Witch on First: A Jinx Hamilton Mystery Book 4 (The Jinx Hamilton Novels)
Page 3
Festus was sitting on the hearth, warming his bad hip against the ever-present fire.
The temperature in the basement stays a constant “chilly,” and there’s always a fire going in the grate. No one tends it, there aren’t any ashes to be taken out, it’s just there. Since I’m the kind of person who can sit happily in front of a fire any time of year, I wander down there at some point every day, especially late at night when I can’t sleep.
I was a little surprised to find Festus alone in the lair, but then I realized that each of us, in our way, use the fire as therapy.
“Hey,” I said, “mind if I join you?”
“As long as you don’t hog the hearth, I’m good,” Festus purred.
“No problem,” I said, sitting down in one of the chairs.
When I didn’t say anything else, Festus fixed me with a penetrating feline gaze. “Something, in particular, you want to talk to me about?” he asked.
That’s one thing I do appreciate about Festus. He meets things head on.
“Are you in love with my mother?” I blurted out.
Both of his ears went up, and a thinly disguised look of shock came into his normally impassive amber eyes. He picked up his good back leg and used it to scratch his whiskers absently. He was stalling, which was as good as admitting I was right. He finished with his whiskers and just looked at me.
If you know anything about cats, you’ll understand that when they have something to tell you, they make direct eye contact.
“Yes,” he said finally. “I’ve been in love with your mother since she was just a girl.”
Now that I’d asked the question and gotten my answer, I had no idea what to say next, so I just went with the first thing that came into my mind.
“Does she know?” I asked.
“She knows I love her,” Festus said, “but she thinks it's simply the affection a werecat has for his charge.”
That made me wince. For the most part, I’ve put it out of my mind that it’s Chase’s job to protect me, but every now and then I have an insecure moment and wonder if that’s the source of his interest in me.
Festus instantly read my expression and made an impatient sound.
“Oh, for cat’s sake,” he said, “stop it. You’d make one hell of a lousy poker player. My boy isn’t interested in you just because you’re his charge.”
Embarrassed by my lingering insecurities, I forged ahead as if that little exchange hadn’t just happened.
“Why didn’t you ever tell Mom how you feel?” I asked.
Festus stared off into space as only a cat can.
“Chase’s mother died when he was just a toddler,” he said. “My Jenny was a remarkable woman. As long as she was alive, I never even looked at anyone else.”
“What happened?” I asked softly. “Chase doesn’t talk about his mother.”
Festus’ eyes tracked back toward me. “He doesn’t remember much,” he said, “just her purr and the way he’d sleep cuddled against her.”
That startled me. “You mean like a . . . like a . . . ”
“Kitten is the word you’re looking for,” Festus said, his lips pulling back in a Cheshire cat smile. “Can’t get your head wrapped around that one, can you?”
“Not really,” I admitted. “I didn’t know werecats can change so early.”
“They can’t by themselves,” Festus said. “The mother’s magic envelops the kittens so they can be nurtured as both human babies and cats. The maternal instinct is strong and protective in felines. We teach our young basic hunting skills early on. That’s what all the pouncing and hissing is about.”
I couldn’t help it. I did what any girlfriend would do.
“Was Chase a cute kitten?”
Festus snorted. “Little beast was an adorable ball of gray fur and big innocent green eyes that he used to get himself out of trouble every time he went straight up the living room curtains.”
Oh. My. God. Was Chase ever getting teased about that.
“Are there pictures?” I asked.
“There are,” he said. “Next time you’re over, bring it up, and we’ll gang up on Chase to make him take the albums out.”
“Deal,” I said.
A little silence fell over the room interrupted by nothing but the crackling of the fire. I hesitated to break the hush, but Festus seemed to be in a mood to talk, and I didn’t want to lose the opportunity.
“What happened to your wife?” I prodded gently.
“Jenny saw a little girl dart out into traffic,” he said, his voice going harsh. “Werecats are fast. Fast enough that Jenny threw the girl to safety, but the car hit Jenny. She could have changed and saved herself, but it happened right in the middle of downtown Raleigh. Jenny sacrificed herself to protect our secret.”
“Oh, Festus,” I said, my voice rough with unshed tears.
Festus looked up at me and let the sardonic mask fall away to reveal his grief. “Chase has her heart,” he said. “That’s the kind of fool thing he’d do.”
“Yes,” I said, “it is. Did you stay in Raleigh after she died?”
“We did,” Festus said. “My Dad was still here protecting your people, and I was on assignment to watch that turncoat wizard scum Irenaeus Chesterfield. When he lamed me, Chase was only 8. My father was getting old, and I was needed here. Chase’s life in Raleigh was . . . normal . . . or at least what passed for normal. I wanted him to have that, so I used the portals like a commuter train to come back and forth.”
“There’s a portal in Raleigh?” I asked in surprise.
“There are portals everywhere, and more worlds than you care to know about,” he said.
And on that point, he wasn’t getting any argument from me.
I had all I could handle in the two worlds I did know about.
“Your job was to guard my mother?” I asked.
