Of Stars and Spells Page 3

  “Do you think it’s because you’re a witch?” Summer asks.

  Winter tapes a box. “That never bothered him before.

  ”His brother’s death did a number on him,” Spring interjects. She stuffs degradable peanuts into a box around a wrapped crystal skull. “I know how I felt after Mom died. I did some weird, stupid things.”

  “And again, I’m going to emphasize, it’s been, what? Like, five years?” Summer blows air from her lips, sending a stray hair out of her eyes. “Would any of the intelligence services care if you’re a witch?”

  Winter rolls her eyes. “Only if they intend to hex our enemies, I suppose.”

  Spring sighs dramatically. She tends to see both sides of every coin and likes to give people the benefit of the doubt, no matter what they’ve done. It’s admirable. She’s highly intellectual, but with her feminine Cancer energy, she also has a lot of emotional integrity. Like me, she does things from the heart, more than the mind. “The government doesn’t give two frogs eyes about your witch skills. Quinn started ghosting you because his emotions over his brother’s death finally caught up with him, and you were a constant reminder of his old life here.” She nods as if that’s the final word on the subject. “Forgiveness is always in order, Autumn.”

  “Blessed be,” we all say, reminding me of Quinn’s mom saying “Amen” at such declarations.

  I’ve tried to forgive him. He’s meant the world to me since we met in kindergarten and he punched Jake Shrader for calling me a bad name. “So that’s two nos and a yes?”

  Summer snags a pendulum from a bookshelf and hands it to me. “Ask Hermione.”

  Yes, she’s named her labradorite pendulum after the famous Harry Potter character. We’re all huge fans of the books and movies. “Do you really think I’ll get a straight answer?”

  “As emotional as you are about him, probably not, but it can’t hurt.”

  She’s right. I close my eyes and clear my mind, imagining divine energy flowing through the top of my head, down to my heart, and into the hand holding it.

  I place my other palm up underneath it and ask Hermione to show me yes. She begins to swing in a clockwise circle. I ask it to show me no and she goes counterclockwise.

  I take a deep breath, imagine my feet grounded in the earth, and ask if it will answer a question about Quinn. It swings clockwise. Yes. “Should I go to dinner with him?”

  The pendulum seems to stop, waver a little, then swings vertically back and forth. I lift my gaze to Summer’s. “Even your pendulum is undecided.”

  “Is it?” she asks, pointing to Hermione.

  I drop my gaze. It’s begun swinging clockwise. Yes.

  “Okay then,” I say, a touch relieved. I hand it back to her and she returns it to the shelf.

  “It’s a bad idea,” Winter says, “regardless.” She’s already packed three boxes to my one. “You can’t trust him.”

  He used to be one of the few people I did trust. “It’s only dinner.”

  Her dark eyes snap at me. In my mind, I hear her say, I haven’t forgotten what a mess you were when he ditched you.

  She’s the one who dried my tears, held my hand, who talked me through it. I can never thank her enough for the support she gave me when my heart was broken.

  “You don’t even know when or where to meet him,” she reminds me.

  I have a suspicion that’s not going to be a problem. Quinn was always very resourceful. “Maybe he won’t even show. Or something will happen and he’ll get called to the hospital.”

  “Do you want me to do a distance healing on Mr. Harrington when I’m done here?” Summer asks.

  “Yes, thank you. I’m sure he can use all the good energy we can send.”

  Spring adds, “Mrs. Harrington always raves about my pumpkin pecan muffins. I’ll make some for her.”

  I love my sisters—they’re kind and generous, no matter the situation. “Thank you both.”

  Winter silently scowls, a defense mechanism. She has a gentle heart as well, but tries not to let it show. Plus, she doesn’t have the skills the rest of us do—she talks to dead people. There’s not a lot she can do for someone who’s ill or still walking and talking.

  “If Quinn tries anything,” she says to me, “you send out an SOS, okay?”

  I’m about to turn twenty-eight and my sister is acting like our father. I give her a hug, and even though she pretends she doesn’t want it, I know she does. Her gruff exterior hides a very sensitive woman underneath. One I love for wanting to protect me.

