by Lucy True
“I’m so sorry. Please do come in, but you know Aunt Iris is on sabbatical for the rest of the year.” Burgundy stepped aside for Cass to pass her, and then closed the door. “She does it every thirteen years, the day after Samhain. Something about connecting with the moon while the veil is thin.”
After receiving the beach photo, Burgundy thought it looked like her aunt was spending more time connecting with piña coladas. But she didn’t judge.
“I know.” Cass turned and looked at her. Somehow she managed to sound both bored and annoyed, even though her expression didn’t change. “I’ve known your aunt since before she came into this world. No need to explain. What I’m here for is an anti-love potion, please.”
Potions weren’t Burgundy’s forte. Not in the least. Her aunt had advised her to stick to the standard array of “parlor trick” bits while she was gone. A glance at the shelves in the stillroom behind the kitchen didn’t give her much confidence, either. Naturally, Iris had prepared several basic potions and spell kits for her time away. An anti-love potion, however, was anything but standard.
This time, Cass did looked annoyed, her brow furrowing slightly as she said, “I told her to make one.”
“You... told Aunt Iris...”
“Yes.” Cass let out an exasperated breath. “When we discussed her sabbatical at our last klatch, I told her to have a batch of anti-love potions on hands. She knows better than to doubt me.”
All kinds of inappropriate responses flitted to mind and Burgundy had to bite her lip to stop them. As much as she wanted to blurt out something about the situation being “complex,” she swallowed her Jungian humor and went into the stillroom. The space where her aunt made and stored her potions beckoned with its patchouli-scented air and constant tingle of magick.
Whether or not Iris actually listened to Cass’s predictions, Burgundy didn’t know. Cassandra had a reputation around town for being a complete shyster. People complained that her crystal ball and tarot readings were inaccurate. Yet they still went to her because when Cass did have a true prediction, it almost always turned out to be pretty darn major. After several occasions of doubting her dire warnings, only to suffer as a result, the townsfolk finally had a policy of listening to everything she had to say. Well, almost everything.
Burgundy figured a lifelong resident of Rock Grove, like her aunt, would also heed Cass’s words. “So why...” Burgundy scanned the shelves, moving the bottles in front to see the ones in the back. “Why a love potion?” Groans punctuated her words as she reached as far back as she could, still not finding what she wanted.
“Anti-love potion,” Cass bit out. “And it’s to stop that police officer from sniffing around my skirts.”
“Which one? Don’t tell me Chief Brandon is after two of Rock Grove’s most venerable ladies.” The idea that both Martha and Cass were attracting romantic attention rubbed salt into her still-fresh wound. Burgundy shoved thoughts of Jenna aside, gave up on the shelves, and crouched to rifle through the cabinets beneath the counter tops where her aunt mixed her concoctions.
“Officer Al.”
Burgundy peered around the open doors of the cabinet. “Al? Young guy Al?” When Cass nodded, Burgundy sputtered, “But he’s so young! Like, twenty-one or something, isn’t he? You’re old enough to be his mother. That’s gross!”
“Well, thank you very much for your assessment that a woman of my years can’t possibly be attractive to a man more than half my age.” Cass sounded so miffed, Burgundy cringed as regret sliced through her.
“I’m sorry. But, I mean, if you’re so happy that he has a thing for you, why do you want the anti-love potion?”
This time, Cass actually stomped her foot against the weathered floorboards and tossed her abundant red hair. “Because I don’t want him to love me. It’s not meant to be and I would greatly appreciate it if you found the potion, Burgundy. Today, please. I have important matters to take care of and these shenanigans have cost me dear time. I paid your aunt for the potion before she left, so there’s no reason for it not to be here.”
Burgundy closed her eyes, muttered, “Please, let there be an anti-love potion in here,” and then felt a small bottle slide into her fingers. She withdrew it from the cabinet and scrutinized the label. In her aunt’s tiny handwriting were the words “Because Cass said so.”
