by Neely Powell
“There’s always Aunt Estelle or Aunt Diane.”
He shook his head. “If they wanted to be the leader, they would have asserted themselves by now.”
Brenna had to agree. “There’s also my mother, of course, but she ran away so long ago she’s hardly relevant.”
“You can’t think Maggie or Lauren is destined to be a leader?”
“Well, they’re also on the chopping block for the Woman in White this time around. Maybe one of them can break the curse.”
Jake shook his head. “Maggie’s too sweet to lead anything other than a bake sale. She’s totally consumed with her husband and her little girl, decorating her house, and brewing herbal potions and teas to sell at Eva Grace’s shop.”
“But Lauren…”
Jake smirked. “Lauren has other interests. Many other interests.”
Brenna pretended to bristle. “Are you saying that my cousin, my sister witch, likes male company. As in men, plural?”
“Is that what you’re saying?”
“I refuse to spread rumors about my family.”
“Too late. Lauren is pretty well known.”
Brenna wondered if he might have given in to the temptation of Lauren’s lush curves and the seduction spells she could weave. A quick jolt of jealousy sparked in her.
Jake didn’t notice that emotion, thank goodness. He stayed on subject. “Don’t you think it’s up to you to change things? Isn’t that really why you’ve come home?”
“I came home because I was tired of my work in advertising. I’ve signed a contract to illustrate a book, and I decided the peace and quiet of New Mourne provided a better work atmosphere.”
He looked skeptical.
She continued. “I also wanted to get away from Atlanta. I realized I didn’t like it there. It’s too big. The urban supes are too…” She bit her lip, trying to express herself.
“Competitive?” Jake supplied.
“That’s one word for it. There’s a reason why they call cities concrete jungles.”
“I remember. I lived in a couple of cities before I joined the military.”
“After your parents died?”
“Yeah, I tried foster care, but that’s not a real good environment for a teenaged shifter. So I hit the road.”
Atlanta had been too large for her to feel safe and comfortable as an adult, so Brenna couldn’t imagine being alone in the city when she was young.
Jake moved the conversation back to her. “I don’t think you came home to be killed, Brenna. You didn’t come to escape the city, either. You came home to fight. For yourself and your family.”
She didn’t like him ferreting out all of her secrets. “That’s really not your—”
“Don’t tell me again this isn’t my concern.” The fierceness of his tiger side flashed in his eyes. “Garth’s death is my concern. The whole town is my concern. I have to keep the peace.”
Brenna resisted the urge to snap at him. “Okay, do you have any bright ideas what we should do about our murderous ghost?”
Jake nodded. “I think your grandmother and your aunts are on the right track. The answers are probably in your family’s past. Maybe in the entire town’s past. Weren’t the Connellys the first settlers?”
“The Cherokee were here, of course. And there were a few missionaries ahead of us.”
“But you’re connected to the land. The Woman in White must be as well.”
“True, but…” A noise distracted Brenna.
Jake turned and looked toward the back of the diner.
“Do you hear that?” she asked as a muffled noise rumbled from the bathroom at the back of diner.
“Yeah, what do you think is going on in the men’s room?” He stood. “I hope nobody’s fighting.”
“There’s barely room to turn around in there,” Brenna said, getting to her feet, as well.
Jake’s grin was almost teasing. “How do you know what’s in the men’s room?”
Before Brenna could answer, an animal burst out of the bathroom, leaving the door in splinters. A werewolf, Brenna realized, as the creature raised his head and gave a menacing growl. White fangs gleamed as his drool pooled and his golden eyes scoured the room. Brenna and Jake froze along with the waitress, the cashier and the few other diners.
The beast shook his head and trembled.
Brenna glanced at where she’d seen her werewolf neighbor and his wife moments earlier. The woman was still, her head down, her eyes focused on the table as her husband’s wolf howled. He sounded as if he were in pain. Fear shot through Brenna. There wasn’t a full moon tonight, so something was wrong—very wrong.
