Witching The Night Away

by Constance Barker

  She waited until he turned the knob to look for another article before she knocked.

  When she did, Ryan peered around at her in surprise until he saw her. “Oh. Hi, Red. Feeling better?”

  Bailey walked the rest of the way into the room and kissed her adopted father’s cheek, her brows pinched together. “I’m feeling fine... why?”

  “Tried to wake you up this morning, and you weren’t having it,” Ryan said. “Figured I’d let you sleep in. Not like there was much going on here besides books.”

  “It is a library,” Bailey sighed. “Sorry I was out late last night. I didn’t mean to stand you up.”

  Ryan shrugged a shoulder. “You’ve got important work to do,” he said. “I realize that. It must take a lot out of you.”

  She folded her arms and frowned, looking off into the distance of her vague memory of the experience the night before. It had faded considerably, the images hard to piece together; now, it was more like a lingering sense of dread...

  “Not always,” she admitted. “But last night it did. Aria and Francis worked with me on astral projection. Apparently I managed to screw it up.” She grimaced, and accepted a reassuring pat from him. “Anyway, there’s more that’s interesting. There’s an archaeologist at the caves. He got in yesterday. I met him... he’s a little strange, but interesting. Professor Owen Turner. Apparently Gloria called him.”

  “Gloria,” Ryan grunted. “She just won’t leave well enough alone. How did she get him in?”

  Bailey bit her lip, suppressing a smile. “Well, apparently he’s not very popular in his circles. I think he might have been the only one that would, and it probably didn’t take much. He says he’s seen caves like the ones here all over the place.”

  “Is that so?” Ryan said, tapping his finger on the pad.

  Bailey pointed. “What are you working on?”

  “Oh, just a little research,” Ryan said dismissively. “Avery has some wild theories about some of the old murders from way back and I don’t know that they’ll hold up but I thought it would be an interesting historical piece to do.”

  “Anything good so far?” Bailey pursed her lips when she heard the question. “That is, anything compelling? I guess there couldn’t be anything good about a series of murders.”

  “Actually there is,” Ryan said. He turned the film back several frames, and pushed his glasses back up on his nose. He stopped at one in particular. “Look at this one.”

  Bailey turned and pulled the other chair in the back room up to the table where Ryan was seated, and skimmed the article quickly. She had to do it twice before she caught it. “Huh... that is compelling, isn’t it?”

  Back around 1902, there had been a death. It was never ruled a murder, but it happened right in the middle of the other deaths that had been ruled murders. This one, though, was about a young man who apparently climbed to the top of a familiar outcropping—it was the apex of the exposed rock that covered the caves—and hurled himself over the cliff side. It had apparently come out of nowhere, and had happened only days after the young man—Edward Finnley—had proposed to the then-mayor’s daughter.

  Bailey thought of the old folk tale she’d recalled for Professor Turner. Granted, there was no talk of instrument playing, a magic pipe, or two lovers dancing into the sea... but the details were remarkably similar in some respects.

  “The other murders,” Ryan explained, “were all spread fairly regularly apart. Fifty-six days, to be precise. But there was a gap. I went looking to see if perhaps one had been overlooked.”

  “Did they catch the killer?” Bailey asked.

  Ryan shook his head, “It wasn’t one killer. They weren’t really connected that way. They were all crimes of passion, essentially, though there were two that appeared to be premeditated. This one looks like a suicide, but it fits the pattern. June twenty-first, 1902; fifty six days after the murder that took place on the twenty-second of April the same year.”

  Fifty-six days...

  “Well,” she said, “that sort of throws out Avery’s idea that the pattern is going to repeat itself. There hasn’t been a murder here since Martha died, and that was more than a few months ago now.”

  “That’s true,” Ryan said. “But it’s still an interesting period. The piece I’m writing is more speculative and investigative than an expose. Strange time.”

  “Well,” Bailey said, “I think that if you’re looking for something interesting to write about, maybe you ought to talk with Professor Turner.”