It had to be the right one, because nothing else was labeled as an anti-love potion. Burgundy rose to her feet and offered the bottle to Cass, whose nose wrinkled a bit as she looked at it. “Now to get it into his lunch somehow.”
Burgundy couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, I can imagine slipping a strange substance into a police officer’s food without him or anyone else noticing would be tricky business. Good luck with that.”
Cass looked up at her and, once again, her brows drew together. “Luck? There’s no such thing, Burgundy, but let me tell you this – only one person can fix this problem, so get to work.”
“What problem?” Burgundy asked.
“I need to go. Otherwise, that boy is going to chase me around the whole town. He’s probably out there looking for me right now.” Cass waved her off and walked out the door, long dress swaying with her movements.
Burgundy released a sigh and leaned back against the stillroom wall. “What was that all about?” she muttered.
“Who knows?” Arthur appeared curled up on the counter and opened his maw in a huge yawn. “Really, though, she’s never been wrong.”
“Excuse me? What about the time she told the Stevensons they were having a boy?”
“They did have one, after the pregnancy they were asking about.”
Flailing her hand toward the doorway, Burgundy said, “That is not legit fortune-telling. You can’t bank the fortune for later and then say, ‘Oh, it came true.’ That’s not how it works.”
Still, something niggled at the back of her mind – something oddly unrelenting. She couldn’t put her finger on it, so she turned and straightened out the shelves above the counter, while Arthur lounged. Burgundy wondered if it was nice to be a firedrake. They could go anywhere they chose, teleporting at will. The wings seemed purely decorative, considering Arthur’s extraordinary powers.
She stopped and also straightened the potions in the cabinet below the counter, hesitating when she heard the home phone ring. “Iris has been gone for only a couple of weeks and it looks like people have forgotten she’s not here to fix their problems.” Burgundy straightened, dusted herself off, and crossed into the kitchen to answer the phone.
“Yeah, I know Iris isn’t around,” Martha said in response to her greeting, “but I need an anti-love potion, if you have one.”
“What?” Burgundy turned and leaned against the wall, the phone cord coiling around her upper body. They had to be the only people in town who still maintained a corded landline. Iris claimed she would never go without one, not since the 1993 tornado that had knocked out power for days. Burgundy thought she needed to let go of the old and embrace the new.
“You heard me. Do I need to come over there and knock some sense into you?” The Amazon sounded huffy again and Burgundy didn’t doubt that she would, indeed, carry out her threat.
“Sorry, but you’re not the first person to ask for one today.” Burgundy’s heartbeat picked up a little bit.
The other day when Martha complained about Chief Brandon, she thought his attraction to her might be a figment of the older woman’s imagination. Clearly, something was going on with the chief and his officers. It seemed odd that two women were complaining about needing to fend off their romantic advances, especially two happily single, middle-aged women. Never once had Martha lamented her lack of a partner and Burgundy was pretty sure Cass didn’t care for men, either. Her Aunt Iris was a different story. That woman went through men like...
Martha’s voice was calling her name, tinny and distant-sounding, and Burgundy dragged her mind back to the present. “Sorry,” she said. “Could you hold on while I check my aunt’
s supplies? This isn’t the kind of thing she normally keeps on hand.”
“Yes, I’ll wait.” Martha didn’t sound happy about it, but Burgundy gently set the receiver down on the kitchen table and returned to the stillroom.
She folded her arms and glared at Arthur, who was still snoozing on the counter top. “Did Aunt Iris make any anti-love potions recently?”
“Just one that I recall. She doesn’t usually keep them around.” He let out another yawn, this one followed by a poof of flame.
Burgundy waved away the burning scent that accompanied it and said, “Yeah, that’s what I told Martha, but she says she needs one. First Cass, then her. What’s going on?”
Arthur let out a smoky-sounding chuckle. “What did you say about the rest of the year being boring?”
Chapter Four
Burgundy blinked at the text message, her heart sinking into her belly. She rubbed at her eyes to dislodge bits of sleep debris and looked at her phone a second time. Oh yeah, the message was still there and it hadn’t changed. If only her day had a rewind button, because the new text from Jenna brought one word to mind, the same one Charlotte had used to pronounce judgment on the way the relationship had ended. Bullshit.
