“You don’t know about any of your sisters’ children,” Mother said. Burn. That wasn’t exactly true. Iona had kids before I’d left.
“Don’t mind her,” Twyla said. “She’s shy of strangers. Come here my darling, let’s get you some breakfast.” Twyla picked up her daughter and brought her into the kitchen. She opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of applesauce.
“What did you do to your hair?” Mother said, looking at me sideways. “Doesn’t she look strange with her hair all black like that?”
“She looks fine,” Twyla said, putting Lenore into a child seat close to mine. She placed a bowl of applesauce on the table and looked at me. “I like it.” Twyla smiled and winked.
“I don’t like it at all. Your natural color is much better.”
“Mother…” It was too late. Nelly Fanning snapped her fingers and my hair practically jumped off my head. As the magic swirled around me, my dyed black locks spun into gold. Golden blonde that is. The strands settled down around my shoulders, making me look like a washed-up swimsuit model in a leather cat suit.
“Oh my God, Mother. I’ve been home for twenty minutes and you’re already messing with my hair?” I snapped. It was a small thing, but that’s how it always started. I stood from the table and a stabbing pain shot through my leg wound.
Cringing and gasping, I sat back down. I hadn’t been this injured in a long time and it stung, especially while sitting in my mother’s overcrowded house.
“What’s going on in here?” I heard as the front door click closed. Shoes slapped down the polished wood floor in the hallway and Iona emerged into the kitchen holding a bag of herbs and potions. Her copper red hair was cut in a sweeping pixie cut that framed her soft features and her mossgreen eyes grew wide when she saw me.
Chapter 4
“Olivia! I’m so glad you’re home. I almost didn’t believe it when Mom texted me over the witch network,” Iona said, sweeping me into her arms.
“What did you think I meant?” Mother held her hand to her chest in indignation.
“I don’t know, Mom,” Iona said, smiling down at me. “Let’s see about that wound.” Iona clapped her hands, her eyes sparkling.
I pushed my chair back from the table. My older sister was a skilled healer, and I wasn’t too proud to admit I needed help. I’d bled through the bandage, and it was starting to drip down my pant leg.
“How did this happen?” Iona said, recoiling at the severity of the wound.
“Wooden stake. Long story.” I waved my hand, not wanting to talk about it. I just wanted her to do her thing so I could get on with why I’d come here.
“How long ago did this happen?”
“About five hours. Give or take. Can you just fix it? It hurts more when you look at it.”
“Of course,” Iona said, pulling bottles and tubs out of her bag. She sat at a chair beside me and began to open the bandage. Blood gushed down my leg in a rush as she exposed the wound to the air. It was a black gaping hole so deep and wide, it had scraped the bone. I’d had to pull the stake out myself when I’d gotten in the car. My own damn stake.
Iona recited a spell to quickly staunch the flow of blood and then set to work with her potions and ointments. After cleaning the wound with witch hazel and golden rod, she began to recite the spell to knit flesh. I sucked in a sharp breath when the ligaments began to grow back together.
She rubbed a cool lotion into the closing wound, then snapped her fingers and held her hand over the growing skin. When she’d finished her spell, the pain subsided and warmth grew over where the wound had been.
I sat up straight and blinked. Healing was a heck of a talent. “Thanks,” I said, testing my newly-healed leg. It felt fine, like the wound had never been there.
“Not a problem,” she said. She emptied several more potions out onto the table and our mother gathered them up.
“Lovely, Iona. These will be perfect for my hands.”
Nelly Fanning rubbed the lotion on her hands and then picked up the quilt on the table.
“I just finished this quilt for Quinn’s twelfth birthday. I’m going to make one for Aaron when he turns ten.”
“Mother, it’s gorgeous. I can feel the peace magic humming from within it. He’s going to love it,” Iona said, hugging our mother.
Nelly Fanning’s quilts are known far and wide in the witch community for their potency.
