by Lucy March
My mother stood still for a moment, her lightly drawn brows knitting together, and then she said, “Okay,” and my heart dropped.
“I’m going to fix this, Widow,” I said, “and when I do, your ass is going to get sued.”
Returning to old form, my mother ignored me. “Gladys, I need to ask you a favor. Is that okay?”
Gladys, who had known my mother for a long time and had likely never heard my mother ask for rather than demand favors, nodded mutely.
“If you could write thank-you notes to the people who wrote checks and return the money to them, I would appreciate it.” She motioned to the buffet behind her. “I have stationery and postage in the top drawer there. Then please give the cash to the church. Okay?”
With that, the Widow moved slowly out of the room, and in the distance I heard not her footsteps but just the light creak of the old stairs as she moved up them to her room.
I looked at Gladys, who stared back at me.
“I paid twenty dollars out of my own pocket for those candles,” she said, her lower lip out in a bit of a pout.
I reached into my pocket, pulled out twenty bucks, and grabbed one of the candles out of the basket for myself.
“Give the money back,” I said, and left. Then I stepped outside, sat down on the porch steps, and put my two fingers together on the wick of the fresh candle. I closed my eyes and thought about my mother, letting the worry and fear over what she had done—and what she had yet to do—build up in my head. I thought about all the awful things she’d said to me when I was a kid, the way she’d let Nick go a week with a fractured rib before bothering to take him to a doctor, the way she had let us believe our father was dead for two days before I answered his phone call asking for money. Emotion roiled within me: fear, anger, hurt.
I opened my eyes; the candle wick was pure white, and there wasn’t the slightest hint of red, smoky ropes around my hands. I hadn’t even managed to soften the wax. I put the candle down next to me on the porch and sighed. It wasn’t just any strong feeling that triggered the magic at this stage. It was about one emotion connected to the thing that was most important to you. For my mother, it was having her narcissism fed. For Deidre Troudt, it was Dr. Feelgood.
For me, it was Leo. Although whether it was specifically love or desire, anger or pain, I didn’t know. All of my emotions involving Leo were tightly interwoven, and separating them to figure out which it was would probably prove impossible.
I got up, leaving the candle there, and walked down the street toward my car.
Chapter 10
There are times in a girl’s life when she just needs waffles. The following morning was one of those times. I’d managed to sleep only in bits and snatches, dreaming in flashes of fire and the smell of singed satin, dancing sunflowers and glowing widows, the taste of Leo and flying purple potion vials. When I woke up, I pulled on my sneakers and went for a run.
When that didn’t shake all the tension out, I showered, got in my Bug, and went to Crazy Cousin Betty’s for waffles. It was early on Monday morning, and neither Liv nor Tobias was working, which was a relief. Much as I loved them both, I didn’t want to see anyone I knew well at the moment. I just wanted peace and waffles, and to be left alone.
“Oh, my God, Stacy Easter! Just who I wanted to see!”
My butt had barely hit the vinyl in the booth seat before I heard my name called. I looked up to find the town’s cutest baby boomer lesbians, Addie Hooper-Higgins and Grace Higgins-Hooper, moving toward me. Addie was physically striking: naturally pretty even without makeup, bright blue eyes shining under a fringe of wild silver hair. She wasn’t always the sharpest tack in the box, but she was so earnest that you eventually forgave anything she said or did, because no matter what, her intentions were always for the good. Grace was granite-faced, with bobbed gray hair the color of a summer storm. She was laconic and straightforward, and you never had to forgive her anything because she never did or said anything without thinking it through thoroughly first. I had a lot of time for them both, but Grace was more my kind of woman.
“Morning, Stacy,” Grace said simply as she slid into the seat across from me. Unlike Grace, Addie didn’t slide; she bounced in.
“So, oh my God, the wedding!” Addie said in what was probably meant to be a confidential whisper, but her enthusiasm got the best of her. “What in the world happened? Was it Liv? Is someone trying to kill her again? Because you know, you really could have called us.”
