Witch of Christmas Past (2 page)

After dropping by the Quick Stop for a cup of go juice, also known as coffee, I took the Island Loop Road to Granny’s place, which was where Uncle Aaron lived.

I had to go into work for a couple hours, but it wouldn’t take long to stop by and see Aaron.

Against the backdrop of the turbulent Pacific and the rolling black clouds drifting in from the west, the old Victorian mansion seemed even more imposing than normal. It had changed so much since Granny went missing that it was sometimes difficult to believe it was the house I’d spent half my childhood.

As I climbed the rickety old stairs to the covered porch, I was so caught up in my own thoughts that I almost didn’t notice the man sitting in Granny’s porch swing.

I saw him, but it didn’t register until I reached out to grab the doorknob. Doing a double take, I turned sharply in his direction.

Sure enough, there was a man sitting on Granny’s swing. He was sporting a long gray beard and looked to be dressed like someone from the eighteenth century.

Whoever he was, he wasn’t alive.

The man glared at me, drawing his bushy brows together. “I daresay … you took your time.”

“Excuse me, but who are you … and what are you doing haunting my Granny’s porch swing?”

“It be me that be amiss. It would seem I have forgotten my manners since joining the ranks of the dearly departed. Thy name be Zechariah Osborne,” he said, getting to his feet and removing his black hat.

That’s when it dawned on me that my great great great grandfather’s name was Zechariah Osborne.

What was he doing hanging around the old homestead?

I knew the Osborne mansion was haunted. Growing up in the house, I’d seen my share of ghosts, but I’d never seen Zechariah.

“Um … what can I do for you?” I asked.

“I’m having a very difficult time getting through to that boy in the house, and his insane chatter is pushing me right to the brink of madness. I understand it is my duty to be the guardian of the Osborne witches, but if I have to listen to much more of than boy’s incomprehensible mumbling, I’ll have to take the plunge and jump into the light.”

“Wait a minute! Did you say you were our guardian?”

Zechariah nodded. “That be the truth of it.”

“Well, where were you when I was getting run over by a truck?” I asked, putting a hand on my hip to put some emphasis on my displeasure with his performance as guardian.

“One cannot always save a body if they be an imbecile. I whispering in thou ear that thou should not step into the street at that moment, but thou were too busy gazing at that black witchery box thou holds on thy person. You could not hear thy words.” He shrugged.

I figured he was probably right, and because I had no intention of dwelling on that part of my life, or death, I changed the subject.

“What do you mean by his insane mumbling? Is Uncle Aaron casting spells?”

Zechariah shook his head. “Tis no spell I know of. To my ears his words are akin to infant gibberish. The boy does not even put his strange music box on at night.”

“You mean his stereo?”

“I have no understanding nor do I know its name, but it was soothing at times. Now we dwell in silence as the moon makes its way through the night.

“I’ll see what I can find out,” I told him.

“Thou efforts would be a fine deed, but there be another matter needing attention.”

“And what might that be?” I asked, folding my arms in front of me, fully prepared to defend myself against whatever slander this ancestor might toss my way.

“Have you forgotten about the lost?”

I squinted, as if the act would help me understand what the hell it was he was talking about.

“The lost?” I echoed.

“The dead and Mistress Stella.”

“Of course I haven’t forgotten,” I came back, making sure to give him a roll of my eyes. “I just solved several deaths during Halloween, and I am still looking for my Granny.”

The truth was, it had taken me a couple of weeks to help the ghosts that suddenly appeared at my bedside on Halloween, but I’d managed.

Mafia guy seemed content when we discovered that his killer had died years ago and he’d willingly gone into the light. It had taken a little more to convince the red headed ghost boy to cross over.

He wanted his body found and his murderer brought to justice.

Ayden hadn’t been too keen on the idea of doing a search based on the directions of a ghost child, but I’d finally convinced him. The boy’s body had been discovered in a cave on the north side of the island. He’d been murdered decades before.

The boy and his killer were from Seattle. Dan Brink was the man’s name. He’d used Mystique Island as his dumping ground. Two other bodies had been discovered in the same location.

It was a small comfort to know that Brink had drowned at sea in the 90s, and thanks to the biggest gossip of the underworld, AKA Julius, I also knew the man was burning in Hell.

