Witch's Diary: A Paranormal Urban Fantasy Tale (Lost Library Book 4) (20 page)

“No. Except to help come up with questions that they’re perfectly able to think of themselves.” Kenna shrugged. “Hate to say it—but it’s true.”

“You should follow your gut. You have great instincts, and if you don’t you’ll just worry that much more.”

“Right. I’m off to Austin, then.” Kenna stretched her arms straight above her head then yawned. The stress was exhausting her. Or the pregnancy. Maybe both. “One cup of coffee is not enough.”

Chapter 16

Kenna had thought meeting at her mom’s house would make her newly recruited witchy crew feel more comfortable. She hadn’t considered how difficult it would be for her. Being in her mom’s house, knowing her mom was locked up like a criminal, sucked. For the first time in the last twenty-four hours, she could use some of her happy tea.

What the hell—maybe there was a stash in the kitchen. As she walked into the kitchen, she spotted a scented candle in a jar. She envisioned a small flickering flame as she passed—and the scent of cinnamon followed her. Stopping, she cocked her head. Definitely cinnamon. She turned around and found the candle lit. Hmm, maybe she was getting better. She closed her eyes and pictured the candle unlit, and opened her eyes to find a flickering flame. So maybe not that much better.

Rummaging in the pantry, Kenna found three suspicious packets of tea-looking stuff. Before she could decide if she really wanted to chance one of them to combat tears that seemed to be fading, the doorbell rang.

Racing and fluttery pulse, tightening chest, shortness of breath. Yeah, anxiety was making her its bitch. “Just a second!”

She had to at least catch her breath before she opened the door. She could do this. What was she so worried about? Being inadequate, getting her mom killed, getting the people waiting patiently at her door killed—and those were just her initial thoughts. Rainbows and kittens and all things happy.

She opened the front door.

Two men, one maybe late forties with a beard, the other closer to sixty, at best guess, stood on the doorstep. Both looked anxious. Kenna let out a pent-up breath. Somehow their discomfort eased her fear a small amount.

The older man reached a hand out and said, “I’m Walter.”

As soon as he spoke, Walter’s deep, smooth voice sparked a memory of their introduction a year or two ago. She reached out and shook his hand. Brief, gentle but not limp—how a lot of men older than her shook a woman’s hand. She wasn’t sure what it was about Walter that gave her the impression of solidity, but that impression was renewed.

She turned and reached her hand out to the other man. “You must be Alan.”

“It’s good to meet you finally.” Alan pumped her hand a few times. “I know Gwen wanted to keep her personal and professional lives separate, but now…uh, it’s just really good to finally meet you.”

“Come on in. You know where everything is?” Kenna asked.

Walter gave her a somewhat strained, but polite, smile and walked into the living room, his carry-on in hand. “We do. Alan and I usually stay in the blue room.”

Alan grabbed a bigger bag from behind him and followed Kenna and Walter in the living room.

It took Kenna a moment to decide which room was the blue room. “Ah, the guest bedroom with the twin beds. If that works, then that would be great. Really, just help yourselves and do what you normally do.”

“We’ll just head up and put our bags away, then,” Alan said.

Walter and Alan had disappeared up the stairs when the doorbell rang again.

Kenna hustled to get the door. When she opened it, she blinked at the brilliant smile greeting her.

“Hi.” A redheaded woman a little older than Kenna had her hand outstretched.

“Angela?”

The smile widened. “Yes. It’s so great to finally meet Gwen’s daughter.” Her smile faded. “Of course, the circumstances…but that can’t be helped,” she continued briskly. “Am I staying here or at a hotel?” She waited, then, when Kenna just stood with her mouth slightly open, she said, “Either’s good. I just wanted to know whether to grab my bag out of the car or not.”

Angela was like a whirlwind. And it took Kenna just a moment to catch up to the flow of words. “Yes. I mean, please stay here. If you have a usual room…”

Again the blinding smile. “I stay in the purple room. Let me just grab my bags.”

A few seconds later, she walked in and dropped her bags at the foot of the stairs. She took out a small item from one of the bags. “I brought you some pregnancy tea. Just in case…” Angela offered Kenna a small, colorful gift bag.

