That Olde White Magick Read online

  “Well, I’ve never been fined or told I had to fix it.” Of course that didn’t mean he was wrong. The shop may have somehow slipped through the bureaucratic cracks.

  “It could be your shop was granted status as a historic landmark, making it exempt.”

  “Sounds good to me,” I said, happy to change the subject. “But if you’ve come for information on Amanda’s killer, I’m afraid I’m not that far along in my investigation. Things are still very sketchy.”

  “Actually, this time I came to pass some on to you.”

  “Come sit down.” I started walking toward the chair, but when I glanced back, Travis hadn’t budged from the spot near the door. “What’s wrong?” I asked, pretty sure I knew the answer. I wanted to hear what he’d say. This was his first time back in the shop since he’d taken flight, and he was clearly uncomfortable.

  “So, all the stuff in here”—he waved his arm in a wide arc encompassing everything in the store—”is magickal in some way?”

  “To varying degrees, but yes.”

  He walked over to me hesitantly, like he was crossing a shaky bridge over a moat of starving crocodiles. Or maybe he was worried the merchandise might spring to life with one command from me. I offered him the chair and took my usual seat on the counter. He seemed undecided about whether to sit and stay a while or pass on the info and hit the road. I was glad when he committed himself to the chair.

  “You know you moved the ground from under my feet that night and not in a good way,” he said wryly.

  “I got that. It would have been hard to miss.” At least he was finally opening up and talking about it. That was progress in my book.

  “Yeah, I guess so. Here’s the thing, my whole life has been based on facts, hard facts. I’ve never spent a second considering anything remotely paranormal or fantastical.”

  “And I’ve grown up believing all things are possible and hard facts may be softer than they seem.”

  He didn’t say anything, but that was okay, I told myself. Better than if he had said, “That’s the end of it. The two of us will never work.” I still had hope he’d come to accept who I was. I didn’t want to set a deadline. I’d know when enough was enough. Wouldn’t I?

  “So,” I said in a lighter tone, “are you waiting until I beg for that information you have?”

  “That could be interesting.” He gave me one of his real smiles, not the kind he pulled up on-demand for TV. “Okay, here it is. I was talking to a buddy of mine last night. Turns out he’s been working on the Winterland renovation. He had a lot to say about the owner, Hugh Fletcher, and none of it was kind.”

  “You don’t need to build dramatic tension,” I reminded him. “This isn’t a newscast.”

  He laughed. “Okay, I’m getting to it. He told me Fletcher is always trying to shave construction costs. He tried to bully my friend into doing things on the cheap, using materials that weren’t up to code. He’s got a reputation for it in the construction industry.”

  “But how does the work pass inspection?”

  “According to my friend, Fletcher just pads a few of the right pockets. He’s been lucky so far. Nothing’s come back to bite him. But I did some digging into his past, and there have been a lot of complaints over the years about shoddy construction and safety issues.”

  “So he fills some more pockets and keeps getting away with it.”

  “Essentially.”

  “Did your friend mention Ingersoll? He’s the ski pro and interim manager at Winterland.”

  “No, but if Fletcher trusts him, he can’t be a saint.”

  “Do you think Fletcher would stoop to murder to keep the Waverly hotel from being built?”

  “He takes chances with peoples’ lives every time he ignores safety regulations. But if you’re asking me if I think Fletcher stuck the knife in Amanda, I’d have to say no. I doubt he would do his own dirty work. Having said all that, I have no solid evidence he was involved in her murder in any way.”

  “I think I’d like it better if the killer was an outsider like him instead of someone who lives right here in New Camel. It wouldn’t feel quite so personal.”

  “Understandable. This is a great little town. You don’t want to be suspicious of everyone you know or pass on the street.” Travis stood and stretched his arms over his head. “I’ve got to drive back down to the city, but I’ll let you know if I hear anything else.”

  “Same here.” I stayed on the counter. If I hopped down and walked him the short distance to the door, we’d have to deal with the awkward moment of good-bye again. This way was easier.

