~~~
She woke in her apartment, on the top floor of the tallest tower in downtown Blackthorn.
A few moments, she lay in bed and considered the prior night’s events. She should leave Blackthorn because the town had changed for the worse. Ever since the bank was reduced to rubble several weeks ago, killing all thirteen inside, the locals had become short tempered and mean. The other day, she ordered her usual latte from Stanley, the laid back barrister at the Blackthorn Café. When Lin dropped her keys, Stanley jumped a mile high, and dove to the floor behind the counter. Her coffee decorated the wall and the floor. Later, when she was walking to the Blackthorn Lodge for her usual Saturday morning breakfast, a woman bumped into Lin. Instead of saying excuse me, she punched her in the face and ran away.
The town folk weren’t the only ones to go insane. Her mother started calling her, sometimes, three times a day. She’d make her do the tarot cards over the phone, saying, “Tell me when to stop, okay?” Then she’d tell her not to go outside, to pack her bags and come home.
She loved her mother, but everyone in the family knew she was terrible at tarot. When Lin was ten years old, her mother told her she couldn’t go to her younger cousin’s birthday party because she’d be attacked by colorful assailants who would cripple her for life. Lin’s father ignored her, and dropped her off at the party, anyway.
As it turned out, the colorful assailants were clowns for hire, and the only thing she was in danger from was the violence of flying water balloons. When she walked into her aunt’s house to get a towel, she slipped on the hallway floor and twister her ankle. Throughout the years, mother’s predictions usually played out in similar ways: close, but not quite.
Looking at the clock beside her bed, she sighed and pushed back the covers. Telekinetically, she started the coffee brewing as she went for a shower and change.
Moments later, Lin sat down on the cushiony brown leather couch she purchased from Mara’s older cousins, the Wickers. They had a shop that was down the street from her apartment.
The Wickers were a nice married couple with two young children. Barb Wicker originally owned Mara’s Dress Shop, which was also just down the street, and across from the Blackthorn Café. Barb was slightly older, but she and Mara were really close while growing up. Since the shop wasn’t doing too well at the time, Barb gave it to Mara for free, right before she married Bill Wicker.
Lin met Mara the same day she accepted her job at the museum. She sort of came to Lin’s rescue after she’d had a terrible confrontation with the town’s most arrogant and influential man.
She first noticed Golden Craig as strolled through the aisles of the furniture shop. There were others, there, who stared at her, likely for being a new face, but Craig’s eyes were the most damning.
Upon bending over to inspect a small oak end table, she ran her hands through her long black hair, and looked up. He looked impressive in his long dark trench coat. He had the iciest blue eyes contrasted by a rich head of chocolate brown hair.
He strolled through the aisles with an air of importance.
She got the feeling he’d been watching her for some time.
Bill Wicker approached her.
“Can I help you?”
She continued to eye the man while she and Bill did business together.
He walked up to the counter, where Lin was paying Mr. Wicker, and waited, patiently.
“One moment, Mr. Craig.”
“Sure,” he said and nodded politely.
Lin could see him watch her out of the corner of her eye.
Twenty minutes later, she was sipping on a creamy cappuccino, down the street at the Blackthorn Café.
She was noticing, for the first time, how the snowy mountains towered right behind the shops across the street; it was almost too majestic to be real. She wasn’t the only one to recognize the uniqueness of the view, for in every shop there was an attempt at paint or sketch of the street, shops and mountain.
Lin flinched when the man with the icy eyes sat down, suddenly.
“Good afternoon,” he said.
“And to you.”
He pulled his black leather gloves off,
“I’m Golden Craig.”
He extended his hand to her. Immediately, she noticed the gold wedding band around his finger.
“Lin Helewise. I’m the new junior curator at the Blackthorn Historical Society.”
“What?” His pupils widened, intensifying his stare. “When did they hire you?”
Offended by his tone, she asked, “What’s the problem?”
“Have you had formal magical training?”
She didn’t reply.
“How old are you, anyway?” he asked snidely and sipped his espresso.
Her temper flared like a match.
“Not that it’s any of your business,” she replied, “but my parents taught me. I have a degree in history and education. I’m well-traveled and know a lot about the history of magic.”
“Yes,” he said coolly. “Ms. Helewise, I wouldn’t get too comfortable, if I were you. You may find your endeavors, here, short lived.”
He took down the rest of his espresso.
“Well, I must be going, but it was nice to meet you.”
He bowed to kiss her hand, but she yanked it back and smacked him across the cheek.
He hardly flinched, turned around casually, and strolled off.
She sat there confused, wishing she’d asked why he didn’t want her there. The man took all the confidence she’d had and left her feeling dejected.
Her feelings must have shown on her face, for she turned her head and saw an elegant brunette in a black wool dress, standing across the street and staring at her.
She walked to her table and said, “You’re the new curator, aren’t you? I’ve heard of you. Do you have family here?”
“No.”
“I saw you talking to Craig. I can imagine what he might have said to you. His wife stops in at my shop, frequently. They can be quite nasty, but she spends a lot.”
“I don’t think he liked me much; in fact, he was quite rude.”
“Yeah, that’s normal,” she said and smiled.
Thinking it was a good opportunity to try and make a new friend, Lin asked, “Would you like to sit?”
“I can’t,” she said. “I’m working; that’s my dress shop.”