Kenna took the bag and looked inside. Under some colorful tissue were several individually wrapped packets of tea tied with pretty green and yellow ribbons. It looked just like a birthday present…or a baby shower gift. “That’s so kind of you. Thank you so much.” Hesitating, not sure how to say it without sounding ungrateful, Kenna finally said, “I feel like maybe the extreme emotions might be calming down. It’s been a few days now—” Kenna stopped abruptly when she saw the look on Angela’s face.

Amusement, or maybe hilarity, warred with sympathy. “Oh, Kenna. No, I don’t think so.” Breaking out into a wide smile, Angela added, “But I’m glad you’ve had a few less hormonal days.”

Kenna made a moue of distaste. “I knew it was too good to be true. Dammit. I have been off-kilter and weird today. Not full-scale bonkers like I was before…but still not quite myself.”

“That sounds like me. When I was pregnant, I would be up and down like a yo-yo for a few days, then everything would even out, and then I’d be all over the place again.” Angela took the bag from Kenna and, lifting it, said, “I’ll just make you a pot.”

“I can do it,” Kenna said. But Angela was already heading off to the kitchen.

“You can find some good tips in the regular pregnancy books.” Angela grinned over her shoulder. “But not my special tea.”

“I didn’t know it came from you. The IPPC guys identified the contents, but they couldn’t give me anything on the magic—just that it’s there.”

“Not surprising.” Angela pulled out the kettle. She seemed very comfortable in the kitchen. “I actually infuse the magic as the plants are growing. I’m not sure how, but there are other ways to make potions.”

A laugh gurgled up before Kenna could stop it. “I’m sorry—potions?”

Angela stopped and cocked her head. “I suppose that is an old-fashioned term. But it is a concoction that you consume for a magical benefit.”

Kenna coughed to cover her laugh this time. It seemed impolite to laugh at everything Angela said, even if she was incredibly entertaining. “When you put it that way, sure. It just seemed more medicinal when Mom gave it to me.”

Angela turned to face Kenna, waiting for the water to boil. She rested a hip against the counter. “It is medicinal. And certainly some care has to be taken with which plants are used and what properties boosted.”

“Oh my God, I just got it. Earth witches are the witches out there.” Kenna waved a hand, indicating nothing in particular and everything. “The non-magical world version of witches, I mean.”

“Pointy hats, green skin, warts, eating little children?” Angela snorted. “I beg to differ.”

Kenna looked at Angela’s clear skin, sparkling blue eyes, bright red hair, generous, curvy figure, and soccer mom clothes. “Uh—yeah. I definitely wouldn’t say those parts fit. I was thinking: local healer, grower of herbs, wise woman, midwife…brewer of potions.”

Angela shrugged. “Sure. There’s frequently a grain of truth in most myths. Maybe earth witches are that grain in the witch myth. Funny, but I’ve actually never thought about it before.”

Alan walked into the kitchen. “Oh, yes. Witches, out in the non-magical world, they’re definitely earth witches. Everyone knows that.” Alan dodged a kitchen towel that Angela snapped at him. “One of you guys must have blabbed somewhere down the ages.”

“If it’s true—if—then I say it’s because earth witches tend to stay in one location. That’s what happens when you grow things, and most earth witches have an affinity for gardening or farming. So we’re naturally more likely to have ties to the community.” Angela scowled at Alan. “Earth witches actually help people.”

Alan shrugged, clearly not interested in an argument. “Walter will be down in a minute. He had a few calls to make that he couldn’t take care of in the cab.”

The kettle whistled, and Kenna jumped. As comfortable as Angela made her feel, she hadn’t realized that the tension hadn’t dissipated. Why? Because these people still hadn’t figured out what a clueless waste of a witch she was. Maybe she should fix that.

Kenna steeled herself. “I suck at being a witch,” she blurted.

Angela and Alan looked at her like she’d gone around the bend. Then Angela poured her a cup of tea and handed it to her with a sympathetic look.

Alan shook his head and said, “Doubtful.”

Walter joined them in the kitchen, walking into the uncomfortable silence that had fallen. “What did I miss?”

Angela flipped the stove off just as the kettle was starting to whistle. She turned and propped her hip against the counter. “Kenna was telling us that she wasn’t up to par as a witch.”

“Unlikely,” Walter replied.

The dismissive tone Walter assumed grated on Kenna’s nerves. “Why are you all so sure I’m not a complete failure of a witch?” Kenna looked around the group. They seemed unworried about her announcement.

