Dark Corner Page 4

  We followed Mrs. Twiggs out to her small garden behind the store. She opened the henhouse door. “Good morning, ladies,” she said. I heard Pixel’s stomach growl. I gave him a look. He smiled and lay down in the dewy grass. Mrs. Twiggs filled a basket with eggs and then stopped to check her herb garden. Fairy lights lit our way along the stepping-stone path. She stopped at a tiny fairy cottage and opened the door. She was not surprised to find no one at home. Mrs. Twiggs was a believer even before her magic was awakened. She knew that fairy tales were just that, a tale for children. Mrs. Twiggs, she was a child at heart.

  Abigail was waiting for us in the kitchen. Mrs. Twiggs tied a white apron around Abigail’s waist. “Let’s give this a try, shall we?” They stood at the large butcher-block island where Mrs. Twiggs had measured out all the ingredients.

  “Abigail, it’s no different than mixing a potion,” Mrs. Twiggs said, watching over Abigail’s shoulder. “Baking is chemistry and following directions. First you mix the dry ingredients together, and then you combine the eggs, sugar, and butter.”

  Abigail carefully scooped flour into a measuring cup, half of it landing on the counter.

  “That’s a good start, dear. You’ll get it.”

  Pixel watched intensely from the small kitchen table.

  Abigail wiped her brow, leaving a white tread mark across her forehead.

  “Seriously, you’ve never baked before,” I asked, leaving white paw prints on the counter.

  “Yes, Terra, I’m sure back in your day everything was real farm to table. What’s the point when I can stop at a bakery?” Abigail said.

  “You know, Abigail, the way to a man’s heart…”

  Abigail interrupted me and said, “Terra, when was the last time you baked for a man?” She then paused and said, “Oh geez, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I’m frustrated. It’s getting late and I’m way behind. Honestly I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  I took a deep breath. I never had the chance to bake for a man or dance or get married. I never felt a kiss upon my lips, and I didn’t know if I ever would. I felt the need to be alone. I hopped off the counter and ran into the alley. I ran past the dumpster and then stopped, going back to gaze into the broken mirror someone had discarded. No matter how many times I saw my image I was always surprised. In my mind I was still a seventeen-year-old girl, not this ordinary gray alley cat. I had been taking out my frustrations on Abigail, pushing her to succeed where I couldn’t, pushing her to live the life I couldn’t. I was afraid to admit it, but somewhere deep inside I hoped that if I could help Abigail become the witch her great-grandmother was, she could find a way to turn me back. I was so deep in thought I didn’t realize Pixel sat next to me, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He put his paw around me. “Terra, you pretty.”

  I let out a low growl and then realized he was trying to cheer me up. “Thank you, Pixel,” I said.

  We hurried back to the Leaf & Page. The sun would be rising shortly, and I’m sure there would be a crowd of hungry customers. We slipped in through the cat door. Abigail was taking the muffins out of the oven. She knelt down and picked me up. “I’m so sorry, Terra. It must be so frustrating for you. To be around me. I promise I’ll try harder.”

  I wiped the flour off her nose with my paw and nuzzled my head against her shoulder. Mrs. Twiggs came over and hugged us both.

  She then opened the front door to let the stream of customers in. Mrs. Twiggs greeted each one as though they were old friends; some were while others were new. They all remarked how wonderful she looked. The enchantment of their turning gave the ladies a youthful glow. Mrs. Twiggs couldn’t disguise the spring in her step. To them she looked eighty years old, but she moved like a prima ballerina. Pixel sat on the edge of the counter, a furry gargoyle watching the commotion. Now and then an elderly woman would walk up and rub his belly. At first he was offended, but then he would roll onto his back and purr.

  When everyone had been fed, Mrs. Twiggs tapped her teacup with her spoon. “May I please have your attention?”

  The crowded room fell silent, and all eyes turned to her.

  “I wanted to thank you all for joining me for the reopening of the Leaf & Page. Please help yourself to muffins and tea on me today.” She winked at Albert.

  As the cuckoo struck five, Mrs. Twiggs escorted the last patron out and flipped the sign to Closed. She bustled into the kitchen and filled the three-tier cookie tray with an assortment of fresh-baked cookies, bringing them to the large sideboard in the dining room. She placed chairs around the table, stopping to gaze at the room. It had a festive air. Abigail had hung streamers from the crystal chandelier and placed balloons on the table. Mrs. Twiggs next brought out a crystal punch bowl filled with sparkling champagne punch. Curled up on the table, Pixel reached out his paw nonchalantly, inching his way to the punch bowl.

