Strange Relations

The Very Swift Witches Saga Book 1

Copyright © 2018 Stormy Summers

Kindle Edition

This is a work of fiction. All characters, situations, places, businesses and people are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. All rights reserved, including international and domestic, and the right to reproduce this work in any format, whether in print, electronic media, audio, video, film or any other media which may exist or be created in the future.

This series is dedicated to my family, who have brought so much magic into my life that I have to believe that it truly comes from God.

Chapter 1

The Present

“You have exactly nine minutes to be out of that bed and downstairs at the table!”

Thus rang out the Morning Mantra of Katie Hollister’s Home for Transplanted Floridians—better known, perhaps, as the Claxton, Missouri, farmhouse she inherited from her parents. It was the same farmhouse she had grown up in and fled from fourteen years ago when she married Kevin Singer. She’d sworn at the time that no power on earth could ever make her A) return to Missouri for any period of time longer than two weeks, or B) live on a farm again, or C) ever, ever subject her children to either of the above.

Unfortunately, she had not reckoned with the powers of a stinking, no-good, lying, evil, there-aren’t-words-bad-enough, piece-of-number-two, deadbeat ex-husband. As a result, while there were some jobs she might have managed to eke out a living from if she’d been alone, the fact was that with two kids to support, her options were pretty much non-existent. Five-foot-one-inch, blue-eyed, blond-haired Katherine Marie Hollister was finally forced to admit that her lack of a college education made it essentially impossible to remain in the Miami economy. She looked at her kids, swallowed her pride and disappointment, and told them that they were embarking on a great, new adventure.

Ironically, she had owned the place for several years, ever since her parents were killed in a highway accident. She told herself she was only holding onto it in order to let the land value increase, but the Credit Bust a couple of years back caused its value to drop drastically. When Kevin walked in one morning a year and a half earlier and told her he’d fallen in love with his secretary, then took said secretary onto his eighty-three foot sailboat and vanished into the Caribbean, she’d still had it to sell.

One phone call to a real estate broker in Springfield told her that she couldn’t afford to sell. The money the place would bring was less than it would cost her to remain in her Florida home for the rest of the year, and with the jobs she could get there was no way she’d survive once it was gone.

So, for the first time in her thirty-two years, she let herself do the “smart” thing. With a brand-new divorce decree, a big U-Haul truck packed full of clothes, furniture and toys, and her maiden name tucked comfortably back in place, she returned to the one hundred acres of Hell that constituted her last refuge.

She’d sold her Mercedes and held a high-end rummage sale, added that to what Kevin had left in their joint accounts (and the private one she’d started when her first child, Mackenzie, was born—college fund, she’d thought at the time). All together, it gave her a tidy bit of working capital when they drove up in front of the Hollister Homestead. Her plan was to go back to the only work she really knew, since she had to return to the farm, anyway; and, of course, it was exactly the work she’d fled from all those years ago.

Her father, Frank, had been a goat farmer, raising the hardy but cantankerous creatures for milk and meat. Katie had grown up, she’d often said, with a milk pail in each hand and one hanging from her teeth. While this was a rather wild exaggeration, it conveyed the image she wanted people to get: the poor lil’ farm girl, working herself away to nothingness!

Despite her desire to escape farm life, however, she was quite capable in it, and knew that she could—probably—make a living at it, especially if she put in a healthy flock of chickens, for both egg production and salable fryers. Her dad had been well respected throughout the area; she planned to

capitalize on his reputation and let the whole area know that there was a Hollister on the Hollister Farm once more.

If she carefully managed her money and didn’t run into too many unexpected expenses, Katie could stock in a dozen milkers. She was sure there’d be some for sale; if not locally, then she’d surely find some down among the Amish communities in Arkansas. And the big chicken plants often had culls—roosters, and hens that were not pure white—that their farms would give away for free! Yes, if she played her cards right…

Oh, my, she thought, as they pulled into the driveway.

The yard was so overgrown that she could barely make out the front walk. There were several broken windowpanes in the upstairs windows that she could see, and that meant there were likely to be more that she couldn’t. A few of the big shingles were missing along the eastern edge of the roof.

Her brain kept ticking off the bad points until she finally had to give up counting. She was about to decide it wasn’t worth the effort to resurrect the old place when she realized that her daughter was weeping silently beside her.

“Kenzie?” she said. “Honey, I know it looks bad, but it’s just because it’s been empty for so long…”

“He hates us, doesn’t he?” said Mackenzie. “Daddy hates us, and that’s why he left, so we’d have to come here and live in this dump! It’s our punishment, isn’t that right? For whatever we did that made him hate us so much?”

Katie almost fainted at the vehemence in the child’s voice, but she kept her composure. “Kenzie, I wish I could tell you why your dad left, but I can’t. I don’t know why he left us, but I do know this much. It wasn’t anything you kids did, and I don’t believe it was anything I did, either. I think it was just that—to be perfectly honest—he and I should never have gotten married in the first place. But hate you guys? Even he couldn’t go that low. You and Aaron are the best thing to come out of the last fourteen years!”

Aaron had watched but said nothing. He looked back at the house for a moment then shrugged his shoulders. “It isn’t that bad. And maybe we could get a dog out here in the country.”

She hugged both the kids, and then she, twelve-year-old Mackenzie and eleven-year-old Aaron all piled back into the truck and headed into Claxton to find a motel room.

Returning to your hometown after an absence of some years always involves some surprises. The only motel the town had when she left was the Claxton Motor Court, but it was now gone and she had to choose between Best Western, Super 8 and Motel 6. She chose the last simply because it had the lowest rates, and looked decent.

Then there was the mall—that hadn’t been there, before. And all those restaurants, where did they come from? All she recalled were McDonald’s and the Sonic Drive-In, but just about every fast-food outfit in America was now represented. Lots of changes!

Some changes were less positive. The Claxton Garage, where Frank Hollister had gone for all major mechanical work, was gone. There were plenty of gas stations, all of the convenience store variety, but she didn’t see a mechanic anywhere.

Among the things she had inherited was her dad’s old Ford F350, and she planned on using it rather than spending the money to buy a vehicle. Trouble was, it hadn’t been started or driven in five years at that point, so she knew it wouldn’t just fire up and go; it was going to need a battery, oil change,

tune-up, possibly tires or brake work or more.

They bought dinner at KFC next to the Motel 6 and Katie started flipping through the yellow pages. It was late, so no place was open; she made notes of a mechanic with a tow truck, and a general handyman service, then joined the kids in some mindless vegetation in front of the television.

The next morning was a Wednesday, and the mechanic said he wasn’t too busy, so he’d be glad to go bring in the truck and get it going for her. Her next call was to a handyman, who turned out to be an old classmate of hers, Kit Woods.

She cringed. She and Kit hadn’t exactly been friends, due mostly to his annoying crush on her, combined with—well, with him being from the wrong side of town. Unfortunately, he was the only handyman, so she smiled into the phone and set a time to meet at the farm.

Mackenzie and Aaron were tired from the trip, so Katie let them stay in the room and watch TV while she took the big truck back out to the farm alone. Kit and the mechanic, an older man named Floyd, were already there; her dad’s old pickup was already loaded onto the tow truck, rear end off the ground. It was literally coated in dirt and animal droppings.

As she parked the U-Haul, she heard Kit say, “There she is now,” to Floyd, and gladly let him make the introductions.

“Floyd, this is Katie; Katie, Floyd Cooper, best mechanic in all the Ozarks!”

She smiled and shook hands with Floyd. “Thank you for coming so quick,” she said. “I need the truck desperately!” She gave him the keys.

“Not a problem,” said Floyd “Barring anything unexpected, she’ll be ready by mid-afternoon.”

“Oh, that would be wonderful!” She pointed at the moving van. “This thing isn’t easy to drive around town.”

Floyd chuckled. “No ma’am, I reckon it’s not. Tell you what—when it’s done, I’ll give you a call and meet you back out here with it, so you can leave that monster locked up til you get her unloaded.”

“I’ll go you one better,” said Kit. “We’ll go ahead and park the van inside the barn, and I’ll drive Katie back to town. She’s at the Motel 6 up the street from you, so it’ll be closer than hauling the truck back out here.”

“That’ll work, too,” said Floyd as he climbed into the cab of his wrecker. He tapped his horn twice and was gone.

Kit turned to Katie. “Shall we?” he asked, tilting his head toward the house, and she noticed he’d—well, maybe he’d improved a bit over the years…

At six foot one, Kit wasn’t the tallest guy she’d ever known, but the lanky looseness of his teenaged years was gone. He was quite well-built, now, and fit, and only the memory of his annoying advances kept her from getting flushed. Well—mostly.

She pushed such thoughts away. “Absolutely!” Katie led the way through the tall grass.

“I noticed a mower in your barn,” said Kit, “a big rider, a Ford. After we look the house over, why don’t I see if I can get it to fire up and try to knock down some of this jungle?”

Katie laughed. “Is that monster still here? If you can get it started, I’ll mow! Dad used to say that

mowing was good for a girl; I’ll bet I spent a thousand hours driving that thing.”

“Okay, then—let’s see what we’ll need to get your house set for you to move in.”

It wasn’t as bad as it could have been, Katie reflected after they got inside. The couch had a family of raccoons living in it, and the downstairs carpets would have to be torn out, but most of the rooms had been closed off and were unhurt for the most part. The broken windows upstairs were in her parents’ old bedroom and its bathroom, and not much damage had occurred, but she found a couple of dead birds.

“Are those some kind of bad omen?” she asked, only half joking.

“Nah,” said Kit. “They fly in looking for food or nesting material, then get confused and can’t find their way out. Just bad luck, but only for the birds.”

Katie frowned. “That’s sad. And what if they had baby birds in a nest somewhere?”

Kit looked at her. “That’s right; you and Kevin had kids, didn’t you? They at the motel?”

She nodded and smiled. “Yep. Girl and a boy, my pride and joy!”

Kit opened another door and peeked inside. “No damage here,” he said. “So—Kev just up and ran out on you guys, huh?”

“Huh! Yeah! Took his secretary and the yacht, and was gone before we knew what happened. Last I knew, he was in Jamaica. Bastard didn’t even tell the kids goodbye.”

Kit shook his head. “What a creep. Let’s go check out the basement.” He led the way back downstairs and went on down to the basement alone. Luckily, Katie had thought (at the last minute before leaving Miami) to call the electric co-op and have the power turned on; the lights were all working, and Kit was able to see fine down there.

“Looks good,” he called up. “And the furnace looks to be in good shape.” He came back upstairs to where she stood in the kitchen. “So it looks like all I really need is a few shingles, a couple of windowpanes, and a lot of elbow grease. How about we run on in and get you back to your kids, and I’ll get what I need and maybe you can sleep here by tomorrow night?”

She smiled. “That sounds just great, Kit. I can’t thank you enough!”

He followed her out the door and shut it behind him. “Sure you can. Let me take you to dinner tonight, you and your kids.”

She cringed. “Um, Kit—I’m not…”

“Too soon?” he asked, and she nodded, grateful to him for giving her an easy out. “No problem,” he said, “I understand. You’re the first girl I’ve asked out since Beverly and I split two years ago.”

“Beverly?” Katie asked. “You married Beverly Walker?” Ridiculously, Katie felt a surge of jealousy; Beverly had been a contributing factor in one of the worst moments of her life, and it was a shock to find out he’d gotten over his crush to end up with her.

Kit pushed a button on his remote and his pickup honked. “Yeah, I did. No kids, though, and now I’m glad. She, uh—She ran off with our mailman...”

She felt sorry for him. She knew what that felt like. “Kit, I’m sorry…”

“I’m not,” he said. “We were over long before that, but I was too stubborn to admit it. Last I heard they were both in jail in Texas, some kind of drug charges. But I’m okay. Hop in, and I’ll run you back to the motel and get my butt back here to work!”

It was nearing noon, so she had Kit stop at a pizza place to get lunch for her and the kids before he dropped her at the motel, and an hour later she was surprised when her cell phone rang. Caller ID told her it was Floyd’s Auto Repair calling.

“Hello?” she answered.

“Hi, Mrs. Hollister?”

“Um—It’s Miss, or better yet, just Katie, but yeah. Is something wrong? You’re calling early.”

“Oh, no, no problems. Your truck’s ready, is all. I was callin’ to see if you needed a lift to come pick it up?”

She’d had Kit show her where the shop was as he drove her to the motel, and it was within walking distance, so she told him she’d be right over. The kids hadn’t seen the truck since before their grandparents died, so they slipped on their shoes and walked along with her.

The truck was not only running like new, but Floyd had sent one of his helpers to the car wash with it, so it looked great, too. The “barn dust” was all gone, and the inside had been vacuumed out and sprayed with air freshener. She happily paid the tab and they piled in and drove toward downtown.

By three o’clock she had taken care of the “little details” of her return. The truck was insured and tagged, a new phone would be turned on in the house the following day, the high speed internet installed within the week, and now they were in Wal-Mart. Brooms, mops, dustpans, cleaners, and about every kind of disinfectant filled a shopping cart, and they were in the clothing section buying work clothes when her phone rang again.

It was Kit. “Hey, there,” he said when she answered. “The house is tight, couch and carpets are on the way to the dump, and the raccoons were safely relocated to the river bank behind the barn. Oh, and the mower has a new battery and a full tank of gas. Sharpened the blades, too!”

“Cool!” she said. “The kids and I are going out there in just a bit to start cleaning, so we can get an early start moving in tomorrow.”

“Sounds like a plan. Need any help unloading tomorrow? Got heavy stuff?”

She hesitated. “I think we can manage,” she said, and heard Kit chuckle.

“No strings, Katie, I promise. I can call a buddy and we can haul all your stuff inside in no time.”

“Well, if you’re sure it’s not a problem…”

“None at all. What time’s good?”

She let herself grin. “How about nine? I’ll have the coffee maker hooked up by then.”

“Nine it is, then! I’ll bring the doughnuts!” And he was gone.

They went to the grocery section to buy coffee and snacks, then headed for the checkout, and soon pulled into the driveway of the farm.

Kit had done more than he let on—the front yard had already been mowed and raked, and Katie made

a mental note to add a bonus when she paid him.

And it was time for the Grand Tour. Mackenzie had only been five, Aaron four, the last time they’d visited her parents. The brief stop at the house after the funeral wasn’t memorable for them, so it was almost as if they were seeing it all for the first time. Katie led them in, and let them see all the memories that still filled so many walls, so many of the house’s uncountable nooks and crannies. She showed them everything from the cuckoo clock on the living room wall to the canopy bed she’d slept in for most of fifteen years. Mackenzie’s eyes grew wide at the sight of the big dollhouse in the closet, and she let out a squeal of delight when Katie said it was hers, now, along with the rest of the bedroom. (Twelve is not too old for a dollhouse!)

Aaron would get her brother Alex’s room. Alex had joined the Army right after high school, and his unit was one of the ones that saw a lot of heavy action in the Middle East. Katie told the kids again how Alex had won a medal for bravery because he stayed behind and fought and died so that several others could escape an ambush. The medal hung on the wall of his room, and Aaron stared at it for a long time.

Katie would take her parents’ old room because it had its own bathroom. She showed the kids the other bathrooms, one upstairs and one down, and she could tell that Kit had checked them all and probably fixed or adjusted as needed, for they all worked fine.

The first floor had only the living room, kitchen, bath, and what Katie called “the sewing room.” That was the room her mother had used for her quilting group, and her dad had used for storage, which had led to some spirited discussions at times. Katie didn’t sew, so the room would be used as her dad would have wished.

They cleaned the house thoroughly. Aaron was a handy boy with a broom and swept the newly uncovered hardwood floors while Mackenzie followed him around with a mop. Katie scrubbed the kitchen til it shone, and then the three of them worked together to dust everything.

They took one break for dinner—frozen TV dinners, popped into the oven—and Aaron discovered that the television would only pick up one channel, so Katie called 1-800-SATELYTE’s twenty-four-hour hotline and ordered service on a rush plan. While they finished eating, Mackenzie looked around for a moment.

“I guess — I guess it isn’t that bad,” she said. “It’s not as bad as it looked when we first got here, anyway.”

“I think it’s great,” Aaron said. “Hey, Mom, do you think we can get a dog?”

Katie shrugged and grinned around the pizza she was chewing. “We can see,” she said. “We always had a dog or two around when I was growing up. Dogs are pretty cool.”

By the time they were done, it was almost nine o’clock that night, and they dragged themselves out to the truck for the ride back to Claxton and the motel. She had to help Mackenzie when they got there, but Aaron was still awake enough to follow her in and close the door behind them. She piled the kids onto one bed, looked longingly at the other, and then made herself go and take a shower.

She roused the kids at six and they hit McDonald’s for breakfast on the way back to the house. They’d grabbed everything out of the room and checked out, and both Mackenzie and Aaron were excited that it was finally move-in day. They were out of the truck as soon as Katie parked it in the driveway, then waited patiently while she got the U-Haul out of the barn and backed it into the yard. She got it at least partially aimed at the front door and was satisfied.

They opened it up and pulled out the ramp, and the three of them began hauling boxes inside. The kids happily piled them in the rooms they would eventually be unpacked in, with any questionable ones stopping in the living room. Katie found her kitchen boxes, and true to her word she dug out the coffee maker and rinsed the dust out of it, then set it up and started a pot.

Kit and his friend Matt drove up at a quarter of nine and carried in the rest of the boxes, then took down Katie’s parents’ bedroom furniture and piled it into the storage room. They took a short coffee and doughnut break then, and Kit managed to make the kids laugh so hard they almost had tears by telling them how their mom used to pretend she couldn’t see him in the hallway at school.

“Oh, no,” she said, “and I thought I had you fooled!”

“Well, you might have, if you hadn’t kept peeking at me to see if I’d noticed!” Even Matt, who was very quiet, laughed when she hid her face behind a doughnut.

The men carried Katie’s bedroom suite up and assembled it, and switched out her mom’s old range and refrigerator for her own newer, high-efficiency models. Katie had brought along her own wall-mounted flat screen TV, and they hung that up, too; the old console model went into the storage room.

While the guys worked inside, Katie fired up the Ford mower and got started with it. By noon, the U-Haul was empty and gone and she’d gotten the back yard mowed, along with most of the east side. Then, that butthead Kit had shanghaied her by showing the kids the golden retriever pup he was trying to find a home for. The dog was about three months old and christened—of all things—“Fluffy!” It was happily at home on the front porch, laying on an old rug the kids had found in the storage room and gnawing a bone almost bigger than he was.

A new family had bought the Capps place down the road; a boy about Aaron’s age had ridden down on a bike to meet them, and a friendship was apparently forming. That boy, Lannie Powell, had a sister near Mackenzie’s age, he said, but she wasn’t very healthy and didn’t get out much. Kit knew the family and had explained that the girl had leukemia and was having it rough. Her name was Miranda, and Mackenzie followed the boys down the road to go and meet her. Within days the four were like siblings, and Katie got to know the Powell parents well.

But more than a year had passed since then, and on this May morning Katie was frying eggs and bacon as the kids dragged themselves down the stairs, mostly dressed for school, and mostly awake. Not a lot had really changed. Oh, she was managing to not-quite go broke with the goats and chickens. The Amish butcher down in Blue Eye was her best customer, and she had a fair trade in goat’s milk barter around Claxton, as well as one Health Food Store over in Branson. The county had finally paved the old gravel road that summer, but Fluffy was still just an overgrown puppy. Kit was still around a lot—they’d even had a few dates—and poor little Miranda was still stubbornly refusing to surrender to her illness, but it was wearing on her and it showed.

She set plates in front of them as they slid chairs up to the table.

“Okay, guys, eat up. The bus’ll be here in about twenty minutes. Aaron, remember to tell Lannie to tell his mom I’ll have her three quarts of goat’s milk on Friday, and Kenzie, yes, you can spend the night with Miranda that night, let her know. Now eat up!”

They shoveled the food into their mouths in plenty of time to gather up homework and backpacks. Katie followed them out onto the porch and sat on the swing as they walked down the long driveway to meet the bus. She waved as they climbed aboard and then took a moment to count her blessings—

including the fact that Kevin was gone—and got up, ready to start milking her two dozen does.

She stopped as she saw Fluffy come dragging something across the yard.

“Fluffy! What have you got, there? C’mere, boy, whacha got for me, huh? Lemme see...”

The big, lovable furball dragged whatever it was up to the porch and Katie reached for it, but something was snagged on his fang. She tugged at it gently til it came free and realized it was a sticky mass of cotton, but she caught a glimpse of brass—so she wrinkled her nose and...

Chapter 2

December 8th, 1712

It never happened that on a warm and summery night there might be a knock upon a ramshackle door and a voice asking for nothing more dreadful than the pleasure of a lady’s company. Or at least that was the complaint that was carried on the breeze on a cold and wintry night, as three pairs of feet tramped down the sparse grass that grew—sort of—’neath the thick canopy of the Welsh forest.

A winter fox, his coat not fully turned to the color of snow, peeked out of his den and saw the three familiar women traipse by, carefully holding his breath until he was sure he’d gone unnoticed. It’s not that they were in any way bad, you understand; it’s just that they were them. The Witches!

Of course, in fox, it was more along the lines of “Those-three-female-two-legged-creatures-that-bend-all-nature’s-rules-completely-out-of-kilter-with-the-rest-of-the-known-universe.”

In English, because of the things they did which defied normal explanation, they were simply known as “the Witches,” but only in whispers, of course. And since the entire story we are about to share could not exist in any form without them, then it is probably time for you, dear reader, to make their acquaintance.

The tall one on the left, there, is Miss Emma Sothby. As you might surmise from the “Miss,” she has never been married, though it was not for lack of suitors. It’s just, she claimed, that she never found one that she didn’t want to brain with a rock within a fortnight, and while a two-week courtship and engagement (both, not each!) might be good enough for some people, ‘twas not for her! Or so she said, in any case.

At sixty-four, her hair is white and tucked up in a bun so severe that cats had been known to stalk it, and her temper was legendary, but she had her soft spots. Notably, they were her two companions.

The one in the middle is Mary Higgins, a petite blond just into her middle years—okay, okay, she’s two years shy of fifty, but doesn’t look a day over thirty-five according to almost all the men in the whole local countryside. Her trim figure, blue eyes and blond hair have been the cause of the cracks in more than a few rolling pins and, as everyone knows, the only thing harder than a good oaken rolling pin is the skull of a no-good, stinking, cheating louse of a husband!

The third of this trio is Annalee Scot, who happens to be the Godchild of Emma Sothby. At fifteen and a half, Annalee is thin, shy, clumsy and easily embarrassed, which is probably why she seems to have no social life at all. She spends almost all of her time with her Gammer Emma and Mrs. Higgins; her notable lack of curves and long, Irish-red hair might have had a bit to do with it, as well. (Gammer, by the way, means Godmother; it’s an archaic version of the word, and not much used, nowadays.)

The date was the eighth of December in the Year of Our Lord Seventeen-hundred and twelve, and the only reason these three were out in the cold night air was the message that had come an hour before.

The evening had been extremely “tight,” as Emma called it when the Forebodings hit. Even before the sun lowered to the horizon, she knew something was about to happen, and she’d already had the tea aboil when first Annalee, and then Mary, had come walking the path that led to her cottage in the old Druid Clearing.

“Tea’s hot,” she said to each as they’d entered. “Pour yer own.”

Annalee was sitting quietly at the table across from her by the time Mary got her own cup and joined them.

“So,” Mary began, “d’ye know wha’ ’tis, yet?”

Emma shook her head. “No’ as yet. Had a thought of Miz Bascomb, her bein’ gravid and comin’ up due soon, but she’s still a good six weeks shy o’ birthin’—so I don’ think it’s her.”

Mary nodded. “Well, I expects we’ll know soon enough.”

“I’ve been feelin’—a-frighted, I’d say,” said Annalee, “since about mid-afternoon—as if somethin’ bad’s a-comin’. So scared, I left early from home, so it might follow me away from my mum and dad, and baby brother!” Her cup rattled on the saucer as her hands shook.

“There’s likely little t’ fear, lass; ye be one of us, are ye no’? Ah, but I expects there’s change o’ some sort afoot tonight.” Emma drained her cup. “Aye—change o’ some sort,” she went on, and their eyes went wide as a sudden chill hit each of their spines. The sound of a horse’s neighing broke in the front dooryard. The knock came only seconds later, just as a cold whisper of wind from nowhere spun through the cabin, making the lamp on the table flicker.

Emma looked at Annalee, who was apprentice to the older pair, and nodded once.

“See t’ the door, Annalee,” she said calmly.

Annalee rose, shakily, and went to the door. Her hand trembled as she turned the knob to reveal young William Cadmoor. The boy, or more properly the lad, held his hat in his hands, wringing it as if it were soaking wet. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but nothing came out, so he closed it and tried again.

“Hullo, Miss Annalee,” he managed, and seemed to gain a bit of courage from the sound of his own voice. “Um, the parson, good ladies, he sent me t’ bid ye t’ come. He’s poorly, he says, and would have ye t’ come and see t’ him…” He trailed off, his words failing him as he saw the look in Mistress Sothby’s eyes.

Emma turned toward Mary, who looked her eye-to-eye.

“Well, now,” Emma said. “What think ye o’ this, now, Mary Higgins? The parson’s ill, and callin’ for the likes of us in his hour o’ need, him that’s been condemnin’ us for the last four years?”

Annalee stared nervously at her Godmother. “But, it’s good, isn’t it Gammer? That he’s come to acceptin’ our ministrations?”

Emma and Mary eyed each other.

“William, you ride on back,” Mary said, “and tell the parson and them that’s with ’im that we’ll be along right shortly.”

The boy swallowed, fairly bolted to his horse, and was gone.

“Close the door, Annalee,” Emma said. “We’ll not be goin’ for a moment or so.”

“But—but this is good, surely?”

“We’ll know soon enough, child, I expects.”

Mary looked into her own now-empty cup.

“So, be the darkness comin’ our way, d’ye think? I’d thought us Welsh t’ be less tainted by the fanatics than be those in England…”

“And so we were, at least til now. Mary, we both know Parson Davies ain’t about to let us see t’ any ailment o’ his. This is naught but a ruse t’ draw us to a meetin’, where those good folks as have benefited by our skills can be extorted and frightened into speakin’ agin us!”

Annalee, who had taken her chair once again, looked from one woman to the other and back.

“Gammer, folk here about will not speak against us!” she said. “Why, there’s not a family ‘round these mountains that hasn’t a mother or father, or son or daughter, they’d be without were it not for us, and especially not for you and Mary!”

“Aye, lass, there’s no’, but that won’t stop what’s comin’, if ’tis t’ be. We’ll know shortly, and that’s soon enough for us t’ decide which way we need jump.”

Annalee rose to her feet and leaned across the table at her Godmother, fear giving her more backbone than she usually displayed.

“Gammer, no! These folk are our friends; I’m sure it’s just as young master William said, and the good Parson is only abed with a fever and wantin’ of our cures…”

A glimmer of amusement played across Emma’s face, and it’s even possible that one eyelid dipped slightly where only Mary could see it clearly.

“Well, then, Miss Scot, we’d best be gettin’ on our way t’ see t’ the poor man, hadn’t we? I’ll only fetch my kit, then, so’s we can be about it.”

She went into her pantry and gathered an assortment of small jars which she tucked into a leather bag. Mary busied herself rinsing out their teacups, while Annalee gathered their cloaks. She and Mary had already dressed for the cold when they had left their own homes. They had to wait only a brief moment for Emma, who quickly slipped some heavier woolens and boots onto her feet.

When they were ready, Emma hesitated at the front door before opening it. She looked as though she was considering something quite seriously and then blurted out, “Well, gads, it can’t hurt us none just to be a tad cautious, now can it?”

“No’ a bit,” answered Mary. Annalee only shook her head vigorously, her eyes wide.

Emma’s expression grew stern, and she gave one curt nod.

“Just a precaution, then,” she said, and reached out to pluck a half dozen hairs from the heads of each of her companions, then an equal number of her own. She looked around the room for a moment, and then chose an old brass lamp that hung from the wall and tucked the hairs inside it. She held the lamp up high.

“Nos morituri—te floreat! Resurgam!” she said thrice.

