The Witches Of Denmark (12 page)

More applause and Harrison leading a chant of ‘Here! Here!’. Even so, Alisia and I worried about anyone seeing what actually took place between her and Serghei. She whispered her regret to me that she should have left well enough alone when the jackass got back in his car after Grandpa’s awesome rebuke. Meanwhile, when we returned to the Mays’ backyard, most everyone seemed intent on rekindling the party. I was almost relieved… almost, because the bright glint in Julien’s ever-observant eyes didn’t seem liquor inspired. Nor was the intense look on Meredith’s face. And it wasn’t just these two we had to consider.

“Well, I must say… we’ve never had anyone cuss like Julius Caesar in these parts,” Sadee remarked, teasingly. “Heck, I don’t know if I’ve ever heard anyone that comfortable with Latin whose not part of the priesthood. Know what I mean?”

Unfortunately, we sure ‘nuff do, Ms. Sadee Dean!

Mom’s brief look of horror confirmed her fear that this sweet lady in her early sixties might be more on top of things than any of us previously assumed. But, hell, Sadee’s from Memphis, so that fact alone put her keenness above the homegrown natives I had met so far. As for our ‘damage control’ efforts, Mom’s fabricated story about this being a Romanian confrontation that started when a local boy decided to pick a battle after overhearing her and Alisia converse in Romanian the other day at the local Save-a-Lot appeased most of the gathering.

Yet, there was no denying that a moment of reckoning awaited us—whether it came from the Matei’s or our astute neighbors who shared Old Dominion Road with us. Our flimsy cover was in real danger of being obliterated… and very soon.
             

Chapter Ten

The arrival of our thirty-third day in Denmark was marked differently than any of the previous thirty-two. The Mateis’ aggression toward us, so soon after arriving in Denmark, might’ve made that happen on its own. But the worry about what was seen and understood the night before was destined to hang over us like the smog clouds we’d see hovering over Chicago from time to time. Meaning, we would have to be extra careful for quite a while. At least for a few months was my guess.

Whoever bought ‘Grandpa’s wand as a sparkler’ explanation, and had failed to see the Maserati lug nut incident, would likely forget the fracas by Monday. Those who didn’t, however, might never again regard us in the same light as they did before the Mays’ barbeque get-together.

The silver lining for me was that it wouldn’t take long to know the verdict. Even though my sister and I remained relieved of our yard chores, I took it upon myself to trim the boxwoods that had begun to hang over the old iron ornamental fence that ran the length of our property on Old Dominion Road. Sweat soon drizzled down my temples from the ninety-degree heat and my T-shirt was getting damp. I kept an eye out for Sadee and Dan, Harrison and Jennifer, and of course Julien and Meredith. None of them so much as peeked out their doors, from what I could tell. Granted it was Sunday… but only Sadee and Dan went to church, as longtime members of the St. Michael Presbyterian Church, located just off the square in downtown.

I began to think this was a wasted surveillance move on my part, since without the neighbors interacting with me, I couldn’t tell if the warmth toward us that had been there from day one had waned. As I stepped out onto the city sidewalk to nip the branches and leaves I couldn’t reach from inside our yard, a young man’s voice startled me from behind.

“You’d be better served not to cut ‘em back too far,” said the man, a handsome African-American with warm brown eyes and a generous smile, and dressed in faded overalls. He looked maybe a year or two younger than me… but knowing that blacks tend to age better than whites, I considered the likelihood he might be in his early twenties. He shook his head amusedly, and I hoped it was because of my obvious lack of horticultural skills and not something he picked up from my thoughts. “I can show you how to do it quicker, if you’d like me to.”

“Would it mean I’d have to pay you?” I asked warily, thinking about the bitch session I heard last night at one table, where two older ladies from around the block talked about the clever cunningness of some of the neighborhood’s panhandlers. “I can figure it out myself… with practice, I’m sure.”

“I’d imagine so,” said the dude, laughing lightheartedly. “I suppose you’d make an easy mark if I was one of them. If I
was
a damned panhandler.”

I wasn’t expecting that response, and wasn’t sure how to react.

“I live down the hill on Chaffin’s Bend with my mom, and Julien told me that y’all might be needin’ some help around here,” he continued, stepping toward me and motioning for me to give him the hedge shears I was holding protectively. “‘Name’s Harris Martin. May I?”

“Sure.” I shrugged and handed him the shears. “Do you need the gloves, too?”

“Nah… I’ve been doing this shit for so long, my calluses don’t need any protection. Should just take me a few minutes…. Watch what I do, and the next time you’ll have it down pat.”

So, this was the third Harry that Julien told Dad and me about. It wasn’t the same guy I glimpsed the night before, and I felt ashamed that I had assumed the only upstanding African-American family in the neighborhood was this kid’s family living near the bottom edge of our property. Obviously, there were others that weren’t part of the ‘hood’; or if they were, they weren’t like the punks living nearby, dealing drugs and befriending our mortal enemies.

“Sebastian Radu,” I introduced myself. “But my friends call me Bas.”

I extended my right hand, and he moved the shears to his left hand so he could accept my offer of a handshake.

“Glad to know you, Bas,” he said.

“Same here…. So show me what I need to do.”

By the time Harris finished his five-minute demonstration, I had picked up most of it. I’m sure it seems like a warlock should be able to master anything with little or no instruction and practice. That’s true only if we are relying on spells to get us through our earthly existence. But to learn an actual skill or develop a natural talent takes the same motor training activities that any other human being must master. True to my family’s aspirations, I wanted to be as much like everyone else as possible. Spells were for emergency use, only… or mostly.

“Tell your dad that it looks like I’ll have time to flush the drain spouts and reattach the gutters that have come loose in the back of your house,” Harris told me, before moving on to his original destination further down Old Dominion. “I used to work for the Clarkes when they lived here. So, I know your place really well and can repair almost anythin’.”

