Celeste wasn’t sure if the brevity of it was a comfort or not. The fact he’d replied so quickly made her think the situation was, probably, even worse than she had imagined, and Uncle Gordon’s monocle – if he wore one, and for some reason in her imagination, he did – had popped right off his face when he’d received her note about the wards seeming weakened. She hadn’t seen him since she was a little girl, but even then he’d seemed a bit eccentric, always wearing tweed and huge red silk cravats. But, she realized, her calling anyoneelseeccentric was probably a little bit of a case of the pot calling the kettle black.
Well… I have an image to maintain, as an eccentric and reclusive mystery author,Celeste told herself as she wrapped a long, woolen scarf around her neck – one of her projects to keep her busy had been knitting everything out of every knitting pattern book she possessed.And it’s cold outside anyway.
Since there was notownon her rock – just the lighthouse – Celeste had to assume that the town Gordon had referred to was Portsmith, on the island. He hadn’t specified aplace, but given that Portsmith didn’t consist of much more than three or four streets of small, quaint buildings, she thought she’d probably be able to find him pretty quickly, especially given the way he dressed. He didn’t exactly blend in – but then, nor did she.
By the date on his letter, Gordon would be arriving the next day, or so Celeste hoped. It was possible he was already there, furious with her for not keeping their appointment. Aside from his clothes, the main thing Celeste remembered about her Uncle Gordon was his short temper.
I really would have preferred not to have to ask him for help at all,she thought grimly as she descended the spiraling stairs of the lighthouse.I can just tell he’s going to be a real pain in the neck about it.
But that hardly mattered. Right now, all Celestereallycared about was sorting out what was going on with the wards. She would have asked even the world’s most pompous and annoying person for help if it meant things would go back to normal.
The wind howled around her as she stepped out of the red front door, closing it firmly behind her. It was winter now –Oh,Celeste realized with a jolt,it’s actually almost Christmas, I guess– and normally she wouldn’t make the crossing in her little boat from the lighthouse to the island at this time of year. But since she didn’t have wings and she needed to find and welcome Uncle Gordon, she didn’t have a lot of choice.
At least the sea, gray-green and choppy, didn’t seemtoowild just now. She’d have to hope the weather held – though even though the snows could get pretty heavy, it rarely stormed at this time of year. That was more common in the summer months. And no ships had passed on this route for many, many years, so it wasn’t as if her lighthouse was even necessary anymore, or else she wouldn’t have been able to live there – well, not unless she was willing to have become a real lighthouse keeper, in addition to keeping the magical wards running! But luckily for her, she had no such responsibilities: while the shipping lanes here had been used in the past, now, the port here was closed, since the harbor was too shallow, and the massive cargo ships of the modern day didn’t come anywhere near here.
After swinging her overnight bag into the boat, Celeste stepped into her little boat from the pier, waiting for it to stop rocking beneath her feet before she sat down, pulling her scarf up around her ears. The wind was bitingly cold, howling in off the sea and whipping it up into frothy white crests.
The motor started – eventually. She had to give it a few good pulls, but it finally roared to life, sputtering only alittleas it got going.
I’ll have to get that seen to,Celeste thought grimly as she began steering the boat away from the pier and out across the small channel that separated her from the main island.It wouldn’t be good if I got stuck over there because of a breakdown.
If she had time, she’d get a mechanic to come and take a look at it, she decided, even though it would mean a small delay in getting Uncle Gordon back to the island if no one could look at the boat’s motor right away. But she doubted he’d be happy to be stranded out there once he’d figured out what was going on.
Ifhe can figure out what’s going on,Celeste thought with a shiver. She just hoped nothing further would happen overnight, while she was gone. She’d strengthened the wards as much as she could before she’d left, but right now, she couldn’t be certain ofanything.
