Did he, though? The Owl muttered, reading Emily’s thoughts again.
Emily thought hard back to that conversation. She couldn’t remember Mr. Winter actually admitting to killing her mother.
“But if he didn’t, who did?” asked Emily. “And what did Dad mean by all that stuff he said?” She was beginning to assume it was all a figment of Dad’s imagination. Maybe it was another stage of his current disorder. A hallucination.
If so, how do you explain the orange light in his eyes?
Emily had no answer to that because she couldn’t explain it. There were many other things she could not explain, and chief among them was how her house could have been vandalized and no one had raised any alarm.
There is a warlock after you.
The way The Owl said those words terrified Emily. She wasn’t used to supernatural lore. She knew as little as the next person even though she was a shifter. She knew there were vampires and werewolves and shifters and a whole lot of other creatures out there. Some of them were horrors of the dark; others were nice. The Fae. Bigfoot. Djinn. There were just too many of them.
But she knew that at the top of the food chain were the witches and warlocks. Although she knew little about them. Nevertheless, she knew enough to know that having a warlock after you was a terrible, terrible thing.
19
They got to the house with daylight to spare. Emily observed that Joanna’s crew was already on site and were assiduously working to patch up her house. She noticed a couple trucks parked out front, bringing in building materials and new appliances. Emily even noticed a few appliances they hadn’t even owned before the attack.
There was an army of men repainting her house, fixing her lawn, and clearing the surroundings. A few of the neighbors hung around the house, watching and pointing but saying nothing.
Emily’s first point of call was to get her father safely tucked into the passenger’s seat of her car. She buckled him and moved his wheelchair to the back. Then she sent a text to her aunt, who lived just out of town, informing her that Dad needed a place to spend the rest of the weekend.
Emily then went into the house to look for Joanna. While the outside seemed to be looking more like her house, the inside was still a mess. The FREAK writing had been removed already, and that portion of the wall had been painted, but the windows were still vandalized, and the chandelier remained broken on the floor.
No one spoke to her as she looked around for Joanna. There must have been up to twenty men in the house all working at the same time. When Emily couldn’t find Joanna anywhere inside, she called her on the phone. By now, Joanna was standing by her car and watching as a large TV set was being gently removed from one of the trucks.
“Hey!” Joanna said chirpily on the other end of the line.
“What’s got you so excited?” Emily asked, immediately suspicious.
“Nothing really,” Joanna said. “I guess I’ve gotten my mojo back. I was a bit rattled by the incident in your house, but when Ted and his crew arrived informing me they’ll be able to get the house ready by eight, I started feeling better.”
“Look, all this stuff I’m seeing being brought in, I’m not sure I can afford it,” Emily started.
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Joanna said. “Everything is on me—or rather, on my dad. I doubt if he’d notice a hundred grand missing from one of his accounts.”
Holy crap! “Jo, I don’t even know what to say—”
“Then just don’t mention it,” Joanna cut her off.
Emily bit her lip. “Hey, so where are you? I hope not the police—”
“About that, I totally get—”
“Don’t tell me you went to the cops!” Emily shrieked.
“No!” Joanna’s voice garbled for a moment on the phone line. “I wanted to say that I totally get the need to show strength. Too many women being victimized everywhere. I’m with you on that.”
“So where are you? I’m back in the house and can’t find you.”
“Oh, I’m in one of your neighbor’s houses,” she replied. “I’m trying to find out what they know.”
Emily squirmed. She hoped Joanna wasn’t going around telling everybody that someone had written FREAK on her wall. That sort of news tended to travel fast in the town.
“Discreetly, I hope?”
“Sure, of course,” Joanna replied casually. “Hey, it’s totally weird. No one saw anything. In fact, they’re all surprised because they don’t know your house was vandalized at all. It’s totally strange, I tell you.” She sounded excited, as though she’d uncovered a mystery she wanted to solve.
Right, tell me about it, Emily thought.
