Written by Cassie Swindon
2025
A short story
Every room needs a little extra splash of magic to fully awaken. However, the studio space Ivy and I bought when we moved to this small mountain town does not have that necessary charm, so it lies dormant and impatient until we find the missing ingredient. All this time planning and arranging my dream-shop will be in ruins if I don’t add the finishing touch before midnight.
As my ass forms a perfect indentation in the most comfortable oversized loveseat known to witch-kind, I slowly scan the décor to figure out what’s missing. Decals of ravens are stuck on one wall, contrasting beautifully against the mellow yellow paint. Framed artwork of flowers, moths, mushrooms, moons and fairies scatter about in a gorgeous type of chaos. Of course, a thousand plus one books are stacked among the mismatched shelves, about to collapse once they can’t hold the weight. My personal favorite element is the assortment of plants dangling from ceiling hooks which sets the ambiance for our book club space. No, that’s a lie, I’m slightly obsessed with the collection of cuckoo clocks that chime and peep at random times. Behind me, a custom made crimson and gold wreath crafted by Ivy is the centerpiece of the western wall, despite not being hung straight or in the middle.
I glance at the uniquely shaped mirror, newly dusted since I found it in an antique shop. My black and pink hair doesn’t match the shades of the room, but that doesn’t mean I don’t belong. Co-owner and host of Bailey’s Book Bar in Berkton, North Carolina, I have every right to stand out among my surroundings.
Co-founder and my best friend, Ivy, is already out searching for the last piece at the night market. She didn’t want her name on the front sign since it didn’t start with a ‘B’ but she’s still given credit on all the business licensing paperwork. I can picture her now, wandering around the booths in the darkness, shining her cell phone flashlight onto every table until the piece announces itself to her. Maybe it’ll be a crocheted pumpkin or an old candlestick or the chandelier I keep pestering her to buy. Once she senses it, success at our grand opening tonight will be guaranteed. Not that I’m a psychic by any means.
My power doesn’t involve objects like Ivy’s, but energies of human spirits. Once, when I was a teen, I lied to Mom telling her I could also read animal energies and when she found out about my fib, I was grounded for a week.
“Good times,” I mumble and chuckle to myself, then rise from the chair.
I pluck a rose from a vase by a shelf labeled “Beastly and Boarish Book Boyfriends” and stick it in my unruly hair. There’s no point in owning a brush when this nest has a mind of its own. I swear I buy a new bottle of extra strength conditioner every other day. Such a waste.
Outside, the belltower in the town square strikes ten times in a low, slow tone. Damn it. I refuse to simply sit around and fiddle my fingers waiting for Ivy to save the day. When I step into the cool autumn breeze, the chimes on the door jingle softly. Quickly, I lock the door behind me and inhale the leafy scent whisping around me like a gentle hug. Moving here from Chicago six months ago was the best decision of my life. Especially since I convinced Ivy to join me from Indianapolis.
In the distance, the moon plays hide and seek with the mountain range, tucking herself behind the clouds every now and then.
“Play nice, Luna,” I whisper to the skies, then set out on my journey.
First step: recruit help.
I crack my knuckles and stare at the gym across the street, knowing he will still be inside at this hour. Six months ago, Arrow was the mosquito of my life, no, the telemarketer from Hell. Arrow was the fitted sheet that never folds. The epitome of rush hour traffic. Yet, last night I dreamt of his hazel eyes lasered onto mine as he thrust into me. It’s not fair honestly. No man should have such breathtaking eyes–the color of amber with bronze sprinkles. Most people might not see them, distracted by his vitiligo, but from the moment I met him, his eyes have entranced me. Not that I’d ever admit it.
Unwilling to risk opening tonight, I march across the street in my combat boots and listen to the familiar and comforting sound of my buckles clanging together. Ivy always says she can hear me coming from a mile away because of these shoes. I refuse to wear anything else and may write it in my will to be buried with them one day.
In the middle of the street, a ghost soars through me, leaving behind a weak trail of an obsessive-compulsive energy. It’s always been harder to read ghosts since their spirits are only partially present. I usually don’t mind them, but this one stinks of wet dog and rotten food. So before I enter Berkton’s lesser known gym, I pull my t-shirt-dress to my nose to make sure the scent didn’t linger. Only the cinnamon aroma remains. Thank the Goddesses.
My heart hammers unnecessarily fast as I pull open the gym door. Immediately, I’m attacked by symphony music screaming from Arrow’s fluid movements. His magic is one of music and songs since his mood and goals and thoughts are all depicted by what lyrics and melody seep out of his skin.
