Dizzy Spells by Morgana Best

“Yes, I’m already in the habit of
that now. I always burn Fiery Wall of Protection incense: Dragon’s
Blood, frankincense and myrrh.”
    “Good. And you filled those witch bottles
like I told you and…”
    I interrupted her. “Yes, and I buried them
in the front yard.”
    “Also good. Did you make that protection
poppet, the juju doll-baby?”
    I slunk down in my seat. “Err, no, sorry. My
sewing is almost as bad as my baking.”
    Thyme snorted with disgust. “It doesn’t have
to be a work of art! Just sew some fabric into the vague shape of a
person, and stuff it with protection herbs from your garden. You
have plenty to choose from. You have those big tubs of rue, and
then you have plenty of chamomile, lemongrass, and agrimony
growing. You could use rosemary or hawthorn for its hair. And
there’s wormwood. See!” She tapped her rearview mirror, where
wormwood was hanging in a little bag. “We’ve already been through
this. Protection is the most important thing for witches.
Protection first, before everything.”
    “Sorry.” I was truly remorseful. I’d been
slack and really would need to up the protection. “Anyway, why are
we following Alder if you think he’s not being paid to follow
me?”
    Thyme sighed. I could tell I was really
trying her patience. This whole thing with Alder sure was making
her uptight. “While I do think it’s highly unlikely that someone
actually paid him to investigate you, if such a person does exist,
then we need to find out who they are.”
    I pointed to the small container Thyme had
been holding. “Hence your whosie-whatsit.”
    “Great technical term,” she said dryly.
“It’s actually scrying water, which you would know if you’d been
paying attention. It’s rainwater collected under the last full
moon, and when it’s in this black bowl, I can see images. That is,
if I have the chance to concentrate,” she added pointedly.
    “Understood. I’ll be quiet now.”
    “I can’t believe that’s working,” was the
next thing I said, ten or so minutes later.
    Thyme laughed. “After all you’ve seen since
you arrived at Bayberry Creek, you’re really surprised? Turn right
at the stop sign.”
    I shook my head. “I guess not.”
    “Okay, I think it’s that motel there.”
    I parked out on the road, under a spreading
lemon magnolia tree. “Look at those pretty yellow flowers,” I
said.
    “Focus, Amelia, focus. He’s here somewhere,”
Thyme said. “I think it’s one of the last rooms.”
    I was nervous. “I don’t want him to see us,
and if he really has a sixth sense, or is psychic or whatever,
he’ll know we’re here.”
    “Well, I don’t want to be caught snooping
around, either,” Thyme said. “The last person I need to make mad is
some crazy witch hunter. Still, we have to find out if there’s any
truth to his claim that someone hired him, and this is probably the
only way we’ll find out.”
    Thyme sat in silence for a moment, staring
at her scrying water, while I fidgeted in my seat. Finally, she
spoke. “Yes, he’s in the very end room, and I’m pretty sure there’s
a man in there, too.”
    “Can you tell if he’s the one who hired him
to follow me?” I asked.
    Thyme shook her head. “I have no idea. I
assume he’d have several clients. Anyway, I’ll find out who the man
is.”
    “You can do that?” I asked, impressed.
    She chuckled. “Not with my scrying water.
I’ll ask Gloria, you know, the waitress at the north café.”
    “How would she know?”
    “Well, her uncle runs the motel, and
Gloria’s cousin, Stephanie, is the receptionist there.”
    I nodded. I should have known. Most people
in small country towns were related to each other. At least there
was always a network that could be counted on to supply plenty of
information, whether real or imagined, about people’s personal
lives.
    “There,” Thyme said loudly, startling me.
“He’s on the move.”
    “On the move? When did you join the army?” I
teased her