by T. L. Martin
“What are you doing here?” she asked, matching his accusing demeanor as she rose to face him.
Quinn’s fingers instinctively reached for the silver promise ring on her left hand. All she needed was for him to overstep, just once. A single hostile reaction from him, one mistake, and she would have an excuse to lash out and let all of her repressed anger reign.
His eyes sparked, and his quiet tone was scarcely more than a growl. “Cleaning up your mess.”
Before she could respond, he disappeared into the darkness of the night.
CHAPTER FOUR: THE OPAL
The heavy blanket felt soft and warm on my skin, making me curl into it as I woke. Slowly, I opened my eyes and stretched out my arms and legs. It had been ages since I’d slept so deeply, if ever. I rose from the bed feeling exceptionally awake and strolled into the kitchen, where I found a lively Stacy flipping pancakes as she jammed out to some pop song I didn’t know.
She turned down the music upon spotting me and grinned.
“Morning, beautiful,” she sang.
“Looks like someone had a good night,” I replied with an amused smile.
I curled up on the sofa with the cup of tea Stacy had thoughtfully prepared for me.
“That, I did,” she remarked. “And you are just in time for your breakfast.”
She flitted into the living room and handed me a warm plate covered in pancakes and eggs.
“Wow. Thanks.” Quickly realizing how hungry I was, I dug right in. “Mmm. Delicious,” I mumbled through a mouthful of food. Stacy never cooked, so the sight was a pleasant surprise.
She did a double-take at my reaction. “Slow down, hun. You act like you’re starving.”
“I am starving.”
“Must have been a good walk,” she commented.
“Hmm?”
“You know...what, with you being so hungry and sleeping in and everything.”
My mind, so keenly relaxed, scrambled to recall what she was referring to.
“How was it anyway?” Her voice called from the kitchen. “Did you have fun with your friends?”
One by one, images came flooding back. Quinn and Pixie, Face Rock, that enormous, magical burst of light, being dragged across the rocks and sand...that guy from the coffee shop, Desmond; he saved me—before tearing into my attacker’s neck.
Could I truly have seen that correctly? Why couldn’t I remember any of it until now?
I plopped my plate down and frantically searched my body for any sign of the events that took place. But there was nothing to be found. Not a single scratch. There was no way something so remarkably vivid could have been imagined, even by me. Images were still sinking in, so quickly it was making me lightheaded. An idea popped into my head when my eyes strayed to the fictional collection of novels displayed beneath the coffee table. The Witching Hour, Glass Houses, Interview with the Vampire, Salem’s Lot, The Winter Witch.
I sounded delusional, I knew. And maybe I was. But right now, I needed answers.
Leaping from the couch, I raced upstairs and slipped on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.
“Hey,” Aunt Stacy hollered from the kitchen. “What just happened? You all right?”
“I’m fine,” I replied, skipping down the stairs. I almost missed the concerned expression on Stacy’s face as I darted toward the front door. “Really, I’m fine,” I insisted, making an effort to calm down and slow my words. “Just forgot I’m taking the morning shift today. That’s all.”
I hated lying to Stacy and could hardly look at her as I did so, but I didn’t know what else to say.
She glanced at the clock on the stove.
“Doesn’t that make you, like, two hours late?”
I shrugged and raised my eyebrows. “See? Gotta go.”
“Huh. All right. Did you also forget that I take off again this afternoon?”
“Stace.” Guilt immediately washed over me. She would be gone most of the week this time, and I was supposed to be spending all day with her. “I’m so sorry.”
She lifted a shoulder nonchalantly, but I could tell that she had been looking forward to our time together.
“I promise I’ll call as soon as I can, okay? And we’ll do a Hemlock Grove marathon when you get back. Pizza, popcorn...the whole shebang. Deal?”
“Well, I do miss those nights,” she muttered, considering my offer. After a moment, she finally winked at me. “Deal.”
