Cursed at First Sight

by Daphne DeWitt

  “I think the idiot is lying anyway.” Chris shrugged.

  “He’s not lying,” I said. “Mason isn’t a murderer. Someone else is behind this. They just have to be.”

  “That's what I want you to get to the bottom of,” Grandma Misty said, blinking hard at me. Her hair hung down over her eyes, and in this light, she sort of did look like the spooky witch some of the younger children in town said she was.

  “Me?” I balked. “Why me?”

  “Because we’re in this mess because of you,” Christopher said.

  “Quiet, Chris,” Grandma Misty said. “This has nothing to do with Malady.”

  “The same way your leg has nothing to do with her?” Agnes asked.

  Shocked, I looked over at the woman. I would have expected that sort of snippy comment from Abigail, but not from Agnes.

  “Seriously?” I asked.

  “I’m sorry, Mal,” she answered, looking down at the table and running a hand through her hair. “But we’ve never had a murder in town before, and we’ve certainly never heard of someone misusing magic. I know making bad things happen isn’t your fault. I know you don’t mean to do it, but you did just get home. Now this happens. Can that really be a coincidence?”

  My heart dropped. Was she right? Had I inadvertently caused this? Was this my fault too? Had Allison died because I came back to town? No. It couldn’t be. I was still heartbroken over my failed engagement. I was still in the mourning stages of a future I would never have. I was still adjusting to the idea of being my future nieces’ and nephews’ kooky single aunt. I couldn’t have been responsible for this. I wasn’t even close to in love. As far as I was concerned, I never would be again.

  “I didn’t do this,” I said, my hands balling into fists. “Just a few weeks ago, I was still crying myself to sleep. My curse isn’t triggered, and you don’t get to suggest it is.”

  “I don't want to hear any more about any of this. I don't care why this happened, only that it did.” Grandma Misty said. Then, looking over at Agnes, her eyes narrowed and her aged finger pointed at the woman. Instantly, my sister flinched. Grandma Misty's finger was so powerful there were rumors among the family that it could be classified as a weapon of mass destruction. One point of that finger could do any number of things and, given the – let's just call it - eccentric nature of our grandmother, none of us could be too careful when it came to upsetting her.

  Fortunately, Grandma Misty didn't have anything harsher than a lecture for my younger twin sister.

  “As long as there is breath in my body, I do not want to hear you spread that sentiment about your sister.” Her finger moved to Christopher, who was decidedly less flinchy than Agnes. It made sense, I guess. After all, he was already stuck as a bird most of the time. What could our grandmother really do to the guy at this point? “Either of you,” she continued. “We’re family, and the only family we have, in case you've forgotten. Malady has a special attribute about her. There's no denying that, but do you think hers is any worse than any of the rest of yours?”

  I certainly did, but I wasn't about to mention that right now. Grandma Misty was on a roll, and it looked like it was going my way. I didn't see any reason in stopping it now.

  “Do you think it was all fun and games putting seed in your feeder every day, Christopher?”

  “I thought you liked doing that,” Christopher said, sulking. “You said I was your little bluebird.”

  “And you!” she said, turning her attention to Agnes. “You're an amazing and articulate woman.” She shook her head. “But that only counts half the time. And that's half on a good week. On most weeks, your sister has your voice at least seventy-five percent of the time.”

  “But I--”

  “You keep talking like that and I'm going to suggest she take it even more. You understand?”

  “Yes, grandma,” she said, her eyes on the tablecloth.

  “We all have our crosses to bear. It's part of being a Norwood. None of the curses are any fun.”

  “Tell that to Sadie,” I said, thinking about my ridiculously perfect sister. “She lost the keys to her car the other day, and when she found them, they were wrapped in a one-hundred-dollar bill.”

  “Sadie is something of an anomaly, but every box of chocolates is bound to have a coconut cream or two,” Grandma Misty said.

