Witch Upon a Star (A Midnight Magic Mystery) (21 page)

“London is as good a place to begin as any though,” Oliver says.

“I’ll call the Gallery the moment we’re done here,” Dr. Black says.

“And on the plane here I wrote down everything I could remember. Other friends, addresses, habits, his favorite brands,” I say, removing the paper. “It’s all mostly in Europe, so you should pass it on to those bureaus as well.”

“Thank you,” says Dr. Black. “Anything else, team?”

“What else
is
there to do?” Leif asks. “This guy’s a ghost. Literally until today. Unless we use her and the kids as bait—”

“Absolutely not,” Nathan says.

“I’m just saying, you can’t stay here forever,” Leif clarifies. “It’s been ten years, every agency in the world has been trying to track this guy. We know what he wants, and what he’s willing to do for it. That’s half the battle.”

“We’re not there yet,” Dr. Black says. “We have a spate of new leads now: London, the money trail, the papers for transporting the coffins, we will run them all down. Lau, you coordinate with the FBI on the financials. Leif, you stay in contact with Garland and run point on any leads they garner. Oliver and I will tackle our foreign friends, and everyone else, get some rest to take over when the first shift needs a break.”

“What about us? What can we do?” I ask.

“Sleep. Be with your children. You’ve provided more than enough to begin with. We
will
find him,” Dr. Black assures us as he rises along with the rest of the team.

Nathan and I do the same. “Thank you,” my husband says. I grab one of the files before we all disperse.

The boys are watching
Captain Planet
when we return. Ten minutes after Nathan and I crawl into bed with them, the boys sandwiched between us, all my men are asleep. After twenty minutes of attempting to join them in slumberland, I give up. It was futile to even try. I have some reading to do.

After slipping on my clothes again and retrieving my pilfered file, I sneak downstairs to the two-story library. Oh, I adore this
room. I practically lived in here during my F.R.E.A.K.S. tenure, reading every book on two walls when I wasn’t on a case or out with Nathan. Hell, I was married in this very room, by the fireplace
almost eight years ago. Being forced to become a F.R.E.A.K. was the best thing that ever happened to me. Well, the second best.

We fell in love gradually, so gradually I didn’t even realize it was happening. Neither did Nathan, or so he claims. We were just friends. Buddies. I couldn’t handle any more than that, not at first. Maybe he sensed that. So we stayed friends. Friends who went out to karaoke clubs with our fellow F.R.E.A.K.S. Who watched movies together late into the night. Who listened and gave advice as he talked about the girls he was dating, though it always left a knot in my stomach. I mean, why would he want
me
? I was damaged goods, and he was the kindest, sweetest, most generous man ever to walk the earth. So whenever the thought of taking it a step further crossed my mind, I quickly quashed it. Friends would have to be enough. It was more than I deserved.

After a month of slowly wearing me down, I agreed to travel to Texas for Christmas with the West family. That bunch immediately quelled my nerves. The moment I stepped into their home, they acted as if I’d been a West forever. I learned to make Nathan’s favorite chicken-fried steak from Mrs. West. His sister, Donna, took me shopping. His friends even cheered me on as I rode a mechanical bull in a honkey tonk. It was so normal. So warm. Everything I’d always dreamed of when I was with Asher.

After Christmas dinner, stuffed to the gills with ham, Nathan and I plopped down on his parents’ sofa to watch
It’s A Wonderful Life
and fell asleep. As Jimmy Stewart ran through his hometown, filled with the joy of being alive, I woke and found myself curled against my best friend’s chest, his arms draped around me. He was so warm, so handsome, and smelled of cinnamon and pine. I gazed up at his gentle face as he slept, this wonderful, challenging man who never let me get away with anything. Who believed in me. Who held my hand when I finally admitted all of Asher’s crimes against me. Who found me a rape survivor’s support group in Stoker and stayed by my side that first meeting. Who thought me worthy of meeting his family. Who was proud to call me his best friend.