  “Pixel,” Mrs. Twiggs screamed at him from across the room. He turned with an orange sherbet mustache, his orange saucer eyes wide open. He fell off the table with a thud. He mumbled under his breath, shook himself off, and went back to his place by the fire.

  As the clock struck six, the cars pulled up in front, jockeying for position on the crowded street. Mrs. Twiggs greeted each of the ladies with a hug, taking their coats and hanging them by the front door. She led them into the dining room, passing out cups of champagne punch. When they all had been served, Mrs. Twiggs said, “Ladies, please settle down.” The conversation ebbed into a single ongoing argument between Mrs. Loblolly and Mrs. Branchworthy, regarding family sides blue and gray. From listening to them, it sounded as if the Civil War were still being fought.

  Mrs. Twiggs tapped her glass again while giving them an old schoolmarm stern glance. The ladies quieted down. Mrs. Twiggs cleared her throat and said, “Now, ladies, I know we all have questions for Charlotte, Emma’s niece. She came as quite a surprise to me, but I think it’s important we make her feel welcome, so let’s not overwhelm her.”

  The ladies nodded in agreement, saying, “Yes,” “Certainly,” and “Of course.” The silver bell over the transom tinkled. Abigail glanced up, ran to greet Miss Hartwell and Charlotte. Abigail stopped and gave Charlotte the once-over. She was dressed in a designer wrap dress. Abigail smoothed out her rumpled T-shirt and glanced at the holes in her jeans. “Hi, I’m Abigail, Abigail Oakhaven.”

  “Charlotte Tangledwood.” They nodded at each other.

  “Okay,” Abigail said, taking Miss Hartwell’s light jacket and hanging it up. Miss Hartwell followed the noise into the dining room.

  “I’ve always wanted to be invited to a meeting of the Ladies of the Biltmore Society,” Miss Hartwell said, entering the room where Mrs. Twiggs greeted her with a punch glass.

  Abigail stayed behind to talk to Charlotte. “Hey, I wanted to warn you, they’ve all been talking about you and have a lot of questions.”

  “You don’t have a smoke on you, do you?” Charlotte asked.

  Abigail glanced behind to make sure I wasn’t watching, grabbed her leather jacket off the rack, and said, “Let’s go out front.”

  I slipped out with them. I had to monitor Abigail to make sure she didn’t say anything until we knew who or what Charlotte was.

  They sat on the wood bench in front of the store. It was an unseasonably cool evening for late April. I gazed at Abigail with narrow, disapproving eyes. She lit her cigarette and Charlotte’s anyway. “Is that your cat?” Charlotte asked.

  “Not my cat. Kind of a mascot. She hangs around the store.” Abigail shrugged.

  I emitted a low hiss and swiped at her.

  “Not very friendly, is she?” Charlotte asked in between puffs.

  They finished their cigarettes, putting them out on the ground before going back inside. “We better get this over with,” Abigail said.

  The two girls stepped into the dining room. I tagged along behind them. “There you are,” Mrs. Twiggs said. “Charlotte, these are the Ladies of the Biltmore Society, dear friends of your grea
t-aunt’s.”

  Charlotte shyly waved.

  I heard a rustling in the storage room. The door was cracked. I peeked in to see a shadow crawling up the wall. I watched as the tail disappeared into the shadow mouth and Pixel muttered, “Yummy.” I felt my stomach growl. No matter how much I fight the feline urges, they still take me. I wanted to join in the hunt with Pixel.

  I heard footsteps outside the storage room. I smelled Miss Hartwell and Charlotte. “Let’s make an early evening of it. There’s a lot to do before the estate sale,” Miss Hartwell said. “These old hens will be cackling all night.”

  “Okay, Miss Hartwell,” Charlotte said.

  After all the ladies had left, Mrs. Twiggs locked the door and settled onto the chair by the fire, raising her feet onto the stool. Abigail sat across from her, an early copy of Tom Sawyer in her lap. I jumped on the back of the chair and peered over her shoulder, purring. I had met its author on my earlier travels and found him charming.

