Chapter Thirteen

“A friend of mine, a really nice young girl, lost an earring her daddy gave her before he died of cancer last year. An old family heirloom that belonged to his grandmother. Howard found it yesterday morning, but it seems to have gotten lost since then.” I paused, letting the reminder of what happened to Howard sink in. “Do you know if anyone has seen it? It’s a green emerald in a gold setting. It means the world to her.” Maybe just letting her know the circumstances would be enough to nudge the item from her greedy grasp.

But both women shook their heads, the culprit managing to look mystified. My stomach dropped into my running shoes. Not good at all.

“Well, if you do find it, or anyone else does, would you give me a call? The poor girl’s been crying her eyes out all day.” I laid on an extra layer of guilt called truth.

“Of course,” Mimi said, her plummy voice tinged with condescension. If only she knew what her daughter had done—stolen the earring from Howard. Or maybe he had given it to her? But why? If I could just get my hands on it, I’d bet it would still bear the imprint of what had happened but, even more importantly, help heal Rosalie’s broken heart.

I got up, the dizziness gone. “Okay, catch you later.”

“Uh, thank you,” Mimi said, not looking as if expressing gratitude came easily to her.

“You’re welcome.”

I escaped the RV and took a deep breath of fresh summer air tinged with the invigorating scent of pine and greenery. If Felicity didn’t hand over the earring in the next twenty-four hours, I was coming gunning for it.

“What was all that about Rosalie’s earring?” Star asked, joining me as I hurried across the lot to Thor.

“The less you know, the better, Star.”

“I’m not a child!” she complained, kicking at some loose stones with one shoddy shoe.

“Well then, stop acting like one. I gotta go.” Rosalie was going to be so disappointed. The thought squeezed the breath from my lungs. “I did what you asked. You owe me another one, sis.”

She frowned, pursing her lips. “Don’t forget the meeting tonight with the coven. We’re going to discuss a new kind of love spell that Poppy swears by. Oh, and since Christine is feeling great, it’s now at her place.” A grin popped out. “And I think I know someone who needs a new love potion in the worst way. Just sayin’.”

Poppy Spence was one of our founding members of the Northern Lights Coven. If she’d nosed out a new spell, it had to be good. Not that I needed it. Not yet, anyway. Maybe a cease-and-desist spell for the interloper?

“I have no need of artificial means to attract a mate, thank you very much.” I doubled my strides, managing to outdistance my annoying sister. Okay, protection spells, Kismet Spells and others too many to mention, but a love spell? Not going to happen.

I jerked open Thor’s door, then apologized to his spirit, laying a soft love pat on his dash before sitting back and staring out of the window. This week had to beat all. And something else was advancing toward Snowy River, coming in on the fresh breeze just now whipping up over the nearby lake. Something that whispered in my ear about trouble. Big trouble.

“What do you call this week? A walk in the park?” I muttered. “A murder, a missing piece of priceless jewelry and a woman looking to hogtie Ace. Send the trouble somewhere else, why don’t you?”

I shook my head, then started up the engine and drove back to town. After parking outside Granny’s house, I picked up a box of treats I’d packed earlier for her and jumped out. Knocking on the front door sent my mind back to the past for just a brief moment, as it always did when I crossed her threshold. The three of us standing there on the top step in the freezing cold, and my counting to one hundred before knocking—instructions courtesy of my dear long-lost mother. I automatically reached down and rubbed the head of our garden gnome, perched on the first step, for good luck. The gnome’s red cap had worn off over the years, giving the impression that he was balding, while heat radiated into my fingertips from the sun’s stored energy. I should give him a fresh paint job.

“Hi, sweeting. I was just thinking about you.” Granny opened the door, her generous smile blessing me. I followed her into the kitchen and plunked myself down at the scarred wooden table we’d all spent countless hours around eating, playing games and, when it came to my two sisters, bickering. But the best part by far was when Granny shared a bit of folk wisdom. Stories about witches or the fae from the old country.

