What's a Witch to Do?: A Midnight Magic Mystery

Copyright Information

What’s a Witch to Do?: A Midnight Magic Mystery
© 2013 by Jennifer Harlow.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

First e-book edition © 2013

E-book ISBN: 9780738736273

Book format by Bob Gaul

Cover design by Ellen Lawson
Cover illustration by Mary Ann Lasher-Dodge

Editing by Nicole Nugent
Family tree
©
Llewellyn art department

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Midnight Ink

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For Great-Grandma Honey and Auntie T—
both
real
witches.

The Goode and Knight Family Tree (1900–present)

Saturday To Do:

• Hem Sophie’s skirt
  
• Go to work
  
• Resupply herbs
  
• Confirm hall and playhouse for meetings
  
• Call Jocasta about wedding flowers
  
• Help Cora with her collage
  
• Go grocery shopping
  
• Make
  20
  13 potions/spells/charms
  
• Make dinner
  
• Answer e-mails
  
• Girls’ bedtime
  
• Kill self
  

“Aunt Mona! Aunt Mona!
Cora’s bleeding!”

My heart skips a beat. Oh hell’s bells. I drop the rosemary and wolfsbane onto the altar and sprint into the hallway, fear coursing through me.
Please don’t let it be bad
. Cora’s not in the pink bedroom she shares with her sister, but the blood trail begins at her white desk, continuing to the bathroom one door down. Both my nieces are at the end of the blood breadcrumb line. Sophie holds her younger sister’s hand under the running faucet as the six-year-old weeps, blood splattered on her pink shirt like a Jackson Pollock painting.

“It hurts! It hurts!” Cora sobs as she bounces up and down.

I switch into emergency mode: calm and capable. “What happened?” I ask, grabbing a towel.

Sophie steps aside so I can take her place. “She was using the scissors! I told her not to!”

Ten minutes. I left them alone for ten flipping minutes, and they managed to break the rules and get maimed. They have so much of their mother in them it’s frightening. “Let me look, sweetie.”

I take her tiny hand from under the water. There’s a deep gash about an inch long in her palm. Yeah, it’s gonna need stitches. Bye bye, rest of the afternoon. I wrap the towel around Cora’s hand and have her raise it above her heart to reduce the bleeding. She keeps whimpering and sniffling, blue eyes rimmed with tears. “It hurts.”

I kiss her white-as-snow hair. “I know, sweetie. Guess what? We get to go see Nurse Luann again. I know how much you like her,” I say mockingly. “Sophie, go grab yours and Cora’s coats, okay?” I order, leading the wounded out.

“Do you think Dr. Sutcliffe will be there?” Sophie asks.

My cheeks flare up and butterflies sprout at the mention of that name. “I—I don’t know. Probably not. It’s Saturday.”

Cora glances back at her sister. “But—but he could be, right?” Cora asks.

Oh goddess. Six and ten, and already suckers for a handsome face. They really are their mother’s daughters. “I don’t know! Sophie, the coats please! Come on!”

I hustle the bleeding girl down the wooden stairs. My purse, coat, and keys are on the table by the door. I grab them and push Cora out the door. It’s cold for April in Virginia, but we just have to sprint to my blue Acura in the driveway. I help Cora into the backseat and scurry to the front. Sophie still hasn’t come out of my three-story white Victorian house, so I honk the horn. My neighbor and great-aunt, Sara, always the busybody, steps out of her matching home. As usual she’s dressed in a floral muumuu, and her gray hair resembles a permed helmet. “Mona Leigh, what is going on?”

I roll down the car window, all smiles. “Everything’s fine, Auntie Sara. Thank you.”

“Is that child bleeding?” she asks, hands on her hips.

“She’s fine. Just a cut.” I love the woman to bits, but she tends to embellish gossip. By midnight Cora will be at death’s door undergoing a hand transplant.

Sophie careens out of the door with Cora’s green coat in her arms and leaps off the lavender painted porch between the white columns instead of taking the steps, which I have scolded her for doing a dozen times. No time to yell now. I start the engine, give a wave and smile to Auntie Sara, and peel out of the driveway when my second passenger is in. “Seat belts.”

Our destination is clear on the other side of town, so it takes ten minutes to get there. Traffic is never a real problem here, but if we had a rush hour, it would be now. All the families who journeyed to Richmond or Williamsburg today are making their way home for supper, so Courtland Street is backed up. Most of the small shops—mine included—are closed or closing, so the foot traffic has waned on the cobblestone sidewalks. Only Goodnight Diner and Ma’s General Store have customers ambling in and out. As I drive under the “Goodnight Founders’ Week” banner hanging above the street, through the windows I spot Tamara carrying plates of food to the Reverend Potter and his wife, Cece. That reminds me, I forgot to call Jocasta about the early delivery of the flowers for the wedding. Maybe Debbie did it. We really have to coordinate better.

