Chapter Nine
The alarm jolted her awake as usual. Leah pushed herself out of bed, wondering why her legs wouldn’t bend well. A quick glance down revealed her bandages. A fading memory of being beaten flickered in her mind. A beating should stay in a person’s mind, but it hadn’t. Once she’d left the other century, the memories had grown faint. How was she going to succeed if she couldn’t remember? Would she have to repeat the same thing over and over again? It was a good chance her body might not hold up to another beating.
Grabbing a notebook, she wrote down all she could remember, including the image of her and Lionel as childhood sweethearts. Was Arabella a mean girl of her time? What was normal by her time standards could appear mean in this century. The girl tried to make the best of her circumstances. Her writing was almost illegible as she filled several pages with her big, loopy writing. She could read it, but she might be the only person. She could type it later.
It might be a good record, in case she never returned. Not exactly a cheerful thought, but someone should know her story. The second alarm went off, reminding her she only had fifteen minutes to get ready for school. Dropping her notebook, she managed to locate a clean pair of pants and a polo top. Another quick search netted her panties and a bra. Nana was right, her room could benefit from cleaning.
Her parents and Nana sat at the kitchen table, talking. Odd, but no one was hurrying to get ready for work. Ethan popped out of his room, still wearing his cartoon pajamas. That was going to put a clog in everything if her brother wasn’t ready. His bus would arrive before she left for school since he was bussed across town. Eyeing him suspiciously, she inquired, “You’re not sick, are you?”
“No, we are all staying home today just in case you disappear again. It might be my last time to see my big sister.” Ethan startled her enough to allow him time to dart into the bathroom before she could. Was he making it up? She wouldn’t put it past her brother.
Giving up on having access to the bathroom anytime soon, she walked into the kitchen. Maps, large reference books, and a few photographs of a younger Nana looking adoringly at a grinning, dark-haired man littered the table. No one had to tell her she was finally seeing a picture of her grandfather when he had been very young. Her grandmother had looked surprisingly like her. Picking up the photograph, she cradled it in her hands.
The man had an open, trusting face with wide-set eyes and dark, backswept hair. He reminded her of Dylan a little, not so much in looks, but more in attitude. This man had loved life. Life had done him the courtesy of loving him right back. Even though her grandmother’s face was turned so she could look at him, it was obvious she adored him. What must it be like to be that much in love? Wow, she hoped she lived long enough to find out. It also helped her to understand the depth of Nana’s sorrow.
Placing the photo back on the table, she caught her grandmother looking expectantly at her. Nana waited for her to say something, so she did. “He certainly was a handsome fellow. He looks like he was a friend to everyone.”
Nana’s resultant smile let her know she had said the right thing. “He was.”
This was the first time anyone had ever opened up about her grandfather. She had so many questions. “What did he do for a living?”
Her mother answered before her grandmother could. “He was an actuary in his nine-to-five job. On the weekends, he performed as a magician.”
How cool was that? Leah looked at the picture again. It wasn’t too hard to imagine him mesmerizing the audience with his dark good looks. “I bet he had a rich, deep voice, somewhat accented, making him even more mysterious.”
Her mother and Nana locked gazes, then turned in her direction. Her mother spoke first. “You’re right.”
Nana turned more slowly. Her eyes took on a slight sheen. “You have his gift. What else can you tell me?” She dabbed at her face with a cloth napkin.
Why was Nana asking her about a man she’d never met? Why would she know anything? She reached out for the picture, which her father placed in her hand. Thoughts poured into her head quickly, crowding against each other. Thoughts she would have sworn had not been there before. She took on a thousand-yard stare as the thoughts gathered substance and became images in her mind.
Her grandfather was laying out the props for a magic show for a friend’s birthday. They joked as they put a coffin on a sawhorse. Leah shared what her mind so vividly revealed. “He had a close friend named Barney, who helped him set up for the show. His friend used to call him Ricky Ricardo because of his accent and his love of singing and dancing.”
