A Pink Potion Gone Wrong

by Vella Day

  “How did it go?” Aunt Fern’s eyes sparkled.

  “It didn’t go. Iggy left in a huff. I thought he might be down here.”

  “If he is, I didn’t see him.”

  “He probably left through the back entrance,” I said.

  “What do you think went wrong?” my aunt asked.

  “I have no idea.” And that depressed me more than anything. “If my ability to communicate with Iggy wasn’t intact, I might not believe I’m a witch at all.”

  Aunt Fern patted my hand. “Nonsense. That magic necklace of yours still works.”

  I ran my fingers across the surface of the pink diamond pendant, or rather the fake pink diamond pendant. My grandmother had given it to me, and considering she wasn’t well off, it probably wasn’t real. I still believed I could tell how a person had died. “There’s that.”

  My aunt pulled the bank’s money pouch from under the counter. “Would you do me a favor? It will save me a trip.”

  “Sure.”

  “Deposit this in the bank.”

  Getting out for a walk would do me good, and she probably understood that. “I’d be happy to.”

  I took the pouch and headed back upstairs for my backpack purse. Not that there was much crime in this town, but I didn’t want to advertise I was carrying a wad of cash. Once I packed up, I left.

  The bank sat behind the large parking lot that was across the street. I headed south one block. As soon as I crossed the street, a cold chill brushed my arm. I slowed, curious what that was.

  “You could at least say excuse me.” The deep male voice behind me sounded far off and rather strained.

  I whipped around but saw no one. “Hello?”

  My pulse soared at the possibility that the weakened voice came from someone who was injured—only I didn’t see him. No one else was nearby, so I waited a minute before deciding that I must have been imagining things. I spun back around and nearly ran into someone—or at least I thought it was a someone.

  The man was pale—and kind of wavy, if that was even possible. It must have been the sunlight shining in my eyes because he seemed to be a bit translucent.

  “You can see me?” he asked with an incredible amount of surprise.

  “I guess, though you don’t look well.”

  “To be honest, I’m not doing all that well.”

  He turned his back to me, and I gasped. A large red blood stain ran from shoulder to shoulder. “Oh, my goodness, you’re injured. I’ll call 911.”

  He faced me. “Don’t bother.”

  Don’t bother? “Why not?”

  “I’m dead.”

  That was an expression I used quite often. Actually, I thought I might be dead to Iggy since I had just failed him. “You aren’t dead.”

  To be sure I wasn’t crazy, I reached out to touch him but felt nothing solid—only another blast of cold air. Dread pooled in my stomach at what this might mean. “What’s your name?” I asked, failing to keep the shake out of my voice.

  “Morgan Oliver, and I need your help.”

  If he wasn’t solid, he had to be dead, right? Or was he some hologram, and this was some joke on me? “How can I help if you’re deceased?”

  I looked around to see who else was nearby. I wanted confirmation that I wasn’t crazy. Surely, I couldn’t be standing in front of a gh…ghost! That would be insane. Ghosts didn’t exist anymore than werewolves or vampires did.

  He placed his hand over his heart, but the tips of his fingers dug into his body. He then lowered his hand. “I won’t have any peace until I find out who shot me.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “No. Someone shot me in the back!”

  “Okay, okay. Calm down. Are you from Witch’s Cove?”

  “No, but my uncle lives here—or at least he did. He died. He recently told me he’d written me into his will to inherit his farm.”

  “Who’s your uncle?” Was it Floyd Paxton, the man a wolf had attacked a few weeks ago?

  Before he told me, Morgan disappeared—as in evaporated.

  “Glinda?” said a voice I knew too well. I spun around.

  “Sheriff Rocker. Nice to see you.” I was tempted for a moment to reach out and touch him to make sure he was solid and not some ghost, but he looked quite alive.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” I worked to put as much calm into my voice as possible.

  “Ah, because you’ve been standing in the parking lot for the last minute talking to yourself,” he said.

