Beewitched Read online

  Unlucky!

  But I wasn’t paying attention to superstitious beliefs at that particular moment in time, so I made a huge mistake by opening my own big mouth and inserting not my own flip-flopped foot into the equation, but my friend’s name.

  “I know just the person you need,” I said. “Aurora Tyler would love to help out!”

  Three

  It wasn’t quite dark yet when I made the short walk home from The Wild Clover after college students and twins Brent and Trent Craig arrived to take over for me and close up as they did most nights.

  Those two had been lifesavers for me, always on time, hard workers, and loyal as can be. I was really going to miss them once they graduated and moved on. Replacing them would be difficult, if not impossible.

  After Dy’s friends had made their purchases and departed, I’d done some online research in my office in the back supply room and learned all about warding off evil with horseshoes and wind chimes. I also found out that the ideal number of members in a witch coven is thirteen (which I’d guessed) and that covens gather at certain times for special rituals inside magic circles.

  Aurora had called to profusely thank me for giving the witches her name as an alternate. Thank goodness, because I’d been feeling a bit guilty about that. But she was ready to rock and roll. Dance, sing, whatever they were planning for the big event, she was willing and able.

  As I turned onto Willow Street, fallen leaves crunched underfoot from white birches and other early shedders, but most of the other tree species were still showing their amazing colors. As the day ended, a chill took over the air where earlier sun had warmed the earth. Soon we would be waking up to frost on the ground and a more distant arc of the sun’s path. I saw the witchy women’s van parked on the street behind the moving truck, and candlelight flickered in Dy’s windows. I could hear voices inside, unintelligible from this distance with so many conversations going on at once.

  I half expected to see horseshoes nailed all over Patti’s house, to ward off the witches, but luckily she’d chosen to add wind chimes to her yard instead, which now sang softly in the breeze. Her house was dark, as was mine, unfortunately. I really love when Hunter beats me home, which isn’t often, because he knows how to make the place welcoming: soft, indirect lights; music playing in the background, usually light jazz; and he’ll wine and dine me while we share the highlights of our day with each other.

  I couldn’t wait to tell him about the witch next door.

  Hunter called my cell as I let myself inside the dark house. “Hey, sweet thing,” he said. “How was your day?”

  “Stranger than usual. Things are getting interesting on Willow Street. Wait until you hear this!” I told him all about our new neighbor as I held the refrigerator door open, perusing its meager contents. I was hungry, but nothing inside appealed to me.

  He was surprisingly indifferent when it came to Dy and her magic wand, but he liked the part about Patti’s phobia. “With any luck, Patti will move someplace far, far away,” he said, focusing on our other neighbor.

  “Don’t you have anything to say about the new neighbor?”

  “As for the witch, I have experience getting along with them, as you well know.”

  “That isn’t funny.” I closed the refrigerator door and opened the cupboard instead, taking out a jar of peanut butter.

  “I didn’t mean you,” he said. “Uh. I meant your moth . . . um . . .”

  I could have let him sputter and try to backtrack, but instead I interrupted. “There are a whole bunch of them over there right now, getting ready for some kind of ceremony. When are you coming home?”

  “I’m not sure yet. We’re handling a situation. This could go late.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “A high-risk prisoner transfer.”

  “Ah.”

  I hated Hunter’s job right that moment and wished I hadn’t even asked for information. And I knew better than to request more details. My man’s job with the Critical Incident Team demanded discretion and discipline. Veering from his professional training wasn’t in his makeup. Part of me was surprised he even told me as much as he had.

  “Remind Ben to watch your back,” I said, grateful for Hunter’s K-9 partner.

  “I’d like to watch yours. Or rather . . .” His voice dropped to a moaning groan, and I didn’t have to be Einstein to figure out that this conversation was heading toward the gutter.

  “Go fight bad guys,” I told him. “Do a good job, and I’ll have a reward waiting first thing in the morning.”

  Which was true. Because I worried nonstop about the danger associated with his job and was thankful every single time he walked through the door with Ben at his side.

  “That promise is worth staying alive for,” he said.

  “Be careful.”

  “Happy witching,” he said, signing off.

  I stood at the kitchen counter, eating peanut butter from a soup spoon and wondering what high-risk meant. Was the prisoner the dangerous one? Did he have friends out there somewhere, targeting my man?

  I shouldn’t let Hunter’s job worry me so much. The team was comprised of the best of the best. When was the last time anything had happened to any of them? Never, that’s when.

  I stuffed my worries into a secret compartment in my brain, then quickly slammed the door shut on them.

  But what was I going to do with the rest of my evening? For starters, I figured I’d sit outside at my patio table with a hot cup of tea and get ready to watch the show next door. I got myself comfy with herbal tea and a warm fleece for the cooling fall evening. After I’d settled at the table with my tea, I thought of a question, so I called Aurora’s cell.

  “Are the guests all staying with Dy tonight?” I asked, wondering how eleven women plus Dy, and maybe Greg, would all fit.

  “No,” she said, her voice dreamy. “They’re pitching tents over in Al’s apple orchard at Country Delight Farm for a few days while they help Dy prepare her new home properly. They brought camping gear, so they’re set.”

