Page 2

CHAPTER TWO

I closed up and headed back to my aunt’s house at five on the dot. As I turned onto Sequoia Drive, a light snow began to fall. When we got snow in the Pacific Northwest, it more often than not came in January and February, rather than December. Predictions called for a couple inches, with more due come the weekend. We were in a La Nina year and that made a difference.

I eased into the driveway. Astra’s car was there, and the lights were on in the snug one-story, four-bedroom rambler. The front door light was on, which was helpful. It was still dark come early evening and, with the cloud cover, it seemed even darker.

I crossed the strip of lawn to the porch and stopped under the light to look for my keys. But Dahlia—Astra’s dog—began to bark and my aunt opened the door, peeking out.

“I thought it might be you,” she said. “Get back! Dahlia, go into the kitchen,” she said, as Dahlia poked her head out. The Pomeranian was feisty, and she could be a holy terror when she wanted to. But she had learned right away that getting in a Maine Coon’s face wasn’t the best idea, especially when that Maine Coon outweighed her three times over. Dahlia gave me the once over and, apparently satisfied, retreated.

“You sure have her trained well,” I said.

“I’d better,” Astra said. “Untrained poms are nasty little creatures.” She stood back as I opened the screen door and entered the foyer. I closed the door, shrugged out of my jacket, and then unzipped my boots and sat them on the shoe rack. I followed her into the kitchen and settled on one of the counter stools.

Miss P. came racing in, bounced up on the counter. She promptly gave my aunt a what are you going to do about it look.

Astra laughed. “I like her,” she said, reaching out to scritch under Miss P.’s chin. “I’ve never had a cat before,” she said.

“I haven’t either. I wanted to, but…”

“I know, I know. Sara and I forbade it. We always had dogs. Cats seemed pretty high maintenance,” Astra said. “I’m sorry, now. I think we missed a lot of fun. At least you had dogs to play with, but now…I’d change my mind if I could and tell you yes.” She handed me a spoonful of the sauce she was working on.

I tasted it. Tomatoey, a little spice, a little wine, and sausage.

“Yum,” I said, licking my lips. “Spaghetti?”

“You like?” She looked pleased. My aunt loved to cook, and she was a genius with flavors. She was a kitchen witch, and it showed.

“I like, very much.” I pulled Miss P. over to me and rubbed my face in her fur. She smelled safe and warm, and the moment my skin touched her fur, I relaxed. “Thank gods I still have her,” I said. “I need to call the insurance company tomorrow and ask what the hold up on the check is. I should be getting it any day now.”

“You know you can stay here as long as you need to,” Astra said, putting the lid back on the sauce. “I like having you around. Dinner will be ready in about an hour. What are you doing tonight?”

“I know you don’t mind having me here, but I need to put down some roots again. I guess, if I had to have a house fire, it was the right time. With no job, I’d have had to sell the house anyway,” I said. “As far as tonight, I actually had a client sign with me today, so I’m going to look over her form and start the process. I have two tarot readings booked for tomorrow. Business will pick up as I become established, but I hate these interim times.”

I slid off the stool and gave her a kiss. At five-ten, Astra stood five inches taller than me, and she was one of those women who walked into the room and immediately commanded attention. She wasn’t what you’d call regal, but she had charisma, and she never feared to show anyone exactly who she was. At 78, she looked about twenty years younger. Given witches had a longer lifespan than humans, my aunt looked right about her age for our kind.

She was still active, and she loved the outdoors. Astra had a natural ability with food, the earth, and animals. She had tested with the Aseer, and the Aseer told her that her magic was aligned with the earth and with the home.

The Aseer, a class of witchblood who acted as both oracle and divinatory priestesses for the Court Magika, lived one to each shadow town. With a longevity beyond most witchblood, they were oracles—born for the job, like spirit shamans were.

After her test, Astra started at the Starlight Academy when she was seven. On the shores of Lake Eerie, the academy was near her home—where my grandparents still lived.

“Do you ever think about going back to Pennsylvania?” I asked. “I don’t want you to,” I added quickly. “I’m just curious.”

Astra shook her head. “No. There’s really nothing there for me. Even though your grandparents are still alive, they’ve never accepted your mother’s match with Johann. And the fact that Sara and I took Marika’s side, well, it pretty much assured that we were cast out, as well.”

Astra and Sara had visited here when my mother married my father back in 1972. Marika had met Johann on a vacation when she visited Midnight Point, and they fell in love. A year later, she moved across the country to be with him. My aunts came for the wedding, and they never left. Their fourth sister, Cassandra, had declined to show up for the wedding. My grandfather also refused to attend, and wouldn’t let my grandmother attend either, and my mother wrote them off.

The schism was formed that existed to this day. My grandparents had sent formal birthday cards to me when I was young, and a ten-dollar bill. They ignored me the rest of the year, and I finally—at fourteen—wrote to them and said to keep their money. I didn’t need it or want it.

