by Madelyn Alt
I gave a magnanimous wave of my hand and smiled cheerily back at her as though I heard such claims all the time. "I could use a little magic in my life."
I couldn't have known at that moment just how true that was.
Chapter Two
Twelve minutes later I was standing stiffly at attention before The Toad, doing my best not to cry in front of my coworkers while he read me the riot act backward and forward, complete with red face and popping neck veins.
"Car problems…" was all I managed in my defense before he lifted his hand and pointed a finger toward the door.
"Miss O'Neill," he began in the same unpleasant, nasal tones that never failed to make me feel all of twelve years old, "your services are no longer required. Your final check will be mailed to you following next Thursday's payroll. I must ask that you leave the premises posthaste."
Posthaste? Nobody used words like posthaste anymore.
Pompous ass.
I swallowed the words with my pride, grimacing at the sour taste of public humiliation. "May I at least collect my things?"
His pointing finger never lowered. "One of the girls will bring them out to you."
The Girls. That's all we'd ever been to him. Never mind that the girls held his company together on a day-to-day basis. Some of the girls were old enough to be his mother, but it didn't matter. No amount of respect could be afforded The Girls.
My answer to him was short, to the point, and probably inadvisable, but I strode out of that sagging brick prison filled with more confidence, more joy than I'd felt in months. Years! It didn't matter that I'd lost my only means of paying my bills. There was something to be said for self-possession in the face of adversity, and the shock on The Toad's face had been worth it.
In the crumbling parking lot, I sat behind the wheel of my car, trying to decide what came next.
As I saw it, I had three options.
One, I could buy some newspapers and go back to my apartment to mope about in my scruffy pink bathrobe and fuzzy slippers while I scanned the classifieds.
Fun, fun.
Two, I could run home to Mother and Dad to take whatever comfort they were willing to offer. Dad would insist on feeding me chocolate—never a bad thing. Mom, on the other hand, would insist that I move back in with them.
Yeah, like that was going to happen. It might be a sin to say, but I'd rather join the black-habited commandos at St. Catherine's. At least as a nun I wouldn't be expected to date the losers Mom was always trying to hook me up with.
Three, I could contact the woman at Enchantments and accept her offer. Assuming she hadn't already come to her senses.
Three had always been my lucky number.
One glowing, ego boost of a phone call later, I was once again gainfully employed. The world was my oyster, life was a bowl of cherries without the pits, and my confidence was as puffed up as a blowfish on steroids with ridiculous cliches. Grinning broadly, I snapped on the radio and sped through my small town, my foot heavy on the gas pedal, my heart light as air, my voice as warbling-ly bad as ever as I sang along with Cyndi Lauper (gotta love the "80s Power Hour"). On top of the world, or as much of the world as could be in evidence in Stony Mill, Indiana, I stopped in at the Java Hut and splurged on a Cinnamon Latte topped with whipped cream and mocha sprinkles, then tooled back across town toward my sister's house, knowing I would find her home.
Melanie lived on the north edge of town in a subdivision with the ultrapretentious name of Buckingham West. Five years my junior, she was the standard by which my well-meaning mother measured the lack of success in my life. Married just out of college to the most prominent young lawyer in town, she was beautiful, the capable mother of two gorgeous little girls, perennially perky, and most importantly, married to the most prominent young lawyer in town. Which meant, of course, that she had risen above the modest expectations of our family and friends and had assumed a position of authority that she thought hers by default. Did I mention that she was married to the most prominent young lawyer in town?
"Does Mom know?"
I had just confessed the loss of my job and was overcome by her concern. "Gee, thanks, Mel. I'll be all right, really. Don't worry about me."
She made a face over the rim of her coffee cup. "Well, of course you will. Honestly, Mags, you can be so melodramatic about things. Now, answer me. Does Mom know?"
Doting as ever, my sis. "No. Not yet."
She gave me that measured stare that never failed to leave me defensive. Good heavens, when had she become so like our mother?
"It only just happened, you know. I thought I would postpone tightening the noose around my neck for a few hours."
"Mmhmm. So what are you going to tell her?"
