by Leslie Meier
However, there was one person she most definitely did want to discuss it with, so she took the long way around to town and stopped at Rebecca’s to say thank you.
“Oh, no, dear, you needn’t thank me,” said Rebecca, after Lucy had explained the situation. “I didn’t send a bear. In fact, I’m not sure I could. I’ve certainly never tried anything like that.”
“But you’re a witch,” said Lucy, baffled.
“Of course I am, but bears? Not my style.”
“But you sent Oz?” persisted Lucy.
Rebecca shook her head. “He’s a free spirit, you know. He comes and goes entirely of his own accord.”
“I’m so confused,” said Lucy. “I really thought I had this figured out.”
“You may be right—maybe some other witch sent the bear. But I tend to think it was simply a manifestation of Thomas’s and Mather’s own wickedness. The bear was an embodiment of their evil intentions, a fine example of the rule of three.”
“The rule of three?”
“Oh, yes. ‘Ever mind the rule of three—what you manifest comes back to thee.’ It’s a basic rule of the universe.”
“There was more to this than what goes around comes around,” said Lucy. “I saw the bear with my own eyes. And the dog was upset too.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt you for a minute,” said Rebecca. “I believe something was there, maybe even a bear. It’s possible, you know.”
“I don’t think so,” protested Lucy. “It vanished in a snap, in the blink of an eye.”
“Have you considered the possibility the bear might have been your daemon?” asked Rebecca.
Lucy’s eyebrows shot up. “Demon? You think I’m possessed by demons?”
“Not demon, daemon. Everyone has one. A sort of spirit that protects you. Religious people call it a guardian angel. Pagans believe everyone has an animal protector. Yours may well be a bear.”
“If that’s true, how come this daemon hasn’t made an appearance until now?” asked Lucy.
“Perhaps this was the first time you needed it,” said Rebecca, placidly tossing corn on the ground for her chickens. “Or maybe it just decided the time was right. Daemons can be, well, difficult. Moody is the best word, I guess. A bit touchy.” She raised her head and waggled a bony finger at Lucy. “That’s why you must never depend on your daemon—they’re flighty creatures and most unreliable.”
“Well, thanks for the warning,” said Lucy, heading back to her car with the feeling that she was waking up from a rather weird dream. A dream that was so lifelike, she thought it had given her a glimpse of another reality, but now she knew differently. Or did she?
At breakfast with the girls, her mind kept wandering, even though Pam was running through the final preparations for the Halloween celebration.
“We’ve got a big ad in the Pennysaver, and you did a story—thanks, Lucy,” she was saying.
Lucy was staring into her coffee cup, wondering why the waxy film on top was in the shape of a bear.
“Lucy? I just thanked you for the story.”
“No problem,” she answered, staring off into space.
“She’s got her mind on something,” said Sue, giving her a shake. “Cookies? Cupcakes? How many did you promise to make?”
“Huh?” asked Lucy, coming in for a landing.
“How many cookies and cupcakes are you going to make?” asked Rachel, speaking slowly and clearly, as if to a small child.
“Whatever you said. I’ve already got two dozen cupcakes with orange frosting and candy corn jack-o’-lantern faces in the freezer, along with two dozen eyeballs. Golly those things are gross. I drew the line at painting little red lines to make them look bloodshot. I just have to do a batch of Beastly Bug cookies.”
“Check,” said Pam. “Sue, you were going to handle the punch?”
“I’ve got a cauldron full,” replied Sue. “Complete with dry ice for a smoky atmosphere. But believe me, getting that black color was a trick. It doesn’t taste too bad, but it could use a touch of vodka.”
“No vodka, absolutely not,” said Pam, checking her list and turning to Rachel. “I have you down for three dozen cupcakes and assorted wiggly worms.”
“You got ’em,” said Rachel. “Plus I’ve put together a terrific gypsy costume, for telling fortunes.”
“We’ve got the Service Club from the high school to help out with decorations, and Diana is taking care of the favors. What have I forgotten?”
