“Thanks.” I picked up the cat carrier and started back down the porch steps, following Fiona. The guest cottage was left of the main house, set back on the property. It was painted a creamy white with a sharply slanted roof and a porch swing.
"Here we go," Fiona said, stepping into the cottage. "Don't you love it? I decorated it myself."
For a brief moment, I wondered if Fiona had been the first choice for I Dream of Jeannie, but Barbara Eden beat her out of the part. Because this place could have passed for the inside of Jeannie’s bottle.
A fuchsia velvet sofa played center stage, adorned with coordinating silk pillows. A silver Champagne bucket sat at the heel of a chair shaped like a stiletto. The two windows were draped with miles of pink, purple, and red brocade fabric tied with beaded tassels, and the floor was covered with a leopard print rug.
Fiona grabbed a remote control.
"Okay, honey, now here's the switch for the fireplace."
Poof! The fireplace turned on.
"And this is for the stereo."
"Ohhhhhh, my love, my darrrrlin, I hunger for your touch…" sang a Righteous Brother.
"And this works the Jacuzzi."
If Barry White Had bobbed his head up from the water, I would not have been a bit surprised.
"Can't you just see a young couple falling in love here?" Fiona clapped her hands together.
Actually, I could see a young couple plowing through a box of condoms here, but who was I to judge?
My phone rang then and I scrambled around in my pocket for it.
It was Cinnamon.
"Hey, Cuz. Are you in town yet?" she asked. Pool balls cracked in the background.
“I am.”
Fiona motioned that she was going to leave. I waved to her.
“Oh good. Well, I’m not sure how long I’m going to be stuck at the bar. You want me to call you when I’m done? I doubt I’ll be able to visit Gramps with you tonight.”
It was nearly seven. I was tired, hungry and in desperate need of a shower.
“I’m not sure I’ll make it to the hospital tonight myself. I’m just getting settled in. I need to change and clean up, plus if I leave before Birdie gets home, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
Fiona had the door open, but stopped and turned back. “Dear, I’m sure Oscar will understand if you can’t see him until tomorrow. What with all that’s happening you should rest before the spell.” Then she shut the door behind her.
I said into the phone, “So, Cin why don’t I call you when I know more, but…”
Wait a minute. Did Fiona just say the word ‘spell’?
“Cin, I gotta call you back.”
Chapter 3
By the time I chased Aunt Fiona out the door she was already back in the main house, which, unfortunately, I still had no key to open.
I decided to pretend I never heard the word spell and fetched my bag and cat supplies from the car.
There were bigger things to worry about than Birdie trying to mold me into a witch, although it was hard to believe she was still at it. Ever since I was a kid, she made it her personal mission to teach me all about the Old Ways. Birdie’s roots traced back to a pagan tribe from County Kildare in Ireland and she, Lolly, and Fiona have lived their entire lives by the theology passed down from generation to generation. They even have their own personal bible called the “Blessed Book” although I had never seen it, nor did I care to. It’s unnerving enough living with the things I have seen.
I peeled off my clothes and climbed into the shower, washing away the pulp of the jack-o-lantern. The steam seeped into my pores, relaxing my muscles, and I decided to take a nap after I fed Moonlight.
The dream consumed me immediately. My father sliding on ice. His head split wide. Blood mixing with the paint of the fire hydrant. And then, a scream. Mine, as I was wrenched from the nightmare.
"Anastasia." Someone was shaking my shoulder, jostling me from sleep. "Wake up."
Birdie. She had an energy I could sense, smell even, without opening my eyes.
“Five more minutes,” I said and rolled over.
She poked my shoulder a little harder than necessary and I turned to face her. She was propped on the edge of the bed, a black wool cape dripping down her legs. The hood engulfed her auburn hair, a frame for her face.
“Birdie, what the hell? I just laid my head down.” I squeezed my eyes tight.
"You know I don't believe in Hell," Birdie said. “Was it the dream again? What about the prehnite stone I gave you for beneath your pillow?”
