Midsummer Night's Mischief (4 page)

CHAPTER 4

I awoke with morning-after remorse like I hadn't felt in a very long time. Not only was I hungover (stupid shots), but I also felt sad about Eleanor, disappointed about Wes, and horrified about Jeremy. What had I been thinking? After I heard the news about Eleanor, my desire for Jeremy had evaporated like the steam rising from the black street.

After some slow yoga stretches, I threw some colorful veggies in my juicer to concoct the most powerful detox blend I could think of. I drank it slowly and purposefully, intoning an improvised healing spell for good measure. Then I showered quickly, coaxed my hair into a semi-messy French twist, dressed in my most comfortable cotton pantsuit—gray and black, to match my mood—and headed out the door. As I walked to work, I made sure to breathe slowly and deliberately, doing my best to feel normal. All the while, I told myself I was getting too old to party like a college coed.

In fact, I must be
really
old to use a term like
coed
.

When I entered the office suite, I said a quick hello to Julie Barnes, our young receptionist, and tried to scuttle straight to my office.

“Oh, Keli, hang on a minute,” Julie said. She peered at me over her rectangular glasses with an appraising look. “You're in a hurry this morning,” she said.

“Sorry,” I said. “Um, I had a client die last night. Eleanor Mostriak. I wanted to look over her file.”

“Oh, I'm so sorry! That sweet old lady? She was just here, like, yesterday!”

“Yeah,” I said. “Thank goodness we finalized her will. It would be a shame to have the court distribute her estate when she'd already settled on all her last wishes.”

The door opened behind me, and I almost did a double take when I looked around. Crenshaw came in, swinging his briefcase and sporting a clean-shaven face. Gone was the beard he had cultivated the whole time I had known him—and now revealed was a surprisingly strong jawline. I couldn't help staring.

“Rough night?” he questioned. When I didn't answer, he directed his eyes to the ceiling and stalked to his office.

Julie didn't seem to notice Crenshaw. Still fixated on Eleanor's death, she shook her head from side to side. “Wow, oh, wow. Here one day, and gone the next. Sure makes you think, huh?”

I smiled weakly at her. Julie had been with the firm for four years, but she was only twenty-two years old. She'd applied for the job right out of high school, and Beverly had been so impressed with her drive, she decided to give her a chance.

“Did you have a message for me, Julie?”

“What? Oh, yeah. Jeremy called in sick. He sounded awful. He asked me to let you know.”

Coward.
Well, at least I wouldn't have to go out of my way to avoid him. I thanked Julie, then went to my office and shut the door. I pulled out Eleanor's will and set it aside. I would go file it with the probate court clerk later in the day and then would contact Darlene to let her know. As she was the executor, I would talk to her about selling the Folio and settling the estate. These things couldn't be put off too long, but I didn't need to hassle her first thing after her mother passed away.

For the rest of the morning, I drafted documents for other clients and made a couple of phone calls. By 12:30, I was ready to come up for some air and take a break. Before grabbing some food, I needed to stop in at one of my favorite places in Edindale, Moonstone Treasures. It was a cute gift boutique around the corner from the law office, and it sold all kinds of goodies: books and cards, candles, crystals, jewelry, and CDs. And, behind a gauzy purple curtain, psychic readings. By appointment only.

A chime over the door jingled as I entered the shop, and I felt like I'd walked into a fairyland. A light blend of jasmine and citrus oils perfumed the air, while Native American–inspired flute music played softly in the background. Overlapping fringed throw rugs in warm jewel tones softened my steps, and from the ceiling delicate wind chimes, oriental paper lanterns, and shimmering spiral decorations swayed gently in the breeze that had followed me in. The atmosphere felt mystical. At the same time, the large picture windows in front kept the shop bright and open.

Just being in the shop was a restorative experience. But it was the set of shelves in the far back corner that interested me the most. This was where I could find special tools and supplies for the craft. There were mortar and pestle sets, chalices and athames, as well as candles, herbs, and oils. There were also tools for divination: tarot cards, runes, tea leaves.