Mary didn’t react to the powerful words, but Annalee’s eyes grew wide. Latin was not a necessity, but it lent an air of importance to a spell cast in its somber tones. It was much the same as when uttered by a priest in church. There was also the added benefit that very few who might chance to overhear would understand what was being said. Annalee had been learning it since she was ten.

Emma had uttered a powerful spell of protection: “We die not, but flourish! We rise again!” The spell prepared the lamp to act as a safe haven for their very existence, should it be needed, and the very

fact that she would cast a spell that would literally snatch them out of the grip of death frightened Annalee more than ever.

Emma started to hang the lamp back on its peg but stopped short. Instead, she strode to the hearth and lifted a large flat stone, revealing a hole in the earth beneath. She tucked the lamp into it, muttering: “En solis, luminatos, resurgam!”

The spell was simple; should it happen that they be faced with death, they would be able to escape into the lamp, only to reappear unharmed the next time sunlight touched it. Emma thought this to be a safe condition. It was certain that, should anything unfortunate happen to her, someone would undoubtedly come to loot her home. She reasoned that everyone had a hidey-hole under the hearthstone, so it would be one of the first places someone would look.

She grinned, imagining the surprised face of the thief who tried to carry that lamp home in the morning!

Precautions and preparation completed, the three set off for the parsonage, which was near the village green. The hike was a mile or more, but the path was one they knew well, and they chatted as they went in order to calm poor Annalee’s nerves. The three walked on, with the continuing conversation keeping their minds off the unknown meeting that would soon take place. The forest around them, alive with the many night predators, grew silent in sections as they passed. Even the wolves slipped into their dens, shushing each other until the women had passed them by. In the past, each had their dealings with the trio and wished not to relive the experience.

There was a lamp burning on the porch of the parsonage, and a figure stood just out of its glow. The three ladies saw the man long before they were visible, though he seemed to sense their approach.

Quickly whispered instructions, breathed softly into the ears of Mary and Annalee, caused them to move apart and walk silently. Mary went left while Annalee headed right, as Emma drew her deep blue cloak around herself and continued forward without the slightest sound. Stopping less than three feet from the steps of the porch, she was still completely unseen by the man standing in its shadows.

As one, the ladies reached up to throw back the hoods that kept his lamp’s glow, and the moonlight, from their faces. Marcus Drommand suddenly found himself surrounded. Emma stood before him, Mary on his right, and while he couldn’t be sure, he thought that the young one to his left was Annalee Scot. He fought down the panic that rose in his chest.

“Why, um, g-good evening, ladies…” he stuttered.

“Good evening to you, as well, Mister Drommand,” said Emma. “We three have come at the biddin’ of the parson, but as the house seems dark but for the lamp hangin’ there beside ye, I cannot help but wonder if we’s come too late.”

Drommand swallowed. “Why, no, not at all—but I’m afraid there was a bit of a misunderstanding. The parson is not ill, you see, but only seeks to speak with you good ladies. He awaits you in the nave of the church.”

Emma let her eyes bore into his for a moment before she spoke. “In the church, is he? Tell me, Mr. Drommand, how many others be attendin’ him? Seems a tad bit late for a prayer meetin’, wouldn’t ye say?” When Drommand was silent for a long moment, she continued. “Yer hesitation tells me that I have it right, aye, and that he is not alone?” She eyed him suspiciously.

The man seemed to swell, like a hedgehog fluffing its quills to make itself appear larger, a common

sign of fear in both man and beast.

“Well, er, yes—there are some of the good folk of the village and countryside a-gathered there…”

Mary took a step toward him, and on his other side Annalee did the same. His bravado deflated almost instantly. He whipped his wide eyes from one to the other and back again.

“And what might be the cause of their gatherin’, Marcus Drommand?” asked Mary.

“Well, er—there has been some—some talk, you see…” he said, while licking his lips. “Some of the folk have come forward, er, come forward—with some odd tales, you see.”

“Odd tales, ye say?” Emma put one foot on the bottom step, and Drommand backed against the wall. “Would them be tales, Mister Drommand, regardin’ us three?”

How did she get so close to the steps? He thought. I didn’t see her move at all…

“W-well, it does seem, Mistress Sothby, that there’s been a few folks who have seen some—unusual things.”

“Well, now,” Emma said. “Then p’raps we’d best be on over to the church. It’d be interestin’ to see just what odd tales might be flyin’ about.” Quickly, she reached up to give a bit of a twitch to the hood of her cloak, and although he’d never tell a single soul, Marcus Drommand found himself alone once more.

’tis true, he thought. They use dark magic—no other way could they vanish so!

Ironically, all three women were still within a half-dozen feet of him as he had these thoughts; all that had happened was what Emma called “Head Magic.” As she quickly raised her hands to lift her hood again, Drommand had flinched, clinching his eyes shut for a long second, during which all three raised their hoods and simply turned their backs to him. Emma’s dark blue cloak looked as black in the night as the truly black ones worn by Mary and Annalee, and all three were utterly invisible against the backdrop of a night under a sliver of moon in the forest.

The church was less than a mile from the parsonage, and the ladies wasted no time, stepping quickly along. Annalee broke the silence once they were clear of Drommand’s hearing.

“So it’s true, then? They’ve gathered to accuse us, but of what?”

“Of bein’ evil, o’ course,” answered Emma. “That Parson’s preached many a sermon on how ’tis the will of God for His children to suffer, and how anyone who does anythin’ to ease that sufferin’ must be doin’ the work of the devil himself!”

“But that’s silly! God loves his children, why would He want them to suffer?” Annalee stammered.

“Sufferin’ be good for the soul,” Mary said, “or so says the good Catholic Church, and a fair lot o’ the Protestants! The idea, child, is that if ye pray for relief from sufferin’ and don’t get it, then the sufferin’ is God-sent punishment for yer sins!”

Emma nodded and added, “So, if we come along and relieve any of the sufferin’, then we must be on the side of the devil. ’tis pretty simple, once you gets the understandin’.”

Trembling, Annalee opened her eyes wide. “Do you recall that Mister Meacham, who passed through last spring? He was that old man who told all the tales about the colonies? He said that, in the new world, there had been witches burned at the stake!”

“Aye, he did,” Emma said, “but ‘twasn’t true.”

“It wasn’t?” Annalee asked, relieved.

Emma snorted. “O’course not!” she declared. “There was no witches burned at no stakes!” She walked on in silence for a few moments and then said, “’Twas innocent women they tied up and burned. Witches wouldn’t let themselves be tied up and burned, o’ course!”

Annalee whimpered, and the three walked the rest of the way without talking.

The church was ablaze with light. Every candle in each chandelier, as well as all of the wall sconces, burned brightly. A few men stood out in the churchyard, smoking pipes. At the women’s arrival, they all began knocking them out against boots and hitching posts. The men followed them as they made their way through the double doors heading into the nave.

Nearly all the local population was seated inside. Mary and Emma weren’t terribly surprised, but when Annalee saw several girls she’d grown up with, it was apparent that she was shaken. She had always thought them to be friendly, but now they were all here looking at her and her companions darkly.

“Thank you, ladies,” boomed out the parson’s deep voice, “for coming to join us tonight.”

Without any indication that it was planned, Mary took a position on Emma’s left while Annalee stood on her right. The people in the pews looked at them, some nervously and some openly glaring. Despite the terror Annalee was feeling, all three gave off a quiet, calm appearance.

Emma, her face serene, looked up at the man in the pulpit.

“We’s here, Wilton Davies, though I don’t think it’s us joinin’ you as is wanted,” she said. “By the looks on the faces of those around us, ye’ve got all ye could wish for to be on yer side.”

The bald-pated man on the platform broke into a sardonic grin.

“Indeed, Mistress Sothby, you are close to the truth,” he intoned and suddenly swung an outstretched finger in their direction. His voice rose in volume until it was almost a howl as he cried out, “For these good folk are gathered here to expose you as the handmaidens of Satan!”

Silence, louder than the preacher’s shout, rang out. The three women all began looking at one another, their faces reflecting confusion.

“Did ‘e say ‘handmaidens o’ Satan?’” Mary asked in a loud whisper.

Annalee nodded her head, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, as if amazed at the accusation, and Emma stage-whispered, “Aye, that’s what it sounded like. D’ye think the poor man’s gone ‘round the bend?”

“’E does look a tad peaked, does ‘e not?” Mary said.

“Oh, no, ma’am,” threw in Annalee, “the parson always looks like that.”

“Does ‘e now? Shows how often I gets to church, don’t it?”

“So, what’s it mean, then,” asked Annalee, “what he called us, this ‘handmaidens of Satan’?”

“‘E’s sayin’ they think we’s servants of the devil!” Emma responded.

Mary smirked. “Means a wee more’n that,” she said. “Means we go off in the forest with Old Scratch and…” She finished by whispering in Annalee’s ear.

The girl gasped loudly, covering her mouth with a hand as her eyes flew wider still. “Why, we never!”

Mary patted her back and gingerly said, “O’course, we never. ‘Twouldn’t be any fun, not with a creature such as that. I, for one, would much prefer a fine gent like…” She raised a hand as if to point, but Emma slapped it down.

“Not now, Mary, not now!” Emma turned back to the parson. “Handmaidens of Satan, eh? No’ sure about this. D’ye think ye could tell us what he looks like, p’raps?”

Davies’ eyes bulged as several of the onlookers chuckled.

“Do not trifle, woman, with the messenger of Almighty God!” He bellowed. “On this very day hath God’s Holy Spirit moved these good people to recount the dark and evil magic that each of you have used in service of your wicked master!”

Once more the trio looked confused, turning to one another.

“Here, what’s this about evil magic?” asked Emma.

“Pay that no mind, I want to know who’s this ‘wicked master’ ‘e’s talkin’ about!” Mary said loudly. “I’ll have all here to know that I’s got no master, not wicked or otherwise, not since me last husband drew his final breath, may God rest ‘is pitiful soul!”

“What? Is he sayin’ we’s wed to the Prince of Darkness? Why, that’s silly, I’ve never been wed at all, and Annalee’s only just got her womanlies last year, not even looked at a man for the thought o’ marryin’ yet, nor o’ triflin’, for all of that!”

“Gammer!” said Annalee, turning pink.

“…so where’s he gettin’ off with all this, then?” She turned back to face the clergyman. “Parson, it has always been common known that what we does, we does with our gifts from the very God ye claim to serve! What yer callin’ our ‘dark and evil magic’ be naught but a skill with the herbs God gave us, and p’raps some bit more of that power that comes from the part of His Spirit that He gave to all His children. We trust and serve God, not Ol’ Scratch, and it starts to seem as ye might be wantin’ to be rid of us as might expose ye for the fraud ye are! So, let’s hear what’s bein’ said of us, then, shall we?”

She turned to the people in the front pew and squinted as if she had trouble seeing. “Ruth Rhodri, is that you? And I sees ye got little Benjamin, there, in yer arms. How’s his tummy been? Still free of the sickin’ up, is he? And, look, there’s John William. How’s that arm ye nigh cut off last month, John? Is Annalee’s needlework still holdin’ it on?” She looked around the room.

“So, then, who is it amongst you who’s come to say all the good we done ye is somethin’ as dark and wicked as the parson says?”

“Be silent, thou foul sorceress! These good folk need not…”

Emma wheeled on him, interrupting his speech. “Sorceress? Sorceress? Don’t ye be callin’ me such names as ‘sorceress,’ ye old binney! I may confess to a knowin’ of herbs and such, but I’ll have naught to do with the conjurin’ of spirits!”

Mary crossed her arms under her breasts, glared at the parson (at which point Annalee tried to imitate her and got confused about just where her arms should be crossed on her own less-contoured chest), and said, “Ach! The very idea!”

“Idea!” echoed Annalee.

“Arthur Harkness!” called the parson. “Stand and give testimony!” Harkness rose slowly in the fourth pew, looking nervously about himself. “Well, I, uh…”

“Speak up, good Arthur! Recount the tale you shared but an hour ago. Tell how these sinful creatures forced their way into your home and tore the babe out of your poor wife’s womb! Recall how you had known it was against the will of Almighty God, whose right it was to call your missus to die in childbirth. Remind all of us how you were tearfully submitting to His will, when these who know not the God of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob usurped His right and forcefully delivered the child in opposition to what you knew was right, how…”

Emma lifted her gaze to look Parson Davies in the eye. She raised one hand, in the age-old gesture that means “stop,” in every tongue.

The parson’s voice trailed off, though his mouth kept working and his eyes widened in shock that no sound was coming out.

“Let’s be havin’ a moment, ‘ere,” she said. “Arthur, I’s wonderin’, which one o’ yer nine children was it we so ‘forcibly delivered?’ Ye must be speakin’ o’ either me or Mary, here, since ‘twas we what midwifed the whole lot of ’em.”

“Emma,” Mary said, “it musta been young Rufus, don’t ye know, for ‘twas he what near to kilt his poor mother; I recall how Mister Harkness sent his wife’s brother to fetch us while we was checkin’ up on Esther Dondras, her bein’ still a couple months from birthin’ at the time…”

“But, Mary, it couldna been, for all it took to deliver little Rufus into the world was just a little extra push at the top of his mum’s belly an’ ‘e just fairly squirted out right into my hands. And, to be true, I’m not recallin’ a one of the Harkness whelps as needed any real force to get ’em begot.” She turned back to Harkness. “Go on, Arthur, tell us, which one was it? And what was it we did that was so evil, I wonders?”

Harkness, his eyes round and big, opened his mouth once, twice, and suddenly sat himself down with a loud thump on the pine bench. Emma looked back at the parson.

“Well, Mister Harkness seems not to recall what he may have said, Parson. Do go on.”

The preacher, whose mouth had been opening and closing without sound uttering forth throughout the entire episode just described, suddenly found his voice.

“Witch!” he cried out. “All the three of you are witches! Even here, in the house of God, you use your foul magic to silence the witnesses against you!”

“Silence?” Emma asked. “Did ye not hear me ask Arthur to tell his tale? ‘Twas him as reconsidered, Parson, not any doin’ o’ mine! And as fer bein’ witches, aye, that’s what we’s called, for a true witch ain’t but one who’s been gifted by God Almighty with a blessing of His own Power, to heal and mend and do fer them as needs help! But lookin’ out over the faces here present, I feel sure ye can find a few to speak agin us. Go ahead, then, let ’em talk, as will.”

And then it began. Megan Dell stood and told how Mary Higgins had bewitched her good husband

Charles until she had been forced to follow him only to find her own beloved husband, a good Christian who was never given to carnal desires of any kind (well, not in some years anyway, them having six children and all), spying on Mary as she bathed in the stream, and when she’d confronted him, poor Charlie swore a mighty oath that he must have been bewitched. Surely no God-fearing married man would look lustfully on a woman of his own free will, he’d said.

Two dozen husbands shouted “Amen!” Mary had to stifle a grin, and the frenzy took strength.

Amos Bordwyn confessed that once, when “that woman”—at which point he indicated Emma—had passed by his chicken yard, his hens failed to lay a single egg for three days. That was a sure sign that she had hexed them; had naught to do with foxes, no matter what anyone said!

Cormack MacGregor told how he’d (hiccup) heard some voices in (hiccup) the forest late one night in the summer and discovered the three of them, naked as (hiccup) newborn babes, dancing and singing, “as if they (hiccup) awaited the Devil!” (Annalee, upon hearing this, stomped both feet several times and would have probably said something stupid had not Mary put a restraining hand on the girl’s shoulder.)

Lista Bradiff, who was a year younger than Annalee and never liked her, told how Annalee had “often bragged” about the “secret, wicked things” she was learning from the two older ladies. She said that the three of them had tried to entice Lista herself into joining in sinfulness (which she was delighted to describe, although most of the things she said were not possible for a group that included no men, or at least a pony!).

Ingris Rangor, Martha Killian, Vergal Broadmoor, Samuel Bracken, Talon McLeod—one after another the people they had known and helped for years stood and spoke against them. Occasionally Emma or Mary would ask a few questions that seemed to weaken the statements, until finally Parson Davies began shouting them down when they tried to speak, and the congregation joined in with him.

Annalee was sick, barely able to believe that the lies she was hearing were coming from the mouths of people she knew. She was only thankful that her parents lived over at Village Ghentony and weren’t here to see…

She’d barely thought it when the doors burst open and some of Brel Herney’s lads dragged her mum and dad inside, and another held her little baby brother.

“Here they are!” yelled Zed Herney, holding Erin Scot’s bound wrists. “Here’s the ones as birthed the youngest of the witches!”

Annalee cried out, and moved to run to her parents, but Emma raised a hand to warn her back. Slowly the old woman turned her eyes and let them move over the crowd, then came to rest on the parson.

“We’ve given no violence, Wilton Davies! There be no call to be takin’ hostages to our surrender. Let ’em go,” she said. “Ye’ve had yer fun, convictin’ us with solicited and tainted testimony. We’ll submit to the sentence you’ll be pronouncin’ on us. Let these good folk go.”

A cry rang out in the church, then, as Erin and Seamus Scot understood what Emma had said. They knew instinctively what it would mean. It had been whispered, now and then, but until now, no one had taken it seriously…

If Wilton Davies had his way, the Witches of Aberystwyth in Cardiganshire of Wales would be put to death—and their young daughter, the witches’ apprentice, would die with them!

Chapter 3

“What trickery is this, then, old woman?” the parson looked at her quizzically. “By what token shall we believe that you will truthfully submit?”

“Ye daft old fraud, are we not standin’ here awaitin’ yer judgment? Better ye do yer worst to us, now, than continue incitin’ these good folks to do yer lyin’ and killin’ fer ye! We’ve surrendered. When the mornin’ comes, most of these folk will be regrettin’ their part in these matters. That grief, I trust, will find its way to yer doorstep. All I ask is but one thing; that ye let the girl say her goodbyes to her mum and dad.”

The look on Davies face, if it were seen on most men, would have been taken for piety; on the parson, however, it could only be interpreted as sadistic glee. He nodded to the Herney boys to release their victims.

“Well, yes, of course she may. As God’s servant, I know the value of being merciful to those I’ve defeated in His Name.”

Emma’s eyebrows went up. “Do ye, now? Odd, that—as I recall, He always told His warriors to show no mercy at all. Go ahead, Annalee. Say yer goodbyes and assure yer mum and dad that they’ll see us again in the next life.” She took the girl’s chin in her hand and raised it til they were eye to eye and winked. “In the next life, lass. You tell them not to fear!”

Annalee, her breath catching as she choked back sobs, nodded to her Godmother and moved to her parents, who stood morosely to one side. They hugged her tearfully, and she tried to make them understand that, no matter what happened next, she and the others would not truly die. They were too distraught, though, and just kept telling her how they loved her and would miss her, and how they would all be together again one day in Heaven.

Annalee was young and not yet certain just how much she believed in magic. It had always seemed to her that her education involved an awful lot of chores, such as cooking and having your arms soaked to the elbows in blood as you stitched up wounds or encouraged babes into the world. Didn’t matter whether they were human or animal, either, such duties being in the domain of the witch—but very little she’d seen so far was more than Head Magic, and so her own fear was as real as that of her family. True, she’d learned a few things that were hard to explain without using the word magic but perhaps not impossible... and certainly easier to accept than any spell to bring them all back from the dead!

So she wept with her mother, hugged her father, promised to watch over her baby brother, Robert, from “Heaven”—and stifled her tears and her fears when at last she heard Emma’s calm, strong voice.

“Come, then, Annalee. ’tis time.”

Annalee moved to stand beside her Gammer Emma, as Mary took her own position beside the girl, placing her between the two older women. The three of them linked their hands and faced the pulpit.

“Well, then, Wilton Davies,” Emma began, “what will it be? D’ye plan to hang us? Or have ye a cucking stool down by the river awaitin’ us?”

The parson’s face went blank in mock surprise. “Why Mistress Sothby, you grieve me! Hanging? A cucking stool? These are not the dark ages, old woman.”

Emma’s eyebrows twitched upward again. “Ye’ll be needin’ to forgive me, then, Parson; ’tis a bit dark they be lookin’ from down here!”

Davies shook his head. “Oh, but you misunderstand, I assure you! This congregation is not here to condemn you, but to save you! It is your immortal souls that we all fear for—and so, all we seek is your repentance! Only vow to do no more service to him that opposes Almighty God, and we can all return to our homes and sleep in peace this night.”

Emma stood silent for a long moment, then nodded. “So, that’s how it will be, eh?” She looked at Mary first, then Annalee.

“What say ye, my darlin’s?” she asked.

Mary looked the old woman in the eye, and grinned. “Ach, Emma! Either way it goes, ’tis the people as will suffer most, without our knowin’s and doin’s. An’ if we surrenders this far, they’ll be blamin’ us, fer bein’ weak. I say we spit in the ol’ scunner’s eye! Let him reap the harvest of their anger and hate when they sees we’s gone.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “And ‘twill make our return the more welcome, so we’ll not see the likes of this again soon!”

Emma nodded and turned to Annalee. “Child, neither of us will take it amiss if ye choose to bend yer knee. You’re young, and they’ll not blame you as they will us who cared for them the past lot of years.”

Annalee sniffled, but stood straight. “As long as I can remember, Gammer Emma, you’ve been she that I’ve admired. As a little girl, all I knew was that, someday, I wanted to be just like you. When you took me as your apprentice, I was thrilled, even though at times you did all you could to run me off. All I am now is due to you and Mary.” She made herself stand just a bit taller and a bit straighter. “I’ve not seen much magic, but I know the language you’ve taught me. And so I know the spell you spoke in your cottage. I don’t know if it is real or not, but I’d not be me if I didn’t trust in you. I will stand with you, and if I die, then so be it.” She turned to face the pulpit with a stern glare and took Emma’s hand in her right and Mary’s in her left.

Emma smiled. She looked up at the parson.

“Seems the price of our lives is too high, good Parson. Do with us as ye will.”

Davies stood silent for a moment, an expression of sorrow on his face, then looked at the Herney boys.

“Lads, please escort these ladies to Mistress Sothby’s home and see them safely inside. Perhaps, on the morrow, their choice may be different. See that they do not leave, and that none come to visit tonight. Come morning, I will come to speak with them again.”

Grinning, the boys surrounded them and ushered the women out the door into the night. Annalee started to speak, but Emma cut her off with a look, and they walked in silence in the midst of the young men.

The walk took almost as long as the one that brought them to the church two hours earlier and they were growing tired by the time they reached Emma’s cabin. Two of the Herney boys tried to barge inside, but a mere look from Emma made them reconsider. They opted to settle themselves in the yard, filling pipes and relaxing, instead.

Emma closed the door and turned to her companions.

“So, what think ye, my gels? Are we to be converted come mornin’, or does the good Parson have somethin’ else in mind?”

Mary sat herself on the deacon’s bench against the wall and leaned back. “I’m only surprised he’s given us til then; he seemed a bit too pleased at our refusal to bow, don’t ye think?”

“But surely,” said Annalee, “he’s grabbing at any chance to let us go? By morning he’ll only give up his persecution. Don’t you see? Because he didn’t get the response he wanted?”

“Wilton? I would say not! That man knows not the meanin’ of not gettin’ what he wants, no, he don’t!”

Emma cocked her head and looked at Mary.

“Mary Higgins! And have ye been on the receivin’ end of his attentions, then?”

“Oh, aye. The parson’s a man, ain’t he?”

Incredulous, Emma asked, “And ye didn’t think to mention this while he was puttin’ us on trial this night?”

Mary waved a hand at her. “Ach, Emma, ‘twas four years gone, when he was new in the parsonage, and me fourth husband had been dead a year. He dropped by one fall afternoon to ask me to church and ended up stayin’ til dawn! He wouldn’t admit to it now, and those as curries his favor would swear me a liar!”

Annalee had caught on. “Mary, you did—well, that—with the parson? But that’s awful!”

Mary ruefully replied, “Aye, ‘twas. ‘E’d never done before, y’sees, and ‘twas all I could do to educate him. He kept comin’ back, every day for a week or more, until I finally had to run him off.”

“And how did ye manage that?” asked Emma.

“Oh, ‘twas easy,” Mary said, winking at Annalee. “I merely used a glamour to make meself look like you. The poor man ran screamin’ out me door and I never seen ‘im again til this very night!”

Emma gave a disgusted snort. “Well, we’ve all night to wait. Annalee, put the kettle on the boil and make the tea. Mary, they’s biscuits in the cupboard; if ye fetch ’em, we can eat ’em with the tea. I’ll be stokin’ the fire.”

The two younger women busied themselves as Emma sat in her rocker and thought about the events of the evening. When the tea was done, Annalee poured three cups as Mary set out biscuits on a plate, and they sat at the table where the night’s unusual happenings had begun.

Emma took up a biscuit and dipped it briefly into her tea before taking a bite. She looked across the table. “I’ve been thinkin’,” she said. “Annalee, how did yer mum and dad take things tonight?”

“Why, they were heartbroken and frightened, Gammer, but they’ve faith, still.”

“And what of your family, Mary?”

“Me? Me sons are all grown and took themselves and their wives and kiddies off to Cardiff, you know. Only me youngest daughter is still around, over by the Oakwoods, across the county with her husband. Me other girls are all over in England with their own men. There’s not so many as would miss me fer long.”

Emma ate another biscuit. “Seems to me,” she said after a bit, “that the parson’s up to somethin’. Try as I might, I can’t see ‘im givin’ up come morn’. ’tis comin’ high midnight, now, and I expect we’ll be seein’ soon what deviltry ‘e’s got on ‘is mind

Annalee shivered. “Gammer Emma—do you think, maybe, he’ll think that the good townsfolk won’t go for... for...”

“Puttin’ us to death?”

“Well aye, for that, in the light of day?”

Emma’s eyes opened wide, and she looked at her goddaughter. “Well said, my lass, and keen of ye to see so very clear! But that’s why I’s thinkin’ we’ll hear from him yet in the night.” She rose and went to the hearth, lifted the stone and looked inside. She took out the lamp, then lifted out a large purse, checked a small square package, and then replaced the lamp and the stone.

“He’ll not dirty ‘is own hands,” said Mary. “Cock an ear, now, and listen up. Methinks there’s a few more of Brel Herney’s out in the dooryard.”

Annalee leapt up and hurried to the sole window in the front wall.

“She’s right. But it’s worse: I see a dozen men, all with hooded cloaks, and the hoods are up.” A flare of light suddenly illuminated her face. A gasp escaped her, and then a soft keening, almost a whispered wail. “Ah, Gammer, Mary—they be lighting torches!”

Emma nodded, “O’ course they are. I sees it now—a fire burns down me cottage with us in it in the night, and should any question how it began, no doubt the witnesses will swear we lit it ourselves. All neat and tidy, ain’t it, though?”

Mary nodded her agreement. “Aye, neat and tidy ’tis, no matter how it be looked at; the good Parson’s hands be clean, and we’s still dead, eh?”

Annalee had spun to look at them, and now she gave a sob and rushed to kneel beside Emma, tears streaming down her face. She threw her arms around the old woman, let out a sob, and cried on her shoulder.

Emma hugged her and stroked her hair with her free hand. “There, now, child, ’tis alright. We prepared, did we not?”

“Oh, but Gammer, fire! We’ll burn, and—oh, ‘twill hurt! ‘Twill hurt so bad!”

Mary slipped to her own knees beside the young girl, and when she spoke it was with a firm but gentle tone. “Annalee Scot! It has been nigh onto six years now since we took ye to ‘prentice! Surely by now ye know we’d not let ye suffer so! No flame will come near ye, child, this I swear to ye! We’ll be gone long ‘fore that!”

Annalee raised her head. “Gone? But how? There be men all round the cottage!” she wailed.

“Aye,” Mary said, “there is those, but remember ye, how ‘twas yer Gammer safeguarded us even before we set out from here tonight?”

Annalee nodded, but then threw herself back onto Emma, sobbing. “But that’s to bring us back if we die!”

This time it was Emma who spoke sternly. “Gel, did ye not study the language lessons we been a-

teachin’ ye? I cast no spell to return from death, but to avoid it!”

Annalee sobbed twice more, then fought back her tears and raised her head to look at Emma. “You said, ‘Nos morituri’...”

“Aye, and what does it mean?”

“It means—we die not—yes?”

“Aye, it does. And ‘te floreat?’”

“We—we flourish?”

“Aye, again. ‘We do not die, but we flourish.’ Now do you see?”

“I—I—I don’t understand, Gammer, I’m sorry, I’m stupid!” She broke again into sobs and fell forward, burying her face in Emma’s skirts.

