Hexes and Ohs Page 9

  So that's why my shop was stuck in Banshee Creek. The magic was anchoring it to this place.

  It was nice to have that cleared up, but it still didn't solve my immediate problem—the dark elf in my store and the life-sucking sword that was way too close to Thomas.

  "You've been pushed back before, Cú Sith," Ghillie muttered. "You'll be sent back into the mounds again."

  The Hound's smile turned to a smirk. "Not this time, leaf boy. The tide is stronger than ever. The Sidhe will return and we will rule this place once more."

  I suppressed a shudder. I had been around during the Shining Host's heyday. The Magical Curiosity Shoppe had manifested as a cart in those days, wandering around the hills and forests selling its wares. I'd seen plenty of desperate folk willing to trade anything for protection charms for their newborns and cattle and iron implements to secure their homes.

  The Sidhe were ruthless and predatory and their return did not bode well.

  "'We,' you say?" Ghillie scoffed. "You are no ruler, Cú Sith. You're only good for lying at your mistress' feet and begging for scraps."

  The black sword swung so fast I didn't even see it move. One moment the dark elf was leaning against his weapon, and the next there was a loud clanging noise and the ink-colored blade was next to Ghillie's neck.

  And the PRoVE elf's head remained attached to his body only thanks to two inches of antique bronze metal currently pushing against the dark blade.

  Thomas had stopped the Hound's blade with the Celtic sword that had been hanging on the wall. His muscles strained as he pushed the Hound back.

  Having all of this magic weaponry around came in handy at times.

  And speaking of magic weaponry...I drew a quick sigil on the air and mouthed the Greek word for "protect," προστατεύω.

  The drawers behind the counter opened, the contents flying out and floating in the air. There were scissors, nails, horseshoes, and myriad other metal implements, including the big pair of old garden shears. One wouldn't think that the contents of the shop's junk drawers would stop the sluagh, but these objects all had one thing in common.

  They were all iron, the bane of the elves. The shop could always be trusted to supply exactly what was needed and in the nick of time.

  And there were a lot more of them than I remembered.

  The Hound's eyes narrowed. "You cannot deny me, witch."

  I moved my hand and the iron shears floated in the air, mere inches from his eyes.

  "I have broad discretion to intervene if the shop is endangered," I proclaimed. "Leave this place now.”

  He put down his sword. Thomas did the same.

  I waited, my little army of iron cutlery ready to strike, but the Hound didn't leave.

  "Very well, Keeper," he said. "But my mistress charged me to find her lost item. It is quite valuable, and," he smiled as he gave Thomas a sidelong glance, "I have reason to believe it is here."

  Time seemed to stand still.

  Then Thomas reached into his jacket and took out the bottle.

  "No," I shouted. "You don't have to—"

  But the Hound snatched it before I could even finish my sentence.

  "Wise choice, human," he said, a feral expression crossing his face. "But we will meet again, soon."

  Then he vanished.

  The iron implements clattered to the floor, the sound echoing through the empty store.

  Thomas stood, eyes riveted on the now empty space where the Hound had stood just a second ago. Ghillie placed a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder, but Thomas pushed it away.

  "You just gave it up like that?" I whispered. "Have you lost your mind? Do you have any idea what they can do with it?"

  Thomas turned to look at me, his eyes glazed with pain. "I do. Better than anyone."

  He stepped forward, put the sword down, and wrapped me in a tight embrace. I stiffened. I'd lived alone for ages and—except for the occasional petting of the daemon cat—personal contact wasn't my thing.

  But it felt nice.

  I relaxed into his arms. It felt even nicer, warm and comforting.

  "I think you should keep that sword," I whispered into his chest. "Because you just made a grave mistake."

  The Queen of the Fairies would likely enslave another human with that potion. Another innocent would receive the gift of immortality, only to spend it in endless captivity. That was heart-breaking. Thomas didn't understand, no fully. After all, he had escaped.

  He.

  Had.

  Escaped.

