Draw down the moon, p.1
Draw Down the Moon, page 1
Draw Down the Moon
E M Graham
Copyright © 2023 by E M Graham
All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents are the products of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
ISBN 978-1-990667-24-4
'… – it's a terrible thing, I think, in life to wait until you're ready. I have this feeling now that actually no one is ever ready to do anything. There is almost no such thing as ready. There is only now... And you may as well do it now. Generally speaking, now is as good a time as any.'
Hugh Laurie
Contents
1. Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Also By Liz Graham
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Chapter 1
My name is Eve. There I was, on the cusp of middle-age, and I thought I had it all, despite hot flashes, moody teenagers and a job that sucked my soul. My husband was neglectful, might even have been having an affair, yet I was still confident that I was in control of my life.
Until two weeks ago, I inherited a Hob Goblin.
My mental life became a little wobbly right about then. And I still had to sort the laundry.
The mountain of clothes took up most of the tiled floor of the small room, but that didn’t daunt me, for it would be taken care of in my usual methodical manner. Being the tail end of summer, it was mostly colors in the pile, with no fancy fabrics to be careful of.
Derek’s workout clothes made up the majority. I picked up the t shirt he’d worn the previous day for his Saturday afternoon run. With Selena, of course. I glanced all around me to make sure I was alone, then I sniffed the cotton hesitantly. The sharp clean smell of his sweat was overlaid with another, familiar perfume.
The smell of her. I’d been hearing a lot about her lately, Derek’s colleague at the university. Perfect Selena. Well educated, confident, skinny. Selena, the newest prof in a department adjacent to Derek’s. Selena, who was as fitness crazy as my husband. Selena with the perfect body untouched by childbirth, who had lots of time and energy to organize Pilates classes, who fit in with both the faculty and the faculty wives association.
I balled up the fabric tightly and threw it into the waiting machine. I was seventy-five percent sure they were having an affair, or something like it. I wanted to hate her, but she was always so dang nice. It pissed me off no end.
I wasn’t jealous, not at all. Some days I’d even catch myself fantasizing what life would be like if Derek moved out. But we’d been married for more than twenty-five years, and I figured it was normal for the spark between us to have long since disappeared.
As to the affair, well, she could have him if she wanted him, for I’d had little sexual desire for years. What bothered me was the sense of inadequacy I felt around her. I was so much less than her, yet given a chance, I could be so much more. I had never fulfilled my potential. I’d never had time to do it.
Sunday was always a busy day - my time to organize the week ahead. Synchronize the calendars for Derek and the twins so we knew who needed rides when and where; plan menus and lunches ahead of time so I could do the grocery shopping in one fell swoop that afternoon. Oh, add any items Mum might need picked up.
I also had to restock my secret stash of chocolate and locate a new place to hide my sweets. Perhaps in the garage – over by the old workbench might be the safest, for we had no tools and no one in the family was very handy that way.
‘Doing up the grocery list?’ Derek paused in the kitchen doorway, stretching his shoulders. The black Lycra of his biking shorts looked good on him, even in his mid-fifties. ‘Don’t forget the almond milk. And Claudie is gluten free this week.’
Claudie was her father’s daughter, trying every new food fad that came along. ‘Got it. No gluten for Claudie. You going for a bike ride?’
‘Oh yeah, the day is gorgeous for it.’ He straightened his t-shirt as he unconsciously glanced at himself in the mirror by the back door. ‘Not too hot, cloudy with a good breeze out there. Seen my biking gear?’
‘Should be right where you left it. What’s the plan for today?
I heard him root around in the mudroom closet, then he came back into the kitchen, helmet and biking gloves in hand. ‘Selena wants to do the old railway out to Conception Bay and back. Don’t suppose you’d like to…?’
I almost snorted my coffee. ‘No, I don’t suppose I would,’ I said as I wiped my mouth and placed the mug back on the granite counter of the island. I tugged my own t shirt down to cover the extra rolls that had crept into place over the years. ‘You go, and have fun. I have stuff to do here.’
Which reminded me, I needed to add extra groceries to feed Ralph. Oh, excuse me, his name was pronounced ‘Rafe’, according to the crabby little parasite who had been dwelling in my cellar for the past two weeks, ever since we’d had Mum’s excess stuff moved down there for storage. I’d inherited him from my Great-Gran, apparently, but I still didn’t know much of the story there. Mum refused to talk about it.
I had not shared the news of Ralph’s existence with anyone but Bel, my oldest friend. I was still on shaky grounds with her with regards to my own sanity. Bel was pressuring me to make a doctor’s appointment. Perhaps I should. Maybe it was just menopause and stress, like she said, and not the supernatural.
Derek followed my glance down to the huge, unsightly pet-flap on the door leading to the basement. It was large enough to accommodate the Newfoundland dogs bred in the home a generation ago, and no one had bothered to change the plastic flaps since. ‘You mentioned something about getting that boarded over, didn’t you?,’ he said reluctantly. ‘I suppose I can ask around if anyone knows a handyman.’
