Southern Spells

by Amy Boyles

  I pinched the material and slid my fingers down it. “It’s light and soft.”

  “I design them that way,” came a voice.

  I glanced in the wardrobe’s mirror. A tall woman with flowing black hair and a black suit strode forward. “I’m Gretchen Gargoyle and I’m a sewing witch. This is my store.”

  “Your clothes are beautiful.”

  She smiled. “You should try on a Flutter Dress. Let me find one that suits you in color.” She eyed the line and said, “You need a robin’s egg blue. I think there is one in back. Let me get it.”

  When she disappeared, Licky thrust the black one in my arms. “Try this one on while she looks. You can at least see what it’s like.”

  I found the dressing room and slipped from my clothes. The soft cotton felt like silk as it slid over my hips. I threaded my hands through the arms and sashayed from side to side, admiring the image in the mirror.

  The dress hugged my curves, accentuating what was there. The black was a little harsh for my pale skin and it made the freckles on my nose seem even darker and my brown eyes nearly looked black, but it was a cool gown.

  I opened the dressing room door and twirled for Mint and Licky.

  Licky clapped her hands. “Beautiful.”

  Mint smiled. “Really gorgeous. You need to get one.”

  I nodded. “It’s nice, but how does the power work?”

  Licky snapped her fingers. “Simple. Think about something you’re either not very good at or uncomfortable doing and try to do it. What’s something you don’t have much experience with?”

  I shrugged. “Well, you said it earlier—I’ve never really danced.”

  “Okay,” Mint said. “So think about dancing and start twirling.”

  I cracked my knuckles. I would feel like a Grade-A-Idiot for dancing in front of these two.

  “It’ll be fine,” Licky said, as if reading my mind. “No one judges here. Just try.”

  I swallowed a ball of nerves in my throat and thought about dancing.

  Then it started.

  My hips swung. My feet swept across the parquet floor. My arms flailed as my body jutted forward.

  “Just go with it,” Licky said. “You’ll see.”

  So I did. I let the dress twirl and salsa me back and forth. My feet nearly flew out from under me as I struggled to keep up.

  “Okay,” I said, grinning, though I’m pretty sure I looked more like I was grimacing than anything else. “I’m ready to stop.”

  “Just tell it,” Mint said. “It’ll calm down for you.”

  I focused on stopping but the dress did the exact opposite. It sped up. I threw my arms out in front of me to keep from hitting a cabinet full of clothes. My feet scrambled and my spine snapped as my feet kicked into gear.

  “Something’s wrong,” I said. “Get Gretchen.”

  Licky grimaced. “I hope it’s not us.”

  “I’m pretty sure it is,” I snarled. “It’s your curse!”

  Gretchen must’ve heard the commotion because she raced into the room. “Oh no! Be careful. Don’t rip the dress. It’s one of a kind.”

  “I’m trying to stop,” I yelled. “But it’s not helping.”

  “Try harder,” Mint yelled.

  Thanks. What exactly did they think I was doing? I was trying. I had focused on stopping and halting, but nothing was working.

  An idea flared. If thinking about stopping didn’t work, what if I did the opposite? What if I told the gown to speed up, give it everything it had?

  I felt a sudden tug in one direction, then the same tug in another. It was like the dress was pulling itself two different ways. I heard a screech as seams started ripping.

  “Please don’t tear it,” Gretchen said, clutching the ends of her hair.

  I pushed harder, commanding the gown to do more, work harder.

  The fabric hummed against my body. I tugged at it, trying to get it off, but it was stuck. The darned thing wouldn’t budge. Meanwhile, I was still moving, though not as much as before. Gretchen rushed to me. She started to pull the gown over my head but it wouldn’t move.

  Mint and Licky tried, too, but the fabric was plastered to me.

  At that moment, the dress shot me out from the circle of women.

  Okay. I’d had enough. It was time to end this.

  I focused everything I had on pushing the dress to its limits. I felt a buildup of energy in my head, like a fist pressing against my brain. I pushed harder until a loud RIIIIP filled the store. The gown fell from my body, leaving me in my underwear.

