by M. J. Caan
But to Torie, she was just Mom.
“And what about her final resting vessel?” said Doc Smith. “Do you know what kind of casket you’d like for her final rest?”
What an odd way to put it, thought Torie. But she had to admit she had no idea. She had only been to one other funeral in her life; one of Ward’s employees had been killed in a car accident on the expressway and she had attended the funeral with her then husband. That had brought out feelings of sorrow, but it was also something she had viewed from the outside; she had no idea what went in to creating the affair.
“Why don’t you come with me?” Doc Smith said, extending a hand to Torie and leading her into a room with a multitude of caskets arranged along the walls. They were made of various materials; everything from solid, ornate wood all the way up to shiny titanium. Various interiors from velvet to shiny satin to tartan lined them, and the card placards placed before each told Torie the finished and interiors could be combined in any combination. Taken altogether, it was quite overwhelming.
“I don’t mean to be crass,” said Doc Smith, “but if there is a price point you are working within, I would be happy to steer you to where you might want to be.”
Jasmin shot him a look and he averted his eyes, the slightest blush of crimson creeping into his cheeks.
“Well, to be honest,” said Torie, “I hate to say it, but I’m…I mean, my cash reserves are not what they once were.”
“Hush now,” said Jasmin. “You don’t worry about that.” She turned to the funeral director. “Money isn’t a problem here. But Torie needs to find the one that is right for her mother. Don’t look at the price tag.”
Torie didn’t say anything, just let her eyes feel their way around the space. She walked along, admiring the craft of the caskets and thinking how strange all of this was. That she was actually picking out something for the final resting place of someone she loved. In her time, she had furnished all their homes and had prided herself on her eye for picking the exact piece for each and every room.
But here, in this dimly lit room that tried unsuccessfully to be something other than what it was, she was at a loss.
Fionna took her hand. “It’s okay. Take your time. You knew your mother; you know what she would like.”
Did I? Torie thought. There was a time when she thought she knew her mother; but that was so long ago. That person was nothing like the woman she had just met only a couple of days prior.
She continued to walk around the space until her eyes lit on a casket that appeared to be made of a misty, blue metal, with polished steel rods and a silver insignia on the side. She walked slowly over to it and peered inside. There was a white satin interior with a small, matching pillow with just a bit of lace around the edges. As caskets go, it was quite beautiful and almost soothing in a strange way. She ran her hand along the polished surface, the metal cool and hard, almost like marble.
For some reason, she knew this was the one. It was perfect.
“This one,” she said, turning to Doc Smith. “This is it.”
“Excellent choice,” he said, smiling softly.
“How much—” she started.
“Uh-uh,” said Jasmin stepping up. “Don’t ask that.” She let her eyes play over the casket, nodding in approval. “It’s perfect. Alva always did love this shade of blue.”
“Well, if you’re sure, then come have a seat; let’s plan out the rest of the service. I have some paperwork for you to sign and we can be done with all of this.”
For Torie, the rest of the ordeal was like walking through a dense fog; stumbling along, arms outstretched, afraid of bumping into something icky.
How many people were expected at the service? No idea.
Would she prefer a graveside ceremony, or would she like to reserve one of the beautiful halls in which to have the ceremony? No idea.
This brought her thoughts back around to open or closed casket. This was the one that gave her the most grief. That her mother was beloved she had no doubt. There was no trauma to the body, so that wasn’t an issue with the viewing. No, it was just the thought of people, waiting in line to gawk at her mother.
No, not gawk; pay their respects.
She did not know these people in this tiny town that her mother had adopted. Or maybe that was the wrong way to think about it. They had adopted her. In many ways, as she was learning, they knew her mother on a much deeper level than Torie had ever imagined. Who was she to deny them final respects?
Fine. Open casket it would be. She would have to let the director know she changed her mind, as was her right.
Finally, after everything was decided, and the paperwork signed, she felt the tiniest bit of relief. Jasmin gave the director a card to charge everything to, and when Torie protested, she said she would hear none of that.
“Besides, it all comes from the same place,” Jasmin had said.
“What? What do you mean?” Torie asked.
“Shh. There will be plenty of time for that later,” Jasmin replied. “In the morning we will take you to the lawyer and get everything worked out.”
Torie was confused, but before she could ask anything further, Doc Smith walked back in with a folder containing everything they had decided on. He handed it over to her with a heartfelt shake of her hand, and a slight smile that told her while it wasn’t appropriate to give a full-blown smile in a time like this, it was enough to let her know that he was sorry for her loss. And even though she knew this was his business, she felt that he genuinely meant it.
As they left the funeral home and made their way to the car, Torie broke down one last time. Signing the paperwork to bury her mother meant it was final; it was real. Her mother was dead, and even though her ghost was still hanging out at her home, it was probably only a matter of time before that would be gone as well.
She was thankful for the handkerchief that Jasmin pulled out of the glove compartment and used it to dab at her eyes.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” Torie said, “and I don’t know when or how, but I’m going to pay you back for this. With interest.”
