Convicted Witch: Jagged Grove Book 1 (14 page)

The thing with being an introvert is that other people drain me. I love parties, but only for a couple of hours before they make me cranky. House guests, the few times I’ve had them, make me want to scream after a while and beg them to go home. It’s one of the reasons I need my own house, even if it hurts Bilda’s feelings. I’ll just have to explain it to her.

The first sip, once I manage to wrench the lid off, makes me sigh with pleasure. I rock gently in the swing and smile up at the stars, letting the alcohol warm my insides. A slight breeze ruffles my hair, and it occurs to me that if this were a vacation town I could really enjoy myself. As a new home forced upon me, not so much.

I’m halfway through my first bottle when something dark flashes under a streetlight. I catch it with the corner of my eye, but when I turn my head it’s already gone.

I tell myself I imagined it, but I know I didn’t.

I down the rest of the bottle, set it aside near my feet, and open number two. I feel tingly inside and a lot more chill, but it’s still not enough. I want to just sit here in peace and come to grips with this unexpected interruption of my life.

The second flash lasts longer, and I still don’t get a good look. All I see is that it’s low to the ground and moving very fast, like it’s avoiding the light on purpose. If I stay here long enough, I’m bound to figure out what it is, right?

By halfway through the second bottle I’m staring directly at the light and sitting on the end of the tall slide because it’s closer to where I saw the flash before. The Boone’s tastes good, and I’m so relaxed that I feel a little bit like a puddle of goo.

In fact, when someone begins kissing my neck, I think that I must be imagining it. I shiver and almost fall, and strong arms slide around my middle from behind.

I squeak, but I don’t actually move. At least, I don’t think I move. I definitely squeaked, though. That came from me.

I squeak again when I’m lifted off the slide and into someone’s arms, but then I moan because it feels very, very seductive.

Then my eyes fly open and I scream so loud that my new lover drops me into the sand. My wine bottles clatter around as my foot tips them over like dominoes.

I look up to see Jones staring down at me. “What the hell are you doing?”

A smile quirks his lips. “Hunting,” he answers, his voice a low rumble.

Suddenly, I see why women fall for that. “Well, I’m not exactly prey.”

“Yes you are.”

“Jones! Seriously, what the hell do you want? I was enjoying myself.”

I push myself up from the dirt and brush off the ass of my jeans, trying to ignore the fact that I can still feel his kisses on my neck.

“I came to apologize for my blow-up and to thank you for making Feena feel better.”

I raise an eyebrow, then lean forward for my last bottle of wine. The move makes me dizzy, so after I find it I sink back down onto the bottom of the slide. “Apology accepted. What changed your mind?” I ask.

He shrugged. “She’s happy. I’ve always loved hearing her laugh, and watching her tonight reminded me of that. She’s also powerful, but she hasn’t used her power in a long time - a waste. Now maybe she’ll begin to practice the Craft again.”

“How is it that you are a shifter and she is a witch?” I ask. I told you I have a lot to learn.

“She was born a wolf shifter, but she chose the Craft.” He crosses his arms, as if the line of conversation makes him uncomfortable. “I still don’t think that denying her true nature is healthy, but it seems to be working for her.”

I wonder about that, because it’s been shown over and over that stress - like the stress of forcing yourself to be someone you’re not - causes all kinds of problems on the physical level. Maybe even cancer. I don’t say anything though, because my brain is in no mood to try and explain it to Jones. Also, I don’t know if he even knows about the tumor that had taken up residence inside his sister.

No matter. It’s gone now.

Jones isn’t, though. He still standing here in the moonlight and the soft reaching light of the convenience store across the street. “I like you, Trinket.”

I don’t know how to answer that. I’m afraid to answer that. I like him, too, so far as I know him, but will saying that turn him into a horn dog? That is his reputation, after all.

He doesn’t seem to be waiting for an answer, though. “I think you need to lay low for a while, and learn more before you go shooting your mouth off like you did in the Hog a little while ago.”

“Why?”

“Some things aren’t what they seem.”

