Witch Upon a Star (A Midnight Magic Mystery)

by Jennifer Harlow

  I found Tom in the bedroom next door sitting Indian-style at a tiny pink table with two stuffed animals and a pretty, brown-haired girl with pigtails pouring them tea, which was just milk. “Not so much there, squirt,” Tom told the girl. Her blue eyes bugged from her head when she spied me in the doorway. Yeah, not enough concealer. Tom spun around and smiled. “Hey! You’re just in time for tea and cookies.”

  “Oh, I don’t think—”

  He picked up the stuffed alligator to make room for me. “Come on. Bethany here makes the best darn tea in Goodnight.”

  “Well, in that case …” Not wishing to be rude, I entered the bedroom and sat on the carpet. I had zero experience with children, so I was as nervous as she was. My crooked smile seemed to quell her fright enough. She poured me milk. “Thank you very much, Bethany. And thank you for inviting me. I haven’t been to a tea party in ages.”

  “You’re welcome,” she whispered.

  I sipped the milk. “Oh, that is delicious. Fit for the Queen of England.”

  Bethany blushed. “Thank you.”

  “Oh. Don’t want to be rude.” I picked up the alligator and touched his snout to the cup. “I think he likes it too.”

  “She,” Tom corrected. “Mrs. Florrie. And that’s her husband, Mr. Boo Bear,” Tom said, gesturing to the teddy bear across from me.

  “My apologies to the table. Lovely to meet you all.”

  The little girl began babbling, I think to tell me a story, but she didn’t have the vocabulary yet. I understood every fifth word but smiled and nodded regardless. With the story complete, she grabbed my hand and led me toward her toy box, pulling out Barbies and shoving them at me. “Be right back,” Tom said, taking the chance to escape. Not that I minded. I spent the next ten minutes brushing doll hair and preparing them for a doll wedding. While Bethany focused on Barbie, she tasked me with choosing the bridesmaids dresses and hairdos. I hadn’t had so much fun in years. And every time that little girl giggled all the bad thoughts floated into the ether.

  I wanted a child. I did. I wanted to feel it grow inside me. To nourish it with my body. To sing it to sleep. Read it bedtime stories about brave knights conquering evil. Watch it grow into a decent human being through my guidance and love. To have someone that was mine, really mine to love and receive love in return, no strings attached. But as I sat across from that little girl, so joyful and brimming with the light that only happiness and security can bring, I suddenly grew sick to my stomach. What if I had succeeded in getting pregnant by one of those nameless men? What kind of life could I offer my child? Being carted around the world, constantly surrounded by vampires who thought of it as nothing more than an hors d’oeuvre? That is if Auntie Christine didn’t smother it in its sleep. And Asher … even if I did convince him to settle down again, how long would it last that time? Shame almost brought tears to my eyes. What the hell had I been thinking? Did my selfishness know no bounds? I was no better than Christine in that regard. Bethany must have sensed my misery because she frowned. I shook away the negativity and smiled to reassure her. “I’m okay, sweetie. I’m okay.”

  A door downstairs slammed shut, and Bethany immediately jumped up. “Daddy!” She rushed from the room with me a few paces behind. From the landing, I viewed Mr. and Mrs. Harmon kiss in the foyer below. “Hope I got the right kind,” he said as he passed her a grocery bag. He was in his late thirties like her, but short like his son with a receding hairline and a paunch over his jeans. Suburban Dad chic.

  “I’m sure it’s fine,” from Mrs. Harmon.

  Tom joined me on the landing as Bethany scurried down the steps to her father’s awaiting arms. “There’s my girl!” Mr. Harmon scooped her up and planted several kisses on her chubby cheeks. That brought a smile to my face.

  “Hey, Dad,” Tom called.

  Mr. Harmon glanced up and noticed me. After the initial sadly familiar shock, he grinned. “Well, hello.”

  “Dad, this is Anna. She’s here to trace her family. Thinks she might be one of us.”

  Mr. Harmon’s face lit up. “Oh,” he said, placing Bethany down.

  “If-if you have the time,” I said nervously.

  “Oh, he’ll make time for it,” Mrs. Harmon said with a cheeky grin.

  “Heck yeah! Come on down,” Mr. Harmon said.

