Convicted Witch: Jagged Grove Book 1 (17 page)

“Such a shame.”

“Oh, I don’t know - I might have saved more lives by not practicing. So...where are we going again? And why can’t you just tell me?”

His mouth twitches, but then he looks down at the key still clutched in my hand. “It won’t let me.”

I blink. “What?”

“The key won’t let me. Rachel’s charmed it, like I suspect she’s charmed the thing you’ll find at the end of this little stroll. I can tell you it’s a wish fulfilled - in appreciation for filling her shoes.”

I look down at the key. “A wish fulfilled, huh? So... a transporter? A magic carpet to whisk me back to Raleigh?”

He doesn’t answer. In fact he looks away and speeds up a little. I’ve made him mad.

I speed up too, and put a hand on his forearm. “Jones?”

He glances at me.

“Look, I’m sorry. I really am.”

“Why don’t you give this place a chance before you pass judgment?”

How do I explain to him that my life - which I’ve worked so hard to build - is back at home? How do I explain all of my feelings about law school and Clay and even my little apartment, with Tawny next door and pizza delivery a phone call away? I don’t think I can, because even as I think it, I realize that those things all seem small. Like memories. That scares me.

“Some of us just aren’t cut out for
Little House on the Supernatural Prairie
, Jones.”

“How do you know if you are or not?”

“I just do.” I’m almost jogging to keep up now, and this hill is getting steeper. We must be in the proper Mt. Savage foothills by now. A hedge that’s twice as tall as me lines the sidewalk, blocking anything beyond it from view. “It would take a miracle to make me want to be here. I mean-.”

He stops and I plow into his shoulder blade. “Ow.” Rubbing my nose, I glare up at him. “Why’d you stop?”

“You’re miracle awaits.”

“Huh?” Maybe the altitude is getting to him. “There is nothing here but a hedge.”

He takes my hand and pulls it to the hedge, but lower, to just less that waist high. Only then do I feel the cold of metal. It surprises me, because there is no hint of, well, anything but hedge here.

It’s a gate, too, though. The hedge here is separate, and its branches are woven along the hinges and wrought iron bars to hide the opening. From the street, I would have walked on by without ever knowing it was there. “Wow.”

Jones grins. “I always thought it was pretty cool, too.” He put his hand on top of mine and pushed the gate open gently.

I’m confused. “This isn’t what the key is for?”

He shakes his head and motions for me to follow the brick path that is now under our feet. “Keep going.”

I take a step, but then something new tugs at my attention and I stop. It’s not scary, just enough to distract me.

“What?” Jones asks. “You OK?”

I nod, then turn in a slow circle, trying to pinpoint the cause of the tug.

A screech makes me scream as something drops out of the trees overhead onto my shoulder. My hand pauses mid swipe and I heave a breath. “Cripes, Bumper. You scared the shit out of me.”

He blinks big orange eyes at me but doesn’t answer. He never does.

“Bumper?” Jones looks amused.

“Never mind. It’s how we met.”

That’s evidently all I need to say. Jones says a quiet, “Hmm,” and then follows as I turn and keep going.

The path winds through a thickly wooded lot, and the stones are uneven enough to make the path charming without threatening to break an ankle. I look around and see that darkness has almost already fallen in here, and I’m happy to feel Bumper’s reassuring weight on my shoulder. I reach up to scratch him, but he shifts away from my searching fingers.

“Are you sure he’s your familiar?” Jones asks from behind me.

The truth is that I never really used that word. Bumper found me and latched on the same night that I vowed to never do healing magic again. “I guess. Why?”

“First of all, owls are predators, and you seem less predatory than...well, than almost anyone I’ve ever met.”

“Okayyy...”

“And second, he doesn’t seem to like you very much.”

“Nobody ever said that familiars had to be besties, Jones.” For all I know, someone
had
actually said that, but I’m trying to make a point here.

“Whatever you say.”

The path had to be a full quarter mile, but it is so worth it. When we come around a final turn, between two towering weeping willows, I catch my breath and stumble, then stop dead. I couldn’t have squashed the smile spreading across my face if I tried.

“It’s wonderful!” I squeal.

