Page 9 of The Trouble With Spells
And wasn’t that just a kick in the ass. No, I knew I had tried those cases competently and well. I definitely wasn’t to blame for the fire. The only thingthat I truly knew I was to blame for was my tripping over the curb into traffic. Because my mind had been muddled with the day's events, and trying to figure out where everything had gone off the rails, I hadn’t been paying any attention to my surroundings.
The rest of it, though…while I didn’t believe in witchcraft, or any of it, there was a small part of me that kept landing back on the quietly chanted words from my hookup. A part of me that felt like I could feel some evil force at work.
It was official. I was losing it.
Which explained why later that day, after stopping to buy some clothes and essentials, my car was pointed North out of Boston and headed for my hometown.
Salem was only about a thirty-minute drive from the city if traffic was light, but it usually ended up taking me about forty-five minutes. It wasn’t like I could even get back into my condo anytime soon, I reasoned with myself. I’d rather wallow at my parents’ house, in my old bedroom, than a hotel room, at least for a few days. And I hadn’t seen them since Christmas, which was almost a year ago.
I couldn’t believe I was even entertaining the idea of finding an honest to God witch and breaking whatever curse that little fucker had put on me.
I was never picking up a random twink in a club again, as long as I lived.
Chapter Five
Callum
Hex flicked his tail at me across the glass top of the display case, annoyed that I wasn’t giving him the attention he felt he deserved. Not looking up from the computer screen, I absently reached over to give his soft black fur a pet.
Scanning the appointments, I saw Mrs. Hawthorne was scheduled at five to have her cards read. I liked the older lady; it was always a hoot to read her cards. She usually came in once a week and was always eager to tell me if anything the cards had predicted had come true.
Reading cards came easy to me, and my readings were surprisingly spot on most of the time. We did a fair amount of business with card readings, especially this time of year. October saw Salem filled to the brim with tourists, eager to take any of the numerous ghost walking tours,visit the site of the famous witch trials, and stay in rumored haunted hotels. Even though we were a bit off the main drag, thanks to our online presence, people still managed to find us.
Thunder rumbled outside, and I glanced up just as the pattering of rain against the windowpane started. The wind whistled sharply, and I shivered. Unease skittered across my skin. Something was brewing in the wind. The skies outside had darkened with the oncoming storm, casting gloomy shadows over the store’s floor.
Sighing, I flipped on the light next to the computer. We tended to keep the shop lights muted, casting shadows in the corners. It added to the ambiance we were going for, but it was hell on my faulty eyes, especially when the clouds blocked out the sun.
I’d kill some time between walk-ins and card readings by filling some of our online orders. Our online sales were always good, and when Daphne had started making candles–some spelled and some not–they had become a hit. There was always someone who wanted a good luck charm or a love potion.
If I had time after filling orders and preparing them to ship out, I would do a quick inventory of the floor items. Along with kitschy, witch themed souvenir items, we sold sage, candles, and crystals. We did do some potions, but those were kept in the back, and were only for a few select clientele. I left those things to Gran, Mom, and Daph. No one wanted me trying my hand at any potions. Not withthe way my magic tended to…have a mind of its own. Who knew what any potion I made might end up doing.
I knew where my strengths lay and I played to them.
Thunder boomed so loud it felt like the old house shook on its foundation. Hex, none too pleased with the noise, jumped from the counter. With a swish of his fluffy black tail, he disappeared through the opening of the curtain that covered the doorway behind the counter. It separated the main part of the house and our living space from the shop floor.
An hour later, I was printing shipping labels when the shop door opened with a gust of wind so forceful it whipped away from the person who had tugged on it. The bell above it tinkled loudly. Wind, rain, and small bits of debris and leaves flew in, followed by a man who was valiantly trying to pull the glass door closed behind him and block out the ominous weather.
He was tall, with broad shoulders covered by a black hoodie, and tight jeans that hugged his delectable ass to perfection. My mouth watered at the sight of that peach, and heat flushed through my body. I usually didn’t have such a visceral reaction to a man’s ass, but this one was grade A prime. His hair, darkened by the rain, was flattened against his skull, and hard to determine its actual color.
His aura drew my eyes in, the blues and violets swirling around his tall frame, like undulating flames wrappingaround him. Mixed in with the cool colors there was a splash of warmth, red, and a bit of orange.
Auras could tell you a lot about a person, if you knew how to read them. I had always been able to see auras, for as long as I could remember. They were just a part of a person when I looked at them, like their eye color or hair. It wasn’t until I was maybe ten, that I realized and understood that not everyone saw colors surrounding people the way I did. In my family, I was the only one who could see a person’s auras.
The blues told me he was a seeker, with a strong imagination, but he could also be critical and a tad snobbish. Violet indicated he had true greatness in him, while also having the ability to be cunning and selfish. The red and orange told me he had strength and a love of life, but that he could be self-indulgent.
What had my brows furrowing and me pushing my glasses up was the tiniest swirl of brownish black weaving its way through the otherwise lovely colors of his aura. Brown usually meant low energy, but black could mean one of two things: depression or death.
There was something familiar about his aura, like I had seen it before, I just couldn’t place from where.
The man finally got the door wrestled into submission and firmly closed, dimming the sound of the wind and rain raging outside. He turned, running a hand through his wet hair, brushing it back from his forehead.
And I forgot how to breathe.
My stomach dipped and swirled, and I grabbed onto the counter, my entire body playing haywire with itself.
Michael fucking Endicott, the…third? Fourth? It didn’t matter. His family–at least on his mother’s side–dated back as far as mine did in Salem, which was a long fucking time.
My high school crush.