Still, she didn’t have much choice, she supposed, as the boat rocked and pitched its way toward the tiny marina where the locals had their boats tied up. Portsmith had once been a thriving fishing town, but now most of the people here only fished as a hobby – most people who wanted a job had left long ago. The town itself was mainly made up of people who insisted the only way to get them to leave was in a coffin, and new transplants who were either retirees who had dreamed of living by the sea, or people who worked remotely – and people who thought the idea of doing up a little fisherman’s shack seemed romantic and exciting.
It was one of these renovated fisherman’s shacks she’d be staying in tonight. The new owners only lived in it part-time over spring and summer, and the rest of the time they rented it out – though Celeste had a hard time imagining the people who’d think Portsmith would make a nice holiday over winter. Maybe people who preferred to spend all their time inside in front of a roaring fire, with no particular plans to venture out into the freezing cold wind? Even as bundled up as she was, Celeste felt as if her bones were being rattled around by the chill off the ocean!
Soon enough, however, she’d reached the empty berth that was reserved for her, the other small fishing boats bobbing on the waves. It wasn’t a long walk into town from here, and, even carrying her bag, Celeste had made it into the outskirts of Portsmith within ten minutes.
“Oh – it’s our local celebrity!”
Celeste turned at the sound of the voice from the fence next to her, quickly plastering a smile onto her face to hide her pensive mood – or at least, she hoped so.
“Mrs. Eriksson,” she said, lifting her free hand to wave in what she also hoped was a jaunty manner. “It’s so good to see you.”
Mrs. Eriksson always made sure to greet her if they ever bumped into each other during Celeste’s visits to the island – secretly, Celeste thought she might have thought her life was more exciting than it actually was, and her eyes always seemed to glow with interest whenever they talked, as if Celeste’s life was one of the crime novels she told everyone she wrote.
One of these days, Iamactually going to have to write a novel, just so the guilt doesn’t eat me alive,Celeste thought as she noticed the sparkle in Mrs. Eriksson’s eyes, and she knew what was coming.
“So – how’s the new crime thriller coming along?” Mrs. Eriksson asked, right on cue. “It must besolovely, sitting alone and thinking up new twists and turns to delight your readers!”
“Oh, it’s, uh, well, to tell the truth, I’m a little stuck on this one,” Celeste fibbed, feeling guilt seeping through her stomach as she did. She never really had gotten the hang of having to lie, especially not to nice old ladies like Mrs. Eriksson, who were so kind, and seemed so genuinely interested in her supposed job.
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll come unstuck soon enough,” Mrs. Eriksson laughed. “You always do – I know you’ve had your troublesome books in the past, but you’ve always gotten through it!”
“Ha ha, yes, that’s very true,” Celeste said, feeling wretched. “I hope whatever it is that’s holding this one up will… will come together quickly. That happens sometimes!”
I wouldn’t know! I don’t know the first thing about writing a crime thriller!
“Well, if you ever need anyone to talk it over with, I’d be very happy to help you untangle your plots,” Mrs. Eriksson said, with a confiding wink. “There’d be no need to even credit me as a co-author! I’d just ask for a free copy, that’s all – or even just to find out your pen name!”
“Oh, Mrs. Eriksson, you know how shy I am about people I know reading my work,” Celeste said. It was another little fib she’d told people after word of her cover story had started to get around. People had accepted it a lot more easily than she’d expected – but then again, she supposed it probably sounded quite normal coming from someone who’d chosen to seclude themselves in a lighthouse for twenty years.
“Yes, dear, I know – please don’t worry, it was just my little joke,” Mrs. Eriksson said with a laugh, her eyes still twinkling. “But I won’t keep you out in this wind. It’s freezing! You make sure you dress nice and warm!”
“Thank you, Mrs. Eriksson, I definitely will,” Celeste said, trying not to let her relief showtooplainly in her voice. After all, it wasn’t Mrs. Eriksson that was the problem here – that wasallher. She just wasn’t a very good liar – and she definitely didn’t enjoy it.
