Running witch, p.5
Running Witch, page 5
“Sarah!” Tetris greeted me from behind the back counter where he was arranging a fossil display. “Guess I forgot to relock the door when I came in.”
I slowly made my way toward the back.
“I heard you hurt yourself,” he said. “How are you?”
“Well enough,” I said, “all things considered. Busy, which is good, but I hate being slowed down like this.”
I gestured toward the offending ankle.
“That’s a drag. Let me know if there’s something I can do to help. Meanwhile, what brings you to my shop today?”
I crutched past the display of miniature dinosaur skeletons and some beautiful seashells as he walked towards me, meeting me halfway.
“Here,” he said, dragging a stool out from behind his cash point. “Pull up a chair.”
“Thank you, Tetris.” I hoisted myself onto the padded stool with a sigh of relief. “I came because there seems to be a missing person in town, and I wondered if you might know anything.”
“Missing person?” he said. Taking out a rag and some vinegar cleaner, he started polishing the tops of the glass display cases. That had to be a never-ending chore in a store like his.
“Why do you think I would know anything about it?”
I shrugged. “I’m not sure, actually. He just seemed like a guy that might get along with you. You know?”
Though I suddenly doubted myself. Tetris was no surfer dude. Instead, he was a middle-aged punk rocker. Today’s uniform was an ancient Crass T-shirt, once-black jeans now faded to gray, and his regulation battered black Doc Martens boots.
“Although, you two aren’t alike. Not exactly. This guy was more of a surfer type. Seemed mellow. Had a golden retriever?”
“Oh yeah! He came in, browsed around. I gave him a bowl of water for his dog. He leashed him outside. Wow, man…he’s missing?”
“Looks that way,” I said. “Delta Crabbit found one of his shoes on the beach. Or at least we think it’s his. And he’s the reason I got hurt.”
“What?”
“Frisbee. Dog. Driftwood. My ankle.”
He waved his hands, rag flapping. “Say no more. But ouch!”
He resumed cleaning, as if waiting for me to say something else, but I wasn’t sure how to approach the rest of the conversation. I mean, Tetris might not be into magic himself, but he’s been around Seashell Cove long enough and been my friend long enough to have experienced plenty of what some people call the woo.
And his former girlfriend is now a ghost, one of the many that haunts The Historic Kelpie Inn, but that’s a story for another day.
“Just spit it out,” he said. “I know there’s something you’re not telling me, and it’s probably something to do with magic.”
“You’re too wise, my friend.” I adjusted myself on the padded stool. “Uncle Cyrus did some psychometry on the shoe—a little psychic exploration—and he seems to think Carlson is in trouble.”
Tetris paused to scratch the pale stubble on his chin.
“What kind of trouble?”
“Again, we don’t know. But he also saw money passing hands and tiny plastic baggies.”
Tetris smacked his palms down on the glass counter, obliterating all the polishing he had just done with fresh fingerprints.
“I knew there was something about that guy. He kept hinting at things…but you know how it is when you’re busy. You’re helping customers and just trying to be friendly to the weird guy.”
“Oh, I know it.” We all did. It was part and parcel of running a store in a seasonal tourist town.
“You think he was trying to sell you drugs?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Something like that. He seemed strange. But I just chalked it up to him being a friendly gregarious dude, you know?”
Well, he was that. Even after almost bonking me with his danged Frisbee.
“Anyway, I can help if you want,” he said. “I mean, with your ankle and all. And with finding this guy.”
“Well…” I said, thinking. “Thanks for the offer, Tetris. For right now, Stefon seems happy to drop me places, but if he gets tired of it…”
“Anytime,” Tetris said. “Happy to drive you.”
I smiled, hoping he didn’t see I was faking. While it was nice of him to offer, considering that Tetris drove a forty-year-old truck that rattled and wheezed, I would rather make do with other people’s vehicles. Tetris’s truck was more junker than classic, if you know what I mean.
