by Cate Martin
"What now?" Sophie asked, and we all knew she wasn't talking about more chores.
"Research," Brianna said. "The glow the school had in 1928 looked homogeneous, but I don't think it was. I think a lot of spells are layered there. I need to look some things up to get a better understanding, though. What are you thinking?"
"I think I'll search the whole house from top to bottom," Sophie said. "There are a lot of magical objects tucked away everywhere. I don't know what I'm looking for exactly, but I think I'll know it when I touch it. Or I'll come up empty," she said with a shrug.
"Are you hoping to find the trigger?" I asked.
"The spell would have long since dissipated," Brianna said.
"Maybe, maybe not," Sophie said. "Maybe there are other triggers for other spells. This is maddening, you know? That they can just keep laying traps in 1928 and we can just keep blundering into them 91 years later. I don't like it."
"Me neither," Brianna said. "Be careful. If you get any sort of sense of danger, wait until we're all together."
"Of course," Sophie said.
"What about you?" Brianna asked me.
"I'm not much use with your sort of research," I said to her.
"You could help me with the sweep of the house," Sophie said.
"I could, but I'm thinking I'll start with some research I can do," I said. "I want to head to the public library. I want to look up our mothers and the history of the area in 1966. Maybe I'll find some clues as to what happened here."
"What sort of clues?" Brianna asked.
"I don't know. Maybe nothing. But you've been all over this library. Is there any hint here as to what happened, why that was the last class when Miss Zenobia went on to live for another fifty years?"
"No," Brianna admitted. "I've always just assumed she got tired of teaching and retired. She was old."
"She was centuries old," Sophie said. "I agree with Amanda, something must have provoked that change. Something she didn't want to talk about after."
Brianna still looked skeptical.
"Look," I said. "Evanora and her group went to an awful lot of trouble to cloud our memories of our own mothers. Now we have them back, but none of us know a single thing that seems like a reason to take those memories away."
"Yes, what are they afraid we know?" Sophie agreed.
"Or are afraid we might find out," I said. "Sophie and I both came here in part with the hopes of digging up the past and finding answers. Clouding our memories stopped us from doing that."
"All right, I agree," Brianna said. "I'm just not sure the public library is going to help."
"Unless there are books here you haven't already paged through, I don't know where else to start," I said.
"Fair enough," she said.
"The library won't be open until morning, and I'm starting to feel a sugar crash coming on myself," Sophie said with a yawn. "I'll start the search in the morning after we finish the dawn ritual."
"Sounds like a plan," I said.
"I'm going to check a few things before I go to bed," Brianna said. "What time does the library close tomorrow?"
I looked it up on my phone. "Five," I said.
"Then as soon as you're home, we'll meet in our library and compare notes," Brianna said. "Oh, and remember what I said before about paying attention to your dreams. Memories could surface there that won't occur to our conscious minds. Keep a notebook by your bed and write down what you remember while it's still fresh."
"Great," Sophie said to me as we walked up the stairs to our bedrooms. "Tomorrow Brianna can comb through my usual anxiety dreams for hints of past events. That will be fun."
"No, the real fun will come when we get to my dreams," I said. "My dreams never make any sense. It'll probably be penguins ice skating to Rick Astley on an endless loop."
"Thanks for the earworm," Sophie said. "Like my anxiety dreams needed a soundtrack."
But when we gathered in the backyard at dawn and exchanged glances, we each just shook our heads. No dreams. No hints as to what we might remember that would be worth all of the effort Evanora and her witches had gone through to take it from us.
Chapter 9
It was a good thing that the library allowed coffee in covered containers or I would've never made it through the many hours I spent combing through every issue of the local paper from 1966, then 1967. Then 1968.
If anything had happened with our mothers, it was long after that photograph had been taken. But I had no idea when. Since the library was only open until five, I decided not to break for lunch. Being hungry didn't exactly make me more patient as I scanned headline after headline.
I almost missed seeing my mother's name, but I really hadn't expected to see anything on the page of marriage announcements. There was no photo, just a little block of text to announce the imminent nuptials of Kathleen Stinson, no family listed, to a John Olgesen, son of Sven and Edith.
Olgesen? Not Clarke?
I took a picture of the computer screen with my phone and sent a copy of it to both Brianna and Sophie, noting the date of that paper was January 12, 1968. I took another swallow of coffee that was room temperature but still bitterly strong then continued scanning, eager for more breadcrumbs of information.
But I couldn't find any. There was no mention of my mother again under either Stinson or Olgesen, and no mention of Lula Collins or Marie DuBois.
And that marriage announcement didn't answer any questions. It just spawned a ton more questions.
The librarian had just announced they would be closing in five minutes when I finally found what might be another clue. It wasn't about our mothers specifically. It actually answered a different question I had been having for quite some time.
It was a picture of Coco's family's house, not burned down as I had been told, or at least not exactly. It looked more like something next to it had exploded, blowing in the entire side of the house closest to the charm school. I could see dark streaks of smoke damage on the crumbling stone walls, but it looked to me more like the kitchen had caught fire after whatever had happened to that wall.
