4 Witching On A Star (9 page)

“You didn’t tell me we would have to hike.”

Clove hadn’t stopped whining since we left Hypnotic and the sound of her voice was starting to mentally chafe.

“This isn’t hiking,” Thistle grumbled. “This is walking from the car to the lighthouse. It’s like a half a mile.”

“That’s hiking,” Clove complained.

“Hiking is climbing up a mountain or traversing the wild terrain of Alaska,” Thistle countered. “A half a mile is not hiking.”

“Traversing the wild terrain?” I raised an eyebrow as I glanced at her.

“I was watching
Finding Bigfoot
the other night,” Thistle replied absently. “They’re a little dramatic.”

“That’s something we should do,” I said. “Look for Bigfoot.”

“We would be awesome at that,” Thistle agreed.

“Camping in the great outdoors, following tracks, it sounds like fun,” I laughed. “We would need to bring Aunt Tillie, though. Even Bigfoot would be scared of her.”

“We would definitely bring Aunt Tillie,” Thistle agreed. “If she didn’t scare off Bigfoot, at least she’d be slow enough to distract him while we got away.”

“Bigfoot isn’t real,” Clove interjected knowingly.

“That’s what people say about witches,” Thistle replied.

“Bay, you don’t think Bigfoot is real, do you?” Clove was now scanning the tree line worriedly, despite her oral bravado.

“I don’t know,” I replied truthfully. “Most of those old legends have some basis in fact. Bigfoot was sighted in this area for more than a century, if you believe the old stories.”

“And that song,” Thistle added. “What was it called? The
Legend of the Dogman
?”

“I remember that,” Clove said suddenly. “It was a big deal when we were kids.”

“It was just a radio gimmick,” Thistle scoffed. “Every seven years or so they bring it back around. Every group of kids thinks they’re the first one to hear it.”

“But it’s not true,” Clove said, her eyes skittering warily around the dense foliage that surrounded us. “Right? It’s not true?”

I glanced over at Thistle, who wasn’t even trying to hide the evil expression gracing her face. I had a feeling a plan was forming and the next solstice celebration was going to be a full on Bigfoot extravaganza – just to torture Clove.

“I think you’re safe,” I replied. “If Bigfoot is real, he’s probably more scared of us than we are of him.”

“I doubt that,” Clove said nervously.

“Don’t worry, we’ll protect you,” Thistle teased.

“I won’t,” I said. “If I see Bigfoot, I’m running like hell. I’m not worrying about you two.”

Clove seemed to consider the statement. “Okay. If Bigfoot attacks, then it’s every witch for herself.”

“This is easily the silliest conversation we’ve ever had,” Thistle muttered, rounding a bend in the trail we were following and pulling up short. “There it is.”

The three of us picked our way through the overgrown trail and found ourselves in front of the Dandridge. It had probably been beautiful when it was built – even majestic. Tall white walls, a red cap on the spire, and octagonal windows at various points across the structure.

Time had marred all of that, though. The white paint was peeling. The red cap was now a muddy brown. And most of the windows were either shrouded in fallen ivy or missing altogether.

“I bet it was pretty, back in the day,” Thistle said finally.

“Yeah,” I agreed. I glanced around the area for a second. “How are they going to use this as a tourist destination, though? Do you think people are going to be willing to hike up here to see it?”

“I told you it was a hike,” Clove said triumphantly.

Thistle ignored her. “I think there’s a road over there,” Thistle pointed through a line of trees. “Isn’t that Wetzel Road?”

I wasn’t sure, but I followed Thistle to the area she was pointing. Once we moved through the trees, I realized she was right. Wetzel Road was two lanes of rural highway that cut a swath through the forest and ended at a small Lake Michigan inlet two miles away. The road could use some repairs – especially after this snowy winter – but it wasn’t in terrible disarray.

“All they have to do is rip this line of trees out,” Thistle said thoughtfully. “There’s enough room here to build a small parking lot.”

I nodded, letting my eyes wander through the landscape. “This actually could be pretty cool,” I said finally. “There could be a picnic area over there,” I pointed. “And the building is big enough for the haunted lighthouse tour and a gift shop.”

“I’m surprised someone hasn’t thought of this before,” Thistle mused.

“Well, someone has thought of it now,” I said blithely. “The truth is, this could be really good for the town. It’s another draw that sets us apart from the rest of the touristy towns in the area. Plus, it’s something that could draw people back to the area – people that haven’t seen the lighthouse yet.”

“Then what’s wrong?” Thistle asked knowingly.

“Nothing is wrong,” I countered. “I just feel . . . uneasy out here. I can’t really explain it.”

“Maybe it’s Bigfoot,” Thistle suggested.

“Or maybe it’s a ghost,” Clove said ominously.

“Erika?” I glanced around again, hoping the little girl with the sad eyes would return, but the area around the lighthouse was empty. “I don’t see her.”

“Are you sure?” Clove asked, a little miffed. “Maybe she’s here and you’re just not looking hard enough.”

I glanced at Clove curiously. “Why would you say that?”

Clove started nervously wringing her hands. “If I tell you, you’ll think I’m crazy.”

“We already think you’re crazy,” Thistle replied.

“You’ll think I’m being a baby,” Clove added.

“We already think you’re a baby,” Thistle replied with a bright smile.

I shot a glare in Thistle’s direction. “Why don’t you tell us what you’re getting at and then we’ll decide if you’re a baby or crazy,” I said wearily.

“Okay,” Clove said, glancing at me for reassurance. “Well, you see that window up there?”

Thistle and I followed the line of her finger midway up the building, to a lone window in the peeling paint. “Yeah,” I prodded her.