“Mostly, just keep your eyes and ears open. Also, do you know anyone who wants a dog?”
He looked sorrowful. “The golden retriever?”
I nodded.
“Oh man, that was such a sweet dog. Who’s got him now?”
“Tracy, but I don’t think Carol’s too happy about the situation.”
“Well, if that dog needs a place to stay, you let me know. He can come here and stay with me as long as he likes.”
My shoulders dropped with relief. I hadn’t even known I was hunching them. Some tension in my belly uncoiled itself, too.
“Tetris, that would be great. I’ll tell Tracy today. She’ll be disappointed, but I bet Carol will be by to thank you.”
“No problem. I’m an old dog myself.”
We both chuckled.
“All right, I better be moving on if I’m going to get to Angie’s before opening the store.”
I boosted my butt off the stool and grabbed my crutches again.
“Take care of yourself, Sarah. And can you flip the sign for me? Close enough to opening time now.”
“Sure enough. Have a good day.”
I flipped the sign, shoved open the door, and stepped on to a bustling sidewalk, accompanied by the roar of a Tyrannosaurus Rex.
10
It was going to be a busy day.
First Tetris, then Tracy and Tabitha, had promised to meet me at Angie’s to go over a plan. Delta Crabbit and Preston, too. I’d invited Uncle Cyrus, but he’d been noncommittal.
I also had to get to Cecilia’s to meet with Toby and the sprites, and sandwich in time to do the actual job that kept Rhiannon in kibble. All without being able to drive. If I could brake without using my foot, things would’ve been fine. But as it was? Stefon insisted on driving me around. Though considering he makes four times as much money as I do, I hated to take him away from his work.
By the time I navigated across the road—using the crosswalk and light for once—and pushed my way into the Blueberry Café, the gang was already gathered, including Jerry and Ash. I gave them all a quick wave, then crutched past the big community bulletin board and headed for the counter.
“I’m beginning to think you like my muffins,” Angie said, voice dry. Wisps of blond hair escaped from her blue kerchief. Buster pushed through the swinging kitchen door, carrying a fresh tray of scones. His face glistened with sweat. He slammed the tray on the steel work counter behind Angie and practically flung himself back into the kitchen.
Okay. What’s up with you, buddy?
“Buster seems a bit grouchy. Hot in the kitchen today?”
Angie exhaled dramatically. “Baking in August is always a steam bath. At least we’re not inland. I don’t think I could take doing this job in Portland. But he’s miffed because I told him he couldn’t have a raise until he’d been here at least six months.”
She glanced at the two people queued up behind me. When had they come in? Usually, I maintained better awareness of my surroundings. My witchy senses were scrambled, and I needed to do something about that. Stat. But for now…
“Blueberry muffin and English Breakfast tea, please. I’ll send one of the teens up to get my order when its ready.”
“Thanks, Sarah.”
She’d already turned to help the next person in line, so I navigated between tables toward the back where two tables were smooshed together, creating one large obstacle at the edge of the main dining area. The place was full. Still part of the breakfast rush, but it was the only time all of us could meet at once.
Tabitha leapt up to pull out a chair for me, as Tracy took my crutches. I eased myself into the chair with a sigh of relief.
“How are you, dear?” asked Delta Crabbit. The witch’s hair was almost tame today. She must not have started stressing out yet.
“I feel like a whiner, but I’m already sick of this. I’ve got so much to do today—along with the bookstore—and too many things require a car.”
“I’m happy to drive you,” Delta replied. “Preston and I.”
That was astonishing.
“You have a car?”
I only ever saw Delta walking and wasn’t sure I trusted her behind the wheel.
“I do. It’s garaged most of the time, but I do have one…” She sounded less certain now. That did not set my mind at ease.
Luckily, Tracy chimed in.
“My mom said to tell you that since it’s her slow season, she’d be happy to drive you around. She said, quote, ‘I’m driving you two hither and yon, so I may as well help Sarah, too.’”