“Hey, so did you find your dad?” Joanna’s voice changed from inquisitive to downright curious. “I should have asked that first.”
“Yeah, I did. He’s fine. I’m about to head out of town to drop him by my aunt’s place.”
“Aunt Anastacia?” Joanna asked. There was displeasure in her voice. Emily could picture Joanna’s characteristic frown. It was a joke between them that Aunt Anastacia was a loon. She claimed to be a priestess for some pagan god. But she was no supernatural. Even the vigilantes thought she was a nutcase.
“The one and only,” Emily scoffed. “I want him away from this until I can figure out what to do.”
“Yeah, about that . . .” Joanna hopped right back into detective mode. “I have a plan. But we’ll talk about it tomorrow, when the party's over. Get back soon.” And she cut the call, leaving Emily wondering what plan Joanna could have possibly concocted.
Emily climbed into her car and started to drive.
“How is a warlock after me, though?” Emily said abruptly into the silence. They had already left her neighborhood. It was a thirty-minute journey from her house to Aunt Anastacia’s.
First, the fact that no one knew the house was being vandalized, The Owl said. That’s because of a cloaking spell. Whoever did it used a spell to mask his activities. He’s so powerful that even after he was done, most people still don’t realize the house is vandalized.
“Or maybe he was so damn quiet.” Emily found the prospect of having a normal human being after her was easier to chew than a warlock.
Second, the orange lights in your dad’s eyes, The Owl went on, ignoring her. That’s proof of mental manipulation. It means he was under the influence of a spell, which could have easily counteracted the one that put him in that state.
Emily’s hands froze on the steering wheel. “You don’t mean . . .”
I have considered it. Your dad may have been cursed the night of your mom’s death. Your dad saw who vandalized your house. It’s apparently the same man who was there in your house the night of your mom’s death. Think about it.
The same warlock. It stands to reason that your father must have possessed valuable information or knowledge that required a spell to dull his mind. Perhaps this man’s identity. Perhaps this man’s plan. Perhaps something incredibly damning.
“That’s too much of a stretch,” Emily grunted.
Yet, it’s the only sensible explanation for all that has happened.
“So, what, my mom’s death wasn’t just a matter of her being a supernatural in town? You’re saying there was something more? That this warlock may have something to do with it?”
The Owl didn’t respond. However, her silence was answer enough.
Emily glanced at Dad. If The Owl was correct, then within Dad’s mind was the answer she needed. “If indeed the warlock cursed him, can another warlock or a witch remove the spell?”
Yes. An equally powerful witch or warlock can. But they are incredibly rare, especially around these parts.
“So we can’t find out what he saw? We can’t even free him from this spell? He’s never going to get better?”
The Owl sighed. Not unless you meet a rove or trap this one hunting you.
Emily looked back at the road. They were now driving down a lonely stretch with tall pines bordering both sides. It was alr
eady dark, so her headlights were on full beam. Oddly, she didn’t feel any trepidation.
“Why is he after me?” she asked out loud after a lengthy silence. “If indeed the person who sent me the message—who branded my wall with blood—is a warlock, what does he want with me?”
I wonder, said The Owl.
Emily exited the lonely road at the first intersection. She drove along a dirt path until she came to a dainty cottage on the side of a large field.
Aunt Anastacia was waiting for them in front of the house. She had her hands on her waist, and she was silhouetted by the incandescent light from her porch and the pour of the bright moonlight.
Emily parked right in front of the cottage and came down.
Aunt Anastacia was a medium height with a long, pointy nose and fierce eyes. She was Mom’s elder sister. She wore a white-and-black robe that wriggled around her body with the wind.
“Aunt—” Emily started.
Aunt Anastacia looked at her, then at Dad in the car. Her eyes widened a bit when she saw Dad.
“Something happened,” whispered Aunt Anastacia.
Emily was mildly surprised. She never knew Aunt Anastacia to be very perceptive. She was the aunt no one ever wanted to go visit. The kind everyone was embarrassed of. This was the second time Emily had seen her since Mom’s death. The first time was at the burial.
