by Brenda Drake
I passed her, snapping twigs under my weight. The gravestones were lonely looking without the greenery hugging them; winter had left them exposed and unprotected.
Nana stopped suddenly. “Gia, wait.”
I hesitated. “What’s wrong?”
“You’re in the circle.”
I back-stepped to her. “What circle?”
“See those rocks surrounding the area?” She pointed them out. “It’s a witch’s circle. We must respect the women in those graves. Going into the circle is disrespectful and can bring you bad luck.”
“That would’ve been good to know before Arik dragged me in there. I definitely have had bad luck lately. Can I get rid of it?”
“I have a few things we can try later.” She lowered her head as if in thought. “No. Not women, but young girls were buried here. They were about your age. So much pain surrounds this place. Loss. Betrayal.”
I took another step back. “You’re scaring me.”
“Sorry, dear, but it can’t be helped.” She took measured steps along the outer circle of rocks. “Can you go get my tote from the trunk of my car?”
“Alone?”
Nana Kearns held out her keys. “I’m sure you’ve faced scarier things than woods with a past.”
She had a point, but ghosts and stuff like that were worse. How would a person fight off that kind of attack? I weaved through the trees and ran up the path to the Lexus, the eerie sounds in the woods chasing me all the way. The normal chirps and tweets of forest animals sounded more sinister after what Nana had said. The car trunk protested as it opened. I grabbed Nana’s bag and slammed the trunk shut.
A shadow moved across the trees. I squinted but couldn’t see anything.
Stop it, Gia. It’s just a trick of the light, or a forest animal. But no amount of my reasoning could shake the feeling I had that someone was watching me.
I flew back to Nana. She was kneeling in a patch of dead grass and glanced over her shoulder when she heard me approach.
“I thought I saw someone back there,” I said, trying to catch my breath.
“Most likely one of the girls buried here,” she said. “Whoever placed these rocks wanted to prevent the graves from being disturbed. In doing so, it prevented the spirits from moving on.”
“That’s comforting.”
She raised an eyebrow at my sarcastic tone and reached her hand out for her tote.
I handed it to her. “What are you going to do?”
“Release them, naturally.”
“Naturally.” I frowned down at her.
She took out baggies filled with an assortment of leaves and petals then placed her tote on the ground.
If a cop ever stopped her while driving, the baggies might look suspiciously like pot. Their smell was nothing like it, though. The leaves she tossed in the air while chanting a spell carried a minty, rosy scent.
“Help me move the rocks,” she said.
We placed each one at the base of a nearby tree.
“Be free,” she spoke to the grave markers. “May your journey home be swift, and may peace await you on the other side.” She moved into the circle, inspecting each stone. She looked over at me. “There’re six grave markers, but I only felt five spirits. A family member of one of the girls must’ve exhumed her body and buried her somewhere else. Most likely, a family lot in their church’s cemetery, which if they were caught doing, was punishable by death.”
I swallowed. There wasn’t any fear in me anymore. Just sadness for what the girls must have gone through.
“Hmm.” She returned her eyes to the markers. “The witches buried here were killed for practicing their craft. One was a Bane witch. I’m not certain which one, though.”
A Bane witch? It was as if cold fingers crawled up my back. They were evil. Nana was a Pure witch and used her magic for good.
“Emily’s last name is Proctor, like on that marker. Do you think she might be a witch and related to whoever was buried here?”
“You think she did something to Arik?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But since they got together, he’s not himself anymore.”
“Is he not like himself around everyone or just you, dear? Maybe he’s merely feeling guilty for hurting you.”
“Maybe. But the others say he’s changed, and it happened so fast.”
“All witches are registered in the Witch Registry. Thankfully, my membership online is still active. I’ll see what I can find.”
“Thanks.”
“If I do this and nothing comes of it, will you promise to forget what happened with Arik and move on?” Her soft green eyes held concern.
