Convicted Witch: Jagged Grove Book 1 (20 page)

“I don’t know, but I think we need to get out of here before she comes back.”

I glare at her. “She’s coming back?”

“Well, probably not. But she’s a havrue - it’s anyone’s guess what she’ll do next.”

Havrue - bitter witch. I can attest to that.

The office is a mess, and I don’t want to leave without at least straightening up. Bilda looks at me like I’m crazy when I say I’m going to clean instead of go home to a hot shower, but I don’t tell her the truth - that I’m a little bit afraid of going home right now. If Rachel comes at me again, I want to be as far from Bilda as I can be, so that she doesn’t end up hurt. Our house is only a few blocks away, but it’s farther from the downtown area - if Rachel wants to kill me she could easily do it there without any interference, and kill Bilda too, while she’s at it. No one would find our bodies for days.

Also, even though I know I have to go home eventually, right now I really just want to stay here. I want to spend some time being completely pissed off at Angelo, because it feels good. I mean, how much more trouble is he going to drag me into? I wish I could get Bilda to teach me some sort of spell that would turn him into a toad. Or a toad
stool
. I know better than to ask, though.

Bilda looks at me for a long time before she turns and herds the twins out the door.

I don’t start cleaning up right away. I’m exhausted, from the healing and from trying not to die by Rachel’s evil hand. Instead, I go into the office - her old office, I guess, and start looking through the drawers. Maybe there’s a bottle of whiskey in here somewhere.

T
here is no whiskey.

There is a jar of the mayor’s homebrew, but I’m afraid to drink it. I mean, what if it’s the spell-cast stuff she killed Maggie with? As bad as I would love a drink right now, I don’t want to die. I take it out the back door - which I didn’t know I had until ten minutes ago - and pour it out into a drain in the small alley behind my office. Sadly.

The office is clean, though. It didn’t take as long as I thought it would, and now I’m sitting with my Nikes up on the desk, just looking around because I’ve realized that since I didn’t go home with Bilda, I have to walk home alone.

In the dark.

With a pissed off, dead witch on the loose.

I’m so dumb sometimes. I didn’t think I was - I mean, law student, engaged to a great catch, able to avoid the whole witch thing... I thought I had it all together.

Not. Instead I have powers that I don’t know how to use, a new home that I don’t want, and a familiar who possibly hates me.

A noise in the reception room makes me drop my feet to the floor. Now that I have a back door, I can run. Or something. Probably.

It could just be somebody needing help. I hope. “Who is it?” I call out, feeling like an idiot.

“Just me.” Jones appears in the doorway, looking a lot rougher than he had the last time I saw him, but still too sexy for words.

“Come on in. Is town in one piece?” I relax and prop my feet back up.

“More or less. A lot of rebuilding to do, but the coven will make short work of that for us.” He pauses, and gives me a smile that is sexy and shy, all at once. My whole body tingles. “I brought you something.”

“Is it the plague? Or a random demon? Cause I’m all tapped out tonight. It’ll have to wait until morning.

He pulls a fifth of bourbon from his inner jacket pocket.

I almost whimper at the sight of it. “Care to celebrate with me?” he asks.

I don’t answer - I’m salivating.

He laughs at me and cracks the seal, then sets the beautiful bottle down on the desk in front of me. “I’ll go find a couple of glasses,” he says, then leaves the room while I watch his very fine denim-clad ass.

By the time he gets back, I’m swigging directly from the bottle, my hand wrapped firmly around the neck.

Jones laughs. “OK, then. We can do that.” His blue, blue eyes are twinkling. He finds a chair in the corner and drags it over so that he can prop his feet up, too.

We’re quiet for a while, and it’s a nice kind of quiet - the kind I need after all the craziness of before. Finally he says, “She’s not gone, you know.”

I groan. “I know. I just don’t know what to do about that.”

“Want me to teach you?”

I open my mouth and then close it again, because I don’t know. In a way, it would be great - I really, really need to learn this stuff. On the other hand, I’m not sure if he’s the best candidate for the job. He’s too sexy, too
there
.