Jones laughs. He comes up behind me and puts a hand on my shoulder, then nudges me toward the verandah that skirts the lower level of the cottage.

It is a nature paradise. More of the willows frame the grounds and offer a natural property boundary, and ivy trails everywhere - along the sides and front of the house, even braiding itself through the banisters on the porches and balconies. The steeply pointed peak of the roof almost blocks the sun from the front yard - what there is of it. It’s full of art. I reach out to touch one of the many pieces of stone statuary and feel a small jolt - Rachel’s energy answering mine. There is something familiar about it.

This is a powerful place. Even Bumper offers a low hoot of appreciation when I whisper, “An enchanted cottage.”

The front boasts lots of windows, and I can only imagine how much light the interior gets. We climb the steps to the front door, which is a golden color that makes me smile, and Jones steps away a little. “Go ahead.”

I look at him and clutch the key tightly. I want to use it more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life. “Am I trespassing? I don’t know who this place belongs to, now that she’s gone.”

He shakes his head and his hair feathers in the soft breeze. The rustle of leaves creates a song all around us. “She gave you the key, remember? It’s an invitation.”

I look at the door again. There is a small window near the top, but I can’t see through it. I take a deep breath and slip the key home, directly underneath the ornate glass knob. It gives a satisfying click and Bumper ruffles his feathers like he’s preparing for something.

The knob turns by itself and the door swings inward silently.

I look at Jones again, then take a deep breath - I’m doing that a lot today - and step across the threshold.

Bumper immediately launches himself off my shoulder and flies deeper into the house. I stand still until my eyes adjust, then catch movement off to my left.

Bumper is standing on the mantle of a shimmering green fireplace that’s as tall as me. I look at it more closely and see that it looks odd, but I can’t place why, exactly.

“It’s made of polished jasper,” Jones says, close to my left ear. I jump.

He’s right - I can see the glassiness of the surface, and I want to touch it so much that my hand itches. With a fire in the hearth, it would glow like the gorgeous gem it is.

The rest of the room, now that I can see it, is done in pale greens and yellows, with deeper shades of those colors used as accent pieces. The effect is that of open fields and sunshine. “It’s beautiful,” I say to no one in particular.

“It is - this place was Rachel’s pride and joy. Come on - every room has its own surprises.”

I follow slowly, still looking around. I can’t imagine what could top such a masterpiece of stonework as that fireplace.

The kitchen is off to our left, through an archway that is a mosaic of semi-precious gemstones set in stucco. They trail from over my head to the floor, and then fan out to become the floor of the entire kitchen and dining nook. “I’m walking on amethyst,” I say.

“And tiger’s eye and citrine and labradorite and some lapis...” He’s laughing at me, and I can’t help but grin back.

“This is crazy.”

“She truly believed in the energy contained in gemstones, and it showed everywhere. You’ll find it showcased all over the house.”

“It’s incredible.” Every step I take makes the floor catch the light in a different way, sending sparks flying from under my feet. I stop and turn in a circle, and the effect makes me dizzy. I laugh at the sheer insanity of it.

In order to show off the floor, the rest of the kitchen is done in black and cherry wood, with a black granite countertop making a u-shape around the room. If it weren’t for the transom type windows over the upper cabinets, the room would have been very dark. As it is - and thanks to the full wall of windows in the dining nook on the far wall - the room is sunny and warm.

Copper-bottomed pots and pans line the area under the cabinets, hanging in order of size. A door on the far side of the black fridge hides what I assume is a pantry. Garnet-colored pendant lights illuminate the work surfaces. This room, like the living room, is spotless.

Jones looks as delighted as I feel. “I knew you’d like this,” he says. “Come on.”

I follow him back through the door to a set of steps. The stairwell is painted the same pale sage as the living room walls, but there is a thin strip of emeralds at banister height all the way up, as if pointing the way.

We are halfway to the top when I hear Angelo’s voice. “I wanted to bring you here.”

I turn and grab onto the banister to keep my balance. He’s standing at the foot of the stairs, looking up at us with a kind of sorrow on his face.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t know that.”

“I didn’t either. Sorry, my friend.” Jones sounds anything but contrite.

