Something Magical (Witches of Hawthorne Grove Book 1)

E
smerelda Seville's
early morning humming lilted softly through the chilly stillness inside the old, three story building that housed the antique shop on the corner of Hawthorne and 7
^th
Street, the sound filling the room with a whimsical air as she slowly made her way among the various rows of shelving, her wandering gaze carefully inspecting each item in turn.

As one of the three co-owners of
Seville's Antiques and Collectibles
, it was her job to make sure the polished wooden shelves inside the store always appeared to be fully stocked and today they were brimming with brilliant artwork, unique handicrafts, priceless knickknacks, and lots of high quality vintage pieces—both exotic and mundane—from all over the world.

But it was not the harmless little glamour spell she had cast that Esmerelda was checking this morning. Instead, she was searching for the special bits; pieces which remained
outside
the enchantment. Specific items with specific purposes; tokens which would allow her and her sisters to complete their latest assignment.

Having already checked every inch of every shelf in the wide open room once, she was just beginning her second pass when a glistening reflection from something in her periphery caught her eye. Excited now, she hurried over to a section of shelving near the back wall and lifted a shimmering, water-filled glass ball from its base, turning it this way and that to stir up the contents inside.

Watching as artificial snow spilled down, cascading over a lovely winter scene, Esmerelda called out to her sisters, her voice easily carrying from the main chamber on the lower floor to the small back room office next door. “What a pretty snow globe! Did you two know we had this back here?”

Enthralled, she turned the fragile glass in her hands again, shaking it slightly this time. She smiled when the falling snow inside settled softly along the curving boughs of several tall evergreens and blanketed the roof before gently coming to rest upon the ground around a lovely house which had been painted a soft, powder blue.

It wasn't a large house but there was something about the compact, two-story miniature structure that made it seem cozy. It was
quaint
, Esmerelda thought. Simple, and yet comfortable. The kind of house in which a family might live. A handsome, strong man, perhaps, who wasn't afraid of things which were different, and an adoring wife who worshiped him.

Allowing her thoughts to wander and the fantasy she had conjured in her mind to continue, she pictured an adventurous little boy with green eyes like his father, an adorable little blue-eyed girl who looked just like her mother, and maybe even a dog, she decided.

It was the type of house she herself might like to live in someday, Esmerelda thought wistfully.
Home
.

Banishing the fantasy that was beginning to play out in her thoughts with a quick shake of her head before one of her sisters picked up on it, she continued to stare almost trance-like into the glass, taking careful note of the startlingly vivid detail worked into each item inside the ball.

The quaint but cozy two-story house and its snow-covered lawn was surrounded on three sides by a white, intricately worked lattice fence which was covered by the thick and twisted empty vines of several climbing rose bushes.

A stone-edged graveled walk made a relatively straight path from a side door to the gated opening in the fence, its lines marred only by the junction of a second walkway leading to the front of the house. A tiny, white painted mailbox perched just outside the gate and the thick black lines of the house number stood out in stark relief against the bright white of the mailbox:
214
.

“Hey, two fourteen,” she called casually over her shoulder to her sisters, her gaze still locked on the scene within the glass, but Serephina and Mortianna were too busy chattering among themselves about the depression glass the lady who was coming by this morning would be looking for to hear her.

“She's looking for a
green
piece, Feeny,” Esmerelda heard Mortianna tell her sister. “Green! We have exactly
one
. All the others are amber and rose—and
none
of them have our numbers. Can't we just whip one up? I mean, it's not like she'll know magic was involved. Nobody does. People don't believe in it anymore.”

And it was that simple truth which had allowed the sisters to settle into Hawthorne Grove almost thirty years ago. Well, that and their
assignments
.

The numbers Mortianna had mentioned just happened to be the girls' date of birth, and its presence on any of the antiquities in their shop actually meant something—something very specific—but only to them. If an item had the Seville numbers on it, whether painted on or molded in or even carved inside, the girls knew it was the designated piece to be infused with their special brand of magic—one that would ensure the proper results for their assignments.

“No, we cannot
whip one up
, Morty,” Serephina scolded. “And you keep your naughty little fingers to yourself because you know that's not true. Remember the Dover girl two summers back?
She
believed in magic
and
she knew the afghan we sold her was enchanted. Lucky for us, she didn't figure out we were the ones who spelled it in the first place. We almost got caught and it was
your
fault.”

Esmerelda remembered that afghan. It was mauve and pastel pink, crocheted in a hounds tooth pattern. The girls had infused it so that whenever the Dover girl lay beneath it, she would think of her predestined mate. Feeny had given the infusion a little “extra” charge, however, and the lady knew there was something not quite normal going on because her thoughts and feelings were far too strong in relation to whenever she wasn't wrapped in the afghan.

“Hello? Valentine's Day?” Esmerelda called to them again, this time from the doorway, but her sisters continued to ignore her. She sighed. One would think her having broken in on their argument not once but twice in as many minutes would have been enough to put a stop to their petty bickering, but
no
. Not Mortianna and Serephina. When those two got started it was practically impossible for anyone to get a word in edgewise.

“
My
fault?” Mortianna's eyes narrowed accusingly and she pointed a finger at her older sibling. “
You
were the one who gave her the fertility poem and told her to recite it!”