“Honey, you don’t have to worry about that. Like I said, here in Singing Falls, we all drink from the same well.”
“What does that even mean?” said Torie as she buckled her seatbelt.
“The finances. Here, as a member of our community, you don’t have to worry about money. You’re rich now.”
Torie thought she must have misunderstood. Jasmin probably heard about her life before her husband came crashing down and ruined them, financially and personally.
“No, not anymore. I don’t have access to that kind of money anymore.”
“Not what you had in your old life,” said Jasmin. “Here, you have inherited your family fortune. The income your mother was able to tap into…that every member of the community taps into. Being a member of a supernatural community that has existed for centuries has its perks. All our generational wealth is pooled into a single trust that funds the town and the people living here. You’re set for life, Torie. And so is your son. Maybe, instead of waiting until tomorrow, we’ll swing by the lawyer’s office and get you set up now.”
Torie was stunned, unsure how to react.
“Oh, but one thing,” added Jasmin, “the lawyer is a vampire. And he has a thing for witches, so…watch your throat around him.”
She threw her head back and roared in laughter as she peeled out of the parking lot.
14
The lawyer’s office was yet another posh Victorian, this time right on Main Street. It was set back with a stone walkway that led to an impressive, forest-green double door. Once inside, the receptionist smiled politely and asked the women to have a seat while she walked into the back to let the firm’s owner know there were visitors. Torie noticed a vase on the receptionist’s desk that was filled with an array of what looked like dead sticks. Probably a vampire thing, and she was too emotionally worn out to inquire if she was right.
Th
e fact that they were able to just walk right in impressed Torie. The lawyers she knew would never have allowed that; well, not unless you had them on a seven-figure retainer the way Ward once did.
The receptionist returned, her perma-smile fixed in place as she bade them to follow her into the back office. As soon as the door shut behind her, Jasmin placed both hands firmly on the desk of a short, lean man with round wire-rimmed glasses. She leaned in aggressively.
“What the hell, Arnold, we’ve just learned that vampires don’t need an invite to enter someone’s house? Is that true?”
His hesitation told them all the answer to that question.
“And who would have told you that?” Arnold said, his eyes wide behind the glasses. “Let me guess…you’ve been talking to those pesky dogs, haven’t you?”
Jasmin rolled her eyes. “Not the point. The point is you were the one who told us vampires could only enter your home if you first invited them in.”
“I might have overstated that,” he said coyly, smiling at the witch. “But it was for your own peace of mind. I saw the way everyone in this town looked at me when I first arrived.”
“Yeah, well, no more lies, okay? This town is built on trust.”
Arnold nodded before slowly seeping his gaze over to Torie. “As you wish, Jasmin. Now, what can I do for you?”
“This is Alva’s daughter, Torie,” Jasmin said. “She needs to be set up.”
At once, Arnold’s demeanor changed. He stood, extending his hand to Torie in greeting. “I am so sorry to hear of your mother’s passing. My thoughts are with you.”
Was it still a ‘passing’ if the person was murdered? she wondered. She took his hand, noting it was both cold and hard; like a piece of steel that was covered in skin.
“Thank you,” she said, instinctively raising a hand to her neck as she backed away.
Arnold smiled, his dark eyes wrinkling at the corners. “Let me guess, you were warned I have a predilection for witch’s blood.” He sighed, returning to his desk. “You make one confession during a game of truth or dare and look what happens…” He shot a glance at Jasmin. “And you, dear Fionna, you can come closer. I won’t bite.”
Torie noticed she was standing with her back pressed against the door, both arms clutching her purse in front of her. She narrowed her eyes and slowly walked over to stand next to Jasmin.
“So,” said Arnold, “have a seat and let me pull up some information here.”
Torie sat in the chair across from the large desk and watched as Arnold’s fingers danced across the keyboard of his laptop with blinding speed.
“So,” he said finally, adjusting his glasses as he stared at the screen. He turned the laptop to face Torie. “As you can see, the house is yours; free and clear. All property taxes, and any monies needed for repairs will come out of the main fund of course. You also have been added to your mother’s line of credit, and your name has been placed on her personal savings.”
“Wait, what line of credit?” Torie asked. “I’m still a bit confused.”
Arnold looked up at Jasmin.
“We told her the basics but figured it might be easier to see it for herself.”
Arnold nodded. “Of course. For centuries, witches have been putting their money and assets into a central account. It started back during the great Salem witch trials where they never knew when they would need legal assistance to fend off the charges from the church; so they pooled their money, sharing it amongst themselves in the event one of them were charged with witchcraft.
“That continued from descendant to descendant. Until here we are today, with the initial account now valued at…well, it is considerable. So, over a century ago, this town was funded using that account. Everything a town typically relies on taxes to pay, are paid from this fund.”
Torie’s mind swam trying to imagine how such a thing was possible. She came from a wealthy background, but the amount of funding he was describing was beyond her ability to comprehend.
“On a personal note, your family, on your mother’s side, has been passing down wealth for generations. They contribute to the greater fund, as all do, but they also have put aside money for all their descendant’s to use. Everything in your mother’s name now belongs to you.”
