Dark Corner

Chapter 23

Mr. Tangledwood’s Wild Ride

Abigail moaned and rolled over on the couch. I had pulled the afghan over her to ward off the evening chill. Pixel was still asleep on her feet.

Mrs. Twiggs came bounding down the stairs, humming. It was five thirty a.m. “Time to make the scones,” she murmured. Thursday was scone day, Friday muffins, Saturday cinnamon buns, Sunday and Monday closed, Tuesday fluffy croissants buttery maybe some chocolate, some almond, Wednesdays donuts, but always fresh-baked iced cookies, petit fours and coffeecakes. Full breakfast usually consisted of egg soufflés, eggs courtesy of Henrietta and the girls from the small henhouse in the garden behind the Leaf & Page. Each day you could set a calendar by the smell coming out of the kitchen. Mrs. Twiggs stopped as she walked past the opening to the sitting room, walked backward and peeked in. “Terra, why’s Abigail on the couch?”

“Mrs. Twiggs, I think we should have a talk.”

She reached around the door, slipped her apron over her head, and tied it. She glanced at the cuckoo clock. “Okay, Terra, it has to be quick. The day is ticking away from us.”

Albert gave her a wink from his portrait.

We sat at the small kitchen table. “Abigail was drinking last night and I’m afraid had a little too much. She is not feeling well.”

“Where was she drinking? How? She’s underage.”

I gave her a look that like really, you don’t think a witch could manage to acquire alcohol.

“I guess she’s still a young girl trying to find herself.”

“That’s not all, Mrs. Twiggs. Charlotte was with us. There was an incident. Abigail used her magic.”

“And Charlotte saw?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, my this is a pickle. What do we do? Where is Charlotte? Is she okay?”

“Yes, Bryson followed her. She made it home to the Tangledwood Estate. He made sure she got in safely.”

Pixel stuck up his head, let out a crude belch, and closed his eyes again.

“Well, surely Charlotte must be aware that her great-aunt had magical powers. In fact, shouldn’t Charlotte carry the same bloodline?”

“Not necessarily. I don’t see any signs that she has any Wiccan blood.”

“Oh, that’s a shame. I had hoped…”

Before she could answer, I spoke. “I had hoped the same that she was our ninth Wiccan. There’s something else we need to talk about. It concerns Mrs. Lund. I wasn’t sure at first, but the night we went to the Biltmore basement and found her dead, I felt a presence. A ghost. I felt it again when we were doing inventory.”

“Terra, I feel the presence of ghosts all throughout the Biltmore Estate. I can’t see them like you do at least not yet. I’m still a novice, but I get inklings of their presence. Goose bumps. Chills on the back of my neck. That’s what caught my attention. I couldn’t see this ghost. I went and spoke with a friend of mine, a ghost friend of mine. He told me that the ghost I was sensing was a soldier from the Civil War.”

I considered revealing the Dark Corner to Mrs. Twiggs, but it wasn’t time. “I believe he knows what happened to Mrs. Lund. I don’t think he killed her. Most ghosts don’t have the ability to move objects in this world.”

Mrs. Twiggs glanced over her shoulder. Albert had come to listen. He had his hand on her shoulder. She smiled even though she couldn’t feel it. Albert smiled back. “How do we contact him?”

“I’m still puzzling that out.”

“Terra, why can I see Albert but not the other ghosts?”

“Because Albert wants you to see him.”

She smiled, smoothed her apron. Mrs. Twiggs was a woman of routine. She bustled around the kitchen, making batter and then baking her scones.

After the breakfast crowd left, Mrs. Twiggs took a tea break. Abigail finished washing dishes and sat down to join us. She did not look well; her face was pale and her eyes bloodshot. She plopped down next to Mrs. Twiggs and rubbed her eyes. “Okay, let’s get this over. Everyone is thinking it. I screwed up. I used magic in front of a human. I get it. I was wrong,” Abigail said.

“You must have terrified Charlotte. I can only imagine,” Mrs. Twiggs said.

“Well, I wasn’t thinking straight. She was in danger, and I tried to help her. She’s my friend.” Abigail turned defensive. “I’m going to go talk to her.”

“You think that’s a good idea? Terra said she is afraid of you. It must have been quite a shock.”

“What do we do?”

“I think it’s time we told her the truth about Mrs. Tangledwood,” I said. “She has a right to know her family bloodline.”