“She said that?” I asked, just as Angie rang a bell and called out my name.
“Yeah,” Tabitha replied, shoving back her chair. “I was there. Carol actually said ‘hither and yon.’ I’ll get your order.”
Tears pricked threateningly at the corners of my eyes. I was touched by everyone’s offers of help. While Dad was dying, I’d grown used to doing it all by myself. Even after Cecilia moved back to town and I started dating Stefon…well. I guess old habits die slowly, don’t they?
But you’re a witch, Sarah, and witches know how to change.
That thought came directly from my inner wisdom, or higher self, or whatever you want to call it. And yes, one of the definitions of magic is “the art of changing consciousness at will.” Guess I needed to get on that.
“I brought my cards,” Jerry Hamamoto said, shoving his tortoiseshell glasses higher onto the narrow bridge of his nose. “Figured a little reading might help shed more light on the situation.”
He began to shuffle, though even from across the table, I could tell it wasn’t his usual deck.
“What cards are those?” I asked.
“The Faeries Oracle,” he replied. “They wanted to come along today.”
Huh. Magical objects were like that. Sometimes they were clear. Insistent even.
I noticed his son, Ash, sitting quietly next to him, wearing some sort of anime T-shirt, small glass of orange juice and a half-decimated cinnamon-swirl muffin in front of him. He looked troubled.
“Everything okay there, Ash?”
He shook his head, one dark lock falling over his forehead.
“I’m worried about the sprites.”
“Why is that?”
He looked up at me with liquid dark eyes, looking so sorrowful I wanted to hug him.
“If someone is stealing faery dust, won’t that hurt them?”
His dad glanced down at the card on the bottom of the deck, frowned, and resumed shuffling. “It could, sweetheart. It could start to change their magic.”
“Why would someone do that?”
I shared a glance with Jerry, who gave a slight shake of his head. Okay then. We weren’t going to talk about drugs, or power, or any of the rest of it.
“Some people are greedy,” I temporized. “They see that someone else has something and they want it for themselves.”
Jerry gave me a thankful smile, then started laying out the cards in a simple Elemental pattern on a cleared part of the table.
Tabitha set down my tea and muffin.
“Thank you!”
“I saw something!” Delta burst out.
“What?” I asked, almost spitting out my first mouthful of tea.
Delta began tugging on her hair, and Preston bounced on the chair next to her, purple cap bobbing up and down.
“We saw some people and dogs!” the gnome shouted, though luckily, being a gnome, his voice wasn’t loud enough to carry past the hubbub of the milk steamer, people’s conversation, and the Guns N’ Roses currently gracing the café sound system.
“I don’t get it,” Tracy said, pausing with a bite of scone halfway to her mouth. “There are a lot of dogs around. Everyone’s prepping for Wag a Lot.”
Delta pressed a finger to the side of her nose. One of those, Ah, but I know something you don’t know gestures that I’ve never understood.
“What Preston did not say is that one of those people was not human.” She looked triumphant.
Jerry looked up from his cards. “That’s what these are telling me.”
“What?” Now it was my turn to be confused. I looked across the table at the unusual deck, with its painted images of strange fae creatures.
The rest of us looked from Delta to Jerry and back again.
Tabitha set her coffee mug down with a thunk. Was it okay for a girl her age to be drinking coffee? Something I’d ask her parents if I ever met them.
“Isn’t somebody going to tell us what the heck you’re talking about?”
“Delta?” I asked.
“You tell them,” she said, pointing to Mr. Hamamoto.
But it was Ash, peering intently at the cards, who answered.
“It’s a grig.”
“A grig?” I’d never even heard of such a creature. Ash slid the card across the table so I could see.
It was done in Brian Froud’s inimitable flowing style and showed a small fae creature with a large overbite grin, pointed ears, and a floppy hat. Its face reminded me slightly of a Commedia Dell’arte mask from the Ren Faire.
