Chapter Seventeen
Seventeen
I was the last to leave the Earl’s Study, and it was a bit of an effort to chase out the final stragglers politely before locking the door up for the evening. Since the streets were still bustling with people, I had a couple of last-minute customers sneak their way in before I could get the ones who were already there rung up.
It was close to six thirty by the time I shut everything down and after seven before I had the bread dough for tomorrow mixed and set to rise and the cookies prepped in their happy little dough logs in the fridge.
I was incredibly grateful for the successful day we’d had, but I was exhausted. The demand for Sebastian’s books had far outstripped the remaining stock we had, and I had needed to place an order to satisfy local customers who wouldn’t mind waiting a couple of weeks to pick their copies up. I’d directed the tourists—who’d made up the bulk of our customers today—to check out our other offerings despite their disappointment.
Imogen had been right: the birder’s popularity and untimely demise had created a feverish demand for his books and anything remotely connected to him. Someone had bought a used copy of Henry David Thoreau’s Walden simply because she remembered Sebastian mentioning it as a favorite during a live stream once.
We’d needed to refill the iced tea six times, which was a new record and a sign that I was going to need to invest in a serious upgrade to keep up with demand going forward in the summer.
I’d barely had a chance to look at my phone while I was working, so I was surprised to see a text from my brother, Sam, waiting for me.
I can check their bar and license status, case history. That’s about it.
I quickly grabbed the business card I’d gotten from Amy and gave Sam Andrew’s full name. I didn’t figure he’d reply right away, especially given the holidays.
While I had my phone out, I shot Detective Martin a quick text asking her if she knew Travis had left town. Him leaving when I knew Sebastian’s entourage had been told to stay in town was suspicious to say the least.
Surprisingly, Patsy replied almost immediately.
We checked his alibi, he was on a video conference call for hours, multiple witnesses. We let him go.
Oh. Well that took Travis off the list of potential candidates, then. I slipped my phone into my pocket and focused on finishing my closing tasks.
As I checked the tins of loose-leaf tea to see what I would need to bring refills for in the morning, someone tapped on the glass of the front door.
“We’re clo—” I started to say, but when I looked up, I saw Honey standing outside waving at me.
It was a rare treat to see her in my store, since I usually visited her shop or we would hang out at my house after hours. Since she worked most of the same hours I did and didn’t have additional staff, it wasn’t easy for her to get here when I was open.
There was a woman I’d never seen before standing next to her, but based solely on their striking resemblance, I had a suspicion they were related.
I skirted around the counter and opened the front door with a jingle of greeting, ushering them inside before any of the curious tourists still thick on the streets thought we might be open. Amy was still open next door, and the smell of sugar and butter wafting through her door into the evening air seemed to be distracting most passersby. She’d been going over twelve hours on her own; I wasn’t sure how she was still alive over there.
Honey and her visitor followed me into the store, where I led them into the tea shop side, indicating one of the small empty tables near the counter.
“Phoebe, I want to introduce you to my mother.”
The woman’s resemblance made perfect sense now. Honey was the spitting image of her; she just had a few more lines around her eyes and a bit more pleasant roundness to her face and body. Unlike Honey, she didn’t wear her hair cut short; hers was in long dreadlocks pulled back with a striking silk scarf. But like Honey, she seemed to have an affinity for adding a little blonde to her hair, based on a few of the locs I could see peeking out.
“Phoebe Winchester.” I offered her my hand to shake, and she took it, giving it one firm pump, then pulled me in for a tight hug.
“I’m Karma Westcott. It is such a pleasure to meet you. My baby has done nothing but talk about you since the minute you moved into town. Been a real long time since we heard of anyone learning about their gift so late in life.” She released me from the tight embrace and held me out at arm’s length as if to get a good look at me. “Mmm, pretty girl. That husband of yours must have been a damn fool.”
“Oh, well, I like you already.” Honey had told me on numerous occasions that her parents were slightly hippie-ish in their lifestyle, hence her full name being Honey Moonbeam, so it seemed possible that Karma was an assumed moniker, but it suited her.
