Conflicted Witch (Jagged Grove Book 2)

by Willow Monroe

  “You didn’t cast a circle.”

  I smack my head. Casting a circle of protection is one of the first things a witch learns. The circle protects them from entities that might attach to other more helpful entities. “Would that cause something like this, though?” I point to my nose.

  “Of course not. And even without a circle, you should have been protected by my work and Jones’s ring.” She’s talking about her own protection spells, cast when Rachel tried to kill me the first time. I nod, but she isn’t paying attention to me now. She’s thinking.

  I remember another detail. “I stabbed myself in the finger. Just a little. During the hair thing I did.”

  Her head whips up and she stares at me. “That’s exactly it. Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  I shrug. “I just remembered.”

  “Do you feel like Rachel is close by?”

  “Not really - I hear her laughter every once in a while, but that’s it.”

  Bilda claps her hands together. “Well, you wanted to handle this on your own, so I won’t butt in. But you should probably know that the addition of blood to a banishing spell turns it into a binding spell.”

  “She’s bound to me now? How do I fix that?”

  She just smiles. “You’ll figure it out.”

  “Wait a minute. Tell me what to do.” The thought of being bound to Rachel is worse than the idea of being haunted by her.

  “No, no - you’re doing fine. You told me to stay away.”

  “I was trying to protect you!”

  She stands up and pats my leg under the quilt. “And a fine job you’ve done. See? Not a hair out of place.”

  As she leaves, Rain’s head pops in again. “He won’t leave. Says it’s important.”

  I know it’s important, I just don’t want to deal with it right now. I want to pull the covers up over my head and go back to sleep.

  So I do. That lasts until I’m woken by Jones, shaking me.

  I open one eye and glare at him. “Why are you in my room?” I ask, but the smile spreading across his face at the sight of me makes me cover my head up again before he can answer.

  “Hey, it’s not that bad.” He’s choking down a laugh.

  “Stop it.”

  “It’s cute. Really. I like pink and blue.”

  Pink and blue? I drag the covers down again and look in the vanity mirror again. My hair has turned a neon shade of pink, almost something that the twins would pick out if I were to ask. The blue on my nose and lips isn’t as bright, but it’s still there, more of a denim blue now.

  “Why is this happening?” I moan and fall back onto the pillows.

  “If you want to know you’ll get dressed and come downstairs, babe.”

  I consider this. “Did Scott go away?”

  “Nope - he’s still waiting. That’s why I came up here.”

  I sigh, figuring I can’t just stay in bed forever. “Fine. Be down in a minute.”

  I climb out of bed and look through my dresser for clothes, then start to strip before I realize Jones is still sitting there. “Get out.” I point toward the door.

  He shrugs and grins. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

  “Yes I can.”

  I watch him leave, then dress and try to cover up the blue with makeup, which doesn’t work very well. What I can fix is my hair. I grab a baseball cap and stuff almost all of my hair under it before heading down to meet Scott.

  Somehow I’m not the least bit surprised that Wisp is with him. So is Jones, Angelo, and Imala, and they all look stunned at my entrance. The moment I look like crap, life conspires to toss me in with the beautiful people, and today seems to be no exception. Imala bites her lip to hide a smile when I enter the living room. I shoot her a nice long glare until she fakes a coughing fit and turns away.

  “Why are you all here?” I ask. “Did something else happen?”

  Imala shrugs. “I just brought doughnuts. He,” she points to Angelo, “Sneaked in behind me.”

  Jones doesn’t stop staring at my nose. He’s grinning. “Scott asked me to come along, although I didn’t know Wisp would be with him.”

  “Of course I’m with him. We go everywhere together.” Wisp hangs onto Scott’s arm like he might run. Actually, he looks like he might run, if given the chance.

  Scott pats Wisp’s back absently, but he’s staring at me. “What happened?”

  “I’m bound to Rachel and I don’t know how to fix it,” I snap. “Bilda won’t tell me.”

