Casting Spells by Barbara Bretton Page B

and let them boss us around? Last I heard, this was a free country.”
    “You’re going to take this lying down?” Manny maneuvered his Rascal to a stop in front of me. Someone really needed to tell him to ease up on the Whitestrips. His fangs were practically blinding me. “We’ve been incorporated over three hundred years and now those idiots decide we need police protection?”
    “Someone died within our township limits,” I reminded them. “They take death seriously in Montpelier.”
    “They take taxes seriously in Montpelier,” Manny’s side-kick Frank bellowed. “Death is just an inconvenience.”
    “Manny’s right.” It was Janice’s turn to chime in. “This is about money. They’re probably looking for a way to raise our taxes.”
    If you ever want to incite a riot north of New York City, mention raising taxes and see what happens.
    “This isn’t about taxes,” I shouted into the microphone. “This is about the fact that we have less than forty-eight hours to figure out how we’re going to live with a cop next door to Sticks & Strings.”
    “There’s a full moon coming up on Saturday night,” Johnny Griggs reminded us. “We can pay him a visit he won’t soon forget.”
    “Good thinking,” Midge Stallworth volunteered. “There are ways to make a stubborn man see reason.” And most of them involved a puncture wound and a blood draw.
    Lilith was in favor of some involuntary herb therapy while Verna thought a well-considered hex involving bladder control and uncontrollable truth-telling might just be what the doctor ordered.
    “I’ve been in touch with the Mothers,” Janice said, “and this is only the beginning of our bad luck. We are in trouble, people.”
    Thanks a lot, Janice.
    Isadora suddenly appeared in front of me in a dazzling display of faerie glamour. A shower of royal purple glitter rained down on us, thick as mountain snow. “It’s your fault,” she said, pointing a long, graceful finger at me. “They might be too polite to say it but I’m not. You’re the one bringing the troubles to our town.”
    “No offense, Chloe, but she might have something there.” Colm Weaver and his family materialized atop the lighted globe on the far end of the desk. “It’s been thirty years since a Hobbs woman bore a female child. The primal energy is starting to fade.”
    “Just because someone fell through the ice after too many margaritas doesn’t mean the protective spell is wearing off.” I sounded a wee bit defensive but can you blame me? The thought that I was somehow responsible for Suzanne’s death hit me hard. “It was just an accident.”
    “Are you really that selfish?” Isadora leaned closer. “Have you given no thought to what you owe this town?”
    Only every waking minute of my life, but I refused to give Gunnar’s mother the satisfaction.
    “Give me the Book of Spells,” she demanded. “Let me do for this town what you can’t seem to manage.”
    Everyone knew what Isadora wanted to do: drag the entire town into the Fae realm beyond the mist, where her power would be supreme. I was gratified to hear an eruption of hisses and catcalls from the back.
    “If you care so much for Sugar Maple, why don’t you devise a spell of your own to keep us safe.” Bless Lynette for having the guts to put it out there.
    Isadora’s glance was withering.
    “We don’t have time to worry about Aerynn’s spell,” I told the assembled villagers with a pointed glance toward Isadora. “We’re going to have a cop strolling down Main Street, grabbing a cappuccino at Fully Caffeinated, picking up his mail at the post office. How long will it take before he figures out this isn’t your average Small Town, USA?”
    Lilith’s Archie emitted a cross between a snort and a guffaw. “You watch too much TV.”
    No argument there. I singlehandedly kept him in business with emergency calls every time my satellite dish went out.
    “Chloe’s right.” All eyes turned toward Lilith.