I want him to say yes. Rain might be there. Or even Pen - I still hope he can shed some light on what happened to Guthrie.
“I think I’ll bring a team to check it out. Right now, we’re going back home.”
I glare at him, but his jaw is set. He needs a shave - I can see the shadow of stubble, and I want to touch it. I drag my eyes away and shake my head. This is no time to be thinking about Angelo’s stubble. “If you make me go home, I’ll just come back.”
“Trinket...”
“Angelo.... I mean it. What if Rain is in over her head and she needs us. Are you going to walk away from that?”
“No. I just said I’ll come back with my men and-.”
“And what? Scare all those kids half to death? Smooth move, ASS man.”
“We won’t scare them, but we will make them go home. They’re trespassing,” he reminds me. “On your property.”
It’s true. My dad apparently made arrangements for the mansion to pass to me. I just refuse to take possession of it. “So? I don’t care.”
“You will if one of them gets hurt. That place is in good shape now, but sooner or later it will start to fall apart. No one has done any maintenance on it for a year, at least.”
Well, he sort of has a point there, but I’m not going to admit it. I make a mental note to have someone come out to take a look later, and say, “Well, it’s fine for now, and I’m willing to bet it’s still a lot cleaner than Posy’s house.”
Angelo laughs, breaking the tension between us. “You do have a point there.”
“I know. I’m not sure I blame Penley for wanting to stay away from that house. It’s claustrophobic.”
Angelo nods. “True, but he can’t just go squatting somewhere else. That’s not legal, and it might be dangerous.”
I’m not a parent, but I still think kids like Penley and Rain have a lot more sense than people give them credit for - barring a developmental problem. Or young love, which is kind of the same thing. “Can we at least stop by and see if Rain is there? I’d like to go home and tell Mom she’s safe.”
He thinks about this as we walk, and I smile to myself when I realize we’re already heading that way. It’s nice that I can get my way sometimes.
“You’re a brat,” he says.
I won’t disagree with that.
The sun is out, bright against the snow, and its angle leaves the mansion’s doorway deep in shadows. I still think the place looks haunted, and considering what happened here, I’m amazed that I’m not scared to go inside.
Angelo digs out a set of keys, but on impulse I reach out and twist the knob. The door opens easily. “If they’re hanging out here,” I explain, “They won’t want to go through the trouble of breaking in every time.”
He doesn’t answer, so I go on inside, leaving him to follow.
The mansion is freezing, partly because the curtains are drawn to keep out the sun and partly because that’s the nature of humongous stone edifices. I doubt anyone could really heat this place without the use of magic and a lot of firewood. It’s more like an actual medieval castle than a home, and it reflects my father’s demon nature perfectly - icy and hard. Since he tried to use my magic to hurt a lot of people, I’ve been very glad that I didn’t get to know him before my mom sent him back to hell.
I try to remember where the windows are, and then go to one of them. Finding the edge of the black plastic covering, I rip it away and let light flood the room. “That’s better,” I say, looking around.
The furniture has been covered with thick sheets, now gray with dust, and all of the artwork has been removed from the walls and donated to the little museum in Jagged Grove. Cory Clark, the curator, was thrilled to get such a generous gift, even though the artwork - to me - was hideous. Lots of black and red abstract work that seemed vaguely disturbing. None of the paintings were signed. I was glad to get rid of it.
Angelo goes to the mantle to poke around, while I go through the far doorway that leads to my father’s opulent office. I shudder at the threshold, remembering all that happened here, but then keep walking. If kids are hanging out here, they won’t be in the living room - too easy to be seen. They’ll congregate near the back of the house.
To my surprise, though, when I rip down the curtains, nothing seems to be anything out of place here. My dad’s giant desk still takes up most of the room, even though I told Angelo he could have it, and there are even a few of his clients’ file folders lying off to one side. At least, I guess that’s what they are - I don’t bother reading them. The less I know about what went on in this room, the better.
