The bath water, now filled up to the very edge of the tub, threatened to spill over. Rushing over to it, Gillian turned the faucets off, pulled out the plug, and sank down onto the closed toilet.
“My God. What does this mean?” Walking into her bedroom she was left with a single thought.
Mama, you have some explaining to do.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
After having spent so much time around Ellen, Gillian felt she knew her mother, inside and out. This was a woman who had been so devastated by her husband’s death, not long after his demise, she had insisted on uprooting her entire family and moving north to the little town of Wheelton, to “get away from so many sad memories.” Over the years, numerous members of the Gambit House coven had told the Good girls that Ellen’s extraordinary determination to save her family was admirable, and how grateful they should all be to have such a devoted mother.
But the simple fact was, Ellen Good had never really opened up about her husband’s death, no matter how many questions had been aimed at her. After all, warlocks usually were supposed to live forever, and that certainly didn’t happen. So now, having read her father’s note, Gillian decided it was high time to get a complete picture. Such as, who was this Priscilla Crowe? And what was that last séance with the supposed She Devil like?
Yet, confronting her mother openly had never worked in the past, so she figured she would have to make sure Ellen was so comfortable—or drunk—she might reveal some vital facts.
Sitting around the breakfast table, where the light-hearted banter between Ellen and her daughters had always been a great source of comfort for her, it suddenly became crystal clear to Gillian. She would talk to her sisters, and together, they would come up with a plot to gently encourage their mother to go off-kilter. Then they could zero in with some hard questions. Just like how Nate would probably do it.
Instantly, her face and body warmed. Nate and their lovemaking. Sheer heaven. Then another thought came to her. Was their amazing sex a kind of supernatural hoax to make her fall for him, a human, rather than regain her witch powers? Or was their time in bed so sensuous, so passionate because she was a witch?
“My life’s dilemma,” she muttered.
“What dilemma, dear?” Ellen asked.
Did I just say that out loud? I must be losing it.
“Nothing, Mama.” Gillian forced a laugh. “I had just seen that phrase online, and it kind of stuck with me. Doesn’t relate to my life at all.”
Feeling both Stevie’s and Carly’s steely eyes examining her, she decided a little sisterly talk-fest right after breakfast was in order. No more being in the dark about this whole séance business.
They met, and after Gillian told them about their father’s note, all three quickly decided that they would start the truth process that very night. An evening “cocktail hour” was soon fully mapped out, courtesy of Carly.
“I’ll get the ingredients for margaritas,” she said. “And Gillian, you order some takeout food so Mama has no excuse about making dinner. Stevie, since you’re the sweetest of us, you’ll be responsible for warming Mama up and getting her to take a few drinks.”
Wow. Carly should run an event planning service. Then something occurred to her. Joselyn. She could either spoil a fun time or create it.
“Guys, I’m going to have Amanda come over. Papa said she was also at the séance. And what about inviting Joselyn to our little party? Any thoughts on that?”
Stevie laughed. “A great addition. Mama always thinks every little thing that bird does is hilarious.”
Nodding, Carly said, “I agree. She’ll also distract Mama from getting too heavy about things before we start the questioning.”
Later, around six o’clock, after a successful week of book sales, Carly suddenly announced to Amanda and the Good family, who all sat in their living room, “Cocktail time!”
“What?” Ellen said, looking completely caught off-guard.
“Yes, Mama, we all decided after a week of hard work and some serious book sales, it was time for us to have a little fun.”
“But cocktails? You know I’m such a light weight when it comes to drinking.”
Amanda leaned over and patted her knee. “Ellen, dear, let the girls treat you. I think you deserve this. After all, you’re not driving anywhere.”
“What about dinner? I had planned to make—”
“All settled, Mama,” Carly said. “Gilly’s ordered Mexican takeout from your favorite restaurant, and she just told me it should be here in about forty-five minutes. Meanwhile—” She went over to their blender, now placed on a credenza. After pouring margarita ingredients over ice and blending on high-speed, she filled five giant, salt-rimmed margarita glasses.
