Enter the Witch

by Andris Bear

  As far as Shane was concerned, his place was next to Evangeline, keeping her safe. But it was her father’s place to tell her why.

  Shane shut the door, staring at the tall brick building. His nerves were singing like a canary. Unfortunately, his guts felt like he’d swallowed a squid. Everything in him wanted to go to her.

  Yet, he was terrified.

  According to Buff, once he was in—he was in. There was no changing his mind. His uncle had also warned that once he’d made the decision to be her protector, things would reveal themselves to him.

  WTF did that mean?

  When he’d asked, Buff refused to elaborate, saying only that Shane would learn on his own. Buff had never been the sort of guy to ignore someone in need, but he was adamant he wanted nothing to do with this “witchy world.” How bad could it be if Buff was willing to let him face it alone?

  Sucking in a deep breath, Shane headed across the lot. The sun seemed to beat down on his head and shoulders hotter than usual. Sure, it was mid-summer in the south, but damn, it was like the sun had him under a microscope. He kicked up his pace to reach the doors.

  As soon as he stepped inside, cool refreshing air slipped over him and some of his nervousness settled. Not enough, but at least he wasn’t strangling the bouquet any longer. He took in the stems that were now crunched from his fist. Sighing, he glanced around the large, book-lined room, searching out Evangeline.

  He started toward the front desk, to a woman dressed in what could only be described as a circus tent, when a slim brunette with braids in her hair stepped in front on him. A colorful halo surrounded her head, dispersing around her body. It was so bright Shane lifted his hand to block his eyes. A “Jesus,” slipped out as he took a step back.

  “Shane Carlson, what brings you to our library?” the woman asked.

  Lowering his hand, he asked, “Do I know you?” He had to blink several times to clear the spots from his eyes.

  “Carrow Holland.” She extended her hand. “We went to high school together. You were a couple of grades ahead of me, though.”

  He made the mistake of taking her hand, and a spark of electricity lit up his arm. Dropping it quickly, he realized he was gaping at a caster.

  They’ll reveal themselves. Whether you want them to or not.

  Shane cleared his throat and smiled. “Sorry, I had something in my eye. You do look familiar, though.”

  Not a lie. He recognized her in one of those vague haven’t I seen you somewhere? ways, but not enough to say from where. No way he’d forget her face now.

  Her “hmm,” was subtle as she studied him with narrowed eyes. Her sharp gaze would do a schoolmarm proud, and Shane almost went to stand with his nose in the corner. Somehow, his reaction was the wrong one.

  “Uh, I’m looking for Evangeline Winther. Is she working today?” he asked.

  “I know.”

  Oookay.

  He was about to repeat his question when she finally answered it with, “She’s in the basement.”

  Turning, Carrow pointed to a hallway to the left of the front desk. “Last door on the right. You can’t miss it.” Facing him, she cocked her head and smiled. “Even if you want to.”

  “Right,” he said with an uneasy smile. Pointing to the hall, he added, “I’m just gonna… Nice to meet you. Again.” Another uncomfortable grimace.

  Shane hadn’t expected his first foray into witchery and such to be so… immediate. Or so awkward. If Carrow didn’t know that he knew what she was, then she was as daffy as she was creepy.

  He was all but trotting by the time he hit the hallway. The weight of her stare pressed into his spine, and Shane glanced over his shoulder to find her watching him.

  Well, that went terribly.

  The last door on the right was ajar. Stopping, he inspected the shadows just beyond the first two or three steps. It was as if they pressed against the light of the hallway, trying to break free of the darkness below. Which was nonsense since shadows weren’t living entities.

  Shrugging off the strange observation, Shane took the stairs down into an almost pitch black, cavernous room. If not for the paltry glow of the lighted strands on the ceiling, it would be impossible to see. Even with the lights, he barely made out the floor-to-ceiling boxes on one end of the room to the rows of shelves lining the other.

  And somewhere in this near blackness was his witch.

