by Carey Corp
The back room was smaller than the main part of the cottage, but equally as devastated. With a section of the roof missing, the elements had taken their toll on the few pieces of furniture: a giant bed with a moldy mattress, a decaying nightstand off to one side, and a huge water-stained chest at the foot. Wishing I had a set of rubber gloves like a proper crime inspector, I walked over to the chest. Using the edge of my scarf as a protective barrier, I lifted the top.
A plump brown spider scurried out, and I jumped back, barely managing to swallow the scream erupting from my throat. I forced a breath deep into my lungs and exhaled slowly. No need to alarm Vee over a creepy crawly. Prying up a broken floorboard, I used it to probe the contents of the chest — clothes, mostly. I stirred the fabrics around until I was satisfied that there was no book inside.
Crossing to the nightstand, I nudged the door open with my foot to reveal a whole lot of nothing inside. Next, I shoved the nasty mattress off the bedframe to look underneath. Through the discolored rope supports crisscrossing the wooden frame, I could see the empty floor below. So far my inner Nancy Drew was O for three.
Out of places to check, I tried to think like a desperate, wicked witch. She’d want the book close to her while she slept. And she wouldn’t use any place as obvious as the chest. Which left hiding it in plain sight by means of a spell or concealing it in a secret space. If it was in plain sight but cloaked, we were out of luck. So I decided to focus on potential secret spots in the room.
I’d checked the chest and nightstand, and I didn’t believe either one contained a false back or bottom. The stone walls were too solid to conceal nooks or crannies. The mattress was too thin, plus the possibility of mold would make it a lousy hiding spot for something consisting of leather and paper. In fact, any places where the elements could get at it were out. If this were a TV show, the book would be in a waterproof box under the floorboards. But real life was never as convenient as fiction . . . or was it?
Getting on my hands and knees, I crawled over to the spot where I’d pried up the plank of wood. The three-inch gap between the rotting wooden floor and the bare dirt underneath was dark. Wrenching up the surrounding boards, I peered into the gloomy space. Underneath the floor, below the chest, I caught a glimpse of something solid.
The odds that it was the spell book were astronomical. But that didn’t squelch the excited feeling in my chest as I pried up the floor. With a little luck, the mysterious something beneath the floor would disprove Oscar Wilde. Sometimes, when it mattered most, art did indeed imitate life.
CHAPTER 18
Veronica
After the off-the-charts spine-chiller we’d just walked through, the witch’s cottage was a bit of a disappointment. Nothing like the creepy-chic abode from Hocus Pocus, or the frightful towers of Sleeping Beauty’s Maleficent. There was nothing at all terrible or awe-inspiring about this crumpled old ruin. Beyond the aesthetics, though, I’d hoped to get a sense of Addie, some clues to what made her tick. But whatever pieces of her life she left behind had disintegrated along with the furniture. I only hoped that didn’t include her book of spells.
Rolling up the one ragged sleeve and one intact sleeve of my hoodie, I began to search the perimeter of the main room, looking for any chinks in the stone large enough to hide a book. But everything seemed to be in plain sight. What I didn’t see was a kitchen. I knew from many of the houses in the village that the kitchen was often in a separate area to lessen the risk of losing the entire house to fire. As I ran my hands over the walls, and around the mantel, I encountered an indentation — a door I hadn’t noticed before.
“Ken, I found another room!”
Without waiting for a response, I turned the knob and pushed the door open with a whoosh.
It was a small space, and much better preserved than the rest of the cottage, indicating it had been built more recently. The majority of the roof was still intact, and the walls were only crumbling in one corner. I swiped at cobwebs and descended five steps into the room. A round table with three chairs, storage cupboards, and a huge cast-iron pot hanging in the fireplace indicated I’d found the kitchen.
I stepped toward the cooking hearth, and a chill raised goose bumps on my arms. Was this a bubble, bubble, toil and trouble type caldron, or did they merely use it for soup? Rubbing the trepidation from my skin, I dispelled images of Addie and her sisters hunched over the blackened pot, brewing foul potions.
