“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.
Chapter 24
Charlotte’s Turning
Not of my choosing but of circumstance, our coven had a human. Charlotte, though a relative of Emma Tangledwood, was not meant to close our circle of nine. She had learned the secret, and unlike my Salem coven, we were safe for now, but all the ladies of the coven needed to be assured that Charlotte would not lead them to any harm. Mrs. Twiggs drove us along the backwoods to the cabin. Abigail and Charlotte talked the entire way as though it was completely normal to be traveling to an enchanted cabin to meet with a coven of magical Wiccans.
When we arrived, Mrs. Branchworthy was waiting on the front porch in one of the rocking chairs. She rose to greet us. “The others will be here soon. Terra, I think I’ve—” Upon catching a glimpse of Charlotte, she stopped.
“Charlotte knows our secret. She’s a friend,” Abigail said.
Charlotte smiled. “Abigail told me that your specialty power is conjuring fire.”
“Yes, dear.”
“Can I see?”
Mrs. Branchworthy looked at Mrs. Twiggs, who nodded. Mrs. Branchworthy stepped off the porch. She placed her right hand palm up toward the sky and skimmed the top of it with the left. Fireballs shot into the sky like she was holding a roman candle.
“Awesome,” Charlotte exclaimed. She turned to Mrs. Twiggs. “What can you do?”
Mrs. Twiggs said, “That’s neither here nor there.” Mrs. Twiggs was reluctant to let Charlotte in even though she was Emma’s family. I shared her concern. Mrs. Twiggs was the unspoken leader of the coven. She felt that weight on her shoulders. The ladies arrived, and we all gathered inside the cabin as dusk was settling over the mountain. Abigail started the fire. Mrs. Twiggs brought in the tea service. All the ladies murmured asking why the meeting had been called and wanting to know why Charlotte was present.
Mrs. Twiggs tapped her teacup with her spoon. “Please, ladies, settle down. I will get right to the point. Charlotte knows what we are.”
The murmurs began again. “Now, ladies, she’s family. We can trust her.”
Abigail moved her chair closer to Charlotte and held her hand. I leaped onto the table and spoke with Mrs. Twiggs.
Charlotte interrupted. “What’s going on with the cat?”
Abigail said, “I’ve got some more news for you. Terra is a witch.”
“You mean she turned herself into a cat.” Charlotte reached for me, and I backed away.
“Actually, she was turned into a cat by my great-grandmother to protect her from the Salem witch trials. She’s been stuck in that body since then.”
Charlotte sat back in her chair. “Does she have a tiny cat flying broom and witch hat?” She smirked.
Abigail said, “Char, I know. When Terra first spoke to me.”
“She can speak?” Charlotte interrupted.
“Of course she can. She’s a witch.”
“Why can’t I understand her?”
“Because you’re not.”
“Let me get this straight. You’re a witch, the cat’s a witch, and they’re all Wiccans.” She pointed at the ladies. “What about the orange cat? Is he a hobbit or something?”
Abigail laughed. “No, Pixel’s an ordinary cat. I’m sure it’s a little confusing. Think of us all as magical superbeings.”
“Like the League of Justice?”
“That’s a good way to think of it. Anyway, Terra told me my life would never be the same. Once you awaken and see the magic in the world, you’ll never look at the world the same way again. It’s all around you, Char.”
Charlotte sat quiet, trying to absorb everything Abigail was telling her. Pixel swiped a cookie off the serving tray. I was glad to see he was feeling better. The cookie landed on the floor, and Tracker made quick work of it. “Bad Tracker,” Pixel scolded heading out the door in a huff.
Mrs. Twiggs said, “We’ve been tasked to watch over Charlotte. Mr. Tangledwood appeared to us at the Tangledwood Estate. Emma is worried about her great-niece.”
Mrs. Stickman stood up. “Did you see Emma? Did you speak with her?”
Mrs. Twiggs shook her head. “Mr. Tangledwood only.”
I highly doubted we would ever meet up again with Mrs. Tangledwood. She was taken from us by black magic. Mr. Tangledwood clung to her memory, which was soaked into the walls of their estate. His ghost was bound to the Mercedes convertible that had brought the two of them so much joy.
Charlotte raised her hand. “Can I say something?” All eyes turned toward her. “When I was a little girl, my favorite movie was Bedknobs and Broomsticks. So I’m good with this whole witch, Wiccan, talking cat thing.” She paused. “Can you guys fly? Can I try a broomstick?”
“That’s not how it works, but maybe you can,” Abigail said. “You have your great-aunt’s blood, so you could be a Wiccan.”