I stared at her, trying to remember why I had come. For comfort? Hardly. No, I had come to brag about my change in fortune, and I meant to do just that.
I reached for my paper cup and lifted it to my mouth before dropping my little bomb. "That I already have another job. A good one, as a matter of fact."
"Well, well. That's wonderful. Where will you be working?"
If her tone was any indication, Mel was enjoying a bit of skepticism. Good. I planned to have fun with this.
"I bumped into the owner of a gift shop down on the riverfront. You know that cute little shopping area that's been doing so well?"
Mel lifted her artfully shaped brows in surprise. "I love those stores."
That much was evident just by looking around. Her home was filled with elegant and expensive treasures. Enough to make me just the teensiest bit jealous.
"Which one?" she asked, hardly skipping a beat.
"Ever heard of Enchantments?"
Mel actually gasped. "You're going to be working for Enchantments? That's one of my favorites! They have the most fabulous antiques there. And bath oils, and soaps, and… I don't suppose you'll get an employee discount?"
I responded with no more than a shrug and a mysterious little smile, basking in the glow of knowing I'd made the right decision. Perhaps this was the one thing I had needed to turn my life around. To make some real changes. To move forward.
I rose to pour the dregs of my latte down the drain and caught sight of myself in a lovely sunflower mirror over the sink: round face, too pale skin, flyaway shoulder-length brown hair and all. But my hazel eyes sparkled, and my skin had a glow of confidence I had rarely seen. I was happy. For once it didn't matter that Mel had inherited the sleek good looks of Great-Aunt Ceci, our late grandmother's wild younger sister who had disgraced the family by running off to New York City to become a Rockette, while I took after Grandma Cora herself, with a stubbornness to match. Today… today was different. Today was mine.
Mirror, mirror, on the wall…
"Mags, don't take this the wrong way, but… why you? I mean, you don't exactly have a history in retail."
The air in my bubble fizzed out, just a little. "Retail is about numbers, right? And accounting is all about numbers. Everything will work out in the end."
Mel's perfectly made-up face said she wasn't so sure. "Whatever you think is best."
Oh, yeah. She had Mom down pat.
I had arranged to start right away at Enchantments. The next morning, filled with trepidation (a last-minute keepsake from my mother—Mom had always been generous when it came to that sort of thing) but determined not to let it hold me back, I showed up at the store early and was forced to wait, chewing my thumbnail and shivering inside Christine's unheated confines until a low-slung black Lexus purred into the spot next to me. I grabbed my purse and keys and all but leaped from my car to greet her.
The car door swung open and Felicity Dow smiled up at me. "Oh, you're here already. Excellent."
I stood to one side, quivering like a nervous puppy as my new boss unfolded her legs from her car. She paused just long enough to throw the tail of a crimson wool wrap over one shoulder, then reached behind her seat to withdraw a slim black leather case and an old-fashioned velvet pouch
purse that she slipped over her wrist.
She glanced at me. "Ready, then? Let's get busy, shall we?"
I still hadn't managed anything more than a squeaky "Good morning," but I followed her nevertheless, overcome by an excitement that was making my very skin vibrate. Felicity unlocked the nondescript metal security door and led the way inside.
I hesitated, unnerved by the sense that by crossing that threshold, my life was about to change forever.
Was I ready?
I'd better be. When it came right down to it, I was more afraid of my life not changing from what it had been before. Now was not the time for chickening out.
Holding my breath, I stepped into the back room and looked around. The smallish space was dark inside, but I could see the outlines of a sturdy roll-top desk. And shelves. Lots of shelves. Obviously an office. To my right a closed door sported a placard labeled storage.
The lights came on with a snap that felt alive, and the room swam into focus.
"There we are. Storage, there. My office is here, but you are, of course, welcome to use it at any time. You may store your things here—" She indicated a coat closet I hadn't even noticed. "Why don't you make yourself comfortable while I fix us a spot of tea."
