She looked at Myrtle uncertainly for a minute and then allowed herself to be engulfed in a motherly hug.
“Are you sure I’m not like her?” Tori mumbled against Myrtle’s shoulder.
“Perfectly sure.”
I took a step toward them and put my hand on Tori’s back. “You okay?” I asked.
She released Myrtle just long enough to throw her arms around me.
“Hey,” I whispered against her ear, “you’re just exactly who you were five minutes ago. What do I care if some rock shoots you the finger?”
Tori let out a kind of choked giggle. I stood back from her, wiping the tears from her face. “Okay?” I asked again.
She snuffled and nodded. I looked in her eyes and knew she was back with us.
“You know what this means, right?” I asked.
“Not really,” she admitted, her voice rough with the tears she was still holding back.
“Slow, much?” I grinned. “It means we’re related.”
That won me Tori’s usual wise-ass grin, which is what I had been aiming for, but her words weren’t sarcastic at all.
“I didn’t need some magic Pop Rock to tell me that,” Jinksy. “We’ve been sisters from day one.”
Which is true. Our birthdays are three days apart. Our mothers are BFFs. They just plunked us down together on the living room rug and the rest is history. What we’d learned tonight was just confirmation we didn’t really need between us. As for the larger ramifications? That I wasn’t sure about yet.
I looked at Myrtle. “She has to be descended from Knasgowa, too, right?”
Myrtle nodded. “Yes, but from a child that Knasgowa shared with Alexander Skea.”
“Why are we just now hearing about them having a kid?” Tori asked, scrubbing at her face.
Did I mention how much she hates to cry?
Suddenly Darby was by her side holding out a perfectly ironed linen handkerchief. “Would this help, Miss Tori?” he asked.
For a minute I thought she was going to start blubbering again because the little guy can just be so darned sweet. Instead, she accepted the handkerchief, leaned down, and kissed the astonished brownie on the forehead.
“Darby,” she said, “you may be nicest man I’ve ever met.”
He didn’t need any help from Myrtle to glow at those words.
“Thank you, Miss Tori,” he said. “I like you very much, too. And please don’t be afraid. If you are a descendant of Master Duncan, he was a good man.”
Talk about being slow on the uptake. Of course Darby would have known Alexander’s children.
“Okay, let’s sit down and talk about this,” I said, nudging Tori toward one of the chairs by the fire. She sank down in the leather, still looking a little limp, but her color had come back.
I sat down across from her and looked at Darby who was standing between us. “You said Duncan. Isn’t that the name of the man who imprisoned Brenna the first time in the Orkneys?”
Darby nodded. “Yes. Master Alexander named his son after his great-grandfather, Duncan Skea.”
“And you knew about this?” I asked Myrtle.
“Yes,” she said.
“And you didn’t tell us, why?” I didn’t even try to disguise the annoyance in my voice.
“Because I was protecting those who carry Brenna’s blood,” she said. Then, almost apologetically, she added, “I didn’t know Tori was one of them.”
“How is that even possible?” I demanded. “You’re . . . you’re . . . well, I don’t know what you are, but you’re supposed to know things.”
Myrtle smothered a smile. “The magic in Tori’s blood is dormant, just as yours was before Fiona activated it at your request. Because of that Tori didn’t attract my attention.”
“But you would have known if she was evil?” I asked. “How does that work?”
“Let’s just say evil has a different . . . flavor,” Myrtle said. “It’s really rather complicated and I think we best move on at the moment. I assume you want to know about Alexander and Knasgowa’s children.”
There was a lot I wanted to know, but she was right.
I nodded and Myrtle started talking. “Alexander and Knasgowa raised their son on the frontier until he was old enough to make his own way in the world. This area was largely unsettled in those days. It was possible for a family to live far removed from the affairs of other men. When Duncan Skea, the younger, left his parents’ home and came down out of the mountains, he changed his surname to Scarlett”
Realization dawned on Tori’s face.
