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

  “Left pocket. The locket.”

  Sure enough I found the necklace with a lock of golden hair. A few strands went into the glass vial holding the potion I had mixed earlier. Next came the part I hated. The athame, or ritual knife, weighed heavy in my hand. After removing my glove, I pressed the blade to my finger but couldn’t finish the job. It just hurt too much. “Allow me.” My gaze whipped toward Asher, who was bridging the small gap between us. He took the athame from me and said, “Please look into my eyes.” I obeyed without hesitation. My body began pleasantly prickling as if I were close to a Tesla coil. “You will feel no pain.” He was right. I sensed the pressure of the blade, even my tender skin parting, but didn’t register the sensations as pain. When he stepped away, breaking eye contact, the buzzing vanished. “See? No pain.”

  “Thank you.”

  Using my blood, I painted the spirit sigil in the center of the grave before pouring the potion in the center and touching a crystal with my bloody finger to energize the perimeter. Then came the hard part. “What was her name?”

  “Jane. Jane Ann Jackson. She was born September 18, 1760, and died July 27, 1783.”

  Clutching the locket and touching the hair, I shut my eyes and called to the universe, to the magic all around—in the trees, in the ground, in the air, in every living cell and energy source in this world and the next. I was its vessel, a container expanding and contracting with every beat of my heart. The potion, the hair, the blood, the name Jane Ann Jackson, I funneled that power into piercing that fragile divide, slicing it open with my will alone. If before I was touching a Tesla coil, at that moment I was at the center of a nuclear power plant. It built and built and built until … critical mass. The burst of energy exploded out of me, propelling me backward from the force. Instead of crashing to the ground, arms caught me before I fell. Asher stared down, face contorted with worry, but I managed a reassuring smile. My hero grinned back. Oh yes, I was addicted to those smiles already.

  “Where am I?”

  Both our attentions turned toward the grave. My mouth dropped open a little at the sight of what I’d done. A tiny young woman dressed in American Colonial garb I’d only seen in history books, with a kerchief covering her head, hovered an inch off the ground. Through the majority of her features could be made out—large eyes and lips, straight nose, prominent cheekbones—she was still slightly out of focus with a glowing aura outlining her. I’d done it. I was staring at a real, undead ghost I’d yanked from another realm. My actions were too large, too grave for my nine-year-old mind to wrap around. All I wished to do was run shrieking back to the car and hide. I could have run too with nary a glance from my companion. My existence faded from Asher’s mind the moment he saw her.

  “Jane,” he whispered in wonder.

  “Asher?” she whispered in the same enchanted tone. “’Tis you? I … I can barely see you.”

  “I am here, my love,” he said, taking a few uneasy steps toward her. “I am here.”

  “What … what witchcraft is this? Why … why can I not feel anything? Where am I?” she cried. “I … I do not know this place. Where are Mama and Papa? I … I think … I was just with them.”

  “All is well, my love. Please do not be afraid,” he pleaded. “You … You … are safe. No harm can come to you. I’m sorry to frighten you so. I … I simply had to see you one last time before …”

  The torment roaring inside that cut short his words also contorted his expression into a mask of sheer agony. I wanted to dash to his side to offer some comfort, but my legs stayed firmly planted. I had no place in this exchange.

  “I waited for you.”

  “I know,” he said.

  “I waited as long as I could, but you never returned for me. You swore you would return.”

  “I did,” he responded desperately, “but you had already …

  moved on.”

  “I waited,” she said, voice cracking. “Three years, yet no letter. No word. I thought you had forsaken me. Forgotten me.”

  “No,” he said with enough force to startle both the living and the dead. “I loved you with all I possessed, Jane. I have never forgotten you. Never. I had to flee. You know I did. There was no other course of action. They would have slaughtered us both. I would have sent for you, but with the war and price on my head, it would have been too dangerous for you. And when all was settled, you were already gone. You were gone, thinking I held no love for you. You were gone … hating me.”

