Chapter Four #2
Dea shudders. “She kept showing up in the mirror behind me when I was putting on my makeup! It was creepy.”
“Exactly!”
“This is different, though,” Dea says, still not looking at me as she types away on her computer. “I didn’t ask to live with a ghost. The people who choose to stay at this B&B will go in knowing it’s haunted. It’ll be their choice.”
I groan. Dea has never been much of a people pleaser—she’s happy to tell me when my ideas are terrible—but I find myself frustrated she’s not agreeing with me now. “I don’t even know if it’s magically possible.”
“Yeah, but you’d be able to figure it out. That sounds like it’s right up your alley.”
“Deanna.”
“What?” She finally gives up on whatever she was doing on the computer and studies me.
I’m not sure what she sees in my expression, but it has her leaning back and blowing out a breath.
She twists her lips into an inscrutable expression, the exaggerated movement drawing my attention to today’s color choice: a stunning shade of plum.
“Is this one of those times where you need me to stop being reasonable and agree with you?”
I scowl. “I am being reasonable.”
She rolls her eyes and says in a bored monotone, “Yes, you are super reasonable, and Xander’s best friend is a big dummy who doesn’t know anything about magic. Her business plan is doomed to fail, and you’re smart for not getting involved.”
“I’m going to ignore how patronizing that is and say thank you.
” I’m also going to ignore Dea’s implication that I’m not Xander’s best friend and all the twisty feelings it has swirling in my stomach.
I’ve already lost my entire family, including my biological sister.
I can’t lose the man who’s become like a brother to me.
Her plum-colored lips twist into a smirk. “You’re welcome. Now, if you don’t mind, some of us have work to do.”
“I have work, too,” I insist, though I know she’s teasing.
She waves me away, and I slip back into my office.
I don’t have any specific client appointments today, but I have plenty to do.
There’s the creativity spell I was working on this weekend.
I could tinker with that. Plus, I’ve got a full-day client on Thursday.
There’s a new art gallery opening on the east side of Windsfell, and the owner signed up for our signature New Business Package, the first one we’ve sold in over a year.
I’ll be busy all day casting anti-theft sigils and weaving attraction spells to draw in the right clientele.
I even put together a custom intuition series for the owner to help him select which artists to display.
He also requested that I leave behind the most beautiful crystals I can get to continue powering the sigils once I’m gone.
I called in nearly every favor I had to rush order high-end cuts of quartz and labradorite.
I could spend the day double-checking everything for Thursday, but when I settle in my desk chair, I can’t sink into any one project.
I bounce from task to task, never finishing anything.
I waste away the morning, a restless feeling that I can’t stand sending me to my phone, where I scroll aimlessly.
Well, not aimlessly exactly. I find myself hate-scrolling C3’s website.
It’s full of gorgeous shots of crystals and strong hands grinding herbs and a smiling woman with one half of her head shaved, brown curls spilling down the other side to brush her shoulder.
She’s in another photo, farther down, handcrafting spell candles that she claims will provide “abundance, self-love, and protection.”
The woman in the photos—Teagan Keller—owns the shop.
I met her precisely once, when the place first opened twelve months ago.
She was friendly, excited to meet another entrepreneurial witch, and she even asked to take me out for coffee to pick my brain.
We never got around to meeting again. And then, within a few months, Deanna clocked the subtle decline in our business.
Now that decline isn’t subtle at all.
“Fuck.” Deanna’s voice startles me into dropping my phone, and when I look up, she’s at her computer, letting lose an impressive string of profanities.
I slip my phone into my pocket and hurry to her desk. “What is it? What happened?”
“Zack Ryan.”
I deflate. “Please tell me he didn’t change his mind about the crystal selection again. I told him I was putting in the material order last week.”
Dea bites her bottom lip. “It’s not that.” Her expression shifts from shocked frustration to something that borders on pitying. My stomach sinks, and I know what she’s about to say before she says it. A flash of intuition that’s too little too late.
“Please don’t tell me he canceled.”
“He did. And he’s within the window for a partial refund.”
I slide into the chair across from Dea, defeat making my body feel boneless.
This job was supposed to keep us out of the red this month, not dig the hole deeper.
“Did he say why he canceled?” Part of me doesn’t want to know, but this business is my responsibility.
Making sure Deanna’s salary gets paid is my job.
I need to know why and how things go wrong.
“Coffee, Charms, and Crystals apparently offers custom crystal grids now.”