Witch Upon a Star (A Midnight Magic Mystery)

by Jennifer Harlow

  Nathan knocks on the door, drawing me from my misery. “Annie?”

  “Be right out.” I rise from the toilet. “Keep it together, West,” I whisper to myself.

  Oh. I wipe the tears, splash cold water on my face, and smile in the mirror for practice. Be strong, Anna. You are descended from Vikings, men and women who conquered the world. Bloody well act like it. When I step out of the bathroom, Nathan anxiously waits only a foot from the door. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Did you find the theater?”

  “It’s only about a kilometer away. Not only did the concierge give me directions, but he actually knows Alain. He goes by the last name DePlass.”

  “Good work, husband of mine.”

  “Thank you, wife. So, how do we play this one?”

  “I should go alone. He—”

  “Hell no.”

  “He—”

  “No,” Nathan snaps as all the lights in the room flicker. I can practically see the electricity crackling around his aura. “Together or nothing.”

  “What? Don’t I look like a girl who can take care of herself?” I ask with a seductive grin. He doesn’t take the bait, if anything the scowl deepens. “Your caveman is showing, husband.”

  “Together or nothing.”

  I sigh. I’m too exhausted to fight. Plus I don’t think we have enough money left after this endeavor to replace all the electronics in the hotel if he loses control. “Fine. But remember: we need him. No anger, no frustration, no snapping, no electrocuting. Treat him as you would a client.”

  “His ass will be thoroughly kissed by the end of the night.”

  “That’s the Nathan West I know and love.” I peck his lips. “Come on. It’s a beautiful night to take in the theater.”

  The door to Le Theatre de Rosa is locked when we arrive but a quick spell sorts that out. Alain has done well for himself. The theater easily seats five hundred with red velvet cushioned seats, matching red carpet, arching ceilings with fading murals, and a grand crystal chandelier hanging above. As actors rehearse on the immense stage, my old friend observes in the back, I assume jotting down notes of critique. He’s so immersed in the drama onstage he fails to notice our approach.

  “Looks like a hit to me,” I say in French. We’ve only ever spoken in that language, I don’t know if he even knows English. “A Streetcar Named Desire by Tennessee Williams if memory serves.”

  Alain spins around in his seat. If he’s shocked by my presence, it fails to register on his pretty face. Nothing does. His expression is deceptively neutral as I slide into the seat beside him. Nathan remains standing. “I certainly hope so. We could use a hit. No one desires to experience live theater anymore, it is all film and television now. Such a shame. It is enough for one to become a Luddite.” He pauses to gaze behind me. “Is this the husband? Not at all what I imagined. He seems quite plebian.”

  “Is he talking about me?” Nathan asks.

  “Yes, I am,” says Alain in English.

  “Nathan West, Alain. Alain, my husband Nathan West.”

  “Enchanté,” Alain says.

  “What were you saying about me?” Nathan asks again.

  “Simply that you are quite … tall,” he replies with a gracious grin. “Please sit, Mr. West. Those long limbs of yours must be weary after your long journey from Londontown.” Alain pauses to return his attention my way. “I was wondering if you would grace me with an appearance during your quest across Europe.”

  “You heard about us?” Nathan asks, taking the seat beside me.

  “Of course. It is all anyone is gossiping about. Last night alone I received three calls, one from the Lord of London himself, regarding the reappearance of the infamous Anna Asher.”

  “What are they saying?” I ask.

  “Simply that Asher wished to reclaim his consort, and when the bid failed, he once again had to go to ground because said consort and her electrifying husband wished to claim his head.”

  “Yeah, because this is all her fault,” Nathan spits out.

  I touch my husband’s hand to calm him. “He hired Didier to kill Nathan and kidnap me and my children,” I clarify.

  “Yes, I heard that version as well,” says Alain.

  “Suppose all that was her fault too,” Nathan says.

  “Nathan …” I warn.