On the other side of the room, I ran my finger through a thick layer of dust coating a potbelly stove, and then stopped in front of an odd-looking, three-legged cabinet. Using my sleeve, I wiped the grime from its face. The drawers were covered in coarse carvings — multiple pentagrams, a three-headed dog, a gryphon, and a flock of ravens. From my research of Celtic symbols, I knew the animals represented multiple themes, but they all had one meaning in common — protection.
Bracing myself to find jars of eyeballs or lines of severed rat tails, I took a steadying breath and pulled open the first drawer. Loose sticks and balls of twine rattled around the almost empty space. Strange. A bit braver now, I opened the second drawer to find scraps of material in various patterns, and needles stuck in an apple-shaped pin cushion. Everything was strangely well preserved. I rummaged around and found a few spools of thread and some cotton batting, confirming my theory that I’d found the witch’s sewing cabinet. But why bother with all the symbols of protection for something so mundane?
I yanked open the next drawer and stumbled back. A neat row of dolls made of sticks and twine, and wearing tiny clothes, stared back at me with drawn-on expressions of horror. One with brown yarn for hair and a lavender dress had a clump of needles piercing her abdomen. The one beside it was smaller, with short hair and trousers, a pin stabbed into both of its eyes. A child?
“Ken, I think we should go,” I called in a surprisingly steady tone.
“One more minute,” came the muffled reply. “I think I found something.”
I stared at the cabinet for several seconds before slamming the drawer closed with two fingers. As I was ready to turn away, an irregular shadow beneath the cabinet caught my eye. I squatted down and reached underneath it. Trying to ignore the sticky cobwebs and bug carcasses, I patted the floor until I felt a solid shape.
Cautiously, I pulled out a small box. The exterior was plain oak and an iron key rested in a lock on the front. I swiped a hand across the top. There were no symbols carved into the wood, just the letters L.E.C.M. I turned the key and felt the mechanism pop. Sweat trickled down my neck as I lifted the lid, half afraid I’d find more voodoo dolls, or worse. But nestled in a lining of purple velvet sat a silver pendant in the shape of a luckenbooth. The heart, topped by a crown and inset with tiny multi-colored jewels, was identical to the one Queen Lynnette wore in her portrait. The initials carved into the lid had to be hers — Lynnette Elizabeth Campbell MacCrae.
If the pendant was the queen’s, what was it doing in this cursed place? I plucked it out of the box, and a long silver chain came with it. The metal felt solid and warm in my hand as I closed my fingers around it. Ken and I had agreed the spell book was the only thing we would take from the cottage — less evidence that we’d been here. But with deep conviction, I knew Lynnette would not want her prized possession left to rot in this evil place. And for some reason, just holding it made me feel connected to the past queens. Like I was meant to have it.
As I heard Kenna approach, I stood and slipped the chain over my head, tucking the pendant beneath my shirt. I slid the empty box back under the cabinet with my toe and turned around.
“This has to be it.” Kenna descended the stairs and entered the kitchen carrying a large book covered in withered brown leather. “I found it hidden in a box under the floor. What does it say, do you think?” She held out the ancient text. The cover was engraved with a row of symbols I couldn’t read, but recognized as Pictish.
“I don’t know.” I cracked open the cover and leafed through the tissue-thin pages. Simil
ar to the green book we’d found before, the contents appeared to be written in pictures and Scots. “But I know someone who will.”
“Fiona,” we said at the same time. As if in response to the name, or perhaps to the book itself, the wind picked up and whistled through the broken eaves above us.
Kenna’s unsettled gaze met mine. “Let’s get out of here before this place falls on us.”
I nodded and headed up the stairs. I’d gotten what I came for. And found something I didn’t know I’d been missing. In the main room, I stepped over a scattering of broken pottery. “I thought houses only fell on wicked witches.”
“Do you really want to stick around and find out?”
I shook my head and kept moving.
Outside, the forest felt heavy. Even worse than on our way into the cottage. Despite the warm breeze, it took an effort to pull air into my lungs, and my steps felt sluggish, like I was in a dream. Almost as if something didn’t want us to return to the safety of Doon’s boundaries. “Do you feel that?”
