A Familiar Tail Read online

  “Just like that? There wasn’t any more to it?”

  “What else could there be?”

  “Nothing. Nothing. Sorry, and thanks.” I tried to sound casual and failed. I also failed to hang up quickly enough.

  “What’s going on, Anna?”

  “I’ll tell you when I see you.” Because maybe by then I’d know.

  Martine paused for a full three seconds. I wondered what she was drumming her fingers on. “Okay. Take care of yourself.”

  “Working on it.”

  This time, I not only hung up; I stuffed the phone back in my purse and started walking.

  • • •

  I TOOK THE long way back to McDermott’s. The really long way, which went all the way through downtown and paused at the River House for fried clams and a view of the peaceful, beautiful, entirely normal Piscataqua River. I spent the entire meal resolutely checking e-mails and my HeyLook! page and Twitter and not—I repeat, not—thinking about witches, wands, spooky cats, murder or any old grudges Grandma B.B. might have left behind her.

  Right. I wouldn’t believe me either. But I did have the fried clams.

  By the time I made it back to McDermott’s, summer’s twilight had settled across Portsmouth. I was no closer to knowing what I could, or should, do about the mess swirling around me. I had, however, managed to gather enough nerve back together that I felt ready to resume my interrupted conversation with Valerie McDermott.

  Well, mostly ready.

  The great room was empty when I walked in. So much for all that nerve gathering. I puffed out my cheeks. Where should I try next? The kitchen? Valerie and Roger had to have rooms somewhere, unless they didn’t live in. I hadn’t asked, I realized. There’d been no reason to. But as I turned away, I noticed a glass-paneled door hung with a gold curtain and a brass plaque that read OFFICE.

  It also had voices coming from the other side.

  “Don’t you think I’d know if something was wrong?” Valerie was saying. “Julia hasn’t even met her.”

  Walk away, A.B. Just . . . walk away.

  Of course I didn’t. I walked forward. Right up to the door, keeping to one side so they wouldn’t see my shadow on the curtain. It would be rude to interrupt, right?

  “Okay, say she is really answering Dorothy’s summons.” The second voice belonged to a woman, but she wasn’t anybody I knew. “What took her so long?”

  She? She’s answering Dorothy’s summons?

  “I love Julia, you know that,” answered Val. “But she’s listening to her fears. Alistair wouldn’t pick the wrong person.”

  Julia? This put a complete end to any pesky misgivings I might have had about eavesdropping. In fact, I leaned closer.

  “We don’t know that Alistair’s picked anybody,” said the other woman. “We just know she saw him.”

  “He came to her when he hasn’t come to anybody else, including Julia,” replied Val stubbornly.

  “Okay, Val.” The other woman sighed heavily. “What if you just give it a couple days? Try to get to know her better before you rush into things?”

  “But we don’t know for sure how long she’s staying. What if she decides to leave before—?”

  “If it’s real, if it’s right, she’ll stay. We have to trust that Dorothy knew what she was doing.” Other Woman paused. “And we need to trust Julia as well.”

  “We could call a gathering,” Val went on doggedly. “Reinforce the summons. Or initiate a scrying.”

  “And we will. But . . .”

  I didn’t hear what came after that. I backed away, one step, two steps. I turned around and walked back to my room. Walked. Did not run. Did lock my door. Did sit down slowly on the edge of the bed like I didn’t trust my knees to hold me up anymore.

  Summoning. Scrying. A gathering.

  Magic.

  My friendly, smiling hostess and whoever was with her in there were talking about magic, about witchcraft, like it was a real thing. Not just in stories or on TV. Not just a weird feeling inside my head.

  I pulled the wand out of my purse and stared at it. Those women, those . . . witches were talking about Alistair and they were talking about me.

  I reminded myself that there was absolutely nothing wrong with an alternative religion or point of view. I reminded myself that exploration of diverse ideas and lifestyles was healthy.

