by Delia James
There were two bedrooms. Trisha told me the one at the front of the house was Dorothy’s. It let her feel like she was in the middle of what was going on, even when she was asleep. I laughed at this, because it fit so well with everything I’d heard about the woman.
But my heart was lost the minute I saw the back bedroom, the one Dorothy had kept for guests. The front room would make a terrific studio. It had built-in bookcases and a bay window with diamond panes, just like downstairs. The room I wanted for my private sanctuary, though, looked out over that magnificent garden. I could see the spiral path curling between the flower beds. In fall, the apples would shine red on the trees. I could just about see McDermott’s as well, a reminder that some of my new friends were also my new neighbors.
The back bedroom was sparsely furnished, just a double bed with a Shaker-style headboard and a matching dresser. The walls were bare except for the black-and-white picture hanging over the dresser. I lifted it carefully off its nail to get a better look. It was a still from the movie The Wizard of Oz and showed the Wicked Witch of the West writing SURRENDER DOROTHY! across the sky. Somebody had written Margaret Hamilton, 1939 in black marker at the very the bottom.
More evidence that Dorothy Hawthorne had a boundless sense of humor. Less comfortably, it reminded me of the magazine photo I now had tucked in my wallet and its tiny aka Dorothy Gale.
“What do you think, Alistair?” I asked as the cat jumped up on the bed. I held the picture out toward him. “Should we keep it?”
Alistair meeped very softly, like a lost kitten, and rubbed his face against the corner of the frame. “Meow.”
“Oh, hey, I’m sorry.” I set the photo down and gathered him into my arms. “It’s okay, big guy. I know you miss her.”
I didn’t feel the least bit strange saying it, either. There was a whole lot of change going on today. Alistair shivered and buried his face against my shoulder. I rocked him like I would a baby and petted his back. I also remembered what Julia had said, how the night Dorothy died no one had seen Alistair. I wondered what had happened to him.
I wondered if it had been something bad enough that he was still scared.
27
I DIDN’T GET to sit and wonder for long. Alistair licked my chin and jumped from my arms to the middle of the bed and began washing himself frantically.
Nothing to see here, human. Move along.
“Cats!” I laughed.
I walked out into the hallway, fully intending to leave him to his grooming. But as I reached the attic door, I found Alistair was already there. He wasn’t doing anything, exactly, except providing a very effective block to my pulling it open.
Joni Mitchell wasn’t singing about Chelsea mornings anymore. It was James Taylor and he had Carolina on his mind.
“Everything okay, Anna?” Didi poked her head out of the bathroom and pushed her glasses up on her nose.
“Ask him.” I put my hands on my hips and glowered at Alistair.
“Sorry. No hablo el gato.” She ducked back into the bathroom. There was the sound of running water, and James Taylor gave way to Paul McCartney, who wanted someone unspecified to let ’im in.
“That’s a song cue, Alistair,” I said. “Are you going to let me in?”
Alistair blinked up at me but didn’t move.
“Pretty please?”
Alistair gave one of his big unconcerned yawns.
“There’s some tuna in it for you.”
He got up and stretched his front paws out and stalked away.
“Now I know how you got that belly,” I muttered as I pulled on the doorknob. It came open as easily as the front door had. There was no resistance and, just as important from my point of view, no Vibe. Just a door that opened onto a staircase, and a fat gray cat bounding up ahead of me.
“Anna?” called Julia from down below.
“Up here,” I answered. I turned quickly to see if Julia needed help. That flight of stairs was short but really steep. Julia, however, waved me back and, with the help of her cane and the railing, finished the climb on her own.
Maybe I didn’t catch a Vibe up here anymore, but Julia clearly did. She swayed at the top of the stairs for a moment and then drifted over to the altar. The faraway look in her eyes told me she was deep in her own memories, so I kept myself quiet. Alistair curled around her ankles, the first gesture of affection I’d seen him make toward her. He merowed once. Just then, Max and Leo came scampering up the stairs. They wagged and whined and snuffled, checking out everything. Alistair jumped up onto the desk out of dachshund range and tucked his paws under himself.
I thought about asking Julia if she wanted a private moment, but I made myself keep quiet. I desperately wanted to like and trust Julia, but I couldn’t ignore my suspicions. She was another person who could have quickly and easily searched the house, in person or by magic. If Dorothy had needed to keep secrets from Julia, she would have taken extra precautions. Like sealing the attic door.
Julia looked at the altar for a long moment; then she went over to the desk and opened the central drawer. Alistair narrowed his eyes but didn’t interfere.
“I was hoping Dorothy might have left something here,” she said, and my heart skipped an uneasy beat. “To let us know what she’d been up to before she died.”
She did. She left a great big honkin’ clue. Max was snuffling around my shoes now, and I felt the prickle of perspiration beginning on the back of my neck.
“Merow!” Alistair bounded across the attic to the garden window. Both dachshunds raced after him, wagging and nosing the glass.
My hero. I let out the breath I’d been holding.
