Midsummer Night's Mischief (11 page)

CHAPTER 11

I wandered in a crumbling, overgrown cemetery full of weeping willows and brambles and weeds. It was night, and I was sure there were ghosts watching me. I wanted to escape, but I was walking in circles. Finally, up ahead I could see the way out through a large iron gate. Amazingly, I realized I held the key, a large skeleton key. I ran to the gate, but when I got there, it turned into a great wooden door, and I no longer had the key. Before I knew what was happening, I was in a car, making out with someone. We were going at it good, fogging up the windows. I pulled back for a moment to look into his eyes and saw that it was . . . Jeremy.

Ahhh!
I jerked awake, feeling guilty and somewhat shaken by the weird dream. Rolling over, I looked at my bedside clock and saw that it was 9:00 a.m.
Crap!
I was late for work, too.

Oh, wait. I had no work.
Double crap.

I heaved myself out of bed and walked zombie-like into the bathroom, where I splashed cold water on my face. I had stayed up late the night before, poring over all my witchy resource books, hoping against hope for a magical solution to my predicament. Unfortunately, this was the real world, not some supernatural TV show. Most of the spells I'd found were more about changing yourself than changing external circumstances. Darn New Age morality.

I had gone into the kitchen and had started pulling bags of frozen fruit out of the freezer and tossing pieces into my blender when I heard strange high-pitched singing coming from my backyard. Puzzled, I opened the patio doors and stepped onto my deck. Down below was Mrs. St. John, my next-door neighbor, who was making herself at home in my backyard, along with her yippy little pug, Chompy. I crossed my arms as I watched her drag her reclining lawn chair onto my lawn, settle herself down, and then toss a rawhide bone toward my vegetable patch. Chompy tore after it, kicking up the dirt in my garden in the process.

I cleared my throat loudly, and Mrs. St. John nearly fell out of her chair. “Oh! Keli, you gave me a fright!”

“Good morning, Mrs. St. John,” I said, standing straight-backed with arms crossed in my best impression of a strict schoolmarm.

The poor woman, gray curls bouncing, scrambled to her feet. “I thought you were at work. What time is it? Why aren't you at work?”

“I'm on vacation,” I said.

“Oh! Well, how long are you taking off? Are you going away?”

Now it was my turn to falter. “Um. Well, I'm just taking a few days off, I think. I haven't really firmed up my plans yet.”

She wrinkled her forehead and opened her mouth to speak again, but then she was distracted by her husband, who was dragging his golf bag across the grass into my yard. She tried to wave him back. “Keli's home!” she whispered loudly.

“What?” he shouted, evidently not having turned on his hearing aids.

“Keli's home! Don't come over here!”

I turned and went back into my house to finish my smoothie. I couldn't deal with Mr. and Mrs. St. John right now. They probably spread out into my yard every day, the old stinkers. When I heard Mrs. St. John call their dog in that impossibly high-pitched voice of hers—“
Here
, Chompy! Here, little pooch! Come to Mommy!”—I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands. “Goddess, help me,” I murmured. I had to get out of the house.

What to do? What to do?
I knew I had some leads to pursue in order to learn more about the Folio. But I hadn't actually given up on the prospect of a magical assist. What I really wanted to do was talk to Mila. She had been practicing witchcraft a lot longer than I had, and she might have a spell or two up her sleeve.

The problem was, I was nervous about going downtown. I
really
didn't want to run into anyone from work. On the other hand, it was Thursday morning. I glanced at the kitchen clock. If I hurried, I could make it to the square while all my colleagues were safely ensconced in the conflicts meeting.

Quickly, I threw on some blue jogging shorts and a white and gold ribbed tank top, laced up my sneakers, and bounded out the door. It felt good to run. I fairly flew down the sidewalks, almost as if I could outrun my problems. Before long I found myself, only slightly sweaty, flushed, and out of breath, in front of Moonstone Treasures.

