Witch Upon a Star (A Midnight Magic Mystery) (24 page)

“We can’t tell you nothing else,” Philip grumbles, “because we don’t know nothing else. The only people who came here came with his lordship, and Mr. Asher barely spoke to them.”

“Except for that one girl,” Ellen reminds her husband.

“A girl? Brown hair and eyes? About sixteen? Pillowy lips?”
I prompt.

“That’s her,” says Ellen. “She just showed up at the gate about six months ago. Mr. Asher had us turn her away. She came back every night for over a fortnight, but he refused to see her. That last night she got so upset, she glamoured Philip to invite her in, then smashed all of the photo frames in the house. She was about to burn the photos in the fireplace when Mr. Asher finally rose from his coffin and literally tossed her out on her bum without a word said.”

Definitely Christine. “Has she come back since? Did she mention where she’s been living?” I ask.

“We didn’t exactly have a conversation,” Philip says.

“She must have mentioned—” Nathan says, taking another looming step.

“You calling me a liar, sir? I said she didn’t,” Philip snaps, moving his finger to the trigger. “And that’s all we know. Now, get out before I shoot you. You’re trespassing.”

Merde
. Somehow I manage a gracious grin. “Well, thank you for your assistance. If Asher does return, or you think of anything else to help us find him, please call us.” I pull out a piece of paper to scribble down the F.R.E.A.K.S. main number. Philip reluctantly snatches it from me.

“Thank you. We don’t want to trouble you further. We’ll see ourselves out. Come on, Nathan.” I take his hand and lead him from the room, down the hall, and out the front door into the bright, blue day.

“They know more than they’re letting on,” Nathan says as we continue up the gravel driveway.

“Most likely.”

Nathan stops dead. “Then what the fuck are we doing? We should march back in there and—”

“And what? Torture the elderly couple? Make an enemy of one of the most powerful vampires on Earth who happens to know our home address?”

“He helped Asher! He hid that … murdering, rapist bastard for years! He led that psycho right to our doorstep! And those people,” Nathan shouts, pointing at the house, “were gonna stand by while he kidnapped my children and turned my wife into a walking corpse! I don’t just wanna torture them, Annie, I want to fucking kill them! I—”

I grab my husband by the coat, receiving a few hundred tin-gling volts through me, but still yank him against me into a firm hug. His heart thumps wildly, so fast I worry he’s about to have a heart attack. At first he stands as rigid as granite, but I hold on. After a few seconds, hesitantly he raises his arms, lowers them again then gives in to me, embracing me as desperately as I do him. This man is my strength, my light, and if he loses that, his beautiful sparking essence, we’ll both be adrift forever. “That house …” he says, voice quaking.

“I know.”

“He’s insane.”

“I know.”

“I’m gonna kill him, Annie. He has to die.”

I squeeze the love of my life tighter. “I know.”

We stand in the middle of the driveway, in the monster’s beautiful prison, clutching one another until all his rage, all his hate
dissipates, and my Nathan returns to me. Damn you, Asher. Damn
you for pushing this wonderful man into your darkness for even a moment. And damn me for the same sin. Never again.

“I love you,” I whisper. “I love you
so
much.”

“Not half as much as I love you,” Nathan whispers back. “I won’t let him touch you again. Never again. I promise.”

Took the words right out of my mouth.

monte carlo, monaco

Jersey was almost worth
all the emotional
Sturm und Drang
. Almost. While waiting for the ferry, we phoned Kansas with the leads from the financials. Dr. Black promised they’d interview the private investigator Asher hired along with tracing the bank account and credit card number we uncovered. The boys were gone,
but when we reached our hotel in Monte Carlo several hours later,
they deigned to give us five minutes before Agent Lau and Tara took them roller skating again. Max even perked up when he told me about the Big Bird skates he always selects, though he may choose Scrooge McDuck today.

