Jan Burke - Sweet Dreams, Irene

“Double, double, boil and trouble,” I said to myself, and pushed the door open.

THE FIRST THING I noticed was an overpowering sweet fragrance; some kind of spice or incense. It made me think of high school, when many of my classmates and I burned patchouli or sandalwood incense in our bedrooms, driving our parents crazy. After some time away from the smell of incense, I could see why it took a little getting used to.

Some sort of underwater bell-and-flute soundtrack was playing in the background. I had to admit it was soothing, but smiled remembering a musician friend of mine who once pooh-poohed all “new-age” music as “hippie noodling.”

Apparently a new shipment of herbs had just arrived. Boxes were piled in stacks here and there in the aisles. The walls were filled with shelves, the shelves filled with jars, the jars filled with all manner of things. I didn’t look around for any fillet of fenny snake; it was clear that all the potions and remedies were from the plant kingdom or the earth itself. Through the middle of the store there was a sort of self-service set of small bins, each holding stones or crystals that were carefully labeled for effect: this one for inner peace, this one for easing menstrual cramps, this for sleeping better at night. A large black cat with bright yellow eyes stared at me from the counter where the cash register was, as if guarding against shoplifting. For an amused moment, I wondered if it was going to transform itself into human form.

“Hecate, it’s not polite to stare.” The voice came from a back room, and I realized that someone had watched me enter from behind a thin curtain. Soon a large woman dressed in a flamboyant purple gown came out to greet me with a warm smile. If this was a witch, I had been needlessly frightened as a child. “Hello,” she said. “Your first time here, isn’t it? Don’t tell me, don’t tell me…”

I had no idea what it was I wasn’t supposed to tell, so I obeyed.

“Capricorn!”

“Ah, no. I’m a-”

“Don’t tell me, don’t tell me!” She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Aries!”

She was wrong again, but rather than standing there watching my deadline time get whittled down by the zodiac, I said, “Incredible! How could you know?”

She smiled a little smile of success and shrugged modestly.

“Your ad said you have books,” I said, knowing I couldn’t just ask for a directory of local covens.

“Yes, this way, this way. Anything in particular?”

“Well, a friend of mine is getting involved in learning more about the ancient ways,” I said, getting this last phrase off the spine of a book in the “A” section. “She tells me there is a big difference between witchcraft and Satanism. Is that true?”

“Oh, yes! There most certainly is. Witchcraft is known by many different names in many countries, and has its own varied forms, but it is essentially a spirituality that respects the earth and her creatures. It is not destructive; it is in harmony with the natural world. Satanism is quite different. First of all, to worship a devil, you have to believe in devils. Satanism is a perversion of Christianity, not the paganism of your early ancestors.”

“Yes, but aren’t there people who combine the two?”

She sighed. “You can find people who will do anything, I suppose. There are always going to be people who use whatever power they have of whatever kind it may be to do evil. But there is no evil incarnate or devil in witchcraft. I would think of people who tried to combine them as Satanists trying to abuse witchcraft in the same way they abuse Christianity. I would not call such a person a witch.”

I considered what she had told me, and decided to be straightforward with her. She was watching me, and maybe because of the atmosphere or my own uneasiness, I felt like I wouldn’t get away with a lie. The zodiac business was bad enough.

“Have you seen this?” I handed her the Montgomery flyer.

She groaned. “Sweet Goddess, I’m going to have the Nazarenes picketing me again.”

“My name is Irene Kelly. I’m a reporter for the Express, “I said, and had her full attention. I pulled out a business card.

“Zoe Freespirit,” she said.

“I’m trying to manage some balanced coverage over all of this – and believe me, it’s hard. Do you recognize any of the people in this coven? I think most are kids. I need to talk to them, if at all possible.”

She glanced at the photo. “I wouldn’t feel comfortable just giving out names even if I knew them. If any of these people come in here, maybe I could have one get in touch with you – if he or she wants to.”

I must have looked defeated, because she said, “I’m sorry.”

“Could you at least tell me if you’ve seen the young man whose name is already printed on the flyer? Has he come in here?”

She studied the photo now, and then began laughing. It was a rich, rolling laugh. “I don’t believe it! Yes, he’s been in here. Trying to discourage business.”

“Was it in connection with the young girl next to him – Sammy? I’ve met both of them.”

“Yes, yes. She was in here one day a week or two ago, with some other young people. Jacob came in and threw a fit. Tried to get her to leave with him. She wouldn’t, and he started telling her off. Finally, I had to ask him to leave. Little snot waited right outside the door. Sammy saw him out there and I think she took pity on him – left her friends and went outside with him.”

“You’re certain he’s the one?”

“Believe me, not a doubt in my mind. This kid is no witch. And the kids in this photo are not Satanists. Whoever made up this flyer just doesn’t know what he or she is talking about.”

I looked at my watch. “Look, I’ve got to run if I’m going to make my deadline. But I appreciate your help. Maybe I’ll come back some time and really do some shopping.”

“You’re welcome any time – but you’re not an Aries, are you? You’re a Leo.”

I blushed and nodded. I left wondering if she had just made a lucky guess. I no more believed in astrology than the man in the moon. But there was still something unnerving about it all.

MY SPEED on the computer keyboard that day nearly matched Mark Baker’s. I put together as fair a piece as I could, still raising as many questions about the allegations as possible, and quoting Jacob, Sammy, and Zoe. I wondered to myself if the readers would have any faith in an assertion made by someone named Zoe Freespirit, owner of an occult supply shop.

With the story finished and at the mercy of the editors, I cleared off my desk, then found Stacee and went over a couple of things with her. I was going to let her try to cover some of the political events I knew I wouldn’t make it to – there was just too much to follow up on at this stage.

I said good-bye to Lydia, who was on her way to dinner with Guy St. Germain, a former hockey player who had settled in Las Piernas. They had kept steady company since the summer. I bit back a moment’s envy of them. I walked down to my car. The sense of depression I had fought against all day started to press in on me again. By the time I got home, I felt tired and ill at ease. I hadn’t spent very many nights alone in my house since Frank and I got together. He knew my fears and helped me cope with them, while still letting me work out for myself how I was going to overcome them.

Cody’s warm greeting helped lighten my spirits a little, and I decided that while sleep was needed, a short run would help my mood. It would be dark soon, so I hurried and changed into my running clothes.

I did some stretching and headed out for a tour of the winding streets of my neighborhood. The air was cool and autumn leaves crackled under my feet. With each step, I felt better. By the time I got back home, dusk was turning to darkness. I was on a much more even keel. I opened a can of cat food for Cody and went in and took a shower. I went back to the kitchen and made a bowl of soup from a can. I like making my own soup from scratch, but soup from a can is sometimes just what the doctor ordered. This was one of those times. I indulged myself with lots of crackers, some of which I floated in the bowl, thinking that I was glad Frank wasn’t there to see me eating like a kid.