by Sharon Pape
When my first customer walked in savoring a dark chocolate turtle from Lolly’s, I had an instant craving for one. I promised myself I’d run across to her shop after the bus tour left. My sugar addiction pointed out that Lolly could easily be out of them by then. Okay—maybe I’d run over there when there was a lull in customers.
Travis called at eleven, sounding glum.
“How did it go?” I asked.
“Stubbs knew me right off the bat. I’m usually thrilled to see an uptick in my recognizability quotient, but not in this case. He called me a troublemaking newsmonger and slammed the door in my face.”
“We can’t give up,” I said. “If we can link that motorcycle of his with the Biker Dude who’s been keeping tabs on me, it could split this case wide open.” I had no idea if that was true or even logical, but it was the only thing we had to go on and I wasn’t willing to dismiss it.
“What do you suggest?”
I laid out Tilly’s offer to poke around Paul Curtis’s brain and find out if Stubbs had given the police an alibi for the day of his son’s demise.
“Poke around?” Travis said. “There’s got to be a better way to describe what she does.”
“How does probe suit you?”
“Never mind, that makes me think of alien encounters.”
“All right, let’s not play thesaurus. The important thing is that Paul won’t realize what Tilly is doing to him and he won’t suffer any side-effects from it.”
“Paul?” Travis repeated dryly.
Was that a wisp of jealousy I heard in his tone? “Yes, Paul. We’ve sort of become friends. He’s helped me out with stuff a time or two.”
“Stuff, huh?”
“Is there a problem?” I asked.
“You are aware he’s interested in you, right?”
I laughed. “Why would he be interested in me?” I said, hoping to nip his speculation in the bud and move on. Big mistake—I wasn’t any good at acting coy.
“Don’t be disingenuous, Kailyn,” Travis said, clearly irritated. “It’s not who you are. And I have enough phony crap to deal with in my career.”
After our ups and downs, it was nice to know Travis cared enough to be territorial about me, but I felt like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar and two cookies already stuffed in her mouth. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I do know he’s interested in me. He asked me out a couple months ago, but I turned him down.” There was silence from Travis’s end. “Are you there?”
“Yeah, I’m here,” he said finally. “I appreciate the honesty but I don’t think I should have to search for it. I want to know I can trust anything you say to me without having to parse your words for hidden meanings. Can we agree on that?”
“Yes,” I said, feeling properly chastened. What was I thinking? I’ve never been a game-player, especially when it comes to relationships. The nature of my lineage alone would have made plenty of men bail and never look back. Travis had wrestled with it, but had eventually come around. I suspected it was still a work in progress. I had no way to know what new straw might be the final one.
“Getting back to Stubbs,” Travis said, “your aunt’s mind probe—there’s got to be a better way to describe it— may tell us if he has an alibi, but what if it doesn’t reveal anything about the motorcycle? Who’s left to approach the man?”
“I have an idea, but I want to wait until I have the kinks worked out before I tell you.” The chimes jingled, signaling the arrival of half a dozen tourists. I told Travis I’d call back later and went to welcome them. Some of the women looked familiar from previous visits. I loved repeat customers. They already knew the quality of everything I sold and were always eager to share their knowledge with the uninitiated. They were walking, talking billboards.
One of the women I recognized came over to say hello and ask about Morgana and Bronwen. Had they turned the business over to me entirely? she asked. Were they off somewhere warm and sunny? When I told her they’d passed on, tears welled up in her eyes and she put her hand over mine on the counter. “I am so sorry, dear. What dynamic women they were. What a loss.” I thanked her and she went back to shopping, shaking her head.
She’d nearly had me in tears too, until I remembered that I still had my mother and grandmother in my life, along with a lot of the same problems as when they were incarnate. Apparently, death didn’t automatically make souls into saints. Maybe that came later in the process. In any case, I didn’t have long to dwell on the unknown. I was busy fielding questions, suggesting remedies, and ringing up sales.
A few of the customers requested specific spells. Since it was impossible to prevent everyone else in the shop from hearing me dictate the instructions, I’d come up with what seemed like an equitable solution. I’d uploaded the most commonly requested spells into my computer, so I could easily print them out for those who wished to purchase them. Every spell came with a caveat though. It was imperative that the buyer use a pencil and paper to transcribe the spells when they got home. Failure to do so, could keep them from working properly.
By the end of the day I was beat, but if this first round of holiday shoppers was any indication of sales in the coming weeks, my bank account would be in good shape by year’s end. Tilly hobbled in from her shop with her turban askew and crumbs clinging to the front of her muumuu. “You were right,” she groaned. “I don’t think a single person stayed home. Maybe you should be the psychic.”
“It was just a guess based on past experience,” I said. “Don’t you dare think about retiring, Aunt Tilly.”
“How could I? Have you seen my grocery bills now that I have a bottomless pit to feed?”
“Speaking of Merlin—how did you keep him out of trouble today?”
“By leaving him home with his favorite electronics and a promise of dinner at The Soda Jerk if he stayed out of trouble.”
“And?”
