Witch's Awakening

by Neely Powell

  Fiona complied, some color returning to her cheeks as she gulped down the hot liquid. “That was strange,” she said. “I was in a dark, cold place. Someone was screaming in pain.”

  “Who did you see?” Inez asked, her tone sharp. “Who was it?”

  Fiona frowned. “I couldn’t tell.”

  “You’re sure?”

  The elderly woman’s intensity struck Brenna as odd. “Why do you consider what’s in this box so important? The Cherokee once populated these mountains, so finding traces of them is not so rare. Many families have collections like these.”

  Inez blinked and appeared disoriented. She held the box out to Fiona again.

  Fiona eyed the artifacts with reluctance, but with her gaze locked on Inez’s, she reached for the long skinning knife.

  The sunlight beaming into the room dimmed. A sense of foreboding rose like a tide in Brenna. “Don’t touch it!” she cried in alarm.

  “Take it and tell me what you see,” Inez coaxed.

  “No.” Brenna put herself between Inez and Fiona. She called to the goddess and bathed the older woman with pink, translucent light.

  Inez shuddered, and then sagged back in her chair, the open box in her lap. She looked alarmed at Fiona and Brenna, and pressed a hand to her mouth. “The devil. I felt him.”

  “The demon,” Fiona murmured, staring at the box. “Is he in this collection?”

  “No,” Inez exclaimed and clutched the box.

  Brenna steeled herself for a change in the woman, but it didn’t happen.

  “Craig told me to keep these,” Inez explained. “He would never tell me to keep something evil.”

  “But what happened?” Brenna patted her on the arm, fearing the frail woman would harm herself by being so upset. “What did you feel?”

  “Like I was watching everything on TV or maybe in a mirror.”

  The dark side of the mirror. Brenna recalled Willow’s warning with a shiver.

  “Was someone telling you to hurt us?” Fiona pressed.

  Inez shivered again, visibly shaken. “I’ve never hurt anyone in my entire life, but I was thinking about that knife at your throat. It was the devil, the very devil himself had hold of me.” She began to cry.

  Brenna took the box and put it back on the shelf. She paced the room and put a protective spell in place while Fiona soothed Inez and freshened her tea. The room was warmer than just moments before. Too hot, she decided. The demon had briefly taken over Inez, but the black magic was weak, possibly from the blow she and Sarah had dealt him last night.

  She turned back to Inez and Fiona. “I wonder what Inez has that the demon doesn’t want us to discover.”

  The older woman straightened in her recliner, tears drying. “I’ve kept all of these things for so many years. So many times my children begged me to let them take it all away, but I wouldn’t let them. Maybe I’ve been waiting for you. Maybe there is something here to help you end that wicked curse.”

  “But where do we start?” Brenna gazed at the shelves full of books. If there was a secret buried here, it would take time to find it. And the Connellys were running out of time.

  “We’ll start with the Cherokees,” Inez proclaimed, gathering her faculties about her once again. “The demon came at me when Fiona touched the arrowhead. Surely that’s a clue.” She twisted around to survey the books on the shelf behind her.

  A few minutes later, they had over a dozen volumes open—history books and journals—all eagerly searching for a scrap of local Native American history that would tell them something.

  Fiona looked up from one of the history volumes. “They got along really well—the Cherokees and the Connellys—because they both had such strong beliefs in the magic and power of the elements.”

  “I always loved hearing the Cherokee legends and stories. They’re wonderful storytellers,” Inez said, “just like many of the Connellys, but your family wasn’t as willing to talk. We all understood the need for secrecy about the magic and the witchcraft, but sometimes that made it difficult to get family stories straight.”

  “What did they say about the Woman in White or the curse?” Fiona asked.

  “Craig told me to leave that alone,” Inez replied. “Even when Rose was taken, no one wanted to open up about the history. I tried to talk to Sarah after her daughter was taken, but she couldn’t speak of it. She was so heartbroken.”

  And foolish, Brenna thought. Sarah should have let Inez help.

