South of Salem (2)

by Janni Nell

  “No, his distant cousin, The Polka Peasant.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet.

  Unwillingly I moved into the throng of whirling couples beneath the huge chandelier. Casper put his hand on my waist. The heat of his skin burned through my dress like San Diego sun. His other hand closed around mine. Not many men can make me look tiny but Casper achieved the impossible, making me feel as porcelain-doll delicate as Lily. Not that delicacy is an advantage in my line of work, but I enjoyed feeling totally feminine for a little while.

  A few weeks ago I’d been Scottish dancing with Douglas MacGregor, who also happened to be the best kisser in the UK, but dancing with Casper was a whole new experience. Douglas had danced with more enthusiasm than style, but Casper could’ve given Fred Astaire a run for his money. He guided me around the floor with the lightest touch—spinning, whirling, and expertly avoiding collisions with other couples. At times I felt like I was dancing on Cloud 9.

  When the music ended, applause rippled around the room. Casper gave me a formal bow and thanked me for the dance.

  “No, thank you,” I said. “That was amazing.” My face was warm. My breathing rapid.

  “Tired?” he asked.

  I grinned. “I could dance all night.”

  We waited for the band to play again. At the first notes, Casper said, “This is a foxtrot.”

  Let me tell you straight up, no fox ever trotted like that. But Casper insisted on teaching me the basic steps.

  “You didn’t learn this from The Polka Peasant,” I said.

  “No,” he agreed. “Ginger taught me back in the 1930s.”

  I didn’t really want to hear how he’d danced with Ginger Rogers. Talk about destroying my confidence. I could barely shuffle around the floor following Casper’s lead. But soon the music ands strong arms wove their spell and I was heading straight for Cloud 9 again. I closed my eyes, enjoying every single second. Until Casper’s arms suddenly tightened on my waist—and not in a good way.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “The chandelier looks like it’s going to fall.”

  “Oh right, very funny. Ha. Ha.” I refused to look up, which wasn’t a smart move.

  “Let’s sit this one out,” Casper suggested.

  “I’ve got a better idea. Let’s keep dancing.” What, me want to leave Casper’s arms? No way.

  Casper’s grip on my waist tightened. Nearby SJ was dancing with Mrs. Rich-and-Dangerous, laughing too loudly. He jerked at his bowtie. The black ends fluttered as they came loose, settling on his crisp white shirt.

  Lily watched him from the table. She looked worried and worn out. Surreptitiously she rubbed her back, shoving her bare feet out of sight under the table.

  SJ whirled like crazy. Sweat poured off his face and laughter hemorrhaged from his mouth.

  Casper stopped dancing. He glanced up. “Time to go, Allegra.”

  This time I glanced up too. The chandelier trembled.

  “Don’t worry. It’s a replica of the one in Phantom. This must be a special effect. It isn’t really going to fall.”

  I watched, fascinated, as the chandelier shuddered again. I wondered how far it had been rigged to drop. Probably wasn’t a good idea to stand right under it. Giving in to Casper’s firm grip on my arm, I moved to the edge of the dance floor.

  People had stopped dancing and were pointing at the chandelier. The band halted midnote but SJ kept dancing. Mrs. Rich-and-Dangerous shrieked and pushed him away, waddling for cover. SJ danced on alone. The chandelier started to fall. When Lily screamed, I knew this wasn’t a special effect.

  Shaking off Casper’s arm, I charged across the dance floor. I dived for SJ, aiming for his legs, hoping my momentum would carry him out of harm’s way. My timing was off by seconds. As I connected with him, the chandelier crashed down. I braced myself for impact. This was going to hurt.

  Casper’s arms folded around me like a big warm shield. Then I was at the edge of the dance floor again, standing beside Casper, who kept a tight hold on me as though he feared I’d rush back in to save SJ.

  Lily’s scream ripped through the roar of panic in the room. She rushed to the crumpled chandelier, clutching her belly, staring at SJ’s body through the strings of crystal. His legs were twisted at odd angles and his face was covered in blood.

  “Call an ambulance!” she shrieked.

