Page 37 of Last Witch Attempt
“You have to be more specific,” Mrs. Little said.
“It’s a buy-one-get-one-half-off ad,” I replied. “The small print says the more expensive unicorn is the full-priced one. It also touts unicorn bath salts.”
“Those are coming in tomorrow,” Mrs. Little said, bobbing her head. “That sounds fine. Can you email me a copy of the ad so I can look at it and sign off?”
“Absolutely.”
The room fell into silence, all eyes on me.
“Do you need something else, Bay?” Mrs. Little asked when I continued to stand there like an idiot.
“Nope. I’m good.” I smiled and headed for the door. “It was nice seeing you, as always.”
Mrs. Little didn’t respond. The second I walked through the door, before it fell shut, the three women burst into hysterical gales of laughter. Apparently, everything was back to normal in Mrs. Little’s world.
I hummed to myself as I walked the block down to Hypnotic, the magic store Clove and Thistle owned. They both glanced up when the wind chimes by the door alerted them to my presence.
“How did things go last night?” Clove asked. She had a clipboard and was following Thistle around. They were deciding what to order—or make in some cases, like the candles Thistle sold for a mint.
“They went,” I replied. I moved to the couch. Finding Calvin awake and alert in his playpen, I snagged him and sat. The baby gurgled happily as he sucked on his pacifier. He’d been fussy asa newborn, but now he was a smiley baby. I hoped he stayed that way.
“I think you’re going to have to give us more than that,” Thistle said as she counted cornstalk dolls. They were a more recent addition. She’d decided to make them for the first time in the fall. They’d been a hot seller. Finding the stalks she needed to make more in the spring wouldn’t be easy, though.
I ran them through the evening’s happenings.
“Sounds like it could’ve gone worse,” Thistle noted when I finished. “Sorry we left but … well … you know.”
“‘The Man,’” I said knowingly.
Thistle chuckled. “As much as I tell myself that I shouldn’t believe anything that comes out of that old woman’s mouth, I can’t help myself. The police—especially the Feds—make me itchy.”
“Yeah. I get it.” I leaned my head back on the couch and stared at the ceiling as I exhaled heavily. “There’s more.”
“Oh, I hate it when there’s more,” Clove complained.
Calvin apparently didn’t hate it because he clapped his hands. That earned a smile from me. “You’re getting cute,” I said to him, poking the dimple in his cheek. Clove had the same dimple. “Girls are going to go crazy for that thing.”
“He’s going to be a mama’s boy,” Clove said. “He won’t care about girls, just making his mommy happy.” She beamed at her son.
Thistle shook her head. “Yeah, that won’t make him insufferable or anything.”
“Hey!” Clove’s eyes flashed with annoyance. “He’s my good boy. Don’t even think of giving him a hard time.”
Thistle abandoned her project and crossed to me. “What’s the other stuff?”
“I saw Mrs. Little.”
“We saw her too,” Clove said. “From afar. We didn’t talk to her.”
“I couldn’t stop myself. I went into her store to ask if she wanted to run the same ad as last year.”
“You were understandably curious,” Thistle said. “How was she?”
“Honestly? She seems fine. It’s as if nothing ever happened to her.”
“Why aren’t you happy about that?”
“Because I can’t help but feel it was too easy. What if she regresses?”