  “We’re running into the same walls,” Brenna told her. “We’ve been trying to find out why the original Sarah Connelly made such a terrible deal.”

  Inez was distracted. She was flipping through the pages of one of her journals. “I thought I had written down a story someone told me about the Cherokee.” She frowned. “It’s not in this one.”

  Brenna flipped through the pages of another journal Inez had directed her to pull out. “I have to ask—how did you find time to write all of this with seven children?”

  Inez laughed. “I was determined. You won’t notice unless you read all of them, but there were days when I only recorded a few lines. I couldn’t write every day, but I tried to get something down most days. As the children grew older, it became easier. My granddaughter works for a publisher in Atlanta and she had them bound for me.”

  “I imagine you could tell me about some of the ghosts I encounter.” Fiona said. “There are a lot of restless spirits in our town. Many can’t let go and move on to the other side.”

  Inez studied Fiona’s face. “It must be difficult for you to deal with all those ghosts.”

  “It can be stressful,” Fiona admitted. “But it’s also rewarding when I can help someone move on or pass along a message to a relative or friend.”

  Inez turned to study the shelf behind her again. Brenna sensed the elderly woman was growing fatigued and she was jumping from one subject to another.

  “Maybe the legend I’m thinking about isn’t in the journals.” Inez pointed to the bottom shelf. “Bring me that book on the end of the row. I think the title is The Ghosts of Northeast Georgia.”

  Brenna found the book and Inez turned the pages with impatience until she found what she was looking for. “This is it,” she said. “Let me tell you the story.”

  She leaned forward, her eyes bright and voice growing husky. “The first white men in this area were missionaries who came to save the heathens.” She chuckled. “I shouldn’t laugh, but it’s funny because the Cherokee were actually a very civilized people. They were hunters and lived in clans, much like the Irish. They respected all living things and were in awe of the Great Spirit.”

  She was quieter as her eyes focused on a distant point. “One of my good friends was a direct descendant of the original Cherokee families. He told me an old story passed down by the families for centuries. It was about a missionary who discovered his daughter had fallen in love with a young Cherokee brave. The missionary was so angry he kept her tied up for weeks. Eventually her young brave and his friends rescued her.”

  When Inez paused, Fiona said, “Sounds a little like a Cherokee version of Romeo and Juliet.”

  Inez agreed. “That story still rings true today with racial hatred so prominent. Supposedly, the missionary searched for days in a mad rage. He even kidnapped the young brave’s friend and tortured him to death without learning anything.”

  Fiona shivered.

  “What is it?” Brenna took her sister’s hand.

  “I don’t know. I just remember the screaming when I touched the arrowhead.” She patted Brenna’s hand. “I’m okay. Go on, Inez.”

  “Yes, what happened to the daughter?” Brenna asked.

  “I was able to dig up several theories,” Inez said. “Some stories say she crept back to her father’s house in shame with her baby by her Cherokee mate. Those versions say she was insane, so crazy that she killed her baby. But other tales have her father finding her, dragging her home and killing the baby himself because it was a half-
breed. So she killed him and then took her own life. Threw herself right over Mulligan Falls.”

  Brenna drew in a sharp breath, trading a startled glance with Fiona.

  Inez turned the book she held around and pointed to a crude sketch of a woman. “Her death at the falls is just about the only part of the story that’s an irrefutable fact. One of the other missionaries drew this picture and put in the date of her death, leaving off her name, but noting she was damned for eternity for taking her own life. The picture survived, and it’s in the town library somewhere. I believe the date was around the mid 1700s.”

  “Not too long before the Connellys settled Mourne County,” Brenna said, studying the sketch again.

  “How awful,” Fiona murmured. “What happened to her brave?”

  “Some stories say her father killed him. Some say he was sold into slavery. Others tell that he abandoned his pretty blond wife when she went stark raving mad.”

  Brenna traced a finger over the features of the woman’s picture in the book. Though the drawing lacked definition and detail, this could be the entity encountered by the falls and seen last night in the shop.

