by Fitz Molly
“Heard about what happened at your place. Nonni said…” She lowers her voice and leans close so an elderly woman at the other end won’t hear. “Was it you-know-who?”
I don’t lower mine. “Who else could it be?”
The kitten appears and sniffs the air. Ruby shakes her head and tsks. “What are you going to do about it?”
I glance at the people milling around. “Find my carriage, first. Then deal with her.”
“Did Robyn tell you about the comas?” She picks up the candle I was eyeing and sticks it in a bag, handing it to me.
I offer to pay, but she waves me off. “I heard. Any news on those affected?”
“Still no change and they’ve had a dozen more cases today.”
“No cause?” Broden queries. He gently takes the bag, a gentlemanly gesture to carry it.
“None. Doc thought it might be contagious, like a virus, but can’t find the cause. He’s called some experts from the CDC. Scary, don’t you think?”
The customer has her arms loaded with soaps as she teeters over. “Stocking up,” she says. “You have the best smelling soaps for winter. Peppermint Mocha is my daughter’s all-time favorite.”
Ruby hastily begins bagging them, making small talk. The kitten rubs against the older woman’s leg and she reaches down to pet her. “What a pretty little cat. You better stay inside this time of year. Black cats get into trouble at Halloween.”
“I’ll catch up with you later,” I tell Ruby.
Taking the candle and cat, we leave, the kitten climbing inside Broden’s jacket to sleep. The idea of townsfolk dropping into mysterious comas bothers me as much as the vandalism to my property. A sticky, prickly itch settles under my breastbone.
“A giant pumpkin shouldn’t be hard to spot,” he says. “Where do we start?”
“Where else? Esme’s.”
“She’ll be expecting you.”
He says it with such conviction, I glance at him from the corner of my eye. “Do you have the gift?”
He offers me a blank look.
“The Sight? Are you clairvoyant?”
A false modesty flashes on his face and is gone. “Nah, it’s called common sense. Seems most people around here lack it.”
I chuckle.
“T’would be best to be covert in our hunt, so as not to give your stepmother advance warning.”
Stealth is not on my mind as we walk the two blocks to Esme’s Victorian at the end of the street. The mansion sits dark and quiet, no fall décor or Halloween decorations in sight. The lights are out. “She bought this after finding out she’d lost the farm to me.”
The ancient, stately oaks throw a blanket of shadows over us. Broden eyes the place. “Could she hide a giant pumpkin around back?”
“We’re going to find out.”
“Trespassing doesn’t fit your MO.”
“You barely know me.”
He laughs. “I have an instinct.”
His instinct is on the money. I edge toward the front gate, determined to go against my normal morals and sneak into the yard. “She has to be brought to justice.”
Something on one of the spikes catches my eye. My breath quickens.
At the gasp, Broden follows my attention, squinting through the darkness. “What’s this now?”
“A warning,” I murmur. On the spike, a single red apple has been impaled. “It’s the enchanted apple from Fairytale Land.”
Broden sighs heavily. Against the kitten’s protests, he hands her and the bag to me. “Stay here. I’ll reconnoiter the property.”
I object, but he ignores me, creeping along the fence and disappearing into the inky gloom.
As the cat and I wait, I watch the street. No one comes our way, and as the minutes tick by, an eerie quiet falls. All I see of the kitten is her round, golden eyes. I stroke her fur, pressure building in my ears as I strain to hear. The distant din of the downtown walk has ceased. The nocturnal insects and animal sounds are absent.
My body is tense. I swing my gaze to the windows, sure she’s inside watching.
Suddenly, the silence is broken by a screech owl, it’s shriek ripping through the night.
The kitten and I both jump, the bagged candle dropping from my hand as her tiny, sharp claws dig into the flesh.
A pregnant hush falls again, the screech echoing softer and softer through the trees. My jack-hammering heartbeat slows and I retrieve the fallen candle. I wish Runa were here to be my ears and eyes.
