Love Potions

by Michelle M. Pillow

  Lydia lifted her forehead from the kitchen table. Her windows and doors were all locked, and yet Erik’s endlessly verbose singing penetrated the barrier of glass and wood with ease.

  Charlotte held her head and blinked heavily. Her red-rimmed eyes were filled with the all too poignant look of a hangover. She took a seat at the table and laid her head down. Her moan sounded something like, “I’m never moving again.”

  “You need fluids,” Lydia prescribed, getting up to pour unsweetened herbal tea from the pitcher in the fridge. She’d mixed it especially for her friend. It was Gramma Annabelle’s hangover recipe of willow bark, peppermint, carrot, and ginger. The old lady always had a fresh supply of it in the house while she was alive. Apparently, being a natural witch also meant in partaking in natural liquors. Annabelle had kept a steady supply of moonshine stashed in the basement. If the concert didn’t stop soon she might try to find an old bottle.

  “Ly-di-ah!”

  “Omigod. Kill me,” Charlotte moaned. “No. Kill him. Then kill me.”

  “Ly-di-ah!”

  Erik had been singing for over an hour. At first, he’d tried to come inside. She’d not invited him and the barrier spell sent him sprawling back into the yard. He didn’t seem to mind as he found a seat on some landscaping timbers and began his serenade. The last time she’d asked him to be quiet, he’d gotten louder and overly enthusiastic. In fact, she’d been too scared to pull back the curtains for a clearer look, but she was pretty sure he’d been dancing on her lawn, shaking his kilt.

  “Omigod,” Charlotte muttered, pushing up and angrily going to a window. Then grimacing, she said, “Is he wearing a tux jacket with his kilt?”

  “Don’t let him see you,” Lydia cried out in a panic. It was too late. The song began with renewed force.

  “He’s…” Charlotte frowned. “I think it’s dancing.”

  Since the damage was done, Lydia joined Charlotte at the window. Erik grinned. He lifted his arms to the side and kicked his legs, bouncing around the yard like a kid on too much sugar. “Maybe it’s a traditional Scottish dance?”

  Both women tilted their heads in unison as his kilt kicked up to show his perfectly formed ass.

  “He’s not wearing…” Charlotte began.

  “I know. He doesn’t,” Lydia answered. Damn, the man had a fine body. Too bad Malina’s trick had turned him insane.

  “Let’s not call the police quite yet,” Charlotte said just as the kilt kicked up to show the back of his thighs. “Maybe he’ll tire first and go home.” They watched, suppressing giggles and looks of admiration. When the song became winded, Charlotte asked, “Is he drunk?”

  “Kind of.” Lydia avoided her friend’s probing gaze and went to the tea glass she’d left on the counter. Thrusting it at Charlotte, she said, “Hold your nose and drink it.”

  “What do you mean, kind of? He’s not on drugs, is he?” Charlotte sniffed the tea and grimaced. She wrinkled her nose, closed her eyes and tried to take a long drink. The liquid went down, but barely. She coughed, unable to finish all of it.

  “Not really.” Lydia moved to put the pitcher back in the fridge before hurrying to check the computer for orders…and to avoid answering. Since the MacGregors purchased most of her supplies on hand, she had her work cut out for her making more. “Can you grab lotion base from the basement and make sure we have enough labels for everything?”

  “What do you mean, not really?” Charlotte arched a brow.

  “He’s under a spell,” Lydia tried to explain.

  “Obviously a love spell.” Charlotte laughed, and then moaned as she held her head.

  “Can you grab the lotion base from the basement and make sure—”

  “No,” Charlotte said, moving instead to go upstairs. “I’m calling in sick.”

  Lydia thought she might be joking until Charlotte didn’t stop walking. Instead, she heard a door close and the shower turn on.

  “Ly-di-ah! You smell just like a, uh, la-ven-der-ah mint, and I think I like your scent.”

  It would have been funny if she wasn’t trapped inside her house unable to leave the protection of Gramma Annabelle’s spells. She marched to the door and pulled it open. Yelling through the screen, she said, “Erik!”

  He was standing before her almost instantly, his body blurred as if carried by magic. With a daydreaming expression, he answered, “Yes, my lavender.”

