Conflicted Witch (Jagged Grove Book 2)

by Willow Monroe

  I gulp. “Umm...maybe. Too bad that’s illegal.”

  She dismisses that consideration with a wave of her hand. “The laws of man govern no magical thing. Who are you running from, my dear?”

  Everyone. “No one.”

  She glances over her shoulder toward the glass front door, just as Angelo’s form goes by outside. A thin smiles creases her features. “Angelo? He’s a babe in the woods. Do you need me to handle this for you?”

  “No!” I take a deep breath. “No - we’ve just had a misunderstanding. I can work it out without, you know, hurting him or anything.”

  “Well, if you’re sure...”

  “I am.” Then a new thought occurs to me. “Do you get a lot of business here?”

  If she does, then Jagged Grove might be more dangerous than I thought, in spite of Angelo’s reassurances.

  “I don’t spell and tell, dear. It’s not nice.”

  She looks like somebody’s slightly crazy grandmother, and it’s hard for me to imagine her doing real damage with her magic. The vibes here tell me otherwise, though. “Well, sorry to bother you. I guess I’ll be going.”

  The front door opens. I jump, then turn to see if Angelo has followed me inside after all, but it’s a woman in her forties. She’s tall and around forty, with enough resemblance to Lilly that I wonder if they might be sisters.

  She gives us a wave, but then glides on past to the back of the store. As she passes, I notice that her mouth is pressed into a tight line. I turn back to Lilly. “Is she upset?”

  Lilly smiles, but frustration is filling her eyes. “That’s my partner Aries - she’s always upset about something.”

  “Oh.”

  I edge around her, brushing against a questionably large poppet. I’ve heard of witches like her, but never met one. They don’t see their magic as black, exactly. They just see that good and bad aren’t always as cut and dried. The highest good becomes the highest good for them, but not necessarily their target.

  There are moments when I wish I could feel the same way.

  She stops me as I’m sliding past, putting a cool hand on my arm. “At least let me help you with the house.”

  I open my mouth to decline, then wonder how she knows anything about my trouble with the cottage. Then I realize that I’m afraid to ask.

  Maybe she could help me, if... “You aren’t going to hurt anyone, are you?”

  She laughs lightly. “No, of course not. I’m simply going to clear out any...let’s call it negative...energies. Including jealous, dead healers.”

  This woman knows too much about me. She knows way too much. I hate small towns.

  “For a price.” I say.

  Her eyes twinkle. “This one will be on the house - no pun intended. I’m sure you’ll become a repeat customer. Everyone does - magic that works, and your conscience remains clean. It’s a win-win.”

  A very insistent part of my mind is telling me to decline. It’s telling me to say goodbye and walk away because witches like Lilly are especially dangerous. Another part, though, is thinking about how nice it would be to live in the house that my sister left me, with all that glorious stonework and plenty of peace and quiet.

  No twins. Space from Bilda. A fabulous bathroom.

  “No price at all?” I ask, watching her face closely.

  Instead of answering, she turns away and walks down the crowded aisle. I follow.

  “No price,” she assures me, but her back is turned and I don’t like that. “Just give me a key, and a full week, and the place is all yours.”

  “Just like that?” We’re at the front of the store now, closer to the sunshine. The sight of it makes me feel a little better.

  “Just like that. No harm will come to anyone, I promise.”

  I dig into my pocket and hand over the key, leaving just my office key on the small chain. Just before I drop it into her hand, I wonder if I’m making a huge mistake, but then it’s gone, tucked away into her pocket. I feel like I’ve just made a pact with the devil.

  I leave the store, telling myself that she’s a business owner here in Jagged Grove, a member of the community, as far as I can tell. She can’t possibly do anything too horrible.

  Can she?

  When I get home, Bilda is upstairs. She’s turned the attic into her private space, complete with altar and wooden cabinets for her supplies - herbs, crystals, candles, that sort of thing. I can smell sage wafting down the stairs before I even get to the end of the hall. “Mom?” I call from the bottom step.

