Free Serena's Magic by Heather Graham Page A

with a long sigh.
    “What did you think of Dr. O’Neill?” Serena asked, trying to keep the question casual.
    “Who?”
    “My summer guest,” Serena explained.
    “Oh, I didn’t meet him. What’s he like?”
    When directly asked the question, Serena wasn’t sure what to say. She answered slowly. “I don’t know … strange for a professor. He’s much younger than I expected. And he jogs and looks like he should be surfing or weight lifting. Muscle-bound type.”
    “Bad vibes.”
    “What?” Serena said, feeling ridiculous. She was accustomed to having strange conversations with Susan, but this morning she felt as if they were in different dimensions.
    “You have bad vibes about him—or maybe it’s the picture,” Susan said solemnly.
    “I don’t have bad vibes about anything!” Serena groaned with exasperation. “I just had a bad night!”
    Susan shrugged with a knowing look, and Serena wanted to shake her. Sometimes having a practicing witch for a friend and employee was extremely trying. She turned for the office door with her coffee cup. “I’m going out front—I think it’s opening time.”
    “Hey!” Susan protested. “I’m tickets today. It’s your turn to be the guide into the occult!”
    Serena grimaced. It was her turn.
    “Don’t you want to switch?” she asked hopefully.
    “Nope,” Susan said, shaking her head firmly.
    Serena shrugged. The museum was hers, and she was the boss, but she and Susan had always worked as equals—which was the only way Serena could see it, since she wouldn’t have been able to manage the place without Susan.
    Serena made a face but reached for the black cloak and pointed hat that hung on the rack beside the door.
    “This really doesn’t seem fair,” she grumbled good-naturedly, “since you’re the one who is a witch!”
    Susan raised her coffee cup. “We’ll welcome you into the coven anytime!” She laughed.
    Serena replied with a dry look and walked back into the main sector of the building. The displays, which were composed of beautifully crafted wax figures, were in three segments: Magic Through the Ages, Witchcraft in Salem in 1692, and the Different Faces of Witchcraft. Each tabloid had a stereo recording, but visitors entered in groups on the half hour and were first greeted by either herself or Susan. They were given a brief explanation of the difference between “white” and “black” magic and of several tools of the craft which had remained constant through the centuries. Then the “witch” guide would retire to the gift shop.
    Susan swept on by Serena with a smile. “Which witch is which?” she purred sweetly.
    “Droll, Susan, very droll,” Serena called after her. She adjusted the sweeping black cloak and her pointed hat. As she waited for the tour to begin, she slipped behind the distance fence to check the wax figures. She chewed upon her lip as she studied the panorama of Satan in his goat form surrounded by three witches and their familiars.
    The goat Satan was beginning to lose some of his hair. She sighed. Several of her figures needed face-lifts.
    A tap on the door warned her that the first group of the day was ready. Serena swung open the double doors and smiled, and then went into her introduction of the pentagon and the circle of power.
    The day seemed endless to her. She and Susan were only able to slip away for a half hour lunch break, and when they returned, people awaited them in a line on the sidewalk.
    “Summer,” Susan muttered.
    “Umm,” Serena agreed. She should be glad of the business; the overhead for keeping the museum afloat was high, and as she had noted earlier, some of the figures needed repair. And she wanted to add some new exhibits. Her enthusiasm was usually high—the museum was, after all, her creation.
    But besides being tired, she was a nervous wreck. Her mind kept hopping from the incredible incident at the pond to the disastrous dinner, to the miserable fact that Marc and the