Witching The Night Away Read online

  “Precisely!” He hooted. “And, more to the point... well, perhaps I shouldn’t say...”

  If there was more to say, Bailey wanted to hear it. “I promise I won’t tell anyone,” she said. “On my honor and my... heart.” She had almost said ‘magic’.

  Owen tapped his lip a moment, eyes sparkling strangely in the lamp light. “I suppose, if I have your word...” he leaned in, as though someone might be listening in. For all Bailey knew, someone was; her awareness of the Genius Loci that inhabited the Caves made it difficult to tell if anyone else was lurking—it always felt like there was another presence here, because there was.

  “I believe,” he said, “that Stonehenge wasn’t merely constructed there because that is where these imaginary lines converge. I believe that Stonehenge was the final piece of a vast, worldwide puzzle. The final capstone of the project that took thousands of years to complete.”

  “But,” Bailey whispered, “how on Earth could they have done it? Even if they could fly, or sail, I mean... how many of these caves are there?”

  “I have discovered twelve thus far,” Owen said, “but I suspect there are at least fourteen. As to how it was done... if I told you, I doubt you would believe me.”

  Bailey wanted to laugh. Oh, but wouldn’t she? “I’ll keep an open mind,” she said.

  Owen cleared his throat as though to make the grand announcement that would forever blow Bailey’s mind.

  And, in fairness, it did.

  “I believe that the caves were at one point all linked together by doors,” he said. “Doors that passed through another world, and have since been locked.”

  “What I am here looking for, my dear,” he said quietly, his voice almost crackling with ecstatic excitement, “is the key.”

  Chapter 7

  “And he seems to think that they somehow all link up to Stonehenge,” Bailey said to Avery and Piper as they ate dinner around the coffee table in the living room at home. They’d arrived as promised, and Bailey had regaled them for half an hour about her Astral Projection experience, and her discussions with Professor Owen Turner.

  “What’s more, he’s been looking for a way to, I don’t know, unlock those doors,” she went on. “He thinks it will change our entire perception of human history.”

  Avery looked troubled, and Piper was quiet as well, picking at her food.

  “What?” Bailey asked.

  “Well,” Avery said, “it just seems a little... dangerous, doesn’t it? I mean, let’s say he’s right, and that there is some kind of... otherworldly network of doors in these caves. I mean, doesn’t it make sense that someone locked it on purpose? Because they didn’t want anything coming through it?”

  “I don’t think Professor Turner is anyone to worry about,” Bailey said. “He’s not a witch, or a wizard, or magical at all as far as I can tell.”

  It seemed like Avery might say something, but whatever it was he must have decided not to.

  “It’s certainly an interesting story,” Piper said. “One more piece of the magical puzzle that it turns out Coven Grove is. Seems like practically everyone in this town is turning out to be more than they appear. Most everyone, anyway.”

  Bailey sat her fork down, and looked from Avery to Piper. “I know I don’t have any right to talk,” she said, “after keeping secrets from the two of you like I did. Believe me, I feel awful about that, and I’m glad I don’t have to hide it anymore. But it feels a lot like there’s something I don’t know.”

  Avery and Piper shared a look that spoke volumes. There was definitely something Bailey didn’t know.

  “I’m not going to go fetch it myself,” she said. “Come on, now; out with it. Is it something you think might hurt my feelings?”

  When they hesitated, she thought for a moment it might be just that. She found herself going over the last few weeks, trying to decide if she’d said or done anything that might have hurt someone’s feelings. She did have a tendency to get a little laser focused on her own life and problems from time to time. But she couldn’t think of anything in particular.

  “You should tell her,” Piper said.

  Bailey raised an eyebrow, and folded her arms over her chest. She looked at Avery. “Tell me what?” she asked.

  Avery shifted uncomfortably. “It’s not necessarily... the thing is...”

  Before he could answer, Ryan came home. Avery and Piper turned immediately to greet him, and Bailey watched relief spread over Avery’s face. She was burning to know what he had been about to say, but shoved away the desire to look at his thoughts. Instead, she stood, and hugged her father when he came to her.

