Bound In Blood (The Adams' Witch Book 1)

by E. M. Moore

  A long pause ensued where only the sounds of creaking footsteps and sighs made their way up the staircase. At least I wasn’t the only one who found my mother annoying. Maybe Rose rolled her eyes, too. Maybe it was just something about my mom that made people want to roll their eyes at her.

  “I’m not sure I will send her home. She wants to stay.” Another pause. “She’s old enough to make her own decisions.”

  I smiled. This. Was. Awesome. I liked the way this woman thought.

  “No. She’s not going home tonight. I already sent her up to a room and I’m going back to bed now, too. Sarah will call you in the morning."

  The phone clicked off and Rose’s shadow moved into the foyer. I turned, drowning a surprised cry threatening to squeak out, and ran back up the rest of the stairs trying to make as little noise as possible.

  Once behind the bedroom door, I flung myself onto the rose-flowered quilt. Aunt Rose hung up on my mother. She actually hung up on my mother.

  A huge smile took over my face.

  That was my idea of family. A no-nonsense bad ass.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Isabella

  1639

  Isabella lay in a rope-strung straw mattress, a breath held in her tight chest. She listened for the stirrings of her parents who lay in their own small room just beyond the brick of the fireplace. Nothing but the night sounds surrounded their timbered cottage.

  She rose, cringing when the ropes pulled taut and groaned its displeasure at her. The rooms remained still, though, and for that she gave thanks. Isabella slipped her stockinged feet into worn leather shoes and prayed for forgiveness for her actions as of late. Her mind felt not her own.

  She stepped away and moved nimbly across the planked floor before pressing her ear against the wood of the door.

  She held her breath. The house sat still.

  She needed to be sure.

  Before her, though she could scarce believe it still, was a desk made of fine wood. It was by far the most agreeable adornment that had ever graced their humble rooms. She reached to play her fingers over the wood.

  Later, she chided herself, tomorrow I shall have a little time.

  On her new desk, a candle flickered, threatening to go out. It bent low from the draft of the window and then shot straight up again. In haste she moved forward and took a piece of parchment from her pouch. Unfolding it, Isabella leaned in toward the flame, angling the paper so she could read the familiar words written in crisp, slanted writing.

  Nerves scuttled through her, like the hundreds of mice hunting the town streets. She pressed the paper against her chest and sighed. Then, careful to fold along the same edges, she closed it once more. Her eyes flicked towards the door, but the parchment in her hands stayed her, reminding her of still yet another chore. She must not become forgetful.

  Isabella passed the door along the outside of her room, careful not to go near the center. The floorboards creaked there, even with her slight step. She made her way to the opposite corner, bent down on hands and knees, and used the nub of her finger to pry open the loose floorboard there. Once free, she grasped the board with both hands and inched it open.

  Isabella drew out a bundle of paper tied with sewing string. She let her eyes pause and delight a moment over the fine papers before placing the parcel on the floor next to her. Bringing the newest sacrament to her lips, she kissed it, then hid the letter with that of Thomas’ others.

  She replaced the board, her heart beating faster with every moment and moved to the door. Her ear rested against the wood where she heard the sounds of slumber interrupting the quiet of the night. She was now free to slink out of the house unnoticed.

  Without folly, Isabella slipped into the main room, making sure to avoid the areas that creaked. She spared a glance toward her parents’ bedroom. Curtains hid their sleeping bodies from view.

  She crept further into the hall, the smell of barley still staining the air from the vegetable pottage cooked earlier, and escaped out the cottage door. Months of secret meetings allowed her to do this with little error and she soon felt the cool night air on her face.

  The full moon proved enough light to see her way. Picking up her skirt, she ran across the grass, past the hog pen, and just inside her father’s barn. No Thomas.

  Out of view from the small cottage, she allowed the fear to sweep through her. His letter implied importance, but might this be the day Thomas did not show? Might it be he revealed their love to the magistrate and the magistrate forbid his son to see her again? The feeling seized her, snapping her nerves like twigs.

