The White Lady

by Beth Trissel

  “I promise to do my utmost.” What on earth—or Hell—had she gotten herself into? “Won’t you please come with us? You’d be a natural at this time travel stuff.”

  “I can’t. Helen has blocked me from any attempt to pursue my husband.” Her reply was barely audible.

  “Oh.” The gasp escaped Avery amid deepening realization. Would she also try to ban her and Stan? Would she succeed? “Does Ignus realize what she’s done?”

  “No. He thinks I lack interest and have no power. That is not true. She stripped me of it.”

  Horror ricocheted through her. “Mrs. Burke—Louise—what will she do to us?”

  The fur-draped figure in front of her stiffened. “My son is more powerful than he knows. He can oppose her if he will. You must persuade him.”

  “No biggie,” Avery muttered. “He only adores the she-devil. I might as well be invisible.”

  Mrs. Burke stopped and turned, the garment bag draped over one arm. “You are more beautiful in every sense than you know. Make him see you. Truly see. Don’t let her have him, or we’re lost forever.”

  This was worse than trying for prom queen, and she hadn’t even been in the running. There was a reason she and Stan were besties, besides their shared sense of humor and appreciation for random things, they didn’t freakin’ fit in with anyone else.

  Panic fluttered in her chest. “Is there anything you can do for me, or spray me with, like musk, to make me more appealing to Ignus?”

  Mrs. Burke’s glistening gaze held sad wisdom. “The appeal must come from you.”

  “For cripes sake, he calls me sport. Thinks we’re pals.”

  The mature woman cupped gloved fingers to her face. “You are worthy of being called sweetheart in the most tender tones. Do not settle for less. Don’t you realize who you are?”

  “Just Avery.”

  “No. Avery dearest, Avery darling, Avery, my love. You are the purest soul I know. Claim your inheritance and save us all.”

  The gravity of their situation was unreal, the stakes sky-high. She exhaled heavily. “Well, as Stan would say, that’s my life mapped out for me, as long or short as it is.”

  “May you live and prosper, win true love, and restore what is lost.”

  “Yeah. That’s all.” She shifted the hat box to her left arm. Raising her right hand, she parted her fingers in the Vulcan sign for Live and Prosper. Not an easy trick and one she was proud of. “Got it. I still think I need some makeup, though, and the most knock ’em dead perfume in existence, if you have a bottle. A love potion would also be good.”

  Smiling through the film of tears, Mrs. Burke nodded. “We’ll see what we can do. But you’re perfect as you are.”

  A typical mom thing to say.

  “Your expression suggests you think I’m exaggerating. Remember Elizabeth Bennett in Pride and Prejudice—”

  “And Zombies? Stan and I loved it. We’re working on our martial arts moves.”

  She arched finely plucked brows. “I’m referencing the original work by Jane Austen. I suppose the adaption will suffice. You recall how Mr. Darcy discounted Elizabeth Bennett at first, and then fell madly in love with her? The same may apply to you and my son.”

  “It might.” Avery had to-the-core reservations. “However, Mr. Darcy wasn’t under some kind of enchantment.”

  The regal matriarch eyed her sternly. “Enchantments may be broken and evil bound. Gird your loins, girl, and ready for battle.”

  “Right.” Did she even have loins? Probably beside the point. She had a witch to tackle whose powers she could not begin to comprehend, and no actual magic of her own, unless she’d missed something. “About that love potion…”

  Her mentor pivoted and proceeded ahead. “I am not a master of the dark arts. However, I do have a passion for fragrance and have collected many perfumes over the years. Some are extremely rare. If it gives you courage, I shall anoint you.”

  “A pushup bra might also give me a boost, but I suppose the corset will have to do.”

  The head in front of her shook, as if in bemusement. Well, that made two of them. Stan would probably recommend a jolt of electric shock. Nothing like a good zap to bring you to your senses, he’d say. She should carry a cattle prod.

  No, seriously, it might come in handy on our travels, she argued with herself.

  “Avery, are you listening?” Mrs. Burke broke in.

  “Which time?”

  “When I said you will be just fine?”

  “Sorry. Missed that bit. I’m thinking about what weapons we could take with us.”

  Her companion turned the doorknob to exit the attic. “You do realize you’re battling magic?”

