Christmas Witch: A Jagged Grove Short Story
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For now, though, it’s Christmas. I’m happy, Bilda’s happy, and we’re surrounded by friends. That’s enough for me.
Three
Angelo wakes me up the next morning by pounding loudly on my locked bedroom door. “Trinket! Get out here.”
Something in his voice propels me out of bed, which isn’t always the easiest thing for me to do. One of the perks of being Jagged Grove’s healer is that I can basically set my own schedule, and I’m seldom up before...I check the clock...seven a.m. It’s not even fully light outside yet.
“What do you want?” I call, grabbing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt from my dresser and shimmying into them before unlocking the door. Sometimes sharing a house with Angelo can be nerve-wracking. I might never get used to it.
“There’s a problem,” he says.
I rub my eyes and push past him, in need of coffee. Now. “Be more specific, Angelo.”
He follows me downstairs. “Something happened, here in town. Everybody’s, well...”
Coffee in hand, I turn to face him. He’s dressed in his ASS uniform, looking handsome today. I’m pushing away the usual flare of attraction when I hear yelling outside. “What’s that?” I ask, running to the window.
Two men are standing face to face on the sidewalk, fists clenched as they yell at one another. I can only catch bits and pieces of what they’re saying through the glass. “What are they fighting about?”
“Who knows?” Angelo says from behind me. He’s pouring coffee into a travel mug. “But everyone is mad. I’ve broken up three fistfights today already.”
“Wow. Everyone seemed so happy last night.” I wonder if he’s exaggerating. Angelo’s a good guy, and he cares about Jagged Grove, so any threat at all is a big deal in his mind. “Maybe it’s just holiday stress.”
He shakes his head. “No. It’s more than that. It’s like somebody flipped a switch and made everybody hateful.”
“Well, what am I supposed to do about it?” I ask. Why did you wake me up?”
“I need you to get down to the clinic, just in case.”
“In case of what?”
“Maybe there’s a flu going around or something. Maybe folks aren’t feeling good.”
“Maybe you’re blowing this out of proportion,” I mutter. Outside, the two men have stopped yelling and parted ways, fistfight averted.
“Just go. For me? Please?” he asks.
“Sure.” I’ve got some stuff to get done today anyway. I just didn’t plan on doing it this early.
An hour later, I shrug on my coat, step out into the cold morning, and start toward the downtown area under stormy clouds. It’s almost deserted, which is odd this close to Christmas. Don’t people have shopping to do? I spot Imala coming out of Potions ‘n Lotions, and hurry to catch up with her. “Hey, Imala.”
She turns on me, her eyes flashing. “What do you want?” she snaps.
I take a small step back. “Just...nothing. Saying hello. I haven’t seen you for a while.”
“I’m busy.” Her eyes are still flashing. “Some of us can’t laze around and go to work when we feel like it.”
My mouth opens, but then I just close it again and watch her walk away.
This is weird - Imala told me just a few weeks ago that she couldn’t wait for Christmas, and that it’s her favorite time of year.
I’m just about to leave when Sally Wilkens, the owner of Lotions ‘n Potions, sticks her head out the door. “Get out of the way. You’re blocking customers!”
I jump, then look around. There is no one else on the sidewalk at the moment. “What customers?” I ask, bewildered.
“See what I mean?” she snaps. “Either come in and buy something or get away from here.” She taps the storefront glass, where there’s a brand new ‘No Loitering’ sign taped.
“That wasn’t there a few minutes ago,” I challenge her.
She scowls. “It’s there now. Scat.”
I scat.
Amazingly enough, I have to step around three heated arguments between there and my clinic. Jagged Grove is a fairly peaceful little town, so I’m beginning to suspect that Angelo is dead-on - something’s wrong here. Compared to last night’s festivities, the whole atmosphere is off.
I let myself into the office and breathe a sigh of relief, then go turn up the heat. Maybe snow will lighten the mood again and get us all back into the Christmas spirit. I hope so, or this holiday will be a bust for everybody.
