Witch Me (Blood Chord Book 3)

by Alex Owens

  I had to smile at that passage. I was beginning to like my long-gone ancestor, and not just pity her. We seemed to be cut from the same clever cloth. It was almost a shame that we’d never get to meet.

  Happiness is fleeting, that I have learned.

  The lesson most painful and humiliating, taught to me last night by a man that does not tolerate having been outwitted, especially by one so young and uneducated. I paid with a pound of flesh and a bit of blood, and found myself using the cream afterward that M. Rue offered so long ago.

  I will not feel sorry for myself. I will not weep and I will not beg for mercy. Never. I will, however, accept the challenge that A. has unknowingly laid out before me. I will do everything in my power to end him. And if I find myself short on power or knowledge I will have to obtain more. At any costs, I will have more.

  So the bastard had done it, after all. I hated that faceless, long-dead man with a fury that surprised me. Not that it did any good; it wasn’t like I could go back in time and save the young Venna from her predator. At the most, I could only hope that she found some way to exact her revenge. I wouldn’t know that until I read on, so back to it I went.

  The next passage was dated months later, and appeared to have been scrawled hastily. I could barely make out bits and pieces, which alone meant little, but taken as a whole painted a horrible picture.

  Under heavy guard in the cellar...A. fears I will do the unthinkable...Seed has grown into a ripe melon... harvesting soon...assures me that I will return to my lessons once it is done. Preparations will begin... anew, cycle of blood, thirteen are required.

  While I could literally translate the text, the last few phrases didn’t make any sense to me. I must not have been putting them in the right order or something. Maybe my borrowing-magic was wearing off?

  I went in search of the nice old man and found him seated at a small table in the corner, looking out of a dirty window.

  “Excuse me,” I sat down at the table beside him. “I’m stuck on this phrase, can you talk another look and see if you know what it means?” I asked him.

  What came out of his mouth was utter rubbish, and I don’t mean in a profane way. “Blub-sloop-da-frunch, tip-doe-crust-ocean.”

  Oh, good lord. What had I done?

  “Cass... some quick,” I whispered really loudly; it was a library after all. She stepped out from around the aisle right behind us. What had she been doing back there? I didn’t have time to ask. I motioned to the old man, who sputter a few more unintelligible sounds when prompted.

  “Please tell me that I didn’t do this, that he’s just having a stroke or something?” I looked to Cass, wild-eyed and pleading with her to say this wasn’t my fault.

  “I don’t know.” She pulled her cell out of her purse and dialed 9-1-1. “I just don’t know. Go tell them at the main desk, maybe someone here is a doctor or something.”

  I did as she said, mainly because it seemed like the best thing to be doing while trying not to freak out.

  When I got the front desk, the librarian was in deep conversation with a woman who looked like she owned a lot of cats. I’m talking at least fifty, because there was no way that she wasn’t single and in desperate need of trivial conversation. They kept chattering on, even after I cleared my throat. Finally, I’d been as polite as I could be, given the situation.

  “Excuse me,” I interrupted their conversation and both looked up at me with disdain, obviously irritated at the intrusion, which pissed me off in return.

  “The older gentleman in the rare books room... I think he’s having a stroke. We’ve already called for an ambulance, just thought you might want to know. Now, back to your important conversation you go.”

  I gave them an icy smile and walked away without giving either of them time to respond.

  When I got back to Cass and the old man, she was sitting on the edge of the table, holding his hand. Other than the occasional grunt of nonsensical words, he looked perfectly fine. Just like one would expect if you’d had your brain magically scrambled.

  “How is he?” I asked.

  She shrugged her shoulders and avoided eye contact with me. Seems she thought it was my fault as well. Fabulous.

  “You got this?” Cass suddenly stood. “I’ve got somewhere to be.”

  “Sure,” I said, taking her place by the old man’s side. “Will I see you later?”

  There was no response, so I looked around, only to discover that Cass had already left. How weird was that?

