Curse Strings

by Rebecca Regnier

  Tatum had left her booth and inserted herself in the discussion.

  “Listen here, Budd. We don’t have to have a permit for a sidewalk sale, because that’s what this is. You can’t control that. Leave us alone, Ridge.” Tatum was unencumbered by the niceties required to hold political office.

  “That seems like splitting hairs, Tatum.” Budd Marvin rarely featured in my news stories and I knew he did not like cameras or news reporters.

  “You’re telling me this out of towner here, with his froofy brews, has more of a right to be a vendor here on the streets of MY HOMETOWN than me!”

  Tatum pointed to a huge booth on the corner, only a few feet away from Tatum’s. It was huge, new, and for sure not locally owned. A sign read “Tommy T’s Good Ole Boy Brews”. It was lit up like a Christmas tree and a yellow arrow pointed to the booth for all to see.

  “Now, calm down, Ms. McGowan. Every single vendor for the Testicle Festival is required to be permitted.”

  “I’d get closer on that woman, she’s about to go off,” DeWitt said. He had no idea “that woman” had a wicked temper when crossed. But he could see she was about to blow. I tried to distract him, seeing as I didn’t want to report on Tatum losing her cool. There were things DeWitt didn’t know about Tatum and the history of this little event.

  “With all due respect, Mr. Dewitt, that woman is a local business owner, and she’s making a point about the way local businesses, specifically three women-owned local businesses, were denied access to the main thoroughfare for this event.” I had not meant to get on my own soapbox, but there it was.

  “Still though, she’s looking like she’s about to make good clickable content.” Garrett DeWitt used his brow to point back to the unfolding action in the midst of the festival.

  “I think this is a really great example of why I need a photographer.” I figured if the big boss was going to be in town, I’d be really stupid to argue with him. What I needed was for him to spend more money on the Widow’s Bay Bureau of Your U.P. News and get me a photographer.

  “I’ll take it under advisement. Now, zoom in on that, I think your police chief is about to arrest one of them.”

  Chief Marvin had ushered a now livid Tatum back to her booth.

  “I’m going to let you ladies finish your day, but if I see these booths up tomorrow, you’ll all be in cuffs,” Chief Marvin pronounced.

  I burst forward and seized the opportunity to get an interview with the Chief. I needed to make a good impression on my boss, after all.

  “Chief Marvin! Will you really be arresting vendors? What do you say to the allegation that no women-owned businesses were approved for this event?”

  “Miss Nowak, these are questions for politicians. I uphold the laws they pass. And as you can see, there are several women-owned businesses operating as we speak.” He turned and walked away from my camera.

  “Fun guy,” DeWitt said, and he wasn’t wrong.

  I put my hand out to shake Garrett DeWitt’s.

  “Nice to formally meet you.”

  “Likewise.” Garrett DeWitt was handsome, that was clear. He had a head full of salt and pepper hair and was built like one of those endurance athletes: long, sinewy, and tan, even in Michigan’s spring weather.

  “So, how about that photographer?”

  “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”

  “It’s part of my charm.”

  “Well, while I consider your request, how about a ten-cent tour of Widow’s Bay? Your reports have piqued my interest since the moment we brought you on board.”

  I knew he could afford way more than ten cents but since I wanted to get on his good side, I decided not to quibble on price.

  “Let’s start right here. This is Pauline. She’s a real estate agent and fitness instructor and—up until this testicle thing—the pre-imminent organizer of Widow’s Bay festivals and fairs. A lot of our town’s newfound popularity can be traced back to her.” Pauline smiled and extended a hand.

  “Garrett DeWitt, owner of Your U.P. News. He’s checking up on me,” I said, and Pauline’s eyes lit up.

  “If you’re looking to buy up here, give me a call. Real estate in this town is a great investment, thanks to the ski lodge and the craft beer scene.”

  “Ah, thanks.”

  “Yep, I’m persistent but nothing compared to the crew I run with.” I figured it was going to be obvious to Garrett DeWitt that I was friends with half of the town. I worked hard to be unbiased in my reporting, but still, these were my friends, more like sisters.

