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Chapter One
BEXLEY
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“WE PUT A spell on you, and now you’re mine!” sings the three busybodies of Cinnamon Bay.
The elderly trio is dressed in cloaks inspired by the Sanderson sisters from the beloved cult classicHocus Pocus. They strut a crooked waltz down an aisle at the local market. Arms looped. Shoulders hunched.
Hattie’s hair is up in two curly buns and sprayed red like Winifred Sanders. Birdie wears a black wig with purple streaks, such as Mary. And Trixie rattles her arm of bangles as she whips her long blond wig behind her shoulder.
“Double, double toil and trouble are on their way over here.” My sister Clove folds down a canvas bag to display the cinnamon sticks inside.
My family is a regular vendor at the local market. Our table is packed full of canvas bags heaping with an assortment of spices from our local shop, Spice it Up.
“They rushed through the love spice this week.” I flip up the black tablecloth and dig out a bag of the town’s legendary love spice. It’s a specific blend of cinnamon and spice with a special touch from the local witch, Calliope.
“It’s the bewitching season.” Clove moves along, sticking the matching bamboo signs in the coordinating spice bag. “Lots of opportunities to pair up some lucky suckers.”
“Lucky?” I laugh and grunt at the same time.
My sister points at me. “Don’t you even start. You’re such a pessimist.”
“I’m a realist. Sharing love spice with someone does not ensure you fall in love.” I would know. I tried.
Clove’s brown eyes pop open. “How dare you?”
I roll my eyes and plop the bag of love spice by the weight scale on the packaging table.
I know what’s coming. A lecture on every spice’s healing benefit. The list is long. And I know it by heart.
“Ginseng contains ginsenosides. It helps people feel a little more grounded and relaxed,” Clove dictates in her authoritative tone. “Lemon balm tea shows significantly greater improvement in cognitive function. It makes panic attacks less likely and less infrequent.” She whips around to face me. “Would you not suggest lemon balm tea for panic attacks?”
“I would suggest lemon balm tea for panic attacks.” I loudly shake open a paper bag. “I would not suggest a love spice touched by the descendant of a witch to guarantee love.” I know the difference between reality and make-believe. Unfortunately, in this town, I may be the only one.
“You’re impossible.”
“You’re naive.”
“Just the Gratton sibling we were looking for.” Hattie is the leader of the pack.
“How many grams today, ladies?” I scoop a heap of the spice and dump it in a stand-up kraft paper zippered bag with our logo printed on the front.
“Five hundred grams today.” Trixie wiggles her fingers beside the love spice as if she’s a real witch casting a spell. “Witching hour is near.”
“More importantly, the Halloween Boo Fest is this weekend.” Birdie rearranges the point on her wig, but it flops to the side.
“Otto told us about his booth in the vendor section, selling his art.”
“He is.” Otto is my best friend's dad. “His pumpkin car rims are all the rage this year.”
“I already have three,” Trixie says.
“We know you’re heading over to Otto’s house ...” Hattie says it casually as if the women don’t butt their noses into everyone’s business.
“I am. After the market.” I set the bag of love spice on the scale.
“We need you to deliver this. Now.” Hattie pulls out a shampoo from a bag from The Handmade Tale, a local artisan shop.