“I’ll do it. In fact, I’ll tell him as soon as I’m back inside the house.”

“Sounds good. We’ll be talkin’ to you soon, Bas.”

“I look forward to it, Harris.”

I’m not sure why my heart felt uplifted, as people tend to come and go frequently in my world, and it’s the same deal for Alisia. Maybe it’s because I had only identified with one Denmark resident thus far, and that being Julien Mays. But I honestly looked forward to visiting again with this kid, Harris Martin, hopefully very soon.

I turned to re-enter the gate, anticipating Dad’s surprised reaction to my encounter—unless Mom had already told him. To my surprise, Julien was stepping onto the sidewalk from the street. I didn’t even hear him step out of his house or make it through his gate. Guess he could add ‘approach of a ninja’ to his other impressive skills.

“I see you’ve finally met Harris,” he said, extending his hand to me as I had to my new friend a short while earlier. “You just had a trimming lesson from Denmark’s finest.”

“Yeah… I believe so,” I agreed, returning his friendly smile with one I hoped was just as pleasant and didn’t reveal my sudden anxiety under his scrutiny. “What brings you out on a hot afternoon? No pressing writing assignments?”

He laughed. Dressed in a white T-shirt and jean cutoffs, along with his favored sandals, he looked cooler than I felt at the moment. Chicago had its share of heat and humidity, but it’s nothing compared to the sweltering heat in late June that apparently pervades much of the south. I felt like I was about to melt, or spontaneously combust.

“Sometimes it does me good to get out… let the ideas percolate,” he said. “And the ideas can be really random sometimes. Random ideas lead to crazy thoughts and even crazier questions….”

He paused to look up at my house, and I followed his gaze. It stood majestic, stoic, and quiet… as if listening in on our conversation. Was Mom, Grandma, or even Alisia listening in, too? I couldn’t detect anyone near the windows, and everything was closed up as tightly as Fort Knox, to keep the tyrannical heat from seeping inside.

“Have I mentioned anything about the ghosts in our house, yet, Sebastian?”

“You have ghosts in your house?” I wasn’t completely surprised that a bestselling horror author would talk about ghosts—hell, he had brought it up not long ago in our house. But I’m sure most people would agree that his broaching the subject of ghosts residing in his house at that casual moment was at least strange… if not ‘left field’ bizarre.

“Yes, we do… three to be exact, which gives us two less than you have,” said Julien.

I reacted with a blank expression.

“Oh come now,” he persisted. “You’re going to act like you don’t believe in spirits, or that you’ve never felt anything odd going on in your lovely home? The spirits inside your house are benign, and everyone who steps inside the place feels welcome. Surely you do, too. Meredith sees Sophie Atwater in all her Victorian finery in the ladies parlor nearly every time she steps through your front door…. You ever feel like someone’s watching you?”

“Inside the house?”

“Why, of course. No need to act coy.”

I didn’t believe I was acting coy. But I also didn’t like thinking of Mrs. Atwater hanging about, watching my family move through our daily activities. In all honesty, spirits can be a disconcerting nuisance for warlocks and witches. And, hearing more about this ghost made me wonder why my folks didn’t wait to have the house cleansed before moving in. Especially, since it has long been assumed in our circles that residential spirits can have an adverse impact on spell casting.

“I can tell from the look on your face, Sebastian, that you’ve sensed something in there,” said Julien, chuckling again. “Ned Clarke used to tell us he would hear the brushing of her gown against the Persian rug in the parlor, when he was working late at night, and could almost picture Sophie watching him finish the day’s paperwork from the doorway. I’d bet you and your dad have sensed something similar by now.”

Impressed by the humorous delivery of this little tale, I laughed with him, hoping to hide my nervousness about learning the previous owner could also hear the rustling of the dress. I had heard it just three nights before, in fact.

“There might be someone there, I guess,” I confessed, afraid of how much to reveal to this man, this author, who seemed to possess a keen sense for bullshit. “But you already knew that from what Mom talked about the other night.”

He nodded thoughtfully and cast an almost longing gaze toward the windows of the haunted front parlor.

“Yes…. She did talk about it, and I now know how much eavesdropping you and Alisia did that night,” he said. A soft twinkle danced in his eyes, one that spoke of orneriness. “Speaking of Alisia… what she pulled off last night was quite impressive.”

I noticeably stiffened. But at least the mystery of what was discerned the previous night had been answered.

“But it’s nothing compared to your grandfather’s magical skills.”

A sudden lump formed in my throat. Julien laughed warmly and patted my shoulder.

“Oh, don’t worry, son. Meredith and I will forever keep this knowledge to ourselves,” He assured me. “People like to talk around here, but it’s often innuendo and rumor about an author and his wife that reside on Old Dominion Road. I’m sure they’d regard a statement like the one I just made as pure fantasy. And they would still think that way even if they someday saw the old man floating up to the Beauregard’s roof and back down again. Regardless of what they or anyone else might think, at least your grandfather enjoys one helluva view.”

He patted my shoulder once more and headed back to his side of the street.

“We can continue our conversation about ghosts and what really goes on inside your wonderful home some other time,” he called to me, just before reaching the other side of the road. “Always a pleasure, Sebastian. Give my warm regards to everyone, and we’ll talk soon!”

I almost asked him about the ghosts residing in his house, but instead, I said nothing. I waited for him to step inside his front door before heading up the long walkway to my front door. Along the way, Julien’s words repeated in my head, and I was struck by two of them the most. ‘Wonderful’ and ‘home’ seemed especially incongruous together. I couldn’t see a way to view the pair any differently.

Not as long as our secrets were known and old enemies prowled the neighborhood.

Chapter Eleven