Back Cover Copy:

Two years after walking the Spirit Path, David is offered a scholarship to the MacFarland School for Gifted Children. During a visit to the school, he encounters a mystical creature who gives him a cryptic warning. Over a shortened summer break, he discovers the mysterious specter was a banshee, the supposedly mythical herald of dreadful tidings.
Returning to MacFarland at the start of the school year, David and two new friends, Jenny and Seamus, learn a series of mysterious deaths has been plaguing the area. When they discover the perpetrator of the attacks is an evil witch, they desperately search for a way to discern the identity of the villain, and the means to stop her, before she can take another innocent life.

With the help of the school’s headmistress, Melinda de Havilland, a white witch of the highest order; Seamus’s grandfather, Laird Angus; and a feisty little pixie named Drizzle, can Little Hawk find and destroy the most wicked witch of all?

 

 

Chapter 2

Smoke and Mirrors

 

   Melinda de Havilland raced through the rear corridor of the large mansion-turned education academy. Her platinum-blond hair, which she wore styled in a tight French plait during school hours, was undone and flowed behind. A silver moon pendant, dangling from a delicate chain around her neck, sparkled in the light of the full moon shining through the numerous large windows comprising the walls and ceiling of the corridor. The opening of the meeting with the Senior Council had taken longer than she intended, and she was late; she had to reach the mirror before the moon passed beyond the apex of its orbit.

   She stopped at the end of the hall, where another corridor led toward the front of the house, and glanced around, a precaution taken more out of habit than believing anyone would be watching; at this hour, all the students, and most of the in-house staff, were fast asleep. With a curt nod, she stepped toward a large tapestry covering a small alcove at the junction of the halls. Taking another quick look around, she stepped behind the giant textile; a massive oak and iron door stood before her.

   Melinda pulled a small pouch from a secret pocket in her light turquoise gown. The pocket was concealed by an accompanying darker sash tied around her slender waist. She fumbled with the sachet for a moment, and cursed herself for her clumsiness, then retrieved an ancient iron key from within. The latch gave only the slightest of clicks, when she inserted the key and turned the lock; without a sound, the door glided inward.  A narrow staircase ascended to a secret room, only she could access.

   Racing up the stairs, she crossed the room to a large ornate desk and retrieved a small golden box from the center drawer. Placing the box on the desk, she traced her fingers along an intricate design of roses on twisting branches, that served as the container’s lid. A thin, white smoke, visible through holes in the cover, floated inside; contained only by the magic that sealed the box.

   Melinda waved her right hand above the container, and a glowing blue dot appeared inside. She pointed at it and twirled her finger; the dot began to circle within the smoke. At first, its revolutions were slow, and it would appear and disappear between the spaces in the lid’s design. But as it gained speed, it passed through the interlaced vines to hover several inches above the vessel. Free of the confines of the box, the dot continued to gain speed, and the circumference of its circling path expanded, until it appeared as though it were a solid ring, over eighteen inches in diameter.

   The white smoke seeped from the container, and converged with the spinning ring to create a hazy, glowing wall. The circle turned itself on end, and drifted through the smoke. Melinda held her open palm toward it; it slowed to a stop and floated before her.

   Removing her necklace, she dangled the silver pendant by its chain, and moved it into the center of the circle. For a brief moment she held onto it, then released the chain; the necklace hung suspended amidst the haze within the ring.

   Light from the full moon streamed through one of several porthole windows in the roof, shining on a tall oval mirror sitting in the corner of the room. Melinda hoped her luck, and the moonlight, would last long enough for her to complete her mission. She moved to stand before the mirror; random images from her past appeared and faded, in slow succession, around her reflection. “Show me the attack that occurred in town during the last full moon,” she commanded.

