Chapter 10

After Grams explainedthe first lessons she'd be teaching me, we stopped at the grocery store on the way home. I wanted pizza, but Grams decided that stew would be healthier, so we picked up stew meat, some fresh carrots and potatoes, a can of stewed tomatoes, and some Swiss chard. I had plenty of herbs and spices, along with onions and garlic at home. She compromised though, and we added a loaf of French bread to the cart. She also added apples, for baked apples.

"If you want to get into shape, you need good solid food, and plenty of it. Less sugar, more protein and vegetables. However, I'm not cutting you off all the way," she said. "Baked apples are a dessert that goes a long way back in our family, and while an apple a day may not always keep the doctor at bay, apples go a long ways in giving you a burst of energy." She paused, then—as we got back in the car—said, "I know you may think that I'm going overboard, but the kind of magic I'll be teaching you requires a body capable of handling deeply rooted energy. And you can't run on a foundation of junk food."

I nodded, then asked, "Does this mean you're moving down here? That you'll look for a place in Starlight Hollow? If you want to train me, it seems like that would be the most expedient way."

Grams settled in the passenger seat as I slid behind the wheel. "I think…it does. As I said, I don't get along with your mother and I cramp her style. I expect more out of her than she expects out of herself. And I don't think she's willing to change."

"When do you want to go house-hunting?" Secretly, I was relieved. I'd come to rely on Grams during her visit with me, and I knew that my mother didn't appreciate her like I did. I also felt safer when Grams was around. It was at that moment that it hit me: Grams had become like a substitute mother. She might be my great-grandmother, but she seemed more capable of handling a crisis than Catharine.

Grams seemed to sense what I was thinking, and as I pulled out of the parking lot, she said, "I do enjoy feeling appreciated and useful. It means a great deal to me."

"You mean a lot to me. When you first wrote that you were coming to visit, I was worried. I thought that I'd fail to live up to your expectations. But it didn't take long for me to realize that you care. You care about me and you care about others. Bree loves you, too. She told me she wishes she had someone like you in her life. Since her brother was killed, her parents have been too broken to help her with much. She understands, but that leaves her feeling all alone in the world."

Grams was silent for a moment. "She's a talented young woman. Puma shifter, correct?"

"Yes. That gives her an extra boost for her job. She can change shape and easily visit all the trails, she can explore the byways and back roads to gain an expanded view of the country she's leading them into." I told her about Bree's predicament. "So the hikers misled her as to their knowledge, the hike was a disaster, and now they're threatening to sue her for breach of contract—they never made it to the lake—as well as putting them in danger."

"That's ridiculous. If they misled her as to their abilities, that's their problem and she shouldn't have to pay for it. Did she ask them to them sign waivers?"

"Yes, she always does, and they did. It's the logical thing to do."

"Then she shouldn't have any problems, but if she wants, my lawyers are on call and I can ask them to talk to her. They're expensive, but I'm willing to pay for them to look over the situation and tell her what her next steps should be." Grams pulled out her box of Mint-oes, a soft mint chew—and offered me one.

I popped one of the soft chews into my mouth. "Thank you. I'm sure she'll take you up on the offer. I'll call her when we get home."

We changed the subject to cousin Owen's wake.

"I'm going to ask you to keep the peace with your mother while you're there, for Ciara's sake. She's lost her son, and it's never easy. Trust me, I know—and so did your grandmother. She lost your father shortly before she died. In fact, there was only a three-month span between Malcom's death and Elisa dying. Thank gods it wasn't your other grandmother who died. I doubt your mother would have been able to handle losing both a husband and her mother in the same year."

Both my mother's parents were still alive, but they were constantly traveling. They weren't exactly jetsetters, but they had adopted the lifestyle that some of the snowbirds did: they basically lived aboard cruise ships. They had a home base, but seldom used it. In fact, they rented their house as an Air BnB, and used that money to fund a good deal of their travels.

My mother resented it. I knew because she told me she resented it. She seemed to feel they were spending her inheritance. Aunt Ciara, on the other hand, cheered them on. But now, I imagined, my aunt would be longing for her mother to come home. Grandma Anna and Grandpa James weren't exactly candidates for parents of the year, but they were caring and they had done the best they could by their daughters.