“Did you hear that, Adam? Maura?” Nana rotated her head, trying to catch each person’s attention. Her fingers plucked a framed picture from the table. “Try this one. What do you get from it?”
Leah accepted the photo, turning it over to see that it was a wedding shot. A tide of passion and love hit her, almost knocking her off her feet. She staggered a little bit, grabbed an empty chair, and slid into it. “Never did a man ever love a woman more than he did you.”
Nana gave a little yelp. “That’s what Buell always said. Leah has the gift. His gift was the secret of his shows. Most people didn’t believe he could read minds and thought the people he brought up were shills. He didn’t just read minds, he knew the people. I think that is what made him so likable.”
“How is that?” Leah wouldn’t have minded being likable.
Nana eyes glowed as she explained, almost as if lit by an internal source. “When he met someone, he knew what they needed to hear to be happy. He gave it to them. I scolded him once when he told an awkward fellow he would meet the girl of his dreams. My mistake was thinking no one would find the man attractive. Buell assured me there was such a woman, and after what he told him, the man would see her as the girl of his dreams. All he needed was a little encouragement.”
“Dad really was magick in the best sense of the world,” Leah’s mother said. “He made our house the place to be. Kids wanted him to guess what they had in their hands or in their minds, which he did. They didn’t freak the way adults did. Every day was a party, until he vanished.” The jovial mood surrounding the table faded away, rather like the mythical Buell.
Nana caught Leah’s hand and squeezed it. “Find him. Bring him back.”
Really, how could she? She hadn’t even mastered bringing herself back. Somehow, she was supposed to wander through time, pick the man up, and return him like an overdue library book. She opened her mouth to explain why such a task was impossible and noticed they were all staring at her. Their faces reflected varying degrees of optimism. It was easy to understand why Nana and Mother wanted her to bring Buell back, but her father looked just as hopeful. He could want to meet the man who’d inspired such stores. More likely, he just wanted his wife to be happy.
How would she have felt if someone had disappeared out of her life without an excuse or a goodbye? Truth was, she wouldn’t have liked it if Stella or even Dylan had left in the night. There would have been plenty of rumors, none of them true. She would never know. Right now, she had her fingers crossed she wouldn’t be the person who evaporated into thin air or shifted into another century. They were still staring at her, waiting for her answer. “Never fear, Nana. I will bring Grandfather back.”
Why had she said that? Worse yet, they all wore identical expressions of relief, as if they thought she could. Did she need to remind them she was still a kid, a few months short of her seventeenth birthday, but still a kid? The best she’d managed in her lifetime was a science essay about how pigs weren’t aerodynamically suited for flying. It had earned her third place in the science Imagine essay contest when she was in fifth grade. Truthfully, not too many kids had entered, which explained her third-place finish.
How did she all of a sudden become so powerful? Why did her family believe she could do the impossible? Ethan walked into the kitchen. He gazed at the adults, then at her, before asking, “Why are they all staring at you like that?”
“Oh, they are just expecting me to do the impossible.” she muttered under her breath.
Ethan had a way of de-glorifying everything with a few words. All little brothers did, but he excelled at it. “Better get changed unless you want to shift in your nightshirt.”
Leah took the opportunity to change, dashing from the kitchen to the open bathroom. For a few seconds, no one would expect anything miraculous from her. She pulled off her nightshirt quickly. So far, she had appeared in the past in period clothing, but it would have been just her luck to show up in her Hello Kitty nightshirt or nothing at all. No time to waste while dressing, she removed the bandages from her legs, marveling at the smooth, unblemished skin. Nana’s potion had worked. She looked at the back of her leg, where a scar reminded her attempt to fly off the slide. That was gone, too.
The bandages dropped to the floor as she examined the rest of her body. Lifting her arms up, she stretched up on her toes, then twisted one way, then the other. Nothing hurt, until she smacked the shower curtain rod. Their bathroom was not big enough for stretching out. The tub, stool, and sink crowded into a small space left a person barely enough room to turn around. Enough of that, she got dressed in her school clothes.
