I Put A Spell On You
“Lucky guy,” he said in his Irish drawl and Esme nearly fell off her chair.
I laughed out loud and whacked Xander round the head. He was shocking. I was just glad Esme loved Jamie so much.
“Let’s go,” I said.
There wasn’t much to do. We tidied up a bit, and Esme hoovered the reception area. I looked at the chair where Star had sat, then shook my head. Xander understood and, without speaking, he wheeled it outside. I went into my office and got the chair from there.
“I’ll order a new one,” I muttered as I pushed it under Star’s desk, then I wandered over to tidy the magazine rack.
Xander sat down and switched on the computer.
“We need to send out a flyer,” he said. “We’ve been closed all day. People will wonder why. We need them to know we’re still here and we’re still in business.”
I looked over his shoulder.
“Don’t put any prices on that,” I said. “We’re exclusive. Just put what we do.”
Esme looked intrigued. She leaned over Xander’s other shoulder to see what he was typing.
“How are you going to do that?” she asked. “How are you going to tell people what you do, without actually, you know, telling them what you do?”
Xander looked round at Esme. His face was far too close to hers for my liking – he was so cheeky – and I gave him a nudge.
“We don’t tell them on a flyer,” Xander said. “We work hard to attract a certain type of client.”
“What type?”
“Rich, of course. But also creative, open-minded, interested in things a bit wooohooo.” He waggled his fingers in front of Esme’s face and I was pleased to see her pull back.
“And the most important trait,” I said, “is that they’re a little bit unhappy.”
“Oh yeah,” said Xander. “You know the sort. A bit dissatisfied, looking for more. So they’re amenable when we offer our spiritual services.”
“That is shocking,” Esme said. “Have you no shame?”
“Nope,” I said cheerfully.
“Of course some people only want yoga lessons,” Xander admitted. “We cater for them, too.”
Esme perched on the edge of the reception desk and studied Xander.
“So, Xander,” she said in an overly casual manner. “Are you, ahem, one of us?” She looked at me. “What’s it called when men do it?”
“Some people say warlock,” I said. “But that’s got a bit of bad history attached to it – mostly now men are just witches too.”
Esme nodded and looked back at Xander.
“So are you a witch?” she asked.
A shadow crossed Xander’s face.
“No, unfortunately,” he said. “I just look after the business side of things.”
“You can learn,” Esme said. “Harry says anyone can learn. I’ll teach you.”
There was a pause.
“Are you serious?” Xander and I asked together. I knew I sounded disbelieving – after all, it wasn’t that long ago that Esme herself was the pupil. Xander, however, was more enthusiastic.
“Can you do that?” he asked.
“Of course she can’t,” I said abruptly. “She’s busy. She’s got a job and a fiancé and a wedding to plan.”
Grumpy suddenly – it was always weird when two friends got on and left you out – I stood up straight.
“I’m going for a wee.”
But when I came back to reception, Xander and Esme were chatting, their heads close together.
“I’m going to give Xander some lessons,” she said, a hint of defiance in her eyes.
I looked round me.
“Have you started already?” I asked. I could sense some magic in the air.
Esme looked alarmed.
“No,” she said, looking at Xander. “We’ve just been sorting out a date to get started. I’ve not done anything.”
She lifted her head and sniffed the air like a bloodhound.
“There’s something here, isn’t there?” she said. “A feeling.”
I nodded. I felt very uneasy.
“You want to learn the basics?” I said to Xander suddenly. “Why don’t we go over some now? I want to do a rebalancing spell.”
“What do you want me to do?” Esme asked. I didn’t really want her to do anything; I was quite capable on my own. She was obviously trying to prove she was able to teach Xander so because of that, I said: “Just stand there and look pretty.”
Esme rolled her eyes at me and I nudged her.
“I was joking,” I said, though I hadn’t been, not really. I picked a piece of chalk out of Star’s pen pot and drew a pentangle on the floor. A rebalancing spell had no need for a pentangle – in fact in all my years of casting spells I’d never come across a spell that needed one – but Xander looked impressed and I felt it was important to instil a sense of theatre into the proceedings.