  “Pauline’s helping Frances sell the best pasties in Widow’s Bay.”

  “Hello, yes, mine are so much better than Dobber’s Pasties. Secret ingredient, you know,” Frances said and turned to serve a customer lining up for said spectacular treats.

  “I’ll have to take her up on it,” DeWitt said, eyeing food Frances had on display.

  “For sure.”

  We walked to Georgianne’s booth.

  “This is Georgianne, she owns The Broken Spine.”

  “Book shop and deer processing! I had to see that one to believe it. Great combo.”

  “Yep, nice to meet you.” Georgianne was also busy with customers. As much as the Ridge and his cronies tried to keep customers from women-owned businesses, festival attendees gravitated to the good stuff.

  I did not tell Garrett DeWitt that Georgianne was also head librarian to the enchanted library that was hidden by an ancient spell within her bookstore. I was going to have to walk a tightrope with my boss here, that was no question.

  And then we made our way to Tatum’s stand. Her Frog Toe brews were legendary. Along with the ski slope, and the town reputation for being home to magical elements, Tatum’s brews were right up there in helping to turn our small town tucked in the northernmost part of North America into a hotbed for vacationers.

  “This is Tatum, owner of The Frog Toe.”

  “And brewer of the best beer in the Upper Peninsula,” Garrett complimented Tatum. She wasn’t impressed.

  “That son of a goat, he’s undercutting the standard price AND it’s Miller Lite, I swear.” She was pointing to Tommy T’s Good Ole Boy Brews. I had a vague feeling of dread when I looked over at the beer booth. I wasn’t psychic, but I did have the occasional accurate vision.

  “Sorry, everyone’s a little busy.”

  Tatum wasn’t interested in small talk or impressing my boss, she appeared to be at war.

  “No, not at all. I’m glad to see there’s always something for you to cover.”

  “True. So, uh, do you want a tour of the office?”

  My boss looked incredibly uncomfortable, suddenly. The easy demeanor and long-limbed grace was replaced with a tick. He was literally scratching behind his ear like my dog Bubba Smith.

  “Good, yes, I’m going to walk a bit, meet you there in about an hour?” He was ready to get out of the conversation, apparently. Maybe I’d bored him or pushed too hard on the photographer?

  “You know where the office is?”

  “I pay the rent, so yes,” he said with a smile. He looked off into the distance though, and no longer at me. I didn’t quite know what to make of the big boss and his shifting personality. The only other super-rich mogul I knew was Etienne Brule. I still didn’t quite know what to make of him either and we were dating. I think.

  “See you later!” I said and DeWitt was gone just as quickly as he’d appeared. I shook it off and assessed what I needed to do next.

  Maybe some interviews, that could work. But then Tatum left her booth and grabbed my arm. She was serious and at maximum Tatum intensity.

  “Tonight, my place, we have planning to do.”

  “Are we sure about this?”

  “More than ever,” Tatum said and returned to her beer cart with a steely set to her jaw. Even Aunt Dorothy was on board with what Tatum and the DLC were planning. I wasn’t so sure.

  But for now, I had to cover the news, and the news was the T
esticle Festival.

  I found a few diners, enjoying their meals.

  “Tastes like chicken.”

  Of course, it did.

  I took my interviews, pictures, and notes back up to the office and filed several stories on the festival.

  I also made a few beat calls, checking in all over the county, to find out what was going on, which was all in a day’s work.

  There was a rap on the door jam, and I looked up to find Garrett DeWitt again: calm, focused, and checking in on his lone employee in Widow’s Bay.

  He also nearly hit his head on the door jamb when he tried to go through it.

  “It’s a fairly small space. How would you even fit a photographer in here!”

  “Oh, I’d make do. Pauline owns the building.”

  “Ah, okay then.”

  “How long are you planning to stay here in Widow’s Bay?”

  “I’ll be heading out tomorrow I think.”

  I didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Maybe if he saw more, he’d agree I could use a staff. Though, working side by side with the owner didn’t exactly put me in my comfort zone. What if I messed something up? What if he decided a young college kid could do this job, for one-third the price? Several me-getting-fired scenarios played out in my head.

