24. I Think You Need a Day Off from Evil. It’s Really Affecting Your Mood

Asoft knock sounded at the door and then Declan walked in, pulling me into his arms and turning off the shower. "I'm sorry."

I shook my head into his chest. "It's stupid."

"It's not. They're your family and you love them." He squeezed his big arms around me, kissing the top of my head. A moment later, his stomach rumbled.

I wiped my face and leaned back. "Let me see what else I can find you."

"No. I still have the stew downstairs. I haven't eaten it yet."

"Why not? You're starving." I broke away from him and snagged a wad of toilet paper to dry my face.

"Did you think I was just going to sit down there eating while you were up here crying?"

"Kind of. Yeah." I threw the wad in the trash and went for the door. "Come on. Enough of that. Time to eat."

Declan reached for me as I walked by. "Arwyn."

"Nope. Let's go." I went downstairs and checked his bowl. "Still hot. Let me know if you want it hotter." I went to the kitchen. "In fact, I have some sourdough rolls you can eat with it. Give me a minute." I defrosted them with a spell and then popped them in the oven. "They won't be exactly like coming out of their first bake, but they heat up pretty well." I turned to him and found him watching me again. "Do you like butter with your bread?"

"Sure, but how about if you sit with me and we'll watch a British mystery again? Something to take your mind off everything else." He ate a large spoonful. "And this is delicious. Thanks for dinner."

"I'm glad you like it. My mom made it. I bake. I don't know how to do all the other stuff." I took the rolls out, split and buttered them, and then brought one to Declan and bit into the other. The warmth was nice. What I needed.

"You should eat something besides a roll." He held out a spoon of stew again and this time, I took it. "Why don't you finish it? You gave me four servings."

"Six. This roll is good for now. I'm not up to eating a lot." I took another bite and enjoyed the crusty, buttery-ness. "Tea. I could use some tea." I went back to brew myself a pot before returning to Declan and the couch. By then, he had the screen down and the guide up.

I don't have a standard television. I had a screen built into the ceiling that comes down on a remote, with a mounted projector and some streaming services. I don't watch shows very often, usually reading in the evenings. I used this side of my studio as my living room, but it was still a huge open studio space. I had storage closets across the room from the couch and didn't want to mount a screen on a closet door, and I had no desire for a freestanding screen at the edge of the lounging area. I would have knocked that thing over a dozen times when I was moving around thirty-foot tentacles in here. Phil, my contractor, suggested this setup and it'd worked well.

"Are we sticking with the vicar solving crimes in his sleepy yet murderous village? Or should we watch some baseball?"

"Murderous villagers, please." I slouched down, put my feet on the coffee table, and held the mug of tea over my stomach, soothing the squirmy feelings writhing inside me.

Later, after the body had been discovered and the vicar had begun his investigations, I felt the mug tip and woke with a start.

"You were about to spill." Declan put the mug on the coffee table and then patted his chest.

I snuggled in and was out.

I awoke in darkness, confused. No nightmares had ripped me from sleep, though I vaguely recalled whispering. Then I remembered last night. What time was it? Patting my pockets, I looked for my phone. Nothing. Flicking my fingers, I turned on the lights and instantly regretted it. Too bright.

My phone was on the end table, plugged into a charger. Aww, that was sweet of him. Two texts and two missed calls.

Declan: Good morning! Hopefully you slept a good long time. Call me when you're up.

I would.

Mom: Are you okay? Call me right away.

Great. I checked the phone messages and sure enough, they were from Mom. I hit call back.

"Where have you been?"

"I was asleep. What's the matter?" I went upstairs to get cleaned up.

"Asleep? Since when do you—never mind. My tea shop was broken into last night. I want to pick you up and bring you here. We need to know if it was just humans causing trouble or if Calliope sent someone here to poison my tea leaves and who knows what else."

"Okay. I just need to get ready. I'll be out as soon as I can."

"Good. I'm on my way."

Tying my hair up, I turned on the shower. There was no time to deal with my hair, so a body shower it was. Knowing how my mother felt about overalls, I put on my black jeans, black slip-on sneakers, and a teal, long-sleeve top. Mascara, lip gloss, and I was ready to go. I even had gloves the same color as the top.

Grabbing my backpack, I walked through the gallery and headed out the front door. With a flick of my wrist, I locked it up tight and jogged down the steps to Mom's waiting car.

"Thank you, darling." She found a break in the cars and headed down the road to Pacific Grove, where her home and the tea shop were located. She and Sylvia owned two tea shops, one in Carmel and one in Pacific Grove, but Mom worked in the Pacific Grove location, closer to home. We crossed the city line not far from the gallery, but her business was downtown.

"We should have updated the wards when she hit Serena's shop." Shaking her head, Mom stopped to let pedestrians cross the road to the beach.

"We need to do your house first," I responded. "Yes, we'll reinforce your business, but I'm more concerned with where you live. Have you spoken to Gran yet? Is she up for doing ward work today?"

"Yes. I called her first."

The road along the coast was narrow and curvy. Add in dog walkers, joggers, and cyclists and it became a drive that required all of Mom's attention. Thankfully, I got to stare out the window at the surf.