“Goodness, I don’t recognize those glasses,” Ellen protested.
“Got ‘em today, just for the occasion,” Gillian said.
Ellen beamed. “My, you girls certainly have gone out of your way to treat me. Thank you. Aren’t they grand, Amanda?”
“Thank you! Thank you!” Joselyn chattered. With her head feathers up and fanned out, her wings flapping madly, she performed her extra loud, hysterical, human-like cackling.
Everyone exploded with laughter.
Perfect. Keep it up, Joselyn.
“Wait. Stop. Where’s the food? I’m getting drunk,” Ellen exclaimed after her second drink had been downed, and Carly handed her a third one.
“Just have fun, Mama,” Stevie said gently.
Boy, nobody does sweet like Stevie. You go, girl!
The food finally arrived, and with it, a completely inebriated mother who swayed in her favorite chair and grabbed at every taco and tortilla in sight.
“Whee! This is such fun!” Ellen declared, up again at the credenza for yet another refill.
After several collective nods between the sisters, Gillian figured it was time to begin. Now or never.
“Mama,” Stevie said, “I’ve always wanted to thank you properly for bringing us here to Wheelton.” Swiveling around toward Amanda, she added, “And thank you, Amanda for coming with us.”
Carly leaned forward. “Yeah, I wanna thank you, too, Mama. I wasn’t that happy back in New Orleans. There was a nasty kid connected to the Witch Academy, a girl who made my life pretty miserable. Right, Gilly?”
“Oh?” Ellen was definitely swaying sideways. “What kid?”
Gillian gulped. This is it. “Yeah, Mama. She was the daughter of—what was her name? You know, the one who did séances.”
“Priscilla Crowe?” Amanda chimed in.
Instantly, Ellen dropped her glass, scattering small shards of glass and sticky margarita all over the floor.
“Priscilla,” she whispered, plopping down onto the sofa now, her once glazed over eyes now focused and widened in fear. “She was so powerful, so evil. She…”
Looking around, it was as if she suddenly realized to whom she was speaking. “Enough. I don’t want to talk about her.”
Crunching across the glass, Stevie stepped over to sit beside her and gave her a big hug. “Mama, please, we need to learn more about her.”
“Yes, Ellen, it’s time they knew the truth,” Amanda said.
“How—how do you even know she exists?” Ellen asked. “I tried so hard not to say anything about her.” She glowered at her old friend. “Amanda, you promised me you wouldn’t say a word to them.”
Gillian pulled her father’s note from her pocket, and unfolding it, carefully avoided the glass to walk over to the couch and kneel down before her mother.
“First of all, Amanda did keep her word. Papa mentioned her, Mama. Remember, he was always so honest with me. Read this. Please.”
As soon as Ellen began reading Eljiah’s note to his daughter, tears streamed down her cheeks. “Oh, dear. Yes, he knew. We all learned what she was capable of. We…”
Seeing her full on sobs now, the three daughters and Amanda enclosed the widow in one, combined hug.
After several minutes,
Gillian broke her hold. “Mama, we need to hear what really happened at the séance. And if you can’t tell us, then maybe Amanda can fill us in.” She turned to her mentor. “Okay, Amanda?”
“I will. Gladly.”
Their dear friend waited until the glass had been vacuumed away, and each of the Goods had settled down in her own seat for a full minute of silence before she began.
“First off,” Amanda said, “that night I could tell your father wasn’t happy being at Priscilla’s place. He’d told me earlier that morning how he didn’t trust the witch but was going for Ellen’s sake because his wife wanted to try and connect with her beloved dead Aunt Cecily. And I have to say that as soon as Priscilla started, I heartily agreed with your father. There was something fishy about the whole thing. Never mind that Priscilla had included two complete strangers to be there with us, something that was not usually done with a private session.”
She quickly cleared her throat, then continued. “Anyway, the first thing she did was she had us hold hands around the table as she chanted something like, ‘Let us join hands and let Cecily’s spirit enter this room.’ Meanwhile, I noticed lit candles were everywhere, and a Ouija board had been placed in the middle of the table. Then Priscilla continued. ‘Cecily, I conjure you, in spite of the darkness that rules over you now that you shall appear before us in some form or another.’”
