by Neely Powell
“Take care of her,” he told Fiona.
Brenna answered him. “We always take care of our own.”
“You see to Garth now,” Fiona said before he could reply to Brenna’s sharp tone. “Do that for Eva Grace and then come back to the house to talk to us.”
“I need a minute with Garth,” Eva Grace said suddenly. “Just a minute alone, please.”
Sirens were wailing in the distance. The EMS crew would soon be pulling up to the Connelly’s home and coming to the falls. Deputies would help Jake cover every inch of the scene. The state crime lab was sending a team. Jake had also called a group of local paranormal researchers who often helped the sheriff’s department look for elements outside of fingerprints and fibers.
Eva Grace deserved a moment of privacy with Garth before that invasion began.
“Take as long as you need,” Jake told her and, leaving the grieving woman alone, walked with Brenna and Fiona onto the path that led to the Connelly home.
“Shouldn’t we keep an eye on her?” Fiona whispered to Brenna.
“There’s nothing here that can harm her now,” Brenna said, pausing just inside the forest. “The worst has happened.”
“Are you sure it’s the worst or the beginning?” Fiona asked. “Garth wasn’t a Connelly. Why would the Woman in White take him?”
“She’s a ghost,” Brenna replied to her sister. “If any of us could sense what she was thinking, it’s you, Fiona.”
Jake knew Fiona was well known for her ability to communicate with the dead, but she shook her head at Brenna’s question. “There was just anger. She didn’t communicate anything but anger to me.”
Jake interrupted. “Who is this spirit? You talk as if you know who it was.”
“The Woman in White,” Brenna snapped at him. “She’s always been coming for one of us. She comes after all the Connelly women.”
“Well, not all—” Fiona broke in.
“At least one of us a generation,” Brenna said. “She takes one of us.”
“Takes you?” Jake countered. “What do you mean?”
Brenna regarded him with cold impatience. “She kills one of us, shifter.”
Jake was startled, but not by what she called him. She was a witch. She was Eva Grace’s close relative. Of course she knew what he was, but why the belligerence? Questions formed in his mind, but a sudden disturbance forestalled any further conversation.
Instinct made Jake step in front of the women, but the source of the noise was not a threat. Sarah Connelly Hayes, the Connelly family matriarch, hurried toward them, followed by her husband, Marcus. Sarah’s long, gray hair was loose around her shoulders, and for the first time ever Jake thought she looked old.
“What’s happened?” she demanded. “I was in Eva Grace’s garden, supervising the set-up of the tent for the wedding when I felt everything change. It went dark.”
“Garth’s dead, Sarah,” Brenna told her without preamble. Jake sensed an odd note of triumph in her tone. What was that about?
Sarah turned white and faltered. Her husband stepped up and put his arm around her shoulders.
“Steady, now,” the tall, dark-haired man murmured before he looked at Brenna. “How could Garth be dead?”
“Ask her,” Brenna said, nodding at her grandmother again. Again, Jake felt her anger toward the older woman. “Ask her why her protections failed. She’s had twenty-eight years to prepare for this. So ask her why it happened.”
Sarah’s eyes narrowed, and her frame straightened. “Yes, blame me, Brenna. I’ll gladly take the blame, like all those who went before me. Blame me for this, for all of our losses. Give me the blame, as always.”
Brenna’s eyes filled with tears, revealing a glimpse of hurt and confusion that surprised Jake. Maybe the beautiful, sexy witch wasn’t made of ice after all.
Sarah stepped up and took Brenna’s hands. “I hope you’ll be the one who finds the answers, girl. For all of our sakes.”
Without another word, Sarah dropped Brenna’s hands and pushed past them, calling Eva Grace’s name. They followed her to the clearing where she met her grieving granddaughter with a choked cry and an embrace.
Jake noticed that despite the sharp exchange, Brenna linked her hand with Sarah’s as they once more formed a circle around Garth.
And as the Connelly witches joined hands, Jake felt evil brush past them as he had earlier. It stirred the trees. All four women looked up and chanted together. A single lightning bolt came out of the clear sky and struck near the edge of the cliff, just next to the falls. Then there was silence.
