Occult and Battery

by Lena Gregory

  Cass moved to the counter to pour the drinks. “He sounds like a real keeper.”

  “Yes, siree. And I have you to thank for him.”

  “Me?” Cass gestured to a small seating area and placed the cups on a scarred wooden coffee table between two chairs.

  “That’s right.” The woman dug into the ruffled collar of her blouse and pulled out a small pouch tied around her neck with a leather cord. It rattled when she shook it.

  That’s it! Now she remembered. The woman had come in back before the holidays sometime, looking for a love potion. Cass had filled the small pouch with crystals and told her to wear it over her heart. Hmm . . . Maybe there was something to this hocus-pocus after all. She shot Bee an I told you so look, but he just rolled his eyes.

  The chimes above the door tinkled, and a tall older man with pale blue eyes and a kind smile walked in. “Colder than a witch’s—”

  “Rudy!”

  “Oops.” His sheepish grin was adorable, emitting a warmth that made him instantly likable.

  “This is the gentleman I was telling you about. Rudy Hastings. And, by the way, I’m Grace Collins. I figure since I’m planning to be a regular customer, you oughta know my name.”

  “It’s nice to meet you both. I’m Cass Donovan, owner of Mystical Musings.”

  Grace shuffled to the seating area, Rudy’s hand on her lower back to guide her.

  With a quick glance at Bee, who was now perched on the edge of his seat, hunched over an open book on the table, completely engrossed in whatever he was reading, Cass grabbed her tea and joined the couple. “How can I help you today?” She sat across from them, sipped her tea, and set it aside. Leaning forward with her elbows resting on her knees, fingers laced together, Cass studied Grace.

  Worry creased the woman’s brow, unlike the last time she came in, when she’d been somewhat embarrassed, hoping to find love. Today’s purchase would undoubtedly be of a more serious nature.

  Rudy laced one hand with hers as he lifted a foam cup with the other. Grace’s tea sat untouched on the table.

  Cass bit back the urge to ask if everything was all right. She’d let Grace get to things in her own time.

  “I was wondering if you have anything to help with fertility.”

  “Uhhh . . .” No way could she possibly think she could have a child at her age.

  Grace laughed and waved her off. “Not for me, dear.” She shook her head and lowered her gaze for a moment before continuing. “The thing is, my granddaughter has been a bit . . . sad . . . lately.”

  Cass frowned.

  “She wants to have a baby so badly, and she and her husband have been trying for years. The doctors haven’t found anything wrong, but still . . .” Grace shook her head, the granddaughter’s pain etched clearly on the grandmother’s face. “Nothing.”

  Cass’s heart ached for her.

  “I just thought, since things worked out so well with Rudy and me, well . . . Maybe you have something to help Sadie?” Hope filled Grace’s turbulent grey eyes.

  Cass smiled. “Sure. You two sit and relax and warm up. Give me a few minutes to get some things together.”

  Leaving them to drink their tea and thaw out, Cass went about collecting trays of crystals and placing them on the low coffee table in the center of the seating area. She pulled a small pouch and an extra-long length of leather cord from beneath the counter. After dropping those on the table, she grabbed some essential oils, a couple of candles, a basket, and a few sheets of pastel green tissue paper, changed her mind and switched it for pink, and added them to the growing pile.

  Settling herself back in her seat, Cass reached for the large basket. “Okay . . .” She arranged the tissue paper in the bottom then pulled one of the trays toward her. “This is moonstone.” She lifted a small crystal from the tray and twirled it in the light. Blue and brown swirls shifted in the translucent background as light shimmered across the surface, creating the appearance of ripples of motion. “The most powerful stone for fertility. In many countries, it’s considered magical and sewn into the clothing of newly married women.” She dropped the moonstone into the small pouch and set the tray aside.

  Grace leaned forward, studying Cass intently. Rudy kept his gaze on Grace, his feelings for the woman clearly evident in his eyes as he watched her. Cass tucked the insight away.

  Pushing the tray of moonstone aside, she lifted another crystal. “Rose quartz.”

