What's a Witch to Do?: A Midnight Magic Mystery (2 page)

“Hi,” I say with the same reaction. What on earth?

Collins steps in too, and he blinks and shakes his head. I’ve flustered him. Usually it’s the other way around. “Um, sorry.” He looks at the beaming Sophie and smiles back. “What brings us in today?”

“Cora cut her hand,” Sophie says.

“She did, huh?” he asks, slapping on gloves. After examining it he says, “Nasty cut there. How’d you do this?”

“Scissors,” Cora says. “I’m not ’apposed to use them.”

“No, you are not,” I say.

Dr. Sutcliffe turns to me, flashing me a million-watt smile, which morphs into a nervous one before continuing his exam. Even Collins seems confused. “Accidents happen. You won’t do it again, will you?”

“No, sir,” Cora says.

“Collins, I’m gonna need a suture kit.”

As she retrieves one from the cabinet, I get up and sit on the table, hugging my niece from behind. “Is it going to hurt?” Cora asks.

“Not too bad,” Dr. Sutcliffe says before glancing at me with kind eyes. Goddess is he good-looking. Could be a male model. Collins returns and they begin to fix Cora up. She cries when he numbs her hand with a needle and I hug her tighter, whispering promises of ice cream when we get home. “There you go, the worst part’s over,” the doctor says. Five minutes of sewing and coy glances my way and he finishes. “All set.”

“Thank you,” I say.

“My pleasure.”

“You did good,” I say, kissing Cora’s cheek.

Dr. Sutcliffe adds some notes to his chart. “Just keep it dry and bring her back in two weeks for suture removal.”

“Okay,” I say as I help her off the table.

As I’m getting their coats on, the doctor whispers to Collins. She tosses the kit in the trash and spins around. “Hey, girls. Let’s go see if we can rustle up a lollipop or two for you being so good.”

They all but run out of the room in search of candy. Collins raises an eyebrow at me before walking out. And now I’m alone with my fantasy man, who I think wanted to be alone with me. “Will she have a scar?”

“No,” he says, back still to me. “I see Cora hasn’t had her Hep B vaccination yet.”

“Yeah, she and Sophie had to get every other kind a year and a half ago. That was a nightmare. I’ve been putting the rest off.”

“They weren’t vaccinated before?” he asks, turning around.

“Um, I have no idea. They don’t remember ever getting shots, and I had no documentation. Hell, I don’t even have their birth certificates. It was a fight getting them enrolled in school.”

“What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”

I sigh. “My younger sister Ivy—who I had not seen in over ten years, mind you—showed up on my porch with Sophie and Cora for a visit. I wake up the next day and the kids are there, but Ivy and my emergency cash are gone. A week later a few boxes with toys and clothes arrived. That was the last we’ve heard from her.”

“Jesus, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s been a learning experience to say the least.”

“I can imagine. They’re wonderful girls though. You should be proud.”

“Well, thank you,” I say, blushing for the nineteenth time today.

His sharp features soften again. “I’ll, uh, give them the shots when Cora comes in next time.”

“Okay,” I say, following him out.

For a girl who just had a medical procedure, Cora is positively giddy, mouth curled into a smile as she sucks on her lollipop. Collins gives Sophie one too as we walk out. “Um, I’ll see you girls in two weeks, okay?” the doctor says, patting Cora’s head. Then those almost black eyes find mine. “Nice to see you again, Mona.”

“You too, Dr. Sutcliffe.”

“Please, call me Guy.”

My new favorite name. “Guy.”

“Goodbye girls, and thanks Sophie.” What did she do? All four of us females watch as he struts away, off to help ease other’s suffering. And yes, I do check out his heinie. He must feel it because he glances over his shoulder, looking at me with a private smile. Okay, I know it’s been awhile, but either he’s into me or the stress of my life is making me delusional. My past track record says the latter.

“Dang, Mona,” Collins says, “get a room.”

Or maybe my good luck’s finally caught up with me.

