by Holly Hood
Audrey focused her attention on Karsen now. She shook her head slowly. “I think someone needs to be taught a lesson.” She raised an arm preparing to strike. Kidd pulled Karsen away trying to protect her from whatever it was Audrey was about to do.
“Everyone knock it off. Karsen has nothing to do with your infatuation with Slade. You leave her alone or so help me.” He growled.
Audrey’s expression fell. Had she realized she was unable to work her magic? Did my spell work? I wasn’t sure.
Audrey’s eyes flashed with anger. I fell backward doubling over in pain, shocked. She wasn’t any less strong then the last time I had been around her. She dropped her head. I clutched mine, dropping to my knees in horrible pain.
I clutched my head, pain searing my brain like a razor-sharp knife.
“Stop,” Slade yelled, jumping between us. He pulled me from the ground, his touch ending whatever she was doing to me. He slipped a hand around my waist and lead me to the Rv. “I am done for the day, let the next band go.” He slammed the Rv shut.
I sat down at the table, rubbing my temples. The memory of the intense pain still lingering even now after it was over. “What was that?”
“Audrey. She’s going to kill you. If you don’t stop pushing her, she’s going to kill you and there will be nothing I can do about it.” He filled a glass with water and sat it down in front of me on the table.
“Because your part of her coven,” I asked, ignoring the water.
“Because she’s a crazy bitch, and I can only do so much.”
I sighed. The spell hadn’t worked. Or so it seemed. Or maybe it did and that was why I was still alive.
“I think I know a way to help,” I said. I knew now was the best time to say something. And like Hutch said, if I cared, go ahead, it didn’t mean they would accept my help or his though. However, it was worth a shot.
Slade waited for an explanation. He took a seat across from me.
“If you can break the connection between yourself and the coven you might have a chance to get away from them for good.” I looked off, afraid to see his expression.
“What are you saying?” he asked, confused.
“I’m saying I know someone that is willing to help us do that, all of us, even Kidd, Oz, Lucy and Erica.”
Slade slipped out of his seat. “You need to go.”
“What,” I asked, shocked. “You want me to go?”
Slade nodded.
I slipped out of my seat and grabbed his arm, desperate for him to understand. “I am trying to help you guys. I don’t want to see anything bad happen to any of you.”
He blew me off. “Is it the guy you were eating lunch with?”
I nodded; I wasn’t going to hide anything else from him anymore. If he was asking I would answer. “Yes. He’s a witch, from a long line of them. And he says he will help all of us if we want him too.”
“All the bad already happened to me, w are you going to figure that out?” He pulled away from me. “This is my life. It's this or nothing. I could be dead. I could be buried in the ground, and then you wouldn’t have to deal with this at all.”
I turned away hurt by his words, sad even.
“You could be dead. You don’t seem to appreciate what I did for you or this coven. All you see is evil.” He turned me to face him. “I don’t want to be saved; I just want a life that is fucking tolerable. Whatever I have to do to get that is fine by me. I thought you understood that.”
I blinked back tears. “The only thing I get is how these feeling I have for you are disappearing. Because I can’t be what you want me to be. What you made me become. I will never be dark and evil. I have too much to live for.”
Slade caught the tear that escaped me.
“I want you. But I don’t want this,” I whispered, burying my head into his chest. He wrapped his arm around me.
“I want you and I want my life, Hope.” He kissed the top of my head. “I think you should go home.”
I pulled away. I didn’t want to look at him, so I quickly took off out the door.
I didn’t bother looking for Karsen. I didn’t look at anything; I just pushed my way through the crowd trying to escape Henry Park as fast as I could.
PAIN
I was lying in the middle of my bedroom listening to music way to loud and ignoring Dad’s warnings to turn it down. I tapped my feet to the beat of the music, getting a kick out of Lily Allen’s lyrics and how they perfectly fit my life.
“Hope, the music goes down now,” Dad shouted, pounding against my door—which was locked.
I tossed my notebook and pen to the side and sat up shoving my hair from my eyes. If he wanted the music down I would turn it down I thought deviously. I pointed at my iPod speakers concentrating for merely seconds before the volume rose spreading the sweet sounds of Lily through my bedroom even louder. It was glorious.
I secured my hair back with a rubber band and picked up the notebook. I started to read it over.
Dear Slade,
I find it hard to say what I want to say to you anymore. I no longer feel safe even being around you with Audrey there. So I have employed other means of communicating my bitterness over this newest issue.
You are the most stubborn, insensitive ass I have ever met. Just when I think you care, when I begin to believe maybe you’re going to show me your true self, you reject me—again.
I may be young, but I am not stupid. And I have learned one valuable thing from growing up with my parents. What is that you might be wondering?
I learned to know when to throw in the towel. I learned that I am more important than any relationship I could ever have with a guy. And if that guy doesn’t see what he has, that’s his loss.
Sure, I’ll be sad, depressed even. However, those are all things I have lived with for a long time. You’re not the first person to disappoint me, Slade. And I have a feeling you won’t be the last.
When you decide to grow up come find me.