"My mother resents everyone who has a life that she suspects is better than hers." I frowned as I pulled into the driveway. The wind was shaking the trees hard and we were setting in for a long, extended storm.

Grams peered out the window. "Good heavens. We have some ferocious storms in the highlands, but we don't have trees like this. Do they often blow over?"

"Sometimes, yes. Their root systems aren't deep. The firs, that is. A good storm on saturated ground can send them tumbling down on people's houses. But I love the area," I said, parking as close to the house as I could without destroying my walkway flowers. "There's something bracing about living here. There's a wildness out here on the peninsula that isn't often matched. Also, up in the Cascades. Our land here is alive and watching, always."

I turned off the ignition and motioned toward the house. "You still have the key?"

"On my chain, yes."

"Then go ahead and I'll bring in the groceries."

"I'm not out of the Wizard of Oz, child. I won't melt." Grams laughed as she stepped into the face of the storm, instantly getting soaked by the absolute downpour.

It was raining so hard that the drops were flying sideways—a phenomenon that west-coasters in our area were familiar with. It literally rained sideways at times, thanks to the rain and the wind, and ripped umbrellas to shreds. Which is why so many of us locals never bothered with them. What was the use of buying an umbrella only to have it destroyed within a week?

She grabbed a bag of groceries, while I picked up the other two, along with my gym bag, and we hustled up the steps. As she unlocked the door and we hurried inside, my phone rang. I hastened to set the bags down on the sofa and pulled out my cell. It was Daisy.

"Hey, Daisy, sorry—I just got home."

"Should I call back?"

"No, I just need to turn the heat up," I said. "One second." I checked the woodstove and added more pellets, amping up the heat. Then, shivering as I stood close to it, I said, "Okay, what's up? What do you need?"

Grams carried the groceries into the kitchen, then she shed her coat and took mine while she was at it, opening the door to shake them off. After that, she shut the door and headed back into the kitchen. I assumed she was putting away the food.

"Are you available? I thought I'd bring over the mug shots of the three individuals we matched prints to, in order to see if you remember any of them."

"Sure, come on over. I'd like to see what you found out."

"I'll be over in ten minutes. Maybe fifteen, depending on the roads right now. This heavy of a storm, there's bound to be delays. Have a pot of hot coffee ready for me, if you would." She hung up.

"Start some coffee, Grams! The sheriff will be here in about ten minutes." I shivered and added yet more fuel to the stove, then headed for my bedroom. "I'm going to get a towel for my hair."

* * *

By the timeI had dried off my hair and wiped the water off the leather of my pants and vest, Grams had made a fresh pot of coffee. She also had a batch of strawberry scones ready to go in the oven. Promptly fifteen minutes after her call, Daisy arrived.

"Hey, come in," I opened the door.

Daisy handed me her jacket and her hat, and then stood over the stove for a couple minutes while I hung them up. I led her into the kitchen, where Grams poured her a cup of coffee and we settled at the table. The scones were beginning to smell heavenly, and I brought out the butter and honey, while Grams set three dessert plates on the table, along with three knives.

"Oh, I'm in for a treat," Daisy said. "I'm not sure what you've got baking, but I'm all in." She settled in her chair, sipping the coffee and closing her eyes. "This hits the spot. I've been out on the road most of the morning, and a good share of that, not in the car. We had two DUIs this morning, plus a mess to clean up in the hardware store, of all places."

"At Art's?" I turned to Grams. "Art Holly owns a small hardware store. He's also a handyman—repairs small appliances and always does a good job. He's always struck me as a low-maintenance friend. Somebody whose easy going and always ready to lend a hand."

"He is," Daisy said. "But unfortunately, this was the morning that Randall Johson chose to drive a riding lawn mower through the front window of Art's store."

I groaned. "Oh good gods. That's not good."

"Randall belongs to that rare order of citizens who manage to inflict all sorts of stupidity on the town's populace," Daisy explained to Grams. "Two years ago Randall set off the fireworks by accident, while they were still being stored in the shed near the bay. Starlight Hollow's Fourth-of-July celebration came a few days early. Then there was the time when Randall got the bright idea to go bull-riding, and ended up somehow holding onto the back of one of Joe O'Bradley's bulls. The bull wasn't pleased, and both he and Randal smashed into the side of a sedan driven by Widow Anja."

