I turn to Imala. “How long ago did they die?”
She shrugs. “Two years ago? Something like that.”
“See - no connection at all.” Angelo is staring hard at me, but he isn’t the only one. Several pairs of eyes have turned our way.
Portia looks nervous, too. She steps a bit closer and asks, “Is that possible, Angelo? That they all died the same way? Does that make it murder?”
Angelo drops his head to his fists on the bar and groans. When he looks back up at me again, I get the impression that he wants to murder me. “I asked you to not spread these kinds of rumors.”
“What if it’s not a rumor?” I shoot back. “What if something is going on around here?”
He holds my gaze but doesn’t answer.
Portia does, though. “Kyle and Karen’s death was never explained.” She looks pointedly at us.
“Did the area around the bodies smell like it did when we found Maggie?”
“What smell?” Imala asks.
“Evidently the mayor’s brew, or whatever it is - I smelled it today when Jones offered me a drink of it.”
Angelo’s eyes narrow even more at the mention of Jones, just as the tension in the room shoots up a notch. “You went to see Jones?”
I fight the urge to shrink back. “He brought us breakfast - which you didn’t do, I might add - so yes. I went to thank him.”
He stands up tall enough that my gaze now rests on his admittedly well-shaped chest. “I think it’s time for you to head home,” he says. “Before you cause trouble.”
“What trouble? I’m asking questions.”
“That’s plenty.”
“What is this? A dictatorship?”
“Only when necessary.” His eyes challenge me to argue, so I do.
“I’m not finished drinking yet. Besides, what are you gonna do - banish me again?” I slide my empty shot glass toward Portia. “Another, please?”
She looks at Angelo’s back and shakes her head. “Sorry. I’m cutting you off.”
My mouth drops open and I glance at Imala in disbelief. “I’ve had one shot.”
Portia shrugs. “Sorry.”
Angelo smirks.
“Asshole.” I push up from the bar, turn around and stomp outside, where the air is definitely cooler.
Imala follows. “You OK?” she asks, touching my arm.
“I’m pissed, but otherwise good.”
“He has a tendency to do that to a woman. Especially when the woman in question really likes him.”
I huff. “I do not really like him. I just know I need his help to eventually get home, and that will be harder to accomplish if I hate his guts.”
She apparently decides not to push the issue, because she changes the subject. “Do you think that those deaths are related?”
“I don’t know, Imala. I just think it’s weird that people so young all died without any real cause. Do you not think that’s strange? Suspicious, maybe, especially in a community full of magical beings?”
She is quiet for a while as we walk back toward our houses. “I suppose it might be - I didn’t really get the details of Maggie’s death, so I assumed that there was an explanation.”
“None that I’ve heard, but then Angelo hasn’t shared the coroner’s report with me.”
“Do you want it?”
I turn to her, my heart hoping. “Can you get it?”
Her smile is sly in the streetlight. “Maybe. Sither has had a crush on me for ages. I could ask.”
“Ooh, you bad girl. Yes, please.”
“I’m not bad, but since you came here I’m beginning to see that Jagged Grove is a little on the boring side. You brighten the place up.”
“I’m taking that as a compliment. When are you going to seduce Sither?”
She wrinkles her nose. “I’m not going to seduce him. That implies follow up sex, and I’m not that much of a bad girl. Or that desperate.”
“Blakely said he saw Sither and Maggie dancing the night before she died. Were they seeing each other?”
“Not that I know of, but then again, I don’t really pay attention.” Then she looks up and turns in a small circle until she spots the moon. “I’ve got to go, it’s almost time for our ritual.”
“Neat trick. OK. Thanks, Imala.”
“Sure - I’ll let you know what happens with Sither.” With a wave and a smile she is gone, sashaying lightly down the sidewalk. I need to ask her about her coven, and maybe get Bilda an invitation.
Speaking of Bilda... I head that way. She might be worried about me - I’ve been busy almost all day - and I probably need to go spend some time with her. Our earlier talk opened a lot of interesting doors for me.