  “Don’t call me lavender,” she stated firmly.

  “Yes, my rose.”

  “Don’t call me rose.”

  “Yes, my—”

  “Erik, could you find me lavender like you did the other day? I have a lot of work to do and I could really use a…” He was running off into the hills before she could finish. “…a bushel.”

  She closed the door, sighing in relief that the singing stopped. Really, how long could magickal lotion last? She’d grabbed the remainder in the gift bag and brought it home. It was covered in old ash, hidden inside the broken wood furnace in the basement. There was no way he was getting into it again.

  “Malina better run the next time I see her,” Lydia threatened, though no one could hear her. It was just as well. She wasn’t sure how she’d go up against a powerful warlock family.

  Chapter Nine

  “Gramma Annabelle, I love you and your hangover cure,” Charlotte announced, coming down the stairs two at a time. She wore a long sleeve T-shirt and yoga pants. Her wet hair was piled on the top of her head. She paused in the kitchen doorway to do a couple random, overly dramatic karate punches to illustrate how much better she was feeling. Then straightening, she said, “Oh, hey, don’t forget to send in your business license renewal to the city. I forgot to tell you I ran into Mrs. Callister at the post office when Joe gave me a ride yesterday. She wanted me to remind you that you’re due.”

  “I swear that woman is something else. She gave a threatening warning to Chef Alana and then had the gall to ask for a food discount. Callister is not even on the board. Ah, but it doesn’t matter, I already mailed it.” Lydia glanced up from where she was counting drops of essential oils over warmed lotion. “Feeling better?”

  “Much. As long as Erik doesn’t start singing again.” She chuckled. “That poor man cannot hold his liquor. I say we let it slip this one time because he’s cute and your neighbor and I got some funny footage on my cell phone, but if it happens again we call the cops and post the video online. I don’t care if he is your boyfriend, Lyd, that was noise pollution.” Lifting her arms wide, she belted, “Ly-di-ah! I want to have your kid-ie-ah! Please sit-ie-ah on my fac—”

  Lydia lifted her stirring spoon and flung warm lotion at Charlotte from across the kitchen.

  “Hey stop!” The woman dodged the attack, laughing even as it glopped on her sleeve. Sniffing her arm, she said, “Lilies?”

  “What? No, I’m…” Lydia held up the bottle she had just set down so she could stir. “It’s mint. Smell.”

  Charlotte took the bottle, even as she held up her arm. “Lilies. Smell. And this shirt was clean. I stole it from the back of your closet.”

  Her grandmother’s scent was unmistakable on Charlotte’s sleeve. Lydia breathed deeply. After what she’d seen with Erik and his family, she couldn’t deny the possibility.

  “Lilies.” Lydia whispered. “Gramma?”

  “I know you don’t believe,” Charlotte held up her arm as it was undeniable proof of ghosts, “but…”

  “I believe,” Lydia said. “What would you say if I told you Erik is under a spell and that is why he is acting like that?”

  “I’m being serious,” Charlotte said, dropping her arm.

  “So am I. What if I told you I cast the spell with the lotion I gave him?” Lydia bit her lip and waited, not sure what to expect. “And that his entire family is magickal, not magic tricks as in illusionists in Las Vegas, but real magick, the kind Gramma Annabelle used to talk about.”

  “You want me to believe that Erik and his family are witches?” Char
lotte barely moved. She slowly looked at her lotioned sleeve.

  “Um,” Lydia gave a slight lift of her hands and corrected weakly, “Warlocks.”

  “Erik’s a warlock?”

  Lydia nodded.

  “And you cast spells?”

  Lydia nodded again. “A spell. One.”

  “And you believe that Gramma Annabelle is here, in this house, as a lily smelling ghost?”

  Lydia started to nod.

  “Finally!”

  Lydia and Charlotte screamed at the loud boom of a sound. The kitchen vibrated all around them to punctuate the word, silverware clinking in the drawers, cups chiming in the cupboards. They grabbed each other’s arms and ran from the kitchen to the living room, still screeching in fright. They huddled together behind the arm of the couch, the farthest they could get from the unearthly voice.

  “Crap. Oh my fucking crap,” Charlotte cursed, trembling. “Did you hear that?”

