Shattered (Tempest Coven Novels)

by Wendolyn Baird

  As I draw closer to the counter, dress in hand, her eyes widen in recognition, and she smiles with a warmth I haven't come across in a long time. I find myself grinning back broadly, my muscles relaxing more than they'd been all morning.

  “Hey! Oh my gosh I'm sorry, you're the one I spilled my drink on. I'm so glad to have run into you again, I thought I really upset you yesterday. It was bugging me all evening, I wanted to apologize again.”

  Woah talk about friendly! I set my dress down and turn towards her.

  “No worries, I'm actually really sorry. Um, I didn't mean to not respond or anything, the heat was just really messing with me. But no worries, really! My sneakers are fine, see?” Pointing my left foot outward, I turn my ankle to show my shoes are just as muddy and sturdy as before.

  “A little bit of lemonade can't destroy these Chucks; I've been trekking all over the place in these for the past three years, at this point I'm convinced they'll never fall apart.” I chuckle lightly, grateful for a neutral topic, and an excuse to talk to someone about anything normal.

  “Oh, do you travel often? I was going to say, I haven't seen you around town before, and I should, seeing as I work in the visitor center.” Zipping shut her purse, the woman stands back and rests her hands on the small of her back.

  “Yeah, a bit. That was a neat festival this weekend, I was actually really impressed by all the vendors. You must be proud,” I add, Mother's admonitions echoing in my ear. You never draw attention to yourself. Always compliment- or criticize the person you're conversing with. People will jump at the chance to brag or defend themselves, always. I hate that she still dictates my actions, good and bad.

  Tossing her hair back over her shoulder, she shrugs and says, “Well I'm always proud of the work Hildrun can do, but I really can't take much credit for this weekend. Was there anything in particular that caught your eye?”

  Atlas pops into my head, his arms stretched up over his head as he surveyed his table, the bottom of his shirt raising away from the waist of his jeans.

  “Uh, yeah, actually. Riordan's Works, I think it was called. Beautiful, glittering jewelry, and I found the wind chimes really interesting.”

  “Really? I'm so glad. My husband is actually one of the owner's, so I might be a little biased, but they really have some fascinating things.”

  Elliot's wife? What is it about this family that's drawing me in? First it was Atlas, then his mom was so sweet, now this woman.

  “Yeah,” I finally respond. “Yeah, they had some really great stuff, I was surprised. Even if you can't claim credit for the weekend, I've got to say, your family’s business rocks!”

  “Oh well, that's more the boys’ project than mine, but I'll be sure to pass along the compliment.”

  Damn, this woman doesn't have a single selfish bone in her body. It's sort of refreshing, I've got to admit, but my mouth is starting to taste like pennies. How do you make small talk with a person who refuses to talk about herself?

  She slings a small leather purse over her shoulder and smiles at me as I confirm a pickup time for my outfit.

  “So, if you liked the shop so much,” she leans in conspiratorially. “Do you believe in magic?”

  “Uhm, that depends,” I stall. “What kind of magic? What does that have to do with the shop?”

  This is unexpected, and although I don't think it's a trick question, I suddenly remember how angrily Elliot responded to my appearance. Maybe it would be best to not offend this woman.

  “You know, runes, tarot cards, things like that.” She responds casually, avoiding my question.

  We both turn to leave the shop, and I keep the door open for her as I carefully choose my next words.

  “Well, I believe in essential oils and crystals. Does that count?” There. That's an innocent enough answer.

  “Yeah that counts,” she laughs, perfectly at ease now. “I was going to tell you to be selective in what you buy. My husband and his family believe in making things that have greater purposes behind them. Those wind chimes will most likely act as a dreamcatcher as well, if you believe that sort of thing.”

  Taking a step towards me, she thrusts out her hand. “Hi, my name's Nova.”

  “I'm Tania, it's nice to meet you,” I respond, gingerly accepting her chafed hands. “That looks painful, do you need lotion or anything?”

  Nova glances down at her knuckles and shakes her head embarrassedly. “Oh no, I was just washing a bunch of dishes this morning, I'll be fine.”