  “Let me guess,” Ryan said, “he knows the secret of the Caves?”

  Bailey laughed. “I don’t know about that, but I think you two would get along. He’s about your age. If nothing else, it might be nice to make a friend, and I suspect you’re both nerds of the highest caliber.”

  “I’ll accept that title,” Ryan chuckled. “Maybe I will. I certainly wouldn’t mind scooping a story out from under Gloria. Or Trevor, for that matter.” Not long ago, Ryan had quit working at the paper after Trevor and Gloria both had continually needled him about Bailey and her connection to Martha, and Poppy, and the caves.

  He didn’t know that Gloria had been inexpertly following Bailey lately, and didn’t need to. It was disconcerting, yes—but it wasn’t quite dangerous yet and in any case, Bailey could probably defend herself just fine if it ever got that way. Ryan would only worry.

  Bailey left Ryan to finish his work, and went about shelving books like she was supposed to. Normally, she’d be involved in running the morning tours by now, and she would much rather have been doing that. But there was something relaxing about shelving books, and she came across several that she promised herself she’d get around to reading. Eventually. Lately everything she read had to do with herbs, or animals, or omens, or ancient languages and occult philosophy. She couldn’t remember the last time she just read a story for enjoyment.

  Soon, though, she heard a familiar voice from toward the front, and then Avery’s comfortable laughter. When she crept up to look, she confirmed that Piper had dropped by. She had been smiling. It faltered just a little when she saw Bailey.

  “Hi, Bails,” Piper said. “I came to see if... the two of you might want to have lunch.” It sounded like she might have come to see if Avery wanted to have lunch, not realizing Bailey was here. She considered letting them go alone; maybe Piper had something she preferred to speak with Avery about.

  But ever since the night that Piper and Avery had helped Bailey and Aiden locate the stolen key stone with magic, Piper had been a bit distant. Before, when Bailey had first started learning magic, it had been entirely her own fault. She was wrapped up in a new world and momentarily lost sight of the one she was already in and the friends that were there with her.

  Since that night, though, Bailey had gone out of her way to try and hang out with her friend, and see her son, Riley, who was barely two years old; but it never quite seemed to work out. It seemed very much like Piper was avoiding her, and Bailey hadn’t been able to work up the nerve to ask if that was the case and why.

  “I’m free,” Bailey said.

  Now it was Avery whose face fell a bit. “Um... well, actually I was hoping you’d be able to get the books shelved by noon,” he said. “And you were late coming in, so...”

  Bailey glanced between the two of them. They knew, of course, that she could read their minds if she wanted. They trusted her, however, not to do that. Maybe that was why Piper had been so distant. Did she not trust Bailey to stay out of her thoughts? And even if Bailey would never do a thing like that... did Piper have something to hide?

  Whatever the case, it seemed clear that Avery and Piper were trying to get some time on their own. “You know,” Bailey said, “I guess I wasn’t even really thinking about the time; I actually have some work to do at the tour office, as well. I suppose I’d better get caught up here. You two go on without me then. Maybe we could have dinner at my place tonight, though. I can cook for everyone. It’s been a long time si
nce we all hung out.”

  Piper took her up on it, at least. “That sounds great,” she said. “Gavin’s been trying to come home earlier at night, so he can take Riley for a few hours.”

  “Great,” Bailey said. “I’ll see you both then?”

  Avery agreed as well, and the two of them left together.

  Bailey watched them go, and tried to convince herself that it had nothing to do with her. Avery and Piper were friends and had been for as long as Bailey had known either of them; it was fine for them to spend time alone.

  And besides that, there was something happening—something magical—and if Avery and Piper were going to spend some time without Bailey; well that just meant she had a little extra free time to figure it out.

  Chapter 6

  The problem with not really knowing what it was that she’d seen in the astral plane—or the ethereal plane, or whatever plane she’d actually been seeing; there were several—was that Bailey wasn’t quite sure where to start looking, other than to go back.