  “I never hated you, my love. You were my sun, my moon, my stars. You showed me a beautiful, enchanting world few had seen. The year we spent together, the love we shared, brought such magic to my life it could sustain me for eternity. I could never hate you.”

  “For true?”

  “Yes, love,” she said with a sad smile. “For well and for true.”

  Asher stared at the phantasm in disbelief, jaw slowly dropping as the words sunk in. “I …” he said breathlessly. “I miss you. I still love you, and I miss you so. And I am sorry. I am so sorry for causing you a moment’s pain.”

  “I forgive you,” she whispered. “And I love you too. Forever and for always. Now go and love for the both of us.” The specter looked straight at me. “Please send me back now. Please.”

  I glanced at Asher, but he was gone in all but body. He was more of a ghost than Jane, staring at nothing and trembling in a vain attempt to release the anguish evident all over his face. I could have set him on fire, and he wouldn’t have noticed. Or cared. He would have welcomed an agonizing death. Any death. I stepped in front of him.

  “Take care, my love,” she whispered just before I raised my hand again and said, “Quies quietis.”

  And she vanished with a serene smile on her face.

  Five seconds. I gave him five seconds of privacy before spinning around. Just as I did, he turned his face away as he wiped his cheeks with his sleeve, leaving dark smudges on his beige sweater and face. I took one step. Two, before wrapping his hand in mine. One touch, just one touch and he crumbled, literally crumbled to the ground as he let out a wail to wake the rest of the dead. I offered no resistance as he collected me into his arms and sobbed against my tiny shoulder as I hugged him back as tight as I was capable. We stayed like that until all of his tears were spent. Until his heart was empty of her. And when he finally released me, and I stared into his blood-filled eyes, wiping the tears away from his red-streaked cheeks without fear or hesitation at the gruesome sight, that was the moment I officially took my place in that now-vacant spot inside him. That empty void that even death could never touch.

  The place I was always fated to be.

  _____

  “Are you hungry?”

  These were the first words he’d spoken since we left the cemetery. I was sent back to the warm car as he cleaned up both himself and the scene. When he returned, the only remnants of what occurred were his ruined sweater and jacket, and the tang of blood that hung faintly on the air. Of course I had a thousand questions but kept my lips firmly shut tight. Not the time. Asher started the car, and for ten minutes only Mick Jagger and then Rodger Daltry uttered a word until we passed a Denny’s sign for the next exit.

  “Yes,” I said. “Thank you.”

  Then not another syllable until we stepped into the restaurant. The hostess, a middle-aged woman with a beehive hairdo, gave us a toothy grin. If she thought it odd a customer was dressed only in a white undershirt, grass-stained pants, and sunglasses to cover the missed bloody smudges on the coldest night of the year, she didn’t let on. “Hello. Two?”

  “Yes. And where is your lavatory?” Asher asked.

  “In the back by the payphones.”

  “Thank you. Please show her to our table. She may order whatever she desires.” He nodded to us both before walking away to freshen up.

  “This way, sweetie,” the hostess said to me. I followed her to a booth. “Your daddy sure is proper.”

  “He is not my Daddy,” I stated emphatically.<
br />
  “Oh. Sorry. My mistake.”

  I scooted into the booth and after setting down two menus, the hostess departed. I hadn’t eaten since lunch so I ordered a Grand Slam with extra bacon and hashbrowns, a chocolate malt, and water for Asher. He returned, now fresh faced and sans sunglasses as our waitress, an elderly woman with silver hair, strolled away.

  “I got you water,” I said as he slid across from me.

  “Thank you.” We stared at one another for a few seconds, neither sure what to say next. He took the reigns. “You must be … confused by all you witnessed tonight.”

  “Not really. She was your girlfriend, you left her, and she died.” I paused. “How did she die?”

  “In childbirth. The baby as well.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “As am I,” he all but whispered.