   The glowing circle floated across the room, with the pendant still suspended within. Coming to a stop, just above the mirror, it drifted down to stand atop the frame. She held her breath; the images of her past, and her reflection, melted away, as if the glass had turned to liquid. For a moment, a wraithlike figure appeared, and a sorrowful moan echoed through the room. Then it was gone, and another image came into focus; Melinda was looking at a young woman walking down a dimly lit street. She jumped, when a figure in a long, hooded cloak stepped from the shadows and grabbed the girl by her arms.

   The girl struggled, and managed to wriggle free from her assailant, but three other hooded figures emerged from the darkness. The henchmen regained control of their victim and forced her to face their leader. Light from the full moon, streamed over the young woman’s shoulders to illuminate a portion of the face beneath her attacker’s hood; revealing a vile, deformed, hideous creature.

   “It’s a hag,” Melinda thought.

   She watched the girl struggle with the monstrosities assailing her. The hag’s lips moved in silent rendition of what Melinda could only assume was a spell; then her eyes began to glow, and she opened her mouth. The victim struggled a moment longer, before going limp, then her mouth dropped open; an action Melinda was positive she did not choose to take.

   The image in the mirror rotated and she was looking over the hag’s shoulder, staring into the vacant eyes of the victim. A slender beam of light flowed from the young woman’s mouth.  The pretty young face began to ripple and distort.

   Melinda fought back tears as she watched the terrifying scene unfold. “Please hold,” she begged the moon, anxious to discover the purpose behind the attack or a clue to the assailant’s identity. But, as the once precious young face began to wither and age, the moon ascended beyond the perimeter of the window and the image was lost; the spell had been broken. The glowing blue circle dissipated, and her necklace fell to the floor. “No!” she wailed.

   The mirror’s ability, to show past events, could only be used once on the first night of each full moon’s cycle; and, when the spell was broken, the power could not be reactivated until the next full moon. She didn’t want to wait for another month before she figured out who was behind these horrific attacks.

   Though she did not see the final moment of the assault on the young woman, Melinda knew what the outcome was, for it was the third such attack in as many months. News of the first victim did not set off any alarms for her. She didn’t even recall much about it other than a short news report, from a nearby town, on the death of a young girl who appeared to have aged overnight. The report said the medical examiner was stumped, and that was the last she had heard.

   The following month another young lady perished, of the same strange affliction, and still Melinda’s mind did not connect the two events. Then last month, when another victim was discovered, she realized something foul was afoot. One such incident was a curiosity; two cases were possibly a coincidence; but three such cases, on three consecutive full moons, that was a pattern… and one that did not bode well for the town.

   She had contacted the Senior Council right away to demand a meeting to discuss the situation and to decide on a course of action. But as is often the case, in situations where events do not have a direct effect upon those with the power to impact them, the council head did not see urgency in her request. She refused to call a council meeting until the first night of the next full moon, in accordance with tradition, when their powers would be at their greatest.

   Melinda spent the time between then and tonight, planning the actions she would request the council take. She had debated with them long and hard, urging them to authorize a hunt to track down the creature she knew was haunting the town. But the most the other council members would agree to, in an eleven to one vote, was that she should use the power of the mirror to determine if there was, in fact, an unidentified creature preying upon the town, or if these events were just unusual deaths of common humans; thus, her race through the halls to seek the truth.

 

   Melinda hung her head and reentered the conference room where the rest of the Senior Council awaited her report. The others stared at her, in silence, as she walked to her seat. Gripping the back of the chair, she took a shallow breath to steady her nerves, and raised her head to glare at an older woman at the other end of the table; tears streaked her face, and her lips curled.  “I told you we should take action!” she hissed. “I told you there was some foul being, preying on this town, but you refused to act and…”

   “What have you seen?” Alessandria Floros interrupted; irritation at Melinda’s impudence burned in her eyes. As Prolocutor of the Senior Council, she didn’t tolerate such insolence well, probably the result of her Greek heritage, and Melinda was laying it on thick.

   “I have seen a creature so horrible, the only word I can think of to describe it is a hag,” Melinda said. “I told you, there was something…”

   “Were you able to determine the identity of the creature?” Alessandria inquired, lowering her chin to look over her bifocals at the much younger witch.