"Good heavens," Grams said. "What a mess."

"That's putting it mildly. Nobody was hurt except the car, thank gods, but it could have easily turned into a tragedy. Oh, lest we forget, it was Randall who was brought the live grenade to the Historian's Club. It was a Vietnam War memento that was still live. Thank gods one of our veterans recognized that and got it away from him. Randall thought it was a replica."

Grams stared at Daisy. "He sounds like he should be wearing a hazard sign on his back."

"If I had my way, that's exactly what I'd do. Tattoo a ‘beware of Randall sign on his forehead.' He's not a bad guy, he's entertaining as hell, but you don't dare let him touch anything in case he manages to find the one flaw, the one problem, the one exception to the rule." Daisy sighed, shaking her head.

"So what happened this morning?" I asked. Any story surrounding Randall was bound to be amusing, if horrendously so.

"He started a lawn care company two weeks ago, and convinced Orin Kramer to go in on it with him. Orin's big, burly, and not the brightest bulb in the socket, but he's a good enough sort, and he does everything he attempts with enthusiasm. I dated him once when we were younger, and that was enough, though. We were dancing and he flipped me, and I landed hard on my butt because I had no clue he was going to attempt a flip." Daisy snickered.

"Anyway, so Randall and Orin bought a riding lawn mower together for their business, and they got in an argument at the park about who was going to give it the first spin. The city gave them a trial run at Liberty Park—they're in the market for new landscapers and are taking bids."

I groaned. The potential for damage was all too real. "What happened?"

"Randall jumped on the mower, and he started it. The mower's foreign-made, and cheap. That's how they were able to afford it. So when Randall turned it on, it got stuck in high gear. Orin and he were arguing over who should get the first turn driving it, and somehow, they knocked it out of neutral and the mower began to speed forward."

"And let me guess, Randall just held on for dear life?" I asked.

"Spot on. Randall wasn't ready for it, and he's not a quick wit. By the time he figured out he should turn the mower off, both he and the machine were heading down the middle of Main Street. Randall tried to steer, something went awry, and before he could bail, he and the mower smashed right through the main window of Art's Hardware Handy-Man Store. Randall went head first off the mower, and when he tried to roll to the side, he rolled into a shelf. He and the mower took out two rows of products before coming to an ignoble halt in the center of the store." Daisy was trying to keep a straight face, but her laughter was showing through the cracks.

I snickered. "Oh man, I shouldn't laugh but…How's Art? How's Randall?"

"Both men are fine, though Art is pissed and Randall's scared. He's afraid Art's going to sue him. I told him he might want to offer to pay for the damages before Art calls his lawyer. I'm not sure what happened, because I left Culpepper to handle the rest of the case."

"Art's a good guy. If Randall pays for the damages, I'm sure that Art won't clobber him too hard."

"We'll see what happens. The problem with Randall is that he can be a little weasel when he wants to." With a shrug, she pulled out her tablet. "All right, let me show you what we came up with." She set the tablet on the table so I could look at it, and brought up her photos section. While I watched, she flipped through pictures of the damaged shop until she came to the first mug shot. Grams leaned over my shoulder.

The woman looked vaguely familiar to me, as well as the second. The third, I recognized from last week. "None of them came in yesterday, as far as I remember. The third—what's her name?"

"Layla Smith."

"Layla came in last week and we had a pleasant chant. The other two came in last month, I think. What about the fourth set of prints?"

"We have no record of whoever those prints belong to. Which probably means she's never been arrested. I checked the FBI central database when I check for prints, and they don't have any record, either. You sure that none of these three are problematic?"

"The first two came in together a few weeks ago. I remember now, they bought a few crystals and a couple of books. They said they were from out of town, just passing through. I think they were from Aberdeen." I frowned. "What are their records for?"

"Petty theft, when they were in their early twenties. Their addresses show they're still living in Aberdeen, but they haven't been in any real trouble since then. The third one's a firecracker," Daisy said.

"She didn't buy anything, just looked around. I asked her if I could help her and she basically ignored me. I don't think she was impressed."

"You're probably better off. She was arrested two years ago for causing a scene down at Sea-tac Airport. She went full Karen on the cops. She tried to board a plane while she was drunk and spit on the cops when they answered the call. They booked her for public intoxication, resisting arrest, and assault on an officer, given how uncooperative she was." Daisy rolled her eyes. "Apparently, she lives around here."