  “You haven’t asked,” she says.

  “I did so.”

  No. You demanded, but you didn’t ask. I raised you more politely than that, and I won’t be ordered around.”

  “I wasn’t trying to order you around. I was trying to figure this mess out.” I point at my face.

  She crosses her arms. “Well, you could have been nicer. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Ladies?” Scott asks, holding up a hand. “Can we move forward a bit from this conversation?”

  Bilda and I both nod. Wisp smirks.

  I ignore her. “Do you know who attacked me last night?” I ask him.

  He shakes his head. “Not yet. Unfortunately, I came to tell you to be extra cautious. The Council decided to release Aries this morning.”

  “She was already released. I saw her at the store.”

  He huffs. “I mean, officially. Like you, they don’t believe there’s enough evidence to convict her.”

  He looks down at the papers in his hands. Rattles them a little.

  “So you have no idea who killed Lilly.”

  He shrugs. “I still think Aries did it, but six witnesses saw her in the store that morning - including two of her students. The Council doesn’t agree.”

  “I’m glad.” I pause. “Rachel says she didn’t do it.”

  “What? You just asked her?” Wisp frowns at me. “Of course she’s going to say that.”

  I raise my chin. Wisp is getting on my nerves, just by being in the room. “I believe her.”

  She turns away, toward Scott. He looks at me. “Just be careful until we figure this thing out. I’ve asked Jones to keep an eye on you.”

  Angelo snorts, but doesn’t say anything.

  “I’m sure he won’t mind,” Wisp purrs, glancing at Jones. There is something in her eyes besides teasing, though, and I wonder how much of that poison in her voice is jealousy. Something has happened between those two. I can feel it.

  Until now Imala had been silent, but now she chuckles. “Either people hate you or they want to love you, don’t they, Trinket? No in between.”

  “Not funny.” I look at Scott again. “Why would anyone want to harm me? They were obviously after Lilly. The only enemy I have here is Rachel.” I grin. “And Wisp here.”

  She doesn’t contradict me.

  Jones clears his throat. “And I’m sure Rive would love to know just how you’re treating our new healer.”

  Wisp’s gaze falls on him, and I see anger and something else. Just a flash, but I think it might be...affection? But she and Scott are the golden children of Jagged Grove. The perfect couple. The perfect cliche. Jones is too wild, too brash and irreverent - not her type at all.

  Angelo takes a step toward me and places a hand on my arm. “You can stick close to me, if you like,” he says, but the look on his face tells me that might not be the best idea.

  “There you go,” Wisp says, visibly relieved. “Problem solved. Angelo can protect you.”

  I have to poke. “Angelo is a busy man, and we all saw what happens when he and I hang out together - the town is still rebuilding. I trust Jones to be there if I need him.”

  She glares, and I can’t help but grin. Really, I just want her to ignore me. Then I can ignore her, too, and we can coexist in Jagged Grove with a modicum of peace.

  Although I am curious about her connection with Jones, I decide that it’s none of my business. I turn to face her fully, and she can’t quite hide her amusement at my colo
rful features. She tries, though.

  “Listen, Wisp. I don’t want you to bother with me ever again. You get to be the princess, and I get to be the doctor who is filling in for a while and then leaving. K?”

  Her gaze comes up and she fastens it on Angelo. “She’s leaving?”

  He shrugs, but doesn’t give her an answer. Apparently she doesn’t need one, because her expression relaxes. “Well, then. I think we can do that.” She takes Scott’s arm and tugs him toward the door, but I don’t miss the way she peeks at Jones before she goes.

  Fascinating.

  When the door closes, I turn to Angelo. “Can you tell me why my nose is blue?” I ask.

  He shakes his head, staring at it.

  “Way to be subtle, ASS man.”

  He grins. “It’s green now.”

  I twist to look at a small mirror on the mantle. He’s right - my nose and lips are a fine shade of pea green. Not my favorite color.

