Chapter 2
Orange and yellow leaves blew past the car as Lizzy drove me to the Austen Heights station since an airplane ticket was out of my budget. She parked near the entrance. “Remember, whatever happens, you’re strong, brave, and so kind. Maybe you’ll meet the perfect guy as well.”
“You’re sweet, but dating is more complicated than that… kind of over it at the moment.” I hugged my sister. “Thanks for the ride.”
“Oh, dating’s not complicated...” Lizzy waved off my comment, but we both laughed before she finished speaking. “Okay, yes, it is. Watch out for thugs.”
“Thugs?” I laughed again. “Okay, I’m going now. Thank you for the ride. I’ll let fate take its course and try not to get mugged in the city.”
“Let me know how it goes,” Lizzy called before I closed the car door.
“Deal.”
It was Wednesday, and I wasn’t needed at the conference until Thursday. But leaving early gave me the chance to visit my Aunt Penny.
Before long before the train sped past farmlands, autumn foliage, and covered bridges until the towns turned into cities and the horizon took the shape of skyscrapers.
The brilliant blue sky nourished my optimism.
Somehow, things would work out. I clicked through my email and messages as the train rattled down the tracks, reading my messages from Armond Moreau at Haven Corporation.
“...an unexpected immediate need for a photographer.”
I had to know what happened. So I searched… death, Haven Corporation, foul play… nothing.
I kept trying… photographer… Haven Corporation… tech convention… murder … New York City?
An article popped up with the image of a beautiful dark-haired young woman. "Two days ago, a car crash killed Margery Blake, a thirty-six-year-old woman and media specialist for Haven Corporation, when her car failed to slow on the freeway. Daughter of…”
I clicked off my phone and pulled my down jacket closer to my body. A pit formed in my stomach. Maybe I didn’t want to know. Not at the moment, anyway.
After several transfers, I stepped out onto the Grand Central platform in New York City.
Nothing compared to Austen Heights, where the stars were visible at night, we had fresh air, and saying hello to strangers didn’t scare them. But I loved the city… so alive, vibrant, and where the possibilities were endless. The two worlds felt like two versions of myself.
The effort involved in getting from the train platform to the outside sidewalk was comparable to some of my high-intensity workouts. Dodging rushing crowds of New Yorkers, searching for an exit, and carrying my heavy suitcase were not small feats.
I got to a curb, hailed a cab, and recited the familiar instructions to the driver. “Take Columbus Ave., then Lexington to Morningside Heights, please.”
“You know the best routes. Must be a local? But it looks like you’ve packed for a trip.” The cab driver opened the trunk for my single suitcase and bag.
“Just a frequent visitor,” I said. I’d spent several summers with Aunt Penny when I was in high school. Her kids were younger than I was, and she needed a nanny. So I fit the job.
In under twenty minutes, I stood in front of Aunt Penny’s gothic-designed apartment building. It had a traditional limestone facade and massive granite flower planters on the sidewalk.
Mr. Marcos, the doorman, had watched over the marble entry for as long as I could remember.
As always, he’d combed his graying black hair back like an orchestra conductor, wore polished shoes, and had a waxed double mustache.
I stepped inside as he held the door open for me.
Even though it was only November, orchestral Christmas music played from an old-fashioned CD player in the corner.
“Well, it’s Miss Jane Bennet,” he made a theatrical bow. Just like he did when I was a little girl. It used to make me giggle and feel like a princess.
I offered a hearty handshake and soaked in the joy he radiated. “Mr. Marcos, it’s so good to see you. I’m here to visit my Aunt Penny.”
“Oh, I know, Miss Bennet. She’ll be happy to see you. Just sign in here.” Mr. Marcos’s wide smile indicated he had a joke ready for me. “Now, let me see. Can you tell me why teenagers only hang out in groups of seven or nine?”
“Hmm, I've no idea. Why?” I scribbled my name on the check-in form.
“They can’t even…” He imitated a teenage girl's voice, paused for a moment, raising his eyebrows, then belly laughed. “I got that from my granddaughter.”
I chuckled at the joke as I stepped into the elevator. “It's good.”
“Ugh. I can’t even…” I imagined Lydia sighing in disgust at her social drama.
Before I knocked, Aunt Penny swung open her door wearing green flannel pajamas and a fluffy pink robe. “Oh, Jane! Of all the welcome sights, you must be so tired. Let me make you some tea. You’re even lovelier than the last time I saw you.”
