Convicted Witch: Jagged Grove Book 1

by Willow Monroe

  Her smile, by the way, is a beautiful thing. It occurs to me that if her illness was causing the problem she’ll get better and be the most gorgeous woman in Jagged Grove by a long shot.

  If Wisp’s reaction to plain old me is any indication, she’ll simply explode when she sees a happy, healthy Feena.

  Is it bad that I can’t wait to see it?

  Yes, probably. But I don’t care.

  As for me, I’m relieved and exhilarated all at once. I laugh out loud, simply because I’m happy I didn’t kill anyone and I’m pretty sure I actually helped Feena. The adrenaline rush from that alone is delicious. Maybe even saved her life. It’s an incredible feeling, and all the tension melts away as quickly as it came.

  Feena sits up, with Mom’s help. “I think I need to go home,” she says. “I’m so tired.”

  But she’s moving more easily and her aura is much, much better. Still pink, but more like roses than Pepto. When she’s gone, escorted by Blakely again, I go upstairs to my bedroom and close the door softly. Then I go to the window and look out at the evening sunshine.

  I did it.

  Against all odds, in the face of my fear and inexperience, I helped Feena. I really think she’ll be all right now. If not, she’ll come to me again.

  Either way, I think it’s time to open up my real office.

  Not that I’m not still scared, but maybe what happened in those woods when I was sixteen really was a fluke. Maybe I’ll be OK doing this. If nothing else, I should get better with practice, right? I flop down on my bed to stare at the ceiling and think about that, but then finally decide that I need to talk to Angelo first, in case there is more that I need to know before I begin. Besides, he’s got the keys to my office.

  And no, I’m not making excuses - even if he is sexy. No way am I going to step into the Wisp-Scott-Angelo Bermuda Triangle of love.

  Angelo is off-limits. I just need my office key.

  I decide that it’s time to unpack, put everything away, and then sit down to write Clay a nice long letter. In which I lie about who, what, why and where I am.

  Piece of cake.

  I refuse to ponder the reasons for why this isn’t bothering me. I’ve been lying to him, in a way, since the beginning. You don’t just tell the man you love that you are a witch, or that your witchiness got somebody killed. That creates conflict, or so I imagine.

  Instead, I’ve buried my true identity and thought that I was just fine, when maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t as fine as I thought. Maybe I’ve really been a little bit lonely inside all this time.

  I don’t really want to think about that, either, because it means that life with Clay hasn’t been as perfect as I like to imagine. I feel disloyal.

  It doesn’t help that my letter peters out at around paragraph three. What can I possibly tell him about any of this? Other than writing ‘I love you’ over and over like a seventh grader, I’m out of stuff to say. I’m away with my mother. We’re doing fine. I’ll be back in a year. Not much else to say. Have a nice day? Wait for me - it’s only a year? I chew on my pinky fingernail and worry over it, but don’t get much farther than that.

  A knock at the door downstairs saves me. I listen closely and then jump up and run when I hear Mom call my name. Anything to keep from facing the truth - that I probably won’t be able to save my former life after this, even if I got to go home right now.

  I jump down the stairs to find Jones taking up the living room. He doesn’t look happy.

  His arms are crossed, and he’s glaring. That’s no surprise, though - a lot of people glare around here. It’s like the default expression. His words, however, surprise me. “What did you do to Feena?”

  I stop dead. It’s the last question I expected. “Uh...helped? I think?”

  My heart is hammering. Did I do something bad after all? She’d looked so great when she left. Was there some kind of side effect that didn’t appear until later?

  I need to find out, but not from Jones. The ethics of healing are the same for a witch as a doctor, as far as I am concerned: Don’t ask, don’t tell.

  OK, I know that’s not exactly right, but I can’t remember the oath thingy and Jones is still staring at me like I killed his dog.

  “Have you seen her? Where is she?” I ask. “I’m not telling you anything without her permission.”

  “You have her permission.”

  That’s the opposite of true. “No I don’t. She isn’t here.”