  But I made small talk, and fortunately did not get fired, though the day wasn’t over.

  Thankfully, Fawn popped her head into the office, halting the conversation.

  “Hey! You ready?” Fawn’s long silky waterfall of hair hung loose, draped over one shoulder. As the town vet, half the time her hair was tied up behind her so as not to get in the way of errant paws or claws. But for a second, I saw her through a stranger’s eyes, in this case, Garrett DeWitt’s. I think her quick greeting bowled my boss over.

  He was staring and his jaw dropped open. I attempted to make things less weird.

  “Hi, yes. I mean, if you’re all set, Mr. Dewitt?” I powered down my computer.

  “Garrett.” He stood up and made a b-line for Fawn and put out his hand.

  “Uh, hi, I’m Fawn.”

  “Another member of your coven.”

  Clearly, he’d done some research on the Widow’s Bay Distinguished Ladies Club before his visit. Still, I choked a bit. New acquaintances didn’t typically know we were witches, much less acquaintances that signed my paycheck.

  “We’ve been friends since elementary school,” Fawn smiled and the effect it had on Garrett DeWitt was palpable. All my coven sisters were beautiful, I knew this, but seeing someone new get a little tongue-tied by the fact was fun.

  My coven had teased me mercilessly about dating Etienne Brule; maybe I’d get a chance to give a little bit back.

  “Where are you staying, I never asked?” I stood up and gathered my things.

  “Samhain Slopes Ski Lodge. Rates were pretty good as they’re in the transition season they said.”

  “Yep, too warm to snow ski and there’s still ice on the lake so no water skiing.”

  “Got it. Thanks for the tour.”

  “Safe travels back to Sault Ste. Marie,” Fawn said as we walked out of the Old Post Office Building.

  “Hmm, maybe I’ll stick around for another day or two. Widow’s Bay is a lot more beautiful than I realized.”

  There was no doubt that the beauty he was appreciating was Fawn.

  Chapter 3

  “Where is she?” Mayor Candy Hitchcock was pacing the floor.

  “She was the one who reminded me about the meeting.”

  Fawn and I had kicked our feet up and warmed them around The Frog Toe’s cauldron. Pauline and Candy were not kicking your feet up kinds of gals, pretty much ever.

  We had five out of six core witches in attendance. This was my crew, as the kids today said it. Tatum, despite being the owner-operator of The Frog Toe, was the only one who hadn’t made it over from the festival.

  “Let me be your sixth for the time being?” It was Morganna. She had not been invited to this little meeting, but there she was.

  Technically, she was way more powerful than a witch, but way too young to really be able to hang with the Distinguished Ladies of Widow’s Bay. She may be able to channel the goddess Bridgette, but she also spent a fair amount of time worrying about hair straightening and false eyelash application. When did that become a thing by the way, false eyelashes for every day? Every young reporter I knew back in Detroit was sporting tarantula sized eyelashes for work. Another sign that I’d gotten off television just in time. Every time I tried to apply eyelashes, I wound up gluing my eyes shut.

  Be that as it may, Morganna was here, offering up her services as a sixth member—temporarily—of this committee meeting of the DLC. As I understood our magic, three witches were a must, but six? Well, any multiple of three and we were in business, exponentially.

  “We’re just meeting to talk, Morganna. No need to incite murder or ruin lives.” Fawn put an arm around the younger woman. She’d said it with a warm smile, but the truth was, Morganna was a little scary. Her beauty did incite men to do insane things.

  While we typically did what we did for home and family, Morganna did things for the Goddess and her own personal amusement, which could be dangerous.

  “I hope you’re addressing this Beltane issue. Or you can all just turn in your witch cards.” Morganna shrugged off Fawn’s admonition.

  “Addressing Beltane? How are we to address it? The town council voted for the testicle thing, we have to live to fight another day,” Candy said.

