The Christmas Witch Read online

  In the blink of an eye, her alter ego, Blythe, disappeared. Poof! If only the damage she’d caused could have been erased too. She’d have to find another better way to scratch the itch to do good within her. But for now, she needed to put the brakes on. Shutting down her laptop, she closed its lid and placed it on the floor. Then she crawled under the covers, praying for sleep.

  Chapter 10

  ‘Bugger.’ Mina glanced down at her boot after sliding into the Merc the next afternoon. She and Jadon were about to head to an auction house’s sale. Unfortunately, the kitten heel on her right boot was now dangling precariously from its base.

  There was a reason she rarely wore heels, to work or otherwise.

  Jadon followed her gaze. ‘That doesn’t look good.’

  ‘I’m cursed,’ she bemoaned, meaning it more than he could ever have imagined. If only the heel had broken when she’d been wandering around the store alone. At least then, she could have muttered a quick incantation to fix it. Still, she waved a hand in the air. ‘I’ll be fine to hobble around like this at the auction house, though. I doubt anyone will notice. We’ll be sitting a lot.’

  ‘Or we could swing past your place, so you can get another pair of shoes?’ Jadon suggested sensibly. ‘We’ve got time.’

  ‘Oh, well, if you wouldn’t mind …’

  He started up the engine, and they began weaving through the streets. Clearly, Jadon remembered where she lived from that stormy night.

  Moments later, she announced with forced cheer, ‘Here we are.’ She sensed him taking in her townhouse’s features in the daylight—the ivy creeping up the wall, the horseshoe talisman, the plant-cluttered stoop. Quick sticks, she unclicked her seatbelt. ‘Won’t be long.’

  She flew up the steps as fast as she could with one dodgy heel … then, with a sinking heart, noticed he was trailing behind her.

  The alarm must have shown on her face as she turned around. He shrugged. ‘Thought I might get more plant styling tips inside.’

  She gave an overexaggerated laugh, then slid her key in the lock. He followed her inside, colliding with the pouch of drying cloves hanging above the doorway. Its presence was twofold: to stop gossip, and because the herbs went well with a glazed ham at Christmastime. Jadon rubbed his forehead but didn’t comment.

  She unzipped her boots, leaving them by the door. ‘Um, feel free to sit in the lounge while I find some new footwear. I’ll show you the way.’ She needed to move fast. Having him in her house was too weird … and dangerous.

  ‘Okay.’ He followed her down the hall into the open-plan living area.

  She swept up a half-empty teacup from the dining table and a daggy jumper from a chair, dumping them on an island bench shelf. Ordinarily, she was a neat freak. She was a descendant of La Befana, who’d been known as ‘the best housekeeper in the village’! But she’d been running late that morning. And she couldn’t do a quick clean-up spell with Jadon on her tail. Nor could she do anything about the pasta and bean soup bubbling away in the slow-cooker, filling the air with its earthy scent.

  Jadon sniffed. ‘What’s cooking?’

  ‘Pasta “fazool”,’ Mina confessed. ‘Like Dean Martin sang about in That’s Amore.’ Amore, of course, meant ‘love’ in Italian. Which Jadon would have known well. Warmth flooded her cheeks.

  ‘Smells delicious,’ he said graciously, though he probably thought it stank like flatulence. He would have been more used to Milanese restaurant fare than peasant food.

  Jadon moved to the lounge area, glancing at her devil’s ivy plant hanging in a kokedama moss ball. Some plants she let ‘holiday’ indoors because they made her feel closer to nature and purified the air. They’d soon be back outside again, though, where they belonged, kinda like her.

  ‘You really do have a green thumb, don’t you?’ he commented.

  Good thing he hadn’t seen her giving some plants a ‘spa bath’ in the shower that morning to cleanse their leaves and soil. She really should have headed for her bedroom already but leaving him alone just yet didn’t feel safe.

  ‘Gardening’s great for the soul,’ she prattled. ‘Pruning, in particular, is good for getting out aggression. And it’s a workout.’

  Not that he needed one. For a second, she let her gaze drift to his silvery-grey shirt, noting how his broad chest and arms perfectly filled it out—Eyes up!

