Gypsy Magic - J.R. Rain Page 0,37

away from her, toward the glass case, behind the desk. I had a few things that might help, but to know precisely what she needed, I’d have to ask more questions.

“Can you tell me a little bit more about what’s going on?” I asked, not meaning to pry, but I couldn’t help her unless she was more specific with her ailments.

“What more do you need to know? I’m stressed out and I haven’t been sleeping well.”

Her brusque manner immediately put me on the defensive, but realizing that wouldn’t do either of us any good, I opted to explain. “This isn’t an exact science. One type of stress isn’t the same as another. For instance, the stress of work is different from the stress of finding out your boyfriend of three years is cheating. Or...”

“I’m a single mother of two eleven-year-old girls, the bank is foreclosing on my house, my brother-in-law just passed, so my sister is a wreck, and I can’t shake these damn night terrors,” she snapped, her anger sloughing off some of the fatigue.

“Oh,” I said in a small voice. What was there to say to that? Of course she was stressed.

“Yes, oh,” she snapped. “What can you give me to help? Or is this a gigantic waste of my time?”

I found myself caught between two conflicting desires. Helping her, or telling her to take a hike. On the one hand, I understood her circumstances must have been frightening. Her real life sounded like a nightmare. But, on the other hand, no one had the right to talk to me like that.

“Seems like we got off on the wrong foot,” I started, offering an olive branch.

The woman deflated, like someone let the air out of a helium balloon. I could practically hear the hiss as the fight went out of her.

“I’m just… not in control of my emotions lately…”

I gave her a big smile, hoping she’d realize I wasn’t her enemy. “I will do my best to help.”

“Thanks,” she grumbled.

“My name’s… Poppy,” I continued, remembering how Marty had said that’s what I was called here, in Haven Hollow. A feeling of warmth spread through me as I imagined his smiling face. “What’s your name?”

“Barbra,” she managed.

“Hi Barbra, it’s nice to meet you.”

Barbra nodded meekly. “Right. You too.”

She was like that most of the visit, not saying much and strangely, appearing to avoid looking me in the eyes. I loaded a white candle, a vial of Calming Oil, and Get Away Oil into a small plastic sack, as well as a dreamcatcher.

The Calming Oil would allow her to relax and calm her nerves. I told her to anoint her pulse points with it before bed every night. The Get Away Oil would help protect her against nightmares. I instructed her to anoint the dreamcatcher and the candle with it and burn the candle for fifteen minutes every night before she went to bed.

Worry twinged beneath my breastbone as I rang her up. The potions were $10.00 each, the dreamcatcher $13.50, and the candle was $8.25. I remembered how she’d said she was losing her house and she had two daughters to support. I could give her a break. At the last second, I bumped the candle off her total and I only charged her for one potion. It wasn’t good business sense, but I had to appease my conscience at the same time. And this woman needed an act of kindness with the luck she’d been having.

I scribbled the directions onto a piece of paper, just in case none of what I’d said during the selection process had penetrated her obviously scattered mind. I folded the missive and tucked it into the bag with her purchases after I rang her up. I’d need to invest in some nice stationary—something classier than a piece of lined yellow paper.

Barbra gathered up her purchases and trudged out the door, not bothering to return my faux-chipper farewell. She had the doleful, dejected air of a chastised bloodhound as she departed. I was left staring at the empty doorway, pity twisting my stomach.

My first transaction ought to have been an occasion to celebrate.

Chapter Twelve

I stroked the pendant resting above my collarbone thoughtfully. I’d finally given in to Darla, bending to the necessity of a ghostly security system. I traced the apple cheeks of the kissing silver cherubs that made up the locket. My mother had found it in a rummage sale and gifted it to me last Christmas. The supposedly innocent angels were wrapped