Need to protect your child from harm? Want to get pregnant? Desire luck? My mother’s quilts could give you any or all of those things. As a stitch witch, Nelly could create just about anything crafty—including changing the color of my hair.
I looked down at my natural blonde locks and cringed. Even compared to my wound it was painful to look at. It reminded me of everything it meant to be a Fanning.
“I’ve got to go.” Turning to me, Iona said, “Olivia, it was great to see you. We should have a get-together with Shane and the kids soon.”
“That’d be great,” I lied. I just wanted to get in and out of here fast. If I hadn’t been injured, I would have just snuck in and taken Benedictus. It was as much my sword as anyone’s.
I could already feel the energy beneath the surface of the conversation. I could feel the air about to get weird. When you put a half-dozen, half-crazed sister witches in one town, you’re bound to get trouble.
Chapter 5
“Let me fix your hair,” Twyla said after Iona left. Our mom went to busy herself in her craft room, without asking me any more questions.
“All right,” I said, following her and her child up the stairs. We passed my old bedroom, the door closed tight with a faded teenage sticker still glued to its wood. Talk to the hand.
Twyla opened a door that led into a renovated studio parlor. The light beaming through the bay windows shone over the salon chairs and into the mirrors along the opposite wall. The space was painted soft white and had a big airy feel.
“Is this a business?” I asked.
“You’re quick,” Twyla said. “They always said that about you.”
“What?”
“Sit down,” she said, pointing to a chair.
I frowned and sat.
Twyla began playing with my hair, picking it up and laying it down. I hated having my hair done. I just cut the dead ends and dyed it black once every few months. “It looks great now,” Twyla said. “Mom did a good job.”
“Yeah. I liked it before. Thanks.”
“I can do better. Are you married to black?” she asked me. I looked up at her in the mirror. She wore head-to-toe black lace and thick black eye makeup.
“You’re one to talk.”
“You’ll notice I don’t dye my hair.”
“You can dye it black and cut it all off,” I said, dismissively.
“No, we’ll keep it long.”
Twyla went about dyeing my hair to a warmer shade of dark brown and then snipped my locks into long layers. By the time she finished blow drying, I looked pretty good, aside from the splat of my own blood on my face. I wiped the blood away and turned my head in the mirror, admiring the ’do. “Not bad,” I said, glancing up at Twyla in the mirror.
She gripped the back of my chair and her eyes fluttered back in her head. I sat up straight and turned to her. Twyla’s lips moved as she muttered something under her breath. My body went rigid with familiar concern. I knew not to interrupt her when she was having one of her visions. Lenore, who had been playing with toys quietly in the corner, ran to her mother and gripped Twyla’s leg.
“Running. Heart flying. Disgrace. It’s coming for you. You feel it. Shame. Guilt. Anger. Run. Olivia. Darkness follows you.”
Emotions churned in my belly, and I wanted to jump away from her.
Twyla shook her head and looked blankly into the mirror. “Is he coming?” I whispered. “Is he here?”
I stumbled up from the chair and took a few steps back, gripping the counter under the mirror. I needed to find Benedictus fast. If Vincent was following me, the
n I needed to run. Even with the blade, I didn’t know if I could beat him without my Executioner’s abilities.
“I need to ask you a question, Twyla, and it’s important you answer me honestly. Your life could be at risk.” I put my hands on her shoulders. “Where is Benedictus?”
“What, that old sword of Dad’s?”
“Yes. That old sword. I need it. This is very important, Twyla. Think.”
“Is it about the darkness?” she asked, gasping. She opened her dark-hooded eyes wider.
“It is. You know how dangerous this is. I have to leave here now.”
“I have no idea where the sword is.”
“Can’t you use your powers? Please, I don’t want to ask Mom. She’ll just get into it and it will become a whole thing.”
“I can’t do that, Olivia. I’m sorry.”
“What? Why?”
“Just ask our mother. I’m sure she’ll give it to you.”