Before entering the store, I looked over my shoulder, as always. With the courthouse nearby, there was always the chance of being seen by attorneys from other firms, clients, or government officials—people who might raise an eyebrow if they knew I frequented an occult shop. Cautiously, I slipped inside and tried to act casual. There were a couple of other customers, so I played it cool, browsing the greeting cards, waiting for a chance to talk with Mila alone.

Of course, Mila didn't know my intentions.

“Keli! Hey! Come over here. Have a drink of water and meet my friends.”

I looked up to see Mila standing by the checkout counter with two slender young women, arms draped casually around one another. They looked my way with polite interest, while Mila poured some water from her glass carafe.

“Hi,” I said, walking up to them, with one eye on the door.

Mila touched my shoulder and addressed the couple. “This is Keli Milanni. She works in the law office around the corner. But I guess not today?” She indicated my jogging outfit.

“Nope. Day off.”

Mila then inclined her head toward the two women. “This is Andi and Trina. They moved here from Chicago in April and joined Circle a few weeks ago.” Circle was short for Magic Circle, the name of Mila's coven. She had invited me to their meetings several times, but I kept refusing. Even among friends, I couldn't risk going public with my beliefs.

“Nice to meet you,” said Andi. She was the shorter of the two, with dark, pixie-styled hair and brilliant blue eyes.

Trina, who wore her blond-streaked hair pulled to the side with barrettes, nodded a hello.

“We were just talking about Litha,” said Mila. Litha, I knew, was another name for the summer solstice. Also called Midsummer, it was an important holiday in many nature religions.

“Yeah,” said Trina. “We're planning a solstice celebration in the woods near Briar Creek Cabins. We're going to have dancing, chanting, and drumming around a sacred bonfire. You should come.”

“Oh, well, thank you. It sounds nice. But I'm a solitary practitioner,” I said.

Trina shrugged, and Andi looked at me strangely.

To change the subject, I said, “Are you guys going to the Renaissance Faire on the SCIU campus? There's going to be a performance of Shakespeare's
A Midsummer Night's Dream
. Fittingly.”

“We'll probably stop by the fair,” said Trina. “We have mixed feelings about Shakespeare, though.”

“Oh?” I said.

“You know,” she said, assuming a didactic tone. “In many ways, Shakespeare is responsible for the perpetuation of the negative stereotype of the witch as a demon hag. We're still dealing with it today.”

“Yeah,” Andi agreed. “‘Double, double toil and trouble.' Still a strong icon four hundred years later.”

“Hmm,” I said, considering this. “I always think of the evil fairy-tale witch as just one more villainous storybook character. It's like in
The Wizard of Oz
—you've got the good witch and the bad witch.”

Trina shook her head. “When someone says ‘witch,' what do most people think of? And not only that, but there's a close link between society's view of strong women or elder women and the creation of the evil witch archetype. So I can't help it. I take offense at the denigration of witches, even in fiction. It's like they're creating an insulting caricature of women. Anything to bring us down.”

Wow.
This woman was intense. Still, I couldn't help liking her.

“Ooh,” said Mila, rubbing her hands together. “This would be a great topic to explore at Circle. I'm going to find a book on this subject that we can all read together.”

“I've got a couple you can borrow,” Trina interjected.

“Keli,” said Mila, “you really should join us sometime. Our Circle gatherings are always a lot of fun. We take turns hosting them in one another's homes.”

I raised a palm and repeated my standard answer. “Solitary,” I said, backing away from the counter. “Thanks, anyway.”

A shadow fell across the room as someone walked by the window outside, and I instinctively ducked around the corner to the book section of the store. Andi and Trina completed their purchases and left. Then Mila came over and found me halfheartedly browsing the titles.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“I've got a problem,” I confided. “I desperately need to find something.”

“Not true love, I hope.”

“No. This time it's a missing object. Something that was stolen, actually. It's a long story, but my job depends on the recovery of this item. Maybe even my career.” My voice hitched a little as I said it.

