“I think you need to be closer,” I hissed.

  “No way,” she hissed back. “I don’t want my hair to fall out or whatever.”

  Her hair was perfectly fine, but she had managed to give herself a black eye. She’d gotten her jacket sleeve caught in the front door of the bookstore, and in the struggle to get free, punched herself in the face. It would have been hilarious if it hadn’t looked so painful.

  And if someone hadn’t cast a mean-spirited spell on her.

  The door opened, and Tullia stood there glaring at me. “What do you want? I told you I wasn’t going to pay. Not after that reading. Absolute hogwash.”

  “It was not hogwash,” Emerald snapped from what she thought was a safe distance. “I only read what the cards show me. I can’t help it if you’re a cheater.”

  Tullia’s cheeks burned bright red, and she looked mad enough to wring Emerald’s neck.

  Without thinking, I stepped between them. I’d always been one to avoid conflict, but here I was in the middle of it. “Look, I know the results were disappointing, but you got the reading for free. Why don’t you just remove the enchantment, and we’ll forget this whole thing.”

  Tullia stared at me. Either her surprise was genuine, or she deserved a Golden Globe. “What enchantment?”

  “The one you put on me,” Emerald snapped.

  Tullia snorted. “I didn’t put an enchantment on you.”

  “You can admit it,” I prodded. “I promise we won’t go to the council.” I didn’t know much about the town council, but I knew they took a dim view of the misuse of magic. I was pretty sure this counted.

  “We know you have the power,” Emerald added.

  “It’s not that I don’t have the power,” Tullia admitted. “It’s that I can’t be bothered. Do you seriously think I’d waste my talents casting an enchantment when all I have to do is spread the word that you’re a terrible tarot reader?”

  “Nobody will listen to you. Everyone knows how good I am.” Emerald was confident in her skills and the good will of Miracle Bay.

  Tullia scowled. “We’ll see.”

  Emerald lifted her chin. “Yes, we will. Especially when the town realizes what you’ve been up to with the butcher.”

  The butcher? Seriously? How cliché.

  Tullia paled. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “I won’t have to,” Emerald said calmly. “The truth has a way of making itself known. Especially in this town.”

  “You better keep your mouth shut,” Tullia warned.

  The threat lingered in the air after she slammed the door. I stared at it a moment before I turned and walked down the steps to join Emerald. “I’m not one hundred percent convinced she’s telling the truth.”

  “I hate to say it, but she’s more likely to punch me in the face than bother with an enchantment. She’s not a subtle woman,” Emerald pointed out.

  “That’s a good point.” Plus, Elvira had said I would know when the enchanter was near, and I sure as heck hadn’t felt any different when confronting Tullia. I held the gate open for Emerald. “What do we do now?”

  “I don’t know.” She looked depressed. Her shoulders sagged and her eyes were dull.

  I knew then exactly what to do.

  Chapter Five

  When life kicks you in the lady bits, cupcakes are the answer. Heck, cupcakes are always the answer.

  I dragged Emerald back to The Cupcake Goddess and bought her a coconut cupcake. I decided to try the Yule Unicorn cupcake.

  “I’m experimenting,” Branwen informed me. “Technically, it should be a goat for Yule, but unicorns are all the rage now, which is dumb. If you ever met one, you’d know they weren’t cute and sparkly. But the kids like ’em.”

  That made me a kid at heart, because I loved unicorns, and the cupcake was a delight. Most unicorn cupcakes were just plain vanilla dyed purple, pink, and blue. Not Branwen’s. It was swirled red, green, and white with hints of blue and tasted like berries and roses and magic. I nearly moaned aloud.

  Branwen’s gaze darted between us then she rolled her eyes. “Not that I care, but what’s going on?” She’d clearly caught on that not all was right in our world.

  “Somebody put an enchantment on Emerald,” I said.

  “And not a good one,” Emerald muttered. A blob of frosting tumbling down and lodged between her boobs.