Being called in to help during the big fight with Davina last summer was one of Addie’s fondest remembrances, and since she couldn’t talk about it with anyone who hadn’t been there—we’d made her swear on all that is holy to keep it secret, and to her credit, she had—she wedged it into every conversation she had with any of us who were there that night.
“It wasn’t Liv,” I said, “and no one’s trying to kill her. It was … I don’t know. A thing. A magical hiccup. I’m figuring it out, and it won’t happen again.”
I held up my menu between us. I knew it by heart and could recite it on command, but I was hoping they’d take the hint and leave me alone. Addie, who had never been big on taking hints, put one finger on top of my menu and pushed it down, leaning forward.
“It’s already happened, honey.”
The muscles in my shoulder and neck tensed. “What do you mean?”
“You know that mousy little girl…,” Addie began.
“She’s not little, she’s seventeen…,” Grace corrected.
“… who works at the checkout at the grocery store? Well, she—”
“Her name is Clementine,” Grace said, and I felt ice go down my back.
“—had an … incident in the middle of the grocery store yesterday afternoon. Everyone was talking about it.”
I looked at Addie. “Clementine? You’re sure? Red hair, thick glasses, eyes way too big for her face, looks kind of like a gawky Bambi?”
Addie nodded. “That’s the one.”
Crap.
“What happened?” I asked, and when Addie blinked, I prompted. “At the grocery store?”
Addie leaned forward; it was gossip time. This was her element. “Well, at first, it just seemed like another teenage drama thing. I mean, Bill hires all high school kids to be cashiers and stock boys, and there’s always some kind of hormone-induced theater going on. But usually it’s about that Barbie-doll blonde with the C-cup and the D-grades. Not Clementine. She’s a sweet girl but … she hasn’t exactly grown into her beauty yet.”
I tried to relax my shoulder muscles. There was nothing to freak out over; I hadn’t given Clementine anything, not even a fauxtion. Hell, I’d barely even given her five minutes of my time. Whatever had happened, it was just a coincidence. It had to be.
I shrugged. “Girls can do other things besides be pretty to make boys crazy, you know.”
Addie gave me one of her world-weary, don’t-tell-me-about-the-world, I’m-a-lesbian looks.
“I know what girls can do, but Clementine isn’t one of those girls. She plays the cello, and not well. She got accepted to Cornell, early admissions. She’d probably scream if she saw a penis outside of an anatomy book.”
“It’s the smart, mousy ones that you have to watch out for the most,” I said, thinking of Millie. But even as I said the words, I remembered Clementine’s eyes when we’d talked, and I felt a niggle of doubt. Even in her mousiest moments, there’d always been an edge to Millie; Clementine was soft all over, no hint of an exoskeleton anywhere on that kid.
“Anyway,” Addie said, “I wasn’t there, but Eleanor Cotton was. She said that she was in the produce section, thumping melons, when one of the stock boys—the tall, skinny one—and one of the boys from the football team started beating each other to a pulp, apparently over Clementine. Well, mostly, it was the football player doing the beating and the stock boy being the pulp, but I heard he got one or two good swings in there—”
“They’re teenage boys,” I said. “S
he has breasts. There’s nothing magical about that.”
“Wait. Listen.” Grace’s eyes met mine with that serious look they got only when things were truly important. It was easy to dismiss Addie; she had a fanciful imagination and a love for gossip that verged on the pathological. She was a storyteller at heart, and the truth was no deterrent for her if exaggeration or outright lies meant a better story.
But if Grace said, “Wait. Listen,” then you waited, and you listened.
Addie leaned forward.
“Eleanor doesn’t know anything about the magic, and I swear when she told me this, I acted like it was weird and told her it must have been her imagination, but…” Addie glanced from side to side, then leaned in even closer and kept her voice super low. “She said that when she went out into the parking lot after buying her melons, she saw Clementine just sitting in the front seat of her car, looking stunned. Eleanor went over to check on her, and Clementine waved her away, and when she did, that’s when Eleanor noticed it.”