“As far as Granny goes, that one has been a lot more difficult. We have no idea where she is. All I know is that she is not dead,” I explained.

Zechariah shook his head. “Hopefully Mistress Stella has been blessed with more intelligence than thou.”

Well, that was uncalled for.

“I’m doing my best to keep it from slipping into the cold case files. I will find Granny. You can bet your funny looking hat on that one,” I shot back, adding an evil eye to go with it.

He gave me a curt nod and disappeared.

Damn! I’d had so much more to ask him.

“Who are you talking to?” A voice startled me from behind.

I swung around to face Malcolm Skeet, Uncle Aaron’s best friend since grade school.

Today Skeet actually didn’t look too bad. Although he still had his sandy hair in dreadlocks, his black denim jeans looked clean, and he was a wearing a black, Alice Cooper t-shirt.

Skeet was familiar with the fact that the Osbornes were witches, but I didn’t think he liked hearing about the ghosts that lived in the mansion.

“Umm … I was just talking to myself. Is Uncle Aaron here?” I asked before he could question me further.

“Yeah, he’s in there playing Holly Homemaker. You Osbornes must be getting some strange gas leaks in your houses or something. You’re talking to yourself, and he’d prefer to skip out on the Crow’s concert so he can stay home and bake cookies.”

What was with all the insults this morning?

I decided it was time to give Skeet one of my death stares. “Okay now. That was uncalled for.”

“Sorry.” He shrugged. “But your uncle is going nuts or something. We’ve had these tickets for two months, and all the sudden he decides he doesn’t want to go. Annabelle even said she’d cover for him at the station tonight.”

“I’ll see what’s up with Uncle Aaron. If I can change his mind, I’ll have him give you a call.”

Instead of going right in, I waved as Skeet walked away. It seemed a little strange that he was on foot, instead of driving his car.

“Where’s your car?” I called.

“Broke down this morning. I was hoping to use Aaron’s car, but …” His words trailed off and he shrugged.

“Good luck. Hope you get your car fixed.” I waved again.

When Skeet was out of sight, I opened the door and walked in. If anyone else had any issues with me, they could just take them up with me inside.

“Uncle Aaron! Where are you?” I yelled.

“Back here in the kitchen … whipping up some breakfast!”

Now that I was inside, I could totally see what Skeet was talking about. The house was spotless.

I hadn’t seen it this clean in months.

Not only that, but all the Christmas decorations were up too.

Uncle Aaron had been decorating, cleaning, and now he was cooking breakfast. Normally, this might seem like average Saturday morning activities, but not from a man who had trouble getting out of bed before 2:00 in the afternoon.

Even before I made it to the kitchen I caught the scent of bacon and blueberry pancakes.

“Pull up a chair and I’ll fix you a plate,” he told me, as he was flipping a pancake.

What was wrong with Uncle Aaron?

Without taking my eyes off him, I sat at the table. I was getting the distinct impression that my uncle had been possessed by some alien entity, one that liked to cook and clean.

“Skeet tells me that you don’t want to go to the concert tonight. I thought you really liked the Crows?”

Aaron lifted both his meaty shoulders. “Seems to me it would be such a waste of time when there is so much here that needs to be done.”

I couldn’t really find an argument for that. Granny’s house was in desperate need of some upkeep, but still.

“But you might not get another chance to see them in concert,” I reminded him. “Isn’t it a final tour?”

“Not a big deal. Maybe next time.” Aaron was still smiling, but suddenly it seemed strained.

Hmm … what part of
final tour
didn’t he understand?

“One or two pancakes?” he asked.

“None for me. Thanks anyway.”

“No problem. I’ll just freeze these up for later.” He got into Granny’s old oak cupboard and started rummaging for freezer bags.

I opened my mouth to ask him why he’d bought the concert tickets in the first place, but was interrupted by my phone.

It was Tim.

“Hello,” I answered.

“Hey, Izzy. How are you doing this beautiful morning?”

I couldn’t help but shudder a little. It was anything but a beautiful morning. Even the weather sucked.

But it was things like this that totally made me believe that bit about Tim really being an undercover angel. No matter how dreary things got, he could find a way to be optimistic, if not downright sunny.

I figured there was no sense in ruining his morning, so I kept my opinion to myself. “I’m doing okay. How are things at work? I should be in soon.”