  Going back on her own was out of the question. Not only did she not want to risk flying right out into the nether realms of wherever without a lifeguard on duty, but also she wasn’t entirely sure how to get back there on her own anyway. And she didn’t think Aria was likely to reconsider taking her out again. Frances certainly wouldn’t. There was Chloe, of course, but if she didn’t have a talent for astral projection, then asking her might only alert the other two that she was considering it. The witches all shared a talent for curtailing Bailey’s desire to rush ahead in her training.

  So, while it was very possibly just coincidence anyway, Bailey decided to focus on the other recent change; namely, the presence of Professor Turner. She’d meant to check back in on him anyway, and now she had a better reason to do so even if she wasn’t quite sure what that reason actually was.

  Once she’d finished her work at the Library, and checked in on Ryan to make sure he didn’t need anything particular from her, she made her way across town to the tour office. It was closed today, and she didn’t find Aiden there, but down at the Caves she did find Professor Turner, and he wasn’t alone.

  Gloria Olson was a short blond woman with black rimmed glasses who, when Bailey had first met her, had been very pretty and well put together. That wasn’t the case anymore. Even from a distance, she looked frantic even when she wasn’t moving much. Her hair used to be tidy, and pulled into a sharp, professional ponytail; now, wispy locks of it stuck out here and there, and the ponytail was a little loose, and Bailey thought it looked a bit... unwashed. There were dark circles under Gloria’s suspicious eyes, as well.

  In a way, Bailey felt bad for her. Martha Tells had probably been her big break, and even when she was murdered, it was Trevor that broke the story and made national headlines. Gloria wasn’t a very nice person, but she was a person and it was difficult for Bailey to hate her entirely; even if she did seem insistent on following Bailey around, harassing the people that knew her, hoping to find out what Bailey’s mysterious connection with Martha and Poppy had been.

  The truth was, though, that even though Martha had been a witch, Bailey’s connection to her was just what it appeared to be. She’d found Martha’s body in the caves. That was all. But it wasn’t enough for Gloria.

  She narrowed her eyes when she noticed Bailey approaching, and flipped her notepad closed as though it contained some secret she’d written down and didn’t dare give away. Bailey did her best to smile politely.

  “Gloria,” she said congenially. “Good to see you again.”

  “Good morning, my dear,” Professor Turner said, smiling widely when he saw her.

  It was after noon at this point. Bailey didn’t correct him, though—he’d been in the dim caves so long he didn’t even have a light; his eyes had probably adjusted by now. “Hi Professor.”

  “All the tours are canceled while the Professor works,” Gloria said, all but glaring at Bailey. “Why are you here?”

  “I may not have work,” Bailey said patiently, “but I am interested in Professor Turner’s research.”

  “Are you, now?” Gloria wondered. She flipped her pad open again and pulled a ballpoint pen from the inside pocket of her sport coat. “Do tell.”

  Bailey sighed. “It’s not much of a story, I’m afraid. It’s my job to know as much as I can about the Caves. I’m the tour guide.”

  Gloria huffed, and snapped the pad closed again. She held the pen still though, and her knuckles were white, like it might run away from her if she let it go again. “Well the longer you spend bothering him,” Gloria snapped, “the longer it will take for him to do his important work here.”

  Bailey wondered what Gloria thought she was doing that was somehow not also ‘bothering’ the Professor. She didn’t ask, though; there was no sense in antagonizing the poor woman.

  Luckily, she didn’t have to. Professor Turner turned to Gloria, pushing his glasses up as he peered at her. “On the contrary,” he said briskly, “I quite enjoy Miss Robinson’s repartee. It’s refreshing.” He smiled at Bailey, and tipped his hat.

  That appeared to be the last straw for Gloria. “I suppose,” she said, “as long as she isn’t bothering you. I’ll set up your interview for another day then, Professor. I’m sure the world will be very interested to know what you’ve found about the Caves.”