  But once again, myself wasn’t listening. I couldn’t stop thinking about the wand and the cat and everything that had happened to bring me right to this house, right at this time.

  Dizziness washed through me. I pressed the heel of my hand against my forehead. What’s happening? I stared around the room. A river of anger and sorrow flowed through my mind that would not be stopped. How could I have liked Valerie, even for a minute? She was not normal. Maybe she and her friends, whoever they were, were harmless crazies, but they were crazy all the same. Belief in magic was not rational. It was most definitely not normal. Why was I even still here? I’d been right before, when I’d thought about leaving. I needed to be on the road, on my way back to Boston. There was nothing to keep me here now that I’d seen Martine. Why did I want to get involved in this place and its problems? I had plenty of my own problems. I needed to get back to work. My dad was still recovering from his heart attack. I needed to be there to help. What would Bob, Ted and Hope think if they found out I’d gone off the rails and started hanging around with a bunch of witches in Portsmouth?

  “Stop,” I whispered, but I couldn’t stop. I shouldn’t even be here. I should pack up and go. I didn’t belong here.

  “Stop it!” I gripped the wand. “Stop it, now!”

  Outside my window, something screamed. I jumped up and shoved back the curtains. For a split second, a skinny goldfinch stared back at me with beady black eyes. I jerked away, and at that same instant, a silver blur dropped onto the sill. The bird screamed again, outraged and way too loud for such a tiny thing. It launched itself into the air, two feathers falling away behind it like in an old Tweety Bird cartoon.

  Alistair, the silver blur, bared his teeth and hissed.

  I threw open the window and the cat jumped inside. I scooped him into my arms and buried my face in his fur. Alistair purred and nuzzled me.

  “It’s okay, Alistair,” I said to him, but we both knew I was really saying it to myself. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

  Somebody was pounding at my door.

  “Anna? Anna, are you all right?”

  It was Valerie.

  11

  ALISTAIR SLID OUT of my arms and did the snaky-curl thing around my ankles, unfazed by the interruption. I didn’t feel anywhere near as calm. My nerves were all ringing like Christmas bells. At least all those cold, mocking thoughts had evaporated. I was just me in my own head again.

  “What just happened here?” I asked Alistair. He blinked up at me, innocent and trusting.

  “Anna?” called Valerie again.

  “Just a minute!” I wiped my palms on my pants and stashed the wand under my pillow. I also opened the door.

  Valerie stood in the hall, breathing hard like she’d run up the stairs. Considering those stairs and her condition, that was pretty impressive, but not quite as impressive as the African American woman in the blue police uniform right behind her.

  “Hey, Valerie,” I said, and I nodded at the officer, who nodded back. “Everything okay?”

  “Uh, yeah,” she panted. “I thought, we thought . . .”

  “Are you all right?” The officer had that take-charge kind of voice you hear on the cop shows when there’s been an “incident.” I recognized hers as the second voice I’d heard coming from the office earlier. “There was some sound of a possible disturbance.” She said this smoothly, and she was casually looking over my shoulder, trying to see as much of the room behind me as possible without obviously craning h
er neck. She was only a little taller than me, with a lean, athletic build and medium brown skin. A spray of dark freckles decorated both cheeks. Her straightened hair was streaked with red and amber and pulled back into a severe bun. She was also in full cop regalia, badge and all.

  “This is Kenisha Freeman,” said Valerie belatedly.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Merow,” said the cat by my side.

  “This is Alistair.” I told them. “But, then, you guys know each other, don’t you?” Valerie and Officer Freeman both stared. I may have taken a little juvenile satisfaction in having startled them. Alistair, on the other hand, plumped his butt down and started washing a paw. The side effect of this was that the way into my room was now pretty effectively blocked. Smart cat.

  “Can we come in?” Valerie spoke the words slowly, and she was still looking at Kenisha when she did. Kenisha nodded.

