Conflicted Witch (Jagged Grove Book 2)

by Willow Monroe

  Another pillow hits me on the forehead and bounces off, and then I see another vase tremble, a bigger one. This one looks heavy. I turn and run, waiting for the vase to crush my skull as I work on wrenching the door knob open. Then I’m outside, and the vase shatters on the wood frame near my head. I scream and run, almost smacking into the gate before I remember it’s there. Then I’m off the property, but I keep running, hoping that she’ll take out her anger on something else instead of chasing me down. I don’t slow until I’m back in the middle of town.

  I drop my hands to my knees and gasp for air, then keep walking. I want to be as far away from the cottage as I can be, even if that means running to the other end of the island to get away from her.

  But she isn’t following, at least not that I can tell, and by the time I get to my office I need to sit down, so I dig the extra key from where the mortar is missing near the bottom of the door frame and let myself in without bothering to turn on the lights. Then I go to my office, lock that door, and sink into the cushy chair.

  That’s where Angelo, of all people, finds me an hour later.

  I tense as the door to my office opens and he steps inside, illuminated only by the streetlight shining through the window. When I see his face my response is automatic. “Get out.” I point at the door and drop my head back onto the desk.

  “No.”

  “Get out, Angelo, or so help me I’ll have my mother turn you into one of her precious koi. I locked the door for a reason, and - how did you get in here, anyway?”

  I blink at the doorway. I had locked it, right? “Never mind. Get away from me.”

  He ignores me. “It didn’t go so well, huh?”

  “Shut up.” I don’t know how he knows where I went, and I don’t even care.

  He sits. I want to throw things at him until he gets up and runs away, but there’s nothing but a pen and a few Post-It notes on the desk. I need to get a lamp.

  “She’s powerful, Trinket.”

  “I know that.” I raise my head to glare at him. “You aren’t leaving, are you?”

  He shakes his head and gives me a hopeful smile. “I was afraid that a banishing spell wouldn’t work.”

  I want to cry now, partly from the shame of being a failure as a witch and partly because way down deep, I’m glad to see him. He makes me feel safer, even though he got me into this mess in the first place. “Why didn’t you say something?” I mutter, still face down.

  “I did. You didn’t listen.” He leans forward.

  I look up to see that his eyes are only a few inches from mine. “Do I just give up now?” I ask him.

  Those blue eyes flicker, and I melt a little inside. If he wasn’t so good looking this whole thing would be a lot easier. Well, good looking and steady. Strong. Tall...

  I drop my head to the desk again, hard, trying to dislodge my train of thought. “I think she’s jealous,” I said.

  “Of course she is.”

  “I don’t mean about you. She was saying things...” I let my voice trail away, trying to figure out what she had been saying exactly. Finally, I finish. “I think she was talking about her father. Our father, I mean.”

  His eyebrows come up. “Oh, yeah? What was she saying?”

  I shake my head, trying to sort out the jumble of her words. “That all she ever heard was how great I was, and that I was...I don’t know...more special, maybe? But that doesn’t make sense.”

  “Yes it does.” Angelo sits back in his chair and props a foot up on my desk. I reach out and knock it off.

  “No it doesn’t. First of all, I’m not special, at least as far as my father is concerned. He disappeared too long ago to know. Second, in case you haven’t noticed, my powers are rusty and weak - I’m no match for Rachel.”

  He looks dubious. “You really, really need to talk to your mom about this.”

  “I tried,” I yell, smacking my palm down on the desk. It stings. “She did just what she always does - just mumbles some excuse and wanders away.”

  “Try again.”

  “Why?”

  He sighs and rubs his thighs with his hands like they’re sweaty. I don’t see how - I feel cold. “Listen, Trinket. I don’t know what happened between your parents, or why he went away, but I know that he does brag about you every time your name comes up. I know that he’s proud of you and that he wants to meet you. I know these things are true, because hearing him talk about you made me want to find you in the first place and bring you here. I had to meet the special daughter of the great Wizard Cane.”