  “I like the coconut creams,” I muttered. Though maybe that was the point.

  “Back to the matter at hand,” Grandma Misty said, slapping her hand against the table again. “We have to get to Mason, and yes, it has to be you, Mal. He trusts you. You said so yourself. It has to be you because you're the only one who's going to be able to get him to drink this.”

  From her side pocket, she produced a vial of glowing purple liquid.

  I gasped. “It that what I think it is?”

  Grandma Misty grinned. “Absolutely, little missy.”

  8

  Heading to the small county jail where Mason was being held until his arraignment date, I couldn't help but be nervous. Grandma Misty had put this entire operation on me. I had no backup unless you counted a pigeon-shaped Christopher flying behind me for moral support. And, while that was certainly sweet on his part, it wasn't exactly going to help me do what I needed to.

  I checked in at the front desk, requesting to see my client. Mr. Covnington, who used to be my math teacher in grade school but must have gotten a job at the jail to supplement his retirement, smiled and nodded at me as he took down the message.

  I slunk away and waited on the adjacent bench, half afraid he was going to ask me to do some long division or something for old time’s sake.

  They called my name not three minutes later and, with a purse in hand, I headed to be checked out before I would be able to see Mason.

  As a lawyer, I had been through this process more than a couple of times. Up in New York, I was in and out of the jails so much visiting clients that I worked up a rapport with the folks working there. One of them even invited me to watch a performance of Wicked with him. It would have been sweet if it wasn’t so on the nose.

  Still, as a veteran to this kind of thing, I knew the drill. I would be patted down, and my purse would be checked for suspicious items. The fact is that at this very moment - my purse contained a magical elixir created by my Grandma Misty in an attempt to get to the bottom of whatever was going on here didn't bother me.

  The purple liquid in the vial might have glowed when she gave it to me, but the magic wasn’t nearly as new anymore, and the luster had long faded. It basically looked like a shot of grape juice now and - while they might find that interesting - they certainly wouldn’t consider it suspicious.

  The lady finished patting me down and checking my purse. I hadn’t seen her before, which meant she was a relatively new transplant to town, something you don’t see a lot of in Cat’s Cradle. She checked my purse, came across the Welch’s looking magic potions, shrugged, and sent me on my way.

  Having successfully made it through there, I steeled myself for my encounter with Mason. He’d be in prison orange. He’d be in mourning, and everyone he knew thought he was a murderer. I might not have been able to allow myself to fall in love with him ever again, but I could feel for him. And right now, that feeling was raw, intense empathy.

  I hadn’t been in a relationship with Mason since that fateful night of the prom. It had only taken one dance with Allison Talbot to win his heart forever apparently. It had taken me much longer to get over him though, in fact, until I’d met Nate, I wasn’t completely sure I ever would. That was good for the people around me. A broken heart meant they wouldn’t have to worry about me getting happy and inadvertently causing them grief with my hard luck curse.

  It didn't do much for me though and just like back then - seeing Mason wasn't going to do anything to lift my spirits.

  I was a big witch though. I was going to have to grin and bear it.

  The guard beside me – Randall Hopper - made small talk as we he
aded to Mason’s cell.

  He wanted to talk about the murder at first, not surprising since that seemed to be the topic of conversation on everyone’s mind in town. But, when I politely reminded him I wasn’t going to be able to engage in that conversation (what with attorney/client privilege and all) he gamely changed the subject.

  “So, you think old lady Reese is going to win the pickle-off next week?”

  Old lady Reese made the best pickles in three counties. They were the stuff of legend in Cat's Cradle. So yes, I did, in fact, think she was going to win the pickle-off next week. She'd won every pickle off I could remember since the beginning of pickle-offs. But I didn't necessarily care about that right now, so I was actually relieved when we made it to the cell.

  That relief faded the moment I saw Mason Blanchard.

  He wore the prison orange of my nightmares and though he wasn't crying - he looked to be the sort of sad that never really leaves you once it’s settled into your bones.