  ‘I appreciate those who are skilled in the area.’ Jadon was, thankfully, still staring at the ivy. ‘I’ve just never had luck with anything I’ve touched. I’m a serial plant killer.’

  ‘Well, you keep yourself watered and fed.’ Mina shrugged. ‘I’m sure you could do just fine, with a few tips.’

  Movement out of the corner of her eye diverted her attention. She looked towards her string-of-pearls succulent on the windowsill, then desperately wished she hadn’t. The plant was swishing its strands of bead-like leaves about in an attention-seeking manner. The little show-off!

  Mina dove for the TV remote, pointing it at the screen. An image of a young Shannen Doherty in her Charmed days filled the screen. She’d forgotten she’d streamed the show last night, needing a distraction from her disastrous day. Hastily, she flicked over to a property-flipping show.

  ‘Anyway, make yourself comfortable. I won’t be a tick.’

  Before she left, she bundled the cheeky string-of-pearls under one arm, then dumped it in her room. After speed-swapping her shoes, she returned to find Jadon on the sofa, tapping away on his phone.

  Heady with the feeling that she was on the home stretch, she jokingly struck a pose. ‘Would these pass the muster in Milan?’

  He glanced up. She thought her desert boots worked just as well as her ankle ones with her apricot knit and faded black jeans, but his forehead puckered. ‘Don’t. Move.’

  Her chin shrank into her neck. ‘Please don’t tell me you’re going to do a Queer Eye and try to make me over.’

  His gaze flickered between her face and her top. ‘How do you feel about … spiders?’

  She glanced sideways. The Huntsman, who lived in her letterbox, had somehow found its way onto her shoulder. Instinctively, she reached up a hand, letting it scuttle into her palm. ‘Oh, looks like this little guy needs to find his way home.’

  It wasn’t until she’d shut her trap again that she realised how deranged she must have looked. But it was too late to act all girlish and scared now, so she tried for some humour. ‘Wanna join us for the walk out?’

  Jadon got to his feet, powering off the TV with the remote. ‘If you don’t mind, I might stay a few feet behind you.’

  The auction house’s saleroom reminded Mina of a funeral home chapel. There were rows of dark-wood pews, a lectern at the front, and elevator-style music being piped through the speakers. She sat in the third row, sucking on a freebie mint, alongside Jadon, waiting for the auction to start.

  The sale items always came from the same places: deceased estates, inheritances, and second-hand shops (or even hard waste collections). Only a small crowd had gathered that afternoon, melding bargain-hunting professional pickers with nostalgic elderly collectors. Of course, many now cast their bids online. Mr Eder, she was sure, only went to the fortnightly auctions for the free tea and biscuits, and the industry chitchat post-sale.

  Mina leant forwards as Jadon flicked through the auction catalogue, pushing her mint into the side of her cheek. ‘Anything you’ve got your eye on?’

  He tapped a picture on the right page. ‘This looks kind of interesting.’

  She squinted at the item—a taxidermy baby croc—and baulked. ‘Oh. You don’t find it a bit … morbid?’

  ‘It’s a talking piece. And it’s already dead. Though, I suppose you prefer your scary creatures alive.’ He mimed a spider crawling up his arm.

  ‘Very funny. And, hey, it’s your shop. I’m just here to provide another set of eyes and help with the heavy lifting.’

  ‘Technically, it’s my father’s store,’ he amended.

  ‘Well, yo
u’re in charge for the next few months at least.’

  Which only reminded her that someday soon he’d be heading back to Milan and she’d remain stuck in Nowheresville with her married ex and crazy relatives.

  Although, who was calling who crazy?

  She softened her tone. ‘How’s your dad getting on, anyway?’

  Jadon’s eyes were intense wells of green and gold as he glanced her way. ‘Thanks to the rehab he’s doing at the care facility, he’s improving. Maybe not as quickly as he’d like—it’ll take some weeks—but he’s getting there.’

  ‘Glad to hear it.’

  A grandma in front loudly blew her nose into a hanky and Mina used the (slightly gross) distraction to divert the conversation. She pointed at another catalogue picture, of a gold-painted cast iron chair. ‘Wow, I’m in love with that. Very Moroccan style. Seriously, I have no idea why people buy new furniture when there are so many attractive pieces out there already.’