  She appears from the gloom up top. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  I choose my next words carefully as I watch Bumper doze on his windowsill perch at the other end of the hall. “I found someone to clear the house, so I can move in next week, I think.”

  Her expression goes pinched. “That’s nice, dear.”

  She turns around to disappear again, but I stop her. “Mom, we need to talk about this.”

  She stops, but doesn’t turn around. Her voice is shaky. “There is nothing to talk about - you’re a grown woman, Trinket. Grown women don’t want to live with their mothers.”

  The twinge of guilt in my gut gives itself a nice, sharp twist. “Mom, please come downstairs and talk to me.”

  She sighs, but I’m relieved when she turns around again and heads down the stairs toward me. I notice that she’s still graceful, even though there is a new hesitancy in her gait as she navigates the stairs. I walk ahead of her down to the kitchen and put a kettle of water on for tea.

  “Are you happy here, with the twins?” I ask. “I mean, are they too much for you? They can get pretty noisy.”

  She pats the table with a slightly wrinkled hand. “The twins are fine. They’re good company, actually.”

  She looks at me like I could take a lesson from them. I refuse to argue. “Good. Let me know if they get out of hand - like with their music - and I’ll talk to them.”

  “They aren’t any worse than you were at that age. Who was it that you used to play all the time - it drove me crazy? Utopia?”

  I think hard. “Oh. Nirvana. Yeah, that was bad. I’m sorry.”

  My mother and I have only recently begun to turn our mother-daughter stand-off into something closer to friendship. If I had to say one good thing about coming to Jagged Grove, that would be it. Now, I’m trying to be careful to not strain this new facet of our relationship. Sometimes, when she does something like with the sharks, it’s difficult.

  She’s a free spirit, my mother. Almost childlike in her enthusiasm for living, exploring, and enjoying everything around her, even when she accidentally gets herself, or someone else, into trouble. There are times when I wish I could relish life like that, but then there are other times - like when I have to bail her out of jail or we get tossed into another dimension - when I know that one of us has to be an adult.

  She’s a little too trusting, too. Everyone is a friend, even when they’re not. She invited Rachel in for a chat, as pretty as you please, without a thought about her background. To be fair, none of us could have guessed that Rachel would try to kill me later that same day, or that she was even my sister.

  That mystery still has me stumped, but I can only handle one major upheaval at a time, and I’ve been concentrating on settling into Jagged Grove. Since I have to be here for a year, I figure I might as well get used to it.

  “So, you’ve finally decided to face Rachel and take back your house?” she asks as I slide her cup of tea in front of her at the table.

  “Well, sort of. Not exactly.” I glance away, out the window, and fiddle with my own cup for a moment. “I’ve, uh, hired someone.” Is hired the right word? I go with it. “She claims she can get Rachel out of there in a week.”

  Bilda looks dubious. “Rachel is awfully strong, Trinket.” Then she smiles and pats my hand. “But I’m sure you know what you’re doing.”

  “I’m sorry - I know you could handle something like this. I know you could. But she almost killed me-.�
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  “We don’t know that she wanted to kill you.”

  Why does no one believe that the bitter witch wanted to do me in? “OK, fine. It felt like she wanted to kill me. Anyway, I didn’t want to put you in harm’s way.”

  “I’ve handled much more powerful witches than her, you know - not that she isn’t powerful. She is. But I have experience and knowledge on my side.”

  “Mom, I love you, but we both know you wouldn’t hurt a flea. Not even to defend yourself.”

  Unlike Lilly, my new witchy friend who doesn’t seem to have any qualms at all about defensive magic... I finish my tea, then stand up and kiss her on the cheek. “I love you, and I don’t want to see you get hurt. OK?”

  She nods, and gives me another small smile. “I know.”

  “Oh, by the way. Did Rain talk to you about learning your kitchen magic?”

  She shakes her head. “I thought you might reconsider teaching her.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Oh, Trinket...” The depth of sadness in her eyes surprises me.

