He shook his head vigorously, his eyes glassy with tears. “How can you even say that? I listened to him when he told me how awful you were, how you’d left us behind once you gained your powers. I even hated you for it, and still?”
“You aren’t responsible for your father’s sins. You were just a boy. Surely, it was easier to believe that I was evil than give up on the only person you had left? The important thing is that, rather than doubling down, you changed when you realized you’d been wrong. Who could expect more than that?”
There was a long pause before he spoke again, but I had no desire to fill the silence, knowing the tempest of emotions that must’ve been swirling through him. After nearly a minute, he rose back to his feet and swiped the moisture from his face.
“You said you knew? You’d been watching?” he asked. “How?”
“I wasn’t able to see every twist and turn but I’ve followed your path…where you were…more importantly, where you are now,” she said, smiling. “A piece of me has been with you all along, after all.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, cocking his head. But before she could reply, a look passed over his face and he reached for his back pocket.
“Ah, yes. You know now, don’t you? The photograph of you and I,” she said.
He pulled out his battered, leather wallet and produced a faded image, the size of a postage stamp. The edges were curled and frayed, and he smoothed them as he stared down at it. “The picture you left on my dresser before you went away?” he asked, shaking his head. “This was your magical item all along, then?”
“Not my item, no. I wish I could’ve explained things and found a way to send that to you but, alas, I couldn’t risk it getting into the Organization’s hands. My item was a charm bracelet that did exactly what it sounds like it did. It gave me the ability to create charms myself.”
I narrowed my gaze and nodded slowly as her meaning became clear. “So you had the power to imbue other items with magical properties?”
The vision of Patrick’s mother wavered as she turned her attention from her son to me.
“Sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“It’s all right, dear,” she said with a gentle smile. “It’s nice to finally meet you, though I feel as if we’ve met before. Thank you for all you’ve done for my son, Cricket. I’d feared he would never find his way, until you came along.”
“It’s good to meet you, too,” I said, standing up straighter as the blood rushed to my cheeks. This had suddenly started feeling like the first dinner with a new guy’s parents, instead of a mystical reunion with a witch long dead. “I-I’m so sorry for what the Organization did to you and your coven.”
She nodded as an unspoken understanding passed between us. Being a woman hunted for her powers created a strange, macabre sort of bond. An instant sort of sisterhood.
“I can only hope your coven manages to succeed where mine failed.” She turned her attention back to Patrick. “Your Cricket, here, is partly right, Patrick. One of the things my charm bracelet allowed me to do was create less powerful items that held bits of magic. Especially when the items had sentimental value to the person who owned them. Did you truly never notice that something was different about you? Others look to you for leadership and guidance, and when you talk, they listen. I charmed the photograph with a bit of one of the world’s greatest gifts…The ability to sway the hearts and minds of those around you.”
The words hit me like a semi-truck as dozens of memories flashed in my mind, everything snapping into place. From the way he’d convinced Trudy to take him on as the library’s handyman, to the way he’d talked the police into believing our story, however unlikely. The way I’d gone off with him, to a bar in the middle of the day, no less. A total stranger.
So unlike me.
Everything about him made so much more sense with this newfound knowledge. I couldn’t help but feel hurt and confused as I considered the implications this had on our relationship.
How much of it was real and how much of it was thanks to the magic? Was I under its influence even now? I shoved the sickening thought aside to examine much later, when I was alone.
“It was a small bit of magic—I couldn’t make you a target, as well—but I had hoped that maybe it would be enough to ensure that he would love you and care for you in my absence, even if my betrayal in leaving turned him bitter. If I’d known what he would become, I never would’ve--”
She broke off and then pressed on, her voice growing more faint.
“Patrick, this might be hard for you to hear but,” she continued, her eyes filling with grief as she held her son’s gaze, “your father didn’t kill me. When the Organization had defeated the rest of my coven and was closing in on me, I-I took my own life in order to prevent them from performing their ritual on me and taking control of the bracelet. In the wrong hands, such an item could be disastrous.”
Patrick’s strong throat worked and it took a long moment before he could strangle out a reply. “Because it would have made them infinitely more powerful,” he surmised with a thunderous scowl. “They would’ve used it to make countless magical items to arm a battalion of semi-magical witch hunters.”
“Exactly right.”
“My father might not have killed you, but he was certainly the cause of your death,” Patrick said, his eyes sorrowful. He stared at the photograph for a long moment before his expression hardened. “It must’ve been so terrible to go through all that. I swear that I’ll get back at them for all they’ve done, to you and to all the other witches they’ve killed.”
“Don’t do it for vengeance, my son. Do it to protect others like me,” she said, frowning as her image wavered and grew more faint. “Even with the candle, it’s not possible for a witch who has been dead as long as I’ve been, to linger in the realm of the living for very long, and I won’t have the strength to return for some time. This reunion has been a blessing, but now I have to turn my final moments here over to Cricket.” She turned and caught my eye. “Lass, what can I tell you that might help? Ask what you will while you still have time to do so.”
