Snuffed out, p.1
Snuffed Out, page 1
Snuffed Out
A MAGIC CANDLE SHOP MYSTERY
Valona Jones
For Craig
Chapter One
Another inventory label perfectly inked with fancy letters and tied with jute twine to my newest fall-scented pillar candle. I closed my eyes, feeling the swell of soft chamber music resonate in my bones while the heady aromas of ginger, pumpkin, and apple candles filled me with pure joy.
I’m Tabby Winslow, and the energy in our family shop feels just right to me: inviting, peaceful, and invigorating. Our hand-crafted candles grace many a home here in Savannah and in far-off places. Often, customers try to pigeonhole the scents perfuming the shop air. I mentioned three aromas earlier, but if I walked two feet, I’d be breathing citrus-scented air; further on are candles with floral, musk, and beachy notes, to name a few.
Most days, including today, a group of students from the art college hang out on the cushioned wicker furniture in our book nook. They love the shop’s eclectic vibe and use our place as their home away from home.
The Book and Candle Shop has become a must-see tourist destination, but for me, this place, and the apartment above, where I’ve lived my entire life, is home. You see, the natural energy of this location nourishes my family’s secret power to manipulate energy. Like food and nutrient consumption, if you expend energy you must refill your tank, so a restorative place like this one is necessary for our survival.
Before Mom passed two months ago, she told my twin and me that there were other energetics in our region and elsewhere, but we’ve never met them. Mom claimed they weren’t all nice people, and we were better off staying under the radar.
In the shop-adjacent stillroom, I pour candles of every hue and fragrance, from pillars to tapers, to votives. They fill the nooks and crannies on our brick walls, industrial shelves, and table displays. Interspersed between candles are whimsical statues of mythical creatures and pirates, books about Savannah, lotions, creams, soaps, lip balms, wind chimes, lush potted plants, and more. It is common for people to walk in, inhale deeply, and gaze at the explosion of color in wonder. Sometimes we have to invite them to come in further so that others may enter.
“Red sky at morning,” Gerard Smith, our shop clerk, muttered.
Lost in my musings, I glanced up from my calligraphy to see him scurrying behind the shop counter as if it were full body armor. I clearly remember dawn today had been clouded out. Perhaps I’d misheard. “What?”
“Warned you,” he said.
The front door chimed, and Blithe McAdam sailed in on a strong headwind, jaw clenched, and thinly groomed eyebrows beetled together, her tiny dog gazing out at us from the opening of her pet tote. Her sequined black blouse glinted with dark reflections.
I stilled as Gerard’s comment became clear. He’d recited a line from an ancient mariner rhyme, which is followed by “sailors take warning.” The pen I held fell from my hands, clattering on the display shelf.
For a woman in her early thirties, Blithe carried herself like a society matron of old—the ones born with silver spoons in their mouths, the ones who expected you to jump to serve their every whim. Full disclosure: she’d been born into such a family and was a trust-fund kid, all of which made her haughty attitude cut like a knife, knowing she could buy and sell our shop over lunch.
The woman’s gaze locked on me like an infrared beam. I edged out of her line of sight, but she tracked me with sniper precision. My sister’s frequent snarky lament—“you’re only hurting yourself”—when I refused to use my paranormal abilities echoed in my head. I could manipulate energy as adroitly as my sister, but the last time I’d pushed energy defensively, I’d lost control. I shook off Sage’s Cassandra-like prophecy and squared my shoulders against Hurricane Blithe.
“Charlatans! You people gypped me,” Blithe yelled as she stomped over to me.
Our shop cats darted to the back room. Nothing wrong with Harley and Luna’s fight-or-flight instincts. Blithe’s stormy approach roiled the air in a way that had me wanting to escape too. As a new shopkeeper, I’d discovered customers weren’t always rational. This woman crossed the sanity line more than most.