Broden’s voice makes me nearly hop the fence. “Nothin’ be yonder.” I swing around to find him coming up behind me. “Not sure she’s even home,” he adds.
My hopes sink. There has to be something…
I stare at the house for a long moment, considering breaking in, but in the long run, Broden’s assessment of me is on the mark—I’m not the type to blatantly break the law, even when I have provocation.
Returning to Main Street, we pull up short at the corner opposite Enchanted. The air is weighted with sinister stillness, the scene before us shocking.
“I think we have a bigger problem at hand, aye?”
The kitten meows and scrambles under his jacket again, her eyes peeking from the zippered flap.
I squeeze the bag tight as I scan the street. People have fallen where they stood, white cups of cider scattered about. The woman with the soaps lies on the sidewalk, her chest rising and falling, and her purchases lying willy nilly nearby.
Everyone in downtown Story Cove, enjoying the walk only minutes ago, now appears fast asleep.
Chapter Seven
Ruby is slumped over the sales table. I check her pulse; she’s breathing, as is everyone else we examine. I find my cell and call Robyn.
There’s no answer. I dial 911.
I feel a bone-deep fear rise with every unanswered ring.
Inside Enchanted, the sisters, Matilda, and multiple customers are in various positions, some having fallen into displays, strewing candles and other products far and wide.
There’s a cup of half-drunk cider near the register. Another near Cinder.
I call out for Uncle Odin but get no response. Searching the living quarters above the shop, I come up emptyhanded.
“Why aren’t we affected?” Broden queries when I return.
“No idea.” With trembling fingers, I dial Nonni and Poppi. I nearly sob when there’s no answer. “We have to go back to Esme’s. She’s done something to the town.”
“Like what?” He stands and frowns. “I can see her acting out toward you after what you’ve told me about her, but why do this?”
“Why not?” I pick up the cup at the register and sniff it. “What better way to foil me and ruin the fall festival?”
“But how?”
The tingle of magick hits my nose. “The cider.” I hold the cup out to him. “It’s hexed.”
He smells the liquid but shows no reaction. “You believe your stepmother did it?”
“Either that or you did.”
“Me?” Disbelief tangles up his face. “You think I did this?” He waves a hand at the store, the sidewalk.
All I know is things have been weird ever since he and the kitten showed up. The timing, along with the fact he’s had direct contact with the apples we pressed for tonight’s event, raise definite suspicions. “Someone’s playing with dark magick.”
His eyes widen and then he looks disappointed at my misgivings about him. “I assure you, it isn’t me.”
I march out of the shop, heading for Esme’s. I hear the bell over the door jingle as he hurries to catch up.
His brogue grows heavy as we weave around people in the street. “Snow, I swear on my nana’s grave, I had nothin’ to do with this.”
I give him a look. “Then help me find who is behind this and why.”
Once more in front of Esme’s, I scale the gate on the inside of her property. Through the iron pickets we glare at each other for a moment. I can barely see his face in the shadows, but it’
s tight with annoyance. The owl rents the quiet of the night again, but this time, I don’t jump.
“If it’s black magick, you could be walkin’ into a trap,” he states.
“Agreed, but what choice do I have?”
A low growl issues from his throat as he scans up and down the sidewalk. Then in a fluid move, he climbs the gate and throws himself over.
I hear the kitten complain from inside his jacket. He pats her through the leather and looks at me. “All right, then. Tiugainn.”
I give him a questioning look. “I don’t speak Gaelic.”
“We should remedy that.” He grins. “Let’s go.”
The front door isn’t locked. It squeaks menacingly as I enter.
Broden has gone around back to sneak in from the rear, just in case. He’s left the kitten with me, as if she’s some sort of protection.
The wooden floorboards creak under my feet as I tread slowly through the foyer. A mirror over a table reflects my face back at me. I’m white as a specter.