“No,” Astra said. It’s pretty there, but I have my home, and my friends, and you.” She shrugged. “What can I say? I’m not interested in moving backwards.”

Feeling reassured, and loved, I headed to the living room to look over Brenda’s form.

A half hour later, I was staring at the screen, trying to figure out why I felt uneasy.

Brenda seemed nice enough. She’d been pleasant—I hadn’t sensed anything odd about her. A bear shifter, she worked for the city government as a clerk in the city zoning office. Her hobbies were tame enough: gardening, hiking, journaling, and baking.

The thing that differentiated her from my usual clients was that she was a widow, and had specifically asked for a man who was “different” than the man she had been married to. Given he’d been an abuser, I understood why.

“So…she’s looking for someone calm, laid back, and yet ambitious,” I said, jotting down notes. She had checked the box for “possibly” when asked if she wanted children, but I had the feeling she was more to the ‘no’ side, than the ‘yes.’ I needed all this information to feed into the database.

“Dinner,” Astra said, poking her head around the corner.

I set down my notes before joining her in the kitchen.

The spaghetti, garlic bread, and salad were on the table. I poured the wine, then settled at my plate. Dahlia was staring up at us, her big puppy dog eyes trying to convince us she was starving. Miss P. was sitting on the kitty condo in the corner.

Astra’s kitchen was painted a cheerful yellow, with a modern stove that looked like it was from the early fifties. Avocado colored curtains and copper Jell-o molds hung on the walls. She loved retro design, and it was all through her house. A Formica table snuggled in the kitchen nook, and the seats were basically an old fashioned booth. We ate breakfast in the nook everyday. The dining room table was reserved for dinners, parties, and dinner guests.

As Astra sliced the garlic bread, I served myself some spaghetti. As I relaxed, settling back, I had a sudden flashback.

July 18, 2019…

Dan and I were in a tiny Italian restaurant we had found, sitting in a booth. It was our first anniversary, and we were determined to celebrate, even though we’d had a major disappointment the day before.

“I’m sorry,” Dan said. He reached out to take my hand. “I thought sure we’d be able to get the loan.”

I gazed into his eyes. “As long as I have you, everything’s okay.”

Dan was gorgeous—at least in my eyes. He wasn’t particularly tall, and he worked out but wasn’t all muscley. He had long red hair, which curled down to his shoulders, and his beard was well-trimmed. We’d married late, at least in society’s eyes. I was thirty-five when I met him in 2017, and he’d been nearly thirty-eight.

We met at a Halloween Party, and I couldn’t stop thinking about him. He had made me laugh, with his A Christmas Story pink-bunny costume. The next day, we met again, both invited to a friend’s Samhain Ritual. He had a lot of magical energy, and I gravitated to him. He walked me home, and from that moment, we were inseparable.

Neither one of us had been married—and we’d both been in some dicey relationships. But rather than take it slow, we fell madly, passionately in love. Two months later, Dan proposed. We married the next year, on July 18, 2018. We scrimped and saved, and a year later, we made an offer on a house we loved. The bank turned us down the day before our anniversary because we didn’t have a big enough downpayment.

Dan brought my hand to his lips and kissed it. “I love you. I can’t believe how lucky I am?—”

“I’m the lucky one!” I laughed, ducking my head. “We’re both lucky.”

“Yes, we are. And I have a gift for you.” He pulled out an envelope and held it up. “My parents sent us an anniversary gift.”

“What is it?” I asked, frowning. Sheldon and Connie Weaver were wonderful people. They accepted me in a way that made me feel like I truly had family beyond my aunts. They’d never once complained when I kept my maiden name rather than took Dan’s.

“I’m not sure,” he said.

“Open it!” I didn’t expect much—Sheldon and Connie weren’t all that wealthy, but they were frugal and saved money where they could. But I didn’t expect them to spend their money on us.

Dan opened the envelope and pulled out a card. A check fell out of it. He glanced at it and gasped. “Oh my gods, I…” He looked up at me. “They sent us twenty-thousand dollars. What on earth?”

I caught my breath. “ What? What do they say?”

He opened the card.

Children, we know how much you want that house, and we know how hard you’ve been working. Please accept our check for a downpayment. That should secure you the loan you need. Enjoy your new home! And if, on chance, it’s been sold, find another and use this to help out.”

I gasped. “Really? For our house?” I paused. “Can we accept this? It’s up to you.”

Dan stared at the check for a moment, then nodded. “We can. They never do anything like this without thinking it over. If they gave us this for a downpayment, they really wanted us to have it.”

I jumped up and ran around the table, leaning down to kiss him. He pulled me onto his lap and stroked my face with his hand.

“I think…we can afford the lobster ravioli if we want it. Tomorrow morning we’ll take this to the bank and ask them to reconsider the loan.”

“I’m trying not to get my hopes up,” I said. “But…I love that house.” I hugged him again, then slowly went back to my side of the table.