“Oh my God,” she said. “I know that name. The Scarletts are some of Mom’s people.”
“But you said Knasgowa died here in Briar Hollow,” I said. “They never told anyone here that Duncan was their son?”
“No,” Myrtle said. “Knasgowa used her magic to cloak her son’s identity from Brenna just as she used it to protect Alexander. With the passage of the years, she and Alexander began to feel more secure. They moved into town and were able to enjoy the company of their children and grandchildren in the role of family friends. It was only when Knasgowa grew ill that Brenna was able to find them.”
“So Alexander and Knasgowa bound Brenna to protect their family,” I said.
“Yes,” Myrtle said, “and Tori is descended from those people.”
In a quiet voice, Tori asked, “What does that mean? Can Brenna use me to hurt all of you?”
Myrtle shook her head. “No,” she said, “not against your will.”
“But my whole family has her blood?” Tori said.
“To varying degrees, yes,” Myrtle said. “But the amulet chose you because you have the greatest concentration of magic derived from that lineage.”
Tori let out a derisive snort. “Come on, Myrtle. Get out of here! I’m not magic.”
That’s when puzzle pieces started falling into place for me.
“Are you so sure about that?” I asked.
Tori frowned. “Huh?”
“From the start you’ve been able to see the spirits,” I said. “You’ve always been able to talk to Myrtle. The first time we discussed Aunt Fiona leaving me her magic, you told me about your mother’s people believing all the local lore about witch women. And don’t forget, you’re the one who saw Aunt Fiona at grandma’s funeral.”
When I had been reeling from the revelation that my aunt was a witch, Tori told me about watching Aunt Fiona at the service talking to Grandma in the casket. It was a hot day and the roses in the funeral spray were wilted. Fiona spoke a few words and brought the blossoms back to life. She even made some of the little rose buds open up.
Tori’s eyes widened. “Oh my God, you’re right.”
She turned toward Myrtle. “Does this mean I can have powers like Jinksy?”
“We have no way of knowing at this point,” Myrtle said, “but with study, you undoubtedly will uncover some degree of abilities. All witches have unique powers.”
“Okay,” Tori said, “now that is cool.”
When she said that, I finally relaxed.
That statement was totally my girl. I thought I’d lost her there for a few minutes.
“There is, however, one thing you are both missing,” Myrtle said.
Of course there is.
“What?” I asked.
“The fact that Tori is the blood of Alexander’s blood greatly simplifies the matter of consigning Brenna to limbo again and hopefully to returning the wandering spirits to their graves.”
Definitely a plus. Kidnapping some local to go perform a ceremony in a graveyard at midnight was not going to put us in the running for Citizen of the Year.
“Well, okay then,” Tori said, scooting forward in her chair, “let’s do it.”
“No,” Myrtle said, “I’m afraid it will have to wait until sundown tomorrow. The ritual must be performed at . . . ”
“Midnight,” Tori and I said in unison.
Did I ever see that one coming?
&nb
sp; When Tori and I walked up the basement steps and into the store, I touched her arm. I’m not sure if I didn’t want her to be alone or I didn’t want to be alone.
“You wanna crash on the couch?” I asked.
She ducked her head a little. “Would I be a big baby if I said yes?” she answered.
“No more than I was when I refused to get in a bathtub for three months after I saw Jaws the first time,” I teased.
She rolled her eyes. “You’re the only person I know who could be worried a great white shark was gonna come up the drain.”
“It could happen,” I said archly. “Those things are sneaky.”
“Hang on a sec while I throw on some pajamas,” Tori said, disappearing into her apartment.
When she re-emerged in baggy pajama pants and a worn out t-shirt, we went upstairs together without saying much. From the ghost rave out on the square to parking lot grave robbing and playing metaphysical Family Feud, we were both pretty worn out. I helped Tori make up the couch, throwing a blanket over her when she stretched out.