As I listened to their chipper voices chat about watching
Doctor Who
episodes with Oliver and playing magic with Martina, my body physically ached for them as if I were going through drug withdrawal. I would have sold my soul in that moment to be
able to scoop them into my arms and inhale their scent, that strange mix of shampoo and strawberry fruit rollups they adore. Before
this we’ve never spent but one night apart. If they’re missing us or upset in any way, it does not come through over the telephone. Really, thank the universe for that fact and the F.R.E.A.K.S., even Oliver.

After we hang up, I need to take a few minutes alone in the bathroom. I can barely shut the door before my hands begin to tremble. By the time I flop on the toilet, I can barely draw breath. One conversation with my children and what little vigor I still possess leaves me. I can’t let Nathan see me like this. I can’t. I’ve been using all my willpower to retain my strong veneer for him. In our decade together I have never seen him this grim. Not at crime scenes, not when his development company faced a lawsuit, not even when his stepfather was diagnosed with melanoma. He’s barely spoken, barely released my hand since we left that house of horrors. He even wanted to follow me into the ladies’ toilet at the train station “just in case.” My husband, who apologizes when someone bumps into
him,
snapped at the porter when Nathan accidently made him drop a suitcase. I’ve been so focused on him I haven’t allowed myself permission to process my own emotions. They’ve been skating on the fringes of consciousness, but I walled all the fear and horror away until this moment.

With the faucet running and holding a towel up to my face to mask the sound, I burst into tears, even folding in on myself, hugging my knees. This is madness, absolute utter madness. Asher, oh Asher, what have you become? Was Richard right? Did I do this to you? How could you do this to
me?
He was going
to kill me. Turn me into his undead bride. Use my children to keep
me in line. Imprison us all in that mausoleum. Wipe Nathan from our memories after killing his flesh as well. Evil. And sad.
So
sad.

Yes, fool that I am, a tiny part of me sobs for him as well. I cannot help it. Locked away from the world he so loved, haunting that house, that
prison,
with no human contact. His own personal hell with no escape in sight. Perhaps he really did go mad. I always believed I’d be the one who couldn’t live without him, that if we separated I’d wither and die. Lose my mind. I almost did in Rome. If he’s experienced half the misery I did in those two years, I wouldn’t wish that on any soul, even his.

What am I going to do when I come face-to-face with him?
If
I do. Alain’s the end of the line. Asher’s smart enough to cease using the Jay Asher alias and bank account tied to his crimes. We didn’t talk much about his finances, but I got the sense he had multiple accounts under multiple names for this very contingency. When I joined the F.R.E.A.K.S. I told them a few I recalled which, at least during my tenure there, never had any activity. So Alain is our last, best hope. Our Hail Mary Pass as Nathan would call it. We’re out of moves. Out of options. Out of hope. I just want to go home. To hug my children, sleep in my own bed, chat with Audrey over coffee, laugh at Urkel with Nathan, teach my ballet classes. Get my damn life back. I worked so hard for it. How dare he try to take it from me?

Nathan knocks on the door, drawing me from my misery. “Annie?”

“Be right out.” I rise from the toilet. “
Keep it together, West,
” I whisper to myself.

Oh. I wipe the tears, splash cold water on my face, and smile in the mirror for practice. Be strong, Anna. You are descended from Vikings, men and women who conquered the world. Bloody well act like it. When I step out of the bathroom, Nathan anxiously waits only a foot from the door. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Did you find the theater?”

“It’s only about a kilometer away. Not only did the concierge give me directions, but he actually knows Alain. He goes by the last name DePlass.”

“Good work, husband of mine.”

“Thank you, wife. So, how do we play
this
one?”

“I should go alone. He—”

“Hell no.”

“He—”

“
No
,” Nathan snaps as all the lights in the room flicker. I can practically see the electricity crackling around his aura. “Together or nothing.”

“What? Don’t I look like a girl who can take care of herself?” I ask with a seductive grin. He doesn’t take the bait, if anything the scowl deepens. “Your caveman is showing, husband.”

