Hex and Candy

by Ashlyn Kane

  Fine. Leo supposed that was a fair question. It still chafed him to admit, “Not that urgently.”

  “Okay. Well. Good. I’m happy for you.”

  Leo wondered if he could ask for another beer. Then again, he was already crashing. He just wanted to go home, crawl into bed, and pass out for twelve or thirteen hours. “So. How do I break it?”

  Cole rubbed his temple, looking away. “It’s not that easy. I have a couple of leads, but I want to run them by a friend of mine for feedback before I get your hopes up. I don’t want to tell you it’s simple and then it turns out you have to strip naked, bathe yourself in lamb’s blood, and dance under the light of the new moon wearing a necklace of your own baby teeth.”

  Leo blanched. “Is that a possibility?”

  “In your case it’s just an example, but it wouldn’t be the weirdest way I’ve ever broken a curse.”

  Leo decided not to ask. Not now, at least. He wanted to be able to sleep tonight. Maybe in a week, when he had a little distance and perspective.

  “Well, that might be enough to turn me into a vegetarian, but if it breaks the curse….”

  Cole grinned. “Don’t worry. If it’s going to come to that, I’ll let you know and we’ll get it out of the way before the frost. Bit self-defeating otherwise.”

  Oh God.

  “Right.” Leo shook his head. He was falling asleep, and he didn’t think his dreams would be restful. “I should go before I pass out. Today has been… well, I was on my feet keeping patients alive and comfortable for twelve hours of it, and you were there for the rest.”

  Cole stood. “I’ll see you out.”

  Leo barely remembered the drive home. He kicked his shoes off inside his apartment door, left his jeans in a puddle in the living room, and face-planted on the couch. He was asleep before his eyes had closed.

  COLE closed the door to the yarn shop behind him and did a quick scan. Nobody but Kate, sitting behind a giant walnut desk piled high with yarn, needles clacking away at something in bright orange.

  She raised her eyebrows over horn-rimmed glasses.

  Cole locked the door, crossed the shop, and dropped into the chair on the opposite side of the desk. Then he laid his head against the smooth walnut and thumped it a few times.

  “You should’ve gone into theater,” Kate told him, clacking on to the next row of whatever it was.

  “Shut up,” Cole muttered into the desktop.

  For a few seconds the only sound was the rhythmic tap of knitting needles. Cole let that soothe him, breathed in the years of magic that had soaked into the desk and walls, the scents of sage and lavender wafting in from the back room. Kate let him be until the tension had bled from his shoulders and he lifted his head to say, “True love’s first kiss.”

  Not much fazed Kate. She hadn’t batted an eye when Cole came out, or when it turned out he was a bit magic after all, or when he broke a family curse that had been active for generations. Now, though, she stopped knitting and put down—maybe a hat? Cole had never gotten the hang of knitting. He always managed to be surprised whenever she finished.

  “What?”

  “Right?” Cole said, sitting up now and waving his hand expansively. He knocked over a basket of magenta angora, which toppled to the floor with a series of very soft thumps. “I mean. I’ve broken a lot of curses, but I have never actually seen the cliché, you know? This is just… overcommitment to detail.”

  Kate inclined her head and the basket returned to its place on the corner of the desk, the yarn stacking itself neatly inside. Show-off. “This is the guy you want to….”

  Cole started to wave his hand again to encompass the many varied things he would like to do to Leo, but he caught himself before he could make another mess. “Yeah, him. Kate, you should see this curse.” She couldn’t, of course; cursebreaking wasn’t her gift. Cole would have to draw it for her. “There’s no way anyone managed this without a focus object, maybe more than one. Are you sure no one’s bought anything suspicious?”

  Slowly, she shook her head. “You’re thinking what? Lily petals? Basil? Camphor?”

  Cole didn’t think so. “It’s stronger than that. Robust. Chestnut, maybe, with jute for flexibility?” He wrinkled his nose. He wasn’t any better at crafting spells than Kate was at breaking them. “Not ringing any bells?”

  “No, but that only rules out someone buying them here. There’s always Amazon. Or petty theft.”

