Laced With Magic (2 page)
For Bertrice Small, who was right
1
Did you ever have the feeling that you were exactly where you were meant to be, that the fates had finally got it right and the rest of your life was going to be clear sailing? That was how I felt the first time Luke MacKenzie and I kissed: like I was seeing the world through new eyes.
The first time our hands touched over a basket of alpaca roving, sparks flew. Bright silver-white sparks that shot from our fingertips and lit up the night. It was every love story I had ever read, every romantic movie I had ever wept over, all my hopes and dreams wrapped up into one tall, dark, and handsome package. It didn’t even matter that he was one hundred percent human and I was the daughter of a sorceress. I believed that now that I had finally found love, the rest would fall into place like magick.
Crazy? I wouldn’t bet against it. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, I still believed I was on my way to the story-book happy ending none of the women in my family had ever managed to achieve.
I mean, I even made a sweater for him, and every knitter on the planet knows you
never
knit a sweater for the one you love until you have the ring on your finger.
never
knit a sweater for the one you love until you have the ring on your finger.
What was I thinking?
I guess the truth is I wasn’t thinking at all. All those romantic movies and novels I had devoured over the years hadn’t prepared me for the real thing. Luke and I had gone from zero to sixty in a nanosecond, from strangers to lovers to living together in less time than it took most people to shake hands.
But then, this wasn’t the real world. It just looked like it.
By the way, I’m Chloe Hobbs, knit shop owner and de facto mayor of Sugar Maple, a tiny little town tucked between two mountains in the northwest corner of Vermont. We’re a classic New England hamlet, famous for scenic views and great shopping, but trust me, there’s more going on in Sugar Maple than meets the eye.
Up until Luke, a former police detective from Boston, showed up in early December to investigate the drowning death of his friend Suzanne Marsden, I had been the only resident human. Well, half human, to be precise, but without magick, the sorceress side of my lineage hardly mattered.
Remember the old TV show
The Munsters
? Marilyn was the all-American blonde who stuck out like a sore thumb in her family of irregulars. I guess you could say that was the part I played here in Sugar Maple. When the real world came calling, I was the one who answered.
The Munsters
? Marilyn was the all-American blonde who stuck out like a sore thumb in her family of irregulars. I guess you could say that was the part I played here in Sugar Maple. When the real world came calling, I was the one who answered.
And even I had to admit I was the logical choice.
A tenth-generation witch owns the Cut & Curl across the street from my knit shop. The hardware store is run by the sweetest family of werewolves you’ll ever meet. The Sugar Maple Arts Playhouse is under the direction of shapeshifters who serve as their own repertory company. Faeries keep the Inn’s restaurant fully booked, and I guess it wouldn’t surprise you to learn that the town funeral parlor belongs to a happily married couple who happen to be vampire.
And that doesn’t count the trolls, selkies, goblins, sprites, spirits, and mountain giants who call our town home.
The unexpected success of my yarn shop had brought even more attention to Sugar Maple than our white picket fences and picturesque village green. My shop had been rated New England’s number one knitting destination two years running, and if the blogosphere had anything to do with it, we were about to make it three for three. A protective spell cast over our town by one of my ancestors made it possible for us to hide in plain sight, but when that spell started wearing down last year—well, that was when the troubles really started.
My ancestor Aerynn had fled Salem during the infamous witch hunts and found sanctuary here with other outcasts in search of a home. Aerynn was a sorceress, and she expressed her gratitude by casting a protective charm over Sugar Maple designed to keep the village safe from the sharp eyes of the real world as long as one of her female descendants walked the earth.
I was the last descendant of Aerynn and, in the eyes of almost everyone in town, pretty much a loser. Oh, they loved me, but I don’t think even my closest friends believed I would ever come through for Sugar Maple. I mean, I was almost thirty years old with no husband, no kid, and no magick. Even worse, I had no prospects of any kind. The only thing I had going for me was the ability to knit and spin like my fore-mothers, but even I didn’t think I could stockinette my way out of the mess the town was in.
And then Luke showed up and everything changed.
Who would have guessed that love would trigger my inner sorceress and awaken powers I didn’t know existed? Suddenly I had everything I had ever dreamed about: magick and love and enough yarn to last ten lifetimes.
And who would have guessed it wouldn’t be close to enough to save us?
It all began to fall apart on the day of our monthly town meeting. I’m not ashamed to admit I was grateful we moved it up two days so that it didn’t fall on the night of the full moon. Town meetings were crazy enough; they didn’t need any help from lunar forces on the loose. The snow had finally melted, and while much of the landscape was a giant trough of mud, the promise of spring was everywhere I looked.
The tourist trade had been quiet all week and I spent most of my time playing catch-up with the projects I’d let slide over the winter. (You don’t want to know how many things I had on the needles. It’s too embarrassing.) I’d been working on the edging of an Orkney Pi for what seemed like three or four lifetimes and hoped to finish it off in time for the Weekend of Lace Workshop I had planned for early May.