  Her mind so fixed in doubt, her heart gripped in agony, she did not hear the rustling of footsteps over the barn floor.

  “Good day, Isabella.”

  She whirled. Thomas.

  Suppressing a smile bubbling like a brook inside her, she dipped and said, “Good day.”

  She tried to steady her breath, which came at her now in rapid gulps. The once wash of fear turned to relief, leaving her in a stew of mixed agitation.

  “Are you well?” Concern darkened his smile and his usual light eyes were shadowed over. His whole body was rigid like the high masts from the great ships her father told her of, the ones that brought him to this new world.

  “I am.”

  He considered her for a moment, his eyes taking in her flushed complexion bonneted by loose blonde strands that had separated from her braid. “I am sorry I have come later than usual. I almost did not come at all.”

  Isabella’s heart beat like the flutter of wings. “But your letter spoke of importance.”

  “I have news of the utmost importance.” He stared mute for a moment. “Another woman was taken today. Father is so very angry and vows to let no evil pass his notice. I do not want them to mistake…”

  A smile shadowed her face, a secret in the dark, but she suppressed it. It was not a good thing Thomas liked her enough to defy his father, endanger his honor, his life. “I understand.”

  “I am tormented worrying over you. ‘Tis not safe.”

  Isabella stepped toward him, uneasy over the turn of his face, and then paused, minding herself. It was not as if they were pledged to one another, nor did her situation in life recommend her. “My father does not speak of this to me.”

  “I doubt if anything should reach his ears. He is hardly ever in town, choosing to work his fields instead.”

  “‘Tis true. My father works hard.”

  “He may know of Mrs. Worth though.”

  Isabella clenched her fists around her dress. “Mrs. Worth? I am sure it cannot be so.”

  “It is so. Father said.”

  “I doubt your father not. I am…confused. That is all.”

  “Everyone is not like you and I.” Thomas reached for her. Untouched, his hand fell in the empty space between them. “Mrs. Worth was spotted in the woods late last night in the midst of making a fire. They found evidences of previous fires there.”

  “Tell me, who found her?”

  “My father did not say, only revealing that Mrs. Worth has been crying out her innocence ever since.” Thomas moved in, his face in earnest. “But Isabella, you know we cannot believe her. ‘Tis all lies. Remember what the churchwardens have said? Listening to anything they say is blasphemous. She might trick us with a spell, do harm to us and free herself.”

  Isabella looked away. “I cannot believe that Mrs. Worth has signed with the devil, Thomas. She has a husband and two small children.”

  He took her chin in his hand and made her look in his eyes. They were light again, an intense blue that writhed her insides to knots. “Because you are too good. You cannot fathom anyone being unlike yourself, but it is out there. This makes three now that will burn away their sins and I have not a doubt there will be more.” Thomas took his eyes from hers and peered into the woods. “Their supernatural powers have kept them hidden. My father will find them out though.”

  Isabella bit down on her trembling lip. Surely, Mrs. Worth be
a mistake.

  Determined not to waste their time together, she took a deep breath, stepped around Thomas, and leaned against the barn wall. “My father was in town today. Is that why you think he may know of Mrs. Worth?”

  “I saw him. You did not think I forgot, did you?” Thomas leaned against the wall next to her. “‘Tis the only reason I allowed myself to come tonight. I wanted to wish you well on your birthday.”

  If it were not for the darkness of the night, Thomas would see Isabella’s flaming cheeks. She bit down on them, though a smile lit her face anyway. “Thank you.”

  “I happened to see your father carrying a rather nice gift. I asked him if he needed help, but he declined. I was hoping he would agree so that I might have seen you.”

  Isabella’s cheeks grew a touch hotter. “I would have liked that.”

  His hand slowly reached for hers and she met him in the middle, palm pressing against palm. He brought her hand up by the fingers and placed a soft kiss there. “I have one request before I take my leave. Would you be so kind as to grace me with a letter written on your new desk?”