The bookshelves are nearly empty, and I remember that I gave the library permission to come in and take what they wanted. They did a good job, even dusting the shelves when they were finished, apparently.
I hear a slight whoosh - Angelo starting a fire in the main fireplace - and then he steps into the office. “Find anything?” he asks.
“No, but I’m only looking for Rain, and she’s not here.” I spread my hands. “Care to check the other floors with me?”
We start in the basement, figuring we’ll just work our way through the whole house to the top floor. I don’t think either of us expect to find anything, but I keep listening for voices, anyway.
If the main floor is luxurious, the basement is austere. A few cots in one main room, plus a workshop of sorts walled off from the rest of it with a vast bank of dark monitors lining three walls. Gray stone feels like this place hasn’t been heated for centuries, even though I know that my father’s security teams mostly lived down here. Right now, the place is empty. We take a quick look and move on.
The main floor is eerie without the artwork and the sense of life my father’s staff gave it. He hired great people, and I was sorry to tell them that I wouldn’t me moving in - that meant they would have to find another job, and some of them had been with my dad for nearly their whole lives. Only Angelo’s promise that he would help them kept me from paying their salary even now. Like the basement, the rooms up here are empty, and also like the basement, I have no desire to hang out.
Besides, I am disappointed that there is no sign of Rain. Or anyone else for that matter. Everything looks basically like I left it. There are no kids hanging out here, unless they are the neatest, most respectful kids I’ve ever met. Mot impossible, but...
We’re walking through the kitchen when Angelo drops a hand on my shoulder. I turn. “Whaa-?” I start, but he puts a finger to his lips.
I hush and listen, then realize that I hear it, too. Voices, coming from overhead. I look up, then look at Angelo. The voices are muffled, because the walls and floors in this place are thick, but I can definitely make out at least two voices - one male, one female. Or at least, one that’s a lot deeper than the other. I don’t recognize either one, but I can’t hear them well enough to be sure.
Angelo holds up a finger for me to wait, then starts toward the stairs. I smirk at his back - he should know better than to think I’m staying put. When he turns around again, I’m right behind him. After shaking his head, he ignores me.
We take the stairs slowly, trying to gauge where the voices are as we go. A couple of times, they stop completely, and we have to stop too until they start up again. At the same time, I force myself to look at anything, anywhere but Angelo’s fine butt in front of me.
Near the top, the voices become much clear, and we pause again.
“Do you think they’ll find it?” the female voice asks.
“If anyone can, it’s Crowder. He’ll come through.”
“But he said the old man was dead, and I don’t like the new guy...what’s his name?”
“I don’t remember it, either, and that’s why Crowder is so important - he makes the deals, so that we don’t have to talk to that guy.”
Who are they talking about? And what kind of deal? I glance at Angelo, but he’s still listening, with his eyes closed.
Weird.
I try it, too, and realize
that I can hear better. Huh. Who knew?
There is movement from wherever they are - one of the guest bedrooms, I’d guess - and then a thunk as something drops to the floor. A squeak escapes from the girl’s mouth, and I freeze, my jaw dropping.
I know that squeak.
I know it well, in fact, but I haven’t heard it in a very long time. My vision starts to pop, and I clutch the stair’s banister.
What I’m hearing is impossible.
Chapter 11
I feel my knees starting to give way and reach for Angelo. He’s not paying attention, but he feels me grab his coat and turns just in time to keep me from tumbling down the stairs. My vision is blurry, but my mind is racing hard. This has to be a mistake - I misheard, or my mind is playing tricks on me.
“Angelo?” I ask, completely bewildered. I can’t focus - on his face, or the voices. Nothing. He kneels in front of me on the stairs and looks at me closely. Then he checks my forehead for a fever, until I swat his hand away.
“Hmm?” he answers quietly. “Trinket? What happened? Are you all right?”
“I’m not sure, but I think...”