  As good-looking as he is, he’s starting to annoy me.

  “I know she isn’t here - she’s down at the Salty Hog in a mini-skirt, dancing.”

  I can’t help it - I laugh. Loud and long, clutching my sides and happy that I made Feena better. Happy that I did something right and fixed a problem. Possibly even happy that I somehow irked Jones by doing it.

  It isn’t funny,” he says, leaning his shoulders back against the door.

  “Yeah, it kind of is,” I gasp. “Why are you so upset?”

  “She’s making a fool of herself.”

  I stare at him. “Seriously? The man who supposedly sleeps with anything breathing is worried about someone else’s reputation?” I peer closer at his face. “Why do you care, anyway?”

  Instead of answering me, he turns around and stalks back out the door, slamming it behind him.

  I make a snap decision and decide to follow him, because I know he’s headed for the Salty Hog and I know he’s possibly going to make a scene of some sort. I may be new around here, but human beings are human beings.

  I just want to know what makes this one tick and why someone’s happiness is making him so mad.

  Also, I want to see Feena’s triumph for myself.

  Then I remember Wisp’s attitude from earlier and pause. I wonder if it’s a good idea to go alone. She may be little miss prissy, but I don’t trust her to not brain me or cast some kind of spell to do me in, especially if Angelo is there and she thinks I’m with him.

  In a lot of ways, this place is just like my old world.

  Jeans and a t-shirt are probably fine for the Salty Hog, but I change into a pretty flowing blouse anyway, just to make myself feel better, and then put on the single pair of boots I had room for in my luggage. They’re my favorite, and I threw away two pairs of jeans to make room for them. It still seems very unfair, but for tonight at least, I feel presentable.

  I finish dressing, put on a light jacket because night is falling, and go into the kitchen to find Bilda, but she isn’t there. I wander around for a minute, checking the pantry and then upstairs, but she isn’t around. I’m standing in the kitchen again and wondering if I should worry when I spot her through the window. She’s out back, fiddling around in the area she’s already marked for a garden. By mid-summer, the corner of our yard will be bursting with fresh greens and herbs.

  Right now, though, it’s a muddy mess and her sneakers are ruined. I need to ask Angelo where to buy clothes and things. It isn’t like I can order from Amazon and have what we need delivered to Jagged Grove, can I? It doesn’t technically exist.

  I wave to Bilda to get her attention and yell my destination to her. She nods and smiles but then just goes back to her weed-pulling and planning, apparently content and needing no help from me.

  I kind of wanted her to come along.

  I look to the left, notice the gap in the fence, and remember that Imala is only two doors down. At least, I think that’s what she said. Maybe she’ll go with me.

  I walk around the house to the front and then head down the street, counting doors until I get to a brick cottage about the size of ours but much prettier. Wooden gingerbread curlicues highlight all of the corners, the point of the roof and the porch railings. It looks like a little fairy-tale house.

  I knock on the bright white, freshly-painted door.

  When she opens it, I know immediately that I’ve woken her up. “Oh - sorry,” I say, backing away a little.

  She smiles and shakes her dark, ruffled head. “Its fine,�
� she yawns. “We have a ritual later, so I need to get up anyway.”

  Then she peers at me. “Did you need something?”

  “I was going to ask you to go down to the Salty Hog with me. I think I healed Feena today, and I hear she’s causing quite a stir down there.”

  Imala raises one perfect eyebrow. “You think you healed her?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Umm, OK. What time is it?”

  “Around seven?” To be honest, I haven’t paid much attention to the time at all since I got here—I think it’s one thing I like about this place.

  “OK, give me a few minutes.” She holds the door open for me to come in, flicks on a couple of lamps that are shaped like old fashioned torches, and then disappears through a dim doorway on our right.