  “It is fine, Mrs. West,” Alain says. “I take no offense. A husband should defend his wife’s honor against malicious gossip. You do have precious few friends left in our world. To us you are merely the strumpet who attempted to burn her lover alive, then skipped off into the sunset without a glimpse back. Not to mention your turncoat antics against my poor youngling Oliver. I have heard he still remains a slave to your government to this very day. You betrayed two beloved members of our community, and we all have mighty long memories, Mrs. West.”

  “They deserved everything they got,” Nathan says.

  “Most would disagree with you,” Alain counters.

  “Then they’re soulless, fucking morons,” Nathan says with a smug smile.

  So much for ass kissing. Though his apathetic expression doesn’t sour, I can sense Alain is losing his patience with my better half, mostly because I am losing my patience with him. “Nathan, can you please give us a minute alone?”

  “No, I—”

  “Go sit in the back and watch the rehearsal. Now.” The combination of my scowl and hard tone works on males of all ages it seems. Nathan glares at us both but obeys, retreating to the back row where he can keep an eye on me. “He’s not usually like this. All the traveling, all the stress …” I shake my head. “We went to Asher’s house. It was … he was …” I roll my eyes and scoff. “I think Asher’s lost his mind. Truly. He really believes he can make everything right. Just as it was. He’d lock me away, and I’d magically fall in love with him again. That all he’s done to me, that I’ve done to him could just be washed away, and I’d rush into his open arms forever and all eternity.”

  “He always was a hopeless romantic,” Alain says.

  “There is a difference between hopeless romanticism and a plain old lost cause,” I point out. “I abandoned him. Hell, I tried to kill him. I married someone else. And he wants to play happy families? He should hate me.”

  “Do you hate him?” Alain counters with a raised eyebrow. “If the rumors are true, it would be justified.”

  I consider the question, the same one I’ve been asking myself for a decade. “If you asked me that a week ago, it would have been an unequivocal ‘No.’ I made my peace with him, with my past, years ago. But I hate him for what he’s done to my family.”

  “That is not the same thing, and you know it,” Alain counters. “The line between love and hate can be wafer thin more often than we care to admit, especially when dealing with that man. I speak from experience. You wish never to lay eyes on him again, while at the same time find yourself inexplicably drawn to him. His love is a drug that never leaves your system. You desire it more than blood, yet loathe yourself and him for that weakness.”

  I sit staring at the actors playing at tormented love onstage for a few seconds. “I have an amazing life. I’m married to my best friend, a man who supports me in every way fathomable. I have two beautiful, healthy, smart, sweet boys. I’m active and respected in my community. Even my in-laws love me, and I love them. I have everything I have always wanted. I’m happy. Really.

  “But sometimes … I think about the years with him, and there’s a flash, just a moment, when I would sell my soul to be back there. And in those moments I missed him like a suffocating person misses air. I craved him.”

  “I am aware of the feeling.”

  “What we had—massively fucked up though it was—it was real. At least on my end. When it was good, there was nothing better in this whole universe to me. There were times when I was afraid I’d burst into tears because I couldn’t contain my joy. Where I would have been content to die because the moment was so perfect, I thought nothing
could ever top it. But he always found a way, another perfect moment better than the last. He was my everything. Nothing else compared to one of his caresses. Nothing else mattered. Not even myself. And I miss that a little. I do. Life was simple. And despite everything, I missed him. I missed our conversations. I missed holding his hand in the movie theater. I missed watching him cook. I missed the feel of him against me. No matter what, I think I always will. And I forgive him. I do. He did me a lot of wrong but … he made me who I am today. He loved me as much as anyone could.

