4 Witching On A Star

by Amanda M. Lee

  “I’m hoping it’s a while,” Landon said honestly. “A good long while.”

  “I smell like bacon,” I reminded him.

  “And taste, don’t forget taste,” Landon added.

  “I just know this is going to become a thing,” I grumbled. “Brian is going to start questioning me about it.”

  “Tell him it’s a perfume oil or something,” Landon suggested. “And he better not find out you taste like bacon, too,” he warned me.

  “They don’t have perfume oil that smells like bacon,” I countered.

  “I bet they do,” Landon said. “Bacon is everywhere.”

  “Awesome.”

  “You don’t have to worry about it today,” Landon said. “It’s Thursday. You don’t have to go in, right?”

  “Right,” I agreed warily. “What did you have in mind? And, no, spending the entire day in bed isn’t an option.”

  “Not even if I bring lettuce and tomato?” Landon teased.

  “Especially if you bring lettuce and tomato.”

  “Actually, that wasn’t what I had in mind,” Landon said.

  “Really?” I arched an eyebrow. I was having trouble believing him.

  “Not right now at least,” Landon ceded. “I was thinking you could take me out to the Dandridge instead.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, I want to see it.”

  “Okay,” I shrugged. “Let’s go.”

  “We’re going to revisit the lettuce and tomato thing later, though. Just be ready.”

  Good grief.

  I directed Landon out to the Dandridge, having him park at Wetzel Road so we wouldn’t have to walk as far. Once we were in front of the lighthouse, Landon whistled lowly in surprise.

  “This is actually pretty cool.”

  “It’s run down,” I said.

  “Not as bad as you would think, though,” Landon said, climbing up the front steps of the lighthouse and tugging on the door in an attempt to open it. “It’s locked. How did you guys get in here?”

  I glanced up at him. “Do you really want to know?”

  Landon grinned. “Impress me.”

  I shook my head ruefully but climbed the steps to give him the performance he wanted. I placed my hand on the doorknob, whispered a quick spell, and then turned the knob when I heard the lock tumble.

  Landon looked truly impressed. “That must have come in handy when you were a kid. No one could lock you out of your Aunt Tillie’s wine closet. My brothers and me would have loved a way to get into my dad’s beer shed.”

  I cast a curious glance in Landon’s direction. “You don’t talk about your family much.”

  “Yes I do,” Landon countered.

  “No,” I shook my head, wandering into the lighthouse in front of Landon. “You don’t. You put up with my family constantly, and yet you never really talk about your family. I don’t know anything about them.”

  Landon pressed a kiss to my neck – which I’m sure was just another gambit to get a taste of my bacon skin – and then moved away to get a better look at the interior of the Dandridge.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Are your parents both alive?”

  “They are,” Landon said. “They live in the Bay City area.”

  “Close to your brother, the Baptist minister in Saginaw?”

  “See, I have told you about my family.” Landon looked pleased that I remembered what he had told me.

  “Not really,” I pressed.

  “What are you getting at, Bay?” Landon asked seriously. “Do you want to meet my family?”

  I felt my face color and was glad it was dim enough that he couldn’t see me blush from several feet away. “I wasn’t fishing for an invitation to meet your family. I was just curious.”

  “Okay,” Landon said easily. “Well, let’s see. I’m the oldest of three boys. My parents were fairly strict when we were growing up. My mom was a homemaker and my dad was a police officer.”

  “Really? Is that why you became a FBI agent?”

  “Probably,” Landon said. “I think my parents were worried there for awhile, when we were teenagers, that we were all going to end up on the wrong side of the bars in jail.”

  “Really?” I was amused at the thought. “You were rowdy?”

  “We got in our fair share of trouble.”

  “But you said that your parents were strict.”

  “They were,” Landon nodded. “Kids will be kids, though. I think, maybe, because they were so strict, that’s why we all rebelled so hard.”

  “And yet you have a brother that decided to be a minister,” I mused.

  “Yeah, and he was the wildest one,” Landon said with a small laugh. “I guess he was making amends for all the beer he drank and all the bras he tried to undo without anyone noticing.”

  “Do you see them much?”

  “I see them every couple of months, when I get time to go down there,” Landon replied.

  “When was the last time you went down there?”

  Landon met my gaze evenly. “Right before I came back to Hemlock Cove.”

  I swallowed inadvertently. “Oh.”

  Landon stilled his wandering. “I can’t quite figure out what you’re worried about,” he admitted. “Is it that you think I told them about you? About you and your family?”

  “No,” I said hurriedly. “That’s not what I was thinking.”

  “Then what were you thinking?”

  “I was thinking that they’re probably a nice, normal family,” I said honestly. “They’re not going to like me. They’re not going to like us. They’re probably going to wonder why you’re with me.”

  Landon’s face broke into a wry grin. “They’ll like you,” Landon said. “Trust me. There’s a lot to like – and that was before the whole bacon thing. If that’s still around when you meet them, they’ll love you.”

  My heart was warmed by his answer, but I was still bothered. “How are you going to explain my family?”

