Witches

by Christina Harlin

  The “likes” of them? Kaye was fascinated. “When did Cloda do this? When you learned we were coming?”

  “It’s been years ago she put the protection on, not that it’s any of your business.”

  “What was the protection against, then?” Kaye asked.

  Her question threw Ardelia, who had apparently given away more than she intended. She scowled instead of answering. Thunder boomed outside and the house shook with it.

  “Cloda did the spell,” Rosemary noted. “What about you, Miss Ardelia? Do you practice the family’s witchcraft?”

  “I don’t much care for the idea of burning in Hell, so no I do not.”

  “Oh.” Rosemary grimaced. “You believe that the practice of witchcraft is—”

  “A sin. You ever read your Bible, little miss?”

  Kaye said, “I do. I understand that to Christians, witchcraft is taboo. But you don’t seem to mind having a protection spell over your house.”

  “Cloda never asked me one way or ’tother what I wanted,” snapped Miss Ardelia fiercely, “so ain’t much I can do about it.”

  “You could dig up the charm and get rid of it,” offered Stefan. When Ardelia fixed her milky, furious eyes on him, he said, “Unless you want to keep it, for protection against the . . . I’m sorry, I think I misunderstood.”

  “I think I understand,” said Kaye. “Miss Ardelia doesn’t practice witchcraft and doesn’t like witchcraft, unless the witchcraft is protecting her from something else, and then it’s all right. She’s just being selective about her beliefs based on what’s convenient.”

  This was an unusually cutting thing for Kaye to say, but she didn’t care; she couldn’t stand hypocrites and this woman had been nasty to them from word one for no good reason. Ardelia herself seemed aware that Kaye’s words were unflattering but didn’t quite know how to retort. Purposefully Ardelia then changed the subject to something else that displeased her, peering with distaste at Vladimir’s crate, which Judge had set gently down at his feet, next to the wall.

  “Cloda didn’t say you’d be bringing no cat.”

  Rosemary spoke before anyone else could. “Vladimir – our cat, our team mascot – is recovering from a serious injury. He has to stay indoors, in his crate. He’s on a sedative so he’ll be sleeping most of the time. He’s a good cat. We love him.”

  Ardelia almost said something, but apparently she caught a look or a vibe from the group as a whole that warned her of the situation: she could be as nasty as she liked to the humans here, but Judge’s cat was off limits. So instead, Miss Ardelia sniffed at them, her mouth puckered in distaste. She thought of something else, and was rather pleased to inform them, “You probably wasted your time coming here. There’s no way them trucks o’yourn will get to the top of the mountain in this here weather.”

  Rosemary asked, “How far away is Cloda’s house?”

  “Two miles of bad road, going hither and yon.” When her audience looked less than impressed, Miss Ardelia added, “Two miles trekkin’ uphill in this mud? I do wish you luck with that.”

  Chuckling with amusement to herself, Ardelia motioned to them. “Come through this way to the bedrooms. This is a Christian home and there won’t be no men and women sleeping together, you understand me? Won’t have it. I know ain’t none of you married. I got two rooms, men in one, women in the other. Women’ll be sharing with me.”

  In that moment, Rosemary looked at each of her friends fast, eyebrows raised. Under her breath she said, “This is an adventure, right?” Should there be a general revolt, Kaye knew that Rosemary would allow the whole group to hightail it back to the closest town with a motel and stay there.

  “It’s okay,” said the always-optimistic Sally. “We’ve slept on the ground before. We’ve slept in a cave.”

  Ardelia was ready to take offense at anything. “You sayin’ my house is no better’n sleeping on the ground?”

  “Oh, no, ma’am,” said Sally. “It’s much nicer.”

  Ardelia harrumphed, insulted anyway. Still, she showed them the remainder of the house: the tiny dark kitchen, a single bathroom that thank-goodness at least smelled strongly of bleach, though it was barely big enough to turn around in, then two dank bedrooms, the largest rooms in the house, each with two double beds. That meant one of the women got to share a bed with Ardelia. Kaye was not enthusiastic about the idea. She was willing to sleep without Stefan for a night or two, but that didn’t mean she wanted him replaced with a nasty old woman.

