A Call to Charms

by Denise Swanson

  It was time to mend my ways, so pushing away the rest of my questions and concerns, I said, “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “There’s no need. Getting you up to speed in your role as the Shield is more important than my disastrous attempt at dating.”

  “So you want me to bare my soul to you, but you don’t want to share anything about you with me?”

  Elissa’s brows shot into her hairline, but she didn’t duck the accusation. “You’re right. I’m so used to keeping everything private because the Ravenscrafts aren’t allowed to show any weaknesses.”

  “Well, now you have a cousin, so spill it.” I selected another slice of pizza and waited.

  “There was this guy who came here from a Canadian town like Echo Springs,” Elissa said, taking a sip of wine between each word. “He was an English teacher, and we hit it off over our passion for books.”

  “What happened?” I prompted, a little concerned at how quickly my cousin was going through the bottle of Sauvignon Blanc.

  “My mother didn’t think he was worthy of a Ravenscraft and Dione told me he wasn’t the one meant for me, but I didn’t believe either of them.” Elissa shook her head. “I should have seen the light when he rhapsodized about his Hoover and bought me a DustBuster for my birthday.”

  “But you didn’t?”

  “No. By then I wasn’t about to admit to everyone that they’d been right.”

  “What convinced you to end it and deal with the fallout?” My cousin’s self-awareness impressed me, considering her alcohol level.

  “I caught him boinking the Hallowell sisters in the women’s room of the library. All three of them!” Elissa snorted. “So now I don’t date.”

  “You’ve sworn off men altogether?”

  “It’s not that so much, as I just have more respect for my vibrator.”

  “Okay then.” I giggled and reached for the bottle of wine. It was empty, which was probably for the best.

  “Enough about my pitiful love life.” Elissa got to her feet and carried our dirty plates into the kitchen. I followed with the rest of our trash, then helped her dish out the ice cream. After we’d thoroughly covered the multiple scoops in our bowls with chocolate syrup, we returned to the sofa, and Elissa said, “What other questions do you have?”

  I once again put on my Big Girl Panties, the ones that were starting to bunch up and irritate me, and said, “I’ve decided to find out who killed my father. Any ideas of where I should start?”

  “You should start by not stirring up that pot.”

  I could tell by Elissa’s voice she wasn’t expecting me to heed her advice.

  “Fine.” I gave her a look that meant I was still going to investigate, but I wouldn’t expect her help. “In that case, how about the attempts on my life?”

  “Already?” Elissa squeaked.

  I explained about the van trying to run me over and the mannequin falling, but when she seemed relieved, I demanded, “Why aren’t you more upset about it?”

  “Because it couldn’t have been the ruler of the dark magic. He or she has to be touching you when they kill you.” Elissa licked chocolate sauce from her spoon. “Whoever was driving the van or pushed over the mannequin was just your run-of-the-mill bad guy.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Charmed to the Teeth

  My mouth felt like I’d been chewing on used kitty litter and the pins and needles in my legs caused me to sink to the floor when I tried to stand. It took me a second to remember where I was and what had happened, but then I squinted over at my snoring cousin and dredge up the memory of our girls’ night in.

  Elissa hadn’t been able to explain Ramona Furman’s comment about my raven, but after finishing our ice cream, Elissa had taught me how to block other people’s magic from working on me. Still, since I was such a beginner, she told me to keep the fan she’d loaned me.

  She also showed me one other spell that didn’t require a specific charm. If I was in mortal danger, I could send a mental distress signal to all my blood relatives and my fated soulmate.

  I hoped I wouldn’t have to use it, but on the other hand, it might be the only way I’d ever figure who I was really supposed to marry.

  Once we finished with my magic lessons for the night, Elissa opened another bottle of wine and we watched the rest of the movie. I’m a little fuzzy, but I think it was when I asked Elissa about my father’s murder again that she brought out a third bottle.

  Either she was drunk enough to throw caution to the winds, or she knew that I wouldn’t let the matter drop, but Elissa finally told me to talk to the owner of the bookstore. She said he’d been the one to find my father’s body.

