Cat-astrophic Spells Read online

  As soon as things started to slow down, Min and Amalia paid us a visit, which was a refreshing and much-needed break from all the talk of mediums and murder. After they left, our after-work and evening crowd came in a steady stream until finally we turned around the CLOSED sign and locked the door.

  Before I could speak, I saw a strange movement outside the big window. I stepped a little closer and peered through the glass. I had to cup my hands around my eyes to cut down on the glare, then I saw a cat crossing the street. It froze for a second and looked my way. Then it darted into the shadows.

  “What it sees, she knows!” I heard Treacle’s warning in my head. I couldn’t be sure it was the same tuxedo cat that had been at my house, but none of us were willing to take any chances. We all retreated to the safety of Bea’s house.

  “So, did Levi say who will get murdered?” I rocked slowly in the big swing on Bea’s front porch. “Maybe give us directions to their house? Maybe tell us the name of the killer, too?”

  Aunt Astrid sat in the wide-backed, wicker chair, staring into space but seeing something neither Bea nor I could. Bea stood across from me, leaning on the white banister that outlined her entire porch.

  Aunt Astrid was obviously amazed by Levi’s channeling ability, but she couldn’t tell him about his particular gift. She didn’t feel as if it were her place, plus it would open up the possibility that he could discover the true heritage of the Greenstone women. My aunt was not willing to risk our secret.

  “It was as if someone had flipped a switch,” she said, shaking her head in amazement. “He was completely unaware of the transition. It was seamless. One minute, he was smiling, plain old Levi Cummings, and the next…” She swallowed hard. “It just began. Whatever was communicating through him was just waiting, as though it knew it was in the spotlight.”

  She then described an experience I didn’t think I’d ever want to encounter. I certainly didn’t want to sit across the table, face-to-face, with whatever had become our informant.

  Levi had taken his seat, and the second Aunt Astrid reached out to pat his hand, he gasped. He sucked in a great gulp of air as if he were afraid he might not get another one, and his eyes rolled over white. The corners of his mouth contorted into a vicious grimace, and he leaned in close to Aunt Astrid. He was so close, she could not only feel his hot breath in her face, but she could hear the echoes from the dimension in which the entity was poking through. She heard other sounds, too… clicks, buzzes, and whispers from unseen spirits that may have hoped to tell their own tales.

  “It’s going to happen again,” Levi said—well, not Levi, but our spirit informant. “All those cars driving by, and no one sees. It will happen again.”

  “What will happen again?” Aunt Astrid asked.

  Levi’s body began to jerk back and forth just enough to be unsettling. Something laughed through Levi, but the laugh sounded more like a hiss.

  “Death. It surrounds her. She summons it, and it will burst through like it did before. And she wants that cat!”

  “Wait!” I said, interrupting the story. “He said that? He said this person wants Treacle? What for?” My eyes brimmed with tears. I had never worried about Treacle before. Letting him out to roam was part of our routine. It was innocent, and we trusted each other, but someone was trying to ruin that. Treacle would go crazy if I kept him inside all the time. How dare someone do that to us? How dare she.

  When Aunt Astrid nodded, Bea quickly came to my side and slipped her arm around my shoulder. We listened to the rest of my aunt’s story.

  “I asked it who. I asked it to tell me who was going to die. Who was going to be put through this agony?” She brushed her hair from her face and looked out onto the darkening street, which was quiet and peaceful. “All it would say was that the daughter knows. And that she was going to suffer for it.”

  “She’ll do it again,” Levi had jeered. “She’ll keep doing it. She doesn’t know how to stop, and she won’t even try.”

  “And that was the end of it. Levi’s face became his soft, unassuming self, and his eyes were back seeing this world and not clouded by the other’s visions. The poor boy asked me what I’d been talking about as his mind seemed to have just drifted off on its own for a second.”

  “So, when are we going to Brit’s place?” Bea asked, standing from the swing and brushing off her pants.

