CHAPTER SIX
Heading straight to the connecting door, I slid it open and let myself into New Moon Books, with Circe hot on my heels. I spotted Lorna standing behind her front counter, checking in a stack of new releases.
“Lorna,” I said, walking closer. “We need to talk.”
She raised one eyebrow. I could see it shoot up over the upper rim of her glasses. “Oh, so now you want to talk?”
Circe rolled her eyes at the sarcasm. “Well, aren’t you just a little porcupine today?”
Lorna’s eyebrows rose higher. The lights above her began to flicker. It was a magickal warning not to push her too hard.
In response to that—courtesy of Circe—a stack of paperbacks fell over and to the floor with a splat.
“Circe.” I elbowed her. “Don’t get into a magickal pissing contest. You know you’ll lose.”
“I may not posses your particular set of skills,” Circe grumbled to me. “But I bet I could make her work for it.”
Lorna tossed her head. “Oh please. I could easily out magick you any day of—”
“I had a visit from Dex’s mother earlier this morning,” I said, cutting off Lorna before we all got off track.
Lorna grimaced at the news. “I’m sure that was a pleasant experience.”
“Pleasant beyond words,” I agreed, scooping up the books from the floor. “She wanted to inform me that even though I—and I quote—have my hooks in him, that I won’t be getting a penny of Dex’s inheritance.”
“What did you say to that?” Lorna asked.
“I told her to get out, took her by the elbow, and removed her and her snippy dog from my shop.”
Lorna pulled her glasses off, dropped her head into her hands and groaned. “I didn’t expect that she’d come and see you—not so soon anyway. I should have warned you.”
“There’s a lot of things you should have talked to me about,” I said firmly as I replaced the books on the counter. “For starters you can explain why your security camera is aimed at my apartment stairs.”
Lorna slipped her glasses back on. “To be clear,” she began, “the camera is at my rear delivery door for security and for shipment notification. Your stairs simply happen to be within the view of the camera lens.”
“All right,” I said, doing my best to stay calm.
“Originally,” Lorna said, “I had checked the footage, worried I’d see Dex getting mugged, or something like that... The last thing I expected was to see him leaving your apartment, post hook up, so early in the morning.”
My stomach rolled over at the words ‘post hookup.’ Still, I spoke calmly. “It wasn’t a hook up.” At least it hadn’t been for me.
“Hey!” Circe dove right to my defense. “What happened between Kate and Dex is nobody’s business but their own.”
“I apologize,” Lorna said to me. “Kate I’m sorry. That was a poor choice of words. I haven’t been sleeping well, and I’m beyond worried for Dex. I’m afraid something horrible has happened to him.”
I studied her face for a good long moment before speaking. “Tell me about Dex’s relatives.”
Lorna blew out a breath, hard enough to make her bangs flutter. “I’ll tell you what I know.”
An hour later my mind was still reeling from what Lorna had shared with Circe and me.
The foot traffic in the shop was slower that day, and I took advantage of it to do a deep dive into Dex’s family online.
It wasn’t hard. There were plenty of society articles about them all, from the golf club that his father had chaired, to his mother being on the board for the local botanical gardens.
Dex, I discovered, also had a younger brother and an older sister.
The brother, Eli, was a college student at the University of Alabama, and his sister, Bethany—from what I could tell—fancied herself an influencer on social media.
The Poindexters were an attractive family.
His sister was stunning with her dark hair and blue eyes.
However, the more I swiped through her various posts, the more concerned I became.
Bethany was a dabbler. In other words, she played around with magick—with no regard for the dangers that can be associated with careless spellwork.
There were dozens of generic posts about the goddess…
that wasn’t the problem. What concerned me was all of her posts on spells.
The darker, manipulative kind. Most of which were completely unethical.
“Hey,” Circe called out as she walked over.
“I found Dex’s sister Bethany’s social media accounts,” I said.
“Uncover anything interesting, Sherlock?”
“She has quite the following on social media, but from my personal view, it’s disturbing.”
“Why?”
“Because she fancies herself a practitioner.”
Circe held out a hand for my phone. “Lemme see.”
Circe swiped through the posts. “Damn it, I hate these influencer witchy wannabes.”
“So do I,” I said quietly.
“By the old gods, she’s got some nasty spells on here.” Circe scowled at my phone screen. “This profile is set up to generate as much traffic and attention as possible. Folks will assume if she has that many followers then whatever magickal bullshit she is pushing, it must be legit.”
