a witchcraft mystery 08 - a toxic trousseau (27 page)

“We’ll fill them in on everything,” said Wendy.

“Good. I’m about to retire for the evening, now that you’re all here. Just one thing I forgot to say: No sneaking around looking for the wine cellar.”

The coven sisters looked at one another. Finally, Starr said: “There’s a wine cellar?”

“There was, once,” said Clyde. “If you didn’t know, though, I probably shouldn’t have mentioned it. But it comes up sometimes. It’s in the architectural records. But one day Mrs. Rodchester went down there and she saw . . .”

Several of the women leaned forward.

“A
hand
print.”

“A handprint?” repeated Wendy, clearly unimpressed.

“Now, that print was likely from one of the workers, but it scared her good and proper,” said Clyde. “Took it as a sign. She had her boys seal it over, and no one’s found it since. But some folks like to look for it.”

“Ooooh,”
said a few in the group, cracking jokes about old wine and haunted cellars.

“But I’m telling you, you don’t have to go into any off-limits areas to get a sense of the spirits in this house. That’s why we’re called the House of Spirits. I’m not gonna deny there are”—he paused and seemed to be searching for the word—“
entities
here in this house, but that’s why you’re here—am I right?”

The coven sisters nodded. Clyde cast a rather nervous glance toward Sailor, who now stood in the corner with his arms crossed over his chest, glowering, reminding me of the man I’d first met in a dim bar. I imagined he didn’t enjoy the idea of Clyde putting ideas of spirits in the heads of the coven members. Either that, or he just didn’t like Clyde. Sailor would have made a terrible diplomat; he didn’t hide his feelings.

“All righty, then. I’m going to take off,” Clyde said, apparently anxious to go home, yet simultaneously loath to leave us alone. “Call me if anything goes drastically wrong, or you need anything. Except for hauntings—I do
not
want to be awakened because you get spooked by something otherworldly. Understood?”

We all nodded our agreement and bid him farewell, telling him we’d see him in the morning.

Bronwyn led us down the hall to the left and into the ballroom. A massive pipe organ occupied one wall, and on the opposite was a colossal fireplace. Three huge crystal chandeliers hung from the peak of a beamed cathedral ceiling. The green-and-red embossed wallpaper was old-fashioned and ornate, making me think of what Parmelee had told me about the William Morris poisoned wallpaper. On the floor were thick rugs but no period furniture, and overnight cases and sleeping bags were lined up at the base of the wall. Sailor and I dropped our bags with the others.

“They say there were no nails used in this room,” said Bronwyn. “Just glue and wood pegs.”

“Was that an occult thing?” Sailor asked, running his fingers lightly along the joinery of the wood finishes.

“They say it was for the acoustics, but who really knows?” Bronwyn answered. “Apparently the Widow Rodchester never entertained, so why would she have built a ballroom in the first place? Perhaps it was for the spirits! Oh, that reminds me, they were very specific about which bathroom we can use—apparently there’s a little bit of a plumbing issue, moaning pipes, if you can imagine in such a place as this.”

She and Starr looked at each other and said in unison, “Or so they say!”

“Maybe it’s not the pipes at all,” piped up Winona, “but something . . .
else
.”

And then they burst into laughter.

A large folding table had been covered with a decidedly modern vinyl tablecloth and topped with the kind of smorgasbord I was accustomed to seeing when attending any coven function: from cookies to brownies to chips and dips. Crowning the spread, on a cut-glass cake plate, was a triple-tiered cake with pink icing that was listing radically to one side, so it had to be held up by a couple of strategically placed chopsticks.

“Had a little problem in the transportation end,” explained Sylvie, another coven sister.

Bronwyn waved this off. “I think it’s about the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen! I almost asked for cupcakes, but I think I ate my fill the other day. And this is homemade!”

On another folding table sat a large punch bowl and several bottles. This was, evidently, the cocktail area.

“We have the fixings for mojitos, whiskey whatever, and punch,” said Wendy.

“What’s in the punch?”

Several women looked at one another, grinned, and said at the same time, “Midnight margaritas!”

And then they all started repeating lines from yet another movie I had never seen.