“I’ve been afraid to call,” she admitted. “But I’m maintaining a positive outlook. I’ve found that ignorance truly can be bliss, at least until reality sneaks in and kicks you in the keister. I’ll keep you posted. That reminds me, have you decided to let me hold the raffle?”
“I can’t think of any other way to find out if Stubbs gave the police an alibi, so you have my blessings.”
“A bit more enthusiasm would be nice, but I’ll take what I can get.”
“Have you considered the possibility that Paul may not want to participate?” I asked.
“Well…well…” she stammered, “you need to stop sending negative vibes into the universe.”
I didn’t say anymore on the subject, lest I be blamed for its failure. Instead I thanked her for her ingenuity.
“You’re welcome,” she said mollified. “Wish me luck. I’m off to see if my house is still standing.”
I wished her well and hoped Merlin got to have dinner at The Jerk. I didn’t want him to be in a snit in the morning. He was essential to my plan to question Stubbs. That alone should have raised all sorts of red flags for me, but it’s easy to ignore what you don’t want to see.
I left for home shortly after Tilly, cradling a sleep-dazed Sashki in my arms. Instead of trying to wriggle out of my grasp, he snuggled his head in between my chest and upper arm in anticipation of another gale-force gust.
Chapter 31
According to my aunt Tilly, she came home to a miracle. Although Merlin had managed to get into mischief, it was so minor, so inconsequential that in her relief she took him to dinner anyway and let him have two ice cream sundaes for dessert. When I saw her the next morning in the shop, she explained that the wizard had tried to make popcorn in the microwave the way he’d seen her do it. But instead of putting a small handful of kernels in a brown paper bag, he’d filled half the bag. When he opened the microwave, a flood of popcorn poured out. In no time it was everywhere, courtesy of Isenbale. The Maine Coo
n didn’t like popcorn, but he’d had a dandy time batting the airy stuff around the house. Merlin tried to clean it all up, but the next morning Tilly was still finding popcorn under the refrigerator, beneath the living room couch, and upstairs in her closet.
The cold snap ended two days later, the temperature rising into the balmy thirties. Eager to kickstart her plan, Tilly set off in her can-do sneakers to register the merchants of New Camel as well as Officers Curtis and Hobart and the volunteer fire department for her bogus lottery. She planned to tell them all that it was her way of giving back to the business community of New Camel. She believed that the more people she included in the lottery, the more believable it would seem. She chose not to consider that the more people she registered for it, the more people she’d be tricking. She left Merlin in her shop engrossed in an old TV movie. She didn’t have any appointments scheduled and she figured there was less potential for him to cause disaster there with me just steps away. She told him to ask my permission before doing anything.
I walked through the connecting door and found Merlin obediently watching his movie. I put it on pause and explained what I wanted him to do.
“Yes, yes, most certainly,” he said, reaching to take back the remote. “Whatever you wish.”
“Merlin, I need to know the truth. Is it too risky for me?”
“No, it should be fine.”
“Should be or will be?” I pressed him.
He sighed. “Will, is that what you wish to hear?”
“I wish to hear the truth,” I said, losing patience. It might be a simple request for him, but it was a major decision for me. One that could change the course of my life. “You’re not getting this remote back until you give my question the attention it deserves.”
He swiveled in his chair to face me. “You will be fine, mistress, unscathed. I haven’t the slightest doubt of it.”
“Now you sound like you’re trying to humor me.”
“Is there not a single answer that will buy me freedom from your paranoia?” I handed him back the remote. He was right. He could give me every assurance and it wouldn’t be enough. Because it wasn’t up to him. It would depend on the current vagaries of our magick. The decision to take the risk was up to me and me alone. I spent the next few hours driving myself as crazy as I’d driven poor Merlin. In the end, I decided to go ahead with it and cast my doubts away.
When Tilly returned aglow with the cold and success, she shot me down. I reminded her that she’d done the exact same thing mere minutes after meeting the wizard. “At least now I know how to reverse the spell if he forgets again,” I said. “I’ll write it down for you just in case.” She had no comeback. Travis proved a whole lot harder to convince.
“Are you out of your mind?”
“I think the idea deserves reasonable consideration, not an emotional reflex,” I said evenly.
“You’re right, it does,” he said after taking a moment to compose himself. I explained that the reversal spell would be my fail-safe, but he didn’t take comfort from it the way Tilly had. For him it was just more magick that could go wrong.
“I have to be honest, Kailyn, the thought of it just scares the hell out of me. If something goes wrong, then what? You spend the rest of your life looking like a guy?”
“A guy is much more believable than a woman in this situation, especially since I’ll be dealing with someone who’s old school. Don’t worry, nothing is going to go wrong.” But I had no guarantees to support my claim. And I could hardly blame him for being worried. He’d been privy to some impressive shortfalls in my family’s magick. If only I could transfuse him with a few liters of my innate confidence in it.
“Can you explain it to me again?” he asked. “Slowly this time.” He sounded like he was trying to find a way to be more receptive.
“Merlin is going to glamour me so that anyone who looks at me will see a man.”
“Wait, I thought vampires glamour people.”