What if she time shifted today? Apparently, that’s why her family had taken the day off. Had her mother called in and made her excuses? Sorry, my daughter won’t be in today. She’s in another century changing the world for the betterment of all. Did time pass the same in the other century? Did a day pass the same? Had it been a week or a year?
If she showed up with her skin smooth and healed, wouldn’t it convince them she was a witch? Her plan of action would be not to show anyone her skin. When Miss Santiago talked about women coming a long way as far as rights and status, she had no clue how far they had progressed from the Middle Ages.
Brushing her hair, she looked at herself in the mirror. With her long, dark hair and tattoo-free skin, nothing noticeably tied her to the twenty-first century. She’d read a novel once where a woman’s smallpox scar had branded her a witch. No one her age had a smallpox scar, since smallpox no longer existed and there was no need for the vaccination.
Her pale skin definitely could use some help, though. Some foundation, blush, eyeliner, and mascara might help. She opened up her makeup bag and shook her bottle of moisturizer. Smoothing the lotion on her skin, she wondered about the advisability of makeup. How would her arch nemesis react to it? Sure, makeup had been around forever, but who had worn it back then? Was it the fast women, the evil folks, those guilty of a crime? Hard to know. It might be better just to be pale.
Opening the door, she listened. A morning show blared from the living room while she could hear the clatter of dishes and running water in the kitchen. Someone was watching television, although she doubted it was her brother. Mother and Nana were cleaning the breakfast dishes. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she somehow had bypassed her last meal. That in itself wasn’t too unusual. Breakfast usually consisted of what she could reasonably eat in the car.
It might do her well to eat breakfast, since she couldn’t guarantee when she would eat again. The memory of smoked, dried fish on her tongue sent her in search of cereal. Her father sat at the table poring over outdated encyclopedias, which meant her brother was watching the morning show with perky hosts and fluffy news that contributed nothing.
Pouring cereal in her bowl, she sniffed the milk. It smelled okay today. She brought a spoon of cereal to her mouth and chewed. Stale, no big surprise there. When was the last time she’d eaten cereal? The only time her family ate breakfast together was when her father made pancakes on Sunday mornings. Weekends were her time to sleep in, even lately when she’d been helping her brother with his lawn moving endeavor. It wasn’t too hard since most people didn’t want to hear the sound of a lawnmower before ten in the morning.
Her father’s eyes searched her face. She tried to ignore his staring. It was weird. For the most part, she mainly spoke to her family as they each hurried off to their job or school. All of a sudden, everyone watched her, just waiting for her to disappear. Spooning up her breakfast, she refused to acknowledge his gaze, but that didn’t stop his thoughts from coming at her.
Will this be the last time I ever see my baby girl? What kind of father have I been? Always working, staying late to finish projects, and even bringing work home. What type of childhood is that for her? She’ll remember me as the father who was never there. Have I told her how wonderful she is? How proud I am of her? How much I love her?
His thoughts were so strong they sounded like shouts in her mind. It was louder than Principal Sharpe’s fears of Nana. Putting down her spoon, she said, “I know Dad, don’t worry. You have always been and always will be a good father.”
Her father’s head snapped up. “You heard my thoughts?”
“Yes.” She tilted her bowl to get the last of the milk.
“Damn,” he swore under his breath.
Leah looked up. “I heard that.”
Shaking his head, he said, “Wouldn’t even matter. If I thought it, you’d still hear it.”
“Maybe.” She shrugged her shoulders. It was odd hearing her father’s thoughts. Shouldn’t some things be private? “It comes and goes. I found out Principal Sharpe is terrified of Nana.”
Her father laughed, canted his chair back on two legs. “Any man with sense would be very afraid of your grandma. Not so much that she would put the evil eye on him, but more that she can see into his soul and know who he really is, as opposed to the face he presents to the public.”
