Touch of Light: A Baylee Scott Paranormal Mystery (The Reed Hollow Chronicles Book 1)

by April Aasheim

  With my free hand, I lifted Ryan’s ring from where it was hanging around my neck. As always, I hoped for a sign, or even a spark.

  Alex’s eyes lit up. “Hey, I almost forgot…” He bounded from the bed and into the hall.

  “It’s not a cat, is it? I was just joking about wanting a pet.”

  My brother grinned as he returned with a covered tray.

  “Voila!”

  He lifted the lid, revealing two fluffy blueberry muffins. “I saved them for you.”

  “They’re perfect!” I poked at one of the spongey tops and it bounced right back. “But, might you have any crumpets?”

  “Nope.”

  “Scones?”

  “Damnit, Baylee. When are you going to ask for things that are on the menu?” He returned to his spot beside me and took the other muffin.

  “I don’t get both?” I asked.

  “Nope. I’m eating the second one to demonstrate my ability to give, and to take away, on a whim.”

  “What power you wield.”

  When I was done eating, I rested again on his shoulder. It felt good to let someone else do the worrying, at least for a while.

  “Look!” Alex turned up the TV. The von Trapp kids were cheerfully belting out the chorus to My Favorite Things. Alex and I sang along, as we did when we were young.

  “I should be nicer to you,” I said. “It’s not every brother who’d watch The Sound of Music with his sister, twenty-three times.”

  “Twenty-seven. Besides, it wasn’t all for you - Julie Andrews was hot. Between Mary Poppins and The Sound of Music, she gave me enough nanny fantasies to power me through my entire adolescence.”

  I curled my lip. “Alex, we really need to find you a girlfriend.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  Alex was right about wine hangovers. I do not recommend them.

  I lay in bed with a cold cloth draped over my forehead the following morning. Mother intermittently faded in and out, wringing her hands and smoking.

  “You’ll be okay,” she consoled me as she slowly paced between the window and the door. “I’ll stay at your sickbed until you’re better, or until the light comes for one of us.”

  “Can you please just go?” I asked, rolling onto my side while trying to keep down the crackers Kela had brought me. “I drank too much, that’s all.”

  She looked hurt and sniffled audibly. “I was just trying to help. I know what it’s like to be near death.”

  Alex entered, flipping on the light despite my protests. He set a tray of tea on the nightstand. “Smells like Mom in here,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “And smoke.”

  I pointed to the deep imprint at the foot of the bed where Mother now lounged, giving him an imploring look.

  He nodded though his eyes said I owed him.

  “Mom, if you’re around, I could really use an ear. I’ve been thinking of forgoing marriage altogether and taking some time away from the cafe to find myself. I’m thinking mixed-media art might be my calling.” He winked at me as he walked away. “I don’t know. I feel like…well, I wish women were as easy to talk to as cats…” his voice trailed off as he closed the door behind him.

  Mother’s presence dissolved from my room.

  Despite my searing headache, I smiled. Alex couldn’t hear Mother’s incessant stream of advice.

  Lucky man.

  Getting out of bed, I took my tea downstairs and out to the garden. In classic movies, convalescents always took their tea outside, claiming the fresh air did them good.

  The garden was beautiful in mid-September, with lush greenery dotted by vibrant oranges, yellows and reds. There were fruit trees and flower beds and a small walking trail leading to the back gate, where one could slip into the forest if inclined.

  Birds vied for their turn at one of the several fountains. Songbirds mostly, though a few fat ravens often bullied their way in.

  “Good morning, Kela,” I muttered as she passed me, carrying a water can.

  She looked at me, longer than she normally did, and stopped to place a hand on my forehead. “You okay? Your energy is cray-cray this morning. Partying is for the young.”

  “I wasn’t partying. I was drinking wine in my room. Alone.” When I said it out loud, it sounded more pathetic than her too-old-to party remark. “I guess I drank too much.”

  “I’ll brew you some willow bark tea,” she said. “BRB.”

