Witch Upon a Star (A Midnight Magic Mystery) (12 page)

“Damn. I don’t think even Aunt Sally’s done that.”

“I had a lot of incentive,” I said, mustering a small smile.

I’d often thought what would have happened had I failed that night. Would Asher have been less inclined to take me away? What would my life have looked like had I remained Anna Olmstead? Would I have been a college coed rushing a sorority? In jail? Drugged out in some motel somewhere with a man I’d met the previous night? Any of those seemed preferable to my current reality.

“Are you okay?”

Tom’s voice shut down my pity party. “I’m sorry?”

“Are you alright? Do you want something to eat? A chair?”

“I’m fine.” I started grinding up the hyssop and rosemary in the mortar and pestle bowl. “Thank you.”

“So,” he said, sitting down himself, “the werewolves and vampires are really going to war? How’d it start? Who do you think will win? Does Lord Peter have a werewolf hostage yet or—”

“You ask a lot of questions,” I cut in.

“I know. I’m just naturally curious. That’s why I want to be a reporter for the
Washington Post
or
New York Times
, either one. Everyone agrees I’d make a good one. I just had an exposé published in the school newspaper about the cafeteria using expired canned goods. I almost got suspended, but my parents were real proud.”

“Sounds like they had good reason to be,” I said with a small smile.

The boy blushed. “So, are the F.R.E.A.K.S. really in DC? I’ve always wanted to meet one.”

“Well, I have, and if the one I met is any indication, you are not missing much.”

“Still. If I can’t be a reporter, my next choice is F.R.E.A.K. Traveling all over the country, saving people? That is so Batman.”

“I don’t know,” I said, adding the hyssop. “This town seems nice. Moving around isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“Neither is staying in one place. It’s so boring here,” Tom insisted. “Same old people, same old stuff day after day. Nothing
ever
happens here.” The boy paused. “So, really, what’s going on in D.C.? Don’t spare a gory detail. I can take them.”

“I can’t really talk about what’s going on because I don’t really know. I just volunteered to help because Peter and my boyfriend are old friends. Well, among other reasons.”

“Oh.” He paused. “What other reasons?”

“My, uh, mother told people we were descended from this coven. I figured since it was nearby I’d see what I could find out. If anything.”

Tom’s eyes lit up. “Holy double serendipity, Batman! My dad is the unofficial town genealogist.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! If you want to trace your roots, he’s the one to dig them up. What’s your mom’s name?”

“Well, she called herself ‘Astrid’ but I think her real name was Mary-Ann Maxwell. Or that’s the name on the marriage license I saw once.”

“And your grandparents?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never met them. I do know they lived around San Francisco twenty years ago. He was a car salesman … wait. His name was Buford.”

“Not ringing a bell, but I’m sure Dad would know. You can come
over and talk to him if you want. He loves long-lost relatives.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose.”

Tom scoffed. “You’re family, right? Family can’t impose on family. It’s the law. My shift’s almost over. When you finish, I’ll take you over to meet Dad. How long do you think the potion will take?”

“Um, an hour?”

“Perfect.” The bell on the front door tinkled. Tom frowned. “Crap. Customer.” He rose. “Be right back. I have a ton more questions for you, cuz.”

“Okay. Cuz.”

Tom bounced out to help the customer, leaving me with my grin. He’d just met me and already welcomed me into the family with open arms and a warm smile. No good deed goes unpunished.

I’d been inside palaces. Yachts. Castles. I’d even toured Versailles, but I had never seen any home more beautiful to my eyes than the Harmon home in Goodnight, VA—a hundred-year-old three-story white Victorian with a wrap-around, blue painted porch coomplete with white picket fence. A little pink plastic playhouse in the front with dolls sitting around a tiny table and a flapping American flag. Hell, when I stepped inside, it even smelled of cinnamon. I’d walked onto the set of
Father Knows Best
, only with more clutter and toys strewn around. A true home.

“Tommy, that you?” a woman called from another room.

“Yeah,” he shouted back as he shook off his coat. “And I brought a friend! She might be staying for dinner!”

“I-I can’t stay for dinner. I have to be back in DC by seven.”

“Nix that last one, Mama! Where’s Dad?”

A big-boned woman resembling Sally McGregor, curly graying brown hair, glasses, wearing a red apron, walked from the living room into the foyer. Her mouth dropped open a tad when she saw me. I was growing tired of that reaction. “Um, hello.”

“Mama, this is Anna. She’s here to see Dad. Genealogy stuff.”