  “Or the hardware store,” Cole pointed out. Jute wasn’t exactly hard to come by. He sighed and laid his head on the desk again.

  Kate picked up her knitting and resumed clacking. “So,” she said cheerfully, “you gonna break it?”

  “Am I going to—” Cole sat up. “Am I going to, what, casually make this guy fall in love with me and then kiss him?” Either she’d lost her mind, or she had a vastly inflated opinion of him. Cole’s romantic history spoke for itself.

  “You’ve had worse ideas,” she said reasonably. “Remember that time you made peanut-butter mints?”

  “First of all, I was twelve. Second, you haven’t seen this guy, okay? He is not interested in this.” He gestured to himself, this time without upsetting any textiles. “And anyway I don’t date anymore.”

  Kate opened her mouth, probably about to start the usual argument—Cole didn’t need clairvoyance to know that—but he interrupted with his final point.

  “Besides, that would be unprofessional, right? There’s more than one way to break a curse. If I can’t untie the knot, I’ll cut the threads. Or wiggle them until they’re loose enough to pull off.”

  Clack, clack, clack went the knitting needles. “Kissing sounds easier.” She lifted her gaze to his for a moment and quirked a smile. “And more fun.”

  “You do it, then,” Cole grumbled, but he conceded the point. He needed to open the shop anyway. He stood and brushed yarn fibers from the front of his shirt. “Thanks for listening to me vent.”

  Kate nodded, clacking away. Then she slowed, rested the unfinished project on the desk, and met his gaze.

  “You’ll let me know if anything suspicious…?” Cole trailed off.

  Kate’s gaze darted to the door to the back room. “Course,” she said. “Can’t have people just running around magically… what? Putting people in chastity belts?”

  Cole’s life was so weird sometimes. He laughed nervously. “Yeah. Well. I better go open the shop now.”

  Kate nodded again, and the door unlocked. “You coming to Sunday dinner?”

  The last time Cole had skipped, he’d intended to plan a romantic surprise for his boyfriend; instead they’d had a huge fight about bedsheets and broken up. “I’ll be there.”

  THE problem with being chronically unable to hook up was that it put a huge crimp in Leo’s social life.

  At first he didn’t mind it. He didn’t pick someone up every night when he was single, and dancing helped release the tension that built up over a long workweek. But eventually having to go home alone got old. Eventually he started to grit his teeth when his friends left him at the bar by himself and went home with their evening’s company. And eventually his friends got tired of him being tired.

  Leo needed new friends, obviously. And some caffeine.

  Too bad the guy across from him at the café—an attractive man whose too-short haircut made his ears seem very prominent—couldn’t take a hint.

  “Is this seat taken?” he asked with what he probably thought was a winsome smile but seemed pretty smarmy to Leo.

  He barely even needed the curse’s prompt to lie. “Sorry, I’m waiting for someone.”

  Between the curse and Leo’s dour demeanor, that usually worked. Apparently today was his lucky day. “I’ll keep you company while you wait.” He pulled out the chair and sat on it backward, facing Leo. Had Leo found this behavior charming once upon a time? Had he done this to other people? Maybe he deserved this curse. “I’m Alex.”

  Leo debated telling Alex to get fucked, but th
e curse might misinterpret that as an invitation and leave him gaping like a fish. “Hi.” He raised his mug to his lips, intent on ingesting his coffee before it got colder.

  “Aren’t you going to tell me your name?”

  Leo was going to tell him something, all right. “I’m—”

  “Sorry, sorry,” a familiar-looking woman said, setting a porcelain mug on the tabletop. Leo couldn’t quite place her. “The barista accidentally used the fat-free whipped cream and had to make me a new one.” Leo had been watching idly; she’d done no such thing. “I’m Amy. And you are?” She said this sweetly, but the knife edge lurked just under the words, providing plenty of bite.

  Alex scowled. “Leaving, apparently.” He stood, the chair scraping unpleasantly against the floor.

  Leo and Amy both watched him go. Then Amy shook her head and looked at Leo. “Charming character. Love the ears.”