  I also know what she’s going to say next, so I interrupt. “Maybe when I’ve got a better handle on it myself, we can do something like that. Not now, though - one big deal at a time, and Rain is kind of far down on the list right now.” One step below Rachel, if I’m telling the truth.

  “Why? What else is on your list?”

  I stare at her. “Getting a witch out of my house. Learning to use my magic without killing anyone in the process. Finding my father - remember that? And getting us home, sooner or later. It’s a long list.”

  She sighs and stands up too, patting me on the arm as she leaves the kitchen. “Well, don’t forget about me in the middle of finishing off your list.”

  “Never.” I offer her a smile, but I know it doesn’t ring true.

  I go up to my room and start to pack. Anything that I’m not using goes into a bag or box. Other than the few things I brought with me, and some clothes and shoes that I’ve managed to pick up while I’m here, there isn’t much. I’m very glad that Rachel’s house is already beautifully furnished.

  In fact, now that I think about it, the things in that house are exactly what I would have picked out myself. A weird subconscious sister bond, or just a coincidence? I don’t know, and it isn’t that important.

  As I empty the desk drawers of the few things they hold and dump that stuff into a box, I glance out the window to see Jones walking across the yard toward our house. For a moment I watch him, enjoying the easy way his muscles move under jeans and a thin white t-shirt. Then I remind myself that he’s off limits and go back to packing. Mom will be yelling that I have company in a minute.

  It takes almost half an hour to realize that she hasn’t called up the stairs. Jones is here - I just saw him. Why else would he come over, except to see me? I stop and think for a minute, then hear Bilda giggling from downstairs.

  Surely not. He can’t be interested in my mother, can he? He has a thing for the ladies, that’s for sure, but I’m fairly certain that it’s the young ladies that catch his eye. Bilda’s a sweetheart, but she’s also about fifty years too old for him. Not that it’s any of my business, but that’s just...weird. Gross, even. Definitely unsettling. Jones, hitting on my mom?

  It kind of makes me jealous.

  Which is dumb, because I’m not even interested - he’s off limits.

  Completely off limits. He’s a werewolf, for crying out loud. He hunts. In every sense of the word, if his reputation is to be believed. I don’t need that. Bilda doesn’t either. He’s a charmer, and I could actually see her falling for somebody like him, now that I think about it.

  I’m out of my room and running down the stairs before I finish the thought, slowing down just before I come into sight of them.

  “Oh hi, honey. Jones is here.”

  I nod, looking at him with a pointed expression. He grins at me, and I have to admit that it’s sexy.

  “He brought us some fresh honey.”

  Now I’m thinking about euphemisms, so I shake the thought from my head. “Honey, huh? Are you a beekeeper, too, Jones?”

  He’s still looking amused. “No - the Crystal Cup got a new batch in, so I grabbed some for Bilda.”

  They both look so innocent, sitting there side by side on the sofa, but it’s that kind of innocent where you just know that people are hiding something. I look back and forth from Bilda to Jones, and know that neither of them are giving up whatever secret they’re sharing.

  “OK, well, sorry to interrupt.” I turn slowly to go, expecting them to tell me to stay. Well, at least expecting Bilda to tell me to stay. But they both just look at me, eyes big as Bumper’s, and smile slightly.

  The thought reminds me. “I still haven’t seen Bumper, Jones. Is he at your house?”

  Jones looks impatient, just for a second, before he shakes his head. “Nope. Left right after he ate his mouse.”

  As I walk back to my room, Rain passes me in the hall.

  “Hey,” I say.

  She slips on by without answering, head down.

  Feeling like a stranger again, I decide to wander down to the docks to check on the progress. It’s lively down there and the guys are shouting and laughing back and forth as they work. I smile. This is a real community, the kind that lots of people would love, if it weren’t for the fact that several of them are using magic to make the work go faster.

  I lean against a pole to watch one man use his powers to hoist a large pylon into the water, settling it into an unseen hole. When it’s straight and evidently to his liking, he turns away, rubs one temple with a finger, and shakes his head quickly before moving on to the next one.