Marcus murmured, “Holy shit, that’s some damn bad mojo.”
Jake thought that summed it up well. What was happening to peaceful, magical Mourne County?
Chapter Three
By late afternoon, the home place filled with Connelly women—cooking, cleaning, and guarding the young woman whose heart had been shattered.
Brenna heard the murmurs of female relatives as she came down the back staircase and into the kitchen. There was a time when she would have been annoyed by their fluttering about. Right now, she was glad to have them close. Eva Grace needed their support.
Brenna and Fiona had been upstairs with her since returning to the house a few hours ago. Eva Grace had been calm as they all changed from damp dresses into dry jeans and T-shirts that Brenna supplied. Then a storm of grief had claimed Eva Grace. Brenna knew she would recall those wrenching sobs forever.
Two other female cousins met Brenna at the foot of the narrow staircase. “How is she?” Maggie Connelly Mills asked quietly, nodding toward the second floor.
“Asleep, finally,” Brenna replied. “Fiona’s with her in case she wakes up.”
“I hope she sleeps a good long time,” said Lauren Mayfield, the other cousin who was near Brenna and Eva Grace’s age. Two aunts in the kitchen agreed with silent nods and tearful sighs.
All of them were struggling with shock and mourning, emotions this old house had witnessed too much of over the years. Mixed with joy and the family gatherings, there had been plenty of tragedy for the Connellys here.
The kitchen was the heart of the house. The long, log-paneled room had three walls from the first cabin built when the original Connellys arrived in these Georgia mountains from Ireland in the 1750s. Since then, new generations had added on. The white farmhouse Sarah inherited was now a three-story, six-bedroom house with a huge great room and a dining room big enough to seat eighteen people.
This was Marcus and Sarah’s home. Eva Grace had settled into a cottage in the town proper, near the shop she ran. Fiona had a small apartment on Main Street. This big house was seldom empty, however, as there were always relations in and out. Brenna had moved into the attic suite, so she could have privacy as she adjusted to being home and near her family again.
For a family of witches so strong, Brenna wondered why they couldn’t put a stop to the tragedy that haunted them.
Maggie interrupted Brenna’s intense thoughts. “Aunt Sarah is in the dining room with the elder aunts.”
Brenna hesitated as she glanced toward the front of the house. The elder aunts were her grandmother’s two sisters, Doris and Frances. Along with Sarah, they were the last of their generation. Brenna imagined they were talking about what this attack from the Woman in White meant. It certainly didn’t follow the pattern set since 1757, when the first Connelly witch had been taken.
Familiar anger sparked through Brenna. All these years, and no one found a way to break this curse. They weren’t even clear on why it had started. It was ridiculous. So many skilled witches should have found a way. She had grown up knowing the legend and knowing that she, Eva Grace and Fiona, along with Maggie and Lauren, stood a good chance of dying young. What she didn’t understand was why they needed to accept their fate.
The five of them were the Connelly females of their generation. Everyone else in their twenties and thirties was male. The men were never touched, but Maggie and her brother had
daughters. Brenna couldn’t bear to think that any of those young girls facing an attack like they witnessed today.
Brenna strode into the dining room. Behind her were her two cousins and two aunts. Three older women were seated at one end of the long, oak table. Sarah had changed into her usual flowing tunic and jeans, while her two sisters were conservatively dressed in pastel pantsuits. All of them had thick, silvery hair, a common trait among aging Connellys. Unlike Sarah’s long tresses, however, Doris and Frances favored short coifs sprayed into rigid helmets by New Mourne’s most revered beauty salon. Brenna often thought her elder aunts resembled pious churchwomen more than witches.
All three women were studying a large open book—The Connelly Book of Magic. It included history, spells and magic. At least four inches thick, the book’s heavy, old pages were stuffed with loose papers, yellowed photographs and handwritten notes. It was bound in ancient, scrolled leather and laced together with faded ribbons. According to family legend, the cover was cracked from an indiscriminate use of witch water a century ago, and the book itself was known to speak.