‘Ah, right,’ I hedged. ‘I’ve been thinking, and maybe we should wait until we replace the whole door. And that requires finding one of the right age, and you know, all that. I’ll schedule a visit to the antique stores and salvage places.’
In the language of our marriage, that meant I would take care of it.
‘Great.’ He smiled that charming Derek-grin, free of obligations and duties. ‘And the rats in the cellar? Did you get that figured out too?’
‘All sorted.’ I looked up at him and pasted a smile on my face. ‘No problems there. Not a rat or rodent to be seen.’
‘Excellent!’ He leaned over to give me a relieved kiss on my cheek, then he was gone out into the fresh air with his one of his bikes, the blue one. Derek had several. He’d tried to explain the different uses for each bike, but I didn’t quite grasp the importance of tire width. It was the same with his skis. Why one man would need four pairs was beyond my comprehension, but it kept him happy and mostly out of the house.
After he’d gone, I returned to my list of things to be done this week. I would have to put in extra hours at work to make up for last week. I took another sip of coffee and almost snorted it again as I remembered my behavior last week, skipping off work for no reason except that it had been Friday. And running out of the meeting the day before. I smiled. Yeah, there would be hell to pay with Barry on Monday.
‘How’s about my grub, then?’
Ah right. Feed the Hob Goblin. I looked up to see him poking his large head out between the plastic strips covering the pet-flap. Derek’s stolen alpaca cap was pushed off his forehead, revealing the sparse hairs on his skull.
‘What are you doing up here?’ My voice was a harsh whisper as I jumped off my stool and bent down to his level. ‘We agreed you’d stay down in the basement for now.’
‘That’s only if you keep up your end of the bargain.’ He stuck his lower lip out.
‘Alright, already. I’ve got pancakes warming in the oven. I’ll bring some down.’
‘With syrup, mind, the Canadian kind. And don’t forget the red jam and butter.’
If he could have slammed the plastic strips down, he would have. I heard his small feet thump back down the old wooden stairs.
How had I ended up with a Hob Goblin living in my cellar?
The short story was, I’d inherited him through the maternal line. Ralph claimed my Great-Gran had been a witch, and he’d been her familiar or something like that. I didn’t know the long story yet, but that was on my list of things to-do this week, too.
Ralph had really set himself up quite comfortably down there in our cellar, considering all he had to work with were my mother’s cast off furnishings in my basement. I’d ordered a tot’s bed and mattress for him, for I hated the tho ught of him sleeping in the old steamer trunk. Everyone needed comfort, even a Hob Goblin with shaky claims to my family tree.
‘Alright,’ I said as I laid the tray of pancakes with syrup and jam and juice on Mum’s low coffee table. I glanced around in the dim light. The cellar room was barely lit by the naked forty watt bulb hanging from the ceiling, its light only just reaching the stone arches all around us. None of the family spent much time down here, it was a creepy old basement with spider webs and no natural light. Although the rat catcher had assured me it was rodent free.
He appeared from the corner and dug right into the pancakes. I waited as he ate, not saying a word. Finally, his chewing slowed as he realized I was still hanging around, and he scowled up at me with suspicion in his eyes.
‘Wotcher want, then?’
I smiled at him ingenuously. ‘Answers.’
‘Better off asking your mother about the family witches.’
‘No, actually, if you remember, she denies everything,’ I said. ‘Either she really doesn’t know or she’s in denial about the weirdness. I’m afraid you’re the only one who can tell me what the truth is.’
He laid down his fork with an exasperated sigh and his voice was a whine. ‘I don’t know what more you want from me. I already told you everything. Your Great Gran was a witch, she could draw the future, et cetera et cetera.’
He swiped the last syrup from the plate with his finger.
‘What’s the et cetera part, though? What other things?’ I’d never had magical powers or anything supernatural in my life, no not a whiff, until I found I could predict the future through my doodles.
‘I dunno!’ He stuck his digit in his mouth and loudly sucked the sweetness off.
‘But surely you can help me discover what I need to know. You’re a magical being, you were Great Gran’s familiar! You’re the only … uh, person who can help me.’
Did Hob Goblins even count as people?
‘Maybe you should start with what you know. Learn to draw properly. Develop what you have.’ He stood up from the throw cushion he’d been sitting on and stretched his skinny arms.
‘You mean like take lessons in magic drawing?’ He was being no help at all. It wasn’t not like there was a local Hogwarts or something where I could go to and request assistance. This was St. John’s, Newfoundland, hardly the epicenter of the wizarding world.
‘How about lessons in art, period? Just take a step, any step, or else you’re not going to get anywhere then, are you?’ He walked over to the steamer trunk, the largest one with the small door in the side. Before leaving me, he added, ‘You better do something. You know you’re way behind where you should be at your age.’
