Witch Upon a Star (A Midnight Magic Mystery) (2 page)

“Mom, you okay?” Joe asks.

“Get your brother and hide!”

“Mom!” Max shrieks in terror.

He’s upstairs.

I’m about to reach for the poker but cannot make the journey. The man reappears to return my kick. His foot connects to my chest, and I collapse backward to the floor. My already sensitive cranium thumps against the hardwood, stunning me for a moment. My opponent uses my weakness to remove another syringe from his holster. At least it’s not a gun. “You are making this more difficult than it has to be. He gave strict orders not to harm you or the children.” He uncaps the needle. “Please do not—”

I raise my finger, pour all my fear, my anguish, and my power into its tip and shout, “
Lapsus!
”

A blast of magic siphons through my body, smashing into him with tidal
wave force. As if shot from a cannon, the man lifts off the floor and
flies backward fifteen feet into the bookcase. Even over the clattering and thumping of objects colliding, the distinct sound of snapping bone and tendons can be heard as his neck hits an oak shelf. The bastard’s head snaps back as his throat arches forward at an unnatural angle. Broken. He collapses in a heap, books raining down and around on him. He’s too dead to notice. Damn it.

“Mom?” Joe calls.

“I-I-I’m fine,” I shout back. “Do-don’t come down here. Stay with your brother.”

“Is the mean man gone?” Max asks.

“He is. Are you two okay?”

“Yeah,” Joe says.

“Just … stay up there with the door locked until either I or your dad gets you, okay?”

After a few deep breaths, I manage to stand, retrieve the poker
in case I’m wrong, and walk over to the prostrate assassin. Those gray
eyes remain open, unblinking as I lower myself to his level. Just in case, I exchange the poker for his gun, a Walther PPK with a silencer. The only other items on him are a car key and third syringe. Three syringes. Me and the boys. Then why … the gun weighs heavy in my hand. He didn’t pull it once. A chill runs down my aching spine. Nathan. For Nathan. But when I peel off the dead man’s mask, my legs literally fail me. I thump to the ground and a second later realize I’m trembling.

I don’t know how long I sit here, shaking like a leaf on the wind, pointing a gun at a dead man. Minutes maybe. Feels like a blink of an eye until I hear my husband’s voice. “Annie? Anna!” he shouts, panicked. I blink again, and he’s by my side, brown eyes double their size as he stares at the man. “Who is—”

“His name is Didier Fournier. He’s a Swiss National I met in Vienna when I was seventeen. Contract killer.”

“Killer? The boys—”

That word snaps me out of my haze. “My boys!” I bound up like a spring and sprint out of the room and up the stairs with my husband a step behind. “Joe?” I ask, pounding on his bedroom door. The lock clicks a second later, and the moment the door opens, I’m through, scooping up my son and hugging him tight. Max dashes toward me from the bed, and I lift him too. I shower them with kisses. On a normal day, Joe would push me away but there’s nothing normal about today. He clings to me as tight as I do him. “Are you okay?”

“We’re okay,” my son says. “He didn’t hurt us.”

I carry my boys to Joe’s bed and lower us into the purple
Tiny Toon Adventures
bedspread. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Was he a ghost, Mommy?” Max asks.

“No.” He just worked for one.

“What did he want?” Joe asks.

I turn from my son’s aquamarine eyes, so like mine, to my hu
sband’s brown ones hidden behind his glasses. Even still I can see the dread stretching them to unnatural proportions. Because he knows the answer. Because he knows what it means.
That he’s
alive
. He’s finally come for me. The man who was my father, my mother, my friend, my savior, my mentor, my heart, my soul, my angel, and ul
timately my devil.

My Asher.

part i

nights of blood
and roses

age 9
albany, ny

It was odd that
the knock on the door woke me that night. There was nary an evening when my father, Sven, didn’t have nocturnal visitors, be it old friends from Haight-Ashbury passing through to crash for a few days or clients looking to score his seemingly endless supply of pot and LSD. Through years of hard-won adaptation I could sleep through jam sessions and high-pitched laughter. I even once slumbered through a client’s bad trip that ended with a broken table and split lip for Sven. I did wish I was able to have seen that last one. Would have been refreshing to witness someone turn the tables and beat my father for a change.