  “Enchantments are rarely good, in my experience,” Branwen said dryly. “They’re meant to circumvent freewill. Although there are times that wouldn’t be a bad idea.” The last was muttered darkly.

  “I’m still not convinced Tullia isn’t the one who did it,” I said. “I know she claimed innocence but—”

  “It seems like an overreaction to a bad tarot reading,” Emerald said.

  Branwen snorted. “People are mostly idiots.”

  Being a goddess, she’d know, but it made me want to smash a cupcake in her face, except that would be a waste of a cupcake.

  “I wish there was a way to make sure Tullia was telling the truth,” I mused.

  “There is,” Branwen said, “though you may not like it.”

  “I’ll try anything,” Emerald said. Her eyes narrowed. “Almost anything.”

  Branwen grinned. “You know me well. Okay, here’s the idea. Get this woman over to your place.”

  “How are we going to do that?” I asked. “She’s pretty pissed.”

  “I don’t know. Lie. Tell her you’re sorry, and you’re giving her a free read.”

  “She already got one,” Emerald said.

  “Give her another,” Branwen snapped. “Do you want my help or not?”

  “Go on,” I urged.

  “Offer her tea, coffee, whatever, right? And you put something in it to make her tell the truth. Then you ask the question. Easy.”

  Emerald frowned. “Except most truth potions are a little iffy, and they taste terrible. Even hiding them in coffee is impossible.”

  “Witches,” Branwen muttered. She wandered over to a spice rack and pulled a bottle down. “I’ll give you a pinch of this. It’ll work like a charm.”

  “Cinnamon?” I asked, dubious.

  “Not cinnamon. This is my own special blend of spices, herbs, and other ingredients which are known only to me, so don’t bother asking.”

  I held up my hands. “Okay, I won’t.”

  “Mums the word,” Emerald agreed.

  “Are you sure it’ll work?” I asked.

  Branwen shot me a dirty look. “Trust me, just a few grains, and she’ll spill her guts.”

  “Not literally, I hope,” I said.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” She pulled out a piece of wax paper and folded a few grains inside it, then handed the little packet to me. “Once ingested, it’ll wear off in about fifteen minutes, so ask your questions quickly. Good luck.”

  “Thanks.” I’d a feeling we were going to need it.

  I don’t know what Emerald did to convince Tullia to come in for a second reading, but that night at five on the dot, she showed up as I was closing. Her tan polyester pants and gaudy poinsettia covered rayon blouse under her green coat were the exact opposite of how I imagined a tree nymph dressing.

  “I have an appointment,” she said mulishly.

  “Come in.” Once she was inside, I closed and locked the door and flipped the sign to Closed. “Would you like a latte?” She hesitated, so I added, “On the house.”

  “Fine.” She crossed her arms, clearly with no intention of making it easy on me.

  I gave her my best fake smile. “Great. Be right back.”

  I wasn’t particularly good with the espresso machine, since I never knew when my magic was going to act up, but I gave it a whirl and managed a halfway decent latte, especially after I added enough vanilla syrup to mask the fact that I’d made it too strong. While Tullia was busy eyeing a row of greeting cards, I dumped Branwen’s spice granules into the latte, gave it a stir, then added foamy milk. It looked like an ordinary—if messy—latte.

  I returned to the other room and handed her the drink. I could hardly keep from fidgeting. Would she drink it? Would it work?

  “What’s wrong with you?” she snapped.

  “What?”

  “You’re dancing around like you have to pee.”

  “Oh, yes, I do.” Now that she’d mentioned it. “Excuse me, please.”

  I hurried to the half-bath tucked under the stairs, shut the door firmly behind me, and did my business as quickly as possible, then opened the door a tiny crack so I could see her. I breathed a sigh of relief when she took a huge gulp of her latte. Things were going as planned.

  “Let me take you up to Emerald,” I said as I returned.

