Heart of the Secret: A Witches of Lane County Novella

by Jody A. Kessler

  “I propose…”

  I’m falling. The crash is going to be a messy one, I think, after I hear these two simple words. I glance at my feet wondering how I am going to rebuke him once again when I’m already a mess.

  “I propose we become friends. Nothing more. My parents are the closest of friends and they have always been. Their relationship is a lasting one and a fine example of partnership and respect at the highest level.”

  I clear my throat. “What?”

  “Let’s take a step back and start over by becoming friends. I already consider you my closest confidant, so the transition for me will only be to put away the physical attraction. That is, until you’re ready to resume that part of our relationship.”

  “You’ve put some thought into this, haven’t you?”

  “I have. You said you can’t commit and I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to. That isn’t what friends do to each other.”

  “Friends bring breakfast and don’t pressure one another,” I reiterate.

  “That’s correct.” He looks pleased that I’m following his line of thinking.

  What Rook doesn’t know is that it’s not only what is going on inside his head that matters. The intensity of the love I feel for him will determine how the curse takes him and crushes the life out of him. He thinks he will have to control his sexual attraction to me, but I’ll have to control every emotion I ever have when he’s around if I don’t want to be responsible for killing him.

  “Did Aunt Ivy make this suggestion to you?” I ask.

  The confusion that furrows his brow is enough to let me know Ivy didn’t come up with this plan, and Rook confirms it.

  “No. I stayed up last night thinking about everything you said. I have to leave for a year. I accept that you aren’t ready to settle down, but I don’t want to go away with so much distress between us. Your friendship at any level is enough. I could never push you into doing anything against your will, Aspen. If you want me to leave and never come back, I can do that. As your friend, I respect your wishes to whatever end.”

  End. That is the word that stands out. My shoulders droop with the weight of it all. He’s offering unconditional love on a platter. Just like the perfect breakfast he brought me. Take what I want and enjoy it with no attachment. But in the end, death finds a way to ruin love. My parents experienced the Morgan tragedy. Aunt Ivy had a long term friendship with Tori’s dad, but the end eventually collided with fate when Ivy couldn’t suppress her true feelings anymore. Uncle Grant met death in a boating accident and although they had eighteen years together, he still faced an early end because of the Morgan curse.

  “I don’t know,” I say, and close my eyes.

  “Then until you make a decision, I will leave you alone as you requested of me yesterday.”

  I nod and chew at my lower lip as I stare inwardly at nothing, hoping to find peace.

  “I leave the country in three days. You know how to reach me.”

  I lay my hand on the table with the vague forbidden hope he’ll take it, but he doesn’t. When I open my eyes, he’s gone. Vanished. He left breakfast laid out before me, but I’m not quite so hungry now.

  Chapter Four

  I drag myself back inside and sink down on the edge of my bed. Glancing over at my pillows, I make the decision to not curl into a ball and sleep the day away. Instead, I pick up the lilies that Rook left for me the day before and plant my nose in the center of one of the blooms seeking its lovely and comforting scent.

  An instant charm takes over my bedroom and transports me into a fairyland. I can feel my bed beneath me so I know I’m not actually transported, but the scene takes over my room. The vision feels much the same way it did yesterday when Rook placed his hands over my eyes and showed me what he saw in his mind.

  I’m standing inside an aspen grove with hundreds of white tree trunks surrounding me. The ground is carpeted with blue forget-me-nots and the sky is enchanted allowing the stars to shine even though it’s early in the evening. Songbirds singing from the branches tickle my ears and then I’m aware of something or someone breathing near my feet. I look down and see Basil. He’s wagging a happy tail and wearing an odd looking collar. It’s certainly not his normal one. This one has a black bow tie on it. He barks at me and then runs off, darting around tree trunks.

  “Basil,” I scold. “Come back here.”

  He stops long enough to look at me and then barks once more and takes off again. Follow him, my inner voice says. I do because this is only a vision and I know Rook wanted me to see it.

