Chapter 16
Annelise unlocked the door to her office, stepping softly inside.
The stale feel of the air had her making a mental note to check out the warehouse.
Looking up, she smiled as she flipped on the ceiling fan.
She'd found it at an estate and knew she had to have it.
It whirred softly with a new motor that made it less antique and more “useful but with the right look.”
First, she checked that everything was in place.
Though Alice had come by a few days ago, no customers had come through here because she hadn't come to meet them, but it still felt like home.
In a few moments, it felt lived in again, like she belonged here.
In Belle Hollow, the feelings of failure had crept in again. But not here.
Deep in the heart of Charlottesville, she kept this small warehouse space in a row of mostly artists and craftsmen.
It felt right for the business she was running.
She'd chosen it because it had a front professional office and excellent security.
Though many of her neighbors had switched over to digital locks, Annelise fought the trend.
She returned the large gold key to her bag—another find.
It had taken her some time to get a craftsman who would make her a key that looked like the big old Victorian ones—hers had an ornate head more than an inch across.
She'd then had it taken to a locksmith and had it cut to fit the lock.
Customers always commented on it, and she often used it as a conversation starter.
Setting her bag down on the overstuffed velour seat just inside the front door, she pushed the door closed behind her and lifted the drapes out of the way.
Tucking them into their old Victorian hooks, she let the sunlight in.
God, it felt good to be in a place that didn't smell like bad river water or feel like she was breathing something that would harm her lungs.
She'd cast every spell she could on the house, and there was still so much to be done.
Here she could trade her efforts for actual dollars.
Rowan had asked her about what she might do to get the house built.
Clean out all her savings. Clear her retirement.
Max any credit cards. But he hadn’t asked her what she was doing for a job.
Her initial goal—back when the two of them had shared dreams and plans—was to go quickly through undergraduate school, taking whatever chemistry and geology courses she needed to become a gemologist. She'd wanted to be a jeweler, doing apprenticeship work with silver, gold, and precious metals. She’d hoped to create the kind of family pieces that would last forever.
While she hadn't gone to NYU with him like she'd originally planned, she’d taken a year off then gone to UVA, close to home. Following her plan, she’d quickly learned where and how the world got its gemstones.
Though she’d been pushed to work with created pieces that didn’t have the same qualities found gems did, it wasn’t the same.
She hadn't been able to stomach the trade routes natural stones depended on and she’d pivoted quickly.
Plowing through a degree in three years, she’d added botany classes and world history, then every history local to her that she could get her hands on. She'd found a different way to handle and curate family heirlooms.
So now she looked at the pieces her assistant had lined up on the side table just waiting for her to appraise them.
Alice had helped out while Annelise was taking her much needed time off.
Small pieces were placed in the lockers by resellers and auction houses and even clients of estate lawyers who listed her as a trusted resource.
Alice handled client contacts, issued locker codes, and emptied the lockers more than once, given the array of waiting items.
There was a lot to do to catch up. Turning, she headed back to the row of two-way cubbies installed along the outer wall.
A customer could come when she wasn't in the office and leave an item in the cubby using a code that she or Alice had given and know their item was safe.
Many of her customers preferred to deliver their pieces in person.
They were coming to her because they believed they had something valuable.
Sometimes a piece was too large, or the collection too large, for the lockers.
Thus, she had a list of appointments from Alice that she needed to set. While she was lucky people were understanding, it didn’t change their deadlines. So it was time for her to get back to work. This place was the only thing standing between Story and total financial ruin as far as she could see.
During the last few days, Alice did her job, but she couldn't do the appraisals. That was Annelise's territory, and if Rowan didn't come through with a winning lawsuit, then she was going to have to find a way to pay for the house on her own. Hopefully one of these pieces was very valuable.
Setting her water bottle on the table against the back wall—away from anything that could be damaged—she set five of the pieces on her massive antique desk. Placing them in a circle, she cast a pentacle between them. Then she called the four corners and took a deep breath.
Jesus, she was used to doing that several times a week, and it had been almost a full week since she'd come in to her job. As was often the case, the pieces called to her, and she reached to the furthest and picked it up.
A Tiffany lamp. As she hefted it, she felt some of its history pouring through her—an original. She smiled and looked at the paperwork that Alice filed. Hell yes, the family was looking to sell Grandma's things.
She had three buyers who would bid over it, but first she had to offer an honest appraisal and convince the family to sell it to her.
Unfortunately, it wasn't professional to tell her clients, I'm a witch, I can just feel how much this is worth.
She spent the next hour researching, finding similar pieces and comp prices, checking for any kind of damage or normal wear.
Alice would have to clean it and that was an extra cost. Annelise set an offer price, hoping it would be high enough, and moved to the next piece.
When she finished with the first five pieces, she set five more out, checking the lockers and pulling out the ones that Alice hadn’t gotten to.
It was her most trusted clients who seemed comfortable leaving things in the lockers and the people who had things they didn't believe were valuable.
One was a book, and she frowned at it. Books should go to book dealers, not to her.
Not that she couldn't handle them, but it wasn't a specialty.
Still, someone had left it for her. Someone once again cleaning out an attic or something.
Usually, they brought multiple items at once.
Sometimes she saw the same families again.
In many cases, estate attorneys referred clients to her.
Annelise and her warehouse were the next best thing to the antiques TV shows.
Then there were the buyers. She and Alice discovered that they did best with open houses rather than regular hours.
They worked days and evenings, as suited them.
Annelise would announce it through advertising and word of mouth .
. . and maybe a spell or two. That method sold more items at higher prices than keeping the warehouse open regularly did.
She didn't tell Alice about the witchcraft.
She cast again on the five items as the sunlight was getting low in the windows, but the work was invigorating.
This was something her Gram couldn't be stubborn about.
This was something that would help her stay out of bankruptcy if she had to pay for everything.
While she was proud of the work she did, and she earned good money, she wasn't sure she had an entire house waiting somewhere in a back pocket or a savings account she'd forgotten about.
It would be better if one of them was a money witch, but she didn’t know of any now. There were silver witches, she knew, but money didn't travel in silver anymore, and the need for that kind of craft had faded over the centuries. So she was stuck with what she could get now.
This time when she cast on the items, it was the book that called to her, and this time she turned away, working on the others first. She'd gone to the fridge at some point, grabbed a yogurt and ate it quickly, knowing she simply could not afford to have food near the items. She washed her hands at the old Victorian sink she'd installed in the corner, dried them on a linen towel with a cross-stitch sampler from a woman who lived in the area three hundred years earlier, and then headed back to the table.
When she'd cleared the other items, she looked up, suddenly aware that the day had disappeared.
Story had been staying with Mindy Bormann and her family.
The good news was Mindy said Story’s dishwasher could be repaired relatively easily and cheaply.
And yes, she did just happen to have the right motherboard for it.
Bless her, Annelise thought. The washer and dryer might be another issue, and Mindy had not yet had the time to come back and check on her car.
Annelise was driving a rental and hating every single penny spent.
It added up. A hotel for tonight would add more.
Jenna didn’t need her asking if she could stay again. Even if she did, Annelise would pay for her share of the place. It was so odd to admit she was actually homeless right now. The place still stood, but it wasn’t livable. Not yet. She sighed into the office.