The Trouble with Magic

by Madelyn Alt

  Except when it came to an unknown murderer who walked free tonight behind a cloak of anonymity. Stony Mill could not allow that to go on for long. I hoped the police had an actual plan.

  I also hoped, with all my might, that Felicity wasn't involved.

  Lying back against the pillows, I stared at the ceiling and willed the proverbial sheep to come out of the woodwork so that I could get down to the business of getting back to sleep.

  Deep breaths. Deep, cleansing breaths.

  One… two…

  Nothing.

  Here, sheepy, sheepy, sheepy…

  Lame, I know, but it was 2 a.m. and I was getting punchy.

  From the hall, I heard a sudden stir, an odd series of clicks that seemed to be drawing nearer. My nerves were already on edge, and my ears immediately hearkened to the noise. Toe-nails on hardwood flooring. A dog, I decided. Probably big. Friendly, I hoped. Strange that Felicity hadn't mentioned owning one. The presence of a big, protective dog would have made me feel infinitely better about the impromptu sleepover.

  Intrigued, I sat up in bed and slipped my feet over the edge. Cool air swirled about my bare ankles like the eddies of an unseen river as I tiptoed over to the door and pressed my ear to the crack. The animal seemed to have paused outside my door. I could hear it panting, a soft whine punctuating the occasional exhaled breath. It sensed my presence; I felt sure of that. I could almost feel its stare through the door panel.

  I might be naive, but I certainly wasn't stupid enough to open the door to a strange dog. At length it seemed to lose interest in me and continued on down the long hall, the clicks of its toenails fading into the distance. When I decided it had gone far enough for my peace of mind, I slowly, quietly, turned the knob and opened the door an inch. Nothing launched itself at me from the darkness, so I opened it a little wider and poked my head out as the doggie footsteps made their way down the hall.

  At the end of the corridor, a mere fifty feet away, moonlight cast a silvery glow through a tall window. I waited for the dog to enter the light… and waited… surely it should be there now… for heaven's sake, it should be beyond the window by now, shouldn't it?

  And then, in the blink of an eye, the sound was gone. Completely and utterly gone.

  And in that moment I realized that the hallway was carpeted.

  Fear lodged at the base of my throat. Just your imagination, I told myself as I pressed the door firmly into place. Ears playing tricks on you.

  Just the same, I turned the brass lock and ran back to my bed, huddling with my knees drawn up to my chin until my heart had stopped its frantic thundering.

  Chapter Five

  Hours later, I dragged myself downstairs in search of a very large, very hot, very strong cup of coffee.

  In the cold light of day, the frightening undercurrents I'd experienced the night before were gone and I was forced to acknowledge that I'd let my overactive imagination run away with me. Felicity's house looked normal even to my sleep-deprived sensibilities. Elegant, to be sure, and formal to a fault, but normal. I peeked in doorways as I made my way to the kitchen. So many of the rooms felt reserved to me, coldly masculine and devoid of the hospitality I associated with my boss. Only the library, full of wingback chairs and stacks of books, and an overstuffed sitting room in shades of apricot and terra cotta reflected Felicity's personality and beckoned invitingly to the casual observer.

  I would have loved to accept, but I'd already decided that the best thing to do for now was to take things day by day as far as Felicity and my job were concerned. I didn't have enough information yet to condemn or to clear her, but she'd taken a chance on me when I had not an ounce of retail experience. The least I could do was try to keep an open mind.

  I would have just enough time for a single cup of coffee (but nothing else—if our forefathers had intended for breakfast to appeal to the masses, they would have scheduled it at a more respectable hour) before I needed to head off to open the store. Today Felicity would need my help more than ever. She could hardly be expected to focus on the day-to-day details of running her business so soon after her sister's untimely demise, no matter how dedicated she might be.

  I found Felicity ensconced at the table in the kitchen, looking like a million bucks. In one hand she held a fork over a plate piled indecently high with eggs and what looked and smelled suspiciously like fish. In the other, she held a pen, currently poised over a sizable stack of paperwork.

