Nick kissed me.
Mimi giggled and groaned at the same time. “I’m leaving!”
A second later, I heard the door slam closed.
A long second later, I broke the kiss and said, “I think we traumatized her.”
“She’ll recover.”
He stared at me.
I stared at him.
Finally, I said, “We should probably go to the party.”
“Probably.”
Neither of us stood up.
Suddenly I heard a loud “Psst!”
Nick froze. “What was that?”
“I think it’s a who more than a what. Pepe?” I asked, peering downward. “Is that you?”
“Over here, ma chère. Come, come. I have a present for you.”
I gave Nick a quizzical look as we stood up and walked over to a niche in the wall. A piece of the molding had been pushed aside, a hidden mouse passageway. Pepe stood there, a mischievous look in his eyes. “You’ve already given me a present. This dress . . . I can’t tell you how much I love it.”
“The dress is nothing,” Pepe said, waving away my comment with a swipe of his hand. “The present I have for you now . . .”
There was something different about him. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. . . .
“Just tell her!” a female voice said from within the wall.
He laughed. “I believe you just did, my love.”
My love? “What’s going on?” I said, thoroughly confused.
“I did, didn’t I?” A loud cackling laugh filtered through the wall.
“No . . .” I said, immediately recognizing the sound.
“Oh yes!” A beautiful white mouse popped out of the wall and yelled, “Ta-da!” She wore a pink velour dress, and had long lashes and spiky hair sticking up between her ears. “I told you I’d see you later, doll.”
“Mrs. P?” Nick said in wonder.
“In the flesh. Mouse flesh,” she said, cackling again, “but still. Like I told Darcy: Sometimes endings are just new beginnings. I’m baaaack.” She took hold of Pepe’s hand. “And I’m here to stay.”
And despite my promise to Godfrey, for the second time that day, I burst into tears.
* * *
Outside the Will-o’-the-Wisp, a small dog sat by a window looking in on the dance. She watched the party closely, feeling a swell of emotion as Nick and Darcy sailed across the room, smiles stretching from ear to ear.
“I think my work here as Missy is done,” Melina Sawyer said to her companion. “It might be time for me to go.” All along she’d planned to help Nick find love again, find someone who could be a proper mother figure for Mimi, and move on.
She’d more than succeeded, and it was time to go.
“Do you really want to leave?” the Elder asked her.
“Not especially, but as they grow closer, the more awkward it will become for me. What happens if they move in together? I’m happy Nick has found love again, but I don’t know if I can bear witness to it every day. I still have feelings, you know.”
The Elder smiled. “It is a complex situation. There are options available. You can change forms, for instance.”
“Perhaps,” Melina said.
“Give it some time,” the Elder said, echoing the words she’d heard Darcy tell Starla earlier. “You don’t need to make a decision tonight. By the way, I’ve been meaning to tell you job well done assisting Darcy in finding the Good-bye Spell.”
Melina smiled. “It helped that I knew right where it was, having used it myself.”
No one but the Elder knew Melina had created the journal with the intent to leave it behind to help her daughter learn her Craft.
“They look happy, don’t they?” Melina said after watching Darcy and Nick for a while.
“The happiest.”
“Nick deserves it.”
“Darcy, too. They’re a good match.”
They were, and Darcy continued to prove how much she’d grown to love Mimi. Melina focused in on her daughter, who was being waltzed around the room by Evan. Her little girl had her head tilted back laughing, and it was easy for her to imagine the sound. Her soul ached to have more time with her.
No, she didn’t have to decide her fate tonight.
But she knew what she eventually had to do.
Until then, she’d enjoy the time she had before saying good-bye.
* * *
Many hours later, after dancing till my feet hurt and laughing until my cheeks ached, I lay in bed, trying hard to fall asleep—but sleep was being elusive.
Starlight filtered in from the skylight above my head as I snuggled closer to Nick’s bare chest and breathed in his scent. Instinctively he tightened his arm around me, and I basked in the feeling of being loved.