  That was the tale. Tam Lin had met a maiden in a grassy glade and she bravely snatched him from his steed during the Wild Hunt. She held him in her cloak as he turned into a snake, then a lion, then a pillar of flame. She didn’t let go until he was free.

  He escaped.

  I lifted my head and stared into his bright green eyes. "How exactly were the Fae swept back into their mounds?"

  Thomas didn't answer, but I heard Ghillie laugh behind me.

  "Let's just say," the elf chuckled. "That Queen Titania decided to capture the wrong human." He started to hum.

  Thomas looked very much as if he wanted to roll his eyes.

  “Then spoke the Queen of Faeryland,” Ghilie sang. “An angry Queen indeed. Oh had I known what I’ve just seen when this knight I did meet. I’d have looked him in the eyes and turned him into a tree.”

  Thomas' lips curved into a bittersweet smile. "I had some help."

  I took a step back, mulling his words. If what I remembered of the ballad was correct, Tam had been one of Queen Titania’s tributes to Hell. He’d escaped right before the offering was to be handed over. If the Sidhe did not have the correct payment to the rulers of Hell…

  Then, yes, that would explain why they’d been exiled to the faery mounds.

  "So," I drawled slowly. "You're hoping that this potion will have a similar result?"

  It seemed an outlandish idea, but...I knew how these objects worked. They left the shop and invariably came back after causing trouble.

  And it was usually the same kind of trouble they'd caused before. The same story repeated itself in infinite dimensions and infinite times.

  Giving the Sidhe the tools to enslave another human did not sit well with me, but I’d tried to keep the mask and the doll in the shop and that did not end like I’d expected.

  Thomas shrugged. "We couldn't keep it from him, and I suspect the Magical Curiosity Shoppe wanted him to have it for a reason."

  Oh, boy. He was trusting the shop now? That didn’t sound like a great idea.

  But maybe it was.

  I rubbed my arms, suddenly feeling cold. "Let's hope it was the right reason."

  He chuckled, as I muttered the Greek word for return, ΕΠΙΣΤΡΟΦΗ, and motioned for the metal tools to levitate back to the drawers.

  The scissors wobbled in the air and headed for their spots. The gardening shears, however, floated onto a shelf, where they could be easily accessed.

  The Hound of the Sidhe said he would be returning. Forewarned was forearmed.

  "I think it was," Thomas said, dodging a rusty horseshoe. "After all, you know what the last item was left in Pandora's box."

  "What?" I asked crossly, trying to fit a large knife into a drawer.

  Thomas stepped behind me and grabbed the blade, fitting it into the drawer with a smooth motion.

  "Hope," he said simply. "That's what was left in the box, Pandora." Then he closed the drawer.

  Hope.

  I'd forgotten that. Maybe Thomas had a point. That moment when I'd opened the box was permanently etched into my memory. The acrid smoke, the acid smell burning into my lungs...and the despair and grief as I saw all the evils in the world fly out, free to wreak suffering and destruction.

  But there was something in the box, glowing faintly amongst the poisonous smoke.

  And it was still here.

  "Well," I said. "I hope you're right."

  My joke was interrupted by a loud s
creeching sound. It came from the storage room and sounded like all the demons of hell had been set loose...

  Or maybe just an extremely angry daemon cat.

  "If someone doesn't unlock the door right now," Bubo screeched. "I am going to tear this place apart."

  I rolled my eyes, the shop was older than time. There was nothing Bubo could do that would hurt it...

  Then I remembered.

  "Oh, no," I exclaimed, running to the storeroom. "Kat's bottles. I have to save them."

  "We'll leave you to it," Ghillie said, heading for the door. "I've had enough bottle hunting to last several lifetimes."

  "Me too," Thomas replied, following him.

  "Take the sword," I shouted.

  Thomas groaned, but he picked up the big brass sword.

  "Good thing the town is full of cosplayers," he muttered as he exited the store.

  "Cowards," I muttered, struggling to open the storeroom door. "You can face down a Sidhe warrior, but are afraid of a cuddly little kitten."