My mother is a complex woman, one that I really don’t know very well at all.
I take my time walking back through town. As usual, there isn’t much traffic on the streets, and the storefronts are locked and silent. It’s the perfect small town, a peaceful place if you don’t manage to get yourself killed.
I know Angelo doesn’t want me to go there, but I have the strongest feeling that there is a sinister thread running through this whole thing. I just don’t have all of the pieces yet. Until I do, Angelo is going to do his best make me forget about it.
Angelo is getting very good at pissing me off.
At the last stoplight before I turn down my street is a small convenience store that’s still open. Its light shines brightly, blocking out the stars beyond. On impulse, I turn to go inside.
A small older man in a green knit cap is behind the counter, and it looks like he might be dozing. I don’t want to scare him, so I clear my throat. He jumps a little and then spots me.
“How do? What can I help you with?” His voice is deeper than I thought it would be, and has a little bit of a Scottish gruffness to it.
“Oh, hi. I’m just looking around,” I answer with a smile that I hope looks innocent. I turn down the first aisle and find that the store looks a lot like any convenience store I’ve ever been in - crowded shelves, dusty things that no one ever buys, and a refrigerator unit built into the back. Just what I’m looking for. I go to it and scan for what I want.
Most of the labels are unfamiliar to me, but a few I recognize. Mike’s, Seagrams, Gallo...Ah-ha! Found it.
I open the glass door and pull out my one guilty pleasure.
Boone’s Farm Wine.
Yes, I know it isn’t real wine. I just don’t care. It comes in my favorite flavors and I like it. Shoot me.
I find Strawberry and Pina Colada, pull out a bottle of each, and carry them toward the counter. The little old man looks at me sort of funny, but he doesn’t say anything. I smile at him because I like that - no judgment.
With the bottles safely tucked into skinny brown bags, I thank him and leave. Earlier I spied a small park, Killswallow, I think Angelo called it, and the night is still warm enough that I decide to go there instead of home.
Just for a while. Just to be alone and catch up with my thoughts.
I find a swing set and settle myself into one of the curved rubber swings. The night has gone quiet, which is a plus, and no one seems to be out to witness my debauchery. Another plus. I promise myself that I’ll go home to Bilda soon, right after I recharge.
The thing with being an introvert is that other people drain me. I love parties, but only for a couple of hours before they make me cranky. House guests, the few times I’ve had them, make me want to scream after a while and beg them to go home. It’s one of the reasons I need my own house, even if it hurts Bilda’s feelings. I’ll just have to explain it to her.
The first sip, once I manage to wrench the lid off, makes me sigh with pleasure. I rock gently in the swing and smile up at the stars, letting the alcohol warm my insides. A slight breeze ruffles my hair, and it occurs to me that if this were a vacation town I could really enjoy myself. As a new home forced upon me, not so much.
I’m halfway through my first bottle when something dark flashes u
nder a streetlight. I catch it with the corner of my eye, but when I turn my head it’s already gone.
I tell myself I imagined it, but I know I didn’t.
I down the rest of the bottle, set it aside near my feet, and open number two. I feel tingly inside and a lot more chill, but it’s still not enough. I want to just sit here in peace and come to grips with this unexpected interruption of my life.
The second flash lasts longer, and I still don’t get a good look. All I see is that it’s low to the ground and moving very fast, like it’s avoiding the light on purpose. If I stay here long enough, I’m bound to figure out what it is, right?
By halfway through the second bottle I’m staring directly at the light and sitting on the end of the tall slide because it’s closer to where I saw the flash before. The Boone’s tastes good, and I’m so relaxed that I feel a little bit like a puddle of goo.
In fact, when someone begins kissing my neck, I think that I must be imagining it. I shiver and almost fall, and strong arms slide around my middle from behind.
I squeak, but I don’t actually move. At least, I don’t think I move. I definitely squeaked, though. That came from me.