“Cor, child, were ye stupid, ye’d not be our apprentice! Takes a circle to care for a territory, and takes three to make a circle. Ye were chosen to make our third when Mother Brickham knew her days was nearin’ their end, and it were yer keenness of wit and eye that led us to ye.”

She took a deep breath, as she stroked Annalee’s hair. “But as to this present trouble, we’ll speak it plain, so ye can cease to fear. The spell I cast made a link ‘twixt now and the next time my old lamp sees the sun. ‘Twas my plan to wait til that old fool Davies made his move, and then we’d vanish in the very midst of them all, step from one moment to the next, so’s all them as was watchin’ would be amazed and afrighted, and they’d not want to be a part of such a spectacle ever again.”

A loud thump sounded at the side of the cottage, and two more on the other side and the back wall. Light could be seen through the windows as flames began to dance up those walls, and then two more thumps hit the front wall and the cottage was doomed for certain.

Emma rose, lifting Annalee by her shoulders to stand beside her, and Mary stood as well. They linked hands without a word, standing in a small circle.

“So, ’tis time,” Emma said. “The lamp will survive the fire, and in a day or two someone will think to look under the hearthstones for my hoarded silver. They’ll filch the lamp and carry it off, and the sun’s light will strike it—and that unlucky thief will find hisself a-standin’ in our midst.” She took a last look around her cottage, and saw smoke oozing in through the walls.

“Are we ready, then? Mary?”

Mary smiled, her eyes sparkled and her perky bottom gave a saucy little shake as she squeezed Annalee’s hand. “Aye, I’s ready! Me goodness, I’s not used a skippin’ spell in many a year, not since ol’ man Winfred talked me up to his hayloft and outa me skirts ‘n’ vests, ye know—’twas the time his old woman nigh caught us, and I were forced to...”

“Mary! ’tis a somber occasion! Can we not do without one of yer tales of wantonness in yer youth?”

“Oh, ‘twasn’t in me youth, more like me young womanhood, ‘twas just after me first husband got killed by the wolf ‘e was trackin’…”

“Not now, Mary! Annalee, are ye ready? Only ye better be, as I can see flames beginnin’ to lick up the inside wall of my bedchamber, what with Mary Roundheels here wastin’ so much time with her braggin’ and…”

“I’m ready, Gammer, I’m ready!” wailed Annalee. “Gammer, the fire!”

“All right, all right! Hold tight, ye both!” she squeezed their hands and closed her eyes. “Nos Corruptio—Nos morituri—Tempus, de Integra!”

Annalee felt heat on her back, and knew the dry old wood of the cottage was ablaze like tinder. She closed her eyes tightly, but that didn’t help; she could still feel the heat, could hear the crackling of flames and smell the smoke and ash in the air, rapidly getting thicker and hotter.

Emma repeated her incantation, chanting it, and then Mary joined in, too. Annalee felt dizzy and her fears resurged. She took up the chant.

“Nos Corruptio—Nos morituri—Tempus, de Integra! Nos Corruptio, Nos morituri, Tempus, de Integra! Nos Corruptio, Nos morituri, Tempus, de Integra!”

The room suddenly began to spin as Annalee’s dizziness increased, but she kept up the chant with the others. Faster and faster she felt herself revolve, though she knew she was standing still—and then she knew—it was the smoke, she could just barely smell it now, it must be so thick that she was losing consciousness. She saw colors behind her eyelids, and as they seemed to fade into the distance, she thought: I’m dying... this is what it feels like to die...

And the darkness closed in, and even her thoughts were gone.

Chapter 4The following morning was a sad and mournful one in Aberystwyth. Almost all the townsfolk and most of Cardiganshire County stood around the smoldering remains of Emma Sothby’s cottage. Several wept, including Annalee’s heartbroken parents. More than one whispered that, no matter what the Herney boys said, it was too much of a coincidence that the good women who’d been known as the Witches of Aberystwyth were all dead the morning after their last confrontation with Parson Davies. All that remained of the cabin were the stone hearth and the chimney, and a few people swore they heard a low moan come from the fireplace. It was Lista who cried out that it was Annalee’s voice she heard, and she stood trembling as she wept.

The parson arrived at half past nine and bemoaned the “sad necessity of God’s Justice.” The people were remembering the women, though, and all the good they’d done and how the parson had bullied and coerced so many to twist the truth and give false witness. A low murmur began in the crowd and slowly grew into a shout.

“’Tis ye that’s guilty, Parson!”

Davies whirled toward the voice. “Who said that? Who dares speak so of God’s servant?”

There was no answer at first, but then Fonn Gregor stepped forward. “I’ll say it. This fire was not the work of God, but of man, and I’ll wager good coin that it was at your orders!”

Kennet Lang stood forth. “Aye, I’ll say the same. Our Parson laid the foundation for these foul murders last eve, and I’ve no doubt it’s his very own handiwork, or that of men in his service, that our eyes see, but we all share in the blame, as well, savin’ only the Scots, who lost their daughter!”

“How dare you?” Davies cried. “You all heard them, they refused to repent! Surely God will strike down all those who dare oppose him!”

Arthur Harkness stepped out of the crowd, his face full of grief.

“Parson, it’s been my experience that God don’t take much interest in matters of this life, and if He be metin’ out justice, then why was it not my house and my own family that be naught but ashes this morning? Did I not let you take my words and twist them into something wicked last night? These who died here were no more servants of the devil than am I; nay, even less so than I, for I let the good they done be accounted sin at your urging, afraid to speak in their defense lest ye hang me on the same cross you used to crucify them!” He ran a hand over his face. “May God and the souls of these good women forgive me what I’ve done, for I have grave doubt that I shall ever forgive myself!”

“We all feel the same, Arthur,” said Brel Herney. “Strange, it is, how the light of day can make dark what seemed so right in the black of night.”

“Aye, but the black was not just in the night,” said Gregor. “’Twas in each and every one of our souls, and it was the listenin’ we done to the parson’s words what put it there within us!”

Several voices rang out, crying, “That’s right!” and “’Twas the parson’s doin’,” but Fonn Gregor wasn’t finished. “Aye, we listened to him as had a hate against these ladies,” he went on, “and someone went so far as to burn them to death, certainly following the orders of that same Parson!”

It suddenly dawned on Parson Davies that the crowd had shifted, that it no longer stood spread out across the cottage yard, but surrounded him on three sides. The fourth side was blocked by the smoldering remains of the cottage.

“Step back!” he demanded, and made as if to force his way through them, but the people stood firm and he fell back.

“’Twas his doin’! His fault!” sang out a woman’s voice.

“His sin!” came another.

“Murderer!” shouted Erin Scot. “You have murdered our own Annalee, and her blood and the blood of her good ladies be on your hands and on your soul, Wilton Davies!”

A whisper began in the crowd, then, and flowed from person to person like a breeze, and then Fonn Gregor laid a hand on Seamus Scot’s shoulder. “Friend, take your wife home and mourn your dead. That which will happen here would dishonor your daughter’s memory, should you take part.”

Annalee’s father was a good man, and it took him a moment to realize what Gregor was saying; he took his wife’s hand.

“Come, Erin, we’ve left wee Robert with your mum long enough. Let’s go home.” He looked at Parson Davies once more and then led his wife away. There was a heavy silence until they were out of hearing range.

Fonn Gregor turned to the parson.

“Wilton Davies,” he said, “the people of Aberystwyth say you guilty of three murders, whether by your own hand or that of another, and we’ll show you the same mercy you offered to them whose ashes cool behind you. Will you kneel, right now, and confess and repent, that God and we might forgive you?”

Davies’ eyes were wide, and now they rounded with his rage.

“Repent? Repent? Doth not the Word of God say, ‘Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live?’ I have done only God’s will, and only God may judge me!”

Gregor nodded. “Very well, then. Let’s let Him get on with it.”

Davies stared at him and didn’t even seem to notice when the first stone struck him over the right eye. The next hit his chest and made him stagger back a step, and then came another, and another, and suddenly he began to cry out as the air filled with flying stones. Again he fell back, and his boots began to smolder as he stumbled into the red, glowing embers of the burned cottage.

He felt the heat and looked down at his feet, just as his trouser leg brushed a large ember and burst into flame, and now his cries became screams. He tried to run out of the fire pit, but a rain of stones prevented him, and it was all he could do not to fall. His trousers and boots were ablaze, then, and at last he stumbled. He fell to one knee and caught himself with a hand that he thrust out, directly into a crumbling, glowing log. His fingers were burned into stumps even before he knew the added agony of their incineration.

The stones continued, and he fell back onto his rump in the coals. His cloak caught, and blazes were even licking his face, the blood from numerous stone-cuts beginning to sizzle and steam. His screams had become a constant roar of agony.

No one ever said who threw the first stone, or the last, but that final stone was a large one that struck hard enough to crack Davies’ skull and end his torment. He fell unconscious, and his last breath inhaled flames that instantly seared his lungs into shriveled black lumps the size of walnuts. He died

in near silence, only the sizzling of his flesh to be heard. The people watched him roast for a time, and then they began to walk away.

An hour later, someone returned, and a wagon load of dirt and rocks was shoveled over the blackened bones that were all that remained of the parson. Still later, another wagon trundled up, and yet another load of dirt was thrown over the ashes. When that was done, the wagon’s driver took a small wooden box from the seat and set it carefully onto the cool earth that had smothered the embers beneath. Inside the box were some winter greens.

Slowly, throughout the day, other gifts arrived, tokens of honor given for the three women who died in the fire. And again and again, it was said, the voice of the youngest could be heard as the wind moved through the chimney stones.

No one ever moved the hearthstones. If old Emma Sothby had truly hoarded silver, as some said, then it would lay in the dark earth forever, for no one would risk running afoul of Annalee’s ghost to look for it.

Over time, over decades, the site of the cottage became legendary for its haunting nature. The chimney eventually fell, further burying the hearthstones, and no one even remembered the tales of silver…

And the lamp never saw the sun.

The last moments of Wilton Davies’ life included one event that none of the witnesses saw, however, and none ever knew. For from the black, burnt husk that had been a man rose a figure that was not unlike a man, but for the wings it spread.

Davies had been only a tool that Azrael had used, a tool to help exact a vengeance. The old woman was dead at last and would never interfere with his plans again. He flew, then, to the east.

Chapter 5

Present Day

It was Doctor Topoll’s first dig at an eighteenth-century refuse pit, and he and his four students had been quite surprised at just how big the mound was. At a good estimate, it measured more than thirty feet in diameter with a pile of stones near its center, but it seemed to be almost six feet higher, in places, than the surrounding clearing. In addition, there had been some significant discoveries of Druidic relics in the immediate vicinity, so the possibilities were rich for some truly magnificent finds.

Local legends said that the site was haunted, that it was an actual scene of a genuine witch-burning. Topoll knew that very few witches—make that “alleged witches”—were actually burned; the true, usually-innocent victims were almost always hanged, though some few were drowned and a smattering shot. He put no stock in the legend, not at first.

“Mark, Lisa, Ian, it’s always of vital importance to preserve a dig site, from ourselves as well as from nature or vandals. Go to the truck and start setting out the ribs of the tent, while Connie and I set the stakes.” These instructions set in motion an admirable bit of industry that resulted in the entire site being covered by a squat, round tent. A small Honda generator provided electricity to power two dozen ultra-bright LED spotlights inside.

The first three days were spent selecting and preparing their individual plots. Each of the five selected a three meter by three-meter area to work and marked it off with stakes and bright orange string. Afterward, they laid out a walkway made out of wooden pallets that ran from the entrance of the tent to each of their plots.

Topoll chose an area near the east end of the oblong of raised earth, completely unaware that he was digging into what was once Emma Sothby’s privy. Mark, Lisa and Ian, who were all close friends, picked plots close to each other but away from their professor and his (say it with a sneer) “pet,” Connie.

Connie didn’t want to be Professor’s Pet and certainly did not encourage the image. She was, however, the best student in her class, the hardest worker and the most diligent in the carrying out of assignments. Other students saw these facts as evidence of easy A’s and hanky-panky; Connie saw them as steps toward her dream of being an archaeologist.

Connie carefully looked the site over, letting certain details draw her attention. The foxfoot fern that grew in a clump, there, that indicated a deposit of iron in the soil below. That scraggly yellow-bristle bush could mean there was something that poisoned the soil, perhaps even silver.

But she wasn’t interested in riches, or even fame; Connie was interested in knowledge.

For a long time, the most concrete knowledge of recent United Kingdom history and times came from official and commercial literature. When Doctor Topoll had told them they had been granted permission to work a famous site, the so-called “Anna Lee” Tragedy Site, Connie had gone to work, turning to the internet and researching the history of the place.

For over three hundred years, a legend had held its basic form about the site. It said that a young girl, only a teenager, had been trapped in a cottage with two old women and all three were burned to death as witches. It went on to say that her cries could still be heard there when the moon was full.

Witnesses to the tragedy refused to discuss it for more than a decade, until one old man began to share his story. His name was Fonn Gregor, and he was the town’s biggest drunk. The reason for that, he claimed, was the events surrounding the murders of Anna Lee and the Aberystwyth Witches; events in which he had played a leadership role and for which he was then punished each day of the rest of his life.

He told of the burning and of the clergyman who had organized it, but then he told a tale that had not been heard before. The legend said that the clergyman had fled town the next day after hearing the ghost of Anna Lee calling to him, imploring him to come to her. The truth, said Gregor, was less ghostly but far more gruesome, for, as he told it, the clergyman never left at all. He was still there, at that very site, stoned to death by an angry mob allegedly led and encouraged by Fonn Gregor himself. His body had fallen into the smoldering embers of the cottage where three good, wise women had been slain over lies and superstitions.

Connie had found six thousand, two hundred and four web pages referring to “Anna Lee Tragedy.” Only one, far down the list, mentioned Fonn Gregor or his story, which made it stick in her mind. When another search of various sites confirmed the existence of a Fonn Gregor and his rapid decline from successful merchant to drunkard and beggar, she was hooked.

She looked the site over once more.

“Now, if I were a murdered minister,” she murmured softly to herself, “where would I be hiding, here?”

The big pile of stones, judging from their shape and what looked like remnants of mortar on some of them, was almost certainly the old hearth and chimney, fallen in. That would have been on a side or back wall, facing into the main room that was both kitchen and living room.

The stones had fallen forward—and that decided her, betting that if his body were left in the burning rubble, it would be close to the hearth, a likely hot spot.

She staked her plot and went to work. For a week, she moved earth with a small trowel, inserting it gently, patiently, and freezing instantly when the point met resistance, using various stiffnesses of horsehair brushes to uncover each item.

Sometimes it was merely a stone, but she found other things.

A part of the legend had somehow made the tragic Anna Lee a sort of unofficial saint; it was common for young people to bring gifts to the site, even today, for she was considered the patron saint of hopeless lovers. A charm, tossed into the site, was said to enlist her aid in winning the heart of the one you loved. Connie and the others found many such things. Most were worthless, though Mark found a gold ring, and Connie a pair of pearl earrings.

On their eighth day on site, she was working a small area where she suspected the actual hearth had been. This involved digging out and moving dozens of large, flat stones, and was hard labor, but Connie didn’t mind at all.

As the sun slunk its way downward, she carefully lifted another stone and froze. There, underneath, was a hollow, and she could see objects in it. She quickly lifted the little digital camera that hung around her neck and photographed them in situ, then lifted out the first, a small brass lamp.

Gingerly she brushed off the loosest bits of dirt, then set it on the stone she’d laid aside and snapped several more photos, from numerous angles. She picked it up again to get a clear shot of its bottom

and even aimed the lens down the chimney.

It was unspectacular but in amazingly good condition. Even the wick somehow remained and when she tried it, the oil reservoir cap twisted off just as it should. It appeared to be dry and clean inside, and her eyes missed the long coil of hairs that lay against the outer walls of the tank. She put the cap back on and set it aside to show the professor, then drew out the other item and again took several photos.

A cold chill went down her spine at the thought of being the first person in perhaps three centuries or more to see these things. The second item, however, once she realized what it was likely to be, made her actually shiver—what if...?

It was a small parcel, wrapped in vellum, tied with a coarse twine, and the whole thing had been dipped in wax. Nervously, sensing a potentially important find, she called out to Doctor Topoll.

“Doctor, could you come here, sir?” she asked, trying to suppress the excitement in her voice. “Only I—I’ve found something, sir, and I think it may be significant.”

Topoll rose from his own plot and walked the boards to hers then stepped gingerly over the string and to her side. He immediately saw the lamp.

“Ah, yes,” he said, picking it up. “A very fine example of local brazier-work, and fully in the period of the original legends of this site. I’d place this, by the thickness of the wick, the brass chimney with windows, the cap—oh, surely at least three hundred and fifty years old, perhaps four hundred. A fine piece. We’ll pack it off to London on tomorrow’s post.”

“Yes, sir,” said Connie dutifully, “that’s wonderful, but I’m more excited about this.” She showed him the small, square parcel.

He took it carefully then motioned her to follow him. Just inside the tent but out of the dig site, he had a large table set up and he placed both the lamp and the parcel on it.

“You found these together?” he asked as he donned rubber gloves.

“Yes, sir. There’s a privisanct, a safe-hide, beneath where the cottage’s hearth must have been. They were inside, well protected.”

“Amazing! The wax makes it all stiff, of course, and prevents decay and insect damage. Let’s have us a look inside, shall we?”

He tugged firmly on the cord, and flecks of wax popped off as it came untied. He had to pull it free from the vellum sheet that was folded into a four inch square, then—using a pair of spatulas—he unfolded it. Both of them were amazed as words in a delicate flowing script appeared.

“If ye be reading this missive, I must be dead. So ye must be seeking that silver I kept hid these many years. But I have made a great jest, for ye will not find it. I have in truth taken it with me, every shilling of it. And if ye see me proper buried, then I may leave ye a few on thy pillow tonight. And just because I am dead does not mean I am not watching ye. So ye do not want to anger the ghost of a witch.”

It was signed, “Emma Sothby.”

The excited discussion that ensued included Connie’s research, which had first yielded the name Emma Sothby— from none other than Fonn Gregor, who named her as one of the women murdered

in the cottage! Here before them was proof of her existence, a valuable find indeed, for it would help to correct the history of the region.

Both items were packed for priority overnight shipment to Cambridge.

(The next day Connie uncovered the bones of Parson Davies. No other skeletal remains were ever found there, however, which only deepened the mystery, and the legend, of the Murder of Anna Lee.)

It was well past dark when Doctor Topoll took the carefully packed lamp and the note to the FedEx office. It arrived the next day at the archaeology department of Cambridge University, its arrival heralded by the student assigned to wait for it at the door.

Professors Simkins and Brushlin, acknowledged experts in the history of Cardigan Bay and its environs, were amazed at the note; especially in concert with the cover letter Connie had provided to direct them to Fonn Gregor’s story.

Professor Panksy (“Please pay careful attention to the spelling!”), the leading authority on Artifice and Craftsmanship of the Protestant Era (1539 C.E. to approximately 1900 C.E.), was assigned to examine the lamp. He did so by glancing inside its wrappings and writing a brief report identifying it as “a vented-chimney model with side-hook for hanging, almost certainly made by Loy Bentley of Cardiff, hand cast and beaten circa 1620 C.E.” This report he submitted to the Chair of Histories, along with his opinion that, while the item was in very good condition, finer examples were already in the University’s possession, suggesting that this one be sold to assist in the financing of the Archaeology Department’s field projects.

Chapter 6The suggestion was accepted, and the lamp, still wrapped in the cotton batting Connie had placed around it and packed into a box, was sent to the London office of Sotheby’s Auction (no relation to Miss Emma Sothby). On arrival there, it was unwrapped in a clean room and photographed from every angle. After being wiped down with specialized cleaners and tarnish removers and polished, it was photographed again from every angle then wrapped once more in the same cotton batting and packed into a Sotheby’s box. Both sets of photos and Professor Spanky’s (SIC) Letter of Authentication were then posted on their own web page within a secure area of Sotheby’s website. This area was accessible only to known collectors who had spent in excess of one million dollars at Sotheby’s.

Within hours, the page had been viewed more than eighteen thousand times, and the online auction began with an opening bid of one thousand dollars USD. It ran for a week, and ended with the successful bid of six thousand nine hundred dollars U.S., placed by Andy Skaggs of Branson, Missouri, a country-music performer whose family came from Cardiff in the nineteenth century.

The lamp was immediately labeled for shipment to Mr. Skaggs and was picked up by the same FedEx driver who had delivered it the week previously. This pleased Jeannette Jennings, the shipping manager, who thought about things like hanky and panky whenever he walked in.

By the following morning, the lamp was stowed safely in the cargo area of FedEx Jumbo Jet Number Seven One Four, on its way across the Atlantic Ocean to New York City. It was offloaded at the FedEx terminal, where it was scheduled for a Midwest Flight two days hence. That flight left New York’s LaGuardia Airport before dawn and touched down at Springfield-Branson International Airport four hours later.

Three trucks were present to receive the portion of the shipment intended for the Springfield Terminal, including one from Direct Package Express, with whom FedEx had a contract for deliveries in certain areas of the Missouri Ozarks. Particularly, those would be areas that required four wheel drive and serious off-road suspension, for instance. The lamp was among the boxes, parcels and envelopes that were passed to the DPE driver and carried to the company’s small terminal behind the Battlefield Mall. There, it was offloaded so that it could be dispatched to the proper delivery driver the following day.

Twenty-one hours later, the lamp was bouncing around on a shelf in the back of a DPE Chevy Van, which was zipping down U.S. 65 toward Branson. The driver, Jason Spinner, who wouldn’t have interested Jeannette Jennings in London at all, spent a lot of his driving time trying to compose songs for his failing rock band and terrifyingly less time paying attention to the road. This would ultimately be ruled the cause of his failure to take the proper exit, or even the one after that. Instead, he took the next one he happened to notice, turned right, and proceeded to get thoroughly lost. This small area of Southwest Missouri was known to locals as “The Triangle” (even though it was more of a square with a circle and an octagon glued on), a place where cellular signals apparently feared to go.

It was close to noon when his frustration at being lost turned to rage and caused him to press his right foot down harder on the accelerator, and he began fishtailing the van around corners like a redneck Mario Andretti. He’d figured out which direction he needed to go to get back to Branson and he was hammer-down, pedal-to-the-metal and all-rockets-firing on the way! Only eleven more miles back to highway 65, and he would have made it, he really would have, if it hadn’t been for that big yellow dog standing in the middle of the road around that last curve…

Jason loved dogs, so he swerved the six-thousand-pound van to the left. There was a large tree on the left side of the road; luckily Jason missed the tree. He didn’t, however, miss the wall of rock just behind it. His dual career as rock musician and truck driver ended in a spectacular crash, followed by a series of flips and a fire, right smack-dab in the middle of Little Bugtussle Road.

The lamp, alone amongst the items in the truck, was thrown free simply because it was to have been his first delivery of the day and was not secured by a cargo net. It landed in the ditch not far from where the same big yellow dog stood unhurt, staring dumbfounded at the blazing vehicle (wondering if it had contained dog food). When he heard the sirens a few minutes later, his canine survival sense told him it was a good time to head for home (before some human decided to blame him for this!). He began to trot off, but something about that one lonely box caught his attention. He sniffed it, caught the scent of the double-sausage, double-egg breakfast bun that Jason had been eating as he loaded the truck that morning, took the corner of the box in his teeth and trotted off with his prize. He vanished into the thick brush that filled a lot of the countryside.

He took the box to his favorite snooze spot under an overhang near the small river that passed behind his home. He licked and chewed every part of the box, enjoying the traces of egg and sausage until it finally disintegrated in his mouth, then lost interest in it for a few days. Then, early one morning he detected a faint scent of field mouse in the soft stuff that was inside and started chewing that, but bit into the glass-reinforced packaging tape. The tape got hung up on his teeth and absolutely would not come off! He was suddenly excited to hear the approaching school bus, which meant she would be out—she would help him...

He ran for home. There she was, just in time, the lady who had the kids who gave him baths and food and treats, and played really great tug of war. He slowed to a trot as she looked at him, and then she called him to her and his tail wagged with happiness.

“C’mere, boy,” she said, “whacha got for me, huh? Lemme see..”

And as he thumped the porch floor with his tail, she got the horrible sticky-grabby thing off of his teeth. Fluffy was content to lie there and watch the first rays of sunshine peek over the hills while she took the soft stuff and its sticky-grabby thing inside.

* * *

Azrael stood at that moment on a hilltop in a remote part of Afghanistan, and surveyed his recent labors. Below him, more than a hundred lay dead, and he was pleased with this. He raised his face and started to smile but something, some feeling, suddenly struck him and he spun to face the west. No, he thought. It couldn’t be...

His eyes reflected the flames from the scene below, but his rage caused them to be even brighter than the fire itself.

Chapter 7Katie reached down and pushed a rag aside. Okay, it wasn’t a rag, it was a thick pad of some sort, like cotton, and suddenly more shiny brass became visible.

“Hey Fluffy, let me see what you’ve got here,” she said, and picked up the bundle, opened the door and carried it inside. Behind her, the first rays of morning sunlight began to creep over the horizon.

She took the cotton jumble into her kitchen and quickly stripped off the padding and dropped it into the trash.

A funny-looking brass urn of some sort—no, that was a wick, there—why, it’s a lamp!! Her thoughts went on as she grabbed a dish towel and wiped off the muddy moisture that was smeared on it. Don’t remember this—must be something the silly dog found in the barn.

She thought it was sort of pretty and set it on the counter, just in front of the window. The does were waiting; accustomed to being milked at dawn, they were already gathered around the milking stand. Later, she’d wash the old lamp and find a place for it among her knick-knacks. She set herself up a fresh pot of coffee, turned up the volume on the clock-radio so she’d hear when it went off—her private coffee-break alarm—and went to work.

Milking a goat is an interesting occupation, made so mostly by the fact that the goats often think they’re smarter than you—and, at least until you’ve done it a few times, they’re probably right. Doe-goats have a genuine sense of humor. They find it incredibly hilarious when they manage to tip you over backward, or get a rear hoof into the pail, or (best of all!) when they see an opportunity to make a quick, playful chomp right onto your backside!

Katie had milked goats as a girl, and knew most of the tricks to keeping prank-minded does in line, but milking twenty-four of them still took some time. Most of her milkers would give a good quart to a quart-and-a-half a day, and, at eight to twelve minutes each, the whole job could take up to four hours or more.

On this particular morning, she noted, the rising sun was casting its beautiful glow into the countryside with a particular shimmer to it, almost as if the day had something special to offer. She smiled at the thought and then turned to coax the first doe into the stand.

The sun rose a little at a time and its light flowed like a golden syrup over the farm. (You know, that’s actually a very messy metaphor, if you think about it. That much syrup would probably drown most of the world better than the Flood!)

The hill to the east cast a shadow as the sun climbed it, and so the first light that touched the farmhouse found its peak and began its slow descent toward the first floor and the waiting kitchen window.

In some philosophies, such concepts as Fate are over-humanized into human analogues and imagined to have human-like emotions and attributes. If this were a story being told in a land where such a philosophy held court, then we could easily imagine our old friend Fate having a good laugh about now. The light of the sun oozed its languorous way down the clapboards of the Hollister farmhouse, toward the window through which it would at last touch a lamp that had waited over three hundred years for this moment.

But if all that were true, then we would also be forced to conclude that Fate needed a nice big can of

Whoop-Ass opened up on him!

It took thirty-seven minutes for sufficient light to slide down the side of the house that it could force its way through the dust and grime on the window. Slowly, so slowly, the light pooled into the kitchen and collected around the old lamp until finally, a haze, a smoky luminescence, began to form and to revolve in the air of the room.

At first there was only the slowly turning mist without sound or other effects. An observer, had there been one, would have probably said it began about the size of a baseball and slowly expanded, hanging there in the midst of the kitchen. It grew, and as it grew it seemed to divide, becoming three distinct globes of solidifying, dark-colored mass...

And then a hum began, rhythmic and steady, a repeating pattern, barely audible at first but easing its way higher in volume until it began to take on the cadence of a chant—of words...

Softly: Nos Corruptio, Nos morituri, Tempus, de Integra...

