That thought leads me to another, and I turn to Angelo. “What about the rest of the world?”
“What about it?”
“You told me that this is an American government thing. What about the rest of the world?”
“Some countries have their own version of this. Others don’t - they figure it will sort itself out. A few think we’re stomping all over citizen’s rights.”
“Which few? I’m moving there.”
“Too late, buttercup.” We turn right onto another street, this one marked Phoenix Lane, and the Crystal Cup sign appears, about two blocks away.
We’ve avoided the subject until now, but I want to ask him a few questions before we meet my mom. “Do you think Maggie was killed?”
He shakes his head. “Not really. It’s rare, but not completely out of the question that she had a heart issue or an aneurysm. Young people die of natural causes, too.”
“I know. It just seems wrong to me, somehow.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing. I should get the coroner’s report tomorrow or the next day, and I’ll let you know for sure. By the way...” He stops and turns to face me fully. His face is sad in the streetlights. “I’m very sorry this happened on your first day here. It’s got to be unnerving.”
“A little, but not quite as bad as I first thought. I’m more sorry for poor Maggie. How old was she?”
“Twenty, I think. She was a sweet girl.”
“Do you think you’ll find me another assistant?”
Something in the air between us shifts. Something subtle, but sharp, too. Now he looks pissed. “Why?”
“Because I’m supposed to be training somebody, remember? For a year, until I can go home?”
“Oh. Of course. We’ll find you someone. Is it OK with you if the town takes a moment to mourn their tragedy before we all concentrate on your problems again?”
“I’m sorry, I just-.”
“Have a real life? Hate it here? Want to be gone? I know, OK?” He turns away from me and stalks toward the restaurant. I follow quietly, staring at his broad shoulders, not exactly sure what just happened but knowing I’ve hurt him even though I didn’t mean to do that at all.
The restaurant is much quieter that the Salty Hog had been. Real cloth-covered tables are arranged under sparkling chandeliers and the entire places feels generally more refined. Conversation is a hum of low voices threaded through soft violin music. Bilda and Blakely are seated at a table near the window, chatting. My mom looks happy.
I’m relieved to see her. Not that I really thought Blakely would do anything to her, but it’s a new town and I don’t know him very well. She might be a pain in the ass, but she’s still my mother and I still don’t want anything to happen to her.
She smiles up at me as I sit down, her lined cheeks rosy. “Did you two have fun?” she asks me innocently.
I shake my head, which makes her look at Angelo’s still-cloudy face and then back at me again. “Are you fighting? Trinket, honey, are you being difficult again?”
“No!”
Angelo just smirks. I want to smack him, but I just glare instead. I’m sorry I hurt his feelings or whatever, but he doesn’t have to be so mean. Then I change my glare to a sad face and look directly at Blakely. “We found a dead body this afternoon, actually. It was terrible.”
My mother gasps. Blakely’s eyes go wide. Angelo groans.
“It was poor Maggie - the girl who was supposed to be my assistant? Something terrible happened to her.”
Blakely turns to Angelo with plenty of questions in his eyes, but Angelo wards them off easily. “We’ll know more about the situation later. For now, it’s being ruled death by natural causes.”
Blakely says, “But she was perfectly healthy. I saw her dancing just last night. Right here at the Cup.”
“Who was she dancing with?” I ask.
“Sither.”
I shake my head blankly.
“He’s a lower wizard here in town.”
“A...lower wizard? What does that mean?”
“It’s like a felony with guns back in the States. He got mad at the city council and sank all of the boats in the harbor one day last year, and got probation basically forever. He’s not allowed to practice magic anymore, but he still does sometimes. I’ve seen him.” His eyes flick to Angelo. “Nothing big, though. Mostly, he just lights the bonfire at the solstice celebrations.”
I don’t think Blakely is telling the whole truth, but I see in Angelo’s eyes that he’s letting the information slide.