  “I’ve just had the most fascinating conversation with that Archaeologist,” he said. “Interesting fella, for sure. Just like you said. We got along fabulously and what’s more—he’s offered me the exclusive!”

  No one quite cheered, but they made a small effort.

  “Bailey’s been filling us in,” Avery said.

  Bailey winced. She’d promised not to tell anyone. But, surely Ryan wouldn’t go telling on her, and it wasn’t like Avery or Piper were likely to pitch their own story about it.

  “Sort of takes the wind out of my sails a bit,” Ryan said. “Still, it’s exciting. I’m not sure it will help his case at all, but at least with the story in my hands I can spin it appropriately.”

  Ryan glanced at Bailey. “So you know then, what he’s proposing?”

  “I do,” Bailey said.

  “And, what do you think? I mean... is there any truth to it?”

  Bailey shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know. If I did, I would tell you. This is the first I’m hearing about it, though. I suppose it’s possible... but I don’t think it’ll go anywhere.”

  He nodded sagely for a moment, and then raised an eyebrow curiously, “So, you won’t mind if I write the story?”

  “What?” Bailey asked. “Of course not. Believe me the caves are perfectly safe. If they were going to open for anyone, it would be a witch. Like me. And I’m not interested in unlocking any ancient doors.”

  “Well there are other people with magic,” Avery said. Maybe a little snippy? What was his deal?

  Bailey frowned, “Well, alright, yes. Aiden might be capable but... I think he’d know better as well.”

  “Who’s to say Professor Turner doesn’t have some ace up his sleeve like that is all I’m saying,” Avery said.

  “Right,” Ryan said. “And come to think of it, a story like that might attract a lot of attention from other magical folk.”

  “Soon we’ll be swimming in magic,” Piper sighed. “Hooray.”

  “No one is going to take Professor Turner seriously,” Bailey said calmly; she hadn’t realized this would all be such a hot button issue. “Which I hate, because he seems like a wonderful little man; but no one believes in magic except people who have it. And I guess people that know people who have magic.” She glanced at Ryan and Piper. Ryan nodded agreement, while Piper seemed somehow disappointed.

  “Well,” Ryan said, “I’m off to start writing a first draft now, so I can keep up with the man as he goes.” He patted his pocket, smiling. The smile faded quickly.

  Ryan patted his other pockets, beginning to panic. He looked back at the door. “My pen... I must have left it behind. I don’t recall setting it down but... I should go back and get it.”

  “Dad, no,” Bailey said, forestalling him with a hand when he started to leave. “I’ll pick it up tomorrow.”

  “I’m not even sure where I left it,” Ryan insisted. He was tense, and anxious. “I should go find it before it gets picked up or—”

  “I can find it,” Bailey assured him. “I know a little finding spell for knick knacks just like that. I’ll take a piece of paper you’ve scribbled on when I leave tomorrow. Okay? It’s late.”

  Ryan sighed, and finally relented. “You’re right. I suppose I can just type it out anyway. I just like the feel of the pen in my hand, you know. Makes the words flow easier for
me. Especially in my old age.” He smiled weakly. “Well, let me know when you find it, then. Finding spell. Huh. Now that’s magic with some utility.”

  Bailey smiled as her father left the room.

  “I should probably get going,” Piper said. “Riley’s in bed by now. It’ll be nice to have a little alone time with Gavin.”

  They exchanged hugs, and pecks on cheeks. Piper had driven on her own, so she left on her own, and Avery and Bailey were left in the living room, sitting in an awkwardly quiet moment.

  Avery put his hands on his thighs, and sucked in a breath like he was about to announce his own departure, but Bailey fixed him with a look. He sighed, and settled back down.

  “What’s going on?” Bailey asked. “Why does Piper seem like she’s avoiding me and what is it that she wants you to tell me instead of her?”

  Avery pursed his lips. “Well, those things... aren’t exactly related.”