Hope
I tore the paper from my notebook and folded it until it was small enough to fit in the palm of my hand. Holding it to my chest, I concentrated on Slade and projecting the message to him, just as Hutch had told me to do.
***
Nona was at the stove making another dinner for us. Dad sat at the kitchen table. His hair was a mess. He was still in his pajamas. I wasn’t the only one with relationship issues, I thought to myself snagging a crescent roll off the plate from the middle of the table.
“Did you get whatever was pissing you off out,” Dad asked dryly. He had been in a bad mood ever since Lynette and him broke up.
“Yes. It was very therapeutic.” I chewed carefully. “I feel a ton better.”
Nona spun around, a wooden spoon in her hands. She carefully made it over to Dad. “Taste this and then, please explain to me why you’re still in your pajamas.”
I smirked, watching Nona force feed Dad white sauce.
“Because some people have a hard time dealing with their love lives, Mother,” Dad griped. He scrubbed his chin with his fingers focusing on me again. “Why are you so chipper?”
I raised an innocent eyebrow. “It’s a beautiful day. Who wouldn’t be?”
Nona brought a hand to her hip. “I thought you and Slash broke it off? Maybe you’re not related to this man, because genetics would suggest you should be miserable and sobbing uncontrollably in your room right now.”
Nona and I started laughing. She winked turning and going back to the sauce on the stove.
I brushed the crumbs from my hands. “I don’t think there was ever much to break off. Things just didn’t work out, but I think I’m okay with that. When Slade comes to his senses and maybe matures then things will be different” I stood up.
Dad shook his head; he clearly wasn’t used to such words spouting from my mouth.
“So what now, sweet pea,” Nona asked.
I shrugged. “I’ll probably hang around for a few more weeks and then head back to sch
ool before classes start.”
I headed back into my room. I felt more at peace then I had in a long time. I shut the door ready to plop down on my bed and relax when something caught my eye. I hurried to the window. Sitting on the ledge was a large book.
I picked it up, the only way to hold it was with both hands. I dropped it on my bed and sat down.
“Wow,” I gushed, running my fingers over the reddish-brown cover that displayed a giant tree with no leaves. I slid my fingertips over the fine details as if they were Braille, and I was blind.
Where had it come from? I wasn’t sure, but one look at it was all it took to see that it was a book of spells. I cracked it open; on the first page was tiny barely legible writing.
To Francesca, with love Georges
I had no idea who Francesca was or Georges. Whoever had left this book on my windowsill probably had some kind of idea. Flipping through the yellowed pages was remarkable, page after page housed spells of every kind scribbled in delicate black ink. Spells to banish nightmares, old love letters slipped between every couple pages. It was someone’s personal keepsake, and it now belonged to me. I stared at the worn love letters, each ending with—all my love, Georges.
If there was anything I needed to know it was all in this book. I turned several pages and found an old photograph. A man and woman, flipping the photograph over the date was scrawled on it.
“April 3, 1935,” I read; it was Francesca and Georges.
Francesca stared back at me with ethereal eyes of gloom. The photo had no color, but I was sure they had to be brown. She was majestic. Pin curled hair that stopped at her sharp cheekbones, a hat upon her head. She wore a long dress that hugged her body elegantly with a jacket that had a big fur collar. Who was she? And why was I holding all her most personal possessions?
The man—who I was sure was Georges wore a dark suit and had perfectly groomed hair upon his head. They both were sleek and refined, but the life that shown in the eyes of Georges was not there in Francesca. She was empty, a simple ghost of a young woman staring at the camera.
I wondered what kind of life she had to look that way. It had to do with magic, maybe she was a witch.
I opened one of the letters.
My dearest Francesca,
It’s been several months since our last moments together. You will never understand how angry I am with myself for not believing in you. For not trusting in what you were. You will never understand the amount of pain and anguish I feel inside daily. One day I hope to see you again. I hope for your forgiveness every night, I long for it.
All my love,
Georges
It seemed no matter what era we lived in we all battled with love and doing the right things. I returned the letter to the pages and shut the book. I slipped it to the back of my closet and dialed Hutch’s number.
“It was you. You sent me this book,” I said, the minute he answered the phone.
“That is a great guess, doll. How have you been?”
I smiled. “Better. That book, it seems like it carries a lot of baggage for those two people, who were they?"
“Francesca Cunningham was my great grandmother. Georges was the man she fell in love with.”
I settled into my pillows listening to Hutch.
“My Grandmother’s mother was a very powerful woman. Ever since the day she was born, she was capable of a lot. She grew up in an orphanage because she scared her parents so much they wanted nothing to do with her. And once she turned sixteen she was free to be on her own, and she met Georges. They loved each other very much until she revealed her secret.” Hutch explained.
“That she was a witch.” It was sad to think the one true love of Francesca’s life was ripped away from her. I listened, eager to hear more.
“That she was linked to the supernatural world. Remember, I don’t like to label our kind witches.” He paused. “Georges was from a rich family and back then the idea of anything unnatural was deemed dark and dangerous. They killed people that practiced magic of any kind. And they killed Francesca.”