“Oh, well, he’s run to the store. Should be back anytime. Hon, would you like something to eat or drink? I just made cookies. Snickerdoodles.”

“Thank you. Uh, may I use your bathroom?”

“Upstairs, last door to the right,” Tom said.

“Thank you.”

I scurried upstairs, away from prying eyes. When I caught sight of myself in the mirror, my mouth opened a tad as if I were silently screaming. If possible I was whiter than before, and the make-up had rubbed off, revealing the bruises again. What Mrs. Harmon must have thought. I’m surprised the woman didn’t shove me out the door right there and then. She should have. I did my best to fix myself up, but there wasn’t enough concealer in the world to restore me. I stared at the stranger in the mirror wearing my face. What was I doing there? Even if I did trace my family, uncles and cousins and whatnot, then what? I show up on their doorstep with my vampire lover for Christmas? Have to tell lie after lie about my situation. My past? I was wasting these people’s time. And there’d be hell to pay if I was late back to DC.

I found Tom in the bedroom next door sitting Indian-style at a tiny pink table with two stuffed
animals and a pretty, brown-haired girl with pigtails pouring them
tea, which was just milk. “Not so much there, squirt,” Tom told the girl. Her blue eyes bugged from her head when she spied me in the doorway. Yeah, not enough concealer. Tom spun around and smiled. “Hey! You’re just in time for tea and cookies.”

“Oh, I don’t think—”

He picked up the stuffed alligator to make room for me. “Come on. Bethany here makes the best darn tea in Goodnight.”

“Well, in that case …” Not wishing to be rude, I entered the bedroom and sat on the carpet. I had zero experience with children, so I was as nervous as she was. My crooked smile seemed to quell her fright enough. She poured me milk. “Thank you very much, Bethany. And thank you for inviting me. I haven’t been to a tea party in ages.”

“You’re welcome,” she whispered.

I sipped the milk. “Oh, that is delicious. Fit for the Queen of England.”

Bethany blushed. “Thank you.”

“Oh. Don’t want to be rude.” I picked up the alligator and touched his snout to the cup. “I think he likes it too.”

“She,” Tom corrected. “Mrs. Florrie. And that’s her husband, Mr. Boo Bear,” Tom said, gesturing to the teddy bear across from me.

“My apologies to the table. Lovely to meet you all.”

The little girl began babbling, I think to tell me a story, but she didn’t have the vocabulary yet. I understood every fifth word but smiled and nodded regardless. With the story complete, she grabbed my hand and led me toward her toy box, pulling out Barbies and shoving them at me. “Be right back,” Tom said, taking the chance to escape. Not that I minded. I spent the next ten minutes brushing doll hair and preparing them for a doll wedding. While Bethany focused on Barbie, she tasked me with choosing the bridesmaids dresses and hairdos. I hadn’t had so much fun in years. And every time that little girl giggled all the bad thoughts floated into the ether.

I wanted a child. I did. I wanted to feel it grow inside me. To nourish it with my body. To sing it to sleep. Read it bedtime stories about brave knights conquering evil. Watch it grow into a decent human being through my guidance and love. To have someone that was mine,
really
mine to love and receive love in return, no strings attached. But as I sat across from that little girl, so joyful and brimming with the light that only happiness and security can bring, I suddenly grew sick to my stomach. What if I had succeeded in getting pregnant by one of those nameless men? What kind of life could I offer my child? Being carted around the world, constantly surrounded by vampires who thought of it as nothing more than an hors d’oeuvre? That is if Auntie Christine didn’t smother it in its sleep. And Asher … even if I did convince him to settle down again, how long would it last that time? Shame almost brought tears to my eyes. What the hell had I been thinking? Did my selfishness know no bounds? I was no better than Christine in that regard. Bethany must have sensed my misery because she frowned. I shook away the negativity and smiled to reassure her. “I’m okay, sweetie. I’m okay.”

A door downstairs slammed shut, and Bethany immediately jumped up. “Daddy!” She rushed from the room with me a few paces behind. From the landing, I viewed Mr. and Mrs. Harmon kiss in the foyer below. “Hope I got the right kind,” he said as he passed her a grocery bag. He was in his late thirties like her, but short like his son with a receding hairline and a paunch over his jeans. Suburban Dad chic.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” from Mrs. Harmon.

Tom joined me on the landing as Bethany scurried down the steps to her father’s awaiting arms. “There’s my girl!” Mr. Harmon scooped her up and planted several kisses on her chubby cheeks. That brought a smile to my face.

