The Christmas Witch Page 6

  Yes, that was her version of toning it down.

  ‘My biscuit recipe’s better,’ she whispered in Mina’s ear when she returned. Competitiveness was another family curse.

  ‘Watch that mother-in-law’s tongue,’ Mina said, glancing at a so-named spiky pot plant near the pool’s edge. She wondered if its placement had been conscious or otherwise on Mrs Vangeli’s behalf. Shrugging to herself, she gulped down some minty liqueur.

  After Mrs Vangeli had made the rounds and set aside her tray, she waved bejewelled fingers in the air. ‘It’s so wonderful to come together tonight, especially at this festive time of year. Shall we sit at the table under the pergola now? I thought we’d keep the dinner casual with pizzas seeing as our family is from Naples. Of course, it’s where the modern version of the dish originated. Fred shouldn’t be much longer with the cooking.’

  Delicious smells wafted from the pizza oven. Bizarrely, the kiln reminded Mina of the evil witch’s stove in Hansel and Gretel.

  ‘Can’t wait,’ her mum piped up, patting her non-existent stomach. ‘Everything you see I owe to pizza.’

  They all tittered good-naturedly, then, Fred aside, headed over to the pergola with its Roman-style concrete columns. Mina sat between her mum and nonna amid the candle lighting.

  Mrs Vangeli, meanwhile, took a seat at the far end and glanced up at the inky sky. ‘What an amazing moon tonight.’ It hung there, all plump and enticing, like a wheel of parmesan.

  ‘La bella luna,’ Nonna Rosetta agreed.

  ‘It’s the perfect evening for a mezzanotte skinny dip,’ Mina’s mum chimed in.

  Lotta, across the table, started coughing like she’d swallowed her liqueur down the wrong way.

  ‘I’m joking, of course,’ Sofia continued, though there was a hint of hesitation in her voice. She glanced at a recovering Lotta, her expression turning wistful. ‘You know, the full moon always reminds me of when my Lotta was a little girl. She wasn’t the best sleeper and sometimes feared the dark. To soothe her, I’d hold her in my arms by the window and point out the moon. It usually worked.’

  Lotta stared into her glass. ‘Not the childhood memories already, please.’

  Mrs Vangeli pushed a tray of antipasti towards Nonna Rosetta. ‘So, Lotta told me your family originates from the Marche region in Italy. Which town?’

  ‘Urbania,’ Nonna Rosetta replied, helping herself to a chilli-marinated olive. ‘It’s a very small town, famous for its medieval walls and painted pottery.’

  Mrs Vangeli clicked her fingers, her oversized rings flashing in the moonlight. ‘Oh, yes, and the La Befana Festival!’

  Mina’s insides clenched.

  ‘How does the story go again?’ Dino asked before proceeding to answer his own question. ‘The hunchback old spinster was too busy cleaning up her house, in her worn-out shoes, to join the Three Wise Men when they came past, right? Then forevermore, she was compelled to search for the Christ child in each kid, or something … No wonder Santa Claus has more street cred.’

  Mina sensed her mum straightening up beside her. Here we go …

  ‘I’m not sure that the original Befana was quite as daggy and lonely as the history books would have us believe,’ Sofia trilled. ‘There’s a lot that’s cool about the tradition around her actually. She never exploited poor reindeer, just using a broomstick. She’d only reward those who were deserving and just give mild punishments to the rest. And she’d merely ask for bread soaked in wine or milk for her efforts, not a carton of beer like Santa.’

  Mina reached to squeeze her mum’s hand, hoping it looked affectionate rather than reproaching, as intended. ‘If you hadn’t guessed, Mum likes to do a lot of googling late at night. She loves learning about anything and everything.’ Quickly, she turned to Mrs Vangeli, changing the topic. ‘So, Lotta said this house was built by your husband’s building company. It’s beautiful. What was the inspiration?’

  It was all the motivation Mrs Vangeli needed to begin waxing lyrical about the two-storey abode. While the place was a little ‘Euro-trashy’ for Mina’s tastes, she knew every fixture and fitting would have been top-quality. Soon enough, the first batch of pizzas were ready.