  It wasn’t just the wine that was causing my head to throb. I still couldn’t get the image of Carrie wading into the lake out of my mind.

  Why had no one else seen her?

  Maybe Mother was wrong about her being alive. If she was a ghost, and she showed herself only to me, she must have wanted my help.

  If so, I had failed her. Again.

  Dave entered the garden through the side gate, a pile of folders tucked beneath his arm.

  “Good morning, beautiful. You’re looking rather--” He cut himself off as he looked me over.

  “I see I wasn’t the only one who stayed up late. Research kept me up, but I suspect it was something else for you.”

  “The Sound of Music and a bottle of Merlot,” I said, motioning for him to join me.

  “You can’t have one without the other.”

  “Indeed.”

  Dave laid his folders out across the table, tucking his hair behind his ears as he bent forward. “If you want to talk, I’m listening,” he said, not looking up. “Seems I have lots of time for listening, since there’s no real news in this town.”

  He reached inside his bag and handed me the morning paper. There was a picture of a large pumpkin on the front page with the headline: No Gourd Shortage in Reed Hollow This Year!

  “You didn’t print an article on the lights we saw last night?”

  “Nope. As far as I can tell, it was swamp gas. Nothing of interest to anyone but us, right?”

  “Right. Swamp gas.”

  “I considered doing a full page on the lights and disappearances. But so far, I don’t have anything tangible. We’ll keep it on the down-low, for now, until we get something definite. No need to get the Reed Hollow gossips clucking.”

  He opened one of the folders. Inside, there was a collection of photos. “These are the ones I took last night. I looked at them more closely on my computer, and printed a few out. You’ll want to see these.”

  I saw it almost instantly in the top photo: Near the water’s edge, nearly hidden by trees, were humanoid forms with raised arms. They had been invisible to the naked eye, but they were clear as day in Dave’s digital printouts.

  “Do any of them look like the girl you saw last night?”

  I shook my head, unable to make out features or even gender. “No, none of these are Carrie. I’m not even sure they’re human.”

  “Oh, they’re human. You can see one of them wearing a watch. I would hope that if aliens traveled millions of miles to visit our planet, they’d have a better way of keeping time than with a Swatch.” He gave me a crooked smile. “Check this out.”

  He handed me a new stack of pictures. It took a moment to realize they were the ones I’d forwarded from my phone when I got home last night - the group pics I’d taken at Ella’s.

  “I see your mother in a couple of them from the ‘70s grouping, and Carrie in one of the recent ones. But look here - Ella’s in every photo! Every one of them dating back to the 1800s!”

  “Impossible. Those have to be Ella’s ancestors. The coven must be handed down.”

  “That’s what I thought too, but I used facial recognition software. It’s Ella, alright. And she appears to be getting older and younger at strange intervals. If that’s witchcraft, I wouldn’t want to mess with her.”

  “How bizarre,” I said. I’d investigated strange happenings for most of my adult life, but I’d never heard of anyone defying aging.

  “There’s more,” Dave said, taking this stack away and showing me another. “I checked Carrie’s picture against the software, as well. I found a
photo of her on a witchcraft registry site. On a hunch, I searched for the names of the other women on Laura’s list. They all came up, and I matched their pictures against Ella’s most recent photos. I found all of them.”

  “What are you saying?” I asked.

  “It was not coincidental that these were the women who disappeared. It was planned, from the beginning.”

  I stayed in the garden after Dave left, going over the new information. Carrie had been a ‘registered’ witch, and so had the other women. Plus, Ella had somehow been in every coven photo, dating all the way back to the late 1800s.

  “That old hag uses magick to stay young,” Mother said, manifesting in Dave’s empty chair.

  “For the love of God, Mother. Can you please call first before you come over?”

  “Oh, sure. They make smartphones for the dead.” She reached over and tapped Ella’s image. “It’s not popsicle sticks and glue that’s keeping her upright. It’s magick. Dark magick, if you ask me.”

  “She’s not exactly a spring chicken in this last photo.”