  She followed me upstairs, sipping her drink. The room where Emerald did her readings was set with comfy cushions, salt lamps, and rows of crystals for channeling... whatever a person channeled. I hadn’t gotten around to studying that part of witchcraft yet.

  In one corner was a round bistro table draped with a purple cloth and two cushy chairs that had been upholstered in a patchwork of velvet and brocade. Emerald was already in her spot. As Tullia took the chair opposite her, I moved behind her.

  “This is private,” Tullia snarled.

  “It’s time to tell the truth, Tullia,” I said.

  “What truth? What are you talking about?” She was angry, but her eyes did that darting thing people do when they’re uncomfortable, like they’re looking for an escape hatch.

  I nodded to Emerald. She was the one who’d been enchanted, so she should ask the questions.

  “Did you cast an enchantment?” she asked.

  Tullia’s eyes went blank, as if she’d gone into a trance. It was super weird. “I have cast enchantments.”

  “How many?”

  “Two.”

  “On whom did you cast them and why?”

  There was a pause, almost as if Tullia were struggling against her impulse to tell us. “On my husband when we were dating, so he would want to marry me, and then on the man who is now my lover.”

  Well, that wasn’t creepy or anything.

  “Did you put one on Emerald?” I demanded.

  “Why do you keep asking that? No, I didn’t.” Even in the trance, the question annoyed her.

  I leaned closer. “I’m asking because somebody did, and she’s been having bad luck ever since.”

  “I wouldn’t exactly call it bad luck,” Emerald protested. “Just... bad dreams.”

  “And candles gone wonky, plus you gave yourself a black eye,” I pointed out. I didn’t mention the ghost.

  “That doesn’t sound like an enchantment,” Tullia said almost dreamily. “More like a hex.”

  “It’s not a hex,” I assured both Emerald and myself. “Elvira was certain it was an enchantment.”

  “Then it’s gone really wrong,” Tullia said. “It shouldn’t do all that.”

  “What should it do?”

  “Make her fall in love or want to give free readings or something like that.”

  That was definitely not what this was doing. I asked one more time, “You’re sure you didn’t cast it?”

  Tullia shook her head. “I was angry about the reading, but I didn’t do anything.”

  “Other than not pay,” Emerald said. “You should feel bad about that, especially since I wasn’t wrong.”

  “I do feel bad.” Tullia grimaced as if she hadn’t meant to admit that, then she dug around in her purse and dragged out some bills. “Here’s what I owe you. I apologize for my behavior.”

  “Thank you. You may go,” Emerald said graciously.

  Tullia couldn’t get out of there fast enough. She walked so fast her polyester pants made a swishing sound as she left the room.

  I dropped into her vacated seat. “Back to square one.”

  Emerald sighed heavily. “I guess so. Who could it be?”

  If she didn’t know, I sure didn’t.

  Chapter Six

  That evening I was lounging in front of the TV, watching one of the Christmas episodes of Escape to the Chateau, when Enki strolled in, smug as you please. There was frosting on his whiskers.

  “What flavor?”

  I don’t know what you’re talking about.

  “You’ve been to Branwen’s. I want to know what flavor she gave you.”

  And why would you want to know that? he asked in his annoyed Alan Rickman voice.

  “I like to live vicariously.”

  He hopped up on the couch next to me and watched TV attentively for a few minutes before asking, Anything interesting happen today?

  “Branwen had the idea of giving Tullia some kind of magical spice blend to make sure she wasn’t lying about casting the enchantment.”

  He lifted a brow as much as a cat can. That worked?

  “Surprisingly, yes. Unfortunately, she didn’t do it, and now we’ve no idea where to turn next. If this keeps up, I’m afraid Emerald might end up in the hospital.” Or worse.

  So you thought watching the telly was the way to go?

  “Don’t judge me. My brain needed a break.”

  Mmhmm. Have you considered that there may be an item in the shop that’s enchanted?

  I sat up and hit pause. “What do you mean?”

  One of the easiest ways to place an enchantment on someone is to enchant an object they are sure to touch. How do you think the witch got Snow White? She enchanted an apple, that’s how.

