by B. J. Smash
Aunt Clover—who still lay on the couch—began to babble incoherent words. I walked over to her and tried to make sense of it. “Skeleton. Old Bones. One eye…treasure!”
“Izadora? What is she talking about?” I asked.
“Huh? Oh. Clover. Wake up.” Izadora snapped her fingers. She wasn’t paying any attention to us. Instead she pulled her grimoire out from her apron pocket. You couldn’t tell that the grimoire had been inside the apron, as it appeared smooth. Hard telling what else she had in there…probably her entire wardrobe….maybe even a car. Who knows? The apron, like her robe, was enchanted and held all kinds of things.
She sat down at the kitchen table and began pouring through it. “I will give you the best spells I have. Yes, this one will do just fine,” she pointed at a spell, and flipped the pages, “and this one too.”
My aunt’s eyes popped open. “Ivy, how’d you get in that spot? Where is Izadora?” She still thought it was twenty minutes ago, before she went under. She thought that I should still be standing in the kitchen preparing tea, and couldn’t figure out how I could possibly be standing in front of her.
“Um…you were under hypnosis. Izadora just woke you up,” I explained.
“Oh no way. You guys are playing a trick on me.” Confused, she scratched her nose and squinted her eyes. “Aren’t you?”
“Don’t you remember the old man? On the deer?” I tried to help her remember.
She sucked in breath. “Oh yes. Oh my! That was real?”
I nodded my head, “yes.”
“Wow. She really was able to put me under. Hmmm. I never thought it possible,” my aunt said.
“Yup. And right before you woke up, you were talking about a skeleton, bones, one eye and then you screamed out treasure,” I informed her.
“Did I? Oh yes! The pirate ship.” She sat up and rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands. “Wait a minute. I was on a pirate ship?”
Izadora called out from the kitchen, “It was a past life. You were remembering it.” She said it like it was no big deal and that we should just shut-up and go on home.
“A past life?” My aunt and I said at the same time.
“That’s what I said.” Izadora didn’t even bother to look up at us, but kept pawing through her grimoire.
“That is confusing. I don’t even believe in past lives,” my aunt argued.
“Well, you should now,” Izadora said plainly. “You used to be a pirate.”
Chapter Four
The rest of our session with Izadora had ended promptly. She had shooed us out of her house, and she hadn’t even helped Aunt Clover back down over the deck. Aunt Clover had to fumble her way down the stairs on her own. It had taken forever, but we were finally sitting back at Ian’s drinking tea and eating raspberry scones. He hadn’t arrived yet, but Aunt Clover couldn’t walk or crutch any further. This would be the first time in years that my aunt had been to brunch at Ian’s.
She sat examining the immaculate white room, with white marble floors and white furniture etched with gold. She spun around to view the floor length windows, and the lush green plants that filled the area. She marveled at the beautiful koi pond that sat back by the French doors. I even caught her picking up a gold fork and biting it, just to see if it was solid gold.
It was.
Mrs. Pumbleton kept the scones and cinnamon buns coming. She knew that Aunt Clover owned her own café, and that the whole town, plus, several people from other towns came to her café just for her pastries. But Mrs. Pumbleton would not be considered anything less than a perfect chef—pastry or otherwise—and it was almost as if she had something to prove to my aunt.
The third platter she brought in had little tarts and truffles fit for a queen. She proudly displayed them in front of us, and stood tall. As she waited for my aunt to taste a blueberry tart, she jutted her chin out and raised an eyebrow.
“Mmmm. Mrs. Pumbleton – this is awesome!” my aunt said with a mouthful of tart. Crumbs dropped from her lips. You could say my aunt was not one for formalities. She did what she wanted, when she wanted, and manners were not her thing.
A slight upturn on Mrs. Pumbleton lips showed that she agreed with my aunt’s approval.
“I must have the recipe,” Aunt Clover said.
This put a full smile on Mrs. Pumbleton’s face. “Certainly.”
