Page 47 of Haunted Eclipse
“Something on the order of what you were wearing last night—the leggings, tunic outfit.”
“That’s doable.” I hurried to my room, where I decided that last night’s dress was still clean enough to wear again, though I’d put on clean leggings. I brushed my hair back into a pony tail, and touched up my makeup, then slid into a pair of knee high snow boots. They weren’t Uggs, but they had the same look. As I returned to the living room, Astra gave me an approving nod.
“That works. Grab your purse and let’s go.”
As we headed out to the car, I caught my breath. The world was crystal white. Everywhere, the blanket of white cloaked dirt and grime, and the entire world seemed to sparkle.
Nightshade livedon the opposite side of town, so we took it nice and easy, and tried to avoid the side streets until we couldn’t. The high priestess lived on a slope, but Astra had snow tires and we managed to plow our way up the hill, sliding a little, until we were at the top. It was a slow incline, thank gods. If it had been any steeper, even snow tires wouldn’t have been enough.
“How long till we get back to rain and gloom?” Astra asked. “This is pretty but I think we’ve had more than our share.”
“It’s supposed to taper off tonight and by late next week, we’ll be back to regular temperatures and rain. But with this much snow, it could take a while to fully melt.” I’d been checking my weather app quite a bit over the past few days.
“There, ahead—that’s Nightshade’s house.”
Nightshade lived in a Victorian house which brought to mind gazebos and garden parties and colorful rooms filled with nicknacks. Only Nightshade’s house was painted a leaf green on the outside, blending in with the surrounding trees. She lived on a heavily wooded lot, offering her privacy from her neighbors.
“The garden’s around back,” Astra said.
“Well, it’s a beautiful place, at least from the outside,” I said. “She’s taken really good care of the place, it looks like.”
“She does. No cobwebs and spooky corners for her, I’ll tell you that. The inside’s been renovated—well, you’ll see. Just don’t expect tiny rooms and velveteen settees.”
We parked in the driveway, and there was a stone path leading from the drive to the main sidewalk. Both were coated with snow, but it was obvious that they’d been shoveled at some point that morning. We passed beneath the branches of a large oak that grew up next to the side of the house. It shaded the drive, the stone path leading to the main walkway, and the side yard. Beneath the oak, a cluster of ferns rose, almost waist high, and I could easily imagine crocuses and tulips and daffodils peeking out, come spring.
Beside the steep staircase leading up to the porch, a long ramp with a gentle grade stretched out. Both steps and ramp had guard rails, and the steps were snow-free, as was the ramp.
“How does she keep them free of snow? Does she shovel every five minutes?” I noticed that as the snow met the wood, it melted, vanishing into thin trickles of water.
“They’re heated. It could be radiant heat like we have in the house, perhaps. Nightshade has a lot of clients that come visit her. She needs to have easy access for them to enter her home.”
Astra rang the bell and, within seconds, a woman answered the door. She must have been in her late thirties, and she was wearing an apron over a flowered dress.
“We’re here to see Nightshade. She’s expecting us,” Astra started to say.
“Oh yes, Ms. Svensson, please come in.” She stood back, escorting us in and taking our coats before we could say another word. “Ms. Evergreen is waiting in the living room, please go ahead.”
“Thank you, Irena.” As Astra led us toward the right, the maid—I assumed she was the maid—hung up our jackets.
The foyer led into a massive room. Astra was right, the house had been renovated far from the original, because most Victorian homes had tiny, cramped rooms.
The room we entered was the size of three rooms, at minimum, and it was clean, tidy, and polished. The floor was marble, with an outer perimeter polished black, and the inner pattern a shade that reminded me of a dirty gold or a gold-olive.
The sofa and chairs were black leather and green microfiber, the inset shelves some sort of ebony wood, and the accents were dark steel and glass. All in all, it felt like we were in a professional conservatory, with the myriad plants scattered around the room. The diffused light came from both the ceiling chandelier, and inset side lights that glimmered with a warm, comforting glow, yet were still bright enough to read by.
One thing was abundantly clear to me: Nightshade had money, exquisite taste, and the place reeked of magic and power.
“Please sit down,” Irena said, entering the room. “May I offer you something to drink? Lemonade? Coffee? Tea?”
“I’ll have coffee, thank you. Espresso, if you have it.”
“Of course. How many shots and would you like milk or cream with that?”
“Three shots, a little cream, and one sugar, please.”
“Very good. And for you, Ms. Svensson?” She never missed a beat, turning smoothly to my aunt. She had her role down pat, that much was for sure.
“Raspberry tea,” Astra said.