  “Yeah, I’m ready now if you ladies are.” I pushed myself off the seat with a grunt. Bea always was the more ladylike of the two of us.

  “I agree, Cath.” Aunt Astrid smoothed out her gypsy-style skirt. She looked like a fortuneteller, exotic and mysterious. You’d never guess she could fling you across the room with the wave of her hand and a few chosen words if she absolutely had to.

  “Mom, maybe you should sit this one out. It’s going to be a mess, I can just tell. From what Cath described and what I have seen so far, I have the feeling the psychic backwash is going to be darn near revolting. And—”

  “I was thinking the same thing, Bea, honey, but about you.”

  “Me? What for? I can help.”

  “Of course you can, my dear. But the facts are that Cath knows how to get there, and I’m the only one here with the strength to combat those witches’ vials. If she made them correctly, and from the sound of it, she has, then neither one of you would be strong enough to get past them. Plus,”—she stepped up to her daughter and cupped Bea’s chin in her hand—“if anything happens to Jake, you have to be here, and the cats must also remain here.”

  “Won’t you please take care of Treacle? Make sure he doesn’t get out or that anyone gets a hold of him?” My gut felt tight when I asked Bea to do that for me. On one hand, I worried about Treacle. On the other hand, I worried about myself. Those witches’ vials knocked me out, and I was not looking forward to encountering them again.

  Skala

  With much trepidation, Aunt Astrid and I made our way to the trailer park, but this time, we drove through the main entrance.

  We weren’t there to skulk around in the shadows or sneak up on Brit. We were there to find out what we were dealing with. There was no time to play games. The trailer park was dark, and crickets kept up their vigil in the nearby woods. Moths and June bugs circled lazily around the fluorescent lights, which gave off a queasy green light matching my complexion at the moment.

  “I can feel it already.” Aunt Astrid pointed in the direction I needed to follow. “This poor girl is terrified. I can sense it. The vials were put together very well. Why didn’t she let us help her sooner?”

  I remained quiet. The nausea and sweats were getting worse with each inch we rolled down the gravel drive. It felt as though a cold, clammy fog had seeped deep into my body, all the way to the bone, until even the slightest movement made me want to vomit. “That’s the place,” I said, feeling dry heaves race up my throat. I pointed to the little trailer with all the bottles around it. The curtains were drawn, and the car I had seen Brit pull up in was parked next to it. The broom was also lying across the threshold.

  “You wait here.” Aunt Astrid, who normally maneuvered slowly and purposefully, picking her way through simultaneous dimensions, was walking quickly and nervously, like someone who was late for an appointment.

  I nodded and kept my eyes open in little slits, hoping nothing would ambush us. I was in no condition to fight off a mosquito, let alone an attack from anyone. If I closed my eyes, the entire world tipped over, flipping me violently around like a ping-pong ball on ocean waves. But when I opened my eyes, everything spun quickly, as if the Earth’s rotation had sped up a thousand times its normal speed. If I even slightly turned my head, I was afraid I’d heave all over the inside of my car.

  Looking around suspiciously, Aunt Astrid waved her arms. Within an instant, a floral-patterned sheet and a tattered pink towel flew like exotic birds from a neighbor’s clothesline and gently landed over the vials on the stairs. The little jars set all around the trailer, but covering just those few m
ade a big enough difference that I was at least able to open my eyes.

  Without hesitation, Aunt Astrid picked up the broom and tossed it over the stairs. The broom must have done something to her hand because I could see her shaking it and rubbing it against the back of her skirt as she knocked on the door with her other hand.

  When the door opened, I could hear Brit yell. “Oh, no! Does she have her cat?”

  My aunt tried to settle Brit down, but the girl shook off my aunt’s gesture and continued to cuss and shout. “You’ve got ten seconds to get off my property before I call the police!”

  I rolled my eyes. Our visit was not going well.

  “No!” Brit said. As Aunt Astrid calmly talked to her in a low voice, I could hear her say “no” again. A “yes” that was much quieter. A “maybe.” An “I don’t think so.”

