Page 23 of Herbs & Hex-breaking

Adding some essential oils and dried herbs to the steaming mop water, I enchanted it for protection and prosperity. I typically did that on the full and new moons, or after a major sabbat. The herbal scent was comforting and the clove and orange oil smelled particularly good.

Humming to myself, I worked my way across the sales floor, swinging the mop and cleaning the lefthand side of the store. I had reached the front when I heard an impatient rapping against the glass.

Glancing over my shoulder I spotted a dark-haired, elegantly dressed woman. She carried a large purse, and a tiny dog was sitting inside of it. Not the typical sort of clientele we saw before business hours.

“We don’t open for another hour,” I called, pitching my voice so she could hear me. “Not until 9:30.”

The woman looked shocked that I didn’t immediately run and open the door for her. With a shrug I went back to my mopping. I continued working my way across the front area, pushed the mop bucket with my toe and began to start down the opposite side, working toward the back.

Bam, bam, bam!

I spun in surprise. Now the woman was banging on the glass with the side of her fist. And it was still continuing. Her dog was adding to the ruckus by yapping in high-pitched angry sounds.

With a frown, I walked over the wet floor and closer to the door—but I did not open it. “Ma’am,” I said calmly. “We aren’t open for another hour. Please come back then.”

She gave me a long hard stare through the glass. “Are you Kate Weaver?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“I’d like to speak to you about my son, Beau.”

I shook my head. “Sorry, I don’t know anyone named Beau.”

She rolled her blue eyes. “You would know him—my son—as Dex.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m Naomi Poindexter.”

Dex’s mother, I realized. I could see some resemblance. The same coloring for sure. “Just a moment,” I said, pulling my keys from my short’s pocket.

I opened the door, intending to speak to her outside on the stoop, but she shoved her way past me and stormed right into the shop.

“The floor’s wet,” I tired to warn her even as she skidded a bit in her high heels.

The door bounced back off its hinges and closed, with my keys still dangling in the lock, while she managed to grab ahold of my checkout counter for balance.

Mrs. Poindexter turned her head and glared at me, as if her slipping was my fault. “You are the proprietor of this establishment?”

“I am,” I said.

She looked me up and down, and it was clear that she found me lacking.

“I’ve been swapping out seasonal décor and cleaning,” I explained.

“Fascinating,” she drawled. The disdain in that one word had my back going up. “Listen darlin’,” she began with a sneer, “I’m not sure what your game is with my son, but I’m here to tell you now, walk away.”

“I beg your pardon?” It was an automatic shock response. Not an actual apology. “What on earth are you talking—”

Naomi Poindexter cut me off. “I know your type. Opportunistic sluts who try and get their hooks in wealthy young men...”

I blinked at the insult. “Mrs. Poindexter—”

“Well, it won’t be happening with my son,” she said, speaking right over me. “If you even think you’ll get your hands on one penny of his inheritance, I’ll do everything in my power to run this horrible Witch shop right out of business. I’ll destroy you!”

I guffawed at that. I shouldn’t have, but my shocked half-laugh sort of happened. “Well, bless your little bitter heart,” I said, shaking my head in amazement.

“How dare you speak to me that way!”