As I turned to head off to bed myself, she caught hold of my hand. The only light in the room came from the front windows, which looked out on the square.
“Love you, Jinksy,” she said softly.
I squeezed her hand. “Go to sleep, honey,” I said. “I love you, too.”
Yeah. Okay. I admit it. I got up about a dozen times to check on her, but unlike me, Tori has the ability to turn her mind off and go to sleep. The cats stayed with her, seeming to understand she needed their company more that night than I did. It was after 3 o’clock before I finally fell asleep.
The last thing I remember thinking before I drifted off was Scarlett O’Hara’s famous line from Gone with the Wind. “After all, tomorrow is another day.” And man, what a day it proved to be.
26
Sorry if what I’m about to say takes a little drama out of my story here toward the end, but we cleaned up on sales the next day. Howard McAlpin couldn’t exactly announce to the world that he intended to stage a “Haunt In” at the courthouse, and he wasn’t getting any better at making himself visible. He did, however, excel at agitating all the other spirits. Even when the sun came up, there were just enough unexplained incidents going on to keep the paranormal groupies camped out across the street.
The local law officials probably could have chased them out for loitering or something, but the instant the stores on the square opened, the groupies started spending money. After all, they had to eat, which meant people were lined up outside of George and Irma’s door, buying them out of doughnuts and coffee in 30 minutes. Seizing the opportunity, the pizzeria quickly opened up, hanging out a hand-lettered sign offering “Breakfast Pies.”
Chase called my cell phone a little after 9 o’clock. “You okay over there?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, “just really busy.”
“I won’t keep you,” he said. “I just wanted to see if you needed anything before I take off.”
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“Fishing,” he said.
“You fish?” I blurted out.
“Flyfishing,” he amended. “None of these folks are going to buy anything in a cobbler’s shop and the noise is driving me nuts. I’m going to ride my bike up into the mountains and find a nice, peaceful trout stream. I may camp out overnight.”
“Have fun,” I said, feeling more than a little jealous. “See you when you get back.”
By noon, a couple of food trucks arrived, and George and Irma, not to be outdone, were grilling burgers under a makeshift tent on the sidewalk by their front door. Tori and I didn’t have much in the way of food to offer, just a few ready-made sandwiches in the refrigerator behind the counter, but those disappeared before 10 a.m.
We did a brisk business in Briar Hollow souvenirs, selling out of t-shirts and sun visors. Since Aunt Fiona’s only philosophy in regard to inventory was “more is better,” we also unloaded some stray coolers, a few lawn chairs, some picnic blankets, and a couple of canvas tarps which were instantly pressed into service as awnings over pickup beds.
Amity Prescott came in around 2 o’clock to check on us. “Can you believe this nonsense?” she demanded as she strode through the front door.
“Hi, Amity,” I said. “How’s business at your place?”
“Well,” she said, “this isn’t exactly the art and regional pottery crowd, but I’ve had a lot of walk-in traffic for the local craft stuff. All the walking sticks are gone.” She looked guilty for a minute and then admitted, “I re-labeled them as wizard’s staffs.”
I laughed. “Don’t feel bad,” I assured her. “There’s not a single crystal left in the store. Tori hawked every one as a ‘protection amulet.’”
“Hey!” Tori protested, coming out of the storeroom at the sound of her name. “It was a matter of striking while the monetary iron was hot.”
“So what’s the latest sighting over at the courthouse,” I asked. We’d already gotten used to the periodic sound of excited shouting from the crowd.
Amity made a grumbling noise in her throat. “I think that latest one was a hovering hand or something. Some woman keeps insisting she hears weeping on one of the benches out on the lawn, and there’s a guy who swears he saw a Confederate colonel staring up at the monument.”
Uh-oh.
We visited for a few minutes longer and then Amity went back to her place. There were still people in my store, but I really needed to have a word with Beau Longworth.
“You okay to hold down the fort for a few minutes?” I asked Tori.