“Darcy?” he whispered sleepily. “You okay?”
“Perfect,” I said, smiling. “Go back to sleep.” We were at his house—Aunt Ve had insisted Mimi and Higgins spend the night with her—and I had hours and hours before I had to face the real world again.
Right now I felt a little bit like I was living in a fairy tale. I knew that wasn’t true, but I was quite content with feeling that way for a while.
Unbidden, a snippet of Glinda’s voice popped into my head.
You get everything you want.
After tonight it was hard to argue her point. I’d had the best birthday ever. Nick loved me. Mrs. P was back. Starla was on her way to being happy again.
I was happy. I had everything my heart had ever desired.
Plus, I still had the memory spell to use.
You get everything you want.
No, I wanted to argue. I have everything I deserve.
With a sigh, I resolutely pushed Glinda out of my head. Tonight was a night to celebrate. I wouldn’t let her spoil any of it for me.
“Mind blank; Conscious spark; Lost memories; Return to me.” I whispered the words and a chill swept down my spine. All I had to do was say it two more times and I’d see my mom.
But as I lay there, I decided not to cast the spell. Not tonight. I was already full to bursting with happiness—I would save the spell for another day. It was enough to know I’d see her soon.
I finally fell asleep with a smile on my face and the memories of my mom in my heart.
I dreamed. Of Nick. Of weddings and babies. Of a happily-ever-after to my fairy tale.
And of a mourning dove with a perfect blue ring around its eye.
Read on for a sneak peek at the next novel in Heather Blake’s Magic Potion Mystery series,
One Potion in the Grave
Coming from Obsidian in Fall 2014.
My nerves rocketed to high alert the moment the woman glided into my shop, her eyes masked by a large pair of black designer sunglasses, a gauzy scarf draped theatrically over sleek blond hair and then loosely wound around her neck.
She looked very Jackie O, and in Hitching Post, Alabama, the official wedding capital of the South, people like Jackie O stood out like peacocks among sparrows.
Despite our wedding flair, we were casual folks.
Her peacockiness didn’t explain the jumpy nerves. That only happened when danger was near. My witchy senses—labeled so by my best friend, Ainsley, when we were teenagers—were at work.
The customer didn’t look all that dangerous, but I’d been fooled by people before. Lesson learned. However, I also had to keep in mind that the danger I felt might not come directly from her—it could just be associated with her. My witchy senses weren’t finely honed, so I couldn’t tell which it was. All I knew was that this woman meant trouble to me.
Poly, one of my two cats, lumbered over to greet the customer and assess whether the elegant newcomer had any hidden treats lurking beneath the flowing designer caftan that swished dramatically around her thin body. Poly was forever starving to death, as his twenty-five-pound frame could attest. Roly, my other (much lighter) cat, stayed curled up on the counter, basking in a puddle of sunshine, preferring na
ps to treats. The siblings’ breed was of unknown origin, but I suspected a mix of calico, white-and-gray ragdoll, and lethargy. Both were long-haired fluff balls of orange, gray, and white, their diluted coloring more pastel than bold. Besides their weight, another way to tell them apart was that Poly had more orange while Roly was mostly gray. They often came to work with me here at the Little Shop of Potions, and I adored each and every one of their lazy bones.
I wondered what this customer knew of my shop, a place that on first look appeared to be a blend of an herbalist and a bath-and-body boutique. On a daily basis, tourists wandered inside, drawn in by the colors, their curiosity, the allure of the window vignette, and the store’s tagline written on the window: MIND, BODY, HEART, AND SOUL.
Early-morning light streamed through the display window, glinting off the treasures I’d collected over the years: the weights and measures, the apothecary scale, the mortar and pestle my grandma Adelaide had used in this very store. The sunbeams also bounced off the wall of colorful potion bottles, splashing prismatic arcs across the shop.
I inhaled the various earthy smells from the fresh and dried herbs I used in my potion making and absorbed the vibrant colors, the simple charm, and the magic in the air.
That was the most important part: the magic.