I nodded. “This probably explains one of the reasons Mrs. Poindexter was so hateful to me today.”
“I just think that old bitch is nasty,” Circe said.
My lips twitched. “Agreed, but there was a level of vehemence about witchcraft and the shop in her voice. Now I think I understand why.”
Circe rolled her eyes. “Good grief, look at the hashtags. Hashtag revenge magick, hashtag witch, hashtag spells...anyone stupid enough to follow her advice is only going unleash chaos.”
“Social media has not done modern Witches any favors,” I said. “Goddess forbid, you actually crack open a book, take a class, and study the rules of spell casting. More folks need to understand cause and effect—and karma—before they start flinging magick around.”
“Which segues into the other topic I wanted to talk to you about,” Circe said, handing me back my phone. “I’m going to begin offering classes on the Craft. I’ll hold them after hours. I’m thinking Thursday nights.”
“You’ve always said that you wanted to.”
Circe flipped her hair behind her back. “Would you be interested in teaching a class on magickal herbalism?”
“Maybe,” I said. “Let’s see how many students you get and then we’ll talk about it more.”
“Cool.” She nodded. “I’m going to put a sign-up sheet at my front counter.”
“I’m going to work on the shop’s social media pages today. Feature the seasonal spice mixes and so forth. Thanksgiving is coming up and my mulling spices and other culinary herbs always sell well in November and December.”
Circe smiled. “I love it when you bust out your big old crockpot and offer mulled cider samples on weekends in the fall.”
“Yeah, me too,” I agreed. “It always makes the shop smell so homey.”
“Listen,” Circe said. “If you need anything, or if what’s-her-face comes back in, you give me a shout.”
“Absolutely. We should also probably give Taylor and Toni a heads up, in case Mrs. Poindexter decides to come back during business hours.”
“Good idea,” she said. “Taylor and Toni are both due in this afternoon. We’ll bring them up to speed.” And with a waggle of her fingers, my cousin slipped back through the adjoining door and back to her own shop.
Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes, planted my feet firmly, and grounded and centered myself.
After a few deep, stabilizing breaths, I reopened my eyes and went about my business.
I began to set up a few pretty vignettes so I could photograph them in order to advertise my seasonal spices and culinary herbs.
***
Two more weeks had passed. We were now halfway through November, and there was still no sign of Dex. He hadn’t reached out to Lorna either, and I wondered if he was gone, as in taken off for someplace new, for good.
Hattie had come and delivered my monthly order of houseplants, and while she was here, she collected her vintage wedding dress. We chatted for a bit, and she reported to me that the bad luck and other problems she and her fiancé had been having were settling down.
“Whatever you did on Halloween seems to be working,” she said.
They’d also had some good news with the paperwork for the house they were buying.
Things seemed to be moving forward for them at last. Still, before she left, I gave her a protection candle compliments of Circe and a fresh herbal protection sachet that I’d made, urging her to keep the tiny bag on her person.
She promised that she would. “Thank you for everything!” she said, giving me a hug. “Tell Circe I said thanks, too!”
“Of course,” I said, patting her back. “Keep in touch, and blessed be, Hattie.”
With a smile on her face and a bounce in her step Hattie Broussard left the store, and it cheered me, knowing that I’d been able to help her.
Now it was Friday evening, and I had just pulled my car in the parking spot behind my section of the building.
Night had fallen, and what Alabama claimed for fall foliage had already passed and fallen, dry leaves were scuttling along the pavement.
I’d run to the store for groceries and climbed out of my car, slung my purse over my shoulder, popped open the trunk, and reached in to pull out my groceries.
I was hefting the first bag up when the security lights mounted to the rear of the buildings went out with a sizzle and a loud pop.
My solar plexus tightened painfully in a warning.
Pivoting, I surveyed the area. Suddenly a cold breeze rushed through and with it a shift in the energy.
Dogs began to howl, and the barometric pressure dropped.
The air felt heavier... Something or someone was trying to cloak their presence.
For the first time ever, I found that I did not feel safe in the alley behind our building.
I allowed the bag of groceries to slip out of my arms, and it plopped back into my trunk.
My Mama hadn’t raised a fool. I wanted my arms free, for whatever was about to happen.
Shifting the keys I still held in my hand, I secured them in my fist, between my fingers and pointy end out, in case I would have to use them as a weapon.