by Cindy Stark
“You don’t belong here, witch,” he said, his words came out labored and breathy.
“You’re not going to get away with this,” she yelled.
“Oh, yes, I am.”
He sounded much closer than before, but she didn’t dare look back.
She heard his deep intake of breath as though he was preparing to pounce, and she braced herself for the attack.
His body slammed hers, and thick arms tightened about her waist.
She landed hard on the pavement with his full weight on top of her. Pain shot through her wrists and knees as rocks and dirt ground into her skin.
Bright lights blinded her, and it took her a moment to realize it wasn’t from a concussion, but from an honest-to-goodness car headed their way.
The area erupted with red and blue flashing lights, and she fought the urge to cry.
Tony jumped off her.
She rolled and could finally fill her lungs with the crisp night air.
“Hold it right there,” a man hollered, but it wasn’t Peter’s voice.
Officer Menendez booked it past her, hot on Tony’s heels. Officer Larsen was only seconds behind the first cop.
“It’s Tony Lemon,” she called after them.
Then Peter was there, kneeling next to her, the slice of moon a halo behind his head.
“Heavens to purgatory, Hazel. Are you alright?”
She shook her head and then nodded. “Damaged, but not dead. It was Tony trying to break into Cora’s house.”
Peter narrowed his eyes. “Did he have a weapon?”
Hazel exhaled a shaky breath. “No, not that I saw. Just a can of spray paint.”
Peter paused to fulfill his duty as the chief of police and radioed to his men the name of the perp and a warning to be cautious. No weapon had been spotted, but he could be carrying.
With the help of a flashlight, he checked her over as she imparted what had happened, and then he helped her to sit. “I should arrest you for interfering with a police investigation.”
She couldn’t deny the anger in his voice, and she didn’t blame him. “I didn’t mean for him to see me. I was trying to steer clear, but I wanted to know who was after Cora.”
“You should have let us do our job. He could have killed you.”
The adrenaline had faded, and she feared she was, too. Tony’s blow had been fierce, leaving her head pounding and her body cold.
She lifted a hand to touch his cheek. Energy sparked between them, and she used it to help keep her upright. “I wanted to wait, but you were taking too long.”
He removed her hand from his cheek, examined it, and shook his head. “You’re bleeding, and you’re going to let a doctor examine you.”
She opened her mouth to argue but was cut short by the sound of Cora running toward them.
“Hazel,” she called, breathless.
Her blond bun looked messier than usual, and she, too, wore flannel pajama bottoms and a sweatshirt. She dropped to her knees, her face contorted with concern.
“Oh, sugar. No,” she cried. “You weren’t supposed to get close to him.”
Peter snorted. “Said the same thing. She obviously listens as well to you as she does to me.”
Hazel gripped her best friend’s hand. “It was Tony Lemons, Cora. He was the one trying to break in.”
Cora covered her mouth with a hand and stared at Hazel with wide eyes. “Tony? Why would he do such a thing? I’ve known him forever.”
Peter placed a comforting hand on Cora’s shoulder. “Sometimes we think we know someone better than we do.”
Cora shook her head repeatedly. “I just…I can’t believe it. Do you think he might have killed Gracie, too?”
Peter sent them both a look of concern. “Can’t rule him out at this point.”
A call came across Peter’s shoulder mic, announcing they’d captured the perpetrator.
Hazel sagged with relief. “Could we discuss this later? I have a raging headache and wouldn’t mind a hot bath at this point. Help me up.”
Peter lifted her to her feet, and she did her best not to groan and worry him more. “You’re going to see a doctor, remember?”
She gave him a tender smile. “If something was broken or if I needed stitches, I would. But a hot bath with lavender or mint will help me more than anything right now. Then maybe some cold packs.”
Cora wrapped an arm about her waist. “Tell you what, Peter. Let me do what I do best and help Hazel. Having her with me right now will help me, too. If she needs medical attention, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, you can deal with Tony. Grill the creep until he tells you everything.”