  “Yes, I’ve seen the movie,” I said dryly. “I doubt there are evil witches running around Miracle Bay, dropping enchanted apples willy-nilly.”

  Who said the witch was evil?

  “What?”

  Point being, if there was an enchanted item lying about, it could cause trouble. Well, more trouble.

  “What do I do about it?”

  I suggest a saining.

  I blinked. “A what now?”

  He sighed heavily. Good lord, you really don’t know anything, do you? Saining. It’s a smoke cleansing ceremony used by Scottish witches. Your ancestors.

  “My ancestors were Scottish witches?” I asked eagerly. I knew very little about my family history. My father had died ten years ago and had never been one for talking, and my mother was... well, flighty is perhaps a kind word. She wasn’t interested in the past.

  They were from Scotland, and they were witches, so you could say that, yes.

  I ignored his sarcasm. “How do I do a saining?”

  There are multiple ways. Water, fire, smoke. Since fire and water don’t mix well with books, I think smoke is the answer. In the past, the windows of the house were shut, and dried juniper was placed on a fire and allowed to burn until the house filled with smoke.

  “I don’t think that would work very well in a bookshop either,” I pointed out.

  Don’t be daft. Modern witches generally burn a small amount of juniper in a bowl and move about the house with it. That should reveal if there is an enchanted item in the place and cleanse it of any residual power that might harm someone.

  “I’m allergic to juniper,” I pointed out.

  I swear he rolled his eyes. Rosemary will also work. Your grandmother kept some in her herb cabinet. It should still be there.

  “Sounds easy enough.”

  You’d think.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He shot me a disgusted look, which cats are particularly good at. You have a way of cocking things up, you know.

  He wasn’t wrong. However, I was determined to do this just right.

  My grandmother had left a cupboard of dried herbs in her apartment—now mine—located in the Victorian’s attic. I dug through them and found a glass bottle with a neatly printed label: rosemary incense. That seemed like the right thing.

  I went through the kitchen cupboards until I found a small, cast-iron saucepan. Not exactly the traditional witch’s cauldron, but it should do. I dumped some of the incense into the pot and used a kitchen match to light it. Fragrant smoke drifted upward, tickling my nose.

  Although I doubted there were any enchanted items in the apartment, I started there, at the top of the house, wafting smoke around windows and doorways and the corner of each room. Nothing exciting presented itself.

  I repeated the process on the second floor and then the first, half expecting one of the many objects to flare to life with an evil glow. Nothing happened.

  I stood next to the front door, frowning. The entire house was now officially cleansed, yet nothing had been revealed. No glimmer of an enchanted object. No lingering darkness in the corners. It was almost as if all the energies in the place had already been purified and simply belonged there.

  I returned to the attic and cleaned out the saucepan before wiping it with oil. Hopefully I hadn’t ruined it. I propped my hands on my hips and glared out the window at nothing in particular. Now what?

  That’s when it struck me. It was such a simple idea I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it before.

  What if someone else who’d been in the shop that day had cast the enchantment?

  “That’s a great idea,” Emerald enthused the next morning.

  Well, “enthused” was probably too strong a word for it. More like she gave me a half-hearted smile and a thumbs-up before sinking into one of the reading chairs next to the window overlooking the promenade. Her skin was sallow, and there were dark circles under her eyes.

  “Are you alright?” I asked.

  “Peachy.” She grimaced. “More bad dreams last night. Plus, the ghost was back. This time she sang Carol of the Bells.”

  “I love that song!” I enthused. “It’s my favorite Christmas carol.”

  “All night long?” She asked dryly. “Off key?”

  “Oh, well, maybe not.” I wondered if we needed to get out the salt or something. Maybe a good banishment was in order.

  “Also, I think I might have a cockroach problem.”

  “Ew. You think?”

  She sighed. “I saw one scuttle across the floor last night, then two more this morning. I called my landlord.”

 

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