THE PRESENT-DAY

It was a Sunday evening. I was taking a bath upstairs. The tub was the first one I’d ever owned. It had been installed in the latter part of the nineteenth century. It was made from cast iron and lined with white porcelain and had steel feet, the ones made to look like claws clutching balls.

I had surrounded myself with lit candles and was relaxing in the hot water when I heard the door to the fence that surrounded my pond being unlatched, opened, and then shut. I blew out the candles and lifted myself out of the bath. I took my white terrycloth robe off the hook on the back of the door and pulled it around my wet body. I went to the window that looked out over the backyard.

From where I stood, I saw a young black boy tiptoeing around the inside of the fenced-in area, trying to peer through the spaces between the boards. He squatted down when he spotted two boys who looked to be about his age walking through my backyard, apparently looking for him. At first, I thought it was a game the three were playing, and I was ready to open the window and tell them to take it somewhere else. But the two boys looked too angry to be having fun, and one of them was pounding his fist into his hand as if he was looking to get even with someone.

As the two boys passed through my yard, one of them picked up a stick and ran it over the fence. The stick made a rattling noise as he dragged it along the white boards. The other boy peered through the fence’s slats, presumably looking for the boy on the other side. From where I stood, I watched as the boy on the inside of the fence laid himself down on the grass so he wouldn’t be seen.

The two boys eventually gave up and walked out of my backyard. I could hear their voices getting fainter as they crossed the street in front of my house. While I couldn’t make out anything that was said, from their tone it sounded like they meant business. I looked back toward the fenced-in area. I saw the boy stand and again peek through the slats, making sure the other two boys were out of sight. That was when I heard the water begin to move.

I looked over at the other end of the pond and saw a glossy, black head slowly emerge from the water. It was Octavia. She must have been awakened by the vibrations of the stick being dragged over the fence. Even underwater she was sensitive to noise and must have known there was something foreign and possibly delectable in her hunting grounds. Hearing the water move, the boy turned toward the sound. But Octavia was a stealthy hunter, and she quickly ducked back beneath the water’s surface before she could be seen.

I knew how fast that octopus could cross the pond when she was hungry. In no time she could get close enough to snatch up the young boy unawares. I couldn’t waste another moment.

I hurriedly walked out of the bathroom and kicked my feet into a pair of slippers next to my bed. I ran down the stairs and out the backdoor. I jogged across the lawn and opened the fence just as Octavia’s tentacle was reaching out to snatch the boy from the shore.

“Octavia!” I shouted.

The boy gasped and turned, first looking at me, and then in the direction of whatever I was yelling at. That’s when he saw the tentacle a few feet from his legs. The octopus had resurfaced closer to the boy. Her bulbous, rectangular eyes looked toward me. She knew she’d been caught red-handed.

“Naughty! Naughty!” I said as I walked toward the sneaky cephalopod’s extended arm. Octavia immediately began to slowly pull her appendage back into the water. I turned toward the boy. “You’re lucky I was watching,” I said. “Octavia would have loved to have you as an afternoon snack.”

“What was that?” The boy asked, a shocked expression on his face.

“That, dear boy, was an enchanted freshwater octopus. And that octopus was seconds away from pulling you into her frighteningly sharp beak. I’ve lived in this house for decades and not once have I ever considered putting a lock on this fence until this moment.” The boy turned back and looked through the fence. “Looking for anyone in particular? Expecting a friend, perhaps?”

“Not a friend,” the boy said.

“Well, if it’s the two miscreants that were walking across my property, you can rest easy. They’re gone. Do your parents know where you are?” The boy shook his head. “It’s practically evening. What are you doing out so late?” The boy shrugged. “Well, come on inside. Let’s call your folks.”

The boy picked up his backpack and followed me. I latched the fence, and we walked across the yard, up to the house, and through the backdoor. I rarely had visitors. I forgot how odd my home must look to strangers. Inside the rear foyer, crystals hung everywhere. The lighting was soft and the walls on the lower level were made of wood. The entire downstairs resembled the inside hull of an old ship. There were black sconces with magic white candles on the walls that lit themselves as we walked by.

“Whoa,” the boy said as one by one the candles ignited as we passed. “How’d you get them to do that?”

I didn’t answer, instead I took his wrist and walked him upstairs to where the phone was. The boy was looking all around. I had a lot of anachronistic sculptures and archaic paintings that I’m sure appeared peculiar to a young person who wasn’t used to such antiquities.