Of course, Arrow is the only member still exercising since most performers are probably asleep. I scan the unique gym, that has no machines or weights, only trampolines that cover every surface, even the walls. Of course, the man who has been asking me out and failing for the last three months is a trampoline dancer.
My new plan may be manipulative, but I have no other choice. Plus, Arrow has started to wiggle his way into my locked chamber of feelings, so it wouldn’t hurt to get to know him a little. On the other side of the room, in a head-to-toe spandex outfit that resembles a wet suit, Arrow flings and flails his body in every direction imaginable. The orchestra bursting with intense rhythm increases the dramatic effect and tension of his art.
His arms stretch. His body twists. Toes pointed. Muscles sculpted. I gawk. I gape. My mouth is surely hanging wide open. I’ve spied on him practicing before, but not when he was alone. Usually someone is distracting me in some way. Depending on energies, it can either be stifling or stimulating to be surrounded by so many people at once when I can read all their energies. Unfortunately, I’ve never been fond of the gym owner, Junior, since his aura has such toxicity that sucks out my positive vibes when I step foot inside. Thankfully, he’s not anywhere near. I’d feel his presence already if he were in the back office.
“Bailey?” Arrow’s deep voice echoes across the gym.
My throat bobs and I want to step forward but I stay rooted in place. My stupid-amazing boots have decided to glue themselves to the floor.
“Uh, hey,” I wave like a moron, then salute him, then shake my head and stare at myself in the mirror that shows my black eyeliner and thick, black mascara.
Has Arrow asked me out because he finds me physically attractive or he likes my personality?
“What?” Arrow bounces closer, like he’s lighter than a feather, with such grace. “I didn’t hear you.”
Instantly, his music shuts off, which creates the strangest type of absence. The drowning silence is almost too much to tolerate. Somewhere, the quiet tick tock of a clock mocks my awkwardness, which reminds me that I don’t have time to spare.
“Hey. Finally come for your free lesson?” Arrow gestures to the trampolines, my personal nemesis.
“I’d die in less than a minute. Are you trying to murder me?”
Arrow clutches his heart. “How could you think such a thing? I’d never murder on a full moon.”
“Yeah, that tracks.”
He moves closer. Steps off the mat, barefoot on the floor. Are his toes cold? Unable to stop myself, I trail the contours and dips of his legs, up his toned thighs, to the bulge between his legs. Nope. Not looking there. Can’t and won’t.
“Actually,” I mess with my oversized shirt-dress that hangs loosely down my body, the type of outfit that makes everyone guess my shape underneath. “I’ll take you up on your date offer …”
Arrow’s stunning eyes widen in surprise and his lips part slightly.
“… if you help me with something tonight. Well, now. I need help finding something.”
He steps closer, his aureateenergy warm and glowing, as usual. I haven’t resisted dating him because he wears any type of energy that would resemble a serial killer or politician. In fact, I’ve avoided Arrow for so long because of the traits that are too good to be true. He’s begged me so many times to tell him what I sense when he’s around but it’s entirely too embarrassing. How am I supposed to admit that his spark is doused in sugary honesty, delectable determination, creativity and selflessness. And those are only his four strongest ones. There are dozens of potential atmospheric ambiances that magnetize him like wine tasting in a vineyard while wearing a fedora. Fuck, he’d rock a fedora.
“Yeah, of course, I can help, Bailey. What are you looking for?”
I try not to look at him as he yanks the skin-tight sleeves off his arm, one at a time, then pulls the outfit off his chest until it bunches at his stomach. Shirtless. Does he understand how good he looks? Scarlet swirls of energy invade his typical gold which means only one thing. Sex.
Crap. He’s a walking, breathing sex on a stick with … with a log in his pants. Pun intended. Now would be the time when he’s standing half naked in front of me–when I can’t act on my new urges to investigate our potential.
My palms turn clammy, so I keep cracking my fingers to calm down. Faster than a unicorn can sprint, I turn around to give him privacy. The sound of fabric dropping to the floor is pure torture. Hurry up. Put on your damned clothes. I wait, holding my breath, until he eventually taps my shoulder and whispers into my neck.
“You’re safe from my evil flesh, Bailey, you can turn around. I won’t eat you.”
Slowly, I do, hoping there are fifty layers of coats between us when I look up. Yet again, I’m a fool. Because Arrow’s wicked smile disarms any shield I created in the last few minutes.
“So, you need me?”
“Well, you know how the Book Bar opens tonight?”
He nods and glances out the window behind me. “Yeah, you invited me, remember?”