• Girls’ bedtime/finish potions
  

We return home to find Auntie Sara still on her porch, phone pressed to her ear. The three of us wave before running into the house, away from prying eyes. As I am a woman of my word, both girls enjoy ice cream before going up for their baths. This time used to be a massive struggle. If I had to guess, Ivy never made them do a damn thing, including bathing or brushing their teeth. They were almost afraid to get into the tub, as if they’d melt if a drop of water touched them. That damn
Wizard of Oz
set us witches back centuries in terms of progress. But if I learned anything from all the years I helped take care of my two younger sisters, it’s that kids crave structure. Thanks to a bullwhip and rigid schedule, the girls felt safe for the first time in their lives, and within a month I didn’t even have to ask them to bathe.

I flop down on the light pink couch in my cozy living room with a sigh as the water runs upstairs. The house is a treasure. Built almost a hundred years ago, it’s held up beautifully. Hardwood floors, stone fireplace, all the original moldings. They don’t make them like this anymore. The furniture is more modern, mostly from IKEA or Pier1. When the house officially became mine, I remodeled. It was far too old-lady chic. I painted the walls light blue but kept the dozens of pressed flowers and herbs in frames on the walls. It was Granny’s hobby, I couldn’t part with them.

With a sigh, I close my weary eyes. I am not going to make it through the next eight days if I’m this exhausted already. I’m pretty self-sufficient, once again almost to a fault according to everyone, but this week … I shake my head. There are very few times I wish I were married, or at least seeing someone, and this is one of them. Maybe a handsome doctor? No, don’t get on that train of thought. If wishes were horses and all. But it was odd. I’m the first to admit I have no game or mojo. Never have. I’m told I have girl-next-door appeal, whatever that is. He was probably just bored. There is no way in hell he’s interested in me. I’m thirty-five, plump (okay, fat), my hair has a mind of its own, I’m on the cusp of poverty, and I have two small children in my care. Oh yeah, line up, fellas.

But that last smile …

The ringing phone snaps me out of my head. I haul my exhausted bones off the couch and pick it up. Crap, I have four messages on the machine. “Hello?”

“Mona, it’s Brandie,” she says. Judging from the reluctance in her voice, I am not going to enjoy this call. “I’ve been calling for a dang hour!”

“I was out. What’s the matter?”

“Okay, well I was trying out that new potion, the one that calms the mind? Well, I gave it to Aaron, and he just crashed to the floor like a ton of bricks. I can’t wake him up! I’ve tried shouting, water, even a slap, but he won’t wake up! He’s in a coma or something. I don’t know what to do!”

Cue the headache. “Brandie, I told you that you were using too much geranium.”

“But it gives the potion more power!”

“Yeah, obviously. Okay, do you have the third lesson from December? The one about cleansing? Find it and follow it
word for word.
It should counter the other potion. He’ll be fine by tomorrow morning, okay?”

“What if he isn’t?”

“Then I’ll pop by and see what I can do, but the cleansing potion should work.”

“Okay. Thank you so much,” she says, overeager as always.

“Have a goodnight.” I hang up. Hell’s bells. How hard is it to make a damn potion? There are step-by-step instructions. Yet most nights I get a crisis call from some witch who thinks he or she knows better than centuries of others, and as High Priestess it’s up to me to fix their mistakes.

High Priestess. I really hate that title. Sounds like an eighties hair band. I inherited the title and the largest coven in North America when Granny died ten years ago. Did I want to? Hell, no. With Granny gone and Daddy dead five years before, I became the sole caretaker of my fourteen-year-old sister Debbie—Ivy had taken off the year before—this house, and the magic shop. I did not also need a hundred and fifty witches looking to me for spiritual guidance and witchcraft instruction. But I’d been training for years, ever since I got my first period and made a sinkhole in our backyard during a fight with Ivy. That’s the mark of a High Priestess—control over earth/air/fire/water. I am the physical embodiment of the fifth element, aether or spirit, which unites the other four. I can’t
conjure
the elements, but if they’re around I can manipulate them to do my bidding. Think tornados, tsunami, bushfires, and earthquakes. I am literally a walking natural disaster.

In my own coven there are seven others with this ability, but the last High Priestess names her successor, and if anyone objects, the coven can vote for another replacement. That didn’t happen in my case. I was groomed from age twelve to take over and had already assumed most of Granny’s duties, including the management of Midnight Magic, so no one objected. Had they done so, I would have gladly stepped aside. I’ve found that no number of luck charms can ever change mine.