Upstairs, I picked up a cordless phone and handed it to him. “Call your mother and tell her to come get you. I’ll be right back.” I walked into my bedroom and shut the door. I removed my bathrobe and got dressed. As I was tying a pair of gray sweatpants around my waist, I heard a loud growl followed by a hiss.

“Bregaris!” I exclaimed, having forgotten he wasn’t in his cage.

I opened the bedroom door and ran down the hall to see the boy trembling, the phone shaking in his hand. Bregaris was crouched in the hall, facing the boy, his strong, thick black tail whipping from side to side. I ran quickly up to the boy from behind, grabbed his shoulders, and pushed him behind me.

“Bregaris!” I shouted. The panther immediately shook his head and plopped down as if he’d just been woken from a trance. “Bregaris, you know better than to scare our guests.” The giant black cat lowered his head, ashamed. “There, there, Bregaris,” I said as I let the boy go and walked over to my unusually large feline pet. “I know you were just protecting me. I appreciate that, Bregaris.” I scratched the panther’s jaw as he let out a loud purr. When he saw that the panther wasn’t going to harm me, the boy slowly walked over. He put out his hand to pet the big cat, but before he could, Bregaris growled and snapped his mighty jaws. The boy pulled his hand away just in time. “Bregaris!” I shouted. “Into your crate,” I said, pointing. Bregaris snorted displeasingly and again lowered his big head. He walked across the kitchen and into the giant steel cage that occupied a corner of my dining room. As he lay down, I shut and locked the cage’s door behind him.

“Do you have any other pets?” The boy asked, worriedly. I laughed. The boy handed the phone back to me. “My mother said she would be here in a half hour.”

“Well,” I said, sighing. “It would be rude of me to entertain a guest for thirty minutes without offering him something to drink. Would you like a soda?” The boy followed me to the refrigerator. I opened it and took out a can of Pepsi. “Glass?” I asked. He shook his head. I took out a bottle of Perrier. “No soda for me. I’ll be up all night. Follow me,” I said. “We’ll wait for your mother on the porch.” We walked out the front door and each sat in a rocking chair.

“I don’t suppose you want to tell me your name,” I said.

“Calvin,” the boy mumbled.

“Calvin,” I said. “That was my late husband’s name.”

“My friend said you’re a witch,” Calvin said.

“A witch?” I said, laughing. “Do I look like a witch to you?”

Calvin shook his head. “My friend said you’re a good witch. She pointed you out to me one day at the supermarket. She said she once saw you bring a dead man back to life.”

I laughed. “Really? And where did your friend tell you she saw this happen?”

“She said it happened downtown last summer. She said she saw Mr. Macgregor, our school’s history teacher, have a heart attack. She said you brought him back to life.”

I recalled what Calvin was talking about:

I was downtown, headed back to the store after lunch, when I saw a heavyset man of approximately forty years, walking with his wife. The man suddenly stopped dead in his tracks and clutched at his chest some fifty yards ahead of me. I then witnessed him collapse on the sidewalk, dropping an ice cream cone he’d been eating. His wife screamed. She knelt next to him and cried out for help.

I just happened to have some revitalizing powders with me in my purse that I’d mixed the night before. I felt around inside my bag for my vial of turmeric and sapphire. It was a very basic concoction that anyone could make with the proper ingredients, however, in the case of this particular batch, it was only effective when touched by my own breath. I ran toward the fallen man. A crowd had gathered around him.

“Does anyone know CPR?” Someone in the crowd shouted.

“I can help him,” I said, kneeling beside Jack Macgregor.

I took out the vial of powder and tapped out a small amount into my hand. A man lifted Jack’s head, and I gently blew the fine powder off my palm and directly into his nostrils. As if understanding where it needed to go, every last grain of the powder raced up the man’s nose and into his bloodstream. A moment later, Jack’s eyes opened, and he sat himself up. He then casually stood as if nothing had happened. The crowd clapped and laughed as if they’d just witnessed street magic. And if I’m being honest, that’s exactly what it was. Jack Macgregor sneezed and the powder I’d sent into his body via his nose shot out in a cloud in front of his head. Again, as if knowing exactly what to do, the powder whisked itself around the crowd like a dragon kite. The crowd watched as the cloud of powder soared into the sky and disappeared.

“Thank you so much,” Mrs. Macgregor said.

“You’re very welcome, dear,” I said as I went on my way.

