CHAPTER EIGHT #3
Checking the floor and confirming that there was nothing lying there to have caused me to trip, I gathered up my things and snapped the lid to the crockpot closed.
Tucking it in the crook of my arm, I managed to shut and lock my apartment door.
I adjusted my load and had hardly started down the exterior stairs before I felt a blow at my lower back.
It propelled me forward and I stumbled, missing a few steps.
Luckily for me, I managed to make a wild grab and catch the metal railing.
My ribs slammed against it hard, but I held on.
The crockpot unfortunately went tumbling down and the glass lid and ceramic lining shattered on the pavement below.
It sounded unnaturally loud, as I clung to the banister while my heart pounded and I gulped for air.
After a few breaths, I looked down to the base of the steps at the remains of the crockpot. “Holy shit!” I squeaked.
I was alone on the stairs, yet something had hit me hard enough to cause me to lose my footing. Thank the goddess I’d managed to catch the railing. A fall from the top of the stairs would have been serious, if not deadly.
Just like what had happened to Hattie.
There was no such thing as coincidence in my world. Hattie had fallen down a set of stairs only yesterday, and now I’d been hit in the back—by something unseen—and had come very close to doing the same.
Something’s definitely up, I realized, and a basic cleansing is clearly not going to be enough to take care of this problem.
Despite my heart pounding in fear from the close call, I pulled in a deep breath and began a spontaneous invocation. “Goddess Hekate,” I said. Torch bearer, guardian of the crossroads, and patron of Witches, walk with me today and keep me safe.”
A whistling breeze whipped around the building and sent my curls flying. Taking that as a ‘yes’ answer to my request, I carefully went down the rest of the stairs, forcing myself to pay closer attention to where I placed my feet.
Stepping around the broken glass, I gained the back door to the shop and let myself in through the rear entrance. With shaking hands, I pulled out my chair and sat. The room spun once, so I bent over in the chair, putting my head between my legs.
I’d go sweep up the mess in a minute.
Or maybe two.
“Hey, Kate.” Circe’s voice grew louder as I heard her walking towards my back room. “Quick question…”
“Yeah?” I called back, keeping my head down.
“What’s going on?” she asked, hurrying over. “Are you sick?”
“No, I am a bit spooked though.”
She dropped a hand on my shoulder. “What happened?”
Slowly I sat up. “I know this will sound weird...”
“Please.” Circe rolled her eyes. “Honey we’re Witches, I can handle weird.”
“I’m pretty sure I’m under magickal attack.”
Circe grabbed another chair and sat. “Tell me.”
“It began a few weeks ago when Hattie Broussard came to see me...” I proceeded to relay the whole strange sequence of events to my cousin.
“Whoa!” she said after I finished. “I knew you were doing some spell casting for Hattie, but I figured it was about working to ease all the paperwork problems with them trying to buy a house... but I had no idea it was this intense!”
“This morning, I began to suspect that the hex may have somehow transferred over to me.”
“Hmmm,” my cousin said. “Let me see your ribs where you hit the railing.”
I stood and lifted the hem of my sweater.
“It’s already turning colors,” Circe said, running her fingers over my right side. She pressed down firmly causing me to jump.
“That hurts!” I hissed.
Circe grinned. “Hey, good news? The fact that you didn’t throw up, pass out, or take a swing at me means they’re not broken.”
I tugged my sweater back down. “Well, that’s something I suppose. Because I’ve never had my magick fail so spectacularly before, Circe.”
“I don’t think that your magick did fail,” Circe argued. “Hattie is alive and you might be shaken and bruised, but you’re okay.”
“I think I’m going to need an ice pack,” I grumbled. “Maybe some ibuprofen...”
“And to recap, you gave Hattie Yia-yia’s pendant at the ER yesterday?”
“I did.” I nodded. “She was so pitiful lying there in the ER, with her arm in a brace...covered in bruises, scrapes and cuts. She needed something strong to protect her.”
“I’m not giving you grief about that,” Circe insisted. “You followed your gut. And I gotta tell ya, cousin, I’d have probably given her my favorite talisman too.”
“I’ve never come up against something like this before,” I admitted. “I think it’s time to get some practical advice from the Magistra.”
“I agree.” Circe nodded. “We are going to need advice from an expert. Someone who has experience with this sort of thing.”
“I know. I had hoped that I wouldn’t have to, but since this morning—”
“And your own close call,” Circe interjected.
I sighed. “I realize that I need to call in the big guns.”
“Luckily for us the Magistra is close by,” Circe said, tongue in cheek.
“They deal with so much in the community already...I’m hesitant to bother them.”
“You’re not bothering me,” another voice said, joining our discussion.
And with that, Lorna Southern, my retail neighbor, friend, leader of the magickal community and the local Magistra breezed into my back room.