  I glanced down at Alistair. Alistair picked himself up and strolled coolly back into the room.

  “Okay,” I agreed. I would think about the fact that I had been seeking approval from a cat later. Much later. Preferably with a strong drink in hand.

  I stood back to let the women pass. Alistair leapt onto the windowsill and settled down, tucking all four feet under him until he resembled a calm cat loaf.

  Valerie took the chair by the fireplace and rested her hand on her round belly. “So.”

  “So.” Officer Freeman went to stand by the window, which was, coincidently, the best place to keep watch on the whole room. Alistair didn’t even flinch. “Who’s going first?”

  I looked at Valerie and at Alistair. Valerie looked at me. Alistair closed his eyes and yawned.

  “Okay,” I said. “This morning after breakfast, I saw Alistair hanging around the back fence. Since Valerie said people were looking for him, I went through the gate to see if I could catch up with him—”

  “I understood that gate was kept locked,” remarked Officer Freeman.

  “Really?” I remarked back.

  “Really. There was a theft from the house not too long ago. A computer and a few other personal items.” If there’s one person who can beat a cat at a stare down, it’s a trained cop. I was out of my league here and I knew it.

  “Then what happened, Anna?” prompted Valerie.

  I took a deep breath. This was not something I had planned on saying with a uniformed officer paying close and professionally polite attention to every word. On the other hand, I had every reason to believe that Kenisha Freeman was more than your average officer of the law, and I very much wanted to see how she and Valerie would react to what I did say. “When I got up to the house, the back door was open and I heard Alistair yowling inside. I followed him.”

  I half expected Officer Freeman to pull out a notebook and start writing, like Frank had. But she just nodded.

  Valerie leaned forward, a little, anyway. “Where did he go?”

  “Into the attic. Where I found this.” I pulled the photo from New England Arts Monthly out of my purse and handed it to her. Officer Freeman came around so she could get a good look too.

  “You got into Dorothy’s attic?” Valerie took my picture. She didn’t look surprised or even concerned. If anything, she looked a little misty-eyed. She also said “got into,” not “went into.”

  “Alistair got in first. I heard him crying up there and tried the door. It was stuck, except then it wasn’t, and I got in.”

  I met Officer Freeman’s gaze, and we watched each other without blinking for a good long moment.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “I believe you.”

  Why? But I didn’t ask that, because that is never what you ask when the police accept your crazy story.

  “It’s starting to look like you were right, Val,” said Officer Freeman to Valerie.

  Valerie nodded. “She couldn’t resist that last, grand gesture.”

  Which was just about enough. I reached out and plucked my photo from Val’s fingers. “Valerie, Officer . . .”

  “Kenisha,” she said.

  “Kenisha. I am having a very weird day here. If you know what’s going on, please, tell me. Dorothy Hawthorne, a woman I never even heard of before yesterday, had my picture in her attic, on her altar, under a magic wand.” Which was currently under my pillow. That part I was not ready to confess. “Please,” I said again. “I really don’t understand any of this, and I just want some answers.”

  “And you’ll get them.” Valerie heaved herself out of the chair. “We probably should have done this as soon as you told me about Alistair. Just give me a second to tell Roger we’re going out. Can you drive, Kenisha?”

  Kenisha didn’t move. “Don’t you think you should maybe call first?”

  “No,” said Valerie firmly.

  “She won’t want to talk.”

  “Then she can tell us that in person.”

  Kenisha rolled her eyes. “I knew there was no chance of getting to bed early tonight.”

  “Umm . . . you’re going somewhere?” I asked, mostly to remind them I was still in the room.

  Valerie faced me. “Anna, I’m taking you to meet a woman who can answer all your questions. She won’t want to, and she’s not going to like you, but you two need to meet each other face-to-face.”

  “Oh, no. We’re not playing that game. If you know something, you’re telling me right here.”

  “Normally I’d agree with you, Miss Britton—,” began Kenisha.

