That Kind of Magic Chapter 1

Chapter 1

“I don’t do that kind of magic, Mr. Riordan,” Charlotte declared for the fourth time. She kept her voice calm, but her nerves had begun to tighten like her fingers around the phone. “Your sister is safe from me, I promise.”

Could a person be more irritating? The man went on and on without hearing one single thing she had said. She listened to him, though. Grimly, she leaned back against the counter and stared up at the little statue of Branwen, who gazed back down through blank gray eyes.

Why didn’t people get it? Charlotte wondered. She didn’t wave a magic wand and poof, something happened. It wasn’t her fault if some people chose to believe the craft was like the movies portrayed it. Real life wasn’t Bewitched. She raked her hand through her hair and rolled her eyes to her silent Branwen. She could’ve sworn the little figurine winked at her. She raised her eyebrow at it and glanced away.

She allowed Mr. Riordan to continue his rant. His sister was at an impressionable age, and he didn’t want her head turned around by some chick on a fairy godmother kick. Each word chipped away at Charlotte’s patience and good nature, but she let him vent anyway. Maybe he’d feel better after he released all the negative energy crammed inside him. Certainly, it had to have been ready to burst out. No doubt she was the first convenient target. With each word, Charlotte became more and more sorry for Cassidy Riordan. How could anyone put up with such a stuffed-shirt, overprotective brother?

When his string of words trailed off, Charlotte closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. She counted to ten and then back down to one.

“In case you weren’t listening, Mr. Riordan, I’ll say it again. Spell it out for you, pun intended. There are certain things I won’t do. I don’t do hexes or any other kind of black magic. I’m a firm believer that whatever I do will come back on me threefold. Why the heck would I want to hurt someone with a spell? Second of all, I can’t make something into what it isn’t. As much as I’d like to turn you into a toad right now, my abilities are not that great, so please get all those Harry Potter and Bewitched ideas out of your head. And, Mr. Riordan, I don’t do spells to make someone fall in love with someone else. It’s not cool to screw around with another human’s free will, and that’s exactly what I’d be doing if I helped your sister cast a love spell for her boss. It’s not happening.”

Silence greeted her from the other end of the line, and Charlotte wondered if Cassidy’s brother had hung up on her. But finally, she heard him breathing. Maybe he was gathering his thoughts for a rebuttal.

“Perhaps you need to tell Cassidy,” he replied, his voice more controlled. “She’s under the impression you’re her mentor and will help her. Damn it, she showed me a bagful of her boss’s, um, stuff. How she got a snip of his hair, I’ll never know, and I don’t want to know. She doesn’t need to lose her job over this.”

Before Charlotte could respond, she heard the click of him hanging up. She growled and placed the phone back onto its cradle on the wall. She wasn’t mad so much at his close-mindedness. She dealt with such intolerance on a daily basis. And much worse. She gazed around her dream, her little shop, Grimoire. When she’d opened the store, she’d had plenty of people in the neighborhood who hadn’t taken kindly to a pagan shop in the area. Over the years she’d dealt with offensive graffiti, a rock or two through her window, and plenty of mail inviting her to leave.

She’d stayed anyway and had discovered the people who’d wanted her gone eventually gave in to the fact they wouldn’t scare her away, and the rest of her neighbors were a wonderful bunch of people. Grimoire was now in its fifth year of business.

Sometimes she couldn’t believe it belonged to her, an oasis from the mundane. Even she felt the magic when she stepped into the warm little rooms. If she had any troubles on her mind, she just had to settle herself in the cozy window seat, curl up, and stare out at the world outside. Right now the seat looked pretty good. She wandered over to the stereo tucked behind the counter and changed the CD in the player, kicked off her sandals, and stared at the papers on the desk. Inventory first, window seat next.