“Well,” I said to Calvin. “Anyone can bring the dead back to life if they know the correct measures to take when assisting someone who’s gone into cardiac arrest. One might say doctors and EMTs can bring the dead back to life, but I wouldn’t consider them witches.” Calvin looked disappointed.

A small white coupe pulled to a stop in front of the house. The driver, a black woman, got out and walked up to the porch where Calvin and I were sitting.

“Hello,” the woman said. “Is that a Pepsi?”

“Yep,” Calvin said as he casually sipped from the can.

“Well, aren’t you a lucky one,” said the woman.

“I hope it’s okay. I didn’t even think to ask if it was something he’s allowed to have,” I said.

“We usually save soda for special occasions, don’t we, Calvin?” The woman said.

“You must be the boy’s mother,” I said, standing.

“Marilyn Shaver,” the woman said. She had a friendly smile and a pretty face. Her hair was straightened, and she wore it over her shoulders. Marilyn was dressed in a flower pattern dress and appeared to have come from work.

“Catherine Howe,” I said, shaking Marilyn’s hand. It was smooth and warm. I rarely shook hands. I didn’t have many occasions to. I didn’t go to church, and the regular patrons of my bookstore were people I’d known for years. The casual shoppers never introduced themselves. Those that did rarely wanted to shake hands. I found most book collectors to be solitary types. Introverts.

“Are you ready to go, young man?” Marilyn asked her son. Calvin stood and picked up his backpack. “Thank you for watching him,” Calvin’s mother said. “I hope he wasn’t too much trouble.”

“He was fine,” I said.

“What brought you all the way out to these parts anyway, Cal’?” His mother asked.

“I was curious to know that myself,” I said.

“I got on the wrong bus,” Calvin said.

“Boy, I don’t know why or how you made that mistake, but it better not happen again. Now, please thank Miss Howe.”

“Thank you,” Calvin mumbled.

“You’re welcome,” I said.

“If there’s anything he can do for you, don’t hesitate to call me,” Marilyn said. “I’m trying to teach him responsibility, so any time we can return the favor, please let me know.” She opened her purse and took a card out of her wallet.

I took Marilyn’s card and said, “Come back any time, Calvin. Just don’t go anywhere near my pond unattended, or you may end up a nice snack for Octavia.”

“Thank you, Catherine,” Marilyn said as she followed her son down the porch stairs. “Who’s Octavia?”

“Giant octopus,” Calvin said without looking back at his mother.

“I see,” Marilyn said, skeptically.

That night, I had a terrible dream:

I was a young girl again in England. I was being chased through a field by Max who was still a boy. He was calling out my name, and I was laughing as I ran. I put my head down and sprinted through the heather. A moment later, Max’s voice changed and was suddenly much more mature-sounding. I looked over my shoulder. He was no longer a little boy. His face was pale, his hair was thin, his fingernails were long, and his cheeks and eyes were sunken. He was a vampire. I was frightened. I ran faster through the field, which was now the charred remains of a town destroyed by fire. Under my feet were red hot coals, which were melting my shoes and slowing me down. I began to cry. I heard heavy breathing and turned to see Max gaining on me. I tripped over a charred log and fell headfirst into the coals. The embers burned my hands. I screamed. In a flash, my adopted brother was upon me. His cold hands grabbed my wrists and rolled me over, my hair caught fire. I continued to scream as he opened his mouth and leaned in to bite me on the neck. I felt his hot breath on my flesh, and just as the points of his teeth touch my skin, I woke.

I sat bolt upright, breathing hard and fast. I touched my hair, slid out of bed, and walked to the bathroom. As I sat myself on the toilet, I heard a strange sound, like the tiniest fingernails in the world scratching at something. The sound happened in bursts so short I almost thought I was imagining it. I finished and went into the bedroom to see if I could find the source of the sound.

I turned on the light and stood in the center of the room, listening. The scratching sound began again, and a fearful vibration ran through my bones like an electric shock. The source was unmistakable. No. It couldn’t be.

I slowly walked over to the other side of the bedroom and took the small wooden box that I kept the bound mouse in off the shelf. I held the box in my hands, staring at it. I sat down on the bed and gently lifted the cover. Inside the box was the mouse reanimated. His nose sniffed the air. He scratched at the wall of the box until his two tiny front paws found the edge at the top. With one hand, I scooped the mouse out and held it close to my face. It was uncanny. The same creature I’d frozen over a century and a half before was alive again as if no time had passed since I’d put the binding spell on it. If this mouse was alive, it could only mean one thing: any day now, Max may also become free from the spell.

