A paranormal romance
Now available from New Concepts Publishing
THE TALISMAN
(c) 2003 By Karin Huxman
Chapter One
The door of the shop creaked as Jaime Campbell opened it. Shivers crawled up her spine. Dust motes danced in the thin stream of gold that preceded her and her shadow through the entrance. The wide wood floorboards looked soft with age. A thin film covered every surface as if time had stopped and no one had bothered to turn it back on.
The scent of age and misuse combined with the unmistakable scents of drying herbs and candle wax assailed her nose. A chime, faint yet musical, beckoned her past the doorway. She didn't resist the urge to step into the cavern of sensory delight.
Maybe couldn't was a better term. Ever since she'd laid eyes on the shop, The Broom Closet, a compulsion to enter had moved her.
Two steps in and she heard the soft thunk of the door closing behind her. A quiet air of waiting enveloped her. The tiny hairs on her nape prickled in an anticipation that Jaime felt but did not understand.
Magic suffused the air. She imagined tiny bolts of blue flying from her fingers, then laughed at herself. "Yeah, right." Her voice sounded hollow.
Dust motes continued their dance, the air still smelled like age, but something had changed the moment she had spoken. A sound that was neither musical nor magical came from a far corner of the shop. "Can I help you?" The deep, quavering voice sounded as steeped in age as the store itself.
"Just browsing," Jaime called. She looked more closely at the display cases.
Maigret, her Wiccan friend whom she'd met a few weeks ago at a coffee shop, had recommended this store when Jaime had laughingly said she needed a good luck piece. Jaime had no idea what to look for. A rabbit's foot? No, too trite, besides, she didn't want to carry a dead thing around. No rabbit's feet in plain sight anyway. Maybe some eye of newt?
She rubbed at the grime on one of the cases and peered in. Too dim to see very much. Just a jumble of stones and knives of some kind. Nothing particularly lucky.
That feeling of anticipation had changed from tingly to a quivering in her stomach. Her instincts told her that something in this shop was just for her, something that would change her luck completely. She just didn't know how to find it.
"A little light would help," she muttered as she squinted again.
"As you wish." The deep, quavering old voice spoke in her ear.
Jaime jumped back into something very solid. She screeched as a stream of bright light flowed from a bar of lights above her.
The solid thing went, "Oof." Jaime fell onto it and onto the floor. She was tangled in a jumble of musty smelling clothes. In her struggle to get up and away, she felt her elbow connect with something hard.
"Ouch," the solid voice quavered in a voice that sounded less aged. "That was my chin, young lady."
Jaime regained her feet. She reached down to help the old man. His hand was warm, his clasp strong as she pulled him to his feet. The bright green eyes that focused on her were anything but old. The rest of the man, though, looked about what one hundred would look like -- if one hundred looked like straggly wisps of gray hair on the top and sides of the head, not to mention sprouting with vigor from the ears. One long strand waved from his chin. Glaciers might have carved the wrinkles on his face. He was as thin as uncooked spaghetti.
She yanked her hand away. It felt heavy. "I'm sorry. You startled me. Are you okay?"
He brushed his hands against the deep folds of the dark cloak he wore. Dust puffed up where he touched. Was it coming from him or from the garment? Jaime shook her head, she couldn't be sure. Strange.
"I am undamaged," he said in a dignified way. His green eyes never left her face. "What are you looking for?"
"Good luck," she blurted. "I mean, a friend told me you carried charms here. I thought, maybe, I could find one."
"Hmm. Luck charms are rather personal. Such talismans can be tricky." He moved, glided almost, behind the nearest counter.
"How can they be tricky? They don't work anyway."
He turned sharply from his perusal of the contents of the case. His gaze pierced her. "An unbeliever, eh? If you don't believe, why are you here?"
Her heart thumped hard against her ribs. Why was she here? "I just thought it couldn't hurt," she whispered.
"Magic has consequences," his deep voice rumbled. He turned his brilliant gaze away from her. "Who is the charm for?"
The question gave her pause. It embarrassed her, after saying she didn't believe, to admit that the charm was for her. Her face warmed. Her luck had been so bad the past few months, surely he could see the dark cloud that followed her. Then again, once she found what she needed she would never see this disagreeable yet intriguing man again. What could it hurt?
"Me, I need a good luck charm. It's for me."
"Usually young ladies come in here looking for a love potion, not luck."
"I don't want a love potion. I need good luck."
He shook his head. "Something tells me that you need no talisman for your luck to change."
"Yeah, and something tells me there is a square foot of undisturbed dust somewhere in here," she drawled, then she slapped her hand over her mouth, ashamed at her rudeness.
He didn't seem to notice. Instead he closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and raised both hands high above his head. In the odd light and with the dark cape he looked just like a huge bat about to swoop down on her.
"What are you doing?" she asked, backing away.
"Feeling for your aura." He exhaled.
"Well, cut it out. I don't want you to feel my aura, or anything else of mine, for that matter."
He coughed and returned to normal. "I felt it as soon as you walked into the room."
That tingling sensation again, this time starting at her toes and travelling straight to the top of her head, and touching every place in between. It left her breathless.
"Good bye," she gasped. She had to get out of there. At the same time she wanted desperately to stay. Something was in here for her. She knew it. Somehow she also knew that it was waiting for her, and now it knew her.
Was good luck worth it?
The door stuck as she grasped and pulled at the knob. Her breath caught in her throat. Waves of heat threaded through her. Help, she thought.
The door popped open. She ran through, gasped at the cool autumn air and ran down the street without looking back. That deep voice followed her. "Come back tomorrow."
The hell she would.
***
Chad Penwarren rubbed at his chin, then stared at the wispy gray hair that came away in his hand. With a murmured phrase and focused concentration the glamour that had shadowed The Broom Closet with dust and age disappeared. His regular clothes of jeans, polo shirt, and sneakers replaced the dusty old cape. Sunlight streamed through clean plate glass windows and sparkled off the pristine display cases making the stones and metal glint. The shelves and racks stood neat and ready for the next customer who wandered through the door.
He considered the woman who had just left. She had not been wandering; she had been not only sent to the store but also called. He thought about the softness of her body when she'd fallen against him, about the desperate need in her eyes. Her aura spoke of misfortune now passing. A talisman for luck, he could do that. He knew she'd be back for it. Her need had been great.
As he gathered together the herbs and ingredients he'd need to fashion the charm, cast the spell, he considered her need.
What came to mind was the way her lush, full lips had trembled when she'd declared she needed good luck. Heat flared in him, unexpected.
What had brought her to this door? The question seeped into his thoughts, stopped his actions. Nothing happened without purpose. The glamour he'd created had been done so he could read in peace while watching his friend's shop. Not that he wanted to cause harm to his friend's business, obviously the dark atmosphere hadn't kept one person away.
Instead of casting the circle and creating the charm, Chad meditated, certain there was an answer in the air she'd breathed in and left behind. Something caught in a corner of his inner eye. A flash of red hair, the hint of laughter -- Maigret. His sister had sent the woman here.
He strode from the shop, locked the door behind him, and headed for home.