  Her lips would not move. His face held all the emotion, all the devotion she had within, though she could not bring herself to voice her attachment. She turned her head to the ground and squeezed his hand.

  He pressed hers in response. “I must leave.” His look mirrored the loss she felt. “Farewell, dear Isabella.”

  “Farewell,” Isabella choked out.

  And he was gone.

  She wondered if his cheeks burned like hers, if his hand tingled at the spot where he kissed her, and if his heart thudded in his chest.

  It felt like a dream, a joyous dream. Only a whisper of his retreating step on the grass proved he was ever there at all.

  She crept back to the house. Thomas filled her thoughts, like always. She reached her bedroom and pulled her nightclothes on, already half dreaming as she slipped into bed.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Sarah

  “It’s 9:30!” I screamed into the lacy pillow.

  A roaring lawn mower had been driving me crazy for over half an hour. The constant noise made it sound as if the grass had been cut directly underneath my window a gazillion times.

  A picture popped into my mind of Rose in a bathrobe and curlers driving a huge beast of a lawn mower, commanding and taming the machine like she had with my mother last night. I jumped up, threw the covers off, and ran to the window to see, already smiling in anticipation.

  It wasn’t Rose. Nope. For sure not Rose.

  “Holy…mm mmm.” I stretched my neck out to see better and bumped my head on the windowpane. “Ouch.”

  I rubbed at the blossoming sting and then placed my palms on the warm glass. The real life picture also made me smile. A guy, about my age, tanned to a deep bronze, pushed a mower around a beautiful backyard garden with rows and rows of red roses.

  He wiped his face using a shirt that was slung over his shoulder. He smiled into the distance and I followed his gaze. My aunt had just come around the side of the house. She pointed at the row next to him. He nodded, his sun-tinted golden brown hair falling into his face like some sort of Roman god.

  I tore my gaze from him and watched as Aunt Rose pruned a single red rose from one of the many bushes. She looked less severe this morning. Dark gray curls, with slivers of white mixed in, framed her face. She wore a typical outfit I’d seen on plenty of late night TV Land reruns. A belt cinched together a pair of long blue shorts that hit the knees and a sleeveless white top. The usual mom wear, for TV anyway. Definitely not my mom. If Cici wasn’t wearing tight black spandex and showing some cleavage, it just wasn’t a normal day.

  I took a quick shower in my own personal bathroom and then ran downstairs. Stopping just outside the dining room where Aunt Rose and I talked last night, I scrunched my hair and twisted my shirt into place. Inside, steaming stacks of French toast and pancakes replaced the two coffee cups from last night.

  Ho-ly crap. That was a lot of food. I hoped she didn’t think I could eat that much.

  I turned to go into the kitchen when the door swung open. Lawn mower hottie stood in the doorway, his body propping the door open as Rose squeezed through with a glass pitcher in her hands.

  Her eyes lit. “Oh good, you’re awake. Drake, we have a guest this morning.” Her voice oozed honey. A sweeter, richer tone than last night. “This is my niece. Well, great niece, Sarah.”

  His lips and blue eyes smiled. His sandy hair was wind-tossed and oh so adorable. He looked even cuter up close and that was saying a lot. I was used to Miami Beach bodies.

  “So you’re the annoying one with the noise this morning?” I asked.

  He studied me, confused. A tiny smile slipped onto my face and he returned it.

  “Isn’t it a little early to be mowing the lawn?”

  He smirked. “Early? I started at nine.”

  “Exactly my point. Nine is still sleep time, not jump outside in the hot sun and push around a loud mower time.”

  “I guess I missed that in etiquette class.”

  Rose’s eyes flitted back and forth between us, her skin wrinkling as a small grin spread her lips. “Sarah didn’t get in until late last night, Drake. Now, have a seat. Both of you. I’ve made a big breakfast for the homecoming of my niece.”

  Drake glanced at the older woman, his eyes teasing her. “You make the best breakfast, Rose.”