“I didn’t actually comment, because I know nothing about your talents,” Angela said. “But I do think it highly improbable you’re lacking in some way. Both your parents are strong witches, and you’ve been raised sensibly. Why don’t you tell us why you think you suck?” She tilted her head. “Your word.”

“Have you had any training?” Walter asked.

Kenna pressed her lips together. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.” She thought about the brief candle conversation she’d had with her mom before she left. “Maybe.” Although that was all they’d talked about. “Eh, maybe not. What do you consider training, exactly?”

“If you’re asking, then I think it’s safe to say no.” Alan headed to the kitchen table and took a seat.

Angela, Kenna, and Walter followed.

Walter sat down at the head of the table. “Your mom and I disagree on the preservation of certain magical customs. We both come from a very traditional background that can be difficult to completely leave behind. Some of that…”

“Shit?” Kenna supplied.

Walter raised his eyebrows. “Some of that programming sticks. Gwen is of the school that one learns better when not led. I disagree.” He leaned muscular, tanned forearms onto the table and narrowed his eyes. “What can you reliably manage?”

Walter reminded her of a grandfatherly version of Indiana Jones. The comparison shouldn’t have been comforting, but it was. She tried not to sound completely ashamed of herself when she recounted the meager list. “I can light a candle when I’m touching it, pretty reliably. I’m improving on lighting one when I’m not touching it. I lit a…a thing I’m not supposed to talk about on fire. A big fire, one that burned a lot. But just once, and it had attacked me. And, in the interest of full disclosure, I definitely can’t put out any of the above.”

“That’s all right.” Angela sounded unsurprised.

Not what Kenna had expected. She turned to Alan and Walter to find they were nodding in agreement. Huh. “So where do I start?”

“In the interest of time, I say you fill us in on everything you know about the holding cell barrier. Then we split into two teams. We get Kenna rolling with a mentor—” Angela waved her hand enthusiastically. Walter nodded in acknowledgment. “Apparently Angela. And Alan and I will get started on the barrier simulation. Good?”

“Sounds like a plan. I have a visual image of the barrier, magically speaking. I can describe that, if you think that’s a good place to start.” Kenna couldn’t believe she’d been so worried about their response to her lack of witchy skills. Her fear had far outweighed reality.

“That’s interesting,” Alan said. “How did you get a visual representation?”

“From an IPPC resource—” Kenna bit her lip. “Does it matter? It’s just that I’m not exactly supposed to talk about it.”

“The reason Alan asked is that you’re talking about magic like it’s visible. That’s not how witches perceive magic.” Angela peered at Kenna. “Do you see magic?”

“I have, but only when a spell caster has cast a sensing ward that makes it visible. I just assumed there was some witch equivalent.”

Angela and Alan looked to Walter. He shook his head. “Not that I know. Any chance a spell caster was involved in deconstructing the cell? In the scenario we’re modeling our attempt after, I mean.”

“Well, shit. I didn’t even consider that we’d need anyone else. But yes, it’s possible a spell caster is required to make the cell work—or to deconstruct it. I just don’t see how it would have worked logistically.” Kenna mentally reviewed what she knew of Marianne and Jane. Had they met before or after Marianne escaped? Kenna was almost certain they’d met in England after the escape.

“If the witch is in the cell, how is she working with someone outside the cell? Which is where a spell caster would have been.” Walter pointed out the flaw with an air of distracted confusion. “So the witch had to be able to see the magic. All right. Let’s assume she could. Individual talents vary. We all know that. Do we need that component to recreate the barrier?”

Angela made a small, annoyed sound. “There’s no real way to know until we start. Kenna, can you get a spell caster here? To help us muddle through if we run into problems? You’re the only one with connections to that world.”

“I don’t know. Normally, yes. But Lizzie, my best friend, she’s working on something that she can’t leave—not even to help Mom.” An odd thought occurred to Kenna. “None of you have any connections with a spell caster?”

“Witches don’t really intermingle with other magic-users.” Angela looked perturbed by her own statement. “Not to say it doesn’t happen. But generally…”

“It’s not done,” Kenna guessed. No wonder the diary sat for so long unread, its ward not triggered. Not just because it sat in that library. “If there’s not a good reason, maybe you guys should consider, you know, socializing. Even the Lycan are moving outside their own packs these days.” Kenna lifted her hands. “I’m new, so I don’t know the lay of the land. Just throwing it out there for consideration.”