“I think I’m already moving on,” I said. My thoughts drifted to Bastien. I wasn’t sure what was going on there, but maybe it was worth exploring. “But if Emily is doing something, I owe it to Arik to help him. He was there for me when I was first pulled into the Mystik world.” No matter how mad I was at Arik, I didn’t want anything bad to happen to him.
We headed back to the Lexus, arm in arm. The cold bit at my face. The wind swirled around us, making me draw closer to Nana.
Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you. The wind seemed to whisper.
I gave Nana a freaked out look. “Did you hear that? It sounded…” I trailed off, not wanting to admit I was hearing things.
“I hear it, too,” she said. “The spirits are grateful we released them. They’re on their way now.”
I knew how the witches felt. Being trapped in this small town and unable to live in Boston sucked. I let out a deep sigh, the frosty air turning my breath into fog.
“You all right, dear?”
“I’m fine. It’s just been an emotional day.”
She gave me a questioning look. “If this girl is a witch and spelled Arik, the spell wouldn’t last this long. She would have had to brand or tattoo the spell on him. Search him and see if there is a distinct mark on him.”
“Yeah, that’ll be easy,” I muttered under my breath. Arik was hardly ever alone. Every time I saw him, Emily was attached to his side, and when she wasn’t around, he avoided me. At practice, we were too busy trying to kill each other with our wooden swords to get up close. Plus, I’d have to get him naked to do a thorough search. Impossible.
“Excuse me, dear, what was that?”
“Nothing, just talking to myself.” And hating my life.
Chapter Sixteen
The library in Branford was buzzing with small kids. With Saturday came Christmas art projects and story time for them, and there was no way to keep them all quiet. A stack of books sat on the table beside me. Researching artifacts in the libraries around the world made my eyes cross. I covered my ears to block out the noise around me. Since recovering the crown from the man I pinned with my sword in the Riccardiana Library, we had to find only three more Chiavi.
“Could there be any more cherubs in the world?” Nick groaned.
“They’re putti, and the singular is putto,” I said. “Maybe we should just call them cherubs. When you say putties, it just sounds so wrong. Like something you do in the bathroom.”
He shook his head at me. “This blows. We could be at the shopping mall, people watching or pigging out on pretzels. There are millions of cherubs in the libraries. We’ll never find the right one.”
It did seem as if all ancient artwork depicted putti. We just hadn’t come across one that could “see farther than the rest,” whatever that meant. I assumed it probably had glasses, a magnifying glass, or something else that aided sight. Our search on the internet hadn’t come up with any putti fitting our criteria.
“Oh, we didn’t search for a telescope,” I said.
“On it.” Nick tapped the screen of his phone.
Miss Bagley walked up in flats and dress pants. She looked tired. “How’s it coming?” she asked.
“We haven’t found anything,” I said.
Her lips pressed into a straight line of disappointment. “That w
on’t do at all. Keep searching.”
Nick slumped over the book. “For how long?”
“Another hour. I’ll check back in a few.” She glowered at two kids chasing each other in the lobby. “There’s no running in the library.” She rushed after them.
Maira, a volunteer at the library, sidestepped to our table and pretended not to speak to us as she darted glances over her shoulder. “Don’t look at me. I’ll get in trouble if I talk to you. Miss Bagley is a very strange librarian. Children annoy her, and she hasn’t even read Jane Austen.”
Look who was calling the kettle black. Poor Maira, though. I wanted to tell her that her suspicions were right. Miss Bagley wasn’t a real librarian. The part about Miss Bagley not liking kids comforted me in a way, though. If she and Pop got married, then maybe they wouldn’t have any. With Miss Bagley distracted, I decided it would be a great opportunity to hunt the library records for any information on the Proctors of Branford. Nana needed a full name of the witch buried in the woods to search the Witch Registry.