The I’m sorry looked so innocent in its chat bubble, but when coupled with the I can’t do this anymore above it, it was an exponential expansion of the bullshit. Even Charlotte would be hard-pressed to find a way to describe this development in just one word, but Burgundy decided she should have a chance to try.
When Burgundy arrived at the diner, she had muttered that one word so many times, it no longer sounded real to her. “Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.” It’d turned into a muddled mess of nonsensical syllables. She sat on one of the stools at the counter and smiled when Charlotte waved at her. As soon as the owner was done serving coffee to the grizzled old regulars – men who’d sat at the same table for going on fifty years – she brought the pot to Burgundy.
She pulled a coffee cup from below the counter on the other side and set it down with a skillful flip. “Please tell me your Monday is better than your Saturday was,” Charlotte said, filling the cup with coffee. “I was worried about you when you didn't show for movie night.”
“Oh, crap.” Burgundy smacked herself in the forehead. She’d forgotten Rock Grove’s weekly Saturday night movie at the old theater. “I plead temporary insanity and an unwillingness to interact with any living, breathing creature.”
“Except Arthur.” Charlotte set a plastic container of sweetener packets and a tiny metal pitcher of cream on the counter top.
Burgundy selected three packets of real sugar and shook her head. “Arthur doesn’t count. There’s no avoiding him since he lives with me.”
Chuckling, Charlotte propped her hand on her hip and gave a one-shouldered shrug. After a moment, she sobered and her soft gaze met Burgundy’s. “I really was worried about you. You never miss movie night. This one was especially crazy. Glen showed The Pod People and the Calhoun brothers went full Tom Servo on it.”
“Oh no. What is Glen trying to do – turn every movie night into our own personal MST3K?” Burgundy grimaced, because while the idea was certainly entertaining, not everyone in town appreciated snark the way she did. Between her and the Calhoun Brothers, none of the townsfolk escaped unscathed.
“Well, a lot of the old-timers don’t bother with movie nights anymore, so Glen is trying to keep a young crowd interested. Trust me, it was lively. But, since you weren’t there...” Charlotte pressed her lips together and blinked a few times. Burgundy thought she saw tears shining in her friend’s eyes, but then Charlotte whispered, “I know what you’re going through sucks. Do you need anything?”
Too many responses rose to Burgundy’s lips, especially when she thought about the hugs and cuddles she was no longer sharing with another person, and had no hope of sharing ever again. Hugging a friend just wasn’t the same. But with none of her instinctual answers appropriate to say out loud in public, she settled on a mournful shake of her head and a half-smile. “Nah, I’m fine. I guess love isn’t on my side.”
Charlotte’s hand lifted and then rested atop hers. The diner owner’s palm was warm and smooth, her touch comforting. “I’m sure it is,” she offered. “The right woman is out there waiting for you. Trust me.”
In that brief moment, Burgundy forgot she was heartbroken, forgot there would be no Jenna for Thanksgiving or Solstice or New Year’s, forgot the delicious, life-affirming scent of the coffee in front of her. The entire world consisted only of Charlotte’s gentle touch and her reassurance. It was everything a best friend could offer and Burgundy wondered, briefly, if it could be more.
“Hey, Char!” someone shouted, dragging Burgundy’s thoughts back to the diner. “How about you stop talkin’ to your girlfriend and get some coffee up in here!”
“Sure thing, Chief Brandon.” Charlotte rolled her eyes and picked up the pot of coffee. “At least he’s all bark and no bite,” she joked, before turning away to respond to the chief’s request.
“All bark and...” Burgundy watched her friend’s progress toward a table near the back. “No puns.”
She pushed away from the counter, despite the allure of the hot coffee in her cup, and followed the sound of low laughter. The chief and three of his five officers were at a table, plates piled high with food in front of each of them. Burgundy folded her arms and glanced from the chief to Al, and then back again. The men finally looked up at her, balking a bit.