“I just need him to stay here for a day or two,” Emily affirmed.
Aunt Anastacia wasn’t satisfied. “I know you’re holding something from me, Young Lady.” Her voice was stern, filled with anger even.
She approached her niece, her eyes scanning Emily for signs of injury. “How come he spared you?”
Emily frowned. “Excuse me?”
Aunt Anastacia looked past her to Dad again. “I never saw that before . . .”
“Aunt Anastacia!” Emily shrieked. “For once, I need you to be real with me.” Emily realized her aunt was going through the motions of her priesthood. She was acting the part. She always did that, ever wanting to prove the realness of her powers and the “goddess” she served.
Well, Emily had no patience for her aunt’s little shtick.
Aunt Anastacia sneered and looked back at Emily. “You think I don’t know the work of a warlock when I see one?”
Emily’s face turned white as milk.
20
Could she really . . . ? The Owl began to say when Emily muttered, “Nah . . .”
Aunt Anastacia squinted at her again. She stood in front of the house, hence the light didn’t illuminate her face much. Emily could only see her face because of the moon’s brightness. Her aunt wore a quizzical look, which made Emily feel a bit uncomfortable. With a gulp, Emily asked, “Will you help me watch over him?”
“Why can’t you watch him?” Aunt Anastacia crinkled her brow.
“I’m having a few of my friends over for a party,” Emily explained. “I don’t want them making fun of Dad.”
“Is that all?” asked Aunt Anastacia. “Is there something else you’re not telling me?”
Emily flashed the woman a weird look. “Of course, there’s lots of things I’m not telling you. I don’t even know you!” Emily’s face was already growing hot with anger.
Really, it wasn’t Aunt Anastacia. It was everything. The whole day. It had been one hell of a roller coaster ride, and she hadn’t had the time to process it all.
Aunt Anastacia folded her arms. “You want my help, but you won’t tell me what’s going on?”
Emily frowned. “You told me at the funeral—you promised me, that if I ever needed time off from watching my dad that you would be there for me. Was that all bullshit? Just like all this nonsense with being a priestess and having powers?”
That question seemed to get Aunt Anastacia’s attention. Her eyes widened in obvious sacrilege. “You think I’m making all this up?” she snarled, motioning to Dad. She looked like she wanted to say more, but she sighed and looked down for a moment.
Emily wasn’t patient enough to wait for her ridiculous aunt to go through the process of sorting whatever was happening in her messed-up mind. “Will you help me or not?” she asked, stomping and sounding defiant.
Aunt Anastacia looked back up. “I will. Help me get him inside.”
Emily brought the wheelchair around, and together, she and Aunt Anastacia hoisted Dad into the wheelchair.
Inside, Aunt Anastacia’s house was a shock. Although the outside had the mysterious, ancient vibe going for it, inside was very modern. There was a brightly colored dining room and an industrial-style kitchen. A flat-screen TV took up more than half a wall in the living room, and contemporary art lined a corridor that led into a large library.
Emily was immediately impressed by the magnitude of the library. It was a double-level library with a ladder that allowed access to the upper level. There were all kinds of books. Old, dusty tomes. Grimoires, if you will.
Emily knew Aunt Anastacia collected all kinds of supernatural books, but she hadn’t known her collection was this large. She also knew that Aunt Anastacia always loaned out her books and items to supernatural seekers when she lived in town.
It’s one reason she lived just outside the town’s limits. Because she encouraged the practice even though she wasn’t supernatural herself. So the vigilantes told her to either quit loaning those books or pack up and get the hell out of town. So she packed up.
Emily had yet to tell Aunt Anastacia she was a shifter herself, but somewhere deep down in her gut she suspected the woman already knew. The shifter power was passed down from generation to generation—this was a closely guarded secret. It was a hard sell to say that Aunt Anastacia had all this information and hadn’t once looked up the shifter power her sister possessed.