If I’d heeded the warning, I could’ve slipped away before she arrived. Instead, I had to endure her negativity storm. As far as I knew, Blithe was not an energetic like us. Instead, she was radiating her outrage broadly, the same as many people could do. Trying to infuse positive energy into the room, I offered her a friendly greeting, a strategy that often had defused her in recent weeks. “Good day, Ms. McAdam. How may we help you?”
Two browsing customers bolted through the door while another held up her phone as if she were a reporter about to film a six o’clock news segment.
Great. Just what we needed on social media—a recording of this angry woman. She wasn’t my favorite person by any means, but I’d survived worse things than upset customers.
“I’ll shut this place down so you can’t swindle another soul,” Blithe continued, shaking a bony finger at me. “I’ll have your business license. Alderman Rashad Vernon is on my speed dial, and he’ll hear about this. You can bet your defective candles on that.”
I wouldn’t bet on anything she said. My throat tightened at the hostility striking my aura’s electromagnetic field. Her strong emotions rolled toward me like a chain of storm-churned ocean waves. Not now. I’d give anything not to be Tabby Winslow, a floundering energetic.
Concerned for my safety, I sent an SOS message to my sister on our silent twin-link. As Blithe attacked, my aura’s positive energy deflected most of the bad stuff. It took total focus to maintain my harmonic balance without attacking her in return. I’d made that mistake before and nearly killed someone. I groped for a handhold as nausea set in because of the continued barrage. If I tossed my cookies on Blithe’s shoes, would she leave?
Fabric rustled behind me, indicating my twin had joined us. Thank goodness. Sage thought nothing of using her innate abilities at any time. In moments, she would neutralize the negativity roiling around Blithe. Civilians, as in people without the ability to push back, didn’t stand much chance against us.
Blithe’s negativity stemmed from strong anger and scattered diffusely. In contrast, an energetic could emit a highly focused beam with pinpoint accuracy. Not an even match given how adroitly Sage and I could use our entire energy field to weaponize energy, but I selfishly welcomed the forthcoming respite Sage would bring.
I’d once been as carefree as my twin and wielded my paranormal talents automatically. Not anymore. Ever since my horrible mistake, I now stood in the camp of fairness, and since we knew no other energetics besides us, that meant I kept my protective currents on lockdown. I retreated a step and folded my arms to admire Sage’s prowess.
“Ms. McAdam,” Sage said when the woman paused, “let me address your concerns. You claim our candles didn’t meet your needs. In what way did they fail?”
Blithe twitched around to glare at Sage. “They look like your aromatherapy candles and burn like them, but they didn’t touch my headache.”
Negativity pulsed relentlessly in the room. If this attack kept up for much longer, Blithe wouldn’t be the only person here with a headache. With such an unstable person nearby, I wavered between restoring my equilibrium and watching her like I would a rattlesnake.
“There is a medical disclaimer on all of our aromatherapy products.” Sage released a burst of crystalline current, and Blithe shrank into herself. Sage eased up and gentled her tone. “How can I make this right for you? Would you like replacement candles?”
Because of Sage’s dampening efforts, the over-the-top tension around me ebbed to a more normal level. Relieved, I closed my eyes and focused on love and light. Especially light. Bright sunbeams, golden sunsets, light shot through a prism into rainbow hues. From these inspiring images I drew power, grace, and centeredness.
Pure light pulsed inside me, filling me with inner radiance. The negative ion assault faded, and I was glad for the reprieve. Best of all, I was no longer in danger of lashing out and losing it altogether. Blithe’s odds of surviving this encounter increased by one hundred percent.
“Don’t want your stinking candles. My head is killing me. That’s what’s wrong,” Blithe cried out, clutching her temples in a flash of midnight sequins. The tiny, short-haired dog with a white coat whined at the outburst from her person. “Those candles didn’t ease my pain. You peddle false hope here. You’re quacks—that’s what you are, trying to be so cool in your boutique shop. I caught you con artists peddling snake oil. McAdams don’t cotton to cheaters.”
“We will refund your money, ma’am,” Sage said with just the right splash of cheer. “And we’ll take the unused candles off your hands too.”