“Music?” asked Sue.
“I got this guy who’s just starting out as a DJ,” reported Pam. “He’s doing it for free, but we have to let him put up a sign.”
“Sounds fair enough,” said Sue.
“What’s fair?” asked Lucy, whose thoughts were still wandering.
“Nothing, honey,” said Sue, patting her hand. “You just go back to your comfy little cloud.”
“Have any of you seen any bears lately?” she asked out of the blue. “I mean, is there an increase in the population or something?”
The other three all exchanged glances. “Bears, sweetheart?” asked Sue.
“Yeah. I saw one yesterday, and I wondered if they’re especially plentiful this year.”
The others shook their heads.
“Just checking,” said Lucy.
“Okay,” said Pam, folding up her list and tucking it away. “Looks like everything is under control—I’ll see you all Halloween night. Don’t forget your costumes.”
Lucy was walking along Main Street, on her way to the newspaper office, when she met Diana coming out of Slack’s hardware store.
“I just love this place,” exclaimed Diana. “I don’t think they’ve changed a thing since 1950.”
“They probably haven’t,” agreed Lucy. “Did you find what you wanted?”
“Oh, yes,” said Diana. “I’m so glad I bumped into you—I want to ask a favor.”
“Maybe,” said Lucy warily. “What is it?”
“Well, I’ve been getting calls from a lot of newspapers and TV stations, about Halloween, you know. I guess they think I’m the resident witch or something, and I’m getting a little worried about Samhain.”
“Worried? Why?”
“Well, I’m afraid of a repeat of last spring, when they were all camped out around my store and followed me everywhere I went. You see, Samhain is a very special time for Wiccans, and I can’t have a bunch of reporters spoiling the ceremony, especially since I’m returning and resuming leadership of the coven.”
Lucy saw her point but didn’t see how she could help. “So what do you want me to do?”
“Well,” said Diana, “I thought that maybe—and this is only if there’s a problem—maybe you could kind of lead them on a wild-goose chase while I slip off to meet the coven.”
“I don’t know,” protested Lucy, who wasn’t very keen on the idea. “I have to work at the Halloween party.”
“This would be after the party, probably around eleven or so.”
“Eleven?” Lucy was always in bed by ten, and she didn’t relish the idea of impersonating Diana, who wasn’t exactly popular with a number of people, most especially Ike and his boys. What if they wanted to do her harm on Halloween night? “That’s awfully late for me,” she said, taking a step or two away from Diana. “And besides, I’m shorter than you, and I don’t have long hair. I don’t think I could fool anybody.”
Diana wasn’t about to let her slip away, reaching out and taking her hand. “Oh, Lucy, I’ve got a wig you can wear, and it will be dark. And besides, I don’t know who else to ask. This observance is the cornerstone of our beliefs, and I can’t let the media ruin it with popping flashbulbs and TV footage making a mockery of our most sacred rites. And besides,” she added, brightening, “it’s all hypothetical. I don’t know for certain that they’ll even come. But if they do, it would make a great story for your paper, wouldn’t it?”
Lucy furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”
Diana was only too h
appy to elaborate on her idea. “Oh, something along the lines of ‘Newshounds miss big story,’ something like that. ‘Paparazzi peeved as Halloween story fizzles.’ I don’t know; you’re the journalist,” she added with a shrug and a big smile. “Hi, Ted.”
Dismayed, Lucy realized Ted had come up behind her, and she didn’t have a clue how much he’d heard of Diana’s harebrained scheme.
Too much, as it turned out. “You know, Lucy,” he said, joining them, “that’s not a bad idea. I’ve already gotten calls from a couple of TV stations, putting out feelers, you know. You could do a public service by keeping them away from the coven, and you’d get a terrific story too.”
“I could even give you some details about the observance, an exclusive. Isn’t that what you call it?” offered Diana, batting her big eyes at Ted.
“That would be terrific,” said Ted, picturing a headline. “‘Inside View: The Real Halloween Story.’”