  Witches camp out? Who knew? Although they’re all into the natural world, so it made sense. Greg must have arranged it with his dad, but I couldn’t see him telling Al, who was a straight-and-narrow type of guy, that a coven of witches would be camping on his land. I bet he left out that detail.

  “Thanks for caring about everybody, Story,” Aurora gushed. “You’re so sweet. And thank you so much for suggesting me for this. I get to be in a real Drawing Down the Moon ritual! I’ve always wanted to be part of one of those.”

  Drawing Down the Moon?

  “When are they doing their circle thing?” I asked, fascinated with the whole foreign-to-me process.

  “As soon as it gets dark, but there’s a lot of prep work going on right now, like finishing the crescent cakes and preparing our bodies and building the blaze. Actually, I should go, there’s so much to do, but just ignore us! Especially don’t pay attention when we go skyclad.”

  “Okay,” I said, planning to do the exact opposite of ignoring them.

  Building the blaze? That sounded dangerous in an exciting sort of way. And the smell of baking crescent cakes wafting in my direction on the light breeze was delightful and almondy, my favorite flavor. The witches were putting the supplies they’d purchased at my store to good use.

  But what was skyclad? That word hadn’t popped up in my quick research.

  Greg came out of the house and began building a fire in a fire pit he must have dug earlier. He gave me a wave and a friendly grin. The Girl Scout in me (which felt like a zillion years ago) was mindful of how close we were to the river in case the blaze got out of hand, but we’d had rain recently and the pit was a decent distance away from any flammable foliage.

  Patti’s house remained dark. Either she was avoiding the neighborhood or else she was spying from afar. At lea
st I didn’t have to worry about her pulling something foolish. She’d been terrified of one witch. Imagine how she’d handle an entire coven?

  I decided I’d work on learning more of the women’s names, too, since I figured I’d likely end up seeing them around. In my line of work, with the store and all, it’s important for me to be able to put a name with as many faces as possible, and at the beginning I was terrible at remembering. But The Wild Clover is more than just a place to stop for meal fixings on the way home from work. It’s part of our community, a place like on Cheers where everybody should know your name. So I make a concerted effort to remember my customers no matter how seldom they show up.

  So the trick (as I remind my staff constantly) is to:

  make the commitment to remembering in the first place

  then concentrate hard

  totally focus during introductions

  follow by associating an image or a few words that begin with the same letter as the person’s name

  For example, for Greg’s name and an accompanying picture and words beginning with G, I imagined him as gregarious with great jeans.

  As for Dy, she has a to-die-for friend named Greg. Easy peasy.

  Rosina can be shortened to Rosa, which reminds me of a rose and the woman by that name’s red-powdered cheeks.

  And Lucinda was scarily easy, close enough to Lucifer that I’d never forget it. Or her.

  Tomorrow, I’d learn a few more of their names.

  From my position in the shadows, I could see everything going on without being too obvious. Women drifted in and out of the house dressed in long, flowing hooded capes. It would be much more reassuring to me if their clothing were lighter, but black seemed more fashionable for their big event. Their dark clothing combined with the cloud-filled sky made it hard to tell who was who. The coven wasn’t using modern conveniences like lights, even though I knew Dy’s house was equipped with plenty of outdoor lighting. Instead, warm, glowing candles flickered everywhere, casting long, wavering shadows.

  Part of me was still enthralled by the aspect of an actual witch ritual, but another part of me started getting a little anxious.

  Uncertainty and doubt circled around me right along with the cinnamon incense they were burning next door. I shook it off. Or tried to. But this concern refused to go quietly into the compartment in my head where I’d stored “Worry About Hunter.”

  I overheard Rosina and Lucinda exchange a few tense words, recognizing their voices from conversations earlier at the store. Their tones seemed dark and sinister as the night.

  “This better work out,” Lucinda said, threateningly.

  “I told you it would, now leave me alone.” I detected traces of doubt tinged with fear.

  They moved off toward the house.

  Soon after, Dy came outside and joined Greg while he added more wood to the pit from logs he brought from the back of his moving van. The guy had really come prepared.

  Dy’s voice, even though low, carried my way. “I wish I hadn’t agreed to this,” my new neighbor said to him.

  “All you have to do is get through this evening,” Greg replied. “Then she’ll leave you alone.”

  “Rosina’s had enough of her, too.”

  Greg gave Dy a reassuring hug before she went back inside.

  My secret surveillance was starting to bother me. Should I be listening in like this? These little snippets of conversation were private, personal, none of my business. But there wasn’t anything wrong with a person sitting out in her own backyard, was there? Patti certainly would have agreed. Besides, I was intrigued by what I was overhearing, and it was entertaining to puzzle out interpretations of their meanings with so little information.

  My imagination took off to the moon.

  The “she” Dy had referred to had to be Lucinda. I’d just assumed that Dy was a willing part of the coven, but what if she wasn’t? And what had gone on between Rosina and Lucinda? Why the worry? What was the it that had to work “or else”?

  Before I could ponder those questions further, Lucinda came back outside. At first I couldn’t tell what she had in her hand, but as she walked close to the flame that Greg had built up to a roaring blaze—OMG! She was carrying a scary-looking double-edged dagger!