Be it the wine at dinner, the glittering Christmas lights on the tree, or … okay, I’d wanted to do it for over a year. I almost had more times than I could count, but that night my resolve burnt to ashes. I lowered my lips to his. One sweet stolen kiss as he slumbered. When I pulled away, his eyes were wide open, perhaps he’d been awake the entire time. Before I could apologize he grabbed me and kissed me back.
Really
kissed me. Not with the fervor of claiming me, of trying to devour me like Asher always had, but with the perfect mix of passion and tenderness.

At first I was too afraid to kiss him back, then I fought against myself not to. He could do far better than me. What if this failed? I’d lose my best friend. I couldn’t survive losing another man I loved. I couldn’t. But it felt so damn good.
I
felt good. Alive. Right. So I lost the fight.

Desire soon swept away any hesitation, any fear, any illusion that I didn’t want this man. That I wasn’t in love with him. And though it wasn’t that intense, all-consuming madness I had with Asher, it was pure and true and hard earned, nurtured through friendship and mutual respect. I wouldn’t have made it that far without him. He was my champion, my best friend, the one who helped me discover what real love is. Sacrifice. Putting another before yourself. Struggling through the hard times. Partnership. I wanted that. I wanted that real love. Nothing else mattered in this life. Nathan West taught me that. So when he proposed to me on my twenty-first birthday in this very room, without hesitation, I accepted. Two weeks later, on the official day of my release from the F.R.E.A.K.S., we were married in this room as well. And one week after that while we honeymooned in Hawaii, as that white picket fence was being installed at our new home, I realized Nathan had provided me another gift on my birthday, our son Joe. And the days of wine and roses began in earnest, sweeter and more beautiful than I had ever dreamed possible. Until the darkness crept into our paradise. And no matter the cost, no matter if I have to drag that bastard into the fires of hell myself, there will not be a next time.

I just have to find him first.

I crawl into the lounge chair by the bay windows and open the file. My stomach knots involuntarily when I set eyes on the photo inside. I’d forgotten how blue his eyes are. How dark his red hair was, almost the color of wine. And he wasn’t nearly as handsome as my memory led me to believe. He barely has lips, and his cheeks are so hollow. I suppose the rose-colored goggles that love provides wipe away the imperfections, at least the minor ones. In my dreams, he was still perfect. That beautiful angel I laid eyes on twenty years ago. I barely have the dreams now, twice a year if that, but in them we’re making love or just strolling arm in arm in the sunshine through a garden filled with roses and lavender. And there are still moments when I’m practicing ballet or watching a movie we saw together, I do wish he was beside me. Yes, just as I’d feared, a part of me still loved him. Even now. And that same twisted, abysmal part of me is joyous he doesn’t hate me for my betrayal. That he still thinks about me. That he still might love me. He could want to kill me. Hell, he
should
want to kill me. But I don’t believe that was his motive.

Ten years. Ten years he was out there. He was
alive
. Searching for me. Waiting for me. He took great risk trying to reach me. Capture. Death. Maybe it was a trap. That was a real possibility. Maybe this gesture
did
come from hate, not love. Perhaps both. My heart held equal parts of both for him. I gave that heart to him twenty years before and, try as I might, he still held a part of it, miniscule though it may be. I feared until my dying day he always would. What would I do when I finally saw him again? Would I have the strength to banish him once more?

Only one way to find out.

_____

Nothing. Almost thirty-six hours, and nothing. The whole of the supernatural community searching and not even a whisper. Not a lead. Lord Richard stonewalled the Rogue’s Gallery, all of Asher’s properties are deserted, and even the bank account that wired the money to Didier was untraceable. They’ve closed ranks around him. Again. I knew this would happen. It was always going to come down to me.

As I take one last look at my boys and husband playing
Castle-vania II
in the living room on the Sega, whipping those electronic vampires into submission, dread washes through me. I meant what I vowed. There is not a single, solitary thing I would not do to keep them safe. Nothing. I would lay down my life for them in a heartbeat. I’d even … there is
nothing
I will not do. And now is the time. This ends, once and for all. If Asher wants me, he can have me. Time to teach that bastard to be careful what he wishes for.