I was in heaven.

I was admiring some new moon- and stars-adorned frames when the proprietor came in from the curtained back room.

“Hi, Mila,” I said, looking up.

As always, Mila Douglas was a vision—boho chic meets Audrey Hepburn, with the slightest punk edge. She wore indigo skinny jeans and a simple cream-colored peasant shirt with three-quarter sleeves—the better to show off the charming trique-tra tattooed on the inside of her right wrist. Her brunette hair was cropped in a short, easy shag, the tips dip-dyed pink. Dangly crystal earrings were her only jewelry.

Mila's style was what I imagined I might try if I didn't work in a law office five days a week. And who knew? Maybe I'd wind up like her yet. She had once told me she was forty-something, though she didn't look a day over thirty-five.

“Keli, so nice to see you. How are you liking the vanilla-berry candle? Is it working for you?”

Mila, of course, knew of my Pagan proclivities. Although we'd never gotten together outside the shop, I'd spent enough time there that I considered her a friend.

“It's great,” I said. “Um, this is kind of embarrassing, but there's something I'm dying to tell you.”

“Oh, do tell,” said Mila, dropping her voice conspiratorially. “Do you want to go to the back room?”

“No. Well, not yet, anyway.” I lowered my voice, too, even though there was no one else around. “I cast a love spell the other night.”

“Which night?” Mila whispered.

“Wednesday,” I said, somewhat surprised by the question.

“Hmm,” said Mila. “You should have waited until Friday. Friday is better for love spells.”

“Really?” That was new for me.

Mila consulted a calendar near the cash register. “At least the moon was waxing on Wednesday night, though the spell would've been more powerful if you'd waited for the full.” She turned and smiled warmly. “Anyway, the
most
important element is you, and what's in your heart. How did you feel about the spell? Did it feel good to cast it? And how do you feel now?”

“A little confused,” I confessed. “I'm afraid maybe I wasn't specific enough.”

Mila nodded. “What was your intention exactly? Not a specific person, I assume.” She opened a mini fridge behind the counter and took out a glass carafe. “Lemon water?” she said, reaching for two glass tumblers.

I accepted the drink and flopped into a cushioned wicker rocking chair in the book section of her store. Mila sat cross-legged on an oversize velvet ottoman and waited for me to answer.

“No,” I sighed. “Not really a specific person. Just Mr. Right, I guess.” I looked at her with a wry smile. “My intent was to attract my perfect mate. It felt right at the time, so to speak.”

“And now?”

“Well, the next day I did seem to attract a lot of attention—which gave me a certain amount of confidence, I suppose. I even met someone new.”

“How did you meet him?” asked Mila. She held her glass in both hands and regarded me intently.

I laughed. “At a bar. He was like the dark and mysterious stranger who rode in on a stallion. New in town and everything. And
very
nice to look at, let me tell you.”

“But?” Mila prompted.

“But he bailed,” I said. “Got a call and left.”
Without asking for my number.
I couldn't bring myself to say it.

“Hmm,” said Mila. “Spells do take time, you know. It's not like rubbing a magic lamp, and—
poof
—a genie appears to make your wish come true.”

“I know,” I sighed. “But I've actually been contemplating this spell for a long time. Kind of saving it as a last resort, I guess.”

Mila raised her eyebrows.

“Not that I'm desperate or anything,” I hurried to say. “It's just that . . . Well, I'm turning thirty in a couple weeks.”

“Oh, when's your birthday?” asked Mila, all lit up like a child on her own birthday.

“June nineteenth.”

“A Gemini,” she said, nodding her head. “Of course.”

“What do you mean, ‘of course'?” Astrology was a little over my head. Interesting to a point, but just complicated enough to make my brain hurt if I thought about it too long.

“The twins,” said Mila. “The duality. You know, the two sides of your personality—the straitlaced lawyer on one side and the free spirit on the other.”

Mila hopped up from her seat and went to a nearby cabinet, talking to me over her shoulder. “I've got something for you. An early birthday present.”