  She laughed and swatted his arm. “No, you’re not getting out of doing the rest of the lawn.”

  “Come on. You owe me. You never said you had such a cute niece.”

  He turned toward me now and I matched his smile. He had this whole country thing going for him—white t-shirt over a pair of worn jeans and just the faintest smell of grass…

  Rose continued her watchful gaze. “I would’ve if I’d known about her.” Drake gave her a curious look and she shooed him away. “I’m sure Sarah will tell you all about it over breakfast. I’ve already eaten so I'll let you guys have at it.”

  She set the pitcher of orange juice down on the table and walked toward the foyer.

  “Wait,” I called out, my aunt’s words finally registering. It looked like my visions of long conversations and thumbing through photo albums would have to wait. “You sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  She patted Drake on the shoulder on the way out. He barely acknowledged her.

  He sat, his full attention on me. I resisted the urge to run after my aunt, not wanting to seem needy or be rude. I’d lived seventeen years without any knowledge of my dad. I guessed I could wait a few more minutes.

  The conversation with Drake went fan-freakin-tastic. The best thing? He didn’t act all ‘poor you’ when I told him why I came to Adams. “My dad died when I was a baby. My mom’s um…my mom and I didn’t know anything about his death really. I just found out he died up here when he was visiting his aunt.”

  “And you didn’t know about Rose either?”

  “Nope.” A little spot tugged in my stomach. Jealousy. He said her name with such familiar warmth. “How do you know her?”

  “Neighbors.” He shrugged. “Been neighbors for a long time. I’ve known her my entire life. We’ve become real close since my parents died. She’s been like a grandma…” He laughed a little, then set his finished drink down. “…or something.”

  I sipped at my own orange juice, washing down the French toast along with the emotions seeping in through the cracks of my pasted-on armor. I’d never had a grandma either.

  “Well, Miss Miami.” Drake leaned back in the chair, holding steady on two legs as he wiped his hands on a napkin. “How long are you here for?”

  “Not sure. I don’t know if Rose is going to let me stay.”

  “She’ll let you stay.” He locked his hands behind his head and lifted his shoulders. “But if you want, I can have a talk with her. She loves me.”

  My phone vibrated in my pocket. “I might have to take you up on that.”
/>   I brought it out and frowned down at the screen.

  Mom: Fine. Just ignore me then. Leave me…

  And blah, blah, blah, I’m a horrible daughter.

  I pushed the Ignore button and set my cell on the table.

  “Here, give me your number,” Drake said, taking out his phone. “In case you end up staying in town for a while, I can show you around.”

  His blue eyes beamed through me and a little part of me melted. This trip was so not about cute boys, but…“Sure.” I took his phone and handed him mine. “Give me yours too. You know, in case I need you to talk to Rose for me.”

  I still punched in my number when the door swung open and Rose stuck her head in. She smiled at Drake. “I was thinking, why don’t you give Sarah a ride around town?”

  “I’m one step ahead of you, Rose,” Drake said, motioning to his cell phone as I handed it back to him.

  “Ugh,” she sighed, “you kids and your cellular phones.” Her voice traveled back to us as she walked away. “Can’t you just take her now or are you too busy?”

  Through the swings of the door, I saw Rose’s shaking head.

  Drake laughed. “I thought I had to finish the lawn. Do you want to go now?”

  I looked between him and the still-swinging door. I kind of did, but kind of didn’t. “Hold on one sec.” I followed after Rose into the other room and found her bent over, watering a big fern plant in the foyer. “Aunt…um, Rose? I thought maybe we could spend some time together. You know…to get to know each other?”

  She set down the watering can and straightened up. “Oh, Honey. I want that too. But I’m really busy over the next week. I didn’t know you were coming and I have a bunch of commitments I need to stick to.” She gazed at me for a little while and then gave a lopsided smile. “Just go out. Have fun. Drake is a really sweet boy and you two seem to be hitting it off.”

  I swallowed the disappointment with my own crooked smile. “He does seem sweet.”