Instead of answering him, I say, “You know, I should have kept Bilda out of trouble back home. I should have realized that she needed a coven, or at least some friends. I should have figured out, especially after Bilda’s clues, that Rachel was behind all this disappearing and killing and destruction. I should have guessed that she would think I was with Angelo - so not true - and protected myself. I should have learned to heal people and use my gifts long before now. I’m not a very good witch, Jones.”

He must see the trepidation in my eyes, because he reaches out and pats my hand where it lays on my thigh. “I can help. You’ll be fine. Think about it. I promise I don’t bite.” He hesitates. “Well...I
won’t
bite.”

I laugh. I think this guy might be my first real friend here in Jagged Grove, in spite of his reputation and Angelo’s warnings.

The booze is definitely making me warm, and I decide I need to get home. He stands up, too. He’s staring at the bottle I’ve been hoarding. “Will you walk me?” I ask.

“Right after you give me back my booze. And if you promise to come to my house first - we need to charm you.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You think it’s that easy, huh?”

“No, sweetheart.” He’s very patient. “I mean a protection charm. To keep Rachel away. Although charming you does sound like fun...”

I refuse to let him see just how embarrassed I am, because the truth is, he’s already charming the pants off me. I turn away and go to lock my newly acquired back door until my cheeks cool down.

“You already gave me an amulet...”

“Which you aren’t wearing.”

He follows along behind me and I can feel his gaze on me. Well, on my ass. I smile to myself, because that feels good. The truth is, Clay and I are - were? - beyond the flirty stage and it’s been a long time since I felt really appreciated. It’s heady stuff, especially when the flirter is Jones and when you just survived a witch attack.

I twist the simple door knob lock and make a mental note to get a deadbolt as soon as I can, and then I turn around to go - and run right smack into Jones’s chest.

I might have just whimpered a bit.

Both of his hands come to my waist to steady me, but then...well, then they don’t leave. He begins to knead my obliques softly, running his thumbs along the bottom of my ribcage. I look up at him with huge eyes and his smile is sly.

“Jones?”

His hands drop to my hips and he kisses me. It’s so gentle that if this wasn’t Jones, I might have missed it. But it is Jones, so electricity crackles through me from head to toe and back again.

It isn’t one of those swoony romance kisses. It’s more of a storm warning. Our eyes are open, our breath is ragged, and he is silently making me a promise. His hands tighten on my hips, and I can’t back up more than half a step, because I’m against the door I just locked.

“Jones,” I say again, because right now he can do anything he wants and I won’t be able to resist. It’s humiliating.

It’s also intoxicating. My own body is obeying him more than it’s obeying my frantic directive to duck under his arm and run for the door before I do something I’ll regret. I can’t even pull my eyes away from his, and all I manage to do is squeak.

“You make such pretty sounds when you’re in distress,” he says, and laughter traces through his voice as he backs away from me.

I suck in a breath. “Don’t do that to me. Please.”

“Why? Is it too tempting?”

Now that I’m not under his spell, I can roll my eyes. “It’s too annoying. I want to go home.”

OK, he knows I’m lying, but at least he doesn’t say anything. He simply takes my hand lightly in his and leads me to the door.

The street outside is soaking wet from the storm, and bright puddles spot the cobblestone streets. The air has gotten colder, too, but when Jones holds out an arm in invitation I resist climbing under it and snuggling into his side. It’s best to keep a distance. Instead I walk faster.

In front of my house, I hesitate. The lights inside look warm and safe.

“Are you afraid to come to my home now?” Jones asks.

I shake my head, but we both know better. “Can’t you just invoke the gods and speak over me?”

He nods. “I could, but Rachel is a powerful witch. And you still have my bottle.”

I look down to realize that I’m still carrying the bourbon bottle in one tight fist. I take one more drink and hand it back to him. “Fine.”

We walk around to my backyard and then on to his house. The moon is shining brightly in the pond, sparkling with every ripple. I understand that he could easily set a protection spell with nothing more than his magic, but I also understand that I need to see the results to believe it. I’ve been away from the witch world for too long, and my trust needs some bolstering. The best way to do that is with a charm that is tangible to me.