  “Wish he’d used them to fly away,” Leo joked, then immediately felt a bit mean. “Thanks for the assist. Cafés are as good as dance clubs these days, apparently.” He corrected himself. “Or as bad.”

  “You looked like maybe an intervention wouldn’t come amiss, and I need the karma anyway. I have fifteen minutes until my next clients, and they’re….”

  “Particular?” Leo suggested, offering his preferred euphemism for difficult patients.

  “To put it kindly.” She shook her head. “Locally made candy for the favors isn’t going to cut it. They’re going to ask for organic licorice or artisanal free-range chocolate or something.”

  Now Leo remembered where he’d seen her before—in Cole’s shop the other day. “Artisanal free-range chocolate does sound delicious.” Then he realized she was still standing beside his table as the café filled up. “Do you want to sit with me for a few? I promise I won’t use a single cheesy pickup line.” Easiest promise he’d ever kept—even if he were interested in women, the curse would hold his tongue.

  “You’re sure I’m not interrupting? I know how important it is to commune with one’s coffee.”

  Shaking his head, Leo pulled his cup toward himself to make room. “I could use some human company.” Oops. He hadn’t meant that to come out as speciesist. Did Amy know about the arcane world? He only meant—“I’ve just realized too many of my friends are like our recently departed Alex.”

  Amy sat. “Tough realization.” She took a quiet sip.

  Worse, Leo didn’t know that he was any better. Introspection sucked. “I’ll get over it.” He couldn’t tell her much about the situation without giving away the existence of magic, and he didn’t want to monopolize the conversation anyway. “So your clients… tough customers?”

  With a sigh, she shrugged. “It’s not so bad really. They hired a wedding planner, but they are the ones doing all the planning, down to the minute detail. I just make phone calls.”

  “So it’s boring.”

  “Yes! But I feel bad complaining about easy money.” She shrugged again. “My life would be simpler if Cole would branch out into chocolate, but he refuses. Nut allergy.”

  “The nerve.” Truth told, Leo preferred chocolate, but he wasn’t about to tell Cole that. Definitely not before he broke the curse. “But weren’t you just wishing for more challenging work?”

  Amy set her cup down. “Touché. Maybe I should put an ad on the internet? ‘Charming small town seeks hipster chocolatier’?”

  Leo laughed. “Couldn’t hurt.”

  By the time Amy left for her appointment, Leo had a new friend and a light heart. Vowing to forget about magic and vampires and curses for the rest of the afternoon, he put his mug on the return cart and stepped out into bright September sunshine.

  Across the street, the florist was setting up a display of autumn wreaths. Leo waved and the florist waved back.

  A monarch butterfly landed on the flowering bushes along the sidewalk. The next house down, a realtor was hammering a For Lease sign into the yard of a two-story building that had once been a doctor’s office.

  Everything was bright and sunny and warm and beautiful, and Leo had an invite to games night at Amy’s, where she promised no one would try to hit on him. He had another two days off to relax before work sucked him back in. The breeze coming off the lake ruffled his hair and kept the heat from becoming oppressive. It should have been a perfect day.

  So why couldn’t he shake the feeling that he was being watched?

  Chapter Five

  “GRAN?” Cole poked his head out the back door of the enormous Victorian two-story he’d grown up in. As far as he could tell, Gran wasn’t in the house—not unusual, given the weather and the fact that she was ungodly spry for ninety-two. “I brought your gumdrops.”

  From the bench by the koi pond under the willow, she waved at him. Cole left the box on the kitchen counter, careful not to disturb the bundle of chicory she’d set out, and joined her.

  “You’re later than usual,” she observed, her countenance neutral, but Cole detected the sharpness underneath. Gran might be nearing a hundred, but nothing got past her.

  “I have a case,” Cole said smoothly. He’d learned long ago that the only way to lie to his grandmother was to tell the truth. He did have a case. It simply hadn’t made him late today. Well, unless you counted the extra time he’d taken to make the gumdrops because he’d fallen into an idle daydream about Leo.