  “Anna,” I said.

  “Anna,” she agreed. “But you may have noticed we’ve got some extenuating circumstances here.”

  That look of special reluctance must have showed on my face, because Valerie sighed impatiently. “Did something strange happen to you right before we got here, Anna? A sudden flood of forboding or bad feeling? Maybe even a panic attack? With a really strong urge to get out of the house or out of town?”

  My mouth opened but no sound came out.

  Valerie nodded. “You were attacked, Anna. Someone tried to cast a spell on you.”

  “That’s not possible,” I whispered. “Is it?”

  “It is,” said Kenisha quietly. “And you need to know what it is and how it’s happening. So, please, will you come with us?”

  I looked at Alistair.

  “Meow,” he said firmly.

  “Okay,” I said slowly. “I’m in.” Then, because normal was not even part of the conversation anymore, I looked over at Alistair. “You coming?”

  • • •

  IT WAS NIGHT; it was dark. I was not wearing sunglasses, but I did have the spooky cat curled up on a towel in a lidless Xerox paper box beside me, and I was being driven with professional dexterity toward Market Square by Officer Kenisha, with Val in the passenger seat.

  There is a special kind of tension that builds up when you’re near people who have answers that they can’t, or won’t, share. I’d lost my patience with it by the time we reached the second stoplight.

  “Merowp,” said Alistair, rearranging himself in his box. I took this to mean either Go for it or You’re on your own, human. Maybe both.

  So I leaned forward as far as my seat belt allowed. “Okay, I know we haven’t actually talked about this yet, but you guys are witches, right?”

  “Only witch cop in New England,” replied Kenisha without taking her eyes off the road. “In New Hampshire, anyway. Once you get down around Salem, all bets are off.”

  “And the woman we’re going to meet . . .”

  “Julia Parris,” said Valerie.

  “She’s a witch too?”

  Kenisha nodded. She put on her turn signal, before she reached the intersection even. She also waited for the couple with the stroller to get all the way across before she turned.

  “Which means Dorothy Hawthorne . . . ?”

  “Was also a
witch. In fact, she was the leader of our coven until she was killed,” said Val.

  “Died,” corrected Kenisha.

  Valerie’s silence was so thick, you’d need a blowtorch to cut through it.

  “So what does this make Alistair?” I asked. At the sound of his name, one of Alistair’s ears twitched and he rolled over in his box, displaying a broad acre of furry tummy. I did not rub it. We didn’t know each other that well.

  “He was Dorothy’s familiar, her magical assistant,” said Val softly. “And now, it seems, he’s yours.”

  As much as I might want to, I couldn’t argue with that. I was, after all, the one who insisted the cat come along. I had also stashed a magic wand in my purse, just in case.

  Since we were stopped at another light, Kenisha took her eye off the road long enough to give me an appraising glance. “Gotta say, for someone who doesn’t know anything about the craft, you’re being pretty cool about all this.”

  “Not really. I just hate having nervous breakdowns in public.”

  Kenisha chuckled. “Roger that.”

  “Do you know anything about the craft, Anna?” asked Valerie.

  I thought about saying I had some friends in art school who got into alternate religions, and the New Age and stuff. That was how I’d recognized the altar for what it was. But that seemed a little like telling Glinda the Good I’d once seen a magician at a kid’s party.

  “Not a thing. I mean, not about real magic. What do you . . . do?”

  Val and Kenisha exchanged a look that could only be described as significant. I tried to do the same with Alistair, but Alistair had fallen asleep.

  “You wanna take this one or should I?” Valerie asked Kenisha.

  “You do it. I’m driving.”

  “Right.” Val twisted around as far as belt and belly would let her. “There are all kinds of covens and practitioners. Some are congregations that worship nature and the feminine principle; some are societies for friendship and support. Some, for better or worse, try to directly influence events and people.” She was thinking of somebody or something in particular as she said that, and it was not a happy thought.