Thankful, I raced outside and broke into a run down 11th, cutting my usual travel time almost in half. It took all of my willpower not to burst inside of the tea shop and demand answers when I reached Old Town, but I needed to know what I was getting myself into first.
Fortunately the library was not the main attraction on a Saturday morning, and it was just the place of solitude I so desperately needed. I roamed through the nonfiction aisles, grabbing as much as I could carry that was even remotely related to the supernatural. Settling myself into a deserted corner at the computer table, I set the diverse stack of books down beside me and shuffled through them with unsteady hands. Grimoires: A History of Magic Books, Witchfinders: A Seventeenth-Century English Tragedy, Master Book of Healing Candles, Power of Herbs in Witchcraft, The Natural Supernatural, Vampires and Vampirism, and so many more; my head was spinning.
The pages seemed countless, and I soaked up as much as I could. The abundance of information on using herbs and candles to harness energy could fill a library in themselves, but those methods were not limited to witchcraft.
I needed something more.
Page after page, I perused—so much so, words began to run together. Still, nothing I found was solid. When the skin on my fingertips grew raw from the friction, I turned to the internet to give them a rest. Digging my way through Google, I finally discovered a website that looked promising. It was scattered with a handful of articles recounting alleged witch and vampire sightings. The stories varied, from a girl who stumbled upon piles of bodies drained of blood in a rural Irish town, to a grown man who—after proclaiming he had spotted a coven of witches performing dark magic—had been locked up in a Wisconsin Psych Ward for sacrificing his own arm in an attempt to join said coven.
Four pages into the paranormal site, something drew me in. It was an old black and white image of a young woman, whose limp body lay abandoned in an alley. Dried blood was caked on her modest dress, with strands of blonde hair covering most of her lifeless face. Bold letters typed across the top of the article read: “Jeune Femme Meurt d'une Attaque Animale.” I copied the foreign words and pasted them into Google, whose translation read: “Young Woman Dies of Animal Attack.” Just below the image read the name Anastasie.
Anastasie...the woman who had visited the shop the other week with Desmond Stone. Stunned, I looked back at the picture and examined it further. The image quality was poor, but the woman in the picture could easily pass as the same woman I had seen in the shop. Scanning the context once more, I tried to make out the last name, but the letters were too faded.
I had just begun searching for a date on the article when a loud group of teenage boys piled into the chairs beside me. The one nearest me eyed the titles of my books curiously. The boy beside him started to take notice as well but his cell phone beeped and, to my relief, diverted his focus toward it. Not wanting to draw any more attention to myself, I logged off of the computer and packed up my books. I didn’t like being rushed out of there when there was so much more to be discovered, but it would have to do.
For now, it was time to confront Pixie and Quinn.
When I finally reached the familiar golden door frame, I yanked the door open and scanned the tea shop. Aside from a few customers, the only person in sight was Matt.
He was ringing up Wallace’s order when he noticed me. He shot an easy smile my way, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he was one of them.
“Morning, newbie. You’re just in time.” He handed the customer his change and nudged his head toward the staff closet. “They’re in ther
e.”
I gave him a puzzled look.
“Quinn...Pixie,” he clarified. “They’re in there.”
“In the closet,” I repeated, still puzzled. That tiny space could barely fit the two of them, especially with all of the aprons crammed in there.
“Yep.”
“Thanks,” I responded hesitantly.
I walked over to the closet and opened the door, but, as suspected, no one was inside. Poking my head in slightly just to be certain—and feeling rather foolish in the process—I was faced with the usual line of aprons filling the hanging rack and green hats piled along the top shelf. Suddenly, a manicured hand reached over from behind the aprons and gently tugged me forward. I was pulled past the aprons until I found myself standing inside an entirely different room. I checked behind me and, sure enough, there was a door.
The room was dimly lit by an elaborate chandelier, hanging low from the ceiling, and a quiet fire, burning in a fireplace across from me. In the room’s center was a small, rectangular table draped by a deep red cloth, with Priscilla seated facing me and Pixie to her left. Quinn stepped into view from beside me and took her seat across from Pixie.