The baby near the front screamed. The wolf stepped toward the sound. The mother reached out, no doubt by instinct, but the father stopped her with one quick move. They were both locals, familiar with how to deal with a werewolf, but Brenna could see they were struggling for control as the baby began to sob. The werewolf, growling low in his throat, took another step forward.
Brenna had to do something. She flung her hand at the child and said, “Falbh a chadal.” With her Gaelic command, the baby fell asleep.
The wolf halted. He shook his head and danced in place. He sniffed the air, moving closer to the baby. The mother began to cry, but she didn’t move.
Brenna saw Jake raise his hand to his gun, his movement slow and measured. His fingers closed on the grip, but didn’t pull the gun out.
The wolf planted his feet and shook his head from side to side. He dropped to the floor and trembled like he was having a seizure. A black shadow rose up from the wolf’s belly, bounced from wall to wall, and swooped down in front of Jake.
Brenna saw the black energy pass through him. A tiger’s roar rose from deep in his chest.
Hair sprouted on his hands. She could see him pushing against the change, his eyes going blue, then silver again as he struggled. Forcing herself to remain calm, she said, “Steady, Jake. Steady.”
He leaned down, pressing his palms on the table. Like a bullet, the blackness flung itself out of him, bouncing around the room before disappearing.
Jake’s white fur began to disappear and Brenna put her hand on top of his. “Okay now?”
He let his breath out slowly. “Yeah, I think so. What was that?”
She shivered in apprehension. “Nothing good, that’s for sure.”
They turned back to the wolf, now rolling on the floor in the throes of changing back to human. As his naked body emerged, his wife pulled a red-checked tablecloth off a nearby booth to cover him. Then she eased down on the floor and cradled his head in her lap. He moaned and continued to shake. He was pale and in shock.
Jake headed toward the couple and Brenna went to her friends with the baby, who was now in his mother’s arms fast asleep. Brenna stroked the little one’s fine, blond hair. “He’ll be fine. All I did was help him fall asleep.”
“Thank you,” the father said earnestly. “You may have saved his life.”
“Are you two all right?”
The mother nodded, though she looked shaken. “This is all so odd. We know that werewolf. He’d never do anything to harm us or the baby. Something made him lose control.”
Brenna agreed, but she didn’t know what had passed through this diner. She plucked a glass of water from a table and took it to the were, who was now sitting up and talking to Jake.
“It grabbed me all of sudden.” He accepted the water from Brenna. “Thanks.”
“He looked sick,” his wife added. “He got up real fast and headed to the bathroom.”
“I was trying to stop it,” the man said. “But whatever was inside me took over my wolf, and I didn’t have enough strength to block the change. It was like I was watching a horror movie. The baby smelled so good. I knew it was wrong, but I almost couldn’t keep myself from going for him. It was like I was a monster. I’ve never felt that way before.”
Jake put a hand on the other man’s shoulder. “I understand. It almost got me, too.
I could see you were fighting it, whatever it was.”
“The baby’s parents understand too,” Brenna assured her neighbors. “They know it wasn’t your fault. We all know something strange happened here.”
The werewolf pressed his face into his wife’s belly and wept.
From the front door, the waitress called, “Jake, I think you’re needed outside. Come quick.”
Brenna followed Jake to the door. They stepped outside and Jake pulled Brenna behind him. “What in the world…”
She pushed out of his protective grip and was stunned by the scene on Main Street. People up and down the sidewalks were arguing with one another. The music from the park had stopped and was now replaced by angry voices.
Jake barked orders into his radio, calling for backup.
A shoving match started between some men standing nearby and Jake rushed to intervene. Glass shattered in the distance and car alarms bleated far and near. Lights snapped on in the inn.
In the midst of this chaos, Brenna caught sight of her cousin Lauren, standing back, grinning like a Cheshire cat. Then she was gone in the crowd. Brenna blinked, wondering if it had seen Lauren at all.