“I really don’t think this is a good idea,” protested Lucy. “It’s not safe for one thing—what if I have an accident? Or if some crazy like Ike Stoughton tries to do me harm, thinking I’m Diana?”
“You’re being ridiculous,” said Ted. “Of course I’d expect you take reasonable precautions for your safety.”
“And if you get in a tight spot, all you have to do is reveal yourself. Once they realize you’re not me, they’ll leave you alone,” offered Diana.
Ted was nodding. “It’s an assignment, Lucy. Page one. I’m putting it on top of the news budget.”
Lucy knew there was no point arguing with Ted once he’d made up his mind. “Oh, well,” she said, capitulating. “I guess I’ve done crazier things.” Problem was, she thought as she followed Ted into the office, she couldn’t think of anything that rivaled this for sheer stupidity.
“Stop by at the shop,” called Diana, giving a little wave. “I’ve got a disguise all ready for you.”
“Okay,” she agreed, looking on the bright side. At least she wouldn’t have to come up with a costume for the party. And if things really got out of hand, she reminded herself, she could try summoning her daemon. Just the thought of the bear made her smile.
“And what are you so happy about?” demanded Phyllis, waving the new issue of the Pennysaver in her face when she walked into the office. “Ike Stoughton’s lawyer has been calling all morning. He’s threatening to sue us for libel.”
The next forty-five minutes were agony for Lucy as she listened to Ted trying to mollify Stoughton’s lawyer. She could hear only Ted’s side of the conversation, of course, but even that was excruciating.
“You have no grounds for legal action,” he was saying. “The story was accurate, my reporter quoted only members of your client’s family who were speaking in public, there was no request for confidentiality, and nobody told her their comments were off the record.”
All true enough, thought Lucy, but she knew she had taken advantage of the Stoughton boys’ youth and inexperience, as well as Ike’s emotional state. If they had known she was going to record their outbursts in the court lobby and print them in the paper, they might have behaved differently. Lucy wasn’t completely comfortable with the story. Even though she really thought getting Abby’s situation out into the open was the best thing for the girl, she couldn’t help feeling guilty about exposing the Stoughton family’s tragedy.
“There was absolutely no malicious intent, no desire to defame or expose the Stoughton family to ridicule,” said Ted. “This was a public place, and many other people witnessed the scene. We printed a truthful and accurate account of the event, which you can be sure is more than the local gossipmongers will do. We really did the Stoughtons a service by presenting a truthful, unembellished account that demonstrates the highest journalistic ethics.”
You had to love Ted, thought Lucy. He was not only defending her, but he was also trying to convince the lawyer that she’d done the family a favor. If only she felt that way.
“Journalistic ethics is not an oxymoron!” exclaimed Ted. “And I look forward to seeing you in court!” he yelled, slamming down the phone.
He sat for a moment, hand on the receiver, before he swiveled around to face Lucy and Phyllis. Ted usually had plenty to say, but this time he limited himself to one word. “Damn,” he said.
Chapter Twenty-three
The weeks before Halloween passed in a blaze of color as one syrupy golden day followed another, and a steady stream of leaf-peeping tourists passed through town, shopping for antiques, maple syrup, pumpkins, and cider. It was Lucy’s favorite time of year: She loved the nip in the morning air, the crunch of leaves beneath her feet, and the comfort of slipping into a favorite sweater. Adding poignancy to her pleasure was the knowledge that these fine October days were fleeting and gray November would arrive like a cold, wet blanket.
For the moment, she was concentrating on what the poet called “this season of mellow fruitfulness.” Even Ike Stoughton seemed to have regained a sense of equilibrium. Maybe the brief stay in the county jail brought Ike to his senses, or maybe he was coming to terms with his grief, but he seemed to have ceased his campaign against witchcraft and there was no more talk of a libel suit.