  As half a dozen men pulled phones from their coat pockets, a woman came forward. “I’m a doctor,” she said, reaching through the twisted metal to feel for a pulse.

  “Is he dead?” asked Lily.

  Chapter Eleven

  It was four in the morning. Lily had been ordered to rest but she was wide awake. Only a few hours ago the falling chandelier had fractured her life. Tear tracks scarred her makeup but every time I offered tissues and cream to clean her face, she waved me away and dissolved into fresh tears.

  “I can’t give birth without SJ,” she wailed, curled up on her bed, arms around her belly. “He promised to be with me.”

  “You’re not in labor yet,” I reminded her. “And you’re not due for a couple of weeks.”

  “If my blood pressure doesn’t go down, they’ll induce me early. I want SJ.”

  There wasn’t much I could say. It wasn’t possible for her to have SJ no matter how distressed she got.

  Surprising myself, I gently stroked the hair off her forehead. “You should sleep now.”

  “How can I sleep?” she muttered, turning her face away from me toward the window that overlooked the garden. Outside the sky was dark. Rain obliterated the stars, slashing sideways against the windowpanes. The bedside lamp enclosed us in a pool of light that should have been cozy but wasn’t.

  When I reached for the off switch, she said, “Don’t leave me in the dark.”

  “I’ll sit with you until you fall asleep.” It was the least I could do. I should have saved SJ, but my pleasure at being in Casper’s arms had made me slow to react. Well, that and the fact my toe hadn’t itched. Workmen had inspected the ceiling and concluded that the screws supporting the chandelier had somehow worked loose. More than once I told myself that misty ghosts couldn’t affect inanimate objects…but could the crone? It seemed impossible to think she had hobbled around the hotel without being seen, and believe me I’d asked. Got a few odd looks too. On balance it seemed that the falling chandelier had genuinely been an accident. Just very bad luck that SJ had been underneath.

  Lily’s breathing had slowed to a soft, rhythmic in and out. I stopped stroking her forehead, moving carefully so as not to wake her. As I tiptoed toward the door, she started to thrash around on the pillow, calling out, “SJ,” as if she was having a bad dream.

  Hurrying back to her side, I murmured, “Hush.” My hand rested on her shoulder. She fell silent. Eventually her breathing slowed again and she began to snore softly. I crept away.

  This time I made it downstairs, where Casper sat in an armchair, his long legs stretched toward the open fire.

  “How is she?” he asked.

  “As well as can be expected.”

  “You really do care about her, don’t you?” he said. “This could be a blessing in disguise—the start of a better relationship between the two of you.”

  “Let’s not get carried away. I’m only doing this because Mom isn’t around to fuss over Lily. It’s an unpleasant job, but somebody has to do it.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “If I hadn’t pulled you out of the way, you might have been killed.”

  “Why didn’t you save us both?”

  “There was only time to save one. My job is to protect you.”

  I kicked off my shoes and flopped full length on the sofa, clasped my hands behind my head and closed my eyes. It’d been a long night. After the accident we’d gone to the hospital where we’d sat in a waiting room while the doctors stabilized SJ. Finally Lily had been allowed into the ICU. She came out in tears. Not that the doctors were worried about his two broken legs
and dislocated shoulder. It was the head wound and resulting coma that made them pessimistic.

  I opened my eyes. Casper was watching me through half-closed lids. At least I think he was watching me. He might have been asleep.

  “Will SJ survive?”

  Casper moved. Nope, not asleep. “I don’t know.”

  “Ask the Powers-That-Be.”

  “They won’t tell me.”

  I sat up and punched a cushion. Wrapping my arms around my waist, I hunched my shoulders and listened to the sheets of rain drenching Lily’s house.

  “You know what I said to Lily earlier tonight? When she told me the chandelier was a replica of the one in Phantom, I said, ‘Does it fall too?’ I should’ve bitten my tongue.”

  Casper said, “You didn’t know what would happen. You’re not clairvoyant.”

  “Sometimes I wish I were.”