I flap my hands into my lap in frustration, then bend over to gather up my trash before facing him. “I don’t know what that means, Jones. Help me out here - everyone tells me to shut my mouth, but no one will explain why that’s a good idea. I’m lost.”

“There could be trouble.”

“There is already trouble. Have you noticed that my new assistant is dead?”

He looks away for a second. “I meant trouble for you, specifically.”

I stand up taller and put both hands on my hips, a strawberry wine bottle still clutched in one fist. I’ll brain him with it if I have to. “Are you threatening me?”

“Hey!”

We both turn toward the street, and then we both groan when we spot Angelo striding toward us across the dewy grass. “What’s going on here? Trinket? Jones?”

“Not a thing, pretty boy. We were just chatting.” Jones’s chin comes up and his eyes flash a challenge. Great.

“It didn’t sound like chatting.” He ignores Jones and turns to me. “Is he threatening you?”

I look from him to Jones, trying to decide how to answer that. Jones’s words did sound like a threat, but I don’t know if that’s how he meant them. Finally I shake my head. “No. He wasn’t threatening me.”

Angelo doesn’t believe me, I can see that. He takes a step toward Jones, who meets it. Now they’re close enough to punch each other, and I’m searching for a way to stop this.

“Oh, Angelo,” I say, putting a hand on his arm to distract him. It works - he looks down at me. “I forgot to ask you earlier, but I need the key to my office. I assume the police or whoever are finished with it, right?”

He raises an eyebrow. “They are.”

“What?”

“I figured you would use the - Maggie’s death - to delay opening up for a while, that’s all.”

“There’s no point. I’ve got to start somewhere.” I pause. “Do you know where I can get another assistant, though? Someone to at least help me out with paperwork, and to get everyone’s names straight?”

“We can help.”

All three of us startle and then turn to see the twins, Glade and Rain, walking across the park toward us.

They’re both dressed from head to toe in an inky black that matches their hair. They remind me of characters from The Nightmare Before Christmas - thin and pale and doomful.

“Wonderful,” I mutter. “In a minute the whole town will be here.”

Glade must have heard me, because he takes Rain’s hand and they both stop about three feet away. She looks annoyed, like a sister should. “Sorry,” he says. “We didn’t mean to interrupt.”

I wave them over. “No, it’s fine. I do need the help, and if you guys aren’t busy...”

I let my voice trail away, because I know nothing about them. Are they still in school? I suppose they could be, or maybe they both work. But then why would they volunteer?

“We aren’t busy. In fact, it’ll be good for us to have some
focus
. Don’t you think,
Angelo
?” He flips long black hair out of his eyes and stares at Angelo, and I’m pretty sure I’ve missed something here.

Angelo just nods. “I think so, and you can help get Trinket and her mom settled, too.”

“I think I can get myself settled.”

“You’re doing such a great job so far.” He looks at me, but then Jones steps between us.

“Why don’t you just leave her to me?” he asks Angelo. “I’ll take good care of her.

Both of us say, “No!” at the same time. The twins look amused. Jones shrugs, then turns around and leaves without another word. I can’t help but watch him for a moment.

Then I look to Angelo and hold out my hand. “Just give me my keys and then you can all go away and leave me in peace.”

“You’re sure that you’re ready for this?”

“Now or never, Angelo.” It’s an empty threat and we both know it, because I’ll do whatever it takes to get home. He slips a couple of fingers into his pocket and hands me the ring anyway. Then he turns to the twins.

“Be at the office bright and early tomorrow, OK?”

They nod in unison. Do they do everything in unison?

“Make sure she doesn’t cause any trouble.”

Then he drops the cold, sharp keys into my hand and leaves, too. I’m left with the eerie twins and my own misgivings.

“You’ll be great,” Glade says, giving me a hopeful smile. “We’ll help. But there is something important I’d - we’d - like to talk about.”

I sigh, sink back onto the slide, and look up at them. “What?”

“We heard you talking. About Maggie.”

I nod.

“You think she was murdered.”

A sliver of trepidation weaves along my spine. “Maybe. Why?”

“We also think our parents were murdered. And we heard you wonder about that, too.”

I frown. “You could hear that?” I was all the way across a crowded bar.