But she knew one thing for certain. Black magic had now touched the whole town, not just her family’s land.
Chapter Seven
The wind through her open window was warm on Brenna’s face as she guided her small SUV away from the Connelly home. For the first time since Garth’s death more than a week ago, her time was her own. She had her art kit with charcoals and colored pencils beside her. She was going to sketch plants that attract caterpillars and butterflies.
Aunt Frances had a butterfly garden that was the envy of the local lawn enthusiasts. What better place for Brenna to study a caterpillar’s domain for the children’s book she was illustrating?
Brenna felt she also needed a break. The past days had blurred one into another.
First there had been the odd disturbances in town. Jake and the rest of the sheriff’s department were hard pressed to keep order. Three nights this week, the coven had cast calming spells for the entire countryside. Still not used to exercising her magic so often, Brenna found these group encounters taxing.
The good news was the troubles had subsided, although not disappeared. Brenna could feel an evil presence hovering, but no one else had been killed or seriously injured. There’d been no more incidents like the one with the werewolf in the diner. How was the Woman in White able to influence local residents? That Brenna didn’t understand.
Garth’s memorial service was held Wednesday, with an evening wake at Sarah’s. Eva Grace and Garth’s aunt had spread his ashes in the woods where he had loved to shift and roam.
As Brenna traveled the familiar route to her elder aunt’s home, she marveled again at Eva Grace’s strength. The day after Garth’s wake, Eva Grace insisted on going back to her cottage. Brenna and Fiona stayed with her the two following nights, but she asked them to leave this morning. Brenna didn’t blame her cousin for wanting some time alone before returning to her shop on Monday.
They were all getting on each other’s nerves. Despite the need to find answers about the Woman in White and the curse, they had made little headway. Sarah and the elder aunts turned peevish about The Connelly Book of Magic, insisting they needed to study it first. So the younger witches had no new information about past visits of the Woman in White. Which made it difficult to understand how they related to current events. Jake was too busy to do more than stop by Eva Grace’s a few times to check on her.
On top of all of this, Brenna was supposed to be setting up her third floor studio-bedroom at Sarah’s. She hadn’t unpacked before Garth was murdered, and the large room was a jumble of boxes. She knew she should make herself at home in the attic where she, her sister and cousin had played so often as children. Having her own space was essential to being able to live with Sarah and Marcus.
But who could unpack or concentrate on a curse when the mountain roads of her home called on this bright June Saturday?
Better to think about work on the book she was illustrating, Brenna told herself. A friend in Atlanta who was a kindergarten teacher had written a beautiful story about tolerance and acceptance that featured a small bird and a caterpillar. She submitted a few of Brenna’s sketches to the publisher, and now they wanted Brenna to revise and add to the drawings. She was thrilled with this new challenge, not to mention the paycheck. She hoped this opportunity and her savings would launch a new phase of her career.
She pulled to a stop in the driveway of Aunt Frances’s sprawling ranch-style home. Red brick was accented with crisp white trim, green shutters and deep awnings. Both the elder aunts had been given four-acre plots of Connelly land when they married. Frances’s husband, now deceased, was a successful insurance salesman, and the home they built reflected their affluence. Her granddaughter Lauren now lived with her.
Brenna asked Lauren about being in town on Friday night when the fighting in the streets erupted. Her cousin said she was so surprised by the outbreak of hostility that she rushed home to make sure her grandmother was safe.
Brenna got out of her car as Aunt Frances came bustling out the front door, waving. Her silvery hairdo was stiff as ever, and her pink and white pantsuit was immaculate. “I’m so happy to see you,” she said and grabbed Brenna in a bone-crushing hug. She smelled of lilac and clover, familiar and warm. Despite the elder aunts’ irritating stubbornness, Brenna did love them.
“It’s wonderful that you’ve come back to live with us,” Frances said. “Atlanta was too far away. Especially with all of this trouble going on.”
The older woman took Brenna’s arm and chatted about the past days’ disturbing activities as she led the way through her well-appointed home to a screened porch.