  Yep. I was right. This wasn’t going to do me any good at all.

  “Thanks, Randall. I’ve got it from here,” I said when the guard opened the door.

  “Sure thing, Mal,” he said, shaking his head as he looked at Mason. “I used to wish I was him, you know,” he said, lingering by the door of the cell. “When we were in high school, I used to stare at him on the football field or surrounded by babes at a party, and I remember thinking that I would give anything if I could be like him.” He blinked hard. “Funny how things change, I guess.”

  “I said I’ve got it, Randall,” I said, keeping my voice as stern as possible without sounding rude. “Thank you for walking me.”

  “Right,” he said, nodding quickly and understanding what I meant. ‘Well, if you need to leave, just yell. We don’t have one of those fancy buzzer systems yet. We’re waiting on funding from City Hall.” He nodded again. “Fingers crossed.”

  “Sure,” I said and watched as he closed the cell door and headed off toward the interior door which led to the cell blocks. He was slow about it though, obviously not wanting to get too far. Maybe he was like so many others in town. Maybe he had tried and convicted Mason without the luxury of a trial and was just trying to make sure I was safe with him. To be fair, that was sort of easy to do after the suspect in question admits to the crime they're being held for.

  That was what I was here to get to the bottom of though. If there was magic involved (like Mason suggested) then I was prepared to find out. If Chris was right and he just made that up to try to cover up what he did, I would get to the bottom of that too. Though that particular scenario promised to hurt my heart a lot more.

  “Hey there, Mason,” I said, walking toward his cot. So many times in high school, I wondered what it might be like to be in Mason’s bedroom. This definitely wasn’t what I had in mind.

  He had been waiting silently as I spoke with Randall and, when his eyes met mine, his face lit up brightly.

  “I thought I’d scared you away the other day,” he said, smiling what I knew to be a rare smile these days. “It’s good to see I was wrong.”

  “Me?” I scoffed, smiling a little to match him and sitting across the table. “It’s going to take more than calling me a witch to send me running down the road.”

  “I didn’t mean to do that,” he sighed, his face falling. “You know I’d never say that about you, not if I was in my right mind. Those rumors about your family, I know they're garbage. I was just afraid is all.”

  It was true. Mason and I went out for months in high school, and while other students were calling my family and I Hocus Pocus knockoffs, Mason never did anything like that. In fact, he'd been to the manor more than a few times, and I never felt anything but comfortable around him. That wasn't what this was about though and given what he was currently going through; I didn't want him to feel like he'd hurt my feelings on top of everything else.

  “I know that, Mason. I didn’t take it that way.” I leaned forward, my heart racing as I edged closer to a subject I had never dared broach with Mason before. “Besides, I don’t think you were wrong.”

  “What? You believe me?” he balked, his eyes widening. He looked past me, scanning the area for guards. He wouldn't find any. I was his lawyer, and that meant we'd get at least a little privacy here. Randall was down the hall but, as long as we kept our voices down, we'd be able to talk freely until I called the guard back. “I thought- I thought you'd think I was crazy.” He blinked hard, and I saw the beginnings of relieved tears in his eyes. “I mean, I know what people say about your family, and I was desperate and confused at that moment I didn't know where else to turn, but I never really--”

  “It’s true, Mason,” I said flatly, leaning even closer to him. “Not the part about us riding on broomsticks or eating the souls of children on Halloween, but the other part.”

  “The other part?” he gulped. “You mean the- the--”

  “Yeah, Mason. I mean the witch part,” I said, and let my hand fall into my purse. “My family and I are witches.”

  “Really?’ He sat back, biting his bottom lip. “Were you a witch when we went out?”

  “Yes,” I answered flatly.

  “What about that night at Lake Happenstance, with the fireworks and the stolen bottle of wine?”

  “What about it?” I asked, trying to keep the flush of warmth out of my face.

