Clearwater Witches Boxset

by Madeline Freeman

  “I guess,” Fox begins, breaking the silence. “I guess I just wonder why you told him and not me.”

  I bite my lower lip. Just how much information did Dana get from me? “Felix?”

  He looks at me for the first time, his eyes dark and stormy. “You told Felix?”

  Damn. “Yes,” I admit. There’s no point in trying to backpedal now. “He’s psychic, and when the two of us were talking about the past, he realized I didn’t remember what he was talking about. Not, like, I just couldn’t recall—he could tell I hadn’t experienced the same things he had. And when he found out, honestly, I was a little relieved. I needed someone to talk to about everything—and you know as well as I do that Crystal and I weren’t on the best terms.” I take in a breath and release it slowly. “But you weren’t talking about Felix. You meant Owen.”

  He nods, turning to stare out the windshield once more.

  “I didn’t tell Owen.”

  Fox snorts.

  “No, really,” I press. “Messing with time isn’t really my proudest achievement. Besides, that’s the kind of talk that gets people sent to counseling—or worse. I didn’t tell Owen, and I didn’t plan to—just like I didn’t plan to tell you. But the day Millie died, something happened. Owen and I were both at the coffee shop, and after the paramedics took her away, he took me home. And there was a moment… For just a second, it was like we were replaying a scene from my reality. After that, Owen just started remembering, all on his own. Maybe it’s the psychic thing—maybe that moment that echoed a moment we shared in another time was enough to spark those memories. Or maybe…” I stop short, not sure what alternative there could be.

  “Maybe he remembers so the two of you can be together,” Fox says, his tone hollow. “Maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be.”

  My heart clenches at the pain in his voice. I reach out and place my hand on his forearm. He flinches but doesn’t pull away. “I’m sorry,” I murmur. “Can’t you see—this is why I didn’t want to tell you. I never meant for you to get hurt.”

  His lips press together in a firm line. “Well, it looks like even you can’t get everything you want.” Before I can respond, he raises his chin toward the house. “Griffin’s coming; you’d better get out of his seat.”

  I do as he says. What else can I do? I move toward the house but make it no further than the sidewalk. Griffin gives me side-eye as he passes but says nothing. It’s colder now than it was when we were in the field and my teeth chatter as the wind cuts through my coat, but I remain rooted in place until Griffin’s car disappears in the distance.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I want to crawl out of my skin all day Sunday. So many things need to be done but I can’t do any of them. I feel helpless and irritated.

  Even after Bria’s best efforts, Anya is weak. I make a few different tea blends, going so far as to consult the grimoire for combinations I haven’t thought of. Still, none of them has a perceptible impact on how Anya looks or feels.

  I’m in contact with the circle throughout the day, trying to formulate any plan to locate Elliot. Owen suggests we scour the abandoned house Sasha kept me at for traces of his DNA, but a search performed by him and Bria turns up nothing. Lexie and Crystal comb through the Taylor grimoire for a spell to help but come up empty.

  Bridget, along with Fox and Felix, spend much of the day with the Althea, but there’s nothing they can do to speed up its maturation. We have to wait until sunset tomorrow to charge and dig up the plant.

  To distract me, Mom suggests we pop popcorn and watch movies, but I find it impossible to relax in the living room knowing that Dad is with Anya in the sitting room, trying to nurse her back to health. In fact, I have no idea how Mom’s handling it so well. It’s like she’s oblivious to the fact that her husband is totally engrossed in the care of another woman. I, on the other hand, can think of little else. Any time I try to shift my thoughts to another topic, my head fills with concern about Thursday’s full moon. What if something goes wrong with our plan and we can’t stop Seth on our own? If that’s the case, I’ll wake up Friday morning without abilities and without memory of ever having them. What else will I forget? Will I cease remembering my reality, the life I lived? Will I take on the memories of my alternate self? Will Owen forget that life, too? Will I still be friends with any of the psychics? If it wasn’t for our abilities, none of us would associate with each other in this reality. Will Fox and I still be together? If it wasn’t for magic—the circle anchoring itself to the crystal—he and I never would have broken up. And what happens if we are able to stop Seth on our own and the council remains active long enough to remove our powers anyway? Will anything we’re going through now even be worth it?