Julia closed the central desk drawer and opened the one on the top right-hand side. “If she’d sealed the room, the thieves who took her computer wouldn’t have been able to get inside.” She pulled out another drawer. “So she may have left something important behind.”
“Are these the Books of Shadow?” I crossed to the set of low shelves I’d noticed when I was up here the first time. It was filled with old leather-bound journals slotted in between three-ring binders in a rainbow of colors. They must have smelled very interesting, because Max and Leo were sniffing them up, down and sideways.
“Yes,” murmured Julia.
Now that I looked closely, I could see each volume had a date written on the spine; 1958, 1959 . . . 1965 had two binders, and 1977 had three.
“Busy year.”
“It was.” Julia’s smile was faint and distant. “Floods, and then one of the worst nor’easters ever that winter. We were very busy.” She touched the book briefly.
“Would Dorothy have written something in here?” I suggested. “About, you know, what she was doing toward the end?”
But Julia shook her head. “These are her personal writing about magic, her craft and practice. Even Dorothy wouldn’t use them for . . . worldly matters.”
There were three for 2001, I noticed, and another three for 2012, the year of Hurricane Sandy. But only one for 2013. On impulse, I pulled out a random volume. The label said 1979. I leafed through the heavy, wrinkled pages. I was expecting instructions for standing out under the full moon with a bubbling cauldron, or something. What I found was carefully written quotes, philosophy, theology, observations and anecdotes. There were newspaper clippings and invitation cards taped to brown paper pages, along with fading Polaroid photos. Truth be told, it reminded me of my mother’s old collection of recipes she’d snipped from magazines, newspapers and those pamphlets that Jell-O and Campbell’s Soup used to publish.
“What should I do with them?” I asked. “Do you want them?”
Julia looked around her, clearly weighing a whole set of decisions. “Let’s leave things as they are for now. If you decide you’re not staying permanently, the coven will take charge of the books and tools. There are rituals for passing on such ite
ms. You still have the wand, I take it?”
“Yeah. I’ve kind of been carrying it around. I hope that’s not, I don’t know, disrespectful or anything.”
“Not in the least. It means you feel an affinity to it. But I would like to use it in the blessing ceremony tonight. We can pass it on to you formally then.”
“Okay. I guess.”
My hesitation made Julia smile. “You’ll get used to it. Just give yourself time.”
“If you say so.”
She laid her hand on my shoulder. “I do, Anna.”
“Meow!” announced Alistair from his spot by the window.
I jumped and nearly dropped the binder. “What!”
“Merow!” he tried again. He also whisked past Julia’s dachshunds and jumped onto the desk.
“Oh, no. We’re not playing Timmy down the well today, cat. What is it?”
Alistair grumbled and jumped up on the bookcase. He also pawed at the open binder in my hand.
It hit me then that I hadn’t told Julia about my meeting with Brad and how he was looking for copies of . . . something he believed Dorothy kept. I looked at the binders with their pages full of clippings and photos and bit my lip. Tears prickled the back of my eyes. I did not want to believe this woman had been working against Dorothy. I liked her and her friends. I wanted to learn what she had to teach me. But until I knew more, I had no choice. I had to hold back.
But what if I told her just a little, just to see how she reacted?
“Julia.” I hesitated. “You know when I first got into the house, there was somebody else already here?”
She nodded.
“It was Brad Thompson.”
“Brad? Laurie’s husband? What on earth was he doing?”
“Trying to get in here.”
Julia staggered. I caught her arm, but she jerked away. I opened my mouth to ask if she was okay, but right then Leo yipped and Max’s ears perked up and they both scampered toward the stairs.
“What is it?” asked Julia then.
I looked at Alistair. Alistair was staring daggers, and right at Julia.
“Anna!” Val’s shout sounded from the hall below. “Martine’s here!”
Martine! I had called her after I had finished at the lawyer’s and left a message to let her know where I was and what I was doing. I’d also apologized for messing up our planned girls’ day out. But there was so much else happening, I’d clean forgotten she’d never called back.
I looked at Julia. I didn’t want to break off this conversation, but she was waving me on. I bit my lip and hurried downstairs, trusting her to follow when she was ready.
Martine stood in the cottage doorway. I was in no way surprised to see she’d brought her own Tupperware.
“Hey, Martine!”
“Hey yourself.” We hugged, and she handed me the Tupperware so she could put her hands on her hips and look around her. “So, this is the house.”
“This is it.” I wrapped my arms around the industrial-sized tub she’d given me. “Come on in.” I led her toward the kitchen. “Everybody! This is Martine. Martine, this is . . . everybody.”
Everybody called hello back. Including Didi and Julia, who both came down from upstairs. Whatever it was that had upset Julia about finding out that Brad Thompson had been in the house, she’d set it aside and was all smiles now.
Martine said her hellos and shook hands as we all congregated in the kitchen. Her arrival seemed to signal the need for rest and food, and everybody started getting out the plates and silverware. I made more coffee.
It turned out Martine knew not only Kenisha and Val; she was friends with Shannon and Didi. It also turned out she’d brought a huge salad of tomatoes and mozzarella dressed with balsamic dressing, cracked pepper and fresh basil. We heaped it onto plates for lunch along with thick slices of Roger’s homemade bread.
