The Little Lies (The Great Hexpectations Series Book 1)

by Marie F. Crow

  “Because I was supposed to kill you, but I’ve decided I rather like having you around.” He is redressing, not concerned with how his statement may affect me.

  Throwing my hands up in frustration, I ask without really wanting an answer, “Is everyone supposed to kill me?”

  I expect him to laugh, to mock me, reply with one of his normal riddles painted with ego and smirks. Instead, he glances at me over his shoulder before coming to help me pull the tangled red mess from the neck of my shirt.

  Floating his fingers through the jumbled red mess, he tells me with an honesty I only have seen a few times from him. “Yes. Everyone will try to kill you. You have the potential to be too powerful. You’ll tip every scale, of every house, and there are houses who won’t stand for it. If they can’t have you, they will kill you to be sure you can’t rise against them.”

  “What am I?” The soft question comes from such a place of vulnerability I can’t stop the first tear from falling.

  Jedrek cups my face with hands of warmth and comfort. “You are amazing. A witch like you is born only of blood and death, a source of magic all on her own. I was there when God first pulled the rib from Adam and never have I met a woman as powerful as you.”

  “I don’t feel powerful,” I confess.

  “The magic knows what to do. It’s there like a twin flame, waiting to show you everything which is possible.” He’s staring intently into my eyes as if he can see it flickering behind them. “Trust it. Trust me.”

  “The man who wants to kill me?” I mockingly jest, trying to recover from my emotional walls crumbling without my permission.

  Jedrek smiles, placing a soft kiss upon my forehead. “I am no man, Harper. I never was, but for you, I wish I were.”

  “I wish I were a lot of things,” I tell him, pulling from the moment before I cave entirely to years of regrets. “Now what?” I ask him and I’m not entirely sure if I’m asking about us or the wicked witch roaming around with a trinket everyone wants.

  “I’m going to raid the fridge while smiling at Jo over having sex with her ward, while you put on something an adult would wear and not a child,” he tells me with more honesty than I honestly wanted.

  “And then?” I ask, continuing to push my luck.

  “With you all super charged and smelling of naughty things, I’m going to dangle you in front of the ruling house of werewolves.”

  “Can we revisit that trust me part again?” I ask him as I leave the room.

  His laughter follows me down the steps to my little cave I call my own. A part of me feels shame for what just happened. I’m not going to boast about being wholesome, but I’m not whoresome either.

  Standing in front of my full-length mirror, glaring at my dancing unicorn pajama pants and the matching pink tank top, how can anyone be afraid of me? As if on que, the lights behind my skin flicker, letting me know Jedrek is right. The magic is alive and waiting inside of me. Just waiting, as it has been my whole life.

  Leaning closer, there are stars in my eyes. Their beams stretch to my irises making them glow a brighter hue than normal.

  “Who are you?” I ask my reflection, and the lights glow more, and I swear, the reflection smiles back at me, winking a glowing light with a taunt.

  “You are dressed for dangling,” Jedrek compliments when I emerge from the house.

  I was rethinking my tight jeans and black halter top. I was in complete debate over the knee-high boots. With his eyes touring every curve, maybe I made the right decision.

  My hair is pulled high, wrapped tight into a bun. The product slicking back all the wild strands has made the normal bright red into a shade darker. I felt powerful in the darkened room, lining my eyes wider than I normally would. Under the sun, I wasn’t so sure.

  “Are you actually being nice?” GiGi is finding reasons to be outside, watering the many roses and other plants she has planted in perfect rows. “Guess the sounds make sense then.”

  I can’t hide my blush. My morning after walk of shame is in broad afternoon and I’m dressed perfectly for every step.

  “She’s better, isn’t she?” Jedrek asks, full mocking bow displayed.

  The Italian muttered almost under her breath are phrases not of the kind sort.

  Like a child running from a scolding, I rush to the open car door he is holding for me. The black Camaro may be my only salvation. Which in itself should worry me.

  “Guessing you don’t bring many male visitors’ home?” Jedrek asks with amusement since GiGi’s words are still flowing when we pull away.

  I don’t want to talk about my failings of last relationships. Not even Cass with his bloated belly and sweating seem worth the effort of an explanation.

  “Back to Deon?” I ask, covering his question with one of my own.

  Jedrek scrunches his face. “No. I want to play a new game.”

  “I thought you wanted to dangle me in front of her?”

  “No. I said I wanted to dangle you in front of the ruling house of wolves. Not Deon.”

  “Always riddles with you,” I sigh, turning to stare at the town we drive through.

  “Deon is the head, yes,” he begins, “but she is not the ruler. Wolves are a pack. Their alphas are only allowed to be so as long as the pack allows it. They are one of the few houses where most, if not everyone, has a voice.”

  “Sounds like the better of the plans.”

  “Has its pros and cons, I agree.”

  “Where are we heading then smelling of naughty things?”

  “To the local coven.”

  My heart stops when I hear what he has said. I was prepared to face off against Deon and her judging eyes. I am not prepared to stand in front of so many I should call my own.

  “I’m wearing almost spandex jeans!” I tell him, my thoughts freeing themselves from my panic. “Shouldn’t I be in a robe? Or a hat? Maybe something a little more formal?”