I placed the mouse back inside the box, knelt in front of the small bookcase in my bedroom, and pulled out the book with the binding spell. I opened the tome to the bookmarked page and attempted again to cast the spell on the poor creature. It didn’t work. In rereading the text, I found that the ancient instructions didn’t guarantee the spell would be effective indefinitely. The text did clarify, however, that the spell couldn’t be cast on the same subject more than once. This was going to be a problem.

It was going to be difficult enough as it was trying to get back to sleep with this new information weighing on my mind, the addition of a living rodent scratching away at the inside of a box all night would only exacerbate my restlessness. I brought the mouse to Bregaris who was sleeping on his bed in the corner of the dining room. He woke when I turned on the light. I took the mouse by the tail and lifted it out of the box, dangling it over the head of my panther pet. Bregaris lightly pawed at the rodent and sniffed it. The mouse’s tiny front paws danced on the panther’s nose. The giant animal opened his jaws as if ready to snatch the mouse from my grasp and swallow it whole.

“Uh, uh,” I said, wagging a finger at my anxious and hungry cat. Bregaris whined, frustratedly. “Sit,” I said. Bregaris sat. His eyes crossed as he stared at the mouse, which was now standing on his nose, like a bear balancing on a ball at the circus. If I can’t recast a binding spell on Max, and I can’t cure him, I must kill him. Tomorrow, I thought. Tomorrow I will travel back to the mountain and drive a wooden stake through the heart of my adopted brother. It’s the only way to ensure he never reanimates and harms anyone again. I held up the pointer finger on my right hand and put my other hand behind my back. Bregaris shifted anxiously and licked his teeth. His eyes looked from the mouse perched on his wet, jet-black nose to my finger in the air. I held my digit for a moment longer, then said, “Okay,” and pointed to the rodent. In an instant, Bregaris flung his head back and simultaneously opened his jaws as wide as possible. It was as if his snout was a tablecloth being whisked away from under a set of expensive Chinaware. The mouse disappeared, and after a few grotesque bites, the big cat swallowed the rodent in one gulp.

***

I was old, but I didn’t feel it. The spells I’d been using for years in order to keep my appearance youthful and healthy made me look to be in my mid to late sixties. As such, five years of living were equal to one on my face and body, both inside and out.

I was still beautiful. I had a full head of straight hair that came down to my chin. These days I wore it parted neatly on the side. I’d never needed glasses. The spells I’d cast on my eyes worked better than Lasik surgery. My skin was soft and naturally wrinkled in places, and although my hands were veiny, there were few blemishes.

The magic I regularly performed regarding self-care had continued to work throughout time. This made the rules of the binding spell that much more frustrating. Why, if I was able to use spells for potentially hundreds of years in order to preserve myself and live a healthy life without ever having to go to a doctor, could I not recast a spell more than once on another living object and have it be effective indefinitely?

Contrary to what you may have come to believe about witches, we don’t travel by broomstick. Before terrorism changed the rules of travel in the earliest years of the twenty-first century, I used to be able to go long distances by train with nothing but a ticket. These days, however, most forms of public transportation required an ID, something I’d never had nor wanted. I’ve read about witches attempting to travel via teleportation, but it was a method that had never been perfected, and as such the results were spotty at best. Most documented incidents reported witches and warlocks arriving at a destination with only half of themselves intact. It wasn’t uncommon for limbs to go missing. There were very few reported cases of enchanters having success teleporting, and even some of those instances had been debunked and scrutinized over time.

Since I planned on traveling by car, the same as I had in the last fifteen-plus years, and I didn’t have to worry about my bag being checked, I took a walk to the local hardware store and purchased a heavy hammer and a wooden stake. I packed these items at the bottom of my carryon along with a change of clothes, toiletries, and a leather satchel for my hike up the mountain. I bought a water pouch I could wear like a backpack and drink from through a straw, hands-free. The advances made in hiking gear technology were a marvel. Every year, before I made the journey to Max’s cave, I found myself excitedly walking around an outdoor recreation shop, examining the latest and greatest conveniences for the contemporary hiker with money to burn.