“I’m sorry to take up some of your time,” I said, exhaling as I refocused on the prediction I’d made, “but there’s something important we need to talk to you about. I’m a clairvoyant and I recently wrote a prediction that we’re pretty sure refers to you. If we’re right, you’re supposed to be able to help us with defeating Verbena. We don’t know much more than that but it seems to be related to us growing stronger as a coven, or more connected to our magic in some way?”
She nodded eagerly, smiling. “I don’t know exactly what your ritual is, but there should be a place of power associated with your coven where you can become closer to your ancestors. For us, it was on a cliffside in the moors of Scotland, but it’s different for each coven.”
“The graveyard…” I whispered, recalling the place on the outskirts of Rocky Knoll where our ancestors were buried, and we’d found the compass that had led us to Mee-maw’s pocket watch. “What exactly does the ritual typically entail?”
“The true power of a coven lies not in the strength of individual items, but in the combination of all three when brought together. If yours is anything like ours was, it will involve uniting the three items in that graveyard you mentioned.”
My mind flashed back to the three indents in the mausoleum. Two circles, one very small, one quite large; and a rectangle. I hadn’t realized it before because we hadn’t known what Mee-maw’s item was, but the slots had been exactly the right size to fit our respective magical items.
I nodded quickly. “I know where we need to start, at least. And what’s going to happen once we perform this ritual?”
Lydia spoke slowly, as if remembering cherished moments long past. “The abilities of each member of your coven should improve drastically and you’ll be able to access them more easily. For us, at least, the difference was night and day. This is going to be quite necessary if you ex
pect to have any chance of defeating her.”
“Do you think it’ll still work for my grandmother? She’s been having trouble developing her powers and--”
“We had an elder within our coven, as well,” Lydia interjected, shaking her head. “Old Hattie was our clairvoyant and she was quite the woman. Mother to a dozen children, yet still always found time to help others…” She cleared her throat, shaking herself back into focus before continuing, “Elder witches have a harder time finding the flames within, but the ritual should help to alleviate that some and, in a moment of dire need, her powers will come. Is there anything else I can help you with? I can feel my soul pulling away from this world and I fear I have just a few moments left.”
“One last thing; What else can you tell us about Verbena?”
Her wary expression only confirmed what I already knew.
Verbena was a bad bitch.
“She goes by many names but she’s known in witch lore all around the world…one witch who surpassed all others in power and strength. Even after they performed the ritual to take her item, centuries ago, it is said that she survived being burned at the stake for a full week, doing her best to protect her coven to the bitter end. She’s been a symbol of bravery for witches worldwide for centuries. I don’t know how she survived that, if it’s truly her, but her trials and tribulations clearly changed her if the once-hero is now killing witches, just like the ones she fought so hard to protect.”
I nodded slowly, squaring that information with the little we already knew. I wanted to ask more questions, but her image was almost invisible now and I didn’t have the heart to take these last moments from her or Patrick.
“I’m sorry for using up so much of your time with your son,” I said, nodding my head. “You’ve been incredibly helpful. I’ll leave so you can say your goodbyes in private.”
I tugged my hand from Patrick’s and moved toward the door, trying not to listen to their low murmurs. Still, they came to me in snippets, each like a tiny dagger to my heart.
Must go…
Never stopped loving you.
Be strong…always here.
I pushed the door open and stepped into the hallway, nearly dizzy with conflicting emotions. I hadn’t been lying. Lydia had been unbelievably helpful as we now had at least some sort of blueprint to us gaining our coven’s full strength. But the weight of the emotional reunion, combined with the stunning realization that Patrick had been wielding some level of magic since the day we’d met, was like a sledgehammer right in the gut.
Was any of what we had real?
Chapter 9
I got myself a glass of water and dallied downstairs for a while, but eventually, I had to go back into the bedroom. When I got there, it was to find a silent Patrick, sitting on the edge of the bed, looking, in a word…
Wrecked.
My heart ached, and I padded toward him, shoving my fears and doubts into a dark corner of my mind.
He looked up and met my gaze as I stopped in front of him.
“She forgave me. After all that…she just forgave me. Like it was nothing.”
I leaned into him, and he wrapped his arms around my waist, burying his face against my stomach as I stroked his hair.
I couldn’t even fathom how he was feeling right now, so I didn’t bother trying. Instead, I focused on trying to be strong for him, the way he had been for me so many times before.
We stayed that way for a long time. Me swaying as I comforted him. Patrick hanging onto me like a life raft.
I don’t know when it changed. When comfort became something else. Something primal. Something raw. One second, we were holding each other in a soothing embrace. The next, he was standing, towering over me, staring down at me with blazing blue eyes.
Slowly, he lifted a hand and wrapped it in my hair, inching his mouth toward mine, giving me time to pull away.
When it finally came, his kiss was no gentle taste, but a searing clash of teeth and tongues. One born of desperate need and heartache.
