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Chapter 2
Carving the pumpkins ended up being far more fun than I expected. The small pen knife cut through the foam easily with less mess and fuss than there would be with a regular pumpkin. Some part of me missed the authentic feeling of having a gourd under my hands, but I didn’t let that hinder my enjoyment as I watched the movie I selected for my pumpkin carving. Rounding out the evening with some much needed selfcare, and that cup of goblin cocoa I’d promised myself, it was the perfect ending to my day. Not only that, but it started my morning out on a positive note to come out my front door and see the small collection of grinning pumpkins.
With the little battery-operated candles in hand, I bent down and put them in the pumpkins one by one. The glow of their little lights is faint with the morning sunlight shining down on them, but that’s okay, they will still be glowing with their simulated flickering flames when it gets dark and throughout the night. I painstakingly blessed each and every one, preparing the wards against anything that tries to invade my home. Each pumpkin was also thoroughly rubbed in a pumpkin spice mixture, as the spices used for the seasonal favorite are the same ones that deter baneful energies and entities. I catch a whiff of the scent and smile as I plop the last carved lid on the last pumpkin. I give its top a light pat and straighten continuing to grin down at the attentive stares of my little pumpkin guardians.
“All right, boys. Mind the fortress, now,” I joke as I give them a jaunty salute and spin away to hurry down my porch steps and out onto the walk.
Thankfully, Black Crow and Bell is not too far from where I live, so I leave my car parked in its designated space, opting to walk with my tote containing the various odds and ends I like to have on hand while I’m doing readings clasped over my shoulder. The shop is open and already busy by the time I arrive. I wave to Damon who is the cashier on duty today as I pass, making my way toward the back room. I hear my name as he informs the shoppers that I will be available to take clients in the next fifteen minutes.
The back room is swathed in black with a number of candles. There is a mirror hanging on one of the walls that is used for some sort of ritual work that the owners do this time of year. I pointedly ignore it as I spread the cloth I’ve brought from home over the table and pull out my incense. Setting a lit cone of spicy Samhain incense to burn on the incense plate off to the side on the round table, I place an image of my guardian deity beside it to protect my space before finally removing my deck of cards and putting them neatly in the center of the table. Giving everything one last critical look, I drop into my chair at the table and center my energy as I wait for the first client.
I don’t think anything could have prepared me for my first time as a shop reader during Halloween. I had expected that it would be busy, mostly with a lot of customers coming just for the fun of it as part of their Halloween festivities, but I underestimated the sheer volume of customers. As soon as one client left, another was being ushered through the door, barely giving me time to get more than a sip of water in between. There were brief lulls that allowed me to enjoy some pumpkin spice black tea enjoying its sweet, robust flavor after murmuring a soft spell over the steaming teacup to cleanse me and protect me from any dark energies.
I enjoyed several cups throughout the day, savoring every drop, the bright flavors invigorating me as they refreshed and fed the personal wards that I placed over myself before leaving my apartment this morning. One can never be too careful, after all, and it gives me a peaceful, warm feeling as the day passes. Despite being extremely busy—exhaustively so—the day has been remarkably fun and profitable. I don’t think there’s been a single week that I’ve cleared as much as I’ve made tonight. I make a mental note to volunteer to do this again next year as I sip my tea and watch my final client for the night sweep into my room.
A tall gentleman in a neat, dark gray suit, he is slender and possesses a slender face with distinct, gaunt hollows beneath his dark beard. His long, elegantly tapered fingers brush the back of his seat as he stops and looks down at me, a dark brow arching slightly as his gaze scans me.
“You are not the usual All Hallow’s Eve reader,” he observes, his deep voice carrying in a way that is unexpected given its quiet, deep pitch. “I expected to see another.”
I smother a smile at his antiquated speech, admiring how committed to being in-character he seems to be. He even has a distinctive pallor as if he hasn’t seen the sun in years. If this is his Halloween costume, I have to give him mad props. His jacket and vest have a dated look to them, as does the straight, unforgiving cut of his trousers. I would hazard to guess that some of his clothing must come from professional costumers who do reenactment wear. I’m a little envious. Although my own witchy costume calls back vaguely to the same period, it is all pieced together from modern clothes rather than trying to achieve an actual historical look.
“I’m not,” I agree with a friendly smile as I take another sip of tea. “Mercy Thomas decided to take Halloween weekend off for the foreseeable future so she can spend the holiday with her kid.”
He frowns in response and peers at me with a sort of arrogance that makes me struggle in trying to decide if it is real or part of his assumed character. His eyebrow cocks and he hums softly in his throat.
“I see. I did not realize that being graced with the child would interfere with our agreed upon annual meeting.”
My brows creep up with amusement as I continue to regard him over my cup. Is this guy for real? He is speaking as if it’s some huge inconvenience that she is spending the holiday with her son, enjoying his first Halloween. Even if he’s a baby and too young to appreciate it, there are pictures to be taken and fun things to occupy a young family. Yet, he acted as if she owed it to him to be present. I mentally scoff at the idea, but my internal laughter dies a little when he pins me with a sharp look.
“I take that you do not have children.”
I lower my cup and manage to find my politest smile to paste on my face. “I’m remarkably free of any familial obligations.”
‘Remarkable’ considering that every time I talk to my mom on the phone, she is bemoaning my current single existence and her lack of grandchildren. The latter situation I have no immediate intention of changing. As for the first, I just haven’t found the right sort of guy that makes me contemplate forever. Being the witchy sort has not-shockingly worked against me a bit in the dating market, but it’s not something I’m willing to hide. If a man wants me, he has to accept and love all of me, even the quirky witchy part of me.
“Splendid,” he remarks as he draws out the chair and, with a gentle tug on the legs of his trousers, lowers himself onto the chair. I eye him curiously as he proceeds to straighten his jacket and cuffs before finally giving me his full attention, his dark eyes boring into me. “I take it that you are not just a card reader but a woman of the craft yourself?”
Curious as to where exactly this is heading, I dip my head in acknowledgement.
“Excellent,” he murmurs, steepling his fingers in front of him, “then I would like to engage your services for that which Ms. Thomas provided—to be undertaken tonight at midnight.”
I blink at him, bemused. “I don’t think I really understand. What services did you get from Mercy, exactly?”
He smiles and smoothes his tie with a singular, slow motion that appears almost self-indulgent. “The details are not terribly important, but there is a certain conjuring that I’ve been undertaking every All Hallow’s Eve, one that requires the assistance of a female witch. Ms. Thomas kindly helped me last year in exchange for something that she dearly wanted. You understand that I do generously compensate for the time of the witches who assist me,” he adds with a faint smile. “But since she is indisposed, I suppose that this is your lucky day, Ms...”
“Cleo. Cleo Taylor.” My brows knit as I mentally absorb what he has told me. “I’m not sure how I can help, though. Mr...”
“Blackspell. Anthony Blackspell at your service, my dear Ms. Taylor,” he offers with a cool smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes.
“Right. As I was saying, Mr. Blackspell, I’m not sure how much help I can be. Conjuring is not something I know much about. In fact, I stay well away from it given the dangers that can come with mucking up when bringing in entities from other realms. I honestly don’t have anything to do with spirits, generally. I prefer not to dabble in something I don’t understand.”
“As you should,” he says with a severe gravitas that makes me feel somewhat better that he’s not expecting something way outside my skillset. “That is quite sensible of you, but fear not, that is not what I need from you. I just need you to be present and offer your energy for my purpose. Nothing more, nothing less.”