“Oh my,” Brenna said, stepping forward to take in the colorful garden that stretched in every direction. The vast backyard could have been featured in Home and Garden. The array of flowers, plants, trees and bushes was stunning. “I had forgotten how beautiful this is.”
Frances hugged her again, laughing in delight. “It just takes care and the right spells, my dear. You could do it all just as well if you put your mind to it.”
Brenna knew she’d never have the patience for gardening on this scale. She followed Frances down the porch steps. “Is Lauren learning all of your secrets?”
“Good heavens no,” Frances retorted. Her green eyes twinkled. “You know my granddaughter is a witch with very different talents than mine.”
Brenna was surprised to see her elder aunt was aware of Lauren’s activities, and it didn’t seem to bother her.
“Your cousin Maggie has always loved working in the garden,” Frances continued. “She has many of my plants growing at her own place. I’m just as happy that dear Doris’s granddaughter will be the one carrying on my traditions instead of Lauren. Maggie was here working this morning and I told her you would be coming over, but she said she couldn’t stay.”
It was easy to picture Maggie here with Aunt Frances, freckles blooming on her cheeks in the sunshine. What a perfect place for her sweet cousin.
“The butterfly garden is over there,” Aunt Frances said, pointing to the left. “This is my herb garden, and over here is the vegetable garden. Cucumbers are ready for pickling. The green beans are about ready to come in, with tomatoes, okra and corn on the way. Doris and I will be canning the rest of the summer.”
They talked awhile longer, strolling through the various gardens. The older woman explained the plants’ life cycles and times of planting with pride. All successful gardeners, witch or not, followed nature’s signs in planting. The phase of the moon, the appearance of the last frost, and the spacing of spring storms dictated each step. Aunt Frances had it down to a fine art.
She brought Brenna back to the butterfly garden and left her alone. Brenna took a deep breath, enjoying the wonderful, earthy smells of summer.
She dropped on the ground and pulled out he
r pad and pencils. A rough sketch took shape on paper—yellow sunflowers, lush purple verbena and the Joe-Pye weed blended with spindly, bright green dill. Though butterflies were not plentiful on this hot afternoon, a few colorful wings dipped and glided through the garden.
Brenna knew this would be the perfect magic place for the book’s little characters. They could walk and talk among the plants in a world she would create with her brush and watercolors.
She moved carefully among the plants, examining many with a magnifying glass to be sure she had the details correct. At one point, she even lay down amid the sunflowers to look up at the stems to get a “caterpillar’s eye view” of the world above the ground.
The pages of her sketchpad filled with samples and diagrams and plans to go with the pages of text. Aunt Frances brought her lemonade and cookies at one point. It wouldn’t have been properly Southern of her not to provide refreshments.
Brenna was so absorbed in her task that she worked for another hour before realizing how hot and uncomfortable she was. She closed her sketchbook and was pulling bits of flowers and grass from her hair when a flash of crimson at the base of an oak tree caught her eye.
The beautiful, blood red bloom didn’t look familiar. Curious, Brenna walked closer. The flower might not have a place in the book she was working on, but she could imagine a fairy adorning the entrance to her home with such beauty. Drawn to the red plant, Brenna stepped forward. In her mind, she sketched in a pair of eyes peeking out around the flower. The expression in those eyes turned from friendly and welcoming to dark and sinister.
The image was so real that Brenna blinked. Fae of every form and fashion made Mourne County their home. Even the wee folk. However, she couldn’t imagine Aunt Frances willingly sharing her garden with any of them, or a fae who was willing to live so close to a witch. There was simply too much magical conflict, so those eyes couldn’t be real.
“Of course not,” Brenna said as she stepped forward, still enthralled with the lush plant. The vivid red petals were like velvet against the green of the plant’s leaves. She pulled her magnifying glass out of her pocket to get a closer look. She couldn’t resist touching the bloom see if the petals were as soft as they looked.