Stealing Time: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel

by Gael, Christine

  So long as they were safe, I could handle just about anything.

  “All right, so how about we try to help Mee-maw take another crack at making the watch work?” I said, rubbing my hands together.

  Zoe nodded absently as she gestured toward the stove. “Yeah, okay. I’ve got some muffins in the oven that are supposed to help us gain some clarity. They should be ready in another fifteen minutes. Why don’t you two--”

  A sharp rap on the front door echoed through the kitchen and we all froze.

  The press had been warned by the police to stay off the property, and we weren’t expecting any guests.

  “Maybe it’s Phil?” I hissed. In an effort to shield Zoe’s husband from all the crazy goings on, Zoe had been keeping him at a distance with the excuse that she needed time to think about their relationship. Once she’d assured him that she would still handle his business travel arrangements and pick up his dry cleaning, he’d been pretty apathetic about the whole thing. He travelled almost non-stop anyway, so not seeing her for a week was hardly unusual. Maybe he’d finally decided to give a rat’s crack and come to try to win her back?

  But Zoe was already shaking her head with a frown as she swiped her hands over her apron.

  “No. I spoke to him yesterday morning. He’s in Milwaukee until Friday.” She tiptoed toward the door and paused before calling out.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s Deputy Rasmusson and Sheriff Webber, ma’am.”

  “Oh, all right. D-did we, uh, did we have another appointment scheduled for today?” she called through the door, shooting me a wide-eyed stare.

  My stomach flopped as my thoughts started racing.

  Between us all, we’d done no less than half a dozen interviews with the officers in the days following Finneas’s death and the battle at the compound. We’d been very careful to keep our stories consistent, and the Sheriff had accepted that Finneas was in the wind and that he and his Organization were the true villains. A bunch of crackpots intent on kidnapping and murdering a woman over some conspiracy theory that she was a witch.

  But there was no denying that Rasmusson was still harboring some suspicions about us. First off, when police had arrived at the compound just minutes after our escape, Finneas’s body was nowhere to be found, casting doubt on our initial assertion that he was dead. We could only assume that his guards had tried their best to clean up the scene and had hidden his remains, or that Verbena had made Finneas’s body disappear somehow to avoid the additional scrutiny a verified murder would bring. But more damning than that was the fact that the guard who had been my captor had been found alive and ranting about having his limbs broken and twisted by a witch’s spell. Last I’d heard, he’d been sent to the psychiatric ward of the hospital for his physical and mental wounds to heal.

  Had he finally come to his senses and told them something they’d actually believed?

  “We’re here on official police business, ma’am. Please open the door, right now.”

  I gestured frantically for Mee-maw to get the mirror and the candle out of sight and then rushed toward the door with Patrick by my side.

  Zoe glanced at me as we flanked her and I nodded. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and yanked the door open.

  “What can I do for you, gentlemen?”

  Kind-faced Sheriff Webber gave her a solemn nod as Mitch Rasmusson stepped over the threshold, nostrils flaring.

  “Patrick Byrne, you’re under arrest for aggravated kidnapping, false imprisonment, and conspiracy to commit murder.”

  Chapter 2

  "Well, that was unexpected," Mee-maw said grimly.

  The three of us watched through the living room window as the officers led Patrick down the walkway, past the handful of stubborn reporters who still peppered the sidewalk. Rasmusson laid a hand on Patrick’s dark head, pressing him low as he folded his lean frame into the backseat of the police car.

  Kidnapping?

  Conspiracy to commit murder?

  This was bad.

  Really bad.

  My mind raced, desperate for an immediate fix and coming up empty.

  The thought of any of us being alone with a witch like Verbena on the loose and out for blood made my skin go cold and clammy. The fact that it was Patrick—the only one of the four of us without magical powers, or an item that she needed us alive in order to retrieve—only made it worse.

  Now that Finneas was dead, Patrick was entirely expendable.