  I’m staring at him with my mouth open, but I can’t seem to stop. “What are you talking about? How can a man I’ve barely met brag about me?”

  “He’s a driven man. He’s probably been keeping an eye on you.”

  “Well that’s not creepy at all, Angelo. What gives him the right to do that? Why didn’t he just introduce himself? And why go through all of this cloak and dagger crap if he’s so powerful? None of this makes any sense.”

  All he says, after a moment of looking at me quietly, is, “I can’t tell you.”

  “Does that mean you know and you can’t tell me, or that you just don’t know?” I really need that lamp.

  He doesn’t answer.

  “If you aren’t going to help, then get out.”

  He stands up reluctantly, then just looks at me for a moment before leaving. I watch him go, scared and relieved all at once.

  He’s right, though - I’m positive that Bilda has the information I need. I have no idea why my father won’t show his face, or what game he’s playing here, but the pain in Rachel’s voice was real. I can feel my emotions toward her shift as I remember how she sounded. Now I feel more pity than fear - although the fear is still there and very real. I’m not stupid.

  I just wish I knew how to deal with her, now that Plan A has bit the dust. Do I just try again? I don’t have the picture, but maybe I don’t need one. Then I remember that Bilda said I could accidentally banish the wrong Rachel and scratch that idea. No need to drag any more innocent bystanders into this.

  I look around the dark office helplessly, as if another solution might jump out at me.

  Then it does. Sort of.

  No new picture of Rachel, and no bottle labelled banishing cream or anything like that, but through the doorway I spot the corner of a small brown baggie sticking out from one of the reception desk drawers. I immediately remember what’s in it.

  On the day we officially opened for business, Rain, Glade and I gathered up all of Rachel’s personal odds and ends and put them away. You know, the kind of stuff that people leave around. None of it important - a ponytail holder, a paperback, some notes scribbled here and there - and a hairbrush.

  As I stare at it, something odd happens. My heartbeat speeds up, and I feel a heavy sensation, as if I’m being sucked into the earth. My palms start to pulse, but it’s different than I’ve felt before, more subtle. Pictures flash through my mind, and suddenly I know exactly how a banishing spell should work. Maybe it’s my own magic stepping forward, or maybe it’s information I’ve picked up before and stored in my subconscious, but I know that it’s right, and I know exactly what to do.

  I get up and walk into the exam room to get a few things from Bilda’s healing supplies, then before I can talk myself out of it I walk to the reception desk, grab the baggie, slam the drawer shut, and head back to Rachel’s house. I’m determined to get rid of her this time, and I’m tired of messing around with the whole situation.

  All the way to the cottage, I rehearse the steps of the spell in my head.

  The cottage looks just as innocent as before, but I know better. I don’t hesitate. I don’t stall. I push open the gate and march all the way to the steps, heart pounding, before I stop and look up.

  No flashing lights. No taunts and laughter. Just a heaviness in the air surrounding the place - she’s waiting for me. I take a deep breath and walk up the stairs, not bothering to be quiet.

  As I re
ach for the door handle, the porch light over my head flicks on and then explodes. I recoil as glass rains down onto my head, but I don’t bother to try getting it out of my hair beyond a quick shake of my head. She’s not going to distract me this time.

  The door opens easily and silently, and then I’m in the living room, clearing space on a wide wooden end table to perform the ritual. Then I drop the baggie - with its assortment of Rachel’s odds and ends - onto the table and get the rest of my items from my pockets. A chunk of copal, a few sprinkles of rue, basil and juniper, and a small lighter. The copal, which is really hardened tree resin, has a nice little hollow carved from its center, probably done by Bilda. I put the herbs into the hollow and light the chunk.

  It immediately starts to smoke like incense, and the scent of pine and spices fill the room. I take a deep breath. I stand still and tall and concentrate on gathering the energies around me to power the spell, feeling my own energy swell in my chest as they come. When I’m practically shivering with the pulse of power in my body, I pull my main ingredient from the baggie - a few strands of hair from Rachel’s hairbrush.