  With the soft blue and green carpet of flowers and wild grass beneath my feet, I hasten after my rambunctious dog. Wildflowers, quaking aspens leaves, the babble of a clear mountain stream, and a brilliant moon hanging above a snow covered peak accompany me in this place, and I give Rook bonus points for making the scenery so wonderfully appealing.

  Then I’m walking toward a tent with lots of white tulle and a million fairy lights. A string quartet plays a classical melody from a small stage beneath the tent and I want to dance instead of run. Then I see the people. It’s a small crowd. Some I recognize, like my aunts and my cousin Tori, and others I don’t, but they’re all watching me as I approach. Next, I notice Rook. He’s wearing a black tuxedo. I glance down at my body and notice for the first time, the lace, and pearls, and ivory satin of my dress. My wedding dress. Shocked, I look back up at Rook. As he turns to face me, I drop the vase of lilies.

  I bound from the bed, jumping over the broken mess of pale blue glass and white petals and rush out of my room. Then I whirl back around, race over to the window, grab my mom’s journal, and flee from the room like the soles of my feet are on fire.

  By the time I make it to the kitchen, I’m breathless. I drop onto a barstool and collapse against the counter.

  “Should I even ask?”

  I don’t look up, but I recognize my cousin’s voice instantly. What’s she doing here? I pant and try to steady my breathing and calm my heart rate. The flush in my cheeks isn’t only from running down the stairs. He shouldn’t have shown me that! Our wedding! What in the name of the saints and angels was he thinking? It was stunning and perfect and magical in every way my heart desires. I’ve never let myself dream of a wedding day because I knew there would never be one. But Rook’s charm on the lilies was a beautiful dream that I didn’t need to see.

  But he left them for me yesterday, my brain says. And it had to have been before our ride to his land. He didn’t know I was going to break up with him. What a bloody freaking mess I’ve gotten myself into.

  “What cha’ got there?” she says, and tugs on the book in my hand.

  I don’t let her take it. Prying myself up from the counter, I hug the journal to my chest.

  “That good, is it?”

  “I…umm. It’s…”

  “Wow. You’re speechless. Now I have to look at it. Hand it over before I steal it from you,” she says, a devious gleam in her eyes.

  “Back off, grabby hands,” I say. “It was my mom’s and I don’t think you need to see it.”

  Her playful expression falls flat. She even looks somewhat chastened. This is quite astounding for Tori. Not much in this world makes her humble.

  Tori steps back and plants a hip against the counter. “So why did you bring it downstairs then?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “I was going to ask your mom and Aunt Jet to clear a few things up for me.”

  “Things like what?” she asks with a skeptical tilt of her head and a cocked brow.

  The look on her face brings a heavy sigh from the pit of my tired soul. She’s going to insert herself in this situation whether I want her to or not.

  “Is that you, Aspen?”

  Aunt Ivy bustles into the kitchen from the back pantry wearing her gardening gloves and apron while holding an armload of fresh herbs.

  “You’re finally up, I see. How about an herb omelet or a carrot cake muffin? Everythin
g is fresh and your stomach will thank you.” She practically sings this last part as she places the frilly and fragrant herbs down next to the sink.

  “No thanks,” I mutter. “Rook brought breakfast.”

  “Aunt Jet said you broke it off with him,” Tori says, accusingly.

  “I did,” I moan, and drop my forehead back down to the counter. I can’t take either of their attitudes right now. Not the perky morning sparkle from my aunt, or the judgmental inquisition from Tori. Where is Aunt Jet?

  “So did he beg you to take him back?” Tori asks. “I saw his truck pull in this morning.”

  I can hear Aunt Ivy running the water and washing up, but I know she’s listening to every word.

  “Worse,” I say.

  “He proposed!”

  “Goddess, no. That happened yesterday.” I lift my head an inch from the countertop and let it drop back down. Then I repeat the process. “He asked to be friends.” Thump. Banging my head is actually sort of helping.

