Wicked Betrayal (New England Witch Chronicles Book 3)

by Chelsea Luna

  I shook my head. “It’s not. Trust me.”

  “Then why’s the house so run down?”

  “This will be much easier if you smile and cooperate.”

  Emma looked out my window. “Sorry. So, Ethan’s in there?”

  “He is. Are you okay?”

  “I think so.”

  The house was on a hill encased by a waist-high black iron fence. Emma and I walked up the cracked sidewalk to the porch. I dug in my purse.

  “Nancy gave you a key?” Emma asked.

  “She spends most of her time in dad’s room on the third floor. It’s hard for her to go up and down the stairs.”

  Emma picked at the peeling paint. “I can’t imagine Nancy living in this house. I guess a lot has changed, huh?”

  We walked into the dark foyer. “Grandma? It’s me. I brought my mom.”

  “I’m upstairs, Alexandria.”

  Emma’s eyes scanned the dusty house.

  “This way, mom.”

  I led my mother upstairs. The hallway was dark, but a square patch of light fell on the rug outside of my father’s bedroom.

  “Hey, grandma.” I nudged Emma inside the room.

  Grandma Longfellow sat in the chair next to Ethan’s bed. She placed a book face down on the side table. Her white hair was neatly braided and she had on a peach dress.

  Emma’s eyes were glued to the bed.

  A patched quilt covered Ethan from the waist down. His eyes were closed. Grandma Longfellow had freshly shaved him because his cheeks and chin were free of dark shadows. He was hooked to an IV and a heart rate monitor, but he looked a million times better than he had at the Ipswich Mental Hospital.

  “Hello, Emma,” Grandma Longfellow said.

  Emma wiped her wet eyes. “Thank you for allowing me to see him, Nancy.”

  Grandma Longfellow motioned for my mother to take her seat. Emma edged around the bed, only taking her eyes off Ethan to glance at the aquarium of fireflies. She collapsed onto the chair and grabbed my father’s hand. Large crocodile tears spilled down her face.

  “Let’s give your mother some time,” Grandma Longfellow said. “Will you help me make tea?”

  I followed my grandmother down the hallway to the third floor kitchenette. I filled the kettle with water and stocked the rolling cart with sugar, cream, cookies, plates and cups.

  “Emma looks older than she should,” Grandma Longfellow said.

  “She’s had a rough seventeen and a half years.”

  “It’s remarkable how much you don’t look like the Ross side of the family, bar your eyes. You’re the spitting image of Ethan. It must’ve been hard for Emma to look at you and not see his face.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “Speaking of faces, what happened to your cheek?”

  I touched the deep gash where Olivia’s glass shard had sliced my face. “Just an accident.”

  Grandma Longfellow smashed her lips together, but she didn’t press the subject. After a few minutes, we rolled the cart into Ethan’s bedroom.

  “So,” I said to Emma, “let me show you the mark.” I gently spread Ethan’s middle and ring fingers apart on his right hand. The tiny spiral indentation on his skin was as plain as day.

  Emma shook her head. “I can’t believe she did that.”

  I turned to Grandma Longfellow. “I found the spell reversal.”

  Wrinkled lips parted. “You did? Why didn’t you tell me earlier? This is fabulous news!” She glanced at Emma and then back at me. “Why aren’t you happy? What’s wrong?”

  I pulled the spell reversal from my pocket.

  “When did you get it?” Grandma Longfellow asked.

  “A few days ago.”

  “What’s wrong with it? Is it not going to work?”

  “No.” I smoothed the folds of the photocopy. “I think it will work. The problem is the actual reversal.”

  “Go on.”

  “Either Vanessa has to undo the spell -”

  “She won’t do that.”

  “Or I can do the reversal, but because of the way the original spell was performed….well, it’s complicated now.”

  “How complicated?” Grandma Longfellow clasped her hands together.

  “Vanessa used a human heart to create the spell.”

  Her face went white.

  “Grandma, are you okay?”

  “Balance,” she whispered. “Isaac always talked about the balance in magic.”

  It was the first time she’d ever mentioned my grandfather to me.

  “I need a human heart for the reversal,” I said. “But not just any heart, I need Vanessa’s heart.”