I sat on the floor next to the pentangle and Esme sat opposite me. We held hands over the chalk outline and I murmured the words, quietly and softly. As I spoke, the air above our heads shimmered and soft drops of invisible rain fell onto our shoulders.
Xander breathed out. I caught Esme’s eye and winked. And then her phone rang. With the Bewitched theme tune.
Embarrassed, she jumped to her feet and scrabbled in her bag, trying to find it while I laughed.
“Jamie’s idea of a joke,” she said as she grabbed it and answered.
I watched as she spoke to Jamie, turning away from us as she told him she was coming home now.
“Put the wine in the fridge,” she said. “I’ll be home in half an hour.”
She kissed me on the cheek, threw her phone in her bag and picked up her coat. Then, awkwardly, she kissed Xander on the cheek too.
“Nice to meet you finally,” she said.
“I’ll call you,” he said, giving her a wink.
She giggled like a schoolgirl and stumbled out of the door, gawky and blushing.
I had a very bad feeling about this.
Chapter 5
It was strange going back to work the next day, knowing Star wouldn’t be sitting at reception, her blonde curls bouncing and her smile welcoming. She wouldn’t bring me a cup of tea, or tell me about her weekend. I got to the spa early, so early it was still dark outside, and printed out a notice. I found a photo of Star taken at our opening party – she was laughing and looking over her shoulder at whoever had taken the photo – and she looked lovely. I added it to the poster and wrote a brief announcement explaining Star had suddenly passed away. Then I pinned copies on the front door, the reception desk and in every treatment room. I wanted to make sure people saw it; I couldn’t face having to tell clients over and over again that Star was dead. Then I looked in the stationery cupboard and found a new notepad and a nice pen, which I left on the reception desk so people could write messages of condolence in there. I thought I could pass it on to Star’s parents later.
I took over on reception that morning. But I didn’t have the smile, or the ability to remember every last detail about clients’ children/husbands/parents/dogs that Star had. By lunchtime I was convinced I was actually putting people off so I rang a temping agency and asked them to send me a receptionist.
“We’ve got a lovely lady called Nancy,” the consultant said. “She’s free all week. She’s very experienced – one of our more mature temps.”
“How mature?” I said suspiciously. “Is she healthy?” I couldn’t bear the thought of having another receptionist expire.
She assured me Nancy was in fine fettle and I booked her for a fortnight. She arrived within an hour, a neat woman in her fifties with a sleek grey bob and a pale pink cardigan buttoned all the way up and I almost kissed her, because I was so pleased to see her.
The rest of the day went in a blur. I was so busy I didn’t have time to fret about the photos we’d found in Star’s house. I didn’t even have time to look at them until the next day. I worked late on Tuesdays, so I started late too.
I did yoga every day. If I missed it, I was grouchier, pricklier and generally more unpleasant than usual – and I was quite aware that was bad. Sometimes I took a class at the spa, other days I just did my own exercises at home. I found I had some of my best ideas when I was upside down.
That morning I spread Star’s photos out on my bedroom floor so I could see them, then I put my yoga mat down and began.
As I went through my sun salutation, I looked at the pictures, peering at them through my legs in my downward-facing dog pose. By the time I’d been through my regular routine, my mind was clearer and one thing was certain – I had to phone DI Baxter.
Gently I eased myself into a headstand, just as my phone rang. It was on the floor next to the photos. I squinted at the display – it was DI Baxter. I grinned to myself, not entirely surprised. It wasn’t the first time I’d thought of someone and they’d phoned straight away.
I lowered my legs, sat back on my haunches and answered.
“Harmony,” she said. Again I felt a flutter of butterflies in my stomach. Now that did surprise me. Since Natalie left I’d shut myself off from any thought of romance, concentrating all my energy on work and my family. Had DI Baxter broken through the shield I’d built myself? I didn’t even know if she, you know, played for my team.
I took a breath.
“Please call me Harry,” I said. “Everyone does.”
“Then you call me Louise,” she said. “I just phoned to see how you are.”
“Oh you know,” I said, plopping down onto my bum and stretching my legs out in front of me. “Back to work. It’s strange, without Star.”
“I’m sure it is,” Louise said. I could tell the sympathy in her voice was genuine. “Are youokay?”
“It’s easier to keep busy,” I said. I paused. “Louise.”