“Come on, baby, sit here for a minute and let me get a look at you.” She guided us over to a table, where the three of us clustered together. The tables weren’t really meant for this many people, but we made it work.
Karma took my hand in hers, flipping it over so my palm faced up. She started to trace the lines in my skin, mumbling mostly to herself about a split love line and a mound of Venus , things that I really didn’t know the meaning of, but she understood as easily as reading a book.
I darted a quick glance to Honey, wondering if this was normal, but she was fully absorbed in watching her mother work and nodding along to the things Karma was saying. Obviously, they were speaking a language that wasn’t yet mine to understand.
Karma gently set my hand down on the table and patted it. “I see plenty about you here, but not what I need to know.”
Again I tried to gauge from Honey what she meant, but Honey seemed a little disappointed.
“Um, please don’t interpret this as me not being so thrilled to meet you and appreciating the unexpected palm reading, but what exactly is going on here?”
Karma shot her daughter a look that I had seen innumerable times on my own mother’s face. It was so unexpectedly familiar I automatically shrank back as if I had done something wrong myself. “Honey, you didn’t tell her I was coming?” Karma asked.
“Mama, I didn’t have a chance. I needed you to see what was going on, and I couldn’t figure it out on my own.”
Karma clucked her tongue at her daughter, then turned her attention to me. “I’m sorry, I thought you knew I was coming.”
“Honey told me that she might mention my, uh . . . issues to you, but no, you being here in person is a bit of a surprise to me, I’ll admit.”
“Well, I suppose it’s a surprise that can’t be undone. I want to see if I can help you sort out your messy-magic situation. Swear I haven’t heard of anything like that happening to an adult witch in decades. Do you have any ideas what might have started it?”
I gave a helpless shrug. “I don’t know of any one thing that might have initiated it, but I do know it seems to be triggered by stress.”
Karma mulled this over for a moment. “Honey tells me that your main gift is probability magic, is that right?”
I nodded. “I can do other things, but from what I’ve been told, that one is pretty rare.”
“Very. You’re one lucky witch.” Karma smiled at me as if I’d just been told I was a lottery winner. While the magical gift had saved my life—more than once—I wasn’t sure if I was always all that grateful to have it. Being a witch was a blessing and a curse all rolled into one. I regretted that I was coming into it so late and wished I’d had twenty extra years to hone my skills. As it was, I often felt as if I were sitting in on an exam for a class I’d never been able to attend and the questions I got right were just good guesses.
I suspected that my skills and control would grow over time, but I still felt like I was miles behind on being a witch and that having such a rare and powerful gift like probability was something that should have been granted to someone who knew how to use it.
I explained to Karma what I’d learned about stress triggering the new incidents and what I’d been doing each time. By the time I was done, she was nodding along, and for the first time since things had begun to go wrong, I wondered if there might actually be some hope of stopping it.
“Seems to me like a pretty similar situation to what happens with teenage witches when they’re having some big feelings and it interferes with their abilities. Since you never got a chance to get used to it while you were younger, it’s popping up now because you’ve got some stressors in your life—naturally, we all do—but you never got a chance to manage both magic and stress before. Baby, don’t you worry, you’re not broken, you just need some coping skills.”
“I’m sure my old therapist would agree with you.” I was making jokes, but inside, the wash of relief I felt was akin to what I remembered feeling after paying off a giant chunk of debt. Even if just for a moment, my soul felt lighter and a burden had been lifted from my shoulders.
You’re not broken.
I hadn’t even realized this was something I’d been thinking about until the moment she said it wasn’t the case. The way I needed to hear those words was unlike anything I’d ever felt before. I was divorced, living alone with a cat, starting my life all over again with new friends, new gifts, and new opportunities, but sometimes I still felt like something must be wrong with me. I was the problem; the fault was mine.
But it wasn’t.
I was okay.
I could fix this.
I didn’t even realize I’d started to cry until Karma reached across the table to wipe a tear from my cheek. “It’s okay, baby. You’re going to be just fine.”