  “So, an elder wand?”

  “No…I do have a whistle made of alder, though.”

  “What?” She must have heard wrong.

  “Alder trees have wood also sacred to the druids, used with great care for ‘whistling up the wind,’ an ancient magic to affect the weather. Specifically, the wind.”

  “Could I use it?”

  One hand on the knob, the farsighted female studied her. “Yes. With the utmost concentration. You are new to this and have no practice. But I sense a gleam of magic within you.”

  “Seriously?” The wind they spoke of whistled through cracks in the windows and around her ankles as she absorbed this astonishing information.

  Mrs. Burke inclined her head and titled it to one side. “Stan is also not without gifts,” she divulged, apparently choosing to share more.

  Her chest fluttered. “Apart from him being brilliant?”

  “Why else do you think you were both admitted to my son’s inner circle?”

  “Ignus said because we’re smart.” It sounded lame now.

  “He isn’t the only one who summoned the pair of you,” his mother said softly.

  She gaped into Mrs. Burke’s glistening eyes, so like his in color. Though she’d never seen him wear this expression of sad wisdom. “You mean, you did?”

  “Yes. The three of you together are vital. And you, dear girl, are at the center.”

  “I thought Ignus was?” she whispered.

  “No. You are the heart of this powerful trio. You have much to learn. I wish I could be there to teach you.”

  “So do I.” Kind of like having an older Hermione along.

  “Listen to your heart,” her mentor advised. “One more thing you should know. Sightings of the white lady or white woman, as she is also called, have occurred in Virginia and other states and in the British Isles for hundreds of years. She appears as a mournful spirit, spurned by a man, who either took her own life or grieved herself to death.”

  Avery tried to wrap her mind around this latest revelation. “But I sense more to her than that?”

  “Oh, yes. The usual sightings are of a woeful being, not a powerful one. Our white lady can tap into black magic. To vanquish Helen, you must first determine who and what she is.”

  Prickling chills flushed over her. “What do you think?”

  “I can’t say for sure, and Ignus won’t hear my supposition, but I suspect she’s a black-hearted witch.”

  “Great.” They were in way over their heads. “Perhaps Stan knows of the white lady lore. I’ll ask him when I get the chance and share what you told me.”

  “Do. You shall need his wisdom.”

  She strove to think. “If the sightings go back in history, how can the white lady in this painting be tied to all these other women?”

  “That is the question.”

  No freaking duh. Now she really wanted an elder wand. And to think, it never even crossed her mind at breakfast.

  Chapter Three

  Hours flew by, and it was noon when Avery swished into the beautifully remodeled green and sunny yellow kitchen. Despite her trepidation, she felt more empowered. Mrs. Burke, the miracle worker, had transformed her into a fashionable young lady of the early-mid twentieth century. Not a happening look for modern-day, but still cool, especia
lly if you liked playing dress-up. She did, and had more of a bounce in her stride than when she’d arrived earlier this morning. It was all she could do to resist twirling in her skirt, and the hat was to die for.

  The alder whistle rode in the slim beautifully engraved sterling silver and white purse hanging over her shoulder by a slender chain. She’d tucked the carved ‘wind summoner’ in with half a dozen embroidered handkerchiefs, as tissues were out, a luxurious silver compact for powdering her nose, and the most glamorous gold tube of lipstick ever. Mrs. Burke had replaced the original product with makeup she could safely use and supplied a small bottle of Dr. Holt’s Rose Water Astringent Lotion and an early form of lip balm for moisturizing.

  No point in bringing her cellphone; it wouldn’t work. She’d already texted her mom to say she was staying over at the Burke’s. Not sure how long, which gave her a pang. Stan had likely done the same and texted his mother. On second thought, he’d probably messaged his dad. Less fallout.

  Something tempting simmered on the stove, returning her focus to lunch and her rumbling stomach. The swarthy middle-aged Italian man in a white chef’s hat and apron stirred the aromatic contents of a steaming pan. A glance revealed tomato sauce laden with sautéed red and yellow peppers, onions, mushrooms, garlic, and sausage—Guy’s special recipe. He sampled the concoction, added a pinch of seasoning and chopped herbs, then checked the pasta boiling in a big pot.

