Alice

Kava was all set for its first open mic night, and Alice was super excited. Her new barista, Jordan, was taking over the busy work with the coffee service all evening. All of the Sisters were coming down to participate. That was the nice thing about belonging to a group of people who, collectively, fueled much of the community spirit in Birchdale. They always came out to support each other.

Ever since opening Kava, Alice had dreamed of starting an open mic night for anyone to share their art, whether it be poetry, comedy, dramatic reading and recitation, or acoustic music. The only thing she wouldn’t allow was political speeches, especially after what happened last Halloween. Some local loser had pulled a gun after she refused to let him post a campaign poster in her shop window. Turns out, he had been possessed by a demon trying to use the lunar eclipse as a window to become corporeal and take over the town. You know, the usual shenanigans. But even though it had turned out very badly for the demon—thanks to a huge group of badass witches coming together—the events had made the sweet and agreeable Alice a little bit harder around the edges.

So, she had drawn an even harder line around politics, local or otherwise. And she didn’t appreciate anybody trying to step on her attempts for a serene, healing environment after all that trauma.

Tonight was going to be a part of the healing process and she was already feeling the positive energy flowing. She went over her list. She had three of the Sisters signed up to perform something—she did not know what exactly. But it didn’t matter, because really, she just needed them to warm up the audience. After that, she was hoping the free-coffee-in-exchange-for-a-performance would encourage others to step out of their comfort zone.

She lit all the candles on all of the tables and spritzed the air with water that Sister Fern had blessed with healing herbs. Fern was not a biological sister; it was just a term the witches used to address each other, and they found it added to the mystique that drew tourists and school groups to visit them up at their living history museum. But tonight was not about promoting tourism, but about strengthening the bond between the Sisters and the town. Alice had even baked a huge batch of her famous brownies of all different flavors to pair with all the espresso drinks she offered.

Alice then lit a single white candle and sat in front of it cross-legged on the floor and slipped into her meditation. She asked the goddesses to make her place a sanctuary for the lonely, as Valentine’s Day weekend was often a difficult time for people who did not have a partner. Not for Alice, though. She didn’t have an exclusive partner, per se, because she enjoyed having so many Sisters nearby and could not imagine living anywhere else. She didn’t much see herself as someone with sexual needs, outside of the monthly moon rites. But that was for strengthening their bonds as a group, and less for partnering up.

As she opened the door to sweep out any possible mischievous spirits, she noticed Drew McAlister watching her. Again. He thought he was so smooth, checking her out whenever he went outside to change the ridiculous messages on his sandwich board. She could also tell he thought he was just the bee’s knees. He wasn’t bad to look at. He’d be pretty cute if he would just take off that damn ball cap when inside her shop. And remove his sunglasses and meet her eyes when she was leading a meeting of the downtown merchants. Or even say any words at all and contribute a damn idea once in a while.

But I guess when you run the most popular bar in town, you can act however you want. Excuse me, “brew pub.” Whatever that meant. His dog was pretty cute, though. It was a three-legged mutt he apparently rescued from some asshole’s house with, like, 57 animals living in filth and starving. It was on the news. That dog sure brought in the ladies. Well, goody for him. He probably slept with every damn one of them. Not that she cared. Why would she care? She was a witch! She didn’t judge people based on sexual proclivities as long as all involved were consenting adults.

So why, when she looked at him, did she feel a thrill at the idea of being kidnapped in the woods and pinned against a tree by a hulking male figure?

Oh my god. What is wrong with me?

Her face unintentionally made a scowl at his sign and she flounced back inside and let the door shut behind her, still feeling his gaze on her back. What was that about? Was she a schoolgirl? No! She was a grown-ass woman.

Healing, Alice. Tonight is about healing. Not worrying about the meathead across the street and anything he might be thinking. He may be an especially fine-looking piece of meat, but he could keep his meat to himself, thank you very much. There was nothing he could satisfy in her that couldn’t be satisfied with a vibrator and some jolly good moon rites.

* * *

Overall, her plan for the evening was working. Sisters Morgan, Fern and Birdie each read a piece of poetry they had written for the occasion. After that, the three of them, along with Morgan’s fiancé Adam, got up to do a theatrical reading from an actual transcript of the Birchdale witch trials. Granted, not as famous as the Salem witch trials, but it served as an easy promotional tool for their Living History Museum up on Colony Hill. Besides that, Adam—Birchdale’s famously good-looking hero cop who helped take down the demon last year—was a huge hit, reading the parts of the village reverend, accusers, prosecutor, judge and executioner.

During tonight’s performances at Kava, twelve more people signed up to sing, play or read something.

After the Sisters and Adam were finished with their reading, a very pretty, shy young woman with an acoustic guitar took the stage and sat on the stool. She awkwardly tried to adjust the mic to her short height, and Adam graciously went up to help her. Oh dear goddess, Morgan somehow had found the one perfect man who fit in with the Sisters. Of course it helped that he was also a witch and his mother was the high priestess of the region.

It was hard to watch this awkward young lady at first, but then she began to play. It was an enchanting little ballad. She had a quiet, sweet voice and a mild but pleasant way with the guitar.

But as this tiny woman reached the second chorus, she was suddenly interrupted by the thundering sound of an electric guitar intro to “Whole Lotta Love.”

“What the fuck!” hissed Alice, looking around frantically, but she knew full well where the god-awful noise was coming from.

The unfazed young woman on the stage strummed away, seemingly oblivious to what was going on. It may not have bothered her, but there was no way that anybody could hear her meek little self and tune out the Jimmy Page-style screaming electric guitar slides.

Alice locked eyes with the Sisters. Morgan, who was five months pregnant at the moment and therefore harnessed the most power, mentally sent Alice some extra-strength take-care-of-business energy.

Alice bolted out into the street and found the source of the noise. Obviously, it was the pub across the street. How could it be anywhere else? She went inside and the vibrations from the speakers shook the ends of her hair.

People were everywhere, swilling beer, raising their beer steins or fists. Laughing bawdily. It all resembled a mountain dwarf convention. Not any witch’s favorite thing, by a long shot.

She scanned the room for the bar owner. She had the sense that he was hiding from her. Sure, he had the nerve to ruin her first open mic night, but then didn’t even have the balls to come out and make himself seen, to be held accountable for his actions? Typical non-magic male.

She closed her eyes and pushed her mind into the room. She would call him out with his conscience.

Drew …come out and face me like a man.