  “He still must or he wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble,” I chuckle sadly. “Maybe he believes he’s saving me. That I’ve settled, I don’t know. All I do know is when that moment is up, when Nathan cracks a joke or Max smiles at me, it is just as real. More so because it’s equal. Consistent. There’s no grand all-consuming passion, no pendulum swinging between love and hate, no compromise of morals or my sense of self. I am Anna West, wife of Nathan, and mother of Joe and Max, which is more than enough for me. Anna Asher’s dead. I buried her a decade ago, and no matter how hard he may try, he cannot resurrect her. If Asher’s unable to understand that, accept me, then … he’s a threat. And I’ll do what needs to be done. Just as I did ten years ago. There’s no vengeance, no retribution in this, just pure survival.”

  “And you require my assistance.”

  “I have no right to ask, I am aware of that. You’ve done so much for me already. You looked out for me when no one else really was. And I didn’t appreciate it then, not really, but … I do now. More than you can ever know. If there is any good to come out of this situation, any at all, it is that I can correct the fact I never really thanked you. I always regretted that. So truly, from the bottom of my heart, thank you,” I say, voice quivering. “You were right. Everything you told me was right, I was just too young, too self-involved, too in love to recognize it. It took me some time, but I finally did, in large part to you. You helped save my life, Alain. You did. So again, thank you. Thank you.”

  He stares ahead too, deafeningly, oppressively silent but after a few seconds says, “I wish I could tell you my actions were solely charitable or even partially.” He shakes his head. “I do not know how much you are aware of my tumultuous history with our Asher. More downs than ups, but in our way I suppose we did love one another. Perhaps even respected each other. We have committed many atrocities against one another but always found a way to move past. Until, like you, he went a step too far. He turned my Oliver against me. One night a century of petty resentments built up, exploding out with my sire not only fanning the flames but siding with Oliver at every turn, simply because I refused to stay in the Americas with them. Because I chose to leave him, my sire, youngling and I all but killed one another. I have not seen nor spoken to my youngling, my blood since. To this very day he loathes me. So when I saw an opportunity to sow the seeds of discord with the person my sire adored, to draw even a sliver of blood in that bastard, I leapt at the chance. I did not care one whit what it would mean for you. Nor did your well-being factor into my decision to inform Christine that Asher would be in attendance at the opera ball.”

  “You brought her there?”

  “It was inevitable she would resurface, I simply hastened the reunion. I did wish to give you a fighting chance though, hence my warning. But I am sorry. Truly.”

  The knot in my gut twisted with this revelation. I suppress the urge to slap his face, instead balling my hand into a fist. Calm down, Anna. We still need him. “Then make it up to me now. Rectify some of the turmoil you’ve caused. Help me. You know him better than almost anyone. You have the same circle of friends. You can ask around, put out feelers. You said it yourself, there have been rumors. You feed them to us; we chase them down.”

  “And why would I do that? What would I receive out of this interaction besides the label of turncoat?”

  “The knowledge of a good deed done?”

  Alain scoffs.

  “Okay, how about a pound of flesh? You and I both know I am the only one who’ll be able to get close enough to extract it? Hell, you want one? I promise you three. Plus I’ll even put in a good word with Oliver for you. When this is all over, on my children’s lives, I will sing your praises to him. Tell him you only agreed to help me so you could avenge Asher’s crimes against him. Maybe that will help begin healing your relationship, I don’t know, but it’s a chance you should take. What’s more important than our family, Alain? So if not for me, and not for yourself, do it for your youngling. Show him you’re willing to risk your reputation to garner him some damn justice and in the process get your own. But I need to find him first, and I cannot do it without you. So for yourself, for your child, help me.”

  Alain studies me, eyes slowly narrowing in time to the corners of his mouth rising into a grin. “I see Asher taught you the art of manipulation.”

  “No, he doesn’t get credit for that. If anything I taught him a thing or two.”

  “I do not doubt it, Mrs. West.” His smile falters as slowly as it rose. “Rumors have placed him from Paris to Cape Town to Minsk, none credible.”

  “Who else would help him like Richard did?”

  “With the amount of pressure and scrutiny law enforcement is placing on our community? Only Christine. She has been searching for him for a decade. He might just now be desperate enough to run straight into her arms.”

  “So where is she?”

