"Well, I figure it will be hers next year when she comes into her magic," I said.
Wren threw his head back and laughed. "Aren't you the optimistic one? What makes you think you'll have outgrown your starter wand in a year? That's true Rose confidence, that is."
My cheeks burned from embarrassment. I honestly hadn't considered that it might take years to master spells with a starter wand. So far, I'd managed to do magic with very little effort. I'd even managed to successfully use a fairy wand. Granted, it was in a time of stress, but still. It hadn't occurred to me that coven incantations would take years to learn.
"Sorry," I mumbled. "I didn't mean to come across as obnoxious. You’re right. I'll choose a wand for me. It will be nice to let Marley choose her own next year. It'll be a cool little ritual."
Wren patted me on the back. "It will. A momentous occasion the two of you will long remember. I still remember when my parents took Dillon and me for our starter wands. They made such a fuss about it. Framed photographs. A celebratory dinner. You would have thought I'd earned my broomstick license."
"That must've been nice, though," I said. "Having big family events like that." I pictured all of the family events that must've taken place at Thornhold over the years, family gatherings that included my parents. I never had anything like that growing up or with Marley. Starry Hollow presented us with the chance for a new chapter, one that involved rituals and traditions. It was nice.
"I keep getting drawn to that silver wand," I said, inclining my head toward it.
Wren lifted it from the shelf. "Nice one. It's got a little bit of sparkle in it. It'll match your cloak nicely."
He placed it in my hand and I felt the smooth shaft. When I placed my fingers on the end of the wand the way Linnea had shown me, Wren shot me a quizzical look.
"That's a pretty good grip you’ve got there already for a newbie,” he said. "You must be a natural."
I remained silent. "So what happens now? Do I test it out?"
He nodded. "There’s a room in the back."
I couldn't believe it. "A dressing room for wands?"
"You want to try on a cloak as well," he said.
"I'm getting a cloak, too?" Big day, indeed. It was like back-to-school shopping. Throw in a few number two pencils and I was education-ready.
"I should probably warn you that I'm supposed to report back to your aunt after we leave here," he said. "Let her know if we were successful."
I glanced up at him. "Why would you need to warn me about that?"
"Because if I tell her yes, then you’ll probably be facing a celebratory dinner at Thornhold tonight." He gave me a wry smile. "It's a momentous occasion, remember?"
Got it. "Thanks for the heads up."
I followed Wren to the room at the back of the shop. We passed a gray-haired woman manning the counter. She had a round face that matched her body and kind eyes.
"Good day to you, Master-of-Incantation," she said, with a cheerful smile.
"Good day, Petunia,” he said. "May I introduce Miss Ember Rose?”
The woman fixed her gaze on me, her eyes widening. “Not Yarrow?”
Wren’s brow creased. "No, not Yarrow. Ember Rose."
"She knows my given name," I explained. Apparently, when I was born in Starry Hollow, I was given the name Yarrow, but my father changed it after he left town. Whether it was because he didn't like the name or to conceal my identity, I would never know.
Petunia examined me closely. "You are the perfect combination of your mother and father. Do you know that?"
"So I've been told," I said. "I've never seen a picture of my mother, though, so I'm not really sure how close the resemblance is.” I shrugged. “I have to rely on what people have told me."
Petunia’s face crumbled. "No one has shown you pictures of your mother?"
"No," I admitted. "Aunt Hyacinth apparently has photographs, but the family seems to think I should wait until she's in the right mood to ask to see them. I usually read people pretty well, but she’s…tougher than most people.”
Petunia slammed her hands down on the counter. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Those Roses are as daft as they are beautiful. I can help you resolve this issue right now, Ember."
Wren looked concerned. "Are you sure that's a good idea, Petunia? You don't want to risk incurring Hyacinth’s wrath. Porter received a tongue lashing from her two years ago and he’s still recovering.”