While she rummaged through the cabinet, I got up and strolled over to the front window. Sunlight streamed through the glass, reminding me of late spring school days when it looked like summer outside. I used to gaze out the window, longing to be outside in the sun instead of cooped up in a stuffy classroom, learning algebra or some such subject I'd never used since. The memory made me reluctant to go back to the office.

Just then, I became aware of a couple walking down the sidewalk. I glanced over, then quickly jumped back and darted to the side of the window. It was Pammy and Crenshaw.

I peeked cautiously from the edge of the window to see where they were going.
Please, not in here.
I couldn't imagine why they would, especially together, but stranger things had happened. Based on the take-out bag Crenshaw carried, I guessed they were on their way back from lunch. I watched as they passed by, Pammy decked out in turquoise and silver, Crenshaw dapper as usual in pinstripes and a bow tie, his shiny new chin jutting out before him. What a pair. Thankfully, they crossed the street and headed away from the shop.

“Who are we spying on?” Mila whispered, coming up behind me.

“Coworkers,” I replied. “Muggles.” I turned and grinned at Mila, and she rolled her eyes.

“Here,” she said, taking my hand. She pressed a small smooth object into my palm and closed my fingers over it. “This is for you. It's a wishing stone I found in a creek bed a few years ago. It's really unique, heart shaped and tinged pink. I knew this had to be a love charm, so I drilled a small hole and threaded it with a slender chain.”

“Then what?” I asked. I was itching to look at the stone, but Mila still held my hand shut with hers.

“I wore it around my neck for a couple days. But it was kind of heavy, not very comfortable, really. On the third day, I took it off at home and plunked it on the coffee table with a groan. ‘This thing is hurting my neck,' I said to my husband. He came up behind me and started rubbing my neck. ‘Why are you wearing it, then?' he asked.”

“Yeah, really,” I said. “Why
were
you wearing it?” I had heard Mila speak of her husband before. I knew they had been together happily for years.

“Well,” she said, “that neck massage I got from my husband was really nice. It turned into a shoulder massage, then my back. And then one thing led to another.” Mila arched her eyebrows suggestively, and I laughed.

“Ah,” I said. “So it worked?”

“You bet. I mean, the love was always there. But that little charm helped draw it out even more.” Mila let go of my hand and gave me a quick hug. “It served its purpose for me. Still, I held on to it, knowing it would have another purpose someday. It's yours now.”

“Thank you,” I said, feeling touched.

“You know what to do,” she continued. “Imbue it with your energy. Feed it your intention. And carry it with you as a reminder, a touchstone. Then let the magic happen.”

* * *

I closed the door of Mila's shop, a smile still on my lips. Mila was a good friend; I felt lucky to know her. However, when I turned around and looked up, my smile quickly dropped away. Across the street, gleaming brown-and-white wing tips planted in nearly the exact same spot as before, stood Crenshaw. Staring at me. It was so unexpected, I felt flustered. What was his deal, anyway? He must have dropped Pammy off at the office and then continued around the block again. Maybe he was doing laps, speed walking or something.

Crenshaw moved on, but I lingered on the sidewalk. I wasn't quite ready to go back to the office. Instead, I walked to the end of the block and turned right instead of left. Two doors down and I was at Callie's Health Food Store and Juice Bar, where I ordered a fresh six-veggie blend with ginger. Two juices in one day seemed totally called for today. For good measure and some crunch, I also grabbed a package of nuts. Thus fortified, I was prepared to work quietly at my desk until quitting time.

No sooner had I typed “aphroDite17” into my computer's password field than I heard the sound of robust male laughter from down the hall. From Jeremy's office.

Sick, eh?
Maybe I'd better go see just how sick, the lazy bum.

Leaving my lunch on my desk, I checked my hair in the mirror beside my door and then popped over to Jeremy's office. There he was, chill as ever, leaning back in his chair, tossing caramel corn into the air and catching it in his mouth. Crenshaw was relaxing in one of the client chairs, long legs crossed elegantly. Randall Sykes, arising from the second chair, was speaking.