Spirited Blend

by Kennedy Layne

  It better be improved from that idea you had earlier about calling your mother. My nerves are already frayed to the breaking point. I don’t need the Wicked Witch of the East here to burn the entire town down. I’m not sure Beetle has nearly enough catnip in stock for me to be able to deal with your mother and her half-baked ideas right now.

  “On the bright side, I don’t think you’ll be put into that position if this works out. The bell rang twice at the antique shop, twice at home, and twice here at the shop. Do you see the pattern?”

  I have paws, you know. I can count, which is how I know that Beetle needs to place another order for my edibles. Once I vacuum seal enough of those puppies for emergency rations, I only have enough fresh ones on hand to get through the end of the week. Oh, by the way, there’s a charge on your PayPal account for a live squirrel trap. Just ignore it. It’s a business-related expenditure. Just tell Heidi that she needs to write it off on our taxes at the end of the year.

  “You’re missing the point,” I said, enthusiasm setting in now that I’d unraveled part of the mystery. “The tone was decidedly different in each location the bell has rung, Leo.”

  Leo remained silent, as if waiting for me to enlighten him further. The only hint that he was taking my explanation seriously was the tic in one of his crooked whiskers.

  “What if the bell notifies its owner of a spirit’s presence, but does so by registering distance?”

  I quickly looked over my shoulder at the clock hanging on the wall behind me. Lunch time had finally arrived, and I could close the shop for a half an hour while I tested out my somewhat farfetched theory. It was so much so that even I was suspicious of its viability. Seeing as I wasn’t sure how many places I would have to test in order to obtain proof of my initial hypothesis, it was best I grab my coat and get started. Before I could walk into the back room, another bell chimed…this time, the one above the entrance to the shop.

  I never thought I’d say this in all my nine lives, but I’m not perturbed in the least that our resident warlock is paying us a visit.

  Leo was talking about Rye Dolgiram, the man who’d just entered the tea shop. I guess one could say that Rye was the adoptive son of my great Aunt Rowena, and therefore was one of my relatives. Truthfully, there was so much more that went with that story.

  You see, Aunt Rowena was my grandmother’s sister. The story goes that Nan had been excommunicated from the coven due to fraternizing with a human being rather than another supernatural like herself. That was a big no-no by coven rules, and it had put a wedge in their sibling relationship. Nan chose to move to Paramour Bay to begin a new life away from the coven, and Aunt Rowena chose to stay with what Nan saw as a superficial group of witches.

  You might want to mention the budding war between the factions and the fact that your wicked witch auntie is leading the charge for the opposition. On second thought, getting out and seeing the sights with the doomsday bell in hand might be better than consorting with the progeny of the enemy.

  “I’m not your enemy, Leo,” Rye replied amusingly, pausing at one of the high-top tables for a sample of vanilla caramel tea that I’d added into this fall’s inventory. “I just had an early lunch over at the diner and discovered something that should be very interesting to all of us.”

  Like the fact that you’re consorting with a wicked witch who would happily turn you into a reptile with a simple blink of those long, creepy eyelashes? It’s like she spelled two spiders to live on her face.

  Leo shuddered in disgust while I tried not to take offense at Leo’s description of Aunt Rowena, especially seeing as all the Marigold women had basically the same features—long black hair, emerald green eyes, and high cheekbones. The only attribute that I could have done without were my hips. I personally liked my long eyelashes, but I did see why Leo would make that remark about Aunt Rowena and her tendency to overuse mascara. I’m pretty sure she used a triple coat of the thick black mess every morning.

  “What did you find interesting?” I asked cautiously, knowing we had more important things to worry about than how much makeup Aunt Rowena wore on a daily basis.

  I watched Rye very carefully for any sign that he wasn’t telling me the entire truth. We’d come to an agreement of sorts, and he wasn’t a bad warlock to have on my side if things went sideways.

  You forget that he’s from the dark side. They’ll never turn us, Raven. Never. We’re just like the Marines…Semper Fidelis!