  Grandma Longfellow blinked. Her eyes flickered to Emma holding Ethan’s hand. Fresh tears rolled down Emma’s cheeks.

  “My son will never wake up,” Grandma Longfellow said. Her chest heaved and she exhaled. “I’ll make peace with that.”

  “What? No.”

  “Please, Alexandria. What are you going to do? Kill your own flesh and blood. It’s absurd.”

  “No, of course not. But I can do something. I’ll convince her. Plead with her to do the reversal.”

  “She’ll never do it,” Emma said.

  “I can try.” I bit my lip. “And if Vanessa refuses, then maybe I’ll threaten her. I’m stronger. Maybe I can force her to do the reversal.”

  Emma wiped at her tears. “It’s too dangerous.”

  I stood up. “Are we going to give up now? After everything I’ve been through these past six months and everyone that’s tried to kill me, I think I can handle my aunt. Who knows, maybe she’s sorry about what happened. Maybe she’ll want to perform the reversal if she knows we’ll forgive her.”

  “It’s possible,” Grandma Longfellow said.

  “It’s worth a shot. I’ll reason with her and if that doesn’t work, then I’ll figure out a way to make her do it. We have to unspell him. I can do it. I know I can.”

  “How are you going to convince Vanessa to come to Hazel Cove?” Emma asked.

  “I’m not,” I said. “She invited me to visit for spring break. I’ll go down there, dig up some information and show up on her front door. She won’t suspect a thing.”

  Emma shook her head. “You’re going to New Orleans? How? I don’t get paid until -”

  “Alexandria, are you sure about this?” Grandma Longfellow interrupted.

  “Absolutely.”

  “Then I’ll pay for your trip,” she said. “Airfare, hotel, food. There’s no need to worry about any of that. You just focus on getting your aunt to unspell my son.”

  CHAPTER 20

  They were going to be furious. Both of them. But I had to do it alone and they wouldn’t have allowed that.

  After Emma and I left Grandma Longfellow’s house on Tuesday night, I made Emma promise to keep my plan a secret. Wednesday was the hardest. I had to keep cool for a full twenty-four hours. Peter had dinner at our house again, but he didn’t suspect anything. James thought I was worried about my Liam dream. That was partially true, but I had to put Liam on the back burner for now. We were moving forward with my father and he was my main focus.

  Grandma Longfellow arranged for me to fly out of Boston at two o’clock on Thursday afternoon. I packed my bags after James left for school. Being suspended had its advantages. A car picked me up in front of my house at ten o’clock in the morning and drove me to the airport.

  I left notes explaining what I had to do and why I didn’t tell them. They were going to be angry, but it was for the best. Peter never locked his truck, so I left his note on the driver’s seat. James’ note was in the sunroom, on the couch he used as a make-shift bed.

  I boarded the plane. I had a window seat next to an old lady. I closed my eyes during the take off. I must’ve been tired, because when I opened them we were landing at the Louis Armstrong International Airport in New Orleans.

  The Louisiana heat was stifling.

  The thick damp air was the first thing I noticed.
I couldn’t imagine the heat in the summer. It would be downright unbearable. The blazing sun reminded me of a conversation Peter and I had last winter about vacationing in New Orleans. I felt a twinge of guilt for not bringing him. But it was for his own good; this definitely wasn’t a vacation.

  I retrieved my luggage from the conveyer belt and hailed a taxi. The driver was an older man with a thick Louisiana accent.

  “Where to darlin’?”

  “The Omni Hotel. 621 St. Louise Street, please.” I manually rolled down the window. It was over eighty-degrees and the air conditioning wasn’t on.

  “You goin’ to the Quarter.”

  “Do you mean the French Quarter?”

  “Yes, ma’am. You’ll love it. And the Omni Hotel is a mighty fancy place. Mighty spooky place.”

  I leaned toward the plastic partition. “What do you mean spooky?”

  “The Omni Hotel’s got more ghosts than tourists.”

  “Oh yeah?” Did Grandma Longfellow know that? Oh well, I was bound to have red-eyed spirits following me. What was a few more local spirits?