  Finally, I heard the mumbling of a halfway civil conversation. Aunt Astrid said something quiet to calm her down that I couldn’t make out, and after a few seconds, Aunt Astrid waved for me to come up to the trailer.

  I climbed out of the car, still feeling nauseated as I inched my way up the wooden steps to the front door.

  After following my aunt inside, I closed the door tightly behind me. Brit walked past me, slipping the chain lock into place then peeking outside as if she were expecting to see someone else peering back at her.

  I took a deep breath. The place smelled like vanilla, and I noticed two little votive candles burning on either side of a picture. The photograph was that of a very young Marvin Clegg and the young woman who had been his wife. The picture was lovely, and I would remember it later, but at the moment, the sickeningly sweet smell of the candles was making my stomach fold over onto itself.

  “Can I offer you guys some coffee or maybe a glass of water?” Brit sounded much calmer, nicer, to my surprise. Aunt Astrid could work wonders on people.

  “I’d like water,” I said, shocked at the weakness of my own voice.

  My Aunt Astrid looked at me sternly as if to say, “Just hold on.” We were there to get information then get out. It seemed odd that my aunt had focused on me as if she had just seen me. I had never seen that look from her, and it was a little unnerving, like seeing someone who’d had long hair all her life suddenly show up with her head shaved… still the same person yet not.

  Brit went into the little kitchenette, grabbed a bottle of water from her fridge, and quickly handed it to me.

  Twisting off the cap, I took a quick, cold sip and felt a little better. Holding the cold bottle to my forehead, I followed them into the sitting area.

  “Are you all right?” Brit asked, looking me up and down with what I could only perceive as reluctant concern.

  “Yeah, um… I think it was just something I ate. I’ll be fine.” I tried to brighten, smiling and nodding as I spoke.

  “Brit, we don’t want to take up too much of your time but… well, we need your help,” Aunt Astrid said.

  “I can’t help you.” Brit sat down on the edge of a rose-colored recliner. She looked around at the windows, stood, peeked out between them, then pulled the curtains tightly shut. She took her seat again on the edge of the chair.

  “What are you looking for?” Aunt Astrid asked. “Are you expecting someone?”

  Brit looked at us as if we had lobsters coming out of our ears. “Don’t pretend you don’t know she’s out there.”

  “Who?” Aunt Astrid asked.

  “Look, you said you needed to tell me something important. You said it had to do with my father and that you knew his heart attack wasn’t… natural.”

  “You’re afraid of something, Brit. Please, tell us what, or who?” My aunt took a seat on the edge of the couch closest to Brit and stretched out her hand to touch Brit’s gently.

  Brit swallowed, and tears filled her eyes. She stood up and walked to the door. For a second, I was sure she was going to rip off the chain, yank it open, and tell us not to let it hit us on our backsides on the way out. But she didn’t. She peeked out the peephole then turned to face us, rubbing her hands together.

  “She’s constantly loitering around, and if it isn’t her, it’s her disgusting toady.” Brit’s voice was a harsh whisper. “I tried to like her. I tried to be nice to her, but something is wrong. Really wrong.” Brit tapped her temple, her voice still low and raspy.

  Aunt Astrid straightened her back and spoke low but confidently. “Brit, my daughter Bea’s husband works for the police department. He’s a detective and was at your father’s house after you had called for help.”

  “Was he the really good-looking guy? Detective Samberg?” Brit asked, her eyes tired but twinkling a little.

  I couldn’t help but cough as a little water went down the wrong pipe when she mentioned Samberg as the really good-looking guy. I suppose Blake could be kind of handsome, in a brooding, pensive sort of way. He had the ability to look at a person and make them feel as if they were the only person in the room, and that could be quite terrifying if you were being interrogated for murder.

  “No. Detective Jake Williams,” Aunt Astrid said.

  Brit nodded but didn’t say anything more.

  “Brit, he said he saw writing on the walls, symbols and weird letters. His gut told him there was more to the story than you were letting on. But he didn’t have any proof, so the case was ruled natural causes and closed. But it wasn’t natural, was it, Brit?”