  Sleep is fitful at best, and when I do dream, I find myself wandering through the streets of Clearwater, but no one else is there. The entire town is empty but for me.

  When my alarm goes off on Monday morning, I’m far from rested, but I’m eager to start the day. We’re supposed to pick the Althea at sunset. After that, the elements for the spell need to charge for a full day, which means we’ll be making our move on Seth tomorrow evening. Dad still hasn’t gone into much detail about what that phase of the plan involves, but I assume he’ll fill us in tonight or tomorrow.

  I’m tired of sitting around waiting, and I’m glad we’re finally doing something.

  Still, a voice in the back of my mind wonders, yet again, if we should be doing anything at all.

  I tamp down the idea. Of course we should be doing something. My circle contains the most powerful witches and psychics born in Clearwater in generations. Unlike the elder council, we don’t need help from the moon to be at full strength. It’s best for us to handle things.

  At least that’s what I keep telling myself.

  There’s a nervous energy at school among the members of the circle. In first hour, West keeps tapping his pencil against the desk. Lexie casts him dirty looks for the first half of the hour before the pencil finally snaps in half in West’s hand. He offers an apologetic glance at Lexie, but less than five minutes later, he’s drumming his fingers on the desktop. I cover his hand with mine each time he starts, afraid of what Lexie might break next if the noise irritates her.

  Despite my preoccupation keeping West from possible bodily harm, my attention keeps being pulled behind me. Before class started, I saw Dana and Fox chatting by his locker. All period, her eyes prickle the back of my neck. When I glance at her, she doesn’t bother hiding the fact she’s staring. There’s a hard edge to her gaze, almost a challenge. It’s as if she’s daring me to react to her move on Fox.

  I do my best to ignore her. It’s as if she’s forgotten all about her encounter with Sasha and the help she received from the circle. Part of me—the mean part—wishes we would’ve just left her all bruised and injured, but I tamp down those desires. She’s grieving. If it makes her feel better to believe she’s ruining my life, fine. I understand the pain of losing a parent. If this is what she needs to do to deal with it, so be it.

  Although things are far from resolved between Fox and me, I feel better about the situation since we talked.

  During second hour, Owen and I speculate telepathically about what exactly will happen when we go up against Seth. Dad said he’ll be the one to actually face him, but we imagine the different scenarios that might bring him to that point. Clearly, Dad can’t just show up at Seth’s hideout and take him on. Still, by the end of the hour, the best idea we’ve come up with is Dad getting himself captured by Seth—for some reason—while the circle is nearby enough for him to enact the vessel spell.

  By the time the bell rings to release us to third hour, I’m convinced someone has cast a spell to make time pass at half speed. I’m not sure how I’m going to make it through the rest of the school day, let alone until sunset to dig up the Althea.

  At my locker, I trade out my science book for my Spanish text. When I slam the door closed, I jump, clutching my chest. Tuc
ker leans against the locker beside mine, clearly waiting for me. My head is so preoccupied with tonight’s agenda that I didn’t notice his energy encroaching on my own.

  “Didn’t mean to scare you.” Tucker manages to sound vaguely apologetic, but it’s clear I’m not the only one who’s distracted.

  I take in a breath, reminding myself, as usual, that this Tucker isn’t the same one I used to know. “What’s up?” I ask, hitching on a smile I hope doesn’t look too forced. “Or are you just here to walk me to Spanish?”

  The corner of his mouth quirks up in a humorless half smile. “I think we both know I’m not that kind of guy.” He blows out a breath. “Something weird just happened.”

  I arch an eyebrow. Since when am I Tucker’s confidante? Still, whether I like it or not, he’s part of my circle. “Yeah? What’s that?”