Magic was her answer for everything. Got a stomach ache? Mint tea should clear that right up. Big exam? Dab some basil oil on your forehead to increase concentration. Killed your father? Put a crystal under your pillow to make the nightmares go away.
She stood and said, “You have to face your demons sometime.” Then she tossed the coverlet off the bed. “Dinner is ready."
I watched the back of her cape head for the door. Her tone said she was all business so I rolled off the bed, threw on a pair of jeans and a sweater, and darted after her. “Wait a minute, Birdie. Let me get my boots.”
She had the front door open as I yanked one boot on and then the other. I stopped when I felt something inside the left one. I tugged it off as Birdie kept going and shook out a penny.
The date was earlier than the one from the revolving door. I didn’t recall ever finding two in the same day, at least not under such unusual circumstances. The knot in my belly tightened as I tucked the coin in my pocket and rushed after my grandmother.
Clouds were rolling in and the temperature had dropped a bit. Birdie was almost at the back door of the house, the entrance that entered into the kitchen. I caught up to her, leaves crunching with every step, as she pulled the door open and stepped inside.
Rosemary and garlic seeped from the wall oven, perfuming the air. I had always loved the rustic kitchen of the Geraghty House. It was a roomy box shape marked with open shelving and dark wooden beams that dangled seasoned cast-iron pots like earrings. The meals made in those pots were too numerous to count. The chips in the pottery, all well-earned. There were herbs and spices and dried fruits everywhere like they had been tossed on a shelf and forgotten, but I knew better. I knew those old jelly jars filled with juniper berries or lavender buds were used often, if not in a meal, then in a shampoo or spell.
Aunt Lolly was near the stove stirring something in an old copper pot. Fiona pulled her head away from the fridge at the creek of the door.
"Lolly," Fiona called over her shoulder. "Stacy’s here."
"Stacy?" Lolly said. "He's in the Summerland." Then she returned to cooking.
Some pagans believe that the Summerland is where a soul rests for twenty years after the death and where it prepares for re-birth. Lolly could read past life records. It was this one that tripped her up.
"No honey. His daughter, Stacy," Fiona said gently.
I was named after my father, although Birdie refused to call me by my given name.
Lolly glanced up from her pot. "Birdie's daughter?" she asked, brows arched. Literally. They were drawn in that way.
"I'm Birdie's granddaughter, Aunt Lolly," I offered.
I could almost see the spark ignite in her eyes as the elevator made it to the top floor. "Oh my goodness. Stacy! Come, give us a hug." She motioned me towards her.
"Great to see you, Aunt Lolly," I rushed over and she wrapped her arms around me and squeezed.
"Dinner's almost ready," said Fiona. "Why don’t you go into the dining room and open some wine."
The house was built with thirteen rooms. At the entrance, a winding oak staircase carried guests of the inn to the second-floor suites, but the kitchen and dining room were on the first floor near the rear of the home.
"What's for dinner?” I asked.
"Roast pork with maple cider sauce, rosemary new potatoes, and baked apples." Fiona set salt and pepper shakers on the table as Birdie disappeared into the pantry.
“Can I help?” I asked.
“No, no. Everything’s under control.” Fiona winked at me.
I grabbed a bottle of wine from the rack and went into the dining room to uncork it. There were crystal goblets in the china cabinet along with gold-rimmed dishes and antique flatware. After the table was set I poured myself a generous glass of wine and sat down.
Fiona delivered the pork to the table, Lolly trailed with the potatoes and Birdie brought up the rear with the baked apples.
We all sat down, Birdie at the head, and said a prayer to the goddess of the hunt, Diana.
I filled my plate and said, “This looks delicious, Lolly. Thank you.”
Lolly took a belt of the wine and said, “No problem, toots.”
For reasons I will never comprehend, alcohol had the exact opposite effect on my Aunt Lolly than it did the rest of the world. It seemed to sharpen her senses.
“So, Birdie, where were you? I thought you would be here when I arrived.”