I attempt to move as quietly as possible, as the kitten and I inspect the sitting parlor, the library, and an informal living room. Plenty of ugly furniture and the lingering smell of a hundred-year-old house, but nothing out of the ordinary.
We venture to the rear rooms, meeting Broden in the kitchen. He’s examining a glass left on the table with a plate of half-eaten food and an open fashion magazine. “She left in a hurry.”
“Or it’s staged.”
He quirks a brow. “For your benefit, since she knew you’d enter searching for her?”
“You’re the one who suggested this is a trap,” I remind him. “Who else would she set it up for?”
A shrug. The kitten claws at my leg, gaining my attention. Then she darts off, leaving us behind.
Broden and I exchange a look, then follow.
A sliver of moonlight ripples down the stairs. The kitten’s sleek black fur jets through the bars of illumination as she races to the second floor.
Upstairs, we track her to Esme’s bedroom.
Sitting on the floor next to the bed, the kitten paws at a glass lying prone on the expensive rug. I lift it and sniff, and magick tickles my nostrils.
This time Broden’s wrong.
Esme didn’t set up a trap for me or anyone else. If she did, it backfired.
Lying spread-eagle across her massive bed, my stepmother is unresponsive, her red hair fanned out across the covers, her satin dress tangled between her legs.
While she appears to be in a deep slumber, she, too, has succumbed to the supernatural coma brought on by the hexed apple cider.
Chapter Eight
At the farm, Runa greets us with a robust bark. Korbin is there as well, cawing as he flies overhead.
Another omen? I shiver under my fleece-lined jacket.
Bramble is washing pots in the commercial kitchen behind the shop and Broden and I are surprised to find her awake.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, pausing in her duties. “You two look like the devil himself is after you.”
“Near enough,” Broden quips. He glances at me and juts his chin at her. “Why isn’t she affected?”
Bramble dries her hands on her apron. “By what?”
“Did you drink any cider today?” I question.
Frowning, she points to a nearby mug with a cinnamon stick in it. “I set a pot on the stove and mulled it.”
Broden goes to the pot. “Is this from today’s batch?”
“I used yesterday’s leftovers. There wasn’t much, but I knew Snow would insist all the jugs for the walk tonight be from today's fresh pressing."
Snatching up the mug, I sniff the contents, but there's no magick here. “This isn’t tainted.”
Bramble’s lip curls. “The cider’s bad?”
Our grim expressions are all the answer she needs.
“Oh no.” She undoes the strings of her apron. “How’d that happen?”
I tell her about the coma-infected town, and my belief Esme is behind it.
“That woman is horrible to be sure.” She tosses out the mulled cider, no longer believing it’s safe, although I’ve claimed it so. “But I still don’t understand how she could do this.”
“She hexed it.”
Discussing magick makes Bramble uncomfortable, much like it does Robyn. She finishes washing out the pot, sets it in the deep basin of the sink, and moves away. “You’re sure?”
I am, but Broden isn’t. The kitten peeks out from his jacket, and he lifts her to set her down. “Esme is unconscious as well.”
Runa sniffs the cat, who purrs and rubs against the dog’s front leg. Bramble eyes the kitten with distaste. “Misfortune is evident. We’ve been jinxed since that thing appeared.”
She points at the cat who turns her big eyes on me.
“More like foul play,” I amend. “The spell backfired on Esme. Sorcery is nothing to mess with and she didn’t know how to protect herself.”
Bramble’s fingers work over her apron. “What should we do?”
“I need to check on Nonni and Poppi. You go to town and see who you can find still awake to help us gather up those who’ve fallen under the spell. We’ll need to take them to the clinic, and I’ll find a way to undo the hex.”
Broden heads for the exit. “I’ll check on your grandparents.”
I follow him out while she goes to retrieve her jacket. He pauses on the shop’s porch, checks that we’re alone. “Bramble could be behind this,” he says under his breath to me. “You need to watch your back.”
