Love Potions (12 page)

Chapter Nine

“Gramma Annabelle, I love you and your hangover cure,” Charlotte announced, coming down the stairs two at a time. She wore a long sleeve T-shirt and yoga pants. Her wet hair was piled on the top of her head. She paused in the kitchen doorway to do a couple random, overly dramatic karate punches to illustrate how much better she was feeling. Then straightening, she said, “Oh, hey, don’t forget to send in your business license renewal to the city. I forgot to tell you I ran into Mrs. Callister at the post office when Joe gave me a ride yesterday. She wanted me to remind you that you’re due.”

“I swear that woman is something else. She gave a threatening warning to Chef Alana and then had the gall to ask for a food discount. Callister is not even on the board. Ah, but it doesn’t matter, I already mailed it.” Lydia glanced up from where she was counting drops of essential oils over warmed lotion. “Feeling better?”

“Much. As long as Erik doesn’t start singing again.” She chuckled. “That poor man cannot hold his liquor. I say we let it slip this one time because he’s cute and your neighbor and I got some funny footage on my cell phone, but if it happens again we call the cops and post the video online. I don’t care if he is your boyfriend, Lyd, that was noise pollution.” Lifting her arms wide, she belted,
“Ly-di-ah! I want to have your kid-ie-ah! Please sit-ie-ah on my fac—”

Lydia lifted her stirring spoon and flung warm lotion at Charlotte from across the kitchen.

“Hey stop!” The woman dodged the attack, laughing even as it glopped on her sleeve. Sniffing her arm, she said, “Lilies?”

“What? No, I’m…” Lydia held up the bottle she had just set down so she could stir. “It’s mint. Smell.”

Charlotte took the bottle, even as she held up her arm. “Lilies. Smell. And this shirt was clean. I stole it from the back of your closet.”

Her grandmother’s scent was unmistakable on Charlotte’s sleeve. Lydia breathed deeply. After what she’d seen with Erik and his family, she couldn’t deny the possibility.

“Lilies.” Lydia whispered. “Gramma?”

“I know you don’t believe,” Charlotte held up her arm as it was undeniable proof of ghosts, “but…”

“I believe,” Lydia said. “What would you say if I told you Erik is under a spell and that is why he is acting like that?”

“I’m being serious,” Charlotte said, dropping her arm.

“So am I. What if I told you I cast the spell with the lotion I gave him?” Lydia bit her lip and waited, not sure what to expect. “And that his entire family is magickal, not magic tricks as in illusionists in Las Vegas, but real magick, the kind Gramma Annabelle used to talk about.”

“You want me to believe that Erik and his family are witches?” Charlotte barely moved. She slowly looked at her lotioned sleeve.

“Um,” Lydia gave a slight lift of her hands and corrected weakly, “Warlocks.”

“Erik’s a warlock?”

Lydia nodded.

“And you cast spells?”

Lydia nodded again. “A spell. One.”

“And you believe that Gramma Annabelle is here, in this house, as a lily smelling ghost?”

Lydia started to nod.

“Finally!”

Lydia and Charlotte screamed at the loud boom of a sound. The kitchen vibrated all around them to punctuate the word, silverware clinking in the drawers, cups chiming in the cupboards. They grabbed each other’s arms and ran from the kitchen to the living room, still screeching in fright. They huddled together behind the arm of the couch, the farthest they could get from the unearthly voice.

“Crap. Oh my fucking crap,” Charlotte cursed, trembling. “Did you hear that?”

“What the hell was that?” Lydia whispered, as if her friend might actually have an answer. “Oh, crap.”

“Crap,” Charlotte agreed. They gasped for breath, refusing to let go.

“Crap?” a voice demanded sounding far away and in the room at the same time. “I pull off the spell of the century and all you can say to me is crap?”

“Is that…?” Charlotte began.

“Gramma Annabelle,” Lydia answered with a halfhearted nod. That voice she would remember for the rest of her life.

“What do we do?” Charlotte asked. “Should we tell her to go to the light?”

Lydia shrugged helplessly. “Why are you asking me? I don’t know.”