With a concerned look, Mila guided me over to the sitting area where we had chatted the other day. “This object . . . ,” she said. “Have you tried a finding spell?”

“No. See, the thing is, the object isn't mine. I didn't lose it. It wasn't taken from me. It doesn't belong to me. None of the usual finding spells seem to fit the bill.”

Mila furrowed her eyebrows and tapped her fingertips together as she thought about what I'd said. “Hmm. It shouldn't matter if the object isn't yours. Have you seen it? Could you draw it?”

“I've seen it, yes. I suppose I could make a rough sketch.”

“Okay,” Mila said decisively as she stood up. “I've got just the thing. Let me go grab a couple things for you and jot down a spell.”

I followed her to the counter and chuckled as a thought occurred to me. “If my mother were here, she'd tell me to pray to St. Anthony.”

“Well, sure,” said Mila, in complete seriousness. “That could work, too. But something tells me you don't have any statues of saints adorning your altar.”

“True,” I agreed. “So, you're saying that the deities we invoke—or the saints, as the case may be—have their particular power because we give it to them?”

“All I'm saying,” said Mila as she handed me the paper bag she'd just filled, “is, ‘What's in a name? That which we call a rose—'”

“‘By any other name would smell as sweet,'” I said, finishing for her and nodding.

“Still,” she said, with a twinkle in her eye, “I would recommend calling upon Persephone for this one. She can help you unearth the treasure you seek.”

I took the paper bag and shook my head in wonder. I hadn't even told Mila what it was I was looking for. Yet here she was, quoting Shakespeare and talking about lost treasures.
That witch never ceases to amaze me
, I thought as I headed for the door.

* * *

Leaving Moonstone Treasures, I prepared to dash around the corner and head away from the law office. But in my haste, I nearly bumped into the opening door of the gallery next to Mila's shop. I skidded to a stop and gasped when I recognized the person exiting.

“Wes!” I felt a warm charge of pleasure at seeing him again. Then I noticed his irritated expression. “How are you?” I ventured.

“I've been better,” he said with a scowl, letting the door bang shut behind him.

“Oh.”
Well, this is awkward.
While Wes clenched his jaw and muttered indecipherably, but probably profanely, under his breath, I stood there uncertainly on the sidewalk.

Then, quick as a sunburst, Wes softened. Running a hand through his hair—which was thick, tousled, and touchable, not that I noticed—he took a step next to me. “I'm sorry,” he said. “It's just . . . nothing. So what's up with you? Out for a jog?”

Now, there was the look I remembered. That deeply interested gaze that held the promise of something . . . exciting. And perhaps steamy. I swallowed and tried to focus on the conversation.

“Uh, yeah,” I said. “I'm taking the day off from work. Thought I'd get a run in before it gets too hot.”

“Hey,” he said, shifting his feet. “Let me ask you something. On Sunday I'm planning to drive out to this old farm my family owns. It's actually the place where my grandpa Frank grew up. We have an arrangement with a farmer to run the land, but it's good to check on it now and then, you know? I haven't been out there since I got back. Anyway, it's about ten miles outside of town, and it's a nice scenic drive. So I was thinking, if it's a nice day, would you like to come along? We could bring a picnic, stop off in the woods on the way.”

“Yeah,” I said without hesitation. “That sounds lovely.”

“Wonderful.” He smiled. “I'll give you a call later, and we'll figure out the details. I think I've still got your number in my phone.”

As I jogged home, floating on cloud nine, I daydreamed about my date with Wes. This was perfect. I was finally going to have a chance to get to know him better. But as my mind wandered to our last couple of encounters and the whole mess surrounding the missing Folio, my pace became slower and slower, until my brisk jog turned into a languid walk. I could no longer ignore the elephant in the room.

Wes was a suspect.

And not only Wes. All the Mostriak-Callahan family members were the most likely suspects. The visitation might have provided an alibi for some of them, but the fact was that people had come and gone from the visitation. The funeral home wasn't that far from Eleanor's home. The family knew the Folio was there. And they knew how to get into the house.