A ruckus of noise and voices could be heard coming from the foyer, and I knew that Ian had just arrived. I could hear him complaining from where we sat. He wheeled into the sunroom. His hair neatly combed, and his face freshly shaven. He wore a black t-shirt with a black blazer over it. When he saw us, he called out in delight. “Clover Seaforth! You are actually here! It has been what… a decade since you’ve been to the house? You have finally come to your senses!”
He wheeled himself to the big white table and pulled up next to my aunt. As he spoke he took off his black blazer and hung it over the back of a chair.
“It’s good to be here Ian,” my aunt smiled. She tucked a blonde curl behind her ear.
Behind Ian, a middle aged man stood with a six foot iron knight on a trolley. He had beads of sweat pouring from his brow and he was out of breath.
Ian turned his way and said, “No Philbrick – not in here. That goes in the ballroom.”
The man with overalls nodded, turned and wheeled the knight away.
“I’ve just returned from Boston. I had caught wind of an estate sale, and Ivy, you know that I cannot pass on a good estate sale,” Ian raised a brow.
It was true. He loved antiques. His house was decorated to the max with the modern niceties of life, but when it came to expensive antiques – he couldn’t resist himself. He often went antique hunting just to see what he could find, and this knight apparently had caught his eye. It wasn’t like he didn’t have the room for them either, but sometimes these items didn’t make it inside. He had a warehouse down back in the woods behind his house, and to the side of his house, he had another warehouse type garage that was filled with cars.
“I’m so glad to see you.” He placed his hand over my aunts. Ian could be the perfect gentleman, and he knew just how to work his way into anyone’s heart. He would make them feel as though they were his long time best friend.
Aunt Clover took her other hand to pat his. “I’m glad to be here. I just don’t ever want to see your sister Silvie.” On the contrary, my aunt was blunt and to the point.
“Ah yes. Of course. She’s been told to remain out by the third pond today. She doesn’t mind. She loves the old willow and oftentimes dances beneath it for hours.”
The thought of that sent a chill up my spine. I’d seen his ghost sister, Silvie, dancing beneath this tree many times. She appeared like a regular human, and you could hardly tell she was a ghost, but there was something unnatural about the way she moved, and laughed. Sometimes she would be dancing in the gardens with her invisible ghost boyfriend Ainsley, and he’d pick her up. All you’d see is Silvie floating in the air, moving her mouth but never any words would come out. Then she would laugh and it would fill your ears like a church bell ringing at full force on a Sunday afternoon. Silvie was the garden’s caretaker and ward, and believe me, she did an excellent job. The only person to ever defeat her in any way or form was my sister, Zinnia, and I had heard that Silvie never wanted to see her face again.
“Thank you for that, Ian. I am sure a meeting between the two of us wouldn’t turn out well,” Aunt Clover said as her eyes drifted to look out the back French doors. I knew she was remembering every detail of the past that she had shared with Silvie.
“You know, she is sorry about what happened,” Ian said.
My aunt turned back to him but did not answer.
Ian knew better than to probe my aunt for a comment. He changed the subject. “So, you two went to see Izadora. How did that turn out?”
My aunt lifted her hand from under Ian’s and took a sip of tea. Ian picked up a tiny blackberry tart, and popped it in his mouth.
“Yes. That was quite a time. She actually hypnotized me,” Aunt Clover said.
“Reawy,” Ian said with his mouth full. He always talked with his mouth full. Like my aunt, he had no table manners to speak of. I don’t think any McCallister man did, and I liked them that way. To me, it showed just how down to earth they all were. Well, Ian had “airs” don’t get me wrong. He could be pompous at times, and things had to be done a certain way, but not when it came to eating.
“Yes. I couldn’t believe it. No one has ever been able to do it. I’ve always thought myself to be un-hypnotizable, but she pulled it off and we found out there had been a leprechaun sitting on back of the big white deer the whole time. I hadn’t seen it – or remembered it when it had happened.”
“Amazing.” Ian patted his mouth with a white cloth napkin. “Did you say leprechaun?”
“She did. He’s called Ishmael,” I said.