  His mouth works like he’s trying to decide how to word what he wants to say. “It’s Crystal.”

  I hold in a groan. Is this why he wants to talk to me? He figures since we both have binding spell-related drama with our exes we’ve got some kind of bond? In what I hope is a kind voice, I ask, “What about her?”

  He looks both ways down the hall, like he’s making sure we’re not being overheard. “I just saw her, so I figured I’d say hi. It’s weird enough that sometimes I hear her thoughts, so why make things between us more awkward, right? So, I say hey and she looks at me with this total confusion in her eyes. Then she kind of shakes her head and says, “Oh, hi, Thatcher.” He raises both eyebrows and holds up his hands. “Who the hell is Thatcher?”

  The name pings in my mind as being slightly familiar. Is Thatcher a person Crystal has mentioned before? And even if he is, why would Crystal confuse Tucker for him? It’s not as if she and Tucker are mere acquaintances. While once she and I turned up in this timeline her relationship with him didn’t last very long, it’s not as if he was a stranger beforehand. In fact, with her penchant for bad boys, her hallway hookups with Tucker seemed to make her pretty happy. “I have no idea,” I tell him. “I guess she’s just distracted—like the rest of us.”

  The explanation does nothing to mollify Tucker, whose expression only sours. “How can she be so distracted she forgets my name?”

  The warning bell sounds overhead and I start toward Spanish class. Tucker falls into step beside me. “I have no idea. Have you tried, you know, feeling her out through your link? Checked to see if something weird’s going on?”

  He shrugs. “I think I’m still not very good at this whole psychic thing. Half the time I can’t get a read on her at all. Sometimes it feels like I can sense everyone else in the circle but her.”

  We walk into Mrs. Ortiz’s classroom and make it to our desks just as the tardy bell rings. The teacher loses no time starting in on our lesson, so I don’t get a chance to respond to Tucker, but his words echo through my head for the duration of class. If Crystal were the psychic in their relationship, I might chalk up his situation to her building a wall around her thoughts. But Crystal’s a witch. In my experience, witches just aren’t able to block themselves off completely. Even when Fox is making an effort to keep his thoughts and feelings to himself, I can still sense him.

  It has to be a product of Tucker’s inexperience. Lexie asked me to check Crystal out just days ago and I didn’t detect anything off about her. Like I said to Tucker, she’s probably just distracted. At this point, I think we all are.

  ***

  I manage to make it through the school day. Bridget and Crystal are absent from sixth hour. I’m not surprised Bridget is gone—she’s been spending much of her free time with Anya and the Althea. She really seems to have connected with Anya’s prediction that she might have a natural talent for spell writing and seems eager to prove the impressions she received from the root weren’t just a fluke. What surprises me is Crystal’s absence. To my knowledge, she hasn’t spent much time tending to the plant. Probably she’s just as antsy as the rest of us and looking for an excuse to not have to sit in school.

  Devin is tending the shop today, so Dad is at home when Felix and I arrive. As time elapses before sunset, more people show up at the house—West, Owen, Tucker, Bria, and Lexie. The girls arrive together because—as Lexie is quick to point out—Crystal, her usual ride, is already at the site.

  Although Anya made a point to tell us we didn’t all have to be present to harvest the Althea, that we could draw on those absent through the binding spell link, I’m disappointed that Fox doesn’t show up. He was distant but polite in our one shared class. I know he needs time to process the truth. I just hope that once he does, the two of us can find a way to be friends.

  About forty-five minutes before sunset, we split up into two cars and head out to Old Orr Road. Dad parks beside Crystal’s bright green Spark and by the time he, Owen, Felix, and I have climbed out, Bria has parked next to us. Dad wastes no time leading the way into the woods beside the road. At first I’m sure he’s just walking in at random, but as I near the tree line, I see the beginnings of a trail—created, no doubt, by the frequent comings and goings of Anya and Bridget.