  Winter is sealing the last box when our UPS guy, Jamie, shows up. He smiles sweetly at me as I help him, and I wish I could return his interest. He’s asked me out multiple times in the past year and I’ve turned him down.

  I should date, go out and have fun. In no time, I’ll be thirty, ready to settle down and have kids. Isn’t that what people do? By the time our mom was my age, she was married and had me and Winter already.

  I look into Jamie’s soft brown eyes, see his cute smile, and I feel nothing. All I can think about is a moss green gaze, a broad chest, and a man who calls me Stargazer.

  I’m hopeless. Quinn stole my heart, not only in this lifetime, but in previous ones, too. Our birth charts have shown me this is not our first journey on the human plane together.

  Star-crossed lovers. That’s what the cards show. I was hoping we could get it right, find happiness, now.

  You’re a hopeless romantic. Godfrey’s voice catches me off guard. I spin to glance at him and find he’s on one of the café tables, sunning himself. I narrow my eyes. “You’re not supposed to be up there,” I admonish.

  A genius once said, ‘Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow.’

  Einstein philosophy. I’m not a genius, I remind him. But I think you’re telling me to go for it.

  He winks. This time, I know for sure.

  But are we talking about Jamie or Quinn?

  After Jamie leaves, Spring sends Storm and Hale to deliver the pie and donut orders. Normally, we close at five during the week, but because it’s the witching season, and we’re so busy, we’ve extended our hours until seven.

  Summer sets up her table for a distance healing, Winter takes over the shop, and I help Spring get a start on tomorrow’s pastries. Around five-thirty, she shoos me off after a hug. “Thank you. Now get ready for dinner.”

  I’ve been putting off the idea, even though I’ve found myself wondering what I should wear, if I should fix my hair or put on makeup. I’m annoyed with myself for falling back into Quinn’s charm trap. That I’ve even agreed to this. I should make him work this apology.

  Shouldn’t I?

  I stroll to my cabin, Sirius loping beside me, and find the cats bedding down for the night. The short days mean it’s dark outside. Looks like Godfrey and Snow are staying with me tonight. They’re usually with Summer.

  Sirius sniffs around, nosing them in an effort to get them out of his bed, but the cats don’t move, shooting him glares from half-lidded eyes and flicking their tails. I chuckle and rub him behind the ears. “Sorry, sweet dog. Looks like you need a new bed for tonight.”

  He licks my face, whimpers softly, and nudges my hand with his nose.

  “It’s just dinner,” I say, but the argument falls flat. “Don’t worry.”

  I put down a pile of afghans Mom made on the bedroom floor, and Sirius settles on them. Drinking hot cider, I put on music, run a brush through my hair, and change my shirt.

  That’s it, I tell my boring reflection in the mirror. Nothing fancy.

  I debate whether to add my favorite floral scent. I wear it nearly every day, so I don’t feel weird putting some behind my ears and on my wrists. Then I go into the living room to wait. My cards come with me and I absentmindedly fiddle with them. Shuffling, shuffling…

  One jumps out.

  Nine of wands. Past life energy. Hmm…

  I pull from the bottom of the deck to get clarity on the card.

&
nbsp; Six of Cups. Releasing the past or someone from it who broke your heart.

  I roll my eyes at the universe, mentally telling it that it sounds like Spring.

  Minutes pass and my nerves get to me. No more jump out and I’m too keyed up to do a full reading. Heading to my bedroom, I go to my altar, and my statue of Coventina, my patron goddess. She watches over a tiny wishing well.

  Coventina is a Celtic goddess of the waters—lakes, rivers, oceans. She protects them and their inhabitants. Wishing wells were made in her honor, and I place a coin representing my offering in the tiny well underneath her outstretched hands. I ask for her support and guidance in helping me navigate the emotional waters of my relationship with Quinn. Before I’m done, I hear a knock at my door. I know without answering he’s here.

  “You do work fast,” I say to the goddess as I rise. “Blessed be.”

