Even in my nice slacks and dark sweater, I felt a bit underdressed. Was this a Knitting Society or Knitting Cotillion? Ladies about Ruth’s age were in dresses and smart business suits, with plenty of bling. I smiled as a maid in a uniform opened the door and allowed me in. She was taking my coat before I remembered and grabbed the mangled sweater from the pocket. I stepped down into a lavish living room, with two large sofas facing each other in front of an enormous fireplace. The house was decorated in a harvest theme, with plenty of pumpkins, gourds, Indian corn, fall leaves, and enough raffia to make Martha Stewart envious.
The women were in klatches with teacups and saucers in their hands, when many of them turned to look at me. Maybe they thought the help had come to join the party.
Ruth was suddenly there beside me. “Oh, you came.”
“Your house is amazing.”
Her stiff posture loosened a little and her pursed mouth even tried a smile. “Thank you. Won’t you sit down? Stella will bring you some tea. I hope it’s adequate to your preference.”
“I like all kinds of tea…as you might imagine.”
“Yes,” she said noncommittally. “We’ll be starting in a minute.” And then she whisked away.
A woman in a maid’s uniform—Stella, I presumed—offered me a cup and saucer, and I took it with a spoon of sugar and a splash of milk. And then I found a spot on a loveseat next to a silk-scarfed woman who looked me over speculatively. “You’re new,” she said.
“Not that new,” I said with a smile. I sipped my tea, a standard black leaf of no particular distinction. “But I did just move to Moody Bog.”
By the look on her face, I could tell she didn’t get the joke. “I’m Kylie Strange. I’m opening Strange Herbs & Teas this Friday. The tea shop on Lyndon Road.”
“Oh, I see. That’s…delightful.” Before I could ask her name and what she did about town, she had already turned away to chat with a woman in a wingback chair to her left.
I sipped and looked around. The bluebloods of Maine, I supposed. How rude of me to be so common.
After another few minutes, someone rang a little bell and the ladies, like trained dogs, all turned their attention to Ruth, who set the bell on the wide mantel. “Thank you all for coming today. I’m sure we’re all anxious to get started and talk about our latest projects. But first I’d like to present our guest.” She turned her eyes toward me and gestured. “Kylie Strange. She’s just moved to Moody Bog.”
Everyone looked my way. I slowly rose and gave everyone a wave. “Hi, everyone. Thanks for having me today. It’s so marvelous to meet you all. As Ruth said, I’ve just moved to your charming village. I’m opening my herb and tea shop at the end of the week and I hope you can all come to the grand opening.” I saw the sparkle of jewelry, and heard the soft click of a spoon on a saucer, but nothing else, not even a smile. “Sooo…let’s…get to knitting!” I punched a fist in the air and sank back to my seat.
Another long moment passed with the stares of strangers raking over me, before Ruth called on the ladies to share their latest. The room burst into animated discussion, with half-finished sweaters and scarves coming out of nowhere.
I stared down at my fakery and tucked it away in the seam between the couch and the cushion. Everyone was busy and no one seemed interested in talking to me. So I decided to get to what I came here for—snooping.
I made my way casually across the living room, making a point to ooh and ah at the examples of purling prowess. When I made it to the hallway without being stopped, I perched in the doorway for a few moments, making sure no one was looking at me, and headed down the corridor. I could always plead that I was looking for the bathroom.
I expected there to be a library and I found it almost immediately. Closing the double doors, I looked around. “Family history,” I muttered, eyes scanning the book spines. And there it was. “Howland Family” boldly printed on the side of a thick archive box.
I dragged it down, placing it on a wide carved desk. Opening it, I thumbed through the papers. Down deeper were the parchmenty ones, and I went directly to them. They were difficult to read, handwritten in that ornate script, but there was a Prosper Howland, a Humility Howland, Grace, John, Ethan, Isaac, Jasper, Peter, Francis, Elizabeth—finally! Constance Howland.
