“Wisp.” It is just one word, but Scott speaks it in a way that gets her to shut up. “Go home. I’ll explain later.”
Wisp looks from Scott to me, then over to Jones, who’s just standing there watching the show with a slightly amused expression. “Come with me. Jones has this under control.”
Scott is already shaking his head. “Until we know exactly what happened, I’m not leaving Trinket alone. Jones and I will get her home, then I’ll see you later.”
His tone tells her not to argue, but she does anyway. “She’s fine. Look at her. A mess, but then she usually is,” she says, gesturing vaguely toward me. “You can ask her what happened tomorrow. We’ll do it together.”
Scott rubs his eyes. “Seriously, Wisp? Let me do my job.”
“You aren’t the police...”
“I’m the deputy mayor. Don’t you think it’s my duty to find out what happened in your daddy’s precious town?”
This gets my attention enough to make me look up from the sidewalk. The way Scott spits out the words, I have to wonder if he hates Jagged Grove as much as I do.
Wisp turns and stomps away without another word, but I’m sure he’ll hear about it later. She doesn’t seem to like being told no. Or even maybe.
“You’re in trouble now,” Jones mutters loud enough for us to hear but not Wisp. We all watch her walk back toward town, turn the corner at the drugstore, and disappear in the direction of the mayor’s house.
“She’ll be fine,” Scott says, taking my elbow. Looking at me, he says, “Sorry about that. She’s a little bit jealous of you, but it’ll pass.”
I can’t help it. Sore throat or not, I have to laugh. Just a little.
Wisp isn’t jealous of me - she hates my guts because I’m a new element in her comfortable little kingdom. Men can be so dense.
Not that I care about Wisp, her boyfriend, or her kingdom. I just want to avoid her until I can go home.
We start back toward Bilda’s house. “What are you doing out here anyway?” Jones asks.
“Nothing?” I answer hopefully. My voice is high and raspy.
He shakes his head. “Fess up, babe.”
Scott gives him a look, but I’m beside him and only catch a glimpse of raised eyebrows.
“I’m not your babe,” I protest. This time my voice is a little better. It still burns, though.
Thankfully, he drops the subject as we near Bilda’s house, and I’m not surprised when he leads us through the yard and past the pond to his own place. “I don’t want Bilda to see you this way. She’ll be worried.”
I nod.
Inside, Jones gets us cups of coffee while Scott gets me settled on the sofa. “I’m not an invalid,” I protest as he disappears into the kitchen and comes back with a damp cloth.
He starts gently wiping the rest of the red powder from my skin. “If you inhale this stuff it can be fatal.”
I hold my arms out a bit farther, away from my face, as he wipes it off me. I close my eyes. I can’t help it - it feels good. So good that I moan, right before Jones comes back with the coffee. He loudly clears his throat, and my eyes fly open to see a dark expression on his face.
Jones doesn’t wear that expression often as far as I know, but I’ve seen it a time or two - he looks wolfy.
Scott smiles at him and leaves one cloth covered hand on my arm as he reaches up for the steaming mug.
I take mine in my now clean hand and take a satisfying sip, hoping that it will ease the pain in my throat. It does. “Thank you,” I murmur, cradling the cup against the base of my throat.
Jones nods, pushes a pile of books off a nearby accent chair, and drags it close until he’s right in front of me. “What were you doing out running around at night?” he asks me.
I look away, kicking myself for not coming up with an alibi in the first place. “Going for a walk,” I say lamely.
He shakes his head. “Try again.”
“I was going for a walk.” Hey, how would he know?
“That’s your story?”
“It’s not a story. It’s the truth.”
“Tell me, Trinket.”
Scott clears his throat. He’s looking at Jones strangely. “What’s wrong with going for a walk? Why don’t you believe her?”
“Yeah.” I fight the urge to cross my arms, mostly because Scott still has a grip on one and it feels kind of good.