  As the cops climbed into the car themselves, my thoughts instantly went to the torture necklace I'd hidden under a loose floorboard in the closet of the guest-room Patrick and I had been sharing—platonically—for the past couple of nights. I shut that thought down before it even fully formed, though. If I never had to see that thing again, it would be too soon. More violence wasn't going to solve anything and enough innocent people had already suffered.

  "We're just going to let them take him, then?" Zoe asked.

  But I could tell by her defeated tone, she knew as well as I did that our hands were tied. Sure, she or I could have hit the Sheriff and his deputy with a bolt of magic to hold them in place, then dragged Patrick back into the house, but that was a short-term solution that would only make things way, way worse in the long run. We had to do this the right way. We had to get to the bottom of what had triggered them to arrest Patrick in the first place, and then get him back into the fold with us as quickly as possible, without making the cops any more suspicious than they already were.

  Knowing the truth about magic was dangerous. Not only would that knowledge drag them into this deadly game with Verbena—a game that had already caused so much pain—it also made people do crazy things.

  Look at Finneas Byrne.

  The very idea of magic had made him betray his wife and hurt their child. It’d made him envious and violent and cruel. In fact, I was having a hard time coming up with anything magic was good for.

  I found myself wishing, not for the first time, that I'd never laid eyes on Maude. That I could go back to the way life was before. Back to when Mee-maw rushing me out of the shower in the mornings to save on water, and Greg forgetting to forward my mail, were my biggest problems. Back when I actually worried about the few extra pounds on my hips, or whether or not I'd sprouted more gray hair overnight.

  Back when I didn’t have an evil witch hunting me and my family.

  Even now, though, as bad as things were, the thought of life before Maude left me feeling hollow. As hard as things had been lately, there was no denying that I’d always felt like a part of me had been missing. My truest purpose. And I’d found that when I’d found Maude.

  There was no going back. And even if there was? That Cricket was dead and gone. I was a different person now. Changed, down to the very core. I was a witch, for crying out loud.

  And it was high time I started acting like one.

  "Okay, team. Let's get it together here. The sooner we know exactly what evidence they have against Patrick, the quicker we can get a handle on what to do next. Head into the kitchen. I'm going to get Maude and I'll meet you there."

  I ignored the twinge of pain in my thigh and rushed up to my room, grabbing my typewriter and hefting her bulky weight down to the kitchen.

  Mee-maw was already seated at the table, pocket watch in hand, brow furrowed. "If I could make this dang thing work, maybe I could turn back time and get Patrick out of here before the cops come..."

  "That's sweet, Mee-maw, but we're not even sure that's how the watch works," I said, setting Maude down on the table with a thud. "It's going to be all right. Me and Zoe can handle this, right, Zoe?"

  I shot my cousin a quick glance and she bit her lip as she nodded.

  "Yeah." She cleared her throat, forcing a reassuring smile. "Yep. We've got this. I was messing around with something last night. I did some research and, apparently, potions aren’t limited to the kind you ingest. I think I can create splash potions. Stuff I can sprinkle or sp
ray around the perimeter of the house that could alert us if anyone tries to enter, and potentially even ward off the magic of another for a short period of time. I won't know if it's working until or unless they're tested, but I feel confident that...Well, somewhat confident, anyway." She trailed off and then shrugged. "Hell, it's worth a try."

  I grimaced and made a mental note to float that as a potential slogan for our coven if, you know, we managed to survive. Everything up to this point had been a game of guessing. Trial and error.

  And error.

  And more error.

  "No. Nope, get that look off your face," Zoe snapped, retying her apron more tightly around her waist. "We're getting stronger, Cricket. I know it seems like running in place sometimes, but think about your first predictions. You had zero control, clacking away about shark attacks and animals escaping zoos. That was just weeks ago. Since then, you've saved Mee-maw when she had her heart attack, we got all three of our items, we defeated Finneas, and have managed to stay alive despite an ancient, powerful witch and her army stalking us. Keep it together. We need you."

  Zoe was in crisis management mode, which was the best, most bad-ass of all the Zoe's, and I wanted to weep with gratitude.

