A Witch and a Secret (Witches of Mystic Hollow Book 1)

by Evangeline Blackwell

  “Um, well, I—” Jessie fumbles with the slip of paper in her hands, tries to unwrap it, but then crumples it in her fist. “I just want to know why my grandmother tried to kill me,” Jessie blurts out.

  “What?” Ciara exclaims and I just stare at Jessie like I see her for the first time in my life.

  Even Aunt Krista raises her eyebrows. She rearranges the floating crystals in front of her and stares into the middle of the circle where a small cloud of mist has appeared.

  “Hmm,” the witch murmurs. “Interesting. Exceptionally interesting. And where is your grandmother now?”

  “In a mental institution,” Jessie answers.

  “Very interesting,” says Aunt Krista. “Well, what can I tell you? Your grandmother wasn’t trying to kill you. The opposite, actually, if you want to know.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do you mean what do I mean? I told you she wasn’t trying to kill you. That’s that. I answered your question.” Krista holds out her hand for the payment.

  “No, you didn’t. You didn’t answer anything.” Jessie’s face turns red. “And what does it mean she was trying to do the opposite? Was she trying to save my life? From what?”

  “That’s three more questions. Do you have three more demon tears?”

  “No, but—”

  “No buts. You had one question. I answered it. Now give me my tear.” She wiggles her fingers.

  “But—”

  “Tut-tut, the tear, please.”

  Jessie huffs.

  “Just give it to her,” Ciara says with a deep sigh.

  “This is so unfair,” Jessie murmurs, but pulls out the tear from her pocket and is already about to let it go into Aunt Krista’s palm but then changes her mind. “How do I even know that what you’re telling me is the truth? You could be making this stuff up just to get this—tear.”

  “How dare you,” Aunt Krista says indignantly. Her nostrils flare and the prisms in front of her start moving in a frantic, uncontrolled way. She squints her eyes and the demon tear slips out of Jessie’s palm and right into hers.

  Jessie tries to catch it as it flies through the mirror but grasps only air.

  “I will give you a piece of advice, though, child. Completely free. You should go talk to your grandmother and ask her to finish what she started,” the witch says snottily as she hides the second tear in her pouch.

  Now Jessie’s nostrils flare, but she doesn’t say anything. She keeps clutching the slip of paper with her question as if it holds the answer to it as well.

  Aunt Krista’s eyes turn to me. “So? Are we going to hear it anytime soon?” she asks impatiently.

  “Yes. What was Jessie’s grandmother saving her from? And you can’t just say that she was saving her from dying,” I add quickly as Jessie gives me a surprised but grateful look. “I want to know exactly what kind of danger she was saving her from.”

  Aunt Krista gives me a long intense look. After a few moments of silence, interrupted only by shuffling sounds and coughs behind her, she finally says, “That’s not your question.”

  “What?” I say, surprised. “I mean, yes, that’s my question.”

  “No, it’s not,” the witch says matter-of-factly. “That’s not what you have written down on that piece of paper. I can tell you all about that cliffhanger and who dies,” she smirks.

  My skin turns the color—and temperature—of a boiling lobster. “Nobody dies,” I say. “How do you even know what my question is?” I’m too shocked to try to pretend that it’s not what I wrote on that slip of paper.

  “Oh please, child, that is nothing for a witch like me.” She stops the prisms and then makes them float in a different direction. “So, do you want me to tell you? I can tell you who of them survives and how. And maybe, as a bonus, I could even throw in who he hooks up with in the next season.”

  I so want to know that. But I’m pretty sure she can’t know that, or even if she does know that, how likely is it that she will tell me the truth? She doesn’t strike me as the most trustworthy kind of person.

  “No, I want you to answer my first question,” I say stubbornly.

  “That is your first question, silly girl.” Aunt Krista fumbles with the pouch on her neck, apparently getting it ready for the third tear. Well, she’s not getting it unless she answers my question.