  Bilda comes over and slips an arm around my waist. I look down at her and for the first time in a long time I want to cry on her shoulder. Just...sit and sob like a five year old. She smiles sadly at me.

  “Can we, I don’t know, unbind her or something? I thought your protection spells were supposed to protect me.”

  Bilda is already shaking her head. “No. You attached her with your magic, overrode my protection spell, and cancelled it out.”

  “I thought you couldn’t cancel out a spell.”

  “Most can’t.” She looks at me with something like pride. “But a very powerful witch can.”

  I want to protest that I’m not exactly a powerhouse of witchcraft, but I see her pride mirrored in the gazes of Imala, Jones and Angelo. They think she’s right.

  I know she’s wrong.

  “I’m going for a walk,” I say to no one in particular, and leave them standing there.

  Jones catches up with me about ten minutes later, which is embarrassing, because it’s obvious where I’m going.

  “How did you know I was here?” I ask him as he comes puffing up behind me.

  “Just a hunch.”

  We are silent as I climb over the fallen tree and he follows, then I ask, “I thought Feena said you were mad at me, anyway. What was that about?”

  “I was.” He pauses. “Well, maybe not mad. Just frustrated.”

  “I can be a frustrating person.”

  He laughs, his voice echoing over the crash of the ocean below. We keep climbing until the end of the trail, where he hoists me up onto the rock again, just like before.

  And just like before, the view is spectacular. Midmorning sun glints cheerfully off the water and I see a couple of small boats farther out with people fishing off their sides. Even as tired as I am, I feel better just being here. We soak it in, and I’m perfectly happy to sit there all day.

  Except that every once in a while, cold fingers trail up my spine and make me shiver. Then Rachel laughs quietly into my ear.

  When Jones finally speaks, his words break my heart a little. “I don’t think you and I can be friends, Trinket.”

  “Oh.” It’s all I can think to say. The thought of being in this world without calling Jones friend is too much. “I’m sorry. I’m not a very good friend.”

  He’s shaking his head. “It’s got nothing to do with that. It’s my fault.”

  “I don’t understand...” The air feels heavy.

  “I’m a hunter, Trinket. It’s in my blood. It’s what I do, what I love.” He puts a hand on my knee.

  “So?”

  “So I want you. For myself. I want to win, and make you more than my friend. See the problem?”

  “Not really...”

  “I can’t be your friend because I want more than that.”

  What he’s saying hits me hard. “Jones.”

  “I can’t help it.”

  “I can’t just forget that I have a life back home, and that I’ll be going back to it soon enough. I have-.”

  “A lover, I know.”

  “A fiancé.”

  “Whatever. But are you sure about that?”

  “About what?”

  “That your knight in shining armor will be waiting when you get back?”

  And there it is - the question I’ve been avoiding, even in my own thoughts. I stare out at the sea. “I can’t answer that, but I’m not going to break my promise to him.”

  “You aren’t married yet.”

  I swallow. “We might as well be - we’ve been together for two years.”

  “About that.”

  I wait.

  “Bilda came to me with some information, and I think you should know.”

  I remember them sitting on the sofa together, and other times they were being all secretive lately. I remember Bilda’s cryptic remarks about Clay when we first came here. “What?” I ask, twisting to look at him. “And why would she come to you and not me?”

  He rubs his head with his free hand, agitated. “She didn’t want to break your heart.”

  “So she sent you to do it?”

  “If you’re going to kill the messenger, I’d rather you kill me than her.”

  I hesitate, because I’m very afraid of what he’s about to say next. I don’t want to know, but in my heart, I think I might have already guessed. I take a deep breath. “Tell me.”

  “It’s about Clay.” He squeezes my hand. I nod for him to go on.

  “He doesn’t love you, Trinket.”

  I close my eyes. “How would you - or Bilda - know that?”

  His voice goes gentle. “He hasn’t been faithful to you.”

  Flashes of memory flood my mind. Our lack of affection lately, our arguments. Clay’s ever-so-short temper. His anger and accusatory tone the night Angelo took us away.

