“I’m pretty sure that means he’s coming over now,” I said. “I’ll just go downstairs and let him in.”
The instant my foot hit the stair, Myrtle turned the shop lights on. I was getting used to this whole home automation thing.
Chase was waiting for me at the front door. “Hey!” he said happily. “You figured out the jungle telegraph.”
“I did,” I said, laughing and accepting a good morning hug. “Come on upstairs.”
He followed me into the apartment and was instantly the subject of wary appraisal from the ZYXW squad. Chase laughed when I explained about the names and sat down in the middle of the living room rug, waiting patiently until the cats came to him. In less than two minutes, Yule was upside down in Chase’s lap getting his tummy rubbed and Xavier was draped around his neck.
“Looks like I pass the background check,” Chase said, grinning from ear to ear.
This guy really does like cats. Major check mark in the plus column.
Tori came out into the living room with a cup of coffee, which Chase accepted with one hand while continuing to pet cats with the other. “Good morning,” she said. “Are you hungry?”
“Starved,” he said, “and whatever you’re cooking in there smells fantastic.”
“So does that mean you want a three-egg omelet or four?” Tori asked with a grin.
“Four,” he said firmly. “Definitely four. I like round numbers.”
Disentangling himself from the cats, Chase came into the kitchen and the three of us talked while Tori finished cooking breakfast. We all agreed that the service the day before was heart wrenching, but clearly gave Mrs. Barlow a degree of closure she needed.
“Did you get some good pictures for your contest?” Chase asked Tori.
“I did,” she said. “Would you like to see?”
To my considerable horror, she opened the photo of Colonel Longworth on her phone and handed it to Chase. His eyes widened as he studied the screen. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say that’s the ghost of a man standing there,” he finally admitted.
“That’s what I thought, too,” Tori said, “but it’s just a corona created by the sun. Pretty cool though, huh?”
“It sure is,” Chase said, giving her the phone back.
I shot her a look that plainly said “knock it off,” before changing the subject. “So, we’ve officially hired Mark to do the expansion and renovation. Be prepared to start giving up your nights and weekends starting in about two weeks.”
Chase fairly beamed. “I can’t wait!” he said. “It’s going to be fun working on the project. I love having you . . . both for neighbors.”
Tori and I heard the slight hesitation before the word “both.”
Busted.
He was helping out to spend more time with me.
Suddenly, this day was looking a whole lot better, even if we were planning to commit criminal trespass after sundown.
After Chase left, Tori called Tom, holding the phone away from her ear when he basically lost his mind about her taking another day off. She let him have his fit, and then pointed out if he was that unhappy with her, she could leave three weeks early. That suggestion pretty much shut his tirade down to a few muttered assurances that her pay would be docked.
With that chore done, we went downstairs and opened the shop. A few customers filtered in during the morning, but we still had plenty of time to contemplate the re-design of the first floor to accommodate a small coffee shop.
Tori took measurements, and we agreed that a small booth and counter could be created in the square space between the stairs and the east wall of the store. It would only require the relocation of one set of floor-to-ceiling cabinets, which could be moved to the other side of the store.
We made notes and some rough sketches to show Mark before breaking for lunch. Instead of worrying with cooking, Tori ran down to the grocery on the corner and came back with the fixings for sandwiches.
“Irma and George are great!” she announced happily as she came in the door with the bags. “I love that they’re right here on the town square.”
Beth still hadn’t shown back up, which had us both concerned. I tried calling out to her a few times, but with no success.
“Myrtle,” I said, “is Beth okay?”
The store answered with a sad little sigh.
“Okay,” I said, “but tell her we miss her.”
Tori and I went into the storeroom , and to my great amusement, Tori took a hunk of Stilton cheese out of the sack and handed it to Rodney.
“Stilton?” I said. “Did you get him pears and a nice white wine to go with it?”
“I will if he wants me to,” Tori cooed, smoothing the sleek fur between Rodney’s ears.
Rodney had the good taste to at least bashfully duck his head, as if the adulation was unwarranted, but it was clear he was eating the attention up, right along with the expensive cheese.
“Okay,” I said, as I spread mayo on bread, “do we need to take anything with us tonight?”
“I don’t know,” Tori said. “How are you figuring this is going to work?”
“When we drove by the campground the first time, I noticed there’s a rest area about half a mile down the road,” I said. “I think we park there, walk along the road until we’re up even with the gate, and then go over the fence.”
“Walk,” Tori said flatly. “For half a mile.”
“Yes,” I said, “walk. It’s not like we can just leave the car right there by the entrance.”
She made a grumbling noise in the back of her throat, but grudgingly admitted, “I guess you’re right. So, flashlights if we’re wandering around in the dark?”
“Definitely,” I said. “Other than that, all we need to do is get me close enough to touch the tree.”
“You’re sure you can find it in the dark?”
“Yes,” I said. “I got a really good look at it when I was out there the other day.”
“And what if Mr. Evers has motion controlled cameras or something guarding the property?”
I hadn’t thought about that.
“In that case,” I said, “we’re totally screwed.”