She ushered me inside, helped me out of my coat and boots, and led me to the kitchen, where I smelled her buttery honey brioche baking. Her brown and cream rag-doll cat, Moonbeam, joined us, rubbing her face against my ankles and purring. I stooped to scratch her ears. “Hi, sweet girl.”
“She remembers you,” Aunt Penny said, and I wanted to bask in their tranquility—both Aunt Penny's and the cat's. “She’s terrified of strangers, but you’ve always made her feel safe.”
“We’re buddies, aren’t we, Moonbeam?” I gave her one more scratch, then stood and hugged my aunt. “I’ve missed you. Your bread smells like the kind my mom makes.”
“Well…” Smile lines formed around Aunt Penny’s eyes, and she tapped her right temple. The afternoon sunlight trickling in from the kitchen window illuminated her copper hair. “You know, I helped at the family bakery as well.”
Warm yellow and crisp blue china decorated the cheerful room, and bundles of drying herbs hung in the window.
“Any adventures in that realm lately? Do you still mix potions?" I inquired. She was a retired professor, and magic had helped her with research.
Aunt Penny didn’t have the same zealous tendencies toward potionry as my mom.
But everyone in the family used magic occasionally.
My great-grandmother founded Cupid’s Confections over seventy years ago, and all the children learned to cook from her.
I smiled, trying to imagine Aunt Penny and my mom playing in the kitchen while their grandmother baked.
“Oh,” Aunt Penny chuckled. “Certainly not like your mother. I do a little for healing concoctions and some for research. And when necessary, I’m not timid about using a reliable truth serum.”
We all had different opinions about what crossed the line with magic. “I’ve always been hesitant to use truth serums without permission… mostly because I’m afraid they’ll find out and be angry with me.”
“That's the Jane I know. Always concerned about other’s feelings. Just remember that your own feelings also matter.” She pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and set out a cup of tea for me. “Uncle Terrance is already asleep, so I thought we’d have a little girl time. I bet you’re famished.”
"Sounds delightful." I sipped the ginger tea blend—the same kind she’d given me since high school when I’d spent those summers with her. “You remembered I love this one.”
“Of course, Jane. You’re like a daughter to me.” She winked. Moonbeam hopped up onto my lap and bumped my chin with her nose. I ran my fingers over her head as she curled up into a purring ball on my lap. Her warmth comforted me after having braved the November evening outdoors.
“Now, before I get the bread out of the oven, I want you to tell me all about this boy you’ve been seeing.” Aunt Penny sat across from me, then laced her fingers together and rested her chin on them.
“Who told you—never mind, gossip travels at light speed in this family. I’m not officially seeing him, though.
We haven’t spoken for a while,” I said, resigning myself to an evening of spilling all my secrets in exchange for Aunt Penny’s sage advice.
“He’s a high fae and a healer. His name is Charles Bingley.
I met him when I was out with Lizzy at Club Meryton.
I hurt my ankle, and he healed it. From that moment on, we spent nearly every day together—for several weeks, anyway.
But he left town abruptly, and I haven’t heard from him since. So…”
“So you don’t know what to make of it?” Aunt Penny squeezed a bit of lemon into her tea, then stood to remove the French brioche from the oven. My mouth watered as she placed it on the table and cut large slices for each of us.
“It's probably over.” I didn’t want to dwell on the subject. “Good thing I do a lot of walking when I’m in the city. This isn't the healthiest supper.”
“But occasionally it’s exactly what we need.” She gave me a knowing look. "Sorry about the boy troubles."
"It's hard to find the right person." I buttered and drizzled honey over my bread, steering the conversation toward something else. “You know, the previous photographer for Haven Corp’s convention died just recently. I kind of want to know more about what happened there.”
“Poor soul. Sounds mysterious—and scary.” Aunt Penny, who had always been very religious, looked toward heaven. “You’ve always had good instincts, Jane. How did the photographer die?”
“A car accident, but they suspect foul play. I can’t stop thinking about it.
” Moonbeam hopped off my lap and onto the windowsill, batting at a moving shadow outside.
I gazed at her silhouette as the sun set behind her.
Being a cat had to be nice. She’d never need to worry about careers, relationships, or murder investigations. Goodness.
After helping Aunt Penny tidy up the kitchen and wash the dishes, the evening’s late hour weighed on my eyelids. So after taking a long hot shower, I said goodnight and settled into bed.
In the silvery moment right before sleep, images of Margery Blake from her obituary flitted through my mind.
She tried to speak, but her voice fell silent.
I picked up on her fear—no, I shared her fear, experienced it myself.
She walked through a field and turned back, reaching her hands toward me, as if she were pleading for help or warning me of something. I shuddered.