Again, slightly louder now, as the revolving masses elongated and grew, nearly touching the floor: Nos Corruptio, Nos morituri, Tempus, de Integra!

A glow began to shine in the midst of the figures, which had now taken on more form, human forms, with hands clasped together: Nos Corruptio, Nos morituri, Tempus, de Integra!

And slowly, the spin came to a halt. Feet settled onto a floor, and long dresses of black wool swished around legs, hands squeezed fingers, hair drifted around shoulders...

“Nos Corruptio, Nos morituri, Tempus, de...”

Three pairs of eyes opened and three women looked into each other’s faces before looking wildly about themselves. A thousand strange things assaulted their senses—incomprehensible visions of unknown devices; the scents of a hundred different spices, chemicals, air fresheners; the sounds of refrigerators, clocks, the soft whisper of the ceiling fan...

Annalee was frozen, staring upward at the whirling blades of the fan and its three light bulbs. Emma gazed at the sink, and Mary was standing still with her eyes wide and her mouth in a large, open “O” of surprise, her mind completely seized by the image of a shirtless Christopher McCabe, the most popular action star currently taking Hollywood by storm, on the calendar hanging beside the door.

Emma pulled herself together first.

“Well, now,” she said. “Seems we been carried a fair distance, to be awakin’ in such a fine house as this’n!”

Annalee nodded. “Aye, Gammer, we must be in the manor of a fine gentleman, to see such wonders. See, the candles in this chandelier be so small as to fit within these—these...”

“And how far,” asked Mary, “d’ye think we’s come, Emma Sothby?”

Looking around, Emma shook her head. “Ach, and there’s no way to know, as yet. Let us be findin’ a chambermaid to ask our questions of.”

She turned and strode into the living room.

“Hello? Be anyone here? Only, we might be a-lost, bein’ just three ladies unsure of our whereabouts! Hello?”

There was no answer. She returned to where her friends still stood in the kitchen.

“Seems we’s alone, wherever we’s at,” she said, and Mary nodded.

“Aye, and strange, that is. I smells bacon, and look ye—the skillet still bears the thickenin’ grease. ‘Twas someone’s breakfast, no doubt, the sun still bein’ low and climbin’!”

Emma leaned over the electric range and peered into the skillet, with Mary and Annalee close behind her. She felt the iron handle and found it cool, nodded, then looked around once more.

“Strange, ’tis. I see many signs of cookery, all ‘round us, but where d’ye reckon is the cookin’ hearth? There’s not any sign of fire, anywhere!”

“And look, Gammer, at this!” Annalee was pointing at the big clock over the door. “’Tis a clock, like the one at the Inn in Aberystwyth, though not as big. And see, ’tis only seven in the morning, almost!” All three leaned in to look closely at the clock, and it was Mary who spoke what they all were thinking.

“And where’s the weights and the pendulum at? How’s a clock to work without weights?”

Now, this might be a good time to mention that seven o’clock is a sort of magical time at the Hollister house. At seven o’clock, you see, a number of things happen.

First, the cuckoo clock in the living room goes off. This was not a major shock to the women, for the cuckoo clock was invented in the sixteenth century, long before their time. In fact, the clock Annalee mentioned, at the Inn, was a cuckoo clock. So when the “Bong! Coo-Coo!” began to sound, the three merely looked at each other and hurried through the door in a mass. They spied the emerging mechanical bird and watched as it completed its duties.

Mary, smugly, pointed at the weights and pendulum.

“Ha!” she said, feeling vindicated. “Weights!”

The cuckoo clock was a bit fast, at least in comparison to the clock on the coffeemaker, which came to life at that moment. The initial gurgle of steam made such an unfamiliar rattle that they exchanged a glance and once again ran all at once (and tightly packed together) back into the kitchen to see just what could make such a commotion. They had no trouble tracking it down and stared in awe as a dark, foul-looking brew dripped and trickled into a clear glass carafe.

“Some sort of cauldron, d’ye think?” Mary asked. Emma merely stared and shook her head, while Annalee watched with mouth agape.

The third thing that happened involved the radio that sat atop the refrigerator. It came on, happily spewing forth the ridiculously loud and cheerful music that themed the Morning Show on the Kimberling City station.

As the loud electric guitar twanged its way into the brains of late risers and commuters throughout the Ozarks, it also twanged into the ears of three instantly traumatized women from Aberystwyth! All three leapt straight into the air and screamed in unison. They spun around, looking for the source of the noise, and screamed again as the Comedy Dee Jay Duo of Big Bob Johnson and Harley Worthit bade their listeners good morning.

“Hello, out there in Ozarkland, this is Big Bob...”

“And Harley Worthit...”

“Here to get your workday off to a good start! So, hey, let me ask something...”

“Okay.”

“No, not you, Harley, I wanna ask our listeners something.”

“Okay, go ahead.”

“Well, I’m trying to, if you’d stop interrupting...”

“I’m not interrupting.”

“Well, then just hush...”

“Well, okay!”

“Good!”

“Fine!”

“So, anyway, folks, what I’m wondering is...”

“I’ll just sit over here and be quiet!”

“Well, I wish you would!”

“Fine!”

Chapter 8The three women stared at the radio for a few moments as the voices continued to pour out of it and wondered what kind of man could fit into such a small box. This is precisely why they did not see, through the window, Katie stand up from behind the milking stand, stretch her back, and start toward the house for her aforementioned morning coffee break.

It’s also the reason why, intent on the voices and trying to figure out what they were saying, they didn’t hear Katie walk onto the porch, open the front door and step inside. They did, however, hear her gasp at the sight of the three strange—and strangely dressed—women in her kitchen, and so they spun around to face her.

Katie reached up and shut off the radio, and then all four women looked at each other and tried to speak, all at once.

“What are you doing in my house?” demanded Katie.

“What manner of magic is it that be happenin’ here?” asked Emma.

“Good mistress, we are lost and seek our way home!” said Annalee with a tremor in her voice, while Mary asked, “’Ere, now, miss, just what kind of magic might ye be practicin’, eh?”

Katie shook her head. “What?” she asked, squinting in her confusion.

Emma held up a hand and silenced her companions, then slowly pointed at the lamp.

“Was it ye, Miss, what took my lamp from beneath my hearthstone?”

Squinting, Katie looked from the lamp to Emma. “The lamp? That old lamp? My dog drug it home this morning!”

Emma’s eyes widened and she looked at Mary and Annalee, then back to Katie.

“Ah—ahem—I sees,” she stammered. “Well, then. I reckons we’d best be along our way home, then—er, um—only ’tis a bit confused I is, Miss—so if ye could p’raps point me the way toward Aberystwyth?”

Katie blinked. “A very swift what?”

“What?” Emma said, blinking right back.

“You said, point the way to a very swift—a very swift what?”

Emma squinted at her, then held up one hand. “A moment, Miss,” she said and so surprised Katie that she forgot that it was her house. She closed her mouth and waited.

Emma drew Annalee and Mary back into the kitchen a bit further. “Have ye girls noticed a great—difference, perhaps, in her manner of speakin’?”

They nodded, and Mary said, “Her tongue’s dear prickly to make out, ’tis!”

“Aye, ’tis. I best be cautious then.” She turned back to Katie and spoke loudly and slowly. “Well, Miss, it does seem as though we be yet a wee bit more lost than at first I believed, and I hopes ye’ll accept our very sincere apologies, and help us to know the nature of this dilemma?”

Katie eyed her with all the steel she could put into her gaze.

“And just exactly what dilemma is that?” she asked, also speaking slowly and loudly.

Emma twisted her face into the expression that Mary had told her was her best imitation of a smile. She’d practiced it many times before her mirror. It was supposed to put other people at ease. It never did.

“Well, as I sees many powerful examples of yer own magic ‘round us, of course I discerns that ye be a witch, yerself, and a great one, no doubt. And as it happens, we three are ourselves called by that name, and ye’ll have certainly heard of us, fer we’s called the Aberystwyth Witches? And so...”

“Very—swift—witches?” Katie whimpered nervously.

Emma hesitated. “Er—we’ll revisit that, eh? For ’tis not entirely critical to the matter at hand, which is that we are near sure to be a fair way from that our home, so could ye be tellin’ us then, how far it may be to the shores of Cardigan Bay?”

“Cardigan... B-b... Bay?” Katie stammered.

“Aye, in Cardiganshire, in Wales. Y’see, ‘twas a skippin’ spell what I used, with some of the hairs from our heads tucked into yon lamp, that we might escape a grave danger, and that we should be non corpore until it be touched by the light of the sun, and hid it away ‘neath my hearthstone. I knew that someone would look under there and carry it out for to take it home, but now it appears as that one must have hid it under a cloth and kept it dark until it was lost or in some other way passed into the jaws of yer hound.”

Emma closed her mouth with a smug look that implied that everything would be alright now, and Mary and Annalee smiled confidently behind her.

Katie stood stock-still for a few seconds then began slowly: “Let me get this straight—you are—witches, from this—this ‘Very Swift’ place—and that’s in, where did you say, Wales?”

Emma beamed. “Aye, Lass, ye have it!”

“Mm-hmm—and, somehow, you rode that lamp—and then you—appeared, here in my kitchen?”

“Aye.”

“That’s your story?”

The three ladies glanced at each other then nodded to Katie. “Aye, ’tis.”

Katie, who was standing in the doorway between her kitchen and living room, suddenly reached to her left and snatched up a broom, which she raised menacingly as she advanced two steps and began yelling.

“Alright, ladies, I don’t know what loony-bin you’ve escaped from or if somebody put you up to this as a stunt, but I’m here to tell ya I’m in absolutely no mood for either possibility, so get your crazy story, your kooky clothes, your B-movie accents and all the rest of your wacky butts outta—my—house!” The head of the broom, which was a good, old, tight-weave corn straw model, swung toward Emma’s head and she spun and ran.

She ran right into Mary and Annalee, who shrieked and turned to run themselves but the only place they found to run to was around the breakfast table. Luckily, Katie was so furious that she failed to

realize they were running in circles and ended up fourth in line, which made it hard to whack anyone!

“Mary,” cried Annalee, who was in the lead, “is that a broom she’s got?”

“Aye, ’tis indeed, and a powerful one it must be!”

“Oooh,” Katie said as Emma ducked a swing that knocked the clock off the wall. “I said get out!”

“And we’s tryin’, Miss, we’s tryin’,” cried Emma.

“Emma? And why’s it so that ye’ve not turned yon daft wench into a tortoise to aid our escape?”

“For the same sound reason ye’ve not, Mary Higgins, that bein’ that I fear the lot of us bein’ put into the magic box with them lads as was fussin’ a wee back! Any witch as powerful as she be a witch I’d as soon not be angerin’, and turnin’ her into somethin’ else just might be doin’ it!”

“Ooooohh!” cried Katie. “Stop that! I—am—not—a—witch!”

It took two more full laps before it registered. When it did, Emma called loudly, “Tempus Pausa!”

Katie froze in her tracks, the broom in mid-swing. Annalee, unaware of this until it was too late, ran into Katie from behind, knocking her forward until she was supported by the broom. Mary reacted quickly enough to stop before joining the pile-up.

“Did ye hear what she said, Mary?”

“That bit about not being a witch? Aye, I did.”

“Huh! Now, ain’t this a thing! Us as is, a-runnin’ like hares from her as ain’t! Annalee, push the lass back upright, and we’ll be seein’ what might be seen—for I must confess, my dears, that I am not at all sure we’ll be gettin’ home anytime soon,” and she drew a deep breath, “or indeed, ever again!”

* * *

And half the world away, Azrael groaned and spread his wings to take flight. He didn’t need to fly; he could have simply been gone from one place and appeared in another instantly, but he wanted some time to think.

No, that wasn’t quite true. He needed time to plan.

Chapter 9Katie took another three steps before she realized that the three strange women were all suddenly sitting calmly at her kitchen table. She stopped and lowered her broom to the floor, took a couple of deep, calming breaths, and said, “Tricks will not impress me. Now, I’m not trying to be rude, but I...”

Emma started to smile, thought better of it, and scowled instead.

“My dear gel,” she began, “’tis of even greater portent to us that ye believe us than to yeself, so please, if for no reason more than the gray hairs in this old head, give us ear for only a wee space of time.”

“Yes, please, Miss,” said Annalee. “Please?”

Katie stared at them for a long moment then sat down at the remaining place, leaning the broom against the sink counter. She crossed her arms and glared at them.

“Okay, fine. Ten minutes!” she spat. “So, what’s all this crap about witches? And how come you all sound like you’re out of some old English movie?”

Emma blinked. She’d understood almost none of Katie’s words but at least got the gist of the questions. “Well, I know not what a ‘crap’ may be,” she said, “so how best to answer ye—ah...” She looked at the broom. “May I use yer broom?”

Katie turned and looked at the broom, then back to Emma. “Okay,” she said “but one wrong move and I go for Daddy’s twelve gauge!”

Emma merely nodded, glanced at the broom and smiled widely; she held out her right hand and said, ‘’Venire’’ and Katie jumped as the broom leaped past her to smack sharply into Emma’s palm.

Katie was on her feet in an instant, backing away. She put her back against the counter, opened her mouth and tried to talk, but only a soft whistle came out.

“Ye’ve frighted her, Emma,” Mary said. “Would it not have been keener to explain, ‘fore ye fright her very wits away?”

“How did you do that?” Katie gasped out, shaking from head to foot.

Emma replaced the broom—manually—against the sink then sat back and smiled softly. “Why, with magic, Lass. Just as we were tellin’ ye. We three, bein’ myself, Emma Sothby of the village of Cardiganshire, and this, Mary Higgins of Aberystwyth proper, and the last, my own Godchild, Annalee Scot of Ghentony. We were called the Aberystwyth Witches, fer that’s the name given to them as uses magic to heal and such. We were victims of a vicious attack that ended in settin’ my cottage afire with us trapped inside; I used a skippin’ spell to preserve us. The lamp was entrusted with our vites, our living-ness, to carry us beyond the moment meant by men to be our last to a safe moment when the rays of the sun touched our enchanted sanctuary. It does seem that ‘twas ye who came to our rescue, if indeed ‘twas ye who placed yon pretty where the sun’s light could revive us.”

Katie’s breathing was ragged but steady. She looked at the lamp, then at Emma, then the broom, and back to Emma—then turned to Annalee.

“And you? Tell me, please—is this really true?”

Annalee smiled and nodded. “Aye, yes, miss. My Gammer spared my life, though I’d already bidden

farewell to my mum and dad, and my baby brother—but now I live and hope to return to them.”

Katie’s eyes found Mary. “And what about you?”

“Aye, girl, ’tis true, every word ‘n’ more. Them as torched the cottage wanted us dead, so we stole their hope and made it ours, and now here we be!”

Katie closed her eyes and sat very still for a moment. When she opened them again, she looked to the eldest of them.

“You said your name is Emma?” Katie asked softly.

“Aye, and what be yours? I can’t be callin’ ye ‘Lass’ all the time, now.”

“Will anyway,” grumbled Annalee, and Mary reached under the table to pinch her. “Ouch!”

Katie’s lips curled slightly in an involuntary grin. “My name is Katie, Katie Hollister, but—well, Emma, how long ago was this? You all sound like you’re from the Middle Ages...”

Emma nodded. “Ye may not be a witch, but ye’ve got a head fer it, Katie. Ye’ve seen the dilemma. I know not how long ago ’twere, but that it was on the night of December eighth, in the Year of Our Lord Seventeen twelve—and I sees already by yer face that we be farther from home than we had believed.” She reached out to hold Annalee’s hand, and Mary took her other. “So, please, Katie Hollister—tell us how long it has been.”

Katie forced herself to breathe, to relax. This couldn’t be happening, it couldn’t! And yet...

Somehow, she believed them.

“Emma,” she said. “Seventeen twelve was — Emma, that was— that was more than three hundred years ago.” She held her breath.

Annalee broke down a moment later with great choking sobs that wracked her small frame. She cried out for her mummy and daddy, and her sweet little Robert. Katie began to cry, herself, as she watched the girl run around the table and collapse to her knees at Emma’s feet, crying her grief into the old woman’s bosom.

Mary also moved and knelt beside the girl, hugging her and letting tears of her own flow, though more quietly.

“Aye, cry yer tears, lass,” Emma said as she stroked Annalee’s hair. “Weep out yer grief, ’tis good—but do not forget, child, ye were blessed to say yer goodbyes. Poor Mary’s left her own children behind her, too, so save a few tears for Mary, aye?”

Annalee blubbered, “But—but what—about—you, Gammer?”

“Me?” Emma said. “Why, my very darlin’, old Emma’s lost nothin’! Have I not got all I needs, right here? Here’s my best friend, Mary Higgins, with me—and of course, there’s yerself, my darlin’ Godchild, who if the Almighty’d given me a say woulda been my own daughter! Ain’t no more in this world I needs.”

Katie watched her blink back her own tears.

“Emma,” she said in a near-whisper. “There’s more.”

Emma nodded her head. “Aye. I thought as there might be. Do not wait, ‘twill not make it any easier.

Grief is better swallowed in bites than nibbles.”

Katie cleared her throat. “Well, it’s just—if you’re from England, then...”

“Not quite,” Emma said with a slight scowl. “But we be from Wales, so yer close enough.”

“Well—we’re a long way from there—in America...”

Annalee wailed anew, while Emma looked blank. Mary turned to Katie. “D’ye mean the New World?” she asked in shock.

“Um—yeah, I guess I do, I’m sorry!” She wiped her eyes and reached for a box of tissues nearby and passed them out. “Emma, is there anything I can do?”

Emma smiled at her, still comforting Annalee. “Aye,” she said. “P’raps ye might put on the tea?”

“Tea?” echoed Katie. “Um, yeah, sure...”

She got up and reached into a cabinet for her tea bags and took down her mother’s old teakettle. She busied herself in brewing tea as she let the women deal with their shock and grief, and the uncertainty that was now their future.

Strange as they were, Katie liked them. Emma’s courage, ignoring herself to comfort that poor girl... Well, that was something. You just don’t meet people like that nowadays, she thought. Besides, isn’t there a similarity between us? Didn’t I get my world ripped away from me? Haven’t I been forced to start all over?

Oh, but how would these poor women survive? In today’s world, you had to be documented and recorded and identified and numbered in so many different ways that they’d never been!

The kettle whistled and she poured the water into the teapot she’d bought her mother years before. She’d put the teabags in while she waited for the water to boil, and the fragrant tea cast a calming aroma into the kitchen. She grabbed a tray, set the teapot on it, then sugar and cups and spoons, and oh, yes, a bottle of goat’s milk out of the fridge...

She’d made her decision even before she set the tray on the table, and so she poured tea for each of her guests, then poured herself a cup of coffee and sat back down at the table.

Annalee was back in a chair but it was pulled close to Emma’s, and Mary was once more admiring Mr. McCabe’s physique. Emma was softly reassuring Annalee that they’d be alright and spared Katie a smile and a grateful dip of her head as she accepted the tea. She took a sip.

She choked, “Ack! Ah! Ahem—Well, then—tea’s changed a bit as we were gone, and hasn’t it, now?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t think...” Katie said. “This is how we make it now, but maybe with sugar, or milk? I mean, it’s only goat milk, I raise goats, y’see, so...”

Emma waved a hand. “Ease y’self, Katie, ’tis fine—only a bit unfamiliar, but still, ’tis tea, and a body what’s been through a shock needs tea! Grateful we are to ye, m’ dear, and more!” She took another sip and actually seemed to like it. Mary and Annalee had tasted theirs carefully, added milk, and seemed content.

“And now,” Emma went on, “if I may ask a few questions? Well, then—could ye suggest a path we might take to get us back home?”

Katie drew a deep breath. This is the moment, Katie thought. It’s now or never. She smiled her brightest smile.

“Emma—what if...” she began, “what if you’re already there?”

Chapter 10Mary and Annalee looked at each other in confusion, and Emma’s eyes narrowed briefly before going quite wide.

“And how, darlin’ Katie, might that be but that you’re willin’ to open yer home to strangers? And so I wonders, then, why ye might make such an offer, as such strangers as we surely have naught to offer ye in return...”

All three were watching her closely, so Katie gathered her thoughts quickly. “Well, things today are very different from your time. In this world, the governments keep track of everything about us: when and where we’re born, what we do, how we live, and how much money we have, everything. We have to carry special papers to show who we are, and if we don’t have them, then the authorities might lock us up...”

“And we do not have them,” Emma said. “Can we get them?”

Katie shrugged her shoulders. “Won’t be easy. There’s no record of you anywhere in our time. If you leave here today, you won’t be able to get food or clothes or a place to sleep—and to be honest, most folks would think you were crazy, and if they saw, y’know, magic, well, then you’d be considered dangerous, as well.

“So, what I’m suggesting is that you all stay here, at least until you understand this century enough to get by, and over time we can get you some records, maybe, so you won’t be in any danger. Then, if you want, you could probably go back to—to your land.”

Emma considered. “And what of yer neighbors? Would we not be bringin’ dangers to yer home and children?”

“Well, we could... How did you know I have children?”

“And ain’t there signs all about? Yon cloak in that other room be too small to fit ye, and ’tis only lads I ever seen that would play with toys such as I see there.”

Katie swallowed. “Okay, so you’re pretty smart, and that’ll help a lot. Anyway, we’ll tell folks hereabouts that you’re my distant relatives from over in England or wherever, and came to live here because you lost everything back home. That’s at least connected to the truth by a couple of threads, right?”

Annalee meekly asked, “Have you room for us? And would we not be a burden, being three more to feed?”

“I have room,” Katie smiled, “and food’s no problem. I raise goats and chickens, and trade with the Amish butcher for other meats. We’ll get by.”

“O’course, we’d each of us do her part, as well,” Mary said, looking hopeful. “We have some skills with farmin’!”

“I never doubted you would,” Katie said. “And I’ll pay you, though I admit it won’t be much. So, is it settled, then? Oh, wait—I have to put down a couple of rules, like, no magic where anyone can see and no turning people into toads and things. Okay?”

Emma smiled, the real one this time that few ever see and then admit to later. She looked at her

companions. “What say ye, Darlin’s?”

“I likes the notion,” Mary said, “and I likes this lass, as well.”

Annalee looked long and hard at Katie and then said “Gammer—I think God Himself carried the lamp here, once He saw the trouble we were in so long out of our time. He brought us to one who’d take us in and make us kin. I say we stay!” She turned to Emma. “I know I’m only the ‘prentice, Gammer, but I’ve always got feelings ‘bout people. Miss Katie is good. Please Gammer, can we stay? At least til we can—maybe, til we can see what to do? Please?”

Emma looked at Katie. “And what of yer wee ones? Might they not think it odd, kin they never heard of, a-showin’ up?”

Katie smiled. “Trust me, they’ll be thrilled! Claxton isn’t the most exciting place to live. You’ll be like a breath of fresh air to them.”

Emma nodded thoughtfully. “And have ye no other kin to call us liars?”

“No. I’m the last in my family, except for my kids.”

“Well, then,” Emma said. “It does appear, dear Katie, that ye be orphaned no longer—and nor are we! So, we’s best to get about makin’ up a story for to tell the rest of the world, don’t ye think?”

“Yes, of course,” Katie said, “but we also have to think about how to explain you not having identification and all that, and how you got here. Um, it’s time to show you some of the big changes, I’m afraid. Everybody calm, relaxed? Okay, well, wait here.”

She rose and ran up to her bedroom, grabbed her laptop and brought it back to the table. As it powered on, she tried to prepare them for the shock.

“We don’t have magic; what we’ve got is science! What it does is a lot of things that you would probably use magic for, though.” She pointed at the laptop. “Now, this is what’s called a computer; it can show me pictures or give me information about lots of things...”

The three from the past had all pulled their chairs close to hers and were sitting perfectly still, as if they’d been frozen. It took a moment for Katie to realize that they were staring open-mouthed at the spinning clock face on her laptop, and at that very moment the world famous chimes went off, and all three went over backward.

“Oh, my—Oh...” Katie bounced from one to another, checking to be sure they weren’t hurt and helping them up. By the time they had all the chairs upright again, the computer was up and logged onto the house’s WiFi network.

“Okay,” she said, “now, this will let us look up information to make this work—but try not to panic, okay? It’s just pictures and words and sometimes some sounds, but it’s all safe, I swear, so just watch, okay?”

She rested her fingers on the keyboard and thought for a moment, then touched her Internet button and called up her web browser. With a few quick keystrokes, she Googled “Rural Wales” and hit enter.

A million results. She refined her search to “Rural Poverty in Wales” and reduced it to only eighty thousand. She clicked on one, and it opened up to show a half-screen photo of a ramshackle cabin not unlike some in the nearby hills. The text pointed out that the local residents of the region had never

had electricity or telephones, and lived much as they had for hundreds of years. She sent the page to her printer and checked other links.

Within a half-hour, she had created a history for them and begun rehearsing them in it, although it got modified several times by various reactions:

“Grandmother? Grandmother? Why, I’ve not been wed! Not ever! I cannot be a grandmother!” That was a frantic-sounding Emma.

“Me daughter? Annalee? ‘Ere, now, I supposes her hair mighta come from me granny. S’right, then. Annalee, come to Mama, love!” That was Mary.

“Oh, Miss Katie! Only I thought you liked me!” said Annalee (in response to Mary, above).

But as it turned out they had to settle on a few points they just couldn’t get around, so:

Emma would be Katie’s grandmother’s younger sister. Since her grandmother had, indeed, come from England it would fly, provided Emma pretended that she had moved to Wales some time before her sister left for America. Emma agreed, but with a growl in her voice.

Mary would be Emma’s younger cousin—but to be called “Aunt Mary” anyway—the raising of whom was the reason for Emma’s relocation to Wales. (“At least you don’t have to pretend to be English!” )

Annalee, who begged not to be Mary’s daughter (“Only I’d be so embarrassed when she talks about—you know? And she talks about it a lot!”), became Katie’s second cousin, sent to live with Emma when her own parents passed away in a home fire.

The loss of Annalee’s parents had been devastating to the whole family, and they had fallen on hard times. In desperation, Emma had written to her last remaining kin, Katie, who had arranged for them to come over to America and live with her and her children.

Additional Googling rounded out the story: they came over on a tramp freighter named “Bjornsdottir” that had just the day before been found to be defrauding immigrants, promising them legal documentation. The crew were accused of hauling them over from Europe, then taking their money and belongings and abandoning them at night on the eastern seaboard.

So, according to the official story, after being dropped on a beach in North Carolina (where the ship had dumped its last load of victims just a few days earlier), Emma had been smart enough to find a phone and call Katie. Explaining this part had required a demonstration of telephones, which had fascinated all three of the witches.

Of course, Katie then called her ex-husband (who was conveniently wanted for back child support and tax fraud and therefore unlikely to ever make an appearance that would allow him to refute his part in it). Kevin, the story went, had gone and gotten them, driven them to Missouri and dropped them off that morning.

With careful attention to detail and Oscar-worthy acting, this story would allow Katie to help them apply for amnesty, which they would automatically get as victims of immigration fraud, so that they could apply for green cards.

In a worst case scenario, they’d be deported. To Wales. Emma was confident they would survive if that happened.

“And, so, that pewter-thing—it can show ye all sort of things? Only I’s wond’rin’ if it can show us what may’ve befell them as we left behind us?”

Katie shrugged. “Only one way to find out,” she said, and Googled “Emma Sothby.” There were only a handful of results and the top one had a picture—of the lamp.

Chapter 11

The link had led to the University’s Archaeology Department’s website and told the story of how the lamp and the note with it were discovered by a student on a dig only a month earlier. It went into a detailed account of the Legend of Anna Lee.

Mary bristled. “Anna Lee? Anna Lee? And wasn’t we, ’twere, that burned up alive with her?”

Emma glared at her. “Mary Higgins, ye mad hag, if we’d a-burned up ye would not be here in a frenzy ‘bout not seein’ yer own name as a legend.”

Annalee was having issues of her own through all of this and wailed, “But, Gammer, I don’t want to be a legend!” Unfortunately, she was drowned out by Mary, again, who growled at Emma, “And who’s ye to be harpin’ to me ‘bout a frenzy? Ye get yer own besotted legend, ye with yer, ‘Har! Har! Took all me silver with me, Har!’”