  Against my better judgement, I pull my bag over to the front of my hip and shift the tablecloth over to grab out a small bottle.

  “Well, here; if you change your mind, this salve heals everything.” I offer it to her hesitantly, and as she takes it from me, I know it was a good risk.

  “Okay, thank you. Yeah, thanks a lot.”

  Glancing around, Nova motions towards her car; a tiny red thing covered in bumper stickers. “I was actually just about to grab some coffee? Would you like to come? I mean, I know we don't really know each other, but I feel like we should. Is that weird?”

  I shift my weight onto my left leg, and then I weigh my options. On one hand, I need to start deciphering this map, and should probably get back to Atlas. On the other hand, I don't exactly know where I stand with him, and Nova's cheery personality feels very addicting. I could use a friend.

  “I’m never quite sure about what’s weird or not, but you know what? Yeah, I would like to get some coffee, thank you.”

  I firmly zip up my bag, and get into the offered seat, folding my legs as I sink into the vehicle.

  Nova picks the same coffee shop I'd approached Atlas in yesterday, and it's ominous how much colder the atmosphere feels now that the parking lot isn't covered in brightly colored booths and canopies. It's not the temperature that makes it cold, but the attitude of the patrons and servers alike. As though they know what I am. As though they want me to leave.

  But that's impossible, I know it's impossible; the crystal at my throat is still charged with all my excess energy, and I even threw a little into my hair clips this morning. The only thing they should be able to sense is a slight vibration from the quartz, and even then, that should only be possible if they were familiar with my energy.

  Still, as I follow Nova around to a small, rounded table, I feel as though a thousand eyes are on me, daring me to reveal myself.

  “So, what brings you to Hildrun? Just sightseeing the rocks and stuff, or are you visiting family, or friends?”

  Nova's question should be easy. Claiming to be a tourist is the best option for me, but seeing the sincerity in her face... I can't bring myself to lie. Not completely, anyway.

  “I came for the festival this past weekend. I was actually hoping to run into someone, but I guess they didn't make it out after all. I'm probably going to be leaving soon actually, it's an interesting town, really it is,” I answer, trying to be as kind and truthful as I can at the moment.

  “But it's not the place for you,” she guesses, swiftly cutting off my sentence.

  I shake my head sheepishly, “No. I guess not.” Even with the gentle tone she used, the words still sting. It's not that I want to belong here, but there's something hurtful about knowing you don't belong. Knowing you aren't wanted.

  “See, I was the opposite. My family had this wonderful reputation and place in my hometown, but no matter where I went, I found it stifling. Like I couldn't escape my last name,” Nova plows on, her happy disposition easily bypassing the awkward politeness I'm used to from strangers.

  “The first thing I did after graduating high school,” she continues. “Was save up to buy a tiny home and move out to a crappy piece of land on the edge of the city limits. It didn't last too long, just a couple of years. At that point I met my husband and followed him out here. Hildrun was the first place that felt like home. I think most of it is just being with Elliot. My husband makes it home.”

  “You're really lucky,” I respond while pulling a
t my necklace. “There are so many places I love, but none really feel like a home.”

  “Where have you been, what places do you love? I'm sorry to admit, I'm pretty poorly traveled. You're lucky if you've been able to do that.”

  So, I tell her about the food at Flat Iron, and the blooms in Strawberry Fields from my year in New York. I tell her about the grey skies and eco friendliness from the autumn I spent in Seattle. Then I tell her about the heat and flowering bluebonnets outside of San Antonio, and the places I hope to visit still.

  Just as we're discussing different costs of living, a teenage girl draped in a coral apron interrupts us with two heavy mugs and a plate of miniature muffins. “On the house, Nova,” she lilts, silver braces flashing between her words.

  “Oh, thank you Katie, that's so sweet. How's your mom doing?”

  Katie deliberately turns her back towards me as she prattles about her family, apparently a big fan of my new friend. The exclusion is awkward, so pulling my mug towards me, I lift it to my lips.