  “Evangeline?” His voice echoed off the stone walls. He waited several heartbeats, but she didn’t answer.

  Shane turned back to see the doorway at the top of the stairs. Had she left before he came down?

  “Evangeline, it’s Shane. Are you down here?” he asked, louder than before. The room was big, but not so big she wouldn’t hear him. After waiting ample time for a response, he decided she either didn’t want to talk to him—totally possible—or she’d already left the basement.

  He was moving toward the stairs when the sound of frantic footsteps jerked him to a stop. He spun. “Evangeline?”

  “Leave me alone.”

  Damn, she really didn’t want to speak to him. He couldn’t blame her as he’d been the one to keep his distance. Sighing, he inched in the direction of her voice. “I’m sorry, Evangeline. I meant to call, I just…” Didn’t.

  “I missed you,” he added lamely.

  “Just leave me alone,” she whispered in a raspy voice. Was it his imagination or did she sound sad, hopeless even? His heart sank.

  Shane hesitated, caught between wanting to honor her request and wanting to ignore it. Deciding it was better to give her space, he nodded. “Okay, I’ll wait for you upstairs?”

  She might tell him to shove it, or, “Great, see you in a few.”

  Instead, she let out a bloodcurdling scream.

  Shane rushed forward with his hands out in front of him in an attempt to find her in the damn dark without bowling her over. He tripped twice. The first time on a book sitting in the middle of the floor, presumably fallen from one of the shelves. He had no idea what tripped him the second time as he was in a hurry to reach her.

  Her sharp, “No!” echoed through his skull. His pulse pounded so hard through his temples he thought he’d have a stroke.

  Finally, he reached the last row and nearly went blind at the light emanating off her. How he hadn’t seen it before against the dark basement baffled him, but he was sure as shit seeing it now. He squinted past the glare to find her standing alone before a set of shelves that were pressed against the back wall. Slowing, he scanned the room, but saw nothing threatening.

  He paused behind her. She was visibly shaking. “Evangeline?”

  She didn’t respond. Didn’t appear to hear him, even though he’d practically spoken in her ear. He tilted sideways, trying to peek over her shoulder to see whatever it was that held her in terror. All he saw was a tall set of shelves, like every other set he’d passed on his way to her.

  Frowning, he raised his hand to gently tap her on the shoulder, but she let out another scream that made his innards shrivel into tiny balls. Not knowing how else to pull her out of it, he clamped his arms around her and yanked her backward.

  In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the best move.

  Evangeline twisted and bucked in his arms to the point he was afraid she’d rear back and smash his face, but he couldn’t release her for the fear she’d hurt herself with all the bucking bronco moves she was doing.

  “Evangeline,” he yelled, adjusting his hold so as not to drop her.

  She howled to beat the band.

  Jesus, it’d be a miracle if someone upstairs didn’t call the cops.

  Or an exorcist.

  Either way, they were going to attract attention neither wanted. With no idea how to get her focused, much less calm, he dragged his banshee to the stairs in the most thorough workout of his life. When they were finally in enough light, he released her only long enough to spin her around to face him.

  “Evangeline!”

  His woman fro
ze. Her eyes were wide and terrified as she focused on him.

  “Shane?”

  Oh, thank God.

  Part of him had feared she’d serenade him with another ear-piercing ditty of ball-clenching terror.

  “Yeah, honey, it’s me.” He reached up to brush her wild hair off her face. She flinched, and he dropped his hand. As he watched her collect herself, he wondered what in the hell had set her off. “Are you okay?”

  Her gaze flew to his, as if seeing him for the first time. “Can we get out of here?”

  Not exactly the answer he was looking for. Still, he nodded, stepped aside, and then motioned her to precede him up the stairs. She wasted no time, taking steps two at a time as she raced up the stairs like firecrackers were tied to her tail.

  Shane paused to search the shadows around him, again wondering what had scared her so badly. Was she afraid of the dark? The boogeyman? Spiders?

  Well, yeah, everyone was afraid of spiders.