  Sirius goes with me, and sure enough, a very handsome, broad chested man with moss green eyes is on my front porch waiting for me.

  4

  Quinn and I say little on our way to my favorite mom and pop restaurant on the south side of Raven Falls.

  We used to go to Foul Play as teenagers. I’m a vegetarian, and years ago, the DeWeerts were the first to carry a veggie burger. It’s still one of my favorite meals, complete with homemade French fries and a vanilla shake.

  Quinn doesn’t ask if I want to go anywhere else, he simply drives there, parks, and helps me out. Total gentleman.

  He’s gone all out, wearing a dress shirt, tie, dark pants, and jacket. He smells absolutely divine, and his hair is freshly washed. He gently takes my elbow and guides me inside.

  The place is done in a baseball motif, black and white pictures of famous players on the walls, red booths, white baseball napkin holders, and a cheesy charm that most find endearing. Neither of us need the menu once we’re seated in ‘our’ spot near the back, and he orders the same meal he did when we were kids. The staff at the restaurant know my standing order, and I don’t have to say anything other than, “The usual, please.”

  Seated across from him brings up all the old memories. Looking at the man he’s become makes my chest tight.

  I ask about his father, and he frowns. “He woke up for ten minutes right before I left to get you. He’s very confused, doesn’t seem to remember anything after breakfast that morning. The doctors managed to get his blood pressure to a normal range, and maybe tomorrow he’ll be feeling well enough to stay awake and talk to us.”

  Summer’s distance healing has already kicked in. “That’s good news.”

  “I finally got Mom to go home and get some sleep.”

  Unrolling my silverware from the napkin, I feel his relief at this. “She’s lucky you’re here to help out.”

  Our waiter, Jayson, brings glasses of water and we pause our conversation. After he leaves, Quinn asks for further info on Conjure and what happened to our mother a year ago.

  It brings up a lot of mixed emotions for me, and I ignore discussing Mom—what am I going to say? We were working a spell to keep a demon in the ground on Samhain, and it reached through our barrier and killed her? That we believe it has her soul?

  Quinn knows we’re witches, but that might be a little much to dump on him at the moment.

  So I keep my answers centered on the shop, which is much easier to talk about. “Since the four of us took over, we’ve expanded our organic and holistic items. Over the years, people demanded more of the unique items we carry, like candles, athames, and tarot cards. Summer was always into crystals, and she mines her own at times from the cave behind the hot spring, supplementing what she buys at the gem shows. Spring probably has the most on her shoulders, both as our resident baker and for all the herbs she grows. She has a huge greenhouse, and people love the essential oil blends she makes.”

  I start to add that she and Tristan MacGregor, the Chief of Police, are considering getting married next year. Relationships, even if they are my sisters’, seem like a sore point between us, so I keep silent.

  Quinn takes a sip of water. “How’s your dad?”

  “Good, although he misses Mom too. They were still close, even though they separated long ago. He drops by at least once a week and usually comes to Sunday dinner.”

  “I was really sorry to hear about your mom.”

  Back to that. Defensive annoyance roots itself in my belly. Our food arrives, rescuing me from blurting out my disappointment over his lack of communication in the aftermath of her death, and we fall silent as the waiter brings our plates and asks if we need anything else.

  A swell of emotion ignites inside my chest with the familiarity of this meal, the feeling of déjà vu prevalent. Quinn tells the kid we’re good and Jayson leaves. I put my napkin in my lap, squeezing ketchup onto my plate, arranging my lettuce and pickles just so.

  Normally, I’m unshakable, having learned long ago to control my empathy. But there are times when my irascible Celtic blood roars in my veins, and I lash out. “I thought I’d at least get a sympathy card from you,” I finally admit.

  Quinn’s hand stops in mid-air and looks at me, confusion knitting in the spot between his dark brows. “I sent one.”

  It’s my turn to frown. “I—we—never got it.”

  He lowers the fork full of spaghetti to his plate. “I’m sorry. I did send it.”

  “Huh.” My skepticism hangs between us. I munch a fry. “Guess it got lost in the mail.”

