Electric Blue (6 page)

"Go on," Lucia whispered. "Open the door."

Slowly, slowly, Alicia opened the door. She knew the door was magic, knew it the moment she saw it. Her thoughts were confirmed when the chains slipped away when she touched them; the door was locked to all but her; maybe not just her, but it was all she could think of. It was her occult store, after all.

But she knew that the door was magic. She was wary of opening the door, but really, what choice did she have.

The door creaked open and both girls stood before its open darkness. Alicia looked inside and saw nothing but an empty space, the size of a closet.
Great
, she thought,
a magical broom closet, just what every Witch needs
. She was about to close the door when Lucia stopped her.

"Alicia! Look!" she said, pointing at the floor.

Alicia saw where she was pointing and wondered how she could have missed them: three pieces of bone, glowing in the blackness. Alicia scooped them up and closed the door. The door closed with an audible click and the wall shimmered, bending and twisting before them like water running over the wall. When the shimmering stopped, the door was gone.

Lucia let out a breath beside her. "What the hell was that all about?"

Alicia shook her head, not knowing what to say. Then she looked down at what was in her hand.

Three pieces of bone, carved at the top to look like little Buddhas. The detail on them was amazing and intricate. After Buddha, the bone curved to a point, like a tooth. The bones made a clinking sound in the palm of her hand, like teeth. She flipped them over and gasped.

Names were carved into each of them on the flip side: Alicia, Orlando and Lucia. Lucia looked down at the bone talismans with wide-eyed wonder. "Why is my name on one of those bones?" she asked quietly.

Alicia thought for a moment and then said, "I think it's because you're supposed to help us."

* * * * *

At Harrow House, Poppy was flipping through different Chinese food menus, waiting for Alicia to come home, when the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Poppy?" Her mother's soft voice filtered through the phone. Lucy Stone always sounded as if she were out of breath when she called, but Poppy knew that her mother had a light voice, like
Marylyn
Monroe's. Every time Poppy brought up the comparison, her mother blushed.

"Mom? Hey, it's me."

"Oh, Hon. I'm so glad I caught you at home."

"Why, what's up?"

"Oh, nothing much, now I don't want you getting excited. . .."

Poppy's heart began to race. "You found him! You found Keech Robinson?"

"No," Lucy said. "No, Darling, I'm sorry. He's dead."

Poppy felt herself wither inside. Their one link to her father, their one clue, vanished like smoke. "Then we can't do anything. We can't find my father."

"I didn't say that Darling. Keech Robinson is dead. . .but his wife is not."

* * * * *

"His wife?" Poppy said. "Keech Robinson had a wife?"

"Indeed he did. I found her in the phone book."

"What did you do, call all the Robinsons in the phonebook and ask them if their husband recently died?"

"Yes, actually." Lucy smiled. "There are only three Robinsons in the phonebook. One was a young woman in her twenties, another was a man and the third was an old woman who had lost her husband."

"Who happened to be named Keech?"

"How many people do you know that are named Keech? I was going at this blind, Poppy. You can give me a little bit of credit, at least," her mother huffed.

Poppy felt a twinge of guilt. "I'm sorry Mom, you're right. It's one step closer to solving this puzzle."

"Of course I'm right. And this is a clue Hon, a good solid one. What are you doing tomorrow morning?"

"Working on my art, I suppose." She quickly filled her mother in on quitting her job at Spandoosh. "I should find another job, though."

"Art IS a job, Honey. Do what you're good at. The gods have given you a gift and you gotta use it. So use it."

"Do you really think it's a gift, Mom?"

"Why would you ask a silly thing like that? Of course it is. You were wasting away working for that fat cow, Daphne McGowan. I'll spit on her the next time I see her."

"Mom, please don't. What did you want to do tomorrow morning?"

"Go see Ms. Robinson, of course," Lucy said

  * * * * *

The morning sun streaked in through Lucy's car window. It made Poppy want to blink her eyes. "So who did you tell her we were? You can't exactly say you are an ex-prostitute looking for my father."

"No, dear, of course not," Lucy huffed. She didn't like mentioning her previous profession. She claimed it dirtied her. "I told her that we were working on our family tree and needed to track down your father, who had been friends with Keech. I told her that he left me and we haven't heard from him since."

"That's good. That's sort of the truth."

"Exactly. That way, there are no holes for her to poke through. I hate lying. But sometimes it is necessary."

Ms. Robinson lived in a suburb in the middle of
Gloucester
. Her townhouse was like all the others that surrounded it, bland and boring and brown. But Ms. Robinson had spruced hers up a notch with new shutters on the windows, a lovely garden and a row of bushes to cover the ugly brown stucco wall.

"Certainly is a pretty place." Lucy said.

They got out of the car and approached the house. The door was opened before they could knock. The woman standing on the front step was short, white haired and had a kindly face. "I heard the car drive up." Ms. Robinson said. "Come on in! I just put the kettle on."

"Thank you so much, Ms. Robinson. . ." Lucy said.

"Bah! Call me Cecelia. I reverted back to my maiden name when Keech died. I never could stand all that Ms. Robinson crap. Damn Simon and Garfunkel. You know, I hate that freaking song? If anyone ever plays it for me again, I'll shoot their stereo." She laughed."I prefer de Bruyn much better. That was my maiden name. But you can both call me Cecelia."

"Cecelia?" Poppy said with a grin.

"Shut up you." Cecelia said with a laugh. "Besides, I like that song."

They sat down in Cecelia's tiny living room and she poured them all tea and served a plate of biscuits. "Now, why don't you tell me why you're here?"