And yet the charm school beside it was completely unharmed. The oak tree outside the dining room window didn't even look singed. What had happened? And on the Fourth of July of all days?
"Ma'am? We're closing now," one of the librarians said to me.
"Oh, right," I said. "Can I print this real quick?"
"This article?" she asked.
"Please," I said.
"I'll send it to the printer. You can grab it at the front desk. It looks like it'll be three pages. That's ten cents a page," she said.
"Cool. Thanks," I said, tossing my coffee cup into the trash and digging through the pouches on my backpack until I found a couple of quarters.
There was still one other patron in the library, watching the librarian behind the counter scan a monstrous stack of books that looked to be largely about trains. I queued up behind him, the quarters held tight in one hand as I looked at my phone with the other. No texts from the others. Had they seen mine?
"Amanda?"
I looked up to see the patron with the train books looking at me, and belatedly realized I was looking at Nick's grandfather.
"Mr. Larson," I said. "Good to see you."
Good, but mostly awkward. What had Nick told him exactly? Would he say we broke up? Were we ever actually dating?
"Good to see you too," he said. "No books?"
"No, I-" I started to say, but the librarian was waiting for me with paper in her hands. I handed her the quarters then took my change and thrust it in my pocket. "Just waiting for a printout, actually."
"Anything interesting?" he asked as we walked together towards the door where the other librarian was waiting, key in hand.
"Yes. Actually, it's about the house that used to stand on the property where your condo is now," I said, showing him the first page of the article. "Apparently there was some sort of explosion there on the Fourth of July in 1968.�
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"Strange, I always heard it was a fire," he said, squinting at the photo. "But that wall does look like something blew it in, doesn't it?"
"It was before your time, right?" I said.
"Well, I was around," he said, his eyes twinkling at me. “I lived in Minneapolis before I joined the army. After the war I lived in Wisconsin, because that’s where my wife’s people were. No, I didn't move to this area until after my wife died. That would've been 1977. There was a home on the lot at that time, but it was a shoddy build from a substandard contractor. Pretty much sank in on itself within a decade. Then came the condos.” He tipped his head to one side. “You were asking about my neighbors before. Do you have a keen interest in local history?"
"Kind of," I waffled as we stepped out the second set of doors, out into the February evening.
Where I was promptly knocked back by an excited Irish setter.
"Finnegan!" I said, pushing his paws back down to the ground before giving him a scratch around the ears.
Then my eyes followed the leash to what I pretty much knew I would find on the other end.
"Hello, Amanda," Nick said.
"Hey," I said lamely. He was wearing a navy blue peacoat with a dark gray watch cap. His blond hair had gotten longer; I could see locks of it poking out from under the cap, twisted by the cold wind. He looked like he'd just come off the deck of a submarine after surveying the weather.
It was a good look for him.
"Finnegan and I shall head to the car," his grandfather announced, taking Finnegan's leash from Nick. "It was good to see you, Amanda. Hopefully, it won't be so long before we meet again."
"Yes," I said. My brain seemed incapable of producing more than that.
"You look good," Nick said to me, to which my response was something like, "ack."
I wished Sophie were there. I could really use a tree-load of snow dumped on top of me, swallowing me up. What was wrong with me?
"What was that?" Nick asked, the look in his eyes something between confused and amused.
"Thanks," I said, pulling myself together.
"You've got a glow to you," he said. Then, half teasing but also half serious, "is that a magic thing?"
"No," I said. Sophie might have that sort of magic, but it would never be my gift. "Maybe it's from the exercise. I got some weights for Christmas, and I've been lifting."
"Oh," he said, looking me over. But in my winter coat, there was no way he could tell if I had put on any muscle. "Does that help with the magic?"
"Actually, yes," I said. "I lift heavy. That takes a lot of focus and discipline. Breathing is very important. That translates to other things. But I'm sure you know that."
"Yes, I have a little experience with that," he said. "I confess I was getting a little worried. I hadn't seen you around in quite some time."
I felt my cheeks flush. He had been looking out for me? "Well, it's winter. I've mostly been indoors."
"But everything is going okay?" he asked. "You've not been in danger?"
"Nothing I couldn't handle," I said, which came really close to not being true.
"No more murders?"
"Not in this time," I said, and I knew he knew I was hedging every answer. He was about to ask me something else when a blast of car horn drowned him out. He turned, and we both looked to where his car was parked across the lot under one of the lights. His grandfather gave us an apologetic look as he corralled the Irish setter back into the back seat of the car.
"Finnegan is anxious to go," I said.
"Do you want a lift?" he asked.
"No," I said. "I have some thinking to do, and it's not so cold tonight, so I think I'll have a walk. Thank you, though."
"Of course," he said with a small smile. "See you."
"Yes, see you," I said. He turned and started walking towards the car. I slipped the backpack straps off my shoulders and dropped it at my feet, zipping it open to put the printout inside, then dropping the dimes back into a side pouch. But I was watching Nick out of the corner of my eye. I saw him look back at me no less than three times. Each time he saw me still watching him, seeing him looking back, and he'd give a little wave, and I'd wave back. I think by the time he got back to his car, we were both thoroughly embarrassed and yet each incapable of being the first one to leave.