  But unless it was the size of a Chevy, he couldn’t imagine such a reaction.

  Shaking his head, Shane climbed the stairs at a much slower pace than Evangeline. When he stepped out of the door, Carrow was walking toward them with raised eyebrows and her arms spread out to her sides.

  “Did I miss a party or something?” Turning her glare on Evangeline, she demanded, “What was all the hollering about? One patron asked if we were murdering people in the basement.”

  “And you associate that with a party?” Shane asked, frowning at the odd woman.

  “Depends on the party.” Softening, Carrow shrugged. “I told him we reserve that right only for those who do not return their books on time—it’s part of the lending-card agreement.”

  A bark of laughter shot from his mouth, making Evangeline jump. She crossed her arms in a closed-off hunch. Carrow shot him a suspicious look—like she thought, what? He’d attacked her in the basement? Offended, he straightened and gave her a scowl as nasty as he’d gotten.

  The message must have been received because she gave him a conciliatory nod.

  “So, you’re all in, I see,” Carrow said, crossing her arms.

  He took it to mean she was letting him know that she knew he knew what she was. And that he knew Evangeline was as well. He shook his head at all the knowing going around.

  But then her gaze dropped to the crushed flowers still clutched in his death grip. Staring at the mess, he questioned how he’d managed to hold onto the bouquet and Evangeline at the same time.

  “I have to get back to work. I’ll let Mimi know you’re taking your break.” Carrow’s head bobbed as she added, “Okay?”

  Evangeline matched her nod. “Okay. Yes, thank you.”

  Carrow left, presumably to find their boss.

  Shane, finally alone with Evangeline, moved to stand in front of her. Though she seemed to have calmed down, her hair was a wild mass of unruly curls and a flush had settled on her cheeks.

  “Are you all right?” Not a chance, he knew, but he had nothing else to say.

  She hesitated. “Did you hear them?”

  Hear them? He started to tell her he had no idea what she was talking about, but instead chose, “I heard some shuffling around.”

  A technical truth.

  Undaunted, she asked, “The door—did you at least see that?”

  He shrugged. “All I saw was you, sweetheart.” Glowing like a nuclear blast.

  Apparently, that was the wrong answer as her shoulders sagged with a released breath. He’d never seen a person look so small and lost.

  “Since you’re on break, wanna get out of here and grab a coffee at The Brew next door?”

  The last place she needed to be was in a place that left her shaking and ghostly pale.

  “As long as we get the hell out of here, I don’t care where we go,” she said, already moving toward the exit at the end of the hall.

  Not needing to be told twice, Shane followed her lead. Because he sort of wanted the hell out of there, too.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Evangeline paced the small living room, her mind churning in circles like her body. Back and forth. Over and over. She retraced the same steps until she wanted to scream.

  Movement to the side pulled her up short, and she glared at the cat.

  Her cat.

  She had shooed him out the door—and a window—three times. And three times, he’d somehow slinked his way back inside her apartment. She’d given up trying to evict him. If he wanted to stay so bad, fine, but she wasn’t buying a litter box.

  Chester returned her stare. Then licked himself.

  With a snort and a muttered, “Damn devil cat,” Evangeline continued her pacing.

  Chester, and why he’d followed her home, was the least of her worries. The more pressing matter was the voices.

  A shiver ran down her spine. They’d been doing it since Shane pulled her out of the basement, kicking and howling like a deranged hyena. Bless him for not tossing her down the stairs and washing his hands of her crazy. Rather, he’d tried to distract her with coffee and conversation, even mentioning his uncle knew her parents when they were younger. He’d gone so far as to invite her to dinner at his house tonight, but she’d wanted nothing more than to go home, shut out the world, and forget all the questions igniting her brain.

  As much as she liked Shane and enjoyed his company, no amount of cute was going to make her forget what had happened in the dark—the voices, the bitter wind, and dear God, the gaping maw of darkness that opened before her.