  “You must have loved her a whole lot.”

  “More than I thought myself ever capable of, yes,” Asher said almost angrily. At himself, at her, at the fates, to this day I don’t know.

  “Then … why did you leave her?”

  “I had no choice. There was a price on my head. Had I remained, my enemies would have discovered our affiliation and brought harm to her and her family. I did what I believed was best at the time.”

  “Why were you in danger?” The sides of his mouth twitched with displeasure. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.”

  “No, I … simply do not wish to frighten you.”

  “You don’t frighten me,” I proclaimed.

  “Perhaps I should,” he said with the same certainty.

  The waitress returned with my milkshake and his water, breaking the uneasy mood. So my mouth couldn’t get me into more trouble, I sucked down my malt. “Here you go. And can I get you anything, mister?”

  “I have already dined tonight, thank you.” With a nod, she walked away. “Is your treat up to your standards?”

  “It’s really good,” I said, mouth full. “Thank you.”

  After a pause, “No. Thank you.”

  “What for?”

  “I shall admit I did not believe one so young would be up to my task. Witches three times your senior could not do what you did this evening. You shall be a force to be reckoned with when you fully come of age. You are a High Priestess without doubt.”

  “What’s a High Priestess?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Your mother never … it is a witch who, in addition to performing spells, can control the elements: earth, air, fire, and water.”

  “And I’ll be one of them?” I asked. “Groovy. When?”

  “When you … blossom into a woman.”

  “How will I know when that happens?” I asked, genuinely perplexed.

  “One simply knows,” he answered with a lopsided grin before nervously clearing his throat. “So, is it just you and your father now?”

  “Yeah. Astrid ran away. She’s been a Deadhead for almost two years.”

  “A Deadhead?”

  “Yeah. She told Sven that when she heard Jerry Garcia sing at Woodstock, it was like the universe told her it was her mission to follow the band around and become his muse. So she split. I mean, she wrote us two letters, but that was over a year ago.”

  “I am sorry. That must be difficult.”

  I shrugged. “Sometimes one of Sven’s girlfriends lives with us or he lets clients stay. They’re even nice. Sometimes.”

  “And other times?” he asked with a hard edge.

  I just stared down at my plate.

  “That bastard,” Asher whispered. “Your father should not sell you like chattel to the highest bidder.”

  I didn’t say a word. I kept my eyes lowered and lips on my straw. I didn’t like talking about Sven or the fact I was what Andie called “damaged goods.” I didn’t want one negative thought about me to cross Asher’s mind. “So, there are really witches who couldn’t do what I did? You’re not just saying that to make me feel good?”

  “I would not lie to you. What you accomplished took such focus, not to mention tremendous power. You have such potential,” he said, almost wistful. “You are a true diamond in the rough. And what you did for me this evening, not simply the spell …” He paused. “No one has shown me such kindness in eons.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Why would you be sorry?”

  “That no one’s been nice to you. That you’re so sad. And lonely.”

  He studied me for a few intense seconds, as if daring me to blurt out I was faking sincerity or to break down in tears. But I matched his expression, staring over my milkshake. A slow, sad smile crept across his face. “You are extraordinary, do you know that? Never allow anyone to make you feel otherwise. Not for a moment.”

  “Okay.”

  The waitress walked up with my meal and a grin for Asher. “Lotta food for such a little girl. Your daddy gonna help you with it all?”

  “He’s not my daddy. And I’m not little. I’m eigh—no, nine.”

  “My mistake. Just have a birthday, then?”

  “Yes. Today.”

  “Oh! Happy birthday, hon! Nine is a big year, almost double digits!”

  “Thank you.”

  The waitress departed again. I wasted no time in piling food into my mouth. Asher watched as I gorged myself on grease. “Is it truly your birthday?” I nodded as I chewed my eggs. “She is correct. Nine is a momentous year. When I reached your age, I was sent to the front as a messenger boy for the Plantagenet army.”