  The corners of Jadon’s mouth danced. ‘You know I’m a furniture designer, right?’

  Mina nearly swallowed her mint. ‘Sorry? I mean, I knew you worked for a furniture design house overseas, but, I don’t know why, I imagined you were in, like, business development or something.’

  ‘Because I wear suits?’ A teasing grin lit up his face. ‘I’m slightly offended you haven’t done your homework on me by now.’

  Heat prickled on her skin. It’d taken all her restraint not to investigate his background or acknowledge any kind of interest in him, beyond professional. ‘Clearly not. Though, I guess it explains the paint on your hand the other day.’

  He twisted his mouth. ‘Oh, yeah … making stuff’s my stress relief. I’ve liked doing things with my hands since I was a kid—model cars, scrapbooks, you name it.’

  Like with his storm photography, she hadn’t seen this side of Jadon coming. Though the thought of him, sawing wood in a workshop with his sleeves rolled up, was almost too hot to bear.

  ‘So, I guess you really have taken after your dad then?’ she asked, mostly to distract herself from the mental image.

  ‘I guess, in a way. But my father’s always been more of a collector than a maker, really. He’s motivated to keep the past “alive” by having old objects around him. As for what I might have inherited from my mother … it’s kind of hard to say. She left when I was three.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,’ Mina said softly.

  It explained why she’d never crossed paths with him in Hilforest before. He must have left town with his dad before he hit his school years. Maybe it also explained why Jadon could be such a closed book.

  Aptly, he shut the catalogue, running a hand over its glossy cover. ‘If I took after anyone, I’d say it was my Uncle Leonard. He lives in New York and I stayed with him while I was studying at college. He’s always been a creative sort, into interiors and the like, though he’s a little more … flamboyant than me.’

  ‘Ah, I see.’ Smiling, Mina shook her head. ‘You’re so well-travelled—college in the Big Apple, career in Milan! I feel very small-town in comparison. You must be itching to get back to Italy and all that’s waiting for you there.’

  ‘Just a whole load of work, probably.’ He held her gaze for a nanosecond, his words almost confirming his singledom. ‘Good thing I’ve got so much annual leave up my sleeve, and they have a big enough team without me.’

  A slick-haired auctioneer strode behind the lectern, effectively killing their conversation. Mina joined Jadon in turning towards the front, swallowing the remnants of her mint.

  On the one hand, she was relieved to have a little breathing space, knowing how much of an eligible bachelor Jadon really was, but she was also left wanting more. Like she’d only just scratched the surface of him.

  Chapter 11

  ‘Got anything on tonight?’ Sutton asked Mina while up a ladder dusting a shop chandelier on Friday. It was near closing time.

  ‘Nope,’ Mina admitted in between reorganising glass cloche jars on an old letterpress cabinet. Life was often lonely as a witch, for good reason. ‘But I’m looking forward to a night in. There’s a pudding recipe I want to try out and some housework stuff I need to tick off.’

  Even as she said it, she cringed at how lame she sounded, sorceress or not. Lucky Jadon wasn’t within earshot. She’d succumbed to googling him last night and had discovered that he was quite the design extraordinaire at top Italian furniture brand DeMartini Décor. Along with other iconic pieces, he’d come up with a circular table design with a brass-stud-edged top. Quite the CV.

  ‘Glad your dance card’s empty,’ Sutton practically shouted, making Mina wince. ‘I need a wingwoman tonight. I signed up for this social meetup thing for “like-minded souls”. It sounds totally cool. But now, I don’t want to walk in alone.’

  Goodness. It was like talking to a brick wall, or her mother. ‘You don’t need me.’ Mina was unwilling to get ensnared in Sutton’s after-work plans again. All it’d got her last time was a run-in with the bug-loving Riley. ‘You’ll be fine. You’ve got more sass and spunk in your little finger than most people.’

  ‘Please.’ Sutton gave her a doe-eyed look through the chandelier’s hanging teardrops, her face reflected and refracted in the crystal. It only amplified her efforts. ‘You’d just need to be there for a leetle bit, to help me find my groove. It’s only over in the next town—Drafers—and I can feel it in my chakras that there are going to be some hotties there. You might even meet someone.’