  As far as I knew, Rye was staying clear of the budding war himself. He was wary of the council for very different reasons than we were, and it had something to do with his ancestors. Aunt Rowena knew more about Rye’s past than she was letting on, but he’d basically been living on the streets at a very young age when she’d accidentally come across him and snapped him up as her own.

  If you believe that, I have a catnip farm in Alaska to sell you.

  “I guess Elsie and Wilma were overheard talking about her run-in with Merle’s spirit last night,” Rye began, bringing his sample cup of tea over to the counter. His dark eyes drifted down to the bell, signifying that he knew exactly what it was used for in context of its creation. “Trixie was making her rounds, talking to the diners and such, when she mentioned having a dream about her best friend from high school paying her a visit.”

  The way Rye had stressed the word dream told me that he didn’t believe for a second that Trixie’s best friend had been a figment of her unconscious imagination.

  “If you’re here to find out if the cesaral spirit bell has rung…it already has,” I admitted, coming right out with the truth. “Six times, to be exact.”

  And you wonder why I continually have to ingest catnip on an hourly basis. Sweet angel of mercy! Why on earth would you go and admit to something crazy like that? In case you forgot, he’s got too many ties with more wicked witches besides your mother’s aunt for us to be telling him all of our secrets.

  “Leo, I’m not the bad guy you seem to think I am,” Rye said, not appearing too concerned about Leo’s accusations. “I’d previously seen an item at the antique store that I was interested in buying, but Lydia told me that you’d already purchased all of her occult items. It wasn’t a stretch to put two and two together after hearing a few stories about the residents seeing their long-lost loved ones. If you want, I can talk to Ivan before the game tonight to see if there’s anything unusual going on over at the cemetery.”

  I covered my face with my hands, knowing full well how Leo was going to react to Rye’s claim of being invited to the weekly supernatural poker game.

  I’m sorry, Mister Warlock. I think we misheard you. You said that you’re going to the cemetery before the poker game in order to speak with the grim reaper, correct? It was almost as if you implied you were going to be playing in the game, which is where I’m sure we got our wires crossed.

  Rye met my gaze and grimaced, having realized that he’d just lit the match to a powder keg of one very vengeful familiar. It was kind of humorous to watch him backtrack and try to save his skin from the ravages of numerous sharp claws.

  “Don’t Ted and Ivan play poker on Wednesday nights?” Rye asked, as if he were just finding out about such a weekly event. “That’s tonight, right? Like I said, I’ll just swing by the cemetery to pay them a little visit before the game.”

  “Ted is one step ahead of you,” I added, not wanting there to be a break in the conversation. Leo’s left eye was bulging, and a few other whiskers had joined in on the ticking party. “I actually want to speak with Ivan myself. Ted sometimes doesn’t always get straight to the point, if you know what I mean.”

  “Well, I just stopped by to offer you help should you find that the veil has been pierced due to the proximity of All Hallows’ Eve. We know just how thin it can be this time of year.” Rye glanced over my shoulder at the large clock before finishing the rest of the vanilla caramel tea sample. “I’ve got to finish a job earlier than scheduled if I want to have dinner with Rowena.”
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br />   You mean you’ll be driving to Windsor this afternoon, thus confirming that you weren’t invited to the weekly supernatural poker game, right?

  Once again, Rye seemed to have walked himself right into another trap regarding that pesky card game and Rowena’s whereabouts. Leo might actually be onto something though, because Windsor was over an hour away. Driving time, eating dinner, and then socializing a bit would definitely have Rye arriving back in town after the game had gotten well underway. Otherwise, that would mean…

  Don’t even think it, Raven. You’ll put it out into the universe, and then it’s all over but the toad spell.

  “Are you saying that Aunt Rowena is in town?” I asked cautiously, unable to stop myself from asking the burning question Leo and I were both wondering. “As in here locally? In Paramour Bay?”

  Leo let his weight drag his body down, all but plopping himself in defeat on the counter. I’m pretty sure his whiskers quivered when he blew a raspberry in exasperation at my determination in seeking an answer.