“No,” Tori said, arranging sliced tomatoes on roast beef, “we’re totally screwed if he has guard dogs and motion controlled machine guns.”
“Have I ever told you how much I love that optimistic streak of yours?” I asked sardonically.
“Realistic,” she said, finishing her sandwich assembly and taking a bite. She chewed the mouthful rhythmically, swallowed, and then said, “For the record, if there are big Rottweilers, it’s every BFF for herself.”
You know what they say. You don't have to run faster than the bear to get away; you just have to run faster than the guy next to you.
“You so would not do that to me,” I said with conviction.
“Probably not,” Tori said, “but if I get bit in the backside, you are going to be hearing about it for the next 50 years.”
On second thought, maybe getting thrown to the dogs wasn’t such a bad option after all.
29
“You didn’t tell me there would be bugs out here,” Tori hissed, slapping at her neck. “You know I do not do bugs.”
“Tori, we’re outside,” I hissed back. “Bugs live outside. We are technically in their house. They have the right to bite us.”
“What are you, a lawyer for the Insect Civil Liberties Union?”
“Would you hush! This is supposed to be a stealth operation.”
“Are you sure you don’t have some magic insect-repelling power you haven’t discovered yet?”
“Hush!”
This back and forth had been going on for a quarter of a mile. The instant Tori stepped out of the car, which we parked at the rest area, the mosquitos targeted her as their blood bank du jour. I, on the other hand, was so slathered down with anti-bug chemicals I could have been a walking citronella candle.
We were both dressed in dark clothing
and were carrying small LED flashlights, but so far we’d been able to stick to the shoulder of the road as our guide. We didn’t see a single car, which also helped and bolstered our confidence that we could pull this excursion off undetected.
On Saturday, the campground had been filled to near capacity, but this was a Thursday night and school wouldn’t be out for the summer for another 2 or 3 weeks. Plus, it was almost midnight. The only people likely to be in mobile residence were retirees, whom I hoped had already turned in for the night.
As we drew closer to the main entrance, Tori quieted down, either because the mosquitos had stopped torturing her or because she was too nervous to care anymore. I couldn’t make out any lights through the trees, which was a good sign, and no man-made sounds disturbed the night.
After Tori brought up the possibility of electronic surveillance equipment at the gate, we agreed to first look for telltale indicator lights, visible power cables, or any suspicious boxes mounted on the gate posts or nearby trees. When we found none of those things, Tori looked at me, pointed toward the gate and mimed going over with a questioning look on her face.
I nodded and climbed over first. If we were going to get nailed by a blinding spotlight or set off a warning claxon, the blame should fall squarely on me since this was my idea. For just a reluctant second I sat on the top rail, then lightly dropped to the ground and waited for the worst. Nothing happened.
Tori scrambled over the gate and joined me. We were now officially breaking the law, something neither one of us had done since were in high school, and back then firecrackers and a knot hole in a tree were involved.
The driveway leading into the campground was smooth enough that even in the dim moonlight, we could walk with a fair degree of confidence. Low clouds scudded overhead, making the limited illumination uneven at best. Still, we could see well enough to make slow but steady progress, and thankfully our eyes were completely adjusted to the darkness after the walk from the rest area.
When I could just make out the dim outline of the big building in the center of the compound, I put my hand on Tori’s arm to signal her to stop. Leaning in, I whispered, “We have to get off the road now. The tree is off to the left here. The ground is grassy, but I don’t know how smooth it is, so be careful. Stick close to me.”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” Tori whispered back. “I’m stuck to you like glue.”
Our pace slowed over the unpredictable terrain. In daylight, the walk might have taken 10 minutes, but at least half an hour passed before we came upon a massive hickory tree. I can’t tell you how I knew, but I was certain we’d reached our destination.
I stopped Tori again with my hand.
“This is it?” she asked softly.
“Yes.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive,” I said.
“Now what?”
What did she mean, “now what?” We only came out here for one reason.
“I touch the tree,” I answered.
When I said it, I started forward, but this time Tori put a restraining hand on my arm. “You don’t know what’s going to happen, Jinksy. I don’t like this.”
Now was a heck of a time to be having second thoughts.
“If I get in trouble, pull me off the tree.”
“How will I know if you're in trouble?”
Just then, the moon broke through the clouds again. I looked at Tori, really looked at her, and said from the heart, “You’ll know. I trust you.”
In the dim light, Tori smiled at me lovingly. “Okay, kiddo,” she whispered. “Do your thing.”
For the record, I don’t just trust Tori with my life, I trust her with my cats’ lives. That’s how close we are.
That night, I didn’t have to tell her that my heart was hammering in my chest or that I was sweating bullets.
She didn’t have to tell me that she was in pretty much the same condition.
We each knew the other was scared, but I was the one getting ready to use a barely controlled magical power to explore a potential murder site.
I don’t think I would have even considered trying that without Tori there.
Together we always have the courage to do what we don’t believe we can do alone.
That’s another kind of magic. It’s called friendship.
As I stepped forward, hands outstretched, I realized this was the first time I was intentionally going in search of a bad memory. That’s what I was thinking about -- to the complete exclusion of something so obvious to me now, I can’t believe how clueless I was in that critical moment.