  “Oh, my god. He didn’t,” Tori says.

  “Oh, Sweet-pea. That would be so perfect,” Aunt Ivy coos from her side of the kitchen.

  I hear her shut off the tap and then the sound of her voice carrying over as she crosses the room.

  “You could have a long term relationship like I did with Grant. You’re strong enough to do this. I know how much you care for him.”

  “He swears his visions always come true, but his visions are of us getting married and living in his beautiful house. I’m so confused. He wouldn’t lie to me, but how is he having visions of our future when I know he’ll die young if he marries me?”

  “Move on. There are literally millions of men to choose from in this world. Don’t waste another minute on this guy.”

  “Hush up,” Aunt Ivy warns.

  I close my eyes and wish I had taken the outside stairs to the barn instead of seeking familiar family comforts.

  “When you find that perfect someone, you’ll quit thinking love is to be used and thrown away,” my aunt says to Tori.

  “Not me,” Tori says. “I’m never going down that road. Look how much misery you put yourselves through. I’m having as much fun as I can and if it ever starts to feel serious with a guy, I’m running away. Love hurts, and it’s really painful in this family.”

  Now it’s Aunt Ivy’s turn to sigh. If there is one thing my aunt could change about her daughter, it’s this. She can’t take how Tori is such an overwhelming player of men. I don’t blame my cousin for her behavior. Her lifestyle choice isn’t one I would pick, but I can also understand it to some degree. I think it’s because Tori knew her father and saw what her parents went through in order to live with our curse and it gave her a different perspective on life. My father died before I was born. My cousin and I see love and relationships from totally opposite perspectives.

  As of last night, I now know my parents married each other secretly. They did it in a way my mother hoped would be exempt from the curse. Obviously, Mom’s hopes had been metaphorically flung off a cliff and drowned in oblivion. My own feelings are currently hanging on a similar edge and are half a step from falling off the same cliff.

  “Honey, I know when you come running home with no forewarning. It’s to escape from your latest love interest, and to eat a home cooked meal. So who is he?” Aunt Ivy says to Tori.

  “We’re not talking about me, Mom. I’m a hopeless case, and you know it. But Aspen brought down her mom’s journal and has something to share with you.”

  I feel a poke on the side of my head and turn my face to give Tori my best evil eye.

  “What?” she asks innocently. “That is why you’re down here and not outside with your other boyfriend.”

  “Perry is not my boyfriend.”

  “I know he’s not. Snowdrop is.”

  I push myself up and glare at Tori, contemplating whether or not I could get the duct tape out of the drawer and across her mouth before she can release a counter spell.

  “Uh-huh,” she says, wagging a finger in my face. “I know that look. Whatever you’re thinking isn’t going to happen.”

  The sprayer nozzle from the kitchen sink rises like a viper ready to attack. Then the water starts running.

  I flick my intention at the junk drawer where there is usually a roll of tape. The drawer flies open.

  “Stop that, you two. You’re not twelve anymore.”

  I roll my eyes and close the drawer. She’s right, and besides, no one ever wins when Tori and I start disagreeing. I’m usually left feeling truly uncomfortable while Tori laughs at whatever mischief she’s unleashed on me.

  “What did you learn from your mom last night?” Aunt Ivy says, leaning forward and placing both elbows on the opposite side of the counter from me.

  “Not very much,” I lie, and then change my answer. “Actually, a lot about her and my dad.”

  “I know she tried to put him off. She didn’t want to hurt him. Eventually they decided it was worse to be apart and would rather have a short life together than none at all.” Tears collect in tiny pools beneath my aunt’s gray-blue eyes.

  I glance over at the back door instead of starting to cry with her. Swallowing the massive lump in my throat takes some effort, but I manage, and turn back to look at her and Tori.

  “Is there another book?” I ask her, my voice tinged with hope.

  She shakes her head and frets at the journal lying on the counter in front of me.