Blithe sniffed and wrung her hands repeatedly. “Nothing left of those candles. I burnt them to the quick, hoping against hope they would produce a miracle. My head is pounding so loud surely you can hear it.”
“We appreciate customer feedback, and we’re sorry your experience was unsatisfactory.” Sage turned to Gerard. “Give her a full refund.”
He opened his mouth to protest but quickly closed it. Sage must’ve zapped him with her icer currents because he increased his pace. A micro-pulse of her freezing energy usually inspired briskness, while a larger pulse incited dread, horror, and ultimately death. Gerard’s caramel-colored fingers darted over the register’s touch screen, and the cash drawer opened. Quickly, he counted the money, closed the drawer, and shoved the bills at Sage.
“Ms. McAdam, I’m sorry you were dissatisfied,” my sister continued smoothly, money in hand. “Your well-being matters to us. In addition to a refund, may I also offer you a complementary bottle of hand lotion?”
Blithe’s gaze homed in on the premium products we sold. “The kind with rose water?”
Sage’s hand moved away from the economical peppermint-infused lotion we made and instead selected the requested product crafted by one of our consignors. “Absolutely.”
Blithe cracked a sly smile, grabbed both offerings, and stuffed them in her large tote with her dog, who protested the tighter quarters with a mournful yelp. “I appreciate the refund and the lotion, but I’m still telling everyone you’re scam artists.”
Sage moved lightning fast and blocked the woman’s exit. Uh-oh, I thought. She’d never done this before. I feared for Blithe’s safety and moved forward to flank my sister, ready to intervene or assist as needed.
“We recommend you seek medical attention for those headaches,” Sage said as our energy fields synergized.
Blithe made a dismissive motion with her hand. “Bah. Doctors are quacks too. They can’t figure out why it feels like drums are pounding inside my head. The Book and Candle Shop was my last hope, and now even that’s gone.”
With that, Blithe changed course to avoid Sage, clipping me on the shoulder as she passed. Her dog yipped in protest. I reeled from the nasty bzzt-sting of her pulsing aura, and because of our proximity, Sage felt it too. She shot a blast of energy at our assailant, pushing Blithe out of our shop.
The glass door closed, and silence descended. Because of our close proximity, Sage’s still-raging fury coursed through me. She’d used that tone of voice to speak with our incensed customer, her ultra-nice one that sounded like it could render butter. Except it was laced with anger. Blithe hadn’t reacted to the undertones. All she’d wanted was to be made whole again.
On the surface, Sage had bent over backward for Blithe. She’d calmed the customer with a full refund and offered a gift for the woman’s inconvenience. But she’d pushed the woman out of the shop with our combined extrasensory abilities. When Big Sis was this wired, she needed to metaphorically open the pressure relief valve.
While Sage regrouped, my gut pinged with knowing, because Blithe McAdam was a walking disaster. What would happen when she berated the wrong person? Few people could subdue outbursts of emotions like an ice-bringer. She’d been lucky Sage intentionally chilled her bad vibes. Heck, we’d all been lucky. No telling what damage Blithe might’ve caused here unchecked. At the very least, her seething energy could have infected everyone in the shop.
Been there, done that.
Gerard made a motion of hurling an invisible softball of energy toward the door. “Good riddance, witch. Never cross our doorstep again.”
I smiled inwardly as I disengaged from my twin and joined our clerk. Gerard could sell sand to a sailor, but he had no idea about the Winslow family secrets. It worked better that way.
“That was very odd,” I said, sagging against the counter. The intangible currents in the shop dropped slowly from the red zone to a yellow one, though the ugly stain of Blithe shadowed the room.
Sage pushed close, invading my personal space again. “Catch me up, Sis.”
Conscious of the customers browsing in our book nook, I nodded toward the stillroom. By unspoken agreement we walked there to talk privately. Instantly, the wholesome energy of the chandlery, the tidy jars in soldier-straight rows, shelved candles, and the fragrant drying herbs in the robin’s egg–blue room eased my stress.