Nathan senses me staring and glances over. I muster a smile, and even blow him a kiss, before pivoting around and leaving them to their vampire slaying to begin my own. I’ve been waiting for them to be distracted before I packed. I’ve already made the plane reservation. Wichita to London via Boston. I should reach London by midnight, and I’ve already pilfered Dr. Black’s registry of supernatural agencies’ addresses and phone numbers, should I need them. I’ll call to inform Dr. Black of my plan during the layover. Sometimes it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission. I only hope Nathan and the boys will agree with this philosophy.

Since I didn’t unpack much—for this very contingency—all that is required is to retrieve my toiletries, remove Nathan’s clothes from our communal suitcase, and write a note explaining the logic of my endeavor. I just hope my husband doesn’t find it for a few hours to give me a head start. He’ll understand. He
has
to understand. I—

As I zip up the suitcase, I hear the bedroom door shut.
Merde
. When I spin around, my husband is staring at the suitcase as if it were a gremlin then up to me with the same displeasure. Nathan
really
loathes gremlins. “Going somewhere?”

“N …” But I’ve never lied to him but that once, about the rape,
and I promised I’d never lie to him again. Never. And I keep my word
. “There is no other option. This is how it has to be.”

“Leaving me? Your children? Sneaking off?
That
is how it has to be? We’re not even gonna have a discussion about this? You just decide to shut me out?”

“There is nothing to discuss. It has to be done.”

“Alone? You don’t trust me to have your back? Is that it?”

“You know that’s not true, and I resent you for even saying it,” I snap back. “Someone needs to stay with the boys.”

“They are perfectly safe here, and you know it.”

“And so are you,” I counter. “It’s not
me
he wants to kill, Nathan.”

“No, it’s just
you
that murderous rapist wants to kidnap and do God knows what else with for all eternity. And you’re running right into his arms.”

“Only so I can get close enough to stick a blade through his black, dead heart.”

Nathan strides toward me. “Then I am gonna be right by your side holding your other hand while you do it.”

“Nathan … he’ll kill you. He. Will. Kill. You,” I say, drawing out every desperate word. “And I couldn’t live with that. I couldn’t. I won’t.”

My husband grabs my upper arms to force me to meet his determined gaze. “Now, you listen to me, Anna West, and you damn well listen good. We’ve got two little boys who need their parents, both their parents, so we’ve got no choice but to come back to them. Nothing is gonna happen to either one of us because you are gonna watch my back like I’m gonna watch yours. Just like old times. Like always. Then we’re gonna go home. We’re gonna watch our sons grow up, we’re gonna play with our grandchildren, and we’re gonna die in our bed holding each other when we’re ninety, with smiles on our faces. I promise. We just gotta to do this first.
Both
of us. This is
our
life, the one
we
built. Together. You don’t gotta carry this one all by yourself. Not this time. I love you. I made you a promise years ago I wouldn’t leave your side when you needed me, no one’s gonna make me break that vow now. Not even you, Annie.” Nathan releases me and takes a step backward. “So, Mrs. West, where are we headed first?”

I leap into my husband’s arms, hugging him as tight as my arms can manage. Oh, I love this man. He always knows just what I need. No matter how much I feared for his safety, I didn’t want to face this alone. “I love you so much.
So
much.”

“I love you too. And if we got that, that bastard can’t touch us. No greater power in the universe, right?” Nathan pulls away to kiss me. “Let’s beat the devil with it.”

london, england

With the almost fifteen
hours of flight time, and six-hour time difference, by the time we land on English soil we’re exhausted. After checking into our hotel in Piccadilly and phoning Kansas, we fall asleep the moment our heads hit the pillow. Five far too short hours later, I force myself awake and Nathan along with me. We order room service—tea, lots of strong tea—then deal with the multiple messages that racked up while we slept. In the end, Nathan convinced me to let Dr. Black in on our plan. Since we’re civilians now, he couldn’t exactly order us to stay, but did lay out his reservations, none of which hadn’t crossed my mind a dozen times already. Despite his hesitation, common sense won in the end. He agreed that if we could live with the potential consequences, and if we share any concrete leads we uncovered, he’d feed us any new information as it came in. He even informed the Rogue’s Gallery we were in town in case we need their immediate assistance. I really,
really
hope we don’t.