My heart ached, “Then why all the letters?”
“Georges didn’t know she was dead. The letters came for years and years. He wanted to fix things. He wanted to see the woman he loved so much again. My family never had the heart to tell Georges that she was gone.” It was sad, possibly the saddest story I had heard ever.
“But you said it was your grandmother’s mother, so that means Francesca had children?” This only made sense.
“Yes. My grandmother’s father was a banker in the town. He was greedy and evil and the one to blame for her death. Once her secret was out they destroyed her, and he wanted nothing to do with my grandmother and the gift she inherited from her mother.”
His family had a rich history. One I was sure I could dive deep into and learn a lot from. So interesting I wanted to.
“I don’t understand why you gave me the book. This is something to important to hand over to some stranger.” I couldn’t accept it.
“Francesca was a lot like you. She was sensitive and sweet. She just wanted to belong, but she was different, and she was simply trying to learn how to take control of who she was. Everything she ever learned she wrote in that book, and it has been with my family for a long time. I have learned everything I need to learn from it, and now it’s a gift to you.”
I raked a hand through my hair. It was a sweet gesture. Even so, I wasn’t sure if I was the one who should be holding on to something so dear to someone else, something so intimate. “You’re not going to let me refuse the gift are you?”
Hutch laughed softly. “Of course not, I couldn’t imagine Francesca wanting anyone else to have it but you, in fact, she told me so herself.”
I raised an eyebrow confused by his statement. “She’s dead, how would you know that?”
“How many times do I have to say I am connected to the supernatural? She was my ancestor, of course I know what she would want, t dead talk too. They guide us through life.”
The idea the dead talked to anyone wasn’t new to me—Ezra had proven that. But it was just too strange of a thought to believe someone that new nothing about me wanted to gift me something.
“Okay, I’ll accept it. But no more gifts.” I looked at my desk where the long black feather sat.
Hutch sighed a defeated sigh, “on to a new subject.”
“What would that be?” I teased.
“When are you going to let me see you again?”
I smiled at the thought of seeing him once again. And that he would want to see me again.
“Maybe we could meet up after I sing tonight at the café.” I offered. I needed to get away from my house and have fun, not dwell on what once was, even if it wasn’t bothering me right now I knew it would.
“I’ll be there, see you soon, doll.”
LOVELY
I carried the iced coffee I bought out to the outdoor veranda of the Shore café. It was night. The smooth fingers of the wind swirled around me as I stared at the water in the distance. Watching the waves strike the shore repeatedly.
There was a certain calmness about the night, things were tranquil. I could feel it on my skin. I was sure Hutch would insist that was my body becoming in tune with nature.
I brought my coffee to my lips staring over the brim at the sparkling stars, and the lonely seagulls flitting overhead.
I sat my cup on the table catching sight of Hutch approaching the boardwalk, his hands inside the dark hooded sweatshirt he had on. He immediately smirked when I stood up to greet him.
“About time,” I said sitting back down. “I was beginning to think you stood me up.”
Hutch raked a hand through his messy hair. “I fell asleep.”
I frowned. “Is it too late for you to be out?”
He shook his head. “No, don’t think that. It’s always good to have a nap occasionally, doll.” He snagged my coffee taking a sip. “How’d your night pan out?”
I eyed h
im suspiciously. Few people just drink other people’s drinks without asking first. I wasn’t sure if this annoyed me or turned me on that he was so…intrusive. I reminded myself we had swapped a great deal of spit making out and that sharing a beverage wasn’t a big deal.
“Did you want a coffee? The café is still open for another fifteen minutes.” I offered, jerking my head toward the door.
Hutch shook his head. “Nope. Why don’t we take a walk down the boardwalk? We can take a stroll around the annual festival.”
This was the first time I had heard of it. “I didn’t know there was a festival. I love festivals.” I smiled.
Hutch wrapped an arm around me as we weaved past the people walking the opposite direction of us on the boardwalk. “Maybe I can win you one of those silly stuffed animals.”
I nodded enthusiastically. I was a cheese ball. What could I say? And I was sure if I had seen a festival when I first moved to Cherry, I might have felt a little happier about moving to such a place. Festivals reminded me of home, of fun, of all the good parts of being a kid back in Georgia.
“Have you taken a moment to look at the book,” Hutch asked.
The more we walked the closer we got to the blinking lights and cheesy music.
“Not really, I plan on it though.”
“You will be surprised the things she was capable of. It’s very enlightening.” Hutch pulled me closer as the crowd thickened. He was my bodyguard among the chaos of Cherry’s festivities. The closer we were the hotter it was. And I wasn’t the only one who it was bothering, Hutch drug his sweatshirt over his head, revealing a light-blue t-shirt underneath. He shot me a smile, and we hurried through to the first game we could find. He was willing to play, and I was ready to cheer him on.
The first game was the classic; knock the milk jugs over variety. Hutch fingered the baseball; he tipped his head in my direction. “When I knock these over what prize do you want?”