Page 51 of Hairpin Curves

They’d warned the Witch Way motel in Salem that they wouldn’t be arriving until after midnight, but there wasn’t even a front desk clerk when they arrived. Instead, a little envelope with Megan’s name waited on the front desk. In it were two room keys and a note to check in officially the next day.

“Seems like they trust people,” Scarlett said, letting them into their room at the end of the upstairs hall.

“I can’t do these late nights forever.” Megan tossed her bag onto the floor and collapsed down onto one of the beds. “It’s past my bedtime,” she said, words muffled into the comforter.

The bed dipped as Scarlett sat down next to her. “That isn’t what you said last night.”

Megan rolled over onto her side to look up at Scarlett, who was grinning. “Last night was different. Tonight, I need a good night’s sleep.” She wouldn’t be opposed to more of that some other time, but it couldn’t be now, no matter how her body responded to Scarlett’s proximity.

Scarlett still studied her, though, not getting up off the bed. “Do you want to stay in Salem an extra night instead of making the push to Quebec?”

Megan mentally started doing the extra math. “That gives us less time in Quebec before the wedding.”

“We could see about moving our hotel reservation and stay a few days after the wedding instead.” Scarlett shrugged one shoulder. “We’ve been doing a lot of late-night drives. If we try to make it all the way to Quebec tomorrow night, I think we’ll be exhausted.”

The idea of not driving anywhere tomorrow was enticing. Megan nodded. “Let’s call the Château Frontenac tomorrow and see what they say.”

Scarlett had never been to Salem, but even if she had, it would probably have felt like the first time again when looking at it through Megan’s eyes. “It’s probably even better in October,” Scarlett said as they walked down a cobblestone street between shops, Megan’s glance darting from window to window.

“This is fine. No crowds.” And truly, there was barely anyone in the town at all, just a few pedestrians to contend with. They’d slept in, successfully called and moved their Quebec reservation, and had a quick breakfast before hitting the downtown area, where Megan wasted no time finding all the “witchy” shops. They were the kind of tourist trap places that clearly thrived in a place like this, and Scarlett was having a hard time not being cynical about their authenticity, but Megan seemed delighted by it all. Finally, after the second witchy bookshop, Megan stopped and addressed her directly. “You don’t have to come with me, you know.”

Heat rose up in Scarlett’s face. “It’s fine. I’m having a good time.”

“No, you’re not. You think all this is dumb.”

“A little, maybe.” Self-conscious, Scarlett scuffed her toe on the step. “But it’s still fun.”

“I agree. You don’t have to believe in it for it to be fun.”

“Do you believe in it?”

“What, witchcraft? Wicca? All of that?”

Hearing her say the word like that made Scarlett feel silly for asking. “Sure.”

Megan shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know. I know people practice it as a religion. I know there are things in the world I don’t understand. This might be just one of those things. And the possibility is interesting.” She tucked her hands into her pockets. “I like possibilities.”

This whole trip was nothing but possibilities. It was appealing to be optimistic rather than cynical for once. “I like possibilities, too.”

The next shop was different than the rest: smaller, less decorated, situated on a less-populated side street rather than one of the main streets. In the window was a hand-lettered sign that read “Custom Spellwork done here.” Scarlett had been expecting something dark and eerie from the look of it outside, but the shop itself was bright and cheerful. It was just small. The young woman behind the counter looked up from her book when they walked in. Scarlett tried to see what the book was, but it was leather-bound with no clear visible title. The clerk herself looked a few years older than them, maybe, with a streak of bright blue in her short black hair. She smiled warmly and adjusted the glasses on her nose. “Hi! You folks looking for anything special?”

Megan walked over to the desk. “Could you tell me what custom spellwork is?”

The woman leaned forward and rested her forearms on the counter. “Well, it depends on what you want it for. It could be some incense to burn, or a candle that’s been engraved, or something to put under your pillow, all kinds of things. What are you interested in?”

Megan hesitated. She glanced toward Scarlett, who immediately knew she wasn’t wanted in this conversation. A little stab of disappointed pressed inside her stomach, but she ignored it. “Why don’t you talk it over, and I’ll just go down the block?” Scarlett offered. “I’ll go to a coffee shop or something. You can text me when you’re done.”

Megan’s smile was filled with gratitude and relief. “Thanks.”

“Give us a half hour,” the clerk chirped, and Scarlett walked out despite the nagging temptation to eavesdrop.

The cold February air hit her as she walked out onto the street. She definitely didn’t want to stay outside long. She could find a coffee shop, but Megan’s words about possibilities made her want to try something else. A little door a half block down was advertising Tarot readings. That could be interesting. She opened the door and went in.

The shop was small, smaller than the others, with only room for a counter and a few displays of books for sale and some Tarot decks. The guy behind the counter was startlingly handsome, with a few strands of silver mixed in with his black hair, but a face that couldn’t have been more than thirty or so. “Hi,” he greeted. “Are you looking for a Tarot reading?”

“Maybe?” Scarlett wasn’t about to say what she was thinking, which was that she’d been expecting an old woman with a lot of scarves. “Are you the one who does the readings?”

He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the edges, and maybe he was a little older than she’d thought. “You were probably expecting someone else, right?”