Practical Witches by Suzan Harden

Author:Suzan Harden
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-938745-98-0
Publisher: Angry Sheep Publishing
Published: 2021-08-31T00:00:00+00:00

E • N • D

Love Train

The dorky-looking guy with black plastic hipster eyeglasses and shaggy brown hair sitting two rows in front of me on the subway car had to have used an entire bottle of a popular body spray. The odor was so bad I could taste the chemicals. My eyes watered, and my nose was about to drip as my allergies kicked into high gear. I reached into my purse for tissue only to discover the travel-sized pack I carried with me was gone.

Dammit, Dean! My husband took mine rather than add tissues to the grocery list hanging on the refrigerator.

The subway train brakes half-hummed, half-whistled as we slowed. The PA crackled to life. “Next stop, Twinbrook Station.”

I couldn’t last all the way to the Smithsonian stop on the Metro. At least, not in this car. A desperate search of my jacket pockets produced a napkin from my favorite Chinatown restaurant. I blew my nose, loud enough the twenty or so other passengers all stared at me, including Body Spray Guy. I’d get off at Twinbrook and move to another car.

Or better yet, wait for the next train.

For all of my family’s magical talents, there should be a spell to counteract allergies. My mother claimed my issues were because of all the modern living conveniences. No one let their children play in the dirt and become attuned to nature.

I played in the dirt plenty as a child, and I was definitely attuned to nature. That’s how I kept cockroaches out of our townhouse in Montgomery Village. It sure didn’t stop me from developing hay fever in college.

If I waited for the next train though, I’d be late for my appointment with Doctor Goss. But he’d be even more peeved if I sneezed all over his research, even if I was the top forensic archeologist on this side of the country.

However, when the subway train stopped at Twinbrook, the platform was packed. Twinbrook was never packed this late in the morning. If I got out of the car, I’d never get back on.

The doors slid open, and people flooded into the car. More of a crowd gathered on the platform. An older lady in an obvious mourning dress plunked down on the seat beside me, the scent of cigarettes wafting from her clothes and hair.

“What’s going on?” I gestured at the disappointed faces outside the window as the PA warned to keep clear of the doors.

“Big accident on Rockville Pike,” she murmured. “All lanes are closed. With the backup, I couldn’t get to the Beltway, and I am not missing my auntie’s funeral.”

The doors hissed shut, and the subway surged forward. There went my plan to change trains. I couldn’t even change cars with the people packed inside. I would have thought the sheer amount of bodies would mitigate Body Spray Guy’s odor.

My seatmate wrinkled her nose. “Please tell me that’s not you, honey.”

I was impressed she could smell him through her own smoke and nicotine odors. “Two seats in front of us,” I whispered before I tried to discretely sniff.

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