Wiccan, A Witchy Young Adult Paranormal Romance

by M. Leighton

  When his lips on mine began to fan the flames of my desire again, the kiss deepened, but only for an instant. Grayson leaned up to look at me.

  “Better watch that. There’s only so much a man can take.”

  “Is that a threat?” I teased.

  “That’s a promise,” he said.

  “I hope so,” I said, smiling.

  With a throaty chuckle, Grayson bit my chin and then pushed himself off me.

  “I’m thirsty,” he declared with a wink. “Want some Coke?”

  I nodded, more content than I could ever remember being. I watched Grayson as he moved about the room, the muscles in his delicious body shifting as he bent and twisted. With a bottle of Coke in one hand, he walked to the side of the bed where he’d been lying when I’d come out of the bathroom and he sat down. He propped himself up on the pillows again and stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankle. He lifted his arm and looked down at me, tipping his head to the right.

  I crawled up and slid under the sheets beside him and snuggled up under his arm with my head on his chest. I raised my head to take a sip of Coke when he offered it, but that was the last thing that I remember.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I woke to a finger stroking my cheek. When I opened my eyes, Grayson’s face was hovering over mine and he was smiling.

  “Wake up, sleepy head.”

  I stretched then sat up and looked around. “What time is it?”

  “Quarter after eight,” he said, walking to the window and opening the curtains. “Get dressed and we’ll go get some breakfast before we head back to Scenic Vista.”

  “Give me fifteen minutes,” I said, scooting off the bed.

  I could feel Grayson’s eyes on me as I walked to the bathroom and I had to smile, memories from the night before flooding my mind. I’d have to push that out of my thoughts for the day. I needed to focus on the very important visit coming up. It would be hard, though. All I wanted to do was think about Grayson and his smile and his body and his wicked mouth.

  Right at fifteen minutes later, I emerged dressed, made up, packed and ready to go. Grayson was standing in front of the window looking out. He was dressed in a bronze colored polo shirt and chocolate dress pants. It was the most casual attire I’d seen him wear and I thought he’d never looked yummier.

  We had pancakes at IHOP. Grayson got a kick out of my rapturous consumption of the syrup-soaked treat. It seemed he got more pleasure out of watching me eat and enjoy my food than he did his own.

  All morning, our rapport had been lightly intimate and very playful, but as we neared the front steps of the psychiatric facility, our mood sobered considerably.

  The dayshift crew had little to say about Grayson coming with me to visit my mother, so we walked the halls side by side behind the male nurse that took us to her.

  When it seemed we’d walked a lot farther than I’d had to last night, I was about to ask the nurse about it when a huge common room came into view. The nurse stopped and spoke in hushed tones to an orderly that was standing watch just inside the door. The orderly pointed and I followed his finger.

  My mother stood in one corner of the room in front of a window. A shaft of sunlight was shining in on her, setting her coppery hair on fire. It fell in one straight shining sheet to her waist. She stood facing an easel and she wielded a paint brush with the ease of someone long accustomed to holding one. The look on her face was fierce, like she was thinking of something unpleasant as she painted.

  I weaved my way between tables and around wheelchairs until I was standing in her line of sight, just in front of her easel.

  “Debbie?” I said quietly, uncertain how to address the woman who’d given birth to me, the woman I hadn’t seen since.

  Without looking up she said, “Who’s your friend?”

  I glanced behind me where Grayson had come to stand. He was looking at her over my shoulder. His brow was wrinkled a little. I didn’t know if it was the bright sun or this situation that was working on him.

  “This is Grayson. We’d like to talk to you if that’s alright,” I said in a cool monotone, not wanting to upset her.

  Her eyes left the canvas and locked onto mine. “Don’t treat me like I’m crazy,” she snapped. “Or like I’m an imbecile. I’m neither.”

  I was taken aback. “I’m sorry.”

  Her features smoothed somewhat and when she spoke again her voice was more pleasant, almost far away.

  “I would’ve recognized you anywhere, Maya,” she said.

  “Maya?”

  “Yes, that’s what your name was,” she said, still watching her easel, making long swipes with her brush.

  “Maya,” I repeated, trying it out. I liked Mercy better.

  “He’s found you, hasn’t he?” Still, she didn’t look at me.

  “Who?”

  “Your father.”

  “I- I don’t know.”

  “That’s why you’re here.”

  I saw Grayson step up beside me and I reached back and grabbed his wrist. He said nothing, just stopped.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I was afraid he’d find you,” she said, her brow crumpling in sadness. Her brush flicked across the canvas almost violently now.

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re eighteen and you must be ready by now.”

  An ominous thread of fear wove its way down my spine.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Did no one ever tell you why I brought you to the hospital?”