“Ladies, ladies, please!” Katie shouted, waving her hands in the air to get their attention back onto the important matter of their new lives. “We’ve got a lot to do before my kids get home, okay? Now, everybody sit down and we’ll get started!” She closed the laptop with a finality that shut them up, and all three took seats again.

“Now,” she said, “I need to prepare you for some other shocks, like, um, television and cars and things. Television is like the computer screen, because it shows us pictures that move. Did you ever see a play?”

All three nodded and Annalee added, “Oh, yes, when they have the fair at Ghentony, they always have players. Last year they did a play about David and Goliath, ‘twas nice!“

Katie grinned; she couldn’t help but like this girl.

“Okay, good. Well, a television, or it’s also called a TV, is like a—a box that has plays in it. Most of what it shows isn’t true, it’s just for fun, for entertainment.”

They all looked at her doubtfully, so she got up and led them to the living room. She picked up a slim black object from a long, low table and pointed it at a black rectangle on the wall.

The channel was set to Nickelodeon, which was at that moment airing an old SpongeBob Squarepants episode.

“See? Not even real, here. This is what we call a cartoon.” She pushed another button and the channel switched to another station. This one was showing the movie Immolation, starring Christopher...

“Ach! ’tis the McCabe!” Mary shoved Emma aside to get a better look at the star who was letting his open shirt fly in the breeze.

Katie stared. “Wait a minute—how could you...?”

“Well, and she’s been starin’ at yer paintin’ of him all the mornin’, and wasn’t she now? That one on the wall, in yer kitchen, with his name as big as life!”

Katie looked over her shoulder at her Celebrity Studs calendar, and breathed a sigh of relief. She turned off the movie with another button.

“Now, cars—that’s what we call a—a horseless carriage.”

The three exchanged glances again then looked back at her. “And?” asked Emma. “What about them?”

“Well—what I mean is, a carriage that moves without a horse pulling it.”

Glances exchanged. All eyes back on Katie. “But you’re not a witch, ye say?”

“No! A car has an engine and you put gas in it, and—oh, come outside, I’ll show you!“

They followed her dutifully out the front door, heads turning this way and that. Fluffy, lying in his dog bed, looked up startled at the newcomers and got up to sniff and wag and see if any of them were good for a treat, or at least a good petting.

Annalee squealed when he bounded up to her, then laughed for the first time that day as she patted his head and got her hand licked.

“That’s Fluffy,” Katie said, smiling. “Pat his head or rub his belly, and you’ve got a friend for life! Later the kids’ll show you how he likes to play.” She beckoned them on to the barn.

The does were milling about, irritated that their human servant had not returned on schedule to finish her duties. Now she was coming their way with three more of her kind; could these be more servants? They bleated the question demandingly but the women walked past them.

“Relax, girls,” Katie said, “I’ll get back to you as soon as I can!”

She continued to lead the way to a big white door, then grabbed a handle on it and lifted upward. There in the dark recess that was the center aisle of the barn sat the big Ford pickup.

Katie had the ladies stand to one side as she climbed up into the cab. She called out, “Now, don’t panic. It’s a little loud, and remember, no magic!”

She turned the key and the engine started instantly, so she eased the clutch out and let it roll forward. She stopped outside the barn and set the brake with the transmission in neutral, then climbed out and walked around to the passenger side. She opened both doors on that side and said, “Okay, climb in.”

Emma looked at the seat then shook her head. “It be a-growlin’—I’ll not be climbin’ into anything that growls!”

“That’s not a growl,” Katie said, “that’s the engine. It makes the wheels turn so we can move down the road.” She looked at Emma’s stubborn face and turned to Mary. “Mary? Will you get in, please, so they know it’s safe?”

Mary took a step back. “P’raps we might not be ready for horseless carriages; be they any of the four legged beasties about?”

“Beasties? You mean horses?” Katie looked confused.

“Aye,” Mary said, smiling

Katie shook her head and turned to Annalee. “How about you?” she asked, and rolled her eyes when the girl suddenly hid behind Emma. She shut the doors and said, “Okay, I get it. Witches are scared of things they don’t understand...”

Emma’s eyebrows shot up and she grabbed the truck’s door handle and tried to yank it open, while Mary tried to climb in through the open passenger window.

“Mary Higgins, there be a bench in the back! I’s to be the one to ride in the front of the wag—the carriage!“

“And why is it for ye to be out front? Why’s it ye cannot sit in the back?”

“Ladies!” Katie yelled, and the two backed off. She opened the doors again.

“There’s plenty of room for both of you. Mary, you sit in the middle, and Emma can have the door. Annalee, you get the whole backseat all to yourself!”

They all climbed in, no matter how reluctantly. Katie showed them how to buckle their seat belts then got behind the wheel. She eased ahead, moving slowly in first gear.

“Now, we’re only going down the road a couple of miles, then back here; I’ve still got work to do, today. Ready?”

“Aye, we’s ready,” Emma said, and so Katie pressed on the gas pedal and sped up. She drove down her driveway at about ten miles an hour, turned right onto the road—and floored it!

She wasn’t being mean or even mischievous; this was how she always drove, a throwback to her Florida days, where everyone drove flat-out all the time.

Back when she was a kid, the roads out here had been gravel and rough. Now, however, there was a beautiful layer of blacktop and by golly, she could really wheel that big truck around those Ozark Mountain curves; she and the kids all enjoyed such a ride.

A mile and a half later, she turned around and drove sedately back, never exceeding twenty-five miles an hour. She turned into the driveway and drove right up to the backyard of the house, next to the spigot with the water hose.

Once they were all out, she used the water hose to rinse the three streaks of vomit off the passenger doors then let each of them rinse their faces and take a drink. Both Emma and Mary got almost as much in their noses, eyes and hair as in their mouths; Annalee let Katie show her how to drink from the hose and seemed a little bit less green.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, how many times can I say it?” asked a flustered Katie. “But you’re gonna have to get used to it! That’s how we get around, nowadays!“

“Aye, fine and well,” Emma said, “but can we not get used to it just a wee bit more slowly?”

Chapter 12“Fine!” Katie gave in and then led them back into the house. “I’ve got a spare room down here that we’ve been using for storage, but it’ll be your room now.” She opened the door and turned on the light, then walked over and raised the shade. “This stuff is all of my parents’ old bedroom furniture; I brought along most of my own when I moved in. Two of you can share the big full-size bed, and then there’s a twin size bed that was my daughter’s; she’s got the old canopy bed I grew up with. We’ll gather up all these boxes and old clothes and move them to the barn.” She suddenly looked at them.

“Oh, Lord, clothes!” she exclaimed. “We’ve got to get you some, right away! Um, those dresses—is that how you want to dress? Or like me?” She held her arms out to her sides and struck a modest pose.

Emma looked at Katie’s t-shirt and blue jeans and then looked away. “I’s not one to judge, mind, and we’s in yer country, now, so there’s bound to be ways we’s unaccustomed to,” she said, “but ye’ll not see me in—in trousers! A good stout woolen dress and some proper vests and skirts and underbreeches, them’s all I needs!“

Mary and Annalee were more adventurous, and it turned out that some of Katie’s mother’s clothes would fit Mary. Katie found a pair of her brother’s old jeans that, rolled up four inches, fit Annalee fairly well, and one of his t-shirts completed her ensemble.

Mary put on a pair of jeans and a sleeveless blouse, but her vest showed, so Katie had to explain brassieres then demonstrate how to put one on (it hadn’t been an issue with Annalee). Once it was in place, Mary fidgeted.

“Feels a wee bit snuggly, it does,” she said, her face scrunched. “How does ye manage with that?”

Katie blinked. “Snuggly?”

“Aye, snuggly—somethin’ snug up ‘round me teat, like when a man’s...”

“Mary Higgins!”

Katie laughed. “I get it!” she said. “Don’t worry, Mary, you’ll get used to it in no time at all. Now, Emma, what can we do for you? Hmmm...”

“Ahem,” Emma said, “if I may ask...”

“Of course, what?”

She pointed. “Would yon sewin’ basket be somethin’ I might use, and a bit of these rags as ye said fit no one?”

“Well, yes, sure,” Katie said. “Lord knows I don’t sew. That was Mom’s; she tried to teach me, but I wasn’t into it. She’d be glad to see it used again.”

“Then I can make me a dress come this evenin’,” Emma said, “and make some of these other things maybe fit Annalee a bit to the better. But, right now, it seems to me ye’ve some goats to tend, and the three of us is old hands at goats. So, shall we not begin payin’ our keep by helpin’ with the milkin’ and such?”

Katie grinned. “Oh, ladies, that sounds wonderful!”

She took them to the kitchen and showed them how to work the lever for the faucet, then had them wash their hands. Once that was done, they followed her out to the pens where most of the does were stamping about and bleating.

“There’s only one milking stand, I’m afraid. Annalee can use that; I can milk without it. Pails are over here...” She fetched them more pails and some milk crates to use for stools and then showed them how she cleaned each goat’s udder before milking her.

Within minutes they were working together as if they’d done it for years. A few of the does shied away from the strangers at first but, as they saw other does looking relieved, they lost their reluctance and stepped up for their turns.

Katie showed them the stainless-steel tank that strained and pasteurized the milk for bottling, and the whole job was done, all of it, in just under an hour.

Katie looked at her watch; it was just past eleven o’clock.

“Ladies,” she said, “let’s have some lunch and then start on your room!”

Katie had forgotten all about her coffee, earlier, and the tea was souring, so they poured both out. Katie put the kettle on again and started a fresh pot of coffee for herself, then asked her new relatives what they’d like for lunch.

They were fascinated by the refrigerator but refused to believe that tin cans contained food until Katie opened a couple for them. That got their attention onto the electric can opener and settled the issue of what to have for lunch, since the cans contained beef stew.

Katie showed Annalee the toaster and set her to work making and buttering toast (she giggled every time it popped up!), and a few minutes later they ate stew over toast; all three declared it delicious.

The storeroom was pretty full, and moving so much stuff from it to the extra storeroom in the barn by hand would have taken many trips, but Katie pulled the truck around and backed it up to the front porch. They made a chain; Katie checked each box to be sure it should go, and then Emma and Mary carried them out while Annalee stacked them in the truck bed. Any boxes with old clothes were left for Emma to use or alter.

It only took an hour to clear the room and then they set up the beds. They talked as they worked, and Katie told them about her kids, her dead-beat ex and growing up in Claxton, and they shared stories of Witchly life. All four were fascinated and knew they’d each made the right decision.

Electric lights were an interest but not a shock. They’d seen the one in the kitchen early in the day and Katie had turned on the overhead bulb in their room without even mentioning it, so they were already becoming accustomed to them. This was evident to Katie when she dug out three bedside lamps and showed them how to plug them in and turn them on and off.

There was a desk her brother had once used, and it became a dressing table with a wall mirror hung over it. Katie found a few combs and hair brushes, a set for each of them. Annalee got the set Katie had once won at a carnival game, a gaudy red plastic set that was covered in sequins. She squealed with delight when Katie also found a big old box of hair pins, barrettes and curlers that she promised to teach her about later.

The day had gone well, Katie thought. She didn’t add, “maybe too well,” but she could have.

Emma, being the eldest, was the first to admit to the pressure. You see, the events of three hundred

years ago seemed like only hours earlier to them (so that, to their senses, they had now been awake all night). This meant that none of them had visited a privy in well over twelve hours or more, or three centuries, depending on how you looked at it.

“Katie,” Emma whispered, “where’s ye privy? Only I looked as we was milkin’ and did not see it.”

“Oh! Come on, I’ll show you.” It didn’t escape her that both Mary and Annalee hurried to follow.

Thus ensued Phase One of Unavoidable Disaster Number One, which was precipitated by Emma’s complete amazement at seeing the toilet flush, which she had to watch at least ten times. This caused Annalee to begin writhing in mute agony (all that water, splashing and gurgling) and made Mary lose her own temper and shout, “Emma, f’ pitysake, go on and piss, or I’s comin’ in there be ye in me way or out!” This so shocked poor Annalee that she lost control of her bladder and began to wail in shame.

Katie comforted the girl then went and got her some clean clothes. They’d found a couple of boxes of Katie’s own things from when she was closer to Annalee’s size and shape, so there were even clean underclothes. When both Emma and Mary were done in the bathroom, she ran Annalee a bath and ended up staying to help her wash her hair, which involved several new experiences for the girl.

Then Phase Two struck as a set of squealing brakes sounded in her front yard.

Chapter 13Katie was in the process of teaching Annalee how to use zippers (the earlier jeans had buttons, so this was another new one), and hurried her along. The only vehicle she knew that squealed like that was Kit’s Dodge...

While Katie had helped Annalee with her bath, Emma and Mary had cleaned up the mess in the hall then agreed they’d like to try the porch swing and went out the front door. Fluffy looked up at them, thumped his tail a couple times and then resumed his nap. The two ladies stepped past him and sat down, and took a moment to get their swing synchronized.

“Well, Mary Higgins,” Emma said, “we’ve had a powerful change overtake us.”

“Aye,” Mary replied. “Good thing ’tis that we’s together, eh?”

“That be good, aye, but I cannot help wond’rin’ what’s become of Aberystwyth without us.”

“Well, whatever ‘twas, ‘twas a long time done with, ye know?”

“Aye. Think on it, Mary. Three hundred years! I do not think anyone has ever skipped so long—’tis like—like bein’ explorers, is what it be like!“

“Aye, and we’s in the New World! Our Edmund wanted to sail to the New World. I wonders if he ever did.”

“Mary, what d’ye think of our Katie? So good as to take us in and all?”

“Why, I swears, she may not be a witch, but they be somethin’ ’bout her—me heart just reached right out to her, it did—’twas like she were me own daughter, ’twas!”

“I knows—and funny thing, but I think she favors ye, just a bit.”

“D’ye really, Emma?”

“Aye. Of course, not so much in the—ye’s bigger in the—she does not push forward as much as ye do.”

“Ah,” Mary said. “Is it her eyes, then?”

“Aye, her eyes, and her hair—and other bits.”

“What bits?”

“Just—other bits.”

“Aye, but which bits is they?”

“Oh, for the—her arse, Mary, ye both got the same shape arse!”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, then, enjoying the air and the view of the surrounding hills. They both knew that, no matter what, they could always count on each other, and poor orphaned Annalee could count on both of them—and apparently on their new friend, Katie.

“Emma?”

“Aye?”

“Why is it, d’ye reckon, that them like us usually only comes in threes?”

“’Tis ’cause, how hard is it for ye to find two others ye can stand? Imagine tryin’ to find more?”

A sound out by the road caught their attention and they looked around to see one of those “car” things, a horseless carriage, coming up the road. Emma caught a motion out of the corner of her eye and saw Fluffy raise his head again as his tail began thumping heavily on the porch.

The vehicle slowed and turned into the drive and Fluffy rolled himself up onto his feet, tail wagging wildly and a great big doggie grin splitting his face. He knew that truck. He always came in that truck, and always brought a treat for Fluffy.

The truck pulled up in front of the house and stopped with a squeal that made Emma and Mary wince. Kit stepped out, whistled once and tossed a big ham bone into the air, which Fluffy caught on the fly. Kit ruffled the big dog’s furry head for a moment then started up onto the porch. He noticed the two ladies staring at him and paused.

“Oh, hello,” he said. “I didn’t know Katie had company! I’m Kit—is she home?”

Emma’s elbow turned Mary’s, “Well, hello, good sir!” into a muted “Oof!”

“Good day to ye, sir,” Emma said. “Aye, she be just inside with our Annalee, she is.”

Kit was surprised at her accent. “Are you ladies from the Amish community?” he guessed.

Mary started to answer but the elbow moved again; she stayed silent but glared at Emma.

“Ach, no, sir. We, um, we be Katie’s old Aunties, only just this day arrived from the Old World!“

The front door burst open and Katie rushed out, eyes wide.

“Kit! Hi! I didn’t expect to see you today!” She saw Emma and Mary on the porch swing and felt the world begin to spin.

“I was just stopping by to see how you were...” Kit began. “I had a well pump to replace down the road, and got done early, thought I’d see about taking you and the kids out for dinner, but I met your aunts, so I guess tonight’s not a good time?”

Katie grimaced. “No, sorry, not tonight, no—my aunts, y’know, and, well, and Annalee, she’s my—my cousin, you see, and they all just got here a little while ago and we’ve been working hard, they helped with the milking, and then we had to get their room all set up, and I had to dig out some old clothes ’cause they lost everything to the...”

She ran out of air and drew in a deep breath.

“Whoa, Katie, slow down,” said Kit with a grin. “Why not introduce us properly, and then you can tell me more, or do you need some help getting things arranged? I’d be glad to help, you know.”

“No! No, that’s okay! Okay, um, Kit Woods, this is Aunt Emma and Aunt Mary. Aunt Emma, Aunt Mary, this is my friend Kit.”

“Ladies, I’m delighted to meet you. Will you be visiting long?”

“No, they’re staying!” Katie interrupted. “They’ve lost everything and had nowhere else to go so they wrote to me and I sent them some money and now—here they are!”

“And ’tis a pleasure,” Emma said, “to meet ye, Mister Woods. Our Katie had not mentioned she had a gentleman suitor.” She let her Number Two smile slide into place.

Kit and Katie looked at each other, Kit with a smile and Katie in panic.

“He’s not a gentleman,” she said. “I mean, he’s not a suitor!”

“Be ye sure, lass? Seems I hears too much denyin’ for such a little bit o’ sayin’!”

Katie gave Emma a glare. “I’m sure, Aunt Emma; Kit and I are just friends.”

“We went to high school together,” said Kit. “But, of course, that was before she married Kevin. Did you ladies ever meet Kevin?”

“Yes! Yes, they did, in fact, it’s a really long story but Kevin actually dropped them off here for me this morning, can you believe that?”

Annalee stepped out onto the porch at that moment and stood quietly beside the door. She was watching Emma and Mary, who were bouncing between watching Katie and watching Kit.

“What?” Kit burst out. “And you didn’t call the sheriff? Katie, what’s gotten into you? You’re talking ninety miles an hour, never even mentioned that your aunts were coming—Babe?”

“Ach, s’sweet, didja hear him, Emma, he calls her his babe, he does!”

“Shush, Mary, we’ll be missin’ the good parts!”

Katie’s shoulders slumped. “Kit, I’m sorry. It’s just, well, I’d never met them—I mean, their branch of the family before, y’see, so I’ve been real nervous about their arrival, and it’s supposed to be a surprise for the kids. And the only reason I didn’t call the cops on Kevin is because I promised I wouldn’t if he’d rescue them. See, they got caught in an immigration scam, and ended up on a beach in North Carolina with nothing, no clothes, no money, no ID, nothing, just dumped there by those—those rotten pirates! And Kevin was in the country selling stock so I was able to reach him, and he agreed to go get them and drive them here.”

Kit was looking around. “How long ago? Maybe I can catch him, I sure didn’t promise not to!”

“Oh, it was real early, before the sun came up, even, and he didn’t even stay for coffee, just let them out and took off!”

“Oh, look, Katie,” Emma said, coming to the rescue. “Here’s our Annalee to meet Mister Woods. Annalee, come over, dear.” She held a hand out to the girl.

“Hello, Annalee,” Kit said. “I’m Kit Woods, a friend of your cousin Katie.” He smiled and offered his hand. Annalee looked panic-stricken but managed to take his hand and drop a perfect one-handed curtsy, which isn’t easy when you’re wearing blue jeans for the first—okay, second—time in your life!

“I’m honored, good sir,” she said, and then rushed to Emma’s side and clung to her hand.

“Anyway,” Katie said, “it’s just been a really rough day, what with one thing and another, so maybe, maybe this weekend, okay? Let the kids meet them tonight, and let them settle in?” She gave him a wide-eyed grim—er, smile.

Kit softened. “Of course, babe, I understand. Tell the kids hi for me?”

She smiled. “Sure. And thanks for understanding.” She watched as he said goodbye to the ladies and turned to go, and when his truck turned out of her drive toward town, she breathed a sigh of relief and sank onto the padded bench near the swing.

“Seems there’s some matters of the heart that be troublin’ ye, Katie,” Emma said.

“As if ye know aught ‘bout such things! Now, I’s had four husbands, lass, so if...” shot Mary.

“Oh, do not be so modest, Mary Higgins, tell the lass the truth! Ye’ve been adored by a dozen husbands, but ye only were wed to four of them!”

“Which gives me a galley more knowin’ of such matters as a dried up old maid such as yeself could ever learn!”

“Gammer! Mary!” cried Annalee in embarrassed frustration.

Phase Three was now launched.

Chapter 14“Stop!” bellowed Katie, and all three turned to stare at her in shock. “Do any of you realize what a disaster that was? Kit’s a great guy, but A) he’s not my suitor, and B) by tonight half the town is going to know about you and the story of how you got here! I was really hoping to keep you a secret until I was ready to talk to the government, but that just went out the window.”

She sighed. “And I shouldn’t be yelling at you; it’s not your fault—sorry.”

Emma got up and walked over to sit down beside her.

“Now, Darlin’ Katie,” she said. “There’s not many women I ever did know who could take in stride such shocks as us and then open yer heart and hearth and home to us, as well? ’tis a saint, ye are, lass, and never, never think us ungrateful! But for yer goodness, we’d be in dire predicaments.”

“Oh, Emma, it’s not that...”

“I knows. And, since yer little ones’ll be home sometime soon, don’t ye think ye’d best be gettin’ in the habit of callin’ us ‘Auntie?’”

Katie smiled. “Nobody says ‘Auntie’ anymore—just ‘Aunt Emma’, or ‘Aunt Mary’—but you’re right, Aunt Emma.”

“What about me?” Annalee asked suddenly. “What is it I should be calling everyone?”

“I think you should call them ‘Aunt’ as well,” Katie said. “And since we’re cousins, I’m just ‘Katie’ to you, and you’re just ‘Annalee’ to me. My kids’ll call you two ‘Aunt Emma’ and ‘Aunt Mary’, too, but they’re just Kenzie and Aaron to all of you.”

Katie looked down the road again in the direction kit had gone, and tried to force down the slight feeling of panic that had overtaken her.

The worst of the crisis over, Katie took them inside for what she called “Basic Survival 101.”

First, she showed them how to turn on the burners of the stove in order to put water on to boil, then handed them her big box of tea bags. After three minutes of debate about whether they were an improvement, Katie gave in and let Emma set Annalee to ripping them all open and dumping the grinds into an empty peanut butter jar.

Second, she showed them pencils, pens and paper, so they wouldn’t be shocked at the kids doing their homework without quills and inkwells.

Third, she showed them the ice-and-water dispensers on the refrigerator and how to use them. All three marveled at the clear, fresh water. “Tastes like the spring runoff from the hills, it does!” Mary said.

Fourth, once the tea was ready, she took them into the living room and started channel-surfing to give them big bites of twenty-first century culture shock before the kids got home at four-thirty, now only three hours away. An hour later, she shut off the TV and helped Mary and Annalee lift Emma off the floor and onto the couch. The old woman had whimpered for five minutes at learning that there were such things as Jumbo Jets that didn’t fall out of the air. By the time she came around she was calm, but had a tendency to peek at the sky. Luckily, she didn’t see a jet contrail until the next day, when the kids were back at school.

One thing they didn’t have in the storeroom treasures was modern shoes to fit them, so at two o’clock, Katie decided to solve that problem. This meant getting them into the truck again, so she had to swear on her children’s lives not to drive “so fast as to leave me breath and breakfast behind!”

They mounted up, in the same positions as before, and Katie drove sedately.

“Ladies,” she said a few minutes later, “you’re about to see the greatest marvel of the modern age!”

“And what, pray tell, might that be?” asked Emma.

Katie slowed and turned into a large parking lot, then pointed. “Wal-Mart!” she announced. “Now, stay close to me, and try not to show too much surprise at all the things you’ll see, okay? Come on!”

Unavoidable Disaster Number Two, right on schedule!

Everything went well for the first few minutes. Oh, all three of their heads were turning in every possible direction, but they were keeping their voices down and behaving fairly well. Katie led them to the shoe department and began choosing things to suggest.

Annalee was easy; a pair of simple sneakers made her absolutely ecstatic, as did a pair of practical western-look boots. Socks were added in a variety of colors and the poor girl kept gushing thanks.

Mary got a similar pair of boots, but didn’t care for the sneakers. She found a pair of half-boots that were comfortable, she said, and had “only a modest lift”—a two-inch heel.

Emma was the problem. She was not having anything to do with “pointy-toed” boots, and insisted on a pair of high-sided hikers. Nothing Katie could say would get her to consider anything else, so they left (though Katie did slip house slippers for each of them into her cart).

The next stop was ladies’ clothing, where various items of underclothes were selected. Emma found one aisle with long dresses in the Amish style and agreed they were suitable, so Katie insisted on buying two for her to wear while making more clothes.

Phase One was dependent on a phenomenon that every Wal-Mart shopper is familiar with, although we must take pains to point out that it is in no way the fault of Wal-Mart. We speak, of course, of the phenomenon known as “My Kids Don’t Act Like That!”

As Katie was convincing Emma to choose two dresses (“And why can they not both be black? I likes black!” “Because it’ll cause talk, Aunt Emma, now blue or green?”), there was a boy of about ten years or so who kept running up and down the aisle. He would come within a hair’s breadth of running into one of them every time, and each time he narrowly missed, Emma’s eyes would lock onto him like laser-targeting-systems, her lips pressed tightly into a thin, straight line.

On his eighth or ninth pass, as Katie was choosing the plainest slips she could find for Emma (“Don’t need none of that frippery!”) and was not watching, Emma spun around til she was eye-to-eye with the boy, waggled her fingers at him, and mumbled “Canis Mentatum!” He continued on down the aisle and around the corner, but didn’t come back.

Mary was eyeing a dress, herself, but it was certainly not in Amish style; this was more like the classic “little black dress,” and it took a sharp look from Emma to drag her away from it.

Their shopping complete, they headed for the checkout counter, passing the unruly boy and his mother in the cross-aisle. The boy was down on all fours with his tongue hanging out and trying to scratch his ear with his foot, and his mother was losing her patience.

“Billy, now, come on, I said get up! Get up right now!“

“Arf!” answered Billy.

Katie stopped to look at this display, then turned one eye onto Emma questioningly.

“What?” asked Emma, with wide-eyed, exaggerated innocence. “What? I did as ye said, he’s not turned into nothin’.” She straightened her shoulders smugly. “Just made him think I did; he’ll be fine in a few hours!”

“A few hours?” Katie whispered furiously. “A few hours?”

“Or by tomorrow mornin’, at the latest.”

“Em—Aunt Emma, I said no magic! Now let’s get this stuff and get out of—Oh, no.” She was looking suddenly over Emma’s shoulder, where Phase Two was about to enter its critical stages. It appeared in the persons of two men whose attentions had been captured by the pert, heart-shaped, jeans-clad derriere of Mary Higgins, and who were each attempting to persuade her to allow them to show her a really good time!

“Ach, and ’tis a rogue ye be, Mister Albin, and ye’re no better, Mister Johnson! To be teasin’ a poor lass so! Why, a girl’d be swoonin’ in yer arms before the moon were full up, wouldn’t she now?”

“Oh, but Mary, I’ll be a perfect gentleman, I promise!” said Mister Albin, and Mary tittered coquettishly at him.

“But, Mister Albin, now, where would be the fun in that?”

Mister Johnson was trying to press his own suit on her (or anything else she’d allow) when Katie grabbed hold of Mary’s arm.

“Aunt Mary, there you are! We’ve been looking everywhere for you! And Charley Albin, hi, I see you’ve met my Aunt Mary, she’s only just arrived today from Wales, that’s over by England, you know, and by the way, Charley, how’s that lovely wife of yours? I haven’t seen Jane in a couple weeks, but I’ll be sure to stop by on Friday with some fresh milk and visit, okay? You tell her to expect me, now!” Her smile was so sweet it could have eaten through iron.

She pulled Mary away as Charley beat a rapid retreat. Mister Johnson had vanished seemingly into thin air (which might have worried Katie had she thought of it at the time), but no magic was involved. He simply wanted to escape before Katie remembered his own wife’s name.

“Aunt Mary, you need to be careful with men like that!” Katie hissed.

“Oh, I woulda been,” Mary said. “I wouldn’a hurt ’em any!”

“Mary Higgins, stop bein’ such a hussy!” Emma hissed, stepping in on Mary’s other side.