“How are you feeling?” I asked while she bustled about putting on the kettle for tea. By the show of energy, she had to be doing better.

“I’m just fine. Doc’s just a worrier. And I’ve heard you’ve taken on a large catering project. I should be at the café helping you right now, child.”

“Got it covered. If only everything else would go as smoothly.” I shook my head.

“Auntie T.J.’s been to see you, eh?” she said, her faded blue eyes giving me a direct look for a split second before she poured boiling water over the tea bags in the china teapot which bore a pretty lavender rose design.

“Yeah, she’s on the case.”

“Did I ever tell you the story of Great-Great-Great-Grandpa Wilfred’s feather and Queen Avallach?” Granny sat across from me, waiting to pour the steaming, fragrant Earl Grey tea into the matching china cups when it had steeped. The one thing my sisters and I had all respected over the years—Granny’s tea set she’d brought over from Ireland. Not one chip, even though they were handwashed daily.

I shook my head, adding a heaped teaspoon of sugar to my cup in preparation. With the sunlight pouring in through the white lace curtains and the fragrance of Granny’s perfume scenting the air with lavender, I settled back in my chair, content to have a break from my own crazy existence. And her stories always had a point.

“Great-Great-Great-Grandpa Wilfred—he was a handsome devil by all accounts and a real charmer with shiny black hair and blue eyes—was courting a woman, Rowan O’Leary. It happened on a very special night—Samhain. The faeries were out in full force, it being the five hundredth anniversary of Queen Avallach’s death. When a faerie queen dies, the web between the two worlds thins and faeries, playful creatures that they are, like to cavort about in our world, knowing they can pull lots of pranks on humans and get away with them. Samhain is an excuse for them to do all sorts of things, because they can make themselves invisible.”

“Now that would be an ability I’d like to have,” I said, envisioning that awesome power.

“You have your fair share, as do your sisters,” she said, with a knowing arch of her eyebrows. “It was time to light the bonfires in the Macalisters’ meadow and everyone headed over there. A particularly annoying faerie named Abby was looking to cause trouble with a pair of humans that night and set her cap at Grandpa Wilfred. Well, Rowan wasn’t having any of it.”

I sat up straighter. “What did the faerie do?”

“She asked Grandpa to dance and tried beguiling him with the act of mesmer. Faeries have this ability to mesmerize humans into doing what they want. And Abby was looking to lure Grandpa Wilfred away to take him to a fairy mound. Time there flows differently—a short while can be years for the fae. Grandpa would have thought he was gone for much longer than he would be, come back all confused and not himself. So, of course, Rowan spoke up and gave her the what-for when she tried her nonsense. Chased her right away. You got to watch faeries, child. Some are good and some are up to no good.” She took a moment to pour the tea into our cups.

“Just like humans. Didn’t you say something about a feather?” I took a sip of the tea, enjoying its unique ability to soothe and inspire me at the same time.

“I’m getting to that part now. The pair of them were walking home when a shimmering blue feather dusted Rowan’s white dress in the moonlight. Probably off a wild turkey—very iridescent and ever so pretty. Well, Grandpa Wilfred picked it up and placed it in his hat and said these very words to her, ‘I’m keeping this feather, Rowan, as a reminder of how you set your cap at me on this night. And I’ve something to ask of you.’ Then he got down on one knee and asked in his wonderfully rich baritone voice, ‘Will you marry me, Rowan? You’ll make me the happiest man on earth. Please say yes.’”

“Lovely story,” I said. “Not so easy these days to just set your cap at a man. And in my case, it’s even worse. If I choose incorrectly—poof—there go all my powers.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” She shrugged, as if she wasn’t as sure as the first time she’d shared the information. “Your healing power is the strongest I’ve ever seen or heard about in all our family’s history of gifted healers. Might take more than bedding the wrong man to end it? You have good instincts. Trust them.” Granny looked as though she was trying to reason it out or reassure me.

I shook my head. “All the more to lose. What if one of us needed my healing ability all of a sudden? I’d never take that chance.”