“Yes?”
“I went to Star’s house.”
She groaned.
“I knew you were up to no good,” she said.
“I found something.”
“What did you find?” She sounded annoyed.
“Some photos of Star. I need to show you really,” I said, knowing I could easily just tell her what was in them.
“Okay,” she said. “I’m free later – I could come to the spa?”
We made arrangements to meet, and I hung up feeling slightly relieved but nervous about what she’d say when she saw the pictures. Would she be angry I’d not shown her straight away?
I turned my phone over in my hand, knowing I had another call to make. Then I leaned over, picked up my diary, found the number and dialled before I had time to change my mind.
The phone rang once, twice, and then a voice answered. Star’s mum.
“Mrs Douglas?” I said. “It’s Harry.”
“Oh Harry,” she said. “It’s good to hear from you.”
I had a real soft spot for Star’s mum, who was an old hippie just like mine. Star and I had laughed about our hippie names many times and shared stories about being sent to school with lentil cutlets in our lunchboxes when everyone else had square crisps. Talking to Mrs Douglas now made my eyes fill with tears.
“How are you?” I said.
“We’re getting on,” she said. “It’s hard.”
“I’ve put Star’s things together,” I said, swallowing my tears. “I’ve got them at work. I thought you might want them. It’s just stuff from her desk – but I didn’t want to throw it away.”
“You’re so thoughtful,” she said. “Fiona’s here – I’ll get her to pop down this afternoon if that’sokay?”
Fiona was Star’s best friend.
“That’s great,” I said. “I’ll see her then.”
As I took a shower I wondered if I could ask Fiona about the photos. I knew she and Star had been very close and thought Star had been bound to tell her friend if she was worried about something.
But later, Fiona looked blank when I asked her if Star had confided in her.
“She was hurt?” she said, looking horrified. “How was she hurt?”
“She was in a car accident,” I said. “And she cut her head. I just wondered if she thought the two things were connected?”
Fiona put down the box she was carrying – the box holding Star’s things – and rubbed her forehead with the palm of her hand. She was a large woman, with dark red hair and pretty freckles.
“She was coming to see me,” she said. “When she crashed her car. She was coming across to Fife to stay for the weekend.”
I didn’t speak – I wanted her to keep talking.
“She was so stressed, her mum thought it would do her good to get away. I knew she was worried about something but she wouldn’t talk about it on the phone.”
She paused again.
“But I didn’t know she’d hurt her head. When did that happen?”
I shrugged. Fiona carried on.
“She wasn’t looking after herself. Her doctor changed her pills and I don’t think she was taking them. She wasn’t eating right…”
She started to cry.
“I should have come down to see her. I could have done something to help.”
She wiped her eyes clumsily with her sleeve and I picked up the tissue box we kept on reception. It was empty. Fiona sniffed loudly and I subtly waggled my fingers over the box and watched as tissues appeared inside.
I handed her the box with what I hoped was a sympathetic smile.
“It wasn’t your fault,” I said. “It wasn’t anyone’s fault.”
Even I didn’t believe myself, but Fiona gave me a grateful look, then took me by surprise by throwing her arms around me. I tried to wriggle out of her hug, but she just squeezed me harder.
“Thank you,” she said in my ear. “Thank you for caring about Star.”
As if I didn’t feel bad enough.
After Fiona left, I was edgy and nervy. If I’d felt bad before, meeting Fiona and seeing her grief close up made me feel even worse. I felt dreadful about Star and I was desperate to find out more about what had happened to her.
Listlessly, I drifted around the spa, unable to settle to anything or concentrate on any of the jobs I had to do. Eventually I sat down at my computer and forced myself to do some admin on the website. I had a manager who ran it for me now – she was brilliant – but I liked to keep an eye on things.
As I scrolled through the site, making notes on things that needed tweaked or changed or deleted altogether, Xander put his head round my office door.
“I’m just popping out,” he said. I eyed him suspiciously; he never, ever went out during the day.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m meeting Esme,” he said. He looked very pleased with himself. “She’s going to give me a lesson.”
“Now?” I said in astonishment. Esme and I didn’t see eye to eye on everything but one thing we did share was a fierce work ethic. Her leaving work early was equally unheard of.
