Grimoires & Glamoury (The Apothecary Shoppe Mysteries #2)

CHAPTER ONE

Before we get started, allow me to answer the question I am asked most often: What is a Magistra?

I suppose folks have assumed that as the leader of the local Witch community, I have a flock of minions rushing to do my every bidding.

Or that perhaps, with a snap of my fingers, mundane messes simply clean themselves up.

Books tidy themselves on the shelves, and mops leap to work, scrubbing the floor for me… not unlike the Sorcerer’s Apprentice.

Alas, neither is true. Psychokinesis—the ability to move objects with the power of the mind—is not my strong suit. As to the minions… well the last thing I want is a bunch of sycophants running around fighting over me, hoping to curry favor.

Which means that sometimes even the head Witch of Birmingham has to roll up her sleeves and get to work. So here I was after putting in a ten-hour day, folding up chairs and cleaning the meeting space above my bookstore.

As I stacked the folding chairs to one side of the room, I sighed in relief seeing that Taylor, a part-time employee from The Apothecary Shoppe next door, was bouncing up the stairs with a smile on her face.

“Everyone is clear, Lorna,” she said to me. “Your doors are locked and I switched off the lights for you.”

“Thank you, Taylor,” I said, folding the final chair.

“Did your book club go well?” she asked, grabbing the dust mop to run over the floor.

“It did.” I smiled. In truth it wasn’t a book club at all. It was a gathering of the heads of all of the circles and covens from the southside of the Birmingham area.

I’d begun the monthly get-together almost two years prior as a way to meet with the local coven leaders and the who’s who of the magickal community. It was an opportunity to troubleshoot any issues and exchange ideas and information, as well as encouraging cooperation between the different covens.

“I’ll admit,” Taylor began, “I’ve always been curious as to what sort of things go on at the meetings. I bet with all of those Witches gathered together y’all have some interesting conversations.”

That comment made my lips twitch.

“What?” Taylor asked, seeing my expression.

“In truth it’s often local witchcraft politics with a good bit of gossip thrown in,” I explained.

“Don’t ruin my illusions,” Taylor quipped as she continued to sweep. “The whole ‘you’re the Magistra’ thing. The leader of the Southside Witches. It’s so cool.”

“Taylor—”

“Don’t worry,” she said quickly. “Kate talked to me about it. I understand that this is not to be discussed out in public, or even on the sales floor during work hours.”

“I appreciate your discretion.”

“Toni doesn’t know,” Taylor said of her sister. “I slowly figured it out for myself since I started working for Kate at The Apothecary Shoppe. And I asked her to explain to me what a Magistra was, a few months ago.”

“I see.”

“Honestly?” Taylor smiled over at me. “It’s like being work neighbors with Batman.”

Now, I laughed.

Taylor used a dustpan and brush to sweep up the dust pile she’d made. “Just think of me as Alfred.”

I thought that over. “Hard working, loyal, and good with secrets...that’ll work.”

“I suppose that makes Dex, the Robin to your Batman.”

I nodded. “I suppose it does. I could have used him tonight as a distraction.”

Taylor grinned. “He and Kate are having a date night. They’re so cute together.”

“That they are,” I agreed. “Regardless, a couple of the attendees were very vocal about their opposing ideas for the organization and planning of the Witches Ball in the coming fall.”

“Oh, that’s why Ruth and Mina were bickering. It was something about balloon arches…” Taylor said, dumping the dust into the can. “I overheard them as they came down to the bookstore and left.”

I winced. “Was it bad?”

“Nah.” Taylor waved my worry away. “They were laughing as much as they were arguing. Seemed to me as though they were enjoying debating it.”

“Both ladies run large active covens in Five Points South,” I explained. “There’s a bit of friendly rivalry there each year as to who chairs the most Pagan community events.”

“Well, they’re always polite to me whenever they come over to purchase herbs and spices at The Apothecary Shoppe,” Taylor said. “Ruth was showing off pictures of her new grandson the other day.”

“She was showing me videos of him rolling over, tonight.”

“She’s very proud,” Taylor agreed as she placed the dust mop and dustpan in a closet. “That baby is lucky to have a grandmother who is so excited and devoted to him.”

“I agree.” Lifting out the liner from the garbage can, I tied it closed with a neat knot.

“I got that,” Taylor said, rushing over and taking the garbage bag from me. “Don’t mess up that pretty cottage-core style dress. I’ll go run this out back.”