  ‘That’s the last thing I need.’ Between having inappropriate thoughts about Jadon and still harbouring feelings for Arlo, Mina had enough guy problems on her hands. Unfortunately, her natural desire to do good was strong; a need, which she could no longer channel through spell-selling. ‘But I guess if it’s not far away and I really don’t have to stay long, I could tag along for a bit.’

  Sutton had got to her again!

  ‘Yes. I knew I could count on you.’ Her colleague jumped down from the ladder with her mauve feather duster. Mina was at least relieved to have her on the ground again. Mr Eder’s fall had made her even more nervous about heights.

  ‘So, what exactly is the meetup about?’ Mina asked, adjusting the last cloche jar. ‘And will I be okay in this?’ She glanced down at her black blazer, striped tee, and jeans.

  Sutton tilted her head. ‘Hmm, you’ll pass. Although, you might need to vamp up your make-up. I can help with that. As for the event, I’d rather let it unfold around you than ruin it by trying to explain it.’ She glanced back up at the chandelier, wrinkling her nose like Samantha in Bewitched. ‘You know, I think the light looked better with the cobwebs.’

  Of course she did. Mina had a sinking feeling about what was in store for her …

  Roughly one hour later, her worst suspicions were confirmed as she nursed a drink in a Gothic-church-turned-bar. The place was filled with goths and misfits; some dancing to the Nine Inch Nails track playing and other tortured types moping in corners. Sutton was busy chattering to a girl with Joker-style make-up to Mina’s right.

  When she’d said the event was for ‘like-minded souls’ earlier, she’d really meant ‘wannabe Wiccans’. The very last place Mina would choose to be. The only thing worse than hanging out with dark witches was faux ones, Sutton aside. The smoky eye make-up Sutton had given her earlier now made perfect sense.

  Mina stirred her ‘witch’s heart’ cocktail with its syringe of blood-like raspberry puree. Dry ice swirled up within the glass. If she sculled the drink, she could still be home to do all that she’d planned. As predicted, Sutton would be A-Okay without her—

  ‘Well, well. Look what the wind blew in.’

  Glancing up, Mina felt her stomach plummet. Just when she’d thought her night couldn’t take a further dive … Standing before her was the bona fide warlock, Huxley Fear, his ginger hair styled in a crew-cut and his chest bare under a brown fur coat. No doubt his pecs were aided by magic; he really was one to be feared. She was remi
nded of the stuffed croc Jadon had just purchased.

  ‘Hi.’ Mina grimaced.

  Warlocks, unlike witches, were rarer than griffins, and hence, oozed arrogance. Even though they offered one shot at a happily-ever-after for her kind, they were seldom a palatable option. Mina had only tried the Wiccan hook-up app, Winder, once. There was a reason even Gardenia and co. didn’t bother dating warlocks …

  Huxley slugged from a rainbow-coloured slushie, no doubt laced with alcohol. ‘Never thought I’d see you in a place like this.’

  ‘Neither did I,’ Mina agreed.

  Clearly, Huxley had exhausted his options with real witches and had moved onto imitators. He leant forwards, and something hanging between his waxed pecs caught the light. Another of those vial necklaces from Amantha’s aroma-diffusing range. He just made the trend look vile, though.

  ‘Your jacket’s almost as sharp as mine.’ Booze stained his breath. ‘And it’d look even better off you.’

  Mina rolled her eyes. But an Insta-quote she’d recently read popped into her mind: Wherever life plants you, bloom with grace. ‘Thanks, but no thanks. It’s officially time I hit the road—’

  ‘Hello! Don’t think we’ve met before.’

  Oh dear. Joker Girl had disappeared and now Sutton was back at Mina’s elbow, her gaze locked on Huxley.

  He extended a hand towards her, his voice as smooth as cheap silk. ‘Huxley Fear. What a pleasure.’

  Sutton giggled, like a boy band fan, accepting his handshake. ‘Sutton Viney. I work with Mina.’ She turned in her direction. ‘D-did you guys just meet, or do you already know one another?’

  It seemed her way of asking whether she was cutting Mina’s panino. No siree.

  Mina jumped in before Huxley could dream up a horrendous fib about their history. ‘We’re cousins. Who knew Italians could have red hair, right?’

  Huxley patted his gelled tendrils. ‘I prefer the term, titian.’