I press the button on the answering machine.
“Hey, it’s Billie
,”
my assistant manager says.
“I just e-mailed you three new orders. I’ll have my twelve tomorrow. Bye.”
One of the first things I did when I took over the shop was to set up a website where people can order potions and charms over the Internet. It’s now over a quarter of our revenue.

“Hi, it’s Debbie,”
my baby sister says.
“I was just wondering if you talked to Jocasta about the flowers. If not, I can do it tomorrow. Kiss the girls goodnight for me. See you tomorrow. Love you.”

Hell’s bells, I cannot believe my baby sister is getting married in a week. I can’t help it, I’ll always think of her as the wide-eyed baby I used to feed and later walk to the school bus. I’m eleven years older than her. When Mommy died of an infection after having her, Daddy was shattered. He had two other kids to raise, not to mention a law practice, so he moved us down the street into this house with Papa and Granny. The three adults definitely did the brunt of the child rearing, but I aided as much as I was capable. I chased the monsters out from under Debbie’s bed, took her to the park, and helped with schoolwork. But then Daddy was hit by a drunk driver when she was nine, Granny got cancer when she was twelve and died two years later, and Papa faded six months after that. So it was all on me. Teaching her to drive, counseling her on boyfriend problems, and helping her get into college fell on my shoulders. Thank the goddess Debbie has a good nature and a clear head on her shoulders. She not only got into the University of Virginia after two years of community college, but she found every available grant and scholarship to cover tuition. I scrimped and saved for the rest. Now she’s marrying her college boyfriend, Greg, who just passed the Virginia Bar. A lawyer. My sister hit the jackpot.

The other two messages are from Brandie, as are the three messages on my cell. I delete them and consider taking the phone off the hook, but think better of it. Knowing Brandie, her poor husband will wake up covered in boils. It’s happened before.

I’m starving and dinner didn’t cut it, but I’ve used up all my Weight Watchers points on that cheeseburger today, so I grab some water and broccoli, lock the doors for the night, and check on the girls upstairs. I find Sophie at the desk cleaning up blood and the bits of paper Cora was cutting. Like her sister, she’s as cute as a button with big blue eyes, straight light brown hair with bangs, and long limbs. As I watch her small body wiping up blood, a pang of regret hits me. She reminds me so much of myself at that age, taking care of everyone. It stinks being a forty-year-old trapped in a ten-year-old’s body. I don’t know if she was forced into it what with being the oldest—probably, based on what little they’ll tell me about life with Ivy—or if she’s just an old soul like me. Both, I’d guess.

“Hey, you don’t have to do that,” I say as I step in.

“I don’t mind,” she says, tossing the paper towels into her pink trashcan.

I pull her into a hug and kiss the top of her head. “I’m proud of you.”

“Why? I should have been watching her.”

“No,
I
should have been watching her. This one’s on me.” I kiss her again before picking up the scissors and clearing off the desk. The collage Cora was making is a goner. “So what do you think for tonight?
Ferdinand
or start another
Encyclopedia Brown?”

“Can we just watch
The Princess and the Frog
again?”

“Again? You can almost quote the whole thing.”

“I know you have a lot of work to do,” Sophie says as she sits on her bed underneath that Justin Bieber poster. He and Miley Cyrus fill every pink wall. I forbid anything
Twilight
in the house solely on principle. I personally know vampires, and they do
not
sparkle.

Normally I try to keep the TV consumption to a minimum, but I have too much work and not enough energy to protest. “Fine. Go take your shower then you can start the movie. The moment it’s over, lights out okay? I will check.”

“Okay, Aunt Mona.” I give her one final kiss before beginning to walk out. “Aunt Mona?”

I spin around. “Yeah, honey?”

“I like Dr. Sutcliffe. He’s super nice, don’t you think?”

“I guess. I barely know him.”

“But you think he’s handsome, right?”

“I—I suppose.” Oh hell, I’m so obvious a child can pick up my crush.

“I think he likes you too. You should ask him out.”

“It’s—it’s not that simple, honey.”