by Vicki Vass
“Yes, I was, Butch.”
“Why were you at the morgue last night?”
“I went to see Mrs. Lund’s body.”
“Why did you do that?”
I held my breath waiting to hear Mrs. Twiggs’ response.
“Because she was killed with a silver sword. I thought she might be a witch,” Mrs. Twiggs said.
Detective Willows burst out laughing. “Oh, Beatrice, you are a card.”
“Butch, look around you. I’ve spent the past ten years collecting vintage books, tales of the occult, spell books. I have healing stones, special herbs, and love potions. When June Loblolly told me the colonel’s sword was pure silver, I thought that whoever killed Mrs. Lund believed she was a witch and that was the only way to end her existence.”
“Beatrice, I don’t believe the witch part, but I do believe she was murdered. I don’t think a mannequin would just accidentally fall over and land on top of her, stabbing a sword through her heart. However, without a body, I can’t prove murder.”
“What are you saying?” Mrs. Twiggs asked, hiding her knowledge of the missing Mrs. Lund.
“I’m saying Mrs. Lund’s body is missing from the morgue. The security guard has no record of anyone entering the building. I checked the surveillance tapes, and nobody came in or out last night. And I checked back several days, and Mrs. Lund certainly did not walk out of the building. I had to ask you why you were in the area.” He paused for a moment. “Beatrice, it’s more than Mrs. Lund. There been a lot of unusual activity.”
“What do you mean, Butch?”
“At the cemetery by the River Arts District, headstones have been knocked over and graves dug up,” Butch said. This was new to me. I hadn’t known any of this was happening. He continued, “I wrote it off as kids getting into mischief but then the 911 calls started coming in reporting floating orbs in the woods, flickering lights, and whispers at city hall.”
“Is there something you’re not telling me, Butch?”
“Beatrice, I wouldn’t say this to anyone else but you. But I could have sworn I saw Annabelle. It was a flash of her out of the corner of my eye. I was walking down Biltmore Avenue in broad daylight, and I swore I saw her walking in the crowd.”
“Butch, that’s not so unusual. You miss her and think about her.” Mrs. Twiggs reached over and took his hand.
“No, it’s more than that. It was her. She didn’t turn around, but I know that profile. I know the back of her head. I know the way she walks. It was her, Beatrice. I haven’t told anyone else because they would think I was crazy or senile, but I knew you would understand with all the books you’ve read on the paranormal.”
Mrs. Twiggs released his hand and sat back. “Butch, there’s a lot more unnatural in this world than the natural. I believe our spirit moves on but also leaves traces of who we were. It’s possible that your wife wasn’t ready to move on. She misses you and is looking for you.”
Butch stared at the empty frame over the cash register. “Where’s your picture of Albert?”
“It fell and broke.”
“Do you ever have the feeling like he’s watching over you?”
“Yes, all the time.”
“That’s all I came to say.” He slid the chair back from the table and stood.
“Hold on just a minute.” She walked over to the counter that was filled with healing stones. She handed him a milky light green stone. “This is apophyllite. It will connect you with spirits.” She then handed him a clear stone. “This is clear quartz. It is the ultimate amplifier. It boosts the energy of any crystal you use. When you see Annabelle, even a glimpse of her, hold up the quartz. You’ll be able to look at her directly through the stone. She’ll be drawn to it. It will help lift the veil between you two.”
“I’m not buying into this.” He shook his head and then grabbed the stones, putting them in his pocket.
Mrs. Twiggs interrupted. “You miss her deeply. I know, Butch. Keep the stones in your pocket. No one has to know.”
He gave her a half smile. As he walked out, he reached over and petted my head. His plump big fingers nearly knocked me over, but I could tell he was a kind soul. Still I pulled away. I leaped up on the end table and said, “Mrs. Twiggs.”
“I know, Terra. How do we stop the black magic that’s awakening? What creatures are coming? What creatures are real? I’ve read every book on the supernatural and on monsters and myth. What is true, Terra?”