  “But she’s still going. Longer than that bunny with the batteries. Dark magick,” Mother repeated. “Mark my words.”

  Alex appeared with Bart and Mr. B, locked up together in a pet carrier. He sat it by my feet, and four golden eyes looked up at me. “Baylee, can you watch them? Yvette’s here.”

  Yvette charged through the solarium door, sporting stretch pants, a cropped t-shirt, and a ballerina bun. Alex went to intercept her, while I pushed the kennel under the table with my foot.

  “I made it just in time,” Mother said, a tub of popcorn appearing in her hands. “I gave him some really good advice on women last night in his dreams.”

  “Thief!” Yvette jabbed a finger into Alex’s chest, turning it like a screwdriver. “Return Sir Fuzzypaws to me, right now, and I won’t call the cops.”

  Alex laughed, stepping out of her reach. “Sir Fuzzypaws? I think you need to loosen that bun, lady. Your losing circulation to your brain.”

  “Return my cat, or else.”

  “Or else what?”

  “I’ll get you sent back to the clink.” She held her gaze, unflinching, until it was Alex who broke eye contact. With her nose in the air, she marched back the way she had come. “I know you have him,” she called over her shoulder. Alex’s eyes followed her all the way out.

  “Can you believe her?” he asked, returning to the table. He pulled the cat carrier out and poked his finger inside for Mr. Bites to nibble on. “She has no right to accuse me.”

  “Yes, you are clearly innocent. Don’t you think this cat feud has gone on long enough? He’s just a cat and she seems…well…competent anyway. Mr. B will be fed and clean. Isn’t that what we want for him?”

  “You can’t put a price on freedom, Baylee.” Alex took the cage, shaking his head with disgust as he walked away.

  “Well, there’s some irony for you,” Mother chimed in.

  Since I was stuck with her, I decided to do some probing while she appeared lucid.

  “I’d love to hear more about your days in the coven,” I said, doodling in the table dust with the tip of my finger.

  “Not much to tell. We were young and idealistic.” A smile crept across her face. “There weren’t a lot of opportunities for women in Reed Hollow back then. Ella recruited us, telling us we would be part of something bigger. She claimed our spells and rituals nourished the earth and we were doing some good in the world.”

  She shrugged and her tub of popcorn faded away.

  “But we never saw any of that. Just took it on blind faith. And then, she started to go overboard about the moon! Claimed Diana’s daughter was coming for revenge, but wouldn’t tell us what that meant. I had to get out. She never forgave me.”

  My tea cup clattered, and I realized my entire body was shaking.

  Was Ella getting even with defectors by having them disappear? Had mother died before Ella could get revenge, making me her next target?

  “Tell me more,” I pressed.

  She looked at me, as if it might be a trick. I nodded encouragingly. She took a deep breath and told me her tale:

  “I was young, barely twenty, and after a year of college I realized it wasn’t for me. My parents wanted me to help in The Aunt-Tea-Query, but I wanted more. Ella found me working the counter one day.”

  “It was an exciting time,” Mother continued. “The Vietnam War was ending and we women were getting used to wearing bras again. Being in the coven made me feel like I was part of something bigger. Ella taught us magick, healing mostly, as well as protective spells. She said our coven tasks were the most important work we could do. It was fun, for a while, but soon praying to a moon that didn’t answer back took its toll. Eventually, the coven fell apart. I was the first to leave, and others soon followed. Ella and her sister disappeared. For a while.”

  Mother stood, her form nearly translucent as she circled the table.

  “It’s all fuzzy now, but I remember Ella and her sister ran that cult with an iron fist. I’m getting tired,” she said, her form blurring just outside her lines.

  “Wait, do you remember anything about Aradia?” I asked, as her form softened to a haze.

  “Only the rumors… that she’ll return one day to restore all her faithful… and those who opposed her will pay…” Her voice became an echo, and then a whisper, and then she was gone.

