by Morgana Best
“I think so,” I said.
“On the other hand, Amelia,” Ruprecht said, “a Dark Witch, even without focus, would be able to make that nasty neighbor leave town in a hurry, to continue with our example. And if the Dark Witch does focus her or his powers, then she or he will become a very powerful witch indeed. And I suppose Alder told you that the ability is hereditary?”
I nodded, and Thyme muttered something to herself. I didn’t hear what was, but I’m sure it was rude. She really did not like Alder.
Ruprecht was still speaking. “Yes, your aunt Angelica was a Dark Witch, and you are a Dark Witch.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m evil or something like that, does it?” I asked him.
“No, no, no,” Ruprecht said, while the other three shook their heads vehemently. “It’s just an old term, probably so named due to the Christian influence. You know how the Christians rewrote the old pagan texts and made the ancient goddesses like the Morrigan and Kali into death goddesses as if there was nothing more to them?”
I nodded. That much I knew. As an avid student of history, I had always been dismayed that we do not have the original texts of some cultures. “I do understand that, but what exactly does Dark Witch mean?”
“It’s just a term given to a powerful, hereditary witch,” Ruprecht said, rubbing his forehead. “It means that you were born with the ability to manifest and change outcomes without really trying. That’s why it’s important that you practice, and that’s why you keeping setting fire to stuff.”
“So it doesn’t mean anything bad?”
Thyme chuckled. “I would think starting fires without trying to is bad!”
I shot her a withering look.
“To tell the truth, it’s often easier to manifest something bad than something good,” Ruprecht said. “That’s just human nature.”
Mint spoke up for the first time. “Do you think Alder told Amelia so she would be upset with us for not telling her?”
“Yes!” Thyme exclaimed.
I sighed. “I know none of you like him, but the house likes him,” I pointed out.
“Something’s going on,” Mint said. “The egg on my altar cracked this morning.”
Ruprecht nodded sagely, but I was even more confused. “What does that mean?” I asked them.
“We all have eggs on our altars,” Ruprecht explained. “They act as a decoy. If someone tries to attack us by magical means, the egg will attract the negative energy directed at us, and it will crack. Has anyone else’s egg cracked?”
“Mine were okay, I think,” I said to Thyme. “Were any of those eggs cracked when you made breakfast?”
Everyone laughed. “No,” Ruprecht said. “You have to focus on the egg and say words over it before placing it on your altar. It doesn’t apply to eggs in the refrigerator.”
Oh.” I felt silly. I could see that Thyme and Mint were clutching at their stomachs and doing their best not to laugh out loud. Even Camino’s lips were twitching.
“Still,” Ruprecht continued, “I said to Camino only the other day that I felt negative energy around. I suggest we all be on our guard. Perhaps there are other witches in town.”
“But surely we’d know if there were,” Mint said. “And why would they wish us harm?”
“Could it be Alder?” Thyme asked.
Ruprecht glanced at me before answering. “As Amelia said, the house likes him. Nevertheless, we shouldn’t discount any possibility for the moment.”
“Could this be connected with Sue’s murder?” I wondered aloud. “Or is it something else entirely?”
Everyone shrugged, and I was worried. Ruprecht had been so against us looking into Sue’s murder, but now he had dropped those objections suddenly and without warning. Was it because he suspected that the police would blame Camino? And now it sounded as if there were possibly rival witches in town. This was all too much for me to process. I needed answers, and I knew one person who could give them to me.
Chapter 11
And so I left work a little early that day, leaving Thyme to run the store. She didn’t ask me why, much to my relief.
I headed out to find Alder’s office, having never been there before. It was down a side street and along an old, cobbled pathway. I parked behind the town’s only grocery store and walked down the little lane. Over the entrance to his office was a bottle green awning trimmed with gold, and the windows either side were covered by shiny black metal bars molded into an intricate gothic design.
Two big pots of colorful geraniums stood to one side of the door, which was heavy oak with a big brass handle. I hesitated. Should I knock, or simply go inside? I gingerly pushed the door, and it opened onto a long corridor. To the left was an iron garden bench with blue and white cushions, and to the right was a door. On it, a plaque declared, ‘Alder Vervain: Private Detective’ in a bold script.
Again, I hesitated. I could not hear voices inside, and I had no idea if he had a receptionist on the other side of the door. This time, I knocked.
“Come in,” a voice called out.
I walked in, to see a small office and Alder sitting behind a large desk next to an oversized printer. He looked surprised to see me. “Amelia! Please come in.” He gestured to a low, well-padded chair in front of his desk.
I sank into the chair, feeling like a little child sent to the principal’s office.
Alder frowned deeply. “Is everything all right?”
I craned my neck. “Yes. Well, no. That is to say…” My voice trailed away. “I have several questions for you.”
Alder nodded, but I sensed that he was uneasy.
“I told the others that I found out I was a Dark Witch.”
Alder smiled wryly. “And I suppose they weren’t happy that I was the one who told you?”
“That’s right,” I said honestly. “They told me that a Dark Witch is one born with ability, rather than an evil person.”
Alder nodded. “Correct.”