There was nothing out of the ordinary about that night or the knock, but it still pulled me from slumber like true love’s kiss did Sleeping Beauty. My eyes fluttered open with the first rap but by the second, I’d never been more awake. Even before I met him he had the power to change the air around him, calling me to him. But that night all I knew was it was just past midnight, I had a history test in the morning, and the later the visit, the greater the chance the visitor would cause mischief. The perfect beginning of my birthday. I threw off my covers and tiptoed to my bedroom door, opening it just a crack. If there was to be a problem I wanted to be ready. My father stepped into view but not the stranger. I didn’t dare open the door farther. I learned the hard way not to draw attention to myself when we had company. Once or twice I even had to use an invisibility charm to get to the bathroom.

“… something to drink?” Sven asked. “We have Tab or—”

“I am not thirsty, thank you,” the mystery man replied in a lyrical voice, as if the words glided on air. I couldn’t place the accent but knew it wasn’t American.

“Right on, right on,” Sven said, blond head bobbing. “We’re both
busy men. Straight down to business, I can dig it.” My father gestured to the yellow linoleum card table in the kitchenette. “Sit down.” No matter the angle I stretched, I could not catch a glimpse of the man even as he sat at our tiny table. “So, you didn’t say much on the phone. How’d you get my name anyway?”

“A mutual friend. Gerard. He speaks most highly of your work.”
Gerard MacIntyre. Sven sometimes dealt in his nightclub, and on occasion he’d request a charm or potion I had to make.

“He’s a good cat,” Sven said. “So, what exactly can I help you with? I just got in some simsmilla and angel dust from Hawaii, or—”

“I am here for a spell,” the man cut in.

“It’s witchcraft, baby,” Sven’s girlfriend chuckled from her usual spot on the couch.

“Shut up, Andie,” Sven snapped. If we didn’t have company, a slap would have followed. Instead, Sven grinned at the man. Without a doubt my father was a handsome man, with long straight blond hair, aquamarine eyes, pretty face, and milky skin, all of which I inherited. All it took was a single grin, and he’d be out of trouble or in a woman’s bed. No real magic required. “What kind of spell?”

There was silence for a few moments before the chair scraped against the tile. “This was a mistake. You cannot help me.”

“Wait, what? No, I can. Whatever you need, man, I can deliver.”

“You are no witch, sir. I do not know how you acquired the items for Gerard, but he will hear how you lied to him about your abilities and lineage. And he does not suffer liars well, Mr. Olmstead.”

“No, wait!” Sven said, leaping up. “Okay, I never told him
I
was the witch, man. It’s … It’s my kid,
she’s
the witch.” My father looked my way, and I froze, not even blinking. I’d catch hell later, but he was all jolly smiles then. “Anna? Anna, sunshine, come on out. It’s okay. He won’t bite.”

Having no real choice, I left the relative safety of my bedroom dressed in nothing but my ratty, faded blue nightie with more holes than not, hair a rat’s nest of tangles, and eyes crusty from sleep. None of that mattered, though. Nothing mattered the moment I laid eyes on him.
Nothing.
My father, the apartment, the state, the whole world exploded into ashes save for the stranger twenty feet away. At the time I didn’t know what it meant, that strange, frightening, glorious moment, but I did recognize it was important. That the universe had shifted, and my life had irrevocably changed. For better or worse.

It wasn’t just because he was handsome. Compared to my
father he was almost plain, with too rectangular a jaw, an asymmetrical nose, hollow cheeks, lips as thin as the rest of him, and piercing blue eyes a shade too far apart. I didn’t notice any of that, and when I did, those flaws made me love him more. If possible. And though I did not glean it at the time, the man staring at me with his mouth slightly open as if he’d just taken a sudden, gasping breath, experienced the same shift.

My father’s touch, an extremely rare loving squeeze to his side, jolted me back into my body. “Anna, this is Mr. Asher.”

“Just … Asher,” he said, not removing his eyes from mine.

“Say hello, sunshine. Don’t be rude.”