Even as Addie paused to heighten the drama, I knew what was coming.
“Eleanor said Clementine had bright pink light flickering around her hands, like tiny streaks of lightning.”
And with that, Addie sat back, looking proud and validated. She took Grace’s hand, and the two of them looked at me.
“I don’t think Eleanor would make something like that up,” Grace said coolly.
“I know she wouldn’t,” Addie said. “Why would she? If you’re going to make something up, you throw in a secret pregnancy, or a drug addiction, or a raunchy affair. Something at least a little interesting.” Addie’s eyes widened and she put one hand innocently to her chest. “Not that I would ever make anything like that up, but … if you’re going to lie, you make it a lie that’s worth the effort. Light around the girl’s hands? There’s no reason to make something like that up.”
“No, right,” I said absently, my mind in a whirl, trying to separate facts from assumptions. People were becoming magical; that was fact. I had assumed, because the first few instances happened around me, that it had been my potions, my fault somehow. But I had never made a love potion, and even if I had, I certainly wouldn’t have given it to Clementine.
Something else was going on here, something that went beyond me and my potions.
I barely had time to start putting pieces together when Desmond Lamb walked through the front door to CCB’s and took a seat at the counter. I watched his back as he picked up a menu and chatted with the eponymous Betty, who was in her seventies and—up until Liv and Tobias—had been the only magical in town.
Now we had at least seven.
Something is very, very wrong.
“… has to be something magical, and if you need us to help…” Addie prattled on in the background, but my eyes were on Desmond.
Desmond, who was supposed to have left town yesterday.
“… have my phone number, and you know I’m an insomniac, so even if it’s the middle of the night…”
Desmond, who had been there when Clementine had asked me for help.
“… come over and have tea and we can talk about anything, and I won’t say a word to anyone, Grace will tell you how good I’ve been about…”
Desmond, who had been so careful to make sure the potion he made for me was in a purple vial.
“That son of a bitch,” I grumbled, and slid out of the booth.
Addie stopped talking, although I’m sure she turned to watch as I approached Desmond. Based on the look on my face when I left the booth, she was probably expecting something juicy. But by the time I sat myself down next to Des, I was all smiles.
“Hey, stranger. Fancy meeting you here.” I gave a small wave to Betty. “Hey, Betty. How’s it going?”
“I’m old, and it’s pissing me off,” she said, “but other than that, I’m still alive, so knock wood, right?” She winked at me, then looked at Desmond. “One sunrise special to go. You want coffee, too?”
“Black, please,” Desmond said, then turned to smile at me. “Well, Stacy Easter, this is quite the welcome surprise.”
“What are you still doing here?” I asked, not wanting to tip my hand, but not being overly pleasant, either. Even if I didn’t suspect him of screwing with my town, which was a castratable offense in itself, I wouldn’t be too pleased to discover a lover I’d sent back to Canada had returned to my doorstep. Act natural, I thought, and narrowed my eyes at him a bit.
He gave me an appraising look, and for the first time, the expression in his eyes—which I’d always read as standard British aloofness—now appeared as something else: wariness.
The game was, apparently, afoot.
“I have a little vacation time coming,” he said, “and I’ve decided to stay here for a while.”
“Wow,” I said. “How long?”
“Well, that’s the beauty of being self-employed, now isn’t it?”
His elusiveness was annoying me, but I kept my face impassive. “Huh. Where are you staying?”
“Oh, a charming little bed-and-breakfast owned by the woman who made the cake for the wedding,” he said.
I took a moment to decide how to play that, and I went with the path of least bullshit.
“You’re staying at Grace and Addie’s? What a coincidence. I was just having breakfast with them.”
Something lit in his eyes, respect maybe, and he gave a nod as though I’d just moved a chess piece to a smarter position than he’d expected me to. “I know. I saw you when I came in. I didn’t want to interrupt your conversation, though.”
