The Christmas Witch Read online

  Mina’s mouth fell open. She hadn’t noticed the bloke borrowing her broomstick to shove up his arse! As her brain formed a veiled gibe in response, Sutton sprang into view. As usual, she looked both ethereal and goth with her green-streaked blonde bob, sooty eye make-up, and septum piercing.

  ‘Mina!’ Sutton widened her eyes, on repeat, behind the guy’s back. ‘I see you’ve met Mr Eder’s son, Jadon. Our new boss.’

  Holy cats. Mina’s chest tightened. ‘Oh … ha.’

  Their new boss, a day early … while she grasped a broomstick and sported a shawl like a total craggy witch! He must have snuck in after the jewellery box customer! If only Mr Eder had flashed around a photo of his son, or she’d dared google Jadon in readiness. All her nightmares about Mr I-Work-in-Milan had come true. Why couldn’t Mr Eder’s fall have happened in-store? Then she could have (discreetly) helped him with her sorcery and not been stuck with his unfairly handsome offspring.

  Somehow, she managed to properly introduce herself to Jadon. Not that he seemed interested one iota. Instead, he glanced around the place like he’d sniffed out a dead possum.

  ‘Thought I’d duck in on the way from the airport,’ he clipped. ‘But, be prepared—tomorrow I’ll hit the ground running and be looking to make changes ASAP. Improve this store’s figures. The place looks like a freaking hippie shop.’

  Then he turned on his leather brogues and strode away, leaving Mina reeling. Niceness definitely didn’t run in the family (nice looks didn’t count). Jadon had only just arrived and was already throwing his weight around with a planned shop overhaul.

  Welcome to Mina’s even more cursed life.

  Chapter 2

  Mina violently sneezed as she traversed the footpath on her way home. She fumbled in her handbag for a tissue, pausing as a marmalade-coloured cat leapt from the bushes and tore across her path. Bingo. She blew her nose before continuing, mentally shaking her head.

  Irony of ironies, she was a witch who was allergic to cats.

  She also wasn’t fond of heights, so broomstick-flying was out of the question, and she loathed crushed velvet.

  Her mum had sat her down to have The Talk—about her special abilities, which were set to ‘blossom’—when she was twenty-one. In some ways, what her mother had told her made sense, considering Mina’s knack for reading situations and people, and making things happen through sheer thought. Then there was her habit of touching wood like a total forest dweller … But it was still a bitter pill to swallow. She’d just thought her family were typical Italians, doing weird things like planting by the moon and concocting ‘cures’ for the evil eye, not witches. At any rate, the chat had come too late. Mina had already erred by falling in love with a human. Five years later, she was still lovelorn for Arlo.

  Many times, she’d told herself the reasons why it was good they weren’t together. Like the fact that blending the genes for their nose shapes would be unfair on any offspring, even if Arlo’s Roman schnoz worked on him. And that he was likely to be the type of Italian husband to play golf and watch sport with his mates all weekend while she was chained to her Thermomix. There was also the little detail that he had a family of his own now. Something she’d never have for herself.

  While, of course, there were other Befana descendants scattered around the globe, she intended to be the last ‘good witch’ in her family line. The heartache could stop with her—

  ‘Please, I’m so thirsty. Take me with you.’

  Mina glanced ahead, where two spider plants were discarded on the nature strip. Being attuned to plants was another side-effect of her ancestry.

  But she firmly shook her head, and murmured, ‘Not today. I have enough plants, thank you very much.’ And more still at work, which she’d have to move fast with Jadon now at the helm. ‘I’m sure another keen green thumb will be along soon, though.’

  At any rate, she had somewhere else to be. To supplement her retail income, she sold spells ‘undercover’ via the classified ads site, SilverTrade. It was her skeleton in the closet. She’d never told her family about it, but the extra cash helped pay the mortgage on her townhouse—no simple task as a singleton, even at cheaper-than-the-city Hilforest prices.

  She’d started off on the site innocently, just buying and selling plants for fun. She’d even got her nonna onto it. Then one Friday evening a few years ago, when she’d downed one too many Camparis, she’d put up an ad selling basic spells—for love, study help, and beyond—with the accompanying ingredients. Spells people could do at their own convenience and repeat as necessary. It was better than any shoddy internet spells and empowered the customers.

