Casting Spells by Barbara Bretton

precious Chips Ahoy. “You rub catnip on your ankles before you come over here.”
    He laughed but it was clear his heart wasn’t in it. I suddenly realized my friend looked tired and more than a little distracted.
    “Are you okay?” I asked as I grabbed a cookie for myself. I had never seen him look so drained, not even the time Dane found himself stranded beyond the mist and needed to access Gunnar’s powers in order to return to this dimension.
    I tried very hard not to think about that time. For a brief while I had thought we were going to lose Gunnar, and the deep sorrow I had felt at the prospect scared me even now, years later.
    In the world of the Fae, twins were a rare occurrence that happened every five hundred years or so, an event shrouded in mystery and speculation. Much of it sounded like one of those dark and twisted Grimm’s fairy tales, complete with fierce battles and grisly death. The only way a Fae twin could obtain full powers was upon the death of the other. Out of all the fantastical stories I knew to be true, this was the one I refused to believe. The thought of my world without Gunnar was too awful to consider.
    Gunnar bent down and scratched Pye behind her right ear.
    “Gunnar.” I forced him to meet my eyes. “What is it?”
    He rose slowly and I knew he was delaying the inevitable. “I heard the banshee wail again.”
    I went cold from my bones outward. “When?”
    “About an hour ago.”
    Where was my inner Pollyanna when I needed her? “It’s probably for Suzanne. You’ve heard about letters arriving years after they were mailed. Maybe—”
    “That’s not how it works,” he said with a wry smile. “You’d better look up banshees.”
    “I know how it works.” I didn’t tell him I had searched banshees on Google while waiting for the men from Montpelier to come and take Suzannne’s body away. “I’m just saying there could be an exception.”
    He handed me my coat. “You’ve had a long day. Why don’t I drive?”
    The last time Gunnar had driven a car was when we went to the senior prom. “Why would you—” I stopped as the realization hit me. “Now you’re really scaring me.”
    My parents had been killed on a crisp, clear December night just like this. I had been asleep in the back at the time, snug beneath a fuzzy mohair blanket and safely tethered by my seat belt. If only they had been so lucky.
    I had no conscious memory of the accident, but I had never been able to shake my dislike for cars. My knuckles went all white before I even put the key in the ignition. Driving on ice made me break out in a cold sweat.
    “Let’s walk,” I said.
    I tried not to notice the look of relief on Gunnar’s face.
    Abbey Church, our combination Town Hall/all-purpose meeting place, was a brisk ten-minute walk on a sunny day, but a forty-minute struggle on an icy night. We were the only ones on the street but that didn’t mean we were alone. Even I could sense the energies swirling all around us. Have you ever seen a pavement appear to shimmer during a heat wave? That was what this looked like, except in Sugar Maple it wasn’t an optical illusion. The cold night air practically vibrated with possibilities.
    Gunnar looked both ways before he hurried me across the quiet street, even though the only vehicles in sight were parked right in front of the church.
    “You’re late!” Lynette said with a pointed look at her watch. “I was afraid you might have—”
    Janice jabbed her in the ribs. “She’s here now. That’s what matters.”
    “How big a crowd?” I asked as Gunnar swung open the enormous wooden door.
    “It’s like a class reunion,” Lynette said happily.
    Janice leaned closer. “Simone swirled in but Midge shooed her out again. She still hasn’t forgiven her for seducing Donald behind the bandstand during the solstice celebration last summer.” She inclined her head toward Gunnar, who was now talking to Lilith from the library. “His mother’s