  “No, I mean the question that I actually asked first. The one about Jessie’s grandmother.” I have a suspicion she’s avoiding answering the question out of sheer petulance. But I am also pretty sure she wants that little tear-shaped crystal even more. I wonder which part of her will win.

  “I don’t want to,” the witch says, sounding bored, and starts examining her fingernails. Well, I was right about the petulance part.

  “Why not?” This is getting ridiculous.

  “I don’t like being tricked into doing something. I don’t mind being the one who does the tricking, but not the other way around.”

  “You just got two of your precious demon tears for free. Why don’t you answer at least one question,” Jessie says.

  The witch stops examining her fingernails and throws red sparks at us with her eyes. Metaphorically. But I wouldn’t be surprised if she could do it for real.

  “Ciara, why did you bring these chickens here? They don’t know any manners. I can’t work in these conditions.”

  “I’m sorry, Aunt Krista. I should have explained how this works better. I just didn’t think there would be any trouble. And you know how lonely I’ve been since Mom died. I thought that maybe if I had some friends I could share my magic with—”

  “Oh, very well,” Aunt Krista sighs, like she’s doing us all a big favor, which she so isn’t, especially since she’s getting paid for it. The witch rearranges the prisms again and stares into the cloud of white mist that appears in the middle. “Just as I thought,” she mumbles to herself. “Okay, so here’s what happened.”

  But she doesn’t have a chance to tell us what happened because three things happen next. First, the weird creature that has been howling and coughing in Aunt Krista’s chamber starts fussing around her feet, but when the witch tries to shush it, it squeals, starts running and knocks the witch to the ground. As Krista plops on her behind, she accidentally kicks the floating prisms which fly upwards in our direction, and the next thing we know, all three of us on this side of the mirror are trying to shove them back inside. But that’s only the second thing that happens.

  The third and the worst of them all is that as I try to shove the prisms back into the mirror, the last demon tear that I’ve been clutching in my right hand slips out. I reach out after it, grab it, and squeeze it really hard. A thick gooey substance spreads across my fingers, followed by a flash of lightning and the most horrendous, thunderous rumble I’ve ever heard in my entire life. A powerful blast of energy throws me away from the mirror. My head hits the floor, sending sparks of pain through my skull, black spots gather before my eyes, and then there is nothing but darkness.

  Chapter 5

  When I finally open my eyes, all I can see is more darkness. At first, I’m not sure if I have woken up, but then someone’s fingers jab me in the ribs.

  “Ouch,” I say. My voice sounds muffled and my ears buzz. I have a splitting headache. Yep, I’m definitely conscious.

  “Oh, sorry, Emmy. Are you awake?” Jessie asks.

  “Yep. Can you please stop jabbing me?”

  “Oh, sorry.” The fingers retrieve. “Are you feeling okay?”

  “I don’t know. My head hurts. I must have hit it pretty hard. And my ears are buzzing like crazy.”

  “Mine, too,” Ciara moans. “Can any of you find the matches?”

  We all start groping for the matches.

  “What the hell happened?” Jessie asks.

  “Um, I think Emmy accidentally broke the demon tear,” Ciara says.

  “Thank you for the accidentally part,” I say. “I had no idea they were so fragile and, um, squishable.�
�

  “They usually aren’t or I would have warned you about that. It’s just that you happened to grab one when it was inside the circle of the divining crystals when they were moving between two Mirrors of Edana. It’s not exactly something I could have foreseen.”

  I can still feel the icky goo on my fingers. And that smell—is it coming from me? I sniff the goo on my fingers and almost throw up. It smells like rotten egg stew. I wipe my fingers on my jeans, which probably isn’t the best idea. “Why does it stink so badly? Can it do any harm?” I ask.

  “Oh no, the magic is gone. But try not to get any of it on your clothes, because the smell won’t come out, and you’ll have to throw them away.”

  “Too late,” I mumble. I’ll have to throw this entire outfit away. Between my plaster-smeared shirt and stinky jeans, I must look awesome.