  “Do you think this is the Woman in White?” Fiona said, giving voice to Brenna’s thoughts. “One thing I know for certain, only a tortured soul could stay around this long.”

  “The woman we saw with Garth was pretty, like the young woman in this drawing.” Brenna stared down at the face on the page. How could someone who looked so innocent be so evil? Who was this woman and what had really happened to her?

  “Do you have all the versions of her stories written down?” Fiona asked.

  “Of course, in one of my books,” Inez said and pointed to the four shelves filled with dozens of leather-bound volumes. “I’m sure it’s in one of those.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  On Friday, the sheriff’s office had an abnormally quiet morning. Gladys was doing her weekly dispatcher’s report, Brian was typing up an incident report, and a resident was snoring in the back, sleeping off a bad binge brought on by yet another fruitless search for his grandmother’s priceless pearls.

  Jake still didn’t feel comfortable in the office he inherited from Garth, but he was easing into it. Garth’s things were gone, given to his aunt, so the room was a little bare. Maybe that was for the best, Jake thought as he sipped coffee. He was only the acting sheriff. He might not want to stay in the role.

  He felt a little blue, thinking of Garth this morning. Maybe that was why he wasn’t enjoying a respite from crime. The calm felt ominous. It reminded him of being on active duty, of the breathless pause he always felt just before his unit started a new mission. Anything could happen.

  Brenna thought it was a false break in the action, too, especially since the demon had tried to take over their elderly cousin. She was in sharp disagreement with her family. Sarah was sure they had driven away the Woman in White at the shop on Tuesday night. Few of the other witches disagreed with her.

  Jake suspected Delia wasn’t convinced the trouble was over, although she seemed reluctant to fight with Sarah. Fiona still had trouble connecting to spirits, so she was distracted by that. He wasn’t sure about Eva Grace. She remained shell-shocked by the deaths of Garth and Sandy, so it was difficult to know what she was thinking.

  The bottom line was Brenna’s mother, sister and closest cousin weren’t giving her any support in her quest to thwart the family curse. Like the others, they wanted to believe Sarah was right and the curse was finished.

  Brenna couldn’t. Last night, she cried while telling him about the fight with Sarah. He didn’t think Brenna cried easily. She and Sarah had quarreled so long and so loud that Marcus stepped in. Brenna worshipped her grandmother’s husband and his anger had hurt. She said she no longer felt welcome in the house where she had grown up. She’d spent the night with him again.

  Sipping his coffee, Jake frowned. Of course Brenna ended up at his house for the night. That was becoming a habit.

  The phone intercom buzzed. “Fred Williams is on line one.”

  “Thanks, Gladys.”

  He sighed before punching the button. “Morning, Fred, how’s it going today?”

  “That’s what the Board of Commissioners wants to know. We’ve called a meeting for eleven o’clock. We want a full run-down on everything that went on in town after Garth died.”

  “You’ve got my latest report,” Jake replied, trying not to be irritated. “And everything is very calm today. We haven’t even had one call.”

  “We can’t expect that to last.”

  So the commissioner was of the same opinion as Jake and Brenna. That was interesting. “What makes you think the trouble will start again, Fred?”

  “I just know. See you at eleven.”

  The dial tone rang in his ear as Jake said, “Sure, Fred, I’ll check my calendar to see if I can make it.”

  He put the phone in its cradle and took another drink of coffee. It tasted bitter now. For a preacher, Fred Williams sure gave him a lot of hell. Letting out a long breath of frustration, he punched the intercom button.

  “Brian, I need the most recent incident reports and the graphs you made comparing this year with the last two, please. I’ve got a BOC meeting in an hour and I need three copies of everything and the master for me.”

  “No problem.”

  Jake went to the small break room, dumped his now cold coffee and poured a fresh cup, adding a spoonful of sugar to ease the bitterness. He wished a spoonful of sugar would make the BOC easier to take.

  Garth had faced their wrath often. So far they had gone pretty easy on Jake, even during the recent troubles. He suspected that would change today.