  Mrs Vangeli got up to help disseminate them. Standing by the infinity-edge pool, she held up two trays with oven mitts. ‘Okay, first up, we have …’

  Mina was distracted from tuning in further by her nonna digging around in her handbag on her lap. She was probably just looking for her heartburn tablets. Suddenly, she stopped and stared in at the jumble. Eek. Clearly, she was now trying to summon them, with some (discreet) magic. Too bad her spell-weaving was as reliable as her memory these days.

  Strands of hair randomly fluttered against Mina’s face, despite the clear night. Oh, no. A small, twisting column of wind rose from her nonna’s peacock-blue bag. It was like seeing a car crash in slow-motion. Paralysed, Mina watched the whirly-wind drift upwards and curl towards the pool deck.

  Mrs Vangeli, seemingly, only noticed the mini windstorm when it was right upon her. Her mouth formed an O-shape, then she wobbled on her feet, once, twice, before plunging into the water. The pizza trays went flying, and the spray from the splash wet Mina’s cheeks. She shot to her feet, gasping, along with the others.

  ‘I so sorry, Mrs Vagina,’ Nonna Rosetta yelped as Mrs Vangeli flailed about for the pool ladder. Mina flinched some more at the mispronunciation, not daring to look over at Lotta.

  Dino’s dad raced over to lend his wife a hand, exclaiming, ‘What an odd gust of wind. Where did it even come from?’

  Mina swallowed. Thank the moon the Vangelis seemed unaware of her nonna’s involvement in the debacle.

  Mrs Vangeli re-emerged, dripping, from the pool and Lotta exclaimed that she’d get some towels before racing off. As Mrs Vangeli stood squeezing water from her paisley tunic, her husband leant towards a tray that’d landed face-up on the pavers. ‘The rosemary and potato pizza sunk but this prawn and lemon one could be okay,’ he announced with forced cheer. But as he picked it up, bringing it closer to his face, he frowned. ‘Oh, for some reason, it’s covered in … hair. Not sure where it all came from.’

  Mina bit her lip. Who knew what magical mix-up her nonna had caused there? Her own words to Lotta, regarding the dinner, came back to haunt her. ‘I’m sure things will go swimmingly.’ If only she’d known how much emphasis there’d be on the last bit.

  She cleared her throat. ‘I can help organise another batch of pizzas while Mrs Vangeli dries off, if you like.’

  It was the least she could do, on her family’s behalf, after the disastrous start to the evening. Mr Vangeli nodded, and Mina headed for the pizza oven, mentally shaking her head.

  Would it take a Christmas miracle for her mob to make it through one simple dinner without looking like the Witches of Eastwick? She was starting to see things from Lotta’s point of view.

  Mina’s breath came out in foggy puffs as she pounded the footpath in the moonlight. Considering the chill in the air, it could have been the dead of winter. Even for Hilforest, it’d been a bleak start to summer.

  Mina had decided on a midnight run after tossing and turning for hours, disturbed by Lotta’s angry whispers outside following the dinner. She wished she could have helped their mum and nonna from behaving like Abbott and Costello, minus the humour.

  At least there’d only been one other magical incident that evening, involving a cupcake that smelled like facial hair bleach. Mina had guessed her nonna was trying to summon up more creamy icing, so just in time, she’d knocked the dessert out of her hand. It was a good thing that the Vangelis hadn’t cottoned on that the family’s eccentricities were witchcraft-related.

  Mina stopped at the end of a house’s driveway, pressing a hand to her side where a stitch now throbbed. She wasn’t usually a midnight runner, but she did have two things on her side in terms of safety: being a witch and living in a small town.

  She glanced up at the sky, her glasses skidding back on her nose. Dark
clouds were bunched together, and moisture was suspended in the air. In the distance, an owl hooted. She should probably head back soon.

  As she began walking again, she looked ahead at a pitched-roof house. Aha. Even if her brain had taken a while to catch up, it seemed her feet had known where she was going all along. The urge to do good, especially after all the bad, was overpowering. Her stitch evaporating, she continued up the sloping street.

  Outside the house with its gum tree, marked with yellow tape, she stopped. It was the tree she’d seen the other day, with a timebomb hanging over its head. She stared up at its ghostly old branches, which stretched for seeming kilometres. Not only did it provide serenity, beauty and shade, it would also offer a home for possums, koalas, birds and more. Thank her lucky stars that the house didn’t have a fence, or a warning sign about a vicious pet dog.