“Taylor,” I said, adjusting my glasses. “I’m grateful that you came over to help tonight, but you don’t have to prove yourself to me. I already know you put in a full day with Kate.”

“Yeah, this was a real hardship,” Taylor said dryly. “Sitting on a stool behind the counter, manning the register in case someone wanted to make a purchase…” She sighed dramatically. “I spent an hour sipping tea and reading a book while you held your meeting upstairs. It was tough, but I made it.”

“We appreciate your courage and your sacrifice,” I said, soberly.

Taylor giggled at that. “Besides, Toni had a night class, and I would have been bored sitting alone at our apartment.”

“How are Toni’s classes going this semester?” I asked about her younger sister.

“She’s maintaining a 3.8 GPA,” Taylor said proudly.

“Wow,” I said. “That’s amazing.”

“Yup.” Taylor grinned. “I’ll go take care of this.” And off she went hauling the trash bag down the steps to the main floor.

With a final look around, I switched off the lights and headed downstairs myself.

A short time later, I was on my way home and looking forward to relaxing. The drive to my Southside neighborhood was a quick one. Turning down the tree-lined streets, I smiled at the magnolia and ornamental cherry trees that were starting to bloom.

Navigating my car down the alley behind my property, I hit the remote for my detached garage and pulled in. The door closed behind me, and I gathered up my things.

As soon as I exited the garage and stepped into my yard, I felt a weight slide from my shoulders.

Feeling secure in my own personal sanctuary, with six-foot-tall cedar privacy fences surrounding my backyard, I walked down the paver path to my back porch.

The solar landscaping lights were on, and they cast star shaped patterns on the grass and stones as I headed to the house.

Painted sage green, with brown trim, stained cedar shake accents and a foundation made of gray stone, my Prairie Craftsman style home was one and a half stories.

While it wasn’t a large house, it was cozy, warm and welcoming.

I’d gotten one hell of a deal from a flipper who had given up halfway through the project.

The only work left on the interior had been painting—simple enough for me to do—and a bit of finish work in the bathrooms which Dex had easily taken care of.

But the yard unfortunately, had been a muddy mess.

After dumping my purse on the kitchen table, I kicked off my shoes and turned to the fridge for a bottle of wine that I had chilling there.

Selecting two glasses, I tucked the bottle under my arm and went back out on the porch.

Sitting in a padded metal chair, I placed the glasses and the bottle on the patio table and sat back.

Wiggling my toes, I sighed with relief at being home.

It was only a few minutes before the gate at the rear of the yard opened and my neighbor let herself in.

Barefoot, wearing leopard print leggings and a loose T-shirt, Kathleen Hill was in her early sixties, a breast cancer survivor, and one hell of a gardener.

When I’d first moved in she and her husband had been an invaluable help to me while I revamped my gardens.

She’d suggested suitable blooming shrubs and perennials for our zone, and he’d helped me pick out the best grass seed to put down.

The couple had even given me a few plants from their own gardens.

We’d started out as casual friends and had practically become family.

She waved in greeting, and I saw she was carrying a covered container.

“Hey, Kathleen,” I said as she joined me on the porch.

“Hey yourself,” she said, taking a seat in one of the chairs. “How did your book club go tonight?”

“Very well,” I answered, opening the wine. “How’s Joe?”

“Good. He’s inside, watching a baseball game,” she replied, opening the container. “I brought some sausage, cheese and grapes. Knowing you, you probably skipped dinner again.”

“Guilty.” I laughed, pouring the wine.

Kathleen selected a slice of cheese. “Anything interesting happening with your witchy book club?”

I shook my head. “I couldn’t say.”

“Aw, come on!” she complained. “No wand duels at midnight, no territory skirmishes for you to settle, oh wise one?”

“You’ve been reading way too much fiction.”

“That’d be your fault,” she cheerfully pointed out. “You’re the one who brings me all the paranormal romance books.”

“Keeps you out of trouble,” I said. “Mostly.”

“Seems to me you’ve got plenty on your plate as is,” she pointed out. “Running your own business and riding herd on the magickal community. It can’t be easy.”

“It’s not.” I blew out a tired breath. “Especially since the person who takes notes for me during the meetings was a no-show tonight.”

“I didn’t know you had a secretary for the community stuff,” Kathleen said, urging more food on me.

“Shelby Murphy. She’s damn good at it. Keeps me organized, emails me the notes from the monthly meetings, and makes sure I’m up to date on all the goings on with the covens. Best of all Shelby is neutral when it comes to witchy politics; and she’s discreet.”