  The move also satisfied her desire to spread goodwill—a feeling that was strongest when young, apparently. If she couldn’t be happy in every area of her life, she could at least help others through spell-selling. Though she didn’t exactly do a roaring trade, plenty were curious or maybe desperate enough to ‘bite’, providing her with a steady flow of business.

  None of the customers knew she was a bona fide witch. They just thought she’d studied paganism for kicks. And, of course, she only advertised to people on the plains, down the freeway, never hill-folk.

  She always met clients somewhere neutral too, like a shopping centre car park, while donning sunglasses and other ‘disguises’. Meeting customers in the flesh ensured her spells went into the right hands. She’d get a vibe if it was a bad idea.

  That night, she had another love potion to deliver.

  She fastened her pace on the footpath and cleared her throat, which had become tight and dry. Darn plants. Determination spurred her forwards. A few metres in, though, she paused and turned back. ‘All right, that’s it. You’re the lucky last plants for my collection, only because I don’t have far to go.’

  Good thing the street was dead quiet, and no-one was around to hear her. She scooped a pot under each arm, their spider-leg-like leaves tickling her skin, and headed for home. The plants seemed to sigh against her, though their thirst was probably just an act. Greenery was never dehydrated for long in soggy Hilforest. Man, she was a sucker.

  Her bluestone townhouse loomed ahead. The place wasn’t hard to spot among the others, with ivy creeping up its front, the steps groaning either side with plant ‘strays’, and an upside-down horseshoe nailed above the door to protect against ill-wishers. Her street was the aptly lunar-sounding The Crescent, and her townhouse was number sixty-six … though that didn’t mean anything without the extra six, right?

  She bent to rest her finds on a lower step, whispering, ‘Meet your new mates.’ In line with her magical powers, her plant love had kicked in later in life. Once upon a time, she’d found it super-boring trailing after her nonna in her garden. Oh, how things had changed.

  Dusting off her hands, Mina straightened again and dug around in her handbag for her keys. With any luck, her spell-drop that evening would be over in the blink of an eye. Then she’d be back with enough time to re-watch an episode of Witches of East End before bed. If anything could depict the pain of her existence, it was that cancelled series.

  ‘I’m so excited to try this,’ Katy told Mina as they stood in the gardens of a plains library at dusk. In the hands of Mina’s latest SilverTrade customer—a fifty-plus woman with a strawberry-blonde crop and kind green eyes—was a little bag of tricks Mina had passed on.

  ‘You’ve made my day,’ Katy continued. ‘My year. This could save my marriage!’

  Mina had to bite down on a smile as she nodded. Passers-by would never have guessed that the housewife had just been given a spell for burn-up-the-sheets sex. Katy was desperate to spice things up in the bedroom, though, ordinarily sex, she said, was something she ‘just put up with as a wifely duty’. But her husband was going through a bit of a midlife crisis and she was worried they might end up divorced, as had happened to some of their friends.

  ‘Just remember to follow the instructions to the letter,’ Mina pressed. ‘Place the red candle in the centre of the pentacle
altar cloth, say the chant, etcetera.’ She readjusted the prescription black shades she wore, which made the hour appear even later. ‘Then it’s guaranteed to work.’

  If only a little spell was all it’d take to reignite her own love life.

  ‘Will do, and big thanks again.’ Katy grinned, her apple-like cheeks glowing. ‘Well, guess I should head off to my book club meeting now.’ This was despite her jiggling the calico bag like she was eager to get home straightaway and give the spell a whirl.

  Mina smiled back. ‘No problems. And good luck.’ With a wave, she turned and headed back down the path, cutting through the sweeping library gardens.

  Another happy customer. Some clients even emailed her afterwards—or ‘Blythe’, as she called herself on SilverTrade—to tell her of their spell successes. It warmed Mina’s do-gooder heart.

  She glanced around, enjoying the chance for a stroll in the balmy evening. Up in the hills, the sky never looked as clear and prettily tangerine. The moon was visible despite it still being light. In the background, traffic from the main road adjacent grumbled.