Felicity disappeared through dark purple velvet curtains to reveal the entry to the main part of the store. I slipped out of my coat, taking advantage of the time alone to have a quick look around free of scrutiny. I wouldn't say I was nervous, exactly. Well, maybe a little. It was just that I'd never known anyone who called herself a witch before, and it was more intimidating than I'd expected. In the back of my mind, I kept hearing Sister Agnes's waspish voice cautioning us against the evils of witchcraft. "Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live." Isn't that what the Bible says? Although I had to admit, with her salon-sleek hair and elegant clothes, Felicity certainly didn't look the part. Neither did the contents of the office offer a glimpse into a scarred psyche. Office supplies, file boxes, catalogs, inspirational tomes, items of nondistinction, all. They might have belonged to any businesswoman in today's fast-paced world.
Everything looked so… normal. Not a pentagram or inverted crucifix in sight. I felt the tension twisting my stomach muscles slip a notch.
"Here you are, Margaret." Felicity breezed through the parted drapes, carrying a steaming china cup in each hand. "I hope chai is to your liking. It's very soothing."
"Maggie," I said automatically, leaning into the fragrant steam rising from my teacup. I'd never heard of chai. It smelled faintly fruity, with a hint of cloves, possibly nutmeg, and other spices I couldn't place. "Call me Maggie. Only my mother calls me Margaret."
"Maggie, then. I am very glad you came today. I rather thought… well, that I had perhaps frightened you away."
I guiltily tucked my nose into the depths of my teacup, wondering again whether she was able to read minds. She certainly seemed to have a knack for echoing my thoughts. And for being direct.
"You needn't be afraid of me, you know."
I set my cup down, deciding to face the shadow of fear that had settled around my shoulders. "I'm not afraid. Just… curious. I've never met a witch before, and… well, I'm sure you know what people say."
"Were you wondering where I keep my pointed hat and bubbling cauldron?"
Laughter trebled up from her throat, the bell-clear sound hugging around us like a mantle of softest cashmere.
I grinned, sheepishly, in spite of myself. "Something like that."
"Well, my dear. I don't show my magical tools to just anyone. But if you are truly curious, ask me again sometime. Like persistence, curiosity has its own rewards."
It also killed the cat, but I wasn't about to bring that up.
A twittering peal broke the spell, and I waited while Felicity delved into the beaded velvet bag that she had left on her desk. She unfolded her cell phone.
"Liss here. Oh. Hello." Her voice trailed off, and I watched as her face stilled. "Oh. Has anything happened? You sound so strange. Well… yes, of course I can come out. Someone's there? Have you rung the police? Oh. Yes, I see. No, calm down. Do try not to panic. I need to make a few phone calls, and then I'll be out. Yes, straightaway. There is nothing to be afraid of. No. Don't do anything. Leave the house if you feel threatened."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. What on earth was going on? I could faintly hear the tones of a woman's voice on the other end of the line. I chewed on the soft flesh of my lower lip as the tension became a palpable force surrounding us.
"All right, then. Do try to stay calm. I'll be right there."
Felicity held the phone in her hands with her eyes closed for several moments before looking up at me rather blankly, as though she'd forgotten I was there. "Excuse me for a moment, will you, Maggie?"
"Of course."
She left me in the office while she went through to the storefront to make her calls. I tried not to listen—really I did—but there was no door to block the sound of her voice.
"Right-o. It's only that she sounded so strange. Not at all right. Anyway, thank you, Marcus. I'm so glad I found you at home."
I grabbed a featherduster from the little cubby and tried to look busy dusting the shelves before she poked her head back between the drapes.
"Maggie, I hate to do this, but I'm afraid it simply cannot be helped. I'm going to have to leave you here alone for a while."
Alone? Eek. Nothing like being thrown into the thick of things straight off.
"A—friend—of mine has a bit of an emergency, and I've promised to help her. Don't worry, it's probably nothing. Everything will be fine. I'll show you how to run the cash register. Just ring up the purchases for any customers who may come in and don't worry about anything else for the time being. I'll leave you my cell phone number in case you run into difficulty." She patted my hand, her thoughts already a million miles away. "I'll return as soon as I can."
I nodded, my pulse quickening with the urgency I heard in her voice. "You go. I'll be fine here."
The brass bell at the front of the store tinkled then, and we both turned as one toward the sound.
"Liss? You back there?"