  “Hey, I remember that one. It’s in my bag too.” Grace lifted a brow. “I hope that’s not why it’s in there.”

  Cass couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled out. “Don’t worry, you’re safe. Rose quartz is used for a lot of things. It’s considered the stone of love; family love, romance . . . It’s a soothing stone that not only creates inner warmth but also reduces stress.” She added it to the bag, along with a ruby, known to enhance fertility, and a jade, which supposedly aided in childbirth, and tied the pouch closed with the leather cord.

  “I gave you a long length of cord so you can adjust it until the stones rest over your granddaughter’s stomach.” She placed the pouch in the tissue paper along with the mix of essential oils and a couple of candles. “Tell her to put a few drops of the oil into a warm bath, not too hot, light the candles, dim the lights, and soak in the tub until it cools before . . . uh . . .” Heat flared in Cass’s cheeks, and she had no doubt they flamed red.

  Grace laughed and patted her hand. “Don’t worry, dear, I have six children, I know how they get made.” She shifted toward the front of the chair, and Rudy jumped up and took her hand. She glanced over at Cass and winked.

  Biting back a sigh at the thought of what it would be like to have such an attentive man, Cass took the basket to the counter and wrapped it in cellophane while Grace and Rudy got their coats. She rang up the purchase and added a business card to the side of the basket.

  “How much, dear?” Grace propped her small handbag on the counter and counted out bills when Cass gave her the total.

  “I know this is probably going to sound like a sales pitch, but I promise it’s not.” She handed Grace her change. “When Sadie runs out of the oils, if she wants more, tell her she can either order them from me or do some research and be very careful where she gets them. Unfortunately, some of the same oils that can help fertility might also cause miscarriages if she uses them after she’s pregnant.”

  Grace sucked in a breath. “Are they safe for her to use?”

  “Oh, very. I don’t use any of those in my mix, but some people do.” Cass smiled and rounded the counter to hand Grace the basket. “They’re not unsafe, but the way I figure it, why take any chances?”

  “Thank you. I’ll—”

  Bee squealed—there was no other way to describe the sound that came from him—and launched himself from his chair, slapping a hand over his mouth and slamming his thighs into the table. “Ouch!” He massaged the fronts of his legs.

  Beast jumped up and barked.

  The heavy, velvet-covered chair teetered on its back legs for a second before Bee composed himself enough to grip the arm and lower it back down. “Uh, sorry,” he whispered, flipping the cover of the book he’d been reading closed and shoving it across the table with one finger. “Don’t mind me.” He lifted his hands palms forward. “I’ll just . . . uh . . .” He looked around the shop as if unsure what to do with himself.

  Grace offered a smile and clutched her basket tighter, but Rudy just stared, mouth agape.

  That was a pretty standard reaction to Bee.

  Cass guided them toward the door, while Bee continued to wring his hands together.

  She shut the door behind the couple and turned a glare on Bee. “What is the matter with you?”

  He winced. “Sorry.”

  Curiosity won out over annoyance as she approached the table where Bee still stood staring at the boo
k he’d been reading. “What freaked you out so bad, anyway?” She lifted the cover of the offending book, but Bee slammed a hand over hers, effectively closing it again.

  “That house is haunted.” A not-so-delicate shiver ran through him.

  Cass laughed. She couldn’t help it. “I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts?” She folded her arms, cocked her head, and waited.

  “I never said I didn’t believe in ghosts. Exactly. I just don’t believe in talking to ghosts.”

  “Mmm . . . hmm . . .”

  “Weeeell.” He sank back into his chair and pouted.

  Cass grabbed her tea, popped it in the microwave for a minute, then joined Bee at the table. “So, what’s the deal?”

  “Did you know someone died in that house?”

  “Sure. Everyone knows that.” Cass tried to recall the stories from her childhood but couldn’t bring any specific details into focus. “When I was a kid, there were rumors that people were murdered there, but I don’t really remember who or how . . .” She shrugged and sipped her tea. “Maybe I never knew.”