“Your grandmother and her daughters,” Festus said, “not that they needed it. No one, and I mean no one, was going to cross your grandmother, Kathleen. She had so much power, your whiskers would curl just being near her.”
I shook my head. “And I thought she was just a little old church lady,” I said.
To my surprise, Festus hissed at me.
“Don’t go making light of your grandmother’s beliefs,” he snapped. “She was a fine and honorable woman. Her faith in the Universe was strong. It doesn’t matter what you call that Power That is Greater Than Us All, girl, it just matters that you honor it.”
I felt the blood rush to my cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Festus,” I said, “I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.”
The fur on his back lowered slowly.
“I’m sorry, too,” he said gruffly. “Your grandmother was my friend and my first charge. She still means a lot to me. What I started to . . . feel . . . for Kelly, that happened when she was just a young teenager. It wouldn’t have been right for me to pursue her until she was older and well, it all seemed disrespectful of Kathleen. I couldn’t make up my mind what to do, so I did nothing. Then the accident happened. You know about the accident, right?”
When Mom and Gemma were 15, they wanted to be cheerleaders and foolishly used magic to delay their arch rivals from making the tryouts. There was a car crash, and both the girls were killed. Mom blamed herself. I still don’t know all the details, but she had some kind of breakdown. She gave up her magic, and Gemma at least pretended to do the same, all the while honing her abilities in case she ever had to defend them.
That time came when Brenna broke into the store.
So far, I’ve gotten three versions of my family history from Mom.
Version 1: “Your Aunt Fiona is crazy, and there’s no such thing as magic.”
Version 2: “I’m a witch, and so is Gemma, but we abandoned our magic after we believed we killed two cheerleaders.”
Version 3: “Gemma didn’t give up her powers, she kept studying on the sly all these years, and my powers woke up again when yours did.”
Nodding at Festus, I said, “Yes. Mom and Gemma told us about the accident.”
“Then you understand,” Festus said. “Kelly was a teenager, and I was 70.”
“Chase is 87,” I pointed out, “and he’s with me.”
“And you’re twice the age your mother was then,” Festus said. “You’re a grown woman. She was just a girl and one who was in a lot of pain. To her, I was a friend of the family, the werecat who worked with her mother. I thought I’d let Kelly get older, that I’d try to help her, but then she met your Dad, and that was that.”
My heart almost broke when he uttered those last words. He tried to sound matter of fact — and failed. Festus had been forced to watch everything that happened in my Mom’s life from the position of “family friend,” when inside, he’d felt something else entirely. Then, he’d watched again as his chance with her evaporated thanks to my father.
“Festus,” I said softly, “I am so sorry.”
The old cat cleared his throat and turned his back to me to gaze into the flames.
“Don’t be,” he said. “It was a long time ago. I was playing with fire even thinking about breaking the taboo. Clan McGregor’s job is to protect the Daughters of Knasgowa, so that’s what I kept doing even though your mother had turned her back on her magic. I guarded her and Fiona. Then this fool hip started acting up, and I asked Chase to come take over for me. We moved into the cobbler’s shop, and that’s where we’ve been ever since.”
“This is why you don’t want me to get involved with Chase,” I said, “isn’t it?”
“Don’t put words in my mouth,” Festus said, still staring into the fireplace. “You’re both long past grown. I can’t stop you, and I’m not going to try. But what you’re doing is dangerous, Jinx. Mark my words. It is dangerous. Don’t be blind to that.”
At the time, I had no idea how much foreshadowing that conversation contained, but now with Fish Pike propped up dead on the front sidewalk, the exchange with Festus came back to me full force.
3
Tori and I joined Chase and Festus in the storeroom just as the bell on the front door jingled. Festus quickly disappeared behind the file cabinet, and Tori obligingly slid his coffee bowl after him. She dove back on the loveseat just as the Sheriff called out, “Anyone here?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rodney peering from the shadows between the liniment cans that guard the entrance to his quarters.
(We don’t like to use the word “cage.”)
I gave him a little shooing motion with my hand, and he retreated farther into the shadows.
Under my breath, I said, “Myrtle, are you listening?”
The lamp beside my chair flickered briefly. Good, everyone but Beau and . . . .
A pale ghostly form floated into the room.
“Beau,” I whispered, “what are you doing up here?”
“I am here because I do not wish to be excluded,” he said.
Which probably meant Darby was with him.
“Did you bring a little invisible friend?” I asked.
The words were barely out of my mouth before a voice whispered beside me. “I am here, Mistress.”
In case I forgot to mention it, Darby has his own super power. Invisibility.
“Hello?!” the Sheriff’s voice boomed louder from the front of the store.
“Sorry, Sheriff,” I called out, “we’re in the storeroom.”
Sheriff Johnson’s boots clomped over the wood floor, and he appeared framed in the doorway. His eyes immediately fell on the tray of doughnuts, lighting up with a hungry spark.
“I don’t guess there might be a cup of coffee for me?” he asked hopefully.
“Of course, there is, Sheriff,” Tori said. “I was just waiting to find out how you take it.”
