Witch Upon a Star (A Midnight Magic Mystery) Read online

  My bedroom door swung open as Asher, dressed only in a towel, hurried out. He glanced from me to the mess that was Christine. “What—”

  “Keep her away from me!” Christine shrieked like a wild woman.

  “I didn’t—”

  “She went crazy!”

  Asher rushed to help her. “What did you do?” he asked me.

  “Nothing! I didn’t do this. She—”

  “She did not do this to herself, Anna,” he snapped, fangs exposed. The knot in my gut all but choked me. The only time I could see the fangs was when he dropped the glamour and wanted me to.

  “She did! I swear it!”

  As he bent to examine her, I was all but forgotten. Christine looked up, blood and deep gaping scratches marring her perfect face. Even I was taken aback by the horror and gore. Christine clutched onto Asher, all but curled up into his lap for protection. “Keep her away from me! We-we were just having an argument, and she went mad. I-I-I called her a bitch, an-and the next thing I knew she attacked me, then this gust of wind blew me sideways, then—”

  “She is lying!” I shouted. Déjà vu whacked me beside the head. I was right back in Paris facing off against Collette, just with the tables turned. The three-fold rule had come back for its due. He believed me then, he’d believe me now. “She—”

  “Do not move!” Asher roared. He held Christine tighter as she sobbed against his bare shoulder. “Do not come near her, or so help me …”

  And that was it.

  The moment.

  The moment when I saw the person Alain warned me about. The monster who would snap my neck and feel not one shred of remorse afterward. Every delusion, every hope I had for us burnt away as if the air were on fire, leaving not smoke but pure crystal- clear clarity. Had I taken another step, disobeyed him, he would have killed me. For her. Because as he bestowed kisses on her face and stroked her hair exactly as he had mine not minutes before, I realized he loved her. A part of him always would. I would never be the sole owner of his heart. His soul. I would never be enough. My house of cards toppled.

  I didn’t say a word, I didn’t move a muscle as he gently picked her up like a bride and hummed her a lullaby as he carried her into her bedroom, slamming the door shut with his foot. “Stupid,” I whispered to myself. “Stupid little girl.”

  And before the clouds could return, before he could slink out of that room with false promises and false hope he was no doubt giving her then, I walked to our bedroom, quickly changed, threw my meager possessions into my suitcase, grabbed my purse and coat, and walked out of my old life without a glimpse back.

  For my many, many faults, no one could ever say I was not a woman of my word.

  _____

  I just drove. I had fifty dollars in my purse, no credit cards, and no idea where to go. None. I was all alone in the night without a compass to guide me anymore. Even on my Italian misadventure, deep down I knew when the time finally came he would be there. He’d come rescue me. He’d scoop me into his arms and all would be right in the miserable world. I had hope. There is nothing, nothing worse in this universe than a lack of hope. Even a glimmer can force one out of bed when there’s no tangible reason to. It keeps you company, cheers you on to make those last few steps even while your feet bleed. That was my existence before I met him, living with a selfish bastard who pimped me out because it served his needs. Who only cared what I could do for him. History was repeating itself, and I’d just been too much of a fool to notice it. One little crack, and my life crumbled to dust, snuffing out even that glimmer.

  I didn’t realize where I was really going until I passed the sign welcoming me to Goodnight. The town even had its own welcoming committee to greet me. I was driving twenty above the speed limit, and the police cruiser waiting behind the sign did not take kindly to that. When the red and white lights began flashing, I almost burst into tears again. It just wasn’t my night.

  “License and registration, miss,” handlebar mustached Deputy Andrews said.

  “Yes, sir.” The registration was easy, but the license proved a problem in that I didn’t have one. I gave him my passport instead. “It-it’s all I have.”

  “This is a rental car? Do you have the rental agreement?”

  “The what?”

  “Proof you can use this car. It’s registered to Peter Cain Holdings. You don’t look like a Peter Cain, Miss … Asher of … Holland? Really. Huh. Never met anyone from Holland before. They don’t issue drivers licenses in Holland?”

  “I … don’t have it with me. Sorry.”