I whimpered, shocked at the pressure building fast and low in my belly. I should be running the other way, knowing what I now knew. Instead, it was Patrick who pulled away.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I know it’s not the time for this. I just--”
I rolled up on my tiptoes and mashed my lips against his, cutting him short. If ever there was a time for this, it was now. When we were both hurting and raw. When we needed comfort. When we mourned our loved ones who had passed and we needed to remind ourselves that we were still here…alive, and in need of a port in this storm.
If we made it through this whole mess, I’d worry about whether or not Patrick’s enchanted charm had made me choose him.
For tonight, though?
I was going close my eyes and take solace where I could find it.
The room filled with the sounds of our labored breathing as he tore away from me a second time. He stared at me with almost desperate need and something else I couldn’t define.
“Cricket, I don’t want you to think--”
“Perfect. I don’t want you to think, either,” I murmured, slipping one arm around his lean waist and pressing myself flush against him.
For a moment, he didn’t move. Then, he let out a low growl, and tipped his head to take my lips again.
I speared my fingers through his hair, nipping at his lower lip. His response, a delicious groan, told me everything I needed to know.
He pulled me tighter against him so that my hips cradled his thighs and his hard length pressed into my stomach.
“I want you so much right now,” he whispered into my mouth.
I moaned in response and then shuddered.
His hands slid slowly down the sides of my neck, brushing my shoulders and then traveling lower, to the bottom of my shirt. He watched in the dim light, mesmerized, as he lifted it the cotton material over my head, baring my breasts, covered only by a bralette. He made quick work of the flimsy scrap and, a second later, I was naked from the waist up.
“Beautiful,” he whispered.
My breath caught as he moved to my pants, stripping me from head to with focused determination. When all my clothes except my panties lay in a puddle at my feet, he straightened.
“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve dreamt about you like this,” he admitted, his voice like gravel.
With one finger, he traced the black lace on my hip. He was almost reverent in his concentration. His face was intense and focused, so in the moment. Just watching him was making me crazy. Part of me wanted to beg him to hurry, while the other part just waited, suspended in a sensual haze.
He gripped my hips for a second, then shifted his hands lower and around to cup my bottom. A rush of warmth spread between my legs as he squeezed. I bit my lip, and still he stared.
“I can’t stop looking at you. You’re gorgeous.”
“You too,” I whispered back. And I meant it.
Suddenly desperate to feel his skin against mine, I hastily tugged off his shirt. I could feel his heart pounding underneath my hands and it thrilled me. Leaning in close, I rubbed my cheek against his chest, back and forth, then lower, pressing soft, sucking kisses to his leanly muscled stomach.
He trembled, which only made me braver.
I unbuttoned his pants, then pushed them down over his thighs until he was as naked as I was. He was a large man in every sense, and I felt a trickle of unrest as I eyed what he had brought to the party. I started to think about the limitations of the female anatomy at that point and wondered if maybe Patrick needed to find himself a heartier lass, but was distracted as he seized that moment to kiss me senseless once again.
Filing my concern in the “cross that bridge when we came to it” part of my brain, I wrapped my arms tightly around his neck and fell back against the bed, pulling him with me. The weight of him was luscious. I felt warm and safe beneath him. He pulled his mouth from mine and pinched my earlobe between his teeth and released. Then, he
roamed downward, pressing his lips to my jaw, and lower, to the pulse that leaped in my neck. One big, firm hand closed over my breast and I whimpered with satisfaction as he tugged and teased. I couldn’t get close enough, and arched my hips against his, grinding against him.
He looked down at me and said through gritted teeth, “It’d be better if you didn’t do that.”
I grinned and, grasping his magnificent bottom in both hands, swiveled my hips again in a slow circle. He issued a muffled curse and lowered his mouth to my chest, flicking my nipple with his tongue, then drawing it in to suck. It was my turn to curse as my hips pulsed against his of their own accord. He turned his attention to my other breast as one hand snaked down my side, over my ribs, trailing my hip. He half-rolled off me to his side, splayed his open palm over the cloth of my panties and squeezed. I let out a squeak as grabbed and gave a sharp tug, breaking the strings with a snap.
A moment later his hand covered my already wet heat and a finger slid down my core.
“Oh God, Patrick, please, just…” I was too far gone to care that I was begging.
“Just what, love?” he whispered as he flexed his long finger deep inside me.
I reached for him then, wrapping my hand around his swollen sex, and held him tight, stroking up, then down. He groaned, pulling my fingers away.
“I need to be inside you,” he muttered under his breath as he spread my legs with his knee.
Both of us held our breath as he probed with his thick, hard length and found his mark. Flexing his hips, he stared into my eyes as he pressed, inch by exquisite inch, into my waiting center. His arms shook with the effort of holding back as my body stretched to receive him. Finally he was buried, seated deep inside me, and it felt so right.
I tried to savor the sensation, tried to stay still as my body clenched around him in gentle waves. Soon it became too much, and I began to bounce my hips against his, pulling at his backside with my hands. Eyes blazing, jaw clenched, with his dark hair, he looked like some sort of avenging angel come to life. He took my wrists in his hands and held them down against the bed over my head, pulling back and sliding deep as he did.
Stealing Time: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel Page 7