“There’s a little bit of truth in all those books. The monsters are the ones we create from our dark sides. They feed off our jealousies, our anger. They feed off those emotions. We put that negative energy out into the universe, and then it comes back to destroy us, but just as that negative energy comes back so does the good energy. We have to find our army, Mrs. Twiggs. The battle is coming.”
The silver bell above the door jingled. We both glanced toward the door to see Abigail and Charlotte come in. They were both wearing green army jackets. Abigail was carrying Pixel, Tracker by her side. “Mrs. Twiggs, check out what Char and I picked up at the thrift store. Pretty authentic, what do you think?” Abigail spun around, showing off her jacket.
Chapter 28
Fahrenheit 451
It was suppertime, and Mrs. Twiggs had once again made honey-baked ham, Pixel’s favorite. He was on his second, no, third helping. Charlotte and Abigail chattered throughout dinner while Mrs. Twiggs sat in contemplation. I also pondered the recent events and maintained my own counsel.
“So, Mrs. Twiggs, Abigail told me about Albert. Is it true that he’s a ghost?” Charlotte asked.
Mrs. Twiggs picked up the serving platter with the remaining ham. Without saying a word, she carried it into the kitchen.
“Terra, what’s wrong?” Abigail asked.
“Albert’s missing.”
“What do you mean missing?”
“He was taken.”
“Taken by whom, Terra?”
“By the same apparitions that tried to kill Mrs. Lund.”
“What do you mean tried to kill? She had a saber plunged through her heart,” Abigail said.
“Mrs. Twiggs and I went to examine her body at the morgue, and it was gone.”
“What happened to it?”
“Mrs. Lund was neither a witch nor a human.”
“What does that leave, Terra?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out tonight. Don’t speak of Albert. Mrs. Twiggs is very worried about him as am I.”
Abigail sat back in her chair. She put her iPhone down on the table. In a matter of a few minutes I saw her turn from a carefree teenager into the adult witch. The gravity of my words settled hard upon her. She had been avoiding the inevitable. She was the leader of us all; only she could protect us from what was coming. She had been running from that responsibility. “Terra, what can I do?”
“You can get back to studying your spell books and concentrate on sharpening your powers.”
“Yes of course. What about Albert? What can we do for him?”
“Help Mrs. Twiggs make the premonition potion and be careful with the hogweed. I don’t trust the dependability of Mrs. Owen’s wares. They are more powerful than she lets on,” I cautioned her.
“Yes of course.”
“Abigail what’s going on? It sounds serious,” Charlotte said. It was then I realized that she had been listening to half the conversation. I had forgotten she couldn’t understand me.
“Charlotte, maybe you should go stay at the estate,” Abigail said.
“I’m not going back there.”
“I can’t keep you safe here.” Sensing Abigail’s frustration, Tracker came and lay down on her feet.
“You said you would protect me.”
I looked at the beautiful Abigail just the age that Elizabeth was when she led our coven. Her shoulders drooped as did Elizabeth’s as though the weight of the world was truly upon them. The price of leadership is the loss of innocence.
Abigail went into
the kitchen to help Mrs. Twiggs make the potion. We adjourned to the sitting room by the fire. Mrs. Twiggs sat in Emma Tangledwood’s chair. Abigail walked behind her and placed both her hands on Mrs. Twiggs’s shoulders, who held the potion in her most expensive teacup, Meissen. It bubbled in the teacup. Mrs. Twiggs glanced down. A plume of green smoke rose from the teacup and momentarily took the form of the face of Karen Owen and then dissipated into the ceiling. Mrs. Twiggs drank the potion.
Pixel whispered, “Me no like” and then covered his eyes with his paws.
Tracker howled and then lay across Abigail’s feet. Mrs. Twiggs’s head slumped to her chest. She dropped the teacup. It shattered on the hardwood floor. The fire went out with a whoosh of cold air. Frost framed the windows. I could see my breath in front of me. My cat heart was beating twice as fast as a cat heart should. I smelled the electricity in the air. EMT. Electromagnetic. They were here watching. Mrs. Twiggs leaped from her chair. Her arms extended. Her eyes were milky white. Her hair blew back as though she were in a windstorm. She turned her head and stared directly at me. The voice that came out of her was not her own.