  “Where are those matches?” Jessie groans. “Ouch! There’s broken glass here.”

  “All right, don’t move. I’m going to try and find the switch.” I get up, but then immediately realize I have no idea what direction to go to. Not even a ray of moonlight is penetrating the darkness. I remember that Ciara was sitting in front of me across the table and that’s where her voice has been coming from. Jessie was on my left and she’s been jabbing me in the left rib, so I have to go left, navigate around the couch, move a little to the right and then follow a straight line until I reach the door, and there will be the light switch. Okay, I’m ready. I start moving confidently in what I strongly believe is the right direction, but since I can’t see anything, the next thing I know, I step on something soft that wriggles under my foot.

  “Ouch! Are you trying to get back at me for jabbing you? Because that wasn’t on purpose.”

  “Sorry,” I say. Well, at least stepping on Jessie’s hand confirms that I’m moving in the right direction. I find the couch, which is easy enough, and hold on to it as I navigate around it. Then I keep moving forward until I reach the door. I grope for the light switch. “Found it!” I say and flip the switch on, but nothing happens. I flip it off and on again. Nothing.

  “Well, turn it on,” Jessie says.

  “I’m trying. It’s not working.”

  Ciara and Jessie groan. I feel a light breeze on my skin and then something grabs my wrist. I scream. Ciara and Jessie scream. Then I hear someone laugh, and the light from a flashlight illuminates Logan’s face. Very amused face. I smack him on the forehead. He is so surprised that he doesn’t even react quickly enough and just stands there as my hand connects with his skin.

  “Ouch!” We both say at the same time. Just a quick reminder to my future self: smacking someone on the forehead really hurts your hand.

  “What was that for?” Logan asks.

  “For scaring me, obviously. And I probably hurt myself more, anyway.” I shake my hand. It’s starting to feel better but still hurts a bit. “I can’t believe you managed to scare me twice in one day. That’s just mean.”

  “When was the first time?”

  “The lockers,” Jessie helps.

  “Oh yeah, that was cute.” Logan smiles as if conjuring up a pleasant memory. I want to smack him again. I know violence is not the answer, but sometimes it so is. “So, what did you do to the lights?” he asks.

  “What did we do?” Jessie asks. “What did you do?”

  “What do you mean what did I do? It looks like you blew something up. I’m surprised no one’s called the police yet. What were you doing here, anyway?” He directs the flashlight at Ciara and Jessie, but I can only see their heads peeking from behind the couch. The room seems completely normal, like nothing has happened here. “What’s that smell?”

  “Never mind,” I say quickly, pulling my shirt down to cover the stinky part of my jeans. “We should check the fuse box. Maybe it short-circuited or something.” I exit the room and go into the hallway. A very, very dark hallway. “Are you coming?” I ask Logan.

  “Hey, don’t leave us alone here,” Jessie calls out, but Logan is already behind me.

  I head towards the front door to go to the garage—that’s where our fuse box is—and I know this because Mom short-circuits our house at least once a month. But Logan grabs my hand and tugs me in the opposite direction. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asks.

  “Isn’t your fuse box in the garage?” I ask. He is still holding my hand.

  “It’s in the basement.”

  My heart plummets. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Nope.”

  “I don’t like basements,” I say in a tiny voice, but Logan doesn’t listen and keeps pulling me in the direction of the basement. I hate basements. And I hate Logan. The flashlight blinks. “Please tell me you did that.”

  “The battery must be dying. We should hurry.”

  Hurry into the basement. Right. Because that always ends well, in every horror movie I’ve ever seen. I’m squeezing Logan’s hand so tightly he must have lost all feeling in it. To his credit, he doesn’t try to pry it out of my grasp.

  Another flashlight blink later, we reach the basement. The first thing I do is look for the light switch on the wall and turn it on so that we’ll know if turning the fuses on worked.

  “Don’t bother. The light bulb here died ages ago and no one bothered to replace it.”