  But the magic I’d used had been too much. At the exact same time, every stitch of clothing fell from all the racks and shelves, spilling onto the floor.

  Licky grimaced. “Well, I guess that’s one way to get it off.”

  Mint nodded. “Could’ve been worse, y’all. Could’ve been worse.”

  I glanced at Gretchen, who had turned a deep shade of red. She opened her mouth and screamed, “Get out! If I see y’all in this store again, I will personally kick you in the rear end so hard you’ll end up in China!”

  Well, that was one way to make an exit.

  NINETEEN

  Needless to say, I had pretty much decided never to shop with Licky and Mint again. Ever. I was also a thousand and one percent sure that they were chaos witches.

  I tugged on my clothes, we said our goodbyes and I headed to the house.

  Betty laughed when she saw me. “I tried to warn you.”

  I frowned. “No, you didn’t. You let me go. I was kicked out of a shop thanks to those two. Not sure my reputation will be able to rebound.”

  Betty cackled. “Your reputation will be fine. If Mayor Potion can hide his drunk nakedness, then you’ll be okay, too.”

  I plopped in a chair. “I suppose so…I tell you, I’m beginning to understand why y’all sent Mint and Licky away. They’re something else.”

  Amelia bounded down the stairs. Her hair was long again, but there was something off about it. “Is that?” I squinted. “Is that a wig?”

  She rolled her eyes and yanked it off. “Dang. I guess you can tell. Betty still hasn’t gotten her full powers back and we can’t seem to get my hair to grow.”

  She tossed the wig on the table and sank onto the couch. “Why, Grandma? Why would you let this man into my life and then take him away?”

  Betty shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Can I help it if the police screwed up my powers?”

  Amelia gave her a hard stare. “It wasn’t the police. You had a cold.”

  Betty shook her head. “All right. Let me give it one more shot. But don’t you do anything stupid like wash it before you see him.”

  Amelia perked up. “I won’t.”

  Betty put her corncob pipe in her mouth and covered one nose like St. Nick about to fly up a chimney. Sparks snorted from the pipe and trickled over Amelia. Her golden hair elongated into beautiful wavy locks; her makeup became instantly contoured and she looked absolutely stunning.

  The doorbell rang. “Whew,” Amelia said, rising, “just under the wire.” She crossed to Betty and kissed the top of her silver curls and opened the door.

  Lane Longmire stood on the other side. His dark pompadour swooped high like it had the first time I saw him. He flashed a slick grin at Amelia.

  “You look beautiful,” he said.

  She snaked a hand around his elbow. “Thanks.”

  Lane gave us a wave. “We’re off to enjoy the park and the Potion Pools. Anyone care to join us?”

  Not interested in being anyone’s third wheel, I said, “No thanks.”

  As soon as the door shut, I turned to Betty. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

  “What?” she said innocently.

  “Amelia’s being someone she’s not for this guy. She doesn’t have long hair and she doesn’t wear makeup like that.”

  Betty shrugged. “It’s her life. She’s got to figure it out.”

  “G
reat advice for a grandmother.”

  Betty stoked the fire. “That’s what I thought, too.”

  “I was being sarcastic.”

  “Not to me, you weren’t.”

  Cordelia tromped downstairs. She snatched an apple from the fruit bowl on the table and polished it on her shirt. She unhooked her purse from a peg by the door and slung it over her shoulder.

  “Where are you going?” Betty said.

  “I’ve things to do. Sorry. They’re important. For work. Anyway, I’ll see y’all later.”

  She escaped quicker than a mouse down a hole, leaving Betty and me staring with blank expressions on our faces.

  “She’s up to something,” Betty said.

  I yawned. “Well, I’m exhausted. I need a nap.”

  I started up the stairs when Betty stopped me. “Do you want to talk about Axel?”

  I sighed. “What’s there to say? The guy’s a werewolf. You seem to think he’s okay, so I should, too.”