  Mina wandered past orange witches’ hats, surrounding a wooden bench with broken slats. The nickname for the safety cones always made her snicker. She wouldn’t be caught dead in a hat that shape.

  Up ahead, a figure appeared beneath the stone entrance arch to the gardens. The woman, with her liquorice-black locks and svelte figure, was a dead-ringer for Gardenia, the Wiccan realtor across the road from work. But what would she be doing in the postcode that evening? Mina’s gaze strayed to the gleaming black Bentley in a ‘no parking’ zone on the street.

  Urgh, it was Gardenia.

  Dark witches, unlike the red variety, were always entrepreneurial and travelled in style. They were unconcerned about abusing their powers or reaping what they sowed. Meanwhile, if Mina ever tried to do anything self-serving (nose-honing aside), it blew up in her face. It just wasn’t in her DNA.

  Ducking her head, she walked faster, praying Gardenia wouldn’t recognise her. The last thing she wanted was for the dark witch to be suss about what she was doing in the neighbourhood. Selling spells on SilverTrade wasn’t the best way to keep a low profile as a witch. A spicy fragrance clogged her nostrils—

  ‘Evening, Mina.’

  Merda.

  She looked up. Naturally, Gardenia had seen through her half-arsed disguise. ‘H-hi,’ she stammered, reluctantly slowing down.

  As always, Gardenia looked impeccable in a cream body-con dress, with a yellow Balenciaga bag over one forearm and some interesting new ink decorating the skin up higher. Hang on … the tattoo had just moved. That wasn’t ink but a tiny hissing iguana clinging to Gardenia’s arm!

  Gardenia’s peach-painted lips curved into a smile. ‘Nice night for it.’

  ‘It is indeed,’ Mina squeaked, studiously avoiding looking at Gardenia’s oversized chest. It was obvious what the dark witch used her monthly vanity spell on.

  Thankfully, Gardenia barely broke her stride, gliding on. Apparently, she was too busy for small talk too. Relief.

  Mina couldn’t help darting a look behind as Gardenia’s stilettos clicked away on the concrete. Maybe there was a laneway restaurant nearby, or some other exclusive hangout, because a glamazon like Gardenia wouldn’t waste time on a book club … Nothing screamed out at Mina, though.

  Shrugging to herself, she turned back around. Wherever Gardenia was going, she felt sorry for the non-magical patrons. The dark witch would only leave misery and heartache in her wake. That was in her DNA.

  Chapter 3

  ‘Eder Antiques and Collectables needs new life breathed into it,’ Jadon told Mina and Sutton the next day before the shop was due to open. He leant against the front counter, kneading his palm with his opposite thumb. No wedding ring, Mina couldn’t help noticing … as though it mattered!

  ‘The store must change with the times,’ he ploughed on. ‘There’s a lot of competition from online these days. In fact, I’m going to put some stock up on the web and on social media too. This place needs to be brought into the twenty-first century. Your jobs, indeed, depend on it.’

  Mina nodded, trying hard to concentrate on the gravity of his words. And not how darkly alluring his thick brows were. Or the caramel-coloured mole on his neck, to the left of his Adam’s apple … Cripes. He’d just said her job wasn’t secure! It was like some of the magic from the seduction spell kit last night had rubbed off on her.

  She reminded herself that the store kept her sane, from running for the woods. There weren’t many good jobs in the hills, and even less that complemented her free spirit. And if another antique store bit the dust, it meant one less place to sell old-fashioned gear and more items headed for landfill.

  Mina straightened up. She’d never attended a staff meeting at the store before. Ordinarily, Mr Eder just flung open the doors and waited for people to be magically drawn to the curiosities (or not so magically). But that was then. Before Mr Eder’s fresh-from-Milan son had darkened the door, in denial about being back home and relieving his boredom by changing things for change’s sake.

  He continued. ‘At Hilforest, we have the tyranny of distance, as well. If you have any ideas about what might encourage more people to make the forty-minute car trip from the city, even what would bring more locals in, I’m all ears. You guys have been working on the ground; you know what this store lacks.’