Slower than I’d like, we leave the red brick commercial section of Goodnight for the massive park in the center of town. There are no kids on the playground, but Wayne Flynn walks his Great Dane while smoking his daily cigar. I don’t know which his wife, Stacy, would mind more: the cigar or his checking out the teenager jogging by. Male teenager. No wonder Stacy has had a standing order for a male enhancement potion all these years. Poor woman.

As I’m driving over the railroad tracks through the south of town, which is just ranch-style homes lined with rusting cars, some on bricks, I glance back at the girls. Sophie whispers to her younger sister, who keeps nodding and looking at me, her small face looking almost guilty. Cora whispers back and Sophie shakes her head. “What are you two conspiring about back there?”

“Nothing,” Sophie responds.

“My hand hurts,” Cora whines.

“Almost there, sweetie pie.”

Goodnight Medical Center is a four-story white building that from the outside resembles an office center except for the ambulance parked under the awning. I park in the lot, and we hustle in. Ancient Nurse Luann Smiley sits behind the reception desk, mouth pursed in displeasure when she lays eyes on us. The woman has carried a grudge against me for thirty damn years. As if I was the only child who’s bitten her. That’s what she got for poking me with a needle.

“Mona McGregor, twice in one month,” Luann says. “What now?”

“Cora needs stitches,” I say.

Luann rises, gazing down at the miserable girl. Sophie glares at her, and Luann glares back. Ever since Luann yelled at Cora for crying during an exam, Sophie has not hidden her feelings about Nurse Ratched there. Luann sits back down. “Were you keeping an eye on her?”

I scoff. “Yeah, Luann. I watched as she juggled three knives in front of me. We’re thinking of selling tickets next time.”

Her lips purse with disapproval. “I know this whole motherhood thing is new to you, but making sure the children live into adulthood is a big part of the job description.”

I roll my eyes. “Just give me the damn forms to fill out. Please.”

Still shooting us the evil eye, the old biddy hands me the clipboard. I snatch it away before retreating to the waiting area. It’s odd that the biggest witch in Goodnight is one of the few who isn’t one. Sophie and Cora sit next to me as I pull out my reading glasses and insurance card. The waiting room is almost empty with only first baseman Jace Brown and his teenage girlfriend, Amber Kermer, sitting off to the side, both visibly nervous but otherwise intact. Last month she came into the shop for a charm to ward off unwanted pregnancy. I gave it to her but only after a long lecture on modern birth control. Not thinking she listened.

As I’m copying my information down, the girls start whispering again and glancing at the reception area. Their excitement is palpable. I look up and my breath catches. Oh goddess. I was hoping he wouldn’t be here, and also hoping he was. Dr. Guy Sutcliffe, the literal man of my dreams, is conversing with Luann at reception. Try as I might, I can’t take my eyes off him. Each time I see him I want to relish it. He must feel me gazing at him like a lion does a zebra, all but licking my lips, because he turns my way. Oh, I really wish I had changed and put on makeup before coming here. Or at least brushed my hair. I quickly remove my glasses and smooth my hair, which is pointless when it’s curly, but I do it anyway.

If I had ever made a list of all that I wanted in a man, he’d hit every item. Tall, thin, with chocolate brown hair with specks of gray, dark eyes hidden behind trendy glasses, and an ironic smile. And let’s not discount the whole being a doctor thing, which of course makes all the other items moot. I like my men brainy and cultured, which are not qualities prevalent in the men of Goodnight—one of the many reasons that I haven’t been on a date in years. That and I’m related to a large portion of the male population here.

I remember the first time I saw Guy in the diner three months ago. Tamara pointed him out, and my jaw dropped. Literally. I am a woman of discerning taste when it comes to men—much to a fault according to the entire town—so when I actually find someone who sparks my interest, it’s a huge deal. Like, stop the presses huge. As Tamara is the go-to person for all the skinny on the citizens of Goodnight, she gave me the CliffsNotes version of his story. Forty, divorced with no kids, was living in D.C. but needed a change of pace and loved this area. It was as if someone had conjured my perfect man, and there he was eating pancakes.