  After shooting a glance over her shoulder, she rubbed her hands together for warmth. Then she took several steps forward and wrapped her arms around the tree’s cool, silvery trunk, feeling its knotholes and smoothness. The earthiness of its bark contrasted with the tang of its fear.

  Beginning a quiet chant, she started shuffling about its base, moisture now speckling her glasses. Just her luck it’d started to spit. She closed her eyes. But even as the melody of rain hitting the leaves sped up and water trickled down the neck of her hoodie, she didn’t stop.

  At last, she dropped her arms to her side, turned, and took a few steps back towards the road. All of a sudden, her foot connected with something hard and gnarly … a tree root. Too late. She went sprawling, hands out, landing face-first on the soggy, patchy grass. Her chin, palms and knees bore the impact and her glasses flew backwards.

  As she turned her head, tasting mud, she felt light pierce her eyes. Was she seeing stars … or house lights? Over the now bucketing rain, she heard the hum of a motor. Headlights.

  ‘Mina? Is that you?’

  Of all the dark streets in all the hills …

  Slowly, she got to her feet, grabbing at her glasses before attempting to brush down her running gear. It was a lost cause. She had a new understanding of how Mrs Vangeli must have felt post-dip.

  With a heavy heart, Mina shoved her glasses in her hoodie pocket and stepped forwards. Water continued to douse her. The rawness of each scrape mingled with the pain of her embarrassment. ‘Jadon, hi,’ she shouted over the rain, giving in to her fate.

  He leant to peer through the Merc’s passenger window, his forehead a mass of concerned lines. ‘What the hell are you doing out here?’

  She could well have asked him the same thing. Of course, she didn’t really want to know what, or who, might have kept him out late.

  ‘I couldn’t sleep,’ she said. ‘So, I went for a run and … tripped.’

  He didn’t sigh out loud, but she could sense him doing it inwardly. ‘Get in the car. I’ll take you home.’

  Ordinarily, she didn’t like being bossed around, especially when off-duty, but, hey, she could use the lift. So, she headed over, her sneakers squelching, and opened the passenger door. A bulky camera bag was on the car mat. Jadon obviously spotted it the same time as her because he reached to shift it to the back.

  Mina slid into the leather seat and pulled the door shut, grateful the heater was turned up. The wet-dog smell of her clothes mingled with his woody cologne. She tried drying her face with a rain-soaked sleeve as the windscreen wipers sloshed back and forth.

  ‘Were you headed somewhere?’ she thought to ask as he put the car into gear.

  ‘Nowhere important,’ he returned. ‘What’s your home address?’

  She ignored the question, clocking his waterproof jacket. ‘You were about to do a storm picture, weren’t you? At the summit?’ She’d known that was the location of his lock screen. ‘Please don’t stop on my behalf. I can tag along. You have to get the shots before the front really hits, right?’

  Jadon’s frown lines deepened, which, sadly, only added to his appeal. ‘Another time. You’re soaked.’

  ‘A few more minutes won’t hurt,’ she insisted.

  His hazel eyes drilled into hers, making her shiver in a way that had nothing to do with the weather. Hopeless.

  ‘You’re not going to tell me your address, are you?’ he guessed. She shook her head. With a deep sigh, he steered the Merc onto the road, then shot her a glance. ‘Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to do reckless things like running late at night?’

  Mina held her head high. ‘She also told me not to get into cars with guys I’ve only known for five minutes, but clearly I’m adept at ignoring her advice.’

  As the Merc climbed ever higher, she reached to flick on the radio. Bit by bit, she was growing more comfortable in his presence. Hey, he’d seen her flat on her face, looking like a drowned rat; it was hard to stay inhibited. A radio ad morphed into the Eagles’ Witchy Woman. Feeling rebellious, she didn’t change the station.

  ‘Did you stay long at The Jungalow?’ she asked, aiming for a casual air, though she was actually desperate to know the answer.

  His eyes stayed on the road. ‘Not really. Although, I was there long enough to meet a friend of yours … Gardenia. And her cat.’

  ‘Not sure I’d go so far as to call us friends,’ Mina murmured.

  Of course the dark witch had made herself known! She hadn’t needed a crystal ball to predict that. Mina just prayed things hadn’t gone any further … for Jadon’s sake, or something like that.