Lace knitting has a way of taking over a knitter’s brain. Sit down with a complicated lace pattern and I guarantee you won’t think of anything else until you finally come up for air. But that day the front door to the shop was open and the air finally smelled of spring, and not even the lure of lace could hold me.
Okay. I admit it. It wasn’t so much spring fever that made me close down the shop early and pull Luke away from his desk in the police station next door; it was more the sense that something was slipping away from us and I didn’t know exactly what it was, much less how to stop it.
Actually it felt more like a certainty. The knowledge that the first part of our journey was over and now the hard part was about to begin.
My surrogate mother, Sorcha, had warned me that there would be trouble ahead. “Let him go, daughter,” she had said. “I’m too late to keep you from falling in love with him but not too late to keep you from ruining his life.”
I refused to believe that loving me could ruin Luke’s life. I wasn’t blind to all he would be giving up if he decided to stay in Sugar Maple permanently. His family and friends were down in Boston. His normal warm-blooded human family who loved him and missed him and wanted him to marry another normal warm-blooded human and have kids and settle in one of the nearby suburbs.
Luke’s contract with the state would expire in a little over a month and we still hadn’t talked about whether he would sign on as Sugar Maple’s permanent chief of police. Last week the powers-that-be in Montpelier contacted me about a few of their own candidates that had literally made my blood run cold. I guess it was naïve of me, but I’d assumed that since we were a couple, Luke would want the job. I mean, it wasn’t like there was much call for police chiefs in our part of the state. If he wanted to be an alpha cop, we were pretty much his best bet.
I knew I should talk to him about it. The villagers had been asking about his plans since the day he drove into town. It would be nice to finally have an answer for them.
Which, of course, was a total lie. I wanted the answer for myself and I wanted it to be yes.
And it would be yes. I knew it would be. Except for the whole magick/human problem, we were perfect for each other. We made each other laugh. We listened to each other’s stories. I loved the way he looked and smelled and sounded. I loved the feel of his hands on me when we made love, the look in his eyes just before he kissed me.
And yes, I loved the fact that he was a mortal man. I had never been attracted to men with magick. Over the years my friends had set me up with selkies and shapeshifters and wizards, but none had ever come close to catching my eye.
I loved that Luke was full-blooded human. I loved that there was nothing for him here in Sugar Maple. He didn’t want to pull the town beyond the mist or make a grab for power. He was still here for only one reason, because he loved me, and that one reason made me the happiest woman in this realm or any other.
My plan was simple: drive out to the waterfall, dazzle Luke with our local scenery, and then casually ask him how he’d feel about signing a three-year contract with the county to become our official chief of police. Three years may not sound like much to you, but from where I stood, it was a major commitment. That meant three years of happiness. Three years of basking in his human warmth. Three wonderful years to hold on to in case the future didn’t work out the way I hoped it would.
And it would give me time to knit him some more sweaters . . .
“Must be serious,” Luke said as he climbed into the passenger seat of my gigantic eighties-era Buick. “You’re actually driving.”
“I have to,” I said. “You’re going to be blindfolded.”
The gleam in his eyes made my toes curl. “I like the sound of this.”
I gestured toward the glove box. “It’s in there. Put it on.”
His left eyebrow lifted. “You keep a blindfold in the glove box?”
I gave him a wide-eyed look. “Something wrong with that?”
“Not a damn thing.” He pulled the black satin eye covering from beneath a stack of expired insurance cards, registration documents, and an owner’s manual so old it had actually yellowed. “Am I going to turn into a frog or something when I put this on?”
“That only happened once and it was an accident,” I said. “Now put it on or we’re not going anywhere.”
The possibility of kinky sex in broad daylight bent him to my will faster than any spell I could conjure up. Apparently a girl could get just as far with a blindfold and a dream.
My aversion to driving is legendary. I’m not just a reluctant driver; I’m also a bad driver and a slow one.
“Where are you taking me?” he asked as I approached the township limits. “Afghanistan?”
“We’re still in Sugar Maple,” I said, laughing. “Be patient.”
“What are you doing, driving backward?”
“I’m obeying the speed limit,” I said, “something that should have special significance to you,
Chief
MacKenzie.”
Chief
MacKenzie.”
“How come I never realized your voice was so hot?” he said. “Talk dirty to me. It’ll help pass the time.”
“I have to concentrate on my driving.”
“I thought you were a power multitasker.”
“It rained last night. You don’t want to get stuck in the mud, do you?”
He reached to pull off the blindfold. I swatted him with the back of my right hand. The car swerved toward the shoulder but I quickly straightened it out.
“Don’t look so scared,” I said. “Everything’s okay.”
“I’m not scared.”
“You were praying.”
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