In the past, Bolan had been the one to care for Bregaris while I was away. I’d decided this was as good a time as any to cash in the favor Marilyn mentioned the evening she picked Calvin up from my home. I called the number on her card and asked if she would be so kind as to drive him over to the house so that he could feed Bregaris while I was away. I left a key hidden inside a fake rock in a potted plant on the porch. In the kitchen, I left two empty bowls, one for food and one for water, that could be swapped out when my panther’s current bowls were emptied. Bregaris’ cage had a small door on the bottom that rose high enough to slide the food bowls, which were secured to a tray with wheels, in and out. I made sure to leave some newspapers inside the cage as Bregaris could overpower most men, and I wasn’t about to ask an adolescent boy to take my big baby out for a walk while I was gone. The pond had been stocked with crabs the week before, so I wasn’t worried about Octavia, but I did tell my wood sprite friend that I wouldn’t be around for a few days and not to be surprised if he saw a young man walking in and out of my house.

The night before I was to leave for Virginia, I couldn’t sleep. I lay in bed, worrying about what I would have to do when I arrived at the cave. The last time I’d visited the mountain was the previous summer. It was now late fall. In another couple of weeks snow would begin to cover the mountaintop. That was the time when some hikers, believing they could get one last trek in before winter, would get stuck somewhere along the trail and require rescuing.

As soon as there was enough moonlight to cast a reflection, I made my way to the pond in order to attempt to see if I could tell whether or not the binding spell had worn off on Max the way it had on the mouse. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t conjure an image of what was transpiring near the top of the mountain. After a time, I gave up and tried to sleep, but was not able to.

The next morning, I dressed in jeans, fashionable boots, and a black leather jacket over a navy turtleneck. My only luggage was a single carryon and a near-empty backpack for my hike up the mountain. On my face I wore black plastic sunglasses with lenses so dark you couldn’t see my eyes. I looked at myself in a long bedroom mirror as Bregaris circled, rubbing his sides and tail all around my legs, practically knocking me over, forgetting he was ten times the size of a housecat that would typically claim ownership of a human in this way.

“I must say, Bregaris,” I said, pulling my sunglasses down on my nose as I turned and admired myself in the mirror from all angles, “I look damn good for two-hundred-and-three.”

A car service picked me up at my house at seven in the morning. It was a shiny, black 2018 Audi A7 that matched my outfit and carryon. The driver would be taking me as far as a bus station where I’d get into a second car that would bring me to a bed and breakfast in Peakskill, Virginia.

I was still wide awake in the car on the way to the bus station. The driver, a man who looked to be in his thirties, tried to make polite conversation, but I wasn’t interested and instead asked him to turn on a radio station that had the news. I’d packed a few novels for the ride and swiftly made my way through all three during the first leg of the journey.

We arrived at the bus station where I found the second car waiting. From the station to Virginia, the sleep I’d been deprived of during the night before finally came, albeit only for a short time.

During this second leg of the twelve-hour trip, I had a dream:

I was back at home with my late husband. We were making love. He completed and slid out of the bed. When I rolled over and opened my eyes, T’Chuba was lying next to me. She was in chains. I woke with a gasp.

“Everything okay?” The driver, a woman, asked. She looked to be about the same age as the driver of the first car.

“Just a bad dream,” I said, sitting up and taking off my sunglasses as I rubbed my eyes.

“Did you need me to pull over?”

“Yes,” I said. “If you would please stop at the next exit, I’d appreciate it.”

The woman pulled off the highway and parked in front of a gas station. As she filled the car’s tank, I got out and stretched my legs. I walked into the convenience store side of the establishment and looked around. The newspaper headlines featured only either gloomy national news or recent sports happenings. I made myself a small hot coffee, adding a dash of milk, and paid the boy behind the counter for the drink along with two newspapers and a paperback novel titled Kissing Oblivion. I knew I’d need to stay awake for the rest of the trip if I was going to be able to get a decent night’s sleep before leaving first thing tomorrow for Max’s cave.

The incident in the car wasn’t the first time I’d had the T’Chuba dream. For years I’d been racked with guilt for the way Calvin and I had left her in that dungeon, never knowing her fate. I thought about T’Chuba often. The dreams differed, but only slightly. Sometimes I’d see her in my bed. Other times I’d open a closet and she’d be there. Still other times she’d be sitting next to me on a bus. In the dreams she never spoke, and I always woke just after seeing her. Although T’Chuba had told me years ago she knew what her ultimate end would be, she never told me exactly how she would perish or why she’d been privy to this information. I’d long believed this was because the occurrences that would lead to her eventual demise were so closely intertwined with my own actions.