  Abigail reached up and rubbed my chin. My eyes closed, and sleep took me.

  Chapter 5

  1862

  Asheville Highway

  I know I’m dreaming. The reason I know I’m dreaming is because I’m walking behind Agatha Hollows. I remember this trail from Asheville into South Carolina. She said nothing as we walked, our feet laden with the weight of the heavy red clay that clings to us. An occasional wagon passes our way, pushing us to the side and deeper into the mud. Agatha doesn’t rest. I am cold, and my fur is coated with the mud. My steps are heavy with its weight, but I won’t stop. I won’t let Agatha know I’m in pain, but I sense from her stooped shoulders that she feels the same pain. We hear horses behind us, closing in at a quick pace. Agatha hides in the tall pines lining the road. We watch as the gray coats ride by. It is twilight. She searches the sky trying to fix her direction, then continues deep into the woods. She walks light-footed, no snapping twigs, no footprints behind her, as though not touching the ground. My eyes close as I walk, relying on my sense of smell and hearing. It’s now pitch-black; a blue-black darkness covers the stars and there is no moon to give light. Agatha settles under a white oak. I want to wake up. I don’t like this part. I know what happens next, and I don’t want to remember. I feel a bite on my neck and open my eyes to see Pixel.

  “Bad dream, Terra, bad dream,” he scolds.

  Pixel’s moist saucers stared into my eyes. “Go away.” I swatted at him with one paw. “Pixel, I’m okay, go away.” Cats don’t cry, but if we did I think Pixel would have shed a tear. He looked so crestfallen. He has such a good heart I feel bad when I scold him, but the dream left me in a bad mood. It was almost as draining as the dreams from when I was a girl back in Salem.

  The fire had died out and the room was cold. The cuckoo clock behind the register sang three times for three a.m., the witching hour. I smiled to myself. Nothing to worry about. After all I am a witch. Elizabeth had once told me the history behind the witching hour. Goodness taken from the earth two thousand years ago at three p.m. Evil walks the opposite of that time. A myth I thought when I was a little girl, but since my turning I’ve seen many dark creatures during the witching hour. The humans don’t know the difference between white magic and black magic. That’s why the Ladies of the Biltmore Society must keep their secret. My coven in Salem did not keep the secret, and it cost them their mortal lives and led me to my current form. “Pixel,” I yelled out. “I’m sorry.”

  Pixel sat in the doorway between the reading room and dining room, his back turned to me. The twitching of his tail was the only indication he had heard me. I did have a bad dream, and it left me in a grumpy mood.

  “Grumpy cat,” Pixel said, running over to tackle me. We had watched a video on YouTube of a grumpy cat. Pixel found him hysterical.

  Mrs. Twiggs would be waking in a few hours and would start her preparations for the day. She needed to keep busy.

  “Pixel. I think the store is in good hands. We need to return to the cabin,” I said.

  “Abigail,” Pixel said.

  “Yes, Abigail needs us.” She had left the party early. I had a sudden premonition. It was calling me back to the cabin and to Abigail, who was alone with only Tracker the dog to guard her. We hurried out through the cat door into the alley. The others were asleep. Children of the street, cats and dogs. Pixel’s white chest glowed in the dark. His orange-and-white-striped tail wiggled back and forth as we trotted through the alleyways. We hurried past the park and into the Montford District with its eclectic mixture of Victorian, craftsman, and bungalows all built in the early days when Asheville was a seasonal resort. I stopped. “Moonlight.”

  “What, Terra?”

  “Montford. It smells like moonlight.”

  “How smell?”

  I thought about Lionel, a dear friend, a watcher, a victim of the darkness that had entered Asheville. This was our favorite neighborhood, and he was the one who had told me it smelled like moonlight. I didn’t quite understand until I smelled the same scent on Abigail. The smell of history, the smell of elegance, the smell of mystery. The sun rose over the mountain laurels, their twisted branches climbing to reach it and up Black Mountain. As we reached the cabin, Pixel yelled with glee. He could smell the bacon. He ran up the stairs before me and pushed open the door. Abigail stood over the potbellied stove with an iron skillet full of sizzling back bacon. Tracker was glued to her side, waiting for a slip of the hand.