Amanda chuckled softly. “Girls, I can still hear your father muttering, ‘Darkness? What bunk,’ just as a sudden wind picked up. The problem was, looking outside the open window, I could see the weather was calm, with no wind in sight. Then some light thunder clapped, just as co-incidentally, your father and I noticed a curtain move at the back of the room. I simply wanted to laugh but as honest a person as your father was, he definitely looked furious. Before I could stop him, he broke hold and charged over to the curtain, and drawing it back, fully exposed a man standing next to a sound machine playing some light thunder.”
“‘This is a total scam,’ Elijah cried, and jerked Ellen up from the table. ‘Amanda, you too. We’re out of here. This is despicable,’ he added.”
Suddenly, Amanda paused to look at Ellen. “Remember, honey, how it was?”
Nodding, Ellen studied her hands on her lap for several seconds. “Yes,” she finally managed.
Amanda looked around at each of the girls. “It got much worse. These two strangers also stood up and one of them rushed over to grab Ellen, with Priscilla proclaiming loudly that Mrs. Good needed to stay put in order to pull out any evil spirits from her aunt.”
Halting dramatically, Amanda waited a moment before injecting, “Boy, did your father leap into action. He shoved away the man clutching your mother’s hand, then motioning me to follow him, started to lead us out of the room. But not before he turned around and spoke the words that undoubtedly sealed his fate.”
“What words?” Gillian half-choked.
“He said to Priscilla, as clear as a bell, ‘Like Houdini exposed so many fake séances, I’m going to report you to Sister Gertrude and the Witch Academy. Your séance days are over, you She Devil.’”
“Yes,” Ellen said, one hand at her throat. “Then came her exact words, which still haunt me to this day: ‘She Devil? Hah! You have no idea. Elijah Good, your own days will soon be over.’”
The silence was so overpowering, this time, even Joselyn’s low wolf whistle provided no distraction. Gillian kneeled in front of Ellen. “She killed Papa, didn’t she?”
When Ellen nodded slowly, Gillian looked up and searched her mother’s face.
“I don’t understand something, Mama,” she said. “Supposedly warlocks just don’t die.”
With tears streaming down her cheeks, Ellen moaned. “She was just too powerful, Gillian. It was as simple as that.”
“Come on, Ellen,” Amanda said softly, “tell the whole story. Your daughters deserve that.”
“The whole story?” Stevie asked.
Ellen sat wordless, just shaking her head slowly.
Clearing her throat, Amanda spoke for her. “When the police found Elijah in his wrecked car, apparently, a low-lying tree branch had pierced through the windshield––and straight into his heart.”
“What’s the significance of that?” Carly asked. “Only vampires die by stakes driven into their hearts.”
“The significance is that Priscilla was so powerful, so determined, she wasn’t going to take any chances. She would get your father no matter what or who he was,” Amanda said, wiping her eyes.
All of the women’s cheeks were slick with tears as Gillian said, “No wonder you brought all of us up here, Mama. Thank you for doing that. You probably saved our lives.” She paused. “But don’t you realize it’s over? You haven’t heard from Priscilla for years.”
“I asked Amanda to check on her last year. Turns out she’s still alive, but no one knows where she’s living. You don’t understand, Gilly, just how far-reaching her evil power was. And maybe still is.”
Far-reaching. Maybe all the way to Rebecca and her friends?
* *
The next day, across town, there was a stark difference in mood between what had happened in the Good home the night before and in Harvey Jensen’s political campaign headquarters. The ex-publisher, now councilman hopeful, was more than thrilled. He’d just found out that, according to his lead volunteers, his campaign’s polling numbers were definitely on the up and up. All across his huge whiteboard, the old numerical figures had been rubbed out, replaced by new, much larger ones—both visually and arithmetically.
He had to say something. “Folks, this is all to remind us that hard work does get good results.” His eyes swept across the room. “So, I thank you, and you should thank yourselves.”
