and welcome to Ench—oh. You’re Evie’s mom, aren’t you?”

  Janet Carpenter had an air of authority about her that was common in highly successful corporate professionals. A sleek blonde with a French manicure and a corner office at one of the most high-profile executive staffing firms in the Midwest, she was as far from the Donna Reed version of homemaking femininity as a woman could get. Every ounce of that authority was in evidence as she strode down the aisle in her expensive suit, somehow managing to look crisp and cool even though the lined, fitted blazer she was wearing amounted to the equivalent of a fall jacket.

  “Hello, Maggie. Where can I find my daughter?” Polite enough but there was a terse edge to her voice that was at odds with her controlled expression.

  “Hello there, Mrs. Carpenter. Evie?” I called back to the beverage counter. “Your mom’s here.”

  Evie’s head popped up suddenly, and she peeped around the corner of the shelves, her china blue eyes wide and decidedly nervous. “Uh, hi, Mom. What are you doing here?”

  Mrs. Carpenter veered left past the shelves. Her tasteful brown stiletto sling backs—alligator—squeaked to a halt as her gaze fell upon the counter. “I’ve come to take you home. What is this?”

  “Take me home?” Evie looked confused. “But I’m working all day today—”

  “No, you’re not. Say good-bye to your friends, Evie.” Mrs. Carpenter paused, then said, “I’m afraid you won’t be seeing them again.”

  “What? Mom! What are you talking about? You can’t be serious.”

  Mrs. Carpenter didn’t look at the rest of us, who were gaping openly at the scene unfolding before our eyes. “I’m perfectly serious. Now go get your things. We’ll talk about this later.”

  Tara started to open her mouth, and I gave her a quick, negative jerk of my head. She snapped her mouth shut again, but in her eyes mutiny reigned.

  Mrs. Carpenter expected her daughter to comply without a peep. With good reason—as a well-loved and nurtured only child, Evie had always been a model daughter. In the nine months I’d known her, I’d never seen a rebellious side to Evie. But the Evie before me appeared downright seditious. Perhaps she took after her mother more than was apparent at first glance. “Mother, you tell me all the time that appearances and etiquette matter. It would be unprofessional of me to leave the store high and dry without adequate personnel.”

  Mrs. Carpenter’s eyes glittered with annoyance, but she stood her ground. With carefully controlled precision, she said, “Evie, I will absolutely not be dictated to by my own daughter. I have my reasons for removing you from this environment. I want you to get your things and come with me.”

  Evie didn’t move as she transferred her attention to me and Liss, then back to her mom, battling against her divided loyalties. She was so open and transparent that every nuance of her thinking process was reflected in her expression. Finally a sigh of resignation left her lips and her shoulders drooped. “Just a second. I’ll get my stuff.”

  She avoided Tara’s gaze completely as she made her way back to the office. Liss, Tara, and I looked at each other uncomfortably.

  Finally, Mrs. Carpenter broke the silence. “I meant what I said. She will not be back. I won’t allow my only daughter to be swayed away from the teachings of her parents and church by those who choose a path of darkness. You all ought to be ashamed of yourselves.”

  Liss shook her head sadly. “Mrs. Carpenter, your daughter has a natural gift”—she caught the sudden violent shaking of my head—“of being able to relate to customers instantly, and she is a ray of sunshine to be around. I fear you have the wrong idea about us here. I do hope you’ll reconsider.”

  “I won’t. I wish I could say I’m sorry, but I’m not. I’d like to invite you all to our church to learn the truth about occult activities. Feel free to come and bring all of your friends—I’m sure our pastor would be thrilled to minister to you all in a special session to help you renounce your sins.” Evidently being a modern woman did not necessarily equate to being open-minded or even tolerant.

  “Oh,” Liss said. “Oh, I see.”

  “And if not, well then, I can only pray and hope you come to see the error of your ways before it’s too late.”

  “Too late for . . . ?”

  But Evie had returned, her backpack slung over her shoulder, her gaze low. “I’m ready.”

  Her mother pivoted on her well-turned heel and led the way out of the store, leaving no option but for Evie to follow. Her only sign of defiance was to wave at each of us and morosely mouth “Bye,” before scurrying off in her mother’s footsteps.

  Chapter 12

  The silence that followed was overwhelming.

  “Well,” Liss said. “Well.”

  I knew it was perfectly within Evie’s mother’s rights to do what she had done, but still . . . the prospect of Evie’s bright presence being absent from the store left me feeling deeply sad.

  The three of us knocked around the store so quietly for the rest of the afternoon that you would have thought someone had died. Even Minnie didn’t seem to know what to do with herself, walking relentlessly up and down the aisles as though she recognized even at her young age that something had changed for the worst.

  It was a relief when Liss decided to close the doors early in the hopes of warding off a few of the worst kinds of phone calls. “Not that avoidance is a favorable response in most situations, but in lig
ht of everything, perhaps in this case it might be beneficial to all.”

  After the usual end-of-day tasks were complete, I loaded Minnie into her carrier and waved to Liss. “See you tomorrow.”

  Liss nodded. “Don’t worry about Evie too much, Maggie. I have a feeling she’ll be back with us.”

  I didn’t know what to think, other than that the last twenty-four hours had been completely emotionally exhausting.

  I set the carrier on the ground as I searched for my car keys, which seemed to be hiding from me again. I really needed a better way of managing them, I thought for perhaps the thousandth time.

  The crunch of gravel rolling around under tires in the alley behind me alerted me to the presence of a car. When I heard the whirr of an electric window going down, I glanced back.

  Tom.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey back,” I said, biting my lip. The argument we’d had was still fresh on my mind. After all that had happened, my nerves were feeling just a bit raw.

  “Can we talk?”

  A part of me wanted to say no. The day had just been a bit much. I wanted to plead weariness and go on home to a piece of leftover pizza and a spot in front of the TV for some one-on-one with Magnum. Magnum was a single girl’s best friend. With his bluer-than-blue eyes and deeply drawn laugh lines, he never failed to make the day brighter. Especially when the day had proven one’s kind-of, sort-of, but in-no-way-certain boyfriend to be a spineless, judgmental jerk.

  But sure. We could talk.

  I nodded my acceptance, if not willingness.

  “Good. Get in.”

  Into the cruiser. Yay for me. “I have Minnie,” I said, pointing to the carrier by my feet.

  “She can come, too.”

  Once in my seat, I stared straight ahead at the alley. “So. I’m in.”

  “Click it or ticket.”

  Sighing in annoyance at his idea of levity—at least I assumed it was a joke—I grabbed the seat belt and fastened it, balancing Minnie’s carrier on my knees. “Satisfied, Mr. Big Time Investigator?”

  “Yup.” He stepped on the accelerator hard enough to make gravel spew. Not the safest way to get out of an alley that had a brick building on either side, but this was an aggravated man we were talking about.