  Felicity looked up. "Good morning!" she said in a tone that reeked of sunshine and daisies.

  Felicity, evidently, was a morning person. Even on my best days, I could never be described as a morning person. Still, I did my best to put on a happy face and return the greeting in kind. Except mine came out slightly less perky.

  Felicity's eyebrows raised. "Goodness, dear. Didn't you sleep well?"

  So much for imitations. I headed straight for the coffeepot, trying not to notice that even it was burbling cheerfully away. "I couldn't seem to relax," I apologized, "after yesterday."

  As soon as the words left my mouth, I wished I could call them back. I wasn't usually that tactless.

  But instead of taking offense, she sighed. "Yes, it is difficult to put such things out of one's mind. One must try, however. Life is for the living."

  I nodded, impressed by her ability to overcome. Terribly resilient of her. I, however, was nowhere near as evolved and had reverted back to a state of quivering confusion. "Where is your dog this morning?" I asked as I stirred several spoons of sugar into my coffee.

  Felicity paused. "Dog?"

  "You know. Furry animal. Sharp teeth. Sloppy tongue."

  She set her fork tines-down on her plate and folded her hands in her lap. "I don't own a dog, Maggie."

  I coughed out a nervous laugh. "Sure you do. You must. I heard it upstairs in the hall last night." At her curious stare, I prompted, "Big dog. Lots of toenails. It wanted into my room."

  She shook her head.

  Then what was it I had heard last night? Could a neighborhood dog have sneaked into Felicity's home somehow, without her knowledge? But if it did, how did it disappear so quickly, without me seeing it? I was getting that Alice-in-Wonderland feeling again. I took a big gulp of coffee to squash it into submission, yelping when the coffee burned my tongue. "Damn."

  Felicity slid her plate away. "I think I know what you might have heard."

  Her serious tone unnerved me. Part of me sensed that I wouldn't want to hear what she was about to say, but I wasn't the type to quail in the face of adversity. Most of the time. "Go on."

  She laid her hand upon the stack of papers. "I had planned to broach this subject with you eventually, but it appears it will have to be sooner rather than later. Do you remember what I asked you last night?"

  Something clicked into place in my head. I did remember. "Are you saying that you think—"

  She looked me straight in the eye. "It was a spirit."

  Ghosts—okay, maybe. I was kind of on the fence as far as that subject was concerned. But a ghost dog?

  "My experience has demonstrated there to be several different types of paranormal disturbances. You see, I spearhead a research group that investigates paranormal encounters."

  Witch-extraordinaire, and now Ghostbuster? Mm-hmm. "I see. Did you know you had a ghost, er, dog in your house?"

  Felicity smiled patiently at me. Once again, I had the uncanny feeling that she could see straight through me. "You're skeptical."

  I stood up and went to the sink, essentially turning my back to her. Operating, obviously, under the credo that if I couldn't see her, she couldn't see me. "I don't mean to be. This is all just a bit new to me. I mean, you practice witchcraft. And now ghosts, too. I've never known anyone who believes… well, in magic. The supernatural. And around here, as I'm sure you realize, it might as well be heresy."

  "No need to worry, ducks. Few people start out believing in 'all of this,' as you say. It is just a bit woo-woo, isn't it?" She laughed, a
self-deprecating chuckle that was entirely charming. "The thing is, the world is an amazing place, really. We are the ones who have trivialized everything, we are the ones who have stripped the magic from the world and left it a terribly mundane sort of place."

  Something to think about, anyway. But the abstract theory so rarely applied to real life, in my experience.

  "Most people walk around day by day completely blind to the wonder of the world around them. They refuse to see the signs of the divine in all of creation, in the very patterns of life. If they would only pay attention…"

  "And you study these things?" I asked, trying to make sense of it all.