   Melinda shook her head. “No, I only had a brief glimpse; the moon climbed too high to shine upon the mirror and broke the spell, before I…” she paused to take another shallow breath and a tear ran down her cheek. “I fear there will be another attack… if there hasn’t been already. We…”

   “Well, then,” Alessandria said, once again cutting her off, “there is nothing more for us to do here. This meeting of the Senior Council is adjourned.”

   Melinda looked around at the council members, in disbelief, when they stood to leave.  “What do you mean, ‘there is nothing more for us to do’?” she blurted, stepping in front of Alessandria as the elder woman made her way toward the door. “We have to find this person, this thing, this… this hag; and stop it, before it kills someone else.”

   Alessandria leveled an angry glare at her. “This hag, as you call it, is only killing ordinary humans; it has hurt none of our kind. Therefore, it is not in the purview of this council’s responsibilities to act.” She brushed passed Melinda.

   “Not in the purview of…” Melinda mumbled. Taking an angry breath, she turned to face Alessandria’s back. “What about just doing what is right?” she fumed. “We can’t just let this thing kill innocent people,” she pleaded with the council head.

   Alessandria stopped and turned back to her. “We can, and we will,” she said, indicating herself and the rest of the council, except Melinda, with her finger. “Unless this creature attacks one of our people, we,” she indicated herself and the others again, “shall do nothing. You, however, may do as you please.  Maybe you will be the cause for us to change our minds.” With a haughty huff, she turned toward the door.

   “So, then you’ll be done with me, right Alessandria?  No more worries about my constant lobbying against the unpopular positions you managed to force through this council... especially those regarding interactions with humans!” Melinda charged to her back. “So be it; I will do something. And when I’m done, I will denounce you, and I will call for a vote to remove you as head of the Senior Council!”

   “You will never be appointed to lead this council,” Alessandria snapped over her shoulder. She stepped into the outer hall, where the rest of the council were waiting. It was customary the Prolocutor of the Senior Council should always disapparate first.

   “I don’t care if they appoint me or not,” Melinda called after her, “as long as they remove you from the chair and appoint someone with a heart!”

***

   Melinda sat by the window in her chambers, sipping a cup of tea and replaying the events of the previous evening. Below, the midday sun streamed down on the lake, making the still blue water shimmer. A young girl, from a group of teens sitting on the pier, walked toward the edge of the dock and, with the graceful form of a trained diver, dove into the water.

   A coinciding knock at the door made Melinda jump, bringing her out of her thoughts. She smiled when she found one of the first-year students, fidgeting in the hallway. “Yes, Ryan, what is it?” she asked.

   “Ms. Williams sent me to get you, Ms. de Havilland,” the boy replied. “She said to tell you the police are here.”

   “The police?” Melinda repeated with a raised brow.

   “Yes, ma’am,” Ryan said.

   Melinda plucked her keys from the small table, standing just inside her door, and stepped into the hall.  “Lead the way,” she directed the young message bearer.

 

   In the front hall, a tall, handsome man, in a gray sport coat and blue jeans, stood conversing with Maggie Williams. Maggie was one of several housemothers who watch over the children during non-school hours. Melinda dismissed Ryan and crossed the foyer, smiling as she addressed the pair. “Good afternoon, Maggie. Hello Officer…”

   “Good afternoon, ma’am,” he said, extending his hand, “I’m Detective Sergeant Harris…. New Market PD.” He held up a small leather case containing his badge and police identification.

   She gave his hand a gentle shake, admiring the way his jacket and the small patches of salt and pepper hair, just gracing his temples, complemented his light gray eyes, making them standout against his deep brown skin. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sergeant. I’m Melinda de Havilland, Headmistress of the MacFarland School for Gifted Children.” She hoped she didn’t sound too haughty or snobbish. “How may I help you?”

   “I wish I were here for more pleasant business, Ms. de Havilland… “

   “Please, call me Melinda,” she offered.