“You haven’t seen
Practical Magic
?” one of the women said, aghast. All conversation stopped as a coven of thirteen stared at me.

“Now, now,” said Bronwyn. “We all know Lily’s a little different. She’s never even played Clue!”

I knew Bronwyn was just playing, and trying to make me feel included, but I could feel my cheeks burn. My
childhood was somewhat stunted by the trauma of being shunned and “different.”

Sailor, standing back against the wall near the door, caught my eye from across the room crowded with coven sisters. He gave me a slow, slight smile.

“Now, you two!” said Bronwyn. “I declare, y’all are just a pair!”

Wendy smiled. “Lily’s accent’s rubbing off on you, Bron. But she’s right, Lily and Sailor. You know, there are forty bedrooms in this place. Maybe you ought to retire to one . . .”

“Very funny,” said Bronwyn. “They’re our protection tonight, remember? Speaking of which—do you really think we need protection? I’m no expert, but all the vibes here feel very warm and supportive to me. I love it! And isn’t Clyde a lovely man?”

“You think
everyone’s
lovely, Bronwyn,” said Wendy.

“Well, sure, just about. I mean, not everyone, but most people are awfully likable.”

“You’re incorrigible.” Wendy smiled and gave Bronwyn a quick hug. Though I respected Wendy, I had never felt close to her, so it was nice to see this side of the sometimes prickly barista. “I’d say our average age is hovering around forty-five. I haven’t been a
girl
for some time. And yet he calls us ‘girls’ having a ‘sleepover’?”

“But, so do
I
,” said Bronwyn, as though truly confused as to Wendy’s point.

“Yes, but . . .” Wendy glanced at me and Starr. “A little help here?”

“I agree Clyde has a little work to do on the whole woman thing,” I said. “But at least he’s open-minded about the work of the coven.”

“True enough,” said Starr. “And that’s rare. This way there’ll be no negativity for the circle!”

“Oh, Lily, I forgot to tell you,” said Bronwyn. “As a special treat, we’re allowed to call down the moon in the Russet Room.”

“What’s the Russet Room?”

“That’s the séance room.”

“Ah. This is where the Widow Rodchester communed with spirits every night?”

“The very one!”

Sailor was already locating the room on his map.

“All right,” I said. “Let’s take care of those waivers and have something to eat. Then Sailor and I will do a quick walk-through just to see what we’re dealing with before you cast your circle. I know it’s a tourist attraction and this is all fun and games, but . . . we want to keep it that way.”

Chapter 21

Sailor led the way.

We walked in silence; back out through the formal entry hall, down one corridor, up another. I peeked into open rooms as we passed. Everything on this main floor was marked by the opulence of the Victorian era: rich, dark woods gleaming with French polish; heavy velvet and brocade drapes bordering intricate leaded and stained windows; Tiffany lamps hanging from the ceiling and studding the paneled walls. The fabrics were embellished with tassels and fringe, the furniture with knobs and stiles and curlicues.

Sailor would pause and check the map now and then at the junctions of hallways and foyers and parlors.

“You’re good at reading that floor plan,” I said.

“I like maps. No GPS for me. I need to be able to orient myself.”

“Yet another of the reasons I like you. Do you feel anything?” I asked as we walked down one hall and around another. We went up one staircase that circled
back down, depositing us at the base of the stairs we had just mounted, leading nowhere.

“The question, in a place like this, is what to feel and what to ignore. It’s jammed with sensations.”

I heard a muffled banging. “Do you hear that?”

“Hammers.”

“What?”

“According to what I’ve read, Sally Rodchester employed thirteen carpenters, twenty-four hours a day, for thirty-eight years to build this place. They didn’t put down their tools until the moment she died.” He turned down a corridor, then opened a strange little door that looked like a cupboard. We had to step over a foot-tall threshold, but the portal opened onto a different section of the house. “One or two are still on the job.”

“Do you think all the coven sisters can hear it? Or . . . is it just us?”

“Between the chatting and the margaritas, I’m sure they’ll hear only what they want to hear.”

“Now you sound like the very sweet and sexist Clyde.”

“We both know the Welcome coven is here for the goodwill, not the icky stuff. Let’s just make sure they don’t have to deal with any less welcoming than they are.”