I took a deep breath and pressed on. “And they hadn’t told me before, because they thought I was having trouble processing everything. And I was. You know, finding out that I was a witch, and inheriting the shop and the house, and so on.” I had no idea if Alder knew about my house, so I was being careful with what I told him. I had no idea how much he knew.
“Are they going to train you?” Alder asked me.
“Train me?” I parroted. “Err, well, I’m not sure. I think they are already training me.”
Alder appeared to be displeased with my answer. He looked down at the table, and then tapped his pen on it. “Do you know how to ground yourself, Amelia? Do you meditate?”
“Yes and no,” I said. “I know how to ground myself, and I know I should meditate, but I don’t usually have time.”
“You should make time.”
I fought the urge to say, ‘Yes, Master Yoda.’ Instead, I changed the subject. “Remember when you said you felt I needed spiritual protection?”
Alder narrowed his eyes. “Yes?” He said it as a question.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Well obviously,” I said, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice, “I am asking you why you felt the need to warn me. Did you think someone was trying a spiritual attack on me? Or sending me negative energy, or whatever you call it?”
Alder stared at me for a while before answering. “Yes, I did.”
That took me by surprise. I didn’t think he would admit it. “Is it directed just at me?”
“You and your other witch friends,” he said. “And the fact that you have asked me the question leads me to believe that your friends are aware of it, too.”
I chose my words carefully. “So not necessarily only at me,” I said. “Could it be your family?”
Alder shook his head. “I am the last of my family, and whoever is doing this is working magic against you and your friends. My family, remember, were opposed to witches.”
I knew there was something
else I had to ask him, but my mind went blank for a moment. “Oh yes,” I said. “Do you know what poison killed Sue Beckett?”
Alder shook his head. “The police are being very cagey about it.”
“They asked all of us if we’d been to Mexico.”
Alder hurriedly wrote something in a book, and then looked up. “Mexico. That’s interesting. They asked me that, as well.”
“They questioned you, too? Oh that’s right. Sue worked for you sometimes.”
Alder nodded. “Most of my cases are insurance fraud or missing persons. I always paid Sue to take photos in those cases where one partner suspected the other of having an affair. I think I mentioned that to you at your Customer Appreciation Night. I know most people think that’s all private detectives do, but my main work is insurance fraud.”
“Do you think one of your recent cases got her killed?”
Alder’s eyebrows shot up. “I sure hope not! Like I told the police, it’s been ages since we caught anyone actually having an affair. It seems most people are suspicious of their partners without good reason. Sue followed several clients’ partners diligently and found nothing to report.”
“Thanks, Alder. I’m sorry to turn up unannounced like this.”
Alder smiled. “Don’t be.” His voice dripped with charm. “I’m always happy to see you, Amelia. Please feel free to visit anytime.”
I narrowed my eyes and studied him. Was he flirting with me? I’d never had much luck with men. I just couldn’t figure them out. “Err, thanks,” I muttered.
I stood up and walked the short distance to his door. I opened it and then looked back over my shoulder. He was still smiling at me. Something occurred to me out of the blue, and the words were out before I could stop them. “Alder, are you a witch?”
Chapter 12
And that is how I found myself in Alder’s apartment a short time later, with him cooking me dinner. His apartment was behind his office, on the ground floor—the whole building was on one level, and was very private. The open-concept living room and kitchen afforded views of the high walled garden through bi-fold doors.
Through the glass I could see masses of camellia flowers and potted azaleas, and honeysuckle weaving its way along the brick walls. I imagined the outside area would smell wonderful. The inside smelled of white sage and eucalyptus.
I had been rather shocked when Alder had invited me to dinner. Okay, that’s putting it mildly. My heart fluttered and my knees wobbled every time I was around him, so I was having a hard enough time steadying myself as it was.
Right now I was perched on a trendy red bar stool at Alder’s kitchen counter, watching while he made Thai green pumpkin curry. If only my friends could see me now. They’d be furious! Despite that thought, I smiled to myself.
“I thought it best to talk about this in private,” Alder said as he poured some coconut milk into the wok on his gas stovetop. “I don’t want everyone in town to know I’m a witch, and as my explanation will be lengthy, and as I’d finished work for the day, I thought we might as well eat while I explained.” He winked at me, and my stomach did cartwheels.
I looked around the apartment once more. There were no overt signs of witchiness, although I’d bet that the herbs in the glass bottles lining the kitchen shelves were not all used for cooking. There was a solid black mortar and pestle, the outside of which was adorned with a pentagram. The kitchen was all stainless steel and exposed brick, quite the industrial chic look. What’s more, it was spotless. I hadn’t imagined Alder to be a clean freak. He looked too, well, Goth, for that. I silently chided myself for my presuppositions.
“I still can’t believe you’re a witch,” I said.
Alder looked up at me once more. “Surely you must have had your suspicions,” he said.
I nodded. “Well, I did think you were mysterious.” Silently I added, And awfully good looking at that. Aloud I said, “I thought you were hiding something, but I didn’t know what. Plus this whole world of witches is quite a new one to me. The funny thing is, I don’t think my friends suspect you of being a witch.”