  He headed to the meeting with his report about an hour later. It was short walk since the commission room was in the courthouse just like the sheriff’s department. The politicos sat behind a half-moon desk at the front of the room. Walking down the center aisle, Jake felt three pairs of eyes boring into him. Harry Chambers, Riley O’Neal and Fred Williams didn’t speak until Jake passed out his reports and took a seat on the front row of folding chairs.

  They flipped through the reports and muttered to one another in low voices. Jake watched them and wondered what they would do if confronted by a tiger.

  Riley O’Neal sat on the left. Jake thought he’d heard somewhere that Riley’s ancestors were druids. There’d been rumors for years that Riley used an ancient spell to become invisible. Jake didn’t know what Riley did then. He didn’t think it was anything illegal, but he also wasn’t sure how Riley had built his family’s compound of houses, pools and horse barns.

  Harry Chambers lived in The Enclave and was the retired CEO of a textile company. He’d orchestrated the sale of the company just before the economic downturn, his millions safely invested in healthy stocks and gold. He was the leader of Neighborhood Watch and embroiled in county politics.

  Fred spoke first. “We’re here today because people in our town are frightened and upset. What are we going to do when the crime wave starts again?”

  “We’re not exactly looking at a gang war in Newark,” Jake said. “We’ll respond, just as we’ve done for the past week.”

  “We’ve had two murders,” Harry said. “You’ve got good, honest citizens worried about leaving their houses. Some of our residents are getting guns, with legal permits, of course.”

  “That’s not always a good idea, Harry,” Jake said.

  “These people need to feel safe. They moved here from Atlanta to get away from crimes and fear. We’ve built a wonderful community and made it secure, but we know what’s happening in New Mourne will eventually make its way to The Enclave.”

  “That’s not necessarily true, Harry,” Fred said. “My family has been here for a long time and there have been other times of unrest and everything worked out. We just need a little cooperation.”

  “What happened during those other times of unrest, Fred?” Jake asked.

  “Bad times, crimes and mis
demeanors,” Fred said, “and the church people did lots of praying. It’s how we’ve always responded to evil.”

  Jake rolled his report into a tube. “I know about some of that, Fred, I’ve been doing some research. It seems there was always trouble in New Mourne at certain periods in the town’s history.” He shared a long look with the pastor. He would bet his cabin the man knew everything about the Connelly family curse and the troubles that came to town with it.

  Fred looked at the other two men. Harry nodded. Riley clasped his hands on the table. Jake felt his stomach tighten. Something bad was coming.

  “We think it’s time to look again at allowing the security guards for The Enclave to be a local police force,” Fred said amiably. “We all believe it’s important for our citizens to feel safe.”

  “Even if you add a police force out there, you know Georgia law states the sheriff is still in charge,” Jake said.

  “Looks to me like you could use the help,” Harry said. “And it would give our men more authority.”

  “Where will these men get their training?” Jake asked. “Will they be former police officers? Many of them are retired and unable to meet the physical standards for a sheriff’s deputy.”

  “Are all of your deputies fully up to snuff?” Harry asked.

  Thinking of his oldest two men, who were nearing retirement, Jake shifted in his chair. He looked to Riley, hoping for support. The man’s dark eyes glimmered, but he said nothing.

  Jake straightened his shoulders, knowing he had to face this on his own. “Let’s not be too hasty with this.”

  “We know there are things that need to be worked out—” Fred stopped, his face paling visibly as he stared at a point over Jake’s shoulder.

  Jake turned to the door, surprised to see Brenna’s parents coming toward him.

  “Celia,” Fred said in an awed whisper.

  Riley touched the minister’s arm and said, “It’s Delia Burns, Fred.”

  Jake watched Fred’s inner struggle for a moment, seeing that control didn’t come easily.

  “Of course,” Fred said. He nodded to Delia and Dr. Burns, then abruptly picked up his copy of the report and stood. “I think that’s all for today,” he told the other commissioners as he left the room through the side door.