I reached into my messenger bag and took out the book Mrs. Ripples had handed out in class. “Maira, do you know if there’s any information about the witches in Branford? The ones mentioned in this book? Actually, I’m not interested in the witches in this book, but the earlier ones. Maybe when the town first started?”
“There are some old newspapers from the seventeenth century on the computer in the reference room. Miss Bagley told me not to disturb you two. She wants you to finish whatever assignment you’re working on.” She darted a look over her shoulder. “Give me ten minutes, and then come join me there. Don’t let her see you. Pretend you’re going to the bathroom, in case she spots you.”
“Okay, thanks,” I said. Uncle Philip must’ve come down hard on Miss Bagley for her to enforce searching for the Chiavi today.
“What are you trying to prove?” Nick whispered. “Emily isn’t a witch. And I highly doubt Arik would let her tattoo or brand him.”
“Probably not, but I need peace of mind.” I watched the lobby, waiting for Miss Bagley to leave. She lingered in the hall, cooing over a toddler, which made me nervous. Maybe she would want a kid. I guessed it wouldn’t be too bad to have a baby sister or brother.
“You need to stop your obsession, already,” he said. “I think they prosecute stalkers in this state.”
Nick was right. It was most likely a long shot, but Emily’s last name etched on that grave marker in the hidden cemetery was too much of a coincidence for me to ignore.
Miss Bagley finally climbed the stairs to the second level.
“Be right back.”
I didn’t wait for Nick’s warning. I charged across the lobby and into the reference room. Maira sat at a computer clicking on the mouse. “I found several articles of the time,” she said. “I can email them to you.”
“Wow that was fast.”
“It’s called modern technology.” She quirked a smile at me. “We’ve scanned all old documents into the computer. The microfiche is obsolete nowadays. Which ones do you want me to send?”
“I don’t need a copy, just a name.” I leaned over her shoulder and read the titles as she clicked through them. I spotted the names from the graves in large print on one of the articles. “That one. Can you make it larger? I can hardly read it.”
She hit a few buttons and the page zoomed in.
I scanned the names for Proctor and found it at the end. Ruth Ann Proctor. She was born on the eighteenth of June in the year sixteen hundred and sixty-two, and the court had sentenced her to hang by the neck until dead.
“What are you doing in here?” I practically jumped onto the desk at Miss Bagley’s sudden appearance.
Maira quickly clicked out of the page onscreen.
“She’s just helping me do an internet search for putti with a telescope.”
For not knowing what I was talking about, Maira kept her face expressionless.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” Miss Bagley asked.
“No, not yet.” I made a move for the door. “Maybe Nick’s had some luck.” Putto. Something just clicked. The riddle mentioned a school of putti. We were looking for one cherub when we should have been looking for a group together. And a school of them, which meant they had to do with knowledge or something. “I think I just figured it out.”
Miss Bagley tried to keep up with me as I hurried back to Nick. I plopped down on the seat beside him and started flipping through the pages of photographs.
Nick’s eyes followed each flip of the page. “What’s going on?”
“I think I know what we’re looking for. Now we just have to find it.”
A crowd moved like a wave into the lobby. Miss Bagley looked sharply at them. “Let me know if you find it.” She charged off for the group.
“Hell, if I’ll let her know,” I mumbled. “Why does she have to know? What’s up with that?”
“She’s kind of pushy lately, isn’t she?” Nick sighed. “It’s like her panties are too tight.”
I smiled at that. For once, Nick’s inappropriate comment was spot on. I gave him the details of my discovery, and we searched the photographs. We found the school of putti in the Abbey Library in Saint Gall, Switzerland. I was hitting homeruns today—it was like Nana’s good luck spell was working for me. I had the library for the Chiave and the name of the witch buried in the hidden cemetery in the woods.
Miss Bagley whirred back into the room. It was a busy day at the library and it showed on her appearance. Her hair was frizzy and her face drawn.
“Well, did you find it?” she snapped.