“That’s why I’m calling.  We received a call from the Mystique County Sheriff’s Department. It seems that a Mr. Charles Baker filed a complaint against your sister. He claims that Annabelle put a spell on his hands and turned them neon-orange.”

Crap! The last thing I needed at the moment was for my wayward sister to be stirring up trouble.

“I’ll see if I can find out what’s going on.”

“Good. I was hoping you could stop by and have a talk with her on your way in,” Tim informed me.

“Yeah, I’ll do that. See you soon,” I told him before ending the call.

Getting up from the kitchen chair, I turned my attention to Uncle Aaron. “Well, it seems there is a crisis with Annabelle. I’ll have to stop by and see you later.”

Aaron nodded. “Give Annabelle my love.”

I froze.

Now that really wasn’t Aaron. He and Annabelle got along about as good as cats and dogs.

It would be more like him to shake his head and say something along the lines of,
I told you she was an uncontrollable, wicked witch
.

Thinking of cats brought to mind Dutch and Dilly. I hadn’t seen the cats around lately. “Where have Dutch and Dilly disappeared to?” I asked.

“I put them outside because they were giving me attitude. I haven’t seen them since,” he said, without looking up from the freezer bags he was filling with pancakes.

“Maybe you should go and look for them. Granny won’ t be too happy if she comes home and finds her cats gone.”

“I’ll look around today,” he promised.

There was a good chance the Uncle Aaron I knew, would have kept to his word to look for the cats. I wasn’t so sure about this new and improved Aaron.

Annabelle was exactly where she usually was on Saturday mornings. At the Sandbar, supervising the delivery of her weekly supply shipment.

This morning she was watching carefully as a delivery driver unloaded several cases of Jamaican rum.

Instead of her usual dark and seductive black leather attire, Annabelle was wearing jeans and a red plaid shirt. She even had her long red hair pulled back in a ponytail.

“Hey, sis! What brings you to this part of the island?” she asked, her green eyes sparkling with mischief.

My sister was well aware of what had brought me to the Sandbar on a Saturday morning.

“Chuck made a complaint against you. He says you put a spell on his hands and turned them orange.”

“Oh that backwards brute deserves it! He wouldn’t keep his hands off my ass. I told him I was going to make sure all the ladies were warned of his wandering hands.”

“Well turning them neon orange should do the trick.” I nodded, more or less agreeing with Annabelle’s handling of the situation.

Annabelle looked up from the case of rum she was inspecting for broken bottles. “Maybe he’ll learn to keep his hands to himself.”

Sighing, I sat down on an empty wooden crate. “Could be he might have already learned his lesson.”

“Are you suggesting that I reverse the spell?”

“Well, it might save you from being put on the ACMU watch list. Besides, you don’t really want to make him live with orange hands the rest of his life, do you?”

I decided it was best not to let Annabelle know that she was already on the ACMU watch list, but it was only due to her involvement with those Black Moon witches.

“I’ll think about it,” she said, her tone flippant and noncommittal.

There was no doubt in my mind that my sister would eventually reverse the spell, but the question was,
when
?

It wouldn’t do a lot of good to push her, so I steered the conversation to Uncle Aaron.

“Have you noticed how weird Aaron has been acting lately?”

“You mean weirder than usual?”

I nodded.

“I haven’t seen him in awhile, but Skeet called this morning to tell me never mind about covering for Aaron at the station. He was in a tizzy because Aaron decided to stay home and bake cookies.”

Again I nodded. “That’s true. I stopped by today. The house looks like something out of a homemaker’s magazine.”

Annabelle stood and put her hands on her hips. “And that’s a bad thing … why?”

“Because that isn’t Uncle Aaron.”

Annabelle’s eyes took on that faraway look they got whenever she was deep in thought.

Finally, she shrugged. “Maybe someone put a spell on him.”

“Maybe,” I agreed, though reluctantly.

Kneeling next to the crate I was sitting on, she draped an arm across my shoulders. “Tell you what. I’ll ask around and see if anyone knows about a spell being put on Uncle Aaron.”

What Annabelle really meant was that she was going to talk to the Moonlight Dell Witches to see if any of them had put a spell on our uncle.  If there anyone in town who might do something like that, it would probably be them.