“Oh.” Ian laughed and smacked the arm of his chair. “Oh isn’t that just grand?”
“What?” my aunt asked.
“Well, Izadora has a past with a certain leprechaun named Ishmael.” He chuckled while he spoke. “He’s called, Ish, for short.”
“And?” I prompted him to continue.
He watched me for a moment before he started his story. I knew he was thinking about what he should and should not tell us. “As the story goes, they were great pals in Ireland. They drank together, and played cards with the rest of the witch and wizard crew. They were good friends. Then there came a time when Ish could no longer be trusted. Now, you have to remember, this was back in Izadora’s younger days. She had a bit of a wild side back then.
“You would think that a leprechaun is a weird character to befriend but Ish had actually shown Izadora his pot of gold which really was buried at the end of a rainbow. She thought she could trust the little guy, and he even gave her a few pieces of the gold.
“One day, Izadora’s father, Harikin, came to town as he did once a year. He did not approve of Izadora hanging out with a leprechaun as they were a tricky sort. He was a stern Fae being with a whole lot of rank. He told her that she must chose her friends more wisely. Izadora always had a great respect for Harikin, but she planned to ignore her father’s orders. Now, Ish who had been hiding in the shrubs overheard this insult. And leprechauns have terrible tempers, you know. When you cross one, you better expect to pay the consequences. They will prank you for years upon years, and make you pay for your insult.”
“What happened?” Aunt Clover asked. She was leaning forward, her eyes wide with anticipation.
Ian gave her a half grin, he was going to enjoy playing out the suspense.
“Ish saw that Harikin had a certain red bottle in a bag on his saddle. This bottle had intricate designs etched in gold and silver on the rim. A great looking bottle. Well, it was too much for Ish to handle – the temptation was just too great. He stalked Harikin and waited for him to dismount and leave the horse unattended. Apparently, when no one was looking, Ish took the bottle and ran for the fields.
“A few things happened here and there, but I’ll try and sum up the story. When Harikin returned to the horse, he saw that his bottle was missing. He accused Izadora with stealing it. She then suspected that Ish had stolen the bottle and she told her father as much. Well, he still blamed Izadora for befriending this leprechaun. He fumed at her about it because he had won that bottle fair and square at a relay race put on by the Fae. How they acquired the bottle – who knows? But he wanted it back.
“So, Izadora set out to find Ish. One day, several miles away in a field of cows, she caught him talking to this red bottle, and peeping in with one eye. He then threw the bottle to the ground and proceeded to stomp his foot on it. Swearing, stomping, jumping, and throwing it around. He was irate.
“Izadora thought that there must be some sort of potion inside, something that Ish had used up. She couldn’t fathom what it could be – maybe it was whisky? Her father liked his whisky. And she could see Ish getting mad if all the whisky was gone. But maybe it was a love potion? Her father liked the ladies. Or maybe it held the essence of someone’s soul? Her father could be mean at times. The most likely thought was that it was liquid from the fountain of youth. Maybe somehow her father had gotten his hands on some. He never seemed to age a day. Or perhaps…” Ian paused here as a big grin spread out over his face.
“What? What was in the bottle?” Aunt Clover tapped his wheelchair with her foot. “C’mon Ian. Just tell us.”
“What do you think was in the bottle?” he asked us as he leaned back and folded his hands over his chest.
“I don’t know. Candied yams?” Aunt Clover said.
Ian snickered and looked to me. I had a feeling what was in there, but I just shook my head.
“No? Not even a guess?” he pressed me to answer. When I didn’t, he finally continued.
“Izadora shifted to eagle form, swooped down and grabbed the bottle with her talons. She then chased after Ish, picking at his hat, shoulders, whatever she could reach. Finally, when his little legs became too tired, he found a well and jumped inside.
“Izadora took the bottle home. When she set it on the table…she found out right away, that the bottle did not contain whisky. It did not contain a potion. Nor did it contain a person’s soul. Well…not really. What it did contain…” he paused one last time, “was a Djinn.”