  “The writing just ends, like there should be more or something. She’s talking all about my dad and how they wanted to build their own house. Then, nothing.”

  The three of us stare at the journal like we’re waiting for it to start speaking. It doesn’t. It lies there like the inanimate object it is.

  “The last page is all water stained and I wondered if maybe she dropped it in the rain or the bathtub and it got ruined so she started another journal.”

  “I’ve looked, sweetie. I couldn’t find anything. I suspected…” Aunt Ivy cuts herself off and turns back to her herbs.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Yeah, what?” Tori says. “You can’t throw that into the room and then not finish what you were going to say.” Tori places a hand on her hip and we both stare at her mother’s back.

  “Just tell me, so I can decide how much effort I should put into this, or move on. My mom’s not coming back, and as far as I know, there’s nothing in this book that will help me get over Rook. In fact, this is written testimony on why I need to make a clean break now.”

  Aunt Ivy is very still and unusually quiet for a long time as she composes herself. Then she reaches for the herb rack and rips off a section of comfrey leaf.

  “You’ve already dumped him, so just let him go on his merry way to South America, or wherever he’s headed,” Tori says.

  I look at her and contemplate her logical, no-nonsense suggestion.

  “It’s a lot harder for me than it is for you, Tor. I actually really lov—”

  “Don’t say it out loud. You need to be telling yourself that Rook isn’t the best lay you have ever had and to start looking for a new boy-toy right away. You know that’s the best way to get over a guy. Find someone hotter than Rook and then make him treat you like a goddess.”

  “You are wrong in every way,” I say, but I can’t help the small disturbing smile playing with the corners of my mouth.

  “Ow!” Aunt Ivy says, and then rushes across the kitchen.

  “What are you doing!” Tori says, half concerned and half perturbed by her mom’s interruption.

  “Open the book,” she says, and there are tears streaming down her face. She’s also bleeding. A trickle of blood runs over her fingers.

  I rise from the stool and come around the counter to do whatever I can to help.

  “The book, the book!” she says, and nods at the green cover.

  I switch directions and flip open the journal.

  “To the last page,” she orders.

  The back
cover crackles open. The water damage has made the back of the journal crispy and fragile.

  Aunt Ivy lets her blood drip on the yellow stained page. The three of us stand around the end of the counter and watch the blood disappear into the paper. And we keep staring. The blood soaks in and disappears, but then nothing happens.

  With matching frowns, we contemplate in silence what we just witnessed.

  That is, until we hear, “What in the Goddess’s name are you idiots doing? Then again, maybe I don’t want to know.”

  We turn in unison as Aunt Jet walks in from the entry hall.

  I look back down at my mom’s book as Tori grabs the comfrey leaf and wraps it around Aunt Ivy’s cut finger. I glance up long enough to see the life of the comfrey plant being drained for the mending of the wound. I also see the blade Aunt Ivy used to slice her finger lying on the cutting board by the garden herbs.

  “Unnecessary roughness,” I tell Aunt Jet as I will the book under my hand to give up its secrets.

  “I was starting to tell Aspen I always suspected that Aurora had a spell on the journal. When I originally found it, I tried salt water, blessed water, spring water, and rose water. The back of the book has clearly been wet. We just proved that it takes sacrifices, but blood doesn’t work on it either.”

  Aunt Jet’s look of having to suffer the intolerable is equally divided between the journal and her sister. “Aurora didn’t want us to know what she put in the book and we should respect that.”

  “I thought Aspen might figure it out. The idea just came to me to try my own blood. It’s much thicker than water. I didn’t do it before because the page wasn’t stained that color, but you know, sometimes the life force will bring out the magic faster than anything else. With the three of us concentrating on it, I was hopeful I could finally see what she wrote. She was trying to end the curse forever the day she drowned, and I think that journal will tell us a lot more about it.”

  “You need to give it a rest, Ives. Aspen has enough to deal with right now.”

  “If there are hidden messages in this book, I want to know,” I say.