“Also … there was a grave robbery last night. Have you heard of anyone new on the island? Maybe someone into necromancy?”

Annabelle shook her head. “That’s terrible. I hope you find whoever did it. No doubt they are going to stir up the ghosts. Maybe even Captain Marsh.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. Annabelle and Muriel were absolutely nuts about the Captain Marsh myth.

* * *

It was nearly noon when I made it into the office. That didn’t leave me a whole lot of time to research the camera, but I did discover that it was used during the Victorian era, and according to the name etched in the metal, the manufacturer had been based in London.

The fact that I’d found an actual manufacturer didn’t rule out the possibility that it was a fake.

Once the camera reached DC, they’d bring in an expert who would be able to verify if it was authentic or not.

* * *

As I was pulling my first two loaves of gumdrop cake from the oven, there was a knock at my front door. Startled, I came close to dropping the pan onto my freshly cleaned floor.

I was startled only because the knock was so unexpected. No one came to visit, let alone on a Saturday night.

After placing the loaves on a cooling rack, I answered the door.

I wasn’t so surprised to see Julius standing there, but I was taken aback by the fact that he was holding bags in his hands.

“So love … I knew you’d be so busy that you’d forget to eat. Feel like some Chinese?” he asked, holding up two white bags with Chinese writing.

For the first time in longer than I could remember, Julius hadn’t shown up and hit my cranky button first thing.

In return for not making me ornery, I gave him a bright smile. “Thank you, Julius. That was very thoughtful of you.”

“Don’t get too accustomed to it,” Julius tossed the words over his shoulder as he was headed to the kitchen.

I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if Julius was always nice like this, but I figured it was probably a good thing he wasn’t. It would be too easy to like him, and then he could really seduce me to the dark side.

But still, he’d been human once.

When we were settled at the kitchen table with our dinner, I asked, “So what was Julius the rock star like? Did he have a wife … kids? What was his favorite Christmas song?”

“I would say his favorite Christmas song was Jingle Bell Rock. As for family … the only family he had was his brother.”

For an instant I thought I saw sadness in his eyes.

Could a demon really be sad?

Thinking it best to move the conversation to something else, I jumped out of my chair. “Since you brought up Jingle Bell Rock, I wonder if Uncle Aaron is playing Christmas music tonight?”

In the living room, I switched on the stereo. It was already set to WRCK. Instead of the music that I’d been expecting to hear, it was Aaron’s voice. He seemed to be in the middle of reading a Christmas story.

We caught only the last of,
The Night Before Christmas
.

Although the voice coming over the speakers was familiar, the person just didn’t seem like my uncle.

“Julius! Check this out!”

Julius appeared in the arched doorway between the living room and the kitchen.

“Uncle Aaron prerecorded his show. He’s getting ready to tell another story.”

“So.” Julius shrugged. “Maybe he wanted to do something different this year.”

While I listened, I tried to pinpoint what it was that seemed so different about Uncle Aaron’s voice.

“Once upon a time, there was a jolly old elf they called St. Nicolas …”

There was no emotion or color in his voice. That is what was so different. If Uncle Aaron was anything, he was colorful.

Suddenly my vision blurred, and his voice seemed more like echoes. As I swayed on my feet, Julius was there to catch me before I could hit the floor.

And then he was running toward the stereo.

The next thing I knew, I was lying on the sofa with Julius standing over me.

“What happened?” I asked.

“You were becoming hypnotized by the story,” he explained.

“That’s impossible. My uncle couldn’t hypnotize a mouse.”

“I hate to break it to you, but that’s exactly what he was doing. If I hadn’t turned the stereo off, you’d probably be a walking puppet by now.”

“What the hell is he up to?” I asked, although I didn’t really expect Julius to have an answer, but he should, being a demon and all.

“If I had to guess, I’d say he was possessed.”

My eyes widened. “Is he?”

“Not by anyone down below. I’d have recognized it in his voice.”

“That’s a relief,” I sighed.

“Well not really.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, drawing my brows together.

“Not only did I not sense an oppressive soul. I couldn’t sense any soul at all.”

I could actually feel my heart fall to my feet. Uncle Aaron was a pain, but no way was I going to stand for someone stealing his soul.

The question was, if his body didn’t have a soul, what had happened to it?