  A screech sounds, but it seems far away. A few lights flicker through the room and the fireplace bursts to life again. I don’t look away from my task. I don’t dare.

  I unpin a needle and black thread from the sleeve of my t-shirt and weave the needle through the tufts of hair while I chant my spell.

  Sew this rift and cleanse this space

  Banish her unto the sea.

  Fill this home with light and peace,

  As I will it, mote it be.

  My fingertips are hot and glowing so much that I almost drop the needle, but then I catch it again, only nicking my finger a little with the sharp tip. I speak the spell louder each of the three times I need to chant it, then drop needle, thread, and hair into the copal. It burns as I watch, along with the herbs.

  When it burns away to near nothing, I gently pick it up, go outside and bury the copal in a flower bed by the front door. Then I squat down and press my hands to the grass until I feel the energy slip away into the earth, where it can’t harm anyone. When I feel level-headed again, I stand up and go back to the house.

  That should be the end of it, then. I smile at the room in satisfaction, listen for Rachel, hear nothing, and then leave the cottage behind.

  I go home to get some sleep. I need the energy - I’m moving tomorrow.

  The streets are quiet as I make my way back toward Bilda’s house, but they don’t feel spooky at all. I’m glad - I need time to think. It feels good, accomplishing something that seemed so monumental just a couple of hours ago, and for the first time since I was a kid, I feel like a real witch again.

  Maybe the others are right, and I am more powerful than I think. Maybe I should step back into the role I was born to play and stop being so hesitant about my gifts. I think I can do that now.

  I fight the sheer happy urge to run home, but I’m smiling the whole way there. When a breeze kicks up and tosses my hair into my eyes, I hold it down and keep going, not bothering to look back.

  NINE

  The sun is coming up as I close Bilda’s front door as softly as I can and walk to the kitchen for a snack. Just as I step into the room, a voice startles me.

  “Where have you been?” Rain asks, slumped in her usual chair in the corner. “Bilda has been worried sick.”

  “Just out. None of your business.”

  “You’re up to something - I can tell.” Her suspicious gaze follows my every move as I walk over to pour a cup of coffee.

  “How?” I think I’m doing a fairly good job of hiding my glee.

  “For starters, your hair is white,” she says, pointing to a spot just over my head. I look up, realize that’s dumb, then look down at the handful of hair I’m holding to keep it from my eyes.

  It’s pure white.

  My mouth falls open. My pretty, normally dark curls are gleaming in the early dawn light that flows through the kitchen. Not golden, not even gray. White. Like virgin snow.

  “I kind of like it,” Rain is saying, twisting her neck to look at it from different angles. “It’s different, though. That’s for sure.”

  Faintly I hear laughter. Very familiar laughter. “Shut up,” I say out loud, ice cold fear washing through my veins.

  “Just trying to give you a compliment,” Rain says, her face crumbling. “Sor-ry.” Before I can explain, she leans forward. “I have some interesting news for you.”

  More laughter.

  OK, I’ve obviously done something, but I’m too tired to figure out what it might be. Rachel is here with me, but I don’t feel endangered anymore, so I try to ignore her and concentrate on Rain. “What news?”

  “I went to the JGMV today, and-.”

  “Oh, wow. Did you get your license?”

  She glares. “No. Anyway, I was in line and I overheard a man talking. I think his name is Millard Flak. He used to work at the docks, before he retired.”

  “OK...?” This could take forever.

  “Somebody mentioned that Lilly was dead, and I heard him say, good. He sounded mad. Then he said he would have done it himself if he’d gotten the chance.”

  I stare at her. “And...”

  “And I wonder if he is the one who killed her, but he’s saying things to throw people off the trail.”

  Her enthusiasm is sweet, but it doesn’t sound like she heard a confession. “Lilly wasn’t a good witch, Rain. I’m sure she’s made a lot of folks hate her.”

  “No - you didn’t hear him. He was really pis-.”

  “Hey!”

  “Sorry, but he was. I think he did it.”

  I rub my eyes and take a drink of coffee. “OK, I’ll go talk to him.”

