Witch Upon a Star (A Midnight Magic Mystery)

by Jennifer Harlow

  “Okay.” I stepped aside to let him in.

  “Oh, uh, this was left for you at the front desk,” Nathan said, handing me the envelope. Our skin lightly brushed, and I got a huge shock. Literally. It was as if I’d stuck my finger in a light socket. “Ow!”

  “Oh, sorry,” Nathan said. “Sorry.”

  “It’s fine.” My hand still tingled though. At least I was awake now. “Um, do you want coffee? I can phone room service.”

  “No, no I’m fine. Thank you.” He tried to turn on another light but the bulb flashed, then exploded. “Shit! Sorry. Sorry. I don’t …” The agent cringed. “I’m just gonna …” He pointed to the sofa before sitting. Clothes from the previous night, including my red lace panties, lay at his feet. He kept glancing down at them.

  “Sorry about the mess,” I said as I sat across from my guest. “We, uh, got back late last night.”

  “It’s … fine.” He removed a pad and pen from inside his ill-fitting coat. “So, uh, I’m sure you’re aware of recent events between the vampires and werewolves, including last night’s murders. Two vamps and their companions were killed just a block from Club Vertigo.”

  “Yeah, of course I do. Vampires killing werewolves, werewolves killing vampires, war all but declared. It’s all anyone’s talking about. I’m just not sure what it has to do with me.”

  “I understand you were friends with one of the victims, Dana Carver?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say friends,” I corrected. “We partied with her three nights ago and went lingerie shopping yesterday, but that’s all.”

  “Did she mention anyone following her? Did you see anyone suspicious hanging around?”

  “No. Not that I noticed, sorry.”

  “Did she mention having any dealings with werewolves, either her or her boyfriend?”

  “No, at least I don’t think so. All we spoke about were clothes and living with vampires. You really should talk to Oliver. He was friends with Jerome, one of the vampires who died. He’d be better able to answer these questions than me.”

  “And Oliver’s your boyfriend?”

  “Not real—no. I’ve only known him about two weeks since we got here. He’s asleep now, but he’ll be up after sundown. There’s really nothing I can tell you. Sorry.”

  The young agent frowned and put away his notebook. “Well, thank you for your time, ma’am.” He placed his card on the coffee table. “If you could have Oliver call me, or if you think of anything, no matter how minute, please contact me.” He rose from the sofa, as did I. “And be careful. Don’t go out alone.”

  I chuckled as I escorted him to the door. “What? Don’t I look like a girl who can take care of herself?” I asked flirtatiously.

  “No,” he scoffed. “God no.”

  The moment those words passed his lips, I had a physical sensation to those three words as if he had literally slapped me in the face. I’d been one big, raw nerve for months and this stranger just sucker punched that nerve with brass knuckles. My face fell, and I even began to tremble a little. “Get out.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I—”

  “Get out,” I hissed.

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “Get the fuck out of my suite. Who the hell are you to judge me? You don’t know me. You don’t know my life.”

  “I-I wasn’t judging, I swear.”

  I threw the door to the hall open. “Bullshit. Get out. Now!”

  The agent quickly walked through the door. “I’m sorry if I offended—”

  The door slammed in his face. My breath didn’t equalize until his footsteps receded down the hall. The moment silence hit, so did my mortification. That man didn’t deserve the tongue lashing I’d given him. Besides, he was right. All the partying and feeding, not to mention the Quaalude from the night before, had left me as weak as a newborn. I couldn’t fight off a mosquito let alone a malicious werewolf. I suddenly saw myself through the stranger’s eyes, and it made me nauseous. I stared down at my wrist, the entire circumference more purple than peach where Christine and others fed almost every night. My neck and inner thigh no doubt matched. There wasn’t an inch of me that didn’t feel like a landfill, even on the inside. My guts churned, and I rushed into the master bedroom for the nearest bathroom, passing a naked Asher and Christine in our bed with only a glance. “No. No,” I moaned when I saw the blood between my legs. My period. Another failure. At least I’d discovered the source of my outburst. I was always a nightmare right before. Cold comfort. The shower and Advil for the cramps didn’t help at all. Nothing ever did. Not the alcohol, not the hard drugs, nothing worked. I was in a constant state of ache from the soul out. How had I let it get so far? I couldn’t even place all the blame at Christine’s feet.

