Witch's Awakening

by Neely Powell

  Even though he’d told her he’d killed another human being. Not in the throes of his beast, but as a man.

  He did move away from her this time, pulling his hand out of hers. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t trust and let go. He had to remember what happened before, what happened to his mother. He knew the tiger couldn’t be trusted, and he couldn’t give it a chance to prove him wrong. He had to keep Brenna at a distance.

  “Want me to make us some coffee?” she asked.

  “Sure.” Anything to give him a chance to think, to regain his balance.

  She began opening cabinet doors and he realized she didn’t know her way around his kitchen.

  “Sorry, I’ll make it.”

  The simple task helped him regain his calm. He got out a tin of coffee, a filter and filled the coffeemaker.

  She set two mugs on the counter. “You take cream, right?”

  “Or milk.”

  When he said milk, Tasmin came in from the living room and meowed.

  “Oops, somebody else is hungry. Got anything a cat likes to eat?” Brenna asked.

  “Are you kidding?”

  “My bad.” She laughed at his expression.

  It was a husky, throaty laugh that made him want to kiss her until her toes curled.

  He took a can of tuna out of the pantry, peeled off the top and dumped it into a bowl, leaving the oil on it. Tasmin dived into it like she hadn’t eaten in days.

  “Guess you do know what cats like,” Brenna said.

  How was it she made things feel so right in his home? That wasn’t possible. They should be arguing about something or fighting over the issues with her family. How was it she looked so sexy and had that understanding smile?

  His mouth came down on hers. Like sipping an elixir of the gods, he couldn’t get enough. He wanted to drink from her until he was sated. Jake gave a brief thought to ripping her clothes off and pushing her down on the small kitchen table, but then he wondered why he’d want to deprive himself of enjoying the scent and texture of her skin.

  He buried his face in her neck and drew in deeply. She smelled of the earth, a natural sweetness different from any other woman he had known. He wanted to lie against her like this for hours. He kissed the tender base of her neck and her body melted against his. Surrender from a strong woman was incredibly sexy.

  She was warm and soft, extremely soft. The texture of her skin was like silk. He ran a finger down her cleavage, then over her breasts, barely touching her nipples. Her breath became shaky and he marveled at the sensitivity of her response.

  With an easy movement, he slipped his arm under her legs and lifted her. He carried her through the house to his big bed and set her gently onto the thick, soft comforter.

  She began unbuttoning his shirt and he stopped her so he could slip her thin tank top over her head. Her bra was a tiny piece of lace that easily popped open when he touched the hook. He cupped both of her breasts and dipped his head to kiss first one nipple and then the other. Brenna clenched her fingers in his hair and moaned.

  “Take me now,” she whispered. Her body moved against his with urgency.

  “No.” His strong arms stilled her. Slowly, his gaze steady on hers, he removed her jeans and his own clothes.

  When she would have moved above him, he eased her back on the bed. His touch between her legs was light at first, then more insistent, and she climaxed quickly. Her body was still trembling as he took her up again. Only then did he slip inside her. Brenna shuddered as he pumped into her with slow and steady movements.

  His tiger surged to life inside him. Even as he embraced the wild instinct to mate, he felt his human side. This was lovemaking, he realized, not sex. With Brenna, his dual natures were balanced. He felt whole.

  Maybe it was because she wasn’t quite human either. As they moved closer to the edge, her skin began to glow and her magic shimmered around them. He knew he wouldn’t tell her, but he loved her.

  He was lost. Utterly lost to a witch who was cursed.

  After their passion was spent and Brenna slept beside Jake, he lay for a long time. Did his new feelings for Brenna make a difference in who and what he was?

  She believed he wasn’t a killer, but she was wrong. He knew would kill again.

  To save her.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  While Brenna showered the next morning, Jake prepared a hearty breakfast.