Our server is a gangly young man who looks like he might still be in high school, but Angelo is still mad at me and doesn’t introduce us. His name tag says Tonio, and when he deposits a stack of menus and asks for our drink orders, his voice is soft even though his wizard energy glows brightly.
I smile when he taps the table three times and my iced tea appears in front of me without his ever leaving the table.
“We’ll all have the special,” Blakely announces before I’ve even reached for the menu. Then he turns to us. “The special here is always Pork Florentine, and it’s amazing. Chef Callone stuffs it with spinach, roasted peppers and cheese.” He’s practically swooning.
“I’m glad I’m not a vegetarian,” I mutter, annoyed at his ordering for me.
“Even if you were, this meal would change your mind,” he snaps back.
I don’t bother explaining that if I were a vegetarian I’d never try it.
Tonio doesn’t perform the same trick with the food as he did with our drinks, much to my disappointment. All I want to do now is get this meal over with, find my new home, and go to bed.
Angelo looks like he’s ready to get rid of me, too. The tension between us doesn’t go unnoticed by Bilda, who keeps staring at me curiously but doesn’t say anything.
We listen to Angelo and Blakely chatter about town happenings, and I learn that Wisp is in charge of every interesting thing that happens around here. I’ve met girls like her before - she’s evidently the town’s favorite socialite.
I also find out that Jagged Grove is much older than I first thought, because Blakely remembers things that happened as much as a hundred years ago.
“Wait a minute,” I say. “Are you saying that this place is that old? That our government had the technology to create a town in another dimension before the Great Depression?”
Blakely laughs like I’m joking. “Not exactly. The technology was private back then, owned by a man named Cassius Clove. He was a warlock, but he was also a great scientist who thought that people like us needed our own place. He created it for any of us who came to him and needed help. The government didn’t take over until...when, Angelo? The fifties?”
Angelo nods.
I turn on him. Things aren’t adding up. “But you said that you helped populate this place. That you had been here since the beginning.”
He looks at his plate. “Cassius Clove was my father.”
That couldn’t be right. It was still a long time ago, before Angelo was born. Unless he was a warlock, too - they could live for hundreds of years, just like witches.
I haven’t gotten a single magical vibe from him, though. Not once. No hint of the musky sweet peachiness of his warlock magic. “You’re cloaked.”
He doesn’t answer me.
Blakely does, though. He’s delighted to fill me in, ignoring the daggers in Angelo’s eyes. “Of course he is! It wouldn’t do for most of these people to know he’s the most powerful warlock living. He gets it from his father. Also, he’s shy.”
My mind is racing. A warlock can trace magic back to its source, no matter where in the world it is. Witches can, too, but we aren’t as good at it. “For some reason, you zeroed in on Bilda. And me.”
“I only do my job, Trinket. It doesn’t matter.”
“How patriotic of you.” I sound bitter because I am bitter. He might be - mostly - telling the truth about how we ended up here, but he obviously hasn’t shared everything
. “Why did you focus on us?”
He doesn’t answer.
I’m suddenly scared, but I don’t know why. Something isn’t right here. Something doesn’t add up. “Why are we here, Angelo? Why us, exactly?”
No answer, and now Tonio is back with our food. Blakely is right, as much as I hate to admit it. The pork is tender and wonderful. It doesn’t hurt that I’m starving in spite of my tense stomach.
And still waiting on answers from Angelo.
We eat and talk quietly for the rest of the meal, and then he takes us to our new home.
It’s beautiful, so pretty that I almost forgive Angelo. Almost. It’s a two-story cottage, set in a grove of evergreens and painted a soft cream color that isn’t quite yellow. A brick walkway leads to the front door, and bright green vines spill from window boxes across the front of the house. Beside me, I hear Bilda gasp and clap her hands.
“I love it,” she whispers.
Angelo smiles down at her affectionately when she takes his hand. “I’m glad. I thought you might.”