  The deputy jotted something in his notebook. “Okay, well, Miss Asher since you can’t prove this is your car, you don’t have a license, and I already have you for reckless driving, I’m gonna have to take you in and get this sorted out. Please step out of the car, miss.”

  It really wasn’t my night.

  Three hours on my own and I was already in police custody. I was too exhausted in every possible way to protest. The officer escorted me to the back of the squad car, radioed for a tow truck, then drove me in relative silence save for promises we’d sort this out to the Gardenia County Sheriff’s Station. Only a half asleep dispatcher greeted us at the station. That angel of mercy brought me a cup of stale coffee. At least Deputy Andrews didn’t put me in a cell. I stared into space by his desk as he attempted to get a hold of Peter or someone at the hotel. It was almost dawn, the vampires were settling in for the night and not answering phone calls. I was stranded. “Is there anyone I can call to pick you up?”

  Oddly, the first person who sprang to mind was Agent West. His card was still in my purse. I assumed the impulse was due to the law enforcement connection. But it seemed wrong to ask him to take time away from a war to collect me from a backwater town. So though it physically hurt, I gave the only other name I could think of to rescue this damsel in distress. Apparently humiliation was still possible even when an emotional gasket explodes. When Mr. Harmon walked in thirty minutes later, pea coat over his pajamas as if I had pulled the poor man out of his warm bed, I seriously wished I’d just driven off the side of the Blue Ridge Mountains.

  “Hey Lucas, thanks for coming down,” Deputy Andrews said.

  “Of course. So, do I need to sign anything or …”

  “No, she’s not under arrest. Just a hefty fine.”

  “Great. Come on, Anna. Let’s go home,” Mr. Harmon said, touching my shoulder.

  Like a robot, I rose from my chair. The deputy handed me my purse, and Mr. Harmon lifted my suitcase. “We’ll call you, Miss Asher, when we have the car sorted out.”

  “She’ll be staying with us. You have the number,” Mr. Harmon said. “Thanks, Louis. Say hey to Shirley for Emma and me. Come on, sweetie.” The wonderful man ushered me out of the precinct and into his station wagon. “Seat belt.”

  He didn’t ask questions, maybe because he was as exhausted as I was, just drove us back to the house. Mrs. Harmon waited above on the landing in her robe, sporting a sad smile. “The spare room’s ready,” she said as we walked in. “I put fresh towels on the bed if you want a bath.”

  “Th-thank you.”

  “Go on upstairs, sweetie,” he said, rubbing my back. “Get some rest.”

  I took my suitcase from him and nodded. “I … thank you. You both have been so kind,” I said, voice breaking. “I-I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

  “Don’t worry about that now. Just go get some sleep,” said Mr. Harmon.

  With my head hung, I slowly trudged upstairs, Mrs. Harmon squeezing my shoulder as I passed. I resisted the urge to hug her. The bedroom was simple: just a bed, dresser with lamp, and shag rug, but it looked like Agent West’s Valhalla. I shut heaven’s door, kicked off my shoes and jacket, climbed under the handmade quilt, and promptly fell asleep. Deep asleep. The kind where you wake fourteen hours later in the same position, every muscle stiff and with a sandwich on the nightstand. A vacuum ran downstairs, almost overshadowed by the music booming on the other si
de of the wall. Life went on around me. I would have to go on as well.

  Fresh towels in hand, I tiptoed to the bathroom to shower. Despite the hell my life had become, I did look better than the day before. The circles under my eyes were more gray than black, the bruises were yellowing, and there were some peaches mixed with the cream of my skin. After the shower, I even felt almost human. Almost. I dressed in brown corduroys and black cashmere sweater, braided my wet hair, threw on pink lipstick and after a tiny pep talk, stepped out to join the world. Tom must have been lying in wait because he popped out of his room at the same time as I left the bathroom.

  “Hey!” he said, as chipper as a chipmunk. “Hi!”

  “Hello,” I replied, eyes to the ground. Who knew what horrors these people thought befell me the night before.

  “Did you sleep well? Are you okay? Did you really get arrested?” he rapid fired.