   He smiled, with no real joy in the gesture, and gave a brief nod. “Melinda,” he corrected, “is there somewhere we may speak privately?” He gave Maggie a tense, apologetic glance.

   “Certainly; follow me.”

   Sergeant Harris nodded to Maggie and followed Melinda across the lobby.

 

   Melinda took her seat, and waved a hand at two chairs before her desk.

   The detective shook his head. “Thanks, but this shouldn’t take long. I assume you’ve heard about the mysterious deaths that have occurred, in town, over the past several months.”

   “Yes, I have, but only what has been in the news; the victims all appear to have died from aging overnight, is that correct?” she hoped her affected tone of uncertainty sounded sincere.

   “Yes, that’s correct.”

   “That is indeed mysterious. But how may I be of assistance in such a matter?” she inquired.

   “Well, ma’am, there’s been another death… late last night,” he revealed, watching her reaction.

   Melinda’s eyes widened and she sucked in a sharp breath. “I’m sorry to hear the town has experienced another tragedy, but I still don’t know how I can be of assistance to you.”

   Still watching her for any signs of foreknowing, Sergeant Harris replied, “The death didn’t happen in town.” Her prim posture stiffened, as he continued. “A body was found this morning, by two fishermen, in the lake.”

   “Oh dear,” she sighed. She looked at him, her eyes unfocused and distant. “Where on the lake?” she asked, walking to the large windows overlooking the water.

   The detective stepped next to her and pointed. “There, near the eastern edge of the school’s property. You can just make out the crime scene tape and the vehicles along the edge of the road.”

   Melinda’s breath caught in her chest. “So near,” she thought. “Do you know the person’s name?” she asked.

   “Well, ma’am, that’s why I’m here. I need you to come with me to try to confirm their identity.”

   Melinda’s body tensed.  “How could I possibly…” she started; her ice-blue eyes clouded over as she turned to him. “Is…” she couldn’t finish the thought.

   Sergeant Harris’s shoulders relaxed. When a new body was discovered, so close to the school, he realized there was another pattern common among the deaths, besides their timing. Each successive incident had occurred along a line leading to this property. He began to ponder the possibility that maybe the cause of the deaths was related to the school; could someone here be causing them? His detective’s mind created a list of the most obvious suspects, people who would have the freedom to come and go as they pleased… as headmistress, Melinda was at the top of the list. While he didn’t believe someone of her position would be involved in such peculiar events, and watching her reactions was just a habit formed over the years talking with suspects, you could never be too sure. Now, from her response, he was certain she had no foreknowledge of this death, nor any of the others… or what may be causing them.

   He nodded. “I’m afraid the person may be a member of your staff; we found a school ID, on a lanyard, around her neck. It said her name was Melanie Singer.”

   Melinda wavered; her legs felt like they were made of rubber bands. Sergeant Harris reached out to steady her, and helped her back to her chair. After a moment, she regained her strength and took a slow, steadying breath. “Ms. Singer is one of our history teachers,” she revealed.

   “Do you know if she’s been sick recently?” he asked.

   She shook her head. “No, I saw her yesterday morning; she was fine. “

   “You saw her on Saturday morning, ma’am?” the sergeant confirmed, jotting a note in a small spiral notebook Melinda hadn’t noticed, even though he had been taking notes throughout their conversation.

   She nodded. “Yes, she is one of several staff members that live on the property. She loves the children, so she also works as a housemother; all housemothers live on the premises. She was excited about the full moon last night.”

   The detective nodded, adding another note to his pad. He stopped writing and wrinkled his forehead at her, the crease between his eyebrows deepened. “The full moon?”

   “Yes, Melanie is also a closet artist,” she said, with a reminiscent smile. “Was… a closet artist,” she corrected, realizing she was still referring to her friend in the present tense. “She was very talented; she thought the moon over the lake would make a spectacular painting, especially since it was supposed to be a super moon.”