  “Can I come?”

  “No! If he is the murderer, I can’t expose you to him.”

  “But-.”

  “No.”

  I take my coffee upstairs to my bedroom and lock the door - like that’s going to help keep Rachel out - and fall onto my bed. I’m positive Rain is wrong about this Millard guy, but she probably won’t let up until I talk to him.

  A small picture falls from the wall and hits the carpet with a soft thunk. I stare at the spot in the dark for a second, then cover up my head. I can still hear soft laughter, though.

  Meanwhile, I’m still being haunted, but now Rachel is following me around instead of staying put at the house or sticking by Angelo.

  I thought I was doing so well, too...

  I wake up to glaring sunshine and Bilda standing over my bed, clutching her throat like she’s choking to death. Immediately I remember, so I close my eyes again. “I know. It’s white,” I mumble, willing her to go away and let me sleep. “I’ll figure it out later.”

  I try to pull the quilt up over my head, but she drags it away again. “White?” she gasps. “It’s blue, Trinket.”

  “Wha...?” I sit up. I saw it earlier, it was white. Now she’s saying it’s blue? I sit up, figuring I’m not going to get back to sleep after all.

  I look down, and my hair is still white. “See?” I hold it out for her. “White.”

  She shakes her head. “Not your hair - that’s kind of nice, actually. Your lips, Trinket. Blue. So is the tip of your nose.”

  I cross my eyes and spot the blue skin on my nose, but then I get a headache from crossing my eyes. “Ow.”

  I twist around to look at the mirror on the vanity in the corner, then stare at my reflection for a full minute. I look like a cat. Well, my face does, anyway, if cats could be bright blue. The blue spot covering my nose tapers to a line underneath, where it spreads again to cover my lips. I lick them, fully expecting it to taste like Kool-aid, but they don’t. They taste just like they always do, except they’re blue.

  I hear the same faint laughter as earlier, when Rain noticed my hair.

  Bilda sits down on the edge of my bed and rubs the end of my nose. I sneeze, then sniff. “Stop that.”

  “It’s strang
e. What is it?”

  I look down at my quilt covered legs. “I’m not sure.”

  “You didn’t do this?” she asks.

  I shake my head.

  “Who did? People’s lips don’t just turn blue, Trinket.” She’s talking to me like I’m a teenager again. I hate that.

  “I know.” I pause. “I might have messed up somehow. I’m not sure.”

  “What happened?”

  “This is ridiculous,” I mutter, still squinting at my face in the mirror.

  “Is this about Rachel?” she asks. I turn my eyes on her. Did I just hear a hint of amusement in her voice?

  Before I can answer, Rain knocks and then sticks her head in. “Scott Travine is here,” she says, her eyebrows disappearing under her black bangs. “He wants to talk to you.”

  I moan.

  “Tell him to come back later.”

  She shrugs and disappears, but not before she grins and meows at me.

  Bilda is still waiting for an answer. “Is this about Rachel?” she asks again, as if I’ve forgotten the question.

  I nod.

  “Did you get rid of her?”

  “I thought I did, but,” I point to my face, “Obviously not.”

  “Tell me. Everything.”

  She settles back against the footboard, and I know she isn’t leaving until she hears the story. My joy from last night has vanished, and now I’m just left with confusion and a little bit of fear. Why is Rachel pulling pranks instead of doing me real harm, and why is she even still here? I thought I’d banished her.

  I tell the story as exactly as I remember it, and by the end she’s shaking her head. “What did I do wrong?” I ask, not sure I even want to hear the answer at this point.

  “Noting, as far as I can tell. The spell sounds solid, your intention was clear - all of it adds up right.” She looks at me again. “Are you sure you aren’t leaving anything out - not even some silly, tiny detail?”

  “I don’t think so - it happened just like you told me it would. The spell just popped into my head from nowhere. I got the supplies, set them up properly, repeated the spell three times. Burned the needle, thread, and hair, just to be sure.” I’m trying to remember, but there is nothing else. I shrug. “That’s it.”