“I thought you of all people would help me.”
“Things change, Olivia. You’ve been gone a long time. I can’t feel guilty for you anymore.”
Chapter 6
I left Twyla’s studio, my head spinning, and descended the stairs to find my mother in her huge, cluttered crafting studio on the first floor. My intention was to march in and demand Benedictus for the sake of everyone’s safety, but when Nelly Fanning turned to me and focused her eyes on mine, I stopped short. Her face was all smiles, but her eyes told a different story. Grinding my teeth together and setting my jaw, I stepped forward and forced a smile on my face.
“Hi Mom,” I said, tilting my head to the side. She smirked.
“It’s so good to see you, sweetheart,” she said, taking me by the arm. My mother led me through her craft room, giving me a tour of all her current projects, the stories behind her tchotchkes, while intermittently trying to teach me to cross stitch. By the time she stopped talking, I was so exhausted I almost forgot why I’d gone into the lion’s den.
Finally, I stopped and turned to her, breaking her iron grip on my arm. “Mother, I’ve come for Benedictus. I need the magic of the sword to defeat a dark force that could threaten the entire family. Just me being here is a beacon for this monster. Quickly Mother, tell me where it is.” I looked her square in the face, delivering my speech with the utmost confidence and conviction.
Nelly Fanning pressed her slim finger to her plump lips and hummed. “Where is that?” she said, tapping her finger.
“Mother, it was Father’s most prized possession. You must know where it is. If not, tell Twyla to track it for me.”
“Your other sisters put it in long-term storage for me. They know where it is.”
“Can you tell them to tell me over that witch network thing or something?” I felt like I was about to start begging. Just because I didn’t want to be around my family, didn’t mean I want them dead. I also had my own neck to save, not to mention my job.
“I know Margery had a lot to do with researching the runes.”
My older sister Margery was the last person I wanted to see.
“Aster is the one who found the space. The portal is out on her property, I believe. You should go ask her.”
“Aster has property?” I asked. My youngest sister had been in high school when I’d left home.
“Aster grows the majority of the herbs that Iona uses in the apothecary. She and her husband Bear also have a permanent stall at the Portland Farmer’s Market,” my mother said proudly. “And she’s got a baby on the way. You need to see her.”
“She’s pregnant?” The thought of bringing Vincent down on my pregnant little sister made my stomach turn. “Mom, I need to get Benedictus now and leave this place. This isn’t a game. All of your lives are in danger.”
“Oh Olivia, always so intense. You need to relax. Aster can help you with that too. I want you to go see her. Twyla will give you a map.”
“Mother, I’m serious.”
“Of course dear. Now run along and see your sister. I’m sure she can help you. But before you go…” My mother snapped her fingers and I looked down at my clothes. Instead of the bloody head to toe black leather I’d been wearing, I was now in a pair of overalls, work boots, and a baseball cap. “I think Aster needs some help out on the farm.”
I gasped in disgust. What had she done? This was too much, even for her. First my hair, now my clothes. These garments offered no protection. Like my dyed hair, it was functional. It helped me stay camouflaged at night when I did most of my executions. Even the heels on my boots served as weapons. Now I was dressed like some hick ready to plow the back forty.
Just great.
I turned on the clunky heel of the work boot and clomped out of my mother’s craft room. Balling my fists, I stood next to the front door. The morning light glowed through the intricate stained glass, reminding me of my childhood. I took a deep breath. I had to make a choice. I could leave now and risk being killed by Vincent or at the very least being permanently debarred from the Executioners. Or I could stay and risk my family’s safety and quite possibly my own sanity in the process.
I sighed. There wasn’t really a choice. I had to get that sword no matter what and leave as soon as possible. Hurrying up the stairs, I tried to quiet my mind. My warrior ability gave me a laser sharp focus when I need it. Analyzing or thinking too much about anything could get me killed during battle. Quick decisions with no hesitation. That’s what I needed.