  He’d been watching me? Morgan Oliver reappeared—if you could call semi-transparent appearing—next to the sheriff, but now the sparkle in the ghost’s eyes was gone.

  “Don’t worry,” the ghost said. “He can’t see me.”

  Don’t worry? Every muscle in my body was frozen. I’d really just met a ghost. As if Morgan understood his time was up, he faded away.

  The sheriff reached out and cupped my shoulder. Clearly, he thought I needed help. Hey, maybe I did. I had to come up with an answer that wouldn’t make him commit me to a psychiatric hospital. “I was practicing what I wanted to tell my mom. My father hasn’t been feeling well, and she won’t tell me why.” My face heated at the half lie.

  “I’m sorry to hear about your dad. Why don’t you come next door to the Bubbling Cauldron, and I’ll buy you a coffee? You look like you could use one.”

  “I’m okay. I promised Aunt Fern I’d take the day’s receipts to the bank.” I reached behind me and patted the lower part of my pack.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  As much as I wanted to ask him about Morgan Oliver, I needed time to process what happened. “I’m sure. Maybe another time.”

  “Of course. Just let me know.”

  Embarrassed by that encounter, I hightailed it out of there. After I deposited the daily receipts in the bank, I decided to have a little chat with Hazel. Maybe she could shed some light on my dilemma.

  Inside the Hex and Bones Apothecary, Hazel was with a young woman I’d never seen before. That meant either the person was a tourist or didn’t eat at the Tiki Hut Grill. While Hazel took care of her, I returned to the stack of spell books along the side wall. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, but I thought there might be something about ghost sightings in one of them.

  I was engrossed in the drawings when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I jumped. Thank goodness, it was only Hazel—and not Morgan Oliver. I honestly didn’t even know if he touched me whether or not I’d feel it. Even though my aunt could see ghosts—or rather at least one ghost—I wasn’t up to speed on their habits or abilities.

  Hazel was slightly bent over, and she wasn’t meeting my gaze at first. “Glinda. I’m happy you came back. I am so sorry.”

  My pulse soared. “About what?”

  “It was only after you left that I realized when I was on the phone with my sister that I pulled down the wrong ingredient, which means the spell to change Iggy won’t work.”

  I had to take a moment to wrap my brain around what happened. On the one hand, I was upset that Hazel had messed up. On the other, that meant it hadn’t been my fault. “That’s okay. How about mixing me another batch, and I’ll give it another go?”

  She sucked in a breath. “I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way. The two key ingredients, when combined, can only be used once in a person’s lifetime. I was so distraught over my mistake that I called Bertha to ask her how to remedy this. She said what was done was done.”

  I’d never heard of only being able to ingest ingredients one time. Iggy would be devastated, but at least I hadn’t been the one to make the mistake. “I’ll let Iggy down gently.” Here came the hard part. I glanced around to make sure no one else had come in. “By drinking that particular pink potion, do you think there might be any side effects?”

  Hazel’s face paled, and then she pressed her lips together. “Maybe. Are you having hallucinations, by any chance?”

  I heave
d a sigh. “Yes. A hallucination.” I actually laughed. “And here I thought I saw a ghost! Phew. That is a relief.”

  I expected her to smile and pat my arm. Instead, she pulled out a chair next to me and sat down. “We need to talk.”

  Uh-oh. That didn’t sound good. I leaned closer. “Don’t tell me I really did see a ghost.”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  I needed to put a positive spin on this. “It’s a one-time event, right? It’s not like I’m going to see everyone who ever died walking the streets, am I?”

  The color finally returned to Hazel’s face. “Absolutely not. Most people only see one ghost, and that’s it.”

  I wasn’t sure if I should mention Morgan’s request, but Hazel appeared to be very open-minded. “I met a man by the name of Morgan Oliver.” I waited a beat to see if she’d seen or heard of him. When she said nothing, I continued. “He was murdered, though I don’t know how long ago.”

  Logic told me that if his uncle had died recently and left the farm to Morgan, the ghost would have been murdered after that. That meant there would be a record of Morgan Oliver’s death. Or was my brain a bit fried from the potion?