  While waiting for the ambulance to arrive, I ignored the small crowd gathering on the edge of the room and packed up all of my stuff. I was over the journal and everything magical for the time being. I just wanted to get home and curl up with Quinn on the sofa, watch some SpongeBob or something.

  But I knew that I would never forgive myself if I did that. Instead, I waited patiently while the man was strapped to the gurney by the EMT’s, I followed the ambulance to the hospital and I stuck around until the man’s daughter showed up. She repeatedly thanked me for looking after her father, which made me feel about as low as dog poop on a tennis shoe.

  Chapter Four

  For a Saturday morning in June, it wasn’t too warm thanks to a crisp breeze blowing in from the ocean. Not that it mattered, I was still going to burn like ant under a magnifying glass. It sucked that I hadn’t thought of that before agreeing to take Quinn to her riding lesson for Pete.

  There was no way to get around it, so the best I could do was park my car in the shade and stick to the dark, cool confines of the barn while she rode. Thankfully, I was still relatively full from my snack the other night, so I should be able to heal fairly quickly without the need to binge-drink right away.

  “Got your boots and helmet?” I asked approaching my car.

  Quinn held up her duffle bag and nodded. I opened the trunk for her to toss the bag in.

  “What are you wearing?” I covered my mouth to camouflage the smile building.

  “It’s my cowgirl skirt and vest. So I can be authentic.” Quinn did a little twirl to show off her outfit.

  “I see. But you know we’ve talked about this. Mrs. Bradford won’t let you ride in that, it’s not safe. You need long pants so the saddle doesn’t pinch your legs. You need boots so that your feet don’t get hung in the stirrups. No go on, change quickly or we’ll be late.”

  “Fine. But I’m keeping the vest, capiche?” Quinn grinned and ran back into the house, passing Morgan in the doorway.

  “Has she been watching those old gangster flicks again?” I asked.

  Morgan shook her head, “No, I don’t think so.”

  We both climbed into the car to wait for Quinn.

  “Thanks for coming with us this morning. I didn’t think it through when I said I’d take her riding. If Pete knew my dirty little secret, I’d think he set me up to fry.” I fastened my seatbelt, out of habit and to set a good example for Quinn.

  Morgan laughed, “Yeah that would be something he’d do, just to stick it to you.”

  Once Quinn joined us, dressed appropriately this time, we drove off in a cloud of dust. I pretended not to notice when we passed our neighbors house and the Wolf-boys were outside doing yardwork. Shirtless of course. Poor Morgan was practically drooling as she waved to them. I kept my eyes on the road and avoided getting a good look at them. Hell, I was just old, not dead. Well, technically I was dead, but that’s not what I mean. Shit, never mind.

  The drive was a quick one—under fifteen minutes—and only made longer by Quinn’s non-stop talking. In those few minutes, I learned more about the horses at the barn than I cared to, but it was nice to see her excited about something for a change.

  The barn was nestled back in the woods, in the center of around twenty acres. It was nothing fancy, but well maintained. Horses of all colors grazed in the pasture lining the end of the driveway—black, brown, dappled gray, even one the color of corn silk. One particular horse stood out, mainly because it was running around like a l
unatic. I hoped like hell that wasn’t the one Quinn would be sitting astride in the next few minutes.

  We parked under the shade of a willow tree, close to the barn entrance, and I waited for Quinn to pull on her boots and helmet. When she was ready, she took my hand and we strolled into the barn in search of her instructor Mrs. Bradford.

  Horses munched on hay in a few of the stalls, flies buzzed to and fro, and from a stall near the back of the barn we could hear the sound of a pitchfork hitting the rim of a wheel barrow repeatedly. That is where we found Quinn’s instructor.

  Mrs. Bradford had to be pushing eighty, yet there she was in her tank top, baggy cotton shorts and a pair of navy blue muck boots. Her hair was cropped close to her head, peppered with gray streaks and in serious need of a brush.

  “There you are,” she said, leaning the pitchfork up against the stall. “I was starting to think you guys weren’t coming.”