Before I can answer, the voices start up again. The male voice says, “I wish we could go check out the island, instead of being stuck here. This sucks.”
“Me, too,” the female voice answers, and I suck in my breath. Do I really recognize that voice, or is it my imagination?
It has to be my imagination, because the person I think it belongs to cannot possibly be here.
“Angelo? Does that sound like Tawny to you?” I whisper.
It’s his turn to look bewildered. “Who?”
“Tawny...My neighbor? The cute little redhead that liked your butt back in Raleigh? When we first met?”
He still looks blank.
“The one who let you into my apartment?”
His dark eyes clear, then go round. “Oh. Oh...no way. She can’t be here - it’s impossible.”
My exact thought. Impossible.
I have to be wrong.
Before I can say anything else, a sound reaches us from the bottom of the stairs. We both turn and look down the long expanse to see a blond boy standing there, his pose defensive, fists up. Angelo says, “Penley,” and stands up.
Then Penley is gone.
Angelo thumps down the stairs after him before I can even get to my feet. The banister is slick with my own clammy hands, so I’m more careful. I go after them, but then stop halfway down the staircase and look back toward the upper floor.
Tawny is still up there, if my guess is right.
I suddenly miss her badly. The first few months we were here, I missed her, thought about what a kick she’d get out of this place, but then those feelings eventually faded as I settled into my new home. Now, they came back with a rush, but also with a warning: the voice I heard might not even be Tawny.
In fact, the odds are very good that I’m completely mistaken. How could she possibly get here? Or why, even? Even if she stumbled onto a supernatural portal somehow, who would just come on through it, like they were going on vacation or something?
I smile at that, because of all the people I know, Tawny would. Her sense of adventure and positive nature always did push her to the edge of crazy, and what was crazier than this?
I turn and head back up the stairs. If there is any chance that the voice I heard was hers...well, I wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to see her again.
When I step off the top stair into the upper hall, I see a flickering light illuminating one doorway to my left. Everything else is pitch black, and the hall itself, lined with a few empty tables that once held sculpture, stretches out beyond where the light can reach. It’s colder up here, and as I hesitate, the chill makes me shiver.
The light looks very much like a candle flame, and I walk that way. When I’m almost there, ready to peek around the door frame to see, I hear Tawny’s voice again.
“Let’s just get out of here. It was a cool idea, but it’s no fun if we have to stay in this room whenever we come.”
The male voice grunts an answer.
“Come on, we should at least be able to do some sightseeing.”
I pull back when I hear movement.
“How many people get to brag that they’ve visited a magical town?” A pause. “You know you want to....”
I suck in my breath and think about how fast I could get away before they see me, but then I remember that we aren’t in Jagged Grove - we’re in the Colony. Even for magical people like us, the Colony can be dangerous. If a couple of normals go wandering around, they’d be werewolf meat before the end of the day. I can’t let that happen to Tawny.
Before I think any more about it - or talk myself out of it - I take a deep breath and step into the frame of the doorway.
The man, who is tall and lanky, is standing by the small group of candles on a table, turned away from me. But the woman looks up at me from her spot on the bed. She’s sitting cross-legged, and when her face is fully revealed under red, red corkscrew curls, I can easily see that it is Tawny, and she looks utterly shocked.
I don’t blame her. I’m a little shocked myself, and I realize that I hadn’t really expected to see her here.
“Oh. My. God,” she breathes. In slow motion she pushes up from the quilt-covered mattress, never taking her eyes off me.
I can’t stand the shadows. I want to see her. I walk through the room and find the heavy plastic window covering. Rip it away, so that the afternoon sun shines in and brightens the scene.
She and the man - who I don’t recognize - blink hard, and the man yelps as he holds up an arm and turns away.
“How long have you been here?” I ask.
“A day or two...Trinket?” Tawny steps toward me, then away again, as if she’s afraid.
I nod. “It’s me.”