   He annotated the additional details in his book.  “Ma’am, I have to ask, on the chance this is something other than a mysterious natural death, is there anyone you know of who may have wanted to harm Ms. Singer?”

   Melinda shook her head. “No, she is a very sweet young lady; in the three years she’s been with us, I’ve never seen her have a negative interaction with anyone.” She recalled innumerable incidences where Melanie interacted with others; students, faculty… other staff members, making them smile and laugh as she snapped their picture on an old 35-millimeter film camera. She swore it took better photographs than a digital camera, even though the film was expensive and hard to find; and she had to develop the pictures herself, in a makeshift darkroom. Melinda’s eyebrows arched at the revelation. “Did you find her camera?”

   “Camera?” the detective echoed, his voice registering increased interest.

   “Yes, she seldom left her room without it. When she found a subject, she thought would make an interesting painting, she would take several photos to work from; that way the image she wanted to recreate would always stay the same. If this is more than a mysterious natural death, maybe Melanie snapped a shot of whoever’s behind it.”

   Sergeant Harris jotted a quick note in his book, hopeful for a new lead to follow. “I’ll stop by the scene on our way to the Medical Examiner’s office to see if they found it.” He held out his hand to her. “Ready?”

   She stood, without taking his proffered assistance. “Yes, I’m ready, Sergeant.”

   Several curious staff members, and numerous children, looked on as he led her to his car.

***

   Melinda could not confirm the identity of the person, found by the lake, as Melanie Singer based on appearance; the face she knew was young and full of life, but the victim’s face was wrinkled with years beyond measure. It was almost as if the fishermen had discovered a mummy, rather than the body of someone who perished less than twenty-four hours ago. But, in her heart she was positive the body was that of her friend. She reached this conclusion based upon the clothing and jewelry that belonged to the decedent; all of which she had seen Melanie wear many times. So, in the end, she felt right in confirming the person’s identity.

   “When did she die?” she asked in a soft voice, looking through the glass at the once lovely girl, now unrecognizable on the cold table.

   “Doc says it was hard to pin down an accurate time of death, but as far as he can tell it was between one and two a.m.,” Sergeant Harris said. “If C.S.U. finds that camera, you mentioned, it may clarify the timeline… if nothing else.”

   Melinda closed her eyes, she felt so exhausted. “We could have prevented this,” she thought. “May I go home now?” she asked. “I need to contact her parents.”

   Sergeant Harris nodded to the medical examiner and headed toward the exit. “We can call them together,” he said, pulling his phone from his pocket.

 

   Upon returning to the school, Melinda called an urgent meeting. She was surprised to have the entire staff available and onsite, so quick, on such short notice. The teachers and other staff members, many of whom lived in town and were aware of the previous deaths, were shocked and dismayed when she relayed the news of Melanie Singer’s demise. Their grief filled the hall as they huddled in groups to console one another.

   Spotting her assistant, Peggy, in a group gathered near the administrative office, Melinda headed toward her. The woman dabbed her eyes, as she approached, and asked if there was anything she could do to help. Melinda gave her a comforting touch and asked for her assistance with notifying the students’ parents of the event. Together they managed to contact them all before ten o’clock.

 

   Early the next morning, Melinda called an old friend in Salem. Bill Martin was a noted psychiatrist and therapist; she asked if he and his associates could come to the school to serve as grief counselors for the students, faculty, and other team members. The school had two counselors on staff, but as both knew Melanie well, she thought they, too, may benefit from his services. Doctor Martin and his team arrived at the school before classes began.

   As soon as attendance was completed and all students were accounted for, Melinda called everyone to the auditorium for an assembly. The shock and sadness, in the eyes of the students, when she informed them of Melanie Singer’s death, broke her heart. Many, if not all of them had interacted with Ms. Singer, over the past three years, as either teacher or housemother. After announcing Doctor Martin and his staff were available to talk with anyone who needed them, she cancelled classes for the rest of the week. Returning to her office, she sank into her chair; overwhelming grief flooded over her, and tears streamed down her face.