  “They didn’t- they—”

  “They didn’t tell you because they all thought I was crazy.”

  She stopped painting and looked at the canvas, tilting her head first one way and then the other. A calmness came over her face as if put there by magic.

  “When I met Robert, he was like a movie star. He was tall and handsome. He’d only been out of college a few years, but he was already making his way up the ladder at his firm. He was in marketing you see,” she said, her lips curved in a nostalgic smile.

  “Robert is my father’s name?”

  “Yes. He was smart and funny and I was young and stupid. Not a good combination,” she admitted in a self-deprecating way. “Our relationship was like fireworks. It was fast and passionate. He was only in town for some kind of meeting when we first met, but after that, he kept coming back. Eventually he got an apartment near where I lived. I made a lot of assumptions, wrong assumptions, but I didn’t really care to know all the details of his life as long as I got to see him. I never thought to ask if he was married. I assumed I’d have picked up on something like that, but…”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I remained silent, listening attentively.

  “I was so in love with him that by the time I found out, I didn’t care. I just wanted whatever little part of himself he was willing to give me. Turns out the little part he wanted to give me was you,” she said with a smile.

  “I was thrilled when I found out. And he was wonderful throughout the pregnancy until about the seventh month. That’s when I first noticed some strange things. It wasn’t too long after that I found out what he was doing to me.”

  “What?” I prompted when she didn’t continue. “What was he doing to you?”

  “It started with him wanting me to drink this special juice. He said he’d read it was good for the baby. The problem was that it tasted terrible and it’d make me sick as a dog every time I drank it. But he kept on about that drink. Eventually it got to the point where if I threw it up, he’d make me drink more until I kept enough of it down.”

  “What was it?”

  “I didn’t know it at the time, but it was blood mixed with a few other organic ingredients. I had a Wiccan friend that lived in my building and she knew about all that stuff. She told me what it was, but I didn’t believe her.”

  “But why would he want you to drink blood?”

  “For you, Maya. He was preparing you.”

&
nbsp; “For what?”

  “For greatness,” she said mystically. “Or so he used to say. But now I know it was something much darker than that.

  “More and more, as I got closer to term, I’d find him hovering over me at night, chanting quietly or rubbing oil on my stomach. He’d bring strange little sachets and tiny bags of things and put them all around the house, make me promise not to move them. He even drew some kind of symbol on the floor underneath my bed. At the time, I just thought he was one of those spiritually divine kinds, like a mystic or something. You know, the ones that do all those weird cleansing rituals and things like that.”

  When she didn’t continue right away, I spoke. “But he wasn’t?”

  “Oh, no. He was a man who knew very much what he was doing to me, what he was doing to you. You see, he and his wife couldn’t have children, though I didn’t know that at the time. Now I know that’s all he wanted me for.”

  “For me?”

  “For you,” she nodded.

  “So what exactly are you trying to say about my father?”

  “He’s Wiccan,” she said gravely.

  “Wiccan? What’s that?”

  “It’s the name for people who use witchcraft.”

  My mind was awhirl with confusion and disbelief. “So,” I said, trying to understand and believe what she was telling me. “You’re saying my father is a…a witch?”

  “Witch, warlock, whatever they call themselves, but yes. And he’s very, very powerful.”

  My head was spinning. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m almost certain. If not then he’s—” She stopped herself, as if she didn’t dare speak the words.

  “He’s what?”

  She hesitated for an instant before she said, “If he’s not Wiccan then he’s the devil himself.”

  A cold flush spread through me, like icy fingers running through my veins. “So what does that mean for me? What does that mean I am?”

  “His child. His heir,” she said then, with a smile as cold as my blood, “His perfect creation. The daughter of a great evil. Only he knows what you’re capable of, what kinds of plans he has for you.”

  I could feel panic threatening as this woman’s words swirled around inside my head, inside my heart. “But- but what does he want with me? And why is he killing all these girls?”

  “A sacrifice? A ritual? I don’t know, Maya. Only he does. But whatever it is, it’s not good. It’s to bring about something dark, something unnatural. Something evil.”

  My temper was on the rise and the person I wanted to lash out at wasn’t here, so I chose the next best thing.

  “How could you let this happen? How could you let him do this to me?”

  I might as well have slapped her right across her face. “I didn’t know until it was too late. I tried to get you away from him. When you were born, he took you away from me. It took me almost two weeks, but I finally tracked him down in Arville. That’s where he lived with his wife, I guess.

  “He’d made markings all over you. And there was blood all over your mouth, where he’d been making you drink that stuff, too. But you were just a baby,” she cried. “Just a baby.