  “Would you rather not know her location and just randomly bump into Aunt Rowena on the street?” I muttered, not caring that Rye could hear our conversation. He was practically raised by the woman. He knew full well what she was capable of when it came to getting what she wanted. “I’d rather be prepared.”

  I’d rather be in the park disrupting a squirrelpocalypse doomsday plan, but you don’t see me getting what I want today, now do you?

  “Aunt Rowena is having some renovations done to her house this week, so she asked if she could stay with me for the duration,” Rye replied, using the small wastebasket near the counter to throw away his sample cup. “I’m surprised she didn’t stop by the tea shop today.”

  My mother had the capacity to arch an eyebrow in that impeccable, irritating way I’d grown to admire. I did my best to mimic her. There was no way that Aunt Rowena was having renovations done on her house. She wouldn’t trust anyone with that task except for Rye.

  Really? That’s the lie you sniffed out? Rowena doesn’t simply stop by the tea shop to visit. That woman has never set foot in here to my knowledge, and I doubt that she’d ever make it across the threshold without eating some magic. I often wonder if my beloved Rosemary cast a warding spell over this sanctuary. Nothing like the present to find out.

  “I’d go with Leo’s pick, if I were you.” Rye gave a light laugh, but there was sadness in his eyes that hit me directly in my heart. “You both know I never go near the coven. Rowena and I always meet somewhere in the middle when we want to spend time with one another. I would never risk working on her house, which is why I gave her some references on who to use for a kitchen remodel. She also wanted a specific octagonal room dedicated to casting magic.”

  I’m pretty sure this a foot in mouth example. I hope you feel good about yourself.

  “Raven didn’t mean anything by her assumption, Leo.” Rye tapped the counter as he turned to leave. “You should know that the council is at a breaking point. Rowena is just trying to protect herself and those who have chosen her side to fight the bylaws.”

  By this time, Rye had reached the front door. The fact that he forgave me for being so insensitive was just another bout of guilt. I couldn’t imagine being a teenager on the street with nowhere to call home, let alone one with unexplained powers. Then to be forced to live somewhere else, all because the coven wanted to know more about his abilities and where he came from. Aunt Rowena had done nothing but protect Rye, and here I was accusing her of ulterior motives when all she wanted done was some renovations on her house.

  Just face facts. You’re a horrible person, Raven. Always with the negative vibes.

  “I’ll leave the two of you to…well, to do your thing. I just wanted to offer my help with the cesaral spirit bell should you need it. After all, tomorrow is All Hallows’ Eve.” Rye lifted a hand to signal goodbye while using the other to open the door. “I’ll talk to the two of you later.”

  You should check to see if I’m right about that warding spell. I sleep here, you know. I could die of a heart attack should I wake up from a sun nap to find that frightful face hovering over me.

  “Rye said that Aunt Rowena was staying with him for a week. She hasn’t stopped in yet, and she probably won’t,” I assured him, wondering if it was best to ignore the fact that Rowena was roaming about town. Surely, she’d be gone by the weekend. “I guess it’s a good thing we bought all of the occult items from the antique shop. Who knows what Aunt Rowena would have done with that type of inventory. She—”

  Leo began using his claws to quickly scramble back on the counter, cutting me off mid-sentence. In his panic mode, the candy dish came very close to sliding off the edge. I lunged and caught it from falling to the floor.

  “What has gotten into you?” I asked, amazed that so many tufts of hair could stand on end in unison. His tail was so puffy that it was hard to tell the tip curled over like a closet hanger. “Leo?”

  By this time, he was literally shaking his right paw and frantically licking the fairy mark. Oh, this wasn’t good. I began to cautiously look around the tea shop for any sign of danger. I’d come to the conclusion a few months ago that the lipstick kiss was similar to the palm of my hand. The mark on Leo’s fur seemed to sense when danger was near.

  “Leo, are you—”

  I don’t know about you, but I could sure enjoy an edible treat right about now.

  I watched in stunned silence as Leo calmly sat up straight, all of his fur returning to normal, licking his whiskers. It was as if nothing had happened. The adrenaline flowing through my veins began to slow down, along with my heartrate.

  Another short-term memory loss at its best.

