“I was hoping we could talk,” I said.
“If your dean knew you were here, we could both be in trouble,” Ann said, darting her eyes toward Jessica.
“I think my dean would be surprised to see your house all decked out for Halloween,” I replied.
I didn’t mean it as a threat exactly. I’d never tell Duncan Laird on her, but Ann didn’t know that, and I was desperate.
“Okay,” she said, her face grim. “Come on in.” And then, turning to Jessica and giving her a smile that completely transformed her face, she added, “Jessica will make some of her hot mulled spider for you.”
While Jessica went to prepare the hot mulled spider—“Don’t worry,” Ann told me, “it’s just hot apple cider with cinnamon and cloves”—Ann took me into the living room and closed the pocket doors. The room, decorated in Stickley Mission furniture, had even more Halloween decorations in it.
“It’s Jessica’s favorite holiday,” Ann said, moving an orange-and-black pumpkin pillow over on the couch and sitting down next to me. “I couldn’t bear to tell her she wasn’t supposed to celebrate it this year. But if the nephilim find out …”
“They might cut off your supply of Aelvesgold for Jessica?”
Ann nodded grimly. “Do you know what the life expectancy is for a child with Down syndrome?”
I shook my head.
“Mid-forties. And that’s an improvement over the mid-twenties prognosis I was given when Jessica was born. She’s forty-four. I suppose some would say I’m lucky to have had her this long and that a life with Down syndrome isn’t worth prolonging further—”
“I would never say that,” I broke in. “Jessica’s …”
“Special?” Ann suggested with a wry smile. It had, in fact, been the word that had come to mind. “That’s the euphemism, of course, but with Jessica it’s …”
“True?” I finished for her. “Jessica’s a witch, isn’t she?”
Ann looked around, as if suddenly wary that the ceramic black cats and grinning ghouls on the coffee table might be listening. She spoke in a low whisper. “You must promise not to let the nephilim know. I’ve kept it a secret, afraid others would take advantage of her power. At first I refused to even admit it to her, but then I saw that it was just confusing her to have so much power and not train it. So I began working with her.” A tentative smile appeared on her face. “She’s the most powerful witch I’ve ever encountered. But if the nephilim found out …”
“They would use her power for their own ends. I understand,” I said, getting to my feet. “And you’re right. I’m putting Jessica in danger even being here.”
“But why did you come, then? You came here to ask for my help, didn’t you?” Ann asked, grabbing my hand.
“Yes.” I explained why I needed a witches’ circle for Halloween night. “But I see now why it would be too dangerous for you. I’ll figure out some other way—”
“No!”
I looked up. The voice came from the now-open pocket door. Jessica stood there, holding a tray of steaming apple-shaped mugs. “No. You need a witch. I’m a witch. I want to help.”
“Jessica—” Ann began.
“No, Mommy!” Jessica stamped her foot, rattling the mugs. Other things in the room rattled. Ann got up to take the tray from Jessica’s hands.
“You’re always saying I can be whatever I want. You’re always telling me to act like a grown-up. Well, I’m a witch, and I’m grown up enough to make my own decisions. I want to help Callie and her friends get rid of the neff-ums.”
“Your mother’s right,” I said. “It’s too dangerous.”
“Isn’t it too dangerous to let these bad men bully everybody in town?” Jessica asked, looking from me to her mother. “Besides, Mommy only told them she wouldn’t be part of your circle. She never said I wouldn’t,” Jessica concluded with a sly, proud smile.
“Ann,” I said, “I didn’t come here to involve Jessica.”
“I know,” Ann said with a sigh. “But, as usual, Jessica’s right. It’s always more dangerous to give in to bullies. Jessica and I will both join your circle on Halloween night.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I didn’t sleep that night. Every time I drifted off, I was back in the Greenwood. I knew William Duffy was there with me, but which William Duffy? The tender lover of my dreams, or the one Duncan Laird had shown me? I was afraid that if I saw the monstrously hideous version, I wouldn’t be able to go through with the ceremony and open the door, so I stayed up with my Wheelock’s Spellcraft, LaFleur’s History of Magic, and half a dozen other magic books. Ralph pored over the pages of the books with me as I studied all the spells I could possibly need to become the hallow door. I was running out of time. It was time to cram, as I had for my PhD orals. I’d stayed up three days straight then, and my life hadn’t literally depended on a thorough knowledge of English literature.
It turned out, though, that my body had different needs than it had three years earlier. I made it halfway through Saturday night before I started to crash. I brewed more coffee and combed Wheelock for stay-awake spells. There was one for keeping sleep at bay for forty-eight hours, but it came with a host of dire warnings that ranged from mood disorders to a weakened immune system to hyperanimation (whatever the hell that was!). But what choice did I have? I needed to stay up until I found the door spell. I mixed the ingredients for the stay-awake spell in the kitchen while Ralph ransacked the cabinets for a snack.
“Sorry, guy,” I told him. “I promise that once this is over I’ll go shopping.”
My bare cupboards reminded me that I needed to buy candy for Halloween night. And decorate. Everything I read insisted that the observance of Halloween was crucial to the success of opening the hallow door. Besides, maybe doing something other than reading Wheelock would unlock my brain enough to figure out a strategy, so I spent the early hours of Sunday morning up to my elbows in raw pumpkin gunk.
I carved three jack-o’-lanterns. Having read in Wheelock that properly made jack-o’-lanterns were threshold guardians for your house, I uttered the words of a warding spell while I carved. First was a traditional jack-o’-lantern with triangle eyes and a snaggletooth smile. Protect my home, I asked him. Getting into the mood, I made the second pumpkin into a warty-faced witch. Watch over all who are in it, I asked her. I was amazed at how well it came out. On the third I carved a scary cat so realistic that, when I showed it to Ralph, his fur stood on end and he ran away.
“Scaredy-cat,” I yelled after him. But when I turned the pumpkin back around, even I was surprised at how lifelike the cat appeared. I took the three jack-o’-lanterns out onto the front porch. As I arranged them on the steps, I spotted Evangeline Sprague, my nonagenarian neighbor, retrieving the Sunday paper from her front lawn.
“Happy Halloween!” she shouted, waving to me.
She had tied white cloth ghosts to the branches of an old apple tree by her front porch and had her own little family of jack-o’-lanterns on her stoop. Inspired by her example, I went back in to get more decorating supplies. I found an old pair of jeans and a flannel shirt, which I stuffed with the straw I’d picked up last week to use as mulch. I arranged the makeshift limbs of my scarecrow in a rocking chair and placed the snaggletooth jack-o’-lantern on top. Then I found a black dress and leggings, stuffed them with straw, and propped them under the witch-head pumpkin. I just needed a witch’s hat …