When we were alone, Sage asked, “Did you follow Auntie O’s exact recipe for the candles?”
“Of course.”
“What gives then?” Sage drifted closer and showered me with wintry sensations.
The energy chill tickled my funny bone and felt refreshingly familiar at the same time. In response, I pushed back lightly with my energy to let her know I was okay. It was our twin version of I’m-okay-are-you-okay. “Blithe McAdam is a repeat customer. She came in weekly for the last two months.”
Sage stared out the alley window before answering. “Her declining health is not our fault.”
Through the doorway, I saw Gerard square up products on the nearest sales counter. His OCD compulsion for neatness was a reason he was the weekday face of our business. He was also the grandson of one my aunt’s good friends. With his Shemar Moore good looks and his propensity to flirt with everyone, including me, our sales tripled during his shifts. Thank goodness I’d finally gotten him to stop calling me “hon.” I wasn’t interested in him that way.
Oops—I’d forgotten to answer Sage. “She conned us, not the other way around.”
Sage studied me, her sharp gaze itching under my skin, along with her intangible request to share my energy. “Any reason this time was different?”
I couldn’t deny her request. She’d defended me, and it was only right to help her recharge. I moved closer, allowing our auras to touch for the transfer. As for the answer to her question, that was harder to say since it meant somehow I hadn’t held up my end of the bargain we’d made.
I took a deep breath. “We ran out of Auntie O’s candles. These were my first batch.”
“If you followed the exact recipe in the candlemaker book, why were they different?” my sister persisted. “We need to stop this from happening again. We can’t stay in business if money flows the wrong way from the cash register.”
I drew myself up to my full height, though Sage had me by an inch. Because we were fraternal twins, our physical characteristics were different. For starters, she always wore her witchy black hair unfettered, while I kept my dirty-blonde hair in a ponytail. “It’s a mystery why mine didn’t provide relief. I’ll contact Auntie O tonight. She’s at work now.”
“You do that. I wish she hadn’t moved to Florida. This family is stronger together.” She thrust her palm my way. “Don’t say her relocation was driven by the weather. Our Savannah winters are mild.”
“She wanted a change of scenery,” Gerard said from the threshold, reminding me our conversation wasn’t private.
Despite Gerard and Sage being an item once upon a time, he’d been a Book and Candle Shop employee for over two years now. We Winslow sisters had inherited Gerard, along with the shop, four months ago, two months after our mom passed and Aunt Oralee Colvin left the family business. Sage and I had been peripherally involved in the shop since we were old enough to see over the sales counter. We’d always known the shop below our apartment would be ours one day. Our grandmother and her sister had run it, then Marjoram (our mom) and Oralee ran it. Now it was our turn.
It stung that I’d messed up something important with our signature aromatherapy candles.
“I’ll sort out the candle issue,” I promised. “You focus on our book nook inventory and product consignments, and keep the online orders processing. I can’t manage this place without you—not with my muzzy head for numbers.”
Sage’s fierce expression softened, and the chilly storm in the stillroom faded. “My candles are never as nice looking as yours. I need you too, Sis.”
Gerard cleared his throat. “Now that we’re all a happy family again, who needs fresh coffee?”
Sage and I raised our hands. “Be right back with java for all from Southern Tea,” he said.
When we were alone, Sage patted my shoulder. “You okay?”
“Blithe’s accusation hurt my pride. Gerard could’ve been more direct about trouble arriving, but he chose to be clever. I ignored his chatter until Blithe stood in the shop spewing her poison.”
Sage shook her head. “Isn’t it past time you put this fairness nonsense aside and accept who you are? I hate seeing you so bottled up.”
“Following my moral code keeps everyone safe. I almost killed someone, in case you forgot.”
We stared at each other for the longest time. Fueling my side of the stare was the appalling possibility of my ability causing me to be locked away and preventing me from touching my family ever again. That isolation would destroy me.
“You’re not going anywhere, Sis,” Sage said. “You have my word on that. I have your back, same as you have mine. But you’re living half a life. I hate that for you.”
