Free Spells & Stitches by Barbara Bretton Page A

click brought me to MacKenzie Homes and I gasped as Luke’s face filled the screen.
    But it wasn’t Luke. It was an older, slightly heavier, more polished version of the man I loved. Big brother Ronnie’s hair was perfectly groomed. His fair Scots-Irish skin sported a light tan. A spray of crow’s-feet bracketed hazel eyes that leaned more toward green than blue. He looked like what he was: a happy, successful man in his early forties.
    An array of links presented itself along the sidebar: Check My Listings, How Much Can You Spend, Our Towns and Why We Love Them, and All about Me.
    You know which one I clicked on.
    It took three seconds for the page to load. I’d seen family albums with fewer photos. In fact the only thing missing was the white picket fence. Even the family dog, a handsome golden retriever named Lucky, merited bandwidth.
    I started scribbling names and basic info on the back of one of the questionnaires.
    Ronnie—oldest brother
    Denise (Deni)—wife m. 1978
    Jessie b. 1980
    Susan b. 1982
    Kit b. 1983
    Samantha b. 1990
     
    Ron Jr. and Susan were both married with children. Kit was clerking for a law firm in Virginia. Sam was at Bowdoin up in Maine studying forestry. The other two were married with children.
    I hunted around and found a Facebook icon on the listings page and launched myself deeper into MacKenzie mania. I bounced from Ronnie’s real estate page to his personal page, where I finally learned what TMI really meant. Here is some free advice: never visit a teenager’s Twitter account. And no, you don’t want to know why.
    Sticks & Strings had its own presence on the social networking site so I knew my way around. Find one friend and pretty soon you’ve found everyone you’ve ever known. Luke’s family were heavy users, which only made my job easier. The page quickly filled up with names and basic info.
    “You should print out the photos.” Bettina’s hologram blueflamed into the room. “That’s what I do before a big wedding. It makes it easier to match names to faces. People love it when the harpist knows their names.”
    “Great idea.” I flipped my printer on. “What’s up?” Bettina was a Fae Luddite with an aversion to blueflame so her appearance definitely had my attention.
    “Your voice-mail box is full. I need a sig faxed over ASAP on the KFI order.”
    “I’ll get right on it.”
    “And Elspeth is here. She’s driving away the customers, telling them why they should be home taking care of their families instead of buying wool they could spin themselves if they weren’t such lazy—”
    I groaned out loud. “I get the picture.” The only thing worse than making me crazy was making the customers crazy. “She loves to work. Put her in the stockroom and let her count Brown Sheep. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
    “No, no!” Bettina’s cheeks reddened through the blue-screen haze. “Everything’s fine. I just wasn’t sure how to handle her. I figured I’d better check first.”
    “She’s cranky, not dangerous,” I reassured the gentle-natured harpist. “Just tell her what to do and be firm about it.” And then pray.
    Bettina glanced around as if to make sure no one was listening. “She told me she hates the Fae. Can you believe she would say such a thing to me?”
    Unfortunately I could. Bettina was beautiful like all Fae, but she dressed like she belonged to a magickal subset of the Amish. Her skirts were long. Her sweaters were roomy. She wore her long dark hair pulled back into a low ponytail. Her demeanor was soft-spoken and unassuming. She did nothing to call attention to herself when she sat at her harp or went about her daily chores, but nothing could dim the sheer radiance of her amazing face and luminous violet eyes. I mean, the plainest of the Fae can stop traffic anywhere in the human world.
    What I’m trying to say is Bettina was everything that would make a short-tempered troll apoplectic.
    “Ignore her,” I said. “That’s what