  I had tucked the piece of information into a corner of my brain just before Elissa and I both passed out on the sofa. And now that I was awake, I repeated it to myself as I stumble to the bathroom, splashed my face with water, drinking some from my cupped hand, and then peered out the window into the bright sunshine.

  What time was it?

  Shoot! I had to open the candy store by ten.

  Rushing back to where Elissa still sawed logs on the couch, I found my purse under the coffee table and dug out my cell phone.

  Phew! It was only a few minutes after nine.

  Still, I had to hustle if I wanted to wash and down some caffeine before work. I quickly wrote Elissa a note thanking her for everything, put it on her chest, and let myself out the door.

  There was no time to primp today, so after the world’s fastest shower I scraped my wet hair back with a headband. Juggling a travel mug, my makeup case, and my purse, I ran for the truck.

  As I drove to the shop, I applied concealer under my bloodshot eyes and gave my lashes a few swipes of mascara. If I wasn’t too busy with customers, I might be able to put on some bronzer and eyeshadow later.

  I arrived at the store at nine-forty-nine, dismayed to see that people were already lined up at the entrance. And from the moment I opened the front door until I flipped the sign to read CLOSED at six o’clock, there was a steady stream of shoppers. I had no idea why so many Echo Springians needed candy so badly, but several made a point to mention seeing me at the ball.

  Evidently, my presence there, and being recognized publically as a member of the council, was great for business.

  After I locked up the Candy Box I strolled over to Spellbound. It was a relief that the hours printed on the door said the store was open from noon to eight p.m., and as I crossed the threshold, I saw several people browsing the shelves.

  Knowing how badly bookstores in general, and indie stores in particular, had faired the past several years, I was thrilled that Echo Springs had one at all, let alone, by all appearances, one that was going strong.

  It made me think about something that hadn’t occurred to me before. Did Amazon didn’t sell out here? I mean, if the residents’ magic managed to keep stop outsiders from entering the town, how did anything get delivered?

  I knew there was mail because I’d seen Aunt Pandora’s bills and letters, all of which had a United States postal stamp on them. But maybe the other services like FedEx and UPS weren’t allowed.

  Then again, businesses needed supplies. Some delivery firms had to be able to get into town. I pursed my lips, trying to remember if I’d seen invoices for the candy store merchandise anywhere. I thought I had, but as soon as I got home, I would check.

  Why was it that as soon as I got one set of questions answered about my new life, another bunch cropped up?

  Frowning, I pushed aside that mystery for the time being and walked toward the counter. The man behind the register was short, with a pointy face, and skinny arms and legs. He looked a little like the hamster from the Kia Soul commercial, and as I approached, his mustache twitched as if I had distracted him from a run on his exercise wheel.

  Holding out my hand, I smiled and said, “Hi, I’m Lexie Ravenscraft.”

  “I know who you are.” He glanced at the people absorbed in their hunt for the per
fect read, then said, “I’m Hamilton Digger, the proprietor of Spellbound Books. Welcome to Echo Springs.”

  “Thank you.” When he failed to shake my hand, I dropped it to my side and said, “I’m so thrilled to find a bookstore in my new hometown.”

  “What genre do you like?” He asked, his small dark eyes looked into mine.

  “My tastes are fairly eclectic.” I leaned a hip against the counter. “I’m not too interested in nonfiction, but almost anything else.”

  “Hmm.” Hamilton dashed out from behind the register, scurried down an aisle, and a moment later returned with a paperback copy of a mystery with a cover featuring a snowman wearing a hat and tie and a snow woman with a peach ribbon around her throat and waist. The store owner thrust it at me and said, “You should read this.”

  “Sure.” I dug in my purse for my wallet and pulled out my credit card. “But I really wanted to talk to you about my father. I understand you found his body, and I was hoping you could tell me about it.”

  “Read the book.” Hamilton said, “The printed word is always the best source of information.”