  Okay, deadly-plague-spirit Bubo wasn't exactly cuddly. I’d given them that.

  The storeroom door opened and a very angry daemon cat walked out, his gait slow and dignified.

  "About bloody time," he said. "I missed all the fun. All I could do was listen to you guys arguing and try to avoid the epic Sidhe stench. You're going to air this place out, right? I don't care if I freeze my tail off. I can't stand that smell."

  Fun? Oh, yes, locking Bubo up had been the right call.

  I peered into the darkened room and heaved a sigh of relief. The bottles were still there.

  "What are you planning to do with those?" Bubo asked.

  "I'm going to pack them and give them to Kat," I replied. "She's going to fill them with a new elixir she created. It will be the exact opposite of the elven potion and will bring love, self-esteem, and benign energy into your life," I waved a hand and a magic orb appeared, illuminating the storeroom contents.

  I paused to admire the pretty gold bottles, shining in the orb's light.

  Just like the fragile glimmers that remained after I opened Pandora's box.

  "And hope," I whispered. "It's going to bring hope."

  Author’s Note: I hope you enjoyed this story. A full list of books is available on my website, www.AniGonzalez.biz. If you join my mailing list you’ll get updates on when the next Banshee Creek stories are published and the first three PRoVE novelettes, One Night with the Golden Goddess, One Night in the Mummy’s Lair, and One Night in the Chupacabras Ranch, FREE.

  About the Author

  Ani Gonzalez writes paranormal romantic comedy and cozy mystery (whew, that's a mouthful!) set in Banshee Creek, Virginia, The Most Haunted Town in the USA. Her books feature feisty, irrepressible heroines dealing with a host of paranormal critters (ghosts, cryptids, pagan gods...the sky's the limit) and mysteries. They find love and laughter (and sometimes corpses) along the way, and readers get to follow them every step of the way.

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  The Mail-Order Witch

  Joynell Schultz

  Summary

  The magic in our world is dying. Ettie, one of the last of the pure-blooded witches, gives up on love and embarks on a lonely journey as a mail-order bride to save it. Is the man she's marrying everything she hoped for or is he hiding a secret...

  1

  “Are you a pure-blood witch?”

  I turned away from the train window. Beside me, an older teenage girl with dirty blond hair sat down.

  The girl didn’t wait for my answer. “I’ve never met a pure-blood before. There’s so few of you left, but the blue highlights in your hair…are a bit translucent. They couldn’t be fake.”

  I released the white-knuckled grip on my suitcase’s handle and made room for the girl, welcoming the distraction. “I am. Fourth generation here on Earth.”

  “I just wanted to say, thank you.”

  Her words caught me off-guard. “For what?” I wasn’t used to a thank you. Usually mortals asked me to enchant an object, do a spell or another act of magic. Over the past decade, though, these requests had dwindled. With pure-blood witches and warlocks creating and selling enchanted objects and magical potions on eBay and even posting potion recipes on Pinterest, mortals can do their own bits of magic.

  She pulled her wavy hair off her shoulders and leaned back into the train seat. “I’m coming out to visit my brother in rehab. I bought him an enchanted pendant from eBay that gave him the strength to finally kick alcohol.”

  I smiled. “I’m happy to hear that, but magic’s not always the answer. It won’t do all the work for him. He still has a long road ahead of him.”

  The girl looked past me, out the window at the approaching city. “I know, but it’s hope.”

  Her words reminded me why I sat on this train. Why I married a man I had never met. Why my mother had been a mail-order bride and my two sisters, too. I had always thought I’d find love on my own, but after years of searching for the nearly non-existent, single, one-hundred-percent warlock male, I gave up. Just a week ago I created a post on the Mail-Order Witch Facebook group and, almost immediately, found a match.