“That was thoughtful.” I stared at him in silence, waiting to see if he’d fill in the dead air, the way that 99 percent of people do. He said nothing, just stared back down at me. I wasn’t ready to confront him directly, not until I knew more about what was going on, so for the moment, I was just going to throw a rock in the water and see what rippled up.
I leaned forward, speaking in low tones. “I know I’m really good in bed, okay? And sometimes that makes men think they’re in love with me, but they’re not. It was just good sex, and you’ll have it again someday with someone else. Really. But I’m just not that kind of girl. So if you’re in town to try to win me, you’re wasting your time.”
At that moment, Betty delivered his food. Desmond chuckled lightly, pulled out some bills and handed them to her, then took his coffee and to-go bag in hand and stood up.
“You have found me out, Stacy,” he said, “although in one particular, you’ve misjudged the situation. While I enjoyed myself a great deal the other night, and while you are being modest when you state that you are merely ‘good’ in bed—I hope it doesn’t embarrass you if I say that I have rarely had the pleasure of enjoying such enthusiasm and flexibility—let me assure you that I have no unwelcome designs on you.” He raised his head as Betty gave him his change. “Thank you, Betty. I look forward to what I’m told is the best breakfast in town.”
Betty gave me a quick look; she pretended to be old and doddering, but she’d just heard every word we’d said, and the only reason she wasn’t repeating it to everyone else even as I sat there was because I mattered to Liv, and she loved Liv with a maternal fierceness that made you ache to watch it. Or at least, it made me ache; no one had ever loved me like that.
“This town has a lot of good things to offer,” Betty said casually, then moved on down the counter, but I noted that she stayed within listening distance.
Desmond sorted out the bills, leaving most of his change for the tip. “Where was I? Oh, yes.” He turned his focus to me, his smile simple and almost sweet, which made it even creepier. “Where you are correct is that I have fallen in love, but I am sorry to say, not with you. Nodaway Falls has charmed me, in a most unexpected way, and I couldn’t bring myself to leave it. Not just yet, anyway.”
He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek, then turned and walked out. I took a few minutes to indulge a feral growl, and then returned to my booth where Addie and Grace w
aited.
“So, you and Desmond…?” Addie prompted. “You two made a very cute couple at the wedding.”
“We’re not a couple,” I said, glaring out the window in the direction he’d gone, even though he was long gone. “He’s just something I tracked into town on my shoes.”
“Is everything okay, honey?” Grace asked. When Grace looks concerned, it’s bad.
I forced a smile. “Everything’s fine. I need you guys to do me a favor, though. Keep an eye on him. Tell me where he goes, who he sees, and what he does. Anything weird, call me. And try not to tip him off that we’re watching. Okay?”
Addie’s face lit up, and she clapped her hands in excitement. I honestly don’t know if I’d ever seen anyone that happy, ever.
Grace gave a brief nod. “You got it, Stacy.”
“Thanks.” I got up and put money down on the table to pay for their coffees, then started to walk away before heading back to look at Addie.
“Addie?” I said, and she looked up at me, still smiling brightly.
“Yes, honey?”
“Put tons of flaxseed in his food, okay?”
She grinned, and I patted her on the shoulder on my way out. She was a good woman, that Addie.
* * *
Clementine Klosterman wasn’t at Treacher’s IGA that afternoon; Bill said she had the day off, and blew me off when I asked when she’d be back in. I was just about to leave when I saw a tall, lanky, freckled, and conspicuously banged-up stock boy working the soup aisle. His left eye was purple, and he had a cut over his right cheek that looked like it had been made with a ring of some kind—possibly a high school football state championship ring, NFHS had shocked everyone last year by actually winning—but his body was relaxed and he moved fluidly as he transferred the soup cans from the box to the shelf. His hands were strong and deft but still a little awkward, and I smiled, instantly liking him; he reminded me of Leo.
I figured I’d get more out of a casual encounter than an in-your-face interrogation, so I moved down the aisle casually, finally stopping next to him.