“You know the path you must take, Terra Rowan. The hunters are here. They’ve taken the ghost Albert. The creature that you call Mrs. Lund, she comes for the same purpose as they. You are the key, Terra Rowan. They will not stop until you lead them to it. No one is safe. Head south.” Mrs. Twiggs collapsed to the floor.
Abigail ran to her side. The fire burst to uncontrollable flames licking at the mantle. Emma Tangledwood’s chair caught on fire and then the reading lamp. Abigail tried to wake Mrs. Twiggs. In a matter of minutes, the entire sitting room was ablaze. Thick smoke filled our lungs. Charlotte and Abigail grabbed Mrs. Twiggs by the arms and dragged her into the dining room. They ran for a fire extinguisher, but before they could reach it, a fiery whip cracked and snatched it from the wall. The whip cracked again, knocking over shelves of old books that took to flames. The roar was deafening.
“Charlotte, we have to get everyone out,” Abigail screamed.
Abigail raised her hand. Mrs. Twiggs floated off the floor. The girls ran out the front door with Pixel, Tracker, and me behind. Mrs. Twiggs floating all the way out. We all collapsed to the ground, coughing. In the distance we could hear the sirens coming close. Mrs. Twiggs came to. She saw her beloved Leaf & Page burning to the ground and tried to run back in. Abigail and Charlotte grabbed her, holding her back. Abigail tried every incantation she knew, but none could quench the thirst of the flames.
We watched all night as the Asheville Fire Department worked to control the blaze and protect the adjacent buildings. It was daybreak. All that was left was brick walls and smoldering timbers. Mrs. Twiggs’s entire life had gone up in smoke in front of her. She sat on the bench across the street. She was wearing the blanket that the EMTs had wrapped around her after she refused any medical treatment. A handsome young fireman came up to her, carrying a clucking Henrietta under his arm.
“Thank you,” Mrs. Twiggs said, holding out her arms for the chicken. I sat on her lap, trying to console her. “Terra, I saw them. I saw the ghosts that took Albert. They were wearing Confederate uniforms. There were two privates and a lieutenant. I couldn’t make out their faces, but I could feel their hatred. I could feel their evil, Terra, except for one of the privates. He was scared, I believe, and sorry for what he was doing. They said they would spare our lives in exchange for you. They said they would give me back Albert if I gave them you. What do they want from you, Terra?”
“Those were the men that came for Agatha Hollows. They said they were coming to requisition supplies from area farms. Agatha told me they were witch hunters. They wanted to use her powers against their enemies. The lieutenant wasn’t like the others. He had a different purpose.”
“Terra, what are we going to do?”
“They want me to take them to the last place on earth that Agatha Hollows walked in her human form. I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because the magic that lays waiting there can destroy all of humankind. That’s the lieutenant’s purpose.”
Chapter 29
Witch Hunters
Biscuit Head was Asheville’s best biscuits and breakfast servings, short of course of Mrs. Twiggs’s muffins and scones. The ladies of the Biltmore Society sat around the small café, drinking tea and picking at dinner-plate-sized biscuits although none had an appetite. They rallied around Mrs. Twiggs.
“Beatrice, you said that they were wearing Confederate uniforms. Did you notice any special markings?” Mrs. Loblolly asked.
“Yes, June, they all had the North Carolina home guard patch on their sleeve.”
“That was the colonel’s regiment. After he was wounded, he ran the entire Western North Carolina home guard. Those men would have been under his command,” Mrs. Loblolly said.
“They weren’t looking for deserters or protecting the boarders, June. They were witch hunters trying to turn the tide of the war by harnessing Agatha Hollows’s power. Think of all the innocent humans who were abducted or killed by them believing they were witches.” Mrs. Twiggs swirled the cream in her coffee.
“But I’ve never read anything about the Confederates using supernatural powers to fight the Union,” Mrs. Loblolly said.
“It’s not something in the history books. It was a very secret task force.”