“Well, that’s what they always say on those ghost hunting shows and movies.” Charlotte gripped Lydia’s arm tighter, cutting off the blood flow, as the sound of tapping came from the kitchen. She forced Lydia in front of her and gave her a shove. “You’re the spell caster. Go talk to it.”

Lydia’s entire body shook. She swatted the air at her friend.

“Go!” Charlotte gestured frantically, backing herself into the corner.

Lydia took a small step.

“I’m waiting,” Annabelle’s voice said, sounding less demonic than before.

“Um, Gramma?” Lydia asked, her voice tiny. She tried to speak up, but the sound was locked in her throat.

“Do you know how long I’ve been trying to get through to you? I cast every spell in the book to make the transition easy, and to ensure I remained tied to this house. If I knew you’d ignore me I would have hidden spell bags of my hair and blood all over town instead. Then I could at least go haunt someone who paid attention. I thought concentrating them here would help ground my essence.”

Yeah, that sounded like her grandmother.

“Gramma, where are you?” Lydia didn’t step into the kitchen but stayed just outside the doorframe.

“Can’t you see me?” The question was followed by a long sigh.

Lydia shook her head in denial and took one step into the kitchen. The air smelled of lilies. A wave of sadness hit her. She’d missed her grandmother so much. Then, she noticed the spoon handle moving in the lotion. Someone stirred it. The image was faint, more of a distortion, like heat rising off a desert road during the midday sun. She gasped, covering her mouth as tears threatened. Not daring to move lest the spirit go away, she stared at her grandmother’s ghost in wonder.

“I left you tons of potions and clues.” The spoon paused in its stirring, only to start again. “You didn’t do a damn thing with them, and I’ve been stuck in limbo for the last ten years.”

“It’s only been two years.” Lydia whispered. A tear slipped down her cheek. Could it really be Gramma Annabelle? She wanted to run and hug the woman, but she still couldn’t see more than a vague impression of where the ghost stood.

“Oh, has it? Well, still. It was a very long and boring two years. You think this place is boring when you’re alive, you should see the afterlife. Let me tell you, the spirits floating around the yard are no party.”

“Potions?”

“My moonshine in the basement. I thought for sure you’d at least get rip roaring drunk at the funeral. You didn’t even touch the stuff. And this house. I thought for sure you’d redecorate not keep it like some old lady shrine. I left you enough money. The remodeling would have stirred me out of limbo, but no. You couldn’t be bothered to knock down a few walls. I tried leaving scent trails—you don’t know how hard those are to make, young lady. I moved objects, well, an object. I knocked your key ring on the floor a couple times. You ignored all my signs. I just needed you to believe in me to give me enough power to appear. Finally, you ripped out those damned rose bushes. It wasn’t much, but it was something.”

“I’m, uh, sorry I didn’t get drunk and redecorate your home?” Lydia wasn’t sure what to think. “Is that what you wanted to tell me from beyond? Drink more and change the curtains?”

“It wouldn’t hurt,” Annabelle mumbled. Her voice became clearer with each passing moment, but her body did not. “And it would be nice if you found my spell bags and hid them around town so I can finally leave this place.”

“Lyd?” Charlotte asked from the door. “Is it…?”

“Charlotte, darling,” Annabelle exclaimed happily, then, disapproval heavy in her tone she added, “You’re letting yourself go. You’re never going to catch a man dressed like a hobo.”

Charlotte looked down at her borrowed clothes and reached for her drying bun. She turned wide eyes to Lydia. Weakly, she answered, “They’re hangover clothes.”

“Oh!” Annabelle said in full approval. “Well done, child, well done.”

Charlotte moved slowly toward Lydia and grabbed her arm. They stared at the lotion pot.

“How’ve you, uh, been, Gramma?” Charlotte asked.

“Dead,” Annabelle answered wryly.

“You, ah, look like you lost weight,” Charlotte answered.

The spirit laughed. The spoon suddenly dropped and the distortion disappeared leaving the kitchen as it was before she appeared.

“What the…?” Charlotte whispered.

“Gramma,” Lydia said, lifting her arm to try and stop the ghost. It did no good.

“Lydia, my darling,” Erik called from outside the home. “I have brought ya lavender.”

