Page 2 of Grimoires & Glamoury

“Oh, that’s why Ruth and Mina were bickering. It was something about balloon arches…” Taylor said, dumping the dust into the can. “I overheard them as they came down to the bookstore and left.”

I winced. “Was it bad?”

“Nah.” Taylor waved my worry away. “They were laughing as much as they were arguing. Seemed to me as though they were enjoying debating it.”

“Both ladies run large active covens in Five Points South,” I explained. “There’s a bit of friendly rivalry there each year as to who chairs the most Pagan community events.”

“Well, they’re always polite to me whenever they come over to purchase herbs and spices at The Apothecary Shoppe,” Taylor said. “Ruth was showing off pictures of her new grandson the other day.”

“She was showing me videos of him rolling over, tonight.”

“She’s very proud,” Taylor agreed as she placed the dust mop and dustpan in a closet. “That baby is lucky to have a grandmother who is so excited and devoted to him.”

“I agree.” Lifting out the liner from the garbage can, I tied it closed with a neat knot.

“I got that,” Taylor said, rushing over and taking the garbage bag from me. “Don’t mess up that pretty cottage-core style dress. I’ll go run this out back.”

“Taylor,” I said, adjusting my glasses. “I’m grateful that you came over to help tonight, but you don’t have to prove yourself to me. I already know you put in a full day with Kate.”

“Yeah, this was a real hardship,” Taylor said dryly. “Sitting on a stool behind the counter, manning the register in case someone wanted to make a purchase…” She sighed dramatically. “I spent an hour sipping tea and reading a book while you held your meeting upstairs. It was tough, but I made it.”

“We appreciate your courage and your sacrifice,” I said, soberly.

Taylor giggled at that. “Besides, Toni had a night class, and I would have been bored sitting alone at our apartment.”

“How are Toni’s classes going this semester?” I asked about her younger sister.

“She’s maintaining a 3.8 GPA,” Taylor said proudly.

“Wow,” I said. “That’s amazing.”

“Yup.” Taylor grinned. “I’ll go take care of this.” And off she went hauling the trash bag down the steps to the main floor.

With a final look around, I switched off the lights and headed downstairs myself.

A short time later, I was on my way home and looking forward to relaxing. The drive to my Southside neighborhood was a quick one. Turning down the tree-lined streets, I smiled at the magnolia and ornamental cherry trees that were starting to bloom.

Navigating my car down the alley behind my property, I hit the remote for my detached garage and pulled in. The door closed behind me, and I gathered up my things.

As soon as I exited the garage and stepped into my yard, I felt a weight slide from my shoulders. Feeling secure in my own personal sanctuary, with six-foot-tall cedar privacy fences surrounding my backyard, I walked down the paver path to my back porch. The solar landscaping lights were on, and they cast star shaped patterns on the grass and stones as I headed to the house.

Painted sage green, with brown trim, stained cedar shake accents and a foundation made of gray stone, my Prairie Craftsman style home was one and a half stories. While it wasn’t a large house, it was cozy, warm and welcoming. I’d gotten one hell of a deal from a flipper who had given up halfway through the project. The only work left on the interior had been painting—simple enough for me to do—and a bit of finish work in the bathrooms which Dex had easily taken care of. But the yard unfortunately, had been a muddy mess.

After dumping my purse on the kitchen table, I kicked off my shoes and turned to the fridge for a bottle of wine that I had chilling there. Selecting two glasses, I tucked the bottle under my arm and went back out on the porch. Sitting in a padded metal chair, I placed the glasses and the bottle on the patio table and sat back. Wiggling my toes, I sighed with relief at being home.

It was only a few minutes before the gate at the rear of the yard opened and my neighbor let herself in. Barefoot, wearing leopard print leggings and a loose T-shirt, Kathleen Hill was in her early sixties, a breast cancer survivor, and one hell of a gardener. When I’d first moved in she and her husband had been an invaluable help to me while I revamped my gardens. She’d suggested suitable blooming shrubs and perennials for our zone, and he’d helped me pick out the best grass seed to put down. The couple had even given me a few plants from their own gardens. We’d started out as casual friends and had practically become family.

She waved in greeting, and I saw she was carrying a covered container.

“Hey, Kathleen,” I said as she joined me on the porch.

“Hey yourself,” she said, taking a seat in one of the chairs. “How did your book club go tonight?”

“Very well,” I answered, opening the wine. “How’s Joe?”

“Good. He’s inside, watching a baseball game,” she replied, opening the container. “I brought some sausage, cheese and grapes. Knowing you, you probably skipped dinner again.”

“Guilty.” I laughed, pouring the wine.