“The card says, ‘Mickle a Muckle,’ not grig.”
Ash was such a good kid; he didn’t even roll his eyes at me. But I could feel it.
“That’s this one’s name. You know, like Sarah. But it’s a grig.”
“Yes,” said Preston, almost touching the card with his little button nose. “What we saw most certainly looked like this fellow. Hmm…a grig…”
He stroked his chin with one chubby hand.
“I’ll bite,” said Tracy. “What’s a grig?”
Jerry pulled out the reference book that came with the cards—he never needed one for regular Tarot, but oracle cards were different—and scanned a couple of pages.
“Says here that grigs are playful and silly fae creatures and are slightly larger than gnomes…but that Mickle a Muckle name? It literally means ‘mixed blessing.’”
Great. Just great. I had no idea why a grig would have appeared in town. And what did they have to do with Carlson’s disappearance, and the stolen faery dust?
I was once again out of my magical depth. Why couldn’t I just run my bookshop and dance under the full moon? Why did I have to…
Delta jabbed me with a pointy finger.
“Ouch! Why’d you do that?”
“You were drifting. And we need to know what’s next.”
I sat back, thinking, then looked up at the ceiling.
“Uncle Cyrus, we’re going to need your help again.” Hopefully he’d hear me and pop by. Or I’d need to text him, which he hated for some reason. Said it interfered with his vibrations. But whatever, if he didn’t show up again soon, he’d need to deal. Because I might have been magical Justice in Seashell Cove, but all that really meant?
Was that I knew how to ask for help when I needed it.
And with a missing surfer, stolen faery dust, and one happy-go-lucky, possibly thieving grig? We were going to need it.
11
Carol stopped by the store to arrange driving me on some of my errands when my shift was through. She was leaning on the counter, smelling of sunscreen and lemon shampoo.
“Is it just me, or is this town getting stranger and stranger?” I asked.
Rhiannon hacked out a laugh. Carol looked alarmed.
“Is she going to cough up a hairball?”
“I don’t think so,” I said, narrowing my eyes in warning. Rhiannon just blinked and went back to washing herself on the front counter.
Carol’s gaze lingered on Rhiannon for a moment, then she shook her blond hair.
“It’s not just you. There’s definitely more paranormal activity, as the civilians call it.”
I slumped onto the high stool behind the counter, keeping an eye out for customers. Luckily most people seemed happy enough to browse and weren’t needing immediate attention. The teenagers were back in the occult section looking up faery dust and grigs.
“I mean, I’ve never had to deal with most of these things,” I said. “First it was the centaurs, now grigs, and who knows what else and oh!” I snapped my fingers. “I completely forgot.”
“Forgot what?” Carol asked, thumbing through a display of handmade greeting cards as we talked.
“Gargoyles.”
She paused and looked around.
“Gargoyles? Like, stone decorations? What do they have to do with anything?”
“There was a gargoyle in the shop. I scared it, and it disappeared.”
“Really? The shop has a gargoyle?” She peered down the back aisle as if trying to find it.
“I didn’t think it did. But it was there. I forgot about it after I hurt my ankle.”
There was a clatter of books and the sound of rapidly walking sneakers. The teens appeared from between two bookcases, each holding a book
“What did you find out?” I asked.
“Faery dust helps the smaller fae to fly. And it can spread magic to other beings, too,” Tracy said.
Huh. Okay. No wonder the sprites were upset. If they lost their ability to fly because of this, that would spell bigger trouble than I’d even feared. It’s like any small environmental change—you never know the ramifications of one small change. Sprites not flying? And faery magic spreading? Who knows what might happen?
“And grigs?” Carol asked.
“Grigs definitely seem to just want people to be happy,” Tabitha replied.
“So why the ‘mixed blessing’?” I mused.
::All faeries are a mixed blessing,:: Rhiannon said, pausing in the middle of licking her front paws. ::As a matter of fact…::