“Hello, Asher,” I mumbled.

“Hello. Anna.”

We stared at one another, neither wishing to break the gaze first. Sven must have noticed because he stepped in front of me to block our line of sight. I was almost glad for it. I could breathe again.

“She may be young, but she is a bona fide genius. Got tested and everything. Even skipped two grades. My wife Astrid taught her some spells before she split. Forgot some spell books too. We collected a lot through the years. You want it, Anna can do it.
Whatever
you want. If the price is right, that is.”

I peeked around my father to see Asher’s reaction to that last proposition. The left side of his face twitched with displeasure. The sides of my mouth did the same in a momentary smile.

“I require a demonstration of her abilities.”

“Easy peasy, man. Anna?” Sven stepped aside. “Show the gentleman your stuff.”

“Yeah, dance for him, monkey,” Andie chuckled. She sat up and peered over the back of the orange couch the same color as her hair. She would have been pretty if not for the plethora of freckles and bloodshot brown eyes from her chronic pot habit. “Dance.”

She asked for it. Literally. I raised my hand, pointed my finger at her nose, channeled my magic through it, and said, “
Sanguine nox
.”

The second I lowered my finger, two streams of blood gushed from her nostrils. “Fuck! You little bitch!” She leapt off the couch and rushed to the bathroom for tissues.

Sven laughed, but Asher remained silent, staring at me with a tiny, proud smile. “Can she waltz as well?” he asked.

“Sorry?”

“Never mind. I shall give her an opportunity.” He reached into his still-buttoned brown trench coat and removed a piece of paper. “This is the spell I wish performed. I simply need the girl to prepare the potion and perform the ritual. For her time, I shall pay five hundred dollars. Is that amenable?”

Five hundred was about what Sven made all month. He would have sold me to the devil himself for half that price. “Um, yeah,” Sven said, taking the paper from our generous benefactor.

“
Bon
. I shall return tomorrow evening at eight sharp.”

“With the money,” Sven added.

“Of course.” Those blue eyes met mine. “Until tomorrow, Anna,” he said as if savoring the sensation of my name on his lips. He never pronounced it another way again. Asher bowed his head, glanced at my father, then showed himself to the door without looking back. The moment the door shut, the breath I held was finally released. I hardly drew in the fresh air when the slap my father administered to my cheek forced it out again. As if his palm was part jellyfish, the stinging began immediately with the aching to soon follow. I’d had worse, much worse, but this one caught me by surprise.

“What have I told you about spying? You know better. Go apologize to Andie, then get your ass back to bed. You got school tomorrow. Get!”

He shoved me toward my bedroom, and I ran the rest of the way, sealing the door in case Andie wanted a pound of flesh too. As I climbed back into my bed, my cheek throbbing as violently as the act that caused it, I did so with a smile on my face. Tomorrow. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow no longer creeping in this petty pace from day to day. Because of
him
.

“Asher.”

_____

For those grueling sixteen hours, time crept to a standstill. I couldn’t concentrate on my schoolwork, my one friend Rachel gave up attempting to talk to me at lunch, and what little focus I possessed was channeled into learning the spell he needed performed. It was complex, far more powerful and dark than anything I’d attempted before. Potions and charms were easy, simply following a recipe, but this required more than adding burdock to sage. He wished me to master life and death. My life and someone else’s death. I honestly did not believe I was up to the task. That I’d let Asher down. I wouldn’t.
I
couldn’t
, the universe all but whispered to me during those sixteen hours.

At the stroke of eight, I was bundled in my thickest coat and bell bottoms perched on the edge of my bed staring at my closed door, willing that knock to come. My hands ached from the hundred times I’d balled them into fists. I would do this. I
would
. A minute past the deadline. Another. My bedroom suddenly felt as if the walls themselves were sucking the air from the enclosure. I couldn’t stand it a moment longer. I voluntarily joined the others.Sven sat at the table parsing marijuana into dime bags as Andie maintained her spot on the couch, enjoying one such bag. If either recalled it was my birthday, they didn’t let on. I didn’t expect a pony or even a card, but a simple, “Happy birthday,” would have been nice. Instead I got, “You damn well better be ready when he gets here, girl,” from my father.