Lydia let loose a long breath and swiped at her teary eyes. She walked toward the door, closely passing by the stove where the spirit had appeared. She reached out her hand to touch the air where Annabelle had been.

“Don’t go,” Lydia whispered.

“Lydia, my
fíorghrá,
” Erik insisted from outside, sounding very pleased. “I thought of your beauty and I could not stop at lavender.”

Lydia frowned as his words. She reached for the door, intent on dealing with the love monster her spell had created. Her first view was of Erik bending over toward the ground, his backside to her. The length of his kilt lifted in the breeze to show his ass. A small laugh of surprise left her, not expecting to be greeted in such a way.

Charlotte joined her. Yelling at him, she said, “Good to see the rumors about Scots and their kilts are true.”

Erik quickly stood and turned, pushing the material down. He’d taken off the formal jacket and wore a looser white shirt with the sleeves rolled. Dirt smudged his chest. Behind him was a giant heart drawn on the yard with lavender stocks. In the middle of the heart were other green herbs. The creation wasn’t complete, but there was enough of it there to know what he’d been attempting. If the smell was any indication, she’d say the green plants were various strains of peppermints and mints. Then, realizing where he would have gotten various strains of peppermints and mints, she groaned.

“He picked my whole garden,” Lydia whispered. Though, technically, that garden was on his land now.

“For ya, my love,” Erik gestured to the side, grinning widely.

In unison, Charlotte and Lydia leaned out of the door to look where he pointed. A giant pile of herbs and picked plants were stacked on her lawn. Before she could comment, a van appeared on her drive coming up to the house.

Erik clapped, still very pleased with what he’d done. When he spoke this time, she couldn’t understand the foreign words, so she instead watched as the van stopped.

To Charlotte, she said, “This is getting ridiculous. Later, I’m going to stand here and distract him. I need you to crawl out the back window by the stairs like when we were kids, sneak up to the mansion and tell Malina to come and fetch her brother. Just, don’t go inside with the MacGregors. They have a way of distracting a situation.”

“I’m not leaving you alone,” Charlotte denied. She may have been chuckling at Erik’s antics, but she put a protective hand on Lydia’s arm and squeezed. “If you’re worried, I’m not leaving.”

“Malina caused this. She can end it before it gets much worse. Someone is bound to call the sheriff. The last thing I need is some crazy warlock on my lawn casting spells at the local police. Any way you spin that story, it’s not good.” Lydia flinched as Erik took to a knee and dramatically lifted his voice. She still didn’t understand a damn thing he was saying.

“Done,” Charlotte agreed.

Jane Turner, the nursery owner, hopped out the front seat of the van. The woman’s brown hair was pulled into a curly ponytail at the nape of her neck and held down with a red cap with her company logo on it. Lydia knew her from the women’s business association, but the woman never had much to say unless someone asked her about gardening tips.

Jane glanced questioningly to the Scotsman reciting some strange foreign limerick before reaching to grab her clipboard out of the vehicle. She lifted it to Lydia as she walked to the house. “I have a delivery and install. Can you sign?”

“Delivery? I didn’t order…” Lydia reached to take the clipboard, not daring to step out into the yard where Erik could grab her. She wasn’t sure what he’d do, but her guess was smother her with affection until it killed her. “Never mind, I have an idea where they came from.”

Jane glanced to where Erik kneeled on the ground and chuckled. Then, nodding toward the side of the house where the roses used to be, she said, “I guess I know where you want them.”

Between Erik’s very emotional declarations of crazy, her dead grandmother’s visit, and Charlotte tugging on her arm, Lydia didn’t have the energy to ask Jane what she was planning on planting. So, Lydia simply nodded. “Wherever you think is best.”

Chapter Ten

Erik’s throat was sore from a day full of singing and reciting ancient love poems—poems he hadn’t bothered thinking about for nearly four hundred years but now seemed to remember in full clarity. He didn’t care if he lost his voice. There was so much emotion inside him that it just had to come out somehow. With each second it built higher. He didn’t want food, or air, or sleep. He just wanted his love, his Lydia.