The older woman blew a dismissive raspberry. “Hyacinth Rose-Muldoon only has as much power as we allow. Poor girl has never seen a picture of her own mother. Can you imagine such a thing? Wren, you and Dillon are very close to your parents. What would it be like to have never seen your mother's face? To have never heard her laugh? Gracious goddess, we owe Ember a piece of her past.”
Wren’s expression soured. "Come on then. Between a wand and a cloak, there suddenly seems to be a lot more to squeeze into the session and I’m on a schedule.”
Petunia came out from behind the counter and accompanied us into the back room. She produced a wand from the inside pocket of her cloak. "I knew both of your parents, Yarrow.”
"Ember," I corrected her.
"Yes, sorry. While I didn't know them as intimately as some, I'm certainly here as a resource for any questions you might have. And certainly for simple requests like pictures."
Petunia held out her wand and waved it at the far wall—it was a blank wall with no windows or artwork. She uttered an unintelligible phrase and an image appeared on the wall of a woman cradling a newborn baby. The woman’s hair was long and dark like mine. The baby squirmed softly in her arms and she snuggled it to her breast. The woman glanced up, as though she felt herself being watched. A gasped escaped me as I stared into the face of my mother. Although I saw the resemblance immediately, it was fair to say that my mother’s beauty far exceeded my own general attractiveness. It wasn't a particular feature—she wasn’t striking like my Rose-Muldoon cousins—but there was something about the light reflected in her eyes. She radiated warmth and compassion. Emotions stirred within me as I watched the way she held the baby. Held me. I wondered what kind of person I would be now if she had raised me. Would I be more compassionate? Sweeter? More affectionate? I would never know. Sadly, another path had been chosen for me.
Petunia waved her wand again and another image appeared. A younger version of my mother, smiling happily as she clutched a wand in her hand. A silver wand.
I glanced down at the starter wand in my hand and my chest ached.
“Okay,” Wren said softly. “The wand might not be speaking to you out loud, but I never said anything about ignoring a blinking neon sign from the universe.”
My fingers gripped the narrow starter wand. “You said they were all black, brown, and white back then.”
“That was her mother’s wand, passed down to her,” Petunia said. “Your grandmother’s. I remember it well. There was much discussion as to whether she should choose her own wand when her magic manifested. They came into the shop and Lily tried a few wands, but I could see her heart wasn’t in it. She wanted her grandmother’s.”
“I don’t suppose you know what happened to it,” I said, my gaze still riveted to the image.
“I’m sorry, no,” Petunia replied. “But the one in your hand is as close as you’re going to get.”
My index finger stroked the smooth wood. “I wonder who cleared out the cottage after my father left.” Maybe it had been among her belongings. I’d have to ask Simon.
Petunia waved her wand and my breathing hitched. An image of my mother and father filled the wall. She wore a long, silver dress under her cloak and he wore a black cloak edged in silver braiding. Her dark hair hung in loose curls and she wore a headdress adorned with a silver moon. It was wonderful to see my father again. He’d always seemed like an older man to me, but here I could see evidence of his Rose heritage.
“Their wedding?” I asked. They looked very happy and very
much in love.
The older witch nodded. “It was not the grand affair the town hoped for, given your father’s prominent position in the coven, but there were objections, you see.”
“I know,” I said. “I mean, I know my mother wasn’t deemed worthy of marrying a Rose, but I don’t know why.”
“I wish I could say for certain,” Petunia said. “I only know the rumors. That your aunt disapproved and she and your father argued over it. Then he married your mother anyway.”
“Did they marry at Thornhold?” I asked.
“Gracious goddess, no,” Petunia said. “Your aunt refused permission for that. Everyone was shocked when they moved into Rose Cottage. We were sure they’d have to live across town, away from your aunt.”
“I’m surprised my father chose to live there,” I said. “If he was being stubborn, he would have put as much distance between himself and his sister as possible.”
“He did, eventually,” Petunia said. “After all, the human world may as well be another planet.”
“Some days, it seems that way,” I agreed.
