An adolescent girl helping to drape bracelets over a display model squealed with delight. “Mom, look at the size of that pig!”
Deacon lifted his snout in the air with the same attitude I’d seen him put on when he walked into a bar on the prowl for a date.
The young girl raced around the corner of the table and rushed out to pet my cousin. “Nice piggy.” She giggled when Deacon snorted just for her. “He’s so well-behaved.”
I snorted. “That’s debatable.”
“Emelia, what have I told you about running up to animals without asking permission?” her mother scolded, pulling her daughter’s hands away. She glanced at me with a shy smile. “Is it okay if she touches your pet?”
I pointed at the pig. “Oh, he’s not a pet. And you’d better ask him yourself.”
Deacon oinked and snuffled with excitement at being the center of attention again. “I don’t mind,” he grunted.
Little Emelia backed away with wide eyes. “Mommy, did the piggy just talk?”
“I sure did,” my cousin admitted. “And I like the ribbon woven into your hair. Blue is my favorite color, too.”
I looked to the heavens for help. Whatever color a pretty girl wore always ended up Deacon’s favorite hue of the night. All his time as an animal hadn’t dampened his skills to charm.
The mom remained cautious, but her daughter grinned back at the pig, fingering the silk woven into her braids. “Mom did it. Why can you talk? Are you like a prince who’s under some spell and needs a kiss from a princess to break it?”
The little girl’s guess floored me. Uncle Jo and I exchanged knowing glances, neither of us able to come up with a better explanation.
“Oink, I sure am. How about we see if you have what it takes.” Deacon bowed his head closer to the girl.
She looked to her mother for permission, and when she received it, the girl threw her arms around my cousin’s brawny neck and kissed his forehead a few times.
“Aww. It didn’t work,” she pouted, patting my cousin’s head. “Guess I’m not the right princess, piggy.”
“Come on, honey. Let’s leave these people to their business,” her mother insisted, heading back to their table. “Don’t make me regret taking Meemaw’s advice to bring you tonight.” She mouthed a thank-you at Uncle Jo and me.
“Bye, Emelia,” Deacon snuffled.
The little girl giggled one more time and blew a kiss at the pig. “My friends call me Emmie.”
Uncle Jo, eager to move on, read the signs on the nearby stalls. “She’s gotta be here somewhere.”
“I’ll bet she’s closer to the end,” I replied, patting my uncle’s arm in encouragement.
We strolled down the end of the booths until we spotted a sign with various Celtic and made up symbols hung on a tie-dyed banner. The name Mystic Misty was painted in a white font with swirls and filigree. The tagline on the bottom sparkled in rainbow colors and read, Specializes in crystal healing and enlightenment.
Stones of all different shapes and sizes gleamed from their settings in different pieces of jewelry. I couldn’t help but be distracted from our purpose by the shiny pretties, and I leaned closer to get a better look at a particular bracelet. The large, translucent orange and yellow oval contained flashes of brilliant colors that almost looked like burning flames from the inside.
A petite woman wearing a flowing black skirt and a corseted bodice with a leaf pattern laced over a white puffy shirt stopped fussing with the plastic containers full of her wares and approached.
“Ah, you’ve found one of my favorite pieces. It’s a fire opal,” she said with a smile. “They’re said to encourage creativity and help in your business endeavors, but they can also protect you from danger, too. And if you’ve got a sweetheart, they can help warm up the romance. Although I see you already have a beautiful token on your finger.” She nodded at the ring Luke gave me.
My fingers longed to touch the bracelet, but Uncle Jo cleared his throat. “My name’s Josephus Jewell, and I contacted you on the recommendation of the leader of the Crystal Coast Coven.”
“Ah, yes. Ebonee contacted me about the problem you’re trying to solve. I’m Misty, by the way,” the perky woman said, pointing at the sign. “In case you hadn’t figured that out.”
Something about her cheerful demeanor tickled me, and I smiled despite my nerves for why we were visiting her market stall.
She stood on her tiptoes to look over her table at my cousin. The purple scarf with metal bangles hanging from the hem that she had wrapped around her waist jangled as she moved. “I assume you’re the one that everyone’s fussing over, aren’t you, big boy?”
My cousin’s curly tail twitched with delight. “That would be me. Name’s Deacon.”
Misty giggled. “Nice to meet you, Deacon. Ooh, that sounds awfully close to bacon. I bet you hear that joke a lot.”
My cheeks reddened a little as my cousin’s pig head turned in my direction. “Only when he’s being bad,” I defended.
The young woman brushed some hair behind her ear, revealing a little point at the tip of the cartilage. She winked at Deacon. “I have a feeling you get called Bacon a lot, then.”
My cousin snorted and snuffled, sticking his snout in the air with pride. Uncle Jo let out an exasperated groan, but I couldn’t help but chuckle at the pig’s antics.
Misty dashed to the recesses of her booth and rummaged in one of her containers. “I had a heck of a time coming up with a way to make the piece long enough to fit the measurements given to me. I