  “It used to be the St. Louis Hotel. That buildin’ got destroyed back in the Hurricane of 1915. That storm was a whopper - almost bigger than Katrina. Then they built the Omni Hotel right on top of the rubble. Doesn’t matter though, some of the inhabitants of the old St. Louis Hotel are still there.”

  “Really?”

  “A maid who died in the hurricane still walks the halls.”

  “Does she clean?”

  The man grinned at me in the rear view mirror. “And ghosts of soldiers, too. They made the hotel a military hospital during the War.”

  New Orleans had an interesting past. “I bet there’s a ton of haunted places around here.”

  “Just about the whole city’s haunted.”

  The cab driver headed down Highway 61 towards the river. We took Highway 10 to Tulane Avenue and made a left on Royal Street. One more turn at the light and we entered the French Quarter. Bars and restaurants lined the street. The buildings were painted shades of pink, yellow and turquoise.

  We drove by the elaborate ironwork galleries on the corner of Royal and St. Peter Street. I’d seen the famous corner in movies. It was where drunken college students partied until the sun came up during Mardi Gras. Crowds would cheer on the Fat Tuesday floats and tourists fought for cheap plastic beads. I was glad I missed that festivity or I’d be right smack in the middle of the biggest party in America.

  “You’re mighty young to be travelin’ alone,” the taxi driver said.

  “I’m visiting my aunt.”

  “You talk funny, too. Where you from? New Jersey?”

  “Massachusetts.”

  “They all sound the same to me. It’s too cold up there. Ah, here ya are. The Omni Royal Orleans Hotel.”

  “Wow.”

  “Enjoy your stay, miss.”

  The taxi driver handed me my bags and I gave him a tip.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  I immediately felt like I’d stepped back in time. The white building with black wrought iron balcony railings was nestled in the heart of the French Quarter.

  A bellboy carried my bags and I followed him into the lobby. An enormous candelabra chandelier adorned the ceiling. Giant palm trees and intricate iron railings decorated the central space.

  I walked under a giant arch to the concierge and checked in. Grandma Longfellow had booked the Queen Deluxe room for me. I followed the bellboy to the top floor. A massive courtyard with a pool was located in the center of the hotel. My room faced the exterior and sported a breathtaking view of the French Quarter.

  The beige walls complimented the royal blue quilt. The furniture was an array of eclectic antiques that fit together perfectly. The hotel was immaculate, but I could see how it could be considered haunted. Dark shadows in the corners and the creaks of an old building easily put this hotel on a ghost hunter’s to-do list.

  The sun set a little after six o’clock. Brilliant shades of pink and red flitted over the City. I washed my face and changed my clothes before venturing out to find a restaurant. Traveling alone was strange. I’d never felt so much freedom, yet lonely at the same time.

  I still hadn’t built up the nerve to look at my cell phone. James had retrieved the phone from the girls’ bathroom for me and, surprisingly, it wasn’t damaged too badly from the fight. I’d purposefully avoided my cell phone since the plane’s wheels touched the tarmac. Why delay it any longer? I’d have to deal with the consequences of my abrupt departure sooner or later. I checked my phone.

  Twenty two missed calls.

  Fourteen from Peter. Eight from James. Over twenty text messages. First from Peter:

  3:03 P.M. New Orleans?!?? Are you kidding me?

  3:04 P.M. How could you not tell me?

  3:14 P.M. Pick up the phone please.

  3:17 P.M. Lex, you are driving me insane. Will you answer your cell?

  3:29 P.M. You can’t face Vanessa alone.

  3:31 P.M. Did Lover Boy go with you?

  3:57 P.M. I’m not mad, just worried about you. Call me back ASAP.

  4:11 P.M. I can’t believe you’re in New Orleans.

  4:12 P.M. I’m going to strangle you when I see you.

  4:38 P.M. You didn’t tell Lover Boy either? You’re alone? Are you crazy?

  4:44 P.M. You are so stubborn.

  4:52 P.M. Emma cracked. She told us everything.

  5:07 P.M. Call me back so I know you’re safe.

  5:19 P.M. I love you. Call me back. I’m worried.

  Then the text messages from James:

  3:10 P.M. You went to N.O. without me?

