The street surrounding Starfort Collectibles hummed with the traffic of holiday shoppers rushing to the malls. Caitlin ignored them to focus instead on the customer examining the antique desk in the center of her shop. The beautiful piece of furniture was of pine, carved with pleasing scrollwork designs down its legs, and older than Caitlin's own namesake. Not quite two hundred years old, but close.
The customer picked up a delicate antique green Gaollé glass Christmas ornament, circa 1919, Caitlin had set on the desk for a splash of cheer and color and opened the little drawer before which it stood. She took the ornament from him and placed it gently in a plush ragdoll's lap.
After opening another few drawers, and knocking on the top—to test its solidity, she guessed—he approached the counter. "It's perfect. My daughter will love it."
Caitlin hoped so. The first thing they'd done when it arrived in the shop last week was magically bless, douse, and cleanse it. Then she placed protection spells so the family wouldn't have any problems with their order. If the creativity and study spells she'd set on it helped the recipient in anyway, she would be glad.
Christmas was well on its way, and Yule right around the corner. Lights twinkled from local store windows, a cheap plastic Santa screamed "Ho, Ho, Ho" from another shop yard. Another store owner across the street added even more fake snow to their manger's roof.
With all those visual prompts, and their antique store to think about, Caitlin was surprised at herself for ignoring the calendar. After all, they'd had a steady stream of shoppers into the store since Thanksgiving.
She resumed draping a gaudy silver garland over the packed shelves. How did I overlook Yule?
She couldn't blame her usual active magickal life. The folk of the Otherworld of Annwn, who often needed them, had given them a whole three weeks with no new explosion.
Only Thanksgiving had been chaotic.
Thankfully.
Trying not to summon up any new trouble by thinking about her supernatural assignments too hard, Caitlin finished her drape and exited the shop. She stood back as her husband Trevor, hammer in hand, pounded nails into the eaves of their store. A pile of cord sat waiting on the porch step, the cords supporting Christmas light bulbs, shaped like tiny rosebuds. The creator had painted the bottom half of the glass white, the tops a pretty, deep blush pink, while the glass itself sported delicate ripples to indicate the petals.
Vintage, she'd seen them while rummaging with a seller in the woman's grandmother's storage unit. Trevor paid her way too much for them and spent an extra hour deciding they didn't need to go in the shop, but on it. They worked today at hanging them around the eaves.
The temperatures in Gulf Breeze were a balmy eighty degrees today. Judging by the forecast, Florida might get cool for Christmas. But Caitlin hoped not.
The warmth would make it a perfect end to a rather unique year and winter's chill could stay away as long as it wanted, as far as she was concerned. February's usual freezes would come quite soon enough. They had to get through Yule first, though.
Trevor paused between strikes. "I think we'd be better off sticking to smaller Yule lights in the windows, rather than hanging these ones all over the eaves."
She handed him up another nail. "This is nicer, trust me. They'll attract more customers."
A few of the surrounding business owners came over this weekend hinting they'd waited too late in putting decorations up. The suggestion put the idea in Caitlin's mind, and here they were. Spending a lull in Monday's business, decorating. Not mentioning their neighbors' stores were lit up like a big city strip seemed like a good idea if she wanted him to keep helping her decorate.
Trevor threaded the string's smaller bulbs through the crescent moon cut into the eaves. "Whatever. As long as Mr. Christmas Past doesn't come strolling in."
Caitlin scoffed and frowned up at him. "Don't speak what you don't want coming to life."
A shadow drew her attention upward. Their most recent assignment, Rhetgar, a dragon of shimmering pearlescent white hide, circled the building. The dragon's dark cloak made of mottled hair flapped around him, but still concealing his stumpy left wing. In this guise, he was as big as a plane, his claws longer than Caitlin's arm. She waved to him. Rhetgar circled low and landed in their yard. "Greetings."
"Hey, I didn't know you were here visiting."
"Not visiting, per se. I'm in search of a special gift for my family."
"Anything we can help with?" What would a dragon's family like from their, as he'd once called it, horde? "We've got some shiny chalices inside. Would you like one?"
Even as Trevor asked the question, Caitlin crossed her fingers.
"I wouldn't want to inconvenience you over something trivial. We'll talk again later."
"Okay, then."
Rhetgar zoomed off and Caitlin and Trevor shared an amused glance. "Teenagers."
This was their common complaint about Rhetgar as they thought the dragon had the temperament of an adolescent human.
Trevor returned to his work and she, remembering where she'd left off, lifted her hand. She pointed away from the shop, tracing the outline of the property. Pale blue light glowing at her fingertips, her protective spell sang in her mind, a spell she'd memorized so long ago, reciting it had become second nature. In the name of the Goddess of Light, keep all evil from my sight.
"There," Trevor said.
"There, what?" Caitlin shaded her eyes from the sun.
"The last one's secure. Try it now."
She strode into the shop and hit the light switch. A small Santa doll sat on an antique table by the door, one hand extended upward, as if he waved at her. Caitlin gave him a nod of greeting, as she had from the moment she set him out here, and a hope Santa found someone else to deal with any complaints from his elfin workers. While she was inside, the phone rang.
"Starfort Collectibles," she said as she answered.
"Hello, I was in there a few minutes ago, bought the desk?"
"Yes?" Did he find something amiss with it?
"I thought I saw a pen set there too."
Squatting beside their display case, she spotted one she thought he might be referring to. There was one Trevor had labeled "1928". "We have one circa 1928, and a few others. Are you interested in newer or older?"
