Free Witches' Bane by Susan Wittig Albert

settled by Germans in the I840s, and the Wurstfest is a traditional German celebration, complete with folk costumes and German music, played by such local notables as Oma and the Oompahs, the Shriner Hobo Band, and the Haygood Family Fiddlers. If you’re so inclined, you can also drink yourself under the table with a few pitchers of great German lager.
    “It’s up to you, Fannie,” I said. “You’ve got to get people off the subject of witches and onto Wurstfest.”
    Fannie gave me a sharp look. “And you and Ruby got to keep your noses clean, or you could be in trouble. You hear?”
    “Tell me about it,” I said ruefully. “You’re the first customer all morning.”
    And the last. Mrs. Murray, who runs the Senior Citizens’ Thrift Shop, tried to come in to pick up some hibiscus tea she’d ordered. But she’s easily intimidated, and by the time I got out to the sidewalk, the Reverend had already scared her out of her wits.
    “Don’t pay any attention to this man, Mrs. Murray.” I patted her arm. “He doesn’t have any right to interfere.”
    “But what’s all this about witches?” Mrs. Murray asked. Her voice trembled. “Does it have anything to do with poor Mrs. Bragg’s chickens? Mrs. Bragg is my neighbor on the other side of the alley, you know. That rooster was better than an alarm clock. Went off every morning at five-thirty sharp.”
    “It’s too bad about the rooster,” I said, moving her toward the shop. “If you’ll come in, I’ll get you that tea.”
    Having lost one soul already this morning, the Reverend redoubled his efforts. He raised both arms heavenward. “Lord, defend this dear sister from the UNGODLY ONE!”
    That did it. “I b’lieve I’ll just go on back to the shop,” Mrs. Murray said nervously, pulling her arm away. “I left Hazel by herself and she doesn’t like to make change.”
    “God bless you, ma’am.” Billy Lee pressed his Bible to his heart. “The Lord smiles on those.who do His biddin’ with a glad heart.”
    Mrs. Murray scurried off, and I turned furiously to Harbuck. “You pull that cute stunt one more time,” I said, “and you’ll find yourself on the business end of an injunction. You’re intimidating my customers and damaging my business, and I’m sick of it!”
    The Reverend shook his head sadly. “I understand how you feel, Miz Bayles. ‘Course, it’s the Lord’s business we all need to be doin’, not our own.” His voice became a caress. “And it’s easy, so blessedly easy. All you have to do is kneel down right here on this sidewalk and ask forgiveness.” He closed his eyes and raised his soft, pudgy hand. Behind him, there was another soulful “amen.”
    For a split second, I wanted to tell Billy Lee exactly what I thought. But it wouldn’t change his mind or convince him to send the pickets home. I gave it up and went back inside, where I sat on a stool behind the cash register, feeling defeated.
    Ruby came through the back door. “Are you all right, China?” she asked anxiously.
    “No,” I said glumly. “I’ve had one customer this morning. One.” I looked up and gawked. She was wearing a black tunic with a capelike red scarf, black tights, spike-heeled black boots that elevated her to at least six foot three, and Mary Richards’ silver goddess pendant. Her orangy-red hair was frizzed all over her head, her eyes were made up to look like Cleopatra, and her long nails were lacquered in blood-red enamel. I almost came unglued.
    “Jesus, Ruby, why did you wear that getup today, of all days? All you need is a cloven hoof.”
    “The worm has turned. We’re launching a counterattack.” She held up a camera. “Maybe when those sanctimonious turkeys out there see me taking pictures and recording their chants, they’ll think twice. Anyway, photos could come in handy if we wind up in court.”
    It wasn’t a bad idea. “Be careful,” I said. “It’s against the law to threaten pickets.”
    “What’s the penalty?