Mrs. Twiggs walked over and flipped the sign on the door to Closed. “We should go now,” she said. We all climbed into her Volvo. Tracker hopped in the backseat next to Pixel, who swatted him on the nose. Tracker growled and snapped back. We arrived at the Tangledwood Estate in time to see Charlotte packing her Honda Accord. I thought how strange with so many exotic autos in the garage she was leaving in the car she came in. She froze when she saw us. Abigail ran out of the car and toward her. Charlotte inched slowly toward her driver door.

“Wait, Charlotte, let me explain,” she said.

“Look, Abigail, I thought at first I imagined last night. I had a lot to drink. When I sobered up this morning, I couldn’t shake that image, and then I saw the blood on my shirt. That really happened, didn’t it?”

Mrs. Twiggs came over and put her arm around Charlotte. She had a calming effect in situations that arose such as this. “Charlotte, dear, Abigail is a good witch.”

“Like of the North?” Charlotte asked with a half smile still taking a step back.

“Actually, dear, direction does play a very important role in the fairy world. Your great-aunt was a good Wiccan,” Mrs. Twiggs said. “In fact she—”

“Wiccan?” Charlotte interrupted.

“Yes, dear, Wiccan—half mortal, half witch. A Wiccan comes from the bloodline of witches, but throughout years of mingling with humans, that bloodline thins. Some revert back to humans, other become Wiccans. Your great-aunt kept your bloodline and was a Wiccan.”

“Does that mean you think I’m a Wiccan?”

Mrs. Twiggs smiled. “Not necessarily. I haven’t seen any signs that you carry your aunt’s bloodline.”

“This is too much to take in. I didn’t know my great-aunt. I’m here about my inheritance. This is too much for me.” She paused. “I suppose you’re a Wiccan too.”

“Yes, dear, all the ladies of the Biltmore Society are Wiccans. We have been charged with keeping Asheville safe.”

“Safe from what?”

“Just as there is good white magic, there’s black magic that preys on the innocents.”

“That’s very interesting. I have to go now.” Charlotte reached for her door handle.

As she did, I could smell the pipe smoke again coming from the garage. Abigail turned her head toward the garage. She smelled it too. She twitched her nose. We heard a car start. The garage door flew open, and the 1961 Mercedes convertible roared out of the garage and stopped inches in front of us, engine revving. Charlotte shook. “I don’t like this. Is this black or white magic?”

Abigail stepped over to the car, putting a hand on the hood above the idling engine, and spoke an incantation. Mr. Tangledwood showed himself to us. He was sitting in the driver’s seat, wearing a driver’s jacket, leather gloves and ascot, and smoking his pipe. He raised his hands in front of him, studying them as though he had never seen them before. He then looked at us, surprised and curious.

Charlotte said, “Who’s that?”

“That’s your great-uncle.”

“My deceased great-uncle?” Charlotte reached for the door handle of her car.

Mr. Tangledwood tried to speak, but no words came out. Abigail placed her finger on his mouth and then he spoke. “Where am I? Who are you?”

“You are with the living. We are friends of your wife,” Abigail said.

“You know Emma?”

“You know me, Beatrice.” Mrs. Twiggs stepped closer to the car.

“Yes, Beatrice, I remember now. Emma speaks of you often.”

“You’ve seen Emma recently?”

Mr. Tangledwood appeared confused. “Emma worries. She worries about her great-niece. She’s been trying to reach out to her.” Mr. Tangledwood vaporized; the car sped down the driveway and out of view. I could see Charlotte’s head was spinning. This was too much for a girl her age, too much for any human.

“Abigail,” I said. “Tell Charlotte that we’ll—you’ll—keep her safe.”

“Char, believe me. I went through everything you’re going through when I first got to Asheville. I was singing on the street, trying to make gas money. When I learned I was a witch, I thought I had finally gone crazy. I had heard voices in my head since I was a little girl. It wasn’t a far stretch to think I’d finally lost it.”

Charlotte slid down the car and sat on the pavement. She put her hands around her knees and slowly rocked. “This too much, too much.”

Abigail sat next to her. “Look, last night I was trying to save you.”

“Yes, I know. Thank you. If you hadn’t come in, he would have, well you know.”

“Yes, Char, I care about you. You’re my friend. It’s going to be all right. Really.” Abigail put her arm around Charlotte’s shoulders.

Charlotte looked up. “It’s kind of cool having a best friend that’s a witch. Think of all the trouble we can get into.”

Abigail laughed. “That’s it. That’s the spirit.”

“Don’t say spirit please.”

They both laughed.