Trees are alive.
The tree reached for me at the same time I reached for it.
The point where we met wasn’t exactly a joining of minds, but an ancient awareness did surge through me. It wasn’t just the life of this tree, rooted in this spot. There were other lives there with us; the tree that seeded this one, and all the trees that came before it. The line stretched back to a primordial world where this life form had no name, it just was.
With that flooding awareness came a deeply felt dignity that resonated with me like a flavor. With it came the taste of sadness and the residue of lingering anger. The spirit of the tree felt aggrieved and dishonored. The slow thrumming of its sap fused with my bloodstream and drove me to follow my instinct and dive deeper into this alien sentience.
Until this joining, my power had been nothing but a parlor trick pulling memories out of hats. Now my heart took a true leap of faith. With complete conviction, I knew the tree meant me no harm. Drawing my thoughts together, I sent a request deep into the life pulsating under my hands. “Tell me.”
I felt drawn into the tree’s protective embrace as a single word echoed in my mind. “Watch.”
Layers of time peeled away in the passing of seasons and the moods of the weather. There was the heat of lazy summer and the bite of icy winter, the wash of torrential rain and the tearing force of the wind. And then we arrived, on a night much like this one, under scudding clouds and transient moonlight, to a time when tight ropes cut into the hickory’s bark, telegraphing the frantic vibrations of a trapped girl’s struggles to free herself.
Without warning, a second awareness filled me. I was reliving the last moments of Beth’s life. The bindings cut into my own straining flesh. My lungs burned from the effort to escape until my head dropped to my chest in weary defeat. It was only then, as I watched shadows dancing on the ground, that I realized the flickering light wasn’t coming from the moon.
Summoning all my willpower, I looked up. There was a video camera mounted on a tripod and outfitted with some kind of night-vision light. Then I saw him; a young boy, barely a teenager, dressed in a native loincloth, and clutching a tomahawk.
“Please stop fighting it,” the boy said. “This will hurt, but not for long, and then I’ll bring you back.”
Sick panic and dread turned my stomach sour. I spoke, but the voice that escaped my dry lips and parched throat wasn’t my own. It was Beth.
“Please. You don't have to do this. Just let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”
The words seemed to puzzle the boy. “But I have to do this,” he said. “This is the only way I can bring her back.”
With that cryptic phrase, he raised the tomahawk and started forward.
A surge of adrenaline rushed through me as I strained one final time against the ropes. One of the knots gave way and I frantically struggled free of the cords. My limbs, numb from being bound so tightly, failed me, and I hit the ground hard, but I didn’t stay there.
A sharp rock cut into the palm of my right hand. The pain focused me, bringing me to my feet and propelling me away from my attacker. The boy struck out with the tomahawk, but I deflected the blow, careless of the hot blood now coursing down my arm from the weapon’s cutting edge.
The boy reacted wildly, grabbing for me to drag me back, tie me down, kill me. We knocked the video camera over, the camera itself shattering and fall
ing away from the base. On instinct, the boy snatched up the tripod, swung it in a wide arc, and smashed it into my skull. The reverberation deafened me at the same time a sickening blackness drew me down into a gulf from which there was no return.
Beth’s voice was there, but so was Twenty-Five’s and Jane’s, and other voices I didn’t recognize, all howling in anguish. They’d all died right here on this spot.
No one had been there to save them from that black void, but I had Tori.
At that instant, she pulled me away from the tree. We both fell backwards, but Tori absorbed the impact with her body, holding me in a tight and protective embrace. As if from a very great distance, I heard her calling me.
“Jinx,” she commanded. “Wake up.”
When I didn’t respond, she resorted to using my mother’s voice. “Norma Jean Hamilton, you mind me.”
I woke up.
Looking up at her, I said weakly, “You don’t have to go all Kelly on me.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “And you don’t have to scare the living daylights out of me.”
My senses were still tied to the tree’s awareness of its world. I felt him before I heard him.
“Tori,” I said softly. “We’re not alone out here.”
“No, you’re not,” a man said.
Turning my head, I looked up into the face of WJ Evers -- and into the barrel of the pistol he was holding in his hand.
“It would appear we have a problem,” he said pleasantly. “You see, it’s almost time to try again, and I can’t let you tell anyone anything to call attention to this place.”
Tori’s hand tightened on mine. The message in her eyes was clear. “Take him.”
She knew I could protect us with my powers before I realized it myself.
I answered with my own eyes, “Not yet,” before turning my attention back to WJ. “You can’t get away with this.”
“Oh, but I can,” he said. “Now get up. Don’t try anything.”
As we stood up, WJ ordered us to move closer to the tree. I was careful not to touch the bark, but I could still feel the hickory’s presence in my mind.
“You don’t have to do this,” I said.
“That’s so interesting,” he said, sounding oddly academic. “Do you know that every single one of them has said those exact words?”
Witch at Heart: A Jinx Hamilton Witch Mystery Book 1 (The Jinx Hamilton Mysteries) Page 18