My clinic is small - just three rooms and the reception area. I don’t get a lot of business, so I don’t need the space. An exam room, my personal office, and a supply room full of herbs and crystals is plenty for me. Right now, as small as it is, it seems cavernous. I wish I’d thought to pick up Rain on my way through town. Her chatter would have brightened the place up a bit.
Flipping on lights as I go, I head for my office and start some coffee in the electric pot. My head is still fuzzy from being up so early, in spite of the Sally and Imala incidents. Before I can even sit down at the desk, though, I hear someone come through the door.
It’s way too early for Rain, who knows not to come in before ten. Instead, it’s Flux, the fire chief. He has a black eye.
“Good morning,” I say, even though it’s obviously not. “What happened to you?”
“Portia hit me,” he mutters, so low I barely catch what he says.
“She...hit you?” I ask. Portia is the manager and head bartender down at the Salty Hog, the most popular local hangout in Jagged Grove. She’s not the nicest person in the world, and she doesn’t like me so much, but I’ve never seen her be really mean to anyone else. “Why?”
“Good question,” he says ruefully. “You got an ice pack?”
I run to the supply room and grab him one from the small fridge. “Did you say something to her?” I ask, more curious than anything.
“Merry Christmas. That’s all I said,” he answers, shaking his head and then wincing as the chilled pack hits his skin. “What’s wrong with everybody around here?”
“Angelo asked me the same question this morning,” I answer with a shrug. “Everything was fine last night.”
“Well, it’s not today. There must be something in the water,” he says, and gives me a wave as he heads out the door.
I wave back and sigh, thinking I should maybe go check on Bilda, just in case.
Before I can, though, more patients start coming in. More than I’ve ever had on a week before, much less one day. They’re all in a terrible mood, too. I spend my morning treating bruised knuckles, two more black eyes, and even one boxer’s fracture - the result of tiny Mrs. Kline not liking her husband’s choice of wrapping paper.
Four
As soon as I get everyone taken care of, I head for Bilda’s house, growing more worried by the second. People who would normally greet me on the street have ugly frowns on their faces and ignore my greetings.
It’s just as well - I don’t want to end up with a black eye, too.
“When I get to Bilda’s, Angelo is already there, leaning against the counter in the kitchen and munching on a cookie. “Want one?” he says, waving it at me as I cone through the door. “These are really good.”
I notice that the plate behind him is almost empty. “I’m not a fan of the caramel. In cookies, at least. How many of these have you eaten?”
“I don’t know. Like...four?” he says through a mouthful of crumbs.
“Pig.”
He nods enthusiastically.
“When can I expect snow?” I ask him, “Maybe that will make people happy again.”
He snorts and drops the last of his cookie onto the plate, suddenly tense. “What is it with you and snow?” he snaps.
His tone startles me. Half a second ago he was fine. “I just thought...”
“Not all of us like it, you know. It’s hard to walk in, it’s cold, and it’s wet. Why don’t you quit being so selfish, Trinket?”
I catch my breath. What just happened? Why is
he suddenly so mad? I watch him get the milk from the fridge and slam the door when he puts it back. His eyes meet mine, dark with anger.
“I didn’t mean to cause a problem. I just thought it would be nice.”
“Well, it’s not nice. It’s a pain in the neck, is what it is.” He sips his milk.
OK, he’s making me nervous. Angelo doesn’t snap at people - he’s got an incredibly diplomatic nature, and a good heart. At this moment, though, I don’t want to be alone with him anymore. “Where’s Bilda?” I ask.
“She went to bed with a stomach ache. I’m telling you, there’s a bug going around or something. You’re the healer around here - shouldn’t you be fixing it?”
I nod, even though this feels like something worse than a bug to me. Something strange is going on. But a stomach ache? Bilda never, ever gets sick. In fact, the only time I’ve ever seen her sick was when she made a birthday cake with...”