Inside, the house is spotless and cozily furnished. Bilda drags me from room to room - living room with a fireplace, dining room with a fireplace, kitchen that is small but looks newly remodeled in stainless steel and black tile everywhere. We go upstairs to find three bedrooms, complete with canopied beds.
The room Bilda chooses is done in pink and lavender, leaving me happily with the sage and soft yellow room. Both have fireplaces, of course, and their own attached bathrooms.
Under any other circumstances, I would love it here.
Our bags are already stacked in the hall upstairs, but I refuse to unpack tonight. I’m exhausted and worried and more than a little curious about the circumstances surrounding Maggie’s death.
When Angelo makes sure that all is well and leaves us for the night, I follow him outside.
Closing the door behind me and leaning against it, I ask, “Will you let me know what happened to Maggie?”
“Yes. Take a few days before you go in to the office again. Get settled. I’ll be around.”
“Thanks.” I pause. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
His mouth twists into something that’s not quite a rueful smile. “It doesn’t matter.”
I have to disagree, but not out loud. His cover story isn’t enough - I know damned well he can’t expect to capture every magical being in the U.S. and move them here, and I also know that he’s not picking up every single person who uses magic. This place would be a lot more crowded if that were the case.
That’s all just an excuse. But why us?
I go back inside and close the door, immediately missing his company and trying not to think about the implications of that. Bilda is chattering about closet space and I just don’t have the energy to think any more tonight. I get her settled, dig a pink tank top and matching boy shorts out of my luggage, and go to bed.
Eleven
In my dreams, the townspeople chase me around with pitchforks and accuse me of killing Maggie. I don’t know why, and I can’t see individual faces, so I just run.
I wake to an incredibly warm room and bright sunshine, but I’m exhausted. My skin is sweaty under the heavy quilt. I kick it off, peel my hair off my cheek and go jump in the shower.
By the time I’m finished and drying my hair, my otherwise useless cell phone tells me it’s almost ten. I haven’t slept this late since I was a kid, but I feel refreshed, if nervous about our first full day in Jagged Grove.
My window looks out over our surprisingly large back lawn and beyond that, a pond and then a row of more pretty cottages on the next street over. A few trees dot the edge of what I assume is our property line, and a small red barn-shaped outbuilding sits in the right corner of the lot. It isn’t as big as the house, of course, but maybe the size of my apartment at home. Birds perch on its rooftop. “Just like a fairy tale,” I mutter to Bumper, who isn’t paying any attention to me.
Bumper’s cage is beside my bedroom door, so I open it as I go by. He’s used to having the run of the house, at least when nobody is around. As I walk through the doorway, something bangs against my temple, and I look to see that Bilda is already at it - a clump of dried sage hangs in the corner of the door. I groan and swat it away.
The house has been transformed. More sage, in small bouquets, sit on vases in every room - an herbal protection. I check a couple of windows and see that she has made small flag-like marks in the corners - runes of good fortune and love. Pretty stained-glass pentacles hang from the curtain rods, throwing sharp color into the softly-hued rooms.
Somehow it makes me feel better, but I’ll never tell Bilda that.
Downstairs in the kitchen, I find her dressed and making omelets. She smiles and hands me a cup of coffee.
“Where did you get the eggs?” I look around her. “And cheese? And...ooh, are those mushrooms?”
“They are. That nice man in the house behind us brought them around seven this morning.”
“What nice man?”
She squints a little. “I think he said his name was Jones.”
Jones...Jones... Oh. “The heartbreaker from the Salty Hog last night.”
“Well, he can break my heart if he wants.” She waggles the spatula at me.
“Stop it.” I shake that visual out of my head and lean against the counter beside the stove.
She smiles her prettiest smile at me. “He asked about you, especially.”
“No. No, no, nope. Not. No.”
“I could cast a-.”
“NO!” I’m shaking my head so hard that my hot coffee sloshes over the rim of the mug onto my hand. “Ow.” I lick it off and aim my dirtiest look at her. “This is what-.”
