Lovely Witches Club

Chapter 9: Lovely Witches

I smiled at Agnes where she, Vine, Piper and an older woman named Isobel sat across from me, the green screen behind them hanging from the long, narrow pipe overhead. At least I was able to find a studio to rent in Charlottetown. I shuddered at the thought of trying to hash together a decent backdrop in the motel I'd moved into.

Small miracles. Or maybe magic? Snort.

I'd only been on Prince Edward Island for forty-eight hours and already I'd lost-and retrieved-my traitor car from the towing company and mechanic shop that couldn't find a thing wrong with Carol (naturally), been kidnapped by witches and taken to their lair to meet their leader (creepy) in an attempt to spook the crap out of me while also trying to convince me magic was real and witches were, too (yeah, okay then).

Speaking of the spell caster herself, Agnes smiled back, hands folded neatly in her lap, pretty blue dress and sandals far more ordinary than the heavy black velvet cloak and the glow from her cauldron that had been our first meeting. If anything, honestly, seeing her like this gave me more discomfort than the witch and bubbling pot show she and the other three presented me two days ago. Still, I was here for a job and money and maybe, just maybe, a successful documentary that could forward my career enough I could stop ignoring my ex-boss Larry's calls and finally tell him I wasn't ever coming back to zombie apocalypse heaven.

That call would mean I'd made it. And I was determined to make that call.

I was already picturing the lovely red sand shore and green beach grass backdrop I could use, the blue water stretching out behind each of the interviewees as Agnes shifted in her seat, smile never wavering but clearly waiting for me to say something.

Right. Questions. I looked down at the clipboard in my lap, scanning the list of them the Lovely Witches handed me, noting my own scrawled beneath and wondered if they were going to like this documentary when it was over. Because I had some hard questions to put to them.

Well, maybe later. I met Agnes's eyes, so she'd know I was talking to her and not the over eager Vine, stoically quiet Piper or agitated and anxious appearing Isobel who looked like she was ready to bolt at a moment's notice.

"Can you introduce each of yourselves, please, and tell me what you do?" I checked the camera I'd rented, hit record, hoping the brief sound test I did of the lav mic hooked to her lapel was indicative of how things were going to work. Not a hitch or a glitch in sight, so far. And that made me nervous. Then again, I was used to Larry's crappy equipment. The stuff I rented from the local film coop was at least well taken care of, not a droplet of sprayed fake blood in sight.

Maybe this was the shift in life I really was looking for. Clinging to that optimism, I nodded for Agnes to answer.

"Hello," she said, deep and vibrating tone gone, the sweet kindness of her voice making me smile for real. "I'm Agnes Miller, a soap maker and manager of the Witches Cupboard in Summerside." That was the tone of voice I'd gotten from the letter she'd sent, that professional and yet kindly feeling. And her lovely, lined face, her clear gaze, her no nonsense reddish bob all said hard working business owner. Or even someone's thoughtful and caring aunt or grandmother.

Straight forward and exactly what I asked for, though all the gentle and warm smiling was making me nervous all over again.

"We're so excited to have you here, Reese." Vine's silence snapped as she leaned forward in her seat, her abundance of bosom straining against the buttons of her sundress. Red hair wound into adorable and far too perky twin buns on the sides of her head only added to the enthusiasm of her motions as they bobbed in time with her words. Freckles stood out on her pale skin, though she'd somehow managed a bit of a tan, a rarity for a redhead, green eyes sparkling with happiness. "What's your favorite part of the Island so far? Have you been to Fortune yet? Or how about Seashell's? You HAVE to try the fish and chips."

She was going to be a problem, obviously. Still, her eagerness was hard to criticize. "Um... nope. I haven't had much of a chance to see anything yet-"

"Well," she leaned back, making a face, big eyes saucer-like and giggling a snort as she bobbed her crossed leg over her knee, foot bouncing up and down like she was doing her best not to run around at full throttle, her typical speed, I was guessing. "We're just going to have to fix that, aren't we?" She prodded her fellow interviewees, Agnes nodding briefly, slowly, Piper not saying anything at all, dark statue of Gothic princess watching me with black rimmed chocolate eyes. "Oh, and when you come out to my place?" Vine surged forward in her seat again, both hands reaching out to me, fingers waggling an indecipherable conversation like they had a mind of their own, "I can take you snorkeling. You like snorkeling, Reese?" She obviously didn't have time to wait for my answer because she rushed on, mile a minuteness making my head spin. "You can see all the sea creatures, the little baby hermit crabs. So cute!" That ended in a squeal of utter excitement.

I jumped in immediately as she drew a sharp breath to go on, knowing if I didn't I'd be here awhile. "Okay," I said, fighting the faint frustration I was feeling and knowing it had to be coming through in my voice, "maybe that's enough about me. How about you?"

Vine clutched at her heart with both hands, sitting bolt upright, pink flushing her cheeks, mouth wide. "Oh my goddess. I'm so sorry. I'm just so nervous." She beamed at the other two witches in turn, bouncing slightly in her seat. I hoped the frail folding chair wouldn't give in under her enthusiasm. Not that there was much to her, but it was flimsy enough without all that wriggling. "I've never been filmed before. I mean, I've been filmed, one of those video thingies on the phone, you know?" I nodded, doing my best to indulge her and finally sighing into the truth this wasn't an act, but the real Vine after all. I just had to go with it. "But not ever by a professional." She winked at me. "Like you, Reese. Did I tell you how excited we are to have you here?"

Oh boy.

"Yes," I said. "Yes, you did." I inhaled, exhaled. "Okay, now you."