I pulled out that sheaf and studied it. Mundane information, like the year she was born, brothers and sisters—and there were many—but nothing pertinent to my situation. I dug deeper into the archive box and pulled out a torn parchment. I squinted at the spiky writing, and as I read, I realized that this was in Constance’s own hand. She had written it hurriedly, it seemed, and some of the ink was smudged with splotches of drops. I took it to the lamp and began to read:
—my nature. But I fear it was more than that. For having read certain entries of letters from my ancestors, I began to see that I was not the only one. There were others leading farther back than I ever knew, back to England, back to the sands of Egypt itself, I reckon. It is the Curse, then, of my ancestors, just as the Dark Man said—
And that was all. I turned it over. Nothing. I blew out a frustrated breath and put the scrap back. Was Constance hinting at a family business of Chosen Hosts? Digging deeper I found a folded paper. As I unfolded I realized it was a lot larger than I originally thought. Wall map sized. A detailed genealogy.
Howlands as far back as the eye could see. I was about to fold it back up when another surname caught my eye. Married to the Howlands sometime around Constance Howland’s era was the name…Strange.
“What the…?”
My finger started following. Holy cats! They branched off but there was a distinct line of Howlands and an equally distinct line of Stranges.
My head snapped up when the door opened.
Ruth clutched her hands before her. “What are you doing?”
My gaze cast unwillingly toward the open archive box and the scattered pages. I winced. “Oh…well…I was looking for the bathroom and when I passed the library I just had to take a peek. I love libraries and this one is fantastic.” There was no way I could block the evidence of my snooping. She saw it immediately and stomped over, glaring at the open box.
“What is the meaning of this?”
I couldn’t think of one plausible excuse and came as close to the truth as I dared. “I saw the name ‘Howland’ on that and just thought I’d take a quick look. I understand a Howland used to live in the house I now own.”
With trembling fingers, she scooped up the papers, plucking out the folded genealogy still in my hand, and carefully shuffled them back into place. Her hand closed the box and she took up the whole thing and slid it into the empty space on the library shelf. Slowly she pivoted and faced me.
“You and Karl Waters,” she sneered. “I knew you had something to do with him.”
“What? No! I—”
“He managed to get his hands on a lot of the Howland papers when my father died before I could stop him. He had no right. And now you’re trying to steal the rest!”
“You’ve got it wrong. It’s not what it looks like.”
“I think you should leave now.”
I swallowed, feeling like the biggest thief, though I hadn’t stolen anything. “Look, Mrs. Russell, I didn’t mean any harm. I’m just trying to find out more about Constance Howland—”
“I said that you should leave. Do you want me to make a scene?”
“No. No, let’s not do that.” Feeling like a whipped puppy, I moved toward the door. She was still trembling with anger. “I’m really sorry. But I only wanted to find out more about Constance Howland. I need to.”
“Get out.”
Her voice was low and clipped. I figured I’d better go before she started yelling.
I slipped out of the doorway and when I got to the living room and all the chattering ladies, I found Stella standing nearby. “Can I get my coat? I’ve got to leave.”
She helped me put it on and then handed something to me. “I believe you
dropped this.”
It was my fake knitted sweater that I had left stuffed into the sofa. “Oh, uh, thanks.” I plunged it into my coat pocket. When movement down the hallway caught the corner of my eye, I turned my head.
Ruth was staring at me, eyes narrowed. Crap. This was going to get to the rest of the Chamber of Commerce and then I’d never get to join.
And worse. That note from Constance Howland. It seemed that she knew more than at first appeared. What was that she was saying? Something about the “Curse of her ancestors.” She had to mean the Booke.
And just how close were the Howlands to the Stranges? I gave a tiny wave toward Ruth. “Later…cuz.”
• • •
I had to let it go. I knew Jolene was arriving at four today and I hurried back, trying to get there before she did. When she arrived, I looked her over in her heather gray hoodie, still worried about her run-in with the evil vortex.