Hazel nodded her approval of Cora’s suggestion. She was sure Peter would disagree.
Instead, he scooped her into his arms. “Fine. But I’m carrying you inside. You’re in no shape to walk.”
Hazel rested her head against his firm chest and closed her eyes. The sound of his beating heart infused her with love. “Deal.”
Eighteen
The following Sunday afternoon, Hazel secretly tucked Eliza’s spell book that she’d hidden months ago after Glenys’ arrest, and gave Peter a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll be back soon.”
He smiled and nodded before turning his attention to the football game. “I’ll start the chili in a minute,” he called after her. “Call me when you’re on your way home.”
With Tony Lemon behind bars, working his way through the justice system after he’d attacked her, tension had eased in her household. A witness had placed him near Gracie Adkins’ house on the morning of her murder, and things didn’t look good for Mrs. Lemon’s son.
Hazel hadn’t encountered the older woman yet but hoped when she did that they could remain friends. Mrs. Lemon couldn’t control what Tony did any more than she could.
On a desk inside Tony’s house, police had also discovered a copy of the witch article Gracie had written. Fibers found on Gracie’s clothing were the color of the carpet in his house. It was only a matter of time before science backed what Hazel believed in her heart.
She zipped up her coat and stepped out the door into crystal-clear New England air. Patches of sun shining throughout the morning had melted most of the snow from the roads that they’d received overnight. A couple of inches remained on her driveway and lawn, and she crunched across it to get to her car.
Sounds of gurgling water from the stream across the street filled the air with a lovely melody, and she could picture icy water dashing across rocks in the riverbed. As she drove down the street, quiet, picturesque roads canopied by the bare branches of American elms resonated deep within her heart.
She belonged here, in this place of her ancestors.
Hazel parked in front of Beatrice’s house and emerged from her car. A circle of pine boughs hung on the front door, complete with a sparkling red bow. Tiny white lights decorated the front gate and columns of the seamstress’s house.
They were barely into November, weeks away from Christmas, but Beatrice obviously loved to decorate her house as much as she did wedding dresses.
Hazel made her way to the front door, inhaled the delicious scent of fresh pine, and knocked.
Beatrice greeted her with a warm smile. “Come in, dear. I have a pot of your lovely Happy Day tea waiting for us.”
She led the way into her sitting room, and Hazel grinned. “Not only tea, but I spy cherry macaroons as well.”
The older woman chuckled. “I know my brides and what makes them happy.”
Hazel removed her coat and sat. Scents of citrus and cinnamon filled the air, and she was anxious to shove a cookie in her face. But first things first.
She slipped her hand into her bag and carefully grasped the spell book. She presented the old, leather-bound volume to Beatrice who released a sigh of wonder.
Beatrice took the book with gentle hands and settled into a refurbished, blue velvet Victorian chair. “Oh my. I truly never thought to hold such a thing in my hands.”
&
nbsp; She glanced to Hazel. “I feel an odd current running from it to me. A connection.”
With that, Hazel knew the book had found its rightful owner. “The same happens with me every time I pick up Clarabelle’s.”
“Hmm…” Beatrice said and turned a page. “This has to be, what…three hundred years old?”
Hazel lifted a cookie from the shiny silver tray. “At least.”
Beatrice continued turning pages, skimming the contents until she reached the last part of the book. She tapped a finger on the writing. “This. This is the spell I’m most curious about.”
Hazel tilted her head to see the page better. “Oh. The one they used to drain the lake.”
She, too, had a curiosity and reverence for that.
Beatrice lifted her gaze to Hazel. “Like everyone else in town, I’ve wondered if it could be true. It’s an incredibly amazing feat.”
Hazel shrugged. “It must be true. History clearly states that our grandmothers were drowned as witches. Many people saw them go in the water. The spell must have worked, or we wouldn’t be here today.”
Beatrice nodded absently and continued to read. “All the elements must be present. Earth, air, water, and fire. I wonder how they managed fire.”