Brenna tried many times without success to get a peek inside it. She wished the pages would talk now and explain today’s events. “You have to fix this, once and for all,” Brenna told her grandmother and the elder aunts.
Great-Aunt Doris, Lauren’s grandmother, who had turned seventy-eight just weeks ago, glared at her. “You don’t help anything with your attitude, missy. We’re as upset and as mystified by this as you.”
“It’s no one’s fault,” added Frances, who was Doris’s twin and older by three minutes. “We’ll not have you blaming your grandmother.”
“She can blame me if she wants,” Sarah retorted, her green eyes sharp in her pale face.
Protests and agreements broke out, with elders, aunts and cousins trying to talk at once.
Sarah pushed to her feet and shushed them. “I’ll not have this,” she said, earning Brenna’s grudging respect by the way she took command of the room. “Sit down and talk reasonable or get out.”
Though younger than her sisters by eleven years, Sarah assumed leadership of her family by virtue of her powers. Like Brenna, she drew her strength from nature and cast spells that controlled wind, rain and fire since early childhood. Doris and Frances were given more to charms and potions, and had ceded authority to their younger sister without protest.
At eighteen, Sarah shocked the entire family and the county by taking up with the son of a group known as gypsies. Her young man disappeared when she became pregnant. Though the rest of the family married and were quite traditional, they closed protective ranks around Sarah. She had twin daughters that she raised in this very house.
Her grandmother led an adventurous life without ever leaving her home, Brenna reflected as her relatives settled around the table. In the 60s Sarah embraced the concept of communal living, and the Connelly farm opened to young people seeking peace and enlightenment from living off the land. The commune folded after a few years, but many of those men and women remained in Mourne County. They and their families were now pillars of the community, as well as Sarah’s staunchest allies and best friends.
While she raised her two daughters, Sarah discovered a talent for turning natural stone into jewelry and art. Candlesticks she constructed from geodes lined the dining room mantle, and as usual, she wore earrings of her own design that dangled tiny, polished stones. She had taken advantage of the tourist industry that sprung up in New Mourne and sold her art. Though she guarded her privacy and didn’t often leave New Mourne, she was a well-known and wealthy artist.
One visitor had an even more lasting effect on her. When Brenna and Eva Grace were about fifteen, Sarah married Marcus Hayes, who was seventeen years her junior. He came to New Mourne to sell his handcrafted furniture, met Sarah, and stayed.
To Brenna, it was never surprising that Sarah had a younger lover; there were many men in her life. The shocker was that she actually married Marcus. Good-natured and calm enough to settle Sarah’s fiery nature, Marcus endeared himself immediately to the entire family and especially to Sarah’s three granddaughters.
Brenna thought of Marcus as a father. Her parents had always traveled the globe, studying magic and mysteries, leaving Brenna and Fiona here with Eva Grace, whose mother was dead. Sarah raised her granddaughters with more discipline than she ever applied to herself or her own daughters. Marcus had just loved them all unconditionally.
The only thing that equaled his love was his respect for the power of the Connelly women. He was with the rest of the Connelly men at Eva Grace’s house. They were taking down the tent and decorations for the wedding and reception, determined that she have no reminders of a celebration that would never be.
Instead of taking a seat with the others, Brenna remained on her feet, facing her grandmother. Sarah reclaimed her chair at the head of the table, between her two sisters. She met Brenna’s gaze calmly, as she always did. This was a scene played out since Brenna was a stubborn toddler.
“Say what you need to,” Sarah told her.
“This doesn’t make sense. Garth shouldn’t have been taken.”
Frances cackled beside Sarah. “You think we don’t know that—”
Sarah silenced her sister with a look. “We agree, Brenna. That’s why we’re going through the family book. We’re trying to find a history of anything like this happening before.”
Doris sniffed. “But this book is a mess, of course. It’s filled with all sorts of rubbish and nonsense.” She pulled a wrinkled and yellowed sheet of paper from the middle of the book. “Here’s spell for easing the pain of kidney stones.” She turned the page and clucked again. “And right here is Aunt Delphina’s pumpkin pie recipe.”