  “Oh,” the Professor said, “I assure you, they will.”

  From the constipated look on Gloria’s normally pretty face, she still didn’t know what that was. Bailey wondered why the Professor hadn’t told her yet. Possibly the same reason he hadn’t told Bailey—either there was nothing to say, or he was playing it close to the vest.

  Gloria didn’t say a word to Bailey as she left; only stormed past her and very pointedly avoided eye contact.

  The professor looked up when she’d gone. “Dreadful woman,” he muttered. “No patience at all, I’m afraid. Nothing at all like her mother.”

  Bailey frowned. “You know Gloria’s mother?”

  “Indeed I do,” he said. “Lovely woman. Her father as well. I wouldn’t go so far as to call us colleagues, but her father Michael was a grad student of mine for a short time when I taught for a year at Cornell, here in the States.”

  “Somehow,” Bailey sighed, “it’s hard to think Gloria came from pleasant people at all.”

  “Oh,” Owen said, “you know she has been through rather a lot, the poor girl. And she’s young yet.”

  If Bailey recalled, Gloria was a few years older than she was. Then again, Owen was probably twice either of their ages, and then some. “Hopefully she’ll come around,” Bailey said. “So, any progress? Any new questions?”

  Owen straightened from the part of the wall he was looking at, and gave her a sly smile. “In fact, there is something,” he said. “Would you like to see?”

  There was almost certainly nothing in the caves she hadn’t seen, but she was interested and so followed him when he led her back through the second cave, and the third, and ultimately led her to the fourth cave. Here, there was a little lantern on the floor, circled by some glow-in-the-dark tape. Very practical, Bailey thought. She was going to have to look into that stuff.

  He switched it on and picked it up, and searched the wall for a moment before he made a small satisfied sound with his tongue and pointed. “Here.”

  Bailey had to come in close to see what it was. It was a hieroglyph; one of dozens over this particular wall, which depicted a series of spirals that Bailey imagined probably had some near-cosmic significance. The only cave that she had first-hand knowledge of was the first one, but they all had themes that seemed to hint at something particular; now that she knew the first cave told the story of the exodus of the witches from some ancient tribal home, she imagined there was history in all, or at least several of them.

  However, in the telling of that story was other magic. The spells that had actually done the work of bringing the spirit of the Caves to life, or possibly created it fro
m the naturally occurring wellspring of magic underneath the place. That, she couldn’t exactly confirm. It had been Aiden that told her, and the witches were tight lipped on the subject.

  This particular hieroglyph, though, was an odd one. It was remarkably... modern. It looked something like a keyhole.

  “What would you say,” Owen said, delighted by whatever he thought it meant, “if I told you that every cave I have explored in my research has had a marking just like this, in a very similar place, and that each of them faced a specific geographic location?”

  Bailey wasn’t sure what she would say; she didn’t say anything at first. Then, “What location?”

  Rather than telling her right away, he explained. “In each of the caves there is this particular sign. If you were to draw a straight line across the Earth—it would, of course, be a curved line—from each of these specific markings, lined up with one of the symbols on the opposite wall, you would see that they all converge on the same place.”

  “And, that place is?” Bailey glanced at the wall behind them.

  “That place, my dear,” Owen said, “is none other than Stonehenge, in Amesbury. Near as I can tell—the exact center of the Henge.”

  Now, that was interesting. Bailey stared at the little marking for a while. She knew something about Stonehenge. “The oldest markings in the caves,” she said slowly, “predate Stonehenge. Don’t they?”

  “Indeed they do,” he said. “Indeed they do! And the same is true for all of the other Caves I’ve explored to date. Now, what would be the most likely explanation, if we assume that, indeed, each of the cave systems contain a set of markings just like these two that create such a specific pattern and predate the construction of Stonehenge?”

  It didn’t take Bailey long to figure, but she wasn’t sure she believed it, yet. It simply seemed too... far-fetched. “That Stonehenge was... built there because the caves all point to it?”