  Gran had spent over a decade thinking Cole was going to take after his mundane human father; Cole using his magic was a weakness of hers. “You’re a good boy,” she said. “Anyone I know?”

  Cole caught himself before he could answer and looked into the pond. Three fat white-and-orange fish lazed in the water. The black-and-orange one twitched its tail and gobbled down a bug that had settled on the surface. “I don’t think so.” Any detail he offered would give away his attraction. He didn’t want to dwell on his love life or lack thereof, and if Gran suspected, by God, there would be dwelling.

  “Well.” She pushed herself up before Cole could offer to help. “Since you’re here, you’ll stay for supper.”

  Cole stayed for supper every Friday. “Yes, Gran.”

  “I’m going to get started in the kitchen. Would you mind cutting a bunch of those cornflowers for me? I need to start putting them up now, or I’ll run out of drying room.”

  Cole didn’t roll his eyes. She asked him to harvest something every week. “Yes, Gran.”

  “The boline is on the porch!”

  Probably right where he’d put it after he’d sharpened it last week. Shaking his head, Cole stood to get the knife.

  Gran had a proper witch’s garden. It rambled, and weeds grew unimpeded because when the herbs fought for resources it made their magic more potent. Cole set the gardener’s mat on the grass next to the cornflowers—just going to seed now, as summer came to a close—and grasped a handful of flowers close to the ground.

  The boline wasn’t strictly necessary. Cole used regular garden shears on his own herbs, and they were just as effective. But Gran liked her traditions, and Cole had been harvesting her crop since he was a boy. He cut the flowers seven to a bundle and tied them with the twine wrapped around the boline’s handle: five times around, one for each point on the pentagram.

  Cole set down the seventh bundle and wiped his hands on his jeans, debating. The laurel next to the house swayed gently in the breeze, filling the air with its pungent scent.

  Cole had grown up in that tree, climbing it, swinging from its branches. It shouldn’t have been able to grow so far north, but shouldn’t didn’t count for much with Gran.

  In the end, cowardice got the better of him.

  “These gumdrops are just the trick for my arthritis,” Gran praised when he came inside to hang the flowers. She bussed his cheek, then teased, “They might be even better than the original recipe.”

  Cole remembered having stomach cramps as a child and drinking Gran’s foul blue cohosh tea. “You could’ve added some sugar,” he teased back.

  “Sp
oken like a man who has never dealt with children on a sugar rush.”

  That made him snort. “Did you forget what I do for a living? Children on a sugar rush are my bread and butter.”

  Gran laughed too, even though she’d spent the past few weeks trying to convince him that his calling was in alternative medicine. “That’s my boy. Still terrorizing the parents of the neighborhood twenty years later.”

  “Hey, someone’s gotta keep the dentist in cavities.” He peered over her shoulder and sniffed appreciatively. “Need help?”

  Gran swatted at him with a wooden spoon. “I may be old, but I’m not infirm. Go set the table.”

  Cole did what she told him. In the end, he always did.

  WHEN the shop bell rang on Saturday, Cole was standing on a ladder behind the counter, filling a paper sack from one of the colorful jars. He eyeballed $1.25 worth of Swedish fish—or his version of them—then carefully climbed down to present them to his waiting customer.

  “Thank you,” the little girl whispered, clutching the bag to her chest with one hand and forking over a stack of quarters with the other.

  “You’re welcome,” Cole told her, pretending he wasn’t dying a little on the inside. She was adorable.

  Her mother smiled at him and led the girl toward the door, and finally Cole allowed himself the luxury of looking over.

  He didn’t have the sight, not like Gran or even Kate. But he knew when he looked up he’d see—

  “Hi,” Leo said sheepishly, with a grin that lit his eyes.

  Cole worked at not swooning. “Hi,” he said back. “What brings you here? Sudden hankering for sweets?”

  “Just coming back from brunch with Amy. Thought I’d check in and see if you’d made any progress?”

  Cole had to work a little harder now to keep from betraying that he’d already worked it out. “I have a few ideas,” he hedged. “I didn’t know you and Amy knew each other.” Amy had definitely played that pretty cool.