The next day, we went to the bank, secured the loan, and put down the money on the house. And we’d been incredibly happy there, until July 18, 2023, when on our fifth anniversary, Dan was hit by a drunk driver and died instantly.

“What are you thinking about?” Astra asked. She handed me the salad.

I absently shook my head. “No thanks, I don’t feel like veggies tonight. The bread, though, please.” I paused for a moment, then added, “I was thinking about Dan, and when we bought our first house. We bought it the week of our first anniversary, thanks to his parents. And then, on our fifth anniversary, I lost him.”

She sighed, then reached out and brushed my hand. “I’m sorry, my child.”

I stared at my plate. “I miss him so much, Auntie. I don’t talk about it much, but I miss him. I never thought I’d find love, and then I did—it came out of the blue, struck like a lightning bolt…blah blah blah, all those cliches. Then, as quickly as it appeared, life snatched it away from me.” I blinked, willing the tears back. It had been two years now, but still, some memories hit harder than others.

Astra set the piece of garlic bread on her plate, then, elbows on the table, she folded her hands together and rested her chin on them, watching me. “I know you do, love. I wish I could take the pain away, but only time can do that.”

“I don’t know if I want the pain to go away,” I said. “That sounds like I’m a masochist, but if the pain fades, will my memories?”

“Oh, Maisy, no. Never. The memories will become easier. They’ll feel more comforting, and less painful. You’ll be able to smile when you remember him, which is what memories are made for. They give us comfort. You’ll remember that, no matter what, somebody loved you enough to live his life with you, and that love will never die, just because he did.”

That was one thing about Astra—no matter what, she had the gift to make people feel better. Whether it was someone who had accidentally mowed their prize roses under, or whether it was the pain of losing a loved one, she had the nurturing touch, and it showed—with people, with animals, and with plants.

I rested my head on her shoulder, and she wrapped her arm around my shoulders.

“Thanks, Auntie. You are so good to me. When you and Sara took me in, I knew that—even without my parents—I’d be okay, because you were there to take care of me.”

“Ssh, my dear. Now, eat your dinner. You have work to do with that new shop of yours, and you want to be well-rested.” She kissed me on the cheek, then went back to her side of the booth.

By bedtime, Miss P. had teased Dahlia into a frenzy, and Astra scowled as she affixed the leash to Dahlia’s collar. “You big ball of fluff, you realize that Dahlia doesn’t turn off on command,” she said, frowning at Miss P..

Miss P. lifted one paw and leisurely licked it, giving my aunt a stare that said, “What do you want me to do about it?”

Astra sputtered, then laughed. “Yeah, that’s about right. Cats,” she muttered, but she scritched Miss P. under the chin before heading out for a chilly bathroom break for the dog.

I whistled to Miss P.. “Come on, fleabag. Let’s go to bed.”

Miss P. hopped off the back of the sofa and followed me to my bedroom. I undressed and slipped into my chemise—a comfortable, black jersey knit. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and stopped. At five-five, I was curvy, although I called it ‘extra padding.’ I weighed one hundred and sixty pounds and wore a size twelve. I was comfortable with myself, and while I might not be athletic, I could hike and swim without a problem. I didn’t run because it hurt my shins, and I lifted weights on a semi-regular basis, but I wasn’t a gym-bunny. I didn’t feel any need to lose weight or change the way I ate. Dan had always thought I was beautiful. I could wear a gunnysack and he would have said, “You’re beautiful, babe.”

I sighed, slipping on my robe over my nightshirt. It was chilly, and Astra’s house was always a little on the cool side for me. As I crossed to my bed and slid under the comforter, I turned on the TV, then turned to my night table, where I kept a bottle of water, a couple books, my phone, and pictures of Miss P. and Dan.

“Oh, sweetie,” I said, picking up the picture of Dan. I ran my fingers over the glass. “Why haven’t you come to visit me? I miss you,” I said, my voice catching a little. “I wish you could be here. I lost everything—our pictures, my wedding dress, the first rose you gave me. Did you know I pressed it in a book and then kept it in my jewelry box? Now, the only thing I have left is my wedding ring.”

I looked at my hand, where the diamond and sapphire ring sparkled. “I’m so glad I wore it to work that day.”

And yet, it sat on my finger, a grim reminder that the love that had sustained me had vanished. I felt awkward when people asked me if I was married. I still felt married to Dan, and yet…I wasn’t. And whenever I told anybody that I was widowed, it always turned into this awkward talking point where I’d end up saying, “No, no…it’s all right.” I sat the picture on my lap and slowly reached for my ring, easing it off.

The moment I held it in my hand, I felt vulnerable and exposed. Shivering, I slid it back on my finger and kissed Dan’s picture. “I wish you could talk to me. I can talk to other spirits, so why haven’t you come back to let me know you’re okay?”

But, as always, there was only silence.

I set the picture back on the nightstand and, sliding out of my robe, I settled back to watch Allison DuBois use her psychic powers to solve mysteries for the district attorney. And, as I did every single time, I wondered why the hell she didn’t ward herself and her family.