It made her think of her grandmother in an entirely different way. “I’m not afraid of her. Neither are you.”
“Not too much anymore. I used to be terrified of her,” her father admitted with a sheepish grin.
Her analytical father wasn’t in the habit of expressing a wide range of emotions. Just last night, Mother had traumatized her with the idea of the two of them being part of a wild, passionate love affair. It wasn’t something she really liked to consider. Nana summed it up once by saying every generation thought they were the ones who’d created love and passion. This outlook made it hard to explain the existence of offspring. Leah shuddered at the thought. “Why did Nana scare you?”
Her father lowered his chair. His expression turned somber. “I figure she’d chase me away from your mother. I was the wrong type. One look into her shrewd face, and I knew she’d see I wasn’t good enough for her daughter.”
Placing her hands on the table, she pushed up to carry her dish to the sink. “None of that happened, so you had nothing to worry about.”
Her father was silent, but his thoughts weren’t. Actually, all of it did happen, but Maura chose to fight for me.
Leah did a double take at her father. Nope, his lips were not moving. Until he said, “You heard that too?”
That was hard to answer. It was like walking in on your parent when they were in the bathroom. You pretended it didn’t happen so everyone could be comfortable. She bit her lip, stalling. What could she say? “Yes would embarrass him. No would be an obvious lie. She’d never mastered lying. Ah, yes, change the subject, “Do you think grandfather was a ceremonial magician?”
“I am not sure. What I’ve heard about the ceremonial magicians is that they were very into details. Their rituals were precise and scientific in nature. Always done the right way at the right time. Might call them the engineers of the Wiccan world.” Her father laughed at his joke, before continuing.
“They evolved from a type of priesthood. Some called them witches, but they always considered themselves better. It would be similar to someone comparing a chef to a cook. They both cook food, but the chef considers himself an artist. ” He stood and walked over to her, dusted her hair with a kiss. “As for you, I’ll need to learn how to shield my thoughts.”
“That’s okay. I’ll try not to listen. What am I going to do if I am in a room with a whole bunch of people? Better yet, what if I hear someone say in his mind, ‘I could kill him for that,’ do I notify the police? People say that all the time when they’re angry but don’t really mean it.” Goodness, this was supposed to help her out somehow. Already, it seemed like it had caused more trouble rather than providing any help. She rinsed her bowl and put it in the dishwasher. Her father stood with his mouth half open as he debated what he should say.
“It’s okay if you don’t know the answer. I don’t know it, either,” she reassured him.
He gave her a half salute and left the room. His last thought before leaving was about how his daughter reading his thoughts was like her seeing him in his underwear. Oh, Dad. How he’d ever fallen for her mom always amazed her. There had to have been other tightly laced students at college for him to associate with as opposed to her mother. It had to have been the lure of the forbidden. They’d initially met when her father had wandered into the Pagans United office as opposed to the Baptist Union next door. It had been her mother’s turn to man the office, or woman the office, as she liked to put it.
If she weren’t going to school today, what would she do? Sitting around wondering what might happen to her didn’t appeal. She could get Nana to tell her more about her grandfather, maybe show her some more recent photos. Anything she had would be at least twenty years old.
The house had a glassed-in porch the landlord called a Florida room. Nana liked it for growing the medicinal herbs she often used in medicine and sometimes her rituals. Trying to recall the landlord, she remembered a man with a scraggly goatee, a receding hairline, and a ponytail. He could have been the poster boy for an aging hippie. She doubted he’d care what they grew as long as they paid the rent on time.
The smell of sandalwood incense met her before she walked into the room. Nana held a crystal in the stream of smoke, before placing it on the table and picking up a snowflake obsidian chunk. “What are you purifying the crystals for?”
“Your protection ritual,” she said without turning around. “Your sister is here.”
