Until I could.
I looked away, even as my heart started to pound again.
“What’s the point of their cult?” I asked.
“I don’t know much about it, other than that it exists,” Marty answered. “Henner, RJ and I just noticed them meeting at midnight in the town cemetery more than once—usually while we’ve been heading home from exorcising ghosts. After seeing them getting together so many times, we started asking questions.”
“And what did you find out?”
He shrugged. “Nothing, really. No one in town seems to know anything or, if they do, no one’s talking.”
“Do they ever hurt anybody?” Finn asked, now giving Marty his undivided attention.
“No. Ophelia is deadly to plants, not people. Fifi seems to have a magical knack for finding the worst men. Angelo, Fifi’s brother, is a serial lech, Roy tends to disappear on us at least once a month, Lorcan is a little eccentric, and Mr. Clemmons recently passed.”
***
I stepped back to survey my handiwork. The shelves and executive desk had been buffed to a shining patina, the crystal display case filled to bursting with the more colorful of my ready-made potions. Still more were arranged on the mahogany bookshelves, and the bottommost hosted miscellaneous items: a dozen diffusers, some crystals, a bunch of candles and dream catchers.
Candy jars were half-filled with dried herbs I’d harvested from my garden in Los Angeles before the move. A scoop and gauzy drawstring bags sat beside the jars, in case anyone wanted to make a personalized scented sachet.
I’d optimistically flipped the neon sign Marty had donated on, so the flashing, fluorescent message would get through loud and clear. I was open for business. My shop was dust-free and smelled strongly of wintergreen, just the way I liked things. Soon Marty would be by with my promotional materials, and I could truly begin putting this place on the map.
My eyes burned and my throat felt a little tight as I surveyed it all. This was all mine. Things were finally starting to go right for me. I thought my heart might actually burst.
And then it did try to use my ribcage like ladder rungs to climb into my throat when a hand clamped down on my shoulder.
A half-scream of terror flew out of my mouth and I rounded on the intruder, hands flying up to lash out at whoever was behind me. But, my hands fell away almost at once because the intruder didn’t appear to be an intruder at all. Instead, it was a woman and she wasn’t much taller than me. Probably only five-six, if her posture was on point. At the moment, she looked shrunken, shoulders curled forward.
The checkered blazer and green slacks made her look like an exotic caterpillar, trying to curl in on itself. The taupe silk blouse almost matched the faded grays threading through her dark hair. Her skin was lined, and yellowing, like old parchment. It almost seemed like someone had taken a straw to her and sucked all the color away.
I stared at her for a protracted second. She looked like she could have been my age. But there was something about the energy surrounding her that just seemed... off. I couldn’t put my finger on it. Somehow familiar and disquieting, though I was certain I’d never met her before. I’d have remembered such a hangdown woman.
“I... uh... can I help you?” I managed, forcing a bright, retail-ready smile. It was a little dusty from disuse. I hadn’t worked in retail for a long time.
The woman nodded, though even doing that seemed to cost her energy. It looked like she’d taken purple paint and smeared rings beneath her eyes. I’d never seen dark circles quite that vivid. Had she slept for even a second in the last week?
“I hope so,” she said. “I was wondering if you might have something for sleeplessness and… stress?”
I backed away from her, toward the glass case, behind the desk. I had a few things that might help, but to know precisely what she needed, I’d have to ask more questions.
“Can you tell me a little bit more about what’s going on?” I asked, not meaning to pry, but I couldn’t help her unless she was more specific with her ailments.
“What more do you need to know? I’m stressed out and I haven’t been sleeping well.”
Her brusque manner immediately put me on the defensive, but realizing that wouldn’t do either of us any good, I opted to explain. “This isn’t an exact science. One type of stress isn’t the same as another. For instance, the stress of work is different from the stress of finding out your boyfriend of three years is cheating. Or...”
“I’m a single mother of two eleven-year-old girls, the bank is foreclosing on my house, my brother-in-law just passed, so my sister is a wreck, and I can’t shake these damn night terrors,” she snapped, her anger sloughing off some of the fatigue.
“Oh,” I said in a small voice. What was there to say to that? Of course she was stressed.
“Yes, oh,” she snapped. “What can you give me to help? Or is this a gigantic waste of my time?”
I found myself caught between two conflicting desires. Helping her, or telling her to take a hike. On the one hand, I understood her circumstances must have been frightening. Her real life sounded like a nightmare. But, on the other hand, no one had the right to talk to me like that.
“Seems like we got off on the wrong foot,” I started, offering an olive branch.
The woman deflated, like someone let the air out of a helium balloon. I could practically hear the hiss as the fight went out of her.
“I’m just… not in control of my emotions lately…”
I gave her a big smile, hoping she’d realize I wasn’t her enemy. “I will do my best to help.”
“Thanks,” she grumbled.
“My name’s… Poppy,” I continued, remembering how Marty had said that’s what I was called here, in Haven Hollow. A feeling of warmth spread through me as I imagined his smiling face. “What’s your name?”
“Barbra,” she managed.
“Hi Barbra, it’s nice to meet you.”
Barbra nodded meekly. “Right. You too.”
She was like that most of the visit, not saying much and strangely, appearing to avoid looking me in the eyes. I loaded a white candle, a vial of Calming Oil, and Get Away Oil into a small plastic sack, as well as a dreamcatcher.
The Calming Oil would allow her to relax and calm her nerves. I told her to anoint her pulse points with it before bed every night. The Get Away Oil would help protect her against nightmares. I instructed her to anoint the dreamcatcher and the candle with it and burn the candle for fifteen minutes every night before she went to bed.
Worry twinged beneath my breastbone as I rang her up. The potions were $10.00 each, the dreamcatcher $13.50, and the candle was $8.25. I remembered how she’d said she was losing her house and she had two daughters to support. I could give her a break. At the last second, I bumped the candle off her total and I only charged her for one potion. It wasn’t good business sense, but I had to appease my conscience at the same time. And this woman needed an act of kindness with the luck she’d been having.
I scribbled the directions onto a piece of paper, just in case none of what I’d said during the selection process had penetrated her obviously scattered mind. I folded the missive and tucked it into the bag with her purchases after I rang her up. I’d need to invest in some nice stationary—something classier than a piece of lined yellow paper.