“We’re going for a walk in Princes Street Gardens,” he said. “I’ll see you later.”
I waited until he shut the door then I picked up my phone and called Esme. She didn’t answer. Crafty.
“Esme,” I hissed into her voicemail. “Be careful with Xander. He’s got a bit of a reputation with women.”
I knew she’d ignore me, but I felt duty-bound to warn her. Xander was a dreadful womaniser, though he did it without malice – he just really, really loved women and the more attractive the better. I didn’t for one minute think Esme would cheat on Jamie – she was properly smitten with him – but something about the way she’d had her head close to Xander’s yesterday made me uneasy.
I did a bit more work, trying to concentrate and ignore the butterflies that flapped in my stomach every time my thoughts turned to Louise. I wondered when she would show up and what she would think of the photos. And then my phone rang.
“Harry, I’m so sorry,” Louise said. “I’m snowed under. Can we meet tomorrow instead?”
“Of course,” I said, trying to sound like it was fine. “I’m busy myself actually.”
“I’ll give you a call in the morning,” she said. “And, Harry?”
“Yes.”
“Be careful.”
I pressed end and sat turning my phone over in my hand. I was disappointed not to see Louise, and I was still feeling edgy and out of sorts. I was also really aware that my stress levels were affecting my magic. I always struggled to keep my spark when I was stressed – another reason why I loved yoga so much.
What I needed, I thought, was wine. Or possibly vodka. Or both. I swiped my phone again and called Lucy, an old friend from uni who was a stay-at-home mum and consequently always up for a night out.
“Abso-bloody-lutely,” she said, when I asked if she wanted to meet. “I’ll ring Georgia, too.”
I sat back in my chair, feeling better already. Then I looked down at my boring black skirt and functional white shirt and grimaced. I couldn’t hit the town looking like this.
Picturing my wardrobe – which I kept in strict colour-coded order, natch – I thought about what to wear. Mentally I chose my favourite skinny 7 For All Mankind jeans, a black top with a slash neck and some leopard-print heels, waggled my fingers and, with a spark, my clothes appeared, hanging neatly from the picture rail in my office, the shoes arranged below. I grinned. I was down, but I wasn’t beaten. Not by a long chalk.
Chapter 6
At first it didn’t even cross my mind that anything more sinister than a power cut had happened.
I was about to get ready for my night out. The spa was quiet because most of the therapists had finished for the day. There was a Bikram yoga class on in one of the studios, Nancy – the new temp receptionist – was putting on her coat, and Xander was sitting in her chair, fiddling about with her computer.
He’d been tight-lipped about his lesson with Esme.
“Yeah it was good,” was about all he’d said. “She took me through some basics, the rules and whatnot.”
I’d narrowed my eyes.
“Tell me,” I said. “Tell me what she told you.”
“Okay, scary controlling lady,” he’d said with a grin. “She told me about all the three stuff.”
I’d been impressed that Esme had started ‘by the book’ as it were. Uncharitably I assumed the lessons I’d given her were still fresh in her mind. I wanted to know exactly what she’d said though, so I got Xander to talk me through it.
“She said the most powerful magic is made by three witches together,” Xander explained carefully. “And, she told me that if you do a nasty spell, it’ll come back on you three times as bad.”
“That’s true,” I said. “Doesn’t stop me forgetting about it when I’m in a mood though.”
Xander chuckled.
“Seems unfair,” he said in an overly casual manner. “That you can’t hurt someone who’s hurt you.”
“It’s not worth it,” I said. “Our magic all comes from positive energy – if you start messing with the dark stuff it gets scary pretty quickly.”
Xander’s eyes darkened for a second, but he didn’t push it.
“That was about it,” he said. “We didn’t have much time.”
I let it go, but I made up my mind to ask Esme more about what they’d got up to.
Leaving him to it – he was working on more flyers advertising the spa to new customers – I took my make-up bag and clothes into the deserted changing room. I was quite capable of doing my hair and my make-up magically, but I found it frustrating as if I liked it, I could never recreate it, and if I didn’t, it was a bugger to change. So I stuck to doing it my own way, even if some other witches turned up their noses at me.