  “Sorry about that. Someone tried to come for her lesson in a skirt because that’s the way cowgirls do it.” I resisted the urge to chuckle and settled for a sly grin.

  Mrs. Bradford, didn’t really acknowledge that I’d spoken. She was a tough old bird. Instead, she looked towards Quinn and pursed her lips for a long moment.

  “Grab a carrot,” she finally said to Quinn.

  Quinn did as instructed and came back to where we all waited in the back of the barn.

  “All right now, let’s go get Pepper.” Mrs. Bradford grabbed a halter and lead rope from a selection of them hanging at the end of the barn. She led Quinn through the back gate and around the corner of the barn, out of sight.

  Within a few minutes, they returned with a horse in tow.

  Pepper was cute enough, in a scraggly sort of way. He was medium brown with a darker main and tail. His back was about even with my chest, so he wasn’t very tall as horses go. He looked old too, which gave me comfort. In my limited experience with horse, it was the young, spunky ones you had to watch out for. Not that the old ones couldn’t kick up their heels once in a blue moon.

  Oy, Quinn wasn’t even on the horse yet and I was already imagining a million ways that things could go wrong. Mothering isn’t for sissies.

  “Mom, come here. Pet Pepper!” Quinn danced around a bit and waved me over. The horse didn’t seem to care much for the idea and jigged a little sideways just to get the message across.

  “I’m okay, some other time maybe,” I smiled.

  I wasn’t uncomfortable around horses exactly; I’d ridden some in my youth. I hesitated more out of caution. I mean, animals can be very perceptive. I worried that the horse would sense something “off” about me and freak out.

  Quinn frowned but tacked up her mount, under the keen eye of her instructor. Within a few minutes she led him into the indoor arena and over to the mounting block. She mounted easily and walked her horse out to the rail, to begin the never-ending circular path she’d be on for the rest of the lesson.

  As the lesson started, Morgan and I took a seat on a small stack of hay bales near the arena entrance. Thank goddess for small favors—so far I’d not had to brave the sun very much at all.

  “She’s a natural,” Morgan said. “Look at her seat, pretty good for a girl that’s only ridden a handful of times.”

  I looked at Morgan, surprised. “You ride?”

  “Used to. My grandpa had a farm where I’d spend the weekends, or sometimes longer.” She had a far off look in her eyes, so I wasn’t sure whether to pry or leave it be.

  “Was this in Florida?” That was my way of asking for more information without actually asking for more information.

  Morgan shook her head. “No, I went there straight out of high school, on my own. This was back in Kansas. Before all of...that.”

  I wasn’t sure how to respond, so I kept silent.

  “Anyway, Quinn’s a natural, so you’d better be prepared for years of lessons, tack, show fees and everything else that goes along with this expensive hobby.”

  “Gee thanks,” I deadpanned. “Looking forward to it.”

  We sat in silence for a while, watching Quinn walk the horse around while doing her stretches—which looked an awful lot like yoga on horseback—and then she moved the horse up into a bouncy trot.

  “You’re on the wrong diagonal, Quinn.” Mrs. Bradford said. “Remember, you go down when Pepper’s inside front hoof hits the ground. Sit a beat... there, feel the difference?”

  Quinn muttered a quick, “Yes, mam” and concentrated on keeping the horse moving in the right direction, while posting up and down along with the horse’s rhythmic trot. It looked like a lot of work and I was willing to bet that Quinn would be tuckered out by the time she was done.

  “Now, reverse,” said Mrs. Bradford.

  Quinn pulled a little on the horse’s reins and did a sort of half-circle, ending back on the rail but going in the other direction. When she approached the other end of the arena, a gust of wind buffeted the large metal gate nearby. The clang of metal hitting metal echoed throughout the space and my heart thumped once in response. It took more than a little scare to get my chest really thumping these days.

  Apparently though, that’s all it took to invigorate geriatric Pepper, who took off in a dead run in response to the sudden noise. Dirt flew and for a second, time seemed to stand still.

  Then Quinn screamed, her voice laced with terror and I stood, knowing my baby girl was mere seconds away from falling off, or worse, wrecking the horse and herself along with it. I had to save her.