I squeak again when I’m lifted off the slide and into someone’s arms, but then I moan because it feels very, very seductive.
Then my eyes fly open and I scream so loud that my new lover drops me into the sand. My wine bottles clatter around as my foot tips them over like dominoes.
I look up to see Jones staring down at me. “What the hell are you doing?”
A smile quirks his lips. “Hunting,” he answers, his voice a low rumble.
Suddenly, I see why women fall for that. “Well, I’m not exactly prey.”
“Yes you are.”
“Jones! Seriously, what the hell do you want? I was enjoying myself.”
I push myself up from the dirt and brush off the ass of my jeans, trying to ignore the fact that I can still feel his kisses on my neck.
“I came to apologize for my blow-up and to thank you for making Feena feel better.”
I raise an eyebrow, then lean forward for my last bottle of wine. The move makes me dizzy, so after I find it I sink back down onto the bottom of the slide. “Apology accepted. What changed your mind?” I ask.
He shrugged. “She’s happy. I’ve always loved hearing her laugh, and watching her tonight reminded me of that. She’s also powerful, but she hasn’t used her power in a long time - a waste. Now maybe she’ll begin to practice the Craft again.”
“How is it that you are a shifter and she is a witch?” I ask. I told you I have a lot to learn.
“She was born a wolf shifter, but she chose the Craft.” He crosses his arms, as if the line of conversation makes him uncomfortable. “I still don’t think that denying her true nature is healthy, but it seems to be working for her.”
I wonder about that, because it’s been shown over and over that stress - like the stress of forcing yourself to be someone you’re not - causes all kinds of problems on the physical level. Maybe even cancer. I don’t say anything though, because my brain is in no mood to try and explain it to Jones. Also, I don’t know if he even knows about the tumor that had taken up residence inside his sister.
No matter. It’s gone now.
Jones isn’t, though. He still standing here in the moonlight and the soft reaching light of the convenience store across the street. “I like you, Trinket.”
I don’t know how to answer that. I’m afraid to answer that. I like him, too, so far as I know him, but will saying that turn him into a horn dog? That is his reputation, after all.
He doesn’t seem to be waiting for an answer, though. “I think you need to lay low for a while, and learn more before you go shooting your mouth off like you did in the Hog a little while ago.”
“Why?”
“Some things aren’t what they seem.”
I flap my hands into my lap in frustration, then bend over to gather up my trash before facing him. “I don’t know what that means, Jones. Help me out here - everyone tells me to shut my mouth, but no one will explain why that’s a good idea. I’m lost.”
“There could be trouble.”
“There is already trouble. Have you noticed that my new assistant is dead?”
He looks away for a second. “I meant trouble for you, specifically.”
I stand up taller and put both hands on my hips, a strawberry wine bottle still clutched in one fist. I’ll brain him with it if I have to. “Are you threatening me?”
“Hey!”
We both turn toward the street, and then we both groan when we spot Angelo striding toward us across the dewy grass. “What’s going on here? Trinket? Jones?”
“Not a thing, pretty boy. We were just chatting.” Jones’s chin comes up and his eyes flash a challenge. Great.
“It didn’t sound like chatting.” He ignores Jones and turns to me. “Is he threatening you?”
I look from him to Jones, trying to decide how to answer that. Jones’s words did sound like a threat, but I don’t know if that’s how he meant them. Finally I shake my head. “No. He wasn’t threatening me.”
Angelo doesn’t believe me, I can see that. He takes a step toward Jones, who meets it. Now they’re close enough to punch each other, and I’m searching for a way to stop this.
“Oh, Angelo,” I say, putting a hand on his arm to distract him. It works - he looks down at me. “I forgot to ask you earlier, but I need the key to my office. I assume the police or whoever are finished with it, right?”
He raises an eyebrow. “They are.”
“What?”
“I figured you would use the - Maggie’s death - to delay opening up for a while, that’s all.”
