Something Witchy This Way Comes: A Jolie Wilkins Novel (17 page)

The old man laughed with a deep, melodious sound. The mountains laughed with him, the rocks rumbling in agreement. “You know who you are deep down, Jolie Wilkins,” he said, his eyes hinting at the wealth of knowledge that existed within him. He reminded me of some old wizard—like Merlin.

I shook my head, not wanting to believe his words. It troubled me that he knew my name. “How do you know who I am?”

He shrugged as he turned to face our surroundings, seemingly grateful for the raw beauty of nature. “I have known you your whole life, child.” He said the words with an air of ennui, as if the small talk tired him.

As far as I was concerned, this wasn’t small talk. “How is that even possible?”

“Any and everything is possible in our universe, as you well know by now.”

I shook my head and stood my proverbial ground. “I am a witch; that is what I know.”

The old man nodded and smiled at me—like a smile you give to an unruly child. “You are a witch, yes, but you are more than that.” He paused and inhaled deeply, as if savoring the feel of the crisp air in his lungs. “You are more promising and powerful than any of your kind. There is only one other with abilities equal to yours.”

“The prophetess?” I said, too quickly, irritated with myself that I’d mentioned Mercedes. I mean, it wasn’t like I trusted this dude, so I shouldn’t be volunteering any information.

But he shook his head like he wasn’t surprised that I’d brought her up. I almost had to wonder if he knew what I was going to say before I said it.

“Your powers far exceed those of the prophetess,” he said, frowning. “She is not as powerful as you would assume—merely stuck in time, reliving her life in order to spare herself from death at our hands.”

Hmm, so apparently, Merlin aka Father Time, thought Mercedes was still entrenched in 1878 … Or maybe he did know the truth and was just playing dumb. Either way, I wasn’t about to correct him. Surprises are always good to have in your pocket when dealing with an enemy. “Is that so?” I asked, crossing my arms against my chest.

He nodded and seemed to lose himself as he glanced up at the white puffs of clouds that punctuated the sky. “She is a dangerous woman,” he continued, apparently
still talking about Mercedes. “I was lucky to lock her in the annals of history, where she belongs.”

I swallowed hard—this was the man who had forced Mercedes into the past. It was his fault she’d been there to begin with. It scared me because I’d always considered Mercedes the most powerful being of all, and if this guy had been able to lock her away, he must be even more powerful. “Why is she so dangerous?” I asked, wondering how much questioning I should pursue and whether I should just try to wake myself up. But somehow I didn’t imagine I’d be able to do it—at least not until this guy was finished with me.

“She is determined and that makes her dangerous.”

“Couldn’t someone say the same of you?” I asked as I felt the wind suddenly pick up and throw itself against me full bore, stinging my cheeks.

The old man just laughed, though, and raised his arms as if he was ordering the elements to calm down. When the wind immediately died, I realized he was completely in charge of the scenery around me—it was like everything was just a reverberation of his thoughts.

“You are quick-witted, child,” he began. “Yes, I am determined, and yes, I could be considered dangerous … to my enemies, that is.”

At the mention of his “enemies,” I felt something start in my gut—something that felt like fear. It was readily apparent that you didn’t want to be this guy’s enemy. Not with the sort of power he evidently had at his disposal.

“So if the prophetess is not my equal, who were you referring to?” I demanded.

The old man smiled at me as the scenery around us began to fade, replaced with the image of what appeared to be a woman. She was a mere outline, her long hair flowing in a strong breeze. Her feet were shoulder-width apart, and her hands were grasping a dagger, so I had to imagine she was a warrior of sorts. “You will meet her in time,” the old man said. “She is your equal, but like you, she is not prepared, not fully cognizant of all that she is capable. You will find your way together, teaching and learning from each other.”

But I refused to believe there was a Lurker alive who could teach me or learn from me. Not when we were enemies. This was just a bunch of guff—a pretty story meant to charm me into believing the old man. Not wanting to give his prophecy any credence, I focused instead on the last time our paths had crossed, when he’d told me I was a Lurker.

“So how do you know that I’m one of your people?” I asked.

He shrugged as if the answer was easy. “I know your bloodline.”

“My bloodline?” I repeated. “Last I checked, I was English, Irish, Swedish, and Scottish. No Lurker ancestry whatsoever.”

He laughed as if I’d just told a great joke. “You are descended from the original tribe of Lurkers in Gratz, Austria. I knew your parents.”

I shook my head and laughed sarcastically. “There you’re wrong. My mother was born in 1953 and has nothing to do with witches, warlocks, Lurkers, or anyone else, and my father wasn’t any more exotic.”

He sighed. “Not everything is as it seems, child.”

I was about to question him further but decided against it. I mean, I knew I couldn’t trust him.

“I am not your enemy,” he said frankly. “In the end, you will have no one to turn to but me because I am your kind.”

That thought sunk in my gut like an anvil. “Were you the one who sent me those dreams of the battlefield and the throne?” He merely nodded, so I continued. “What did they mean?”

“It was a sign to you that you must return to your people and rule as you were meant to. Many may die—on our side as well as the side you currently represent. All of this can be avoided.”

But I wasn’t about to focus on the “returning to my people” crap. Instead, it suddenly hit me that the dreams he’d thrust upon me had nearly killed me. “If I’m one of your people, why did you try to kill me?”

He nodded and then exhaled, long and hard. “It was not my intention. I wanted to talk to you, to get into your psyche, but your walls were too high for me to overcome. I doubled my magic, and in the process polluted you. But that was never my intention.”

“Well, it nearly killed me,” I answered in a caustic tone.

“As I said, it was not my intention, child. I wanted only to communicate with you.” He paused for a second and then smiled at me. “My apologies.”