Mary glared at Emma and put her hands to her hips. “Hussy? Stop bein’ a hussy, ye say? And I suppose ye can stop bein’ a dried up old...”

“Stop it!” Katie spat between clenched teeth. “Now, let’s get this stuff and get out of here!”

“Hmmph!” Emma said, following along.

They made it to the checkout lanes, and Katie chose self-checkout in order to avoid further complications. It was a good plan, really, but it left out one minor detail. Directly across from that

lane was the Hair Salon, where four women were having their hair cut, blown, flown and styled. Annalee was drawn to the window like a moth to a flame, her fingers playing in the frazzled ends of her own locks.

Meanwhile, Mary and Emma were continuing to bicker quietly.

“...see why ye have to act so, is all I’s sayin’—I means, ’tis not as if ye needs a man to make ye happy. Look at me, I ain’t never...”

“Aye, ye ain’t never, which is why ye always think ye know what ye do not know nothin’!”

“As I was tryin’ to say, Miss Mary ‘Look what a wench is I’ Higgins, I ain’t never had a man and ain’t never needed one!”

This conversation continued under muted breaths until they were back in the truck and headed for home, which was the point where Phase Three turned into a mushroom cloud.

They were almost back to the farm when Katie happened to glance into the rearview mirror. A second later she slammed on the brakes and slid into a bootlegger-style U-turn, grabbed a gear and floored it.

“You two and your bickering...” she yelled. “We forgot Annalee at the store!”

Chapter 15Both women went white and the argument was instantly forgotten. They even managed not to get sick as Katie whipped the big truck around the curves and switchbacks.

Back at Wal-Mart, Annalee had caught the salon manager’s eye, and she’d been invited in. Barely able to make herself move, she inched up to the entryway and stood there, half-hidden behind the door frame.

“It’s okay, Sweetie,” said the manager, smiling at her. “You can come in and look all you want. Is your mom shopping?”

Shyly, Annalee shook her head and turned to point to Katie, Emma and Mary, and that’s when she realized they were gone. She unfroze instantly and ran to the checkout, looked all around without seeing them, began shedding tears like raindrops in a monsoon and started bawling at the top of her lungs, the deep, horrifying sobs of the truly panic-stricken.

Within seconds she was surrounded by well-meaning strangers, which only terrified her even more, and she tried not to give in to the panic, she really did. At last, though, when the big man in the white shirt and blue tie put his hand on her shoulder, she wrapped her arms around her head and just sat down right where she was.

The store manager was still there when Sheriff Redman arrived five minutes later.

“She’s been like this for a while, Chuck,” he said. “Won’t talk, won’t tell us her name, nothing.”

The sheriff nodded. “Well, we’ll take her out to the hospital and see if Doc Moseby can get her to calm down. Nobody knows who she belongs to? Could be a runaway, I’ll look into that, too.”

“That won’t be necessary, Chuck,” Katie said, rushing into the store with Emma and Mary on her heels. “She’s my cousin Annalee, she just got here this morning from Wales. It’s my fault, I didn’t realize she wasn’t with us til I was almost home.”

The sheriff scowled as he looked at Katie, then at the two women who had helped Annalee up and to whom she was now clinging.

“And these ladies?” he asked.

“My aunts, they came with Annalee. They’ll be living with me now.”

“Uh-huh. Okay, then, but maybe you can teach the little girl to speak up if she’s lost, huh? Woulda saved a lot of trouble, here.” He nodded once to the store manager and strode away, the scowl firmly set in his features.

Katie sighed, and Emma looked at her.

“Ye look worried, Katie,” she said. “Is it on account of that ‘Chuck’ fella?”

Katie nodded as they walked Annalee out the door. “Yeah. That’s our sheriff, and I’m afraid he’s gonna be a problem. I was hoping not to run into him just yet, not with you three.”

“Seems there be summat more you’re not tellin’ me.”

“Well, Iet’s just say he doesn’t like me a whole lot.”

“And why might that be? Stop maunderin’ and tell it, lass.”

“Um, well, when I married my ex-husband, I eloped—and I—well, I sorta left Chuck’s son Jimmy standing at the altar when I did it.”

They walked Annalee out to the truck and made it back to the farm without further incident, but the mood of adventure and new experiences was somewhat subdued. Annalee was resting in their room and Katie, Emma and Mary were straightening the house and talking.

“’Twas only too much for the lass,” Emma said, “findin’ herself all alone and lost, and that after losin’ her family only this very morn.”

“I know, and I feel terrible!” Katie answered. “How could I have just driven off like that, without her? I feel as bad as if it had been one of my own kids!”

“’Tweren’t your fault,” Mary said. “Seems the shock of the day be a strain on us as knows better, too, for ’twere us what was makin’ all the fuss and made ye forget. ’Tweren’t your fault, ’twere ours!”

“When ye’s right, Mary Higgins, ye picks a big’n to be right about!” Emma went on. “Katie, we forgot somethin’ very important—that we’re no’ the ones here as knows what’s goin’ on, but we did not listen to ye as does. We’ll not make that mistake again.”

“Blame doesn’t matter, Aunt Emma, I knew better than to not watch her. But that’s not what’s worrying me, now. I was planning on waiting at least a few days before contacting Immigration. Now I can’t.”

They were at the kitchen table, and her laptop was where she had left it that morning, just in front of her chair. She opened it and punched a few keys, looked at the screen and reached for the telephone hanging on the wall.

“Hi, I’m calling to find out how to report a case of immigration fraud? No, not me, my aunts and a cousin. They got set ashore on a beach and called me, and I had someone go and get them. No, I mean, yes, I’m sorry, but at that point I didn’t realize it. Uh-huh. Okay. Sure, it’s khollister@claxmonet.com. Okay, great, and thank you so much.” She hung up the phone and turned to the two ladies.

“Easier than I thought! She’s emailing me the forms to fill out online and that’ll give you temporary status as legal immigrants until the case is reviewed.” She looked around at the clock. “Almost four. I hope Annalee will be up by the time the kids get home.”

“Hmm,” mused Emma. “Have ye any cinnamon?”

“Well, yeah...”

“And a wee bit o’ sugar?” asked Mary.

“Yes, of course, in the...”

Emma stood. “Nearly four o’clock,” she said, “Mary! Put the kettle on, then, while I sees to the—toasty?”

Katie laughed. “Toaster. You’re making cinnamon toast? Lord, I haven’t had that in ages. Mom used to make it when I was little and would get upset...” Her eyes widened.

“Aye,” Emma said, “’tis a great way to beat the melancholies! Yer mum sounds a wise lady, eh?”

“You know, it’s funny,” Katie said, “but the older I get, the wiser she was.”

“Hah!” Mary said. “And ain’t that just the way of it, now?”

“I wonder why I never made it for my kids? Of course, nowadays they frown on giving kids sugary snacks—I guess that’s why I forgot about it.” She got up. “Tell you what, Aunt Emma; I’ll toast as you butter! I think today’s a good day to have cinnamon toast as a treat. We can eat dinner late, and light if necessary.”

Mary said, “I’s goin’ to fetch Annalee—she loves kiddies, and ‘twill do her even more good to help make merry for the wee ones!”

Annalee came out looking sheepish, and apologized repeatedly for her breakdown in Wal-Mart. Katie assured her that it was only to be expected after so many shocks in one day, but now they were trying to make up a treat, and since the kids had never had cinnamon toast and Emma and Mary were both busy, would Annalee mind helping out, to make sure it was done right?

Annalee slowly changed back into the bright, smiley girl Katie had met only hours ago, but whom she had already come to love.

The school bus pulled up ten minutes early and Katie and the three displaced ladies were all seated on the front porch. Katie had dug out a couple of folding chairs to make enough room and pulled the bench over by the swing as well, with a card table set up to hold cups, plates, a tray of sweet cinnamon toast and a candle-warmed teapot.

Chapter 16Mackenzie and Aaron, who were now thirteen and twelve years old respectively, noticed right away that there was company.

“Oh, man,” Aaron complained. “I bet we have to stay in our rooms all night!”

“Maybe not,” answered Mackenzie. “Mom’s waving at us to hurry, so maybe it’s something good. And we only had to stay in our rooms that one time when Miz Powell was so upset, that wasn’t like this. Come on, I’ll race ya!” She took off running.

“Hey! No fair, you didn’t say ‘go’!”

“GO!” Mackenzie called over her shoulder. She was a good four inches taller than her brother Aaron and most of the difference seemed to be legs. There was no contest, though Aaron didn’t slow down even after his sister reached the porch a full twenty seconds ahead of him.

They saw three strange women—well, two women and a girl who looked a little older than Mackenzie. Katie told them to sit down in the folding chairs and they glanced at each other as they obeyed.

“Okay, kids, this is gonna be a little bit of a shock, but I hope a good one, okay? These ladies—well, they’re our relatives, and they’re from a place called Wales. That’s over by...”

“It’s in the U.K., Mom, everyone knows that. It’s in the southwestern part of the Island of Great Britain.” Mackenzie beamed.

Katie chuckled. “Oh, I forgot how smart you are! Yes, Kenzie, that’s right. Well, Kenzie, Aaron, I want you to meet Aunt Emma and Aunt Mary, and this is my little cousin Annalee.”

“Hi,” said both kids, smiling.

“Ah, and what fine children ye have, Katie! Yer daughter be the very image of her mother!” Emma gushed.

“Ach, and it be like seein’ me own Daphne, I swears,” Mary said, “when she was a wee lass of such an age!”

Annalee smiled shyly and whispered, “Hello,” and fell silent again.

Aaron tugged Katie’s hand. “Mom,” he said, “they talk funny.” His honesty elicited a round of genuine laughter.

“Yes, Honey, to us it sounds that way. But where they come from, a lot of folks talk like that, though Annalee talks a little more like us.” She took a deep breath. “See, kids, the thing is—they’ve been through some bad times and lost everything, and it turns out we’re all the family they have left—so they’ve come to live with us. We cleared out the storage room today and put them in there, and they’re gonna help us with the work on the farm, here.” She held her breath.

Mackenzie and Aaron looked at each other for a moment, and then Aaron yelled, “Awesome!” Mackenzie smiled and said, “Great! Can I show Annalee my room?” Annalee’s face lit up.

“Of course you can, Sweetie,” Katie said, “but first they’ve made us a treat!” She uncovered the tray of cinnamon toast and Emma poured tea.

“Like this,” Katie said when the kids looked at the tea strangely. “Dip a slice of toast in, just a little bit, and then bite off that piece! It’s delicious!” She demonstrated.

Mackenzie tried it, smiled and dipped again. “Mom,” she said between bites, “isn’t this gonna ruin our dinner?”

“So what?” was the reply, around a bite of cinnamon toast. “We can zap a pizza later.”

They sat for a bit enjoying the treat, and when all the toast was gone the kids got up and took their book-bags inside. They came back out a moment later.

“We’re gonna go feed the animals, Mom,” Mackenzie said. This was a regular chore that they performed every evening, feeding and watering the goats and chickens. “Wanna come, Annalee?”

“Oh, yes!” the girl cried, and jumped up to follow them. Moments later Katie and the others could hear the chickens squawking excitedly as feed was poured and forage scattered.

Katie looked at Emma. “Well, that went fine.”

“Aye, Lass, it did,” Emma said. “They’s fine children, and look how they took to our Annalee! That’ll be the best possible potion for the lass, a new family to love and be part of!”

“Aye, s’ true. Methinks Annalee were right, and ’twere indeed God as brung us here.” Mary smiled. “And for the once, I’ll concede He done fine even wi’out askin’ me advice!”

Emma scowled, but it had a playfulness to it. “Mary Higgins, I do hopes I’s there the day yon Almighty smites ye for yer irreverent ways! ’Twill be a sight, it will!”

The evening was pleasant. Once the animals were fed and cared for, the kids got busy with homework. Annalee tried to keep close to them, but she didn’t understand much of what they were doing and began to feel self-conscious. Katie explained that Annalee had never been to school, and wouldn’t be able to attend this year. She could read and write, but needed to be brought up to speed in math, science, history, grammar, and such before she went to public school. Katie would register her as home schooled the next day.

They settled in around seven with a trio of frozen pizzas and cans of Coke (which caused some strange expressions on certain faces) and turned on an old movie, a comedy starring Abbott and Costello. Even Emma, Mary and Annalee understood most of the jokes, and laughed uproariously.

After the movie, Katie sent Aaron up for his bath and Mackenzie took Annalee upstairs to see her room. The girls came back down only moments later to ask if Annalee could sleep upstairs with Mackenzie.

Katie conferred with her new aunts and, to the shouts of excitement of both girls, the five of them worked together to move Mackenzie’s old twin bed, which was now Annalee’s, upstairs to the big room that was Mackenzie’s. The dresser would follow the next day, Katie said, but at least the girls could room together that night and see how it went.

There was one bad moment when it was time for the girls to get baths, at which point Mackenzie realized that Annalee didn’t understand the old twin faucets on the tub and used half the bottle of shampoo. Katie had run her earlier bath and washed her hair, so Annalee hadn’t learned how it all worked, and it took a half hour to rinse most of the suds down the drain! Shrieking, hysterical laughter brought Katie and Emma and Mary rushing up the stairs.

“Mom!” Mackenzie gasped out. “You didn’t tell me Annalee was Amish!”

“Amish—what?”

“She (giggle) didn’t know (giggle) how to use the faucet (giggle) and used way too much shampoo!”

“Um—oh—well, Honey, it, um, it is pretty backward where they come from, and sorta like the Amish, I guess, no electricity or phones, but no running water, either. So, yeah, there’s gonna be a lot of stuff Annalee won’t understand, at first, so we have to help as we go along.” She looked at lather on the walls, the floor—the ceiling? “Now, you guys clean up this mess, then get done and get to bed, okay? Annalee’s had a long, rough day, and you’ve got school in the morning!”

Katie and the two older ladies managed not to laugh until they were back downstairs, and then Emma looked at Katie sheepishly.

“Katie,” she began, “only I was wond’rin’—as they’s one of them tubs in the privy down here—could I takes a bath, d’ ye think?”

“Of course,” Katie said, “but just let me show you a few things, first, okay?”

Katie showed both Emma and Mary how to set the water temperature, how much shampoo to use, which bar of soap was just for hands and which for the rest, and where to find towels and wash cloths. Tomorrow, she decided, they’d learn about toothbrushes and deodorants and other things.

Katie went on to her room and got her own bath—well, shower—and climbed into bed just as she heard Mary hiss, “All right, Emma, ’s my turn! Ye ain’t got that many bits that it be takin’ so long to wash ’em!”

She giggled and was asleep seconds later.

Chapter 17Chuck Redman got home that night around ten-thirty, walking into his empty house the same way he did every night. Doris had always waited up for him, which kept him from feeling alone, the way he always did now; when she left him five years earlier, she seemed to have left a gloom behind her.

And of course, Jimmy was also gone, out in California trying to make his fortune in Silicon Valley. He’d packed up and split only days after that Hollister girl had run out on him—on their wedding day, f’ crying out loud—and he’d only been home one time since. Chuck figured there was probably something he didn’t know about that mess, but he was sure his boy was a lot better off without that crazy twit.

Still, he’d called and told Jimmy when she turned up again, single and moving back into her dad’s old place—but all the boy had said was that he hoped she was okay.

“After what she done to you,” Chuck said to him, “I wouldn’t think you’d care much one way or the other.”

“Dad,” Jimmy had replied, “we’re talking almost fifteen years ago. She had her reasons for what she did, but none of that matters anymore. She’s gone on with her life and I’ve gone on with mine. I heard a few weeks ago that Kevin ran out on her, so I imagine she’s got enough on her plate right now. I don’t think she’d be interested in trying to talk about us anymore than I am.”

“Well — I just thought you’d like to know she was back, that’s all.”

“It really doesn’t matter to me anymore,” Jimmy said. “Dad, you need to understand that I’m happy now. There’s nothing for me in Claxton, so you need to just accept that I’m not coming back.”

Chuck had gotten angry. “What? You think I was trying to drag you back here for me? Son, I’m doing just fine, don’t you worry about me at all. You go on and have your life the way you want it, I don’t need you to come back and take care of me. I don’t need your mother, either, you both made your choices and you both get to live with them. Hell, I’m sorry I even bothered to call you about this.”

“Dad, I didn’t mean…”

Chuck had hung up on him at that point. Thinking back on it now, he wondered if he might have handled it better, but that was like crying over spilled milk. Not much point. He shook his head and put that whole conversation out of his mind again.

He’d eaten dinner at Mike’s Cafe earlier in the evening, so he just grabbed a beer out of the fridge and guzzled it while he watched some television, then reached for another, his favorite way to relax before bed. He drank the second more slowly, and then the third, and took a fourth into his bedroom.

Funny, he thought, running into Katie again today. Seemed like she was almost always underfoot, one way or another, ever since she’d come back from Florida. Now that crazy little girl and those two women were living with her, she’d probably be even more of a nuisance. Well, it’d serve her right if he found a way to bust her little chops now and then, especially after what she did to Jimmy!

He got undressed and into bed, and drifted off toward sleep pretty quickly. He dreamed every night, usually, just your everyday, nonsensical dreams, and he felt one coming as he dozed off—but just as he slipped into slumber, he realized that it was the dream!

It hadn’t been coming so often the past few years, and he’d not had it in so long that he was almost ready to believe he was finally free of the old nightmare. But here it was, and just like when he was a child, it began with him and his friends walking along a dark street...

It was Halloween, he knew, because that’s when it had happened. He and the others had been out for Trick or Treat, and back then no one worried too much about what kind of crazy people were out there, not in the ‘good old days,’ so they were on their own.

In the dream, he saw them coming from a block away, but in truth he had not noticed them until it was too late. He’d been only seven years old, so when the three costumed men had suddenly grabbed at them, little Chuckie had screamed and closed his eyes and ran, just like almost any child would do. He’d gotten away and made it home safely, and his mom and dad thought he was making it up at first— but then came the phone calls.

All the men went out to search, but it was almost dawn before they found Bobby Miller and Tony Panolo. They had been Chuckie’s best friends and both were dead, the marks and blood on their bodies telling how they had been abused and tortured before life slipped away.

They didn’t find Annette Martin for three days more, and she was also dead. Her body told an even more horrific tale, and the whispers went through the little Ozark town that Bobby and Tony had been the lucky ones, because they’d been allowed to die quickly. Annette hadn’t, but she had fought at some point, and the bloody skin under her fingernails told of a scratched face. This led to a man up in Springfield who’d developed an infection and gone to his doctor, who knew instantly that his story of scratching himself on a barbed wire fence was a lie.

That man broke under questioning and confessed and named his two accomplices, one of whom was a church deacon. All three pled guilty and all three were doing life without the possibility of parole—the youngest was in his late seventies now, the eldest almost ninety.

That should have been the end of it and for most of those affected in this pre-Branson Ozark town, it was. But little Chuckie Redman had a serious crush on Annette, and not long after that horrible night, the nightmares had begun, with the three witch-costumed men striking as they had then.

At first it was those three men that would grab at him, but he would always close his eyes and run, just as he remembered it. Later, though, he began to realize that when those hands had reached for him, he had not only run away, he had bumped into someone, and in his panic, he had pushed that someone right toward those hands. Right into the grasp that so narrowly missed him.

He didn’t see who it was. It might have been one of the others who got away that night, but in his nightmare and in his heart, he knew it had been Annette, that it was his fault she was taken, his fault she was dead!

And he knew that, as she was being abused and tortured, and finally as she realized she was going to die, she knew it was his fault, too. And so the nightmare changed. It was only a month or so later that he first realized it, but the men in the dream, in their masks and their costumes, became only one rather than three. Then, as that one grabbed at him, he didn’t get away, because there was no one to shove into that grip, so the hands caught him and pulled him close. Little Chuckie opened his eyes and saw the terrible thing that wore the long black dress, the tall pointed hat, the classic costume of the Wicked Witch, but it wasn’t a man wearing it.

It was Annette, with her green eyes, her rotting flesh and long, stringy red hair. She was riding a broomstick as she grinned evilly and grabbed him, to take him to where he would suffer all that she

had, and even more.

Chuck screamed in his dream, and suddenly he was awake, sitting up in bed and drenched in sweat. That was one of the worst times ever, and he couldn’t imagine what might have brought the dream back up on him with such vehemence.

Of course, it might have been that little girl at Walmart. She had the same red hair as Annette Martin, and that one old woman was wearing a long black dress, just like the ones you see in witch costumes. Between the two, Chuck figured it was enough to bring up the old nightmare once again.

He got up out of bed and went to the kitchen for another beer, then made his way to the living room and plopped down in his recliner again. One thing he had learned over the years was that once the dream found him, it didn’t like to let go. If he went back to sleep now, he would only find himself going through it all again. He turned on the television and watched an infomercial about some new cooking device that could take all the grease out of your burgers.

Chapter 18Her alarm clock roused her at five, just like every weekday. It was Thursday, Katie knew, and she had to take three goats and a couple of dozen chickens over to Mr. Meyerhof, the Amish butcher. That meant she had to get the big freezer cleaned out that morning, because she’d be bringing back a fair supply of beef and pork and chicken and goat for her own family’s consumption.

She had a very lucrative deal going with Meyerhof, she knew, not only earning several hundred dollars a month but saving hundreds more in meat costs. Between that, and her milk and egg business, she was keeping the bills and taxes paid and still had some of her nest egg put back for emergencies, although she’d dipped into that a bit, the day before.

Couldn’t be helped. They needed shoes and clothes and things. She was sure there would be other expenses to come, but maybe, with so much help, she could start to expand a bit, maybe even open a store someday, either in Claxton or close by. Oh, that would be so wonderful!

She giggled. Her old friends in Miami would never believe that Katie, who was always the first to make faces at the thought of ever working for a living, would consider opening a grocery store wonderful!

She rolled out of bed, slipping into her usual jeans and t-shirt, and then opened her bedroom door, and something smelled fantastic! She plodded down the stairs and peeked around the door into the kitchen.

Mackenzie, Aaron and Annalee were at the table, eating bacon, eggs, and rolls, while Mary and Emma worked together at the range. Aaron saw her, and yelled, “Hi, Mom!”

“Kenzie showed us how to use the oven,” Emma said, “and she made yer coffee, as well, so we thought we’d be about makin’ breakfast—I hopes that’s alright?”

“Sure, long as there’s enough for me!“

“Mom, look,” called Aaron. “Aunt Emma knows how to make square eggs!” He pointed at the (sure enough) square fried eggs in his plate.

Katie raised a suspicious eyebrow. “Oh, really? How’s that work Aunt Emma?”

Emma winked at her. “Why, ’tis Old World magic!” she said, pointing into the big iron skillet, where Katie saw a square metal hoop. She looked at the two older women.

“Where’d that come from?” she asked.

“Ach, and ’tis likely ye could find a lot more’n that in Emma’s bloo...”

“Well, now, and of course I loaded my pockets with such as I could, now, would I not, with my cottage a-burnin’ down all ‘round me?” She spoke softly, so the kids wouldn’t hear her.

“I see,” Katie said conspiratorially. “But I think there must have been some real magic going on here this morning!”

“Ach!” Emma said. “D’ye think I’d be breakin’ yer rules, now, Darlin’ Katie?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Katie added, winking. “Seems to me there must be some kind of enchantment to get these two out of bed this early in the day!” She couldn’t resist—she leaned in and kissed the

old woman’s cheek, then took the plate Mary passed to her. Emma touched the place Katie’s lips had kissed, her eyes wide, and she stared at Katie for several seconds before turning back to the skillet.

Moments later they were all seated at the table—Mary had fetched in the two folding chairs from the porch—and Katie was amazed at how easily they’d all slipped into place as part of a family. The comfortable banter felt natural, despite the accents and disparate personalities.

“Mom, is it okay if I ask Miranda’s mom if Annalee can stay over tomorrow night, too?”

“Um, I don’t know if that’s a good idea, not just yet, Honey,” Katie answered, “but how about if I get her mom to let Miranda come here tomorrow, instead? You three can slumber-party up in your room, okay?”

“Oh, cool, Mom, that’d be great!“

“But that’s not fair!” wailed Aaron. “Lannie was gonna come tomorrow night!”

“Well, he still can. They say this is gonna be a nice weekend with great weather—you guys could camp out by the creek, if you want!”

“Oh, awesome!”

“Aunt Emma,” Mackenzie said, “Miranda’s my friend with leukemia! She has to take medicine that makes her so sick, and she doesn’t have any hair!”

“Oh, my goodness! What kinds of medicine is it, I wonders, as makes ye sick instead of better? And what might be this ‘lookeemie’ ye speak of?”

“Leukemia,” Katie said. “It’s a wasting disease, just awful, and the medicine they use to control it makes you feel horrible for several days at a time and lose your hair. She wears a wig, most days, or just a scarf to cover her baldness.”

“Tch, tch. S’ sad, ’tis. And all this science ye have in this ti—in this big country, it ain’t been able to do no better than that?”

“No—no, it hasn’t,” Katie said, sadly.

“Aunt Mary, do you know how to play Monopoly?” asked Aaron.

Mary looked up at him. “Ah, no, I fears. The only instrument I ever took much interest in, I’s afraid, was just a recorder, a flute-pipe.”

Aaron laughed so hard he almost choked, and Mary pretended the joke was intentional.

“Monopoly isn’t a game they play in Wales, silly,” Mackenzie said, “but we can teach them, right, Mom?”

“Um, yeah, sure—maybe we’ll play this weekend.”

“And Uno!” Aaron yelled out. “Uno’s my favorite!”

“What is Uno?” Annalee asked him, and he spent the rest of breakfast telling her, with help from Mackenzie.

Finally it was time for the kids to go to school and Katie took her coffee out to the porch to see them off. Annalee wanted to walk them out to the road, and Katie agreed. Emma and Mary joined her on

the porch with cups of tea.

“Well, now,” Mary said, “We’s got the milkin’ to do, aye? And what more after that, on as fine a day as this?”

“Well, once a month I take some goats and chickens to the Amish butcher over in Blue Eye, and sell them to him, just depending on what I can let go of. And I forgot all about gathering eggs, yesterday, so I have to this morning. I need to take a few dozen up to the Smokehouse—that’s a restaurant in town.”

Emma and Mary looked blank.

“A restaurant,” Katie said again. “A place where people go to get a meal? To sit down and eat?”

“Aha!” Emma said. “Ye means an inn!”

“Do I?” she asked. “Okay, then—look, there’s the bus—and there they go!” All three waved, though they couldn’t see if the kids waved back.

“And here comes our Annalee. She be lookin’ a fair bit better, this mornin’.”

“I’m glad,” Katie said. “I worry about her.”

“Aye, it shows that ye do,” Mary said, “and it means a lot to us, it does, the way ye’ve taken us all in as yer own.”

Katie grinned. “You wanna know something funny, Aunt Mary?”

Mary’s eyebrows raised. “Aye?”

“I think I almost believe our little story, myself.”

Emma nodded. “That’s the way of a good story, Katie,” she said. “It comes to life and makes itself true to them as matters!” She patted Katie’s shoulders as she rose. “But story time must wait; we’ve work to do, so let us be about it, eh?”

They divided up the chores between them, that morning, with Mary and Emma milking while Annalee helped Katie round up the eggs, and then the goats and chickens to go to Meyerhof’s. These would be loaded into a small stock trailer, with the chickens stuffed into square cages first. Katie had hooked the trailer to the truck before they began.

After counting her pullets, she decided to cull three dozen instead of two. These were three month old hens that she’d not turned out among the laying hens, yet, and would make good size fryers. Her chickens and goats were raised organically and were popular; the extra cost of organic feeds was well worth it, and she got a lot of grain and corn from local farmers in barter for milk, eggs or meat.

By the time the sun was really up and Katie was ready for her morning coffee, almost an entire morning’s work was finished. There were only six goats left to milk, the chickens were all loaded onto the trailer and the three bucks she’d selected for Meyerhof were waiting on ropes, munching a last breakfast before climbing into the trailer for that final ride.

“Aunt Emma, Aunt Mary! C’mon, it’s break time!” she called as she led Annalee toward the house.

It was shaping up to be a wonderful day.