  That reminded me that my eyes kept getting blurry when I tried to examine the last couple of pages of the estate papers. I glanced down at the point of purchase products on the counter and spotted a rack of reading glasses. Removing a pair from their cardboard display, I put them on top of the novel.

  Before I could hand my charge card to him, Hamilton plucked it out of my fingers, ran it through his machine, and returned it to me along with a bag containing my merchandise. Then the strange little man turned his back on me, making it clear our conversation was over.

  Wondering if I would ever understand the citizens of Echo Springs, I headed to my truck and drove home. Through the twilight, I could see lights glowing from the windows of the houses I passed, and loneliness struck me square in the chest. I was in a strange town among people I couldn’t trust. How had this happened?

  It was past seven by the time I walked into my kitchen and I was starving. In my rush to the candy store this morning, I’d missed breakfast and had candy for lunch. No wonder I was feeling so maudlin. My blood sugar was probably crashing harder than a race car that missed a turn going two hundred miles an hour at the Indy 500.

  After scarfing down a huge turkey and cheddar sandwich, and half a bag of potato chips, my mood improved. My plan for the rest of the evening was to veg in front of the television, but even after I changed into sweats and a T-shirt, I couldn’t get comfortable.

  The cushiony couch that had previously been so restful seemed lumpy and my gaze kept wandering up to the ceiling. Suddenly, there was a strange pressure between my shoulder blades and I felt compelled to get up, climb the stairs, and enter the room that was next on my list to be cleared out, that is once I rented a dumpster.

  Entering, I inched past the maze of furniture and boxes until I reached the opposite wall. There, clear of the clutter that filled the rest of the space was an old trunk. It was made of wood with odd characters carved across the top.

  I squatted and studied the ornate lock. It was brass with beautifully raised details. As I ran my finger over the strange swirls and random stylized shapes, I realized that there was no keyhole.

  Maybe it wasn’t a lock after all. I inserted my fingers under the latch and tried to flip the lid up, but it held firm. Sitting back on my heels, I examined every inch of the trunk and the lock. My gut told me I needed to get into it, but intuition told me that damaging the antique chest was a very bad idea.

  Could this be something I was supposed to fix with a spell? I concentrated. What had keys that didn’t need a keyhole to function?

  My mind was a blank. It was getting late, and I was drained. I should go to bed and deal with this tomorrow when my brain was working better.

  Heck! I could ask Elissa if she had an idea of how I was supposed to unlock the trunk.

  Standing, I turned to leave, but I couldn’t make my legs move. I glanced over my shoulder at the chest and could swear it was smirking at me.

  I sank back down on the floor, glared at the trunk, and muttered, “Fine! You want me to open you; I need some help here.”

  Long minutes went by, and my eyelids began to droop. My chin hit my chest, and I jerked awake. It was time for bed, and as I got shakily to my feet, I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye.

  Squinting, I saw the carved characters rearranging themselves. I held my breath as they moved, then blew it out in a long puff of air when I realized the shapes had come together to form letters that had spelled the word PIANO.

  What in the heck was that supposed to mean? There was no piano in the house. At least, not anywhere I’d seen. And if I did find one, how would that open the trunk. Was I supposed to play it?

  It wasn’t as if I’d had lessons. Mom never had the money for that kind of extra. So any sound I produced wouldn’t be musical.

  Dejected, I walked out of the room only partly aware that my legs were working again. At least I had that going for me.

  I was halfway down the stairs when a memory flickered at the edge of my mind. I had seen a piano in the house. Just not a full-sized one. There was a miniature of the instrument in the night table beside Aunt Pandora’s bed. .”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Spell Bent for Trouble

  Feeling a little silly talking to an inanimate object, I held the miniature piano in my palm, offered it to the trunk, and said, “Here you go.”

  Nothing happened.

  I placed the tiny instrument on the lid and feeling even more, ridicules asked, “This is what you wanted, right?”

  Nothing, again.