  The Bucks or Moose or whatever they were called now had swooped in and taken control of this month’s town festivities. None of DLC was happy about it but the councilmembers had voted. Even with Mayor Candy Hitchcock firmly behind the DLC running the show for festivals and events in Widow’s Bay, it wasn’t enough. City Council powers that be had decided to give the men of the Benevolent Order of The Buck a crack at planning Widow’s Bay’s events. The DLC had been chastised, and essentially told to take a back seat.

  “It was lame today; I can tell you that. Completely lame. Not enough port-a-potties, the sound system was terrible, and did you see the decorations? Tacky. Tacky. Tacky.” Pauline was used to being in charge. And when she was in charge, things ran correctly, runaway port-a-potties from the Outhouse Race being the notable exception.

  “I agree.” Candy reached out and squeezed Pauline’s hand.

  “It’s more serious than that, and I agree on the portable bathrooms—nasty. But anyway, if you don’t do Beltane, like now, this weekend, there will be literal hell to pay,” Morganna said. Like she was tapped into hell and knew their billing schedule.

  “Can you elaborate?” Georgianne leaned in. If there was bad juju coming our way, Georgianne would be the first to try to help us find a spell to stop it.

  “I don’t know how much you witches know about the ancient rites, but Beltane is the big one. It’s birth, it’s growth, it’s fertility it's—” Morganna’s eyes sparkled. She waved her hands in the air as though she was summoning wood sprites or something.

  “Calm down, no need to dance around the May Pole, we get it, it’s big.” Candy was looking around the room to see if other Frog Toe customers were noticing Morganna’s presentation. So far, not. Candy Hitchcock was mayor to all residents of Widow’s Bay but the non-magical ones were way better at getting out the vote for rideshares on election day. She needed their voting bloc, along with the unions, and did not need rumors to start that she was consorting with whatever the heck Morganna was.

  “I don’t think you quite do. If you don’t honor Beltane properly, there will be dead livestock, fallow fields, and your hair will absolutely not go right for the entire year. It’s bad.”

  I thought back to the rotten eggs in the potato salad. Was that Beltane? Or bad luck?

  “I just cannot with these stupid fried nuts. Fried? I mean, not one fresh food offering at any of the Pure Liquid Testicle Festival Presented by the Benevolent Order of the Bucks! I mea
n, they also don’t have options for people with gluten sensitivity. It’s like the Middle Ages.” Pauline was on Morganna’s page, even if the motivations were different.

  “So, curses for a year, not good, we don’t want that,” Georgianne said; we were in agreement on that.

  “While I’m here, I’ll add my magic. You five get moving on your own curse against that Mansplainer Ridge, and boom, Beltane is back in business.”

  “Well, if we’re going to curse someone, I’m a little concerned we don’t have all the details on how exactly to curse properly.” Georgianne had opened her phone, research was her thing.

  “We don’t need to curse anyone. We just need to get the word out.” Pauline looked at me. Getting the word out was my department.

  “We have three days left. We’ll spread the word Friday, and then Saturday and Sunday night, we’ll do Beltane Bash. It’ll be way better than this stupid testicle spectacle,” Pauline said, and her eyes looked bright enough to be able to light Beltane fires without a match.

  “We can’t. I mean, the town permitting has all gone to other vendors. We’re shut out. You guys were able to put booths in front of your own businesses in the guise of sidewalk sales, but that was a technicality. If we try to take over the town square with our own festival, we could get cited, or shut down, or even arrested. I have a vet clinic to run and I don’t want to risk not being there for my patients.”

  “You’re right, Fawn. Ridge and his club have the town square, but we have the beach!” Candy said and Pauline nodded.

  “That’s brilliant!” Pauline said. She was in her element now: planning a town party, even at a moment’s notice, was her jam.

  “That could work!” Georgianne said.

  I was still clueless about whatever it was they were cooking up. Candy noticed my confused expression,

  “Just be ready to do a few reports from the shore. Beltane Bash is happening, and it’s going indie,” Candy said.

  “Atta girls. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a date waiting in the car.” Morganna stood up and flitted away from us just as quickly as she’d dropped in. She was a busy girl; breaking hearts was a full-time job.