The boys were a tougher sell. Joe was all ready to fly out and fight the vampires with us, but Max had to be literally pried from my body as I held back my own tears. I almost cancelled the whole trip then. When your baby’s in real pain and begging you not to abandon him, it’s as if you’re experiencing his agony times twelve. I physically hurt as his tears soaked through my slacks. The struggle ahead of us is the equivalent of a pillow fight compared to the strength it took to get me to walk away from my babies. Nathan held my quaking hand the entire drive to the airport. Damn Asher for causing my children one second of pain. He deserves to die for that sin alone.

The first message is from the lead inspector of the Rogue’s Gallery, Felix Frye, welcoming us to London and requesting we phone him. Nathan and I decided it was best if we involved the authorities as little as possible. We’re on Asher’s patch of land now. Leaks are possible. Plus we may have to engage in less that legal means and acts of persuasion in the coming days. It’s just better for all parties involved that we remain dark right now.

The next message is from the boys, who have recovered from their abandonment trauma though the power of a night out roller skating with Oliver and Tara, followed by eating their weight in sweets and an all-night movie marathon. Who knew Oliver could channel Mary Poppins so efficiently.

The third message is from Dr. Black with the latest updates, the most promising of which was a rumor that Christine was spotted on the Orient Express days before, destination unknown. So nothing useful. At all.
Merde.

“What now?” Nathan asks beside me on our bed.

“We continue with our plan. I invite myself to tea with an old friend.”

The Gallery interviewed him yesterday and got nowhere. I
will
do better. When I ring the bell at his Chelsea townhouse, I pull my coat tight around me. Damn is it cold. I forgot how frigid England can be. It never gets below forty in Texas. Nathan absolutely got the better job, waiting in the coffee shop across the street. I decided this task is best done alone, but my husband insisted he remain close in case I needed backup. When my old friend opens his door it is immediately evident this precaution was unwarranted. The past fifteen years have not been kind to him. He’s gained at least thirty more pounds, and the excess has weighed down his shoulders so he’s hunched over and even requires a cane. “Hello, Clifton.”

The old man’s brown eyes expand to double their natural size as his mouth drops open. I was probably one of the last people he ever expected to see again. I never did get to say good-bye to him. By the time Asher came for me in Rome, he’d already dismissed Clifton, and at fifteen I didn’t really need a babysitter anymore. The last time we saw each other was when he brought me back to boarding school. I refused to say a single word to him the whole trip. I did write him a letter after Rome, but he didn’t respond. For all I know, Asher never posted it as he said he would. Another way to keep me all to himself. “Anna,” Clifton says as if he’d seen a ghost.

Without preamble, I step forward and embrace him. I wasn’t sure how I’d feel when I saw him again. Anger? Shame? Sadness? But there’s nothing but relief. Joy. On his side as well. It takes him a second, but he squeezes back. “Hi.” I release him. “Long time no see.”

“Yes,” he says, still in shock.

“I-I wrote you. Did you …”

“No. No, I never received a letter.”

“Why am I not surprised?” I start rubbing my freezing arms. “May I come in? I’m about to become an icicle.”

“Of-of course.” He steps aside to allow me in. No surprise his tiny townhouse is immaculate with nary a dust bunny in sight. It took him a whole year of chidings, punishments, and plain old guilt trips before my cleaning skills reached his standards. My home would be a pigsty if not for his tutelage. “Um, would you like some tea?”

“No, thank you,” I smile. “You’re looking well.”

“You used to be a far better liar, Anna,” Clifton says with a quick grin back. “This weather is doing nothing for my arthritis. Let’s sit down.” He gestures to the right and I follow him into the modestly decorated living room. He takes the maroon sofa and I take the matching lounge chair.

“I’m sorry for coming over uninvited but—”

“You didn’t want to take the chance I’d refuse to meet you.”