  "You're right. So I'm going to convene with Maude and see if I can get some insight on what the cops know while you keep working on those protection potions." I turned my attention to our grandmother. "Mee-maw, no pressure. Just try to connect with the watch for a while. See if anything comes to you."

  I’d been putting all my energy into healing, so Maude had been neglected for the past couple of days, but it was time to get back to work, aches and pains be damned.

  I took a seat at the kitchen table and stared at Maude for a long moment. She wasn't the prettiest girl in the room, that was for sure. No sleek lines, or slick interfaces. No shiny keyboard or technicolor screen. Just a black, clunky-looking typewriter...with the power to tell the future. Strains of the old song, "You Are So Beautiful, To Me," echoed in my mind as I leaned forward and laid my hands to the smooth keys. They almost seemed to cup the pads of my fingers as energy flowed from me into Maude and back again, a never-ending circle of power.

  Heat coursed through me, emanating from my core outward.

  I pushed everything else aside and formed a simple question in my mind.

  What now?

  Moments passed and the heat grew, enveloping me, consuming me. Then, dimly, I heard the clicking of the keys, like it was miles away. Slow at first, then faster and faster. My vision became nothing but an undulating, red haze.

  Maude was doing her thing, and I could only hope that what she had to tell me was going to help. Because, right now?

  We were in a little town called Screwed.

  Chapter 3

  It could’ve been seconds that’d passed, it could’ve been hours, when I felt Mee-maw's cool, dry hand on my wrist, pulling me back to reality.

  "You all right, kiddo?" she asked gruffly.

  "Yeah, I'm good," I replied, blinking the room into focus. "How long was I gone?" I asked, with a glance out the window.

  Still bright daylight.

  "Only a few minutes. Let's see what you got." Zoe moved closer, cauldron propped on one hip like a baby as she stirred something inside with a long, wooden spoon.

  Mee-maw leaned in close, bringing with her the scent of Bengay and lavender. "I don't have my peepers on. Read it out loud, Cricket."

  I nodded, full of apprehension as I peered down at the single sheet of paper still firmly tucked in Maude's grasp.

  Please, please, please...

  "The Lioness is powerful, to be sure, but even the queen of the jungle is vulnerable if the hyenas attack from all sides. Odds are stacked against you,” I continued slowly, “but if you grow your strength as three, there is still a chance. You must act quickly, though. She plots and schemes to defeat you, even now. Do whatever it takes to reunite with your enemy-turned-ally. He will illuminate the path to your success.”

  "The three of us. That means me, too, right?" Mee-maw said, brightening as she pulled away and eyed me quizzically.

  I nodded, my brain whirring. "Yup. See, Mee-maw? You've got magic, for sure. We just have to figure out how to grease the wheels a little bit and get you started." I thought again about contacting Connie. I couldn't risk going to see her, but maybe a call would be alright?

  "And clearly we need to get Patrick back, ASAP." Zoe frowned as she leaned in to examine the sheet herself. "He seems to be key here, for some reason."

  I was pretty sure I knew the reason as Maude's precise wording played over in my mind.

  He will illuminate the path to your success.

  If that meant what I thought it did, it seemed like Patrick would get his secret wish, after all.

  I nodded, swiping the beads of sweat from my upper lip as I sat back in my chair.

  "We'll find a way to get him out. I'm just happy to know that Maude actually thinks we have a chance at besting Verbena."

  I chose to ignore the "odds are stacked against you" part. When hadn't they been? There was no point in dwelling on the unfairness of it all. I had to put all my energy into getting Patrick back in the fold, and fast.

  "So let's hear it, gang. Brainstorm," I encouraged, clapping my hands together. "There are no stupid suggestions, and no bad ideas. How do we get Patrick out of jail?"

  "Who's Patrick and why is he in jail?"

  I wheeled around toward the voice to find Zoe's husband, Phil, standing in the kitchen doorway, a briefcase in one hand and a 7-11 cup full of something blue and icy in the other.

  So much for Milwaukee.