“No.” I kept my eyes locked on her, not daring to look away or she might catch that I was lying to her. “We’ll have to come back after Christmas. I have practice in fifteen minutes.”
“After Christmas? How about tomorrow?”
“Uncle—Professor Attwood gave us permission to take a break. My best friend from Boston is arriving tomorrow and I’m going to spend time with her.”
Nick and I shuffled around the tables, walked into the lobby, and glanced back before going out the library door. Miss Bagley’s attention was back on the baby. Maybe she only liked babies and not kids that could run around and break valuable artwork.
...
I bent to my side, stretching my muscles. Not practicing regularly had caused them to feel petrified. Since I was early, I pulled on some gloves, then front-kicked the punching bag hanging down from the ceiling and connected to the floor. I backed up and performed a roundhouse, hitting the center with my foot, the chains rattling violently. Sliding my feet into a solid stance, I threw jab after jab against the bag, my gloves smacking loud against leather.
“Easy, lass, what harm has it ever caused you?” Carrig crossed the mats to me. “Good to see you at practice. You be ready for it?”
“Yeah, I didn’t realize how much I missed hitting things,” I said between heavy breaths.
“That’s the spirit.” He headed off for the equipment room.
I smirked at that. Deidre always said the same thing.
Carrig was a wonderful father to Deidre. I bet he missed her, since she had to live with Pop and me and pretend to be my twin. My heart was like a paperweight in my chest thinking about how it could have been if Carrig had raised me and if my mother had never died. But then I’d think of Pop, and I would never change a thing. People sometimes say that there’s nothing better than a real parent, a biological one. I’d argue that Pop was my real parent. No matter how far away we were from each other, I always felt his love around me.
Lei and Kale ambled in, his arm resting across her shoulder, her arm around his waist. I kicked the bag harder then threw another series of punches at it.
“Whoa, Gia, I’d hate to have you ever get mad at me,” Demos said, lugging his gym bag over his shoulder.
The Irish Sentinels, Aiden and Hugh, flanked him.
“She’d beat you senseless,” Hugh said, elbowing Demos.
Aiden snickered. “You’re one to talk. She’d easily take you down.”
Arik swaggered in behind them. He was so gorgeous, even with his serious, expressionless face. I broke my trance on him and slammed my gloved hand against the leather again.
“Gia,” Carrig called across the gym. “Show the bag some pity and gather with the group.”
The other Sentinels trailed in. Jaran kept step with Abre, their heads together as Jaran showed her something in a magazine.
We all surrounded Carrig. “We will keep to our original pairings today.” His stare found me.
I frowned at him.
“I don’t want any complaining, so if you be inclined to protest your matching, make sure you be thinking about it thoroughly.” He shifted his weight. “You be the hope of the worlds—keep your emotions under control.”
The group broke up in their pairs. I faced Arik from across the mat, tapping my dummy sword against my thigh.
Carrig sounded his whistle, and I charged for Arik. He blocked my sword with his. The vibration from the hit almost caused me to lose my hold. My grasp was too relaxed. I tightened my grip and charged him again. He ducked my attack. As we sparred, I inspected his bare arms and exposed neck. There were no burns or tattoos.
“You really ought not to miss practices,” he said, dodging my attack again. “You’re getting soft.”
Oh, no, he didn’t just say that.
“I’ll show you soft.” I bolted down the mats, my boots slapping against the vinyl.
We fought for forty minutes, with small breaks between each round, and we were finally on our last fight. I had made it through practice without crying. Actually, I was numb. Had I moved on? I had shut all doors to our past, except for one. And to do that, I needed to know he wasn’t tricked into breaking up with me.
The whistle sounded again.
I swung my sword to his right, and he parried it left. I shuffled around, holding my sword parallel and readying for his next attack. He came straight for me, and I cut off his swing, my fake blade meeting his with a loud thwack. I threw blow after blow, and he blocked each one. He was on the defense and I was on the offense. We broke from each other, catching our breaths and eyeing one another.