  “I thought this place was supposed to be secret,” Tucker says from behind me. “Don’t you think someone’s going to notice four cars parked on the side of the road?”

  Dad glances over his shoulder. “What cars?”

  I turn and catch Tucker’s eye before looking back at the side of the road. What cars, indeed. The place we just left appears entirely empty.

  Dad chuckles. “Anya had Bridget cast a cloaking spell the first time she came out here because, you’re right, Tucker, having cars parked out there could’ve given away the location of the Althea.”

  We fall into silence after that, our progress punctuated only by the sounds of leaves crunching and twigs snapping underfoot, along with the occasional curse from Lexie when tree limbs catch her hair or she stumbles over a tree root. After a near fall, Felix moves beside her, taking her arm to guide her through. Her grumbling becomes almost nonexistent after that.

  Several minutes elapse and there’s still no sign of Anya, Crystal, or Bridget. “Not to sound like a little kid or anything,” Bria calls from the back of our pack, her breathing labored, “but are we there yet?”

  “We will be soon,” Dad replies, although I’m not sure how he can be so certain. Every tree we pass looks just like the ones that came before it. One thing is for sure: If we don’t get there soon, we’re going to miss the sunset window. The sun is already so low on the horizon we might need flashlights soon.

  An acrid smell fills my nostrils and I cover my nose. What could that be? Sometimes people on the edges of town burn their garbage, but I didn’t think we were close enough to anyone’s property for a smell to be this strong.

  Then I see the smoke.

  I stop, spinning on my heel. Tucker, who’s just a pace behind knocks into me. “Tucker, Felix—check on Crystal and Bridget.”

  The two stare at me, matching looks of confusion on their faces. Instead of explaining, I press into their minds the fear that’s come upon me: There’s a fire somewhere nearby.

  Felix screws up his face in concentration. “I can’t get a read on her. I mean—she’s there, just…” He shakes his head. “It’s like she’s blank.”

  I turn to Tucker. “And Crystal?”

  His eyes are wide, worried. “I’m not sure. I can’t… I can’t find her.”

  Panic flares. I don’t know what’s happening, but if there’s a fire, we’d better get to its source as soon as possible.

  Dad cuts through the underbrush faster than before. Several yards ahead of him, flames lick at the trunk of a tree. “Anya!” he yells. “Crystal! Bridget!”

  Smoke thickens as we continue, and the crackle of wood burning reaches my ears.

  “Who’s gonna set fire to the middle of the woods?” Tucker calls as he jogs to keep up.

  He’s right. No one would go out of their way to burn this spot in the woods—not without cause. “Dad, do you
think Elliot—”

  “Let’s not worry about who right now, hon,” he calls over his shoulder. “Let’s find everyone first.”

  Ahead, I catch a fresh wave of flame leaping out from behind thick tree trunks. I have the urge to grab my phone, call the fire department. But what will I tell them? How would they even get to our location before the fire spread?

  A hand slips into mine, tugging me to a stop. “Lexie, what are you—”

  “We’re witches, Krissa. Let’s use our heads here. We can put out the fire.”

  I take in a breath, coughing when I inhale more smoke than air. She’s right. As the psychics surge forward to continue their search, I join my magic with Lexie’s.

  Lighting a candle is an elementary spell—probably the first learned by any of us. Extinguishing a single flame is just as easy. But what we’re facing now isn’t a single tongue of fire. A quick sweep with my abilities reveals the scope of this fire is several yards in diameter and growing by the second. If Crystal, Bridget, and Anya aren’t in its path already, it’s only a matter of time before they are.

  I have no idea how to cast the spell to stop the spread of the fire, but I don’t need to know. Lexie takes lead of the spell, directing our collective magic to separate the air from the flames, depriving them of fuel. She’s never done this before, I realize, but Griffin has. An unexpected fire started while he was working on an engine at the garage. Through the binding link, Lexie has tapped into his knowledge of that spell. The fire he dealt with wasn’t nearly so large, but the process is the same.