Before I could remind him that I was only fifty-two and that wasn’t old at all, he walked into the trunk and firmly closed the door behind him.
And where was I supposed to be? Damn the rascal and his refusal to give me a straight answer.
Drawing lessons. I sat back and pondered this idea. There might not be any magic academies here in town, but there was one place that offered art lessons. I swallowed a lump in my throat that didn’t want to go down.
The Academy of Art. I slowly replaced Ralph’s dishes on to the tray. The very thought of it made me want to clap my hands over my ears and drown it out of my head. It wasn’t the building itself, of course. The Academy was housed in a beautiful stone edifice, a former bank that had housed a huge apartment for the manager on the three floors above the main street level. I’d heard it was majestic inside with stained glass windows, tall ceilings, magnificent carved wood fireplaces and everything. I’d never been inside, because to me the Academy represented Anastasia DesPlanques. Yet it was the only game in town when it came to art lessons.
I pulled the overhead light chain, leaving this small portion of the cellar in darkness, and I slowly made my way into the main room of the basement.
Anastasia, or Ana as Derek fondly called her, was a terrifying figure to me, and I was never one to scare easily. She stood a little over five feet and was almost as round as she was tall, but she had the confidence of a giantess. Ana was the Director of the Academy. She was a very famous artist in her own right and she knew it, and flaunted it to all the smaller people.
She was also the wife of the President of Derek’s university, so held sway over all social events and was a Person to Be Sucked Up To.
We’d been introduced at least five times, and each time she’d looked down her nose at me and sniffed. She had yet to remember my face or name.
‘But,’ I argued aloud to myself as I climbed the wooden stairs out of the basement. ‘I’ll take a beginner’s course. Ana would never stoop to be present at such a lowly class. I don’t ever have to see her or suffer being belittled by the woman. I can do this.’
Yet by the time I’d reached the top of the stairs, I’d totally talked myself out of the whole idea again. What seemed logical and reasonable when I was huddled in my cellar, talking with the family Hob Goblin, took on a totally different spin when exposed to the light of day.
This whole drawing the future thing? I still had my doubts. How could anyone predict the future? What utter nonsense.
Chapter 2
‘Alright, Mum,’ I said, taking a seat across from her. There was purpose and intent in my movement. I narrowed my eyes. So far she had refused to speak about the inherited family tendencies, but I needed answers, and she was the only person alive who could give them to me. ‘Tell me about the Books.’
She got up and moved across to her condo kitchen, fiddling with something on the counter and avoiding my eyes completely. ‘Yes, if you wouldn’t mind bringing them to the University Women’s group, I’d be much obliged.’ She threw this over her shoulder along with an airy smile in my general direction.
‘What are you talking about?’ My heart leaped a little with hope, but I scolded it back into place. It wouldn’t be this easy, it never was with Mum.
The morning sun filtered through the trees in the large planters on her penthouse deck. Her short hair glowed silver, a chic new cut that suited her. She’d quickly moved on since Dad had passed away. For one thing, she looked a couple of decades younger, with her long hair dramatically re-styled and highlighted and a whole new wardrobe that I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on, all bought on her trips to New York and Montreal. She sure didn’t look seventy-nine anymore.
She had a bounce in her step too, she put it down to the Pilates classes in her new condo building, and yoga. I sighed. Perhaps I should take up the classes with Selena that Derek was always on about. My mother looked younger than I felt at the moment.
‘The books for the sale, of course.’ She turned around, her eyes wide and innocent. ‘All your Dad’s old texts, I’ve been saving them for the University Women’s Book Sale. Such a lot of dusty old tomes, I can’t imagine anyone will want them, but there you go. They said the whole library would be a delightful addition to their fundraiser.’
I thought of Dad’s office in their old house, the room overlooking the river, and my heart sank. There had been thousands of books in it. Could the Books in question be among them? I’d never spent much time in his private home sanctuary, it had been Frowned Upon. In the rush and bustle of moving Mum into her condo and my own family into our new-to-us house, I also hadn’t questioned where all those books went. I’d had enough on my mind at the time.
I looked around. Her condo was spacious, as these things go, and being the penthouse it was far larger than any other units in the complex, but I knew there were no books here apart from the coffee table variety.
‘Where are they?’
‘I had the movers bring them to a storage unit out on Kenmount Road. Such a handy service, don’t you think?’
‘This is the first I’ve heard of any storage locker,’ I said. ‘Wait. Did you say all the books?’
‘Yes,’ she said, finally leaving off whatever she was doing and returning to the table. She sat and smoothed the placemat under her cup and saucer. ‘I didn’t want to bother you with them, you were going through so much at the time.’
Okay. I could look through all the boxes for the grimoires or whatever they were before shipping them off to the sale. This might be do-able. Of course, I’d have to enlist the help of Max and Claudie.