  She was good. Better even than Alain had warned me. She infiltrated our lives so gradually even I failed to notice its demise until it was too late. It began with phone calls a few times a month, then invites on vacations with her and her various lovers. Then the occasional day or so at our house where she almost had me believing we were friends. No jokes, no flirting with Asher, she even helped with the dishes. With the baseline established, she pushed further and further, getting in fights with her boyfriends and needing rescuing or a place to stay until she got on her feet. Next thing I knew they were out hunting every other night because the blood from the butcher’s shop had spoiled or wasn’t good enough for our Asher. Of course then the rumors started in town, and we had to leave. Asher didn’t even attempt to hide his joy.

  Asher loved our “grand tour,” one endless party around the world led by Christine, the latest stop being Washington, DC. to look up Oliver, an old lover of hers, and coincidentally Asher’s grandson via Alain. Just one big fucked-up family. Oliver wasn’t as bad as some of the other vampires, he knew when to stop feeding on me at least, but it still felt as if my soul had departed my body whenever he touched me. The things I agreed to, the things I did … wasn’t I a liberated woman? A risk taker? Didn’t I want to embrace the lifestyle I’d soon be initiated into? Didn’t I trust Asher as he trusted me? Every night the man I adored slipped further and further away, and I was beginning to think I should let him. Or cut Christine’s head off while she slept.

  Even my act of true desperation failed for the third month in a row as my trip to the bathroom showed. A baby would definitely banish the bitch. He’d have no choice but to settle down again. It had been six months since I brought the topic up right before our tour began, and though he’d been less than joyous about the idea, I knew he’d be thrilled when it actually happened. When he held the baby in his arms. He was the one who invited the men into our bed and fine physical specimens they all were. If I could just get my stupid body on board.

  At least I had a distraction for the day. I’d volunteered my magical services to Lord Peter the previous night when word reached us about the murders. Things had been tense between the vampires and Eastern Werewolf Pack since our arrival, but within a week the animosity escalated when two werewolves were found dead with fang marks on their bodies. After the second murder, Pack Alpha Bobby Conlon and his wolves stormed into Club Vertigo the night before and threatened Lord Peter. Conlon and Ivan, Peter’s giant of a bodyguard, even came to blows. It was intense. Oliver had to yank me from the line of fire when Ivan threw a red-headed werewolf across the club. The pack left, but not even two hours later Dana, Jerome, and two others were coming to the club to meet us, and were jumped in an alley. Killed. We were still with Peter when we heard the news. Knowing I was a witch, and total war was on the horizon, his lordship more or less ordered me to drive down to Goodnight, Virginia, and create potions to stop the werewolf transform, basically rendering them human and therefore easier to kill. All’s fair in love and war. Peter had me at Goodnight. Everyone in the supernatural world knew the town was witch central. Astrid was always proud to boast she was descended from the coven. Even YaYa in Athens sung their praises.

  I found the envelope the Texan agen
t gave me and sure enough, inside were directions to the Midnight Magic Shop and a hefty check for Sally McGregor, High Priestess. What with our traveling, I’d fallen behind in my magical studies. Maybe the most powerful witch in America could give me what I needed: a banishment spell. As I stood beside their bed, our bed, Christine curled against Asher with a smile frozen on her dead face, I frowned. The bitch had to go. She wouldn’t win. He was mine. He was all I had. And if I lost him … who the hell was I?

  _____

  “You look like you can use some help.”

  “So everyone keeps telling me.”

  The boy behind the counter at the magic shop walked over to me. I say boy, but he was only three years younger than me, with hazel eyes and curly brown hair. “Well, what exactly are you looking for?”

  “I’m not quite sure. I—”

  “Mona Leigh, get back here!” a woman shouted from the back of the store.