  “Um, yes, yes, no.”

  Tom chuckled. “Well, that’s good. I was worried it’d be, ‘No, no, yes.’ Are you hungry? I made you a sandwich and left it by your bed.”

  “I saw it. Thank you. I was just about to go eat it.”

  I started down the hall, and of course he followed me to continue the Spanish Inquisition. “I made it with mustard. Do you like mustard? I can take it or leave it. Did you really sleep well? Was the bed too lumpy? You look a lot better today. I like the pink lipstick better than the red you had on yesterday. Not that you weren’t pretty yesterday.”

  “Um, thank you.” I sat on the bed with him joining me as I bit into the sandwich. “This is really good.”

  “Glad you like it,” he said, his chest literally puffing out with pride. “They called about your car. You can pick it up whenever.”

  “Good.”

  “Not that you have to right away. No rush. So … how long you planning on staying?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll probably get a hotel room tonight, then—”

  “You—you don’t have to. I mean, no one ever uses this room, not since Christmas at least. And Mama and Dad said you can stay here until you get back on your feet.”

  “Back on my feet,” I chuckled wryly. “I have no money, no legal means to get any as I have no real ID or employment history, I am now homeless, and the only person I ever loved chose a psychotic whore over me. I don’t think I have feet left to stand on.”

  “Dang. Sorry.” He paused. “So, was she an actual prostitute or …”

  “Before she was turned, yep. Pretty sure the psychotic thing came later though.”

  “Huh. Well, your boyfriend sounds like a real jerk. You’re way better off without him.”

  “So people keep telling me.”

  “Then it’s good you listened. My Memaw has a saying, ‘If everyone’s telling you the sky’s falling, you better get your butt inside.’”

  Everyone had such wise grandmothers. “She have a saying for what you’re supposed to do once you’re inside?”

  He shrugged. “She’d probably say ‘down a bottle of Johnny Walker and enjoy the show.’”

  We both chuckled. “Sounds like my kind of woman.”

  “Well, she comes over every Wednesday for supper, so you have to stay at least that long.”

  “We’ll see. No promises.” I took another bite of my sandwich. “This is really good. You’re a very nice, sweet, talented young man, Tom Harmon. Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise.”

  The boy blushed from tip to toes. “Okay.”

  I finished my sandwich. “Better bring this plate downstairs,” I said, rising.

  “I can—” he said overeagerly.

  “No. I should probably go thank your parents anyway. Goodness knows what they think of me after yesterday. Best not add rude to the list. Excuse me.”

  A lovesick teenage boy is a lot less intimidating than a put-out homemaker. When I found Mrs. Harmon, she was removing the vacuum bag in the kitchen. Her smile quelled my nerves though. “Well, hello, Sleeping Beauty. You are looking a million times better today. Magic of a good night’s sleep, huh?”

  “Yes. Thank you.” I maneuvered around her toward the sink to wash the plate. “And once again, I am so sorry for waking you and Mr. Harmon. I’ll get out of your hair as soon as I can, I promise. You have been beyond kind, and … I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you, but I will. I swear, I will.”

  She smiled to reassure me once again. “It’s okay, hon. And there’s no rush for you to go. In fact, I talked to your Aunt Ruth just an hour ago. She’s gonna pop by tomorrow. She’s dying to meet you. Oh, and Sally McGregor called too. Something about missing potions? You should probably call her back. The store’s number is in the rolodex.”

  Not only did I owe Lord Peter the potions that I smashed, but I still had his car. There was just so much I had to work out, a million tiny logistics required to start over, I didn’t know where to begin. The weight of what I’d done almost crushed me in that moment. I couldn’t breathe, could barely stand. I’d left him. I had nothing. No one. Everything was gone. My stability, flimsy though it was, my identity, my soul mate, it was all dust in the wind. All I had were the clothes in my suitcase and the kindness of strangers. “I’m, uh … I’m gonna take a walk. I need some fresh air.”

  “Okay, hon. Supper’s at six. Be back by then, okay?”