  Are you freaking kidding me? But all I manage to say is, “Nice to know.” I squeeze Logan’s hand even harder as we trudge down the stairs.

  The flashlight blinks again, only for a second, but it’s long enough for me to lose my balance and trip over my own feet. The next moment we are flying down the stairs, followed by a heavy thud and the sound of broken glass when Logan hits the floor and I hit Logan. The flashlight is out and we are surrounded by darkness. Which is complete and utter, stick-your-eye-out-with-a-needle kind of darkness.

  “Are you okay?” he asks.

  “I’m not sure.” I seem to be okay. I have landed on something soft. Suddenly I realize that the something soft I have landed on is Logan’s body. I am sprawled right on top of him. Oh crap. I am suddenly very grateful for the broken flashlight, because if Logan saw the amount of blood that rushed to my face at this moment, it would cause him nightmares for the rest of his life. I am pretty sure I lay on top of him for only about a second, but it feels like centuries too long. “We should probably get up.”

  “We probably should,” Logan says and lifts me up like I weigh nothing and then helps me get to my feet. I’m too flustered to protest. He grabs my hand again. “It should be somewhere around here,” Logan mutters. I can hear his other hand groping around the wall. Broken glass creaks under our feet. “Found it,” he says. “I might need two hands for this,” he adds.

  “Oh, right. Sorry.” I let go of his hand. “Are you sure this is safe?”

  “Only one way to find out.” Logan starts turning the fuses on. “Do you remember if you left the lights on or off in the living room?”

  A series of bloodcurdling screams coming from the living room answers his question. Logan and I turn around and race out of the basement, in the direction of the screams. It’s a miracle we don’t fall again as we run up the stairs. When we reach the living room, the lights are definitely on, and Ciara and Jessie are definitely scared.

  “What’s going on?” Logan asks. Ciara and Jessie don’t answer. They are staring at something in front of them.

  I cross the room and the first thing I see is the broken Mirror of Edana. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Ciara,” I say. It’s my fault that the mirror is broken. I should have been more careful. I don’t know if the mirror was valuable and if there’s a way to replace it. I hope I won’t have to spend the rest of my life paying off some kind of magical debt or something.

  “W-what are you talking about?” Ciara whispers. She sounds really scared.

  “Um, the mirror. Isn’t that why you’re upset?” It must be really valuable.

  “I don’t think she’s upset about a mirror,” Logan says. He points at something a few feet away fro
m where I’m looking at. I shift my gaze in that direction and gasp. What I see does explain the horrifying screams and why everyone is so frightened.

  Right smack in the middle of the living room lies a creature. It’s four feet tall, with dark red skin and two massive horns protruding from its forehead. I’m pretty sure it’s not human. It has gigantic feet, thick legs, and an enormous nether region, although the rest of its body is pretty well-proportioned. The face looks oddly human, though, like that of a twelve-year-old boy sleeping peacefully—before he wakes up to do some mischief. The creature is dressed in black jeans and a plaid shirt. Its huge feet are bare and I count five toes on each foot. I rub my eyes and pinch myself. It doesn’t help.

  “Is that a tail?” Logan asks curiously.

  “Is that what’s bothering you? Seriously?” Jessie asks in an angry whisper, which seems a little redundant after all the screaming. If noise was all it took to wake this creature up, it sure would have been up by now. “What about the horns?”

  “I can see the horns just fine,” Logan answers calmly. “The tail, on the other hand—” He leans forward and stretches his arm towards what looks like the tip of a red fleshy tail sticking out from the creature’s jeans, but Jessie smacks Logan’s hand and he pulls it away. “What’s with all the slapping tonight?” he asks, rubbing his hand.

  “Are you insane?” Jessie whispers angrily. “Trying to touch it? We don’t know what this is.”

  “Yes, about that,” I chime in. “Does anyone else think that we, um, managed to conjure the devil?”

  “He doesn’t look like the devil.” Logan tilts his head as if trying to get a better look at the creature. “Maybe a baby devil?” He scratches his chin.