“There’s no point. I’ve got to start somewhere.” I pause. “Do you know where I can get another assistant, though? Someone to at least help me out with paperwork, and to get everyone’s names straight?”
“We can help.”
All three of us startle and then turn to see the twins, Glade and Rain, walking across the park toward us.
They’re both dressed from head to toe in an inky black that matches their hair. They remind me of characters from The Nightmare Before Christmas - thin and pale and doomful.
“Wonderful,” I mutter. “In a minute the whole town will be here.”
Glade must have heard me, because he takes Rain’s hand and they both stop about three feet away. She looks annoyed, like a sister should. “Sorry,” he says. “We didn’t mean to interrupt.”
I wave them over. “No, it’s fine. I do need the help, and if you guys aren’t busy...”
I let my voice trail away, because I know nothing about them. Are they still in school? I suppose they could be, or maybe they both work. But then why would they volunteer?
“We aren’t busy. In fact, it’ll be good for us to have some focus. Don’t you think, Angelo?” He flips long black hair out of his eyes and stares at Angelo, and I’m pretty sure I’ve missed something here.
Angelo just nods. “I think so, and you can help get Trinket and her mom settled, too.”
“I think I can get myself settled.”
“You’re doing such a great job so far.” He looks at me, but then Jones steps between us.
“Why don’t you just leave her to me?” he asks Angelo. “I’ll take good care of her.
Both of us say, “No!” at the same time. The twins look amused. Jones shrugs, then turns around and leaves without another word. I can’t help but watch him for a moment.
Then I look to Angelo and hold out my hand. “Just give me my keys and then you can all go away and leave me in peace.”
“You’re sure that you’re ready for this?”
“Now or never, Angelo.” It’s an empty threat and we both know it, because I’ll do whatever it takes to get home. He slips a couple of fingers into his pocket and hands me the ring anyway. Then he turns to the twins.
“Be at the office bright and early tomorrow, OK
?”
They nod in unison. Do they do everything in unison?
“Make sure she doesn’t cause any trouble.”
Then he drops the cold, sharp keys into my hand and leaves, too. I’m left with the eerie twins and my own misgivings.
“You’ll be great,” Glade says, giving me a hopeful smile. “We’ll help. But there is something important I’d - we’d - like to talk about.”
I sigh, sink back onto the slide, and look up at them. “What?”
“We heard you talking. About Maggie.”
I nod.
“You think she was murdered.”
A sliver of trepidation weaves along my spine. “Maybe. Why?”
“We also think our parents were murdered. And we heard you wonder about that, too.”
I frown. “You could hear that?” I was all the way across a crowded bar.
“Rain can.” Glade drops his hand onto her thin shoulder.
“Like...what? Super hearing?”
They nod - both of them, of course - enthusiastically, their black hair shining blue in the low light.
“That’s handy.”
“Sometimes.” I think it might be the first time I’ve heard Rain speak, and her voice is almost musical.
“Listen. I don’t know what happened to Maggie. I never met the girl.” I eye the two of them. “Did you? What was she like?”
“She was nice enough. Healed up a skinned knee for me once, after a bicycle crash.”
“She helped me get over that horrible stomach flu last year, too, remember?” Rain adds.
“So she did have some healing power?”
“Oh, yes. She was nice, too. She helped me get a date with Carlos Marego for homecoming.”
Well, that settles it - Maggie was an angel. I can feel my own cynicism creeping in again, so I stand up. “OK, you two. Eight tomorrow morning?”
They nod.
I shake my head. “See you then. I’m going home.”
The walk is twistier than I remember, and I have to stop twice to pinpoint my way, but I make it. When I get inside I wave to Bilda, who is at the kitchen table talking with Blakely, and head up to bed.
No - I don’t want to know why he’s here so late or what that might entail for my mother’s love life. I have a business to run and a goal to meet - I’m going to be the healer for a town I’ve never heard of, that doesn’t actually exist, and doesn’t feel as friendly as everyone keeps telling me.
Convicted Witch: Jagged Grove Book 1 Page 11