“I hate to cut you off,” Wren said, “but I need to finish up our assignment. I’ve got a class to teach at the coven rec center.”
“Sorry, Wren,” I said. I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the wall. Not while the image still hovered there.
“Stars and stones, don’t be sorry,” Wren said. “This is important. I realize that.”
Petunia tucked away her wand and the image dissipated. A lump formed in my throat.
“You’re welcome here anytime,” Petunia said. “But your aunt will have access to far more than I do. You strike me as a woman of strong character. Don’t be afraid to ask for what’s yours. These memories are your birthright.”
“Thank you so much, Petunia,” I said. “You have no idea what this means to me.”
She winked at me. “Judging from the tears in your eyes, I think I do.” She left the room and closed the door behind her.
“Ready to try your starter wand?” Wren asked. “I’ll give you five minutes.”
I took a steadying breath and nodded. “Ready.”
Chapter 5
The art gallery looked different in the light of day. All of the fancy trimmings were now absent and all remnants of the swanky event had been cleared away. I’d given Bentley the chance to complete the story on Trupti’s show, but he quietly declined. He was still too hurt to return to the scene of his humiliation.
As annoying as Bentley could be, I found myself feeling sorry for him. His experience with Meadow was the downside of online dating. Here he thought he'd met the perfect partner, only to discover it was all a lie. In some ways, it must've been how Linnea felt when she discovered Wyatt’s many infidelities. He wasn't the werewolf she thought she'd married. At least Bentley discovered Meadow’s deceit before it got to a more serious point in the relationship.
Trupti stood at a table at the far side of the room, carefully wrapping a painting—I assumed in preparation for transport. She brightened when she saw me.
“Ember, what a nice surprise to see you again."
"Alec decided that I should finish the article that Bentley started, so I thought it would be a good idea to follow up with you today on the results of the show.”
Trupti inclined her head toward the package on the table. "This is the last one to go. I'm quite pleased with the results overall. I managed to sell half, which puts me in good stead."
"That's great," I said. I surveyed the walls of the art gallery, which still held the paintings I'd seen at the show with the giant pieces of fruit.
"It's a shame that the fruit paintings didn’t sell, but I cannot say I'm surprised," she said, following my gaze. "It's almost as if people can sense the negativity behind them."
"Well, I've never had to interview anyone about an art show before, so I'm going to ask you questions and you’re going to pretend I know what I'm doing."
She finished taping the last bit of brown paper and smiled. "I can see why Alec likes you."
"Excuse me? You must have me confused with someone else," I said, lying through my square human teeth. "He doesn't even want me to call him by his first name. I insisted on it. He still calls me Miss Rose."
She laughed lightly. "Yes, I noticed that. Very amusing. Alec can be…quite closed off if you do not put the effort in. You grow accustomed to it." She shrugged. "Or you don't. Either way, he will never change."
"I sort of have to get used to it," I said. "I work for him. If the worst thing that happens is he calls me Miss Rose for the rest of my career, it's not the end of the world."
Trupti finished wrapping the package and gave me a curious look. "You think it is only work to him? No, I don't suppose you will know him well enough to see the difference."
"How long have you known each other?"
She appeared thoughtful. “Fifty years, I think. Give or take.”
I tried to disguise my shock. Trupti didn’t look fifty years old, forget having known someone for fifty years. Paranormals had the lion’s share of youth and beauty, that was for sure.
"Would you care for anything to drink?" she asked. "I'm suddenly very thirsty. Must be all the wine I’ve been drinking this week. It’s been quite the celebration.”
"Sure," I replied. "I had a hard time getting up the other morning. The whole cottage was tipped to the side. My daughter thought I was having some kind of brain embolism."
Trupti laughed. "I bet he likes that you have a daughter."
"Who?"
"Alec, of course. It was the main reason our relationship fell apart." She stared down at her ringless finger. "He wanted children, but I adamantly did not."
"Well, he couldn’t have wanted them that badly. Otherwise, he'd have them by now."