“We’ve been looking for that for years,” said Frances’s daughter, Aunt Estelle. “How much nutmeg?”
Once again idle talk broke out in the room. Incensed, Brenna snapped her fingers and thunder rolled, followed by a shimmering dust that fell onto the chattering group of women, rendering them silent.
Except her grandmother. Sarah crossed her arms and shook her head at Brenna. “You’re going to wake up Eva Grace with your parlor tricks.”
Brenna gave a guilty start and turned as Fiona came hurrying in from the kitchen, demanding, “What’s all the noise down here?”
“I’m trying to get everyone focused on our real problem,” Brenna retorted. “All they can talk about is kidney stones and pies.”
“Release them,” Sarah ordered Brenna.
Muttering a curse under her breath, Brenna snapped her fingers again and speech was restored to her relatives.
As the tide of voices swelled once more, she was aware of a new presence. In the doorway from the front hall was Deputy Sheriff Jake Tyler. God knew how long he had been standing there, with his dark brown hat in his hands and his unusual gray-blue eyes taking in the scene. How was it, she wondered, that he made his khaki uniform look like a suit of armor? It had to be the combination of muscular body and absolute confidence he exuded wherever he went. She had to admit his handsome face and strong body could enchant even a witch.
He nodded to Brenna. “I knocked, but no one came to the door. I could hear you talking, so I let myself in.”
“I hope you’re not here to interview Eva Grace again,” Brenna said. “She’s asleep.”
He shook his head. “I just came from telling Garth’s aunt the news. She took it hard.”
Sympathetic murmurs sped around the room. In no time at all, Jake was seated at the table with a mug of coffee, one plate heaped with casseroles and salads, and another with a giant slice of Aunt Doris’s triple layer German chocolate cake.
Did all of these women keep prepared Southern delicacies on hand just in case of tragedy? Brenna wondered. If she did that, she would have even more trouble keeping her weight down. Now that she had moved back, would she be expected to have a casserole or a dessert ready for a birth or a death?
Once they were certai
n the man in their midst was being fed, everyone gathered around the table except Aunt Diane, Doris’s daughter, who went up to sit with Eva Grace. Brenna sat down opposite Jake and eyed him with wariness.
“What do you need from us?” Sarah asked him.
Jake explained that the crime scene crew was finishing at the clearing and Garth’s body had been taken to the coroner for an autopsy.
“No doubt they’ll discover that his heart stopped,” Brenna said with heavy sarcasm. The shifter remained cool.
Fiona, seated beside Jake, frowned at her. “It’s what has to be done. There’ll have to be a reason given for the humans in town. Garth was sheriff, after all.”
“What did you tell Garth’s aunt?” Sarah asked.
“The truth, of course,” Jake replied.
Brenna bit her lip. “She must hate us right now.”
“On the contrary,” Jake said. His eyes narrowed as he studied her. “She only wanted to know how she could help all of you. She’s frightened for you.” He turned to Sarah. “I’d like to know more about the Woman in White.”
The silence returned as the women glanced uneasily at one another. Their family curse was a topic they didn’t discuss among themselves, much less with outsiders.
“Why is that your concern?” Brenna asked Jake. She felt he was wasting their time.
“Garth would have made it his concern,” he countered. “He would want this stopped for Eva Grace’s sake.”
“I don’t know what a shifter can do to help us.” The air heated as Brenna glared at Jake.
“Just stop it,” Fiona cut in, scowling at Brenna.
“But he—”
“Might have something new to offer,” Fiona retorted. “Don’t we owe that to Eva Grace? To Garth’s memory?”
Chastened, Brenna sat back.
Jake looked to Sarah again. “Why does this spirit take members of your family?”
“We don’t know,” Fiona volunteered.
“That part of the family history has been lost.” Doris tapped a page of the book. “We know there are pages that are missing. We just don’t know where they are or exactly what they said.”