  “I’ve never heard of him. Maybe the sheriff can do a search.”

  I actually laughed. “How can I ask about a dead guy? The sheriff would never believe me if I said I spoke with a ghost.”

  Hazel rubbed the forefinger and thumb of her right hand together and looked over my head. It must be her way of thinking. “Say, you’re related to him or something, and that you want to locate him. I wouldn’t mention that he’s dead.”

  I had to hand it to her. That wasn’t a bad idea. “I might do that.”

  As soon as I stood, she clasped my hand. “Please tell Iggy that I’m sorry.”

  “I will.” As I pushed back my chair, I bumped into something—something that meowed loudly. I whipped around. “I’m sorry, kitty. I didn’t mean to hit you.”

  “Be careful the next time,” the cat said, loud and clear.

  My heart nearly stopped. The cat could talk! Not that my familiar wasn’t a chatterbox, but at least he wore a collar when he went sightseeing. This one looked a bit ragged—as in this animal lived on the streets. This was the second time today that I’d heard about a talking black cat. Maybe there was a family of them.

  Hazel leaned over and petted the kitty. “You want something to drink, Aimee?”

  Aimee? Could she be Iggy’s girlfriend? “She’s your familiar?” I asked.

  Hazel slumped back in the chair. “No. I mean maybe, kind of. I did name her.”

  The old witch wasn’t making any sense. “Either she is your familiar or she isn’t. Iggy’s girlfriend is also named Aimee.”

  “He said that?” Aimee asked. Her tone was a mixture of excitement and anger, if that was even possible.

  “Yes.”

  As much as I wanted to chat with her, I needed to find out how this cat was able to talk if she wasn’t Hazel’s familiar. Or did she belong to someone else? I leaned over. “Iggy said you’ve been in town a week. Is that true?”

  “Yes and no,” Aimee said. She lifted her head and nodded to Hazel. “I’ve only been able to talk for about a week. That’s what I meant. You need to ask the witch here what happened.”

  Ouch. That wasn’t nice. “You don’t know?”

  “Not completely,” Aimee said.

  “How do you think it happened? I want to hear your side.”

  Her back arched for a second. “Fine. I’ve lived on the street for the last few years. I was looking for something to eat when I wandered in here. That’s when she changed me.”

  “How?”

  “How should I know?”

  Testy little animal. I needed answers, so I turned back to Hazel. “What can you tell me about it?”

  Hazel sighed. “Aimee’s right. It’s all my fault. A young girl had come into the shop needing the ingredients for the spell to get her familiar from the forest.”

  “I did that many, many years ago,” I said.

  “I know. This girl was really nervous. She wanted me to read the spell to her to make sure she didn’t mess it up.”

  That sounded familiar. “Even if you’d held the potion in your hand and read the spell, that wouldn’t have turned an ordinary cat into a talking one,” I said.

  Aimee rubbed her head against my legs. I looked down at her. “Is that how you remember it?”

  “Not exactly,” the cat said with way too much sass.

  “Hazel, please tell me.”

  She exhaled deeply. “I honestly didn’t know Aimee was in the store. When she bumped into me, I was so startled that I knocked over the jar that had the potion in it. The lid must not have been on very well, because it fell on the cat.”

  “And gave me a bump on my head. Do you know how much glass hurts when it falls?”

  My heart went out to the cat. I looked back at Hazel. “Why do you think Aimee isn’t your familiar?”

  “Because the spell wasn’t said in the woods.” She huffed an exasperated breath. “I can’t really explain it, but the potion and the reciting of the spell must have triggered something inside of her.”

  Aimee meowed. “It took a few days for me to calm down, but now I think it’s cool that I can talk, though the first time Iggy spoke back to me, I freaked.”

  “I can only imagine. If you want, you can come back with me to the apartment. I’m sure Iggy would be happy to see you.”

  Aimee hesitated. “Okay, but I don’t believe in cohabitation.” I tried not to laugh. “We’re only friends. I’ll go with you and say hi, but then I’m out of there.”