  Using magic affects you like that. As I’m quickly remembering, it makes a person feel all floaty and weird unless they ground afterward. That means, basically, bringing yourself back to earth. Back to the here and now, instead of bouncing around on a higher plane of existence.

  Some people like living with their head in the clouds.

  I like living on earth. I wish I were there now.

  THREE

  “Mr. Lowell, you’re going to have to stop eating so much cake.”

  From the exam room, I hear the patient in question grunt. It’s true that he eats too many sweets, but I doubt Bilda will get him to change. He’s practically her age, so I’m not sure he sees her as much of an authority figure. For a second, I wonder if I should go in and try to help, but then they emerge. Bilda is smiling. Mr. Lowell looks distinctly disgruntled. With a wave to me, he does an about face and stalks out the front door.

  Bumper glares at me from the corner. I grabbed him and put him in his cage when he finally came home from his secret trip. He must have been ten pounds heavier, so I brought him here to the office, figuring that it was too far from Jones’s and he wouldn’t go back.

  I refused to open the office this morning before checking to see if Rachel was still around, but the place was empty. Hallelujah. I can’t deal with Rachel today. I just can’t.

  “That man,” Bilda says, coming to lean on the reception counter across from me, “Is going to make himself sick, if he isn’t careful.”

  “He’s already sick. That’s why he’s here.”

  She lifts an eyebrow at me. “Are we in a mood today?”

  “No.” I bend my head back down to the appointment book so that she can’t see my expression.

  “Are we sure...?”

  “Yes.” I wish she would go find something to do. I’m busy wondering if today is the day that Lilly will try to evict Rachel from my house. If it is, and she manages to piss Rachel off, then the havrue might just show up here and try to kill me again. I would dearly love for Bilda to be well clear of this place if that happens.

  The bell by the door jingles, and we both look up to see Glade stride in. He’s beaming, and I know what that means. I sit up straight, drop my pen, and beam back at him. “You got it?”

  He nods, his face almost splitting with happiness
. “I got it.”

  I clap my hands. “Woo-hoo! Go, Glade!”

  Living with Bilda has been good for the twins. They were eighteen, aged out of whatever system Jagged Grove offers, and just living sort of aimlessly after the death of their parents. But that seems to be changing now - he and Rain are helping out here and at home. Bilda is teaching them to cook, and now Rain wants to learn magic. Glade has only recently decided that he wants his driver’s license, and today, after two other tries, he’s got it. Adult pride and child-like excitement fight for dominance on his face.

  Jagged Grove is small enough that he probably won’t ever really need to drive anywhere, but he does need that feeling of accomplishment. “I’m proud of you,” Bilda squeals, coming around to give him a hug. The top of her head barely reaches his shoulder.

  The door jingles again. Rain slinks in and drops into one of the waiting room chairs, not looking at any of us. Uh-oh.

  “No luck?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light. She’s tried to pass the written exam five times now.

  She glares at me through a curtain of black hair and doesn’t answer.

  I smile. “It took me seven tries, altogether,” I say. “Remember, Mom? I was so mad.”

  “I remember.” Bilda goes to sit down in the chair beside Rain and pats her arm. “I also remember when you decided you didn’t need a license and took my car downtown, anyway.”

  Glade laughs, and even Rain looks up. “You did that?” she asks.

  “Yep. It wasn’t pretty.”

  Rain looks to Bilda for an explanation. Bilda shrugs. “I reported the car stolen. She was supposed to be at a chess club meeting, so when the cops brought her home - along with the car - she had to fess up.”

  Glade looks at me. “You were in chess club? That’s kind of...” His voice trails off.

  “Lame?” I finish for him. “I was only there because of a boy.”

  Rain laughs at that.

  “What? You’ve never done something just to get a boy’s attention?” I regret the question even as I ask it. Of course she hasn’t - she’s been too busy dealing with basic survival and the loss of her parents, and the only important boy in her life as far as I can see is Glade. He’s her whole world.