“Together or nothing.”

I sigh. I’m too exhausted to fight. Plus I don’t think we have enough
money left after this endeavor to replace all the electronics in the hotel if he loses control. “Fine. But remember: we need him. No anger, no frustration, no snapping, no electrocuting. Treat him as you would a client.”

“His ass will be thoroughly kissed by the end of the night.”

“That’s the Nathan West I know and love.” I peck his lips. “Come on. It’s a beautiful night to take in the theater.”

The door to
Le Theatre de Rosa
is locked when we arrive but a quick spell sorts that out. Alain has done well for himself. The theater easily seats five hundred with red velvet cushioned seats, matching red carpet, arching ceilings with fading murals, and a grand crystal chandelier hanging above. As actors rehearse on the immense stage, my old friend observes in the back, I assume jotting down notes of critique. He’s so immersed in the drama onstage he fails to notice our approach.

“Looks like a hit to me,” I say in French. We’ve only ever spoken in that language, I don’t know if he even knows English. “
A Streetcar Named Desire
by Tennessee Williams if memory serves.”

Alain spins around in his seat. If he’s shocked by my presence, it fails to register on his pretty face. Nothing does. His expression is deceptively neutral as I slide into the seat beside him. Nathan remains standing. “I certainly hope so. We could use a hit. No one desires to experience live theater anymore, it is all film and television now. Such a shame. It is enough for one to become a Luddite.” He pauses to gaze behind me. “Is this the husband? Not at all what I imagined. He seems quite plebian.”

“Is he talking about me?” Nathan asks.

“Yes, I am,” says Alain in English.

“Nathan West, Alain. Alain, my husband Nathan West.”

“
Enchant
é
,” Alain says.

“What were you saying about me?” Nathan asks again.

“Simply that you are quite … tall,” he replies with a gracious grin. “Please sit, Mr. West. Those long limbs of yours must be weary
after your long journey from Londontown.” Alain pauses to return his attention my way. “I was wondering if you would grace me with an appearance during your quest across Europe.”

“You heard about us?” Nathan asks, taking the seat beside me.

“Of course. It is all anyone is gossiping about. Last night alone I received three calls, one from the Lord of London himself, regarding the reappearance of the infamous Anna Asher.”

“What are they saying?” I ask.

“Simply that Asher wished to reclaim his consort, and when the bid failed, he once again had to go to ground because said consort and her electrifying husband wished to claim his head.”

“Yeah, because this is all her fault,” Nathan spits out.

I touch my husband’s hand to calm him. “He hired Didier to kill Nathan and kidnap me and my children,” I clarify.

“Yes, I heard that version as well,” says Alain.

“Suppose all
that
was her fault too,” Nathan says.

“Nathan …” I warn.

“It is fine, Mrs. West,” Alain says. “I take no offense. A husband should defend his wife’s honor against malicious gossip. You do have precious few friends left in our world. To us you are merely the strumpet who attempted to burn her lover alive, then skipped off into the sunset without a glimpse back. Not to mention your turncoat antics against my poor youngling Oliver. I have heard he still remains a slave to your government to this very day. You betrayed two beloved members of our community, and we all have mighty long memories, Mrs. West.”

“They deserved everything they got,” Nathan says.

“Most would disagree with you,” Alain counters.

“Then they’re soulless, fucking morons,” Nathan says with a smug smile.

So much for ass kissing. Though his apathetic expression doesn’t
sour, I can sense Alain is losing his patience with my better half, mostly because
I
am losing my patience with him. “Nathan, can you please give us a minute alone?”