“Exactly.” I pause. “Still.
You
taught me better than that.” Another pause. “How have you been? Really?”

“I am getting old, Anna. I do not recommend it,” he says with a gracious smile. “You grew up to be as beautiful as I always knew you would be. And you married, I see.”

I glance at my modest diamond solitaire and gold band. “Eight years. Nathan. I have two boys as well. Here,” I say, digging into my purse. I remove my wallet as I join Clifton on the sofa and show him one of the pictures of our trip to Niagara Falls last summer. “The older one’s Joe. He’s all his father. Direct, charming, sociable, a realist. Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky. My big ball of sunshine. And that’s Max. He looks like his father, but … poor baby got my moodiness. Sometimes he’s just one raw nerve taking everything in, good and bad. He’s my sweetheart though. And that handsome devil’s Nathan. My husband. That man helped save my life. Without question.”

“Let’s make a trade,” Clifton says before nodding toward the bookcase. “Second shelf, last album.”

After I retrieve the album I rejoin him on the sofa. He opens it to a photo of ten-year-old me at the
barre
in our old Paris flat in my pink leotard, and below it another photo of Asher and I practicing our fencing. I haven’t seen a photo of myself before age nineteen in over a decade. I was so … tiny. So young. I’d never thought of myself as ever being a little girl, I surely never felt like one, but here was the proof I was, at least in body. It wasn’t until I had children that I realized how truly precious having a real childhood is. Until this week the only concern my boys had was failing a spelling test. I had to grow up so fast. Children shouldn’t have to worry about where their next meal is coming from or have to fight back some molester. I was cheated out of mine, I’ll be damned if my boys are.

Clifton flips the album’s page. The next photo is of Clifton and I in front of the Arc de Triomphe as the sun hangs above it. Oh, I remember that day. I wanted to play normal tourist, so we hit all the hotspots as normal people did. A German tourist took this photo. And below that one, Asher and I in the kitchen as he cooked for me. He got really, really good toward the end. I can’t help but smile at that photo. He
was
good to me in those early years. For the first time in my life I felt safe. Loved unconditionally as a child should be. I should have been content with that. Things would have been so different if I hadn’t been so insecure. So greedy. It was true what I said the night we first made love.
I
seduced him. I knew exactly what I was doing. What man can resist a nubile, naked nymphet literally begging for him? No matter what anyone says, not Nathan, not my therapist, I am at fault for that progression. I wanted all of him. All his attention, all his love. Guess it was something we had in common.

“Take whichever one you wish,” Clifton says as I continue to flip through.

I stop at one of me reading a book on the couch. “Oh, goodness
, the Galway cottage! Oh, how I adored that place.”

“Some of the happiest times in my life,” Clifton says.

“Mine too.” I remove the shot of Asher, Clifton, and I at the dining room table as I blow out my twelve birthday candles. “This one. Definitely this one.”

“He did the best he could. We both did.”

My smile drops as I look up to my sad friend. “I know.”

“We are what we are, Anna. And trying to change that core is like attempting to spin straw into gold. It only happens in stories.” We let that fact hang in the air, souring it. He takes my hand. “I am aware of what he’s done to you. What he’s still trying to do. If I knew where he was, I would tell you. I would. But I’ve been out of that world for almost two years, and I have had no contact with Asher in fifteen. I believed him dead, and I have seen no evidence to the contrary until now.”

“Did he have any close friends or enemies in London? I mean, he must have brought some people over to the flat after he sent me away.”

“Oh, yes. Lord Richard and that trollop of his were frequent guests.”

“What about enemies? He has to have a few. Alain, for instance?”

“Him, I don’t know, but during a party, Asher did come to blows with one gentleman, George Byron. He’s the lover of my last employer, Master Tobias, so I spoke to him frequently. The ire toward Asher was still present at least two years ago when his name was mentioned.”

“Do you know where I can find Byron?”