  “Everyone’s family has . . . quirks, Bay,” Landon replied calmly. “I don’t have to explain anything about your family. You’re all tight. You all love each other. You all fight. If you eliminate that whole witch thing – which I’m starting to get used to, by the way – you’re all extremely normal, too. There’s nothing wrong with your family.”

  “Aunt Tillie is normal?”

  “Well, Aunt Tillie is Aunt Tillie,” Landon said. “I’ve got my own Aunt Tillie. We don’t call her Aunt Tillie, but trust me, I’ve got my own Aunt Tillie.”

  “Really?” I had my doubts.

  “Oh, yeah, Aunt Blanche is pretty much Aunt Tillie’s clone – only she can’t curse anyone,” Landon said. “If she could have cursed my brothers and I, though, you can be very sure she would have.”

  I smiled softly, relief warming my heart. “I just . . .”

  Landon crossed the room and pulled me towards him, planting a soft and reassuring kiss on my lips. I sank into it; relishing his strength and that soft hum I felt whenever he was near.

  The sound of someone clearing his throat caused us to pull apart swiftly.

  Dean was standing in the door watching us, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “I was going to call the police when I saw the door open. Since there’s a FBI agent already here, though, I guess that would have been a wasted call.”

  “I’m sorry,” I apologized profusely.

  “The door was open,” Landon said hurriedly. “I just wanted to see the building. After you were talking about it last night, I just thought it sounded cool.”

  “It’s fine,” Dean said, waving off Landon’s explanation. “I don’t blame you. It’s not like you were doing anything. Well, at least not yet.” Dean winked at me.

  “I’m surprised at what good shape the building is in,” Landon said, changing the subject. “I would have thought it would be more run-down. It looks pretty sound, though.”

  “They built
to last back in those days,” Dean said.

  “What year was this built?”

  “Um, 1847,” Dean said. “Right when the Underground Railroad started picking up steam.”

  Something clicked in my head.

  “The Underground Railroad? You mean, like during the Civil War?”

  “Well, actually the Underground Railroad started early in the 1800s,” Dean said. He was clearly a history buff. “It hit its peak around 1850, so a lot of safe houses were set up along routes people were traversing in an attempt to get from the U.S. to Canada – including along Lake Michigan.”

  “I didn’t think the Underground Railroad went this far north,” Landon said.

  “Well, it did,” Dean replied. “There weren’t a lot of routes along the lake at that time, but they were building more and more as time went on. The Dandridge was built during that time. And, while the official reason given for its construction was that there were dangerous rocks out there – which was true – the real reason was to help people escape up into Canada.”

  “That’s kind of cool,” Landon said, smiling at me. He frowned, though, when he saw the contemplative look on my face.

  “How did they get the slaves this far north?”

  “A variety of ways,” Dean said. “Wagons and boats mostly, though. The fleeing slaves would run away on foot and be picked up by caravans and then driven further and further northward.”

  “Would it always be families?”

  Dean looked confused. “What do you mean?”

  “Would families flee together, I mean? Or would there ever have been a reason for an entire boatload of children to be shipped separate from adults?”

  Realization dawn on Landon’s face. He turned to Dean expectantly, waiting for him to answer.

  Dean stroked his chin thoughtfully. “That’s a really interesting question,” he said. “There were reports of children being smuggled together, away from the fighting,” he said. “I don’t think that was an experiment that lasted too long, though.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, think about it,” Dean said. “You would have these big boats, with only one or two adults – so as not to draw attention – and then you would have like fifty kids in squalid conditions underneath. That’s a breeding ground for sickness – and no way to treat the kids.”

  “So, a lot of them died,” I mused, more to myself than anyone else. Dean answered anyway.

  “Yeah, a lot of them died.”

  “Well,” Landon broke in. “We’ve taken up enough of your time. Thanks for the history lesson.”

  He moved over to my side, linking his fingers with mine, and started to lead me out of the Dandridge.

  “Hey, stop by any time,” Dean said. “I love it when people are as enthusiastic about history as I am.”

  “We definitely will,” Landon said.

  “Did you guys have a picnic or something?” Dean glanced around the empty room.

  “No, why?” I asked.

  “Oh, nothing,” Dean shrugged. “I could just swear I smell bacon.”

  Twenty

  “She was a slave,” I said as soon as Landon and I were safely in his vehicle.

  “How can you be sure?”

  “It fits,” I said. “I couldn’t figure out why a little black girl would be running around this area.”

  “That’s a little racist,” Landon said, surprise on his face.

  “Not like that,” I said, brushing off his statement. “I mean that there aren’t any black families in the area. How could a little girl without a coat end up here?”

  “I guess that’s a good point,” Landon ceded. “Are you sure, though?”

  “Not one hundred percent, no,” I said. “I’m fairly sure, though. It fills in a lot of the gaps.”

  “What gaps?”

  “Erika said she came from a warm climate and she wasn’t always on the boat,” I explained. “She’s wearing a simple white dress, but it’s not a modern white dress. It’s just a cotton dress. No labels. No nothing.”

  “Maybe her family is just poor,” Landon pointed out. “You didn’t mention that about the dress earlier,” he added.