  “Were you a witch then?”

  “Well…yeah,” I answered.

  “And at graduation? And what about that summer we worked for the local fairgrounds?”

  “Yes and yes, Mason. I was a witch all of those times. I’ve always been a witch.”

  He slumped forward, his elbows bracing him against the table. “Well, how about that,” he muttered matter of factly.

  “You okay?” I asked, eyeing him hard to try and gauge his reaction. My heart sped up and my mouth tightened as I awaited his response. “I know it’s a lot. If you need a few minutes to process everything--”

  “No,” he said, looking back up at him. “It’s okay. If I can deal with the fact that my father’s a Raiders fan, I can deal with this too.”

  “Mason,” I reached over and took his hand with my free palm. He didn’t pull away, which was a nice surprise given I’d just told him I was a supernatural creature. “I need you to listen to me, okay? I think something’s at play here. I think someone cast a spell on you.”

  “A spell?” he asked, his eyebrows knitting together. “You actually think it was a spell. I mean, I know I said that was what it felt like, but hearing it said out loud is something else entirely.”

  My other hand wrapped around Grandma Misty’s vial. Pulling it up, I sat it on the table. “Do you trust me?”

  “I’ve always trusted you,” he answered so quickly that I knew he didn’t have to think about it.

  “Good,” I answered softly. “I trust you too. It's how I know confession aside, you couldn't have had anything to do with Allison's death.”

  Tears welled up in his eyes and spilled down his face.

  “You’re the only one, aren’t you?” he asked. “They all think I did it, don’t they? The whole town? My family won’t even see me. I called my mom, and she hung up on me. The only visitor I've even had other than you was Allison's mother, and I think she just wanted to scream at me.”

  I sighed as he spoke. Really? His entire family had abandoned him in his time of need? It made my heart break. I suppose it made sense. As far as they knew, he’d confessed, and that was pretty solid evidence. Still, I knew something was amiss. So why didn’t they? Why didn’t they come to his defense the way I was right now? Didn’t they owe it to him?

  “Let me get to the bottom of this,” I said, sliding the vial toward him. “This is called Shadow Light. It’s herbs and various other mystical stuff I won't bore you with right now. It's supposed to pull truth from the depths of your mind. It'll take a few days to work through your system but once it does - I'll be able to tell you what happened to yo
u.” I patted his hand again. “I know drinking something I just told you is a magic potion is probably scary, but if you'd just--”

  Without a word, he popped the top and dunked it into his mouth.

  “Tastes like chalk,” he said, wiping his mouth.

  I blinked, surprised at how quickly he adhered to what had to sound like a strange command. “You just - you just drank it? Just like that?”

  “You told me to,” he said. “I told you. I trust you, Mal. Always have. You being a witch doesn’t change that. You’re still you, right?”

  “Right,” I answered, smiling. He trusted me. Even after everything, even after knowing the truth, he still trusted me. This was a good man. He hadn’t killed anyone. He wasn’t that type of person. My gut told me as much. “And, Mason, I’m going to get to the bottom of this. I promise you.”

  9

  “Why are you tagging along?” I asked Daniel, who insisted on coming along with me to question some of Mason’s co-workers even though I told him I didn’t need his help. I even tried to leave him with Grandma Misty, but she didn’t want him either.

  “Well, Suzie Q, I’d like to gauge what my new employee is capable of,” he said, and the word "employee" made me want to take off my black high heel shoe and stab him in the eye with it. Everything about him irked me, and I hated the idea of thinking of myself of his employee, even if it was technically true. The law firm was a family business. It had been mine to inherit until I got all happy and in love. Now I was stuck with some cocky city boy owning half of what should have been mine.

  For the life of me, I couldn't figure out why he insisted on calling me Suzie Q after I had repeatedly told him that was not my name. He was treating me like a child instead of a lawyer, and I didn't like it one bit.