  What are you talking about, Raven?

  “Nothing,” I murmured, knowing Leo’s memories would return momentarily. At least I hoped so, because all this bell ringing combined with Aunt Rowena was enough to give any witch a spot of paranoia. “Listen, I was just going to close up the shop for a bit. I want to see if the cesaral spirit bell has different tones when rung in difference places.”

  You’re going to ring the bell on purpose? The same one that tells us when spirits are near? Oh, wait. It’s all coming back to me now. Not the Celine Dion song, but the last few moments.

  “The bell has rung a total of six times now, Ted is seeing if we can speak with Ivan tonight about the veil between this life and the afterlife, and Aunt Rowena is lurking around town.” I finally collected my light jacket from the back room, sliding my arms into the sleeves while Leo digested the main points of today’s three-ring circus. “Are you coming with me?”

  Do I have a choice? Don’t answer that. Hey, do you think we could stop by the park while we’re out? A little squirrel reconnaissance might be just what the doctor ordered. If we’re going to ring that bell and there’s the chance of wreaking havoc on the entire town, we might as well start with Skippy and his band of merry misfits. We simply don’t know, but at least Skippy and his furry rat minions can be on the front line of any reaction. My diabolical doomsday destruction plan is finally coming together…two nemeses with one epic pawprint.

  Chapter Five

  What exactly did that experiment this afternoon tell us? I’ll tell you what—it’s very simple. We shouldn’t go anywhere near the cemetery, especially the day before All Hallows’ Eve.

  We’d spent a good half hour around lunch time ringing the bell, albeit hesitantly, in different spots around town. Lo and behold, the deepest tone occurred at the wrought-iron gate of our local cemetery. There had been no hide nor hair of Ivan, though I wasn’t so sure I shouldn’t have said scythe and hood, because his covert identity wasn’t so off the record for us.

  According to your favorite stick of wax, the grim reaper was out doing his duties today. I overheard that your favorite bank teller’s mother kicked the bucket earlier today. He was probably haggling with the old bat over spare change. I hear his skills at the table aren’t all that impressive.

 
; “Leo,” I admonished, feeling horrible for Nora. She was a sweet middle-aged lady who always took my bank deposit at the end of the day even if I was a couple minutes late to her window. “That’s terrible.”

  The woman was a rickety and cranky ninety-nine-year-old woman who always sided with Skippy and his minions over the obvious dominant order of supernaturally inspired felines such as myself. Just last week, she shuffled out onto the porch waving a broomstick at me. She could move pretty fast for her age, that one. She made it to the base of the old acorn tree in under two point five seconds. I’ve got to keep a close eye on Nora to make sure that she doesn’t follow in her mother’s footsteps. Skippy needs no more allies.

  I could actually envision an elderly lady batting a broom on the sidewalk to make sure that Leo couldn’t get anywhere near the local wildlife. It wasn’t like Leo had the energy to actually run fast enough to catch anything, but Nora’s mother had been playing it safe. I admired that trait, and I wonder just how her meeting had gone with good ol’ Ivan.

  We were currently in the living room of my cottage, getting ready for our meet and greet with said grim reaper. I could guess the only question on Leo’s mind, but I had a million questions floating through mine. Ted had finally gotten the okay from Ivan to speak with me regarding our current predicament, and I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

  I can answer that question for you, if you’d like a realistic answer.

  Ignoring Leo and walking to the kitchen, I began to clean up the dishes we’d left on the counter from dinner. Leo might continue to complain about this itsy-bitsy exploration into the cemetery’s obvious involvement according to the bell, but he’d eventually cave. The temptation to secure an invite to the local supernatural poker game was just too hard to ignore.

  My cottage was on the opposite side of town from the cemetery, which was probably a good thing given that the wrought iron gate in our front yard had been marked with a protection spell identifying those with suspicious intent. Well, it was not actually a true ward or a protection spell, exactly. It was more like an alarm system. The gate squeaked every time someone I didn’t know or trust came through entrance. A true ward spell would cause physical damage to a troublemaker. A protection spell would prevent their entry.