Alder’s lips twitched, but his eyes looked solemn. “My parents and their ancestors caused your friends and their ancestors a lot of grief. The last thing they’d suspect is that I’m a witch. I’m sure they think I’m opposed to witches.”
I nodded. “Yep. Most likely.”
“And, if you wouldn’t mind,” he continued, “I’d rather you not tell them.” He paused and held up his hand. “Of course, I’m not asking you to keep it a secret from them, as such, but please don’t go out of your way to tell them.”
I nodded, conflicted. My loyalties were to my friends. I could see that Alder appreciated that fact, but keeping his witchiness from them would make me feel bad.
“Wine?”
His words snapped me out of my reverie. “Oh, what? Um, sorry. Yes, please.”
“Red or white?” He held up two bottles.
I shrugged. “As long as it has alcohol.” I caught myself. “Whatever you’re having,” I added sweetly.
Alder smirked. “White it is. Chardonnay?”
“That would be lovely. Thank you.”
Alder poured me a glass of wine. I took a generous sip, but his next words nearly caused me to spit it out. Just as well I didn’t. “I’m a Dark Witch, too.”
I managed to swallow the mouthful of wine, but it went down the wrong way. I coughed before recovering. “A Dark Witch?” I said hoarsely. “But how? Isn’t it hereditary?” My mind was spinning. How could Alder be a Dark Witch? His parents—his ancestors, even—had been vehemently opposed to witches. How was this possible?
“I’m not adopted, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Alder said wearily. “Yes, my mother was a witch, and so were her ancestors.”
“But why, why?” I spluttered. None of this made any sense.
Alder shrugged. “They denied their abilities. I mean, I know that’s obvious, but I’d say the reason that they were so opposed to witches was because they knew they had that very ability. It went very much against their mindset, and that is the exact reason why they were so upset about it. Does that make sense?”
I rubbed my forehead. “I suppose so. It will make more sense after I’ve had some time to process it.” Like a year or two, I added silently. “Did your parents recognize your abilities when you were a child?”
Alder nodded, and a dark look crossed his face. “I had quite a difficult childhood. What about you?”
I figured that was his way of deflecting the question, but I answered anyway. The last thing I wanted to do was cause him to answer difficult questions that he wasn’t ready to answer. “Not so bad for me, given the fact that my parents weren’t witch hunters. I assume that’s why my parents hadn’t spoken to Aunt Angelica in years.”
Alder stirred the wok.
I kept speaking. “You know, my parents were the last people I’d imagine to be witches. Well, I now know that my father was the witch; my mother wasn’t.”
Alder poured the contents of the wok into two dishes. “And you never met your Aunt Angelica?”
I shrugged. “I don’t remember my parents ever mentioning her, but I accidentally drove past her house when I first arrived in town. It seemed familiar to me. When I found out that it was her house, I figured that I’d been there as a young child.”
Alder handed me a plate. “Shall we eat outside?’
I nodded, and followed him to a seating area under a beautiful lime-green tree. “What a magnificent tree!” I exclaimed.
“It’s an Alder tree,” he said. “When I changed my name, I decided to name myself after it. It’s deciduous, and only grows in wet areas. I suppose there must be an underground stream here.”
I nodded. “I heard that this street is built on the grounds of an old river.”
“True.” Alder gestured to a seat. “The Alder is a protective tree. Its leaves and its roots are used in several magical traditions, from old Celtic lore to hoodoo.
It was the tree of the Celtic god, Bran, and is the tree of that runs from March eighteenth to April fourteenth in the Celtic Tree calendar.”
I nodded again and sipped my wine—slowly. I needed to have a clear head around Alder. The sun was low on the horizon, and the air had cooled to a pleasant temperature. Sunsets are always beautiful in this part of the country, and this one was no different, the sun’s rays casting a beautiful pink and golden glow over the walled garden. The scent of jasmine and honeysuckle wafted along on the soft breeze. It was quite the perfect evening.
“And vervain,” Alder continued, “is a protective herb. You probably know it as verbena.”
“Verbena?” I echoed. “I have verbena flowers in my garden.” I made a mental note to cut some and dry them.
“Vervain is used for general protection and to break a jinx. In fact, it was used in traditional European witchcraft for protection.”
“I see,” I said. “So you have chosen to name yourself after two protective plants.”
Alder finished his mouthful, and then said, “Exactly.”
I shifted uncomfortably on the garden seat. Sure, the setting was beautiful, under the Alder tree and with colorful plants in the garden, but I had never been in the presence of such a man. Call me silly, but I was powerfully attracted to him.
“I hope you give some thought to increasing your protection,” he said. “Someone is working magic against you. I don’t know if it’s more against you personally, or against you and your circle of friends in general.” He looked at me from under his long dark eyelashes.
It occurred to me that women would kill for eyelashes like that. “Do you have any idea who it could be?”
Alder shook his head. “Unfortunately, I don’t.”
Before I had a chance to respond, my phone rang. I pulled it from my pocket, intending to dismiss the call, but it was Ruprecht. I knew at once that something was wrong. “Sorry. I have to take this.”