"My wife might appreciate the one from '28. How much?"
She read the price off the sticker.
"Oh, thanks."
"I can hold it for you, if you like."
"Maybe. Let me think about it."
Caitlin agreed, and sighed as she hung up the phone. The magic doesn't always work.
"Cait, did you put the lights on?"
"I did."
Trevor cursed.
What's wrong now? Caitlin turned the switch back off and stepped onto the porch so she didn't have to shout. "You didn't electrocute yourself, did you?"
No answer.
Fear shot up Caitlin's spine. Please don't let me be right. "Trevor?"
Not Trevor, but their ancestor's ghost, Roland—as usual, dressed in his Civil War era uniform—shimmered into life beside her, concerned as ever with their family. Is something amiss, Caitie?
"I hope not." Caitlin stepped off the porch. "Trevor?"
Trevor stood on the ladder, unscrewing a light bulb and screwing it back in, intent on his work. He grunted a non-verbal answer.
Nothing scary or paranormal, no even slightly mundane mishap had befallen her beloved. One could never knew, she mused, with their odd life.
Caitlin's heartbeat slowed. Roland smirked and disappeared into a sunbeam as she scolded Trevor. "Don't scare me like that, honey. Just answer when I speak to you, please. You know how I worry about you."
"Sorry. I'm fine. These lights are the trouble."
"Do you need to change the bulb?"
"Or see if we can rent out space in someone else's shop who's already finished decorating."
"Hey, don't knock my shop."
"Did I say something against this place?" He patted the awning in a loving gesture. "All I did was suggest it's perfect the way it is."
"I'm sure the shop spirits will be glad to hear it."
He rotated the bulb one more time. "Try it again."
Again, nothing.
He juggled the bulbs, she informed him of the guy who wanted the pen set.
"The one Dorothy Parker owned?"
His statement had her pausing in the doorway. "Dorothy Parker. The Dorothy Parker? As in the famous poet Dorothy Parker?"
"So I found in my provenance search. My appraiser concurs."
She whistled. "Is her ghost haunting it?"
"Not that you told me."
Oh, yeah. Now she remembered. He did have her try connecting with it. "You are charging way too little for the set."
"My appraiser thought so too." Trevor ducked down to meet her gaze. "Honey, light switch?"
She flicked it on. "Anything?"
"Nothing. I hate decorating for Yule."
"I know, honey. But oh no, you had to open an antique shop and cater to the public."
He winked at her. "I know. I should've listened to you and kept my job with Abby's gallery. There's nothing for it."
He entered the shop and charged up the attic staircase. Caitlin waited down here, rummaging around the shop, reorganizing shelves, laying out more tinsel and garland. Here and there she pulled out any figurine, toy, or picture filled with the energy of Christmas—or even reminiscent of the traditional, snow-laden winter season Mother Nature often ignored on Florida's behalf—and made a second display.
A customer arrived, interrupting her work, and she set about helping the woman pick out a new doll for her granddaughter. A man came in and she watched him peruse the jewelry case, even rang up the sale of his choice of gold earrings.
Sure the tall, dark, and handsome customer would win a kiss from the recipient of those earrings, she wondered what her own tall, dark, and handsome was up to. Things scraped across or plunked against the floorboards upstairs denoting Trevor mucking about in the attic.
Attics always made her worry and wonder. Should I have doused the attic in more blessed water this full moon?
What had he found up there that was keeping him? They'd had more than a few weird entities in the attic at home, mostly, but here as well, for her peace of mind. Anything between paranormal and mundane could be occupying him.
She hoped his silence stemmed from concentration on his search. He'd call her up if anything abnormal materialized.
He emerged after the earring buyer left. "I found an excess bulb."
"It won't match."
"I know, but maybe spaced out between the others, no one will notice the odd bulb," he said, heading outside.
Caitlin took the portable phone with her as she followed him. In case he fell off the ladder—or the excess bulb produced a genii and she had to call their coven for help.
Trevor plugged the bulb into the old one's socket; she flicked the switch.
Still nothing.
Grumbling to himself about "stupid electric light bulbs", he removed it, climbed down the ladder and went inside. To test the outlet, he connected the phone charger to it. The charger lit up, proving the outlet worked fine.
"This doesn't make sense." He complained to himself and left the shop to retrieve something from his truck. He soon returned carrying what looked like a black pen with a transparent yellow tip. Caitlin saw the word Voltage on its side.
This tool he touched to the wires connecting to the vintage bulbs. Nothing happened.
"This didn't blow out on me too?" he grumbled and set it against the nearest electrical plug. The tester emitted a loud, teeth-rattling buzz. "No, it works."
Caitlin mashed her fingers to her ears until he set the tester aside. "It's the lights, then. The bulbs are burnt out, or something."
"I hope it's something normal and we're not having more paranormal trouble." Trevor dropped his head back angled slightly to the west, glaring at the porch ceiling. "Okay, y'all. Respectfully, I request that you knock it off!"
Caitlin laughed but added, "This is our will so mote it be." She wiggled her fingers and he handed the lights over. Inside, she plugged them into an outlet in his office. The lights glowed with a pleasing light, but soon blinked out. She tapped the computer mouse. "The computers and lights all work fine. But these Christmas bulbs won't last a second." What in the world?
"It's these bulbs, then. I guess we'll have to go buy some new ones. Come on, we're late for ritual."