  “Most likely where everyone else is: Vienna. The ball is in three days.”

  “No, she’s crazy but not that crazy. She’s still a wanted fugitive for Goodnight.”

  “That has not stopped her from attending these three years past. The Goodnight Coven is respected, but their reach does not extend to the European vampire community. There is no, what do you call it, co-op among our communities here. As long as she refrains from causing ripples to the world at large, she is free to rejoin our society. It helps that she is so … generous with her favors to all members of our clique.”

  “Meaning she pays for protection in the bedroom.” I pause. “But just because she’s there, doesn’t mean he’ll attend.”

  “He will if given the proper incentive.”

  “Like …”

  Alain’s lips purse in disapproval. “You, silly girl. You. He has been searching for you far longer than you have him. Whatever desperation, whatever hunger you are experiencing, Mrs. West, multiply it by ten years. With a few phone calls, the whole of Europe could know you and your inconvenient husband shall be attending the ball to locate willing friends to aid in your endeavor. He will know the exact spot, the exact time of where you will be. If the tables were turned, would you pass up that chance?” he asks, right eyebrow raised.

  I recognize his plan for what it was: an act of desperation. A trap with me as bait. In truth, we don’t have the financial resources or just plain time to trace Asher beyond the end of the week. We have lives. The boys have already missed so much school, and Nathan too much work. They’ve given enough of their lives to my previous dysfunction. And money. Our savings is all but dried up. This was it. The best, worst plan.

  He would be there. As soon as Alain said the words, I knew this was the course of action required. The only course of action. I’d be the sacrificial lamb tied to the gilded stake in hopes the predator would strike. And he would.

  He had to.

  “Okay. I’m in.”

  “Then the curtain rises.” Alain smirks. “I do love a good drama. Especially the tragedies.”

  I feel like crying already.

  VIENNA, AUSTRIA

  I NEVER THOUGHT I’D see this place again. I never wanted to see this place again. At least I don’t resemble a walking corpse this time. However, the night is young.

  The Vienna Opera House is far grander than I remembered. The whole of Vienna is beautiful, with its baroque castles and gardens amid the low stone and brick buildings older than the whole of America, ensconced along the tranquil blue Danube River. We had time
, since arriving this morning, to explore the City of Music. The immense Hofburg Palace, the golden monument of Johann Strauss, the cathedrals with their cherubs and gargoyles keeping watch—they are far lovelier in the daylight. Strolling along the Danube’s banks hand in hand with my husband was a brief oasis in our otherwise hectic trip. For those three hours we just walked and explored, all our troubles could not touch us. There was no strategizing, no worry, nothing but Mr. and Mrs. West and the majesty of Vienna.

  Right now that stroll seems like a lifetime ago, not hours. No room for tranquility now. The moment we stepped into this House, we entered a snake pit. There are precious few who don’t desire to sink their fangs into us. Literally. Job well done, Alain.

  He was correct in his assessment. A few well-placed phone calls, and by the next night not only did we have tickets to the hottest party in Europe, but according to our patron there wasn’t a vampire on two continents who didn’t know the Wests would be at the ball in an attempt to gain an audience with Lord Augustus. He even arranged a discount on Nathan’s tux. If I ever have another son, I know what we’re naming him.

  As my dapper husband and I stroll through the opulent foyer with the murals of angels watching over us on the walls and ceilings, I notice more than a few incredibly pale people staring, then whispering to their companions. We are quite a fetching pair. As always, Nathan stands a head above everyone, and with his brown hair slicked to the side and contacts in he hasn’t looked this handsome since our wedding. I’m no slouch myself tonight. I’d remembered a gown in Vogue from a few months ago, and somehow Alain tracked it down. A lovely surprise when we checked into the hotel this morning. Fits like a glove. A bright red satin sleeveless ball gown with a rose embroidered in black crystals on the full skirt. I’m even sporting the same lipstick shade Asher always insisted I wear. The boys no longer have college funds so this had better damn well work.