I manage to stay awake for the rest of the journey, reading the newspapers and the novel I’d purchased. Folks in the present-day always seem to require some form of technological stimulation. Although I owned a TV, I rarely turned it on. Working in a bookstore for years and years, I’d grown to appreciate silence. I was content to sit quietly by myself and read a book or drink a cup of coffee and stare out at the pond. On nice days, Bolan would ride the white swan while gently plucking at an acoustic instrument made from a hollowed log which he called a santir.

By the time we arrived at the bed and breakfast it was late, and I was hungry. The house was run by a couple named Jesse and Dawn. My driver took my carryon out of the trunk, and I gave her a considerable tip. I checked in and paid the husband, Jesse, with cash. He took the carryon up to my room and I followed. I told him I’d be leaving at sunup for the mountain trail. He said he and his wife would begin serving breakfast at five. I told him that I was hungry and asked if there was a place that delivered. He provided me with a printed menu from an Italian restaurant around the corner.

My room was very homey. There was a hardwood floor with a large blue, white, and red braided oval rug in the center. In one corner was a full-size bed with a heavy quilt. Against the opposite wall stood an oak dresser and mirror combination next to a small desk and chair. There were two windows with blue curtains that looked out onto the street. The room had its own bath with a tub, toilet, and sink. On the wall above the bed were two small paintings side by side. One of the paintings was of a giant sailboat in the middle of the ocean. It made me think of my time hiding away onboard the ship when I was secreted out of England. The other painting was of a man and a woman riding horses alongside one another. The couple in the painting were dressed as if they were in the 1800s. This painting reminded me of my brother Max and I and the times we’d spent together.

Jesse had placed my carryon on the bed. I put my newspapers and novel on the desk and sat down with the menu I’d been given. I was famished. The pizzeria was called Gino’s. I picked up the phone and called in an order of spaghetti and meatballs and a Sprite.

While I waited for my dinner to arrive, I opened my carryon and began removing the items I’d packed for my hike. I then began to load the backpack with the hammer and wooden stake, gloves, a first aid kit, a flashlight, a poncho in case of rain, a box of granola bars, an extra pair of socks, and a hat. I filled the water container that I’d be wearing on my back and made sure that the straw mechanism worked. I then lay on the bed and returned to my book.

I jumped when the phone rang. It was the lady of the house, Dawn, calling to let me know that my dinner had arrived. After paying the delivery boy, I began to walk back upstairs to my room. From behind her desk in the foyer, Dawn asked if I would prefer to eat at the table in the dining room.

“No, thank you,” I said.

“Well, if you have anything you want to keep in our refrigerator, feel free to put it in there. Just make sure your name is on it. I would hate to have someone accidentally take your leftovers.”

I thanked her and walked upstairs with my dinner. I knew before I sat down to eat that there wouldn’t be anything leftover, I was that hungry. The spaghetti and meatballs weren’t bad considering they came from a pizzeria in a tiny mountain valley town in Virginia.

After dinner I filled the bathtub with hot water and luxuriated, reading my book and sipping at the can of Sprite. I’ve lived long enough and read enough fiction to know where the story was going right away, and this book was no exception.

After my bath, I requested a wakeup call for four in the morning. The warm water had made me tired, but to ensure I’d sleep through any nightmares, I cast a sleeping spell.

It was still dark when the phone rang at four. According to what I’d been told upon arriving, it would be another hour before Jesse and his wife began making breakfast. I brushed my hair and dressed in the hiking attire I’d packed: a pair of brown cargo pants, green wool socks, and black hiking boots. Over my torso, I wore a sports bra under a black long-sleeve breathable shirt with a hood. I put all my toiletries back into my carryon and brought everything downstairs.

The plastic wheels of my luggage banged loudly down the stairs as I pulled it behind me, most likely waking anyone in the house who wasn’t already up. I sat down at the table in the dining area next to a boy and girl. The girl appeared to be a few years older than the boy.

“Hello,” the boy said to me.

“Good morning,” I replied.

“Good morning,” the boy repeated.

“Hi,” the girl said.

I wasn’t used to being around children this young. With Calvin it was easy, as he was a bit older. With younger children, however, I was unsure how to interact. That these two could at any time ask me a question regarding who I was or what I was doing made me nervous. Children this young didn’t typically come into my store. If they did, they were always accompanied by a parent.

“What’s your name?” The boy asked.