Kenna slipped her scarf over her nose and pulled in a deep breath. “Yes. Let’s hurry.”
She reached out, and I stared at her fingers. Feeling the limbus was bad enough, but seeing it . . . I knew I’d never get the images out of my head as long as I lived. But it was our only way out. So I took her hand, and watched the rings light up like glow sticks on Halloween night.
We stepped through the gate and into a Tim Burton nightmare. The trees withered as if in agony, branches bent in on themselves, their leaves black as coal. The very air tinged to a putrid yellow-gray, like it had been charred. I began to jog, pulling Kenna with me. Red eyes peeked from behind a nearby bush, but I wasn’t about to wait around to see whatever it was step into the light, its fur melting from its bones, blood staining its teeth.
Force field or not, I wanted to get out of there. I kicked into a run. The wind howled and pushed against us, whipping our hair into wild torrents and forcing us to lean into it as we ran. We’d almost reached the outer perimeter of black petunias when a vision of their vines bursting from the ground and lashing around our legs made me stumble. Kenna yanked on my arm, keeping me from face-planting into the swampy ground. I had no idea if what I’d seen was prophecy or imagination, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I righted myself and yelled over the wind, “Jump over the flowers!”
She stared at me for half a second before she readjusted her grip on the spell book and pulled me back a few steps. “Okay. Ready?”
I nodded, and we took off at a sprint, heading for the narrowest section of flowers. It was still several feet wide, and as we approached my heart beat faster yet. Just before our shoes hit the black carpet, I shouted, “Now!” With a mighty leap, we flew over the abyss and into the sunshine-dappled forests of Doon.
When we landed, Kenna tripped forward with her momentum. We crashed through a stand of trees and into a small clearing. Before I could let go of her hand, she fell and pulled us both to the ground.
I rolled onto my back, post-traumatic laughter shaking my entire body. I’d never been so happy to see clear air and blue sky. Lolling my head to the side, I glanced at my BFF sprawled out beside me. “You okay?”
She hesitated, and after several slow breaths turned to look at me. “Sure. But next time you decide to perform a jeté, I hope I’m sitting in the audience. I think I pulled a hammy or something.” She bent her legs and rubbed the backs of her thighs with a grimace.
I sat up and leaned on my hands. “That’s it. I’m starting you on a yoga regimen first thing tomorrow.”
“No way.” Kenna pushed herself up and hoisted the spell book into her lap, wiping bits of grass from the cover.
“Why not?”
“You know what my granny used to say.”
When I shook my head, her face went slack and she lowered her voice to a quiver. “Yoga’s nothing but young girls twistin’ themselves into pretzels and prayin’ to the devil.” Then in her regular voice she said, “No thanks.”
I swallowed my laughter. I so did not want to encourage her drama. “You’re the one holding the witches’ spell book.”
“Speaking of.” Kenna rose to her feet, looking a bit like her granny as she clutched her lower back. “Let’s get a move on. I don’t want to be responsible for this thing one second longer than I have to.”
I sprang up, and we made our way to the overgrown path. After a few minutes of walking in silence, I commented, “Yoga isn’t evil, you know. The breathing and the movement just helps clear my head.”
“I know. Like when I sing — ”
The snap of a stick silenced her, and we both froze. Quick footsteps echoed through the trees. Kenna’s eyes were huge as she held the massive book in front of her. There was nowhere to tuck it away where it wouldn’t be seen. “Duck behind that bush.” I pointed to an overgrown bramble just off the trail. “And I’ll see who it is.”
“Sure, stick Robin behind a thorny hedge while Batgirl runs off to save the day,” she hissed, but she rushed into the forest anyway. “I see where I rank.”
“Not sure if you’ve noticed, but there’s nothing about you that reads sidekick.” The bush shook violently in reply. With a grin, I took off at a jog. But I hadn’t gotten three steps when my prince stepped into the path, brows lowered, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword.
“Jamie, you’re back!” I took a running leap and threw myself into his arms. It was a calculated distraction, but also fun because I knew he would catch me. “I didn’t expect you until later tonight.”