  She had heard pleas for help. Had felt the bite of the cold. And try as she might, she couldn’t erase the fear that something was staring back at her from the open doorway.

  The open doorway Shane hadn’t seen.

  Either he had the sight of Ray Charles, or she was seeing things that weren’t really there.

  Her belly twisted. Could she be going insane? She didn’t want to tiptoe around the possibility, much less acknowledge it. But when compared to the alternative—that there were ghost voices calling to her from a hellish void under the library—batshit seemed the most logical conclusion.

  As a woman who prided herself on her intellect, logic, and sharp, quick wit, dementia was a terrifying prospect. And yet, she couldn’t quite bring herself to accept mental illness over some ridiculous supernatural phenomenon.

  A garbled slurping noise came from Chester as he “cleaned” his artichokes for the fiftieth time today. Evangeline spun on the cat.

  “They’re not lollipops. And unless you’re gonna don a bowtie and a tuxedo and spend the night on the town carousing for ladies, they don’t need that much grooming!”

  Chester paused mid-stroke to give her a slow blink.

  She huffed her annoyance. Shoving a hand through her hair, she started to return to wearing a circle in the cheap carpet when an irritated, “Witch,” jerked her to a stop.

  Slowly, she craned her head around. Chester appeared no different than he had a moment before. Well, his leg wasn’t extended over his head for easy access, but other than that, he was just a lazy cat wearing the expression of the eternally bored.

  Evangeline crouched, placing her gaze level to his. They eyeballed one another like wary adversaries. The ridiculous thought pulled a laugh from her. She cringed at the stark sound. If not for her certainty that something… odd was going on, she’d have called the paddy wagon to collect her right then and there.

  Still might, given what she was about to do.

  “Do you understand me?” she asked in a low tone, because she sounded batcrap crazy to her own ears. “Why am I hearing things?” More importantly, why do I get the feeling you could answer?

  She nearly threw in the towel then. Did she really expect the cat to give a dissertation? No. But there was something about the sneaky little creature that made her think he might know more than he was telling. Er, not telling.

  “Did you call me a witch?” she demanded, inching close to fully scrutinize every twitch of his wi
ry white whiskers.

  Rather than reveal all, Chester flopped on his back and stretched with a yawned meow before curling his paws over his belly in a falsely cute and cuddly pose.

  Evangeline had a notion to poke him in the belly, the furry bastard. Other than petty satisfaction, what would that get her? Blowing out a heavy breath, she pushed to her feet and scanned the room. If only the answers she sought were sitting in plain sight.

  She considered trying the damn internet again, but decided against it. No article could tell her what she really wanted to know. No thing could…

  Her gaze slid to her phone on the end table. She hesitated, then grabbed it and dialed before her nerve fizzled out. Pressing it to her ear, she rehearsed her words as the line rang on the other end.

  Hey Dad, are you from Whisper Grove?

  Hey Dad, did you live in the big stone house on Main Street?

  Hey Dad, do we come from a line of witches?

  Hey Dad, does insanity run in our family?

  None of those questions cleared her mouth. When the line picked up, it wasn’t her father on the other end but a recording of his voice, asking her to leave a message.

  “Daddy.” Her mind tripped over what to say. She swallowed, forcing her throat to work. “Daddy, something is…” —wrong with me— “happening to me. I don’t know… Please call me back as soon as you get this.”

  Her lungs deflated like a spent balloon as she disconnected the call. After working herself up to speak to her dad, it was a huge letdown not to.

  She tossed the phone next to Chester. “I just want answers. Is that too damn much to ask?”

  His tail swished.

  “You’re no help,” she muttered, sinking down to sit in front of the chair. Letting her head fall back against the seat, she wondered how to get answers to questions she didn’t know how to ask, or even what to ask. Everything was a jumbled mess in her head, like balls of yarn knotted together, and unwinding them seemed like an impossibility.

  Unless…

  She shot upright, thoughts whirling with a memory of the afternoon. She’d told Shane about the photo of her parents in front of the old stone house.