Most tourists didn’t know that I hailed from an unusual combination of hoodoo and voodoo practitioners and was a healer who used my inherited magic to treat what ailed. From sore throats to broken hearts, I could cure most anything—thanks to a dose of magical lily dewdrops (Leilara tears) and the recipe book of potions left by my great-great-grandmother Leila Bell.
The customer bent to scratch Poly’s head, and he flopped onto his back to playfully paw her hand. The big flirt. He lacked basic moral principles and would do just about anything for the possibility of a treat.
Another surge of warning tingles crept up my spine and spread to my limbs. Instinctively, I latched onto the engraved silver locket that dangled from a long chain around my neck. The orb was a protective charm given to me when I was just a baby, not to defend me from others but from myself. Being an empath, someone who can experience another’s physical and emotional feelings, was something else I’d inherited from Leila. The locket engraved with two entwined lilies wasn’t foolproof, but in most cases, it blocked other people’s emotions, so I wasn’t bombarded with everyone else’s feelings. It was also something of a security blanket—offering me solace and comfort when I was troubled.
Like now.
“Feel free to browse around, and let me know if you need any help,” I offered, though really I just wished she’d walk out the door. I didn’t know what had kindled my witchy senses, but those warnings were rarely wrong. If she stuck around, I had to prepare for the proverbial anvil to drop on my head.
The woman lowered her sunglasses a fraction and peered at me over the dark rims. “Will do.”
A flash of recognition sparked within me but didn’t flame. I had the feeling I knew her somehow, yet I couldn’t place her for the life of me. She certainly wasn’t local.
“Nice shop you have here,” she said, her slow cadence that of a cultured Southern belle, one who’d been raised up prim and proper.
Still alert, I said proudly, “It’ll do.” I just hoped she hadn’t heard about the murder that had taken place in the back room not that long ago. There were some things tourists needn’t know. Fortunately, that case had been solved, the culprit brought to justice, and my reputation restored, and life went on.
Slowly the woman stood, leaving Poly splayed out on the floor (treatless), his chubby belly the only proof needed that he was well fed. He wasn’t that good an actor to be able to cover the pudge.
Her strappy designer gold high heels clacked on the wooden floor as she wandered over to a display of bath oils and surreptitiously glanced over her shoulder.
Although I usually only read people’s energy to create a perfect potion, I didn’t like waiting for that anvil—I’d had my fill of trouble with that murder and all, thank you kindly—and thought it best to be proactive. I let go of my locket and let down my guard to feel what she was feeling.
I sensed no danger toward me at all, so the danger swirling around was most likely due to the same reason her anxiety level was through the roof. Her stress coursed through my veins, increasing my blood pressure as surely as it did hers.
Taking hold of my locket again, I let out a breath. If she was interested, I had some calming cures and sleeping potions that might soothe her a bit. Temporary fixes to an obviously bigger issue but helpful nonetheless.
As she continued to wander around the store, browsing, touching, perusing, and generally acting suspiciously, I eyed the big fancy bag on her arm and wondered if she was a shoplifter. Over the years, I’d learned that they came in all shapes, sizes, and pedigrees.
When she picked up a handmade soap, I walked over to keep a closer eye on her and said, “The lilac is nice.”
Sniffing a bar of honeysuckle soap wrapped in a muslin bag and tagged with a custom label, she said, “I prefer the honeysuckle myself. It brings back sweet memories.”
Clear polish coated her short, professionally manicured fingernails. She wore only one ring—an enormous pink star sapphire on her right hand—so apparently she wasn’t in town to get hitched this weekend. Most likely she was a wedding guest. Probably the big Calhoun affair. The town was buzzing from the excitement of those nuptials. Especially my mama. She was in a full-blown tizzy because the wedding was being held at her chapel, Without a Hitch.
Mama in a tizzy was quite the dizzying experience—one I’d get to witness firsthand, as she’d roped me into helping her get the chapel ready this afternoon for the big to-do. My arm hadn’t needed much twisting. It was, after all, the Calhouns, and I’d have to be dead not to want an up-close peek at the family.