  “What the hell was that?” Lydia whispered, as if her friend might actually have an answer. “Oh, crap.”

  “Crap,” Charlotte agreed. They gasped for breath, refusing to let go.

  “Crap?” a voice demanded sounding far away and in the room at the same time. “I pull off the spell of the century and all you can say to me is crap?”

  “Is that…?” Charlotte began.

  “Gramma Annabelle,” Lydia answered with a halfhearted nod. That voice she would remember for the rest of her life.

  “What do we do?” Charlotte asked. “Should we tell her to go to the light?”

  Lydia shrugged helplessly. “Why are you asking me? I don’t know.”

  “Well, that’s what they always say on those ghost hunting shows and movies.” Charlotte gripped Lydia’s arm tighter, cutting off the blood flow, as the sound of tapping came from the kitchen. She forced Lydia in front of her and gave her a shove. “You’re the spell caster. Go talk to it.”

  Lydia’s entire body shook. She swatted the air at her friend.

  “Go!” Charlotte gestured frantically, backing herself into the corner.

  Lydia took a small step.

  “I’m waiting,” Annabelle’s voice said, sounding less demonic than before.

  “Um, Gramma?” Lydia asked, her voice tiny. She tried to speak up, but the sound was locked in her throat.

  “Do you know how long I’ve been trying to get through to you? I cast every spell in the book to make the transition easy, and to ensure I remained tied to this house. If I knew you’d ignore me I would have hidden spell bags of my hair and blood all over town instead. Then I could at least go haunt someone who paid attention. I thought concentrating them here would help ground my essence.”

  Yeah, that sounded like her grandmother.

  “Gramma, where are you?” Lydia didn’t step into the kitchen but stayed just outside the doorframe.

  “Can’t you see me?” The question was followed by a long sigh.

  Lydia shook her head in denial and took one step into the kitchen. The air smelled of lilies. A wave of sadness hit her. She’d missed her grandmother so much. Then, she noticed the spoon handle moving in the lotion. Someone stirred it. The image was faint, more of a distortion, like heat rising off a desert road during the midday sun. She gasped, covering her mouth as tears threatened. Not daring to move lest the spirit go away, she stared at her grandmother’s ghost in wonder.

  “I left you tons of potions and clues.” The spoon paused in its stirring, only to start again. “You didn’t do a damn thing with them, and I’ve been stuck in limbo for the last ten years.”

  “It’s only been two years.” Lydia whispered. A tear slipped down her cheek. Could it really be Gramma Annabelle? She wanted to run and hug the woman, but she still couldn’t see more than a vague impression of where the ghost stood.

  “Oh, has it? Well, still. It was a very long and boring two years. You think this place is boring when you’re alive, you should see the afterlife. Let me tell you, the spirits floating around the yard are no party.”

  “Potions?”

  “My moonshine in the basement. I thought for sure you’d at least get rip roaring drunk at the funeral. You didn’t even touch the stuff. And this house. I thought for sure you’d redecorate not keep it like some old lady shrine. I left you enough money. The remodeling would have stirred me out of limbo, but no. You couldn’t be bothered to knock down a few walls. I tried leaving scent trails—you don’t know how hard those are to make, young lady. I moved objects, well, an object. I knocked your key ring on the floor a couple times. You ignored all my signs. I just needed you to believe in me to give me enough power to appear. Finally, you ripped out those damned rose bushes. It wasn’t much, but it was something.”

  “I’m, uh, sorry I didn’t get drunk and redecorate your home?” Lydia wasn’t sure what to think. “Is that what you wanted to tell me from beyond? Drink more and change the curtains?”

  “It wouldn’t hurt,” Annabelle mumbled. Her voice became clearer with each passing moment, but her body did not. “And it would be nice if you found my spell bags and hid them around town so I can finally leave this place.”

  “Lyd?” Charlotte asked from the door. “Is it…?”

  “Charlotte, darling,” Annabelle exclaimed happily, then, disapproval heavy in her tone she added, “You’re letting yourself go. You’re never going to catch a man dressed like a hobo.”

  Charlotte looked down at her borrowed clothes and reached for her drying bun. She turned wide eyes to Lydia. Weakly, she answered, “They’re hangover clothes.”