“Because she doesn’t really like to walk.” Jones ticks off reasons on his fingers. “Because it’s the middle of the night and she’s afraid of Rachel. Because she was almost to the cottage, and I know she never goes there. She avoids that whole area.” He looks at me. “Enough?”
I refuse to answer.
“So what were you really doing out there?” Jones asks again.
“None of your business. Besides, I thought you were mad at me. How did you find me so fast?” I really, really hope he can’t actually read my mind.
“I forgave you.” He ignores my question. “What were you doing, Trinket?”
“None of your business,” I repeat slowly.
And that’s my answer the next three times he asks me, too. Instead of mentioning the spell, I concentrate on Scott, who is asking me more useful questions. I describe the weird little figure that was almost human but not quite, the flying, the pain, and the red dirt, which he’s gotten off most of me. As I talk he wads my old shirt carefully into a ball and puts it in a bag.
“What are you going to do with that?” I interrupt myself to ask, eyeing the bag.
“Take it to Sither. He can tell us if there is a magical signature.” Sither is Jagged Grove’s coroner, if I remember correctly. I’ve never met him.
“Oh. Does that mean you’ll be able to figure out what that thing was?”
“Maybe. There will be an energy signature, because magic is involved, so we’ll definitely be able to trace it somewhere.”
When they finally release me, we all walk outside into the humid night air. “Go home and get some rest, but keep the house locked up tight and don’t invite anyone inside,” Scott warns as he heads off in the direction of the Callahan house. I assume he’s going to smooth things over with Wisp.
Jones, however, stays with me. “I’ll walk you home.”
“It’s not necessary. I live right there,” I protest, pointing at Bilda’s house.
He doesn’t say anything, just starts walking. I catch up.
“Are you going to tell me what you were doing tonight?” he asks.
“I did.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m a woman. That’s my prerogative.”
“Don’t start. I’ll find out.”
I don’t say anything, because I’m already making plans to try again tomorrow night - this time with a face mask. Then something hits me and my face arranges itself into a glare. “You know what? I meant what I said - none of this is any of your damned business.”
He takes a small step back, his face registering surprise, hurt and a touch of anger. “What?”
“You heard me. You think that I’m some helpless female who needs to be protected, don’t you?”
“Well...yes?” He looks perplexed. I’d feel sorry for him if I weren’t so mad right now. “I mean, so far...”
“So far I’ve been thrown into a situation way over my head, been attacked through no fault of my own - twice - and been lied to about the whole mess. I think I’m doing fairly well, considering all of that.”
“Of course you are...” He steps forward and puts a hand on my arm, but his touch feels too placating. I jerk it away.
“Stop it. I-. What?”
He’s staring at me, but something is dawning in his eyes and changing his concern to...pride? “What?” I ask again.
“You’re doing it. You’re coming into your own, aren’t you? Recognizing your power - I can see it in your eyes.”
I huff. “Jones, I have no idea what that means. I just want you to-.”
He leans in and kiss
es me. Quick and hard. No other touch, just that, but it’s enough to shut me up and make my knees a little bit weak. I think I whimper.
Then I blink myself back to some common sense. “Jones, I told you. No.”
“I couldn’t help it.” He looks anything but contrite.
I roll my eyes skyward. “Why do men keep doing that?”
His face clouds. “Doing what?”
“Kiss me every time I get upset, like that’s going to fix everything. Like it will make me go back to being sweet, obedient Trinket. It’s stupid.”
“Who kisses you like that?”
“You. Angelo. My fiancé Clay. I hate it.”
The anger flares again. “Angelo kissed you?”
My chin drops to my chest. I don’t bother to answer his question. “Listen. I’m going home. I appreciate you saving me and everything, but I have to go.”
By the time I’ve turned away and left him standing there, I’ve already decided that there’s no time like the present. I’m going back to the cottage right now, to deal with Rachel while my anger is still fueling me.
