Shiver : 13 Sexy Tales of Humor and Horror - Aurora Belle (читать книги онлайн бесплатно полные версии TXT) 📗

Sam headed to the back, mumbling about sage and tarot cards.

“Can I help you?”

I turned toward the voice and met a pair of clear — almost colorless — blue eyes. They were situated in the face of a middle aged woman with an elaborate dark bun held together with red-laquered chopsticks.

“Oh, um, no. I’m not a witch.” I stumbled over my words. “Not a witch, I mean Wicca. Not that there is anything wrong with being a witch. Unless it’s the 17th century. And here.” I babbled on and on until a soft hand curled around my wrist.

“Are you sure?” Her smile was kind, almost familiar, but somehow piercing, as if she could see straight through me and realized what a mess I was.

“Sorry. No. I just had a class about early New England. It got pretty heated about Hester Pryne, and we’re studying the witch trials next week,” I babbled again.

“Ah, you go to Hawthorne College?” she asked, leading me over to a counter where an assortment of mortars, pestles, and jars cluttered the flat surface.

“I do.” I peered at the label on one jar. Evening primrose. Seemed innocent enough.

“Are you taking Professor Philips class? That one was popular when I went there.”

“You went to Hawthorne, too?” My voice sounded more incredulous than I meant.

“He was old then, and that was ancient history, I know. He somehow never ages. Still wearing the elbow patches?”

I laughed and shook off the unease I had felt when I’d first entered the store. “He does!”

She began opening jars and adding various herbs into a strainer over a blue pottery mug with a pentagram on it. When she poured hot water over the mix, the smell of mint and something earthy hit my nose.

“Here, drink this.”

“What?” I lurched away from the counter. My bag hit a bowl of small stones, which plunked loudly on the uneven wood floor as they fell. I bent to pick them up.

A gentle shove pushed me out of the way. “Stop. Let me read them for you.” She leaned over to study the stones. “Interesting, very interesting.” Her elegant finger tapped her chin. “Oh, look at that. I haven’t seen that in years.”

I gazed down at the pebbles on the floor — some had markings on them that looked like the runes Sam kept in a velvet bag in her desk. I stood there, unsure of what to do with my hands as she continued her examination, softly exclaiming to herself. Finally, she stood up and stared at me.

For a long time.

At least an hour.

Or what felt like an hour.

My face grew hot and my forehead itched. I glanced around, unable to continue to meet her steadfast gaze, and coughed.

She snapped out of her one woman staring contest. “Your tea is getting cold!”

“Tea?”

“Yes, I made you a cup of mint tea. What did you think it was?”

“Um, well.” I looked around and shrugged my shoulders.

Her laughter echoed the chimes on the door, light and ethereal. “You thought it was a potion?”

I nodded, feeling stupid. I took a sip and let the heat soothe my nerves.

“Oh, my dear. No. I’d never give you a potion unless you asked for one.” She studied me again. “Do you want one? Perhaps for better grades? Although, I doubt you need that. Love?”

I met her eyes briefly and blushed.

“Ah, love it is.”

“No, not really. There isn’t anyone at the moment.”

Her eyes flicked back to the floor before she knelt to pick up the stones. “Are you sure?”

I thought of my complete lack of a love life at the moment. I wasn’t desperate enough to date someone like Hamilton again, but things were grim. Grimmer than grim. Saturday night alone, or standing awkwardly at a campus party, nursing a red cup of cheap beer grim. Hell, I’d let Paul Uccello kiss me two weeks ago. His last name was Italian slang for penis. I could never marry a man and end up with penis as my last name.

“See the rune nearest your foot?” She picked it up and placed it on my palm.

“It looks like a B.” I held it in my hand and studied the lines with my finger.

“It’s the symbol for new beginnings. And love.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Perhaps you have a secret admirer.”

I shook my head. “He must be imaginary as well as secret.”

Studying my face, she frowned. “So full of doubt.”

Sam came bounding up to the counter with a box of tarot cards and a bunch of sage bundles. “Hey, did you do a reading? That’s so cool!”

“Not really. I knocked over the bowl of stones with my bag.”

“There are no accidents,” both of them said at the same time.

I rolled my eyes.

“She’s not a believer, is she?” the shop lady/witch asked.

Sam exhaled an exaggerated sigh. “No, and her ancestors are from Salem. Like 17th century Salem.”

“Sam, I’ve told you, that means nothing. Ten generations and not a witch in the bunch,” I huffed.

“What’s your last name?” glacier eyes asked me.

“It’s Bradbury.”

“Is it? Well, that explains the reading.”

I glanced at the rune still in my hand.

Sam’s eyes settled on my palm. “See? I told you things were changing for you! And with Mabon right around the corner!” She practically bounced on her heels with excitement.

“Mabon?” I asked.

“The fall equinox to you,” Sam explained. “Equal day and night. Balance of light and dark. It’s a week from Saturday.”

Our hostess listened and nodded her head. “Time to embrace the darkness.”

Her words sent a chill down my spine, and I shivered although the room remained the same temperature.

“We’ll definitely need to smudge you soon. The sooner the better. And definitely before Samhain.” At my confused expression, Sam explained, “Halloween to you. Oh, we should do it this weekend,” she continued, nodding away in agreement with herself.

I rubbed my arms in an attempt to get warm. A familiar sensation tingled on my skin, and I turned my head to meet colorless eyes.

“When you’re ready, come back and see me again. I’m Sarah by the way.” She extended her hand.

“Madison.” When I shook her hand, I had the distinct feeling of being read or analyzed.

As we walked down the crooked streets back toward our dorm, Sam chattered on about how wicked cool it was Sarah did a reading for me and how she was a powerful witch, head of the local coven, and famous for her spells and intuition.

I stuffed my hands in my hoodie pockets while I pretended to listen. My fingers wrapped around a smooth object.

“Oh crap,” I pulled the pebble from my pocket, “I stole her rune.”

Sam laughed and shook her head. “Flying monkeys! That’s five years bad luck for stealing from a witch.”

My eyes bugged out.

“I’m kidding.” Her shoulder bumped mine. “Come on, we’ll take it back and explain you weren’t intending to shoplift, beg for mercy, and all that.”

Declining her offer, I sent Sam back to campus and returned to the shop alone. A slight breeze ominously rattled a few dried leaves along the street when I passed the bronze statue of Roger Conant. Founder of Salem or not, the statue made him look like a witch with his buckled-hat and billowing cape.

The bells chimed when I opened the door of Sarah’s shop.

“Back so soon?” Sarah asked without lifting her head.

I held out the rune in explanation.

At my silence, she raised her eyes to my hand. “I didn’t peg you for a thief.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep it.” I stared down at my scuffed ballet flats.

“Maybe it meant something to you? Struck a chord?” She returned the rune to its bowl.

“I wish. Thank you for your optimism, but I think it’s lost on me.” I shrugged in an attempt to pass off my nonexistent love life as nothing major.

“You never know. Love always happens when you least expect it, and with the last guy you’d imagine.” Her icy eyes seemed to thaw. She walked around the counter and grabbed something off the end of one of the aisles. “Since you aren’t a believer, this can’t hurt.”