I’d stripped off my work clothes and swapped them for the outfit I’d summoned earlier, and was just touching up my make-up, when all the lights went out. The little red light on my hair straighteners, that I’d plugged in to heat up, went out, too.
I paused, mascara wand aloft, knowing we had an emergency generator. There was a beat, then a whir as everything started up again. I smiled at myself in the mirror, pleased the expense had been worth it.
And then the emergency power went out.
There was a shriek from the yoga studio as twelve sweaty women felt the heating go off and the cold air of an Edinburgh winter creep in.
“Bugger,” I whispered.
It was pitch black in the changing rooms, which had no windows. Keeping one hand on the wall, I felt my way round the lockers towards the door and then out into the corridor. It ran along the edge of the building, so it had windows but the sun had set hours ago and it wasn’t much lighter there. Finding my way through memory and touch, I made it to reception where Xander was lighting candles. He made a spooky face at me through the flame, but I was in no mood to laugh.
“I pinched these from one of the treatment rooms,” he said, lighting another tealight. “Are youOK?”
I nodded. Half-finished make-up wasn’t a worry for me at the moment.
“Shall we go and rescue the hot-yoga girls?” Xander asked.
I sighed.
“I suppose so.”
Using our phones as torches, we headed to the yoga studio, where the instructor was trying to calm the nerves of her shivery charges. Like grateful lambs, they followed us out of the studio and into the changing rooms. Xander lit tealights and scattered them on every available surface. It actually looked quite pretty.
“Ladies,” he said, giving a little bow. “I’ll leave you to it. Last one out, blow the candles out.”
As one, the yoga class all simpered at Xander. I tutted and headed back to reception, Xander following. We sat together and waited for the yoga crew to leave while I rang Lucy and Georgia to explain. Then I rang the electricity company.
“EH4?” the very helpful operator repeated, in a shrill Scouse accent. “There’s no problem reported in that area.”
My heart sinking, I walked to the door of the spa, phone still clutched to my ear, and peered out. We were on a side street mews, away from the main road of Raeburn Place. Everything was dark and quiet – perhaps it was a problem in the area after all.
“I’m just checking for you,” the operator was saying. I wandered down the mews and cursed as I saw Raeburn Place lit up like a Christmas tree. The pub and pizza restaurant were buzzing and the flats above, and street-lights, obviously all had power.
“I think the problem is at your premises,” I heard the operator say.
“I think you’re right,” I said, hanging up.
I went to the cupboard next to Star’s old desk and found the fuse box. But none of the switches had tripped. Not really sure what to do next, I sat in reception next to Xander. We said goodnight to all the yoga class as they filed out, laughing among themselves.
“Can you do anything?” Xander asked as the last woman left. I shook my head.
“There are some things witches can’t mess with,” I said. “Life and death – that’s the biggest. But also electricity, water supplies, that kind of thing. It’s too risky.”
Xander gave me a sympathetic look.
“I’ll just go and check there aren’t any stray candles burning in the changing rooms,” he said. He wandered off – and suddenly the lights came back on.
“Harry!” Xander came thundering along the corridor. “It’s back!”
“Thank bloody god,” I said, throwing my head back against the sofa cushions. I looked at my watch, wondering if it was still worth going to meet Lucy and Georgia. It wasn’t too late, I decided. I’d just check my appearance in the mirror in the changing room.
Xander sat down in front of Star’s computer again.
“Are you staying?” I asked.
“I might just finish these flyers,” he said. “I think we should get them out soon as.” I was impressed and even felt slightly guilty that I wasn’t staying to help. Grabbing my bag, I walked towards the changing room.
“Oh fuck, no!” Xander cried.
My stomach lurched. What now?
“Xander,” I called. “What’s up?”
There was a pause.
“Erm, everything’s gone,” he said.
Not understanding, I went back into reception. Xander was staring at the computer, a puzzled look on his face.
“It’s empty,” he said. “There’s nothing here.”
I looked over his shoulder at the screen. It was blank, except for the little icon that showed our server.
“Click on that,” I said, my jaw aching with tension. Xander clicked and the server opened, but there were no documents inside.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. All the spa’s records were on there. Client histories, orders, receipts, advertising, accounts. How could it be empty? Xander rebooted the computer and looked again. It was gone.