  I look around and see that I’m in a living room that doesn’t match the outside of the house at all. Imala’s furniture looks more thrift store than fairy tale, comfy but definitely frayed. Her sofa is actually a plaid loveseat, and her accent tables seem to be made of old crates. The only area of real beauty is the fireplace. It looks like it’s made of hand-cut stone and topped with a thick mahogany mantelpiece. The mantelpiece is graced with a line of huge, colorful crystals that look more like sculpture than chunks of rock.

  I’m sure the crystals have magical properties - I can feel the hum of their energy - but I can’t begin to guess what those properties might be. I’ve been out of the magic, as Bilda used to say, for far too long.

  Imala returns too quickly for how good she looks. Her hair is piled on her head, which on me would look like a ridiculous bird nest, but on her it looks elegant and actually highlights her long graceful neck. Her simple, flirty, earth-colored dress lands mid-thigh and she’s finished the outfit with a pair of taupe, studded cowboy boots that inspire instant jealousy in me. She looks like an Abercrombie model.

  I feel very much like I fell out of a Target ad.

  I must have sighed, because she looks at me with questions in her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. You don’t happen to sell sex appeal in a bottle or something, do you? I could use a dose.”

  She laughs and pats my arm. “You just need a wardrobe makeover. I’ve only seen you in jeans and t-shirts until tonight.” She eyes my blouse. “And that thing needs to be thrown away.”

  I pull my jacket a little closer. “It does not. It’s the nicest thing I own! Here, at least. At home I’ve got lots of stuff.”

  Her full red lips quirk. “Remind me to take you shopping tomorrow, and to teach you to use your magic.”

  “Ha! I knew there was a secret.”

  “It’s not a secret, goofball. It’s using the energy of the elements around us to become our very best selves.” With a knowing smile, she grabs a leather jacket and leads me outside.

  I follow, feel more like an ugly duckling than I did an hour ago.

  The truth is, I always thought it was vanity to use magic for selfish things like growing gorgeous hair or clearing up my skin. But now that Imala has put it in these terms, I wonder what I’ve been missing all this time.

  Fourteen

  The Salty Hog is crowded, and it’s only Thursday, which makes me wonder what most of the people in Jagged Grove do for employment. Do they live on some kind of government funding, or is everyone here an entrepreneur like Blakely? Do all of us get some sort of stipend like the one Angelo set up for us? That seems doubtful, but it explains all the drinking that goes on around here.

  Imala is noticed immediately. It seems that every head in the place, both male and female, turn to look at her - and by default, me - when she walks in. I try to stand directly behind her, but I don’t think I’m fooling anyone. Portia, at least, is already glaring at me, so I try to look cool as we head directly for the bar.

  Imala smiles at her when a couple of stools open up right in the center and we slide onto them. Then she turns to me. “Do you want to taste the local booze?” she asks, but I’m already shaking my head.

  “No thank you. Jones introduced us earlier, and I think the stuff tried to kill me. Besides, it smells weird.”

  “It does. And you’re right that it isn’t for the faint of heart, but at least you can sober up fast if you need to.” She turns around again and orders us a couple of shots of Hennessey.

  I scanned the room for a glimpse of Feena.

  The general air of the place was much happier than the last time I was here. Lots of couples were dancing, and even the ones who weren’t were smiling and laughing with their friends. If the dead animals would just quit staring at me, I would be having a much better time.

  Feena isn’t dancing at the moment, but standing in the center of her own circle, talking about something. From the glances I’m getting I have to assume that she’s telling the story of how she was healed. I fight the urge to slide under the bar.

  Maybe this whole mess will be good for the business that I’m still not sure I want.

  Feena smiles over at me. I smile back and give her a little wave at the same time Jones and I spot each other across the room. He still looks pissed. “What is his problem?” I mutter, more to myself than any person.

  Imala follows my gaze with her own. “Who? Jones? I imagine he’s lost his crutch.”

  I turn fully around on my stool to look at her. “What?”

  Her smile is sardonic. “You’ve taken away his one hint of respectability.”

  I blink at her and feel very tired all of a sudden. I think I’m about to hear yet another tangly story. “Please explain.”

