“Okay, Terra, are you going to explain why we’re here now?” She reached into the pocket of her dashiki and pulled out a cigar, which she lit. She puffed smoke rings that flew to the sky like little clouds. She smiled and drops of rain fell from the smoke rings.
“I want you to summon lightning,” I told her.
“How do I do that Terra? I was afraid at the May Day celebration, so when you told me to summon a storm I didn’t have to think about it. It just came out of me.”
“Your body is in tune with the elements, and your emotions can stir those elements, but I need you to be able to control them without emotion. To summon them as you please. That’s why you still struggle with your frailty. You are letting them control you. Your body is deteriorating.”
“How do I do that, Terra?” she repeated.
I ran up the plateau to a granite overhang. Mrs. Stickman creeped up and stood next to me. We stared down into the green fertile valley. The sky was bright blue with not a cloud to be seen. The morning mist burned off. “Think of yourself on a boat on an ocean. The waves are crashing against you. A violent storm is coming. You can’t calm the waters around you. You must calm the waters inside you. Find your center.”
Mrs. Stickman closed her eyes, taking deep breaths. As she did storm clouds gathered. She opened her eyes. “What’s happening, Terra?”
“You are calming the waters within, taking all your emotions out of your magic. The storm is coming because you will it. You’re in control of your mind and body.”
Mrs. Stickman raised her walking stick in the air. Lightning struck across the sky. She raised her stick again, and lighting struck the copper cobra head. Her entire body glowed. She pointed her stick at an evergreen across from the overhang. Lightning flew from the copper cobra head and split the tree in two. She waved her hands, and the clouds blew away. She stood straight and tall.
Abigail cautiously climbed up the overhang. “That was really cool, Mrs. Stickman.”
Chapter 18
A Friendly Ghost
I was getting used to wearing the emotional support animal vest. Abigail’s charm wore off, and there was no time to gather the necessary ingredients to cloak me again. I accepted the emotional animal vest. It was my way into places that normally would be closed to me. We sat in the grand foyer of the Biltmore Estate. Mrs. Twiggs, Abigail, Charlotte, myself, and my constant companion, Pixel. Even if Tracker had an emotional support vest, his youthful energy would have given him away. His constant pacing and whining would not be tolerated. A gentleman came over to us.
Mrs. Twiggs rose and greeted him. “Justin, so nice to see you,” she said.
I recognized him from the pumpkin fest. Justin Pickering, director of events, had overseen the Biltmore special events for quite a few years now. We followed him back to his office where he sat down behind his large cherry desk after showing Mrs. Twiggs to the seat across from him. I appreciated the craftsmanship of his desk. It was late 1800s, probably a souvenir from one of George Vanderbilt’s European furniture-finding trips. The palladium window behind him looked out over the east lawn. Pixel hopped out of Abigail’s arms and sat on the small table, staring out the window. Mr. Pickering turned around in his chair and scratched Pixel’s ears.
“Beatrice, I had our exterminators walk through the village grounds, trying to locate the source of the locusts.”
I thought the source would not be found, at least not in this world.
“What a horrible catastrophe. It seems like the Biltmore curse is true. First poor Mrs. Lund and then the locusts ruining the May Day celebration.”
“What curse are you talking about?” Charlotte asked.
Mrs. Twiggs realized she hadn’t introduced Charlotte to Mr. Pickering. “Justin, this is Charlotte Tangledwood, Emma’s great-niece.”
Mr. Pickering rose and turned to Charlotte. “I am so sorry for your loss. She was a great woman and a great benefactress of the estate.” He took his seat, turned to all of us, and continued, “The curse I’m referring to was cast upon the Biltmore and the neighboring village by a clairvoyant from Louisiana, Madame Claire. She came to host one of the many séances that George and Edith Vanderbilt held at the estate. While here, she stayed at the Fillmore Hotel in downtown Asheville, which was where many guests stayed while the estate was under construction. A great fire burned down the hotel, killing many of the guests including Madame Claire. On her deathbed, it was said she cursed the Vanderbilts and the Biltmore.”
Abigail shifted in her chair. I stepped onto her lap. She stroked my fur, listening intently at the sound of her grandmother’s name.
He continued speaking. I spoke with Abigail in her thoughts. “Terra, he’s talking about my grandmother,” Abigail whispered without moving her lips. “She didn’t cast a curse. It was the evil that came for her and the book that cursed the Biltmore.”
Mrs. Twiggs listened into our conversation while smiling and nodding at Mr. Pickering.
“Abigail let it go,” I told her.
“He’s talking about my grandmother. She’s a white witch.” Abigail held back tears for the grandmother she had only met as an apparition. We turned our attention back to Mr. Pickering. The conversation turned to Mrs. Lund.
“How did you find Mrs. Lund?” Mrs. Twiggs asked.
“She contacted us. She saw we were planning the Civil War exhibit, and she volunteered to come help.”
“Did you verify her references? Did you call the university?”
“I didn’t think it necessary since Mrs. Loblolly recommended her.”
Abigail stood up. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to show Charlotte around the estate.”
Mr. Pickering said, “Of course.”
Charlotte and Abigail ran off. I thought it best to remain behind and continue listening to the conversation.
“I went over all this with the police,” Mr. Pickering said. “Of course, we’ve tried to keep it out of the papers as much as possible. For now we’re calling it a tragic accident.”
“Yes.” Mrs. Twiggs nodded. Her attention turned back to the Civil War exhibit. “The ladies will be glad to help with the exhibit. They already have been volunteering family heirlooms, and I have an extensive knowledge of the battles fought in the Carolinas. And I would love to help you with the exhibit.”
“Beatrice, that would be wonderful. Your help is always appreciated around the estate.” Mr. Pickering gave her a big smile.
“If you don’t mind, Justin, I’d like to take an inventory of the artifacts in the storage room so we can think about staging.” Mrs. Twiggs stood up.
“Of course, please let us know if you need any help.” Mr. Pickering walked her to the door.
Mrs. Twiggs thanked him. We headed down the long corridor to the back stairs down to the basement. This time I didn’t feel the cold rush of air. Maybe because it was still daylight, or maybe I had been mistaken. We entered the storage room. Mrs. Twiggs took notes on her reporter’s pad while she opened the boxes labeled for the exhibit. The mannequin that had embraced Mrs. Lund was standing upright at attention, next to the other two uniformed soldiers. The sword was missing from his outstretched hand. I noticed for the first time he wore a lieutenant’s uniform. Though his wax face did not look familiar, his uniform did. I had seen it before. I walked around, sniffing the wool. I rubbed my scent against it. Pixel sat, not knowing what to make of my actions, so he copied me.