She hitched her thumb over her shoulder, indicating the little Danish A frame structure behind her; it’s roof shingles extended low toward the ground.
“Okay,” Lin smiled. “I’ll finish my coffee and come take a look.”
“Grab your cup and come over now. It’s okay,” she said as she signaled to a waiter who was sweeping the floor, inside. “We find coffee and shopping go hand-in-hand; we help each other out.”
Lin looked behind her and the waiter nodded.
Like every other business on the street, the shop was a cute little house with dark wood slats that lined the lighter wood color frames. There was a bit of ivy growing on the bottom half. Inside was small but warmly lit with dim, yellow light. The walls were golden yellow with white trim, and racks of clothes were neatly built into the walls.
In the center of the room was a cream colored sofa and matching chair. On the coffee table were magazines and coasters.
“Please, sit.”
After pleasant introductions, Mara brought out a few gorgeous articles of clothing; all names of which she’d never heard, yet of the finest quality.
Lin couldn’t help herself when she bought three of the finest hooded capes in the shop; a preferred fashion in Blackthorn. Seeing that it was nearly freezing about nine months out of the year, they’d come in handy she thought.
Mara was ecstatic with Lin’s purchase. For being so generous, she brought out the reserve Champagne and cake that was for high spending customers. In between sips from their glasses, Mara ran back and forth from the bac
k room, bringing out her favorite dresses for Lin to try.
When they’d tired of clothes, they settled onto the couch, where Lin enjoyed hearing about Mara’s upbringing in Blackthorn. She felt they weren’t so different, despite being raised in completely different parts of the country. Mara was smart, logical, and very intuitive. Her family was wealthy working class. After college, she went into their family jewelry business. Shortly after, she found she couldn’t stand working so close to her parents, which is why she went to work for her cousin, Barb.
It was a slow, long day for Mara, who felt like closing early since she’d made three big sales. She locked the door, turned the open sign to closed, and then they had a long intimate conversation, during which they finished off three more bottles of champagne.
Lin learned more about the social affairs of Blackthorn.
“It’s just like any other small town,” Mara told her. “We’ve got some really nosey people, like my best friend, Sally Minton. She owns the local tavern. Don’t tell her anything if you don’t want everyone to know; then we’ve got your typical statues of virtue, Jackie and Will Shoester who love telling other people how to live their lives and present the best face. Jackie is head of the town council, and Will is her loving husband and shadow.”
“What about Golden Craig?” Lin interrupted.
“You like him don’t you? All the ladies like him, even I like him but he’s a creep. Stay away from him.”
Lin shook her head and said, “I don’t like him. I’m only asking because he mentioned something about my endeavors here being short lived. He seemed angry that I’m the new curator. What kind of person is he to the community? And can he have me fired?”
“Uhhh,” she drawled, “maybe. Craig’s cousin, Angel Craig, had your job last. He lost it because he can’t control his drinking. The museum’s staff gives many lectures at the college; some, as you know, work as part time teachers. A few months back, Angel showed up to class intoxicated and vomited all over the classroom floor. He was suspended indefinitely, pending he see the town psychiatrist, and get his drinking under control. We’re a small town; we don’t have A.A. He’s been struggling with alcoholism for years, so it wasn’t easy for him. Still, he promised your boss, chief of staff-Miles Finley, that he’d clean himself up. It was agreed that Angel would return after a short leave of absence.”
Mara paused and took a sip of her champagne.
“A number of weeks passed. He was doing quite well, too. I had run into him and he looked clean and mild mannered, not all like he was when drunk, which was like a wild animal always on the attack. So he met with Miles, who agreed to allow him back to work, but he got drunk the night before his first day back. Some students found him passed out on the steps to the academy’s castle. Needless to say, it was a terrible thing. A relapse is understandable, but on the eve of his return was inexcusable. Miles fired him and Golden Craig vowed revenge on the chief.”
“How could he vow revenge on Miles? He can’t possibly think the society can turn a cheek to that sort of behavior?”
“Craig feels responsible for Angel because he looked after him. He promised his mother, before she died, that he’d take care of him.”
Mara’s speech was becoming slurred.
There was a knock at the door.
Mara stood up, slowly, and sloppily walked to the door. When she opened it, a good looking guy with dark, shiny hair and luminous black eyes walked in.
They stood and whispered to each other.
Lin noticed him slip her a piece of paper. Briefly, his eyes flashed at Lin as he turned to leave the shop.
Mara stumbled her way back to the couch.
“Who was that? He was attractive.”
“That’s Milton Finley; Miles’ nephew. We went to school together. Wasn’t quite so cute growing up, but then he went away to college and came back a total hunk. He’s a doctor and a professor – hi cough - at the academy, now.”
“Are you alright?”
Not hearing her question, she continued, saying, “Ah he doesn’t care. He thinks because he’s got money he can get away with anything and control anyone. But my mother is on the school committee, and they head the historical society. She’s a good friend with the chief of staff, so if he gives you any trouble, tell me.” Her head wobbled a little. “I’ll tell my mother about it.”
“Thanks, Mara. Well, I’m gonna get going, Tomorrow is my first day. I’m on new employee probation, so I want to be fresh when I wake.”
She stood up and stretched.
Mara didn’t respond. Lin looked down and saw that she’d fallen asleep with her chin on her chest. Gently, she stretched her out on the couch and covered her with a blanket she found on a cot in back.
That was how she first met Mara.