I wrapped my legs around his waist and buried my face in his neck, soaking in his familiar scent. His skin against my cheek felt like the breeze off the ocean, a rainy Saturday morning, and Christmas Eve all rolled into one amazing place that only existed when we were together.
Jamie breathed in the scent of my hair and then pulled back. “Aye, Duncan and I had to see to a few things for the festivities.” He gave me a final squeeze and kissed my forehead before lowering me to the ground. “Who were you talking to?”
I met his steady gaze with my best doe-eyed stare. “No one.”
“Odd, I could ha’ sworn I heard voices.” He let go of my arms and gave me a head-to-toe once over. “Were you running . . . alone?”
“Er . . . yes. I know you asked me to stay on the castle grounds, but it was too crowded up there, and I figured no one would be out this close to the witch’s cottage.”
“Aye, and for good reason. What if — ” Jamie clenched his jaw and ran a hand over the back of his head as he looked into the sky, apparently searching for strength to deal with his obstinate girlfriend/co-ruler.
“Hey.” I took his large, calloused hand in mine and he lowered his chin. Curling one side of my mouth, I winked. “At least I didn’t wear the wee, skin-tight trousers.”
He returned my grin with one of his own and spun me around by the shoulders to get a better look at my red cutoff sweats. He stopped and held me still with my back to him.
“Och, lass! What is that written across yer bum?”
I’d forgotten these particular sweats sported the word Juicy in white, cursive letters across the back. I glanced over my shoulder to see his broad cheekbones drained of all color, his eyes wide — totally adorable. I turned all the way around and his arms dropped to his sides. “Jamie, it’s just a name brand.”
He blinked and focused back on my face. “A brand, like on a cow?”
I swallowed a giggle. “Kind of. It’s the name of the company who made these pants.” His brows shot up. “Er . . . trousers.”
Before he could answer, a loud rustling announced the arrival of Duncan, who was carrying a huge basket in both arms. “Hey there, I got everythin’ for tonight’s merriments. Did ye order the pine tar?” The younger prince wore a grin, the first real one I’d seen on him in months. “Oh, hello, Yer Majesty. I didna see you there.”
He set down the basket with a groan, and I could see it was full to the brim with rocks. Rocks and
pine tar? What were these two up to?
Duncan straightened, his eyes glued to me with a mischievous sparkle. “Don’t ye look fetching in those . . . er . . . red trousers.” He took my hand and bent to give it a quick kiss.
I laughed, wishing he could be his old charming self all the time. But Jamie didn’t seem to share my sentiment. As soon as his brother stood and stepped back from me, Jamie put both hands on Duncan’s chest and shoved. Caught off guard, Duncan stumbled back as Jamie growled, “Is that how you speak to your queen? Cave. Ten minutes. I’ve a mind to teach ye some manners.”
The smile gone from Duncan’s face, he regained his balance and stepped into Jamie. “Gladly. But we’ll see who teaches whom.”
“Oh, you mean the Brother Cave?” The words rushed out of me in an attempt to alleviate the tension.
Two sets of hot, dark eyes swiveled in my direction, and I resisted the urge to turn tail and run.
“The what?” Duncan demanded.
“Ah . . . you know . . . the cave where you guys work out . . . and stuff.” By the way Jamie was shaking his head, I could tell he hadn’t told Duncan that I knew about their hideout.
“You told her!” Duncan’s voice sounded equal parts outraged and hurt as he turned back to Jamie.
“Nay, brother.” Jamie took a step back. “She found me doing drills there one morn’ while she was running. We christened it ‘the Brother Cave.’ ” He thrust his hands into his jacket pockets, ducked his head, and shrugged. “I kinda like it.”
It seemed I’d betrayed some sort of brotherly pact. “Um . . . I’m sorry.”
Jamie tilted his head in my direction, his hair falling across one eye as he shot me a sweet, forgiving smile. Unable to stay away, I moved to his side, and he linked his fingers through mine. Instantly, all the tension drained from my body. The boy was seriously like a drug.
Duncan glanced between the two of us. “I guess I like it too.”