She sighed at my prolonged scrutiny. “I’m fine!”
“Just checking. Can you blame me? It’s not like I ever experienced someone getting possessed before.”
She shook her head with all the disdain a teen was capable of. When she set her bag down and slipped off her coat, I was on edge. “Look, Jolene, can you do me a favor?”
“Sure.” She hung her coat on the hall tree and straightened her dark wool skirt.
I rubbed my clammy palms down the jeans I had slipped back into upon returning from the Knitting Society. “I need to know more about the life of Constance Howland. I tried to glean what I could from some papers at Ruth Russell’s house.”
“She let your look at her archives?”
I registered her astonishment. “Not exactly. She sort of caught me doing a little unauthorized investigating and, uh, threw me out.”
She clapped her hands to her mouth, but it was more to stifle a laugh than to express incredulity. “Oh my God.”
“Yeah.” My face was burning.
“Did you find out anything?”
“Actually, yes. I found something in Constance’s own hand. She seemed to think she was destined for this, that she was only the most recent in a long line of Booke caretakers.”
“Wow.” Jolene gnawed on her thumb. “Well, if Ruth Russell has these papers, there might be copies in some library. Even if it’s in the county seat. I’ll look around.”
“If it’s true what Constance Howland said,” I said quietly, afraid of demon ears listening, “I want to know if anyone knew what really happened to her.”
“Mr. Waters’s papers seemed pretty complete.”
“But just in case someone else has more. I’d like to know.”
She nodded.
“Oh. And one more thing. It looks like the Howlands were pretty closely tied to another family. Surname…Strange.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Whoa.”
“Yeah. I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t be pleased to know we’re related. If we are. I’d like to get ahold of some genealogy to find out.”
“There are plenty of sites online. I’ll look. Wouldn’t that be cool, though? I mean, you’d be rich!”
“I’m a little more concerned with the family business.” I cocked my head toward the Booke to make my meaning clear.
She nodded solemnly. “But besides the familial connection, it’s kind of neat to think that you might have been coming home when you moved to Moody Bog.”
I stiffened. Was that what had happened? I didn’t just randomly choose that ad on Craigslist but was somehow compelled to come here? That wasn’t a cool thought at all!
Jolene, without a care in the world, turned to look around the room. “You got a lot done since yesterday.” She moved about the shop, peering at the shelves and cubbies. “I’ve been reading up on herbs and their properties so I can be a competent salesperson.”
I shook off my anxiety. Shop to run, remember, Kylie? “Oh?” I said. “Should I quiz you, then?”
“Fire away.”
I opened a cubby and pulled out the dried herb. “Know what this is?”
She held it and sniffed. She made a face. “St. John’s wort, also known as goatweed, or chase-devil. It’s supposed to be good for depression.”
“Very good.”
She twirled the stem in her hand. “Chase-devil. Might come in handy. If you know what I mean.”
I plucked if from her hand and stuffed it back in the cubby. “I know what you mean,” I said.
Jolene proved to be a good worker, and I made a point of telling her how well she was doing.
“Thanks. I don’t have a lot of friends so it’s good to be doing something useful. And earning money at it.”
“How did you get started with Wicca, Jolene?”
She was working on a display of teapots and pre-packaged tea as she spoke. “I’d heard about it from Seraphina. She shops at my dad’s nursery all the time. She started talking about it and I thought, why not?”
“And your folks are okay with it?”
“It’s better than some of the stuff I could be doing. And they trust Doc to look after me.”
I smiled, dusting around the knick-knacks on the mantel. “And there’s something else, too. You like Nick, don’t you?”
Her cheeks instantly reddened. “No! Why would you say that?” She ducked her head further into her hoodie.
“I just saw you looking at him. He’s kind of cute.”
She stopped and clutched the pricing gun to her chest. “He is, isn’t he?” She sighed theatrically. “But he’s gay. I get it. I can check him off the list. Not that there was a list or anything.” She sighed. “Does it ever get easier?”