  I followed the Harmon men downstairs to the study across from the amazing smelling kitchen. The study was even more disorganized than the rest of the house with stacks of books and stray papers everywhere. Above the messy desk was a family tree with easily a hundred branches. “Impressive.”

  “My pride and joy,” Mr. Harmon said, gesturing to the empty chair.

  “Hey,” Tom said.

  “Besides you and your sister, son.” He got out a fresh notebook and pen. “So, what makes you think you’re a Goodnighter?” I gave him what little I knew of Astrid’s past, which he scribbled down with a growing smile. The Harmons really liked to smile. When I finished, he said, “This is great.”

  “It is?” I asked.

  “I think …” Mr. Harmon said, rising. He scanned the elaborate tree then grinned again. “Found you. Here you are, Miss Anna. Buford Maxwell married his second cousin Willa Scott and had five children, the third being Mary-Ann, your mama. And your mama’s sister Ruth actually moved back here and married Emma’s brother, so you have an aunt and first cousins in town.”

  “So, she’s my what? Third cousin?” Tom asked.

  “Sounds about right. Our family tree’s more of a tangled vine what with all the cousins marrying. Hang on.” Mr. Harmon dug around his ledgers on the floor. “Here. I need to add Mary-Ann to the notes. Your daddy’s name is Sven Olmstead, you said?” asked, writing it down. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. Astrid could have a new family by now, I don’t know. I haven’t seen her in over a decade.”

  “All I got was that she ran away to San Fran at seventeen. Maybe Ruth’ll know more. Now, you said your dad passed. How?”

  “Um, fire. I think. Ten years ago tomorrow,” I said, nervously playing with my hair.

  Mr. Harmon’s eyes narrowed. “So, who’s been taking care of you, darlin’?”

  “Um, I was adopted. Sort of. By a Mr. Asher.”

  “Wait, you said he was your boyfriend earlier,” Tom cut in.

  I turned as red as a tomato. “I … it-it’s complicated.”

  Tom’s nose curled up as if he smelled rotting trash, and I flushed even more. I knew I should have lied. Whenever I attempted to explain our relationship it always came across so sordid. Mr. Harmon cleared his throat. “Tommy, why don’t you go help your mom in the kitchen?”

  “But I want to—”

  “Go on, son. Now.”

  Tom rose and after an eye roll he walked out. The sharp sting of shame lessened when he shut the door. “It-it’s not as illicit as it sounds. I’m the one who … he didn’t—”

  “Anna, you don’t have to tell me anything you’re not comfortable to, and it’s not my place to judge regardless.” He patted my hand. “I’m sure he took real good care of you. You seem like a lovely young woman. And now you have us too. Your Aunt Ruth will be over the moon. Really. She always wondered what happened to Mary-Ann. I should call—” He reached for the phone.

  “No,” I cut in, even leaning in to block him. “I-I’m-I’m … I-I don’t know why I came or what I want or …” I chuckled sadly. “I don’t know what I’m doing here, Mr. Harmon. I-I-I have to get going anyway. I have to go or I’ll be late,” I said, rising. “This was a mistake. I think. Yeah. I’m sorry I wasted your time.”

  “You didn’t, sweetie. Really. Just,” he said, rising as well, “just know if you need anything, anything we’ll be right here, okay? Don’t hesitate to call or come visit. We even have a spare bedroom. Our door’s always open.”

  “You’re nice. You’ve been so nice. Thank you,” I said, voice cracking. A few kind words, and I was on the verge of tears. “I-I-I have t
o go. I have to go.” I rushed out of the small room only to be greeted by Mrs. Harmon and Tom in the kitchen. Eyes down to the floor, I muttered, “Th-thank you for your hospitality. It was nice meeting you all.” And I hurried down the hall, past the smiling family photos, and out into the cold light of day. I sat in my car and willed myself to calm down, closing my eyes and breathing deeply. What was the matter with me? I—

  The knock on my car window jolted my eyes open. Tom stood next to it, looking more than a little contrite. I got out of the car.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I—”

  “No, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You have all been so nice, I just … have a lot going on. This is all me, it has nothing to do with you. You’ve all been amazing. Especially you. I swear.”