  Bee was already shaking his head. “No. I don’t mean a gazillion years ago.”

  Cass shot him a scowl.

  “I’m talking about more recently. Back about ten years ago.” Bee leaned forward, elbows resting on the table.

  “I wasn’t here ten years ago.” Although she’d grown up on Bay Island, Cass had left to go to college and hadn’t returned until a little more than a year ago, after a seventeen-year hiatus.

  “Me neither, but apparently one of the Madisons had a heart attack in the house. That’s why they sold it. Of course, it took forever to sell, because who wants to buy a haunted house? A house they proved was haunted.” He slid back in the chair, crossed one leg over the other, and straightened his scarf.

  Determined not to give in to his theatrics, Cass blew on the lukewarm tea and took a sip she no longer wanted. She set the cup aside and reached for the book. No way would Bee let her read it herself if he had good dirt to impart. Flipping through the first few pages, she waited patiently for Bee to cave first and tell her why he was so sure the house was haunted.

  Bee studied his fingernails then buffed them on his shirt.

  “Okay, fine. Spill it. How could they prove the house was haunted?” Cass asked.

  “Well, it seems Horatio Madison and his wife, uh . . . Ellen?” Perking up considerably, Bee slid forward on the chair. He pulled the book toward him, flipped to the middle, and skimmed a few pages. “No, Abigail. They were walking through the house, taking pictures to send to some magazine or another, when the ghost appeared and scared them nearly to death.” He lifted his gaze to meet hers, fear etched into the lines bracketing his mouth. “Or, I guess in Horatio’s case, it actually did scare him to death.”

  Cass bit back a grin. Her interest was definitely piqued, and if she dared to laugh, Bee would get insulted and clam up for sure.

  “And if that wasn’t enough . . .” He paused, stretching out the drama. “Guess who the ghost was.”

  “Who?”

  “Buford Wellington, who apparently died at the mansion about a hundred years ago.”

  This time she couldn’t hold back the laughter.

  Bee flopped against the back of the chair and folded his arms to sulk.

  “I’m sorry, Bee, but how could they possibly know whose ghost it was?”

  He shrugged, keeping the frown firmly in place. “How should I know? That’s what the book says. One thing is pretty clear, though.”

  When he didn’t continue, Cass sighed, propped her elbows on the table, and massaged her temples. “What’s that?”

  “The Madisons and the Wellingtons have some kind of history that dates back to before the siblings purchased the estate. And Priscilla is awfully anxious to have this psychic weekend.” Bee eyed Cass, his brow lifted in challenge. “And awfully accommodating.”

  “I’m sure it’s a coincidence, Bee. What else could it be?”

  • • •

  Next Friday morning came faster than Cass could have thought possible. She unlocked the front door of the old Madison Estate and entered the foyer, along with a blast of icy wind and flurries. Her stomach churned with tension.

  Beast bounced happily at her side, darting and leaping to catch the swirling snow in his mouth, seemingly oblivious to his owner’s distress.

  After shouldering the heavy wooden door shut, Cass hit the light switch, and the elaborate chandelier cast a brilliant light throughout the foyer and living room. She sucked in a breath. Stunning. Even the minimal amount of work they’d done had changed the atmosphere completely. The wooden wainscoting along the lower half of the walls had been polished until it gleamed. Fresh wallpaper featuring pink and peach flowers on a background of what appeared to be ivory lace covered the cracks in the walls, while still retaining the retro feel. The wood floors still remained scuffed and worn—there had obviously not been time to sand and restore them—but now they were clean and free of dust and dirt.

  The door rattled, and Cass jumped and spun toward it, her nerves about shot. She danced out of the way as it swung open.

  “Whoa . . . wicked weather out there.” Bee stopped short, the dolly full of electronic equipment coming to an abrupt halt. “Wow. What happened here?”

  “Can you believe it?”

  He shook his head, pushed the dolly aside, and shut the door.

  Beast pranced in circles until Bee patted his head. “What are you doing with this guy for the weekend? He staying?”