We walked down a broad hallway, and Sailor stopped short in front of a huge mirror built into the wall. The back was flaking slightly, as antique mirrors tended to do, and the border was cracked in a few places.

“Now, this is interesting . . . ,” he said, looking into the mirror and then glancing behind us. Over and over.

“What is it?” I asked.

Sailor took me gently by the upper arms and positioned me in front of the mirror.

“Tell me what you see in the mirror.”

“A very handsome man. Brooding and intense, but with a heart of go—”

“Cute. What do you see besides us. Anything else?”

I shook my head, wondering what I was supposed to see—or not. “All I see is the wall behind us, and an empty hat rack.”

“Is there a crack in the wall?”

“No. Why?”

“I see a big crack in the plaster. And something that looks like a worker’s smock hanging on the rack.”

I craned my neck to look at the wall and the empty rack, then back in the mirror. What I saw reflected the here and now.

“Does that happen to you a lot? That you have visions in mirrors?”

“Not a lot, no. But it’s something I’ve been working on. As you know, mirrors can be powerful. This is the only one I’ve seen in this house so far.”

“You’re right, I haven’t noticed any others.”

“If Sally Rodchester was a spiritualist, she might have avoided mirrors for that very reason. Too many issues with spirit portals, the backward world, that sort of thing. And right this moment, there’s a worker standing behind us.”

I whirled around but saw nothing but air.

Sailor chuckled slightly. “Don’t let him spook you. He’s just checking on the place. He put his heart and soul into this building.”

“Quite literally?”

Sailor nodded. “I suppose you could say that. Okay, let’s check on the Russet Room before the sisters draw down the moon. How much time do we have?”

I checked his watch. “They planned on midnight mountain time, which is ten o’clock here.”

He gave me a questioning look.

“Bronwyn was born in that time zone. It’s her birthday, so it’s a thing. Apparently the staff even agreed to ring Mrs. Rodchester’s tower bell to mark the occasion. Anyway, it’s all margaritas and games until then.”

“I didn’t think covens formed the circle after drinking.”

“They don’t, not usually. It’s sort of a special occasion. A birthday circle.”

We passed through a second kitchen and a series of pantries. For a woman who lived alone and didn’t entertain, the Widow Rodchester had quite the extensive party facilities. Sailor showed me a second-story door that opened to the outside with no stairs, another that opened onto a wall. Several windows led from one interior room to another, or were blocked by walls.

I started counting: thirteen panels in the ceiling of the dining room, thirteen lights in the chandelier, thirteen panes in the spiderweb-patterned windows, thirteen jewels studding the glass. We walked up a stairway with thirteen steps and down a corridor with thirteen sconces.

“There’s someone in that corner, floating up near the ceiling,” Sailor said quietly, maneuvering himself so he stood between me and the shadowy corner.

I didn’t see anything . . . but I could feel the shiver, a feeling like a puff of cold air on the back of my neck.

“Keep walking,” said Sailor.

“What was it?” I asked quietly when we reached the end of the hallway.

“Hard to say. A random occurrence, I think, nothing to worry about. An old house like this hosts all sorts of energy. Everything from residual memory in the walls to the occasional sentient spirit. I get a sense that woman
may be one of the housekeepers; this house seems to have a way of keeping people around. She won’t bother anybody.”

“Oh. Good, then.” I kept walking, but my nerves made me chatty. “Hey, remember when we went through the Paramount Theater after hours? That was fun.”

He glared at me over his shoulder. “That wasn’t ‘fun.’ You practically got me killed.”

“Not really. I mean . . . Okay, maybe it did go wrong. But I was thinking about how you went with me and helped me even though you didn’t even
like
me.”

He muttered something.

“Sorry—what did you say?”

“I said I liked you.”

“You did?”

“Of course I did.” He paused and turned to me. “Why else do you think I went with you?”

“I thought Aidan forced you to go.”

“He
told
me to go, but like I said, theaters are jammed with ghosts. They give me the creeps. I wouldn’t have gone, but I knew you’d go without me if I refused. And I was worried about you.”

“You were? Why didn’t you say anything? You were always so . . . grumpy.”

“I was smitten.”

I had to smile. “
Smitten?
Seriously?”