magical cures 06.5 - a charming christmas (3 page)

All the potion bottles on the tables and on the wall displays were filled and ready to be taken home with the right customer. The front display table had a sign labeled
Stress.
All of them were made up of lavender oil along with a dash of slippery elm, but sometimes a little more was needed to heal the mental fatigue often associated with holiday stress.

I ran my hand over the stress display tablecloth and tugged at the edge to get out any wrinkles before I walked to the back of the shop and flipped on my cauldron behind the partition. It was a good covering to hide my biggest secret. If customers saw me tossing things in the big pot, they would know our village secret and that wasn’t something we wanted to get out.

Madame Torres hummed from the bottom of my bag, reminding me she was still in there. I hung the bag on the stool behind the counter and dug to the bottom, pulling her out.

“I get it.” I smiled, bringing her face to face with me. “I’m getting into the spirit. Little did you know that before you, I celebrated Christmas and we decorated every year and gave out presents. Whispering Falls is behind the times.”

Her ball glowed a winter white. Her face appeared, taking up the space. Her standard brightly colored face with fire engine red lips and purple eye shadow had been replaced with cream lips and green eye shadow with her usual black eyeliner, which she never went without. Her cheeks were still red. I wondered who gave her makeup tips, but I didn’t ask. There was no way I was going to ruin her holiday cheery disposition.

“Tell me about it,” Madame Torres begged when I put her down on the counter. Mr. Prince Charming jumped up on the counter next to her, curling his tail around her.

“Look at you two getting along.” I smiled seeing my familiars happy for once. “Anyway, Darla,” I referred to my mother (who liked me to call her by her name), “loved Christmas. We weren’t able to afford much, but she still made it special.” I continued to tell them about how Darla made Christmas special.

Darla was the sole proprietor of A Dose of Darla, a booth in the flea market. She was good at homeopathic cures that were made up of herbs. Only she didn’t have the gift of intuition—knowing and making extra special potions to go in the cure like my father and me. This was where some would call us witches, while we called ourselves spiritualists. Regardless, Darla would barter with other flea market booth owners, trading cures for items I might want. Most of the time I wanted what the typical girls in my grade wanted. Things like makeup, the latest doll, or even a purse. Darla would get me a doll, only it wouldn’t be the American Girl doll—it was the international (made in China) doll made up of hard plastic and clothes painted on the body. It was okay though. We still had fun with our homemade decorations.

The knock on the shop door stopped me. The willowy woman from the tea shop frantically waved in the window. The clock on the wall told me she was five minutes early.

“It was more about the spirit of the season than the presents,” I said to Madame Torres and Mr. Prince Charming and walked over to the door, unlocking it.

“There was no need to wait any longer out in that cold weather.” The woman pushed her way into the shop. I flipped the sign on the door to open. I might as well. “I figured I’d come see what you have to offer.” She picked up a bottle from the stress table, plucked the cork top and took a long sniff.

“I’m so glad you are here.” I clasped my hands together. “My understanding is that you are somewhat stressed about the holidays?”

“Yes.” A long sigh left her body. She stuck the cork back in the bottle. “I’ll take this one.”

“This one is perfect.” I took the red glass bottle with the small chain around the neck. There was a gold heart attached to the chain. “I need to mix it really good, so help yourself to some of the apple cider, unless you had enough tea at The Gathering Grove.”

The woman casually waltzed over to the bubbling cider, eyeing the content while I walked behind the partition, dumping the contents of the bottle into the cauldron.

The red bottle glowed, letting me know it was the right pick for her. That was how the potions or homeopathic cures, whatever you wanted to call them, worked. The bottles were as magical as the special ingredients inside. They picked their owners as much as my crystal ball and Mr. Prince Charming picked me.

The cauldron rolled into a full bubble, moving quickly in a circle. The glowing mixture turned orange in color and smelled like deviled eggs.

“What are you making for Christmas dinner?” My intuition told me she was having issues with the family and dinner. Especially the dinner because of the deviled eggs smell.

When I create a special potion for someone, their potion takes on a smell of their favorite things. In her case, deviled eggs.