She had awakened that morning as her usual sunny self. We’d been too busy to really talk, but I didn’t sense any of the anxiety or uncertainty I’d felt from her the night before. Tori bounces back like nobody’s business.
“I’m good,” she said.
“Really?” I asked, looking at her intently.
“Really, Mom,” she affirmed. “All these customers are keeping my mind off what we have to do tonight. Go on. Find out what the heck Beau was thinking.”
I headed down to the basement, carefully closing the door behind me. Myrtle was nowhere to be seen, but Darby poked his head out from between a row of shelves. “Do you need me, Mistress?” he asked.
“No, Darby, I need to talk to Colonel Longworth,” I said. Raising my voice slightly I called out, “Beau? Get down here right now.”
After a few seconds, the old soldier appeared in front of me. I didn’t even have to tell him what I wanted. When he became visible, he was holding his hands up in front of his body in the classic male pose for, “Honey, I can explain.”
“What the heck are you doing showing yourself on the courthouse square in broad daylight?” I demanded.
He gathered himself up. “Unless I am mistaken,” he said with exaggerated dignity, “it is to our advantage to have the attention of the crowd and the local constabulary firmly focused on the square until this evening is over; am I correct?”
Well, at least he was up to speed on the plan.
“I’m guessing Myrtle filled you in?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said, “when I came last night to give you a report, she told me what happened with Miss Tori. The two of you had already retired for the evening and I thought it best not to disturb you. How is Miss Tori, please?”
His concern was so genuine it took the edge off my annoyance.
“Holding up,” I said. “She’ll be happier when we get Brenna gone tonight. What were you going to tell me last night?”
Beau let out a frustrated sigh. “That Mayor McAlpin is quite hopeless,” he said. “I do not believe I have ever encountered anyone with less talent for being deceased. The man could not solidify his whole form to save his life.”
I decided to ignore that oxymoron.
“So he’s still just flashing body parts every few minutes?” I asked.
“Yes,” Beau said, shaking his head. “He seems to have gained a measure of control over mate
rializing his left hand, so he is engaging in a great deal of finger pointing.”
No doubt a skill the man also possessed when he was breathing.
“So that’s what people are shouting about over there?” I asked. “A floating hand?”
“For the most part,” Beau said, “but even though the woman on the bench continues to wail inconsolably, I became concerned that the interest of the crowd was waning. In appearing at the base of the monument, I was merely attempting to give them something slightly more . . . coherent . . . on which to focus.”
Oh my God. The man was a genius.
“Can you get the other cemetery regulars to help with that?” I asked. “Can any of them appear in daylight?”
Beau knew instantly what I had in mind.
“A few of them, yes,” he said, “and there does seem to be a sort of amplification of available energy for us at the moment.”
“Perfect,” I said, “get them into town. Have Jeff throw a few forward passes over the lawn, and oh, can you bring Duke, too? That crowd will love a ghostly coonhound.”
“I can,” he said. “Duke is a most intelligent canine specimen. He will be overjoyed to be taken on an outing.”
“Okay,” I said, “don’t go crazy or anything, just keep everyone’s attention on the square.”
He started to fade out, but I stopped him. “What the heck is Howie trying to do with all that pointing?” I asked.
Beau’s form solidified. “He continues to espouse a great deal of nonsense about spectral civil rights,” Beau said, “and he is now on a tirade regarding corruption in local politics. He is literally pointing out offenders and reciting their infractions.”
Huh. Never pass up the chance to build up a little reserve of dirt.
“Can you kinda take notes on what he’s saying?” I asked, looking a little guilty about the request.
I shouldn’t have worried. Beau flashed me a dashing grin. “A good soldier never ignores potentially useful intelligence.” With that, he touched the brim of his hat and was gone.
Witch at Odds: A Jinx Hamilton Mystery Book 2 (The Jinx Hamilton Mysteries) Page 18