“Well, howdy, Miss Hart,” Chief Brandon said, sniffing loudly. His long face, sad eyes, and perpetually downturned mouth reminded Burgundy a lot of the bloodhound he could shift into. He was an effective police chief when it came to resolving cases, but certainly no woman’s dream man. Even if Martha were young enough to want a temporary mate, as the Amazons took them from time to time, she would choose someone worthy of her warrior status. There were little old ladies in town far more daunting than Chief Brandon.
“Heya,” Burgundy answered, trying to figure out how to formulate her questions. But before she could ask anything, the chief saved her the trouble.
“You’re in good with Martha Humphries, right?”
“Martha... I suppose. I mean, she comes to the library almost every day that it’s open.”
The chief nodded vigorously and gestured for her to continue. Burgundy wracked her mind for something to say. What was there to add, though? Privacy laws prevented her from discussing Martha’s reading habits and she doubted the woman would appreciate her feeding any information to Brandon, if he was sniffing around her with hopes of romance.
When Burgundy continued to stand there and bite at her lip, the chief finally said, “Oh, for goodness sake, has the woman said anything about me?”
“What? No!”
“Nothing?”
Burgundy glared at the chief. This really was too much. She didn’t need an anti-love potion to put a stop to it. Just some good old-fashioned common sense. “You’re not in fourth grade. You’re a grown man. Have some dignity and ask her yourself.”
“Well, see, I did that.” The chief turned in his chair and leaned his upper body toward hers. The angle almost put them eye-to-eye, considering how tall and lanky he was, but Burgundy maintained her distance. Whatever had Martha and Cass reaching out to her for anti-love potions, she wanted to avoid it at all costs. “But she keeps telling me to back off, to leave her alone.”
“Of course she does, because she’s an Amazon woman,” Burgundy reasoned. “You know that their culture lives without men unless necessary for, uh, reproduction.” It wasn’t a word she ever wanted to use in any sort of context around the chief, let alone any of the Rock Grove police. But it was more clinical than “sex” and less cringy than her personal favorite, “schtoinking.” She owed Martha a dignified defense.
The chief opened his mouth to speak again, but Al interrupted with, “What about Miss Cass? She won’t talk to me, either.”
“Boys, I’m curious.”
Burgundy held up her hand and narrowed her eyes. “Why the sudden interest in Martha and Cassandra?”
Now both the chief and Al were talking, their words weaving up and down, intersecting, and then jostling for attention. But the look in their eyes and the tones in their voices made one thing clear: They had it bad. Burgundy glanced over at the counter, where Charlotte stood staring at all of them, a bewildered look on her pretty face.
“Okay, I get it. I get it!” Burgundy had to shout to be heard over the men, but at least it silenced them. “So, what I’m hearing is you each woke up one morning, went to work, saw the ladies here in town, and were instantly smitten.”
Both men answered with a chorus of “yups” that rose and fell, until Burgundy raised her hand for quiet again.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” she pointed out. “You’ve both lived here all your lives, Martha and Cass have lived here nearly all their lives, yet only now you’re realizing you love them? Brandon, for decades, you’ve billed Martha as a man-hater. And Al, Cass is twice your age.” She refrained from pointing out that Cass was actually closer to almost two hundred times his age. It wasn’t polite to discuss a lady’s age, regardless of the scenario.
“So?” the police officers said simultaneously. And then the chatter began anew, both of them inquiring after the women and asking if Burgundy could possibly help them get dates. It was ridiculous, as far as Burgundy was concerned. She turned, rather than dignify them with a response, and slouched back to her stool at the counter, aware of Charlotte’s gaze on her the entire time.
“I give up,” Charlotte said as she poured a fresh cup of coffee for Burgundy and took the old one. “What was that all about?”
Burgundy frowned. That was her question, too, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to ask it. She added sugar and cream to the fresh cup, and told the spoon to stir so she wouldn’t have to. Letting a long breath out through her nose, she tried to make sense of the events of the past two days.