  I was getting ready to launch myself towards the run-away horse when Morgan put a hand on my arm and whispered, “You can’t. You know you can’t.”

  I turned and hissed, flashing fangs at her. Morgan just shook her head, nonplussed.

  I hated it, but Morgan was right. If I shot across the ring with super human speed it would not go unnoticed. But it was my daughter... what good was having supernatural abilities if I couldn’t use them to save her?

  Torn on what to do, I looked towards Mrs. Bradford, who had stepped out in the middle of path the horse was headed on. “Whoa, whoa,” she soothed, arms outstretched to seem like more of a barrier than her old body actually was.

  Wouldn’t you know it, Pepper actually listened to the old bird. He dug in his back feet and slid to a stop in from of Mrs. Bradford. Quinn, who wasn’t ready for the sudden downshift in speed, flipped over Pepper’s neck and landed with a soft thud in the dirt.

  My stomach climbed into my throat. I shook off Morgan’s hand and paced to my daughter, who was already getting back on her feet. She had all of her limbs in the right place, so that was something.

  “Are you okay?” I started to kneel down and hug her, but Mrs. Bradford put a hand out as if to say stop. I shot her cold look and she returned it right back, reminding me that she was still in charge, at least for the next few minutes.

  “She’s fine,” Mrs. Bradford said. “The first of many times she’ll fall off. But that makes a good rider, right Quinn?”

  Quinn hesitated for just a second, then wiped herself off and replied, “Yes, I’m fine.”

  Without another word, my brave little girl led Pepper back over the mounting block, climbed up into the saddle and then walked away like nothing had happened.

  I was so very proud of Quinn in that moment, but I was equally mad at myself. I’d covered my own backside at the risk of my daughters. What kind of monster was I? One that had stood there and done nothing.

  I left the ring and took a seat beside Morgan again.

  “Stop it,” she said, swatting me on the leg.

  I didn’t respond. Nothing she could say was going to make me let myself off the hook for this stunning failure, I thought.

  “I’m serious, Claire.” Morgan said, a little more forcefully. “Kids fall. They play sports and get hurt. It’s part of life. Are you going to consider ending your own life every time Quinn’s about to get a boo-boo?”

  “Ending my own life, I hardly think...” I started.
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  “That is exactly what you’d be doing,” Morgan interrupted me. “Think about it. If you out yourself as a Vampire, or hell, just a weird woman with super-human speed, and what happens? Huh? People start talking, then the rumor grows, and the next thing you know you’ll either be burning at the stake or chained up in some super-secret government facility.”

  I scowled in response. “Point taken.”

  Morgan was right, but that didn’t mean I had to like it, not one bit.

  I was having a banner week. First I’d scramble the brains of that poor old librarian and then I’d failed to do what any normal mother would do—protect her child at all costs. I only hoped that it wasn’t a sign of worse things to come, because I wasn’t sure how much more I could take without going vampire-bat-shit-crazy.

  Chapter Five

  I planted my feet, rolled my head from side to side and popped my knuckles. I glanced at Cass, who held the stopwatch. She had an intense look on her face—she took my “training” way too serious. Of course, she’d probably say that I didn’t take it nearly serious enough.

  “Ready?” I asked her.

  She nodded and cracked a smile. It was almost cute how excited she got when I managed to master one of her magical lessons. We were working on my fireball throwing skills in this lesson, so Cass has set up a safe range for me. Somewhere (I didn’t ask) she’d manage to procure a metal STOP sign, which she’d planted in the middle of my field. I should add the she’d also spray-painted “in the name of love” under the “STOP” because that’s what Cass does. Silly, life-loving things.

  I adored that about her; she had a way of keeping my little light a ’shining.

  “Okay, here goes nothing.” I focused on the target twenty feet ahead and readied myself.

  Arms wide and hands out in front of me, palms up, I channeled my energy into two white-hot balls of fire. They floated an inch or so above each hand, with a trail of smoke blowing out into the slight breeze.