“And here I thought you didn’t know anybody in town.” Martine gestured to the busy, gossiping gathering with a slice of bread.
“Except for you. I didn’t. These are . . .” What was I going to tell her? As it turned out, I didn’t have to tell her anything.
Martine rolled her eyes. “Dorothy’s coven.”
“Um, yes.”
“Thought so,” she said. I stared at my plate and tried not to squirm. “What?”
“Am I the only person in the world who thought this stuff had to be kept secret?”
“Now, how would I know that?”
“Good point.”
“Dorothy didn’t know what secret was,” said Shannon, from where she leaned her butt against the counter and sipped her coffee. “Have you seen her HeyLook! page?”
“Not to mention the Web site,” added Didi, who came in from the garden terrace to help herself to another cookie. “And you really should have seen this place at Halloween. She always spent a solid month on the decorations.”
“Yeah, and didn’t the witch on the hill just love that,” added Trisha.
“Trisha!” Julia thumped her cane once, and Trisha, who ran a gym and had been shoving the heaviest furniture around without breaking a sweat, looked instantly like a guilty schoolgirl.
“Anna!” called Val from the foyer. “We got another visitor!”
Martine laughed. I shrugged and went out to see who it was this time.
To my surprise, this time it was Sean the bartender. He wore a tweed flatcap that matched his tweed vest.
“I heard the news,” he said as he handed me a bottle of red wine. “Welcome to Portsmouth, Anna Britton.”
“Thank you. Won’t you come in?” Sean stepped inside just as a plump gray shadow slid casually into the foyer. “Meow.”
“Well, look at that!” said Sean. “I guess he was just waiting to come home.”
“Yeah, I’ve been adopted.” I smiled as Sean reached down to skritch Alistair behind his ears. The cat submitted to this and even consented to purr just a little. “I never had a chance to thank you for your help with him the other day.”
“All part of my dastardly plan to make a positive first impression,” said Sean as he straightened up. Only guys who wear hats can use words like “dastardly.”
“Well, I should warn you, if you keep trying to ply me with alcohol, I’m going to start getting suspicious.”
“I’d try food, but with the chef and company here, I figured you’d have more than enough.” He smiled and I felt myself starting to blush. I turned around quickly, planning on inviting him in. The words were cut off by the sight of Martine standing in the parlor doorway.
Martine was not smiling. “Young Sean,” she said. “What brings you here?” Her words might have been addressed to him. Her look, however, was most definitely aimed at me.
“Actually, I got a message for you, Chef,” Sean told her. “Ken says there’s been a snafu with the beef deliveries for tomorrow, and he texted you but . . .”
Martine had her phone out before he could finish. Whatever she saw there made her swear and sigh. “It would be today. All right.” She stuffed her phone back in her jeans. “Tell him I’m on my way.”
Sean hesitated, but Martine raised an authoritative eyebrow. “Yes, Chef.” He nodded, put his cap back on and retreated out the door.
Martine stepped up from behind and took the bottle out of my hands.
“He’s been asking about you, you know,” she said as she examined the label. “Nothing direct, but you’ve definitely come up in conversation. And here he shows up with a bottle.” This she held up as Exhibit A. She also eyed the label. “And pretty good wine, too. It’s kind of cute.”
I had absolutely no answer for that, which apparently was answer enough for Martine. She sighed and handed the bottle back. “Okay, I get it. Nothing to see here. And unfortunately, no rest for the chef. I gotta get back.” She put a hand on my shoulder. “It�
�s great to see you settling in, Anna. This bunch, they’re good people.”
“Yeah, they are. So are you.” We hugged. “Will you call when you’re free? There’s been some stuff happening, about Dorothy Hawthorne and how she died . . .”
“Anna.” Martine backed up until she held me at arm’s length. “You’re not getting involved in that whole business, are you?”
“No, no,” I said, resisting the urge to cross my fingers behind my back.
“Too bad. That Vibe of yours might come in handy.” Martine grinned at me, waved and headed out the door before I picked my jaw up off the floor.
Alistair looked up at me. If he were a human, he would have been shaking his head.
“Yeah, okay, you’re right. I should have known,” I told him.
I walked back into the kitchen with the bottle. All the women were watching me.
“What?” I asked them all.
“Nothing,” said Val.
“Nice bottle,” remarked Kenisha. “Newer vintage, though, isn’t it?”
“Bet it’s got good legs,” murmured Trisha.
“And a really smooth finish,” added Didi. “Audacious, with hints of oak and tweed . . . I mean tannin.”
“All right, all right.” Julia climbed to her feet before my blush could really get started. “You will all remember we’re here to help, and there’s one place we haven’t cleansed yet.”
Very deliberately, she walked over to the basement door and pulled it open.
28
“NO. I CAN’T.” I stared down into the dark basement stairwell like I thought it was going to swallow me whole. “It’s too soon.”
“You cannot live here if you’re afraid,” Julia answered firmly. “You need to know you can control what you feel, from the start.”