“Catherine,” I said. “What’s yours?”

“Jacob,” the boy replied.

“I’m Lily,” the girl offered.

“Oh,” I said as I looked around.

“Where are you from?” The boy asked.

Before I could answer, the children’s parents exited the kitchen, each holding two plates, one for themselves and one for the boy and girl.

“Okay, guys,” the father said as he and his wife put plates with bacon strips and toast with jam in front of Jacob and Lily. “Breakfast is served.”

“I’ll go get our drinks,” the wife said as she turned and walked back into the kitchen.

“Good morning,” Jacob and Lily’s father said to me.

“Hello,” I said. “I’ve never stayed here before. Do I just go into the kitchen?”

“Yeah, Jesse and Dawn get up super early to get everything ready. You just walk into the kitchen and grab a plate and help yourself. That’s the way they like to do things.”

“Thank you,” I said, standing and walking into the kitchen, passing the wife as I went, happy to be saved from the unpredictability of Jacob and Lily.

In the kitchen, Jesse was manning the grill while his wife loaded up trays on an island in the middle of the room. The trays were filled with French toast, sausage, scrambled eggs, and bacon. On a long counter at the far end of the kitchen was a pot of coffee and mugs, a glass carafe of orange juice and paper cups, and a bag of bread, toaster oven, and preserves. Next to this were creamers and sugar packets as well as clear plastic containers filled with a variety of dry cereals, bowls, utensils, and napkins.

“Good morning!” Jesse shouted over the sizzling of bacon on the stove.

“Good morning,” I said as I picked up a plate and began to load it with eggs, hash browns, and bacon strips.

Dawn turned in my direction and smiled before going back to work restocking the trays.

I poured myself a cup of coffee and added a small amount of half and half. I took a knife, fork, and napkin and walked back out to the dining area. It was now quarter after five. Jacob and Lily were fighting, and their mother was standing over them, trying to settle them down. The father was reading a newspaper and sipping his coffee. I sat down opposite him and ate my breakfast.

The children’s father folded the paper and put it down next to his plate. “Looks like it’s going to be a nice day,” he whispered loud enough for me to hear, but not loud enough so as to expect a response if I wasn’t inclined to give one.

“Excellent,” I said, sipping my coffee.

“Is this your first time staying here?” The kids’ mother asked as she wiped her hands on the back of her jeans and sat down at the table.

“Yes,” I said.

“This is our second time,” she said. “We love it here.”

“Are you a hiker?” The father asked.

‘Uh oh, questions,’ I thought to myself. ‘Relax, Catherine. Just be honest.’ “Yes, I am a hiker.”

“We used to be,” the mother said. “It’s tough with the kids. Maybe we’ll get back into it when they’re a bit older. These days the only exercise we can all agree on is swimming. These two just love to swim.”

Just then, Dawn poked her head out of the kitchen. “Can I get anybody anything?” She asked while wiping her hands on a dishtowel.

Everyone shook their heads. Dawn disappeared and came out a moment later with a piece of toast on a plate and a cup of coffee. She sat down at the table with us. The mother and father immediately began complimenting her on the house and their room, and Dawn politely asked them questions about their plans for the day. I used the opportunity to finish my breakfast, then excused myself from the table.

My car arrived just after five thirty. The plan was to hike up to the cave, drive a stake through the heart of my adopted brother, then trek back down to the foot of the mountain, take a different car back to the B and B, pick up my carryon, and take the same car service back to Rhode Island.

The trailhead was an hour’s drive from Jesse and Dawn’s bed and breakfast. I tipped the driver and began the long trek up to the cave. Fortunately for me, the good weather continued. There were some clouds in the sky, but for the most part the sun lit my path. I’d brought a plastic poncho to wear in case of rain, but also to keep Max’s blood from getting on my clothes. It was early, and I saw no other people as I climbed the mountain.

***

As I reached the cave, the wind began to pick up. I took out my flashlight and entered. The breeze whistled by the entrance. The first thing I noticed was the rats. They appeared to have been killed recently, their blood dried on the walls as if they’d been thrown against it. A sudden fear ran through me as I considered that perhaps Max was hiding in the shadows. The flashlight I’d brought was particularly powerful. I moved slowly into the cave, being careful to pan the beam over every corner and fold of the rock walls, half expecting my adopted brother to spring out and attack at any moment. When I finally saw the coffin, the blood in my veins turned to ice. The lid had been pushed off. The coffin was empty.