"How much damage is there?" I asked.

Mom, stiff behind the wheel, pushed out breath. "As far as I can tell, the building itself is still sound. The tables and chairs are mostly intact. The rest—There was glass everywhere. I only saw the front room and then stepped back out. I didn't want to accidentally walk through a curse. That's why I need you." She stopped again for a mom and two little ones in a wagon with a mountain of beach toys and towels.

"So, you were thinking, if someone needs to walk through a curse, it should be Arwyn?" At her look, I quickly said, "Sorry. It's a bad habit."

She nodded. "We both have bad habits to break."

The Sisters' Tea Room sat on a corner near the Marine Gardens Park and Point Pinos Lighthouse. It was incredibly valuable real estate, but as Coreys had been living here for generations, this storefront—and a few others around town—had been purchased long ago, before this area had become the tourist spot it was now.

Since Aunt Sylvia had been killed by Calliope, there'd just been one sister running the tea room.

Mom pulled right in front of the broken glass door. "I already called my insurance. They said they'd send someone out today. I can't make any fixes until they show up."

A customer parked, walked almost to the door, and then stopped. Mom got out and explained the tea room was closed for repairs. The woman was sympathetic but also in a hurry, now needing to find somewhere else to get her tea fix.

There were coffee places everywhere but finding a good tearoom could be quite difficult. One like Mom's was extremely rare. Not only did she stock difficult to acquire tea leaves, but she also was a master brewer.

She unlocked the broken door and held it open for me. I should have worn thick-soled boots, with all the glass on the floor. A couple of the tables were knocked over, some chairs upended, but it looked more like an afterthought.

"Did you call the cops?" I asked.

"Not until we know it's safe for humans to be wandering around in here," she said.

The glass case displaying scones, muffins, and quiche tartlets was smashed, the food strewn about. The glass jars holding her most popular teas had been thrown across the room, adding tea leaves to the glass everywhere.

"Did you already take pictures? I need to slide through the glass and leaves so I don't cut my foot open."

"Give me a minute." She took out her phone and started snapping away.

"Take a panoramic while you're at it." While she took pictures, I studied the shop, looking for what to touch, what would hold the story. "Were you robbed or was it all destruction?"

"The till was open. I keep about three hundred in smaller bills for the customers who still pay in cash. I don't know about the safe in back."

"This feels like rage to me," I said. "Each of these jars of tea leaves is worth real money. You have a few in back that are worth, what, about a thousand each?"

Mom nodded.

"This wasn't about a couple of hundred dollars." I went back to the glass on the floor by the shattered front door. Crouching, I slipped off a glove and touched a large shard, thinking about the break-in.

"Destroy it all," she whispers to the dazed man. "But I get to go first." She swirls a fist, disarming the security system and muffling the coming sounds of destruction. Reaching back, she slams a shiny, new hammer, purchased just for this, into the glass door.

Stalking through the shop, she shatters every piece of glass she can find, enjoying the power. The dazed man follows behind, tipping over furniture. With a wave of her hand, the cash drawer pops open and the man collects the bills.

"Come on. The good stuff is back here." She walks straight to the most expensive tea leaves, slams the jar with her hammer, and then stomps on the leaves in her combat boots. In a frenzy, sweat beading on her forehead, she smashes every one of the thirty-odd jars and then starts on Mom's collection of fine bone china tea cups and saucers. Sybil and Sylvia spent decades scouring antiques shops to find each and every one. It's another connection to her sister that Mom has lost.

Calliope goes to the safe and again tries a spell. It doesn't work this time. She spins the wheel, trying a combination she knows. It doesn't work. Frustrated, she kicks it and orders the man to pick it up. He tries, but it doesn't budge. Screaming, she hammers every framed photo of our family on the wall.

Grinding glass with every step, scarring the polished floors, she heads to the front room. "Keep going. I want it all destroyed. Fucking bitch can't keep the money from me. It's half mine." She throws the hammer, end over end, at the front window. Instead of shattering the entire pane, the hammer bounces off. The window is warded against vandalism.

Eyes blinking, I stood. Mom was waiting for me with her arms crossed. I explained everything I'd seen, including the fact that I hadn't seen Cal plant any curses. She hadn't been carefully planning. She'd been in berserker mode.

Mom turned her head and studied her front window before picking up a chair and finding the hammer. "We'd warded the exterior when we bought the business." She shook her head, arms wrapped around herself again. "Stupid." She walked around an overturned table. "So sure of myself and my power."

She started to pick up another chair and then, remembering, put it back down. "I hadn't thought to ward again when Sylvia bought the new door. So much of this could have been avoided if I'd secured our business properly."

"This isn't your fault. It's that psycho Calliope. She destroyed the place. Her little hissy fit does tell us something, though," I said.

Mom nodded. "Money again. She's still trying to get her hands on it, which means no one else in the family is helping her, thank the Goddess."

We heard a noise in the back room and we both went on alert, prepping spells. Mom got to the door first, one hand reaching for the knob while the other was raised, a spell ready to be lobbed at whoever was still here.

She flung it open and then quickly fisted her hand, catching the spell. "Bracken. You startled us. I hadn't realized you'd arrived."