  “Were you scared?” I asked with my mouth full.

  “Oh, yes. Especially after being captured by the Capetians. I was their prisoner for months until I liberated myself.”

  “So, how old are you now?”

  “How old do I appear?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. I narrowed my eyes at him and scowled. I didn’t enjoy being treated like a fool. My ire unleashed another of his grins. “When did you deduce my secret?”

  “In the car. I could see my breath but not yours. Then you used magic with my finger, cried blood, and Jane was dressed like Thanksgiving. Astrid told me you guys existed.”

  “And yet you are not frightened of me.”

  “I told you. No. You promised you wouldn’t hurt me. Why would I be?”

  Judging from the half-open mouth and squinted eyes trained on me, my matter-of-fact delivery confounded him. “Even still, most are.”

  I shrugged. “I think it’s groovy. Never getting sick. Hypnotizing people to do whatever you want. Being superstrong so no one picks on you. Getting to live forever.”

  “Never feeling the sun radiating against your face. Never tasting food or wine again. Standing by as all of those you love wither and die,” he countered. “It is possible for one to exist for so long they forget what it is to truly live.”

  “Is that why you’re so sad? Everyone you love is dead? Like Jane?”

  “It is one of the reasons, yes.”

  My nine-year-old mind pondered his quandary. “When Astrid left, Sven was gone a lot. We’d just moved to Albany so I didn’t know anyone. They skipped me two grades, so I’m younger than everyone else. People in school were mean. Still are. They call me a freak. I always say not even my own Mommy wants to be around me. I was sad all the time. I cried a lot. Then one day there was this noise at my bus stop. A meow. It was an orange kitten, real skinny and missing an eye too. She was going to die so I brought her home. Kirsten,” I said with a sad smile. “She was my best friend. And I wasn’t sad anymore. Until …”

  “Until?”

  “She ate some of Sven’s pills and died a month ago when I was at school.” Remembering her soft fur, the way she curled up against my tummy at night purring away, me coming home and telling her about my day made me want to burst into tears right in that restaurant. I bit the inside of my mouth to stop the impulse. I didn’t want Asher to think me weak crying over a silly cat.

  “I am sorry, Anna,” he said in a low tone.

  I shrugged again. “‘Don’t cry because
it’s over, smile because it happened.’”

  “Wise words.”

  “They’re not mine. Dr. Seuss said it.” Asher stared at me blankly. “Green Eggs and Ham? The Cat in the Hat?” He shook his head.

  “Don’t know many kids, huh?”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “Well, you don’t talk to me like I’m stupid, so yeah.”

  “I would not dare,” he said playfully. “It would be a disservice to us both.”

  My cheeks flared as red as his tears. I wasn’t used to people saying kind things to me, except that I was pretty. That compliment was usually followed by an inappropriate statement that sent worms wriggling in my abdomen. They never said much about my mind except they thought I was weird or too smart for my own good. Not sure what else to do, I stared down at my plate and ate more. I knew he was still watching me, making me even more uncomfortable if possible.

  “You should learn to take a compliment, Anna. You shall receive more than your fair share through this life.”

  “If you say so,” I said through my chewing.

  “And you should not speak with your mouth full.” His eyes zeroed in on my elbows. “Or place your elbows on the table. Both are considered quite rude.”

  I gulped down my food and immediately dropped my elbows. “Sorry.”

  “It is not your fault. It is a failing of your upbringing. Such as it is. You cannot know if you are not taught.”

  “Okay. What else?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “What else do I need to know? What else can you teach me? I’m a real fast learner. I like learning new stuff.”

  “And I am sure you are the most apt of pupils. However, I am an ill-suited instructor.”

  “No, you aren’t. I learned more from you tonight than in a year

  of school,” I insisted.

  He stared at me with pity then, which turned my stomach. Even at that age I could withstand just about anything but pity. “You flatter me.”