The voice was deep, a little gravelly, and alive with that riff of authority that could always be relied upon in a person of the male persuasion.
Felicity lifted her head. "I'll be right with you, Marcus." To me, she said, "Let's go up front. I have a friend I'd like you to meet."
I followed her to the storefront I'd not yet had the opportunity to explore. Standing in the doorway was a young man in what I guessed to be his early twenties, his long rangy body covered head to toe in sleek black leather. Dark wavy hair fell down below his shoulders, while his eyes were hidden behind a pair of oblong, Generation X-ish black shades. He looked dark, a little dangerous, and at the risk of making my dead grandmother roll over in her grave, a whole lot sexy. In other words, the last kind of person I would have expected to frequent a store like Enchantments.
A slow smile touched his lips as I emerged from behind Felicity. "Well, well. Who's your shadow, Liss?"
Felicity motioned me behind the counter. "Maggie O'Neill, may I present a dear friend of mine, Marcus Quinn. Maggie is my new associate, Marcus. Maggie, Marcus helps me with one of my… pet projects."
As she walked me through the operation of the register, I couldn't help wondering what kind of project a twenty-something man could assist a forty-something-year-old woman with. The thought made me smile.
"Right-o, then," Felicity said, breezing back to pick up her wool wrap. "Maggie, we'll be back soon. My number is on the pad by the register. Ring me if you run into trouble."
Marcus followed Felicity out the back. I trailed behind them both, looking on from the doorway as Marcus held the door for Felicity. I might not have known quite what to make of him, but I couldn't help admiring the view. There was something about a man in black that made me think of all those things Grandma Cora had always warned me against.
Parked next to Liss
's Lexus was a motorcycle, a sleek little foreign number. It seemed to perfectly suit Marcus's personality, or at least what little I knew of it. As he walked past it, he gave the bike's seat a fond pat before turning to duck into the waiting car.
He looked up as he swung the car door open and caught me watching him. Again that slow, delicious smile. Before I could turn away, he hooked a fingertip over the bridge of his shades to lower them, revealing eyes a startling shade of blue that surprised me all the more by aiming a saucy wink in my direction before he, too, disappeared into the belly of Felicity's car.
I stood at the door for several moments after they'd purred out of sight, wondering why I felt so unnervingly off-kilter. And then a laugh bubbled up in my throat. I had spent way too many years buried in that tomb called Suitable Employment. Marcus Quinn was the hottest thing I'd seen in ages, a vision in black leather, and he'd just winked at me. Innocent gesture or no, my pulse was tooling along like an Indy 500 pace car. I was grinning like a maniac. For God's sake, I was all but drooling. If he'd known how long it had been since a man had seen my bed, he would have run away in abject terror.
Too bad he was already taken.
For one self-indulgent moment, I allowed myself to envy my new boss—a lovely and generous woman who deserved a fling with a young studmuffin as much as anyone, I reminded my dark side. Besides, I didn't need a man right now anyway. Now was the time to get everything back on track, to figure out who I was and what I wanted to do with the rest of my life before I got all distracted by a soul mate with a bod for sin. And I most definitely did not need a dark and dangerous hell-raiser like Marcus Quinn.
By that time my conscience was raising holy hell, so with one last sigh I shut the door and returned to my post.
For some people the voice of their conscience comes in silent thought form. For others, it's more vocal, but always an extension of their own voice. Mine was the voice I'd heard so often as a high-strung and imaginative child—the stern, commanding voice of my Grandma Cora. Grandma Cora was the quintessential Hoosier farmer's wife. As a child I'd been terrified of her, a short squat woman of Irish and German descent with capable hands and a no-nonsense attitude. I had spent a lot of time with her when my mom went through her Tupperware Lady stint way back in the early eighties. While my mom spent her evenings burping plastic bowls at parties, I spent mine watching my grandma knead hundreds of loaves of bread and pluck countless chickens bald. She saw my childhood fears and imaginings as nonsense and often told me the best way to overcome them was to face them head on. Maybe that was what had prompted her to stick a big, fat tomato worm down my shirt when I had refused to help her knock them from the plants at the tender age of nine.