Something passes across Angelo’s gaze as he considers Jones, but I can’t read it. He nods once. “Carry on, then. I’ll wait down here.”

We hurry through the upper floor, because for some reason I feel uncomfortable now. There are two bedrooms up here and a bathroom that seems to be made entirely of rose quartz, if that were somehow possible. Each bedroom boasts its own lapis or obsidian version of the gemstone fireplace downstairs, and each has a matching window seat that looks out over a vast back garden.

“Rachel loves her flowers,” Jones says with a smile when he catches me looking out the window.

The air between us feels thicker now that Angelo is waiting downstairs. I open my mouth, but I don’t know what I was going to say, and my heart is beating too hard to think right now.

“We should go,” he says finally, turning away from me. “Boss man is waiting.”

I nod and gratefully follow him back to the first level, letting my fingers run along the descending line of emeralds so that I don’t look at him.

He takes me to where Angelo s waiting in the living room and then salutes as he heads out the door. “I’ll see you later, my dear,” he says as the door closes behind him, leaving me alone with Angelo.

“You like it?” he asks me.

I shake my head at the wonder of it all. “Who wouldn’t? It’s glorious. It must have taken her years to put all of this together.”

“It did,” he agrees. “I helped her find the pieces, a little here and a little there.”

His voice is thick with emotion, and I look at him quickly before he can turn away.

“You loved her,” I say. I didn’t mean to blurt it like this, but it’s out before I can stop it.

“That’s none of your business.”

Maybe not, but it’s the truth. I know it as well as I know my own name. “I’m sorry,” I say, because I feel like I’m trespassing again. “We can go.”

“Actually...”

I stare at his back because there is more than sadness in his voice now - there is tension.

“What?”

“This is yours now.”

I blink. “What? I don’t understand.”

“Rachel wanted you to have it.”

“But...why?” My heart is spinning at the thought of being able to live here, but I’m not sure what I might be stepping into, all the same. “Shouldn’t this go to her...I don’t know? Children? Or you? You said you helped build it.”

He shakes his head. “It wasn’t like that, Trinket. It-. Listen, it isn’t important. What’s important is that she wants you to live here. Congratulations.”

The bitterness in his voice stings. “Angelo...?”

I don’t understand. Rachel didn’t even know me, and she definitely couldn’t have known I was coming. I didn’t even know until what - seventy-two hours ago?”

Unless... “Angelo?” My voice is sharper than I mean it to be, but I can’t help it. “Angelo? How did she give me a house before she even knew I existed?”

He doesn’t answer me. In fact, he walks to the front door and lets himself out on the porch. I follow, looking back to see that Bumper is content to stay put for the moment. “Angelo?”

He reaches around and pulls a creamy-colored envelope from his back pocket. “Here. She told me to give this to you.”

I stare at him, unwilling to take it before I get some answers. “Angelo, Rachel is at my house right now, talking with Bilda. Why didn’t she mention any of this before I came here? Like, I don’t know, when she knocked that vase over and gave me the key in the first place?”

He was going pale, and I saw him grope for and then sink onto the top step of the verandah. “What do you mean,
she’s at your house
?”

The violence in the question stalled me. Had I messed up? Was Rachel’s presence, or ghost or whatever, supposed to be a secret? “Gads, this place is confusing. I just want to go home.”

“Trinket? I want to know what you meant just now. Is Rachel still running around here?”

“Well, her ghost is, I guess.”

His curse scares a few starlings out of the closest willow. He jumps up, takes my wrist, slaps the surprisingly heavy envelope into my palm, and then pulls me down the path after him toward the street. “Let’s go.”

I try to pull away, but his grip is too tight. “Angelo? Tell me what’s going on?”

“Bilda could be in trouble. We need to go find her.”

“She’s at home...”

He glances back at me. “You’d better hope so. Rachel is persuasive - and dangerous.”

His words cut through any questions I might have asked next, and I run past him to the gate and stumble out onto the sidewalk. That’s when I realize that the property behind that fence is somehow darker than the rest of the town. Or something. It doesn’t seem nearly as beautiful as it did only a little while ago.