Maybe you should come here and do some research, The Owl suggested as Emily looked at the reading table in the middle of the library. There was a book open on counter-curses. Emily didn’t understand a lick of what the book said. The title was in clear English; the rest was in something else. A language she didn’t understand.
Emily looked around. There were three comfy armchairs around the reading table. The chair appealed to her. To sit down. To relax. To shut her eyes for a moment. Block out the world and take a break from all her drama.
But Aunt Anastacia’s voice called from upstairs. “Emily, would you care for tea?”
Emily snapped out of her reverie and returned to the living room. “No, thank you,” she called back.
Aunt Anastacia came down the stairs seconds later. “I’ve tucked your dad into bed. I gave him a mild sedative, so he’ll be sleeping for a while.” She heaved a sigh. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay here for the weekend?”
“I have a party to get to,” Emily said and turned to the door.
“Emily.” Aunt Anastacia came to her side. She grabbed Emily’s hand to hold her back.
“Yes, Aunty?” Emily glanced askance at the woman.
“Whatever is going on, don’t be foolish.” The tone of Aunt Anastacia’s voice dropped below sub-zero temperature. “I want you to be very careful. Don’t take chances. At the first sign of trouble, don’t stand to fight. You’ll lose.”
“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, Aunty Dearest,” Emily replied, wondering what had come over the woman. It wasn’t like there were going to be fights at the party. It was a simple high school party.
“I’m serious, Emily Davies,” Aunt Anastacia snapped. “Be safe. The first sign of trouble, turn and run. Okay?”
“Okay,” Emily acquiesced.
Aunt Anastacia let her go. “I’ll be expecting you tomorrow. I’ll make something, so don’t eat before you come.”
Emily waved her goodbye and hurried out of there as quickly as she could. Once they were off the dirt road and back on the main road, The Owl spoke again. Have you ever wondered whether maybe your Aunt may not be crazy after all?
“Oh, she is crazy,” Emily asserted. “Even Mom, who was a shifter, said so. I
remember her words: ‘Never go to Aunt Anastacia’s. She’s crazy.’ That was verbatim.”
Crazy is just another term for supernatural, The Owl explained. Just like freak.
“You’re just making that up,” Emily snorted. “Besides, the vigilantes laugh at her. Think about it; vigilantes laugh at her when she brags about supernaturals.”
It is curious.
“No, that’s the very definition of crazy,” Emily said. “I won’t go barking that I’m a bank robber in the police station. I’ll get arrested, you know? But not Aunt Anastacia. She doesn’t get how stuff works. So she claims to be a priestess.”
She’s either a psycho or extremely brilliant, The Owl was clearly unwilling to rule out either possibility.
Emily heaved a sigh. “You don’t know her like I know her.”
Actually, I do, you know. I’ve been with you since before you became conscious of me.
“Really?” Emily had never really thought much about The Owl. All she knew was that Mom’s death triggered the whole thing, and since then she could turn into an Owl and talk to it.
Yes, The Owl went on. I experienced everything you experienced. I know everything you know.
“If that’s true, then how come I don’t know everything about you?” Emily questioned. “Because it seems you know a lot, and I know so little.”
Because you need to go through a ritual to wholly merge with your Owl form, The Owl stated bluntly. When that is done, you’ll be incredibly more powerful than you are now. You’ll have access to wells of knowledge no other supernatural can access. You’ll become invincible.
“What’s this ritual called?” Emily’s interest sparked.
The Adoption.
“That sounds easy.” Emily brushed her light hair out of her eyes. “Was my mom . . . um, Adopted by her Owl?”
I doubt it, The Owl said. If so, it would have been extremely difficult to kill her.
“Hmmm.” Emily chewed on her left, perfectly manicured thumbnail while her right hand gripped the steering wheel. She began to wonder about this Adoption issue. She was getting so much information today and so little time to process it.
Adopted by The Owl: The Owl Shifter Chronicles Book One Page 10