Spellbound by Cate Tiernan

“He’s adorable.”
    I rolled my eyes. Trust Bree to have scoped out the freshman boys.
    Mary K. shrugged, and Bree decided not to press it. Then she pulled Breezy into a parking spot in front of Practical Magick, and we piled out into the chilly December air.
    Mary K. looked at the storefront with only faintly disguised suspicion. Like my parents, she strongly disapproved of my involvement with Wicca, though I’d talked her into coming to a party here recently, and she’d enjoyed it.
    “Relax,” I said, taking her by the arm and pulling her into the store. “You’re not going to have your soul sucked out just by looking at candles.”
    “What if Father Hotchkiss saw us?” she grumbled, naming our church’s priest.
    “Then we’d have to ask him what he was doing in a Wicca shop, wouldn’t we?” I answered, grinning. Inside, I let go of my sister’s arm and took a moment to get my bearings. I hadn’t been to Practical Magick since I’d come with Hunter to confront David Redstone, the owner, about using dark magick. It had been profoundly horrible, and being in the store brought back the memories in a wave: Hunter questioning David; David’s admission of guilt, wrenched from him against his will.
    It hurt to associate those memories with this place, the place I had come to think of as my refuge, a lovely, scent-filled shop full of magickal books, essential oils, crystals, herbs, candles, and the deep, abiding peace of Wicca, permeating everything.
    Looking up, I saw Alyce, a gentle sorrow still showing on her face. David had been a dear friend of hers. He had turned over the shop to her, a Brightendale blood witch, when he’d had his power stripped from him. She owned the shop now.
    She walked toward me, and we embraced: I was taller than she, and I felt bony and immature next to her womanly roundness. We looked into each other’s eyes for a moment, not needing to speak. Then I stepped back to include Bree and Mary K.
    “Hi, Alyce,” Bree said.
    “Nice to see you, Bree,” Alyce replied.
    “You remember my sister, Mary K.?” I asked.
    “Certainly,” said Alyce, smiling warmly. “The one who was so taken with The Fianna.” The Fianna was a Celtic band that Mary K. and I both loved. Alyce’s nephew, Diarmuid, played in it. The only way I’d gotten Mary K. to come to the party here was by luring her with promises of The Fianna playing.
    “Yes,” said Mary K. shyly.
    “We just got in a shipment of really interesting jewelry from a woman who works in Pennsylvania,” Alyce said, leading Mary K. over to a glass case. “Come see.”
    I smiled as Mary K. was drawn to the jewelry. Bree moved down the aisle to examine a collection of altar cloths, and I was free to wander the side of the store that was floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Soon Alyce joined me.
    “How is Starlocket?” I asked. Starlocket was Selene Belltower’s old coven. With her disappearance, Alyce had been asked to lead it.
    “Going through transitions,” Alyce said. “Some people have left, of course—those who’d been drawn to Selene’s dark side. The rest of us are trying to heal and move forward. It’s very challenging, leading a coven.”
    “I’m sure you’re a wonderful leader,” I said.
    “Alyce?” I looked up as a man came toward us, holding up a box of black candles. “Do we put out all the stock at once or keep some in the back?” he asked.
    “I usually put out as much as the shelves will hold,” Alyce said. “Finn, come meet Morgan.”
    Finn looked like he was in his fifties; tall, and neither thin nor fat, but sturdy-looking. He had short, thick hair that was a faded red shot through with white. His eyes were hazel, his skin was fair, and he had faded freckles across his nose and cheeks. I sent out my senses without even deciding to and ran a quick scan. Blood witch. Probably Leapvaughn, I thought. They often had red hair. Then I saw the surprise in his eyes and shut down my senses, vaguely embarrassed, as