  “Oh,” Bailey said. “Okay. So, is one of them good news and one of them bad news? Do I get a choice of which one I want to hear first?”

  “I don’t know if you could call either of them good news exactly,” Avery muttered.

  “Wonderful,” Bailey sighed. “Well, might as well tear the band-aid off. Spit it out.”

  He nodded agreement and then glanced at the door where Piper had left. “Piper’s just a little... put out, lately. She feels left behind. First, you got magic, and then I rather... realized I had something, and then she finds out about all of it and, you know, she’s sort of wondering when she’ll get to be part of the crew. Sort of. It’s not exactly that, but it’s close.”

  “She’s jealous?” Bailey asked. “That’s why she’s avoiding me?”

  “No, no,” Avery said quickly. But he bit his lip and tilted his head back and forth, as he considered the choice of word. “Well, yes, I suppose it is, strictly speaking, a form of jealously. More like, she feels like it creates distance. And you have to admit, when you first found out, you were kind of... absent for a bit.”

  “Guilty,” Bailey said. “I just wish I had known she felt that way. And who knows, maybe she does have magic! It wouldn’t surprise me. These things tend to run in threes.”

  “You, me, and Aiden,” Avery listed. “That’s three, isn’t it?”

  “Fair point,” Bailey said. “I just feel awful about it. I wish there was something I could do.”

  “She can’t exactly run around a lot right now,” Avery said. “The baby should be along any day, pretty much. But after... I don’t know, maybe we can try to include her more.”

  “In what?” Bailey asked. “More chases? Hopefully we’re done with that, and murders, and whatever other trouble is out there.”

  “It doesn’t sound like it,” Avery said. “I mean, whatever you saw... it sounded pretty scary.”

  “Yes,” Bailey admitted, “there is that. The never-ending parade of trouble. All right. So, what’s the other thing then? Lay it on me.”

  “The other thing,” Avery repeated. “Right.”

  He didn’t say it right away.

  “If I die of anticipation,” Bailey said, “I will haunt you; and not Casper the friendly ghost haunting... think, the Grudge haunting.”

  He laughed a little before he sobered and nodded once. “Okay,” he said, “here it is. Um... you know I get those feelings, right? Intuitions, that sort of thing.”

  “Yes, Avery, I know,” Bailey said, tapping her fingers on the arm of the couch.

  “Well one of them,” he said, “for a while now... a few years actually... has had to do with you. Well, not you exactly, but... someone... sort of related to you.”

  Bailey’s heart was very suddenly pounding hard in her chest. Not faster, really, just louder. She stopped tapping her fingers.

  “Go on.”

  “It’s about your mother,” he said.

  “Wendy?”

  “No. Your other mother. Your biological mother.”

  “What exactly is your... hunch?”

  Avery seemed to have trouble saying it. He looked almost pained as he formed the words. “Don’t be angry,” he said. “At me or at her. But, I am more than reasonably certain that... your mother is still in Coven Grove. And that she’s very close to you.”

  Bailey didn’t know whether she believed it or not. But the list of possible candidates was very short, she realized, and she wasn’t angry about it. She was heartbroken.

  Avery came to her quickly, and held her as she cried.

  Chapter 8

  They stayed up late talking about what Bailey thought, how she was feeling, and about the Coven. Avery took it all in without judgment. It was the final secret she’d kept from him, but she couldn’t hold it back now that Avery had told her his. On whether it was one of them or not, he couldn’t say. All he knew for certain was that she was close, and that Bailey knew her personally.

  When they were finally too exhausted, emotionally and physically, to go on, it was well past two in the morning. Avery slept on the couch, and Bailey didn’t even bother to go to bed—she just curled up on the great big chair that Ryan and Wendy both had read her stories in since she was too small to remember, under a throw blanket, and slept that way.

  They woke up together to the sound of insistent knocking on the front door.

  “What time is it?” Avery muttered.

  Bailey glanced at the ancient VCR under the television. “Only eight. Who on earth is that? Did you tell your parents you weren’t coming home last night?”

