A Broom With a View by Rebecca Patrick-Howard

(with a dash of Bailey’s because she’d earned it) and slip into bed. She already had four appointments scheduled for the next day, although the day after just had a facial so far. She was a little concerned but hoped that word of mouth would eventually help bring her a steady clientele. It would be Christmas soon and some of the businesses in Kudzu Valley were having holiday open houses. She planned on having a big “Grand Opening Holiday Open House” then and would be prepared to mingle, network, hold a raffle, put out cookies, and whatever else it was she had to do to get people to walk through her door and spend their money.
    Oh, but Christmas. Liza groaned to herself as she locked the door and gave it a test tug.
    What the hell am I going to do for Christmas, she thought as she headed to her car. I won’t be so pathetic that I will eat alone. She’d already done that for Thanksgiving.
    Her mind was still pondering the Christmas predicament when felt she something behind her. Nothing had made a sound, and nothing had moved at all, but Liza was still aware of it. The presence of someone who didn’t need to be there tickled at the back of her neck, giving her what her grandmother had called “the willies.”
    Liza didn’t pause or quicken her pace, but she did become more alert and aware of her surroundings. She’d parked behind the building, in a gravel lot that ran the length of the street and faced the river. Christabel was the only vehicle. Key in hand and ready, without removing her purse from her shoulder she undid the lock and jumped inside in one swift movement.
    With the door locked, the engine started, and her headlights on she turned off the “woman” part of her and turned on the “witch.”
    Other than the spotlight her headlights made in one spot on the old brick at the back of the buildings, the whole length of the street was dark. The moon, hidden by the clouds, offered no illumination and the streetlights only faced the road out front. The shadows were dark and murky.
    Liza saw him then, a man. He wasn’t hiding, exactly, but he wasn’t doing anything to make his presence known either. The tall, figure leaned against a dumpster, the bottom half of him lost in the darkness. He was looking at her, she could feel that, and it made her uneasy.
    “Don’t be paranoid,” she warned herself. “This is his town, you’re a newcomer, and Kudzu Valley is not a violent place. You’re too used to being in the big city.”
    Her words did little to settle her nerves, however, because she knew that he’d had impure intentions towards her when he’d seen her. She could feel them even now, radiating from him like radio waves and traveling the distance between them until they closed in on her.
    Jerking back a little, Liza fought to remain control. There was a stickiness about the hatred and anger he projected at her. He didn’t just dislike her, she repulsed him.
    But why ?
    Closing her hand around the talisman her grandmother had given her many years ago, and one that rode in the front seat with her at all times, Liza sent her mind out to him, seeking answers. She got nothing in return but a fiery black wall, palpitating with heat and frustration.
    Sometimes she wasn’t able to see anything, especially when it concerned something personal to her. That was a sad fact about her “gift”–she never seemed to be able to help herself much.
    But while she might not have been able to make any sense out of why he was there and what he wanted, she was able to see his face. The smooth complexion, except for the ruddy mole on his cheek, shockingly red hair, hefty build, and the “Will Work for Weed” T-shirt that was partly hidden behind his flannel coat could only belong to one person.
    Cotton Hashagen.
    But that made zero sense. Cotton was just a librarian . Sure, they’d had a tiff during her first few days but he would’ve been over that by now, right?
    He wouldn’t hurt her. He had no reason