Page 41 of The Neighborhood Witch

“Sealed with a kiss.” Hugo raised his glass for a toast.

“Sealed with a kiss,” Alice responded as she clinked his glass.

A slight shiver pulsated through her arm as he dragged his fingers across her palm and let go of her hand. They sipped more wine before letting out a laugh.

“There is definitely something different in that wine.” Hugo pointed to the wine goblet. “We should find out. It’s driving me crazy.”

“I’m something of a wine expert,” Alice explained.

“Oh! You’re a ‘wine connoisseur,’” Hugo sarcastically replied with a smirk.

“I’m a little more than a ‘connoisseur,’” she retorted.

“Elizabeth loved wine. She got me into it. I was more of a bourbon man, but it grew on me. Now”—he hesitated as he glanced down at his goblet—“it’s all I drink.” He finished the remaining wine.

Alice placed her glass on the side table. She paused for a moment. She tapped her fingers on her knees. Her foot twitched. She bit her top lip as if to hold herself back from speaking. She glanced around the room, focusing on many areas before locking eyes with Hugo. “If I show you something, do you promise not to freak out?”

“That doesn’t sound ominous at all.”

“I need you to promise.”

“Well, now I’m both intrigued and worried.”

“I’m serious.”

“I swore an oath to you, didn’t I? I promise.”

“Come with me.” She smiled and extended her hand.

“Where?”

“Trust me.”

Hugo set his glass down on the coffee table, rose, and took her hand. She led him down the hallway to the wooden door below the staircase. She grabbed the brass knob and pushed the door open. It led to a set of twisting stairs descending into the darkened basement. Small chips of paint flaked and peeled off the stairs, giving them a withered appearance.

“Elizabeth and I watched enough crime shows for me to know I shouldn’t go down these stairs with you.” Hugo chuckled.

“Trust me, what I have down there isn’t criminal,” Alice reassured him. “But it should be.” She gave a Cheshire like grin.

They entered the darkness. The stairs creaked as they slowly proceeded down. Their feet gingerly touched the next step as they built trust in its ability to hold. It was dark. The faint smell of herbs only eased the smell of dampness and mildew.

Alice grabbed for the light pull string. The basement partially illuminated with the warm glow of the incandescent light. It was dull and empty. Scant cardboard boxes littered the grayish floors. The walls were barren. A few cracks traversed along the channel grooves of the cinderblocks, damaged with age. A wood door with ornate iron fixtures was the only distinctive feature along the back wall.

Hugo paused, questioning the dimensions and layout of the basement, realizing the door should go outside. He couldn’t remember a basement entrance in the house’s backyard.

“Where does the door go?”

“Let me show you,” Alice said. She grabbed the cast iron handle, hesitated, and let go.

“What’s wrong?”

Alice focused again on Hugo. Her face no longer beamed with delight. “I need to know if I can trust you. I need to know if you trust me.”

“Of course. I already said you could,” replied Hugo.

“I need to know.”

“You can trust me. What do you have in there?” Hugo took a step closer to the door. His body tightened, unsure of what was about to happen. He positioned his right foot to make an expeditious retreat backward, just in case.

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