Under His Spell. Kristin Hardy
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The kids stood around, blinking in the sudden light, looking interested, even sober. It was a lot to absorb, and they were just getting to the age to do so.
“So, what did you think?” Lainie asked.
One of the boys nudged another. “Tituba looks just like Emma.”
The little girl in red scowled. “Does not.”
“Does too!”
“Does not.”
“Emma! Boys!” the teacher said reprovingly.
Lainie stuggled not to smile. “Well, I think Emma looks just like herself, and I don’t think—”
The words died in her throat. Because there, leaning against the wall at the back of the room was J. J. Cooper, a grin on his beach-boy face.
In the first instant of surprise, all she could do was stare, heart thudding in her chest. He didn’t belong there amid the confusion of kids. It was the last place he should have been, and yet somehow, curiously, he looked at home.
Then again, J.J. managed to always look at home, no matter where he was.
There was a cough from the teacher. “Miss?”
Lainie tore her gaze loose from J.J. and cleared her throat. “Sorry. I was going to say, I don’t think Emma’s the type to accuse anyone of giving her fits.”
“Only Cassie, maybe,” Emma grumbled.
“Who’s Cassie?”
“My little sister.”
J.J., Lainie noted, looked amused.
“But witches don’t give people fits, remember?” J.J., on the other hand, was pretty good at it.
“How do you know witches don’t give fits?” one of the little boys demanded. “Are you a witch?”
“Joshua,” the teacher said warningly.
Lainie laughed, relaxing a bit. “It’s all right. No, Joshua, I’m not a witch. I’m not even Wiccan. I’m just a plain old ordinary person, just like Bridget Bishop and the rest.”
“How come you work in the witch museum?”
“Because it’s fun and because I think their story deserves to be told. People need to remember what can happen when they get scared and stop thinking.” She pointed to a case on the back wall that held the figure of a storybook witch, complete with warts, pointed hat and broom. “This isn’t real. The Wizard of Oz is just a movie. Real Wiccans are people just like the rest of us. They don’t do spells, at least not that I know of.”
“There are spells in Harry Potter,” Emma piped up.
“Well, Harry Potter’s something different.”
“I love Harry Potter,” Emma announced.
“So do I,” Lainie said. “The Harry Potter books are great. How many of you have read them?”
Hands shot up all over the room.
“The author of the Harry Potter books has a great imagination,” she continued. “That’s why we read, to get carried away by our imaginations. I like getting carried away. How about you?”
Across the room, J.J. raised an eyebrow. Lainie could feel the flush stain her cheeks. “Getting carried away by your imagination is a good kind of carried away, but you want to watch other kinds of carried away, the kinds of carried away that can hurt people. Like the way the Salem witchcraft trials got carried away.” She paused. “Anyway, if there are no more questions, that’s our tour.”
“What do you say?” the teacher asked.
“Thank you, Ms. Trask,” they chorused obediently.
Lainie smiled. “Thank you for spending the morning with me. The exit’s right through here.”
There was nothing like being the head of a procession of fourth graders to give a person dignity, she thought wryly as she shepherded the tour into the gift shop.
“Lainie, do you have a minute?” a voice called. Lainie turned to see her boss, Caro Lewis. Small, dark, positive, Caro had taught Lainie a tremendous amount in the three and a half years they’d worked together. Somehow in that time, they’d also become fast friends. Because they were both scrupulously careful to do their jobs to the nth degree, it worked.
“What’s up, chief?”
Nearby a pair of little boys menaced each other with goblin heads. Caro watched them, the corners of her mouth curving up. “They look like they found the museum intellectually stimulating. Who do you have today?”
One of the boys crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue. Lainie’s lips twitched. “The fourth-grade class of Daniel Dunn Elementary School.”
Caro glanced beyond the boys to where J.J. stood, leafing through books. “Fourth grade, huh?” she said, eyeing him. “My, my, they just get bigger every year. He must take a lot of vitamins.”
Lainie snorted. “He’s just a delinquent.”
Caro laughed so loud that J.J. glanced over. “But a tasty-looking one. Listen, Jim over at the Seven Gables Inn had to reschedule our planning meeting. He wants to know if we can do eleven.”
“Eleven o’clock?” Lainie glanced at her watch and frowned. “That’s only fifteen minutes from now.”
“I know, but the next window he’s got isn’t for another week, and Halloween’s coming for us.”
“I have to print out the schedule and get my laptop.”
“I know. I’ll head over now and get started. You come on as soon as you’re done. Have fun with your fourth-graders.” Caro winked and sashayed away.
Lainie stood at the doorway to the store and eyed J.J. As though he’d felt her look, he glanced up. Definitely too gorgeous for his own good, she thought. The Vandyke had changed to a Fu Manchu, she saw, sharpening his chin, making that mouth of his look far too interesting.
A crash made her jump. She looked around to see a display of wands and spells scattered on the floor, courtesy of the boys with goblin heads.
“Richie, Matt, that’s enough,” the teacher scolded. “Now you go over and help clean that up.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Lainie said. “I’ll take care of it.” The last thing she wanted was for them to walk away with bad memories of the museum. She knelt down next to the colorful pile of plastic and glitter, righting the magenta canister that had held the wands.
Out of the corner of her eye saw J.J. head over. She glanced up at him.
And it took her breath.
She’d known he was there, she’d watched him walk over. Even so, there was something about the jolt of that blue gaze that sent adrenaline flooding through her system. She frowned at herself. It was one thing to have the heart-thudding thing happen when he’d popped up out of the blue. It shouldn’t be happening now.
He bent down next to her to help, picking up the packets and examining them. “Love potions?” he asked, holding one up.
She took it from him. “What’s the matter, Speed, losing your edge?”
“Not me.”
“What a relief. It would be the end of civilization as we know it. Although I use that term loosely where you’re concerned,” she added, picking up the rest of the wands and rising. “To what do we owe the honor of your presence?”
He grinned. “I’ve got an appointment.”
“In Salem?”
“In Boston.”
She snorted. “I hope you’re