But then he got into the car and pulled away with one last wave, and I was alone in the softly falling snow.
How often had he been thinking about me in the last few months anyway? Just how many times had he hoped to run into me on the sidewalk in front of our houses?
Was he finding a way to be cool with who I was and what I did?
I bit down on my own lip then thrust my hands into my coat pockets and started the walk home. I didn't want to be wondering such things. It felt like a betrayal of Edward.
And yet, hadn't I pretty much decided I could never be with Edward? And if I wasn't with Edward, why not be with Nick?
No, that didn't feel right. Somehow, it didn't feel fair to either of them. Edward wasn't so easily replaced as all that, and Nick didn't deserve to be thought of as a substitute for someone else.
They were both better off without me and all the trouble I brought with me. And I'd probably be better off with a nest of kittens like Brianna.
But unlike Brianna, I didn't think that'd be enough for me.
And maybe this relationship confusion was a family trait. Who was this John Olgesen my mother was married to in the 60s? And who was Clarke, he of no known first name, who had died by her side in the 90s? Had she loved one or the other or both?
Which one was my father?
It was a good thing I wasn't sharing the sidewalk with other pedestrians. The growling aloud I was doing in response to my own frustrating thoughts would be raising some alarms, I was sure.
Still, why was everything getting more complicated the more I tried to make it simple? It couldn't be this hard to decide what decade I wanted to live out my life in, and with which guy?
Okay, maybe it was kind of hard. I was pretty sure the intricacies of time travel gave anyone who meddled in it epic headaches.
No, Sophie had the right plan of attack. First, deal with this coven of witches who were somehow attacking us across decades of time then second, find a work/life balance.
Somehow, the second felt more impossible than the first.
Chapter 10
When I got to the library, I found Sophie already there with Brianna, waiting for me. Brianna had managed to clear enough space on one end of her massive table to accommodate a tray of tea and sandwiches. I must have just missed Mr. Trevor, as curls of steam were still rising up from the pile of sandwiches, and I could smell the roasted chicken from the night before making an encore appearance.
"Anything good?" Sophie asked as I slid into a chair unencumbered with stacks of Brianna's books. Brianna poured a cup of tea for me, but my attempts to reach for a sandwich were hampered by a small ball of fur lunging into my lap.
"Hey, Duke," I said, scratching around the white cat's over-sized ears. He purred loudly, closing his mismatched eyes in pleasure.
"Here," Brianna said, putting a plate with a couple of sandwiches in easy reach.
"Thanks," I said. "I did find a few things, but I'm not sure how helpful they are." I pulled the printouts out of my bag and explained about the marriage announcement and then the news story. Brianna examined the blurry newspaper photo then handed it to Sophie, who shifted the sleeping Ziggy from one shoulder to another before taking it.
"It doesn't tell us much," she said. "Something happened, and it looks like magic, but is it anything to do with our mothers or the time portal? It could be something else entirely."
"It gives us a date," I said. "But whether that date connects to anything else, who knows?"
"Data points are always good," Brianna said. "I'll add it to the timeline." She got up from the table, Jones trotting beside her as she brushed past the back of my chair. I saw something new in h
er little space: an old chalkboard, as big as a section of classroom chalkboard but on its own rolling frame. I couldn't quite see what was on it in the dim, mostly downward-directed light of the library, but when she wrote down the date from the newspaper, I could tell it was indeed a timeline.
"I'm going to make it a separate line," she decided, drawing another horizontal line across the board a few inches above the one that was already there.
"Separate timelines," I groaned. "That's always when time travel gets complicated, doesn't it?"
"It might not be separate," Brianna said. "In fact, I don't think it is. But that's just an intuition. I don't want to write it down as known fact when it isn't one, quite."
"Sure," Sophie said, then caught my eye and gave me a shrug and a smile. Neither of us was ever going to understand this stuff the way Brianna did. But if she thought such distinctions had a purpose, who were we to argue?
"I do wonder about the marriage announcement, though," I said. "Is this Olgesen my real father? Is he the one who died the day I was born, or was that someone else?"
"Maybe we can look into that more later," Sophie said. Brianna was still looking at the board as if hoping a pattern would emerge from the mostly blank space. Sophie went on, "you could get DNA testing done to find out, if you exhume the body. It could be this Olgesen guy was just wearing a shirt that said Clarke on it."
"Or it could be he stayed in the 60s when my mother jumped forward in time," I said. "If that's actually even what happened."
"I think that's the most likely explanation," Brianna said as she went back to her chair to take a sip of tea.
"Did you have a more fruitful day than me?" I asked.
Brianna sighed. "That depends on what you mean by fruitful. I might have uncovered too much information."
"What do you mean?" Sophie asked.
"I wanted to figure out what spells might have been done, starting with basic cloaking and warding spells," she said, pulling her little notebook out of her pocket. "I started by listing everything I thought I saw going on when we looked around in 1928. But I found way too many things that matched my observations. I think there might have been dozens of spells all layered and intertwined and covering each other up. Most of them wouldn't even have served any real purpose."