“I can’t believe my great-great-grandfather would have anything to do with hunting witches. The Loblollies have always had some touch of magic in our bloodline. My grandmother would tell me stories of clairvoyants, mediums. It wasn’t until my turning that I realized I come from a long line of witches as you all. My great-great-grandfather must have had some inkling that he, too, came from a bloodline of magic.”
“Maybe that’s why they were hunting Agatha Hollows. They believed that magic was real and that’s why he carried the silver-bladed saber. He knew from the folklore of the Appalachians that silver could kill a witch.”
Mrs. Loblolly stood up and pounded the table. “That’s enough. I won’t have you talk about my family like that. I’m sorry, Beatrice you’ve been through so much. Forgive me but I will not hear that.”
Chapter 30
Take Me to the River
I knew what I had to do. I knew from the moment Agatha Hollows disappeared under the bridge that I would have to return someday. The hunters had seen me. The young men—really boys—didn’t see the real me, but the lieutenant knew who and what I was. He has hunted me ever since. I’d have to say goodbye to my friends. I crept into Mrs. Twiggs’s room. She had taken over Mrs. Tangledwood’s master bedroom. She was still asleep. I nuzzled her head. She woke with a smile.
“Terra, I can’t let you go. I know what you’re thinking. It’s too dangerous. Not just for you but all of us. What will we do if we lose you?”
“You have Abigail; she is your leader.”
“Abigail is still just a girl. She’s not ready to take on that responsibility. She’s afraid.”
“Mrs. Twiggs, if I don’t go you’ll never see Albert again. There are worse things than death. None of you, especially Abigail, will be safe if I stay.” I knew this day had been coming, but I’d been selfish in my search to find my Elizabeth. “I’ve shirked my responsibilities to you, my coven.” I paused. “I was afraid.”
Before Mrs. Twiggs could answer, I leaped off the bed. Abigail was in the next bedroom, rocking in the chair by the window, staring into the distant nothingness. A book lay open on her lap. It was The Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving. Curious but appropriate reading. She snapped it closed and pointed it at me. “Terra, do you realize who?” She paused. “What you are about to confront?”
“Yes, Abigail.” I knew what the creature was when it was covered in flesh. It carries its evil now in the spirit world. Agatha Hollows killed the flesh, but she couldn’t kill the spirit. There’s only one way to do that in this world. I believe Agatha left that to me. “The creature is a Dullahan,
a headless horseman. It is the only creature that could break through the woods surrounding Agatha Hollows’s cabin and the enchantment Mrs. Twiggs had placed on the Leaf & Page. The whip it carries is made from the corpse of a human spine. His wagon is covered in dried human skin. When the Dullahan stops riding, that is where a person is going to die. It calls out the person’s name, and that is when that person perishes. He has come to call our names. There’s no way to stop him as a spirit, Abigail, he must die when he is flesh.”
“Terra, I can’t let you go. It’s too dangerous,” Abigail said. “You can’t leave me here alone. I can’t do this without you. I have so much to learn.”
I wanted to tell her that I would be back, but I knew it wasn’t true. “Abigail, you’re strong. You’re the strongest witch I’ve ever known. Everything you need is inside you. Embrace your bloodline.”
Abigail didn’t turn to say goodbye. She couldn’t.
There was one last room I had to enter. I stopped outside Pixel’s room, trying to find words to say to him that would make him understand. He was asleep on the featherbed, upside down, his white belly sprawled out, paws kneading the air, giggling. “Flutter,” he repeated. I leaped on the bed next to him and stared at him. What a wonderful creature this Pixel is. He flung his eyes open and leaped on me. We bounced in the fluffy down comforter playing like cats should. Then he stopped. “What wrong, Terra? Why Terra sad?”
“Pixel, I have to leave for a while.”
“Pixel go.” He tumbled around the bed.
“Not this time. I need you to stay here and watch over Abigail and the ladies.”
“Terra no go.”
“It’s important, Pixel. I’ll be back soon. I promise.”
All the joy flushed out of his face. I couldn’t bear to look at him any longer. I scurried out of the room, down the spiral staircase, and out the kitchen doggie door. Tracker was waiting for me outside. I rubbed my head against his chin. “Guard Abigail with your life and be nice to Pixel, okay?”