  “Okay. Uh, Mama wanted you to have these for the road.” He lifted up a Tupperware container filled with Snickerdoodle cookies. “She said you could keep the container.” He paused and began to blush. “Or you can come back. If you want.”

  Guess my revelation didn’t completely quash his growing crush. With a smile, I leaned up and kissed his cheek. “You’re one of the good ones, Tom Harmon.” I kissed his cheek again and got back in the car. The teen stared at me, slack-jawed. “Too damn good for me, that’s for sure.” I started the car. “Stay sweet, Batman. Bye.” And I drove away, leaving him in my rearview.

  I wanted to stay. I wanted to get a hotel room, spend a few days exploring the town and playing magic and having tea parties with my cousins. I wanted to flirt with Tom until his self-esteem skyrocketed. I wanted to not be me for a few days. But I just kept driving. Back to my life. Back to my Asher who ten years before chose me to be his. Who knew, maybe that night he would again. Hope springs eternal.

  _____

  A wreck on Route 29 slowed traffic to a crawl, so I didn’t pull up to the hotel until after dark with only an hour left until curtain time. We had plans to see Henry V at the Kennedy Center, just Asher and I. I’d even bought a rose red dres, with a plunging neckline and matching lingerie for the occasion. “Sorry I’m late,” I shouted as I entered our suite. “Traffic was—”

  When I stepped into our bedroom, my mouth snapped shut. Empty. Water ran in Oliver’s bathroom but I found him alone, lounging in bubbles. Considering how the previous night ended, and the one two nights before that, I had no problem entering without knocking. Nothing I had not seen far too many times before. Without question he was gorgeous, with thick brown hair with blond highlights, gray eyes, and the reddest lips I’d ever seen, but I could not say I was overly attracted to him. We simply gravitated to each other as the odd men out in our supposed quartet. He didn’t even bother to cover himself or remove the washcloth from his eyes when I stepped in.

  “Knocking is still considered good manners, even in this day and age,” he chided.

  “Where’s Asher?”

  “Have they not returned yet? Shocking,” Oliver answered sarcastically. “I have not the faintest notion where they went. They slipped out whilst I was being interviewed by that Texan.” He pulled the cloth from his eyes. “Thank you for that, by the way. I just adore finding myself on the F.R.E.A.K.S. watchlist.”

  “So Asher didn’t say when he’d be back? The play begins in an hour.”

  Oliver’s face softened. “I am sure he is returning to you as we speak.”

  “Yeah,” I said halfheartedly. “I’ll, uh, let you get back to your bath.”

  “You are more than free to join me,” the vampire said with that panty-dropping grin of his. “I can give you your birthday present.”

  “Tempting, but no thanks. I have to get ready. Have a nice night.”

  I returned to my bedroom and put on my new dress, a tight, bright-red number with next to no neckline, even curled my hair, but with each passing minute the anger and sadness festered. There was a brief glimmer of hope when I heard the front door shut forty-five minutes later, but it was only Oliver leaving for the night. I bit my lip to stop the tears before they began. I finally gave up my pathetic vigil on the couch, just staring at the door, when the clock struck nine. The curtain rose, not just at the Kennedy Center, it lifted from my eyes.

  “Asshole,” I whispered. “Selfish…fucking…asshole.” Shaking my head, I kicked off my heels and returned to my bedroom. Christine’s clothes were strewn around, with her panties lying on the unmade bed. My bed. I ripped off the sheets, the comforter, even the pillowcases, everything they touched, before lying flat on the bare mattress to stare up at the ceiling. I could still smell her everywhere.

  He’d forgotten. Hell, maybe he hadn’t and simply didn’t care. He was bored with me, that much was certain. I’d done all within my power in the past six months, things I never believed I would, and still it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough. That bedroom felt like a coffin slowly losing air. My life was suffocating me. I had to get out. I barreled out of the room, grabbed my coat and purse, slid on my heels, and fled that decadent hellscape.