  “I lied and told him that I’d called the cops and that they were on their way. I told him that if he didn’t let me leave with you, I’d press charges. I had to tear you away from him, literally, but he finally let you go. He said he’d find you one way or the other. He said there was no place I could hide you, that he’d find you. He said that you were bonded and that no one could keep you apart.” Her voice dropped to a tiny child-like whisper. “And he was right.”

  I watched my mother draw in on herself. She squatted to the ground and curled over her knees, her eyes darting around her in paranoia. My father had ruined her life, too. She just hadn’t known it at the time.

  She reached inside her sweater and pulled out a charm that hung on a long necklace. She rubbed it between her thumb and forefinger and it seemed to soothe her. For several minutes, as she made her way back from whatever frightening memories she was reliving, she cowered there on the floor, crouching in a shaft of sunshine behind her easel.

  When finally some clarity returned to her eyes, she stood slowly to her feet. She looked at me then at Grayson then back to me. Almost absently, she rubbed the charm and then looked down at it.

  “My friend, Deena, gave me this. She said it would keep him from finding me and that if he did, he couldn’t hurt me with his mind.” She laughed and it was a surprised sound. “I guess she was right. It’s worked all these years.”

  Reaching beneath her hair, my mother lifted the chain over her head and held the charm in her hand.

  “Before you go, let me give you something.” She reached for a thick roll of canvas that sat in the corner near her. “I painted it in water colors so it would be dry for you today. It’s part of what I had to prepare for you.”

  She handed me the painting and I took it.

  “Thank you,” I said, attempting a tiny smile.

  When I started to unroll it, she stayed my hand. “Not here. I don’t want to see it. I don’t want it to be the last thing I see.”

  I dropped my hand and just held the canvas. “The last thing you see? What do you mean?”

  My mother smiled and it sent a chill through me. “I’ve hidden long enough. You’re going to need this much more than I do,” she said, handing me the charm.

  “But I—”

  “Take it, Maya,” she pleaded, grabbing my hand and laying the charm in my palm then folding my fingers over it. “I mean Mercy. You need it much more than I do. I’ve lived my life, but you,” she said, stroking my cheek with her fingertips. “Your life has just begun.” She looked beyond me to Grayson and she smiled at him, too. “Take care of her. She’s a very special girl. She’s worth the lives of hundreds if need be, just keep her away from him. She’s very powerful. Or at least she will be. Just don’t let him get her. He’ll turn her.”

  She shook my hand where it held the necklace. “Don’t take it off,” she warned. She closed her eyes for an instant, as if she was readying herself for something unpleasant. When she opened them, there was a strange peace in their amber depths that I hadn’t seen since we’d arrived.

  “I always loved you, Maya, and I tried to do what was best for you.” She began stepping away from me, backing into the shaft of sun she’d been painting in. Her face contorted as if she was in pain. “He’ll make me burn for what I’ve done, but you’re worth it,” she said, wincing in agony. “You always were.”

  She bent down and rubbed at her legs, her fingers fluttering over her soft cotton pants. She whimpered and her legs quaked. She straightened for a moment before she doubled over with a groan and wrapped her arms around her stomach.

  I could see that she wanted to stand, as if it was her last act of rebellion. I watched her struggle to straighten, to overcome the pain, but she couldn’t. Whatever she was feeling was so intense, it kept doubling her over.

  When finally she was able to stand nearly erect, a small smile of victory flashed across her lips before it melted into a silent scream. She glanced down at her arms, as if she’d felt something on them and then she began to rub them as she’d done her legs.

  “Don’t watch, Maya. Leave. Now!” she said urgently.

  But I couldn’t move. I was rooted to that spot where I stood helplessly by and watched as she moaned and writhed, like her skin was too painful to wear. She pulled her sweater down over one shoulder and I could see that the skin of her chest and shoulder was turning black.

  She rubbed at her face and neck and slowly, like her flesh was cooking, all her skin began to char. She shook her head back and forth as if to rid it of the invisible flames that were consuming her, but it made no difference.

  Her hair started to blacken and curl on the ends. And then, with a blood curdling scream, she started to smoke.

  The scream alerted the orderlies, but they couldn’t get to her fast enough. With an eerie whoosh,
her clothes caught fire.

  When the orderlies made it to my mother, one of them grabbed a blanket and threw it over her and the other tackled her to the ground.

  Grayson pulled me out of the way, but I couldn’t turn my eyes away. When it seemed the orderlies had put out the fire, the one rolled off her and removed the blanket. She immediately caught fire again. They slapped at her, at the flames, but they wouldn’t be extinguished.

  When the orange fingers began to consume the blanket, the orderlies backed away. One ran and pulled a fire extinguisher from the wall and came back to cover her body in a dusty spray of dry chemical.