“Right. Well, the shop’s magic hasn’t ignited yet. Obviously, we could still have our opening while it’s dormant, but it wouldn’t have the same effect. At least forty readers traveled from Raleigh and Charlotte so I don’t want to disappoint them.”
“And you need me to …?” He tilts his head in the most adorable way that wets my damn panties like a pair of vibrating underwear.
“I want … no, I need you to help me search for the missing piece. Ivy said the shop is lacking its pazazz.”
“Oh, a pazazz tragedy,” Arrow says, biting his bottom lip. “Let me grab my superhero cape.” He mimes attaching something invisible to his shoulders then puts both hands on his hips. “Should we fly? Or do you want a piggie-back, my’lady?”
“No time for shenanigans.”
“Definitely. Shenanigans are the worst. We’re all business tonight. Official pazazz hunters.” He stomps out the front door like a kid pretending to be a knight, then holds it open for me. “Where to, Captain?”
My heart races with ridiculous endorphins from his whimsical charm. Hearing him lock the door behind us, I take a look at our options. The tattoo parlor where Zeek and Zel work could have artwork the shop needs. Nah. The soap and fragrance store. No. Demure Smoothies. None of them feel right.
“What’s wrong?” Arrow asks from next to me.
I can feel his heated gaze on my cheek. “Nothing. Why would you think that?” I say too fast.
“Liar. When something’s bothering you, your eyebrows do this crooked worm thing right … here.” His finger presses softly against my forehead and smooths out the crease with his light touch.
I want to lean into it. Savor it. Ask for a full body massage with oils.
I clear my throat and erase the images plastered in my mind. “I don’t know where to search. I don’t know what we’re looking for.” I throw my hands up in the air. “What if the Book Bar fails? What if our dream collapses? What if I let Ivy down? What if–”
“Whoa, Bailey, take a deep breath,” Arrow says and somehow his hands are on my waist. When did that happen? He rubs small strokes up and down my side. “Good girl, look at me. Breathe in. Good. Breathe out.”
I’m addicted to how his eyes glimmer with spellbinding sorcery. They capture me in their dangerous clutches.
I shake my head and push away from his hold. Very reluctantly I might add. This was a terrible idea. I’m only becoming distracted by his energy. Then an idea dawns on me. If I’m going to solve this problem, I need to use my natural strengths. I’ll resort back to how I used my power as a kid.
Closing my eyes, I point my arm out long, straight ahead, then start to spin. Fallen leaves crunch under my boots and I sway to the side with each swivel.
“Uh, Bailey, I can teach you a better dance than that.”
“Shh, my magic will point me in the direction of the energy I need for tonight.”
Will it point to someone in the mountains? We won’t have enough time to hike all the way there. What if the Book Bar needs a certain type of rare pinecone to ignite its magic? Or an owl’s nest? Or the hair of a unicorn’s mane? We’ll never gather those in time.
When my breath hitches, I feel the magic rising, traveling through my veins like a charged zap. I stop exactly when it tells me too, arm pointing ahead. What will I see when I open my eyes? Will I be pointing at the bakery? Does the Bar need a shelf of cupcakes to feel complete?
One eye at a time, I peel them open, only to see Arrow directly in front of my pointed finger. His atrociously delightful smirk quirks a bit higher in the corner. Those lips I longed to kiss in my dream last night are only inches away from my finger.
“You?”
“Me?” He says in a sarcastic accent while raising his eyebrows. “I know you’re new to the area, Miss Bailey, but here in western North Carolina we witches and warlocks have a custom you may not have heard about yet.”
I have no words, curious to where this random tidbit is going.
Slowly, he turns over my still out-stretched hand so my palm is face up. Even slower, he pulls me closer and raises my exposed wrist to his mouth. The mouth of a man who hasn’t given up on me, no matter how many lame excuses I’ve given him. Arrow has been ever patient, never pushy, persistent but not creepy. There’s a fine balance in seduction and he has mastered it completely.
His lips graze gently against my wrist. The briefest of touches that sends a shiver up my spine.
“Your magic pointed to me. Maybe I’m what the shop is searching for.”
“No way.” I pull my hand away while I stare at the skin he kissed, the spot with three witch freckles. “That can’t be it.”
“Let’s test it then,” Arrow says, “Prove me wrong.”
“Okay.” My chest clamps tight because maybe he’s right. Or worse, what if he’s wrong? “Come on.”
We begin to cross the road and Arrow’s music starts to play. At first, I can’t place the song, then I recognize the beat from a popular action suspense movie where the hero is stalking an assassin.
“Arrow! You’ll wake the neighbors!” I gently nudge him.
“Good!” He yells too loudly. “They all need to wake up for BAILEY BOOK BAR’S grand opening!”