  She sighed as she surveyed the spread of scrambled eggs with cheese, thick slices of ham and Texas toast on the dining room table. “I can’t keep eating like this. I’m going to be big as a barrel.”

  “A nicely curved barrel.” Jake squeezed her bottom as he brought her a mug of steaming coffee.

  Brenna laughed at his teasing tone. Last night had been very intense. She had worried how things would be between them this morning. She was used to ducking out of relationships at the first hint of emotional attachment. With Jake, she wanted to stay right here. The feeling was unfamiliar and she would just as soon not confront it right now.

  They ate breakfast together with companionable conversation.

  Jake pushed back from the table as Brenna started on her second cup of coffee. “I need to go into the office and check on a few things.”

  “I’m going to do some sketching,” Brenna said, “but I’ll clean up while you take your shower.”

  She was sitting on the back steps with her sketchpad when Jake came out. She grinned. “There is definitely something about a man in a uniform.”

  They both ducked as the huge barn owl came out of the sky and dipped toward the stoop.

  “What the hell?” Jake muttered. “What’s he doing here?” When the bird swooped again, Jake took a protective stance and told Brenna to get back in the house.

  “Wait. I think he’s trying to tell us something.” She pushed him out of the way and went out in the yard under the circling bird. “Come here, fella. What’s wrong?”

  The bird stopped and perched on the tree limb where he’d been yesterday. He looked down at them with intelligent eyes. Brenna almost expected the owl to speak. Instead, it took off again.

  Jake and Brenna followed. The bird landed on top of Brenna’s car.

  “He wants us to go somewhere,” Brenna said, starting forward.

  Jake held her back. “Should we follow him? What if it’s the demon leading you into a trick?”

  The owl hissed and unfurled his mighty wings. Brenna stepped in front of Jake in anticipation of an attack. The bird lifted again and flew around the yard, his strident call filling the air.

  “We need to follow him,” Brenna said. “Let me go get my keys.”

  “We’ll take my cruiser,” Jake insisted.

  Because that was quicker, Brenna agreed.

  They got in the cruiser and took off, following the bird. The owl flew a true course.

  “He’s headed to Sarah’s,” Jake said.

  Soon after, they turned into the driveway at the home place, but the bird didn’t stop at the house. It continued down the dirt road toward the barn just beyond Marcus and Sarah’s workshop. While Jake parked, the owl slipped into a ragged hole high on the wooden structure.

  Jake headed for the barn door. Emotions and memories swamped Brenna, and she hesitated.

  “What’s wrong?” Jake swung the door open and looked at her.

  “We played here sometimes as kids, but mostly we stayed away. Aunt Celia’s things are stored in the loft and Sarah didn’t like us messing with them. Because we knew that, we were drawn to this place, of course, but it felt creepy to me. Kind of sad, too.”

  “You want me to go look for the bird without you?” Jake started into the shadowy interior.

  Brenna shook off her trepidation and followed him. Inside, a rush of cold air enveloped them. The wind was as cold as January despite it being a hot June morning. The breeze carried the scent of clover, a smell Brenna remembered from those times when she, Fiona and Eva Grace had defied Sarah’s instructions and looked
through Aunt Celia’s things.

  She didn’t need Fiona’s sight to know this place was haunted.

  “Aunt Celia?” she murmured as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. “Are you here?”

  Jake paused at her side. “You feel something, too?”

  Nodding, Brenna led the way to the ladder and up to the loft. The platform was crowded with boxes, old furniture and other items stored there through the years.

  “Bless you,” Jake said after Brenna sneezed.

  She turned to the right, studying Celia’s French provincial bed and dresser, once white trimmed in gold, but now gray from being buried under a heavy coating of dust. Boxes were stacked nearby, also covered in grime. She remembered rummaging through those, looking at Celia’s clothes, turning the pages of college textbooks, sifting through photographs of her mother and her aunt with their high school friends. Fred Williams had been in some of those pictures, Brenna remembered. Odd how Fred had been part of their circle, but by all accounts Aunt Celia had been as accepting of others as her daughter was now.