Chapter 19Fluffy was lying on the porch, tail thumping, as Katie drove away with the trailer at ten o’clock that morning. She had carefully covered everything she could think of for them, even to the point of showing them how to use the “Emergency” button on the telephone. She’d programmed it to autodial her cell phone, rather than 911, and they all assured her they’d be fine. Emma and Annalee were going to clean up the barn, muck out the goat stalls and such, while Mary would sweep and dust in the house. (“I’s been accused o’ bein’ a witch, dearie; if they’s one thing I knows how to use, ’tis a broom!” “Well—okay, but no flying, if I hear anything about flying broomsticks...”)

Emma had only chuckled at her comment about flying broomsticks, so Katie allowed herself a laugh and decided to go ahead with her deliveries. Besides, she reasoned, she’d only be gone an hour or so. What could happen?

The first answer to that innocent question drove into the driveway about ten minutes after she left, in the person of Mrs. Francine Pettibone. Francie was known to drop in to buy a quart of milk now and then, but if there was a chance to share (or pick up) a smidgen of juicy gossip she’d be there for sure. Imagine her delight, then, when after hearing that Katie had some kinfolk from England living with her, she chanced to see her all alone in her truck, heading away from home.

She parked in the circle of gravel in front of the house as she always did, and climbed out, “Hello?” she called, “Katie? It’s Francie...”

The front door opened, and a small blond woman stepped out. Yes, there was a bit of resemblance...

“If ye be wantin’ me niece Katie, I’s afraid ye’ve missed her,” she said, in an amazingly quaint accent.

“Oh, hello! You must be her aunt I’ve been hearing about. I’m Francie Pettibone, a friend of Katie’s. I was just dropping by for a quart of goat’s milk.”

“Oh—well, she’ll be back in a bit, an hour or so, she said, if ye’d want to come then.”

“You can’t sell me one? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind, and I can show you where she keeps it in the big cooler, in the barn.”

“Aye, but y’see, I—I’s not familiar with the money here, so...”

“Oh, well, that’s no trouble! She charges four-fifty a quart, but I always give her a five and tell her to keep the change!” She fished in her big purse and produced a five-dollar bill. “See? Easy as pie!”

Mary wondered for a moment what to do, then made up her mind. “Very well, then—I’ll fetch it fer ye.” She walked toward the barn and didn’t notice Francie following her.

Mary entered the barn and turned right toward where the bottling and pasteurizing equipment was kept. Francie was right, and Katie kept a dozen quarts or so on hand for her occasional “drop-in” customers, and a few dozen eggs as well. She fumbled with the cooler door until she realized it was a slider, then got a quart out and let it spring shut. (Okay, she played with it, but only a couple times.)

Francie had stopped just inside the barn door. She was only going to wait for Katie’s aunt, but her ears picked up voices further back in the barn.

“But, Gam—er, Aunt Emma, you know Katie’s rule! She said it, and you promised, you did!”

“Aye, I did promise; I promised not to use magic, but this ain’t magic!”

Francie was stunned! Magic? Oh, poor Katie! No one said that her relatives were—well—mental! She walked quietly through the gloom, straight ahead, straining to hear more.

“It’s not magic? But you always told me...”

“Head Magic, Darlin’ Annalee—no’ real magic, of course! What we does, y’see, is makes them think the way we wants them to think, d’ y’see?”

Ah, Francie thought, that’s merely an older woman having fun with a child! What a relief!

She heard a door open behind her and turned to see Mary standing back by the barn door, looking at her.

“And will ye be wanting anything more, then, mum?”

“Oh, no, that’s—that’s all.” She took the milk, handed over the money and hurried to her car. She still had to stop by Millie Wilson’s place, and magic or no magic, this was a nice juicy tidbit to share!

The second answer to the old “What could happen?” came only a few moments after Francie’s departure, and involved the conversation she’d only partially overheard.

As with other herd or flock animals, goats tend to have one dominant male that rules over the rest, and Katie’s were no exception. Her big buck was a Boer named Schwarz-a-goat, because he was large and had a powerful build. He also had the disposition of a Terminator—he hated everyone equally.

Katie’s does, on the other hand, were almost all Alpines. Her father had experimented with Boer-Alpine crossbreeding and had determined that the hybrid produced milk that was superior to the purebred Alpine’s output, while still producing offspring that were ideal meat animals. Schwarz-a-goat was a prolific stud, consistently producing twins from the does that he bred. Katie kept a close eye on the girls in order to know when they came into heat and were bred, so that she would know when they were ready to kid. As a result, the buck was allowed to remain with the does, and any male offspring he produced were sequestered in separate stalls and pens.

Emma had decided that it must have been more than a few months since the stalls were cleaned, and the big problem, she knew, was that the goats weren’t taught to leave their bodily wastes outside the barn. Emma had come from an era when goats and pigs and chickens were often brought into a part of the home in winter, so that their body heat could contribute to the warmth of the family. She’d learned as a girl that they could be taught not to piss-and-poo inside.

The same principle could be applied to barns. Katie had sturdy steel pens and the goats could go in or out all hours of the day or night. There was no reason not to leave their excrement out where sun and rain could put them to work nurturing the soil.

The trouble was that such training took time, and Emma was impatient.

Emma cornered Schwarzie, as he was known, in one of the stalls and stared him in the eye. This is part of an ancient art called “traveling” which involves sending one’s own psyche into the head of another creature, thereby making use of that creature’s eyes, ears and other senses. Writers have told of this for years.

There is, however, another effect that is not as well known and this is that one may, while in that

other skull, exert strong influence over any lesser creature’s own mind. Emma’s plan was to make Schwarzie detest the sight of pee and poop inside the barn, so that he would make sure the rest got the idea.

Stare into the eyes of a goat and the goat will stare back. Almost no other creature on earth can outstare a goat—except a witch.

After ten minutes of blink-free staring, Schwarzie’s eyes were starting to water and burn. Emma was still staring with no sign of discomfort.

After twenty minutes, though neither had moved an inch, Schwarzie looked as if he were weeping, with teartracks running down the fur of his face.

At twenty-three minutes, Schwarzie suddenly staggered and blinked, and Emma was in! For another fifteen minutes, both she and the buck stayed where they were—but inside that horned skull, a battle was raging!

Annalee had continued to shovel leavings into a wheelbarrow and take it out to where they were piling it. She watched the struggle out of the corner of her eye, and when at last she saw both Emma and Schwarzie shake their heads, she breathed a sigh of relief.

“Aunt Emma?” she asked. “Are you quite all right?”

Emma looked at her for a moment, blinked and said, “Baaa-aa-aa-aaaa!”

Annalee stared only long enough to gather her own wits then cried out, “Aunt Mary! Aunt Mary, help!”

Emma turned around and wandered out into the goat pen, while Schwarzie just stood in one spot shaking his head. When he finally moved, it was to follow Emma to the pen and he continued following her as she wandered around in a daze.

Mary came running to the pen and Annalee explained what had happened. Mary burst out laughing.

“Ach, lass, ’tis not as bad as it seems; she’ll be fine in a bit; ’tis only that she has left a bit of ’erself in the buck goat, and ’e’s given ’er a bit of his own self in return!”

“But he’s following her all over—like he knows her!”

“Aye, well,” Mary said, “as they been minglin’ their heads, I reckon they knows each other right well, wouldn’ye think?” She walked toward the buck, clapping her hands. “Hah! Ye, now, go on and do yer buckgoatin’, as ye should! Leave her be, now, she’s done with ye!”

Schwarzie moved away and a moment later dipped his nose into the water trough and took a drink. When he raised his head again, he spied the does and went to join them.

Mary turned to Emma and took hold of her hand. “And now for ye, old Darlin’,” she said, and began to tug her toward the gate.

It was at this inauspicious moment that Katie’s truck turned off the road and into the driveway, pulling to a stop right next to the barn. She climbed out as Mary led Emma out through the gate and toward the house, with Annalee beside them.

“Hey, Aunt Mary, Aunt Emma,” she said. “Everything go okay while I was gone?”

Before Mary could answer, Emma looked at Katie, leaned close until their faces were only a few inches apart, and said, “BAAAAAA-aa-aaaaa!”

Katie’s eyes went as wide as they possibly could and she stared at Emma, who was frozen in position. She held one hand out to her side and motioned Mary closer, and when the blond woman was beside her, she whispered, “Do I want to know what’s going on?”

“Might be favorite,” Mary whispered back, “if ye didn’t.”

“That’s what I thought,” Katie said, still whispering. “Will she be alright?”

“Oh, aye, and not long now.”

“Good—now take her somewhere else, so I can scream.”

Chapter 20As Mary led Emma away toward the front porch swing, Katie went into the barn, leaving Annalee standing next to the truck with her head turning back and forth between Mary and the barn door, where Katie had disappeared. A moment later, a loud scream came from somewhere inside and Annalee bolted after the two older women.

A few minutes later, Katie reappeared and called Annalee to help carry in the frozen meats she’d brought back in two huge coolers in the bed of the truck.

“Let’s get this into the big freezer. We’ve got enough meat now to get us all the way through until next spring, even with all of us.” She grabbed one end of the first cooler, while Annalee took the other, and they lugged it into the big room with the pasteurizers and freezers; she had already propped the big one open.

They loaded all the meat and then several bags of ice were dumped into the freezer and the lid was closed. Katie explained that the ice would help the freezer to cool more rapidly after being open for so long, and then turned to the girl.

“Now,” she said, “tell me what happened to Aunt Emma.”

Stuttering nervously, Annalee managed to explain enough for Katie to understand and the girl was startled when Katie began to laugh. A moment later, though, she relaxed and saw the humor and began laughing herself.

When they had regained their composure, they went to the house and joined Mary and Emma on the porch. Emma was holding a cup of tea in both hands, but was slurping it loudly, rather than sipping as she usually did.

“Aunt Emma?” Katie ventured. “How are you feeling?”

“I’s fine!” Emma said rapidly, her eyes wide. “I’s just very fine!” She took another loud slurp of tea.

Katie shook her head, then went inside and returned with a cup of coffee. She sat on the bench that was still facing the swing and said, “Well, ladies, we’ve gotten a lot done! At least two days’ worth of work, I’d say, and it isn’t even noon, yet. Though it’s close enough to make me think of lunch. Anybody else hungry?”

“I’s hungry!” blurted Emma, and Mary and Annalee agreed that they could eat.

Annalee insisted on making sandwiches—there was a lovely ham in the refrigerator—so Katie was happy to sit there and enjoy the late summer sun. It was usually hotter than this by this time of year, so she was grateful for the cooler weather.

Emma belched suddenly, then blinked several times and slowly focused her eyes on Mary.

“How long was I gone?” she asked

“Nigh an hour,” Mary replied. “Ye had poor Annalee havin’ fits!”

“Goats,” Emma said firmly, “has got smarter! I was not ready for the thoughts in that boy’s head!”

“And, oh, Katie,” Mary said, “a lady come by, her name were like Frannsy, er summat? She said to sell her a quart of milk from the cooler and gave me this!” She passed over the five-dollar bill Francie

had given her. “I hopes ’twere all right I did?”

Katie grinned. Francie would have a field day with stories about Aunt Mary. “It’s fine,” she said. “But it tells me I need to teach all of you about our money. We’ll work on that this afternoon.”

And that’s what they did, after enjoying their lunch. Katie got out a lot of bills and coins, and showed them how to count it, then they practiced making change. It turned out that all three were well-grounded in addition and subtraction, though only Annalee had any real grasp of multiplication or long division, and that was only basic. The thought of math reminded Katie to register Annalee as a homeschooled student, which she could do online, and that made her think of some of the educational computer games her kids once had. Those were gone, now, but a quick search found several that were ideal, including history, general science, grammar and basic through advanced mathematics. She ordered them all, and downloaded them immediately. She’d let Mackenzie teach Annalee how to use the computer, and they could play some of the games together, which would help the girl learn faster. Aaron would benefit, too.

Shortly before the kids got home she remembered to call Mrs. Powell and invite Katie and Lannie to stay over Friday night. She ended up telling the whole concocted story of her new relatives, and promised to have the Powells for dinner once “the Aunts” were settled in.

“Tomorrow morning we’ve got to bottle all the milk so I can make my deliveries. I always do them on Fridays, but once they’re done I can relax a bit.” She sighed. “Mr. Meyerhof told me this morning that the Braumstadts got a new milker and have their old one up for sale. I’m hoping it’ll last a little while, so I can gather up enough to buy it.”

“Buy a milker? D’ye mean a slave?” asked Emma, incredulous.

“Oh, no! No, slavery was outlawed a hundred and fifty years ago! A milker is a machine, an automatic milker. This one can milk six goats at a time as fast as you can lead them in! If I had that, we could breed more of them, really expand the business.”

Emma pursed her lips. “And ye have not enough money?”

“Not yet. If I can get through just a few weeks of good deliveries, I could do it, but I’m afraid it won’t last that long before somebody buys it.”

They were in the kitchen, now, and Katie was putting a cake into the oven, a surprise for dessert after dinner. Emma sat there in silence for a moment.

Mary nudged her. “Go on, then. Ye knows ye want to,” she whispered.

“But what if she takes it amiss?” Emma whispered back. “I’d not be wantin’ to insult ‘er!”

“So, just ask ‘er! She’s a good’n, our Katie. Go on!”

Emma cleared her throat as Katie sat down at the table.

“Katie—I’s wond’rin’—if this might be a help to ye?”

She suddenly reached up under her skirts, and after a moment of fumbling, she came out with a bag made of calfskin. It was about as big as a large modern purse, and when she turned it up over the table, a large pile of silver coins tumbled out, with a few big gold ones in the mix.

“Aunt Emma—that’s—oh, my!” Katie gasped. “But I can’t take that! It’s yours!”

“So? ’Tis only silver ‘n gold, and I ain’t young enough to care much for either!” She smiled softly. “Katie, ye took us in when we was lost and frightened and made us yer own! Well, that makes ye our own, as well, y’see, and kin helps kin, just as ye been doin’ for us. So, let’s be havin’ no talk of what’s mine, now—but if this be enough to buy yon milker, and buyin’ it be a good thing, then seems to me we should do all we can to buy it, eh? So—will this help?”

A little research identified most of the silver pieces as shillings, half-shillings and other rare old coins, while the several gold crowns were even rarer. Katie explained that they were worth far more, now, for what collectors would pay than for the precious metals themselves. After dinner she photographed each and every one, front and back, and listed all one hundred and thirty-seven on eBay.

By morning the bidding had gone crazy, and Katie called Meyerhof’s to ask him to tell Braumstadt she’d buy the milker.

Friday went well. The three women from the past took care of the milking and gathered the eggs while Katie ran the bottler. She’d been doing it alone for a year now, almost, and had her routine down pat, so that by the time the milking was finished at nine, she had bottled two hundred and four quarts of pasteurized “Hollister’s” goat milk. More than half would go to the natural food store over in Branson’s big shopping center, and Meyerhof took most of the rest, but she had a couple of dozen regular customers she delivered to once a week. This was going to be a good week indeed.

Because the bidding on the silver and gold had already passed far beyond the price of the milker, Katie called her bank and had money transferred from her high yield savings to checking, then took a deep breath and called Kit.

“Hey,” she said when he answered, “I was wondering if you’re busy this afternoon?”

“Actually, no,” he said. “Had a cancellation. What’s up?”

“I’m buying Braumstadt’s used milker, and I was hoping you could maybe haul it over here and set it up for me.”

“Depends. Dinner?” She could hear him smile.

“Um—Okay, but here; I’ve got the Powell kids staying over, so I’ll make dinner here and you can join us. Okay?”

“Sounds great! When do you want me to pick it up?”

“I’m about to go drop off the check now, then I’ve gotta make my deliveries. Can you handle it by yourself?”

“Not a big problem, it comes apart easily. I set it up when they bought it, and helped with the new one on Tuesday. I’ll have it up and working at your place by three!”

She smiled. “I owe you one, Kit!” she said.

“No, Honey, you owe me several, but I’m too much of a gentleman to try to collect! See you soon!” He hung up before she could sputter out a comeback, leaving her flushed and just a bit breathless.

It took a bit of coaxing—okay, it took Emma saying firmly, “Lass, get ye arse in yon truck!”—but Annalee rode along with Katie on her delivery run. The two remaining ladies knew the prices of the eggs and milk and had promised to behave themselves, but Katie had to finally force herself to drive

away.

Kit was already loading the milker and tanks and other related equipment onto a trailer when they arrived at the Braumstadt Farm. Mr. Braumstadt had told him to go ahead, knowing Katie’s reputation for honesty, and only smiled as she handed him her check for more than two thousand dollars.

She left Kit to his work, and she and Annalee went on about deliveries. They made a dozen stops on the way to Branson, leaving four or more quarts at each home, and then pulled into the shopping center and around the back of the building. Katie backed expertly up to the dock behind James River Natural Foods and they hopped into the back to start setting crates of bottled milk out onto the loading platform.

“Hey Katie!” said Max Moore, the store manager. “Got a good load for me this week? I can’t keep enough in stock!”

“Hundred and twenty quarts today, Max, but I hope you’re serious. I’m about to expand; just bought a six head milker this morning!”

“Whoa, girl,” he smiled broadly, “really? That’s great news! How soon?” He took a crate and set it on a hand truck, then reached for the next.

“Soon as I can get some does with milk. I’ve got another dozen I’m gonna put with Schwarzie, but they’ll have to drop their kids and wean them before I can start milking them.” She waited while he took the stock in and brought the hand truck back. “Anyway, I’m hoping to find some lactating does I can buy right away. That would let me expand right now.”

“Tell you what,” said Max. “I’ll put a notice up on our bulletin board, and on our website. Might help. I’ll call you if I get any hits.”

They finished unloading and followed Max into the store to collect, and Annalee clung to Katie’s hand the whole time. Max handed over the check and Katie thanked him before leading the girl outside to the truck.

“Annalee, Honey, you’ve got to relax,” Katie said as they drove away from the dock. “Just stay close to me and you’ll be fine. I swear I won’t ever drive off and leave you again!”

“Only I get scared,” said Annalee. “’Tis such a different world, now, and I don’t fit in it, or so it seems.”

Katie patted her hand. “I’m gonna let you in on a secret. You’re what, fifteen?”

Annalee nodded. “And a half-year more, besides,” she added.

“Well, every girl your age feels like she doesn’t fit in, Annalee. I remember feeling that way from the time I was twelve until I was almost seventeen!”

“You? Truly? But you’re so capable, so strong. I’ll never be like you, Katie!” She looked at her hands, fumbling in her lap.

“Yes, Hon. You will! One day soon you’ll figure out, just like I did, that being capable and strong just means doing what you have to do. Once you get that, it won’t be nearly so scary. I promise!”

They made the rest of the deliveries in good time, and it was just after three when they left Meyerhof’s, the last stop. Katie looked over at Annalee.

“So, the big slumber party is tonight. Ever been to one?”

“Is that what Kenzie meant, about her and me and Miranda all staying up all night?”

Katie laughed. “Yep, that’d be it!”

“Oh, then, no, I never. I never had many friends—’twas no secret there was something odd ‘bout me, even as a toddler.”

“How do you mean, odd?”

“Well—witches are really only people with a bit more of magic in them than others, other folks. And sometimes, we show it a bit, even as babies. ‘Twas said, though of course I don’t remember, that I could make my toys float in the air and cause a closed door to open while I was in my cradle.”

“Really? And that made it hard to make friends?”

“Oh, aye—yes, it did. ‘Twas always assumed I’d be a witch one day, and so I was being taught herbs and such while other girls my age were playing at mummies-and-babes.”

“And did you want to be a witch?” Katie asked softly.

“Not at first, I confess,” said Annalee. She looked out the window at the passing countryside. “But I’ve been apprentice to Gam—to Aunt Emma and Aunt Mary, now, for nearly six years or so. I’ve seen all the good they do, and I only hope now to be half the witch either of them is, with all my heart!”

Then they were home, and Kit had the milker all done as promised. He went over its operation with her, which was sort of nice, and they admired it together before she led him up to the house to start dinner.

Chapter 21Miranda Powell had gone for her most recent treatment on the preceding Monday, so she was feeling pretty decent when her mom dropped her off, just a bit before Mackenzie and Aaron got home. Miranda went to school most days, except when she was just too sick. She didn’t ride the bus because there were a few kids who would tease her about having no hair, and the stress could make her even sicker, according to her mom. Miranda actually thought some of the jokes about her baldness were pretty funny!

As a result, her mom drove her to and from school, which is why she got home before Mackenzie and Aaron and why she was being dropped off at the Hollister Farm. Of course, Mrs. Powell took the opportunity to meet the new arrivals.

“Angie, Miranda, these are my Aunt Emma, Aunt Mary and my cousin Annalee. They’re from Wales, which is over near England.”

Pleasantries were exchanged, tea offered (and declined by Mrs. Powell), and Miranda was glad when her mom finally went on home. She and Annalee eyed each other shyly until Katie said, “Miranda, why don’t you two go out on the porch and wait for Kenzie and Aaron? You can chat and get to know each other better without us old folks around.”

The girls did so, and sat on the swing. They were there for a couple of minutes without speaking, and then Miranda broke the silence.

“So, you know I’m sick, right? Gonna die soon? I mean, I can tell you know, it’s okay.”

Annalee let her eyes flick to Miranda, and then back down to her hands in her lap. “Well, um, well, aye, I mean, yes, I was told. Does it—does it hurt?”

Miranda shrugged. “Yeah, sometimes. Usually, I’m just weak is all, or puking my guts out.”

Annalee raised her eyes, and looked at the tiny girl for a long moment. “Are you scared?”

“Well, duh, yeah! Everyone’s scared of dying, I think, don’t you?”

“I expect so. I’m sure I wouldn’t be as brave as you.”

Miranda sat and grinned at Annalee for a moment, then said, “I like the way you talk, like you’re out of ‘Harry Potter,’ or something.”

Annalee looked confused. “Harry Potter? Who is he?”

Miranda’s jaw dropped, and she stared. “You’re from England and you never heard of Harry Potter? What century did you come from?”

Annalee blushed. “Oh—does it show?” she asked nervously.

The smaller girl grinned. “Don’t worry about it. Kenzie said you were sorta like Amish or some such; I doubt they’ve heard of Harry Potter, either.”

They looked up at a noise from the road and saw the big school bus come to a stop. A moment later, Mackenzie and Aaron were on the way up to the house with Fluffy, who had appeared out of nowhere at the sound of the bus’s squealing brakes, trotting happily alongside them.

Miranda pointed further up the road, where a weaving, bobbing figure could be seen pedaling

furiously toward them. “That,” she said, “is my brother, Lannie. He’s a pain in the butt, but every now and then he comes in handy for blaming stuff on.”

Annalee smiled, but Miranda sensed a sadness. “What’s wrong, Annalee?”

Annalee looked at her lap again, but then raised her eyes to Miranda’s. “I—I lost a baby brother recently,” she said softly, “just before we came here.”

Miranda watched her for a moment, and then touched her hand. “Anything you want me to tell him, when I get there?” she asked, not understanding exactly what Annalee had meant.

Annalee smiled then, a genuine smile. “Yes, please,” she said in perfect seriousness. “Please tell him that I love him, and I’ll see him again someday—and that I miss him. I wish I could have seen him grow up, and been there for him.”

“You got it,” Miranda said, and the two girls squeezed each other’s hands, a secret shared and a bond formed. They let go as Mackenzie and Aaron came up the steps.

“Well, I see you guys have met,” Mackenzie said. “Isn’t Annalee neat, Miranda?”

Miranda smiled. “Yeah, she’s really cool!”

“Well, I think Miranda’s pretty neat, too,” said Annalee, and the evening officially began for the three girls.

Lannie rode up seconds later, and was introduced to Annalee, then he and Aaron rushed inside to get ready to go camping. They had found a great spot near the creek and planned to fish for their supper and cook it over their campfire. This was something they’d only learned to do the previous summer with Kit, and they enjoyed the feeling of independence it gave them. Of course, the most important part of this ambitious plan was that they would be outside all night which delighted both the boys and the girls!

While the boys gathered up all of Alex’s camping gear, which Aaron had inherited with everything else in his room, and the girls made plans for their own overnighter, Kit was surrounded by three women in the kitchen. Emma and Mary had decided that he was a viable candidate for the position of suitor for Katie no matter what she said, and were carefully cultivating him. Katie figured out quickly what they were up to and was throwing furious looks their way, but somehow the two seemed not to notice.

“And is this ‘handy man’ what ye planned on bein’, when ye were a lad?” asked Emma.

“Ah, well, no,” he admitted. “No, I wanted to be a policeman, somewhere in the big city—like Don Johnson in Miami Vice, you know? Flashy cars, big deals, big busts...” He looked at her blank face. “I, uh, I guess they didn’t have that show in Wales, huh?”

“They didn’t even have television in that part of Wales,” Katie said quickly. “This modern world we take for granted is all new to my aunts!”

She was chopping vegetables to go with the roast she was making for dinner and Mary was making a pudding for dessert, by hand and entirely from scratch. All Katie knew was that it involved a caramel that Mary made also from scratch, with goat’s milk and sugar and various spices. Emma, for her part, was boiling eggs that would become the best deviled eggs any of them had ever tasted!

“And then, why are ye not in such a city and pursuin’ yer desire?”

“Well, fate has a way of doing something about our desires,” he said. “I was all set to go for it, after high school, but then my dad died of a heart attack and six months after that my mother developed cancer. Suddenly, it was up to me to take care of Mom through it all, so I stayed until Mom passed away a year later, and then I just never managed to get away.” He looked over at Katie and smiled. “Of course, staying has its own good points, especially lately. Did Katie tell you that I was the skinny, nerdy kid that was always mooning after her in school? She didn’t even know I was alive, back then.”

“Yes, I did,” Katie shot at him. “Remember how I used to ‘accidentally’ kick you in junior high?”

He laughed. “Yes, I guess I do! Anyway, she never would go out with me ’cause she only dated the jocks—the big, good-looking. athletic guys—and I wasn’t one of them. Of course, that’s how she ended up running off with Kevin, and look how that turned out!”

“Hey!” Katie said with a scowl. “It wasn’t all bad! I got two beautiful kids out of that deadbeat!”

“Okay, I stand corrected,” he chuckled, putting up a hand as if to ward off a blow. “Anyway, I’m still here—and lately I’m thinking of running for sheriff.”

Katie looked up at him. “Seriously?”

“Yep. Surprised? Personally, I think Chuck’s had the job too long. He’s become a real tyrant the past few years. People are scared of him, and that’s not how it’s supposed to be.”

She nodded. “I can agree there!” she said. “He actually tried to block my dairy license last year. Jerk!”

“And what might it involve, then, this ‘runnin’ fer sheriff?’ Is it to be elected ye seek?”

“Well, yes, if I run. I’ve been testing the waters a bit, and I could get some support. Just gotta give it more thought.”

They continued chatting while they worked, and were all laughing together by the time Aaron and Lannie headed out with all the gear they’d been able to find.

“Hey,” Kit said, “you guys want some help with all that?”

“Nah, thanks,” answered Aaron, and Lannie said, “We got it.”

“Boys, don’t be stubborn,” Katie said. “Let Kit help. You guys look like a couple of puppies trying to disguise yourselves as pack mules!”

“We’re okay, Mom, we’re gonna load it all in the wheelbarrow to take it to the creek!”

Katie raised her eyebrows. “Well, okay, but don’t forget to put my wheelbarrow back where you got it, in the morning!”

The girls had settled in the living room watching a movie; Annalee turned bright pink at the sight of a young Tom Cruise singing in his underwear and Mackenzie and Miranda laughed uproariously.

Katie noticed Emma watching Miranda; it was always hard to look at the tiny girl, knowing she would not live much longer. Katie was particularly proud of Mackenzie, who accepted the knowledge that her friend would die and still spent all the time she could with Miranda. Most kids wanted little to do with her, but Mackenzie tried every way she could to make her time with Miranda as rich as possible.

Once, Emma got up and went into the living room. She sat down on the couch near Miranda, and said, “D’ye feels well, child? Only ye looks a bit flushed...” and she reached out a hand to touch the girl’s forehead.

Only Annalee understood what was happening when Emma rubbed her hand slowly across Miranda’s forehead from right to left and whispered, “fiat vita” three times. She almost spoke, but Emma’s eye caught hers, and she knew to stay silent. Still, she knew.

Miranda would not be dying soon, after all.

Miranda had been healed.

Chapter 22Back at the creek, which is what the boys called the small tributary behind the farm, Aaron and Lannie were frying their catch over their campfire, as they’d planned.