  “I should’ve called.”

  It feels good to be angry. “Yes, you should have.”

  “I’m sorry, Autumn.” He watches me as if trying to read my mind. “Can we start over?”

  “Over with the conversation or over with our entire relationship?”

  “Both?”

  “No, we can’t start over! I was in love with you.” People in the next booth glance our way at my outburst. I grip my napkin tightly and lower my voice. “You left me to join the Air Force. Fine, but then, without warning, you broke up with me. There’s way too much water under the bridge for starting over.”

  He looks abashed at my honesty, but he always did appreciate it. “You’re right. I wish I could take it back.”

  “Because I called you on it, or you wish you hadn’t asked me to dinner?”

  He flinches as if I slapped him. “I don’t regret asking you to dinner. Spending time with you is my favorite thing in the world. Always has been.”

  Some of my righteous anger dissolves.

  “I have to admit, I’m slightly surprised you agreed to come, though. Figured you’d torture me for the rest of my life rather than accept my olive branch.”

  The roller coaster slows, my heart and emotions resetting. I suck down some milkshake and feel better. Ice cream helps everything, doesn’t it?

  “I’m waving a white flag,” he says, using his napkin. “I was wrong to break up with you, but… Well, Charlie’s death screwed with my head more than I like to admit.”

  Truth always feels like a flower blooming inside my chest. That’s the sensation I have now.

  My sister’s words bloom with it, an echo of what Quinn has confirmed.

  “We all deserve a second chance,” I say to my surprise. Spring may be the youngest, and have the tenderest heart of all, but her rose-colored glasses often soften my jaded heart as well.

  The cards I pulled before he picked me up float in my memory. Past life, releasing someone who broke your heart…

  “I kind of figured you more to be in a put a dagger in his heart mindset right now.” He grins. “No voodoo dolls with pins in them lying around?”

  “I’ve thought about it,” I admit, toying with my milkshake. “It’s still on the table.”

  This makes him laugh, and the sound fills me with warmth. “I’m sure it is. Actually, I’ve been scanning the place for Winter. I know she’d like to stab me.”

  The joking feels good. “You’ve got that right. She was the one who handled the brunt of the fallout when you dumped me. Her and
Mom both, but Winter has always been a shoot-first, ask-questions-later type of witch.”

  He leans forward again, as though he’s going to touch my hand, and I draw it back so he can’t. “What I did is unforgiveable. I know I don’t deserve you even speaking to me, but I’m glad you are. I wish on those stars you love so much that someday you’ll forgive me.”

  I eat the fry, grab another. “Tell me the truth, or I’ll be forced to have Mama Nightengale stab your voodoo doll a hundred times tonight.”

  He laughs again, slightly under his breath. “I joined the Air Force to be like Charlie.”

  “That isn’t news. Give me the rest.”

  He takes a bite of spaghetti and chews. A nerve jumps in his jaw. My stomach feels pain coming from him and does a whoop-dee-doo. “Things happened. Some of my plans changed.”

  “Like what?”

  “I can’t explain without putting you and my folks in danger,” he says so quietly, I’m not sure I heard him correctly.

  My voice lowers as well. “Must be significant if you’d risk my anger over it.”

  “It is.” He grits his teeth, glances at the nearby table. “His death changed everything, but going into intelligence work did too.”

  Grief feels like breathing through wet mud. My chest hurts as his loss blankets me.

  His gaze comes back to me. “There are some things I can’t tell you, but I am sorry.”

  My appetite is gone. I push my plate away. Lucille, a waitress I’ve known for years, hustles over and frowns at me. “Is your food okay, honey? You’re not eating much.”

  I tell her it’s fine, and I’ll need a box to go. She leaves, giving Quinn a warning glare.

  “Looks like I’m going to be here for at least a week or more until I’m sure Dad is steady on his feet,” he says, trying to pick up the conversation again. “I was planning on coming home at Thanksgiving, anyway, so I may stay until the end of November. I was hoping we could spend time together. You could tell me more about your life.”

  I look up to see the seriousness in his eyes. “Why do you care?”