  "With a little help from my friends," she affirmed. "Marcus, for one. You can meet the rest of them later, if you like. We meet at the store—"

  The store! The clock above the door bore the truth of my suspicions. "Look at the time!" I exclaimed, dumping my coffee into the sink. "If I don't hurry, I'll be late opening the store."

  "One of the greatest benefits of owning one's own business," Felicity remarked with a careless flip of her hand, "is not having to worry overmuch about tardiness."

  "But the customers," I protested as I mentally tried to calculate the rate of speed necessary to travel the seven miles to the store.

  "Will either wait or return later. Calm yourself, my dear. Five or ten minutes is not the end of the world."

  I stared at her, blankly, and then couldn't help laughing. The Toad would never have held such a lenient view. How ironic that now that I had actually found an employer who did, she turned out to be (A) a suspect in a murder investigation, and (B) a witch. But what else could I do but try to keep an open mind? I just couldn't bring myself to go crawling back to the Toad to beg for my job. Even if I did, he wasn't the altruistic type. Besides, by doing that, wouldn't I also be admitting that I had been in the wrong? My mother would jump all over that. The last thing I needed to do right now was give her more reason to be disappointed in me. For now I was better off trying to forget any misgivings I might have about godless women and canine ghosts and accept that surprises sometimes come in mysterious packages.

  * * * *

  My second day at Enchantments went much better than I had expected. Felicity did everything she could to make me comfortable at the store, and I found myself enjoying the easy banter between my boss and the regulars. Thursdays are our early night, so by the time the day ended at four o'clock, I was feeling quite at home in my new position. I didn't even mind when a couple of Felicity's special customers dropped in for a visit to the Loft. I recognized one of them: Helen Bradden, a soft-eyed teacher at Riverview Elementary. I'd had her in the second grade. She smiled at my open-mouthed surprise, gave me an impish wink, then made her way upstairs.

  I was beginning to get a new picture of modern-day witches. Hardly history's version of big-nosed hags in pointy hats who cackled over steaming cauldrons, neither were they the crystal-studded and strangely robed versions seen in New Age documentaries. The followers of the Craft I encountered today were both young and old, beautiful and plain, dressed in jeans or cashmere or polyester, and all greeted Felicity like a beloved sister. Their warm reception made it obvious Felicity had the respect and admiration of her compatriots. A few days ago, I would never have guessed there were those who still believed in magic. Now I found that Stony Mill and the surrounding towns housed several. Most preferred to keep their beliefs to themselves, hidden from the paranoia and judgments of their more conventional, churchgoing neighbors. There was a certain safety in anonymity.

  I left the store that afternoon thinking about Felicity and trying to sort out my feelings about the situation I found myself in. I was certain of nothing, but I couldn't deny that I was curious. I also couldn't forget the undeniable connection I had felt in the first moments of our acquaintance. That sense of familiarity. Of recognition. More than any other, it was that feeling that kept me there waiting to see what would happen next.

  Rather than head home, I made my way toward the Stony Mill Carnegie Library, digging the past due library book out of my backseat at a convenient stop light. Time to face the music.

  The library parking lot was nearly empty when I pulled in. I took a prime spot, put on my contrite face, and tucking the book under my arm, headed in through the front doors.

  Head Librarian Marian Tabor spotted me right away. "I wondered when you'd be coming in," she grunted.

  I waved sheepishly. "Sorry about that. I've been busy." I set the book down on the counter, carefully smoothing the cover.

  "So I hear tell." At my suspicious glance, she shrugged. "I saw your mother at the grocery the other day."

  Danger! Danger, Will Robinson!

  Marian had been friends with my mom as long as I'd been coming to the library on my own, and she always seemed to know intimate details about my private life. Notoriously sharp-tongued to those patrons hapless enough to cause damage to one of the library's many volumes, she was in one way your quintessential librarian. But Marian, affectionately known about town as Marian the Librarian, departed from that prissy image with her affinity for leopard print clothing and her sharp eye for the male body. Never mind the fact that she was a plus-sized woman in a size two world. In Marian's mind, none of that made a bit of difference, and more power to her. Today she'd confined the leopard to a scarf, tied jauntily around her blowsy up-do and left to dangle behind her right, ear.