“Hey, Dad,” Tom called.

Mr. Harmon glanced up and noticed me. After the initial sadly familiar shock, he grinned. “Well, hello.”

“Dad, this is Anna. She’s here to trace her family. Thinks she might be one of us.”

Mr. Harmon’s face lit up. “Oh,” he said, placing Bethany down.

“If-if you have the time,” I said nervously.

“Oh, he’ll make time for it,” Mrs. Harmon said with a cheeky grin.

“Heck yeah! Come on down,” Mr. Harmon said.

I followed the Harmon men downstairs to the study across from the amazing smelling kitchen. The study was even more disorganized than the rest of the house with stacks of books and stray papers everywhere. Above the messy desk was a family tree with easily a hundred branches. “Impressive.”

“My pride and joy,” Mr. Harmon said, gesturing to the empty chair.

“Hey,” Tom said.

“Besides you and your sister, son.” He got out a fresh notebook and pen. “So, what makes you think you’re a Goodnighter?” I gave him what little I knew of Astrid’s past, which he scribbled down with a growing smile. The Harmons
really
liked to smile. When I finished, he said, “This is great.”

“It is?” I asked.

“I think …” Mr. Harmon said, rising. He scanned the elaborate tree then grinned again. “Found you. Here you are, Miss Anna. Buford Maxwell married his second cousin Willa Scott and had five children, the third being Mary-Ann, your mama. And your mama’s sister Ruth actually moved back here and married Emma’s brother, so you have an aunt
and
first cousins in town.”

“So, she’s my what? Third cousin?” Tom asked.

“Sounds about right. Our family tree’s more of a tangled vine what with all the cousins marrying. Hang on.” Mr. Harmon dug around his ledgers on the floor. “Here. I need to add Mary-Ann to the notes. Your daddy’s name is Sven Olmstead, you said?” asked, writing it down. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“Not that I’m aware of. Astrid could have a new family by now, I don’t know. I haven’t seen her in over a decade.”

“All I got was that she ran away to San Fran at seventeen. Maybe Ruth’ll know more. Now, you said your dad passed. How?”

“Um, fire. I think. Ten years ago tomorrow,” I said, nervously playing with my hair.

Mr. Harmon’s eyes narrowed. “So, who’s been taking care of you, darlin’?”

“Um, I was adopted. Sort of. By a Mr. Asher.”

“Wait, you said he was your boyfriend earlier,” Tom cut in.

I turned as red as a tomato. “I … it-it’s complicated.”

Tom’s nose curled up as if he smelled rotting trash, and I flushed even more. I knew I should have lied. Whenever I attempted to explain our relationship it always came across so sordid. Mr. Harmon cleared his throat. “Tommy, why don’t you go help your mom in the kitchen?”

“But I want to—”

“Go on, son. Now.”

Tom rose and after an eye roll he walked out. The sharp sting of shame lessened when he shut the door. “It-it’s not as illicit as it sounds. I’m the one who … he didn’t—”

“Anna, you don’t have to tell me anything you’re not comfortable to, and it’s not my place to judge regardless.” He patted my hand. “I’m sure he took real good care of you. You seem like a lovely young woman. And now you have us too. Your Aunt Ruth will be over the moon. Really. She always wondered what happened to Mary-Ann. I should call—” He reached for the phone.

“No,” I cut in, even leaning in to block him. “I-I’m-I’m … I-I don’t know why I came or what I want or …” I chuckled sadly. “I don’t know what I’m doing here, Mr. Harmon. I-I-I have to get going anyway. I have to go or I’ll be late,” I said, rising. “This was a mistake. I think. Yeah. I’m sorry I wasted your time.”

“You didn’t, sweetie. Really. Just,” he said, rising as well, “just know if you need anything,
anything
we’ll be right here, okay? Don’t hesitate to call or come visit. We even have a spare bedroom. Our door’s always open.”

“You’re nice. You’ve been
so
nice. Thank you,” I said, voice cracking. A few kind words, and I was on the verge of tears. “I-I-I have to go. I have to go.” I rushed out of the small room only to be greeted by Mrs. Harmon and Tom in the kitchen. Eyes down to the floor, I muttered, “Th-thank you for your hospitality. It was nice meeting you all.” And I hurried down the hall, past the smiling family photos, and out into the cold light of day. I sat in my car and willed myself to calm down, closing my eyes and breathing deeply. What was the matter with me? I—