I refuse to think about my lips, or the fact that they’re still tingling with the memory of Jones’s kiss. Instead I consider Imala’s words from before, when she mused that I’m supposed to deal with all of this myself.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe I’m stronger than I think and this is going to be a piece of cake. I could almost convince myself, if it weren’t for the image of Lilly’s cold, pale hand stamped onto my mind.
EIGHT
The cottage looks just like it did the last time I saw it. I don’t know what I was expecting - flashing lights, spooky mist. Maybe even a bat or two. But no, it’s just a little house, set apart a little from other houses on the street and looking innocent enough, except for the flutter of leftover crime scene tape against the fence.
“Hello, Rachel,” I mutter quietly as I stop just outside the gate to study it. The gingerbread needs a coat of paint, as does the veranda, but otherwise it looks fine. I avoid staring at the spot where I found Lilly.
I consider if I want to live here. Is it worth all of this?
It is, if only to spite Rachel and show the others that I’m not a complete magical klutz. Angelo would tell me to live with it, and Bilda would accidentally burn the place down. Both Imala and Jones would tell me - kindly enough - to deal with it myself, because I can.
I hope they are right. Otherwise I might die before sunrise.
“Come inside.” The words are real enough, a whisper on the wind. I shiver.
She knows I’m here. I take a deep breath and remind myself that I can do this. I can.
“Come see me.” Her laughter swirls around me.
Maybe.
I shiver again, but reach out and put my hand on the cold wrought iron before I change my mind. When I push it open, it screeches loudly enough to make me jump and set a dog to barking somewhere in the distance. I close my eyes, then imagine her slamming into me and open them again. I need to be alert for this. Confident. Strong.
I take a deep breath and push the gate farther, until it’s standing wide and inviting me down the winding path to the front steps. Along the way, the metal sculptures loom in shadows and a breeze kicks through the trees, making their leaves rustle.
“Way to make the house look haunted, Rachel,” I mutter under my breath. Then I jump when she answers.
“You haven’t seen anything yet.” Her voice, still a tendril in the air, singsongs at me. It sounds closer, though.
“Leave me alone, Rachel,” I call out, hoping that no one is watching me.
A window lights up on the second floor. Then it goes out and another pops on. Just for an instant. I blink hard, once, to gather my courage. “Cut it out.”
Surprisingly enough, she goes silent. I know she could just swoop down from the rooftop or whatever and kill me. I know this as well as I know that I don’t belong in Jagged Grove. I’m positive that my magic is no match for hers, especially if she learned from our father, the wizard who wasn’t supposed to be. If he’s as powerful as I’ve been told, then I’m dead in the water. Or on the grass. Whatever.
But she isn’t killing me, so I take the first step toward the house. Pause. Then another. Three more and I’m a quarter of the way up the walk and I stop to study the house again.
The door swings wide, showing me a dark empty space beyond.
I hate the dark.
A lamp in the living room flicks on, illuminating the sheer yellow curtains at the window. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”
She laughs softly.
I walk, clutching the small bag of spell ingredients. One step, two, three. Four more and I’m at the foot of the steps, staring up at the house. It looks a lot larger - and darker - here, even with the light on.
“Come inside.”
I pause with one foot on the bottom step. Do I have to go inside the house to cast the banishing spell, or can I do it wherever Rachel happens to be floating around? I’m not sure, and my hesitation makes her laugh again.
At least I’m not dead yet. I should probably go inside, just to be sure.
I should.
The hard leather handle of the bag holding my supplies bites into my palm, and I suddenly want to drop it and run away. My stomach is in knots, and I’m sweating and shivering, all at once. I think I’m going to be sick.
I can’t go in there. I can’t.
But what if the spell doesn’t work? I’ll have to keep doing this to get it right, and I might not be brave enough to try again.
“This is stupid, Trinket. Go deal with her.” My own voice sounds loud in the silence.
“Please do, Trinket. I’m bored.”
“What’s the matter? Run out of people to kill?”