  TWENTY-THREE

  The days ticked by uneventfully. The full moon came and went. There were no further letters or rings, no new missing persons, and not a single visit from Ella or the yoga lady.

  Even Mother was uncommonly preoccupied, quietly fading in and out by the cafe window. And the ring hadn’t squeezed my finger, nor glowed once.

  Maybe Alex was right. We had averted disaster and were probably safe, for now. The next full moon was a month away, giving me time to think about my next step.

  I kept busy, sorting through boxes left over from an estate sale.

  “All junk,” Mother said, appearing as I worked my way through them. “You’ll never make any money off garbage like this.” She pointed to a stuffed rat. “I have boxes of weird stuff like this in the attic.”

  “Why didn’t you just get rid of it then?”

  “I couldn’t bear for someone’s memories to rot in a landfill. I vowed I would find it all good homes one day.”

  “Unfortunately, today is not that day,” I said. “I’ll add this to the pile and figure out what to do with it later.”

  I moved the stuffed rat aside with my tongs.

  “Oh, my!”

  Hidden beneath the rodent was a thick leather-bound book that looked like an old family Bible. But it was the energy around it that drew me in. It practically sizzled.

  “That’s a spell book!” Mother said.

  “It is?”

  I pulled it from the box and opened it. On the inside cover, Book of Shadows was written in elaborate calligraphy.

  “Be careful, Bay Leaf. These books pack a punch, especially if they belonged to a dark witch.”

  I took a sip of water to clear my energy before diving further. I opened it to the middle, then flipped through the pages. Each sheet revealed a spell, handwritten in ink that hadn’t faded or smudged. There was a bookmark inside - a lock of blonde hair bound with a red ribbon.

  I lifted the hair out with my tongs, sealing it inside a plastic baggie. Hair and nails were very powerful, having once been a part of a living body, and were often used in spell work. Especially darker incantations.

  I read the bookmarked page, tapping it to show Mother.

  “Don’t read it out loud, dear,” she exclaimed. “Thoughts have power, but the spoken word is much stronger and may accidentally invoke magick.”

  I blinked in surprise at Mother’s knowledge of the arcane, but nodded, silently reading the spell to myself.

  Call to Aradia’s Sisters:

  We dance beneath the yellow moon,

  Our eyes cast to
the sky

  Twisting, leaping, whispering,

  Aradia, hear our cry

  Cast the shackles of oppression,

  Put on us by man

  As sisters we’ll reclaim this earth.

  Our time will come again.

  With oath and deed we offer thee

  A gift most powerful

  Take our magick, make it yours

  We pledge to you eternal

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that spell before,” Mother said. “But it feels familiar.”

  “And quite terrifying, actually. I’m not sure what it means, but it does have a sacrificial feel to it. This doesn’t sit well with me.”

  I looked at my ring, fully expecting it to confirm my worries, but it remained dormant.

  “Do you think this belonged to someone in Ella’s coven?” I asked Mother, turning the book over on my desk. “The fact that it ended up in my lap is too coincidental to be ignored, don’t you think?”

  There was something stuffed into a sleeve inside the back of the book - a pink baby bootie.

  I lifted the sock with my bare hand, rubbing it between my fingers. There was a strong sensation of grief and I quickly put it down. The feeling was so intense, it nearly choked me.

  Mother pointed to a name written at the top of the back page.

  Carrie L. Brighton.

  Ella glided across the smooth marble floor of the small studio in her back yard, moving as if she were younger than her wizened face promised. She lit candles as she waltzed, and soon thirteen tall pillars flickered around us. Her face glowed in the candlelight, her sharp chin and piercing eyes illuminated. Her silver hair framed her face like tinsel.

  She took her seat in a high-backed chair and I sat opposite on an old loveseat - a stiff and formal piece of furniture, reminiscent of Ella herself. This was a ritual house, where time and ceremony were strictly observed.

  “Every forty years a new cycle begins,” she explained, twining her knotted fingers together. “Higher vibrations give way to lower ones, and the wheel turns another notch.”