Page 15 of A Lullaby for Witches

The sound of approaching footsteps and voices pulled her from her reverie, and a shadow passed over her closed eyes. When she opened them, she found Chris, Gemma and Doug standing over her, all wearing equal expressions of concern. How long had she been sleeping? What had come over her that suddenly the woods felt so unthreatening that she could actually fallasleep?

“Look at Mother Nature over here,” Chris said, helping her to her feet. “We were wondering where you were.”

Clearly, they hadn’t wondered enough to actually come looking for her. “I had to go to the bathroom and I got turned around,” she told him as she brushed dead leaves and dirt off her pants. “Didn’t you notice I wasn’t with you guys anymore?”

Gemma flicked her long ponytail back, surveying her with detached scorn. “You’re like, two minutes away from the parking lot,” she said, pointing to where Augusta could just make out the tops of a couple of cars.

Gemma’s attitude would have usually left Augusta mumbling with burning cheeks, but after the surreal experience of getting lost, panicking and then slipping into a meditative state, wasting her energy on Gemma felt like less of a priority. She’d started the day ambivalent about having to spend time in nature, but as she slid into the driver’s seat and started the car, she was inexplicably sorry for having to leave behind the woods, and the secretive wind that blew through it.

Do not think that because I have no corporeal form that I am completely divorced from the goings-on of the present day. If you have ever hastened home ahead of an approaching storm, then you know that the energy hanging in the air is as real as the lightning that follows.

Tethered to my home as I am, I can only see that which transpires inside the house. Yet all the same I know that she has been to the woods, trod over the rocky ground where once my secret cabin stood. Do not ask me how I know; it is the same way that birds know to fly south, the same way that a fox can pick up a scent on the wind. How I envy her freedom to come and go, to sit among the craggy rocks and lichen-painted trees. All the same, I am glad she feels called, because I have more to show her. So much more.

The next week Augusta disarmed the alarm system and let herself into the back door of Harlowe House. After nearly a month, she was feeling more at home at her new job, and even though she didn’t need to get up at the crack of dawn anymore to take the bus, she still came in early. She liked the mornings when she had the house to herself before the rest of the staff arrived. It was quiet, and she was able to listen to her music while she worked.

After dropping her stuff in the kitchen, she sat down at her desk and got out the binder of the Harlowes’ collection. The community outreach guy from the Boston office was coming by later that day, and Jill said that he’d be looking for some objects to showcase in their summer exhibit.

Augusta flipped through the collection catalog and sipped her tea, the sounds of the old house filling the silence around her.

But there was one sound that was out of place. She lifted her head, trying to isolate it. Over the hum of the air purifier and the muffled car traffic outside, she could hear someone walking downstairs. It couldn’t be Jill or Reggie because the door sensor hadn’t gone off, and it definitely wasn’t the guy from Boston because Jill had said he didn’t have the code and would need to be let in. The tour guides didn’t have codes either, and anyway, the house was closed to tours today. If someone had broken in the alarm should have gone off, shouldn’t it? She reached for her phone, the hairs on her neck standing up.

Her instinct was to sit as still as possible and not make a sound, but she was responsible for this house now. She wasn’t quite sure what she would do if she came face-to-face with an ax murderer, but she had to dosomething. As quietly as she could—which wasn’t easy given the old, creaky floorboards—she stood up and made her way to the office door. Pausing, she listened again for the footsteps.

Nothing.

If there was someone else in the house, perhaps they’d heard her and stopped moving. Reggie’s words about the creaks and sounds an old house made came to mind, but this didn’t sound like the natural settling of an old structure. This was the sound of very deliberate movement.

She was just about to call Jill when the door sensor went off and she heard Jill herself come in, talking on her phone and dropping her bag in the kitchen. Letting out a giant sigh of relief, Augusta grabbed her mug and went down to meet her.

When Jill saw her, she waved and motioned to indicate that she would be off the phone in a minute. After she’d hung up, she gave Augusta an apologetic smile. “Hey, sorry about that. Our water boiler broke last night and I’m trying to get a repair guy scheduled.” She paused, studying Augusta’s face. “Are you okay? You look a little green.”

“Oh, yeah.” Augusta was about to tell her about the footsteps, but something stopped her. Had she really heard anything? Jill had said they had a resident ghost, but Augusta didn’t really believe that was anything more than a cute way of explaining the phenomena common in old houses. More likely it just had been the house settling, or even another episode like her first day when she’d had that hallucination. “Just had a late night,” she said, with a forced shrug.

Jill didn’t look convinced, but before she could say anything, Reggie popped his head in. “Doughnuts?” He flipped open a box, revealing a tempting array of doughnuts, crullers and sticky buns.

Jill took a chocolate one. “Oh, God, why do you do this to me, Reg?”

He grinned, then offered the box to Augusta. She forced herself to shake her head, even though they looked mouthwatering. “No, thanks. I’m not hungry.”

“More for me,” he said with a wink, grabbing two. “If you ladies need anything, I’ll be out back.”

Augusta returned to her desk, forcing herself to ignore the rumble of her stomach. Jill was across the hall, the reassuring sound of her classical music floating from her half-closed door. A text from Chris lit up Augusta’s phone, asking what she wanted for dinner that night. Things had been good between her and Chris the last couple of weeks since the car, yet she still felt restless, anxious. It was probably just from the new job, getting used to her new schedule. At least, that’s what she told herself. She was afraid that if she examined her feelings too deeply, she might find that there was truly something wrong in her relationship, and if that was the case, she wasn’t sure what she would do.

Flipping open the collection catalog of jewelry, Augusta quickly lost herself in the glossy pictures of precious stones, gold stickpins and all sorts of treasures. Jill had told her that the theme for the upcoming exhibit was “personal adornment by the sea,” and Augusta had already identified five objects from the collection that would perfectly complement the pieces that local artists would be displaying.

She was so absorbed in her work that she didn’t hear Jill’s music stop or the light knock until Jill was in the doorway.

“Hey, Augusta,” she said. “Sorry to interrupt. Is this a good time?”

“Oh, yeah. Totally.” Shoving a bookmark in the catalog, Augusta looked up and realized there was someone with Jill.

“This is Leo,” Jill said, gesturing to the fair-skinned thirtysomething guy next to her. “He does all our community outreach and public programming.”

Augusta had never really understood the meaning behind the phrase “boy next door” before, but seeing the young, clean-cut man with the chestnut hair and easy smile, suddenly she got it. If this guy had lived next door to her growing up, Augusta would have never moved out of her parents’ place.

Augusta smiled and stood to shake his hand, trying not to focus on how absurdly cute he was. “Hey, nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” he said, his handshake firm, his smile warm and genuine. “I know Jill is excited to have you here.”

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