 

   A light knock brought Melinda out of the stupor brought on by intense grief and anxiety, coupled with exhaustion; she hadn’t slept well in the days leading up to her meeting with the Senior Council, and not at all since. She wiped her eyes and looked toward the office door. Running a hand over her hair, she called, “Come in.”

   Peggy stepped into the room. “Sorry to bother you,” she said, approaching Melinda’s desk, “but the mail just arrived, and this was on top of the pile.” She held out an envelope, with the word ‘URGENT’ printed below an address block written in a graceful, flowing script. “I thought you’d want to see it right away.”

   Melinda squinted at the upper left-hand corner of the parcel; the return address was from New Mexico. As far as she knew, she had no connection to anyone who lived in the desert southwest. “Yes, thank you, Peggy.” She gave her assistant a tired smile.

   “You’re welcome. May I get anything for you… a cup of tea perhaps?” Peggy offered, taking in the sense of weariness emanating from her boss.

   “No thank you,” Melinda replied, with absentminded distraction, as she retrieved her letter opener from a desk drawer.

   “Very well,” Peggy said. She laid the rest of the mail on Melinda’s desk and returned to her own seat in the outer office.

   Melinda considered the packet a moment longer, before slicing open the top edge. The letter inside was written on a delicate, crisp stationary in the same elegant handwriting that addressed the envelope.

   “Greetings Sister,” it began, “A dreadful situation occurring in a town near your sanctuary has come to my attention.  As a fellow Sister of Lunar Enchantment, I write to offer hope and assistance…”

 

   Peggy started, and jumped from her seat, when Melinda burst from her office and ran across the room. “Melinda,” she called after her, “is everything alright?”

   “Everything is fine!” Melinda called over her shoulder, racing through the atrium toward the main staircase.

   Reaching the alcove at the juncture of the two halls, on the uppermost floor, she looked around to ensure she would not be observed, then slid behind the tapestry. The large oak door made nary a sound as she pushed it open and ran up the tower stairway to her hidden refuge. Crossing the room, she retrieved the small gold box from the drawer and placed it in the center of the desk. The mirror would not work, to show past events, until the next full moon; but it, and the box, had other abilities she could use.

   The thin, white smoke still twirled and twisted inside the container, and the blue dot appeared, as it had before, when she pointed her finger. Melinda repeated the rest of the steps, she used on the night of the full moon, to create another smoky wall with the glowing circle floating before it.

   Taking the letter from the envelope she had brought with her, she placed it in the center of the circle; when she let it go, the page hung suspended, as if held by invisible strings. The draft created by her hand, when she waved it before the glowing circle, caused the paper to flutter.

   “This letter suggests I may need help to stop the one behind the deadly attacks plaguing this area. Tell me, does the letter speak true?” she asked aloud.

   “Yessss,” came a ghostlike reply, from within the smoke.

   “Is it also true there is only one who can help me?”

   “Yesss,” the eerie voice replied again.

   “And is the one named in this letter, the one who can help?” she pressed, hope playing at the edges of her voice.

   “Yessssss,” came the ethereal response once more.

   “Show me,” she commanded.

   The letter fluttered to the desk, and the glowing ring drifted toward the mirror with the smoke spiraling within. Coming to rest against the glass, it expanded to encompass the entire surface; the smoke came together in the hazy form of a bird with outstretched wings. The misty image lingered for only a brief moment before melting back into the twisting wall of smoke.

   Melinda watched another figure take shape within the mirror. The image rotated amid the smokey haze, as details were added and changed. She held her breath, fearing the slightest draft would disturb the still evolving form and break the spell.

   Seconds, that felt like hours, ticked by; the figure became solid, and the smoke flowed back into the box. Melinda gave a start when the form within the mirror stopped rotating, for she was looking at the face of a teenage boy; a boy the letter had referred to as… Little Hawk.

​