"He's a vampire, Ember," she said. "He wants the whole package and he’s prepared to wait for it. If he doesn't find the right woman in this century, he will simply wait for the next one."
Another century? That showed some hard-core patience.
She retrieved two glasses of water from the back room and handed one to me. By the time I'd taken a sip of mine, I noticed her glass was already empty. She wasn't kidding about being thirsty.
"So can I ask how much money you made from the show?” I asked.
Trupti’s smile widened. "Right to the point, huh? I'm sure there were one hundred ways you could have tiptoed around that question and still received your answer."
"Yeah, but it would've taken an hour. I don't want to waste your time. I'm sure you're very busy with your…fruit.”
"I won't give you the total figure," she said, "but the lowest-priced painting sold for ten thousand and the highest-priced painting sold for thirty.”
My eyes popped. "For a picture? That you painted?" Consider my mind blown.
Trupti shrugged. “These are not unusual numbers, Ember. Not for me, anyway."
I whistled. "I'm in the wrong line of work." Then again, I'd always been in the wrong line of work. It was my career path—Jobs That Suck. Until now, anyway.
Trupti’s dark eyes narrowed. “Ember," she said slowly. "Is it just me, or did the pear in that painting move?"
I craned my neck to see the painting of the giant pear on the wall. While I certainly didn't know the painting as well as she did, the image of the pear did seem slightly off-center now.
She flicked a dismissive finger. “I must be imagining things. Too much wine still in my system.”
"What will you paint next?” I asked. “Is that how it works? The cycle starts all over again and you paint until your next show?”
Before she could answer, I heard the sound of tearing paper and whipped my head toward the source. The pear had not only moved—it had moved straight off the canvas. Now positioned in front of the painting was a giant pear. Unlike the one in the painting, this one had an angry face. A pear with slits for eyes and a mouthful of sharp teeth.
“Blood and apricots,” Trupti said, her jaw dropping
. "It's alive."
The sound of shredding alerted us to more escaped artwork. Giant pieces of fruit peeled off the canvases and landed on the floor with a collective thud. A scream pierced the air and I realized it had come from me. Every piece of painted fruit was now living and breathing on the gallery floor…eyeing us as a source of food.
"Hungry," the apple said, and chomped its teeth.
"We’re not healthy," I cried, not thinking clearly. "You are healthy. You need to eat each other if you're hungry." Fruit cannibalism. Blech.
Trupti clasped my hand in hers. Her fear was palpable.
"This is my worst nightmare," she whispered.
I glanced back at the angry, hungry fruit. I mean, it was scary, but I wasn't sure it would be my worst nightmare.
“I’ll text the sheriff,” I said, and quickly sent off a message. It was hard to know what to say in order to be taken seriously, so I left the request for help as vague as possible.
The giant pieces of fruit hopped closer to us, enclosing us in a circle—we were in the middle of a fruit wrap. The only weapon I had was the empty glass in my hand. In one swift motion, I chucked the glass at the pear’s head, piercing the skin. Juice dripped down the pear’s side.
"Take that, pear,” I said. “You're either too ripe or too soft. You're never just right."
Trupti gaped at me. “Ember, don't antagonize the fruit."
Too late. I turned my attention to the giant apple. "And you! Do you know how many times I choked on your skin? I'm surprised I'm still alive to tell the tale. My daughter makes me peel the skin off her apples." And I complained every single time, but no more.
The pear growled, angry about its pierced skin. I snatched the glass from Trupti’s hand and threw it, this time at the approaching banana. The peel split and soft banana goo squished down the front of the banana’s face.
The pieces of fruit advanced and Trupti dropped to her knees, caving under pressure. I glanced around the room, desperately seeking something else to use in self-defense. On the table was the pair of scissors Trupti had been using to cut the brown packaging paper. I didn’t want to leave Trupti at her most vulnerable, but if I could get to the scissors, I could try to slice the fruit into manageable segments.
Magic & Mischief Page 4