She nodded quickly, cleared her throat, sitting up straight and perky. "Right. Yes. I'm Vine Hennessy. I own the Singing SandWitch food truck at Basin Head." Her try at focus didn't last long as she leaned toward me again. "You know, home of the singing sands? The sand sings, like when you walk on it." She held out both hands, palms down, and moved them back and forth in opposite directions. "It makes this cool squeaking noise. It's awesome." She leaned back again, nodding and grinning. Then blinked like she realized she'd gone off on a tangent before tossing her hands. "Yeah, that's about it. Not much else to say about me."

She could light a city with that beaming smile. And her motor mouth. I waited for her to go on, to talk about witches-wasn't that why I was here?-while she fiddled with the hem of her dress and looked around like I was the one who'd dropped the ball.

Yeah, this was going to be a peach of a job.

"Okay," I said, checking the feed on the camera next to me, wondering if I should just move on and knowing I'd kick myself later if I did. "Well, this doc is about witches, right? On the Island?"

Vine nodded with her typical vibrating energy. "Right!" Like she was rewarding a dog for good behavior. I swear if she'd been sitting next to me she'd have patted my head or something.

Seriously. Insert awkward pause while I waited for her to get the hint that was so far over her head she might as well have been on another planet. And likely was from another planet, come to think of it, forget the rest of this malarky.

"And you're a witch, right?" That came out like a weak and hesitant plea for assistance and it was, oh, it was.

Light woke up in Vine's eyes, her bouncing returning with renewed energy. "Right! I love

my coven. They are the best coven ever."

Agnes finally took pity on me, I guess, because she leaned over and patted Vine's hand, crossing Piper's lap to do it. There was a peaceful acceptance to her smile that told me the redhead's behavior wasn't nerves. It was her normal.

Vine seemed to calm a bit though with Agnes's encouragement, and when she spoke again, elbows on the arms of her chair, her buzzing brightness had depleted to about sixty watts instead of over a hundred.

"I just took over for my mother six months ago." That was interesting and gave me hope there might be a story here. Young witches replacing the old? Could that be my angle? Aside from the witchy thing, I had to admit I was at a loss for how to spin this whole story. Without making them all look like loonies, or at the very least, like this was some kind of parody, scripted to look like a documentary. "It's been a terrific ride so far, that's for sure," Vine went on while my mind turned, my pen hovering over the clipboard as I considered the option. That parody idea might not be so bad and could keep me from looking like I was just as nuts as they were for taking this job in the first place. "I'm new at leading the coven so I'm hoping I'm doing a good job." She glanced at Agnes who nodded. "I love coming up with new ways of celebrating our witchiness!"

Isobel, up to now equally as quiet as Piper, snorted in response, finally breaking her silence.

It was the first sound she'd made since she appeared at the studio door, Agnes dragging her along and reintroducing her to me while the older woman refused to meet my eyes for longer than a moment or two. We'd already encountered each other yesterday, in a brief and uncomfortable conversation at her house, so I was hardly a big bad and scary monster she should be afraid of. But she treated me then-and just as much now-like some alien invader she needed to run and hide from or, at the very least, keep at arm's length.

Vine's statement seemed to have triggered Isobel's need to speak up, though, and from the frown of disdain on her face I was guessing this was the real woman behind the anxious nerves.

"For shame," she said, hands grasping the brim of her straw hat set in her lap, single long, thick braid of gray hair hanging neatly over one narrow shoulder, looking all the world like a retired librarian on her way to a Sunday meeting. "So willing to abandon tradition."

Ah, conflict! Exactly what I was hoping for. Might have been a terrible thing to anticipate, but conflict made for good watching.

"Can you tell us your name," I said, "and explain what you mean by that?"

Isobel seemed to realize she'd spoken up only at that moment, meeting my gaze solidly for the first time since yesterday. The surprise in her expression made me smile. I was half expecting her to shake her head and look away, to retreat again into silence. Instead, she adjusted herself, glanced at the camera with a couple of anxious blinks, then spoke.

"Isobel Matheson," she said in a firm but faintly trembling voice. Like it could c***k at any moment. There was a vulnerability to her that I felt drawn to. The way she seemed so uncomfortable but clung to her courage enough to stay. "I am the keeper of our history and Fairy Lane Coven leader." Her derision returned, judgment heavy in her voice, when she spoke directly to Vine. "Which, by the way, you will never see me run in any sort of frivolous fashion."

"What does that mean to you exactly?" So interesting to watch tradition confront evolution like that.

Isobel tsked softly under her breath. "Let's just say, celebrating our witchiness has nothing to do with being a real witch."

I turn to Vine, half expecting her to lose her temper. She was a redhead after all, and obviously emotionally charged. Instead, the young woman beamed at the older like she didn't hear a word said and definitely didn't absorb the tone they were spoken in. If anything, she took on a sudden look of excitement, leaning toward Isobel with a sharply indrawn breath. "Izzy," she said, "tell Reese about Lilith." The startled and then unhappy Isobel didn't get to do anything of the sort, not when Vine whipped around again and faced me, her bubbling overflowing again. "She was this amazing witch who led the Island." She turned to Isobel again and I wondered about whiplash. "You were around when she was alive, right?"

Lilith? I'd heard that name before. But I didn't get to ask about her, nor ponder the shiver that ran through my insides at the mention of her as if I should know who she was, before Isobel spoke.

"Don't," she snapped, "call me that." Clearly Vine's question was the older woman's final straw that keeled over the camel, because she lurched to her feet, grasping at the lav and tugging it from her collar. I rushed to take it from her, less worried about her state of mind-don't judge me-than that of the equipment, frankly. Hey, rentals.

Isobel confronted the other three witches before stomping one foot. "I've had enough of this." And then, with a huff, she turned and hurried off toward the entry while I coiled the lav cord and wished she'd come back.

If only to stir the pot once more. Not to tell me who Lilith was. Because I didn't care. Did I?

***