“Maybe the townsfolk had lit bonfires to keep them warm?”
The older woman dipped her head in agreement.
“Or,” Hazel continued. “Maybe they conjured one. I’ve lit candles before without a match.”
Beatrice’s eyebrows shot up. “Is that so?”
An awkward sensation rolled through Hazel. “Haven’t you?”
She shook her head and grinned. “No, I haven’t.”
Beatrice set the book aside and filled their teacups. “I haven’t participated in coven activities for quite some time, so I didn’t get the official story. But I hear a whisper here and a whisper there about the prophecy concerning you. I can’t say that I believed it, but now, knowing you and what you’re capable of, I think it must be true.”
Hazel exhaled a deep breath and met Beatrice’s gaze. “It scares me, you know. I never wanted that responsibility. I’ve put all the people I love in the line of fire, too. Tony might be behind bars, but I still think Samuel was the one who attacked Fauna. Then there’s Timothy and Quentin, too.”
Beatrice sipped her tea and then set down the cup. “I would trust no one at this point. Things seemed to have settled, but I sense a storm brewing.”
Fear crept along Hazel’s skin, and she shivered.
“It shouldn’t be all on you, Hazel. You’re the catalyst, but the rest of us need to come forward. Strength in numbers.”
Hazel lifted a shoulder and let it drop. Having a force of witches with her would be the best thing ever, but she couldn’t ask anyone to put themselves in danger. “I think some might be coming around. I passed Minnie on the street the other day, and instead of looking away or crossing the street, she said hello.”
“Progress, then. Maybe it will take time.”
Hazel snitched another cookie off the tray, wondering if Beatrice meant she herself would join the cause. “Can I ask you a question, Beatrice?”
The older woman nodded, causing her glasses to slip farther down her nose.
Hazel was sure her question crossed the none-of-your-business line, but she had to know. “Why did you step away from the coven?”
Color drained from Beatrice’s cheeks, and for a long moment, she only stared at Hazel. The emotional wall she threw between them was unmistakable, and their friendly connection faded.
Hazel knew she’d likely worn out her welcome, but she’d tossed the ball into Beatrice’s court and had to wait for her response.
Beatrice’s eyes grew misty and caught Hazel off guard. Her empathy blossomed like Mayflowers in spring.
Hazel reached out a hand toward her friend,
Surprisingly, Beatrice took it.
Grief cloaked Hazel, dragging her down. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.”
The older woman shook her head, and then cleared her throat. “No. It’s…it’s time. I’ve kept this to myself for far too long. I believed I was protecting others, but it’s only led to hatred and death.”
“Hatred and death?” Hazel whispered.
Beatrice blinked wet lashes and sniffed. “A long time ago when I was a pretty, young thing like you, I fell in love. Tall, good-looking, and he had the most amazing eyes. I swore he could see right through me. Which could be a very dangerous thing for a witch.”
Hazel could relate. “I felt the same with Peter. I thought for sure he knew what I was long before I told him.”
Beatrice gave her a sad smile. “Unfortunately, my story didn’t end like yours. I thought I was so smart. Thought I could do anything.”
Hazel remained quiet, waiting for her to continue.
Beatrice pulled a tissue from the box on a nearby table and dabbed at her eyes. “He didn’t like witches, but then no one in town would say they did, either. Several of my friends had successful relationships with non-witches, so I took a chance. I’d sneak out to meet him because my mother would have had a conniption. We’d drive into the woods and spend hours walking and talking. I was certain he understood my heart like I did his.”
Hazel held up the tray of cookies for Beatrice, but she shook her head. “You loved him deeply,” she guessed.
Fresh tears sprang to Beatrice’s eyes. “I did. I truly did.”
“What happened?”
“I…we…well, things became intimate like they sometimes do when couples are in love. I got pregnant.”
Hazel glanced about the room, looking for pictures of Beatrice’s child, who would be a grown adult by now. But nothing.