  Her eyes filled with tears. She shook her head.

  “Can you tell us what you think is going on? Who did you try to be nice to?” I asked, my curiosity overcoming the nausea.

  “That writing isn’t on the walls anymore.” Brit looked down at the carpet as if she were seeing her father’s house in her mind. “It fades away. I don’t know what it says. I think she just does it to mess with people.”

  “Who?” I was nearly begging. I wanted a name and preferably an address, then I wanted to get out of there and start feeling better. Aunt Astrid seemed totally unfazed.

  Bea crossed the room, pulled back the long, heavy curtains, and peeked out the sliding glass door. I noticed a line of white along the floor. She had poured salt there. “This is what I do. I don’t have any schedule because she’ll see me, and I don’t want her to know I’ll be at any certain place at any certain time. So every day is different. Every day is confusing and messy. I can’t even get into the house I grew up in to tie up the loose ends because she’ll eventually come by.”

  Wiping her eyes as she spoke, Brit seemed to have transformed from the woman who stole my cat into a girl who was alone in the world.

  Aunt Astrid produced a beautiful lace handkerchief from her purse and handed it to Brit.

  “This is so pretty.” Brit said with a little smile. “I don’t want to ruin it.”

  She tried to hand it back, but my aunt shook her head. “It’s okay, honey. I’ve got hundreds of them.”

  Whatever was in those eight words was enough to break the wall Brit had built around herself. She broke down and sobbed. “I miss him so much. I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye. It didn’t have to happen. She did this. I don’t care what the police say, or what the funeral home says, or what you people say! She killed him! And now, she’s coming after me! And I’m all alone!”

  Aunt Astrid pursed her lips together and took hold of Brit’s hand. “You are not alone, Brit. Please, tell me her name.”

  Brit looked at Aunt Astrid then at me as if she suddenly realized we were in the room. Swallowing hard, she spoke barely over a whisper. “Jennifer Skala. That is her name.”

  High Priestess

  Neither my aunt nor myself had heard the woman’s name before.

  “My father said he knew her from years back before he met my mother,” Brit said. “He said they had gone on a couple of dates, but that she was always a little too clingy, you know? The kind of girl who always had to be told she was pretty. We’ve all met that kind.”

  Images of Darla Castellan flipping her hair at the café and g
etting that poor schmuck she’d just met to carry her bags popped into my head. Yes, Brit. We had all met that kind. I felt my stomach grind over on itself at the thought of my own high school nemesis.

  “So, she showed up again at my school a few years after my mother had passed away. She came up to me and asked if I was Melvin Clegg’s daughter. She made it sound like they had kept in touch over the years. I talked with her on the phone. I went to lunch with her. She told me about places she had gone and things she had done and that she was a high priestess in some Wiccan group. I don’t know. I just laughed it off.” Brit wiped her nose and stared at the carpet.

  “What did your father do when you told him you were talking with her?” I asked.

  Brit chewed her bottom lip. “He didn’t seem to mind at first. He told me she was a little on the crazy side when he knew her, but that she had probably mellowed by now. I liked her, sort of. We’d go shopping sometimes, and she’d ask me all about him. When I look back on it, I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. But she was really intrusive, you know?”

  Still sweating and hoping my stomach would hold still if I did, I slowly leaned in a little closer as Brit continued her tale.

  “She wanted to know if my father was dating. She wanted to know if I thought he’d like her to visit. And she was always asking me to tell him stuff like she had her boobs done and that she wasn’t seeing anyone and had never been married. How could I have missed all this? I just repeated it all to my father like a parrot. I don’t even know what I was hoping for. I didn’t want my father to date this woman. But yet, I kept doing what she said.”

  “It’s not your fault, Brit. Some people can be very persuasive, manipulative,” Aunt Astrid said seriously. “Good-hearted people often have to learn the hard way how to spot these kinds of people.” My aunt’s face was getting angrier by the minute from the story she was hearing.