Gypsy Magic - J.R. Rain Page 0,13

enter into it?”

“Well, mom makes potions and her potions are magical. They heal people,” Finn said.

I didn’t want Marty to think we were crazy, so I decided to dim Finn’s explanation down a bit. “Part of gypsy culture is living off the land and applying natural fixes to common ailments. It’s basically holistic medicine and it’s been handed down through the generations, from my mom and my grandma, before her.”

“We call Mom’s magical concoctions potions,” Finn added.

“Holistic magic potions?” Marty repeated. Strangely, he didn’t seem surprised.

“Holistic… remedies,” I corrected. “Anyway, I found a great little space for my shop right on Main Street. I still have some shelves to put up and I need a bunch of marketing materials and a sign, but I should be able to open in a week or so.”

Marty nodded and swallowed another gargantuan bite of ice cream. “Isn’t all that holistic stuff big in L.A.?”

“It is, but there’s a ton of competition and the few customers I had weren’t cutting it. Plus, I got tired of college kids asking if I had vape pens or CBD oil.” He chuckled at that. “Maybe it’s silly, but I thought I might have better luck out here in the sticks.”

Marty leaned over the counter, snagging the beer nuts and mustard sauce I’d been eyeing from the top of the pile, sliding them over to me in one smooth move.

“Thanks,” I said with a little, guilty smile.

“Nah, I don’t think that’s silly. This town has a spooky reputation. Your shop will fit right in. Do it up like an old apothecary with some dark wood shelves, brass scales, and old bottles. People will eat that right up. You could call it ‘Holly’s Home Remedies’ or something.”

“Actually, I already have a name for it.”

“And what’s that?”

I cleared my throat. “Poppy’s Potions.”

“Poppy?” he started.

“It’s my middle name.”

“Huh,” he said, nodding. “Then Holly is…”

“My first name.”

“But everyone calls Mom ‘Poppy’,” Finn explained.

Marty looked at me and smiled. “Poppy,” he repeated, like he was tasting the word. “I like it.”

Finn plucked one of the large lollipops from the basket, scowling when I swapped it for a strip of jerky and a packet of wasabi peas.

“Mom.”

“You’ve had enough sugar for the night.”

He rolled his shoulders forward and cast a sullen glance over at the antique stove that dominated most of one wall. The La Cornue Range Stove had been stylish and modern... when it was installed in the 1920s. I wasn’t sure how much elbow grease it was going to take to get the individual pieces clean or if the thing would even start. It seemed like a fiery conflagration waiting to happen.

Finn peeled the wasabi pea bag open with a great deal of unnecessary attitude. “Are these things hot?” he asked Marty.

He shrugged. “I mean, kind of?”

“I don’t like hot stuff.”

“Just eat the jerky,” I said and took the peas from him.

He nodded and faced Marty again. “Where’d you get all this stuff anyway?”

“From all the shops in town,” he answered. “The jerky, nuts, peas, and pretzels are courtesy of Roy Osbourne, the owner of the Half-Moon Bar and Grill.” Then he looked at me. “The best steak you’ll get in the entire state, hands down.” Then he looked at Finn. “The candies are from Sweeter Haunts. It’s decorated year-round for Halloween and they have the best candy corns you ever had. Swear. The ice cream came from Stanley Stomper. He’s a bit of a reclusive sort and never comes out of the shop, but the floats are to die for. There’s some sugar-free gum and flavored dental floss in there from Lorcan Rowe’s Dentistry and the rest is from Miss Hazel’s Convenience store.”

“Thank you,” I said, touched he’d gone to such an extent to welcome us. It really said a lot about him. And I was happy to know there was a dentist in town. Hopefully he was an orthodontist, as well, since Finn had braces.

“Eh, don’t sweat it,” Marty said and gave me a lingering smile. “What are neighbors for, right?”

“Right,” I answered. “By the way, you were going to tell me about what happened to my apple tree?”

“Oh, right!” he said and nodded. “Ophelia happened to your apple tree.”

“Um… what do you mean?”

“I mean your apple tree didn’t react well to being around Ophelia.”

“I still don’t get it.”

Marty shrugged. “You should see her at the grocery store. She walks by the fresh produce and I swear it all starts wilting seconds later. It’s like the old hag is cursed.”

Or