“Good morning, dear,” Priscilla greeted, as though it were any other ordinary day. Her voice was calm and soothing, and she gestured toward the empty chair across from her. “Please, take a seat.”
I cautiously obliged, the heavy wooden chair dragging loudly across the floor as I pulled it back and sat down. I looked at Pixie, who smiled at me. Quinn didn’t meet my eyes, but dark circles beneath her own gave away her weariness.
“How are you feeling today?” Priscilla asked.
The peppery strands of her long hair glimmered beside the fire light. She had removed her glasses, allowing me to see that she, too, had a faint look of exhaustion about her almond-colored eyes.
“You mean, other than the fact that I was attacked and mysteriously couldn’t move my body, and then rescued by someone who bit into my attacker’s neck?” I asked.
I impressed even myself with the unexpected confidence that rang through my own voice, in spite of my increasingly sweaty palms.
“Mm-hmm.” Completely unfazed by my sarcasm, Priscilla’s wise eyes sparkled as she patiently waited for my answer.
I opened my mouth, ready to expel all of the confused frustration bottled up inside of me, when she held up a hand to stop me.
“How do you feel?” she asked again, placing emphasis on the last word.
I hesitated this time, unsure of how to respond.
What I had witnessed was impossible and undeniably terrifying. And yet, when I finally slowed down enough to stop and notice how I actually felt, I could hardly believe how relaxed I was. My mind and body were more at ease than, quite possibly, ever. In fact, there had never been such an equilibrium between them.
“I feel...okay, actually. Good, even,” I finally replied.
Priscilla did not seem surprised. “You slept well, then?”
“Better than I have in a long time.”
“Wonderful. I’m so pleased to hear it.” Exhaling a deep breath, she rose from her seat and retrieved a silver platter from the mantle, then set it gently down on the table. “Now, who would like a danish?”
Pixie immediately perked up at the question and scanned the arrangement of pastries. “Do you have any of those cheesy ones?”
“I do,” Priscilla proudly responded, tilting the tray slightly to showcase the varied selection.
Pixie dug straight in and took a large bite.
“Mmm.” She rolled her eyes back dramatically before glancing at me and Quinn. “You guys have got to have one of these. And don’t pretend you’re not as starving as I am,” she added, observing the expressions on our faces.
I would have preferred diving straight into the questions, but I had a feeling it would be quicker to oblige rather than argue. Not to mention, the rumbling in my stomach hadn’t let up since I’d abandoned my full plate at home. I complied and chose one, the taste of thick raspberry cream filling my mouth. After a moment of silence from Quinn, she followed suit and selected a cheese danish before scarfing it down.
“Good. I suspected you might have quite the appetite this morning.” Priscilla bit down on her own danish. She watched us eat with a satisfied expression on her face. “Now. Unfortunately, I don’t have much time, so let us begin. Quinn was just filling me in on last night’s events. From the sound of it, you recall everything that happened?”
“Right up until I blacked out, yes.”
“And what was the last thing you saw?” she asked.
“Desmond Stone.” I paused, distinctly remembering the terrifying look in Desmond’s permeating stare before he tore into my attacker’s throat. “He was...I—I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Mm, yes.” Priscilla nodded her head before turning her attention to Quinn and Pixie. “And did Desmond say anything to you?”
Quinn shifted uneasily in her seat before responding, while carefully avoiding Priscilla’s gaze. “Nothing useful.”
Priscilla waited calmly for her to answer the question.
Begrudgingly, Quinn elaborated. “He said he was ‘cleaning up my mess.’ Then he left.”
Her mess. Charming. At least now it was clear he wasn’t doing me any favors.
Priscilla’s eyes were subtly animated when she addressed me next. “I gather you have already pieced some of this together, dear?”