I let my voice trail off and rush across the kitchen to her spice cabinet, a memory tickling at the corner of my mind. The usual suspects are in there - allspice, the spikenard I bought her, some bay leaves...and there it is, in a tiny bright green bottle. I pick it up. “Oh, no.”
“What?” Rain asks, coming into the kitchen. She looks at me, then her gaze slides downward to the bottle in my hand. Her face goes white.
“Why does Bilda have this?” I ask her, holding it up to eye level. “She never uses barberry - it makes her sick.”
Rain opens her mouth and then closes it.
“Please tell me, Rain.”
“It’s mine, actually,” she says, her voice so low I can barely hear her.
I speak slowly as the pieces fall together. “What were you doing with it, exactly?” I ask.
“Um, I read that it was for an extra pinch of luck...” Her eyes travel to Angelo. “I thought it would be an extra fun boost to the cookies.”
My hand comes to my mouth, and I slowly set the bottle on the counter and turn to her. “You put it in the cookies?” I ask again, just to clarify. Dread is already filling my chest.
She nods, her face screwed up in distress. “I thought it would be fun,” she says again, less certain now. “Was that wrong?”
“Barberry is used primarily in the darker arts for hexing,” I explain. “Do you know what that means?”
“Of course, but I didn’t want to hex anyone. I wanted to bring them extra luck.”
I try to smile, and fail. “I know your intentions were good, but this...” I point at the innocent looking bottle. “...wasn’t the way to do it. Barberry is traditionally used to bring bitterness.”
“Bitterness?”
“If you put that in the cookies, it explains why people are being so hateful.” I’m trying to keep my voice steady, but I’m remembering all the boxes we handed out last night. All the cookies that went home with, well, everyone.
“What do we do?” she whispers. Her eyes are huge, and she looks ready to cry.
“I’m not sure.”
“Ha, ha! Perfect little Trinket doesn’t know everything, now does she?” Angelo says.
I try to ignore the twinge of hurt. “Of course I don’t. I never claimed to know everything. Are you listening, Angelo? We have to fix this.”
He isn’t listening, and his next words prove it. “What? Did Bilda screw up the cookies? I swear, that woman is a menace.” He shakes his head and picks up his unfinished cookie.
I really want to slap him, but instead I walk over and slap the cookie out of his hand before he can get it to his mouth. “Pay attention, Angelo!”
He freezes in surprise. “What’d you do that for? No wonder nobody likes you.”
He bends down to get the cookie, but I kick it away. “Angelo, they’re poisoned.”
That gets his attention. “Poisoned? I thought they were good luck? Poisoning isn’t good luck at all.”
“Please pay attention...” I start, but I know it won’t do any good. I leave him standing there and race up the stairs to Bilda’s room.
When I shake her awake, she moans. “I don’t feel good, baby,” she says, stroking my hair. “I’m sorry.”
She looks small and weak in the big bed. I lean down and touch her face. “Mom, listen to me. I need something to counteract the effects of barberry.”
“Barberry? Yuck.”
“I know. It got into some of your cookies.”
She shakes her head. “No - you know I hate that stuff, so there is no way.”
“There is. It was a mistake.” I didn’t want to point the finer specifically at Rain.
“That’s why I’m sick?” she asks.
“Yes. Tell me how to make you better.”
She falls back onto the pillows and stares at the ceiling, thinking. At least I hope she’s thinking. She’s so pale. Finally she turns back to me. “Get me a bit of dill, with some chamomile.”
“What do you mean by a bit, exactly?”
She coughs for a moment, then takes another to catch her breath. “A pinch of each should do it. Mix it with water.”
“You have to ingest it?” I’m taking mental notes, because we’ve got a whole town to fix - before Christmas. Somehow.
She rolls her eyes. “Of course you do.”
“OK, OK. I was just asking.”
“Hurry up. I feel like I’m going to die.”