He leads me through his house to a room in the back. It’s dark and much cooler in here. There are no windows. “Why are you performing spells, if you’re a shifter?”

He’s digging things out of an old box. “Feena taught me a little. I dabble.”

He goes through the ritual - one that I saw a million times when I was a kid. I sit still and watch him, enjoying the way he moves so confidently around the room. Circle of salt, black and white candles, ribbon and other tools spread across a small wooden altar. He concentrates and speaks in a language I don’t understand. I feel several kinds of energy rise around us, form a dome and then a bubble. It feels familiar and safe, especially with Jones in charge.

Then his tone changes, and it changes the energy to a swirl that is almost tangible. He’s inviting energy that isn’t familiar to me now, and the hair on my arms stand up. I feel apprehension but also...what? Anticipation?

That’s it. These new energies are delicious.

An hour later, I step trembling and cold from Jones’s front door, barely able to breathe. He enjoyed the flourish of magic, that was obvious, and I wasn’t prepared for the swirl of energies that enveloped us as he invited them into his circle. It was compelling, terrifying, and possibly the sexiest thing I’ve ever experienced in my life.

I glance down at the moonstone ring that adorns my finger and smile. He was right - I do feel safer with a real object to touch, and the ring is so beautiful that wearing it will be a pleasure. The stone’s energy is warm and solid, and I know it will pulse a warning if I’m in danger.

I feel nothing if not protected as I make my way back across the lawns to Bilda.

Unfortunately, when I get there I discover that my shiny new ring can’t protect me from Angelo.

H
e’s standing at the door with both hands on his hips when I let myself into the foyer. Behind him, through the doorway into the living room, I see Bilda on the sofa, talking to the twins.

“Where have you been?” he asks, but he’s already looking at the ring on my finger. His eyes meet mine. “Jones?”

I nod. “He thought it might help.”

“Can I see it?”

I hesitate, not wanting to take it off. Instead, I hold out my hand so that he can examine it.

“He did a good job,” Angelo says finally. “This will help a lot.”

“Of course he did. You were checking for something else, weren’t you?”

Glade comes up to stand beside him. “He was checking to see if Jones bound you to him, most likely.”

I look at Angelo. “Seriously?”

The idea of being bound to Jones is nerve-wracking, but the idea of Angelo acting like my personal enforcer is worse. “You put me here, remember? Whatever happens is your fault.”

He shakes his head and goes back to the living room. Bilda looks up, claps her hands when she sees me, and then comes over to give me a hug. Her eyes are shining. “What a crazy night!”

“You had fun?” I ask.

“Oh, yes. It’s been a long time since I got to be part of a real battle.” She stops talking, looks at Angelo from the corner of her eye—he can see her - and whispers, “I tried to get him to leave.”

I reach out and pat her shoulder. “It’s OK. I’ve got a few questions for him, anyway.”

She looks at me closely, then nods once and says, “Rain? Glade? You two come help me make some tea.”

When they’re gone, I turn to Angelo. He’s standing with his back to me and staring out the big picture window toward the street.

“First of all, thank you for getting Rachel to let go of me,” I say quietly, rubbing my throat. “Your declaration of undying love did the trick.”

He chuckles. “Well, it worked this time, at least.”

“Angelo...why did she give me her house, if she hates me so much?”

He drops his forehead to the glass, so I come over to stand beside him. It takes him a long time to answer. “She was excited that you were coming. She actually likes you, Trinket. Well, at least until she got all hateful about our association.”

“That isn’t my fault.”

“I know.”

“But here’s the thing - how did Rachel know me? I am positive that I’ve never in my life met her.”

“You have, actually.”

I stare at him, tired of trying to figure it out and waiting for him to explain.

“Trinket, I shouldn’t be the one telling you this. Bilda should, more than anyone, but I don’t think that she knows, either.”

“Knows what? Just spit it out, Angelo.”

“Rachel is your sister.”

I gape at him, because it’s more polite than hitting him in the face out of pure frustration. Finally I say, “How could Bilda -
my mother
- not know that I have a sister, Angelo?”

He turns to fully face me. “You should probably ask your father.”