  ‘She’s definitely a different sort of character,’ he mused. ‘Not quite as … down-to-earth as you.’ Instantly, Mina wanted to pick apart his adjective use—was it a backhanded compliment, or not even a compliment? He pushed on. ‘As a real estate agent, though, she could be a good contact if the store ever goes down the home-staging route.’

  Mina’s emotions oscillated between hope that he’d talked about the shop’s future and dread that he was using business as an excuse to stay in touch with Gardenia.

  The Merc’s wipers battled even harder as Jadon swung into the summit’s empty car park. He pulled into a space, its twin white lines blurring in the rain. After killing the engine, he reached behind for his camera bag. ‘This shouldn’t take long.’

  Mina fumbled with her seatbelt. ‘I’m not staying here. I’m beyond worrying about bad hair.’

  Jadon stared at her for a beat, as though trying not to roll his eyes. ‘Fine. Lucky I’ve got another waterproof jacket in the boot.’

  Seconds later, Mina stood beside him on the rocky outcrop, his jacket swamping her. The rain was pelting her from every which way, and the wind swirled around, stealing the air from her lungs, but she’d never felt more alive. Even without her glasses on, or a camera lens like Jadon, she could see that the storm rolling in from the plains was spectacular. The sky was consumed by angry clouds, and the city lights mere pinpricks beneath them. She understood how storm-chasing could be so addictive.

  A crack of white lightning illuminated something closer—the locally known ‘castle on the hill’, which had been uninhabited for as long as Mina could remember. Movement in her periphery snagged her attention. Right near the rubbish dump, which Arlo helped run, a violet thunderbolt had seemingly erupted from the ground. More blasts followed, as big and bright as fireworks. Under Mina’s feet, the earth juddered, and an eerie bellow, like a cow on death row, sliced into her soul. Or maybe the driving rain was just messing with her hearing. The whole thing felt otherworldly … odd. Almost as soon as it began, the purply flashes and commotion ended.

  Jadon dropped his cover-clad camera to his side, raising his voice over the rain. ‘That should do it. We should get back.’

  Had he seen what she’d seen? Felt what she’d felt?

  She didn’t dare ask. Instead, she just nodded, following him back to the old Merc. To shelter, and normality … however relative.

  Chapter 8

  Glass doors slid open as Mina neared Hilforest’s health and lifestyle club—or gym, in normal speak—that Satu
rday afternoon. A burst of floral fragrance filled her nostrils as she ventured in, clutching her gym bag. She headed for the spaceship-like front counter.

  Though Hilforest was small in population, its quota of body-conscious witches meant the local gym was LA-worthy. But rather than glamour, the only thing on Mina’s mind was relaxation after the storm-chasing incident—she’d since blamed any weirdness on her lack of sleep—and her disastrous dinner with the Vangelis.

  The lobby was surprisingly quiet, in contrast to the music throbbing from a few studios. Maybe she was earlier than she’d thought for her class …

  At the desk, the shiny-haired receptionist glanced up with a vacant smile. She never remembered Mina, even though she’d helped her to fill out her membership form. Maybe only gymgoers, wearing Lululemon and make-up, registered in her brain.

  Mina flashed her membership key tag. ‘Hi. I’m just here for the mat Pilates class.’

  The receptionist, appearing on seven-second delay, worked up another smile. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, that studio’s currently closed for renovations. We put a post on Facebook about it. Would you like to try our aerial yoga class instead? It’s in a similar realm, and open-level. The instructor can help guide you through it.’

  ‘Aerial yoga?’ Mina echoed.

  She’d seen dark witches preening outside the class before. No doubt they loved doing ‘anti-gravity’ moves, care of discreet magic, while in the hammock-style apparatuses suspended from the ceiling. Perhaps, though, they’d all be too busy sleeping off their hangovers that afternoon …

  ‘Oh-kay, I’ll give it a go,’ she managed. ‘Which studio is it?’

  ‘Number four,’ the receptionist said. ‘The class did start fifteen minutes ago, but you should be fine to sneak in. Just remove your shoes and keep your socks on.’

  Great. She’d be a latecomer as well as a newbie. Even so, she did as she was told, putting her sneakers and bag in a locker, and headed for the studio. Inside, she was greeted by Risky Business-style electronica music and yogis cocooning themselves in special black hammocks like sleeping bats.