  Betty frowned. “There are those who don’t like him.”

  I slid my hand up the railing. “I haven’t been in town long enough to care who those people are. After all, I’m the only person who helps witches find their familiars. And if they don’t have me—who’ve they got?”

  Betty laughed a hearty bellyful. “Spoken like one of my offspring.”

  I sealed my lips as I had no idea what to say in reply. I climbed the stairs and collapsed on my bed. Mattie jumped off the window seat and hopped up next to me. I gave her a good stroke right as my phone rang.

  I fished it from my pocket and glanced at the screen. Axel’s name flashed.

  “It’s Axel,” I said, figuring Mattie couldn’t read. “Should I answer it? Or should I play hard to get?”

  “Sugarbear, it might be about business and not about kissin’.”

  “Good point.” I thumbed it on. “Hello?”

  “Hey,” he said in the husky voice of his. My insides quivered. “It’s Axel.”

  “Hey,” I said.

  “So I got some news about the chickens.”

  I pressed myself up. “You do? That’s great. What’ve you found out?”

  The sound muffled for a moment as if he were switching ears. “I called the company about Melbalean’s and Betty’s chickens and they didn’t have their addresses on file.”

  “What? How is that possible?”

  “That’s what I wondered. The guy said he’d need the serial numbers from the boxes, so I tracked one of the numbers from Garrick.”

  I twisted the comforter absently between my fingers. “And he gave it to you?”

  “Yeah. It’s a lead he’s not pursuing. He’s still looking for a killer with a knife.”

  “So am I,” I said.

  “Well, that’s where this gets interesting,” Axel said.

  “Tell me more,” I said.

  He cleared his throat. “I gave the guy the serial number from one of the boxes and he said that chicken wasn’t shipped here. It was shipped to a town called Hollyhock Hollow.”

  I kicked off my shoes and said, “I just heard about it the other day.”

  “It’s another witch town, but it’s not as cool as this one.”

  I laughed. Was he flirting? Yes, I think he was. I started to twirl a strand of hair around my finger but then I realized that first of all, Axel wasn’t in here, and second of all, we were talking about murder and flirting wasn’t really what I needed to be doing, either.

  I cleared my throat in a very professional sounding way. “Okay. So it’s another town. What does all this mean?”

  Axel’s voice hardened. “What I think it means is that someone from Hollyhock Hollow ordered those chickens and sent them on to Betty and Melbalean.”

  I frowned. “But how? First, they would’ve had to know that Betty and Melbalean were going to order them, wouldn’t they?”

  “You said yourself you heard that Melbalean had spied on Betty. What if someone was spying on Melbalean?”

  “But then wouldn’t they have just sent one to Melbalean? Why include Betty?”

  Axel paused. “If you had an opportunity to get back at someone and you were putting all your faith in a chicken, would you just want one chicken, or would you want to increase your odds by having two chickens involved?”

  I grabbed a brush and started working it down my tresses. It snagged on a tangle until I ripped the tines through. “I guess I’d want two chickens, but we’re talking about chickens, here. It’s not like we’re talking about assassins.”

  Axel paused.

  “You think we’re talking about chicken assassins?” I said.

  “A murder weapon wasn’t found, but a chicken covered in blood was. That chicken pointed the finger at Betty. You said you tried talking to Betty’s chicken earlier in the day and the bird didn’t have enough brains for conversation.”

  “Yeah, but…”

  Well, yeah but what? I’d originally stated that it was a ludicrous idea that a chicken could commit murder, but what if it was so ludicrous that someone had taken advantage of the idea and turned it into reality?

  Was it possible?

  “Okay,” I said, “say someone did turn a chicken into the ultimate killing machine, and that’s what got Melbalean. How do we prove it? The police have both chickens, all we have is the name of a town where the chickens were re-routed through.”

  “Hollyhock Hollow is pretty small,” he said. “Around the size of Magnolia Cove.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “You want to have dinner tonight?” he said.