“Sssshh!” I shove him too hard so he stumbles sideways a bit, laughing along the way.
Instant regret washes over me. The worst thing I could do to this man is break his foot so he can’t perform.
“Sorry,” I squeak.
“It’s fine. Zeek and I wrestle on the trampolines often. I got a swollen ankle the other day but Zel healed me.”
“Oh, right. I forgot you’re friends with them.”
We pass by the lanterns, all of which brighten automatically when we near.
“You’ve lived here for half a year,” Arrow says, his aura turning a slight gray. “Ever think of branching out to meet some of us instead of hiding away with Ivy? We’re not all bad, ya know.”
“No way, I’m a vampire.”
“Bailey.”
“Arrow.”
“I’m serious. Make some friends before you wait so long that we have to pry you out of your shop with a pair of tweezers.”
I snort-laugh, in the most attractive way. “Tweezers?”
“Well yeah, have you seen how tiny you are?”
“Uh. Dude. I’m like one-eighty. That’s not tiny.”
“Did you just call me dude?” He laughs, a sound that fits right into a new song he plays, one from an old country station.
“You called me tiny.”
“You’re at least six inches shorter than me. Itty bitty.”
“I could teach you some wrestling moves you didn’t know existed.”
“Promise?” he says, his voice low, and soft, so close that I swear he might be sniffing my crazy hair.
When we arrive at the front door of our Book Bar, a few visitors are already lining up for the opening. A fluttering in my stomach increases until it’s a maddening swirl threatening to erupt. We have to succeed.
“Are you opening early?” a pretty woman in line asks.
“No, at midnight you can come in.” I try to keep the shakiness out of my voice.
Arrow’s music turns into a drum roll as I extend my key and shove it into the slot.
“Quit that,” I mumble.
“Not till the door opens. I’ve never been inside and am more excited than these fans.”
The lock clicks. Door swings open.
I step inside first, my boots clomping on the hardwood floor. Nothing has changed. Even the cat, Charlie, still sleeps where I left him on the couch.
“Can I enter your domain?” Arrow asks with that killer smile.
“Oh, so you’re the one who’s a vampire then?” I gesture for him to join me. “I guess a vampire friend wouldn’t be the worst thing in my life.”
“Friend? Oh. No. That’s not happening.”
Right before Arrow steps through the threshold, time stands still. My chest tightens. Adrenaline kicks in. His aura explodes with the deepest purple I’ve ever seen, symbolizing passion. His expression darkens to pure need in a way that’s only meant for the bedroom.
“No, no. We won’t be friends, Bailey.”
The moment extends eternally. The air charged between us. Then his weight shifts so he’s halfway in the Book Bar. Immediately, magic detonates in every inch from corner to corner.
The dead, dried flowers bloom independently. Each sconce accent on the walls alight with golden beams. A few leftover cocktail drinks by the sink wash themselves. I gasp at the rearranging furniture as the chairs settle in different positions that make more sense for the flow of the room. A few books that have toppled onto the floor reset themselves within their series.
I swear my entire body fights the urge to jump up and down like a kid at a carnival. Instead, Arrow’s gaze pins me to the spot. It was him. The shop wants Arrow here. I have a thousand questions that need answered about my mountain man, but first I need to make him mine.
“Come here,” I say.
In four quick strides he crosses the room. My back slams against a hard bookshelf from his momentum. His hands find my hair, and he doesn’t seem to care how disastrous it looks.
“Bailey.”
“Arrow?”
“Can I?”
“Yes. Yes.”
His lips collide with mine. Sweeter than hot fudge on ice cream. Better than graduating college. Smoother than pearls. More alluring than a secret cave.
Arrow tastes of cinnamon and nutmeg and his sweaty scent from exercising is only a turn on. I yank him closer until our chests clash. Never want this to stop.
“Bailey?”
“Again.”
“Mmm,” he barely makes out the grunt before our tongues are exploring each other, softly, at first, then more assertive.
I don’t have to open my eyes to understand the energy he projects now. The loveliest combination of violet and cranberry. Full fledged desire.
A whistle zooms past my ear, then something crashes. We jump apart at the sound to the sight of a raven decal from the wall turning into a paper origami creature that flies back and forth around the room. In awe, I smile, heart rate tripled and hammering against my ribcage.
“It was you.”
“Does that mean I’m a prisoner now?” Arrow’s smile destroys my self-control.
“Maybe. I know how to handle a pair of cuffs.”
He checks to make sure the drapes are all covering the windows, then wiggles his eyebrows at me.
“I double dare you.”