  Mina tugged an earlobe. A nervous habit. She did have one idea worth raising, if she dared … ‘Um, well, I’ve always thought it’d be cool to loan out furniture for weddings and events, with vintage being all the rage on the party scene,’ she blurted. ‘Maybe just cheaper items, like mismatched chairs and retro suitcases, then it wouldn’t matter if they got knocked around a bit. You could make money from the prop hire, then later sell the pieces at a discount. Win-win. There are other businesses in the state doing it, but we’d be the first in Hilforest and could build up a reputation.’

  Jadon barely blinked. Waiting for him to smile was like hanging out for a wisteria vine to bloom. Years might pass.

  ‘That type of service could be time-consuming and take away from the main business,’ he replied. ‘Especially for bigger events like weddings. The reward would need to outweigh the effort.’ He managed a shrug. ‘But we could potentially try it on a smaller scale, just for local parties. Which could also serve to advertise the shop.’

  Mina’s forearms tingled. He hadn’t outright dismissed the idea. In the past, she’d mentioned her event hire concept to Mr Eder, but he’d always put off looking into it for ‘another day’.

  Sutton cleared her throat while inspecting her split ends. Unlike Mina, she seemed unfazed by Jadon’s commanding presence. ‘What about offering a restoration service to overhaul the furniture customers already have? Providing custom-painting etcetera. It’d save a lot of otherwise ugly stuff ending up at the tip. We often have enquiries about whether we do that sort of thing anyway. Rather than directing clients elsewhere, the shop could get a cut by using our own part-time tradie and workshop space.’

  Jadon shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. ‘I like the sound of that. And if there’s been customer interest … Again, it might be a time-consuming sideline and could only be done on a limited scale, but, sure, it’s worth investigating.’

  Mina was embarrassed to feel a twinge of envy that Jadon had liked Sutton’s idea better than hers. Yup, she’d reverted to her Grade Three self.

  Jadon looked towards the blonde-wood grandfather clock to Mina’s left. ‘All right, time to open up. Just so you know, I won’t be implementing any changes straightaway, but I will be refining our processes and … keeping an eye on things.’

  Mina bet he would, like a hawk. Which made her uncomfortable. She wasn’t a hard-sell salesperson, more someone who hoped her passion for the wares was contagious. How Jadon would react to that, she was unsure.

  ‘Any last queries before I open the doors?’ he added.

  Mina played with her hoo
p earring. ‘Um, I was just wondering how Mr Eder—sorry, your father—is doing?’

  She couldn’t help thinking it was strange that Jadon, who’d been abroad for ages, seemed more concerned with the shop’s bottom line than his convalescing dad. How long might a broken limb take to heal in the ordinary world—six to eight weeks? More, if one was in their golden years? She hated to think.

  ‘He’s doing as well as can be expected,’ Jadon clipped in reply. ‘Now let’s work on having a store for him to come back to.’

  The lights randomly flickered, as though the shop sensed its own precarious predicament. Or maybe just old wiring was to blame.

  ‘Wicca?’

  Mina turned from rearranging sailboat ornaments on a shelf. A copper-haired woman was staring at her accusingly. Her blood ran cold.

  Sutton’s head popped up over the other side of the aisle. ‘Wicca? I am.’

  The customer frowned. ‘I was referring to this.’ She tapped the arm of a child-sized chair at the end of the row.

  Mina let out a breath. She’d meant wicker, not Wicca! Even as a long-lived witch, Mina would shave decades off her life at the rate she was going. Not that Sutton had helped.

  ‘Definitely wicker,’ she blathered to the customer. ‘And such a pretty pink too. It’d look gorgeous in a girl’s room. Or a boy’s room. We’re all about gender neutrality here.’ She capped off her babbling with a weird, strained laugh.

  Understandably, the woman took one last look at the chair, then headed in the opposite direction.

  Eek. Anyone would think it was Mina’s first day at work, not her temporary boss’s. She darted a look around the store. There were only a few customers scattered about—typical for midweek—and no sign of Jadon. He must have burrowed away in the office, behind the drawn venetian blinds.

  Stealing her chance, Mina peeked over Sutton’s aisle. Her colleague had crouched down again and was busily adding Christmas tinsel to her candle display. Christmas—it wasn’t Mina’s favourite time of year, only reminding her of her differences. Her urges. But at least Sutton’s candles and her plants had so far remained untouched by Jadon.