  Squatting down, I peered at the lock and the carvings, looking for an indentation or slot where I could insert the piano, but I didn’t see anything.

  Next, I examined the piano. It was carved in exquisite detail with no sign it was anything other than a solid piece of wood, shaped and painted to resemble a baby grand.

  Since my dignity was already in shreds, I tried rubbing the piano, then wishing on it, and finally blowing on it. But neither it nor the trunk seemed at all affected by my actions. In fact, I had the distinct impression they both were sneering at me.

  Sinking to my knees, I let my mind go blank. I was nearly asleep when I heard myself recite, “It takes eighty-eight keys to unveil the magical music of our family. Black and white. Old and young. Large and small. Reveal to me what is hidden.”

  With a quiet whir, the lock twisted sideways, and the lid popped up. I eagerly leaned over the lip to look inside. The trunk was filled with dozens and dozens of clear plastic cubes, each containing a single object.

  I could see twisted bits of hair, a goblet that looked as if it was made from a horn, vials of salt, a horseshoe, and a four-leaf clover in the top layer of boxes. Next to them was an old notebook.

  Carefully extracting it, I gently eased open the brown leather cover. On the first page, in faded blue ink and written in a spidery cursive was a short poem that read:

  MAGICAL OBJECTS ALL.

  CHOOSE CORRECTLY TO PREVAIL.

  ONCE, ONLY WILL THEY ANSWER YOUR CALL.

  CHOOSE UNWISELY, and you fail.

  Evidently, I had discovered the Ravenscraft charms. Now I just had to figure out how to use them. Surely one of them could help me find my father’s killer.

  As I fingered the different cubes, unable to see how they opened, I heard the thump of footsteps starting up the stairs. A flame of fear sizzled through my chest.

  Who was marching toward me as if he or she had every right to be here? And why was my cellphone still in my purse, which was uselessly sitting on the kitchen counter?

  Involuntarily, I gripped one of the Lucite cubes and the lid popped open. I took out the contents and examined the lemon-sized brownish-black rock fit my hand perfectly.

  It had a metallic luster that seemed to glow brighter just before I slid the stone into the pocket of my sweatpants. Quickly flipping the pages of the
notebook, I searched until I found the word protection.

  I hastily memorized the two-line verse, then put the notebook in the trunk and closed the lid. The lock reengaged a nanosecond before the door to the room opened.

  Standing there, still alive, was Gil. His skin was ashen, his smile demented, and his first words were like an icepick in my spine.

  “Miss me?”

  “I saw you go in the river,” I stuttered. “I thought you were dead.”

  “The current washed me up on shore a few miles downstream.” Gil shrugged. “A nice old man found me and nursed me back to health.”

  “How did you get here?” I was beginning to suspect the magical wards that were supposed to keep random people from wandering into Echo Springs didn’t work as well as everyone thought they did.

  “Once I was strong enough, nothing could keep me from you.” Gil strode over the threshold and marched toward me

  Shuffling backward as far as I could go, which sadly was only a few inches, I wrinkled my nose at his stench. He smelled as if he hadn’t showered since the last time I saw him and his filthy shirt looked suspiciously like the one he’d been wearing when he’d driven off the bridge.

  “You need to leave.” I put my hand on his chest and shoved him away.

  He captured my fingers and brought them to his mouth. As his mouth pressed against my skin, it was all I could do not to deposit my semi-digested turkey and cheese sandwich on his muddy loafers.

  “Don’t be like that,” Gil tsked. “I came to apologize for my bad behavior and tell you I forgive you and want to start over.”

  “You. Forgive. Me?” I sputtered. “You tried to kill me. Twice!”

  “Only because you were being so unreasonable.” Gil frowned, then his brow smoothed. “If you promise not to do that again, we’ll be fine.”

  I was speechless. Did he really think we could go back to being a couple?

  “Look,” Gil said. His lips quirked up the slightest degree, and I noticed they had an odd bluish-purple tint. “Let’s pretend we just met and tomorrow we can go out on our first date.”