“I swear, when we were coming back through the trees – after looking at the road – I swear that I saw someone watching us.”

Thistle and I exchanged dubious glances. “And why wouldn’t you tell us then?” Thistle asked.

“Because I thought it might be Bigfoot and you guys would laugh at me,” Clove lifted her chin defiantly.

“Maybe it was just a reflection of the sun,” I offered lamely.

“Or maybe it was a ghost,” Thistle said grimly.

“Clove can’t see ghosts,” I reminded her.

“Clove can’t see ghosts like you,” Thistle agreed. “But everyone has the capacity to see sometimes. Aunt Tillie taught us that. She came to this place expecting to see a ghost – or Bigfoot – and maybe she really did see a ghost.”

“You’re saying it was a self-fulfilling prophecy?”

“Maybe,” Thistle shrugged noncommittally.

“There’s only one way to find out,” I replied grimly.

“What way?” Clove looked confused and then, when realization washed over her, terrified. “I am not going in that building.”

“It will be fine,” Thistle waved off her concerns. “Ghosts can’t hurt us.”

“And if Bigfoot is in there, we’ll run right out, I swear,” I added.

“What if it’s dangerous?” Clove tried a different tactic. “What if the building is about to cave in?”

“Dean said the problems with the building were all cosmetic,” I reminded her.

“Well, Dean said,” Clove complained. “Dean, a guy we’ve never met before and who could be crazy – or stupid, for all we know – said that building was safe so we automatically take him at his word.”

“If you don’t want to go in, don’t go in,” Thistle said irritably, climbing the steps to the main door of the lighthouse. “Wait here. Bay and I will go in and check out things and then we’ll come back out and get you.”

“You want me to stay out here alone?” Clove squeaked.

I couldn’t take much more of this, so I pushed past Thistle and tugged on the door of the lighthouse. It didn’t open at first, but with a little magical push, the lock tumbled and the door sprang open.

I entered the lighthouse first, pausing in the doorway to let my eyes get accustomed to the sudden gloom. Inside, the building was surprisingly clean. There was a musty odor permeating the premises, but that was from abandonment. If there was a body in here, it was so old that it couldn’t decay anymore. That was, at the very least, a small sense of comfort.

Thistle must have been thinking the same thing. “It doesn’t smell like death,” she said.

“What does death smell like?” Clove asked curiously.

“Rotting flesh, in a lot of instances,” Thistle replied dryly.

“Thanks for the visual.”

“You’re welcome.”

“We should have brought a flashlight,” I lamented. “It’s too dark in here to do a proper search.”

Thistle thought about it a second and then rubbed her hands together, causing a spark to emanate from between them. I heard her mutter a spell under her breath. When she opened her hands again, she had conjured a handful of small fireflies – magical fireflies that would dissipate on their own in an hour or so – that she tossed into the air. The fireflies dispersed through the room, emitting enough of a glow to make the lighthouse visible – if not quite cheery.

“That was neat.”

I jumped when I heard the new voice, glancing around quickly until my eyes fell on Erika. She was standing on the spiral staircase in the center of the room, watching the three of us curiously.

“Erika,” I breathed, trying to calm my heart rate. “You surprised me.”

“She’s here?” Clove looked around nervously. “Where is she?”

“She’s on the stairwell.”

“They can’t see me?” Erika looked disappointed.

“No,” I replied. “In a few minutes, though, they should be able to hear you.”

“Really? Why?”

“I have no idea,” I admitted. “It’s just that, when a ghost is around and I’m talking to it, they can start to hear it after awhile. I think it’s our family bond, but I can’t be sure.”

“Are they your sisters?” Erika asked.

“No,” I shook my head. “They’re my cousins.”

“That’s nice,” Erika said. “I wish I had cousins.”

“Did you have sisters?” I asked.

“I have two brothers,” Erika brightened considerably. “I haven’t seen them in a long time, though.”

“Were they on the boat with you?”

“I’m not sure,” Erika said. “I don’t know where they went. I can’t remember the last time I saw them.”

“I can hear her,” Clove said suddenly.

“Me, too,” Thistle nodded.

“See,” I smiled warmly at Erika. “I told you they would be able to hear you.”

“But they can only hear me when you’re around?”

“Actually, now that they’ve heard you, they should be able to hear you again even when I’m not with them,” I replied.

“Don’t tell her that,” Clove hissed.

I ignored her. “Why did you come back out here?” I asked Erika.

“I was following you.”

“Is this where you were? The place you were alone for so long?”

“Yes,” Erika nodded. “It’s not as scary now. Especially since I saw the other children.”

I felt my heart go cold. “What other children?”

“The ones on the boat?”

“What boat?” Thistle asked sharply.

“The one outside,” Erika replied simply.

Thistle moved to a ground floor window, one that faced the lake, and glanced out. “I don’t see a boat out there.”

“It’s not out there now,” Erika said. “It was out there awhile ago, though.”

“Where did it go?” Thistle asked.

“It floated away,” Erika replied.

I glanced at Thistle worriedly. “You just saw this boat?”

“Yes,” Erika said.

“Just now – or in the time since I saw you out at the inn?”

Erika nodded, her eyes widening. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” I shook my head quickly. “You didn’t do anything wrong, honey. We’re just wondering where the boat went.”

“It’s going away,” Erika said. “It will be back, though.”

“It will?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know that?”

“The other little girl told me.”

“What other little girl?” I was starting to get exasperated. The wisdom of a child – even a dead child – is hard to focus on a specific task.

“The one that talked to me.”

“She saw you?”

“Yes.”

“On the boat?”

“Yes.”

“And where is she now?”