  Out of there? That wasn’t very hospitable. Aimee’s attitude left something to be desired, but if Iggy liked her, that was all that mattered. “Just so you know, he’s really depressed right now because the spell to change him back to green failed. Seeing you will help.”

  “I hope so. He seems kind of nice.”

  Only kind of nice?

  Hazel pushed back her chair and stood. “Again, I’m sorry. I can’t wait until Bertha returns. This spell stuff is stressing me out.”

  It stressed me out too. “I can understand why.”

  With Aimee behind me, I headed out. I honestly expected her to run away, but thankfully, she didn’t. When we reached the Tiki Hut Grill, instead of going through the restaurant and having my aunt question me, I went through the side entrance once more.

  I was halfway up the stairs when a sound behind me made me look over my shoulder. I had to blink a few times to make sure I wasn’t seeing things. “Uncle Harold?”

  Chapter Four

  The transparent figure wavered a bit and then looked almost solid. “Glinda, you can see me?”

  “Yes.” At least I thought I was looking at my uncle’s ghost. I needed Aunt Fern to confirm it though. “Can you ask your wife to come here?” I asked as sweetly as possible.

  He smiled. “Sure.”

  My heart pounded as he disappeared. A moment later, my aunt rushed back in. “Harold told me you can see him. Is that true?”

  I had to grab the handrail to steady myself. “Yes. I thought I might be imagining things.” That would be two ghosts in one day!

  She planted a hand on her chest, and her breaths came out so fast I thought she might hyperventilate. I rushed down the stairs to make sure she didn’t pass out—right after I regained my balance.

  “What’s going on?” Aimee asked as she followed me back down the stairs.

  “Not now, Aimee. Go see Iggy. He’s up the stairs on the right. There’s a cat door.” I didn’t want to deal with her as well as Uncle Harold. All of this magic coming at me at once was overwhelming me.

  “Did that black cat just talk, or am I imagining things?” my aunt asked.

  “The cat can talk. It’s a long story.”

  My aunt clenched and unclenched her fists. “You go upstairs. I’m going to find someone to take over the cash register. Then I’ll be right up, Glinda. We
need to have a chat.” She turned to her dead husband. “Come on, Harold. You have some explaining to do.”

  Aunt Fern turned around and rushed back down the hall with Harold trailing after her. My head wouldn’t stop spinning. I was in enough shock that I’d talked to a ghost by the name of Morgan Oliver, but to see Uncle Harold again really made me question my sanity. At the moment, I thought maybe both Aunt Fern and I had lost it.

  Some howling sounded in my apartment, and I rushed upstairs to see what was going on. I had assumed Iggy would be thrilled to see Aimee, but someone wasn’t happy.

  When I opened the door, Iggy was on his perch facing the window, and Aimee was circling the sofa. “What happened?” I asked.

  “You invited her here?” Iggy asked, not facing me.

  “Kind of. Yes. I thought you’d be thrilled.”

  “Is Aimee going to live here?” he asked, his head bobbing.

  Where was this coming from? “I merely asked if she wanted to visit you.”

  Iggy turned around. “You’re not replacing me then?”

  That was the last thing I expected him to say. “Iggy, no. You are my familiar and always will be. Aimee happened to be in the right spot at the right time to receive the gift of speech. I’m sure she told you what happened, but she is never going to be you.”

  “That’s right, Iggy. You’re this woman’s familiar, not me. Since you don’t want me here, I’m leaving,” she said.

  “Don’t leave, Aimee,” I said, sounding way too stressed. “Iggy is just in one of his moods.”

  She faced me and then sat down, her tail whipping back and forth across the wooden floor. “I don’t stay where I’m not welcome. Thanks for inviting me though. And just so you know, I never said that I wanted Iggy to be green. He made that up.”

  I turned back to him. “Is that true?”

  He scratched his face, clearly stalling. “Maybe.”

  “Why did you tell me Aimee made fun of you?”