Of course I wasn’t the only woman in town who felt this way, and competition is fierce. He’s dated at least two women I’ve heard of: my cousin Rosalie and Jana Garrett, a reporter at the local paper. Both women are the anti-me: skinny, sleek, charming, and who never leave the house in paint-spackled jeans and an old Goodnight Warlock’s shirt sans makeup, even in an emergency situation. It’s against the Southern Lady Code.

I’ve only spoken to him twice before, both on official business. The first was a week after the diner sighting when Cora needed a booster shot. I was so flustered I’m fairly sure I didn’t say more than five words to him, then turned beet red when he flashed a smile. The second time went a little better, at least in terms of our interaction. Three weeks ago the school had to rush Sophie to the hospital when she went into anaphylactic shock after a bee sting. I came in, in near hysterics, and it was Dr. Sutcliffe who calmed me down with his soothing tone. She had to stay the night so I did as well, and before he left for the day he brought me a cup of coffee. I almost lost the ability to speak.

He spots us in the waiting area, gives a friendly smile and nod, and walks off. My cheeks are hot so I know I’m blushing again. I must be because Luann glares at me, shaking her head as if she can read my mind.

“Aunt Mona, I have to go to the bathroom,” Sophie says, snapping me out of my hormone bubble.

“Um, can you hold it?”

Sophie leaps up. “No! I’ll go alone! Be right back!” Before I can protest, she’s sprinting away past reception and down the hall.

“Don’t run in the hospital!” Luann shouts before turning to me. “Mona McGregor, you control your niece!”

I throw my hands up, shaking my head. “Yeah, I’ll get right on that.”

Luann plops herself back in her throne, grumbling about the youth of the nation or something. That woman gives spinsters like me a bad name. My wayward niece returns a few minutes later, and a few after that my cousin Collins, another nurse here, ushers us into an exam room where both girls jump up on the exam table. Collins is my second cousin, and we both have mousy brown hair, though she can afford highlights in hers. Wish I got her blue eyes though. Mine are as brown as mud.

“What happened here?” she asks, examining Cora’s hand.

“I cut myself.”

Collins checks Cora’s vitals. “All normal.” She turns to Sophie. “And how are you feeling after that bee sting, little miss?”

“A lot better, thanks,” Sophie says.

“You girls excited about the wedding?”

“We’re flower girls,” Cora informs her.

“I know. We all get to wear matching dresses.” Collins is my sister Debbie’s maid of honor. “And aren’t you in the Founders’ Day pageant?” she asks Sophie.

“Yeah, I’m Mary Knight,” Sophie replies.

“Well, I will try to make your stage debut,” Collins says with a smile as she takes off her latex gloves. “Mona?” She gestures to the door. “I’m gonna steal your aunt for a sec.”

I follow Collins into the hallway, leaving the door open to keep an eye on my little troublemakers. The moment I walk out, they start furiously whispering. They are so up to something. “She’s okay, right?”

“Oh yeah. One or two stitches should do it,” she says, writing in the chart. “Just what you needed, right? Want me to ask the doctor to prescribe you Valium to get through the week?”

“Tempting, but I need all twelve of my wits about me. Some speed might come in handy though.”

Collins chuckles. “Are we still having class on Monday? I have a few questions about an illumination spell I found.”

“That’s the plan, but what with the preparations for the wedding, the coven meeting, the co-op, and the Founders’ Day committee, not to mention work and my pretty hellions in there, I can’t make any guarantees. If I have to cancel, I’ll have Auntie Sara call.” Hell, I’m tired just thinking about the next week. I’ll be a zombie come next Sunday.

“If anyone can survive, it’s you, my High Priestess. I’ll light a fire under the doctor’s butt and get you out of here.”

“Thank you.” She walks away and I return to the girls, who immediately stop talking as I enter. Cora looks down and Sophie smiles. “What?”

“Your lips look chapped,” Sophie says. “You should put on some lipstick.”

I sit on the stool across from them. “I will take that under advisement.”

Sophie leaps off the table with my purse in hand. “I’m bored. I’ll help you.”

“No—”

She already has the lipstick out, and I’m too tired to struggle. Plus, she’s right. I sit like a statue as my niece applies lipstick, powder, and pulls my hair back, fastening it with a barrette. Just as she clips it in place, Dr. Sutcliffe saunters in. Instantly, I become an awkward teenager again, wanting to hide behind my hair. No zits this time though. He looks up from the chart at me, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear his face lights up as if he’s seen a beautiful work of art. I’ve never had a man gaze at me like that. The butterflies in my stomach really like it. Happiness is replaced with confusion on his handsome face for a fraction of a second, but the gorgeous smile returns. “Um, hello,” he says with a nervous chuckle.