  A little girl no more than four came running from behind the counter, white curly hair bouncing in time to her chubby legs’ pace. The cherub stopped right between the clerk and me, but the moment she gazed up at me, she all but recoiled and dashed behind the boy’s legs. I was a fright, certainly enough to scare small children like that one. The make-up I’d caked on could barely conceal the bruises on my neck and wrists or the black circles under my eyes made worse by the whiteness of my skin. They were literally sucking the life from me night after night. The short, squat middle-aged woman with curly graying hair, who came out of the back carrying a toddler, had a similar reaction when she saw me. Grimacing even. “Um, hello,” she said with a Southern accent just like the boy.

  “Hi,” I whispered. I didn’t like them all staring at me. “I’m, um, looking for High Priestess McGregor?”

  “Oh! You must be Anna,” the woman said. Her eyes darted to my bruises as the baby in her arms began to wiggle from her grip. “Should have guessed. Welcome to Midnight Magic of Goodnight, Virginia. We’d given you up for lost.”

  “Yeah. I-I’m sorry I’m late.”

  “Well, better late than never,” McGregor said.

  “Yeah. Oh,” I said, pulling out the check. “Lord Peter said if it’s not enough, to let him know.”

  She took the check with a grin. “Say what you want about vampires, but stingy they ain’t.” She switched the squirming toddler to her other arm. “So, I gather things still aren’t good between Peter and the pack? What’s the death toll now? Six? Seven? Even heard the F.R.E.A.K.S. are in town. Hopefully George can sit those two pig-headed, no-goodnicks down and knock some sense into them before things get worse.”

  “Yeah. Well, Lord Peter appreciates your help in this matter.”

  “And I appreciate being able to pay my tax bill.” The baby girl began howling. “Oh, hell’s bells, Ivy. Quit squirming. This one missed her nap. I gotta run them back over to Leigh’s. Tommy, everything’s setup in the back for her. I’ll return when I can. Hold down the fort until then.” She turned to me. “Sweetie, anything you need, don’t you hesitate to ask, okay? I mean it. Anything.”

  “Thank you.”

  Mrs. McGregor took Mona’s hand and extracted her from Tommy’s leg. The shy thing clutched her grandmother’s leg instead until they left the store. I could now add terrorizing young girls to my list of crimes. I was running out of room on the page.

  “So, um, come on back,” Tom said, gesturing that way. The back room was as cluttered as the front. There was barely any room to maneuver to the altar with the iron cauldron, sigiled charms, and various herbs scattered around. “Yeah, here is everything including the potion recipe. Blocking magic, right? It seems kind of advanced. Are you sure you can—”

  “Yeah.” I shrugged off my coat. My late birthday present on my fifteenth birthday. A thousand-dollar black wool coat with mink collar and cuffs. My most prized possession. “I’ve done far more powerful spells than this.”

  “Like what?” the boy asked.

  “When I was nine, I raised a ghost. On this very day actually.” That realization knocked the wind from my sails. Ten years. A damn lifetime ago.

  “Damn. I don’t think even Aunt Sally’s done that.”

  “I had a lot of incentive,” I said, mustering a small smile.

  I’d often thought what would have happened had I failed that night. Would Asher have been less inclined to take me away? What would my life have looked like had I remained Anna Olmstead? Would I have been a college coed rushing a sorority? In jail? Drugged out in some motel somewhere with a man I’d met the previous night? Any of those seemed preferable to my current reality.

  “Are you okay?”

  Tom’s voice shut down my pity party. “I’m sorry?”

  “Are you alright? Do you want something to eat? A chair?”

  “I’m fine.” I started grinding up the hyssop and rosemary in the mortar and pestle bowl. “Thank you.”

  “So,” he said, sitting down himself, “the werewolves and vampires are really going to war? How’d it start? Who do you think will win? Does Lord Peter have a werewolf hostage yet or—”

  “You ask a lot of questions,” I cut in.

  “I know. I’m just naturally curious. That’s why I want to be a reporter for the Washington Post or New York Times, either one. Everyone agrees I’d make a good one. I just had an exposé published in the school newspaper about the cafeteria using expired canned goods. I almost got suspended, but my parents were real proud.”

  “Sounds like they had good reason to be,” I said with a small smile.

  The boy blushed. “So, are the F.R.E.A.K.S. really in DC? I’ve always wanted to meet one.”