  Eva Grace had never been able to stay in the loft more than a few minutes when they went through her mother’s things, Brenna remembered. Fiona had tried from a young age to get Aunt Celia to speak to her or to appear. Brenna wondered what her sister would see if she were with them now. Was their aunt standing here, watching Brenna? Had she sent the owl to lead her here? At that thought, the air warmed and Brenna felt the emptiness of the barn. Celia was gone.

  A scratching noise drew her attention to the left. From a dark corner, the luminous eyes of the bird stared at her.

  Putting out his hand to stop Brenna, Jake moved carefully toward the owl. “Hey, buddy, got something you want to show us?”

  The owl hissed, but didn’t move as Jake advanced on him.

  Sticks, hay and other debris made a nest. Beside it was a cardboard box, top mangled and sides breaking with rot.

  Placing his body between Brenna and the bird, Jake motioned her over. Brenna moved gingerly through rotting boxes past an old chair whose stuffing poked out of gaping holes. She looked down at the box closest to the nest and gasped.

  “Shadows of Biddy Early,” Brenna said.

  “Who’s Biddy Early?”

  “The first Irish witch.” Brenna dropped to her knees beside the box and reached for the yellowing pages on top. She looked up at Jake. “It’s pages from The Connelly Book of Magic. I recognize the parchment and the handwriting. What the hell are they doing up here?”

  The owl hissed one more time and then left them, moving deftly out the hole in the barn to take flight.

  Jake cleared debris away from the shuttered loft door and threw it open to the light, and then helped Brenna pull the box out where they could better see its contents.

  “The wood of this box is rotten,” he said as it disintegrated under his touch. “How is it that those pages are still whole?”

  Brenna gave him a sidelong glance. “Magic, of course. Even bugs are smart enough to leave it alone.” She began reading. “Looks like these are from the 1800s just before the Civil War.”

  He sifted through the box, separating pages of the book from other debris and handing them to her to read. She became excited as the words began to make sense. “It was another dark time here in the county. Lots of unexplained events, even murders and a rash of arson.”

  “The same pattern we’re going through.”

  “This continued for several months as the Yankee Army marched through the state.” She read on as Jake retrieved more pages. “The witches gathered at the Connelly house for several days, working on spells and potions, trying to find a way to bring some peace and calmness to the area.”

  “Did they find a solution?”

  The blood rushed from Brenna’s head as she found the answer. She stood, swaying on her feet.

  “Brenna?” Jake stepped forward. “What’s wrong?”

  Instead of answering, Brenna clutched the papers to her chest. She turned and climbed down the ladder before Jake could stop her.

  “What is it?” he demanded, catching her arm before she could get out of the barn. “What did you find?”

  She didn’t want to tell. The solution her ancestors had reached shamed her. How could they have done this?

  “Brenna.” Jake took hold of her shoulders. “Tell me.”

  After all he had shared with her, there was no reason to hold back, she realized. “They decided the only way out was suicide.”

  “What?”

  “One of the Connelly witches offered herself freely to the Woman in White. It worked. All the trouble in town subsided.”

  “No, let me see that.” Jake took the papers and scanned them with a frown.

  “See that?” Brenna pointed to the stark, underlined words in the middle of the page. “‘The only way’ is what they wrote. This was the only way.”

  Tears blurring her eyes, Brenna started to the cruiser. “I have to go. Get me out of here.”

  Jake caught her elbow and spun her around. “No,” he said, his voice fierce. “Don’t you even think about it, Brenna. Don’t you dare.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Brenna spent the rest of the morning trying to convince Jake she wouldn’t take any impetuous action based on the new pages from The Connelly Book of Magic. The information had shaken her, but she wasn’t ready to sacrifice herself as her ancestor had. She did want to talk about this with her family, so she asked for a coven meeting that evening.