“I was visiting Oscar.”
I nearly choked on a potato. Fiona patted my back and I spit it out into a napkin.
“Anastasia, honestly,” Birdie said, shaking her head.
“Why? Why would you visit Gramps without me?” If ever two people needed a buffer, it was them. Well, just Gramps. And maybe Pearl. I was sure she wouldn’t be thrilled with a visit from Birdie.
“Excuse me, child. I was not aware that I needed your permission to pay my respects to a man I was married to for twenty years."
I didn’t like the way she said ‘pay my respects’.
"Twenty-two," sang Fiona as she arranged her potatoes around a slice of pork.
So maybe Birdie was softening in her later years. I could buy that. “Do the doctors know what’s wrong with him yet?”
"Doctors." Birdie reached for the potatoes and clicked her tongue. "What do they know? A bunch of bozos, I tell you."
Then again, maybe not.
Lolly glanced up from her wine and Fiona stopped cutting her pork loin.
I took a deep breath and set my fork down. "Did something happen?"
"Of course not," Birdie said. "I simply brought in a sure fire remedy of burdock root, dandelion leaves, and lemon balm to purge Oscar's system. I tried to give that nurse instructions on the dosage and temperature at which to brew the tea but she wouldn't hear of it. So I got rid of her and fed him the tonic myself.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. "Birdie, they don't even know what's wrong with him yet. You can’t go around administering potions to a patient in a hospital. What if it makes him even sicker?” Or worse. And what if someone had seen her? I couldn’t imagine that would go over too well, considering the fact that Pearl wasn’t fond of Birdie and half the town had heard my grandmother threaten my grandfather’s life on more than one occasion.
"Oh, please. What will make him sicker is that terrible slop they feed people in those hospitals. That and Pearl’s cooking." Birdie smirked as she bit into an apple. Then her green eyes caught mine and she practically dared me to contradict her. This was a dangerous sport that had landed me on the injured reserve list so often I quit playing altogether. I held my tongue.
"Besides, why shouldn't I give him healing aid? I am an herb practitioner. For thousands of years, medicine men and women have healed the sick. No Geraghty has needed a doctor in years." She snapped her wrist as if to dismiss the ridiculous discussion.
A smart person would have let it go, except at some point I would have to meet these people and it would help to know if I needed an alias and a disguise.
“Then what happened?” I asked.
Birdie stabbed a piece of pork. “Nothing.”
“Nothing? You just left and that was it?” I studied her carefully, like a jury studies a witness.
“Yes I left. I’m sitting here, aren’t I?” She leaned forward and folded her hands in front of her.
I relaxed in my seat and took a sip of wine.
“After they escorted me to the door.”
There it was. “You got thrown out of the hospital?” I would probably need to rent a clown suit just to get past the reception desk.
“Don’t be so dramatic. No one laid a hand on me. I was asked to leave and after I completed the spell, I did.”
I could just hear how that went down. Security, would you please escort this crazy red-head as far away from the building as possible?
Like a bad episode of I Love Lucy.
Fiona was brave enough to change the subject as I downed my wine and poured another glass. “Lolly this pork roast is lovely.”
“Thank you, Fiona. I slow-cook it in a roasting pan at 200 degrees for the first hour--that's the secret--then I turn the oven up to 300.”
Everyone agreed the dinner was excellent and the conversation shifted to tomorrow's guest check-in as we finished the meal. The inn had three guest rooms. They were expecting a young couple on their honeymoon, two girlfriends, and a married couple celebrating their 25th wedding anniversary.
I wondered if I should call Cinnamon and warn her about Birdie’s hospital antics as we cleared the table. The sink was filling with suds as the water rushed over the plates, so my ears weren’t entirely focused when the words cape, ritual, and Anastasia were spoken across the room.
I turned the water off, not certain if I had heard that right.
"Yes, but shouldn't we wait until the Moon is in Virgo?" Lolly asked.