  "Your mom mentioned you hadn't had a date in a long time," she commented as she stamped the card in the back of the book with a resounding thump.

  I felt my cheeks go hot. "My mom, as you well know, has a habit of sticking her nose into my business," I mumbled. "Unnecessarily, I might add."

  "Honey, it's nothing to be ashamed of. We all have dry spells from time to time." Marian looked left and right before leaning conspiratorially over the counter. "I might have someone for you. My nephew. Just moved back to town last year. Military man, you know. Well, he was for a time. Tells his mother that he doesn't have time for that right now. If you can imagine. He's just licking his wounds. Got his heart broke by some pretty young Southern thing, God love him. Southern women can be so cruel." She shook her head, lamenting the fate of her nephew. Then she narrowed her eyes at me, silently appraising me. Her eyes twinkled above her reading glasses. "Might be a bit young for you, but young is good, trust me. Strong like bull."

  I pictured some squat little He-man with long arms and hairy knuckles. "Erm… no thanks."

  "It wouldn't be any trouble. I'd be happy to put in a good word for you."

  "Gee, that's real nice of you, Marian, but I don't really have time right now, either."

  She stared at me as if I'd grown a horn in the center of my forehead. "You're joking. Dollar twenty-five."

  I dug in my wallet and pulled out five quarters. "Nope, 'fraid not. New job and all that."

  "Marcus said the same thing," she said, shaking her head. "I will never understand the younger generation."

  I felt myself go faint. "Marcus… Quinn?"

  "Ah, so you do know him! I knew he'd get scoped out before long."

  "I did not… never mind. You said he was in the military?"

  She nodded. "Military intelligence. He can probably kill a man with his bare hands." She arched her brow meaningfully. I guess I was supposed to fall to my knees with longing.

  Time to change the subject. "Hey, does the library keep old newspapers on file?"

  Instantly she was all business. "Of course we do. On microfiche. Why? Something I can help you with?"

  "I'm not sure. I was hoping to find references to Isabella Harding."

  "The newspapers from this week haven't been filed yet. Unless you mean earlier references."

  "Exactly."

  She plopped her be right back sign down on the counter and beckoned for me to follow her downstairs. "The 'fiche readers are all in the basement. The Dinosaur Collection. We don't get much call for them anymore, although we do keep up with the local paper. I'm afr
aid we simply don't have the server space to store scans, so we do what we can." She flipped the lights on and led the way to the tables with unerring accuracy even before the fluorescents blinked to life. Within seconds she'd dragged out a stack of films that dated back several years, and she showed me where the rest were kept. "I believe the Hardings first came to town around ten years ago. You have a lot of searching to do, hon."

  My heart sank, but I recovered quickly. "That's okay," I told her, reaching for the power switch on the machine.

  My disappointment must have shown on my face, because after a moment's pause she placed her hand over mine. "Listen, I don't have a date yet for this weekend, and I have more access to the resources than you do. Why don't I just see what I can find for you? Now, no need to thank me," she said as I opened my mouth to interrupt. "I haven't found anything yet."

  "I can't ask you to do that."

  "You didn't."

  I hesitated, not wanting to take advantage, but I knew it was a lost cause. Around these parts, once help had been offered, it was damned near impossible to turn it down. We Hoosiers are a stubborn lot. "All right. But don't go to too much trouble, please."

  She looked at me, her brown eyes serious. "Maggie, what is it you're looking for, really?"

  I shook my head slowly. "I wish I knew. Something. I guess mostly I'm just looking for information. My, uh, new boss is related to Isabella Harding, and I'm afraid… well, I'm afraid she's been questioned in the investigation." I bit my lip, wondering whether I had revealed too much already. "Please don't tell my mom. She'll find out soon enough as it is, and I just really would like a chance to learn the truth myself before…" My voice trailed off and I gave a helpless shrug.