“Vampires are pure fiction,” I said. “Let’s stick to reality, okay?”
“Right. What’s that other thing Merlin can do? I get them mixed up.”
“Transmutate one living organism into another. Like changing a dog into a cat. It’s much more difficult magick, but a couple of months ago you saw first-hand how successful he was at it. And glamouring is a lot less risky.” Travis was silent again. “It’s the only way I might be able to get Stubbs to show me the motorcycle. If it’s the one Lolly described, we’ll know that there’s a connection between Stubbs and Biker Dude. We have to follow up on every little clue if we want to find Ryan’s killer.”
“I know, but I don’t want to lose you too,” Travis said bluntly. “And it’s not only me. You need to consider what it would do to your aunt and Merlin and all the people who love you.”
“My family is all right with it, because magick is a part of who we are. I hope you can find a way to focus on a positive outcome.”
“I will,” he said with a sigh. “One way or another, I will.”
Chapter 32
Paul Curtis won Tilly’s lottery—big surprise. That was the easy part. The hard part was convincing him to accept his lucky win and actually use his prize. He tried to sound grateful when she called him with the good news. She had the phone on speaker so I could listen to the conversation.
“I can’t thank you enough,” he said, “but I don’t know when I’d have time to use it. Maybe you should pick another winner.”
“Nonsense,” Tilly said, “I’ll work with you until we manage to fit it into your schedule.”
“But—”
“No buts about it,” she said brightly. “You won the lottery because it was meant for you.” She lowered the pitch of her voice to somewhere between serious and grave. “Paul, there could be something critical you need to hear.” It was difficult to cut Tilly down when she was on a mission.
He sort of laughed and coughed. The man was clearly out of his element. “Well then, I guess I’ll be seeing you. Thanks again.” This thank you was considerably less enthusiastic than the first one. Before he could add goodbye, Tilly pounced.
“Now is as good a time as any to set a date,” she said. “When is your next day off? The reading won’t take more than half an hour of your time, unless you’d like to stay for a proper English tea, complete with clotted cream from England.”
“I’ve heard people rave about your teas, Ms. Wilde. They sound terrific, but I’m afraid even a thirty-minute session—”
“Then it’s settled. A quick reading and away you go. Are you off on Monday?” He hemmed and hawed, until Tilly wore him down. In the resigned tone of someone scheduling a colonoscopy with a side of root canal, he agreed to ten o’clock and was off the phone before she could rope him into anything else. I felt sorry for the guy.
Travis called, sounding equally unhappy. He was heading back to Albany to continue his coverage of the ongoing corruption investigation there. His boss assured him it was only until something new broke on the Schuyler County murders. The local media had reduced the name to the handy acronym SCM that quickly morphed into the more colorful pronunciation of scum. The days after the bus tour, business was slow, but it didn’t worry me. Once Thanksgiving arrived, so would more buses, as well as lots of shoppers from surrounding areas. The lull was a good time to take my teleportation skills out for a spin. With all that was going on in my life, I hadn’t been consistent in my training. If only there was a teleportation guru on TV like the fitness and yoga instructors. All my motivation had to come from me, although the prospect of taking Merlin back home was certainly an incentive.
Sometimes just thinking about the intensity of teleportation was enough to make me look for other, easier tasks like cleaning out closets, paying bills, doing inventory, and twiddling my thumbs. I always felt guilty after a day of procrastination, my conscience only too willing to take me to task. W
as I a sorcerer or wasn’t I? Was I willing to settle for mediocrity when such incredible abilities were mine for the taking? To shut down the harpy in my head, I didn’t go straight home after closing the shop. The cats wouldn’t starve if dinner was delayed twenty minutes. Besides, Sashkatu was still snoring away on his ledge.
I went into the storeroom to prevent passersby from seeing me vanish before their eyes. I set an empty glass jar at eye level on one of the metal shelves where I kept additional inventory. It was the kind of jar in which I kept the various plants, herbs, and decoctions in my shop. I’d promised Bronwen I would always try teleporting an object before trying to teleport myself, to be sure my magick was up to par. If the jar broke or developed so much as a crack on landing, teleporting myself was out for that day.
I’d noticed that the more I practiced, the easier it was becoming to gather my energy. It was as if I was wearing a pathway in my brain/body connection where there had once been only virgin territory. That pathway cut down on how long it took me to reach what I thought of as critical mass—enough energy to complete a teleportation. Unfortunately, it still took an awful lot out of me. I had no idea if that would ever get better and I had no one to ask. That was the problem with a talent that cropped up once every three or four hundred years.
I started with some deep-breathing to center my mind. When I felt ready, I drew the energy from all the cells in my body and focused it on the jar, chanting:
From here and now to there and then
Attract not change, nor harm allow.
Safe passage guarantee to souls
As well as lesser, mindless things.
I sent the jar to my aunt’s shop, because I knew that she and Merlin were at home. I didn’t have to worry about it hitting anyone in the head…again. I heard the barest clink of the jar setting down on the hardwood floor. When I went in there to check, I found it intact. I was go for teleporting myself, as Mission Control might say.