  “Hello Guy.” Avery spoke loudly enough to be heard over White Christmas playing in the background.

  The holiday song came from the giant lit up Nutcracker revolving on a stand surrounded by sugarplum fairies. This festive addition wasn’t one of Mrs. Burke’s flawless touches but shy Miss Bloom’s. The soft-spoken thirty-something maid spread her whimsy throughout the house while she cleaned.

  Waving a wooden spoon, Guy surveyed her. His black eyes crinkled in a smile. “Signorina Dunham. Bellissima,” he said, which she thought translated to Miss Dunham and something about being beautiful in Italian. “You will stay to eat, si?”

  She warmed at his praise. “Yes. Si. It smells delicious.”

  With a gratified smirk, the former clown, now passionate cook, returned to his sauce. Guy was quieter than usual, possibly because of competing with the music, and she admired the kitchen while waiting for Stan and Ignus. Miss Bloom’s handiwork was evident. A maid at the house in the early-mid twentieth century, she’d been transported from the era Avery and the others were returning to, or thereabouts.

  Come to think of it, Mr. Silvestre had been the butler here during the days of Miss Bloom’s service. Perhaps the travelers would encounter these two loyal servants in their former lives, depending on whether they went back before or after Ignus had brought the two forward. Why he’d whipped them to the future, she wasn’t certain, but they seemed happy.

  Miss Bloom had outdone herself in the kitchen. Reindeer flew overhead among the shiny copper pans suspended from the wrought iron ceiling rack. Santa and his sleigh sailed around the sparkling chandelier. Stained glass angels glowed in the window above the spotless sink. Iridescent snowflakes shimmered from various places and heights. Cabinets crafted of warm cherry wood, strung with tiny white lights, stretched above counters hosting gingerbread houses and holiday themed cookie jars.

  Guy must like Miss Bloom a lot to allow her this much license in his domain. Avery’s favorite spot in the cheery room was the dining nook. A miniature rosemary Christmas tree with fairy-sized glass balls and a star on top stood in the center of the round table ringed with antique dolls and toys. Diners looked out deep bay windows filled with red poinsettias to the snowy garden. Frosted evergreens, holly berries, and crimson cardinals at the bird feeder created a wintry wonderland.

  The table was set in anticipation of lunch, the water poured into sparkling glasses, and silver flatware shining. A variety of greens, slices of cucumber, and chopped carrots filled the wooden salad bowl. Serving tongs, the pepper grinder, handmade croutons, grated cheese, and olive oil vinaigrette were beside it. She was eager to sit down. Breakfast was ages ago. They’d had no opportunity for the coffee break Ignus mentioned but she sniffed a fresh pot brewing. Holiday china cups and saucers stood by the matching plates patterned with miniature wreaths. Coffee must be on the menu and she needed a cup or two.

  Male voices. Finally.

  A shaved bathed Ignus and Stan arrived. Hmph. And they said it took ages for girls to dress.

  Ignus managed to pull off respectable and hot in a three piece buttoned up olive green suit with a white shirt and matching tie. Stan was his eclectic self in a blue suit and striped shirt, with a red paisley tie. The color enhanced his blue eyes behind the black-rimmed glasses, so an apt choice. Most noticeable, was his hair, now more of a chestnut than the black shade Ignus had mentioned. He’d styled with gel to tame his spike.

  She gave him a thumb’s up. “Sharp.”

  His lips curved, and it struck her what a nice smile he had.

  Ignus was altered, too. Mr. Silvestre must’ve given him a haircut. His trimmed brown lengths were parted on the left and combed to the side. The short, portly butler with precise manners and a tidy mustache was likely responsible for the two neat male figures.

  Simply being near Ignus sent a thrill through Avery. She didn’t want to be overly bold and rub against him like a cat, but she hoped he’d notice her. A lauded blend of rose, violet, oak moss, patchouli, and the musk she’d requested wafted from her tingly fresh skin.

  Buoyed by her reinvented self and fragrance, she stepped closer and angled an expectant glance at him. She didn’t actually say, ‘Alluring, right?’ but she thought it.

  He sniffed and wrinkled his nose. “What is that smell, and I don’t mean lunch?”