Runa pushes open the screen door and the kitten jets off into the night.
“Bramble?” I laugh. “She’s as scared of magick as she is of your cat.”
He glances toward Fairyland, now quiet and dark. “You might do one of them intention spells on her, aye?”
“Is your Sight kicking in?” I tease, even though my heart isn’t in it.
“Common sense.”
He takes off jogging and soon disappears up the lane leading to my grandparents’ farm.
Bramble appears, tugging on a heavy cardigan. “I’ll go door to door. Be back as soon as I can.”
Since I have no idea what the hex was that Esme used, I’m unsure of where to begin in order to reverse it.
Feeling at a loss, I grab a flashlight and walk to the hill to check on Magick Mama.
Yellowed leaves lay on the ground around her; the cat scratches are oozing sap. Dozens of apples have fallen and lay rotting.
“Oh no.” I touch the bark. “What has happened to you?”
Under my hand, the tree responds.
Poison.
My gaze goes to the cat scratches.
Bad luck…jinxed. I hear Bramble’s words in my head.
Maybe I’m blinded by years of fury and vexation at Esme. Is it possible Broden and his cat are behind all of this?
My instincts tell me no. Jaded or not by my past experiences with my stepmother, I can sense Broden’s goodness. I can confirm it, since the intention spell came up clean. His cat is an innocent animal, ill-fated due to the color of her fur, but certainly not bad luck.
Sitting at the trunk, I place both hands on her. Calling on my magick, I send energy into her. “Healing hands and words of might, fill my friend with bright, white light. Curses reversed, cut the poisonous hex, use my magick like an axe. Roots below and branches above, wrap this being in restorative love.”
The tree’s aura responds instantly, a glow swathing both of us. Time speeds by. Above me, the sky shifts, the constellations cycle. I allow my senses to merge with Magick Mama’s. The poison is rank, sticky. It fills the pores of her trunk, draws on her lifeforce like a virus. I combat it with as much magick as I can permeate her with, but it’s not enough.
“Snow?”
Broden’s voice sounds distant. Disconnecting from the tree, I turn my gaze to him.
“Your grandparents are asleep,” he tells me. “But your uncle isn’t.”
“Uncle Odi
n is okay?”
“He’s on his way. Sent me ahead to help you.”
I lay my forehead against the trunk. “I can’t break it, the hex. I’m trying, but the poison’s inside her and it’s invaded every inch.”
Broden sits next to me and places a hand on the tree. “What can we do?”
I don’t know, and that’s the worst feeling in the world. “Did you know apple trees belong to the rose family?”
He studies the tree. “My nan had a fondness for them.”
“Apples have long been regarded as magickal, a panacea and a symbol of nature’s abundance. If you cut one the right way, you can see the seeds form a pentagram, representing the four directions and the divine. They’re also associated with Avalon. I’ve always loved the myths and lore associated with them.”
“The women in my family all loved stories about the Isle as well.”
“There’s so much about them people don’t even realize.” I touch a palm to the bark. “I’m so sorry I didn’t protect you.”
“Come on, old girl,” Broden says. “Fight this.”
Suddenly, I feel his energy flooding through Magick Mama like a tsunami. My own hands don’t simply tickle from it, they burn from the intensity.
“Ouch!” I flinch, shaking out my stinging hands. “What is that?”
The tree glows brighter and he sends a questioning glance my way. “What was what?” He draws his hand back. “Did I do something wrong?”
Magick Mama stops dropping apples. Several branches perk up. The oozing from the scratches slows.
Secret three: Broden is a healer. A powerful one at that.
I slap one of his hands back on the tree and motion for him to add the other. “Healing energy. You have buckets of it.”
“You’ve lost your marbles, Snow.”
“How else is she repairing herself?”
I point to her boughs, continuing to respond. The leaves glow a healthy green, no more shedding. I tap a finger on the scratches. Not only have they stopped bleeding, they’re now disappearing.