  “Well, I have, and if the one I met is any indication, you are not missing much.”

  “Still. If I can’t be a reporter, my next choice is F.R.E.A.K. Traveling all over the country, saving people? That is so Batman.”

  “I don’t know,” I said, adding the hyssop. “This town seems nice. Moving around isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

  “Neither is staying in one place. It’s so boring here,” Tom insisted. “Same old people, same old stuff day after day. Nothing ever happens here.” The boy paused. “So, really, what’s going on in D.C.? Don’t spare a gory detail. I can take them.”

  “I can’t really talk about what’s going on because I don’t really know. I just volunteered to help because Peter and my boyfriend are old friends. Well, among other reasons.”

  “Oh.” He paused. “What other reasons?”

  “My, uh, mother told people we were descended from this coven. I figured since it was nearby I’d see what I could find out. If anything.”

  Tom’s eyes lit up. “Holy double serendipity, Batman! My dad is the unofficial town genealogist.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah! If you want to trace your roots, he’s the one to dig them up. What’s your mom’s name?”

  “Well, she called herself ‘Astrid’ but I think her real name was Mary-Ann Maxwell. Or that’s the name on the marriage license I saw once.”

  “And your grandparents?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never met them. I do know they lived around San Francisco twenty years ago. He was a car salesman … wait. His name was Buford.”

  “Not ringing a bell, but I’m sure Dad would know. You can come over and talk to him if you want. He loves long-lost relatives.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose.”

  Tom scoffed. “You’re family, right? Family can’t impose on family. It’s the law. My shift’s almost over. When you finish, I’ll take you over to meet Dad. How long do you think the potion will take?”

  “Um, an hour?”

  “Perfect.” The bell on the front door tinkled. Tom frowned. “Crap. Customer.” He rose. “Be right back. I have a ton more questions for you, cuz.”

  “Okay. Cuz.”

  Tom bounced out to help the customer, leaving me with my grin. He’d just met me and already welcomed me into the family with open arms and a warm s
mile. No good deed goes unpunished.

  I’d been inside palaces. Yachts. Castles. I’d even toured Versailles, but I had never seen any home more beautiful to my eyes than the Harmon home in Goodnight, VA—a hundred-year-old three-story white Victorian with a wrap-around, blue painted porch coomplete with white picket fence. A little pink plastic playhouse in the front with dolls sitting around a tiny table and a flapping American flag. Hell, when I stepped inside, it even smelled of cinnamon. I’d walked onto the set of Father Knows Best, only with more clutter and toys strewn around. A true home.

  “Tommy, that you?” a woman called from another room.

  “Yeah,” he shouted back as he shook off his coat. “And I brought a friend! She might be staying for dinner!”

  “I-I can’t stay for dinner. I have to be back in DC by seven.”

  “Nix that last one, Mama! Where’s Dad?”

  A big-boned woman resembling Sally McGregor, curly graying brown hair, glasses, wearing a red apron, walked from the living room into the foyer. Her mouth dropped open a tad when she saw me. I was growing tired of that reaction. “Um, hello.”

  “Mama, this is Anna. She’s here to see Dad. Genealogy stuff.”

  “Oh, well, he’s run to the store. Should be back anytime. Hon, would you like something to eat or drink? I just made cookies. Snickerdoodles.”

  “Thank you. Uh, may I use your bathroom?”

  “Upstairs, last door to the right,” Tom said.

  “Thank you.”

  I scurried upstairs, away from prying eyes. When I caught sight of myself in the mirror, my mouth opened a tad as if I were silently screaming. If possible I was whiter than before, and the make-up had rubbed off, revealing the bruises again. What Mrs. Harmon must have thought. I’m surprised the woman didn’t shove me out the door right there and then. She should have. I did my best to fix myself up, but there wasn’t enough concealer in the world to restore me. I stared at the stranger in the mirror wearing my face. What was I doing there? Even if I did trace my family, uncles and cousins and whatnot, then what? I show up on their doorstep with my vampire lover for Christmas? Have to tell lie after lie about my situation. My past? I was wasting these people’s time. And there’d be hell to pay if I was late back to DC.