  Travis paused at the door and looked back at me with a crooked smile. “Don’t worry. We’ll get this figured out.”

  Get what figured out? I wanted to run after him and ask if he meant Amanda’s killer or the two of us. What kept me up on there on the counter was the fear that I’d be disappointed by his answer.

  Chapter 10

  When I opened my eyes, I didn’t know where I was or how I’d gotten there. My heart was racing, my blood pounding in my ears. My body throbbed like a bad tooth, making it hard to think. I reached back to the last thing I could remember. I was in my shop. There was a powerful blast of wind or energy that felt like it would suck the air out of my lungs and the skin right off my body. That memory brought it all back to me with a jolt. I was attempting to teleport myself. But I was still in the dark about where I had wound up. My intended goal was Tea and Empathy, but I could have been anywhere on the planet. And I had nothing with me, no ID, no phone, no money.

  I levered myself up to take stock of my condition. The movement ignited a searing pain in my back and side. I’d probably bruised or broken ribs. I choked off the scream rising in my throat, so all that emerged was a whimper. I didn’t want to give myself away until I knew more about my circumstances.

  Below the hemline of my sundress, I could see that my left knee was swelling and turning angry shades of red and purple. My upper lip felt like it was swelling too. I ran my tongue over my front teeth, afraid I’d chipped them or knocked them out. They seemed to be intact. When I reached up to assess the pain in the back of my head, my fingers came away with blood, a scary amount of it. But I knew small scalp wounds are notorious bleeders. All in all, my injuries didn’t appear to be critical. I could patch myself up when I got home. But to do that, I first had to figure out where I was.

  There was one grimy window set high in the wall that provided enough light for me to check out my surroundings. At least there were no bars on the window. Aside from that, the place wasn’t much better than a cell. The floor beneath me was badly scratched and gouged hardwood. It accounted for the splinter I’d felt digging into my left palm since the wind spat me out there. The walls were a dingy, yellowed white and were festooned with spider webs. Whoever owned this place wasn’t much of a housekeeper. The only furniture, if you could call it that, was an aluminum shelving unit, holding a dozen or so damaged and empty plastic bins. By my best guess, I’d landed in a storeroom no longer in use.

  For my purposes, the most important feature of the room was the door to my right. It took a ridiculous amount of time to drag myself off the floor and onto my feet. Tears sprang to my eyes from the pain that exploded all over my body. My stomach lurched and churned with nausea. I waited for it to settle down before limping over to the door. I told myself not to worry. If it was locked, I’d simply use a spell. I shut my mind against the possibility of failure, but some negativity squeaked through anyway. What if I hadn’t correctly remembered the spell Morgana had created when I was little? What if it didn;t work because I wasn’t in the right frame of mind and spirit?

  When the knob turned easily in my hand, my heart lifted like a balloon. But I wasn’t ready to open the door just yet. I put my ear to it and held my breath, listening for evidence of someone in the room beyond. I wasn’t in any shape to defend myself
for breaking and entering, which is how it would surely seem to the property owner. If I explained my presence as the result of teleportation run amok, who would believe me? I’d be carted away to a very padded cell and medicated with antipsychotics. So I waited until I was reasonably sure I was alone in the building before I opened the door a crack and peered out.

  Relief spread through me like a warm bath. I was in the old candle shop two blocks down from Abracadabra. The sickly sweet smell of scented candles lingered in the shop, though it had been closed for two years. Mrs. Kowalski had decided it was time to hang up the candle-making business and join her sister on the west coast of Florida. The shop had remained empty since then. Quaint shops in little towns aren’t everyone’s cup of tea in this brave new age of technology.

  I hobbled through the musty shop to the front door and found it locked. Two open doors would have been asking too much of the universe, I thought grudgingly. I eased myself down on the ledge of the plate glass window that once bore the stenciled name of the shop. Now only bits of each letter remained, looking like an alien alphabet. There was nothing in the shop with which I could break a window, but that would have been a last resort anyway since it meant involving the police and the property owner.