  Ardelia wasn’t yet finished telling them her grievances. “I don’t cook for you. I don’t clean up after you. This ain’t a hotel service. I told Cloda I’d put you up and I’ll do it, but that’s it. I hope you brung your own food because I ain’t got any to spare.”

  “Oh we’re well-stocked,” Rosemary assured their hostess. “In fact we’d be happy if you joined us.”

  Ardelia left them where they stood, cramped together in the house’s narrow hall. She somehow managed to shuffle and stomp at the same time, all the way to the kitchen. After some obvious banging around, they heard the pained squawk of a back door hinge.

  “I’d like to tell everyone about our next trip,” Rosemary said. “A haunted hotel in Excelsior Springs. Elegant suites, indoor and outdoor pool, day spa, tennis courts, fully equipped gym, semi-formal dinners in the evenings in their three-star restaurant.”

  Stefan chuckled. “What’s haunting it?”

  “Haven’t got a clue,” Rosemary said. “Do we really care? There are tennis courts.”

  “We’ll be okay,” Sally assured her, sending a pointed look to everyone.

  Yes, Kaye would have preferred the hotel with the three-star restaurant, but in many parts of the world, Ardelia’s house would still be considered a luxury. “I believe we can make it through a couple days with Miss Ardelia, if that protection spells doesn’t actually hurt anybody. Drew, do you think you’ll be alright?”

  Drew was still intermittently rubbing his temples and forehead, but after a moment he nodded. “I just have to keep my sneak to myself,” he said. “I’ve done it before; it’ll be alright.”

  “Brentley is okay?” Kaye asked Stefan.

  Stefan replied, “As long as he doesn’t go on any walks.”

  Thunder clapped and roiled overhead, causing most of them to jump. It was so loud they might as well be standing outside. The clouds must be thick and black; between them and the dirty windows, it was dark as night in the house. Kaye checked the time. It was only four in the afternoon.

  “I’m sorry,” Judge said. The poor young man looked hollow-eyed and stunned, as if he’d just been smacked hard in the face. “I need to lay down for a little while. That okay with everyone?”

  Kaye put her hand to his smooth forehead to check for fever in a time-honored motherly tradition that no amount of science could seem to break. “You need my help, sweetie? Is anything hurting you?”

  “I’m just tired,” Judge said. “I’ll get Vlad and we’ll take a nap. That okay?”

  It had better be okay; he suddenly seemed ready to drop. Kaye tried to read the levels of his pain, his weariness, the toxins that might still be in his system. It was something she did almost without thinking. Measuring the health and comfort of others was no different to her than seeing if they were smiling or frowning. But when she tried it now, her thoughts encountered a hot, painful prickling that seemed to go from the front of her head to the back. The discomfort intensified fast until it was outright pain.

  “My goodness,” she said in genuine surprise. “I think I just bumped into the protection spell you’ve been talking about. If there’s going to be any healing done, it can’t be inside this house.”

  Judge shrugged it off. “I don’t need healing. Just a nap. Thank you, Kaye.”

  Judge and Vladimir were arranged in the men’s bedroom, and fussed over for just long enough that Judge became annoyed. Then the rest of the group moved in a jumble back to the front room and tried to find light switches. N
o luck – it was almost too dark to see, but all their scrabbling against door frames discovered not a single switch and nobody could see a lamp. They eventually just took seats on the crappy furniture because they could think of nothing else to do. Using their cell phones didn’t help visibility. Strangely, the white glow cast by the screens seemed to make it even harder to see than before, casting weird shadows, making objects glow.

  Kaye went to sit next to Stefan, supposing that Ardelia couldn’t yell at them for touching thighs on the couch. Of course, Ardelia should yell at them for it, because touching Stefan at all usually made Kaye quickly warm inside, her thoughts turning silky and fleshy, with ideas that would shock Ardelia into catatonia.