“Gin? So, it wasn’t whisky – it was gin?” Aunt Clover said, and Ian chuckled.
“No, Aunt Clover. He said djinn…a genie,” I said. I had suspected as much. I had heard that they were real.
“Ohhh! A genie. Oh my gosh. For real? A real genie?” Aunt Clover rubbed her hands together.
“Indeed.” Ian adjusted himself and sat up straighter. “As soon as Izadora placed it on the table, the genie poofed right out of the bottle. Apparently, it was surrounded by a cloud of red mist and formed into half of a person. I’m not sure what happened next, but Izadora was stunned at the beings appearance. But before she asked for a wish to be granted, she talked with this genie. She asked what it was that Ish had wished for. ‘Well, a field of cows. He said he liked milk.’ The genie responded. Izadora then asked the genie about her roots – where did she come from, and how did she end up here?
“The genie replied by saying that she originally came from India hundreds of years ago. She’d been cursed to be a djinn from a young age. The bottle never remained in one place, and oftentimes drifted in the ocean for months. Recently she had been found by a farmer in England. He is now a rich man. When he could get no other wishes, he threw the bottle back to sea. Several months later, a Seelie Fae found the bottle on the shore of the Orkney Islands. Somehow, the bottle ended up as some sort of prize in a race the Fae were having. They have races and games every so often with some sort of prize to hand off. Anyway, Izadora’s father had won it. So, that part was true.
“Izadora, who can have a kind heart on a good day—believe it or not—realized that this genie could use a break. She talked slowly, and appeared lethargic and used up. So, she did her a favor. Izadora wished that djinn would go to a place where no one would bother her for a very long time.”
“How do you know all of this, Ian?” I asked.
“Oh the story was relayed to me and my father by your great-grandfather Edmund. He told us the story one day when the topic of genie’s came up. My father thought it to be an outstanding story. I, myself, got a kick out of it, but didn’t really know if it was true. Your great-grandfather Edmund tends to be one heck of a story teller, and at times he adds on things to make the story grander.”
I had to agree. My GG Edmund was an expert story teller. From experience, I found that most of his stories had a lot of truth to them.
“Who knows if he even told the story correctly? He had only gathered tid-bits from Izadora. He said she acts strange every time the topic surfaces. Almost as if she doesn’t remember, or something.”
“Weird,” I said.
“I realized that the purpose of this story is to explain why Ish and Izadora are enemies. But what does that have to do with the bottle now? If I remember correctly—from my hypnosis session—Ish told Izadora that he was going for this bottle. When he finds this bottle, she is going to be sorry,” Aunt Clover said.
“The bottle is in the Hunter’s Hollow somewhere. Izadora told me that much,” I said.
“That my friends is exactly where it is. The disappearing town of Helsberg is now in Hunter’s Hollow. When Izadora wished the bottle away – that random town went with it.”
“Ohhh,” Aunt Clover said, still confused.
“And here is another piece of the puzzle for you. The town, with the genie, disappears for seven years. However, no one in the town can bother the genie. At the end of every seven years, it appears for a brief amount of time. It is then, that outsiders can search for the bottle…”
Before he could finish what he was saying, Mrs. Pumbleton scurried into the room holding out an earpiece. “Ian, it is your father calling. He says it’s urgent.”
A worried expression filled Ian’s features. He backed his wheelchair up and took the earpiece from Mrs. Pumbleton, placing it over his right ear. “Ladies, I must excuse myself and take this call elsewhere. We will talk again another time.” He winked at us and wheeled out of the sunroom.
On the walk home, Aunt Clover brought the subject back up. As she crutched along she said, “I wonder what is going to happen. I have a feeling Izadora will be sending you and Drumm into this crazy town for the bottle.”
“I already know for a fact that she is sending us in,” I griped. Aunt Clover had been under hypnosis while I’d found out this great piece of info.
“Imagine that. A disappearing town. Of all the things to hear about – that one tops the cake. I wonder how much of that story is true, and how much is false?” Aunt Clover said.