  I was in such a hurry, and concentrating on not falling to pieces, I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings. I rounded the hallway corner and ran smack into the second-to-last person I wished to encounter. Agent West was in his own head too, reviewing his notebook from his last interview, so he was equally to blame for our collision. But the moment our bodies connected, another electrical shock jolted through me, frying my already jangled nerves to the breaking point. My purse and his notebook fell to the ground as I gasped. When I glanced up and realized who it was, my mortification from our earlier encounter somehow doubled. My mouth flopped open, as did his. “I-I am so sorry,” Agent West said.

  We both bent down to retrieve our belongings. All the contents of my purse spilled out, including my tampons. “It-It’s okay,” I muttered.

  “Oh, uh, something’s leaking,” the Agent pointed out.

  Brackish brown liquid from one of the potions flowed over the play tickets. I reached inside my purse and instantly glass sliced my finger. I just stared at the tiny shard as blood seeped down my hand and pain pulsed with every heartbeat.

  That was it.

  That was all it took. One tiny shard, and I burst into a million pieces. A sputtering sob escaped, then another. They wouldn’t stop. I didn’t have the strength anymore to stop them. The misery won. “Hey, hey,” Agent West whispered. Without a moment’s hesitation this stranger showed me a great kindness. He wrapped his arms around me, pulled me against him, and just held me. He didn’t attempt to kiss me, there was nothing in it for him, yet he knelt with me in that hallway until both our knees ached. Until I was empty of tears, of sorrow, of any illusions about my life. My birthday gift from the universe, the kindness of a stranger.

  Best gift I ever received.

  _____

  And he even bought me dinner.

  Nathan hadn’t eaten, and I had no idea where else to go, so we walked around the corner to a small burger joint with vinyl booths, a checkered floor, and Buddy Holly playing on the jukebox. What the waitress must have thought. Him with a wet spot on the shoulder of his rumpled suit, and me with splotchy make-up and red cocktail dress with a neckline almost to my naval. Not that I cared. I was past caring about anything. I could have been hit by a car and would barely have noticed. We each ordered burgers and fries, and she quickly walked away from the crazy people.

  “How’s your finger?” Nathan asked.

  I held up my bandaged finger. “Stopped bleeding. Still hurts. Had worse.”

  “I’ll bet,” he said, nodding toward my bruised neck. Embarrassed, I covered that spot with my hand. He didn’t take the hint. “Doesn’t that hurt? When they … you know?”

  “Only when they don’t use glamour. And even then …” I shook my head.

  “Sorry. Too personal?”

  “A little. I have just met you,” I point out.

  “Sorry. I tend to interrogate people within an inch of their lives. Even my family’s complained about it. My baby sister’s boyfriend won’t even be in the same room
as me. Hazard of the job.”

  “And how goes the case? Oliver told me you interviewed him. Hope he was more helpful than I was.”

  “Not a lick. Seems like last night’s attack was random. Just some wolves looking for retribution. Your friends were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I think we’re really here just to make sure things don’t escalate further. Keep both factions on their best behaviors.”

  “Yeah. Mrs. McGregor said your boss should just lock Peter and the wolf in a room and let them hash everything out. Or kill each other.”

  “Mrs. McGregor?”

  “She’s the High Priestess of the Goodnight coven. I was down there today mixing some potions for Lord Peter.”

  “You’re a witch?”

  “A High Priestess even,” I said with a touch of pride. The waitress returned with our cokes then left again. I sipped mine. “And you have to be something too, right? To be a F.R.E.A.K.?”

  “Electricity,” he said, almost ashamed by it. “I can control it. Well, on a good day.”

  “Here I thought we had something special. So, it’s not just me. You have a spark with all the girls,” I said with a smile. “You cad, you.” My new friend smiled back. “So, how long have you been an agent?”

  “Since I was twenty. Two years. George, that’s our boss, recruited me after the newspaper did a story on me.”

  “What happened?”

  “I was struck by lightning four times in one week, twice in the same day. It was finals week and I’d just found out my girl since middle school was cheating, with my best friend no less. I was stressed out to hell. I was clinically dead the third strike for two whole minutes. The fourth bolt actually shocked me back to life. And that wasn’t the first time it’d happened. In total, I’ve been struck six times. It’s a miracle I’m even alive.”

  “Goodness.”

  “Yeah. It hasn’t happened since I became an agent though. I have some measure of control now, but things still explode at least once a month, and when I’m stressed, I shock people all day.”