I could hardly bring myself to say it. What if, somehow, I had gotten this entire thing wrong? I took a second to review all the facts once again, and just the recollection of last night’s events prompted my heart to pick up at an uncommonly fast rate. I had seen it with my own eyes, heard it with my own ears...the man chanting a spell before my muscles were rendered useless. And I heard his fearful cry before Desmond tore into his throat.
I knew what I witnessed, and, as incredulous as it was, I needed to just come out with it.
“You guys...you’re witches.”
Priscilla gave a brisk and satisfied nod of her head. Despite having already reached the conclusion on my own, an uneasiness flared in the pit of my stomach at the confirmation.
“We are, indeed,” she replied. “Charlie, I’d like to properly reintroduce you to Quinn Raiden and Pixie Flora. Pixie is a first generation witch of our coven and Quinn a third.”
Quinn and Pixie looked tense, quietly observing me as though trying to decipher whether I was about to scream, flee, or faint. But I didn’t see the use in any of those options.
“And Matt? Is he a witch, too?” I asked quietly.
“Oh, heavens no.” Priscilla chuckled. “He’s a Guardian—or, a ‘Guardian in training,’ I should say. Which is, for the most part, quite human, in his case. We will touch more on that in a bit,” she added.
There were so many questions racing through my head, I hardly knew how to separate and form them into words. I wanted to know what exactly happened last night, why I was attacked, more about the coven, about witches, and Desmond...
“But Desmond,” I began. “He’s...a vampire?”
Quinn’s eyes flashed with anger at the mention of him, but she held her tongue.
“Yes,” Priscilla replied. “As is Anastasie Badeaux, whom I hear paid you a visit the other day. I apologize for that, by the way. She likes to make an entrance.”
Images of their impossibly porcelain skin, that threatening spark in their haunting eyes, resurfaced, and I shuddered.
“Are there any other witches around here?” I asked cautiously. “Vampires? Anyone else...‘not quite human’?”
“Are there ever,” Pixie replied with an amused giggle. “There are only a few covens in Bandon itself, but with a population of 3,000, I’d say there’s a decent amount. Not to mention, Portland is just north of here—which is practically vampire headquarters for the West Coast. This town definitely gets its fair share of witches and vampires...even the occasional demon here and there.” She paused and shrug
ged a shoulder before adding, “Though demons tend to prefer London, of course.”
“Demons?” I repeated. It took all of my effort to keep my voice from wavering.
Quinn’s lips hinted at a smile at my reaction and she raised an eyebrow. “Yes, demons. Don’t worry, they’re not as bad as they sound. Just try not to get too mixed up with them. Not the best influence, as I’m sure you can imagine.”
Priscilla lifted her right hand and circled her index finger clockwise over her tea. The spoon resting in the mug began stirring the dark liquid inside.
“Witches and demons, humans and vampires...it is a mysterious and often dangerous world in which we live. But it is ours, and we each have our own responsibilities to it, and to one another. That’s a large part of why I created this tea shop to begin with. And, of course, the Gala will play a significant role in uniting people as well.”
“What was that last night? The mist?” I asked.
“Ah, yes,” she replied. “You caught us right in the middle of an Ancestral Gathering. Every now and again, coven leaders from all over the coast gather together at the lighthouse to reconnect with our ancestors. The magic dispersed by our gathering can only be seen by certain individuals, and I have a hunch that has something to do with why these ladies took you there to begin with.”
She glanced pointedly at Quinn and Pixie, who tried their best to feign innocence.
She paused and took a small sip of her tea before setting the stirring into motion again. “You asked before if this was a private cafe.”
I nodded my head.
“In a way, it is. We aim to be somewhat of a peaceful haven for the supernatural species. One of the few places where a witch can come to meet other witches, a demon can get a healing candle without judgement, a vampire can find a quick retreat from the sun should the need arise—and all without having to watch their backs. Humans, however, cannot see or enter this shop, unless specifically shown the way by a supernatural party.”