“No, I—”

“Go sit in the back and watch the rehearsal.
Now
.” The combination of my scowl and hard tone works on males of all ages it seems. Nathan glares at us both but obeys, retreating to the back row where he can keep an eye on me. “He’s not usually like this. All the traveling, all the stress …” I shake my head. “We went to Asher’s house. It was … he was …” I roll my eyes and scoff. “I think Asher’s lost his mind. Truly. He really believes he can make everything right. Just as it was. He’d lock me away, and I’d magically fall in love with him again. That all he’s done to me, that I’ve done to him could just be washed away, and I’d rush into his open arms forever and all eternity.”

“He always was a hopeless romantic,” Alain says.

“There is a difference between hopeless romanticism and a plain old lost cause,” I point out. “I abandoned him. Hell, I tried to kill him. I married someone else. And he wants to play happy families? He should hate me.”

“Do you hate him?” Alain counters with a raised eyebrow. “If th
e rumors are true, it would be justified.”

I consider the question, the same one I’ve been asking myself for a decade. “If you asked me that a week ago, it would have been an unequivocal ‘No.’ I made my peace with him, with my past, years ago. But I hate him for what he’s done to my family.”

“That is not the same thing, and you know it,” Alain counters. “The line between love and hate can be wafer thin more often than we care to admit, especially when dealing with that man. I speak from experience. You wish never to lay eyes on him again, while at the same time find yourself inexplicably drawn to him. His love is a drug that never leaves your system. You desire it more than blood, yet loathe yourself and him for that weakness.”

I sit staring at the actors playing at tormented love onstage for a few seconds. “I have an
amazing
life. I’m married to my best friend, a man who supports me in every way fathomable. I have two beautiful, healthy, smart, sweet boys. I’m active and respected in my community. Even my in-laws love me, and I love them. I have everything I have always wanted. I’m
happy
. Really.

“But sometimes … I think about the years with him, and there’s a flash, just a moment, when I would sell my soul to be back there. And in those moments I missed him like a suffocating person misses air. I
craved
him.”

“I am aware of the feeling.”

“What we had—massively fucked up though it was—it was real. At least on my end. When it was good, there was nothing better in this whole universe to me. There were times when I was afraid I’d burst into tears because I couldn’t contain my joy. Where I would have been content to die because the moment was so perfect, I thought nothing could ever top it. But he always found a way, another perfect moment better than the last. He was my
everything
. Nothing else compared to one of his caresses. Nothing else mattered. Not even myself. And I miss that a little. I do. Life was sim
ple. And despite everything, I missed him. I missed our conver
sations. I missed holding his hand in the movie theater. I missed watching him cook. I missed the feel of him against me. No matter what, I
think I always will. And I forgive him. I do. He did me a lot of wrong
but … he made me who I am today. He loved me as much as anyone could.

“He still must or he wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble,” I chuckle sadly. “Maybe he believes he’s saving me. That I’ve settled, I don’t know. All I do know is when that moment is up, when Nathan cracks a joke or Max smiles at me, it is just as real. More so because it’s equal. Consistent. There’s no grand all-consuming passion, no pendulum swinging between love and hate, no compromise of morals or my sense of self. I am Anna West, wife of Nathan, and mother of Joe and Max, which is
more
than enough for me. Anna Asher’s dead. I buried her a decade ago, and no matter how hard he may try, he cannot resurrect her. If Asher’s unable to understand that, accept
me
, then … he’s a threat. And I’ll do what needs to be done. Just as I did ten years ago. There’s no vengeance, no retribution in this, just pure survival.”

“And you require my assistance.”

“I have no right to ask, I am aware of that. You’ve done so much for me already. You looked out for me when no one else really was. And I didn’t appreciate it then, not really, but … I do now. More than you can ever know. If there is any good to come out of this situation, any at all, it is that I can correct the fact I never really thanked you. I always regretted that. So truly, from the bottom of my heart, thank you,” I say, voice quivering. “You were right. Everything you told me was right, I was just too young, too self-involved, too in love to recognize it. It took me some time, but I finally did, in large part to you. You helped save my life, Alain. You did. So again, thank you.
Thank you.
”