The Witching Hour (Lives of the Mayfair Witches 1)

Fielding turned to Rowan. "So you're restoring First Street. You and that man of yours are going to live there. And so far things have gone well?"

"Why shouldn't they?" Rowan asked with a gentle smile.

But she was warmed suddenly by the blessing Fielding gave her as he rested his hand on her own.

"Splendid news, Rowan," he said, his low voice gaining resonance now that he had caught his breath after the long odyssey from the front door. "Splendid news." The whites of his eyes were yellowed, though his false teeth were shining white. "All those years, she wouldn't let anyone touch it," he said with a touch of anger. "Old witch, that's what she was."

Little gasps rose from the women gathered to the left. Ah, but this was what Rowan wanted. Let the polished surface be broken.

"Granddaddy, for heaven's sakes." It was Gifford at his elbow. She picked up his fallen cane from the grass and hooked it over the back of the chair. He ignored her.

"Well, it's the truth," he said. "She let it fall to ruin! It's a wonder it can be restored at all."

"Granddaddy," said Gifford, almost desperately.

"Oh, let him talk, darling," said Lily, with a little palsy to her small head, eyes flickering over Rowan, her thin hand knotted around her drink.

"You think anyone could shut me up," said the old man. "She said he was the one who wouldn't let her, she blamed it all on him. She believed in him and used him when she had her reasons."

A hush was falling over those around them. It seemed the light died a little as the others pressed in. Rowan was vaguely aware that the dark gray figure of Randall was moving in the corner of her eye.

"Granddaddy, I wish you wouldn't ... " said Gifford.

Oh, but I wish you would!

"She was the one," Fielding said. "She wanted it to fall down around her. I wonder sometimes why she didn't burn it, like that wicked housekeeper in Rebecca. I used to worry that she'd do it. That she'd burn all the old pictures. You see the pictures? You see Julien and his sons standing in front of the doorway?"

"The doorway. You mean the keyhole door at the front of the house?"

Had Michael heard him? Yes, he was coming towards them, obviously trying to silence Cecilia who whispered nonstop in his ear, oblivious to the dazed expression on his face, and Aaron stood not very far away, under the magnolia, unnoticed, eyes fixed on the group. If only she could put a spell on them so that they didn't see Aaron.

But they weren't noticing anything except each other, Fielding nodding, and Felice speaking up, her silver bracelets jangling as she pointed at Fielding.

"Tell her about it," said Felice, "I say you should. You want my opinion? Carlotta wanted that house. She wanted to rule in that house. She was mistress of it till the day she died, wasn't she?"

"She didn't want anything," grumbled Fielding, with a flopping dismissive gesture of his left hand. "That was her curse. She only wanted to destroy."

"What about the doorway?" asked Rowan.

"Granddaddy, I'm going to take you ... "

"You're not going to take me anywhere, Gifford," he said, his voice almost youthful in its determination. "Rowan's moving back into that house. I have things to say to Rowan."

"In private!" Gifford declared.

"Let him talk, darling, what's the harm?" said Lily. "And this is private. We're all Mayfairs here."

"It's a beautiful house, she'll love it!" said Magdalene sharply. "What are you all trying to do, scare her?"

Randall stood behind Magdalene, eyebrows raised, lips slightly pursed, all the wrinkles of his saggy old face drawn long and deep, as he looked down at Fielding.

"But what were you going to say?" asked Rowan.

"It's just a package of old legends," said Ryan, with a faint touch of irritation, though he spoke more slowly, obviously trying to hold it in. "Stupid old legends about a doorway and they don't mean anything."

Michael drew up behind Fielding, and Aaron came a little closer. Still they took no notice.

"I want to know, actually," said Pierce. He was standing to the left behind Felice and beside Randall. Felice stared intently at Fielding, her head wagging ever so slightly because she was drunk. "My great-grandfather was painted in front of the doorway," said Pierce. "That portrait's inside. They were always in front of that doorway."

"And why shouldn't they stand on the front porch of the house in these pictures?" asked Ryan. "They lived there. We have to remember, before Carlotta it was our great-great-grandfather's house."

"That's it," Michael murmured. "That's where I saw the door. In the pictures. God, I should have taken a closer look at those pictures ... "

Ryan glanced at him. Rowan reached out for him, gestured for him to come to her, and Ryan's eyes followed as Michael came around to the back of Rowan's chair. Pierce was talking again as Michael slipped down on the grass beside Rowan, so that she could rest her hand on his shoulder. Aaron now stood quite close by.

"But even in the old photos," Pierce was saying, "they're in front of the door. Always a keyhole door. Either the front door or one of the doors ... "

"Yes, the door," said Lily. "And the door's on the grave. The same keyhole d

oorway carved right above the crypts. And nobody even knows who had it done."

"Well, it was Julien, of course," said Randall in a low stentorian voice. They all paid a quick heed to him. "And Julien knew what he was doing, because the doorway had a special meaning for him, and for all of them back then."

"If you tell her all this craziness," said Anne Marie, "she isn't going to ... "

"Oh, but I want to know," said Rowan. "And besides, nothing could prevent us from moving into the house."

"Don't be so sure of that," said Randall solemnly.

Lauren threw him a cold disapproving glance. "This is no time for scary tales," she whispered.

"Do we have to drag up all this dirt!" cried Gifford. The woman was clearly upset. Rowan could see Pierce's concern. But he was on the very opposite side of the little gathering from his mother. Ryan was close to her. Ryan took her arm, and whispered something in her ear.

She's going to try to break this up, Rowan thought. "What does the doorway mean?" Rowan asked. "Why did they always stand in front of it?"

"I don't like to talk about it," Gifford cried. "I don't see why we have to dig up the past every time we get together. We ought to be thinking about the future."

"We are talking about the future," said Randall. "The young woman ought to know certain things."

"I'd like to know about the door," said Rowan.

"Well, go on, all of you, old mossbacks," said Felice. "If you mean to tell something finally after all these years of acting like the kitten who got the cream ... "

"The doorway had to do with the pact and the promise," said Fielding. "And it was a secret handed down in each generation all the way from the very earliest times."

Rowan glanced down at Michael, who sat with knees up and his arms resting on them, merely looking up at Fielding. But even from above, she could see the expression of dread and confusion in his face, the same damned expression that came over him every time he talked of the visions. The expression was so uncharacteristic that he looked like someone else.

"I never heard them speak of any promise," said Cecilia. "Or pact, or any doorway, for that matter."

Peter Mayfair now joined them, bald as Fielding, and with the same sharp eyes. In fact, all of them were gathering in a circle, three and four deep. Isaac and Wheatfield crowded in behind Pierce.