  4:01 P.M. Please be careful. Call me when you get a chance.

  4:45 P.M. Peter is pissed. He’s pacing back and forth in front of your mom. Scooby is going crazy. Lol.

  5:15 P.M. I’m sure you’re fine, but call me when you get this. You shouldn’t be there alone.

  I typed a new message and sent it to Peter and James:

  6:36 P.M. Sorry I didn’t tell you two about my plans. Had to do this alone. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me, I can take care of myself. Will be back before you know it. Please take care of Emma. Peter - don’t let James out of the house, the spell will protect him while I’m gone.

  They were going to be angry for awhile, but I couldn’t do anything about it now. I was here. I couldn’t change that. My stomach growled. I was anxious to taste authentic New Orleans food, so I headed out into the French Quarter.

  Bars and restaurants lined both sides of the street, along with shops selling tacky memorabilia. Jazz music drifted from a bar and the general atmosphere of the street was festive, even though there wasn’t a party going on at the moment.

  A chalkboard sign on the sidewalk proclaiming the world’s best gumbo caught my attention. It was a Cajun place. Why not eat the world’s best gumbo?

  It was more of a pub than a restaurant. I didn’t want to eat at a table alone, so I sat at a lone stool at the crowded bar. The bar was sticky. I must’ve made a face, because a burly woman slapped a dish rag over the counter.

  “Thank you,” I said politely. I was now super suspicious of the world’s best gumbo claim.

  She plopped down a paper placemat and silverware rolled in a napkin. “Want a Hurricane?”

  “What’s a Hurricane?”

  “A drink.”

  “Oh. No thanks.”

  “Beer?”

  “I’m not old enough.”

  The man next to me laughed.

  I shifted in my seat. “Can I have a bowl of gumbo and a glass of water? Please?”

  The woman scratched my order on a notepad and walked away.

  The man beside me chuckled under his breath. He had tanned weathered skin. Tattoos covered every inch of his arms. “You look a long way from home.”

  “I’m visiting my aunt.”

  The man stuck out his hand. “Deacon Andrews.”

  We shook. “Alex.”

&nb
sp; “You’re about to eat the world’s best gumbo.”

  I glanced around the pub. “That’s a pretty bold statement, don’t you think?”

  “Trust me, it doesn’t get much better. Is this your first time in N’awlins?”

  “Am I that obvious?”

  Deacon reached across the man to his left. He snatched a tourism pamphlet from a stack near the corner of the bar and handed it to me. The thin paper contained a map and pictures of people enjoying the city: shops and restaurants in the French Quarter, a boat ride in the swamp, Jackson Square, St. Louis Cathedral and walking tours of the city.

  The bartender shoved a glass of water in front me. I sipped the icy drink. “Is there no air conditioning in New Orleans?”

  Deacon laughed again. “It’s not hot enough.”

  “It’s eighty-five.”

  He swallowed a mouthful of beer and wiped his lips. “It ain’t hot enough.”

  I couldn’t imagine it being any hotter, but I didn’t say anything. I browsed the tourism pamphlet. The back contained an advertisement for a haunted tour. Lucas and Logan would love New Orleans - the place was probably packed with haunted houses.

  A giant bowl of gumbo arrived. I placed a spoonful in my mouth. The brown stew was served over a bed of white rice. It had bits of spicy sausage, shrimp, bell peppers, onions, celery and okra. It was delicious. Granted, I never had gumbo before, but I’d give it my vote for best in the world.

  “Are these haunted tours scary or just tourists’ traps?”

  “There are some good tours,” Deacon said. “The best ones are at night. But you take your aunt with you. Don’t go alone. N’awlins is a tough place.”

  “New Orleans is dangerous?”

  “Stay in the Vieux Carré at night.”

  “The what?”

  “Vieux Carré. The French Quarter. Stay away from the druggies that linger around and all those Voodoo shops and you’ll be fine.”

  “Voodoo?”

  Deacon shook his head. “Yankees are always skeptical of magic.”

  “I’m not. I’m interested.” If he only knew how not skeptical I was. I didn’t know much about Voodoo, but it might not be a bad idea to see what I could learn. It could be interesting. And useful.