Cheers exploded everywhere. Then quickly, he raised both arms, palms out, and loudly shushed them. “Yes, it’s wonderful, but remember, everyone, we can’t slack off for one single second.”
Solemn head nods followed, and within minutes, everyone had completely returned to business. The five telephone lines were jammed with incoming and outgoing calls, the volunteer underlings were left with “Harvey Jensen for Councilman” flyers to hand out when canvasing the neighborhoods, and someone made sure to percolate fresh coffee every two hours.
Around one o’clock, in walked Harvey’s wife and son. Greeted by everyone and both given hugs by Harvey, they, too, immediately set to work. Shirley Jensen was the go-to person for sorting through his growing emails and social media online. Twenty-year-old Peter Jensen’s job was to organize all the outgoing flyers into separate target piles.
At one point, Shirley came out of Harvey’s office. “Honey,” she said, “your Twitter followers have grown from 8,000 to over 15,000 just in the last two days! I’m so proud of you.”
Lovingly staring up at her husband, she landed a short kiss on his cheek.
“Good to know, good to know. It must be all your advertising. Thank you, m’dear.” He gave her a gentle pat on her shoulder. “Now back you go, to perform some more miracles for me.”
Smiling, she retreated into his office, stopping only to pick up a mug of black coffee. Once inside, she sat down and texted their son, Peter, sitting out in the main room. “How’s it going? Need anything?”
His response was immediate. “Okay so far, thanks. Love you, Mom.”
Practically beaming, Shirley spoke aloud. “I feel totally privileged. A good son, a kind, faithful husband, who now has a possible career in the political arena.” Her chin tilted upward, she whispered a soft prayer of gratefulness. “Thank you, Lord, for rewarding us with such glad tidings.”
Out on the main floor, a young man walked in, carrying an extra-large box of donuts, sent by a “local donor.” Harvey chuckled and mentioned to the people around him how blessed they all were.
He stood up, holding the box high. “You see, everyone? We are actually reaching people. Touching them in ways that I am thrilled to report is reaping some rewards. And here is obviously one of
them.” He placed the box out on long side table. “Come and get it, everyone. Donuts–donuts–donuts!”
Chairs scraped backward as people rose up out of their seats and rushed over to grab a treat before hurrying back to his or her station.
“These donuts are really good, Dad,” Peter called out. “Did you get one yourself?”
Harvey grinned. “Funny you should say that, son. Okay, I’ll get me one—if there are any left.”
Peter glanced over at the box and laughed. “There might be one for you. Maybe.”
“Ha-ha.” Harvey opened up the box and eyed the last donut. “Let it never be said I don’t think of the people working for me.” He chuckled. Then, with a quick scope of the box’s inside again, he noticed a folded piece of paper, lying underneath the remaining donut. Pulling it out, he read it fast.
“Everything all right, Dad?”
“Yes,” he said, gulping hard. “Go back to work, son.” Leaving the donut in place, he quickly walked out the front door.
When Peter showed up at his mother’s desk a minute later, she was surprised. “Anything wrong?” she asked.
“I’m not sure, but Dad seemed kind of upset about something. Then he took off.”
“Where to?”
The boy shrugged. “Don’t know.”
After Shirley asked several people where Harvey had gone, and no one had a clue, she grew quiet. Is he all right? What could’ve happened?
Twenty minutes later, having already thrown up twice in the nearby gas station’s bathroom, Harvey leaned against the rough, paint-peeled wall, stared at the filthy toilet, the even filthier sink, and tried to steady his heart. Breathing jerkily, he told himself that this couldn’t really be happening. Sure, he had been warned that night at Pepper’s Old Time Eatery. But he never thought those thugs’ threats were real. Not after always having such a good relationship with their bosses.
Maybe he had misread the note. He did have a tendency to do that when stressed. Hope rising, he opened up the crumpled note and tried to read it again through the now wrinkled letters. This time there was no doubt about it. It was as clear as it could be.
Endangered Spells (Witches Academy Series Book 6) Page 13