“Rain can.” Glade drops his hand onto her thin shoulder.

“Like...what? Super hearing?”

They nod - both of them, of course - enthusiastically, their black hair shining blue in the low light.

“That’s handy.”

“Sometimes.” I think it might be the first time I’ve heard Rain speak, and her voice is almost musical.

“Listen. I don’t know what happened to Maggie. I never met the girl.” I eye the two of them. “Did you? What was she like?”

“She was nice enough. Healed up a skinned knee for me once, after a bicycle crash.”

“She helped me get over that horrible stomach flu last year, too, remember?” Rain adds.

“So she did have some healing power?”

“Oh, yes. She was nice, too. She helped me get a date with Carlos Marego for homecoming.”

Well, that settles it - Maggie was an angel. I can feel my own cynicism creeping in again, so I stand up. “OK, you two. Eight tomorrow morning?”

They nod.

I shake my head. “See you then. I’m going home.”

The walk is twistier than I remember, and I have to stop twice to pinpoint my way, but I make it. When I get inside I wave to Bilda, who is at the kitchen table talking with Blakely, and head up to bed.

No - I don’t want to know why he’s here so late or what that might entail for my mother’s love life. I have a business to run and a goal to meet - I’m going to be the healer for a town I’ve never heard of, that doesn’t actually exist, and doesn’t feel as friendly as everyone keeps telling me.

I change into soft shorts and a tank top, climb underneath the cool sheets, and flick off my bedside lamp.

This is going to be perfect.

I fall asleep rolling my eyes.

T
rue to their word, Rain and Glade are waiting in front of the office door when I get there the next morning. I had wondered whether to dress up for my first day of trying not to kill anyone, but then figured there was a good possibility that I’d make things worse and have to run for my life after giving some poor innocent victim a rash or something. I wore jeans and sneakers.

They both look up when I walk toward them, twin black heads and four deeply soulful blue eyes. I’m in a good mood today, somehow, and it occurs to me that maybe these two should try to cheer up a little, too.

“You guys ready for this?” I ask.

Rain smiles a little, like she’s trying to hide some excitement. I wait until they move and then unlock the door. I wiggle my eyebrows, hope for the best and step inside.

The first thing I notice is that it’s cold in here, the kind of cold that people normally attribute to a haunted house. Like no life energy has been here for a long time. The drapes are drawn and keeping out any sunlight, and even as I stand there and rub the goose bumps from my arms, the air conditioning kicks on and a soft hum fills the room.

“Glade, could you find the thermostat and turn down the air? And Rain - open the curtains and let some sun in here. I leave the front door open to let in the warmer outside air and then go to the reception desk at the end of the room and slide back the heavy drapes there. Then I turn in the direction I’d just come and realize I can see exactly where Maggie’s body had been laying.

I shiver again and look down at the desk.

It’s small but incredibly neat, and I open the appointment book like I’m reading someone’s secret diary, which is dumb, because technically it’s my diary, if anyone’s. It doesn’t matter, though, because nothing has ever been written in it.

I flip through the empty lined pages and consider this for a moment, then vow that before the end of the day I will have at least one appointment scribbled in my book.

There is a computer on the desk, too, but it’s ancient and dust-covered, and I doubt it’s been used for anything for a long time.

Even though the little alcove is tiny, a bookshelf has been crabbed into this space too, directly opposite the desk. I turn to it and scan the titles, not surprised that most of them are spell books or grimoires collected over what seems like the last hundred years. Most of them are leather or cloth bound, but a few look like newer paperbacks. The newer ones all spell
magic
with a k, something that irks me even if I do understand the reason for it.

Rain is suddenly beside me, scaring the crap out of me and pointing to one of the leather bound books. “Our father wrote that one,” she says, her smile sweet in remembrance.

I’m impressed. “Wow, really?” I take it down and see that it’s a true witch’s book of shadows, written by someone whose only name is Marcus. Holding it, I realize that it’s not a book like I’d thought, but handwritten and filled to the brim with what look like incantations, recipes, and diagrams. I stop on a random page and run my finger down a list of healing runes, feeling the tingle of Marcus’s residual magic.