  Jake was called in just after noon. With the woods so dry, fires had broken out in a couple of remote areas of the county. He had to coordinate traffic detours.

  Relieved to be alone, Brenna read the entire new section of the family book. In black and white, the words outlined what to do to protect New Mourne’s humans and “other-natured residents.” She had no doubt earlier history sections would reveal a similar pattern. However, why take this step? Instead of giving up, why not devote every day to finding the cause of the unrest and death that came once a generation?

  She wanted answers tonight.

  Everyone was in the dining room when she got back to the home place around seven. Coven members occupied their usual places, save for Doris, who was still in the hospital. Brenna noted her mother was there, but her father was not. That was fine with her. This was strictly coven business.

  From the doorway to the kitchen, Marcus gave Brenna a questioning look. His expression was grim and his being upset filled her with sadness. Marcus had always been her champion. When he turned and walked out the back door, she took a deep breath to fortify herself and faced her family.

  Sarah sat with arms folded, her face as solemn as her husband’s. “You called this meeting,” she told Brenna. “What do you want?”

  Brenna spread the newly discovered pages in front of her and related the morning’s discovery in the barn.

  Though Sarah’s cheeks reddened, she didn’t move.

  Maggie began to cry. Eva Grace soothed her.

  Lauren rolled her eyes. “Stop being so dramatic, Brenna, and tell us what you want us to know.”

  “Every time the Woman in White comes for her tribute, there’s turmoil and unexplained events in New Mourne,” Brenna said. “So it begs the question: why was it such a surprise to the elder generation that we’ve had all this upheaval in town?”

  “Because of the Remember-Not spell,” Frances said.

  The ease of the explanation made Brenna grit her teeth. Why did the elders make them work so hard to understand their actions?

  Sarah glared at her older sister. “We’ve never discussed the particulars of that spell with the younger ones.”

  Frances huffed. “Well, we have to now. They should know in case they need it, too.”

  “You deliberately chose to forget every time this happened?” Delia said, looking confused.

  “Of course not,” Sarah said. “I didn’t forget my sister or Celia or the way the Woman took them. All of you have known about the
curse since you were old enough to understand it. We never hid our history from each other. All we did with the spell was dull the pain a little.”

  “I told you it was collective amnesia,” Brenna said to Fiona and Eva Grace. She could feel her temper stirring, however, as she turned back to Sarah and Frances. “What gave you the right to decide what should and shouldn’t be remembered?”

  “We protect this town.” Sarah’s gaze was hard as iron on Brenna’s. “That’s what our ancestors sacrificed for—so we would have power. Without that sacrifice, none of us would be witches. New Mourne would be just another place in the mountains instead of a haven.”

  “If the town survived at all,” Frances added. “It could have crumbled under the usual human prejudices and petty disagreements unless we intervened from time to time. Witches would have been driven out, faeries burned, druids destroyed, and shifters and weres killed.”

  Delia frowned. “All that is true, but it seems to me that our family may have stretched the rules of the craft by dulling memories. We learn from the past.”

  “What if you wiped out some important memory?” Fiona’s question surprised Brenna. It wasn’t often her sister spoke up against Sarah.

  “We were careful,” Frances said.

  “We did what we had to.” Sarah glared at each witch, challenging them to disagree. “Besides, why would anyone want to remember unpleasantness?”

  “Or why would we want every outsider to take away all of our secrets?” Frances added. “How do you think they killed all those European witches during the Inquisition? Too many people knew their rituals and meeting places.”

  Sarah nodded. “We have always used Remember-Not spells as a precaution for those that stumble into our world without becoming a part of us.”

  “Of course,” Delia said, “I know visitors to New Mourne don’t leave with our secrets. I just didn’t know that spell was used on us or our friends and allies.”

  “We choose the humans and supers who grow close to us with great care.” Frances looked at Brenna. “Your sheriff wouldn’t know as much as he does if he wasn’t trustworthy.”