  Cass shot him her most hopeful gaze.

  “No way. I’m not having this behemoth in my house.” He gazed affectionately at Beast. “He might eat it.”

  “Please, Bee. I don’t have anyone else to watch him.” She offered her sweetest smile. “Of course, you could stay here with him, if you prefer.” She’d actually rather he stay and help, even if it meant keeping Beast with her.

  He shook his head.

  “Fine. You can stay at my house with him.”

  His expression softened.

  “Pleeeease.” She clasped her hands together and batted her eyelashes.

  “Ugh . . . fine.” He pointed a finger at Cass. “But you are gonna owe me so big time for all of this. And, I’m telling you now, I’m not responsible for anything he damages.”

  “Thanks, Bee. You’re a lifesaver.” She stood on tiptoe and plopped a loud kiss on his cheek.

  “Yeah, well, don’t you forget it.” An adorable blush started at his neck and crept up his cheeks.

  A gust of wind howled, vibrating the windows.

  “Is the storm getting worse?”

  Bee brushed the melting snow out of his hair and started forward through the newly renovated foyer and into the living room, his gaze darting around nervously. “Yeah. It’s still only flurrying, but the wind is picking up, and it’s brutally cold out there.” He shivered. “It almost makes it comforting to be in here.”

  Cass grinned as hope flared.

  His glare dimmed any flicker of optimism trying to surface. “Don’t get excited. I said almost. And, no, I’m not staying.”

  “Okay, fine.” She blew her bangs up off her forehead and hit the living room light switch.

  Bee looked around. “Where is everyone?”

  “Priscilla is only sending a skeleton crew for the weekend, and most of them will arrive on the first ferry.”

  “I can’t believe what they’ve done in here. It looks really . . . good.”

  Cass turned to look at the living room. A lit fireplace on the far wall wrapped the entire room in cozy warmth.

  “Hmm . . .” Bee walked a circuit around the room, fluffing pillows on the floral-print couches, stopping to study the ivory wallpaper, running a hand along the stone mantel. He turned to Cass, sympathy filling his eyes. “It’s lost a lot of
the spooky.”

  The frustration, which had been smoldering since she entered the mansion, ignited. “Can you believe this?” She gestured around the room. “What am I supposed to do now? Part of the draw of using the old estate was the creepy atmosphere. I may as well have the séance in broad daylight at the Bay Side Hotel at this point.”

  Bee’s thick brows drew together, and he propped his hands on his hips. “All right. Relax.”

  “Relax? Are you kidding me?”

  He held up a hand, palm facing her. “Listen, honey. I can’t think with you freaking out. You go do what you have to do and let me take care of this.” Eagerness danced in his eyes. “I’ll take some of the bulbs out of the chandeliers, keep the flickering glow of the fireplace . . .” Bee loved a good challenge. “The gathering storm will help add to the creep factor. It’ll be fine. Dim lighting, creepy music playing low in the background . . .” He gestured toward the pile of stereo equipment on the dolly. “Trust me when I tell you, this place will seem haunted again in no time, especially once it gets dark.”

  A tear began to trickle down her cheek, and she brushed it away. “Thank you.” If there was one thing Bee did extremely well, it was put on a show.

  Footsteps on the front porch made her stop short, and she held her breath and waited. Hmm . . . Maybe the house is still a little creepy.

  Beast barked, and Bee grabbed his collar to keep him from tackling anyone.

  A tall stranger stomped his boots off on the mat, pulled a black knit hat from his head, and raked his fingers through shaggy, dark brown hair.

  “Mm mm . . .” Bee licked his lips and straightened the multicolored silk scarf Cass had given him for Christmas, while trying to contain Beast’s wriggling form. “This weekend is certainly looking up.”

  “Oh, stop yourself.”

  Bee and Stephanie were constantly playing matchmaker, trying to fix Cass up with whomever they deemed hot and available.

  “I’m seeing someone, remember?” Cass said.

  He lifted a brow in challenge.