A knock at the door interrupts me, but I take a moment to point a finger at her. “No spells!”
The last time my mother dabbled in love potions, she missed. Aunt Louise and the mailman were joined at the hip for three days. In light of my revelation last night, I now wonder if she isn’t just nervous without a coven’s power behind her. Maybe they gave her confidence to be the strong witch she’d been before. Maybe without others, she scared.
I answer the door to find my new best friend standing there. I can tell she’s my best friend because she’s holding a dozen donuts with chocolate icing on them. I smile, but can’t take my eyes off the box. “Hi.”
The box moves to my left slowly, and then to my right. The woman laughs, and I finally look up at her. “Welcome to the neighborhood,” she says.
“Thank you,” I murmur. “Those look wonderful.”
“They are - I made them.”
I throw the door wide, realizing too late that my shorties might not be the best attire for receiving visitors. The woman standing in the doorway is about my age and wearing jeans, a t-shirt and hoodie, along with really nice pink Nikes. I consider apologizing for my lack of clothing as she steps inside and looks around, but then I just go with it. “I’m Trinket,” I say. “Want some coffee?”
She has flawless dark skin and an exotic tilt to her turquoise eyes. She is one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. Handing me the box, she says, “Sure. I’d love some.”
“Come on.” I lead her through to the kitchen, where Bumper has planted himself on the dining table and Bilda is dishing omelets onto plates. When she turns and sees that we have a guest, she almost drops one. “Oh! Hello.”
Bumper just stares at all of us with great suspicion.
I pour coffee while the woman introduces herself to us as Imala Rhodes and tells us that she is a secretary at the courthouse. She’s a witch, like us, and her magic feels strong to me.
“Such a pretty name for a princess,” Bilda says shyly. “You’re so beautiful.”
Imala laughs, a sparkling sound in the small kitchen, and takes the mug from me. “Thank you.”
“Would you like an omelet?” Bilda asks.
“You can have mine,” I offer. I can’t quite take my eyes off the donuts. They call to me.
>
“OK, if you’re sure.”
I nod, and we all sit.
“I’m your almost - neighbor,” Imala says, cutting a bite of the omelet. “Two doors down. I thought I should come and say hello.”
“How nice of you. We’ve only just gotten here, but we’ve met the nicest people already,” Bilda says. “Just this morning a man named Jones brought us eggs and bread for toast.”
Imala rolls her eyes. “I’m sure he did,” she says, laughing.
“What do you mean?” I’m sitting with both arms wrapped around the donut box in front of me, just smelling them.
“You can eat one, if you like,” Imala says. Bilda slides a plate full of egg in front of her and she pauses to take a bite. “Jones is just behind you, on the next street over, and if he got a look at you he’ll definitely be visiting often.”
I pause in trying to rip the top off the box. “Is that bad?”
“Not as long as you don’t fall for him,” she answers around a mouthful of eggs. “Sorry. I’m hungry.”
I wave a hand at her. I’m busy licking my now-liberated donut. “I’m not going to fall for anybody.”
“Ooh, then he’ll see you as a challenge.”
“Trinket has a fiancée,” Bilda informs her.
“That has never once stopped Jones.”
It didn’t stop Bilda, either. Wasn’t she just offering to cast a spell on Jones?
“Sounds like a real treat, but I’m not interested.” I’ll be too busy trying not to kill somebody this year, but I don’t say that out loud.
“Just warning you - he’ll try.”
“Thanks.”
Imala eats quietly and quickly, then pushes her empty plate back and groans. “That was so good, Bilda. Thank you.”
Another knock at the door makes us all jump. I get up and answer it, only to find Angelo standing there. “Come join the party,” I say. I’m glad there are others around - I still feel bad for hurting his feelings last night. Also, I don’t want him to yell at me.
Convicted Witch: Jagged Grove Book 1 Page 7