The Whimsy Witch Who Wasn't - Donna Augustine Page 0,3
in the cemetery, and the now-looming séance, my nerves were on overload. This guy standing silently in the room, no matter how attractive, was working the last one I had.
He scanned me again, and for all his good looks, I was getting a little nervous with the perusal and the way he wasn’t talking. Although I got the strange impression he was more stunned than aggressive.
“If it’s the feather you want, take it and go. It’s not one of ours.” We did carry a line of feathers, but they were much fancier than this common crow one.
“Is there anyone else here?” he asked.
Perhaps I’d ruled out “aggressive” too hastily. “Yes. There’s a few people in the back,” I said. I dropped my hand below the counter, blindly digging around until I touched my phone.
“You’re lying, and not very well.” He held up the feather. “When did this get here? Was someone else here when it arrived?”
“I think you need to leave.”
He edged closer. I was glad the counter was between us as I stepped back, taking my phone with me.
“Tell me everyone who was here when the feather arrived.” He leaned his hands on the counter, his broad shoulder blocking out the rest of the light as the room grew darker. “How did you get the feather?”
“You need to leave right now.”
He reached forward lightning fast, grabbing my wrist in a firm grip. The phone I’d picked up dropped to the floor, and even with the excess fabric of my sweater, I couldn’t pull free.
“Who was here when this came?” he asked.
What the hell was he talking about? We got some whackos in here, but this man was insane. He made my mother look normal.
“You need to get your hand off me, now.”
“Answer me.”
“It was just me and the owner, I think.”
He dropped his hand, and I scrambled to the floor to retrieve my phone. I tried to dial nine-one-one, but the screen wouldn’t light up. Should I make a run for it?
“You need to leave or I’m calling the police.”
I held my phone so he couldn’t see the black screen of my dead phone.
He shook his head before turning and walking out.
I sagged in relief as the door swung shut behind him.
2
Loris called from the back room, “Tippi, are you coming?”
I glanced down at my phone that had decided to start working again. It was six o’clock and Loris was in back with the client already, completely unworried about the earlier confrontation I’d told her about. The séance I didn’t want to partake in would eat up a good hour or two. This was officially the day that wouldn’t end.
I hadn’t the heart to leave after telling Loris I’d help. Part of me—actually, all of me—had hoped she’d start the séance without me.
“Just locking the door,” I called, even though I’d done that already. There was no getting out of here until this was done, so I headed back.
The room was ready, the smell of herbs in the air. Loris believed electronics interfered with her gift, so the place was lit by candlelight. I loved Loris dearly, but wasn’t so sure the electronics were the true issue. But she believed in what she did. So did her customers, so that was enough.
I sat at the table, taking Loris’ hand and the customer’s. She was a smiling older lady who already had tissues ready beside her. Getting here late had cut back on the small talk, as I’d hoped. The questions, anything from “how long have you been speaking to the dead” to “how long will they stay and talk” made these occasions even worse than normal.
Loris began chanting as I closed my eyes, thinking about how much laundry I needed to do. It was a lot. I had one outfit left for tomorrow. My building had a few coin-operated machines in the basement and several tenants who didn’t like to remove their clothes in a timely fashion. The math didn’t work out to my benefit. If I had to dump their clothes on top of the machine tonight, I would. I’d had enough of this laundry rudeness.
“Who are you?” came a deep, gritty voice.
Hmmm. Loris was really working on her voice effects lately. That was a new one. Little on the rude side, but definitely spooky. And had she set up a remote-control fan in here or something? I felt an uncomfortable draft.
“Wh-what?” Loris asked, as if she hadn’t been the one to ask in the first place.