Silence.
I push off before I can think any more about it, take the stairs two at a time, and then I’m at the threshold, staring inside.
The living room looks peaceful and well-kept, as if a nice family just left to go for an evening walk, even though I know it has to be at least midnight by now. The comfy looking furniture sits just where it was the last time I was here, and as I watch, a fire bursts to life in the fireplace. It makes the gemstones sparkle happily, and I relax a little in spite of myself.
Maybe this will be OK. Maybe everyone was right, and she only gets mad at me when I’m with Angelo.
No problem. I can avoid him forever. In fact, I’d rather.
A hint of reddish smoke curls up from the crackling logs and drifts in my direction. I immediately take a step back, thinking of the powder from earlier.
“Did you try to kill me earlier tonight?” I ask the room.
No answer. Shadows dance across the walls. “Did you, Rachel?”
“No...” The voice is small and uncertain, and I realize that she hesitated because she didn’t know. The attacker wasn’t sent by her.
That makes me feel a little better. A little.
“Then who did? And who killed Lilly?” I ask. I feel a little dumb talking to an empty room, but I know deep down that it isn’t empty, and that Rachel can hear me just fine.
“Not me,” she whispers. “Lilly?”
It’s a question. That surprises me, because I thought she would just know somehow, even if she wasn’t the culprit.
“What did you do to Lilly?”
Her laughter is back. “I gave Lilly the willies,” she says.
“Cute. What did you do to her?”
“Not important. She won’t be back.”
“True. She’s dead. But did you kill her?”
Another hesitation. “No. Just playing. Scare you, maybe?”
I’m shaking my head. “No - it wasn’t just a scare tactic. I couldn’t breathe. If Jones and Scott hadn’t found me, I would have died.”
“Maybe not.” The curtains blew gently.
“Yes. Whoever threw that...whatever it was...wanted me dead, Rachel. Just like Lilly.”
I realize, in spite of
the weirdness of this whole scenario, that I’m becoming more comfortable talking to her. I’m alive, after all, and she’s been in a position to kill me for, oh... ten minutes or so now.
“Not dead. Just away. Come inside.” The lights flicker again.
“Don’t distract me. I’m thinking.” But I’m also stepping further into the room, toward the warm red glow of the fireplace. When I place my hand on a chunk of amethyst near the mantle, the door behind me slams shut.
“Rachel!” I whirl around just as the lights go out. Then the fire disappears in a little whoosh, and I’m frozen in complete darkness. “Rachel?” I call again, trying to keep my voice steady.
Then I remember the bag in my hand and the candles tucked inside. I fall to one knee, then stop, smack my forehead, and stand up again, leaving the bag where it is on the floor. Sometimes I’m so dumb, I think as I walk across the room to click the lamp back on. It goes off again.
“Quit it,” I say to the air. This time when I turn it on, it stays on.
I turn around to go back to the fireplace, but the bag is gone. “Rachel,” I yell, angry now. “Give it back!”
Her laughter is fainter than before. “Let you banish me? Nope. Not today, big sister.”
“Why would you give me a house and then keep me from living in it, you spoiled brat? That’s the dumbest-.”
I stop talking when the air crackles around me. For a second I think she’s lit the fireplace again, but it’s still dark. This is more static electricity, filling the air and making all the hair on my body rise. “Rachel?”
“You call me spoiled, big sister? You, who was given so much more than I? You, who I heard about my whole life until I was sick of your very name?” A vase on the mantel shatters where it stands. “Trinket this and Trinket that. You should meet Trinket. She can do anything...” Her voice is going shrill, and something in the next room explodes, raining glass onto the stone floor. An impossible wind has kicked up, swirling my hair into my eyes. I scrape it away.
I wince and step toward the door, completely confused by the outburst. “I don’t-.” I duck a throw pillow before I realize what it is. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Rachel.”
Conflicted Witch (Jagged Grove Book 2) Page 11