“So,” Aaron asked his friend. “Whaddaya think about Annalee?”

Lannie twisted his mouth to one side in thought. “Ah, she’s okay, I guess. Kinda skinny.”

Aaron nodded as though he hadn’t really noticed, but then he said, “I think she’s sorta okay—kinda pretty, y’know?”

Lannie laughed. “Awww—Aaron and Annalee, sittin’ in a tree...” He broke up again as Aaron shoved him off the log he was using for a seat and onto his side.

“Look who’s talking, Buttface! You think my sister is hot!”

“Well, at least Kenzie’s got boobs! Annalee’s like, flat!”

Aaron frowned. “Not really—just she’s taller, is all. And still growing, too!”

“Well, anyway, don’t get all excited; she’s your cousin, remember?”

Aaron stared into the fire. “She’s Mom’s cousin,” he said. “What’s that make her to me?”

Lannie shrugged. “Like second cousin, I think—or something like that. Way too close to be your girlfriend!”

They fell quiet again, then, and shortly they were eating the best bluegills they’d ever caught!

Dinner at the house went very well, though Kit spent much of it playing along with Katie’s match-making aunts and teasing Katie. Even the girls thought it was funny; Mackenzie personally thought Kit was perfect for her mom, so she was particularly enjoying it all.

But when it was over, and the absolutely incredible caramel pudding had been devoured, the three girls excused themselves and went upstairs. Mackenzie had things all planned out, and the first item on her agenda was a makeover for Annalee!

She and Miranda had gone over it at school that day. They would give Annalee the whole treatment, at least as far as twelve and thirteen year old girls could give it, including a manicure, pedicure and absolutely anything they could do with that hair! Long red hair that only hung straight down was just—boring! And Annalee was just too nice a girl to be boring!

“So, you just sit right here,” Mackenzie said to Annalee, “and relax! Madame Mackenzie and Madame Miranda, the world’s greatest beauty experts, shall now perform magic!”

“Indeed we shall!” Miranda said. “Prepare yourself to be transformed into a veritable vision of loveliness, oh, yes! You shall be the envy of the starlets of Hollywood, and all because of us!”

When the three of them stopped laughing at such silliness, they got to work: Miranda on Annalee’s toenails (“Ooh, but it tickles!”), and Mackenzie working on her fingernails, which were in pretty bad shape.

First they clipped, then they filed, and finally they painted, and when all of that was done and the polish was dry, they dragged Annalee into the bathroom and managed to soak all three of them

washing her hair. They left a wet trail behind them as they ran giggling back to the bedroom.

With curlers and combs and teasing brush, they set to work, and put on the finishing touches with blow dryers on the lowest setting. Slowly the masterpiece took shape, and when the last curler was out and they turned Annalee to face the mirror, she was honestly astonished!

A bit of blush, a touch of mascara, a hint of eyeliner, and an artistic application of lip gloss—and a new Annalee looked back at herself in amazement.

“Oh, my,” she said. “I—I look so—different!”

Miranda stood on her right, Mackenzie on her left, and Miranda leaned her cheek against Annalee’s shoulder. “Wow,” she said, “I wish my hair could grow that long again. It used to be down to here,” and she indicated a point low on her back, “before I had to start chemo and it all fell out.”

Annalee stood frozen, bursting to tell the girl what Emma had done—that the words “fiat vita” meant “let there be life” and were the most powerful form of healing there was! Only the most powerful, confident healer could use them effectively, and Emma had often told Annalee that such power should only be used in extreme need.

For instance, she had said, Emma would never use so much power for an elderly person, or even one of middle years, unless there were a very grave reason. “Most folk live the lives God gives them,” she had said, “and to give them more is only taking what’s His! But they’s some as needs us intervening, and if the Almighty objects then He’ll take back the time we gives them from us! So always remember, all our power is our blessing—but ’tis also our greatest responsibility. Never use magic ’less ye be willing to pay any price as God may levy agin ye!”

Annalee never forgot her words. And now, sitting here with Miranda and Mackenzie, she wished she could share them, explain—but she must not, and she knew it.

Mackenzie had taken the blankets and comforters from the beds and spread them out on the floor, and the three girls sat down Indian-fashion, in a triangle. Miranda turned out the overhead bulb so that the only thing keeping the darkness at bay was a small nightlight in an electrical outlet, and the moon, which hung high outside their window.

“Now,” Mackenzie said, “it’s traditional to each tell the scariest story we know and I’ll go first.” She settled herself and cleared her throat.

“It was just twenty years ago, not far from this very spot,” she began, “when three girls just about like us were walking home one night after a dance at the school. They’d had a wonderful time, dancing and just enjoying the music—in fact, it was almost a perfect evening, they all said, except for one thing.

“There was a new boy in their class, and he was very strange. He always wore clothes that were as black as coal, as black as the darkest midnight, and he had eyes that were just as black! They looked like holes in his very soul, and it was said that if he saw you looking into his eyes, he could capture your soul, and make you his slave forever!”

“Oooh,” Miranda said. “Where is he? He sounds like my kinda boy!”

“Miranda! That’s horrible!” said Annalee, blushing.

“Hey, I can dream, can’t I? It’s not like I’ll ever have a boyfriend, y’know? Gotta take what I can get!”

“C’mon, guys, lemme tell this!” Mackenzie said, and they settled back down. “So, anyway, this new boy was at the dance and about halfway through the evening one of the girls—her name was, uh, Julie—she looked up from what she was drinking and there he was, right in front of her, and her eyes met his and he saw her and he looked into her eyes and he whispered, ‘You are mine!’

“Well, Julie went real quick to find her two friends, Betty and, uh, Cindy, and she started to tell them what had happened—but she couldn’t, her mouth sort of locked shut every time she tried! He had enslaved her and she couldn’t even tell anyone! She was scared, but her face just kept smiling and smiling!

“Then suddenly, Betty said something about getting another glass of punch and walked off alone to get it. Julie wanted to call her back and warn her about the boy but she couldn’t open her mouth. Betty was almost to the punch bowl when suddenly, there he was—right in front of her—looking at her, and she saw his eyes, so very black, like bottomless holes, and he whispered to her: ‘You are mine!’ Just like he’d done it to Julie, Betty was now enslaved!

“Betty came back and stood next to Julie, and when they looked at each other, they each knew the other was enslaved, but they couldn’t say a word!

“About the time of the last dance, Cindy was dancing with another boy, one she liked, when all of a sudden she looked over his shoulder—and there he was, the boy with the black eyes—and he whispered, ‘You are mine!’ and then he was gone!

“Well, then it was time to go home, you know? So they walked out of the school together, all three knowing they were slaves, but they still couldn’t talk about it, and when they were halfway home they heard footsteps—behind them—and when they looked back, there he was, and they froze in panic!

“He walked up to them, and walked around them three times. He stopped in front of Cindy, and said, ‘You were last, but now you’ll be first!’ And then he reached out and took hold of her by her throat and he pulled her close, and opened his mouth, and he had long fangs, he was a vampire, and he bit her throat and sucked out all of her blood—then he dropped her, dead, and he turned to Betty.

“’You were second, and so shall you be!’ he said, and then he bit her, too, and drank all her blood! Now only Julie was left, and he turned to her. ‘You were first, and will always be!’ he said, and he bit her, too—only he didn’t suck out all her blood, just part of it, and when he let her go she felt weird, and her teeth hurt—and she realized she was growing fangs! He’d made her his vampire bride! And they say they’re still out there, still hunting for victims to drain of their blood, still OMIGOSH WHAT’S THAT AT THE WINDOW?’

Chapter 23Miranda and Annalee spun and stared out the window at the clear, crisp night, and the bright moon, and saw nothing else. Behind them, Mackenzie leaned close and dropped a hand onto each of their shoulders, and they both screamed at the top of their lungs!

She rolled on the floor with laughter. “Oh, God, you shoulda seen your faces! I so got you guys, I so got you both!”

Miranda glared at her in mock rage. “Yeah, you got us, okay? Brat! Just you wait, I’m gonna get you back, when you least expect it! You are so dead meat!”

“Fine, fine, so it’s your tum. Tell us your scariest story!”

“Hmmm, let’s see. Okay, I got one, get comfy. Now, the thing about this story is it’s absolutely true, even though I know you won’t believe it. It happened about five years ago when I was only seven, back before I got sick.

“We had just bought the house we live in now, and just got all moved in. In fact, I think it was the very first night we stayed there, I’m pretty sure it was. I was tired and went to bed early before the sun was all the way down, but I guess because it was a new place, I just couldn’t get to sleep.

“I saw the moon come up and the stars come out and I lay perfectly still, trying to get to sleep, but I just couldn’t. And then, prob’ly around midnight, I saw something on my windowsill. At first I couldn’t make out what it was, because of the dark and the shadows, but then I got a good look as it raised my window just a few inches...

“It was a little, tiny man about four inches tall, and once he got the window open several more climbed up beside him, and then they jumped onto my dresser and I could hear them talking.

“‘We have to get it tonight’, one of them said. ‘We’ll never get another chance!’ Then the first one I saw, he said, ‘We can only hope they haven’t found it! If they have, then all hope is lost!’ And the other one said, ‘We’re lucky they put the little girl in here. Now, let’s get it and get out, before she wakes up!’

“Well, they climbed down my dresser and went to a spot in the corner by my closet and they took these, like, little poles they were carrying and they started to pry off this piece of wood that was nailed onto the baseboard. My Dad had told me someone must have nailed it there to cover up a mousehole, but they pried it off fast then ran into a hole behind it. The hole was just big enough for them to walk into it.

“When they were all inside, I got up real quiet and I took an empty glass from my nightstand and hid in the shadows over near the hole, and a few minutes later, here they came. Two of them were carrying something that looked like a big blue diamond, about as big as a golf ball, and the rest ran on ahead to the dresser. Only the one who opened the window stayed behind to put the cover back on their hole.

“Well, most of them climbed up the dresser, then they let down a net made of string, and the other two put the diamond thing in it. They all pushed and pulled it up the dresser, and then left through the window--and I took the glass, and just as the last one started to go out the window, I put it down over him and caught him!

“He was amazingly strong! I had to put all my weight on the glass to keep him trapped under it, and

finally he looked at me and said, ‘Well, you’ve caught me. What will you do with me?’ Now, remember, I was only seven, so I said, ‘I want to keep you to play with me!’ And then he sat down there, under the glass, and he started to cry. I asked him what was wrong, and he said, ‘I’m just so sad, cause I have to stay here to be your toy, and my dear wife and poor little children won’t even know what happened to me.’

“Well, that made me feel bad, so I said, ‘If I let you go, will you come back and play with me?’ But he said, ‘I’m not supposed to let big people see me, ever, so I can’t come back to play with you, but I will promise this: If you are ever in danger, come to the big apple tree in the field behind your house and call to me and I will come to help you. My name is Aldero and I am the Prince of my people, the RootBuilders!’

“So, I let him go and he was up that dresser and gone like a shot! Then one day, two years ago, when we found out I was sick I went out to the big apple tree and I called him and he came. But when I told him what was wrong he started to cry again, because the RootBuilders don’t have any way to cure our diseases, so they couldn’t help me. So he told me that as long as I live, he and his people would watch over me and try to make me comfortable. And to this very day, if I’m weak or sick and in bed and, suppose I want a book that’s way over on my dresser—I just say I want it real softly, and then close my eyes—and when I open them again the book will be right there on the bed by my hand. I never see them but I always know they’re there.”

Miranda fell silent and all three were quiet for a moment, then Mackenzie spoke up.

“That was a good story but it wasn’t scary; where was the monster?”

Miranda smiled a sad smile. “You didn’t get it. I was the monster in the story because I tried to keep Aldero for a toy when he had a family who loved him and needed him.”

“I see it,” said Annalee.

Mackenzie shrugged. “I liked it but I still say it wasn’t scary.” She turned to Annalee. “Okay, it’s your turn, and remember—scary!”

Annalee thought for a moment. “All right,” she said. “I’ve got one.”

Chapter 24The Story That Annalee Told

It was a very long time ago, three hundred years, in fact. It was a time of magic and a time of mystery, when people often feared their own neighbors and listened to fools who led them down paths of wickedness.

(“I love the way she talks,” Miranda said, “so gothic-like.” “Shhh! This might be good!”)

Near Aberystwyth, which isn’t far from the village I came from, there were three women and they were well known for all the good things they did. They were skilled healers and midwives and they helped with the livestock. They were called Wise Women, sometimes, and they were called Medicine Makers sometimes, but usually—though it was only in whispers—they were called Witches!

Now, witches most often come in threes, you see, for all the three aspects of womanhood. One will be young and pure; one will be mature and head of her family; and one will be far into her years, perhaps even elderly—and they’re called the Maiden—the Mother—and the Crone!

The Crone is the wisest and most experienced in magic and with dealing with people and their ills. She’ll be the one who can make a wild wolf crawl up to her on its belly, and do a crazed, drunken man just the same. And it’ll be she who’s willing to wrestle the devil himself, if need be, before she’ll let one in her care be taken unrightly.

The Mother is the most serene. Her strength is her love for her family and for her village and its people. She, ‘twill be, who can temper the fury of the crone when naught else can and she’ll be the one to weep the loudest when life is lost unfairly.

The Maiden is the apprentice, a blank slate on which the other two write all that they’ve learned in their years and their labors. She serves the others, cooks and cleans, and does the chores that need doing to teach her the value of her toil and she learns the ways of magic a bit at a time, and the language of it, as well.

Now, these three witches had done great good throughout the region and there were few whose lives they had not touched and for the better. For many years the two older ones had been with another, even older than they, but a few years before this tale that other had felt Death a-coming for her. She told them to choose a maiden to join their circle. So they did, and the girl they chose worked hard to learn and to be the best witch she could be.

They were well liked, these witches, by most all ‘round those parts, though there were some as thought the crone too mean of tongue, and some as thought the mother too lecherous, even a bit wicked. There were even some who thought the maiden too homely or plain; but most appreciated them and all the good they had done.

But one day there came a new minister to the church and he was of the sort that condemned all witchery, calling it the tool of the devil. He began to speak out against the witches. Whenever someone in the villages or the countryside would speak up to defend them, the minister would condemn that person, saying that they were themselves in league with the devil. This is how it came about that people began to fear their friends and neighbors. Wasn’t the minister a man of God? Then surely his words must be true, inspired by God Himself! So if he say a man is evil, the rest would shun that man, and it quickly spread that to defend the witches was to condemn yourself so none would speak up for them anymore.

The minister saw all his power over the people and desired even more! Therefore he advanced his cause, saying that if anyone be truly of God then they must come forward and tell of evil things the witches had done, and if any man would not then he was of the devil and must be shunned!

So it was that, one by one, all the people who had been helped by the witches, even some whose very lives the witches had saved, came to tell wicked lies about them. They said the witches had done terrible, sinful things to them and that they had seen the witches consorting with the Evil One! So vile were the lies that many who told them wept to hear such things spoken by their own lips. And yet there came a day when, to preserve their own good standing in the villages, they gathered at the church and summoned the witches.

The witches came, of course, and faced the false accusations of the minister and the false witness of so many they had cared for. They knew the minister had waited until he was strong enough to convict them. So evil was he, that he even dragged in the Maiden’s mother and father and baby brother, to see her condemned with the others.

“Only bow before God,” he said, “and repent and you will be free, so long as you do no more of your evil deeds!”

“And so we must not save a life,” asked the Crone, “or ease a sufferer’s pain?”

“Suffering,” cried the minister, “cometh from Almighty God!“

So the Crone told the Maiden, “Child, no one will fault you if you bow and repent and go home safe,” but the Maiden said no, she would not. She had cast her lot with the witches and would stand with them, even if it be unto death, and so she bade her family farewell.

The witches were taken to the cottage of the crone and were locked inside. “Come dawn,” said the minister, “you may change your minds and repent, and so you will stay here under guard all night!”

But the Crone knew they would never see the dawn and so she had prepared a special spell—she took six hairs from each of their heads and put them into the dry oil tank of an old brass lamp. With an incantation she decreed that when the light of the sun next touched the lamp, the three of them would appear safe and sound, no matter what might befall them.

And then it happened. The guards set fire to the cottage and barred the doors so that there could be no escape!

The Crone called the Mother and the Maiden to her and they took her hands and joined their own. They began to chant the spell that would let them skip from that moment to the moment when sunlight next touched the lamp—and they were vanished before the fire could touch them.

The Crone had hidden the lamp under a hearthstone, where everyone hid their valuables, and she reasoned that after the fire someone would look there and take out the lamp into the light of day. But something went awry and it was not found until three hundred years had passed. And then at last it saw the sun—and those three witches appeared and walk this world even today, seeking what good they may do and healing the sick in secret.

So always watch and be aware of those around you for you never know when those you know might turn against you. But if they should, then remember this: the Aberystwyth Witches are somewhere, and should you need them—they just might be closer than you think!

Chapter 25When Annalee had finished, the three of them sat quietly for a long moment, until at last she said, “Well, all right, I know it wasn’t truly scary, but ‘twas the best I could...”

“It was awesome!” said Mackenzie and Miranda at the very same time. “Dude!” Mackenzie went on, “it was so real!”

“It was! It was very real,” Miranda said softly as she stared at Annalee.

“Yes! Like, wow, you should be a writer or something!”

Annalee sat perfectly still. Mackenzie was excited and bouncing around but Miranda was looking Annalee right in the eye.

“... and then the way they escaped, like genies in a magic lamp, that was so...”

“Kenzie!” Miranda said sharply. “Don’t you get it? It’s not just a story, it was true! That’s why Annalee didn’t know about TV, or indoor plumbing, or cars—and listen to her, the way she talks, and your aunts, too—Annalee? I’m right, aren’t I? It was true? Annalee, you’re the maiden, aren’t you?”

Annalee sat there, her eyes wide, unsure of what to do. She had only tried to think of a story and in desperation she’d told the only one she knew—the truth. She had no idea why she’d done so but if Emma and Mary and Katie found out, she was sure she’d be in so much trouble...

Mackenzie had stopped bouncing and she was looking at Annalee strangely, too. “Annalee?” Mackenzie entreated her. “Is she right? Is it true?”

“Of course I’m right!” Miranda said. “And I’ll tell you something else—when your Aunt Emma touched me earlier she was whispering something, like a chant, and ever since, I’ve felt so much better and I didn’t know why...” The tears suddenly began to flow down her face, and then Annalee was crying too. “Annalee? Oh, please, Annalee, please, tell the truth—was the story true?”

And she couldn’t stop herself because she knew what Miranda was really asking, and so her head began to nod of its own accord as her own tears started to flow and she said, “Aye, ’tis true, but you mustn’t tell anyone! Oh, I shall be in so much trouble! And yes, Aunt Emma—she’s really my godmother, but I have to call her Aunt Emma now—she did use the most powerful spell of healing on you. I know it’s hard to believe, dear Miranda, but you will not die, not soon, anyway—and you will grow up and have boyfriends, and long, beautiful hair...”

“Oh, but I do believe!” Miranda said sobbing. “I felt it when she touched me but I didn’t know what it was, but as you told your story about how the witches did good and healed people, all of a sudden, I just knew!” She threw her arms around Annalee and wept.

Mackenzie rose to her knees and put her arms around both of them. “But, Annalee...” she said, “You’re my mom’s cousin, aren’t you? You can’t be three hundred years old...”

Annalee sniffled and wiped her eyes on her shirt sleeve. “Well, we don’t know how, but the lamp ended up here. You’ve seen it, it’s still sitting on your kitchen counter. Your mum said your dog found it and brought it to her and she unwrapped it and then when we all appeared and once she stopped trying to hit us with a broom, well—she took us in and made us family, and we do truly love you all so very much, already! In our hearts we are family, don’t you see?”

Mackenzie’s eyes were doing a fair imitation of dinner plates. “And Miranda—she’s really gonna get better? For real, not just for a little while?”

Annalee nodded. “The spell Aunt Emma used can heal anything but being dead already,” she said. “’Tis not that she’ll get better, she is better, right now, but again, you must not say anything, please, or I’ll get in trouble for telling!”

“We won’t, we won’t,” Miranda said, and Mackenzie echoed her, “Of course, we won’t! This is, like, the best secret in the world! And Miranda, oh, Miranda—I’m so happy!“

They hugged once more and Miranda looked at Annalee again. “So Annalee—the maiden, you said she—you were like an apprentice witch? So did you learn any magic?”

“Well, aye, a bit, but I’ve years of learning to go.”

“Well, can you show us some? Anything?”

Annalee thought for a moment then nodded. She untangled herself and got up to get a small doll from Mackenzie’s dollhouse then sat back down and held it out on her hand, standing upright.

“Now, watch,” she said and concentrated, closing her eyes, her lips moving soundlessly.

The girls stared at the doll and after a few seconds they both gasped as it rose into the air over Annalee’s palm. Slowly it rose, until it was a foot above her hand, and then she opened her eyes and moved her hand away. The doll hung there in the air—and then Annalee clapped her hands once, softly, and the doll vanished before their eyes.

“Wha—Where did it go?” demanded Mackenzie, and Annalee pointed to the dollhouse and there stood the doll, right where she had gotten it.

“Awesome! Wow!” exclaimed the girls, and the slumber party continued as if uninterrupted by tears and fears and secrets and joyful happinesses.

Somewhere in the wee, small hours of the next morning, the subject of witches and magic was brought up again and a secret pact was made. There were hugs and crossing of hearts vows of silence, and we shall honor them — at least for now.

Chapter 26While all this was happening upstairs, another bit of magic was going on downstairs. After the girls had adjourned to Mackenzie’s bedroom, Katie and Mary had cleaned up after dinner (“Emma, look! An engine as does the washing up for ye!”). Emma had gone to fetch her sewing (she was working on her third new dress already) and then took Kit into the living room. He took the remote and turned on the television, looking for a movie to put Katie into a romantic mood. He found one called The Lake House that looked promising but couldn’t follow it because of Emma’s chattiness.

Katie wasn’t sure which she wanted least, a romantic movie or Aunt Emma playing Cupid, but she was absolutely sure she didn’t want both at once! When she came out of the kitchen she looked at Kit and said, “So, wanna go for a walk in the moonlight? It’s nice out, we could walk up to the road and back.”

Kit looked up with a smile; he was out of his chair in an instant and followed Katie out the front door. When they’d gone, and Mary had taken a seat on the couch, Emma asked, “So, Mary Higgins, what was it ye were adding to yer puddin’?”

“T’ me puddin’? Why, Emma, ye knows me better’n that, ye do!”

“Indeed I do know ye, Mary. Now, what were in it?”

“Well, I—I—only I found Katie’s spices, and she had thyme, and nutmeg, and basil, and there was her cinnamon where we’d left it, d’ye know...”

Emma looked up from her sewing.

“Mary Higgins, ye cannot make a love philter with them herbs!”

Mary’s eyes grew mischievous. “And are ye thinkin’ that’s as needed? ‘E loves ‘er already, and our Katie’s got a feelin’ for him, as well. ’tis not love that’s needed, but a pinch o’ bein’ honest with ‘erself! So, I puts in a wee bit of Mother Brickham’s medicament for truthfulness, be all.”

Emma looked at her for a moment, then smiled. “Me, I put a spell on me spiced eggs—a simple one, to do with moonlight and kisses.”

“Emma! And ‘ere’s ye accusin’ me of—Ach, you’re a scunner, old friend, and I swear, I loves ye all the more fer it!”

* * * * *

“It’s a beautiful night,” Katie said, “and look at the moon up there, and all the beautiful stars.”

“Yes, it’s nice,” Kit replied, “and even nicer with such good company.”

She smiled. “I know I’ve been a little distant lately...”

“Katie, distant is one thing—you’ve been avoiding me for the past couple of weeks.”

“No, I haven’t—okay, yes I have, but—Kit, you confuse me, sometimes.”

“I do? How’s that? Have I asked anything of you that you didn’t want to give? Have I put any pressure on you? If I have, tell me, ’cause I don’t want to be that guy.”

She walked beside him in silence for a few paces. “No,” she said at last. “It isn’t you, Kit, it’s me.

I’m scared. I don’t want either of us to end up in another bad marriage, pretending to be happy when we’re really miserable, and of course there’s the kids to think about. I guess I’m just nervous about letting us get any closer than we already are. Does that make any kind of sense?”

“Well,” he began slowly. “I think it does if you plan to keep on living in the past.” He stopped walking and turned to her, taking her shoulders in his hands and pulling her gently around to face him. “Katie, I’m not Kevin and I’ve gotten way past my girl-chasing days—present company excluded, of course. I’m not trying to pressure you, as I said, but I’d like us to try the next level, and see how it feels.”

Katie looked up at Kit, towering over her five-foot-one.

“Did I ever tell you how I ended up with Kevin?” she asked, and he shook his head. “It was when I was engaged to Jimmy Redman. He was the love of my life, I thought, I was just sure of it. Oh, I’d dated Kevin a couple of times, mostly in our junior year, and I liked him, but Jimmy—he was the one I was going to love forever.”

“I remember. I thought about running him over with my dad’s pickup truck every time I saw him with you.”

She smiled. “Might have been better if you had, for everyone but you, of course. See, while I was planning on happily-ever-after, Jimmy was, well, doing other things. One of those things was—Beverly Walker.”

Kit’s face dropped and he stared at the ground. “And you found out...”

“Yeah, I did. I stopped by his house late one evening to surprise him and the front door was open and I heard him talking in his room. I thought he was up there with one of his buddies so I just went on up the stairs like I belonged there, and when I opened the door, there they were. Well, I’ll spare you the details, but they were having too good a time to notice me, I can tell you that!”

Kit shook his head in disgust. “I lived that scene, myself—walked in on her with some salesman. Sheesh!”

Katie nodded. “Yeah, well, it was too much for me. I turned around and left, and went down to the lake to cry my eyes out. I think I was even thinking about throwing myself off a bridge or something, but it would only have been drama in my head—and I ran into good old Kevin. He gave me a sympathetic ear and told me that he’d always loved me, and that was what I needed to hear at that moment. So when he asked me to elope with him a few days later—on the very day I was supposed to marry Jimmy, believe it or not—I did. I didn’t love him but I spent thirteen years telling myself I did so I wouldn’t feel completely stupid.”

She looked off toward the house for a moment then turned back to Kit. “The point of all this is that I made a big mistake, once, but it wasn’t just me that paid for it. My kids were hurt when Kevin walked out of our lives and I’ve been bound and determined not to ever let them get hurt because of my foolishness again.”

Her eyes roved around once more. The moon was up, and at just the right angle to cast a bright halo around Kit’s blond head, and for just a second he looked so perfect.

“So, I guess what I’m saying is—let’s go slow. Let’s go forward—but slow and easy, and let’s both promise to let the other know if we reach a point of feeling like it’s turning into a mistake. Is that okay?”

Kit looked down at her and the thought, as it had done a thousand times before, crossed his mind that she was even more beautiful than she’d been in high school. He reached for her, carefully, gently, giving her plenty of time to pull away.

She didn’t, and then her arms raised up and went around his neck and their lips met for the first time...

Well, the first time like that, anyway!

When they got back to the house, Kit kissed her goodnight and got into his truck and drove away. Something had changed and they both knew it—but somehow, Katie thought as she walked back into he house, it wasn’t quite as scary as she’d thought it would be.

Maybe, she thought, just maybe — it was magic.

Don’t Miss the rest of The Very Swift Witches Saga

Book 1: Strange Relations

Book 2: Magical Mayhem

Book 3: Bigger Magic

AND

PJ’s adventures:

Book 1: PJ and the Other Side of the Mirror

Book 2: PJ and the Quest for the King

Book 3: PJ and the Company of the Challenge

About Stormy Summers

Stormy Summers was born in Birmingham, Alabama, and adopted at the tender age of 3 months by a wonderful Christian couple in Live Oak, Florida. She spent the biggest part of her life there raising her five children up until 2014, when she met and married the love of her life and moved to the Ozark Mountains in Arkansas, but they recently returned to Florida to be closer to their kids and grand-children.

Stormy is surprising everyone with the incredible stories and depth of characters that she's producing, as well as her insights into the minds of people of all ages. She hopes you enjoy reading her books as much as she enjoys writing them!

Learn more about Stormy and her books at www.stormysummers.com