Headed by patriarch Warren (a U.S. senator who had an eye on the White House), and his wife, Louisa, the rich and powerful (and somewhat corrupt) Calhoun family was Southern royalty. They were firmly rooted in politics and had recently branched out into the entertainment industry via their son, Landry, who was a rising country music star. News of Landry’s speedy engagement to college beauty and former pageant queen Gabriella “Gabi” Greenleigh had sent shock waves through the whole country, hitting the front pages of every tabloid in the checkout stands. “Little Orphan Gabi,” as she had been called in the press, was the only child of one of the wealthiest couples in the state, a couple who had died in a tragic plane crash several years ago. Gabi’s father, an oil executive, had been one of Warren’s biggest supporters, and her mother had been best friends with Louisa. After their deaths, Louisa vowed to care for the girl, to take her under her wing. During this past year, Landry and Gabi had fallen in love. The picture-perfect couple was due to be married right here in Hitching Post in two days’ time—this Saturday.
“Can’t go wrong with either.” I handed the woman a small wooden basket so she could shop. Might as well make some money off this strange encounter.
Turning to face me straight on, she said, “Carly Bell Hartwell, do you remember that one time you dared me to sneak into your aunt Marjie’s yard, knock on her door, and run? Only I got all tangled up in her honeysuckle vines, and she caught me? My rear still aches sometimes from the switching she gave me. But I still love the scent of honeysuckle, so don’t be pushing your lilac wares on me.”
In a split second, the woman’s voice shifted from high class to a local twang. I stared in shock at her and finally said, “Hush your mouth! Katie Sue Perrywinkle? Is that truly you under all that fanciness?”
Katie Sue whipped off her sunglasses, and her familiar blue eyes danced with mischief. Throwing her arms wide, she rushed at me, wrapping me in a tight hug.
We spun in a circle, our squeals scaring Poly out of his stupor. His belly hung low to the ground as he dashed behind the counter.
“Just look at you!” I said. “How long’s it been?”
Without missing a beat, she said, “Ten years.”
“Tell me everything.” I pulled two stools over to a worktable. “Did you get to college like you wanted? Are you a full-fledged doctor now?”
Laughing, she glanced at her diamond-faced watch and said, “I only have but a minute.”
“Talk fast, then.” So, Katie Sue was back. I’ll be damned.
I drank in the sight of her, trying to note the many changes. Her hair had gone from brown to blond, her skin from deeply tanned to pale cream, and her whole countenance from hillbilly to high society. “I’m so shocked you’re here.” I stumbled for words. “You’re . . . unrecognizable. The hair, the clothes, the accent.”
“Everything,” she said firmly. “It took years, too, with thousands paid to a finishing school, voice coaches, a stylist. . . . The list goes on. Oh, and my name’s Kathryn Perry now. I had it legally changed right after I left town.” Her voice dropped to a melancholy whisper. “I didn’t want them to find me.”
Them.
Her family.
My stomach twisted at the old memories. Katie Sue had had what my mama would call an “unfortunate” childhood. Her daddy had died in prison after being sent there for killin’ a man in a bar fight. Her mama liked the hooch a little too much and hadn’t been above raising her hand—or any other object in the vicinity—to keep her three daughters, Lyla, Katie Sue, and Jamie Lynn, in line. And when she remarried? Whoo-ee. Her new husband had an even bigger problem with the bottle and a hair-trigger temper. And after one particularly bad fight with each other, the state stepped in and awarded custody of the girls to Katie Sue’s granddaddy, a hardworking man who lived simply and loved those girls fiercely. It was a move that had probably saved the lives of all three sisters but had eventually torn the siblings apart.
Last I’d heard, Katie Sue’s mama, Dinah Perrywinkle Cobb, and her husband, Cletus Cobb, had been released from the local pen, having served two years each for cooking up drugs in their trailer near the river. They’d been free going on five months now and had managed to stay out of trouble.
The Goodbye Witch Page 29