A few days before Halloween the girls reported that Abby had returned to school. “She looks much better, Mom,” reported Zoe. Lucy responded with mixed emotions. She was glad the girl had recovered but she really didn’t want her daughters getting involved with the Stoughtons again. She expected Sara and Zoe would want to visit and braced for an argument, but the girls never brought it up.
When the big day finally rolled around, she was determined to make the most of it and was in a festive mood as she dressed for the party. She didn’t have the first idea about how to wear a wig, so she went for the obvious and plopped it on her head like a hat, tucking the stray bits of her own hair underneath. She was busy poking a particularly stubborn lock out of sight when Bill appeared behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist.
“You look good in long hair,” he said, pulling her against him. “Why don’t you let your hair grow?”
Lucy looked at her reflection, thinking she was a very poor imitation of Diana. She was shorter and wider, too, which was actually fortunate, because her width took up most of the stretchy skirt’s extra length, and the cheap polyester wig with long ringlets that cascaded over her shoulders was way too much hair. She thought it made her look like Chewbacca.
“I’m not tall enough for long hair,” she said.
“I think it looks nice,” said Bill, his hands straying over her body. “And I like this dress too. It feels silky. How come you always wear pants?”
“I don’t always wear pants,” said Lucy, reaching a finger under the wig to scratch. The darn thing was itchy, and heavy to boot. And it smelled funny.
“When was the last time you wore a skirt?” asked Bill.
Lucy scratched harder, trying to remember. He did have a point—she almost always wore jeans, because they were comfortable and practical for her busy life. “The Finches Christmas party,” she said triumphantly, retrieving the memory. “I wore a red silk blouse and my little black skirt.”
“I remember,” said Bill, lifting the fake hair off her neck so he could nuzzle it. “You looked sexy. Just like you look sexy now.”
“Down, boy,” she said, pulling away. “I’m going to be late for the party.”
“Be late,” he coaxed.
The party was in full swing when Lucy arrived at the community center, where the DJ was playing the “Monster Mash” at top volume. It seemed as if every kid in town was there, most dressed in costumes. Thomas the Tank Engine was popular with the youngest boys, and there were quite a few Spider-Mans and Supermans, and Transformers too. The girls were mostly princesses, though there were also a number of witches in pointy black hats. Lucy herself was wearing a witch’s hat, having given up on the itchy wig. The long skirt was a nuisance, however, as she had to be careful not to trip on the hem.
“It’s a
bout time you got here,” chided Pam when Lucy approached her to ask how she could help. “Is that some new makeup you’re wearing?”
Lucy’s hand flew to her face, which felt quite warm. “No makeup,” said Lucy, smiling to herself.
“Well, you look fabulous,” said Pam. “Can you relieve Sue, over at the ball toss? I need her to put out her black punch.”
“Sure,” said Lucy.
Sue was off in a far corner where a kid-sized basketball hoop topped with the silhouette of a black cat with an arched back had been set up. Each kid got three tries to make a basket, and everybody got a tiny Tootsie Roll prize.
Other games were set up around the perimeter of the room. There were old favorites like bobbing for apples and pin the tail on the donkey, except that today it was pin the nose on the pumpkin. Rachel was ensconced in a pop tent covered with colorful scarves, seated at a small table with a silver garden globe, telling fortunes. Lucy’s neighbor Willie, who was married to a vet, had set up a petting corner, bringing along the family cat and her son Chip’s pet bunny, as well as some borrowed gerbils and guinea pigs. Rebecca was seated in another corner, in a rocking chair, and a couple of little princesses were sitting at her feet, listening to her read “Pumpkin Moonshines” and other Halloween stories. Most of the kids were running around, dashing from one activity to another, and some were even dancing to the Halloween songs the DJ was playing.
“It’s quite the scene,” said Lucy, finally reaching the ball toss.
“We got quite a big turnout,” said Sue, passing the ball to a very small Dracula. Turning to Lucy, she narrowed her eyes. “Are you using a new moisturizer? What is it? I’m going to have to get me some.”
“I think it’s the store brand,” said Lucy, who always bought the cheapest jar on the drugstore shelf.