  Avery made a face. “They wouldn’t come looking for me.”

  “Right,” Bailey sighed. She groaned as she unfolded her stiff body from the chair—large, but not at all large enough to make a real bed—and went to the door. She looked terrible, she was sure, but at this hour what would any visitor expect?

  When she opened the door, she stared in puzzlement at a grim faced Sheriff Larson and Deputy Jackson. “Good... morning, Sheriff,” she said. “Deputy. Can I help you?”

  Seamus Jackson, only a few years older than Bailey and handsome, couldn’t look her in the eye. It was Sheriff Larson that spoke. “Bailey, honey; is your daddy home?”

  “He’s probably still in bed, he was up late writing a story,” Bailey said. “All night. Why?”

  “He was here all night long?” the Sheriff asked.

  “I’d like to know why you’re asking,” Bailey said, a firm mental hand on her temper. Red heads and a temper seem to go together.

  “Was he with Owen Turner last night? The scientist?”

  “Archaeologist,” Bailey corrected. “And...” she didn’t want to lie, but she didn’t want to incriminate Ryan either. “I’m not sure.”

  Larson and Jackson exchanged glances. “We better come in, Bailey,” the Sheriff said.

  They wouldn’t answer any questions. She tried to stop them, but they showed her something, a piece of paper, that for some reason Bailey found she couldn’t read. The words were there, but they didn’t make any sense. It may as well have been in one of the handful of languages she still hadn’t quite gotten around to reading.

  Avery took it from her. It was a carbon copy of the original. “What?” He hissed when he read it. “This can’t be right...”

  Bailey was already up the stairs after them. She got there in time to see the Sheriff and Deputy calmly informing Ryan of why they had come.

  “Ryan Robinson,” Sheriff Larson said, his voice stiff and tight. “You are under arrest for the... the murder of Owen Turner.”

  Bailey’s world unraveled at the edges. She lost control of her gift, and in a flash, everyone’s thoughts assaulted her. The Sheriff, hurt and confused and disbelieving, but resolute; Deputy Jackson, embarrassed to be doing this in front of Bailey and certain that... that his chances with her were over? Ryan, certain this was a mistake, outraged that they would make an accusation like this, and horrified for what would happen to Bailey.

  Everyone’s thoughts; accept for Avery’s. From him, she only heard
a familiar, high pitch static.

  Bailey reeled, and clamped down on her mind. Her temples throbbed. Her heart was beating too fast, and she couldn’t get enough air. “No,” she said, repeatedly, “there’s some mistake. It wasn’t him.” Avery had his arms around her, and she realized she was trying to pull away, to get to her father. Spells came to mind, one after the other. She could make them forget, or force them to believe her, or create a telepathic link so they could see for themselves her father’s innocence.

  But she had none of the materials, none of the focus, and none of the necessary recall at that moment to have done anything like that. So instead, she watched as Ryan calmly dressed himself, and then offered his wrists to Deputy Jackson for arrest. He didn’t resist. He didn’t speak.

  Once, a long, long time ago, Bailey knew that Ryan had been arrested. He’d written a story about the Vietnam War, after the war was over, that had exposed some high-level government officials. It had been the story that made his career. He’d refused to reveal his source, and spend almost a year in prison because of it until the charges were cleared in the wake of protests and scathing media attention on the trial.

  He knew better than to fight, or argue, or to run. At this point, he had to ride this out, and be careful of everything he said. Some of this she got from his thoughts, and some of it she simply knew. None of it made it any better, though.

  Ryan was led out of the house. Bailey and Avery followed.

  “This will all be okay,” Ryan told her before he was led to the car.

  Bailey broke away from Avery and hugged her father tightly. “I know it wasn’t you,” she whispered. “I looked. I’m sorry.”

  “Its okay, Red,” Ryan muttered. “We’ll work it out. Look at the facts. Keep a clear head, okay?”

  “I can fix this,” she said.

  “Red,” Ryan told her, firmly, “facts. Nothing... unpredictable. Understand?”