  *****

  Kaye had been really, deeply in love once before, with poor darling Martin Whittington. Martin had died at nineteen, visited Kaye once more on the night their son was born, and then been forever-after sneakily present only when that same son Milo would adopt exactly his father’s expression when he was excited about something. It always made Kaye’s heart melt a little to see it. How on earth did Milo’s face know that trick? Milo looked so much like her, but oh, sometimes, his father would slip in there and catch her breath.

  Kaye had not anticipated finding another man who could make her feel that dizzy, foolish, irrational kind of love - in fact she’d thought it was the domain of teenagers exclusively. And after forty? Forget about it. She’d had her choice of company through the years, had even liked a couple of them rather more than the rest, but she had no time for romance and no real interest in it either. It wasn’t until she’d met Stefan McCandless that her self-control slipped.

  Slipped? That was a gentle word for what had happened to her.

  At first her interest in an apparently schizophrenic man had been baffling. She remembered thinking, this must be my midlife crisis. Here was this man, so thin and worn, so introverted and injured – and sporting an imaginary friend - what right did he have to be as sexy as he was? Was he sexy? She tried in vain to convince herself that he was not, that every annoying thing about him did not nibble at her interest. What a bag of trouble he had presented, wallowing in self-pity, unwilling to fix old injuries, unwilling to release his guilt and rage. He’d been rude to her. He’d outright told her that he didn’t like her. And like she was a silly girl, every time he was rude or dismissive, it stoked her. She was fascinated by the fire of his auburn hair, those tormented dark eyes, all that lean wiry strength, that elegant bone structure that reminded her of the dandies on Masterpiece Theater.

  Kaye joined the Othernaturals show for the first time on a ghost-hunting jaunt, spending a few days in a college dorm to pin down a loop ghost, and Stefan had barely a polite word to say to her the whole time. Within the first week of knowing him she’d realized she wanted him, more than she’d wanted anyone in longer than she could remember.

  Subsequent trips did nothing but worsen this annoying obsession. She needed to bed this man fast, scratch that itch, and get him off her mind because he was not her type. He didn’t fit with her goals, or with what she understood about herself and – oh heaven help her, what would Milo think? She could certainly do better than this guy. There was a certain pharmaceutical executive, recently divorced, who had been quite friendly at the last fundraiser.

  This Stefan, though, damn him, kept upending her expectations, showing himself to be loyal and noble, caring deeply for his adopted paranormal family. He was writing a book. Kaye asked him if he wanted a reader, a little constructive criticism, and he’d refused to let her see it. This hurt her feelings because he’d obviously let others look at it, including Drew Fletcher, who was just as new to the show as Kaye. Stefan referred to her, in a teasing-but-not teasing way, as a “know-it-all,” a childish insult that sounded harsher than if he’d simply called her a bitch.

  He infuriated her, all that self-denial, starving himself, depriving himself, enjoying his suffering. She would not, would not, would not tolerate this sort of nonsense in her life. And of course, the most important, confounding thing about him: this passenger of his, the ever-present Brentley, the ghost who supposedly lived within Stefan’s body or brain somehow. Kaye waited for him to make a mistake that revealed this “Brentley” story to be just another hoax. And if it was not? Then Stefan was mentally disturbed; in need of meds and therapy, and she was not going to be his medicine. Then again, those dark eyes could fairly burn her when she’d catch his surreptitious glances.

  Fine. She’d have him, appease her midlife-crisis-curiosity, and then be done with it.

  Then, of course, she had him, and she couldn’t keep away after that. Fueled by Stefan’s long-celibate hunger, the sex was so amazing that Kaye forgot to ask herself if it was a good idea. She never asked the question again.

  Stefan, wonderful idiot man that he was, thought Kaye was a gift so fine that he’d already resigned himself to losing her. “What use do you have for me? You don’t need me,” he’d tease, though he failed to fool her with this act.

  Ridiculous. He believed that, because Kaye had been happy and successful before she met him, he was not an important addition to her life. Men could be so mechanical about things; believing themselves to be no better than tools in a box and worried about being redundant.

  Often she’d start to spill the truth, those dramatic confessions of everything he made her feel, and then stop herself, and regret it later and would not understand what was plaguing her. Superstition? Fear of commitment? When he’d ask what use he was to her, she would tease Stefan, and reply, “Why you silly man, I’m using you for your body, and I need it bad.”