  “Jones is great about taking care of Feena - making sure that she has everything she needs, bringing her groceries and stuff like that - and he thinks that gives him free reign to act like a playboy the rest of the time. He uses the adorable bad boy image to its fullest advantage.”

  “That actually works for him?” Even as I ask, I know it does.

  “Oh, yeah.” Her eyes dance playfully.

  “Why? I mean, how does helping Feena play into it?” I’m so confused that I’m about to give up and go home.

  She blinks at me. “I really need to take time and catch you up on things, Trinket. Feena is Jones’s little sister.”

  “Oh.” Oh. That makes sense, as far as why he was throwing a fit about her dancing around in a mini-skirt. “So he’s upset that she’s better?”

  “Probably not once he calms down and thinks about it, but you’ve just made it necessary for him to rethink his entire womanizing game plan.” Imala sounds delighted about this fact.

  I can’t help but grin too, even as I look at his sexy form in the purple glow of the jukebox and wonder what it would be like to experience that kind of attention. So far, he’s been nothing but polite to me, and I’m a little bit disappointed, even as I figure I’ve dodged a bullet.

  His head turns and he looks directly at me. Something besides anger sparkles in his eyes before he turns away again, and I think I know what it might be.

  “Imala?” I lean toward her a little on my stool.

  “Yeah?”

  “Is tonight a-.”

  “Yeah. Full moon.”

  That explains the sudden scary magnetism of Jones’s gaze. He’s probably going to sneak into my house and rip me to shreds later with big werewolf teeth. I tear my eyes away, grab my Hennessey and take the shot. Imala sips at hers and looks amused.

  She points to a couple near the small, sad excuse for a dance floor. They’re holding hands and swaying to the music, lost in their own little world, but they aren’t exactly dancing. “They’re an interesting pair,” Imala explains.

  I study them. Even facing away from me, they look remarkably similar. Both are skinny and short, like a couple of pixies, even though their energy is plenty witchy. It isn’t the purest energy, though. There seems to be a lot of emotional debris around them.

  “Are they twins?” I ask.

  Imala nods. “Yes, and they lost their mother and father both in a fairly bad accident.”<
br />
  “What kind of accident?” Jagged Grove is weird, but it seems fairly safe. For some reason I think about Bilda, home alone.

  “No one is sure - that’s part of the problem. They were found dead in the woods near Darken Cove, but there were no signs of struggle or trauma. It was like they just went there and died.

  Something is pinging in my brain. “How old were the parents?”

  “Twenty-nine, both of them.” She watches me glance toward the couple. “They were very young when they had Rain and Glade.”

  “These two were born here?”

  “So were their parents. They are third-generation Grovians.”

  “Wow.” Is that what I’m supposed to be now? A Grovian?

  “I know. The original family were some of the first residents, and helped to make this place as nice as it is.”

  “How’d they do that?”

  “With great ideas. Magic, too. They worked really closely with Angelo, from what I understand, to make Jagged Grove perfect for supernatural beings.”

  “So three generations ago, a couple of the first witch families to come here helped Angelo design the place and then had babies. Those babies eventually gave birth to these two and then got themselves killed?”

  “Umm...” Imala is squinting at me, following my chatter. “Ye-e-es.”

  “And they died young, for no reason at all?”

  “Yes.”

  “Just like Maggie.”

  Her beautiful eyes widen, but she doesn’t say anything but, “Oh.”

  “And what are you ladies whispering about this evening?” A deep voice says from behind us. We both turn to see that Angelo is behind the bar with Portia. Portia is staring at his ass and practically drooling on her apron.

  “Nothing. Just the local color,” Imala says with a smile.

  Angelo looks back and forth between us. “Why do I get the feeling that you’re up to something?”

  I decide that there is no time like the present. “Did Rain and Glade’s parents die the same way that Maggie did?” I hear two or three gasps around us, including Imala’s, but I keep my eyes glued to Angelo. He shows no hint of anything that resembles surprise. “No, Trinket. Why are you bringing up ancient history?”