  He went very quiet, walked to the window and looked out at the rain. Not that he could see much in the predawn darkness.

  “In the fourteenth century I guarded a woman in Budapest. A clairvoyant. Very good. Very accurate. She saw extremely detailed visions but she couldn’t cope with her gift. She went insane and threw herself into the Danube.”

  I moved to stand beside him. After a moment’s hesitation I put my arm around his big shoulders. “That sucks.”

  “It was a long time ago. Clairvoyance can be a curse as much as a blessing.” He turned away from the darkness outside. “Do you think Lily would mind if I used her kitchen? I’ll make you some food. How about one of those big breakfasts we had in Scotland?”

  “You’ll be lucky to find anything more substantial than muesli in Lily’s kitchen.”

  He grimaced. “I’ve lost my appetite.”

  “How about coffee?” Although Lily wasn’t drinking it at the moment, I found a packet of expensive beans in the fridge and began the process of producing a double espresso for me and a latte for Casper.

  We were on our second cups when I remembered I hadn’t called Mom to tell her about SJ’s accident. Even though it was early, I left a message on her cell to call me back when she woke. Myone rang thirty seconds later.

  “How was the dinner?” she asked. “Did we make lots of money on the auction?”

  “We didn’t actually have the auction.” Mom was predictably upset but I talked over her, explaining about the accident. “SJ’s in the hospital.”

  There was a little gasp followed by a thump.

  “Mom, are you okay?”

  “Of course I’m not okay.”

  “It sounded like you’d fallen.”

  “I had to sit down. Was Lily hurt?”

  “She’s fine.” Unwilling to add to Mom’s worries, I didn’t mention Lily’s distress, or SJ’s poor prognosis. When I sensed Mom was no longer listening to me, I asked, “Is something else wrong?”

  She cleared her throat a couple of times as if she was having trouble putting everything into words. “I think the ghost was here last night.”

  When she didn’t go on, I prompted, “What happened?”

  “Steven—he woke up and—screamed.” Suddenly the words tumbled out. “I was in a room nearby. I hadn’t been sleeping and I got there at the same time as the nurse. That’s when I saw the misty woman outside his window. It wasn’t Steven’s fault. She made him—she made him do it.”

  A million thoughts ripped through my mind. Had Steven escaped? Had he trashed the place? Harmed someone? Mom choked and sobbed, incoherent.

  “What did he do?”

  She took a deep breath. In a trembling voice she said, “He opened a vein in his wrist.”

  “I thought they took away anything sharp.”

  “He did it with his teeth. They’ve stitched him up and strapped him to the bed. But the ghost will get to him somehow, just like she got to Steven senior. Unless you stop her.”

  Right. No pressure, then. “I’m trying,” I mumbled.

  “Not hard enough.” Her words cut into my heart.

  “I will try harder,” I promised.

  But she wasn’t listening. “Steven’s screaming again.” The phone went dead.

  I covered my face with my hands. Casper left his chair and sat on the sofa beside me.

  “You’re doing your best,” he said.

  “It’s not good enough. And I don’t know what to do next. This is starting to remind me of the White Lady of Willingthorpe.” The one case I hadn’t solved. The case that had ruined my one hundred percent success rate. But this case was even more important. This was my family. Even if they sucked, they were all I had.

  When my cell rang again, I picked up. “Mom?”

  “No, it’s me,” said Wanda.

  “What’re you doing up? It’s the middle of the night on the West Coast.”

  “I couldn’t sleep, so I did some research.” She sounded excited. “Before I tell you what I’ve discovered, how is the protective spell working?”

  “SJ had an accident.” I said it without thinking how the news would affect her. I narrowly stopped myself from telling her about Steven’s suicide attempt.

  “Oh crap,” said Wanda.

  “Not your fault. SJ’s accident probably had nothing to do with the paranormal.”

  “Doesn’t matter. The protective spell should have worked. Oh dear, this is awful.”

  “We’ll talk about it later. Tell me what you’ve found out.”

  She answered with a question. “Has the crone appeared anywhere other than The Hollows?”