“What?” She hadn’t heard Nora arrive. She could just hear the choppy sound of a diesel engine car as it sputtered to a stop. How did she do that? And why couldn’t she read Nana’s thoughts? Being able to tell where people were or when they were arriving might be a more useful skill to have.
Nora’s throaty voice rumbled below her mother’s and brother’s voices. How her sister ended up sounding like some blues singer astounded her since she’d never smoked.. Half jogging to the living room, she greeted her sister. “Nora,” she called out as she fell into her open arms. They both squeezed hard. Hard to believe she’d only been gone a few months.
Nora pulled back and looked at her thoroughly. Leah could hear her thoughts, not that she was trying to. They were there in her mind.
My little sister, she looks the same, but different. There is wariness about her that wasn’t there before. I guess trying to stay alive, running from witch catchers, and being beaten half to death will do that to a person. What else has changed?
“I can hear your thoughts. That’s another thing that has changed,” she said, just in case her sister might go into some maudlin thought about this being the last time she’d see her little sister alive. She definitely could do without that. The doorbell rang, startling both of them.
Her mother answered the door, recognized the two women, and called them by name. One cotton-topped lady in a colorful wind suit and walking shoes reminded her of the quintessential grandmother. The woman spotted her and wrapped her in a talcum-scented hug.
“Oh, my dear, my dear, I came as soon as I heard.”
Leah wondered if she was the talk of the pagan community. If she remembered correctly, Helena, who was squeezing the daylights out of her, worked with animals. Somehow, Helena communed with them and eased their distress. She was a regular pet whisperer. It made Leah wonder what she’d do for her.
Zaharra, dressed in a colorful caftan complete with headscarf, was Nana’s most serious competition. Nana called her faux Romany, declaring she didn’t have a drop of gypsy blood, her ancestors were Swedes, and she dyed her hair. Yet, here she was. Her grandmother thanked her for coming. The woman gave Leah a measuring look.
I don’t see anything special about the girl. This is all a big scam cooked up by Esmeralda Hare. I wouldn’t put it past her.
Leah folded her arms, gave the woman a knowing look, and shook her head. The woman’s false eyelashes fluttered, and then she acknowledged her. “Accept my apologies.”
Angling her head to her grandmother, she said, “I’m not the one you should be apologizing to.”
Hurrying to Nana, the woman offered her apologies, begging forgiveness for any doubts. Her grandmother caught her eye and winked. Being able to hear thoughts wouldn’t be a total waste after all. If she went to school today, maybe she’d hear Dylan’s thoughts. She thought about who sat around her in geometry and how their thoughts would dribble over into her mind. Connor, who sat in front of her, drew naked women in his notebook. Did she want to hear his thoughts? No, there had to be a way to cut out people she didn’t want to hear. She didn’t hear Nana’s thoughts.
That’s because I don’t want you to.
Leah looked at her grandmother, who smiled. Yes, Nana definitely had the skill. If only she could teach her. It also explained one reason why she was such a good fortune-teller. She knew the questions her clients didn’t ask but wanted the answers to.
Four other older women came to the door. Her mother greeted them as Nana herded them to the backroom. Nora remarked near her ear, “It looks like all the old crones are here.”
Her mother overheard them. “Yes, be grateful Nana knows so many. You two will be our only maidens. Some powerful magic will occur here today. Speaking of that, Nana ordered me to prepare you with bathing.”
Leah pretended to sniff her pits. “Do I smell?”
Nora put her arm around her shoulder. “I’ll talk to you while you soak.”
Their mother held up her hand. “Nora can start the bath, sprinkle the herbs, even bless you, but the bath time should be used for contemplation and purification.”
“Yes, Mother,” they said in unison.
Leah understood the dynamics of rituals. It was like going to church and never listening to the sermon, contemplating the stained-glass windows or bemoaning the lack of cute boys instead of listening, and then one day realizing the sermon was about you. Yep, that’s where she was. The ritual was about her.