Ghosts ⚔️ Blackbeard's Treasure

Chapter 15.

Blair's Queen Anne-style home is right out of a storybook setting. Even with its neglected exterior, the decorative trim and asymmetrical roof, with its corner tower and multiple gables, create a whimsical fairytale effect. Her white and black Witchy Business sign hangs from two metal link chains above an inviting wraparound porch.

Protective witch bells jingle above the door frame as we enter. The front room's thick cream drapes are drawn tight for privacy. A few Victorian lamps glow in corners to relieve the darkness; while across the room, a faint light shines through colorful, stained glass windows, creating a shrine-like interior. Breathing the stuffy air, I sneeze. There's an inch of dust on the skull on the fireplace mantle. Blair says it's atmospheric, but I think the entry hall needs a good scrub, and the dining area, with its built-in oak china cabinets, some fresh lemon polish. I wrinkle my nose at an offensive smell, like old shoes are boiling away on the kitchen's cast iron stove. She must be making a new batch of anti-aging cream. It's one of her best sellers.

In the sitting area, where she does her readings, a pile of her deceased aunt's ancient leather-bound texts sits haphazardly on a heavy polished table. I see herbs, tinctures, and worn Tarot cards spread out next to the books. We ascend three wooden steps to where Blair's living room transitions into her Wicca shop.

There's no rhyme or reason to her store's haphazard merchandising. She sells a wide range of magical supplies, including occult books, herbs, crystals, candles, incense and potions. My fingers itch to organize this chaotic melee, but if I move so much as a dirty tea cup, she'll claim she can't find it next week. The only thing she keeps organized are the expensive bolts of fabrics she buys to make her exotic clothing designs. The long, luxurious rolls sit color-coordinated on a deep wooden shelf in her work room. Her clothing sketches adorn the dark, paneled walls like miniature Monets.

As Dylan and I weave our way through overstuffed chairs and crowded antique tables, displaying various occult artifacts, a small brown owl swivels his head, watching us from his usual corner perch. Oscar blinks, sleepily, before returning to his dozing.

We hear a shrill voice, emanating from Witchy Business's back storage room.

"What a disgusting creature—I swear on my sacred virginity, Blair Adel. The Goddess Mother shall take you in your sleep. You will pay for this blasphemy."

I hear an unintelligible, mumbled response, followed by a loud bang.

"Why don't you apply yourself to The Craft? You could be powerful witch—a next generation leader if you gave up this fashion business nonsense."

"I don't want to work in this shop for the rest of my life. I want to be a designer." Blair bellows in the back room.

Dressed in mourning for her sister, Blair's Aunt Ahti, rushes past us in a flurry of black, flowing skirts. Her graying hair is swept up in a chignon revealing the family's signature high cheek bones. Her long, angular face is weathered and lined, but I can still see her former beauty. Like her niece, the woman's dark eyes are shrewd and intelligent.

She stops when she sees us and throws up her hands. "Elizabeth, you must talk sense into her. Blair's wild magic needs my guidance and discipline, or else it will corrupt her. She won't listen to my counsel." Without waiting for a response, Ahti barrels out the door like a regal Queen, cursing her niece in another language. The two sisters, Blair's aunts, never got along, but after Regina died and Blair inherited Witchy Business, Ahti's festering resentment turned into muted fury. It doesn't help that Blair has no interest in participating in Ahti's floundering Coven.

I find Blair with her new dog, Caesar, sniggering in the storeroom. The ten by ten room she converted from a walk-in pantry is her hideaway. I see why Ahti was enraged. As if he's worshipping his new master, Caesar sits like an ebony Sphinx on a small Ark of covenant style altar used in the coven's sacred ceremonies.

"Good boy—she's gone." The black dog sits up at the sight of us. Blair tosses him a treat. Without moving his head, Caesar snaps the kibble between his jaws and gobbles it like a trained seal. At the sight of Dylan, he lays back down and rolls over on his back. Lolling his tongue, he proudly displays his junk. Dylan walks over and rubs the dog's belly, inducing grunts of pleasure.

"I got your text. What did you want to show me?"

Blair looks up, her eyes flashing with excitement. "Have you told Dylan about the treasure?"

"Yes, but I haven't told, Julia."

"The sooner you tell her, the better. Things are moving fast. " Blair grabs one of her aunt's ancient volumes from her work table. "I figured out how Roy McGuillacuddy was going to use your bells to search for Blackbeard's treasure."