  “Maybe,” I agreed. “I didn’t really think about the dress until now. If she’s been dead for a hundred and fifty years, though, it would also explain the big holes in her memory.”

  “How?”

  “She’s been alone for a really long time,” I said, pity welling in my chest. “With nothing but the stars to keep her company.”

  “What?” Landon looked confused.

  “Nothing,” I shook my head. “Just something she said about the stars. Anyway, if you’re alone that long, you start to create your own reality.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Let’s just say I’ve met a lot of ghosts,” I said grimly.

  “Okay,” he said. “What are you going to do to prove your theory?”

  “Talk to a ghost,” I said simply

  “And where are you going to find her?”

  “She’s always around,” I said simply. “I’m going to call her.”

  “Well, while you’re doing that, I’m going to run a missing minors check – just to be on the safe side,” Landon said. “I’m not going to be able to let it go until we’re sure.”

  I understood that feeling completely.

  I had Landon drop me off at Hypnotic with a promise that I wouldn’t do anything crazy – or shower. He was worried that the bacon flavor would rub off before he got a chance to sample it again.

  Thistle and Clove were plotting when I entered the store.

  “What’s going on?”

  “What’s the worst smell you can think of?” Thistle asked, not looking up from the book she was poring over.

  “A decomposing body.”

  “Not that gross,” Thistle said.

  “Why? What are we doing?”

  “I’m going to curse Aunt Tillie with a smell as retribution,” Thistle said grimly. “I’m trying to find a really gross one.”

  “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

  “We smell like frying pig,” Thistle said disgustedly. “I think it’s a bloody brilliant idea.”

  “Well, I have something else for us to focus on right now,” I said. “That will have to wait for later.”

  “Why aren’t you more upset about the bacon smell?” Clove asked earnestly.

  “Landon likes it,” I shrugged. “If we just let it go, it will be gone in a week. I can live with his . . .enthusiasm for a week. Heck, I’ll probably enjoy it. It’s not that much of a hardship.”

  “Wait until someone else smells it,” Thistle said. “We’ve had five different customers ask us if we had a kitchen in back. It’s revolting.”

  “You like bacon,” I reminded her.

  “I don’t like to smell like bacon.”

  “Marcus likes the bacon smell,” I pointed out.

  Thistle blushed furiously. “That’s neither here nor there.”

  “Don’t you want to know where I’ve been?” I decided to change the subject. There was no way I was going to risk pissing off Aunt Tillie any more than she already was.

  “Where have you been?” Clove asked brightly.

  I told the two of them about my trip to the Dandridge and what I’d found out. Thistle looked decidedly relieved by the time I reached the end of the story. “She was a slave.”

  “That’s what I think.”

  “That’s terrible,” Clove said sadly.

  “It is,” I agreed. “It’s also good news for us.”

  “How?”

  “It means there’s not really a boat filled with kids out there being mistreated,” I said.

  “Oh,” Clove said quietly. “I guess that is better.”

  “Better for us,” Thistle agreed. “Not so good for Erika. How are you going to get her to move on?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “Right now, though, we’ve got to make sure that we’re right.”

&
nbsp; “It makes sense,” Thistle said. “This idea makes a lot more sense than the idea that people are trafficking kids on Lake Michigan right under the nose of local law enforcement.”

  “That’s still a possibility,” I reminded her. “But, if I’m right, then the only thing we have to worry about is figuring out a way for Erika to let go.”

  “Which is better than trying to find a boat of real children on a really big lake,” Clove said knowingly. “So, what do we do first?”

  “We call Erika,” I said simply.

  “Another séance?” Clove didn’t look thrilled.

  “No,” Thistle shook her head. “We didn’t call her with the séance last night. We just called her and she showed up. We should just do that again.”

  “Right,” I said. I moved to the front window of the store, glancing up and down the street, and then flipped the sign on the door to closed.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I just don’t want to be interrupted.”

  “So you’re costing us business?” Thistle arched an eyebrow.

  “They’ll come back,” I replied. “This won’t take long.”

  “Fine,” Thistle agreed. “Just make it quick.”

  “Erika!”

  I looked around the store expectantly. The little girl didn’t appear, though. I turned to Thistle and Clove expectantly. Clove sighed, but she joined in. “Erika!”

  Still nothing.

  “Erika,” I tried one more time. “We need to talk to you.”

  “I heard you the first time,” Erika grumbled, popping into view. “Wow, what is this place?”

  “This is our store,” Thistle said.

  “What kind of store?” Erika looked around. “Are you doctors?”

  “No, why would you think we’re doctors?” Clove asked curiously.

  “You have a lot of medicines in bags.”

  I glanced over at the herb rack, understanding washing over me. “We’re not doctors. Did doctors use herbs a lot when you were alive?”

  “Yes,” Erika said. “Don’t they now?”

  “Not herbs like you think,” I said finally. “Erika, the reason we called you, is I think I figured out what happened to you.”

  “Really?” She looked excited. “What happened to me?”

  “I have some questions first. Were you . . . were you a slave?” There’s a question I never thought – or maybe I just hoped – I would ever ask.