  I turned and shot Zoe a panicked glare, which she waved off with a snort.

  "Patrick is Cricket's new boyfriend, if you must know. And it's none of your beeswax why he's in jail," she replied crisply. "What are you doing home, anyway? You’re supposed to be in Wisconsin."

  "We closed the deal faster than we thought. I know you said you still needed some time, so I booked a hotel in town. I thought you’d be at the bakery and I could stop by to pick up some more clothes," Phil replied, pausing to take a pull from the cherry-red straw before continuing. "How come you aren’t working?”

  “I decided to close the bakery for the week,” Zoe said carefully. “I told you I needed time to think, so I’m taking it.”

  Phil took that at face value and then turned toward me. “And what are all those news vans doing outside? They were asking me if I was part of the cult or something. Are they here about your boyfriend, Cricket?"

  So far, we’d agreed to keep Phil in the dark about everything that had been going on since he’d been away through most of it anyway, but we’d thought we had more time before he came back to town. Now, I shrugged as I tried to think of the least suspicious thing to say.

  “Uh, yeah. Yeah, they want to interview me about it all, but I’m just trying to move on, at this point.”

  “You don’t have to answer to him, Cricket,” Zoe growled as she set down the cauldron and propped her hands on her hips. “Don’t come waltzing in here asking questions like you care, Phillip.”

  That she’d called him by his full name—both syllables—wasn’t lost on Phil, and he took a step back.

  “Zoe, honey, I do care--”

  “If that was true, you’d have called to talk instead of only texting when you couldn’t find your silver cufflinks. No ‘I miss you’ or ‘let’s go to therapy and work things out’. Nada, since I told you I was unhappy,” she snapped, banging the table with the heel of her hand hard enough to make even Maude tremor for a second there. “Cricket’s going through some real crap here, you know. Oh, that’s right, you don’t know. Because you haven’t even bothered to call.” She jabbed a finger, pointing behind Phil. “Go on upstairs and get your stuff. Pack enough for a week, at least, and then go. I’ll call you when I’ve got my head together and feel like I can have a rational conversation with you.”

  “Fine by me,” he said, shooting m
e a puzzled glance as he backed away. “See you, Cricket. Good luck with the whole…cult thing. Mee-maw,” he added with a nod.

  If he thought there was anything unusual about the massive, old-fashioned typewriter or cauldron on the table, he opted not to mention it as he headed out of the room as silently as he’d come in.

  None of us said a word until his footsteps sounded up the stairs and the master bedroom door squealed open in the distance.

  “Geez, that was close,” I hissed, gesturing at Maude. “I don’t even know if I’d have been able to stop typing if he had walked in. I sort of lose it a little…”

  “A little?” Mee-maw demanded. “You should see yourself. You look like that kid from the exorcist, except the head-spinning part. It’s super creepy.”

  Zoe was quick to pile on. “Right? Her eyes get all glassy and she’s, like, sweating and panting.”

  “Great, thanks for the heads up, team. That only illustrates my point. We’ve got to be more careful.”

  “No more magic in the main rooms of the house except potion stuff in the kitchen,” Zoe agreed with a clipped nod. “Now, let’s get him out of here before he thinks to ask any more questions. It’s best if he gets his information from watching the news like everyone else. The less we talk—to Phil or anyone else—the less chance we have of slipping up and saying something that could come back and cause trouble for us.”

  “Roger that,” Mee-maw said.

  We all milled around in the kitchen in silence as the minutes ticked by. After what felt like an eternity, Phil finally came back downstairs with a massive suitcase in tow.

  “Okay, I’ll get out of your hair, I guess…” Phil said, trailing off as he eyed Zoe for a long moment. “Should I assume that Saturday Sexy-times are off the table until you’re done thinking, or…”

  “Ugh, read the room, Phil,” I muttered as Mee-maw shook her head disapprovingly.

  “Yes, Phil. You should assume that,” Zoe said carefully. Her voice sounded even more strained than usual and it took me a second to realize she was on the verge of tears.