"I guess I lucked out." I shrugged. "And the fourth set that you picked up?"

"We have no clue. Everything else was either too smudged, or jumbled to get clear prints off of. Oh, we have a fifth set, but those were everywhere in the space, and they were yours. We got them from the file of when…" As she hesitated, I knew exactly where she got them.

When the Butcher had gotten hold of Rian and me, I'd submitted to being fingerprinted because they needed to rule me out as a suspect. It hadn't taken much to do so, but I wanted to cooperate. I'd been in shock and it never occurred to me to say no. So now my fingerprints were on file, but I had been exonerated from any part of Rian's death.

"Yeah, mine. I know why you have them. It's okay." I sighed, leaning back in my chair as Grams took the scones out of the oven. She transferred them to a plate and set them down on the table. I glanced up at her. "Thanks, Grams."

"Enjoy," Grams said. "So, either the vandal was wearing gloves or…"

"It's likely they were. I have no doubt they intended to do as much damage as possible without leaving any incriminating evidence. We do have another partial set, but no one to match them with." Daisy pursed her lips as she buttered a scone and drizzled honey on it. "Tell me, what's your instinct say? Usually, when we're dealing with witches, instinct plays a big factor in cases like these."

I fixed a scone for myself, as well. Then, letting the honey soak in, I closed my eyes and tried to pinpoint anything that might tell me what was going on. One lone flicker caught my attention and I explored it.

"You know, I feel like I've come in contact with the person, but never met them. I don't know how that makes any sense, but it's like…whoever did this knows who I am, and I know who they are, but I don't know them. I know that sounds contrary but…"

"Yeah, it does, but I think I can follow the thread. Sort of like being exposed to a virus but not catching it. Maybe you've met in passing? Like at a party?" Daisy bit into her scone and made a soft ‘mmm' sound. "Oh, these are good. Morgance, would you consider giving me the recipe?"

"Of course. I'll write it out and Elphyra can email it to you, if that will work?" Grams was busy putting the stew in the slow cooker. She was chopping celery and carrots, and had raided the spice cabinet.

"That would be great. Well, that's all I've got for you. We'll continue to send cars by at least once a night. To be honest, I'm worried about you. You don't live far from the town center—but it feels rural here. There's a lot of tree cover for someone to hide in. And since we can't see your house from the street, there's that added note of privacy which can be both a blessing and a curse." She stood, finishing off her scone. "Thank you for the eats—they're good."

"Here," Grams said, wrapping two of the scones in foil and then sliding them into a Ziploc bag. "Take these. They'll be good for dinner."

"Thank you," Daisy said, accepting the bag. "I appreciate it." To me, she added, "Call if you need anything. Don't worry if it sounds silly. As I said, my instincts say this is nothing to play around with and whoever did this means business. I'd rather waste a trip over nothing, than have you reluctant to call and ended up finding you on the floor, dead."

There it was. Stark, but clear.

"Will do," I said, glancing at Grams. She was focused on the stew, but it was obvious by her expression that she had heard what Daisy said. I walked the sheriff to the door. The rain had slowed, though it was still drizzling. "Stay dry," I said as she zipped up her jacket.

"Stay safe, and I mean it. Call if you think anything might be wrong."

"I will. I promise." As I waved to her, I glanced up at the sky. The wind was picking up again, and the storm threatened to continue throughout the evening. Once Daisy vanished down the drive, I glanced at my shop. The windows were still firmly boarded and it looked abandoned and lonely. Feeling sad, I shut and locked the door behind me.

* * *

Gramsand I were at the table. She was showing me how to tap into the magnetic resonance of the planet, so I could learn how to bring small things close to me. She could do it, which I found astounding. I knew that some witches could perform telekinesis, but this went beyond that. She sat at the table and, by merely focusing on the pencil, she levitated it into the air and drew it over to her, where it floated for a moment before gently settling down on the table.

"How did you do that?" I hadn't any clue that Grams could move objects like that.

"That's what I'm going to teach you."

"Which power does it use? Earth? Air?"