“Don’t get me started,” she quipped from behind the counter. Easily she moved around the shop picking up bottles, smelling them and putting them back.

The bell over the door dinged a few times, letting me know there were more customers.

Mr. Prince Charming had made himself a spot in the front of the shop next to the apple cider waving his tail in the air, creating Christmas songs and entertaining the customers.

“Try me,” I encouraged the woman, sticking my head out from behind the partition.

“My mother-in-law insists I make the deviled eggs. I love deviled eggs. I hate making them. The hard boiled white always gets holes and damaged on the outside every time I try to peel off the shell.” She huffed and puffed.

The shelf behind the counter was lined with my special ingredients to help calm what really bothered her. The stress of making deviled eggs was causing her problems. I knew it. It was the magical way of me knowing what was bothering her.

My finger slid down the shelf, stopping at the Bushmaster Snake bottle that lit up to my touch.

I grabbed the black bottle. I should’ve known this was the right homeopathic herb to use to help the woman cope with making the eggs. It would not only calm her, but give her the confidence she needed to make the eggs perfectly.

With a dash of the Bushmaster Snake, the cauldron transitioned to a blue substance, filling the swirl and twirl of the smoke above the pot with deviled egg smell. I pinched my nose, trying not to smell it.

“I swear, if you make me something that will ease this stress, I will pay you ten-fold.” She tapped her long red fingernail on the counter. There was a painted Christmas tree on the nail.

“Where did you get your nails done?” I asked making idle chit-chat while holding her bottle down into the cauldron as the liquid seeped into it.

“The woman next door.”

I should’ve know Chandra Shango was over at A Cleansing Spirit Spa decorating nails with holiday art, while reading the clients’ palms in the process.  She had the gift of Onychomacy by using oiled fingernails, palm reading, and different symbols she finds in the nail bed.

Hear ye, hear ye
. Faith Mortimer’s voice rang out into the air. She was the voice of the Whispering Falls Gazette, the spiritualist paper. It was only heard by spiritualists who subscribed, meaning mortal ears couldn’t hear the daily paper or news. Since she had the gift of Clairaudience, ability to hear things that are inaudible, she was perfect for the job.
The Christmas Bazaar is underway. The village looks wonderful with the decorated wreaths on the light posts and all the shops have gone the extra mile to decorate for our first bazaar. The Village Council would like to announce a contest being held for the shop with the best decorations, so be sure to ramp up your shop to win the trophy along with doughnuts for a month from Wicked Good Bakery, compliments of me and my sister, Raven. The winner will be announced at the village meeting at The Gathering Rock, so be sure to attend. This announcement was brought to you by Ever After Books. Be sure to tell Ophelia Biblio you heard the announcement and stop in today to get your picture taken with Santa.

A trophy and doughnuts? That was definitely a wonderful prize. I could handle a sweet treat every morning, especially from Wicked Good. Obviously, everyone whose shop was decorated had gone to the council meeting because they knew to decorate. I was a little late to the game, but not out.

“Here you go.” I put the bottle with the extra oomph on the counter next to Madame Torres.

“Oh!” The woman grabbed Madame Torres and gave her a good shake. “I love snow globes. How much?”

“She’s,”
ahem
. I cleared my throat, “It’s not for sale.” I took the crystal ball from her and held Madame Torres close to my chest, knowing I was going to get an earful from my familiar once the woman left.

“Honey,” the woman grabbed Madame Torres by the bottom, “everything is for sale for the right price.” Her lips curled into a grin, her eyes narrowed.

“Not this one.” I jerked away and put Madame Torres under the counter. I pushed the bottle toward the woman. For a minute I thought about making a new potion for her, one that would cause her great stress, but didn’t. “It will be twenty dollars. You need to rub this on your hands and feet in the morning and at night.”

“You mean I don’t swallow it?” she asked, a little disappointed. She dug in her fancy purse and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill.

“No.” I shook my head and took the money from her. “It will help. I promise. Good luck. Next.” I looked over the woman’s shoulder at the next lady in line.