Five
I take the stairs two at a time, almost landing on my head in the kitchen floor. Angelo is gone, but Rain is at the kitchen table, cradling her head in her hands. She hears me come in and looks up. “What’d she say?”
“Dill and chamomile.” I’m already rummaging through her spice cabinet. I find dill in a small box, but no chamomile. “Would teabags work?” Rain asks.
“Uh...maybe?”
I fill a cup with water, plop in a teabag, and heat it up. Then I add the pinch of dill, praying this works.
“She likes sugar in her tea,” Rain says.
“Thanks for reminding me.” I dump about an eighth of a cup of sugar into the mug and take it upstairs.
“How long will it take for this to work?” I ask, handing her the cup but not letting go until it’s steady in her hands.
“Oh, not long. Twenty minutes, maybe? It will course through my system and kill the barberry’s effects pretty quickly. Chamomile is especially energetic.”
I nod. “Good to know.”
She drains the mug and hands it back to me, then falls back onto the pillows. I tug the quilt up around her chin, pat one shoulder, and leave her alone.
“Is it going to work?” Rain asks.
Angelo has returned, but he doesn’t look any less grumpy than before. I ignore him for the moment, other than to take the plate of cookies out of his hand and trash them. Then I hold up the plate and ask rain, “Are there any more cookies at all? Anywhere?”
“I don’t think so.” She looks down at the table. “I’m sorry.”
I sit down across from her, suddenly very tired. “It was an honest mistake, Rain. Just...ask from now on, before you do something like that. Ask Bilda, I mean. I could have made the same mistake as you.”
She smiles at my attempt to make her feel better. Angelo opens the fridge door. “What do you have in here to drink besides milk?”
“Let me make you some tea,” I say brightly. “It will make you feel better.”
He grumbles something I don’t understand.
“Please? It’s Bilda’s special recipe.”
He slams the door. “Fine.”
I make him a cup of the chamomile-dill concoction that I made Bilda and watch as he drinks it. “This isn’t bad,” he says, handing me the cup. “I’d still rather have a cola or something.”
“We have some at my house,” I remind him. “Go there. Just don’t eat any more cookies.”
Rain and I watch him amble through the kitchen and out the door. “We have a bigger problem,” I say, turning back to her. “And I really need your help.”
“What?”
“Oh. Um, OK. What about hot cocoa? The WCB did it.” She wrinkles her nose. “I’m not sure anyone would drink it, though. Dill and chocolate?”
“I need to get home,” I say, patting her hand. I’m kind of worried about Angelo, to be honest. “Think about it, and we’ll figure it out tomorrow morning. Call me if Bilda gets sick again.”
It’s almost eight when I step outside into the cold, and Blakely is coming up the walk, tails flapping around his calves. He shoves by me without stopping.
I groan and follow him back inside. “Blakely?”
“I’m here to see Bilda, not you. Angelo said she was in trouble.”
“She’s just not feeling well,” I say, grabbing his shoulder. “She’s resting.”
“Take your hand off me, please,” he says. “My love needs me. You probably poisoned her in the first place.”
“Why would I do that?”
“We all get a little cranky with family during the holidays.”
“Blakely! You don’t poison your family just because you’re cranky.”
“Hah! You’d be surprised. I used to have fifteen cousins.” He stomps up the stairs.
I watch him go, then run back in to find Rain, still in the kitchen. “Will you make Blakely some of that tea?” I asked.
“Sure.” She looks relieved to be doing something.
I head home to Angelo, my reluctant husband.
He’s standing on his head in my crystal-covered dining room, counting out loud.
“Oh, hey,” he says, glancing at me. “Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen.”
“What are you doing?” I shrug my jacket off.
“Getting rid of a headache. That tea you gave me really kicked my ass. Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two.”
“Really?” I twist my neck to look at him properly, but give up when it hurts. He looks a little bit drunk, honestly. “Why don’t you grab a shower and take some Advil, like normal people?”
He looks annoyed that I keep interrupting him. “I have a reaction. You know that.”