The Hidden Grimoire by Karla Brandenburg (pride and prejudice read TXT) 📕

and a Green Bay Packers T-shirt. A fellow Wisconsinite, no doubt. Her aura was a hazy yellowish-gray—fear—that hung around her like smoke. Until I knew what she wanted from me, I wasn’t offering any information. I’d had my share of unpleasant surprise visitors.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said.

“You didn’t.” Although people often said my eyes gave that appearance. I’d been told they glowed like amber, which frightened people. I straightened and brushed the dirt from my hands. “How can I help you?”

She glanced at my chimney, at the triquetra someone undoubtedly told her to look for, before she asked again. “I knocked on the door, but no one answered. Then I saw you in the garden. You are Brynn Taylor, aren’t you? My name is Daria Buckley. I found your website, and when I saw you were local, I thought I’d stop into your shop. The woman at Windfall suggested I talk to you.”

She must have made a good case if my business partner had sent her to find me, and yet I hesitated to engage.

“Your website said something about restoring balance using herbal recipes and scents.” She rubbed her forehead and scrunched her face up. “I’m not even sure why I thought you might be able to help me. Maybe I’m desperate. I’m sorry to have bothered you.” She started to walk away.

I didn’t usually question the forces that brought people to me. In fact, I generally had special orders waiting for customers before I knew they would want them—potions or herbs or scents mixed from the flowers and plants I grew. When I’d considered closing the family shop in town, my aunt had told me people would show up at my home. The magic hadn’t provided me anything for my unexpected visitor—yet.

“Daria,” I said.

When she turned, her expression was forlorn.

“Tell me why you came,” I said.

The wariness returned to her eyes. “One of the customers in the shop told me you’re a witch. I have to be honest with you, I don’t want to make a bad situation worse.”

Yeah, I got that a lot, and still people showed up at the boutique or knocked on my door asking for help. “And yet here you are.”

She seemed to consider her position, then narrowed her eyes. “Are you a witch?”

In my experience, she didn’t want an answer to that question. “I’m an ethnobotanist,” I told her. “Nature often provides restorative ingredients. The recipes I use can be construed as magical to someone who hasn’t learned to mix them properly.” I motioned to the patio furniture and invited her to sit. “There’s a reason you came looking for me.” I lifted the roses onto the patio tabletop and sat.

A strong breeze stirred the trees in the woods at the edge of my backyard and a cloud passed momentarily over the sun. The leaves turned over, displaying the lighter green of their undersides.

“My mother always said when the leaves turn upside down, a storm is brewing,” Daria said.

So she was superstitious. “Yes. An old wives’ tale. I’m familiar with it,” I said.

Tension pinched her brow. “Here’s the thing. I feel like there’s a dark cloud hanging over me. I lost my job. Then someone stole my credit card and maxed it out. Then my car was stolen. Yesterday, I was drying my hair and the blow dryer flew out of my hand and broke the mirror. On my way over here, I tripped on every curb I crossed.”

“Oh, my. You have had a run of bad luck.” I pursed my lips, considering. “You do know that the broken mirror is another old wives’ tale, though, right?”

“Seven years of bad luck. At least that means it will end.”

Likely, her string of accidents would end, as well. “Sometimes bad luck has to run its course.”

Daria sighed. “Never mind. It sounds stupid saying it out loud.”

“No, you’re here. We might as well figure out if there’s a problem.” I patted the basket of roses. “The solution could be as simple as giving you rose essence.” Which could relieve psychosomatic symptoms.

She glanced at my chimney once more. “Isn’t that a witch’s symbol?”

I followed her gaze, scanning the other chimney charms in the neighborhood, one of the things that made Hillendale unique—the owl across the street, masonry daisies trailing down the side of the house next door, Neptune holding a trident a couple houses down. “The symbol on my chimney is called a triquetra. It represents the three fundamental elements—air, water, and earth—the cycle of life. Some also say it’s a rune of protection.”

Daria massaged her hands, her eyes fixed on me as if she couldn’t make up her mind. “Can you restore balance to my life?”

I’d had my own string of bad luck when I’d first arrived in Hillendale. When Aunt Nora had taken me in, she’d suggested the universe was trying to get my attention. Nora hadn’t done anything to restore balance, at least not to my knowledge. I’d had to find my own way. What did the universe want with Daria?

Tears streamed down her cheeks and I instinctively reached for her hand. I pulled a rose from my basket and held it under my nose. “Here’s what I propose. I can make a cup of rose chai tea. It won’t hurt, and it might be exactly what you need.” I had been picking roses, after all. Rose essence would comfort her. I didn’t understand the magic, but it always seemed to know what was called for. “Why don’t you sit here a minute while I heat the water.”

“That would be nice. Thank you.”

I carried one rose into the kitchen, filled my teapot with water and set it on the burner. Through the window, Daria’s yellow-gray aura hung in the air like smoke. Would a grimoire be waiting for me in my workroom, one that would tell me what I needed to know? I didn’t want to leave my visitor unattended long enough to find out.

I washed the rose and plucked a couple