  I could try to attract the attention of a passerby, but the person would have to call the police to open the lock. Either way, it wouldn’t look good for me. I had no business being in the shop—a locked shop, no less. My best option was a spell. Morgana had created one to open locks after she’d locked herself out of the house, the shop, and the car on a half-dozen occasions. I was seven at the time and kept a marble notebook where I wrote down spells I deemed worth keeping. Other children learned nursery rhymes; I stockpiled spells. Now all I had to do was remember it after twenty years. Unfortunately, the worst time to access a memory is under stress, and I wasn’t likely to be stress-free until I was out of the candle shop.

  I did what I could to slow my breathing and heart rate, while I waited for my brain to locate the right spell. One line immediately popped into my head. “Release your hold.” I said it over and over, hoping to prime the pump.

  A frustrating hour later, I gave up on my memory and tried to ad lib my own version. Given my worsening frame of mind, I knew it was a long shot and I was proved right. I was thoroughly exhausted. I never knew that pain could drain you to such a degree. Even my brain had slowed like a computer compromised by malware.

  I needed to rest for a little while. I curled up on the hard, dusty floor and closed my eyes. I must have fallen asleep, because the next time I looked at my watch, half an hour had passed. I sat up and waited for the fog of sleep and pain to dissipate. As it did, my mother’s spell sprang to my tongue. I recited it as I got to my feet, afraid to lose it again. My battered body hurt more than it had earlier, but I was so grateful to finally have the spell that I was able to shove the pain out of my head long enough to focus on the doorknob and recite the spell three times:

  “Let go your bonds,

  “Release your hold.

  “You’re too loose now

  “To stay closed.

  “May good of heart

  “Pass through untold.”

  When I took hold of the knob again, it turned and the door opened without so much as a scrape or shudder. I said a silent thank-you to my mother. She’d never created a locking spell, though, so I couldn’t relock the door. But the spell itself contained a line of protection. Besides, there wasn’t anything worth stealing in the shop. I checked to be sure no one was nearby to see me exit. I walked out, closed the door behind me, and slowly made my way to Abracadabra.

  Every step brought with it another wave of agony, starting in my head and traveling the length and width of my body. The two blocks were an endless marathon. At least it was a slow business day. I didn’t bump into anyone I knew, and there were no shocked stares from tourists.

  Back in my shop, I immediately checked on Sashkatu. I needn’t have worried. He was still sleeping soundly on his windowsill. The cat could sleep away an entire day. I collapsed into the customer’s chair. The padded desk chair behind the counter was more than I could manage at that moment.

  “Heavens to Betsy!” My aunt Tilly exclaimed. “What happened to you?”

  I hadn’t heard her come into my shop through the adjoining door. She padded over to me as quickly as her arthritis and bunions could carry her.

  “I know, I look like a mess,” I said as calmly as possible, “but it’s almost all cosmetic. I’m perfectly fine. I just had a little accident.”

  She gasped. “A car crash?” Ever since my mother and grandmother had perished at the hands of a drunk driver, my aunt’s anxiety level went from zero to sixty in a split second if anyone mentioned an accident. To be honest, I wasn’t much better about it.

  I dragged myself out of the chair and put my arm around her shoulders. “No, no, I...I fell down the stairs at home,” I said reaching for a quick answer. I intended to tell her the truth but not until she was calmer. I didn’t want to scare her into a heart attack or stroke. I had no intentions of losing the last of my family that way.

  “Maybe you should go to the ER.” Tilly hated hospitals, so her remark was a good gauge of how upset she was.

  “I’ll be fine. Absolutely fine. One of your healing teas is all I need.” Giving her something to do would help her, if not me.

  “Right. Of course. Let me think. I’ll need yarrow and comfrey, lavender and—”

  “What you need is calendula,” Merlin said as he ambled up to us. “Do you have it amongst your herbs?”

