Хармони Харт - Basic Witch

"That's so thoughtful. Thank you."

"I'm going to stop by my house to pick up a few things and retrieve my familiar. Go on upstairs and get settled in. Lock up behind me. You'll be safe here until I get back. But if you need anything before I return, just send an owl.”

“An owl?”

“It’s how we send messages quickly around town.”

“Like in Harry Potter?”

“Harry who?”

“Forget it.” I didn’t even want to think about a world without Hogwarts. “Where do I find an owl?”

“It’s simple enough. You just ring a service bell. An owl will fly right over, pick up your message, and deliver it right away.

“How will I know where to send it?”

“Don’t worry. They know how to find anyone in town. It’s part of what makes them so efficient.” He paused, reconsidering his statement. “That’s not exactly true. The owls are efficient when they choose to work. It’s convincing them to actually make an effort that’s the problem. There’s been some pushback from the Union over the collective bargaining agreement with the town, and…” He trailed off, a slight smile of embarrassment flashing across his face. “My apologies. This isn’t the time for a deep dive into Salem politics. I’ll, um… I’ll just be going. I won’t be gone long.” He turned to leave, but I called out before he reached the door.

"Wait!" I peeled his coat off and offered it to him. "You'll need this."

"Thank you." He smiled, a warm, genuine smile that showcased his perfect white teeth and made the corners of his eyes crinkle. And may or may not have set a hundred butterflies alight in my stomach.

I watched him glance over his shoulder to wave as he walked out the door, then closed it behind him and locked it. I leaned back against the heavy wood with a sigh, feeling every bit like a twitterpated heroine in a Disney movie.

I allowed myself a few moments of lust-addled bliss before straightening to head upstairs. Just then, Titus jumped up on the checkout counter next to me, sending a stack of handwritten receipts flying in a flurry across the room. Startled, she vaulted off the edge of the counter to cower between my ankles.

“ Did you see that? ” Her amber eyes were as wide as dinner plates. “ It just came at me! A vicious attack! ”

“ Jeez, Titus. Calm down. It’s just paper. ” I scooped her up and stroked the back of her neck in an attempt to soothe her as I surveyed the mess of paper strewn all over the ground. “ A whole lot of paper. ” I yawned, exhaustion taking over. “ Let’s get upstairs. We could both use some sleep. I’ll clean this up in the morning.”

“ If we live that long. This place is a death trap. ”

“ Well, my feline friend, after all the weird stuff we’ve seen today, I’m afraid that statement might not be too far off base. ”

5

As soon as I crossed the threshold into Mortimer's humble abode, I had regrets. The kind of regrets that made me want to run screaming into the night, begging Beau to take us to his house instead. But I had a feeling I didn't want to cross Mayor Davenport, or the Coven. If this was where they wanted me, this is where I would stay.

I set Titus down on the wood floor. “ Don't break anything, ” I warned.

Not that anyone would notice. The shop downstairs was cluttered, but Mortimer's apartment was a prime candidate for the season finale of Hoarders.

Piles and piles of books, tattered volumes stacked from floor to ceiling, teetering precariously with every step I took. Mountains of paperwork, half-empty teacups, and dusty knick-knacks covered across every surface.

The kitchen was small, yet functional. But that was as far as I could go in the way of compliments. The stove—which appeared to be a gas-powered vintage model sporting an avocado green finish—was scratched and worn. The counters were covered in glass canisters of all sizes, none of which were labeled, and the sink was piled high with dishes. A peek inside the matching refrigerator revealed a glass bottle full of milk, a wedge of cheese, and half an onion. Thank goodness Beau had taken me to eat. If the Detective hadn't declared Mortimer Montcrief's death a homicide, I would have assumed he starved to death.

I crossed the room and made my way down a narrow hallway, opening doors along the way. A bedroom with a wardrobe I didn't dare open, a full-sized iron bed made up neatly with a threadbare patchwork quilt, and a lopsided dresser, all cast in a golden glow from the second fire Beau had built. A closet stuffed to the brim with who knows what—I slammed the door shut just as the contents shifted and started to spill out. I'd deal with that tomorrow. A bathroom, complete with a cracked mirror over the sink and an enormous clawfoot tub that, under any other circumstances, I would love to sink into for hours on end. You know, if it weren't so grimy. I shuddered and backed out of the room, pulling the door closed behind me. I grasped the cast-iron doorknob of the last remaining door and let out a long, slow breath. Every room had been worse than the one before it. There was no telling what nightmares awaited beyond this threshold.

I twisted the knob and eased the door open, flinching as it let out a long, aching creak. Nope. I yanked the door closed and rushed back into the living room. No way was I walking into a spooky murder-house room by myself at midnight on Halloween. Whatever was behind that door could wait until Beau got back. Or better yet, until daylight.

I wrapped myself in the beige quilt and moved into the kitchen, taking three clean teacups down from an open shelf before snagging a few of those glass canisters. I opened each one and gave them a sniff to confirm my assumptions about the contents. Lavender. Chamomile. Lemon balm. A perfect combination for a relaxing herbal tea.

I grabbed the tarnished copper teakettle from the stove, flicked on the kitchen faucet, and filled the kettle with water before returning it to the stove. But that was where my domestic abilities ceased.

I peered down at the range, searching for a place to switch on the burner. There were no knobs. I narrowed my eyes and took aim at the counter full of canisters, sliding them away from the wall in hopes of finding a light switch or some sort of mechanism for turning on the burner, but to no avail. I backed up, examining the front of the oven door and the range hood before crossing my arms and slumping against the kitchen island, baffled. What kind of stove had no controls?

I stared at the tea kettle, eyeing as if I could will it to boil on cue. Just as I was pondering my options, I heard a soft knock at the door, followed by a familiar voice.

"Gemma? It's me." Beau.

"Come in!" I called. He opened the door slowly, easing in with his overnight bag before a massive, fluffy calico with giant white paws and tufted ears lumbered in behind him.

"This," Beau said, "is Smallish."

"Smallish?" I laughed. "There's nothing Smallish about this cat."

"I know," he responded. He lowered his voice before continuing. "She's part Maine Coon and part... just big. But she's sensitive about her weight."

Smallish narrowed her pale green eyes and let out a raspy meow.

"Well, hey there," I said. I squatted down to greet Beau's familiar. The cat made a beeline for me, rubbing her broad face over my calves, and then trotted over to the fireplace, her ample belly swinging as she jogged. She eyed Titus with curiosity, then flopped down on the rug beside her. Titus opened one eye, peering at her, then went back to sleep without a word.

“Well, that was suspiciously easy,” I said.

Beau set his bag down near the loveseat and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I hope I didn’t get your hopes up with my glowing review of the place.”