  It makes sense. Of course, Jones could be lying, but I doubt it - the information is easy enough to check. I could simply ask Mom.

  “You deserve to be happy, Trinket. That’s all Bilda cares about.”

  I clear my throat, but can’t say anything. If he’s right, then the framework of the world I’ve built back home is crumbling and I’m too far way to fix it.

  “I’m sorry.” He looks away.

  The ocean below still sparkles, but now it feels accusatory instead of cheerful.

  “I don’t even know what to say.” I’m hurt and sad, but I’m also embarrassed that Jones is the one to tell me.

  “Bilda didn’t think you would believe her if she told you.”

  “She was probably right.” I try to laugh, but it’s faint. Everything I thought I knew is gone.

  “She also thought you might be more open to staying here if you knew.”

  I shake my head. “No - there is more to my life back home than Clay, Jones. My law degree. My friends. I have none of those things here.”

  He’s quiet, and I realize I’ve hurt his feelings. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

  “Yeah.” The light tone of his voice stings. He’s closing me out.

  “I mean it.” I squeeze his hand and try to get him to look at me, but he just pulls away and stands up to go.

  “I’ll leave you to your thoughts. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news and all that.”

  “Thank you.”

  He pulls an envelope from his back pocket and lays it beside me on the surface of the hard rock, then disappears without another word or look back. I stare at it for a second, at the familiar company logo of Clay’s firm, and suddenly feel very alone. Even Rachel, with her quietly taunting laughter, is silent for the moment.

  I realize that I didn’t ask all the questions. Who was she? Why would he? How did Bilda find out? Maybe the letter explains all that, but I don’t want to know. If it’s true, and part of me knows that it is, then everything else is details, and details don’t matter.

  I’m not mad at Jones.

  I’m not mad at Bilda.

  Before coming here, I might have been, and that’s wrong.

  I’m not even mad at Clay
, and that seems odd, but I can’t help it. Maybe we were already dying, and the Jagged Grove situation just finished us off.

  I pick up the envelope, look at Clay’s thick scrawling handwriting - addressing my mother - and run my finger over the thumb of the little blue logo. Then, without opening it, I tear it into two pieces, and four, and fling them wide into the ocean below. The wind catches them and sends them spinning. A lot like my emotions.

  TEN

  The next morning, I wake to banging noises. At first I think somebody is pounding on the door, but when I rub the sleep from my eyes and stagger downstairs, no one is there. Then I realize that it’s coming from the kitchen, so I go there. That’s where the coffee pot is, anyway, so two birds with one stone.

  No - nobody in there, either. I ignore it for a moment and pour coffee, then follow the noise - which is getting louder - to the back yard.

  I immediately wish I hadn’t.

  Glade and Jones are out in the morning sunshine, working on something that looks a lot like one of Rachel’s metal sculptures. Well, except that this one at least has actual tires on it.

  But the problem isn’t the noise, or the hunk of junk.

  The problem is that it’s a gorgeous morning, bright with sunshine, and Jones is doing something with a sledge hammer.

  Shirtless.

  Shiny with perspiration.

  Pleasantly rumpled, and smudged in interesting places with grime.

  Ooh, hot, Rachel’s voice whispers into my ear. I close my eyes and head back inside.

  Bilda meets me at the dining room table. These mornings have become our routine, and I’ll miss them when I move. I know that Rain, in all her morning surliness, will stomp downstairs in a few minutes and grunt at us, and that Imala will be over with doughnuts later.

  It’s comforting, and my heart needs comforted right now.

  If only I could get the sexy werewolf out of the back yard, the day would be perfect. Well, except for Rachel’s killing spree. At least if she’s stuck to me, she won’t be out murdering anyone else.

  “Good morning, dear,” Bilda says, smiling gently at me and patting my arm as she walks by in her robe and slippers. Jones must have reported back after our conversation yesterday.

  “Good morning.”