CASSANDRA WILLOWSTONE
"Old Lady Moore isn't a person," said April grumpily.
"She's a demon," accused May.
"For crying out loud! I don't care if she's the manifestation of Satan herself," I said. "You're going over there and taking care of her until I get home."
I threw my Paller's Pickles apron over my arm and picked up my oversized purse. I looked at the sullen faces of my sisters and realized I needed a different approach to ensure their cooperation.
"She's really sick," I said softly. "She's old and frail. And she has no one else. I know you aren't heartless enough to let her suffer." I lifted one eyebrow. "Are you?"
Good thing my sisters had marshmallow hearts. It took about two seconds for them to cave. Sighing, the twins looked at each other and then reluctantly nodded their acquiescence.
"I guess it'll be good practice," said April.
"Yeah. Good practice," repeated May.
"'Atta girls!" I gave them each a smacking kiss on the tops of their heads. "You know I can't answer my phone at work, so leave a voicemail if you need anything. I'll call you on my breaks."
I hurried toward the door and then turned. "Take your books with you and study. The entrance exams aren't easy and you need to be prepared."
"Okay, Cassie," said April with no enthusiasm whatsoever.
"Yeah," said May, not sounding any more thrilled than her twin. "Okay."
I knew they weren't excited about studying for their upcoming exams, but it wasn't because they weren't good students. They were. Educating my sisters hadn't been a burden. They were eager learners and absorbed information like sponges soaking up water. No, their reluctance came from their assumption that no matter how hard they worked they wouldn't get in to the Garden Grove College of Witches.
It was just another very good reason to make sure everything went well today. I wanted April and May to get the education they deserved. They'd already been denied everything else.
I wanted to change the direction of their futures.
Of all of our futures.
***|***|***|***|***
Most of the businesses in Garden Grove were located downtown. The brick buildings were fashioned into a square that surrounded the town's only public park. It offered benches, a play area, picnic tables, flower gardens, and in its center, the crown jewel—a large, marble fountain featuring a beautifully carved statue of the Mother Goddess also known as the First Witch or as the Mother of All Witches.
I pulled my car into a metered spot near the park's entrance and turned off the engine. I squeezed the steering wheel and tried to get myself settled. Sheesh. My nerves were already tattered and I hadn't even left my car yet.
Okay, Cassandra. Deep breaths. I inhaled and exhaled a few times. I steeled myself for the inevitable hate-fest and then got out of my car. I crossed the street to the Jones Family Cleaners, swallowed the knot of dread lodged in my throat, and opened the door.
"What are you doing here?" asked Carol Jones from behind the counter as I walked inside.
The Jones family owned the only dry cleaning service in town and I usually avoided the place like the plague, but I was here at Dorianna's behest.
I had to swallow my pride and my bitterness to deal with Carol. She not only belonged to the Garden Grove Coven, but she was one of the Council of Six that ran it. Carol had hated my mom before she used black magic to harm herself and her lover—Douglas Jones, the mayor of Garden Grove and Carol's husband.
I understood Carol's rancor. I was the daughter of the woman who'd murdered her spouse. But neither she nor anyone else it seemed could separate me from my mother's terrible act. So I paid the price from Mom's transgressions. Every. Single. Day.
"I don't serve Willowstones." The tone of her voice suggested she'd rather eat slugs than speak to me. I understand the sentiment because I felt the same way about talking to her.
"I know," I said smiling even though my lips protested the effort. "But I'm not here for me."
I put my purse on the counter and dug through it until I found the yellow pick-up ticket. I tried to hand it to Carol, but she reared back from the counter as though the little paper was covered in poison.
I was used to the contempt, especially from her, but no matter how many times I endured the obnoxious behavior of Carol and her ilk, my feelings still got hurt. I felt like shards of glass were embedded in my lungs, making it difficult to breathe.
I heard the overhead bell tinkle as the door opened and new customer arrived. Oh, great. Now I had a witness to my humiliation. Hurrah.
"Move aside," said Carol, her gaze cold. She looked past me and aimed a welcoming smile at whoever was behind me. "Good morning, sir! How may I help you?"
"Good morning," said a male voice that made goosebumps prickle on my skin. I felt strange ... like I knew him. "No worries," he continued. "I'll wait my turn."
"She's not a customer." Carol glared at me. Her voice raised, she said, "I'm sorry, Cassandra, but I've told you before I won't give you any money. You'll just drink it away and end up in the gutter. Don't you get tired of waking up in alleyways smelling like booze and urine?"
Mortification heated my cheeks and I swallowed the shame crowding my throat. It's okay, I told myself. This is the last time Carol spews her hatred at you. When I was welcomed into the coven tonight, the woman wouldn't have to like me, but she would have to respect me.
Until then, however, I was dirt beneath her shoes.
Carol's demeanor immediately changed from searing hatred to plain ol' snotty. "Well, why didn't you say that when you walked in?"
She grabbed the ticket, looked at it, and turned around to the electronic racks filled with plastic-wrapped clothing. She flipped a button and the racks began to circulate. Eventually, Carol found the long white dress with its delicate green stitching.
The plastic covering the frock crinkled as Carol took it off the rack and handed it to me. "Thirty dollars," she said.
I gaped at her. "Thirty dollars?"
"It's ten for the dress," she said, her smile thin. "And twenty for the pick-up fee."
"Wow," said the man behind me. "That's steep."
Carol offered the customer a smile so warm you could melt chocolate on it. "Oh, don't worry, sir. That fee is only charged to certain customers who have, unfortunately, proven untrustworthy."
She returned her gaze to me. "You can give me thirty dollars… or you can tell Dorianna you couldn't pick up the dress." She gave me a sharp, thin smile. "What's it gonna be, Cassandra?"