"Both. Or, either, rather. It can be done by using air to lift it, or earth to magnetize it. Since you work with the earth element, that's the direction we'll take." She held up her hand as I snorted, doubtful I'd manage it. "Don't be so quick to assume. You are from a powerful lineage, but nobody ever fully taught you how to use your powers. I know your mother didn't forbid you to learn, but she didn't do much to help, either."

"No, I'll give her that—she's not against magic, especially since she's of witchblood, too. But neither would she send me to the academy to learn what I needed to learn."

I'd begged my mother to send me to one of the special academies for magical Otherkin, but she hadn't wanted to bother. Mostly because it would require me to board at the school, and she wanted an audience for her moods. She also wanted someone around to do the chores she hadn't wanted to. It wasn't that she'd worked me to death, or foisted all her work on me, but I'd definitely earned my keep as her daughter.

"Grams, can I ask you something? Given my father died when I was five, and Grandmama too, did you know how I was being raised? Mom's parents were always on the move, even back then. Aunt Ciara knew, but she had her own family to worry about. Did you know that I wasn't being raised to embrace my magical lineage?"

Grams picked up the pencil, staring at it for a moment before she answered. "No, I didn't. Your mother wasn't the best communicator. I think she would have preferred if I had just disappeared out of her life."

"What do you mean?"

"Your paternal grandfather was long dead, and when Malcom died, I believe something snapped in Catharine. When you first came along, she wrote to me once a month and sent pictures. She seemed to be happy to be part of the family. But when your father died, something changed. You probably don't remember it, but I do. Once the dust settled and Malcom was laid to rest, the letters began to dwindle. And once your grandmother Elisa died, they dwindled to a bare minimum. Usually when your mother needed financial help."

"And you gave her money?"

"I gave her money so you would be taken care of."

"I wonder why she pulled away." I said.

"I think she was afraid I'd step in and try to steer your development. Your mother isn't duty-bound to the clan like your father was, or like your aunt is. Your aunt is actually interested in finding out more about the Clan MacPherson since her blood stems from it, too."

"I didn't know that. I'll have to talk to her, later, when she's feeling better." I thought back to when I was a very little girl. "I do remember my father showing me all these pictures of the family home in Scotland. I remember him telling me about the countryside, and about growing up in a haunted mansion where he was friendly with the ghosts. Because of him, because of those stories, I wasn't afraid of ghosts when I was young. And I'm still not all that afraid of them."

"We have many ghosts in the mansion. It's actually a small castle, and it's two hundred years old. We heavily renovated it and that woke a number of them up. Most are safe, and the ones that weren't, we evicted."

I smiled, remembering a fuzzy image of my father. He would arrive home from work and sweep me up as I ran to him, spinning me around. We'd laugh, and then he would set me on the nearest chair and take my mother in his arms and kiss her hello. I always felt they loved each other, and I always felt safe when they were both around.

"Are you all right?" Grams asked. "Your eyes are misty."

"I'm just remembering…good memories. Before my mother became the way she is now. I remember my father, though over the years the images in my mind have grown blurry. And then, I have a sharp memory of the night he didn't come home from work. I wasn't sure what was going on, but late that night, I woke up to hear my mother screaming. I ran out to the living room. A police officer was standing there and my mother was crumpled on the floor, huddled over, crying. And then I never saw my father again."

I looked at my great-grandmother. "Do you think he was murdered? I don't remember much, but I do remember my mother once saying that he'd never kill himself, that I wasn't to believe anybody who said so. But, she also told me not to say anything. Don't argue, she told me. Don't argue with anybody. Pretend you believe what you're told. Someday, I'll tell you why. But she never did."

"I wasn't here," Grams said. "But maybe we need to look into it. Your father was strong-willed and it was hard for me to believe that he'd kill himself, especially when he had a wife and young daughter." She didn't sound like she was looking forward to it, but I knew her well enough by now that, if I said I wanted to know more, she'd go digging for information with me.

"Okay, well…let's plan on doing that. But for now, teach me how to pick up the pencil. I've had so few magical lessons over the years, and I never realized that I feel a lack in my life because of that."

Grams held up the pencil and set it down in front of her. "All right. Let's get busy on your first lesson." Then, without further ado, she began to explain to me how to use the energy of the earth and of gravity to manipulate objects around me, and I eagerly soaked up the lesson.