He stared at Lydia’s house bathed in moonlight, the windows dark from within. Thinking of her sleeping, he smiled. She would be so beautiful, so soft and warm, so touchable. His feet carried him to the house as he stared up to the second floor, to the last window to go dark. Without thought he reached for the kitchen door. The barrier spell zapped him and sent him flying back into the yard. He landed with a hard thud. The smile began to fade. Why couldn’t he get to her? Why was the world keeping them apart? The wind stirred over him. If she didn’t come out soon, he’d have to blow the house down. There was no other way. It made perfect sense. No house, no barrier spell, nothing keeping him and Lydia apart.

“Erik?”

Erik had sensed his sister’s approach, but had chosen to ignore her. He stayed on his back, looking at Lydia’s window.

“Erik?” Malina insisted. She moved slowly to look down at him, leaning over to block his view of the house. He grimaced and tried to shuffle to the side to regain his connection with Lydia’s window. Malina leaned again to force him to look at her. “Erik, I need you to drink something for me.”

“Later,” he dismissed, again wiggling over the ground to look to where his beloved slept. He wanted to be ready when she awoke.

“Da is going to brain you for ruining that shirt.” Malina again stepped in his way. “It’s not easy to find a tailor who sews barrel cuffs the way they used to. You know magickal repairs aren’t the same quality as the real thing.”

Erik gave a small growl and waved his arm. The wind burst from the trees to knock Malina to the side. She skidded across the yard, her arms flailing. Around him, the grass died in the general shape of his body. He felt his powers suck the life from the blades.

“Erik,” Malina warned, her accent slipping in her irritation. “I need ya to stop that, laddie. I have something for ya to drink and ya are gonna to drink it.”

Erik pushed to his feet and growled at her. Why was she still talking? He lifted his hand to magickally toss her away from him so he could stare at Lydia’s window.

Malina lifted her arms, making her expression less fierce. In a rush, she said, “Lydia wants you to.”

Instantly, he dropped his arms and smiled. “Why didn’t ya say so?”

“I thought you knew?” It was more of a question than a statement.

Erik held out his hand, turning his attention back up to the window. He yelled, “Lydia, my sweet tulip, I drink this for ya!”

The curtain stirred. She’d heard him. His grin widened. Not paying attention to what his sister handed him, he tossed back the contents of the vial. He glanced at Malina only long enough to give the vial back to her. Malina waved up at Lydia and stepped back, watching him. Erik’s body tingled and he shivered violently. His senses became stronger. The air smelled of dead grass and picked lavender. Everywhere he looked became brighter, as if someone turned a flashlight on inside his eyes. Then the sensation was gone. He smiled up at the window.

“I drank it for ya, my ginger blossom, I drank it!” Erik yelled as loud as he could, trying to let Lydia see all the love he felt inside him.

“Shite.” Malina made a weak noise beside him. “Bloody hell, Da is going to kill me for this.” The faint sound of a cellphone was followed by his sister, saying, “Um, hi, Da, I’m going to need you to come out to Wisconsin earlier than planned. There’s a slight situation—no, no, no emergency, just hurry.” She paused moving in a wide arc around him to study his face. “Hurry really fast.”

…

What? No! Where was Malina going? Why wasn’t she taking Erik with her?

Lydia tapped frantically on the window to get Malina’s attention. Erik waved, as if she couldn’t see him hopping up and down on her lawn. Malina looked up at her and gave a helpless shrug as she hung up her cellphone and continued to back away toward the mansion.

Lydia opened her window and yelled through the screen, “Don’t go!”

“I am here, my love!” Erik called.

“Shut up, Sir Galahad,” she told him, irritated. Then, pressing her face to the screen, she said, “Malina, get back here right now. Undo this.”

“I will get her for ya, my dear heart.” Erik instantly charged at his sister.

Malina screamed in surprise at the aggressive attack. She threw a ball of crackling light at him. It hit his arm, knocking his shoulder back and sending tiny flashes of lightning down his arm to immobilize his hand. He kept advancing on his sister with single-minded purpose.

Lydia knew he tried to please her so she said, “Erik, stop.”

He didn’t listen.

“Um, ah, dear heart, stop. I…” She frowned and closed her eyes tight. “I love you, ah, crazy dear, um, heart guy.”