I patted her shoulder. “Nope. Never.”
She lazily slapped a sticker on the box of tea with the gun. “That’s what I thought.”
We worked for several more hours until Seraphina arrived, and before I knew it, my shop was actually ready for business a full two days early.
“Wow, you guys. I really appreciate this.”
“No problem,” said Jolene. “Shouldn’t I be filling out papers, or would you prefer to keep this under the table?”
I shook my head at her. “No, I’d better give you papers. After all, the sheriff is bound to be here pretty often.”
“And why is that?” asked Seraphina with a glint in her eye.
“Well…” Now it was my turn to blush. “He sort of asked me out and if all goes well…”
Seraphina squealed in delight. “Oh, he is a hunk, isn’t he? I’m so jealous. I’ve tried to catch his eye for years and you swan into town and nab him first thing.”
“Beginner’s luck?”
Jolene wrinkled her nose. “No offense, but he seems kind of old.”
I rested my arms akimbo. “How old do you think I am?”
“Uh…” She pushed up her glasses. “As old as you need to be…Boss.”
I laughed.
It wasn’t long after that when Nick showed up bringing the promised Chinese food in greasy bags. It smelled heavenly. We spread it out on the table and I brought out dishes and pulled out the chopsticks in their paper wrappers with the mustard and packages of soy sauce.
The later it got, the more I thought about Erasmus. I thought at least one of the Wiccans should know what had happened between us. Jolene was too young, Seraphina had too lascivious a leer in her eye, and Nick seemed as if he might be too grossed out by it. I needed an impartial voice, someone who could give me solid advice, and so I decided to tell Doc.
When Doc arrived and we had settled everywhere we could, balancing plates of lo mein and egg foo young on our laps, I told everyone about the succubus hunt.
They were all stone quiet as I told my tale, eyes rounded and attention rapt. Doc asked a question or two. Of course I left out the bit about Erasmus kissing me. I could fill him in about that later in a moment alone.
“The succubus,” I explained, “is just as dangerous as we were told. Erasmus was wrestling with it and I don’t think he was winning. He made me
fire at the thing…and I missed. I grazed Erasmus.”
“Was he hurt?” asked Doc.
“Yeah, a little. I cleaned off the blood and bandaged him up.”
He straightened. “Cleaned off the blood with what?”
“Just a towel.”
“You don’t still have that towel, do you?”
“Uh…yeah. It’s in the laundry room.”
“I’d like to see it, if I may.”
I shrugged. “Sure.” The others stayed behind, a little creeped out, I think, about looking at a demon blood-soaked towel. Doc, being Doc, was interested. I took him to the laundry room and showed him the towel, still sitting where I had tossed it on the washing machine.
He picked it up and looked at it in the light. The towel was stiff but the blood dried black, not brown. I grimaced, staring at it. “Not too pretty, is it?”
“No,” he said distractedly. “Not pretty.” He gripped it tight in his hand. “Can I keep this? I’d like to further analyze it. It’s possible I can come up with a real chemical demon deterrent.”
“Sure. I guess.”
I found a plastic grocery bag to put it in and he wadded it up and stuffed it into his jacket pocket.
When we returned to the group, I told them about Constance Howland’s note and the Strange family connection. Doc was thoughtful but quiet, and then we began strategizing. Would it be possible to lay a trap for the succubus? “I mean,” I said, “why look for her when we can make her come to us?” Jolene got out her tablet and set to work researching. They were in mid-discussion when I signaled Doc for a quiet moment in the kitchen.
“Tea?” I asked. “Coffee?”
“Tea, if you please.” He followed me in and sat at my kitchen table.
“What about that scryer? Do you think that could be used to find the succubus, or do you think it’s too dangerous to use?”
“It’s not dangerous…ordinarily. I think we should try to use it. It’s what it’s for, after all.”
“I don’t feel comfortable with Jolene using it.”
Booke of the Hidden Page 18