  I thought about the chandelier and the hotel staff’s denial that they’d seen an old woman fitting the crone’s description.

  “So far as I know, the crone has only been seen at The Hollows. It’s the misty ghost that’s been visiting the Hamptons’ houses.”

  “Yes! I knew it.”

  “Great,” I said without enthusiasm. “Care to share?”

  “Okay. The crone at The Hollows isn’t a solid ghost. But the misty woman isn’t a ghost either.”

  “You’re not making sense.”

  “Listen, I’ve found something in my Encyclopedia of the Odd and Unusual.”

  In my mind I saw her lifting it from the shelves of the rickety bookcase in the living room of our crappy apartment. I could almost hear her riffling the pages of the huge and very old book.

  “I think you’ve encountered something called a malhag.” Despite her pride in what she’d discovered, there was an anxious edge to her voice.

  This was going to be bad. I could feel it.

  “Here’s what the encyclopedia says.” She began to read. “‘Contrary to popular opinion, the malhag is not a ghost, but a living witch who has refused to die despite her advancing age. Malhags live alone, often residing in caves away from populous areas. Typically they forage for food, subsisting on anything they can find or catch, including small animals.’”

  “A malhag?” I murmured. “Are you sure? I mean, I know a lot about the paranormal and I’ve never heard of a malhag.”

  “That’s because they’re extremely rare. Listen to this: ‘Once the malhag has retreated to her hermitage she must stay there for the rest of her life, which may span hundreds or even thousands of years. As the malhag ages, she becomes physically weaker but magically stronger. Eventually, as her magical power increases, she is able to project a ghostlike image of herself, which may travel away from her hermitage and affect the physical world.’

  “You see,” finished Wanda. “That fits your description of the misty ghost.”

  “But the misty ghost is young. She’s not the crone.”

  “According to my encyclopedia, the magical image the crone projects will look like she did in her prime. Young, not old.”

  “So Elowyn didn’t die. The dates on her portrait are wrong.”

  “No, no. Elowyn died—she’s passed on. The crone is her twin sister, Demelza.”

  “Let me get my head around this. Do malhags always kill people by making them sleepwalk into dangerous situations?�
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  This time I really did hear Wanda riffling pages. Finally she said, “There’s nothing here about sleepwalking specifically, but there’s no reason an extremely powerful witch couldn’t make someone sleepwalk to their death.”

  And now we came to the million-dollar question. “Why is she targeting the Hamptons?”

  “Right, well here’s where it gets interesting. Very few witches actually become malhags. It depends on the personality of the witch, her natural talent for witchcraft and—well, it’s just easier if I read this.

  “‘The transformation from witch to malhag occurs when a third party inflicts grievous harm on the witch. Malhags are created when the witch becomes so consumed by a need for revenge that she is unable to die until vengeance has been achieved.’

  “Obviously one of the early Hamptons did something awful to Demelza,” concluded Wanda.

  “Persecuting witches. Yep, that sounds like the Hamptons,” I said.

  “Except that Steven Twenty was married to Elowyn. She was a witch too. She would have protected her sister.”

  I was skeptical. “You don’t have a sister, do you, Wanda?”

  “What has that got to do with anything?”

  “Do you love all your brothers equally?”

  “No, but I’d protect them if they were accused of witchcraft. Wouldn’t you protect Lily?”

  “Hmm. Anyway,” I said, moving right along, “who would accuse Demelza of witchcraft? No one knew except…” I could imagine a scenario: two sisters arguing, tempers blazing, throwing out accusations they later wished they could retract.

  Wanda said, “If only there was a historical record of Demelza being prosecuted, but I can’t find one.”

  I considered mentioning the diary, but since there was some doubt that it existed I decided to keep that information to myself for the moment.

  “The most important thing,” I said, “is not how she became a malhag but how we stop her. What does the encyclopedia say?”

  Wanda waited a beat. “It doesn’t say anything about stopping her. At the end of the entry for malhags, this is written in bold letters: ‘Novicewitches are warned not to approach malhags. Even the most experienced witches are advised to treat malhags with the utmost caution.’”