  With a nod and a nervous smile, I walked from the kitchen upstairs to retrieve my coat and book. February wasn’t the best time to spend a few hours reading in a park, but the chill didn’t deter me. No matter where in the world I found myself, I could locate a park nearby to get lost in a book. Since I was a child it was my one constant. My escape. An anchor. The park in Goodnight, situated in the center of town amid the boutiques and City Hall, was near deserted save for the gawkers passing through. They didn’t even attempt to hide their looks and whispers to their companions. In town only a few hours, and I was already infamous. Even without the nosy parkers gawking, no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t concentrate on East of Eden.

  What the hell was I going to do? Go back to pickpocketing? No one would give me a job without a Social Security number and driver’s license. Anna Olmstead was most likely declared dead by then. Maybe Lord Peter or another vampire could hire me—no. The one silver lining of the mess was I was out of the vampire world. I could die quite happily without laying eyes on another again. No, if I was really doing it, I would do it proper. Honest work, honest friends. I would become a normal person with a normal life. The citizens of Goodnight were witches, and they did it seemingly with ease. I had some jewelry in my suitcase, I could pawn it and at least put down a deposit on an apartment nearby to tide me over until I got a job. If I had to scrub toilets, I would. Goodnight was as good a place to start over as any. My loose ends were easy enough to tie up. I’d drive the potions up in the car during the day, leave them both, then take a bus back. I’d do just that the next morning. I wouldn’t have to see Asher or any other vampire ever again. It was doable. And I’d do it.

  As always, my time in the park pepped me right up. I had a plan. Resolve. Even a glimmer of hope. I was smart, I was determined, I was a hard worker and most important, I had no choice. Rock bottom had been reached. Onward and upward was the only option left. If only I’d known that rock bottom wasn’t the lowest one could go. There was always hell.

  _____

  “Dinner was amazing, Mrs. Harmon. Thank you. I can’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal.”

  I’d never had meatloaf before, but it was delicious. I’d have to get the recipe. A lot of her recipes. Asher was the chef, I could barely boil water. That would have to change. If I could whip up a potion, in theory I could whip up a meal. At least that night I proved I was proficient in dishwashing. Tom, who remained glued to my hip since I returned from the magic shop after re-mixing the potions I broke, helped me clear and even stayed to dry. I’m fairly sure Mrs. Harmon did a genuine double take when he offered. Who knew a vampire concubine could be such a good influence? I even promised
to help with his Spanish homework. We were deep into conjugating verbs at the kitchen table when the phone rang. Tom picked it up. “Harmon residence,” Tom said. “Who may I ask is calling?” He listened, scrunching up his face as if he had a bad taste in his mouth. “It’s for you. Special Agent West?”

  I actually smiled as I stood to get the phone, which deepened Tom’s scowl. “Half an hour response time, Agent West. The F.R.E.A.K.S. will have to work on that.”

  “My teammate just gave me the message, sorry. We’re stretched real thin. Right now I’m neck deep in fiber and autopsy reports.”

  “Sounds fun. I promise I won’t keep you long.”

  “No, keep me long. Please. I’ve hit a damn wall, and I am about to hit one literally.”

  “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Actually,” Nathan said, perking up, “you know what? Maybe you can. Have you ever heard of a vamp who literally ripped someone’s throat out to the point the person was almost decapitated? I mean, even her vertebrae were missing. Because it’s been bugging the hell out of me. The working theory was the first victim, Abigail Conlon, was picked up by one or two vamps who knew she was the pack leader’s granddaughter and killed her for retribution.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “The fact she was dumped on the property Conlon outbid Lord Peter on. But it’s odd. There are only three reasons for that much damage to the girl. One, it was a frenzied attack, and the vamp went crazy with bloodlust. Two, to send a message about their cruelty, or three to cover up the bite, which doesn’t make sense because there was another bite on her inner thigh. But according to the autopsy, there were no smears of blood around the thigh wound. It was like they just sunk their fangs in but didn’t drink. Nothing adds up, and neither faction will listen to us, and … my roommate snores, and we’re understaffed, and I have indigestion, and … sorry. I’m rambling. And frustrated.”