Page 8 of Her Magic Light

At her nod, I started selecting the correct bottles of dye from the range on my shelf and transferring them to the table where all the mixing magic would happen. I sent Kate to Daisy to get her hair washed, and when she sat back in the chair, she grinned nervously at me.

“So this is it,” she said, gulping down a lump of anxiety.

I offered her a wide smile in return. “It sure is. You’re going to look spectacular.”

She stared hard at herself in the mirror. “I’m going to look spectacular,” she repeated. “I don’t think I’ve looked spectacular since my divorce.”

I continued setting up, but also tried to maintain a constant stream of chatter to distract Kate from any anxiety that had crept up on her. I wasn’t as good at this part as Bess, though.

“So.” I hesitated. “Did you notice all the guys who seem to be new in town?”

Kate barked out a sharp laugh. “Notice? Honey, most of them have earned themselves a permanent place in my photo stream.”

I laughed too. “They let you take their pictures?”

She scoffed and gestured casually with her hand. “Why, I didn’t bother to ask. I took the pictures when they weren’t looking.” She patted her purse. “And now I don’t need to rely on this old noggin’ when I want to remember the time Sweetwater got invaded by hot men.”

I laughed again. “You think it’s an invasion?”

She winked, the look a little sly. “I certainly hope so. Honey, they can take me to their leader any time.”

I laughed again. “Mrs. K at the art supply store thinks it has to do with aliens.”

Kate gestured again. “Oh, Florence thinks everything is aliens.” Then she paused and scratched at the side of her nose. “But if she and her little group are going to investigate the appearance of these men, maybe I need to go to the next meeting. I don’t mind volunteering to make contact, if I’ve got a good excuse. I could tell them I’m doing a piece for the gazette.”

I chuckled. “Well, enough of them were studying the paper with an intensity that suggests you might get a few takers if you offer to print their full profiles.”

She laughed as well. “Might be the only time being a freelance writer comes in useful.” Then she met my eyes in the mirror and swallowed as she took in my gloved hands.

“Ready?” I asked.

four

After I’d secured my hair back into a ponytail, I started my work. Kate had relaxed under my careful, repetitive motions as I applied the dye to her hair, and I entered almost a meditative state as I painted color onto the strands, watching the light as it streamed through the window and played across the hair. This was my zone.

I brushed color against the already-lightened strands and listened to my intuition about which swipe of color went where. I could see it in my head. Almost as well as the hummingbird painting on the easel at home.

On the other side of the salon, Bess was finishing up with her double-booked customers, and they were all three laughing as she opened the door to allow them to leave.

Their talk about the mysterious men had long since ceased, and Mrs. Seymour and Mrs. Clarke had moved on to matters of town scandal. Not that there were many true scandals, but how often Ethel Rowe waved to the mailman and the fact Nancy Andrews had started using the grocery store outside town were talked about on repeat. If they weren’t scandals before, they were certainly at least dramas now. And likely by the end of the week, both stories would have been inflated to the kind of gossip the whole town repeated.

A twinge of pity for the two women at the center of each story spread through me. But there would be another story along in a couple of days. Perhaps even a couple of hours. And the Sweetwater gossip mill would continue to turn.

I glanced outside, ready for my daily sunbreak. A hummingbird like the one usually at my house hovered on the other side of the storefront glass.

“Are all hummingbirds that color?” I spoke quietly so as not to startle Kate awake if she’d fallen asleep in my chair. It wouldn’t be the first time a client had taken a nap during a color.

Kate opened her eyes. “Hmm?”

I nodded toward the window and the hummingbird outside it. “Like that. I have one that comes to the feeder outside my living room every day. It inspired my hair.” I didn’t mention it also inspired daily paintings, each of which was slightly different as I strived to capture the minute changes in the way light glinted off the rainbow-hued feathers.

Kate gasped and tried to sit up straighter, but I rested a forearm on her shoulder, careful not to let my dye-covered gloves touch her clothing.

“You need to stay still,” I murmured.

“Sorry. I…” She almost tried to shift forward again. “I’ve never seen a bird like that.”

“Are you sure?” I didn’t intend to sound as though I didn’t believe her. “I mean, it’s just all I’ve seen here.”

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