  Cold. Not iced. Just cold, as though they'd taken an old cup that was left out and handed it to me as freshly brewed.

  Tears spring to my eyes, and I blink furiously, conscious of how my napkin is smoldering beneath my hand, and the lamp above is swaying back and forth. My blood is pounding in my temples, but I stare at Nova and try to imitate her peace.

  By the time Katie saunters off, I'm composed once again, and keep my chin lifted in a show of confidence.

  “So, you asked me about magic earlier,” I begin, leaning towards Nova. I'm tired of dancing around my questions. “I'm assuming it's an interest of yours, especially with all those funny symbols on your husband's jewelry and things. What do you think about witches? Halloween, or real?”

  My tone is light, joking even, but Nova's eyes widen immediately, causing the light to dance on her dark green irises. Glancing around quickly, she scoots her chair as close to the table as she can.

  “I wouldn't say that so loud. Witches are kind of a tricky subject around here.”

  “Really? Why is that? Do you have an old woman who gobbles up little children living around the corner, or something?”

  “No, but it's not really a laughing matter here. Really, don't make fun of me or anything, but there's a difference between magic and witchcraft, and it's not something to mess with.” A small line is indenting itself into the middle of her forehead as she anxiously rips at her napkin.

  “Okay, so real. But I don't get it, all the self-proclaimed witches I've met have been pretty much about meditation and astronomy. Maybe scoffed at sometimes, but nothing scary.”

  Her face darkens, and she answers with a frown, “Well, here, we've seen scary. Magic is one thing; witchcraft is quite another.”

  She repeats the same stories Atlas told me last night, and as she speaks, I become more and more aware of the quiet glares I'm attracting. There's no way they can be explained away by paranoia, somehow, they suspect what I am. My hands find my rejected mug and twirl it around in neat circles.

  Several rotations later, I glance down and spot a bright pink lipstick stain on the rim. I don't own any pinks, and today I'm wearing my usual red.

  With deep, controlled breaths, I glance over at Katie, my eyes carefully wide as though ignorant. The entire crew is eyeing me with deep smirks, waiting for a response.

  Oh, hell no. They want a response? They'll get a response. I can play with the part of the witch they want to see, damn straight, I can.

  “Excuse me for a minute, I've got to use the bathroom again. I'll be right back.”

  “Oh, of course. Actually, I'm just going to get a to go cup, I'm actually running late for a doctor's appointment, so I've got to go. It was nice talking to you.”

  “Yeah, you too,” I manage to respond, my heart pounding furiously against my ribs while I force my voice to stay calm.

  I slip into a stall, pulling back out my poppies, and digging around for the tourmaline again. Holding the flowers beneath my chin, I smooth the paper across my lap, and sprinkle the water evenly over its surface.

  The damp paper wraps softly against the blooms, and I wrap them firmly together, the entire package compressed into a thin shape, no longer than my palm. With the bathroom still vacant, I climb easily onto the toilet seat, and thread the flowers through the back of the stall partition.

  Satisfied with my work, I clamber down, and shake out my map, savoring the moment alone. If they want me gone, fine, I'll finish my work here and clear out. Lines glow almost immediately, and I've got a neighborhood to go check out. Maybe I won't need Atlas' help after all.

  Nova meets me outside the bathroom door, on her way in, and we exchange easy goodbyes. Heading out, I nestle myself beneath a tree across the street, and wait until Nova's car pulls around and away.

  Then, I slowly raise my hands and clap. Once. Twice. Three times.

  The lights in the cafe go out, and until those flowers dry out, they'll have a hell of a time trying to get the electricity back up. Maybe the next time they have a witch visit, they'll remember to be a little kinder, or at least wiser.

  Wearing a broad smirk across my face, I walk off, bitter anger fueling my pace. Sure, I'd listened to Atlas when he listed off all the past troubles he was aware of with witches, but I guess I just didn't believe it could be so bad. Maybe that should have been evident when Elliot was towering over me, but again, I thought he was just prejudiced and ignorant.

