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her face.
    “How did you happen to run into Callie early on a Sunday morning? Not many people would be out hiking in this weather.”
    Callie’s face went red with anger and embarrassment. Did her mother imagine he was some kind of creepy stalker?
    “I walk every morning at daybreak. Usually I hike around Booze Mountain where I live, but sometimes I want a change of scenery.”
    “Booze Mountain?” Callie laughed. “I’d forgotten that name. Where on the mountain are you?”
    “We’re practically neighbors. I live almost at the top, only a couple miles from you.”
    Grandma Jo entered with a tray of hot chocolate and fresh-baked carrot muffins. “If you’re anything like my granddaughter, that walk will have made you hungry.”
    “Absolutely. Thank you.” James eagerly accepted the food and drink.
    “Thanks, Grandma.” Callie cautiously took a sip. “I see this is up to your usual standards, minus that herbal note in the last batch you made.”
    Grandma Jo settled into a rocker by the fireplace. “I’m surprised we haven’t met before now. I’ve lived in Piedmont since I was a young bride.”
    “I’ve only been here a couple of years.”
    “I see, James . . .? What’s your last name?”
    It dawned on Callie he was being drilled.
    “MacLauren.” James smiled at Callie, not the least bit flustered. “I live with my dad. Maybe you know him, Carter MacLauren?”
    “Hmm. No, I don’t think so. Ginnie, have you ever met a Carter MacLauren?”
    “No.” Mom stared intently at James, the forgotten book on the floor by her feet.
    “Does he work in town?” Grandma Jo asked with deceptive mildness.
    “No, he’s recently retired, used to work as a pharmacist.”
    “In Piedmont?” Grandma Jo asked in surprise.
    A ball of orange fur suddenly landed in James’s lap, knocked over his hot chocolate, and streaked out to the hallway.
    “Whoa!” James swiped at his jeans.
    “Grendel! I’m sorry. Let me clean it up. He’s a bad kitty.” Callie grabbed some napkins and began mopping up the mess.
    “No problem. What’s his name again?”
    “Grendel. You know, after the monster in Beowulf.”
    “A perfect name for him,” Grandma Jo said. “He’s always knocking things over or driving Willow crazy jumping on her. Here, let me fix you another cup of chocolate.”
    “Yes, ma’am. I’d better get home soon, though. Dad and I were going to Rome today.”
    “Rome?” Callie asked in disbelief.
    “Rome, Georgia . We’ve got to get some supplies.”
    She smacked her forehead. “Duh. I thought you meant, like, Italy. “While you finish drinking, I’m going to put on some dry clothes. I’ll give you a ride home.”
    Upstairs, donning dry jeans and a t-shirt, she was bummed to catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her hair was soaking wet and clung to her in wet clumps. Of course, she had to be looking her worst when she met the world’s greatest guy. Quickly, she grabbed a towel and ran it through the wet locks. It wasn’t much better, but it would have to do. Wouldn’t do to keep him waiting too long in the interrogation room. After years apart, she was aggravated by the motherly grilling of James.
    A bit of amber glistened on the dresser, and she suddenly understood. They wanted to make sure James had no connection with her father. She picked up the amber and stared at her reflection. Her image blurred, and James’s face glimmered on the mirror’s surface, the glass transforming to a fuzzy movie screen.
    Against a gray sky, James knelt by a tomb, head bowed in sorrow. Callie concentrated her attention on the tombstone and read the inscription: In loving memory, Elizabeth Channing MacLauren, January 31, 1825 - March 18, 1865.
    A loud clap of thunder, and her gaze jumped to the window. When she turned back, the mirror’s slate was wiped clean. She was again alone in the room staring at her reflection.
    Nothing like that had ever happened before. What could it mean? She knew of other witches