  *****

  When Kaye snuggled into his space on the questionable couch, Stefan draped an arm over her shoulder and softly asked, “Doing all right, Katie?” He was probably worried about the pain she’d experienced in the hall.

  Kaye replied, “I’m fine. Hoping we don’t catch fleas from this couch.”

  “Oh God, do you think? I hope you’re kidding.”

  “Oh, only a forty, fifty percent chance,” she guessed.

  “The house’s protection spell hurt you.” Concerned, he brushed her hair with his elegant fingers – those of his left hand, which had only a few months ago been crooked and gnarled. “Brentley says it’s made of nails. The protection spell, not the house.”

  “I’m all right now. I’m not accustomed to being fought, but it has happened before. I don’t break that easily.”

  Rosemary was chewing on her thumbnail, an unusual sign of nerves. She spoke softly to Greg. “It was a mistake to come so soon after Creve Coeur, wasn’t it? We should have postponed a week at least.”

  “Well I don’t know,” said Greg. “How exactly would that work? We had to schedule the two trips close together because of the locations and everybody’s schedule. Cloda seemed to want us here as fast as she could get us. And, you know, we’ve got our accommodations all worked out.”

  Rosemary glanced up at the ceiling with its mysterious stains. “Accommodations?”

  Kaye felt a flash of sympathy for their young team leader, though normally it wasn’t an emotion she spared much for the highly-privileged Rosemary. But Kaye understood that something awful had happened to her young friends in Creve Coeur, and though Judge and Vladimir were the ones bearing the scars, there was a strange shadow dogging Rosemary as well, clinging to her ordinary exuberant health. It was stress, Kaye knew, but stress came in many forms and disguises. She’d seen this particular brand on people who had just been given unhappy news. A bad diagnosis. A worrisome round of medical expenses. The unpleasant promise of pain. Kaye surprised the entire group by saying, “I know you’re worried about Judge and Vlad, but I really do think they’re happier with us. I’ll take care of them, Rosemary. You have my word on that.”

  Amid many wide-eyed glances, Rosemary exclaimed, “Why, Kaye. You’re so sweet.”

  Oh good lord, all the staring! Stefan was having some trouble hiding a grin. Kaye felt annoyed, but only slight
ly. “You all stop looking at me like I’ve gone mad. I know as well as anybody that the hospital isn’t always the best place to be.”

  Greg saw a good cue to change the subject, and announced, “Next order of business. Our hostess might hate us, but I don’t think she’s lying about that road. With this kind of rain, God knows what shape it’ll be in. I don’t even want to use the truck. We need a Jeep or a Humvee. Possibly a tank.” Thunder exploded again in the pelting rain.

  The back door shrieked and slammed. They heard Ardelia trudging through her tiny kitchen, muttering to herself. They all stood again and waited with anxious politeness when it seemed Ardelia would be joining them.

  “Pardon me. Miss Ardelia?” Rosemary met their hostess as she came to the room’s lopsided entryway. Ardelia was soaked from the knees down, her shoes caked with mud, which she had tracked heedlessly through her own kitchen. Her dress and hair were still dry, indicating she’d thrown some kind of gear over herself to make the trek outside. Rosemary was exceedingly polite. “Do you visit your sister often?”

  “I see her every week. Take her mail - she’s the only one in this forsaken place who gets any. Miss Fancy, she is, with all her packages and letters.”

  “So how do you get there?”

  “I walk. Think I can’t get up a hill? I lived on this mountain all my life. Why you all here in the dark?”

  “We felt around for light switches, but we don’t know—“

  Ardelia picked her way to the center of the tiny room. The woman smelled unpleasant, that aroma of an elderly person who has become haphazard in their personal grooming, in a place where she no longer cared, and no one cared for her. Kaye felt a moment of irritation at the predicament: this poor woman, out here on her own, a million miles from medical help. Ardelia reached up to yank a chain on a bulb that dangled in the middle of the room. It cast almost no light at all; what it did cast was murky and full of ugly shadows. Rosemary thanked her but Ardelia only hmphed in disgust.