I had helped the woman all I was willing to help. Her pushiness made me a little uncomfortable.

Chapter Three

“June Heal!” The shop door flew open just as I was turning off the cauldron for the day. Constance Karima bolted in, there was a bite to the wind rushing around my ankles. Her beady eyes stared at me through her glasses. I could see my reflection. Her heavy black cape hit right above her full hips where her fisted hands were planted.

She took one step in the shop and used the heel of her foot to slam the door behind her. The windows rattled.

Rowl!
Mr. Prince Charming batted the air and ran under one of the display tables, nearly taking the table cover with him.

“This town has gone mad!  Mad I tell you!”

I looked around her wondering where Patience was. One was never without the other. Not that I had ever seen anyway.

“You have to give me some sort of cure for Patience. She has lost her mind with all these candy cane wishes and mortal children dreams.” Her fists pounded the air. Anger made her balled-up cheeks even more red than usual. Her pudgy body stomped in place. “Whoever said this was a good idea has lost it! Who was it?”

I stood in place, watching as she took one, then two steps closer to me.

“Well?” She came eyes to chest with me. Her eyes. My chest. Her chin jutted in the air, eyes lit with fire under her eyeglasses. Her hands planted firmly on her curvy hips.

“Well what?” My voice quivered, almost afraid to ask.

“Who agreed to all this?”

“The Village Council.” I walked around her and flipped the sign to closed. The police station was lit up and I wanted to stop by there before I went home to check on Oscar. “There is nothing wrong with Patience,” I assured her. “She’s a little excited about the bazaar like the rest of us.”

I rubbed my charm bracelet thinking of Oscar. I glanced over her shoulder, looking out the shop window and over to the police station.

He hadn’t stopped by the shop today. Granted, there were so many new visitors in town for the bazaar, he was probably busy strolling the streets but he had never been too busy to stop by, even during our busiest season of the year.

“No one in their right mind would wish all of this stress on anyone! No one!” she protested.

For a minute I thought Patience was in the shop with us. She had a habit of walking around repeating Constance’s last words spoken, but Constance was just repeating herself.

“Listen,” I grabbed one of the stress relief bottles off the display table and held it out to her. “Put a dash of this in your morning coffee. It will help you get through the next few days. Take an edge off.”

“Me? I’m not the crazy one, though I could use a good stiff drink to take the edge off!” She grabbed the bottle out of my hand and stalked out the door.

Lucky for all of us in Whispering Falls, there wasn’t a bar anywhere near here. I watched Constance jump in the ambulance. The siren flipped on, signaling an emergency, but she and I both knew the only emergency was her. The tires of the ambulance squealed as the ambulance made a U-turn. The twirling red and white light fit right in with the Christmas decorations.

The beautiful Christmas wreaths Arabella and Bella had hung up along with the decorations from all of the shop windows put a warming glow on the village. Even Arabella had gotten my window boxes decorated, which I didn’t even notice until just now.

“Are you ready?” I grabbed the bag and Madame Torres from underneath the counter. Mr. Prince Charming popped his head out from under the tablecloth and came out when he saw it was safe from Constance.

“I’m still motion sick from that woman manhandling me this morning.” Madame Torres was no longer her festive holiday self. In fact, her rosy cheeks had turned a putrid green. “You know I can’t take the shake, rattle and roll.” She replayed the scene where the woman with the mother-in-law egg problem shook her to death. “I,” she gagged, “I just might throw up.” Her ball went black.

“I think she’s done for the night.” I put her in my bag and looked down at Mr. Prince Charming. His tail jingled in the air on his way over to the door. I grabbed my cape and flung it around me. “I’ll refill the inventory in the morning.”

I locked the door behind us and stepped out into the cold. The air was nice and fresh. The bitterness ripped through the cape, leaving goosebumps up and down my body. The window boxes glowed with the larger-than-life round Christmas ornaments nestled inside with sprigs of evergreen and holly. In the center of each window box, she had put a "tree" of lush Oregonian decorated with small twinkling white lights. There were even lights and holly all blended in with my wisteria vine. A Charming Cure was ready for the Christmas Bazaar.