Chapter Four
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Eloise considered herself a patient witch.
She liked to think that particular virtue was just part of being the oldest. Dealing with Minerva and Lily growing up hadn’t always been a walk in the park—especially since Minerva liked to use magic first and ask questions later. She could deal with her sisters. It was the man next door who’d managed to push her past the point of her well-restrained control.
Click, click, click…click…click, click, click, click, click…
“Oh, for crying out loud.” She stirred the thickening liquid in the cauldron with a little more force than necessary, banging the spoon against the iron pot. She resisted the urge to kick something. It would only hurt her toes and she’d have to throw out the entire batch of face cream she was making. She’d probably have to throw it out anyway.
Her emotions always went into her magic, and that included all of the homemade products she sold out of the shop. And because one man had the ability to get under her skin, she was going to have to waste an entire night’s work. Not to mention the time it had taken her to pick the right herbs and flowers. She wouldn’t be able to collect new specimens until the full moon came again.
“What do you think, Nicodemus? Should we put a spell on him?”
Nicodemus seemed unimpressed with her threat—understandable considering he was a cat with little patience. He stared at her with one green eye and one yellow, swished his tail once, and then stretched lazily before turning his back on her completely and finding another comfortable spot to lay in.
“Right. Good advice. No spells on unsuspecting, inconsiderate jerks. That’s Minerva’s point of expertise anyway. No reason to steal her thunder.”
The cauldron bubbled and hissed, and she swore as she realized clumps were burning to the bottom of the cast iron pot. She shouldn’t cook when she was distracted. She knew better.
She swung the cauldron out so it was no longer over an open flame and tossed the hand carved wooden spoon onto the long work table with a thunk, splattering a few drops onto one of the loose leafed pages in her recipe book. She winced, saying a small prayer of forgiveness, and quickly wiped it down with a hand towel she kept nearby.
The leather bound book of spells had been passed down to the oldest Goodnight female for more than a thousand years—long before they’d settled in Cauldron’s Hollow, searching like so many others for freedoms they’d never been allowed in England. And since that time, each generation had added her own magic until it was time to pass it down to the next daughter.
Eloise caressed the book lovingly, feeling the power flow through her and calm her temper like a balm. She took her work seriously, and she took pride in the reputation the Goodnight name had in Cauldron’s Hollow. She was letting one man have the power to flush all of her hard work right down the toilet.
Okay, so maybe that was an exaggeration. But still, it was the principle of the thing. It was the middle of the night, when any self-respecting, working citizen should be tucked into bed. Herself excluded, of course. Just her luck, the new neighbor was probably a meth dealer or a gigolo.
Click, click…click, click, click.
“Well, maybe not,” she huffed out. “Unless gigolos have started using typewriters to maintain their client lists.” She sat back on the tall wooden stool and stretched. Her back was killing her. “And by the amount of time that man spends typing, he must be booked for the next twenty years. Right, Nicodemus?”
The cat didn’t even bother to look at her this time. The traitor. He was supposed to be on her side. Where was the sympathy?
“That’ll teach me to take on tenants. Neighbors are a pain in the behind. Remind me to strangle Minerva the next time I see her. I guess there’s a reason she’s been scarce all week. She’s no dummy.”
It had crossed Eloise’s mind more than once that maybe Minerva had placed the man in her path just to give credence to the vision she’d had about the blood moon and a man coming to Cauldron’s Hollow who shone with light and love. She didn’t put it past Minerva to hire an actor and bring him in just to prove a point. Minerva hated to be wrong.
But the story Minerva had told of how she’d met the man had wrung with truth, running into him in the middle of the street, while he stared at The Sorcerer’s Rock as if he’d been possessed.
Any normal woman would have given the man a wide berth. Minerva had walked right up to him and offered him a place to live. She hadn’t checked references or employment. And Eloise wasn’t even certain Minerva knew his name.
The strange thing had been her new neighbor’s reaction. He hadn’t been phased at all by the out of the blue proposal from a strange woman. He’d accepted the offer just as quickly as Minerva had given it.