Chapter 7
Twyla was in her bedroom, brushing her strange little daughter’s hair. My psychic sister blinked up at me like she didn’t know me. Then she laughed. Lenore began to laugh too. Nothing is quite as humiliating as being laughed at by two ethereal-looking psychics who are basically nesting dolls of each other.
“What did Mom do to your clothes?” Twyla finally asked.
“She wants me to go work on Aster’s farm. She told me to get directions from you.” I couldn’t help the burn in my face—a mixture of anger and embarrassment. I noticed there was even a red bandanna tied around my neck. Ridiculous.
“I’m sure Aster could use the help. She’s got her hands full with little Puma and the baby on the way.”
“Who is Puma?”
Twyla looked at me like I had two heads. Lenore sighed and shrugged before turning to look behind her at her mother. They made eye contact and nodded. What was that about?
“Puma is your nephew, Olivia. Aster’s two-year-old.”
“I didn’t know she had a kid! Sue me. I’ve been busy. Being an Executioner doesn’t leave a lot of room for keeping tabs on who’s having whose baby.”
“I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you.”
Twyla slowly rose from the bed and went to a desk near the window. Large ferns dripped from pots hanging from the ceiling. Twyla slipped into the seat in front of her antique desk and began to write on a yellow note pad. “This is Aster’s address. I’m sure she and Bear will be out there this time of day.”
“I didn’t know Aster married Bear Hunter,” I mumbled. The Hunter brothers were people I remembered. In fact, I could never forget one of them.
“You knew his brother Raven, right? In high school?”
Of course I knew Raven Hunter. She was messing with me again. She might be two years younger than me but certainly she remembered that Raven and I had been each other’s first love.
“Yes, Twyla. I knew Raven,” I muttered. Taking the paper. My heart did a somersault. Raven Hunter, my first love. My only love really. And I’d left him too. “Thanks,” I said under my breath as I left the room, not taking my eyes from the paper. I didn’t want her to see me like this. The mention of Raven did something to me I hadn’t expected.
I felt flushed and agitated. My body tingled between arousal and numbness. I couldn’t seem to catch my breath. Shit. I hurried down to my car, wishing I had a change of clothing. Unfortunately, the Camaro was a secondary bug out car, and I hadn’t bothered to equip it with extra clothes. All that was in there were
a few weapons and some cash. I doubted I could find Executioner-appropriate clothing in Portland. The runes alone had to be sewn in specifically by sky mages in Tibet.
Not that any of that mattered now. I wasn’t an Executioner anymore. I might as well be a farmhand as long as Vincent remained alive and at large. I had to find Benedictus fast if I wanted my life back. Being an Executioner might not be very glamorous, but it was what I knew. It was what I was good at.
Chapter 8
Aster Fanning-Hunter’s farm lay on a fertile stretch of land east of Portland along the Columbia River basin. It was nestled against the dense forests of Douglas fir and Lodgepole pine. When I pulled into the driveway of Earth Mother Farms, the first thing I noticed was how expansive the place was. Behind the old farm house a big red barn cast a shadow over the green lawn. On either side of the farm house were rows of greenhouses, beyond which were several acres of organic permaculture gardens, blooming in every color.
The place was dense with life. Monarch butterflies flitted over my car where I parked in the front driveway. A scruffy black-and-white farm dog came bounding from the barn, its tail spinning in a circle as it barked at me. I gave it a cold stare and the dog ran away with a squeal.
“You’ve always had that effect on others,” a voice said from across the farm yard. A very pregnant Aster waddled down the front steps of her house. The high school girl had been replaced by a pregnant woman with a toddler on her hip. Her ruddy blonde hair was worked into dreadlocks. She wore a long brown skirt and a tank top that showed off her ripe belly.
As she approached, I could see the twisting vines of tattoos that lined her arms and the silver ring that hung from the center of her nose. “Olivia Fanning. You bitch. Where the hell have you been for the last five years?”
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