Beatrice cast her a knowing look. “You won’t find a trace of him here.”
“Did your child die?” she asked reverently.
Her friend’s chest heaved as she released a deep sigh. “Yes, but I’d had the joy of watching him grow into a teenager before he did. And I went on to have other children. Girls.”
Watching him? Not raising him?
“When I told Samuel about the baby, he was so happy.”
Cold dread pushed out any trace of warmth in her body. “Samuel? As in Samuel Canterbury?”
Beatrice nodded. “He wasn’t the same man back then, Hazel. He was full of life and happiness. Not the empty shell of a man he is today.”
No amount of imagination would allow her to picture him that way.
“Then I told my mother. As you can imagine, she wasn’t happy. Furious might be a better word. Here I was, an unwed witch, pregnant by a man who claimed to hate our kind.”
Hazel twisted her expression into a commiserating look. “That must have been difficult.”
She snorted. “It was, but Samuel wanted to marry me, to raise our family together. Then I did a stupid thing and decided I needed to tell him about my heritage first. I believed he had a right to know, and I was certain he wouldn’t hold it against me. I was wrong. He went berserk.”
Beatrice snapped her fingers. “Like that, he flipped into a man I didn’t know. Accused me of bewitching him.”
Hazel put a hand to her mouth. The pain she must have felt.
Beatrice shook her head. “It gets worse. We didn’t see each other at all for months. My mother kept me confined to the house, saying I’d gone to visit relatives out of town. She wanted me to give up my baby, but I’d already bonded to the soul inside me.
“When I was close to delivery, Samuel showed up one night. Convinced me he’d been wrong and asked me to leave with him. I was so happy. And such a fool.”
Her eyes turned hard. “He kidnapped me, held me against my will until I gave birth. Then he dumped me on my mother’s doorstep and told me if I ever tried to claim my child, he would tell the whole town I was a witch.”
Hazel’s insides clenched. “He stole your baby?”
“My best days were when I saw them in town. I had to keep my distance, mind you, but I
looked forward to the day when he would be old enough to be away from his father. Maybe then I could have a conversation with him, or…”
“But you never got a chance.”
She shook her head. “He killed himself when he was seventeen. He’d fallen for a woman a few years older than him, at least that’s what the gossipers said. Apparently, he adored her. Then she found a new toy. Someone older than her, someone with status in town. She left my son in the dust and chased that man like there was no tomorrow. Some say she used a love potion to make him fall for her.”
Hazel’s mouth dropped open. “Don’t tell me it was Sarah.”
She knew the truth before she’d spoken it. “It was, wasn’t it?”
Beatrice nodded. “My son couldn’t handle the heartbreak, so he killed himself. Many in town had wondered if Sarah was a witch, so, of course, Samuel had a vendetta against her. He ranted about how witches had ruined his life.”
Hazel dropped her chin to her chest, clutched her stomach, and tried to absorb the horrifying things she’d just learned.
They made sense, though. She already knew that Sarah had used a love potion on Peter. Knew about the few years the town had embraced its witchy heritage before Sarah’s death. Knew Samuel’s fierce hatred afterward.
She met Beatrice’s gaze. “Samuel did kill Sarah then?”
She nodded. “I would have gone to the police if I could have proved anything, but I couldn’t. I know it’s wrong, but a dark part of me feels she got what she deserved.”
“Do you think Samuel attacked Fauna? Killed Gracie? Maybe Tony hasn’t committed murder?”
The crow’s feet near her eyes deepened with worry. “I don’t know, Hazel. I don’t know. But I do worry.”
Hazel twirled a strand of hair around her finger as she thought. “But you’re certain he killed Sarah. Maybe with this knowledge, Peter could get him to break, to confess. After that he might confess to the others too, but at least he’d be off the streets.”
Hope sparked in Beatrice’s eyes. “Do you think so? Think Peter could get him to confess?”
She shrugged. “He’s a heck of an interrogator.”