  I frowned. “You were talking about Magnolia Cove. Not about dinner with me.”

  “I thought you might like to have a real date.”

  “You mean finding you naked in the middle of a meadow doesn’t count? You did make me coffee afterward.”

  “You’re very cheeky.”

  “I saw some cheek on you.”

  He didn’t say anything. Had I gone too far?

  “I’m kidding. I didn’t see any cheek. I didn’t look. It wasn’t polite.”

  When he spoke, Axel’s voice was low. “I was actually hoping you’d seen both cheeks.”

  I laughed. “Okay. Maybe I did. But you were asking about dinner. What do you have in mind?”

  “There’s a steakhouse in Magnolia Cove. White tablecloth. Lots of out-of-towners go there. We could head over and then maybe go to Lightning Bug Creek.”

  “Lightning Bug Creek?”

  “Yeah. It’s pretty cool. You’d have to see it to believe it.”

  “Okay, sure. But I think you were telling me about who lived in Hollyhock Hollow.”

  “Yeah,” Axel said. “I was. Okay, so there are two people among the residents of Hollyhock Hollow with strong connections to Magnolia Cove. The first is Leona Doodle.”

  My eyebrows shot to peaks. “The restaurant owner?”

  “One and the same,” he said.

  I mused on that for a second. “I don’t know anything about her, but it’s possible anyone could have a grudge against Melbalean.”

  “Exactly,” Axel said. “Melbalean kept her extracurricular activities a secret from us, but plenty of people knew about them.”

  Which gave me an idea. Leona was still in town and would be for at least another day or so—which is when the festival concluded. These folks in Magnolia Cove were serious about their festivals. They didn’t just last a weekend. They went on for nearly a week, murder or no murder.

  “Okay, so Leona. Who’s the other person from the town?”

  “This one took more digging to find out, but I eventually figured it out. First name Robert, last name Longmire.”

  I paused. “I don’t know a Robert Longmire. The only Longmire I know is Lane, the guy who’s dating Amelia.”

  “Right,” Axel said. “Robert Longmire was born about the same time as Lane. At least the birthday looked about right to me. Doing more digging, I came across the man’s entire name—Robert Lane Longmire.”
>
  I gasped. “So it is Lane Longmire. That family has a beef with Melbalean. Supposedly she cursed them so that they don’t live past thirty.”

  “I thought it was webbed feet,” Axel said.

  “It’s not. It’s a longevity issue,” I said.

  “Mm. I told you that guy was lying about something the night we found him snooping around the festival supposedly looking for more flowers.”

  “But what could he have been looking for?” I said.

  “His hair,” Axel joked.

  I laughed. “He’s grown that back. Betty made sure of it. So if he came here to kill Melbalean and break his family’s curse, what’s he still doing here?”

  “I don’t know, but I have a feeling that if Melbalean did curse the Longmires, her death would’ve broken that.”

  “What about the face in the egg?”

  “A curse is different than stealing someone’s attribute. Melbalean’s death wouldn’t have broken that sort of spell. That’s different magic. Either way, we need to find out why he’s still in town. My guess it’s not just about your cousin.”

  “We?” I said. “You accept that I’m helping you on this?”

  “I don’t mean ‘we’ in that sense.”

  My heart deflated a little.

  “But I do need your help.”

  “Why?”

  He cleared his throat. “Because after doing a little more digging, I found out that Lane is taking Amelia to a very nice restaurant tonight.”

  “Let me guess, the steakhouse.”

  “Right,” Axel said. “And you and I are also going there.”

  I bristled. “I thought it was a date.”

  He chuckled. “It is a date. We’re going, but there’s something we need to do.”

  I folded one arm over the other, almost a little hurt that my date night with the werewolf I practically drooled for, was now a working dinner. “What is it we need to do?”

  Axel’s voice turned into a low growl. “We need to spy on Lane. Find out what he’s up to.”

  And in that one moment, the surge of adrenaline that flowed through me at the thought of spying on Amelia’s boyfriend made everything all right.

  TWENTY