But somehow “my apologies” didn’t cut it. No, this man—this creature—had haunted my dreams for months and nearly killed me. Whatever his reasons, they weren’t good enough. And that was when it dawned on me that I was not his latest, nor least, offense. “What did you do to Bella?”

The old man said nothing for a while, just breathed harshly before he opened his mouth and spoke. “Bella does not have the constitution to understand our kind.”

“So why did you try?”

“We wanted her to deliver a message to you that we want you to be with us, your people, again. But Bella’s powers were not capable of accepting our magic. Instead, it addled her mind.”

“Addled her mind?” I repeated. “Is that what you call it? Do you know that she’s completely bonkers? She’s scared to death of you or whoever has been contacting her, and if you want me to even consider talking to you again, you must immediately release Bella from the spell you have over her.”

The old man paused for a few moments before speaking, then said, “We have released her, but the damage is done.”

I shook my head. “Then you must not be as powerful as you profess.”

“That is up for debate,” he said snidely, seemingly offended by my criticism. “What I came to tell you, Queen, is that you must return to your people.”

I swallowed hard. “I am with my people.”

“No,” he said fervently and shook his head. I could feel his frustration in the wild wind that started whipping around us again. “If you come to us willingly, we will not attack those you call your people now.”

“What?” I repeated, my voice becoming desperate. “Then you
are
going to attack us?”

“If we feel we have no alternative,” he finished, then took another breath, turning his predatory eyes
on me. “All we ask is for you to take your rightful place beside us, where you belong.”

“I am where I belong,” I said.

Suddenly, his image began to dissipate before my eyes.

“Wait!” I called. “I want to know why you want to destroy the creatures of the Underworld when you are essentially a part of it! You are vampires and witches!”

But it was too late, the man had already disappeared, the scenery around me melting into a drab brown, pulling the grass, trees, and flowers in with it until it resembled melted caramel.

Then I woke up.

I couldn’t shake off the dream and go back to sleep. The Lurker elder was completely convinced I was one of his kind, and while I desperately wanted to wake Rand up and tell him everything, I hesitated. Why? Because I was scared to death that this news might destroy everything we now shared. I couldn’t stand the idea of what I might see in his eyes—disgust.

You’re going to have to tell someone soon, Jolie
, I chided myself.
And remember what happened the last time you held out on Rand?

Yeah, when I realized that I was Rand’s missing bond mate from 1878, I had kept it a secret. He had eventually figured it out anyway and what bothered him most was the fact that I hadn’t told him the truth.

So aren’t you supposed to learn from past mistakes?
I asked myself.

Yes, yes, yes!
I thought in response. But glancing over at him, I immediately came up with another excuse.
He’s sound asleep and I shouldn’t wake him up
.

You’re going to have to tell him one way or the other
, I continued in that know-it-all voice that did nothing but irritate me.

I knew I had to do it soon, but I wasn’t about to do it now. A part of me just hoped I could work it out on my own. I wanted something to happen that would prove once and for all that I wasn’t a Lurker and that Mathilda was right—I was a witch with a little fae in the ol’ gene pool.

Now fervently in favor of not telling Rand, I decided to try to sleep. I fluffed my down pillow a few times and rested my head, closed my eyes, and tried to will myself to sleep. No go.

I tried a few more times but ended up tossing and turning like a boat on a restless sea, the thought of which summoned feelings of nausea in my stomach, which I then magicked away. Once I was ready to voyage back to the land of dreams, it was Rand’s turn to keep me awake.

“J-Jolie,” he said in a muffled voice as he rolled his head to the opposite side and his brows knotted between his eyes.

I turned to face him, but instantly realized he was still sleeping, his twitching eyelids a sign that he was dreaming.

“I … I’m here,” he said and then grunted something unintelligible. I just shook my head and laughed lightly.

“It’s okay, Rand,” I whispered. “I’m here too. Roll over and go back to sleep.”

He didn’t say anything more, just nodded and rolled onto his side, falling back into a deep sleep. I rolled onto my back and stared up at the ceiling, wishing I could join him. But it was becoming increasingly apparent that sleep wasn’t going to happen for me.

I sat up straight, staring at the moon as it streamed in through the curtains that covered the French doors. They seemed to flutter in the breeze, dancing this way and that until they resembled undulating ghosts. Then it dawned on me—the doors were open, and I distinctly remembered closing and locking them before going to bed.

Feeling my heart hammering in my chest, I stood up and was immediately chilled by the cold sea air. I wrapped my arms around my body, wishing I’d worn my long-sleeved pjs to bed. Hurrying to the doors, I pulled them closed just as a scent I knew well enfolded me in its clean spiciness.

Sinjin.

There was something in me that suddenly erupted—something hopeful and happy, because if I could smell Sinjin, that had to mean he was here, right? It wasn’t so much a feeling of missing a long-lost lover, but rather, finding a long-lost friend.

I glanced around the room, wondering if Sinjin was still here, but there was no sign of him. Nothing other than the flirtatious dance of the curtains and the lingering spicy scent of men’s aftershave. I could feel his calling card as clearly as the cold, which was now wrapping its icy embrace around my body. I shivered in spite of myself and rubbed my arms up and down, trying to ward away the goose bumps. But I didn’t return to bed. Instead, I found myself gazing out the window into the blackness of the night as the stars twinkled from above. I couldn’t help but wonder when Sinjin had been there and for how long.

Maybe this was all a figment of my imagination? Maybe I’d been worrying about him so much lately
that my brain simply pulled a memory of his scent from the Jolie Wilkins archives and put one over on me?

Or maybe Sinjin Sinclair hadn’t left my side at all, and had been fulfilling his post as sentry to the Queen from the shadows. That thought brought me an inordinate sense of peace and comfort.