“Black with two sugars,” Johnson said, sitting down in the sagging armchair opposite me. “May I?” he asked, gesturing toward the platter.
“Be my guest,” I said.
Johnson helped himself to two glazed doughnuts, tearing through one before Tori could get back with his coffee. When he saw my amused expression, the Sheriff said sheepishly, “My wife’s got me on a diet. I’m hungry all the time.”
“Your secret is safe with us,” I said, “just be sure to get all the icing wiped off your face before you go home.”
Taking another huge bite of sugary pastry and washing it down with coffee, Johnson said, “Okay, tell me again how you found the body. Chase, you go first.”
The Sheriff kept us there for more than an hour. He made Chase and me go through the “we opened the door and there was a body” story three times. Johnson even questioned Tori, who assured him that she’d heard nothing during the night. Her micro apartment is attached to the back of the store, and she fell asleep with her headphones on.
As I listened to the Sheriff talking to her, I knew he was half-heartedly trying to trip us up. I watch enough cop shows to recognize the tactic, but from what I could tell, Johnson didn’t think we had anything to do with Fish Pike’s death.
Even though it sounded like he was being thorough with his investigation, I suspected the Sheriff had another reason for keeping us so long. While we were sitting there, he went through half a dozen doughnuts and conveniently missed the beginning of the sermon over at the First Baptist Church.
“Okay,” he said at last, flipping his notebook closed and stifling a little burp, “I’ve got all I need.”
“Don’t you mean all you can hold?” Chase asked, grinning and pointing toward the mostly empty platter.
“Cops and doughnuts,” Johnson shrugged, “it’s a long-standing association. I’ll be back in touch if I have any more questions. In the meantime, keep your doors locked and be on the lookout for anything strange until we get this thing figured out.”
As he rose to leave, I said, “Sheriff, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” he said. “What do you want to know?”
“Mr. Pike wasn’t killed out there in front of the shop, was he?” I asked.
Johnson regarded me thoughtfully. “How do you know that?”
“There wasn’t any blood on the bench or the concrete,” I said. “He was dead when someone put him there, wasn’t he?”
The Sheriff nodded. “Good observation,” he said. “Yes, he was killed somewhere else and brought here. My best guess is that the time of death was last night, but the coroner will have to confirm that. Why?”
“I’m just surprised no one saw anything and reported it,” I said. “Last night was a full moon.”
Johnson frowned. “It was?”
“Yes,” I said. “Before I went to bed, I noticed the moon out the front window upstairs.”
Which was only part of the truth.
No, Chase doesn’t go furry once a month. He can change whenever he wants to.
But magically, all sorts of things can happen during that time. Even people who don’t believe in magic know about the full moon effect. Just ask the staff of your local hospital emergency room.
“Whoever arranged the body got in here quick and left just as fast,” Johnson said. “Damn shame this town doesn’t have a pot to . . . ” He caught himself and backtracked. “Doesn’t have enough budget money to pay for surveillance cameras on the square. They’d come in handy long about now.”
I got up and followed the Sheriff to the door so I could lock it behind him. As I suspected, word of Fish’s death spread fast in the small town. A growing throng of onlookers milled around the courthouse lawn. Once church let out and the lunch rush was over, there would be more. I didn’t want any of them getting it in th
eir head to come knocking on my door, even if we probably could have sold gallons of coffee to the curious. Some profits just aren’t worth it.
After the Sheriff left, I locked and bolted the door, made sure the “Closed” sign was in place and drew the shades down over the long panes. There were no blinds in the big display windows, but no one could see us if we kept to the storeroom and the rear of the first floor.
When I rejoined the group, I found Beau had reassumed his solid form, which is no small thing. Beau died in 1864 when Union soldiers ambushed his cavalry patrol in the mountains nearby. James McGregor, Chase’s grandfather and the master of the local Masonic Lodge, found Beau’s body and identified him by the inscription inside his ornate gold pocket watch — the same watch that still rests in the pocket of the dapper vests Beau wears daily.
Even in time of war, the Lodge honored its own. They buried Beau with full Masonic rites in the local cemetery. The gesture so moved his wife and daughter, they left him there at the end of the fighting, erecting a white marble obelisk in his memory.
Now Beau wears an amber amulet holding a single feather from the fabled Phoenix that allows him to move about in the world of the living. But the minute he takes the amulet off he reverts to his pale, bluish, wispy self, which he does at least once a week to go across the street and make an appearance as the local Confederate ghost, right at the base of the Confederate memorial on the courthouse lawn.
It’s been fantastic for tourism, and Beau’s dedication to his new calling explains the existence of the Briar Hollow Town Square Business and Paranormal Association — or BHTSBPA (pronounced “bits-pa”) as they like to call themselves.
We had to come up with some explanation for Beau’s presence in the store, so we concocted the “uncle from Tennessee” story. Tori used her wicked fashion sense to get him out of the uniform and cavalry boots he wore for 151 years and into proper eccentric uncle-garb. Regardless of the weather, the resolute Southern gentleman will not go out by day without a coat, but he’s finally comfortable in white shirts and vests for indoor day wear.