It was days like this that made Esmerelda wonder if being a Seville was even worth it. Did Hawthorne Grove really need them? Was their special brand of matchmaking magic even necessary to bring their lost lovers together? They had Valentine's Day, after all, and it should have been enough ... but she knew it wasn't. Sure, Cupid had his bow and arrows, but
he
only worked one day a year. The Seville girls worked all year round. When they weren't bickering among themselves about who was responsible for whatever mishaps had taken place over the years.

Holding out the glass between her hands like an offering, Esmerelda stepped between her sisters and said, “Ladies! Snow globe. 214. Valentine's Day. Ring any bells?”

“What? It doesn't snow on Valentine's Day, Merry,” Mortianna grouched, barely paying attention, but when she finally glanced in Esmerelda's direction she seemed to realize there was something important in what her sister had said—something that she had missed. “Wait, what are you talking about?”

Now that she knew she had her sister's undivided attention, at last, Esmerelda said, “It's the house numbers, see?”

Slowly, she turned the globe in her hands so her sisters could look inside. “214. February the fourteenth. Our birthday. This is it!”

“Well, bring it here,” Serephina insisted, motioning her forward with an impatient wave. “If it has our numbers inside, this must be the piece we need.”

Mortianna's expression was doubtful. “A snow globe? She's looking for depression glass.
Green
depression glass, remember?
This
glass is clear as crystal and cold as ice inside. How in the world is something like that supposed to warm her up to the idea of trusting a man again?”

“
She
has a name,” Esmerelda reminded her sister and then motioned with a quick tilt of her head toward the front door of the shop. “It's Kaylee, remember? And unless my perfect eyesight fails me, I believe that's her standing out there on the sidewalk, trying to decide whether or not it is safe to come inside. Hurry up, Feeny! Do it now, before she gets to the door!”

* * *

K
aylee Dean glanced
at her watch and then up at the dilapidated building in front of her before speaking into her cell phone, answering her cousin, who was waiting for her to confirm she had located the antique shop in Hawthorne Grove. “This place looks like it has seen better days, Min, but it says
Seville Antiques and Collectibles
right over the door so I guess this is it.”

“That's the place, yes. Thanks, Kay. You're a doll for doing this for me. Mom will never guess!”

“You're welcome, Min. Talk to you in a bit,” she said and then ended the connection. Sliding her phone into her back jeans pocket wasn't as easy this winter morning as it was in spring and summer. For one thing, she didn't wear anything as bulky as the ash gray and black trimmed pea coat currently belted at her middle in the warmer months. For another, she generally wasn't so distracted by the utter lack of modern
anything
when she visited a place of business.

Seville's Antiques and Collectibles
looked like a run-down warehouse straight out of the mid-1900's or, as her cousin Mindy would say: so last century! No wonder Min wanted her to come here to look for the depression glass … it was probably still being freshly made inside!

Kaylee had been told the shop held a vast array of priceless antiquities but she found that hard to believe when the building itself looked like it might fall over if you so much as sneezed beside it.

The two story frame boasted a cracked and badly weathered wooden exterior, nicked and worn hardwood doors—even the window frames were no more than thin bits of old wood—some of it worm-eaten—and panes of plain, clear glass gone cloudy with age.

Not to mention, Kaylee couldn't see a single shred of evidence the owners had taken any precaution whatsoever to secure the place from thieves and vandals. Didn't they know anyone could walk by and knock out a window—probably with no more effort than it would take to flick away a noisome fly? With such valuable pieces reportedly inside, how could they risk getting broken into? Granted, Hawthorne Grove was a smallish town but it had its share of bad apples, she was sure. Weren't the owners even a little bit worried about losing their priceless inventory?

“Maybe it's not so valuable after all,” she muttered, having finally managed to stuff her phone into her pocket.

Three steps later, she was tugging at the heavy brass door handle, and then she stepped inside. Overhead, the loud jingle of bells caught her attention and she glanced wryly toward the ceiling, expecting to see a string of round, silver bells suspended from bare, maybe even broken rafters, but she was met instead with a view of the store's interior she certainly had not anticipated.

The main room was much larger than she had thought it would be; it spanned two full stories in height. In the ceiling, wooden beams were exposed, but they were neither worn nor rotting. Instead, they were thick and strong, their surfaces gleaming in the morning sunlight that spilled through the uncovered windows as if they had just been freshly polished. Unlike outside, the mullioned windows were neatly trimmed with more burnished wood, and she could see heavy, lustrous brass latches securing each one.

“Good morning! May we help you?” a voice called from the back of the store and she glanced around, moving instinctively through the tall rows of display shelves toward the sound of warm greeting while her eyes busily scanned the room in both surprise and awe.

“Hello. I am looking for depression glass and an acquaintance said I should check here … ” she explained, her words trailing off as her attention was caught by first one exquisite piece and then another.

Brow furrowed in confused astonishment, she turned, trying to absorb it all but she found the whole of her experience thus far almost too diametrically opposed to take in. The sheer beauty filling every nook and niche inside the shop, after having witnessed the results of what must have been many years of painful neglect on the outside, was almost ...

“Unbelievable,” she whispered, her jaw slack as she was still held in a bit of a trance by her reaction to the surprise, but when a woman appeared from the back carrying some sort of glass object, she snapped her mouth shut and offered a nod of greeting.

“Isn't it?” the lady agreed in passing, and Kaylee felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment from having been overheard.

“We have some lovely Mayfair Pink pieces...” the woman said in reference to her explanation of what she was looking for.

“No, it must be green,” Kaylee said. “It is for my aunt, you see. She has been collecting depression glass for a few years now and green is the color she is currently on about, so Min says it must be green.”