  “Second aisle on your left,” I said. I’d forgotten how well calendula can heal as both a poultice and weak tea. Merlin went off to find it, muttering about amateurs.

  “Somebody needs to learn some manners,” Tilly called after him.

  One moment they were soul mates, and the next they were sniping at each other like an old married couple. I took the role of Switzerland whenever things got dicey between them.

  Merlin came out of the aisle holding the jar of ground calendula leaves. “Make haste woman,” he said, gesturing to Tilly. “You shall fix the tea whilst I prepare the poultice.”

  “Once we have you squared away, I’m going to set that wizard straight,” my aunt whispered to me through clenched teeth. Sashkatu had awakened from his deep sleep when Merlin came in. He descended his stairs, stretched languidly, and followed the two of them back to Tea and Empathy. “We’ll let you know when we’re ready for you,” Tilly called over her shoulder.

  I sat in the chair again and tried to figure out how my first conscious attempt at teleportation went wrong. I thought I was ready. I had worked hard to max out my telekinetic skills before moving on. Of course there was no way to be sure I’d reached 100 percent of that ability since our magick was often subpar these days. But I had to assume part of the blame for my failure.

  The allure of teleportation was irresistible. The ability to leap through space from point A to point B would be “Beam me up, Scotty” without the technology or the machine. It would certainly herald a major step forward in my powers. I’d finally have a special talent like everyone else in my family. It would make me unique among my kind. If my mother and my grandmother had their history right, only one other sorcerer in our line had ever accomplished that feat, and she had lived centuries ago. When they first mentioned it to me, I had dragged out the family scrolls to see for myself.

  I had pored over the documents, but the writing back then was Old English, much of it using the runic alphabet. Between that and the flowery script faded by time, the writing was virtually incomprehensible. After hours of straining my eyes and getting nowhere, I gave up and stowed the scrolls back under the floorboards in the living room. Finding corroboration in the past was a waste of time anyway. I already knew I had the intrinsic talent to perform teleportation because I’d done it by accident. It did
n’t matter if no one else in our family had ever mastered the skill. I had. I just needed to figure out how to do it again and by design.

  When my aunt called me into her shop, I was no closer to pinpointing the reason I’d landed in the candle store, nearly killing myself in the process. I found Tilly and Merlin waiting for me in the tiny bathroom she had to install before opening for business. Apparently there was a county ordinance requiring establishments that served food to have a working bathroom. Over the years, it had come in mighty handy for us as well. No more sloughing through the snow to use the bathroom at home.

  Tilly had me sit on the lid of the toilet to sip the tea while Merlin dressed my injuries. The tea was awful. It tasted like hot water and bitter grass, but under my aunt’s watchful eye, I managed to finish it. As bad as it was, arguing about it would have been worse.

  On the way back to my shop, I bumped into Elise at the connecting door.

  “There you are,” she said about to pull me into a hug. She stopped short when she registered my physical state. “Oh my Lord, what happened? Are you okay? Listen to me,” she chided herself. “Any fool can see you’re not okay. You’re extremely not okay.” She wound her arm through mine and helped me back to the customer chair, where she insisted on hearing in detail what I’d been through.

  “Teleportation sounds awfully risky,” she said, her brows pinched over her nose. “Maybe you should consider taking up something safe like stock-car racing or alligator wrestling.”

  “Please, don’t make me laugh,” I begged, bracing my injured ribs with my arms. “Seriously, though, if I don’t try to reach my potential, it would be like turning my back on my family tree, on my genetic identity, on who I am, and on who I’m supposed to be.” I was surprised by the gush of words that had poured from my mouth. I’d never thought about it in those terms, but I guess my subconscious had been moonlighting.

  Elise seemed equally amazed. It took her a moment to recover. “Well, as long as you don’t feel strongly about it,” she said, cracking us both up, my laughter laced with groans of pain. “Sorry,” she said, wiping away tears of laughter.