“I am,” I said as I sat beside Andie. Maybe
Green Acres
would keep my mind off the tardy stranger.

“That guy gave me the creeps. You’re really letting her go off alone with him?” Andie asked.

“Yeah. She can take care of herself,” Sven replied.

She took a hit off the joint and shrugged. “She’s your kid.”

“He won’t hurt me,” I said with utter certainty.

“Take a knife just in case,” Sven said. “If he even fucking shows.”

“He’ll be here,” I said.

I barely got the third word out before there was a knock. A wide grin crossed my face at that beautiful noise. I leapt off the couch before even Sven rose to answer the door. “Come in,” he told Asher.

He was as ethereal as my memory made him out to be. His snow-white skin almost glowed, and as he stepped under the light, his hair became the color of a red rose. Or blood. “Is she ready?” he asked without polite preamble.

“She is if you got my cash.”

Asher removed the money from his trench coat pocket as my father salivated. “Groovy. Looks good. She’s all yours. Anna, get your stuff. Time to go.” I grabbed my bag and checked to make sure I had the potion, crystals, and other ritual items required.
I could do this.
“No refunds,” Sven added as he pocketed the cash.

“Fine.” His gaze moved to mine. “Shall we?”

“Yes, sir,” I muttered as I hustled to his side so I could grab him and hold on for dear life in case he changed his mind. Luckily I didn’t need to resort to embarrassing groveling. Asher placed his
hand on my back to usher me from the apartment. That one touch
loosened the strangling knot in my stomach.
I could do this.
I walked by his side down the hall and stairs with nary a word spoken. Though I kept my eyes forward, I sensed the stolen glances at the bruise on my cheek from the previous night’s unwarranted discipline, yet he said nothing. I was grateful for it.

It was obvious which car was his, the only Porsche amid vans and Oldsmobiles. I climbed in without prompting. Asher got in as I clipped my seatbelt. He didn’t turn on the engine. We just sat in that chilled car for a few seconds, staring at the dead trees dancing with the frigid air. Finally, he said, “You have nothing to fear this night. No harm will come to you at my hands.”

“I know,” I said after a pause.

Despite the freezing temperature, my body warmed when I saw him smile. It was only for a flash and the moment it vanished, he appeared almost guilty for the show. Still. I was proud to have earned it. More than proud. I was addicted. He started the car.

Our destination was twenty miles away. Twenty miles and the only words uttered were my request to swith on the heater. We didn’t need to say anything. The few times I dared to gaze upon him, my companion was so deep in thought I was surprised he even noticed the other cars on the road. He put up a good front, his face almost unreadable, yet I could almost feel the nervousness, and the undercurrent of melancholy that grew with each passing mile prickling my skin. Even at the beginning I was so in tune with him I could glean his emotions before I’d even notice my own. I wanted to reach across squeeze his shoulder or hand to comfort him, but I didn’t dare. Whatever was going on inside his mind, he didn’t want me invading it, even to rescue him from himself.

I deduced our destination from the spell, but I was still a tad unnerved when we did in fact pull up beside a wooden fence surrounding a small cemetery. I’d never been to one before. I was no medium, but as a witch the veil between the dead and living was thinner than for normal people, especially during a full moon like that night. Even from that distance, I could faintly sense them, see them out of the corner of my eye. I avoid cemeteries to this day.

Asher shut off the engine and stared at the tombstones outlined by the bright moon. I lost him to his thoughts again, but this time he didn’t bother to hide his trepidation. His mouth was as tight as a vice and jaw clenched hard enough every muscle and tendon poked out high enough his face could double as the Rocky Mountains.

“I can do this,” I said with absolute certainty after a few seconds.

“I do not doubt it,” he said, finally turning my way. “I am simply not sure I want you to anymore.” He flashed me a sad smile before staring at the graveyard once more. This time I did tentatively reach to touch his arm. Halfway there those blue orbs jutted my way, almost in warning. I jerked my hand away. “Please retrieve your bag.” He opened the car door and leapt out before he lost his nerve.