He turned to the house and lifted his arms to her like an actor in a Shakespearean play. One of his hands fell limp at the wrist. Lydia grimaced. Malina was safe from his attack.

“I’ll be back,” Malina shouted as she disappeared.

“We will be one, my mountain bearberry,” Erik assured her. “Soon, very soon. We are like the rare twinflower in the pinewoods, two blossoms to one vine.”

Lydia quickly closed the window and backed away. What the heck was a mountain bearberry? Seconds later a soft blue light shone around the house as Erik tried to breach the barrier. She took a deep breath. Then, the sound of shuffling came from below. Panicked, Lydia grabbed a nearby brass lamp and held it like a weapon. She wasn’t sure if Erik would try to harm her with his affections or would simple sonnet her to death. These types of situations never seemed to end well in horror-suspense type movies. Her heart began to thump wildly with fear. Her mind raced with outrageous ideas as anxiety overtook her thoughts. What if he tried to lock her in the mansion’s basement as some kind of possession? He did say they would be one. His clear obsession could cause him to try to eat her so they could join essences and then he’d put her on like a—

“Lyd?” Charlotte whispered.

Lydia gasped sharply in surprise and dropped the lamp. The bulb broke. She hopped over the broken glass and hurried down the hall. Seeing Charlotte at the bottom of the stairs she ran to her and wrapped her arms around her. “I’m so glad it’s you.”

Charlotte shivered violently and was cold to the touch.

Lydia pulled back and grabbed her face. She turned her friend’s eyes to better see them in the dim moonlight streaming through the window. “What happened?”

“Did…?” Charlotte blinked. “Did you see?”

“Malina and Erik fighting?” Lydia asked.

“It’s real. Magick is real.” Charlotte blinked. “You said it was, but spells are one thing. They…” She lifted her hand to hold an imaginary light ball and gestured a weak throw.

“Yes.” Lydia hugged Charlotte, leading her to the couch. Grabbing a throw blanket, she wrapped it around the woman’s shoulders and pulled her close. “It’s okay. We’re safe in here.”

“Your house was glowing blue. Why is your house glowing blue?” Charlotte grabbed Lydia’s arm tight and shook it insistently.

“That’s how I know we’re safe. It’s Gramma’s barrier spell. He can’t get in unless I invite him.”

“Like a vampire,” Charlotte made a weak, hysterical noise. “Great. Maybe we should throw garlic cloves at him.”

Lydia didn’t answer. Her grandmother always said myths were based in reality. It’s possible barrier spells were how the Victorians really kept out magickal creatures.

“Nothing is ever going to be normal again, is it?” Charlotte whispered. “How can we do anything anymore, knowing what we know? Vampires? Warlocks? What else? We can’t leave the house.”

Lydia didn’t have an answer for her. The barrier again lit up as Erik tried to get inside. Charlotte made a small squeak of fear and hid her face in the couch. Lydia stayed beside her, praying that it would soon be over.

…

“Why hasn’t anyone called the police?” Charlotte asked. “Someone had to of seen the lights flashing last night. At the very least a UFO hunter should have shown up with a video camera.” Then stiffening, she whispered, “Do you think UFOs are real too?”

“I don’t think you can see the barrier lights unless you know magick is real. It must be some kind of protection clause or something.” Lydia ignored the last question. She’d just seen her dead grandmother and had a lovesick warlock on her lawn. The last thing she needed was to worry about extraterrestrial probing.

“And the magick hand ball?” Charlotte made a weak throwing gesture.

“This is my fault. I mixed the potion and gave it to him. I trusted Malina. I can’t call the police. The phone lines stopped working yesterday after you left and the Internet is down. Besides, Sheriff Johnson is too nice of a man. He won’t be able to help, and Erik is not himself right now. You saw what he started to do to his sister. No, right now, we just stay inside and wait it out.”

Trusting Malina a second time wasn’t exactly her best plan, but it was the only one she had.

Lightning flashed overhead and several seconds later thunder cracked. Guilt filled her. Even as she feared what Erik might do, feared the crazed look on his face, she knew it was her fault this was happening. She should never have dabbled in what she didn’t understand.