"Or at least until Sunday. Isn't that best for healing?" chimed Fiona.
"No, no. I have just the spell in mind," Birdie said. "Now that my granddaughter is here, all four winds will be represented. And the work will be that much stronger."
Oh no. Spellcasting? Me? That couldn’t possibly end well. “Okay, you three. I'm not sure where you're going with this, but count me out.”
"You want to help your grandfather, do you not?" asked Birdie. She had changed into her ritual cape, a thick red velvet number that, on a woman of average height would sweep the floor. On Birdie, it just grazed her ankles.
The remark smacked of manipulation and I shot back in anger, “The question I have is why do you want to help him?” I parked a hand on my hip and steadied my gaze.
Immediately, I regretted the question. Her face flinched as if she had been slapped. I stepped toward her. "Oh, Birdie, I'm sorry, I didn't mean--"
"It's fine," she said and turned her back.
Lolly and Fiona shuffled out of the way fussing with the center island behind me.
Birdie said in a low voice, “Stacy, just because I could not live out my days with him and I argue with him periodically does not mean I don't care about your grandfather.”
“You forgot about the death threats.” It just slipped out, I swear.
“Now you know that’s my little way of a joke.” She sighed. “It’s not my place anymore to watch after Oscar. I just assumed that you would want to help in any manner you could. But I wouldn’t ask you to do anything you might be uncomfortable with, dear.”
I placed an arm on her hers and sighed. “Sure, Birdie. You win. I’ll help with the spell.”
She smiled.
“But if I make things worse, it’s not my fault. I just want that on record.”
Chapter 4
As I stood in the heart of the home, huddled around the apothecary table, staring into a big white box, I wondered for the millionth time if I was adopted. I mean with my father long buried and my mother out of the picture since high school, there was no concrete proof that I wasn’t swiped from a shopping mall at the age of two. Except for the fact that my coloring was similar—red hair, green eyes, fair skin—the family resemblance was nil.
“What’s this for?” I asked.
Fiona’s voice was excited. “It’s your cape, Stacy. Lolly was up early this morning fashioning it for you.”
That was an interesting choice of words, because if there was anything this garment was not, it was fashion. I smiled at Lolly who was chugging back th
e ritual wine.
The cape spilled to the floor as I lifted it from the box. It was a primary blue crushed velvet crime with white satin lining.
I assessed at Fiona. Her cape was a rich emerald green embroidered with lighter green spirals. Lolly’s was a sunlit yellow, trimmed in gold ribbon. Birdie’s red cape was accented with a gorgeous black triquetra, the pattern symbolizing the three-fold rule of pagan law which states that everything you put into the universe, you receive back times three.
So why was I cursed with the Smurf robe?
“Go on dear, put it on,” Lolly said and the sisters took their place around the table.
I shoved my arms through the sleeve holes, fastened the top button and sighed. I’m 5’6” and a size six, but this thing could have covered a linebacker. Who was her model?
Lolly frowned. “Well, I suppose I could take it in quickly before we get to work.”
“No, Auntie, it’s fine. Let’s get on with it.”
“All right, then, but I will need to do the alterations before Samhain next week.”
Samhain falls on October 31st and is a major pagan holiday. It marks the beginning of the dark part of the year and the Celtic New Year. It's also believed to be a magical night when the veil between this world and the otherworld thins. The departed are honored and some lucky believers have been known to catch a glimpse of their ancestors. I was not among them. I also had not planned on sticking around that long, but I didn’t say so.
After my wardrobe was situated, the three of them fanned around the table to their respective positions to perform the spell.
I looked at Birdie. “Where do you want me?”
She rolled her eyes. “Do you mean to tell me that you don’t know where to stand?”
It felt like rush week at a sorority house. Except I was hoping not to get in.
“No, Birdie. Give me a hint.”
“Why don’t we begin with a test of your knowledge then?”
“I didn’t study for a test.”
Witch Way To Amethyst: The Prequel (A Stacy Justice Mystery Book 0) Page 2