“You can’t live your life worried about what-ifs, child. You have got to live your life for you, not by what everyone else needs. Sometimes to find yourself, you must let go, sweeting, come what may.”

“Yeah, well, I need a plan just to be spontaneous. Kind of defeats the purpose, don’t you think?”

She chuckled, a sound that reminded me of that awesome moment earlier today when Ace had surprised me. “You never did like change. Always needing to control everything and everyone around you. Doesn’t mean you can’t learn another way.”

“Too old.” I had a sudden wish that my mother had learned a little control over her drug habit—things might have turned out very differently.

She burst out laughing, then wiped her streaming eyes on her flowered apron. “Charm, don’t you beat all? You’re twenty-one. You’ve got a lot of changing to do before this lifetime is over. I look back down on my way of thinking and being when I was your age, and I don’t recognize that person now, she’s changed so much. Life’s journey changes everyone, sweeting, like it or not. Up to you to decide what to embrace and what to let go with each new experience. And if you’re lucky, you’ll have so many experiences that you’ll leave this part of our existence for the next well prepared and ready for it.”

“I’m not changing for any man. No matter who it is.”

“Don’t worry. He’ll do most of the changing.” She poured us more tea, giving me a waggle of her eyebrows in the process.

“Granny!” I sat stunned by her revelation. I had no idea that Auntie T.J.’s earlier comments about women being blacksmiths ran in the family. I wanted to ask her more, about what she knew about what was next for us, after this lifetime, but something made me hesitate. Some things were better left unsaid. I couldn’t see my way past this thing with Ace and Jennifer Morgan, let alone be worrying about the end of my existence on this physical plane. Which didn’t mean I didn’t have my theories. I took a sip of tea, basking in the moment. I came from an interesting group of women, without a doubt. I set my cup down, another thought coming to me.

“I was sent a message that trouble’s coming our way.”

“Always going to be trouble, sweeting. Just how you handle it that matters. Remember, all that has been or ever will be has already happened. Life’s one endless cycle.” She sat back in her chair, a tired look replacing her recent animation. Guilt struck. I relied on her counsel so much that I forgot she was a woman in her seventies.

“I should go. You need your rest.” I got up, squeezed her shoulder and gathered up our tea things to rinse them in the sink.

I was kissing Granny on the cheek when the back door burst open and in trooped the errant Tulip.

“Where have you been?” I asked, straightening up and giving her a direct look.

“Aw, Charm, didn’t expect to see you here. You must have parked out front. I just came up the alley from visiting with Emma,” Tulip said. She looked flustered, handing out way more than enough information. What is she hiding?

“Would you like some tea, sweeting?”

“Sorry, Granny, I don’t have time. Running late today.”

“That you are,” I grumbled.

“I just came from the movie set. Have you heard the latest?” she asked, ignoring my dig. She pulled out a chair and plonked down with the smuggest look.

“What’s up, child?” Granny asked.

“You’d best be careful or you’ll be following in Auntie T.J.’s footsteps,” I said, a warning shot over her bow.

“Charm! How dare you compare me to—”

A look from Granny silenced her.

“Anyway, it involves Star so it’s not gossip. You know that song she wrote to honor our ancestor Mary Sarah Toogood, The Wailin’ Tree?”

I nodded. “Yeah. What about it?”

Tulip looked fit to burst. “It’s going to be featured in the movie!”

“What? No way!” I sat back down. This was beyond huge. Tulip began to sing the song, a decent rendition, though not as tuneful as Star’s.

 

“They haunt these hills, in long white shrouds

A tree stands firm, near weeping clouds

The crowd’s long gone, their souls set free

And nobody’s left, but me.”

 

I joined in for the chorus while I remembered the long night when Star had stayed up until sunrise writing the ballad after she’d found out what had happened in Salem. It had affected her so much that she’d had to get the deep feelings out by creating the song.

 

“The wailin’ tree, oh the wailin’ tree

Nobody’s left, but the wailin’ tree.

The wailin’ tree, oh the wailin’ tree

Nobody’s left, but me.”