  Even the mortals know about witches, even the mortals fear us. But I know that it's possible that everyone that's passed through here was bad.

  It doesn't make any sense. In most cities mages and witches live civilly, even if we run with our own crowds. Most mortals don't even believe in magic, they just see the outward motions and assume we're nuts. That's fine by me, it means less questions and unwanted chit chat.

  But here... oh there's so many reasons why I have to find Sasha. I just didn't think the town itself was going to be this bad. So, what if it's on fault lines? Yeah, okay that means it's normally taboo for witches because we can set those off. But that's still no reason for this level of hostility.

  The ground underneath sticks at my shoes, as the heat pulsates up from the concrete, threatening to ignite my rubber soles. I allow myself to walk a little higher, just a slight lift from my weight, not enough to fully leave the sidewalk.

  Passing through the crowded market streets, I blend easily into the crowd and watch the faces that pass by me with fear. Is this what my ancestors felt in Salem? Disconnect and terror that any passing child could point me out for condemnation?

  Wrenching my eyes shut, I try to forget Nova's words and her underlying distress. I guess no friendship will come of that after all. Her summary of Atlas’ previous words were far more chilling than his warnings and sugar coating.

  A lanky man with heavily tattooed arms knocks into me as I turn a corner; my bag swinging back away from my body with the impact, and I'm knocked out of my thoughts with an audible gasp.

  “I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there!”

  Dark blue eyes stare down at me from above high cheekbones, his gaze calculating and unamused. He doesn't say a word, but as his stare narrows to the clips in my hair, I know that he's assessing me for magic. A line of hieroglyphics follows his veins and almost glow with a vibrance I'm sure even the mortals can detect.

  His complete lack of surprise at being bumped into stops me cold, as does the expression on his face. He reminds me of a hawk examining its prey, idly detached before it goes in for the kill.

  With my stomach dropping into a tangled mess of knots, I stumble backwards, trying to block out the chill that's shooting down my spine. Shutting my mouth with a quick snap, I step back into the crowd and will myself to become invisible. My shrouding can only go so far, but in a crowd like this, it's likely he won't be able to track me past this street.

  My heart is pounding, and as much as I would love to run to Atlas’ shop, I can't lead this man back there.
Atlas said he'd protect me, but that doesn't mean I have to put a mark on his head unnecessarily.

  Dodging down a side street, I'm vaguely aware of a drop in pressure and the edging in of dark clouds. The dirtied brick walls that accompany my flight are forgotten and abandoned, and the falling chain link fences on this side of town speak to the same level of neglect. Keeping my head down, I'm stunned to see a small spot of green amongst the dying grass.

  Nettles. Nettles and narcissus.

  I glance back, but there aren't any people or cars in sight, so I take a deep breath and pause to rest.

  Staring down at the paltry plants, I know they're significant. Another wave of dread fills my throat, threatening to choke me with anxiety. Nettles symbolize resentment, narcissus speaks of pride. Something here is very wrong, and if witches were cursed here before, it's obvious some part of their essence never left.

  Following the flowers down the road, I stumble across more and more nettles; a breadcrumb trail to a house that's nearly disintegrating with tainted magic. The rotted, grey planks are merely a holding place for energy that can't be contained, and my feet slow as I reluctantly follow its invitation.

  There's nothing I'd love more than to walk away, but this is the first hint of witchcraft I've found since I've been here. What if Sasha's in there, hurt and alone?

  Oh, but the longer I stare at the building the fuller it appears, dark energy oozing out of the very framework. If she's in there, she's not alone.

  A cluster of flowers bursts up on the east wall, and I step forth cautiously, torn between my sense of self preservation, and the much stronger sense of desperation.

  Suddenly a shrill yowling echoes off the houses nearby, and I jump, my legs heavy in the humidity that's rolling across the air.

  The demon from last night.

  With no other options or ideas, I hurdle headfirst through the nettled yard and push my way through the door that's been haphazardly boarded up.

  The yowling stops instantly, but now I find myself plunged in darkness and a cold so deep, my limbs begin to numb.