  “Oh!” Annabelle said in full approval. “Well done, child, well done.”

  Charlotte moved slowly toward Lydia and grabbed her arm. They stared at the lotion pot.

  “How’ve you, uh, been, Gramma?” Charlotte asked.

  “Dead,” Annabelle answered wryly.

  “You, ah, look like you lost weight,” Charlotte answered.

  The spirit laughed. The spoon suddenly dropped and the distortion disappeared leaving the kitchen as it was before she appeared.

  “What the…?” Charlotte whispered.

  “Gramma,” Lydia said, lifting her arm to try and stop the ghost. It did no good.

  “Lydia, my darling,” Erik called from outside the home. “I have brought ya lavender.”

  Lydia let loose a long breath and swiped at her teary eyes. She walked toward the door, closely passing by the stove where the spirit had appeared. She reached out her hand to touch the air where Annabelle had been.

  “Don’t go,” Lydia whispered.

  “Lydia, my fíorghrá,” Erik insisted from outside, sounding very pleased. “I thought of your beauty and I could not stop at lavender.”

  Lydia frowned as his words. She reached for the door, intent on dealing with the love monster her spell had created. Her first view was of Erik bending over toward the ground, his backside to her. The length of his kilt lifted in the breeze to show his ass. A small laugh of surprise left her, not expecting to be greeted in such a way.

  Charlotte joined her. Yelling at him, she said, “Good to see the rumors about Scots and their kilts are true.”

  Erik quickly stood and turned, pushing the material down. He’d taken off the formal jacket and wore a looser white shirt with the sleeves rolled. Dirt smudged his chest. Behind him was a giant heart drawn on the yard with lavender stocks. In the middle of the heart were other green herbs. The creation wasn’t complete, but there was enough of it there to know what he’d been attempting. If the smell was any indication, she’d say the green plants were various strains of peppermints and mints. Then, realizing where he would have gotten various strains of peppermints and mints, she groaned.

  “He picked my whole garden,” Lydia whispered. Though, technically, that garden was on his land now.

  “For ya, my love,” Erik gestured to the side, grinning widely.

  In unison, Charlotte and Lydia leaned out of the door to look where he pointed. A giant pile of herbs and picke
d plants were stacked on her lawn. Before she could comment, a van appeared on her drive coming up to the house.

  Erik clapped, still very pleased with what he’d done. When he spoke this time, she couldn’t understand the foreign words, so she instead watched as the van stopped.

  To Charlotte, she said, “This is getting ridiculous. Later, I’m going to stand here and distract him. I need you to crawl out the back window by the stairs like when we were kids, sneak up to the mansion and tell Malina to come and fetch her brother. Just, don’t go inside with the MacGregors. They have a way of distracting a situation.”

  “I’m not leaving you alone,” Charlotte denied. She may have been chuckling at Erik’s antics, but she put a protective hand on Lydia’s arm and squeezed. “If you’re worried, I’m not leaving.”

  “Malina caused this. She can end it before it gets much worse. Someone is bound to call the sheriff. The last thing I need is some crazy warlock on my lawn casting spells at the local police. Any way you spin that story, it’s not good.” Lydia flinched as Erik took to a knee and dramatically lifted his voice. She still didn’t understand a damn thing he was saying.

  “Done,” Charlotte agreed.

  Jane Turner, the nursery owner, hopped out the front seat of the van. The woman’s brown hair was pulled into a curly ponytail at the nape of her neck and held down with a red cap with her company logo on it. Lydia knew her from the women’s business association, but the woman never had much to say unless someone asked her about gardening tips.

  Jane glanced questioningly to the Scotsman reciting some strange foreign limerick before reaching to grab her clipboard out of the vehicle. She lifted it to Lydia as she walked to the house. “I have a delivery and install. Can you sign?”

  “Delivery? I didn’t order…” Lydia reached to take the clipboard, not daring to step out into the yard where Erik could grab her. She wasn’t sure what he’d do, but her guess was smother her with affection until it killed her. “Never mind, I have an idea where they came from.”

  Jane glanced to where Erik kneeled on the ground and chuckled. Then, nodding toward the side of the house where the roses used to be, she said, “I guess I know where you want them.”