  That certainly got my undivided attention, and not in a good way. Little hairs stood at attention on the back of my neck, and not because of the dip in air temperature, either. My heart decided all on its own to pick up the pace.

  It’s one thing to get a bunch of women together around a fire. It’s quite another to introduce a dagger that size.

  I stopped to consider a serious question regarding these strange people. Were they good witches? Or bad ones? Clearly, Patti thought the latter (she didn’t seem to believe in the former), but I’d just assumed they were Wiccans: not exactly mainstream, but harmless. But what if they really thought they were Satan’s children and were into human sacrifice? And what if that somebody was Aurora? She was the newbie, filling in for a last-minute vacancy. Or so they’d said. What if they had been pretending, just so that they could lure in an innocent naïf like Aurora to shed her blood? My guilty imagination conjured up a sinister plot. Lucinda would be the one to do the deed. Or maybe that was Greg’s job. Looks can really be deceiving. Just because he was drop-dead handsome didn’t mean he was a good person.

  If not for the chill of the October night, I would be sweating bullets.

  Why was I imagining such terrible thoughts? This was Moraine, Wisconsin. Human sacrifices didn’t happen here. If someone around here wanted to get rid of a problem person, they ran that person over with a car or shot them while out on their daily walk. Guns are big in my area. Knives the size of this one aren’t common at all.

  Unfortunately, I’d lost control of my reasoning process and bad stuff just kept popping in uninvited.

  Then suddenly I went all calm—which, ironically, worried me even more. Had I been zapped with a spell after all? Had Patti been right? Probably not, or I wouldn’t feel so nervous. Did a person under a spell know it, though? Somehow I doubted it. What if . . . ?

  Stop that, I said to myself with as much firmness as I had in me.

  Where the heck was my man when I really needed him? Come to think of it, he rarely was available when it mattered the most. Like when I discovered a wood tick buried in my leg. Where had he been then? Gone, that’s where. And this was way huger than a bloodsucking bug!

  What about Patti? Why wasn’t she creeping through the darkness, watching for trouble, prepared to insert herself if something wicked raised its ugly head? On second thought, Patti tended to create more trouble than she stomped out. Plus, she was more scared of the witches than I was at the moment, so scratch the possibility of her actually making a heroic appearance.

  I tried calling Hunter, as that brief but glorious moment of calm disappeared and my fear for Aurora returned as strong as ever, though I wasn’t too hopeful that he’d pick up. He usually silenced his phone when working a case, something we’d discussed numerous times without me getting my way.

  He actually thought his cell phone was for his convenience, not mine, using it any old way it suited him. I’d been up to my neck in alligators a few times when the situation wouldn’t have happened in the first place if my guy had just answered his stupid phone.

  The last remaining relaxed hairs on the back of my neck rose as I went over more options for an intervention to rescue Aurora from what I now considered a potentially dangerous situation.

  It would’ve been nice if we had a decent police chief, one I could call with a serious emergency witch alert, a cop with a professional attitude who wouldn’t give me grief and disparage me for being a good citizen. One who could be counted on to make a few drive-bys, look-ins, and check that everything was copacetic. Chief Johnny Jay, current law enforcer and big bully from way back, was absolutely not tha
t guy. Johnny Jay is one of this town’s few drawbacks, up there at the top of the list with Lori Spandle. Both are petty and vindictive. It’s as though they both drank the same bad water from a contaminated well when they were growing up.

  I could just imagine our conversation:

  “We need police protection over on Willow,” I’d say. “Right now, and hurry.”

  “Fischer,” he’d reply, “ever hear the story of the boy who cried wolf?”

  “But, but, evil witches might be sacrificing Aurora. I saw a knife.”

  I could imagine him, kicking back, plopping his Dumbo-sized feet on his desk and smirking into the phone. “Uh-huh. Whatever, Fischer.”

  But even redirecting my attention to the chief and all his flaws didn’t stop my scary thoughts from pushing through, tapping on my brain for attention. So I tried to focus on the positive side. Those crescent cakes smelled heavenly, and I’d spotted several bottles of wine, which was always a big draw with me, and I was lonely without the company of my man. See? All perfectly legit reasons for what I was about to do, the one and only option still available to me (other than running and hiding, which I’d considered but reluctantly rejected as cowardly).

  Instead of turning tail, I found myself trotting directly into the radiating heat of the burning fire, and asking the only man in the group if I could join the circle.

  Four

  I found out pretty quickly how much (or rather how little) input a guy has in a coven’s decision-making process. Sure, I’m used to women ruling roosts, given all the matriarchs in my family—and of course my honeybees are girls and don’t have much use for their drones—but this group seemed overboard with female dominance and control.

  “Sure, if it were up to me . . .” Greg said. But it turned out that he didn’t get a vote, and wouldn’t be staying for the ceremony like I’d thought, so his support wasn’t one bit useful. At least he wasn’t a crazed warlock; one less obstacle for me to worry about. His lack of magical influence was a huge relief to my sense of community given that he was originally from here and was Al’s son and all.