“He and Master Tobias often went to one of Lord Richard’s clubs, Blue Heaven. It’s in Whitechapel on Strype Street, I believe. I would begin there. And if I can be of further assistance—”

“Actually, I was hoping you’d say that. If you could call around, find out anything you can from your old employers, I would really appreciate it.” I retrieve pen and paper from my purse to jot down the F.R.E.A.K.S. main number. “Here.”

“Aren’t you concerned Asher will hear about your search? That you’re in Europe?”

“I’m counting on it.” I smile again. “Thank you. You were always good to me, even when I didn’t deserve it.”

“Thank you for the picture. I’m glad you’re doing so well,” says Clifton.

“It’s due in large part to you, you know.” I stare at this hurting old man. The same one who picked me up from dance class, who nursed me through illness, who taught me how to keep house. I lean in and kiss his cheek. “Really.
Thank you
. When this is over, you should really come visit us. Meet the boys. I mean it. You’re the closest thing to a mother I ever really had,” I chuckle sadly. “You’re family.”

“Oh, you sweet girl,” Clifton says, twisted hand caressing my cheek. “How dreadful for you.”

I manage a sad smile. “Anyway,” I say, rising. “It
really
was good seeing you. Truly. I’ll see myself out.”

“Anna …” he says just as I reach the living room threshold. I spin around. “He did love you, you know.”

I shrug. “Just not enough.” I grin again. “See you at Christmas. I won’t take no for an answer.” I blow him a kiss. “
Ciao
.”

When I step outside, Nathan’s pacing nervously on the other side of the street. His shoulders slump with relief when he sets eyes on me. Without looking either way he charges toward me. “How’d it go? Are you okay?” he asks eagerly. “Do you—”

I peck my husband’s fears away, then grin. “I’m great.” I kiss him again. “Just great.”

“He helped?”

I pull out the picture, presenting it to Nathan. “Even more than I’d hoped.”

Nathan studies the photo with a smile. “My God. I never realized how much Joe looks like you.” He gazes up, and says, amazed, “You were so young.”

“I’m as shocked as you are, Mr. West,” I say playfully. I lock arms with my husband and lead him down the street. “That’s not all Clifton gave me.”

“What else?”

“He gave me an excuse to show you Harrod’s.
We
need new clothes.”

“Why?”

“Because we have a club to infiltrate, husband of mine, and vampires don’t wear khaki.”

_____

Being a suburban housewife with two small children doesn’t afford me many opportunities to relive my wild youth. Getting dressed up in revealing clothes, staying out all night, drinking until I’d convinced myself I was having fun. Yeah, I have not missed it one iota. Give me lullabies, watching sitcoms with Nathan, and asleep by ten any day of the week. This girl’s seen Paris and definitely prefers the farm, yet tonight,
bonjour Pairee
.

It’s been a while since I had to dress up for anything but a potluck dinner, and I know tongues would wag if I showed up at Audrey’s Tupperware parties wearing this ensemble. Compared to some of the outfits I used to don, this one is practically nunnish: a sequined deep blue dress with a plunging back but draped front, and mid-thigh skirt that clings to every contour. Ballet has kept me trim, but the years have collected their due. My stomach isn’t as flat as it used to be and my breasts, especially without a bra, have lost their perk. Breastfeeding two babies tends to have that effect. As I appraise myself, I hold them up, then let them drop. Yeah, Mother Nature can be a real cow sometimes. With a frown, I step out of the bathroom.

“Holy …” Nathan’s mouth plops open. “You are so keeping that dress.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself, Mr. West.”

My husband cleans up quite nicely as well. He’s dressed in black slacks, leather jacket, and V-neck gray sweater we bought to complete the ensemble. I’m surprised he agreed to a V-neck. The closer one gets, the more starkly his scars comes into focus. He was always self-conscious about them, and I never knew why. Each of the seven lightning strikes he’s endured through life left their marks. Their exquisite marks. It was as if God himself painted a tree on his flesh with bare fir-like branches on his back, his chest, his leg, and his arm. When I first caught sight of them a year after we met, purely by accident as Nathan went out of his way never to remove his shirt, I felt no revulsion. Instead, I had the strongest urge to trace the taut, beautiful, ravaged flesh. I do just that every chance I get now.