He reached into his desk drawer and withdrew a silver key. Walking over to a large safe in the wall, he put the key into a lock, placed his thumb on the bio sensor, and turned the key. Reaching in, he withdrew a small box and walked back over to the desk.
Opening the box, he revealed a white credit card with no information printed on it. He then turned to a small table that sat against the back wall, where a three-dimensional printer sat. Keying in a command on his laptop, he opened a slot on the printer and dropped the card in. Instantly it was pulled into the printer, and two metallic rods appeared from the side, firing ruby-red lasers at the card. They whined and whirred, crisscrossing one another as they quickly engraved the card with a single, tiny barcode at the base. When finished, the card exited the printer through the same slit it had entered.
Arnold plucked the card and presented it to Torie.
“This now belongs to you. It is keyed to both your account and the town fund. It can only be used by you. The card will recognize your unique bio-rhythm and finger prints. I’ll email you the link that will track any purchases and payments. Now, how else can I assist you?”
Torie was dumbfounded. “Well, what is the limit?”
“I don’t know,” said Arnold, puzzled. “No one has ever asked. I mean, the fund is well over nine figures and your personal share is…well, more than you could probably ever spend.”
They sat there in silence while Torie got her bearings. “So, you’re a real-life vampire, huh?”
Arnold nodded, not sure where she was going with that question. Torie looked at Jasmin who returned her stare blankly.
“If you’re a vampire, why are you awake in the daylight?”
“Because I prefer to be awake during daytime hours with most everyone else. If you mean am I able to move about in sunlight; no. Direct sunlight will kill me.”
“Oh,” said Torie. She almost sounded dejected.
“It isn’t him, Torie,” said Jasmin. “I can promise you that.”
Arnold looked at them, his brows furrowed.
Jasmin waved him off. “Forget it. I’ll fill you in later.”
“Well then,” said Arnold, rising to escort them out of his office, “it has been a pleasure. I’m always at your service, ladies. Good day.”
As soon as they were out of the building, Fionna gave a whole-bodied shudder, shaking her arms like a professional runner limbering up for a race.
“And what was wrong with you?” said Torie. “You barely spoke in there.”
“Vampires give me the creeps,” said Fionna. “It’s hard to describe. As a squirrel shifter, I’m a prey animal. And vampires are apex predators; even higher up the food chain than wolves. Something about him triggers my flight or fight response; only with him it’s more of a flight or stay in one spot and don’t move response.”
“And you,” said Torie, turning to face Jasmin, “how do you know it’s not him?”
“Because I know. He’s been a part of this community for a very long time.”
“How long?”
“Centuries. When he was human, he helped to hide accused witches during the Salem trials. He’s been an ally from the beginning. So no, he has nothing to do with this.”
“Maybe he can help us then?” Torie suggested.
Her friend shook her head. “No. Vampires don’t get involved in our affairs. They stand above it. If he were to get involved, it would send a signal to his kind that we are accepting and welcoming to them. The last thing a town of witches and…prey shifters…need are more predators living among us. When he came out of the closet, so to speak, there was an uproar in this town. Many wanted him banished. It was your mother who called for cooler heads to prevail. And she was right. He’s been
a stand-up member of the community ever since.”
Torie filed everything away in order to process it at a later date.
“Okay, c’mon. We need to hit the supermarket and the bakery. You’ll be receiving visitors after the burial, so you need to stock up.”
That was strange to Torie. The limited experience she had with funerals was that those who were not related to the deceased were the ones who brought by food. When she asked this, Fionna shook her head.
“No, that doesn’t happen here. There are so many different types of supernaturals, someone will bring something to eat that will inevitably offend someone else. But if the person hosting the affair provides the food…well, no one is going to complain because they are there to provide support. But don’t worry. You won’t be doing it alone. We will all be there to help. As a matter of fact, you don’t even have to do one single thing if you’re not up for it.”
Torie smiled and gave her friend a hug. Never in her four-plus decades on this earth had she known people like this.
No wonder her mother had been so drawn to this tiny town carved out in a huge mountain.
“Well, I do have a request,” Torie said as they made their way to the car.
“Name it,” said Jasmin.
“I think my mom would want me to have some of those elderberry pastries.”
They laughed and climbed into the car, heading for the bakery.
The service was exactly what Torie’s mother would have wanted. A small, intimate affair—if you could call a hundred-plus people intimate—without a lot of fanfare. Fionna had asked one of the wood nymphs to preside over the wake. Her words were lovely and made everyone at the ceremony smile as she recounted the many tales that involved Alva.
Hearing them, and the laughter they invoked, moved Torie to tears. Shawn had his arm around his mother and pulled close, fighting to hold back his own waterworks. They both wished they had spent more time with someone who had proved to be an amazing woman. Torie found herself hating her husband once again. It was his fault the rift between them had developed. It was his fault that Shawn had grown up not knowing his grandmother. She knew hatred would serve no purpose now, but for the moment, it warmed her in the early-morning, chilly mountain air.