Lucy did, briefly. "So we were wondering if your husband ever mentioned any friends. I remember my husband saying that he was going off to visit his friend Keech. We figured that this might be a good place to start."

"Well, Keech had so many friends. What was your husband's name?"

Lucy stumbled. "I. . .well, that is. . . ."

"I thought so." Cecelia cackled. "Oh, Honey, never try to pull the wool over an old woman's eyes. I see all!" She laughed again. "Now why don't you tell me why you're really here?" Lucy had the good graces to blush a deep crimson.

"My mom was a prostitute and we're now trying to find my father. All we know is that after. . .my mother and my father were finished, he had mentioned going to see his friend Keech. We don't know anything else. We're sorry." Poppy added this last bit as an afterthought.

"Oh, dear, nothing to be sorry about. My husband had so many friends, and his friends had many lovers. I would have no way of knowing, but. . .no, no, you wouldn't like it."

"What?" Lucy asked.

"There might be a way to see if your father is still alive."

There was a silence that followed that was filled with tension. Finally, Lucy spoke. "Please. We will agree to anything. We have nothing else to go on, don't know where Poppy's father is, I moved around so much. We don't know anything else, if you know of any way to find out whether or not Poppy still has a father. . .please help us, Cecelia. One mother to another, you must know how much it hurts for your child not to have a father?"

Cecelia looked at them for a moment and then burst into laughter. "You shouldn't have been a prostitute, Deary. You should have been a lawyer." She laughed again. "What a speech, haven't heard the likes of that for years. I've been around a long time, since 1902."

Poppy's mouth hung open. "That would mean you're over a hundred years old. . . ."

"That it does. I'm 102 and don't look a day over eighty, right?" She laughed again. "Want to know what my secret is?" Poppy and Lucy leaned in closer. "Magic," she whispered.

"Magic?" Poppy asked.

"I think it would be best if my granddaughter explained things. You're sure you want to hear this?" They both nodded. "Alright."

Cecelia got up and went to the stairs. She called up. "Naomi! Naomi! I need you down here a minute!" There was the sound of footsteps.

Both Lucy and Poppy looked at the stairs, waiting for Naomi to appear.

Chapter Nine

Thought of Herself

Poppy thought it was awfully funny that Cecelia was offering help by magic to a Witch. . .at least, Poppy once thought of herself as a Witch. She wasn't sure what she thought of herself as now, especially since Valentine’s Day. Best not to think about that, she told herself. Best to focus on the matter at hand.

There was a little piece of her brain, however, that spoke to her.
Why are you afraid?
It asked. I don't know why I'm afraid, she replied. There is nothing TO be afraid of, the voice said. First, you have to remember what happened that day.. . .Poppy shook her head to quiet the voice as Naomi came down the stairs.

She was around thirty years old, with short cropped brown hair streaked blonde. Her eyes were kind and matched by an equally kind smile. "Hi," she said. "I'm Naomi." She shook Lucy and Poppy's hands and sat beside her grandmother. "So, what can I do for you?"

"They need to find someone, dear." Cecelia said. She quickly explained the situation.

"So, if I understand correctly," Naomi said when Cecelia was done, "You don't know where your father is, he used to be friends with my grandmother’s husband, you don't know his name and you want to know if he's alive. Is that right?"

"Yeah, that's about it." Lucy said. "Sorry we don't have much to go on."

"Don't sweat it, I enjoy a challenge!" Naomi said.

"But how are you going to find him?" Lucy asked.

"I told you, dear," said Cecelia. "With magic." She smiled, her eyes twinkling.

"Magic's not a really good word for it. It's more of a gift." Naomi said.

"What you do is magic," Cecelia said. "Finding people, finding bodies, riches, helping police find people, this is magic, and it is a gift from the gods." The old woman's voice shook with fierceness.

Naomi looked at Poppy and Lucy and smiled. "Perhaps, it would be better if I told you guys everything from the beginning."

"Yeah," Poppy said. "That would be nice."

"Well," Naomi began. "I'm a psychic. I work with the police to find stolen goods, missing persons, that sort of thing. I've always been able to see things. It's just a gift I have."

"It's magic. The same magic that runs through my veins to keep me so young and beautiful."

Naomi sighed. "Grandmother believes that each woman in our family line has the gift of magic."

"It's true!" Cecelia said. "There are many different kinds of magic. Naomi can find things, I can age more slowly. My sister, Shauna, can see things before they happen. And Naomi's sister, Chelsea, can see into the past. This is not just the whims of a crazy old lady, Naomi, this is magic, and this is family legend."

"Has your family always had magic?" Lucy asked.

"As long as I can remember. Why, my own mother was able to cure anything that pained you with the touch of her hand. Her mother was able to banish spirits. It's all documented."

"Documented?" Lucy asked, mouth agape.

"Sure, we have the family genealogy dating all the way back to when our family began," Cecelia said. "We're a family of witches, really, if you want to get technical about it, though we don't consider ourselves anything. We just are." She smiled at them. "More tea?"

"Please," Poppy said. She has just found a
Mecca
, a treasure. Who better to talk about what was stirring inside her than a family of witches? She could feel something inside her, stirred by the voice that had questioned her. It moved like silk under her skin. "How can you help me find my father?"

"Well, I just sort of concentrate, really." Naomi smiled. "I'll need to hold your hands, Lucy. So that I can focus on the face that you once saw. Would you mind?"

"Not at all."

They turned to face each other and Naomi took Lucy's hands in hers.

Naomi closed her eyes, let herself drift. She could feel herself floating through time, through space. Naomi thought of this as Limbo, that place in between the here and the now; that place where dreams were made. "I see him," she said. "He was a handsome man."