“I, uh...I thought you were in Paris?” she says, shaking her head like some thought got lodged the wrong way and she has to jiggle it loose.
“I know. That was the official story.” She’s going pale, so I sit down on the edge of the bed and pat the space beside me. “I’ve got some explaining to do.”
She ignores my gesture. Her small figure is trembling and her hands are fisted on her hips. We simply stare at each other for a moment, me thinking about the few letters I sent her - describing Paris - and her thinking who knows what.
Is she mad that I lied? In shock and not sure what to think? Happy to see me, regardless of the circumstances? I have no idea, and my own uncertainty is making me nervous.
So when she lets out a piercing screech and launches herself at me, I’m not sure how to respond. She lands practically in my lap, knocking us both backward onto the bed. I try to grab her wrists, but she’s twisty and wiry and then her arms are around my neck ad I realize that she’s laughing and hugging me, so I laugh too and hug her back.
“I thought you’d been trafficked or something,” she said, not letting go of my neck. When that guy showed up at your place and then you disappeared forever, I was sure I’d handed you over to human traffickers.
I snorted at the idea of Angelo as a human trafficker, then remembered that I’d once thought he was the mob. “I wasn’t. He’s not,” I say.
“Well, obviously.” She smacks my shoulder and laughs. The sound makes me feel warm and content inside. It always did. “But I was told that this was a...not so normal...town?”
The questions are starting to surface now that her initial confusion and surprise are wearing off. I can feel it in the way her body pills away slightly, and hear it in the tension in her voice. I gently push her sideways, and she rolls over to sit near me on the mattress.
“That’s true,” I say. “This town is sort of in a different dimension,” I say, trying to figure out how to describe it.
But she waves a hand. “Oh, I know. Penley told me how it works.” Her eyes fasten on mine, and she leans so close I can almost count the freckles. “But how are you here?”
/> “I’m a witch,” I say, wincing at the word. I feel comfortable here, saying that, but I would never have mentioned it back home. It was too much crazy even for my crazy friend here.
“You?” she asked, her eyebrows coming together. “Seriously?”
I nod. “Yep.”
“You were a law student, Trinket, not a witch.”
“I was trying to hide it. Long story. But yeah, I’m a witch, my mom is a witch, and now we both live here.”
She looks around, like I meant this specific room. “Nice place,” she says finally.
“No - not here here. Just here. On Jagged Grove. The other side of the island, actually. The bigger question is how did you get here? It’s, well... I don’t know if it’s illegal, but I know I’ve never seen a normal here.”
Her smile comes back full force. “You mean I’m the first?” She pops me in the shoulder with her small, bony fist. That is sooo cool!”
“It is,” I agree. “But I still need to know how you managed to get here. Usually Angelo knows if anyone is traveling in and out.” I spot the disappointment in her eyes and wave a hand dismissively. “It’s a safety thing. So that no one gets lost.”
“Oh.” Her eyes clear. “Well, I met a couple of kids when we went down to Cape Hatteras last month, and they were doing some pretty crazy tricks. This old guy was with them, but he never said much.”
“They were flying off the top of the lighthouse,” the man, who I’d almost forgotten, snaps. He’d walked to the window when I uncovered it and looked out silently. Now he turns, and is backlit so that I still can’t make out most of his features.
Tawny sniffs. “Trinket, meet Carl, my soon-to-be ex-boyfriend, if he doesn’t stop being such a buzz kill.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say, interrupting her and standing up. When I hold out my hand to him, he ignores it. “You said they were flying off the top of the lighthouse?”
“Yeah, laughing like maniacs, but giving everyone else a heart attack.”
“And nobody called the cops?”
“Are you kidding?” Tawny asks, jumping up and grabbing my hand. “It was fascinating, the way they’d jump and then swoop out over the water, skimming along the top of it like a bunch of superheroes. All we could do was watch.”
Addicted Witch: A Jagged Grove Mystery Page 8