And in Eloise’s mind, that was something to be suspicious of. She didn’t have Minerva’s sight—not that she doubted her sister—but Eloise was enough of a business woman to know that sometimes you just needed a little proof. And she had more experience in dealing with the truth of human nature—especially when it came to men.
She could be thankful to Sam for opening her eyes to that, despite the pain she’d had to endure. It was important for all of them to remember that magic could be wrong or deceiving on occasion. Look at what had happened to her ancestors during The Reckoning.
It was several minutes before Eloise realized she’d been staring into the fire as if in a trance, and she realized things were blessedly quiet from next door. Maybe he’d finally gone to bed and her lotion could still be salvaged.
“Positive thinking,” she murmured. “Mother would be so proud.”
She chanted a quick cleansing spell and felt the rush of magic tingle along her skin and peace root deep inside of her. Then she opened herself to the magic she’d already poured into the cauldron.
She immediately felt the stirrings of irritation and frustration—the liquid in the cauldron mirroring exactly what she’d felt the moment her neighbor had started pounding the keys of that blasted typewriter.
“That certainly won’t do. All we need is for Mrs. Robicek to go on a terror throughout the town. She already intimidates half the shop owners.”
That was the thing about magic—well, at least her magic. The moment Mrs. Robicek or any other of her customers used the cream she was currently making—face cream infused with cinnamon for anti-aging and a dash of magic to reduce wrinkles—her feelings would seep into the skin right along with the cream.
That’s why she took such care with her temper, holding her emotions tightly inside. She knew many people in town thought her cold and aloof, but they would have been more accurate in saying she was reserved. It was best for everyone that way. She’d learned her lesson after Sam.
“It’s not too far gone, Nicodemus. Mrs. Robicek will have her face cream without becoming a detriment to society. I can tell you’re excited by the news.”
This time the cat squinted open an eye, giving her an indulgent look before closing it again.
“I do thank you for tolerating me, Nicodemus. I know I try your patience.”
She took the strainer from the table and removed the lumps from the cauldron, and then she chanted another spell, removing the tinge of her irritation from the concoction and replaced it with tranquility.
“There, good as new. Almost.” She swung the cauldron back over the open flame so it could heat through again and turned back to grinding herbs in her mortar while she waited for it to thicken.
Click, click, click…
“Oh, for the love of the goddess.” She got to her feet, knocking the stool over in the process, and decided she was going to march right next door and give him a piece of her mind. She didn’t care how late it was.
The furniture in her apartment began to vibrate, her temper well pricked by this point. And when she flung her hand out to steady the trembles, her fingers knocked against the roots she’d been grinding and the whole bowl fell into the fire. They caught fire instantly, hissing and sizzling, and the flames licked higher and higher up the sides of the cauldron.
“Oh, damn. Oh, no,” she said as black smoke billowed into the room.
She coughed once and used the towel to clear the smoke, waving it frantically in front of her. Even after the smoke started to clear her eyes continued to water. The burned herbs had a horrendous odor, and with her luck she’d be smelling like a corpse for a good week.
She tossed down the towel and went to the front windows to slide them open, sucking in a breath of fresh cool air and blinking her eyes rapidly to clear her vision. She heard the creak and groan of more windows going up and she looked over in time to see her bothersome new neighbor stick his head out and suck in his own fresh breath.
She hadn’t gotten a look at him before. As far as she knew, he’d never even left the apartment. He didn’t look like a meth dealer or a gigolo. Not that she had a lot of experience with either. He had dark blond shaggy hair that curled just over the ears and collar and enough of a beard for her to know it had been awhile since he’d seen a razor. Her heart leapt in instant recognition, but she tamped it down, telling herself it was impossible. She’d never even met the man before.
And then he had to open his mouth.
“Geez, lady? Are you trying to kill me?”
Eloise narrowed her eyes and her hands clamped tighter on the windowsill. There was a reason she kept a tight rein on her temper, but boy was this man testing the limits of her control. But to be fair, it had been a long time since anything had happened in Cauldron’s Hollow to test those limits.
“Ask me that again,” she said. “I dare you.”