“You don’t have to stay, Charlotte. I’ll understand if you want to go home.”

“I’m not leaving you.” Charlotte slowly walked to the stove and whispered. “Gramma Annabelle? Are you here?”

“I’ve been trying to talk to her all night. She won’t appear, and I don’t know how to make her.” Lydia glanced down at the basement.

As if reading her thoughts, Charlotte inquired, “Moonshine?”

“I don’t know if that will work, and I really don’t want to be drunk right now.” Then turning to the curtains, she hesitated before yanking them off the window. The rod broke as they crashed to the floor. “Let’s try redecorating. Remodeling is supposed to stir spirits because it changes the environment.”

“Doesn’t that mean knocking down walls and major renovations?” Charlotte asked.

“Do you have a better plan?” Lydia pushed the kitchen table across the floor, knocking the chairs aside in her haste.

The women continued to pull the curtains off the windows and push furniture haphazardly around the house to change the layout. Lotion bottles were swept off the display shelf onto the floor—not that there was much left after Malina bought the majority of her stock. Breathing hard, they stopped and looked around the mess they had made of the living room and kitchen. Outside the storm grew worse. They watched, listened, smelled, but there was no sign of Annabelle.

“Fine, go grab the moonshine,” Lydia said, desperate. If anyone knew what to do about Erik, her grandmother would. “If anything will séance her back, it will be that stuff. That, or drinking it will kill us first.”

“You’re coming with me,” Charlotte said. “I’m not going in the basement alone.”

Lydia glanced outside. Erik stood in front of the curtain-less window, looking in. She gasped and jumped back. He frowned at them and lightning streaked across the sky followed almost instantly be thunder. Violent storm clouds rolled over the landscape, darkening the day.

“Is he doing that?” Charlotte tried to tug Lydia through the mess they’d made. She tripped, falling over the arm of an inconveniently placed chair. “What’s happening to his face?”

Lydia inhaled deep breaths. Lightning flashed but she saw headlights. She stiffened, unable to move. A rush of memories flooded over her, as the man in the window changed. Erik’s eyes glinted with an inner light. His nose thickened and spread. Fur sprouted over his features. His mouth pulled forward, making room for the long, deadly fangs stretching from his gums. His hands lifted, as if it would touch the glass but held back. Claws stretched from fattening fingertips. Slowly, the sharp points tapped forward, striking the blue glowing barrier with steady thumps.

“What…the fuck…is that?” Charlotte panted. “Where’s Gramma’s gun?”

Lydia had seen this before. Is this why they erased her memory? Because she saw Erik change? She tried to step closer, but her body shook too forcefully. His eyes had become dark, feral pits. This was not the Erik she knew. Nothing about this creature reminded her of the man.

“I don’t have any bullets,” Lydia said. She never felt the need to use the old shotgun and it sat collecting dust in the attic.

The sky had become dark and, had she not seen it change for herself, she would have thought it evening. Her yard light turned on, the motion sensor activated on the side of the home. A soft glow radiated around the edge of the house and fell over Erik’s changed face. The sound of wind whined through the windows and rattled pieces of the house’s exterior. Though old, the Victorian was well maintained. The windows did not normally leak and the house did not rattle in storms. Another crack sounded and she saw a heavy tree limb fall behind him and roll toward her home. Leaves fiercely danced on the trees before falling like snowflakes in a blizzard toward Erik. The window panes vibrated. Erik’s hair blew around his head in violent patterns. The tree limb slammed against the house’s siding causing her to jump at the loud thud.

Lydia and Charlotte screamed in unison, huddling together against the wall.

“I should have made you leave,” Lydia said, though she was glad she wasn’t alone.

Charlotte screamed again as another limb hit the house. “He’s trying to tear it down.”

Lydia looked at her home, the inside destroyed, the outside being pummeled by magick. Tears slid down her face. This couldn’t be real. How could it be real?

“He doesn’t want the house. He wants me.” Lydia whispered.

“What?” Charlotte cried, unable to hear her.

Lydia turned to her friend and pushed her slightly away. Yelling over the now high whine and heavy slams from outside, she said, “I love you!”