  Abigail sat down, sipping her coffee. “I woke up last night at three. Bryson was hovering over my bed, inches from my face. He was saying something, but I couldn’t understand. His mouth moved, but no words came out. The only word I heard was Charlotte. Then he was gone.”

  I leaped onto the table and rubbed my neck against Abigail’s arm to calm her. I knew she needed me. “Bryson is your watcher. He watches out for you. Charlotte plays some role in our lives that I cannot see yet.”

  “Terra, I wasn’t afraid. I liked Bryson when he was in this world. I’m beginning to understand that there are more worlds than just this one.” Abigail was becoming a witch, more powerful than her great-grandmother, my Elizabeth. There would be no limits to her abilities, but with that came responsibility and she still was just a girl. Pixel was onto his third piece of bacon before we realized what he was doing. Abigail lifted him off the table and put him on the floor next to Tracker, who let out a low growl. Pixel swatted Tracker’s nose before taking off.

  “Terra, I wanted to show you something I found.” Abigail hurried into the bedroom and returned with a book. One I did not recall seeing before.

  “Where did you find that?”

  “I found it under the floorboards under my bed.”

  “It was Agatha Hollows’s book,” I said.

  She placed the book on the table. A green mist seeped out of its spine as it flipped open. What I recognized were spells spewed from its pages, the language undecipherable. The numbers and letters danced around our heads, trying to line up on a chalkboard.

  “I can’t understand any of these spells. They’re in some language I’ve never seen before.” Abigail shook her head. She slammed the book closed.

  “The book is enchanted, Abigail. You won’t be able to read it.” I had tried for years to read Agatha’s spell books, hoping to find the one spell that would bring me back to my true form. All my attempts had failed. Agatha was not from this world. “Only Agatha could read it.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “I lost her.” It was difficult to speak the words. Remembering the events in my dreams was difficult enough, but it was more difficult to speak about them in daylight.

  “Lost her?”

  “She left her human form.”

  Abigail gave me a quizzical glance. Pixel jumped back onto the table, and Abigail stroked his back.

  “Agatha was drawn to the Cherokee people. She was part of the woods. Cherokee believe that spirits live in the woods and can change forms. She changed her form to escape the soldiers.”

>   “Why?”

  “They wanted to command her powers, and she couldn’t let that happen.”

  Pixel spilled sugar on the table, giggled, and scooped it up with his paw. “Mmm, sweet,” Pixel said.

  “Terra, I want to show you something.” Abigail hurried out of the cabin, Tracker on her heels, heading down into the valley. Pixel and I caught up to her. The valley was waking from its winter sleep, the trees starting to bud, the only thing in bloom the bright purple blue of the heather. “Tracker and I were walking this morning and found this. Isn’t it strange? Everything else is dormant.”

  “I’ve never seen this on the mountain before. That’s a good sign. The Irish witches used heather to ward off evil,” I said.

  Pixel jumped into the heather, rolling and tumbling. Tracker followed, emitting low growls. Abigail and I returned to the cabin. She lit a fire under the cauldron. She repeated the recipe that Mrs. Twiggs had been mixing. I sniffed. “Where did you find hogweed?”

  “I found it next to the spell book under my bed under the floorboards.” Before I could stop her, Abigail scooped up a ladle and took a sip. Instantly her eyes rolled back in her head. She levitated off the floor. Her aura turned bright white so white I had to avert my eyes. The cabin shook, and then she fell to the ground. I raced to her side. “Abigail,” I shouted.

  “Terra, what happened? I never felt anything like that before.” Abigail sat up, shaking out her arms.

  “You’re not gifted with premonition. You shouldn’t drink that potion. Bottle it, and we’ll bring it to Mrs. Twiggs.”

  Chapter 6

  Mrs. Lund

  Biltmore Estate

  Reluctantly I allowed Mrs. Twiggs to put on my emotional support animal vest. Pixel liked his. He thought himself handsome and important. We needed them to join the ladies for tea at the Biltmore Estate. We sat in the meeting room at the Biltmore surrounded by the ladies who were on time for high tea and cakes. Mrs. Twiggs read the order of the ceremony, which dated back to Frederick Law Olmsted. “He brought his vision of the world to Asheville; the secret gardens hold the mysteries of the corners of the world. We celebrate and honor him today.” The ladies raised their teacups and nodded.