  Crap. She heaved a deflated sigh from her corseted chest and exhaled between lips slicked with beeswax balm. “I spilled some of your mom’s perfume on me.”

  “Whew. Hope it fades fast.” He eyed her speculatively, approval hinting in his hazel gaze. “But you clean up nice.”

  With that, she supposed she must content herself. It wasn’t gonna turn out to be one of those magical When Ginny Kissed Harry moments. Sigh.

  Oh well, she’d just add this letdown to her pile of Ignus related disappointments.

  Stan stepped nearer, raising his hand in a high five. The warmth of his palm against hers lifted her spirits, as did his ready smile. “Ignore him. You look really good, Avery. I like the perfume, and the hat’s awesome.”

  “Right? That’s what I thought.”

  “I get to wear a brown derby. The hat that never went out of style.”

  “Cool. And thanks for noticing all Mrs. Burke did for me. She knocked herself out.”

  Ignus nodded, his mind somewhere else, or on someone else. “Mom’s great at this fashion stuff.”

  She’d labored to arrange Avery’s mass of hair into curls pinned on her head with ‘a few artful tresses,’ plus, plus.

  The lackluster effect of Mrs. Burke’s achievements on her cherished son would cause the lady added distress. But she was in her room with hot tea, her stockpile of chocolate, and a book. Seeing the three of them off was emotionally beyond her. Their departure must also hold scant appeal for Miss Bloom who’d made herself scarce. Mr. Silvestre hadn’t reemerged either. Normally, they all dined together. She supposed the rest of the household would eat later, and wondered if the adventurers would be permitted lunch before Ignus zapped them away.

  He was in hyper mode. Wearing his impatient look, he paced the tile floor in black boot shoes with narrow pointed toes called winkle-pickers, a term she’d picked up from Mrs. Burke. Stan also had a pair.

  Ignus gestured at the cook, absorbed in draining his pasta. “Just something quick, Guy. Nothing messy.”

  The irate artist whipped around like an affronted lion. “Why bother to eat at all?” he snarled.

  Good question. They might as well munch on energy bars. Thanks to Mrs. Burke, Avery had a stash of them, plus dried fruit,
other snacks, bottled drinks, toiletries, and a topnotch first aid kit in the carpet bag, kind of like the one Mary Poppin’s carried. She’d parked the bag in readiness in the kitchen corner. Mrs. Burke said she’d kept it packed for her, ‘just in case,’ and this was the occasion.

  Guy narrowed black eyes at Ignus and stabbed the ladle at him. “You must sit and dine properly before you flash away. Or whatever you do. Future meals are not assured.”

  “Well, no. We should be back by supper,” he attempted.

  “Seriously?” Avery planted her hands on her skirted hips. “Is anything guaranteed when dealing with the white lady?” Even the besotted young man must acknowledge this wasn’t likely.

  “Dio ce ne scampi e liberi!” Guy exclaimed, which she understood to mean God forbid. With his right hand, he touched the tips of his first three fingers to his forehead, chest, and both shoulders in the Sign of the Cross.

  She did the same, as did Stan, out of respect for the symbolic act, and because their Anglican faith had taught them this. Then she held her breath. Guy was just getting going.

  “You think to challenge her? Heaven help you all,” he warned, emptying the noodles into a white serving dish.

  Ignus frowned. “Help her, you mean.”

  “Per carità. For pity’s sake. Foolish manboy,” he hissed, ladling on the sauce.

  Whoa. Guy spoke his mind.

  He’d been a part of the Burke household since Ignus was fourteen. The youth found a photograph in the attic, and had taken pity on the sad looking clown who’d toured the Shenandoah Valley in eighteen ninety and visited the house, unaware this is how most clowns look. Guy, formerly Guerino, had opted to remain with the family since Ignus didn’t know how to return him to his era, and he didn’t enjoy circus life anyway.

  ‘Awkward,’ Stan mouthed at Avery.

  ‘Ridiculous,’ she mouthed back. “Ignus. I’m hungry. It happens about noon. Guy has prepared a delicious looking lunch. What’s the hurry? The white wit—lady has waited this long. She can hang on for another half an hour.”

  Surprise registered in his gaze. “I’m sorry. I get so caught up, I forget little things like lunch.” He waved her toward the table. “Please, be seated.”