  Being one of the few witches in this realm, it was my duty to continue the pure-blood magic line. Over eighty years ago, when our kind crossed the portal to Earth during the great prosecution, we had fallen in love with mortals and had married, diluting our magic. Eventually, very few pure-blood witches and warlocks remained. My generation was the last hope. If we didn’t marry pure-bloods, magic would eventually disappear. All the enchanted objects would lose their magic. The potions would become nothing more than a mixture of ingredients. The spells no more than poetry.

  The few of us remaining pure-bloods had a duty to uphold. As sad as the concept was, love or not, we needed to marry our own kind to regrow our numbers. That’s why I didn’t have to meet Roman first. I didn’t have to talk to him. For my entire life, I knew what my destiny was. This was my future and the only hope for those of us who held true magic.

  As the train screeched to a stop, butterflies tickled my stomach as I searched for the first glimpse of my spouse, unsure exactly what he looked like. Sure, I had seen photos before the magical binding spell named us husband and wife a few days ago, but everyone appeared different in pictures. I know I did.

  In real life, my cheeks were rosier and my black hair’s natural blue highlights were more pronounced, but I usually had a few injuries that overshadowed the positives. I rubbed the growing lump on my forehead before pulling away from the soreness. Here I go, meeting my husband for the first time, with a huge eyesore on top of my face. Why’d I try to squeeze my suitcase into the tiny over-head compartment? Even with my magical healing spell, one hour into the ride, the injury had swelled to the size of a marble. Two hours in, it resembled a golf ball.

  Three men stood on the train station’s platform. The tall, chestnut-haired man on the left captivated my attention. Without a doubt, those dark eyes, strong jawline, and broad shoulders were Roman’s. For once, I was a lucky girl.

  I stood up and turned to the young lady beside me. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you…”

  “Sylvia.”

  “I’m Ettie.” I smiled. “Please send your brother my best. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.” I slipped her a card with my name and email address. “But remember, magic may have given him the spark, but it’s always the person, deep down, that accomplishes what they’re after.”

  My feet felt lighter than air as I exited the train, thinking of the possibilities in my future.

  Roman’s lips turned up into a full smile, revealing slightly crooked, yet charming teeth. From behind his back, he pulled out a bouquet of at least half a dozen blue roses.

  My pace sped up until I stood right in front of him. “How’d you know?” I asked, not needing confirmation of our identities. He
was just as handsome in real life as in his photo.

  He rubbed his hand down the bundled stems. “It’s amazing how much information you can find on the internet.”

  I stuck my nose between the flowers, inhaling the sweet aroma, and noticed the lighted shimmer upon their petals. “You must be great at online stalking, because I absolutely love rose enchantments.”

  He bit his bottom lip, making two tiny dimples appear as he held back his smile. “And that’s not all.” He dug into the pocket of his dark jeans and pulled out a shimmering ring. “Your ring, Mrs. Ettie Sunward.”

  From his mouth, those three words sounded like they belonged together. Mrs. Ettie Sunward. It was sinking in. I lifted my hand for him to slip the ring upon my finger. The large pearl centerpiece swirled with movement, flashing images of our kind’s home before coming to this realm. The homeland pearl was the traditional witch wedding symbol, only this one was tinted blue and beautifully set in an elaborate platinum band.

  I twisted the ring, allowing the sunlight to make it twinkle. “It’s beautiful! Did you do the enchantment yourself?”

  He nodded.

  Besides my dad and a few elders I had interacted with in the Witch-Way Charity, Roman was the first male warlock I had met. Definitely the first I had dated…err…married. I licked my lips, thinking of the possibilities of having a companion with similar abilities to myself. When I first started dating, purely for practice, I’d had to be careful. When I’d kiss someone, my powers got out of hand. I might have been known to set rooms on fire or accidentally send all my embarrassing thoughts and feelings to the guy.

  Suddenly the small piece of luggage I carried grew heavy. “I have a ring for you, too.” I lifted my knee to balance my suitcase when I opened it, but I almost fell over. Holding it tight against the station’s brick wall, I tried to unclasp the lock, but the case kept slipping down.

  “Let me help you.” Roman held out his arms, turning his palms to the sky and giving me a steady surface to balance it on.