  “I said the local coven. Not Gandalf.”

  I don’t have to look at him to know he’s rolled his eyes, arching his brows wide with a comment he finds utterly ridiculous.

  “Does GiGi know?” My voice is higher than I wanted it to be with my question. It almost squeaks with fear.

  Jedrek laughs. “Are you in the car?”

  I don’t have time to ask any more questions. His car pulls in front of a large gate. The metal bars are a haze with inscriptions. Most I can make out, a few I can even read, but there are many I cannot. These are the words which worry me.

  I’m still trying to decipher them as the car rolls through the gate. A desperate attempt to try to understand what Jedrek is throwing me into now. It’s useless. They swim, hiding and swirling their symbols the harder I try.

  “You know you’re pretty much ringing their doorbell, right?” Jedrek asks offhandedly.

  “What?’ I ask him with the same level of interest. I’m turning, struggling to discover any insight before they are too far away to see.

  “The words you can’t quite grasp, there’s a reason for it. They aren’t real symbols.”

  Spinning back to face him, my face doesn’t hide my shock. “Then why put them there?”

  “Because, littlest witch, only something strong in magic can see them. So, when something pokes them, a seer inside knows it. It’s like Ring for witches.”

  “Something?” I half ask, watching the white house come into view.

  “Witches always think only witches can do magic,” Jedrek sighs.

  I don’t ask him for an explanation. There is something far more interesting than him and his half comments: the house before me. It sings with a lullaby a mother would whisper to her child, lost and scared. It calls to me, that part of me I didn’t know I held inside me until just a few days ago. Unlike the spa, this place is honey and milk, soothing the scars the world has put upon those that live inside. The song promises safety from a world of cruelty.

  It’s a spectac
ular contrast of white and black with the wood accents blending the two together. The round picture windows hold the dark paint of stained glass. Even the old weathervanes perched on top of the black roofed towers are perfect.

  “It’s beautiful,” I whisper, pressed against the door’s window like a child at a holiday light display.

  Jedrek makes a sound tossed between amusement and wistfulness. “They always say that.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, exiting the car in a daze of wonder.

  Coming to stand beside me, he tells me while staring at the house, “Once upon a time my job was to bring witches here.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I was told to.” Jedrek is already walking away from me with his typical style of answering without answering.

  “I hate when you do that.” I shout to his back and he flashes me those blue eyes of mischief over his shoulder.

  “Better hurry, littlest witch. You’re going to miss the show.”

  I almost run up the wide, white stone steps upon hearing his jeer, thankful for every thread of spandex the jeans hold.

  “What show?” I ask when I catch up, my voice caught still with child-like curiosity over the place.

  “Yours,” he whispers, before opening the arched door and pushing me inside.

  The place smells of sweet sage and soot. The same lullaby I heard outside is no longer a hum. It’s a full song with its words just out of reach of hearing. The same black and white melding of a color theme carries to the inside with the crisp white walls framed by black molding and baseboards. It presents the illusion of the hallway expanding for miles ahead of me.

  “Hello?” I call out to the empty space unsure of what the proper protocols are for entering a coven’s home. GiGi always keeps loose tobacco in a pocket of her purse which she leaves in random places. Unfortunately for me, after raising a client with a tracheostomy, and all the many things which climbed out from it, I quickly gave up smoking years ago.

  “Did you really just call out ‘hello’?” Jedrek asks, strolling past me, trailing his fingers along the smooth wall.

  “Sup bitches, seems a little rude?” I shrug, following him.

  “We are about to paint these walls red and you’re worried about proper greetings?” Jedrek turns to me after his confession. “So precious.”

  “We’re killing the witches? We are not killing the witches!” I hiss as if someone might hear him.

  “No, silly girl. They are killing the wolves. We are just the match.”

  “And why would be we killing wolves today?” a woman gliding down the grand stairs asks.

  My heart does that annoying thing where it drops to my stomach before rushing back to wedge in my throat. She’s beautiful in a manner which makes you fear for your life. Her deep brown hair is half pulled up to fall in floating waves down her back. Her face holds no expression, but I know those flat brown eyes see all.

  “Winnik!” Jedrek exclaims. His voice has turned soft as melting butter and as sweet as caramel.

  Still holding her face an almost cold neutral, she lifts her hand to stop Jedrek from talking. “None of your games, old one. What have you brought to my house?”

  “I think she’s asking about you,” Jedrek makes a show of whispering over his shoulder to where I am standing.

  “I’m not,” Winnik corrects. “This is the necromancer who was never told. I know her well. In fact, she should have been mine at birth, but I was overruled.”

  “Why?” I ask her, ignoring Jedrek.

  “Your mother promised us she would groom you to be what you should be. She would teach you our ways, keep you safe, but she never brought you. Now, you are here without her. Which can only mean she has passed.”

  “She did. When I was seven,” I tell her, not sure of why the words won’t stop. “She went mad with her power during an argument with my father. I came home from school to find them both.”

  I gasp, hearing one of my most locked away secrets flowing so willingly. This is a topic normally hidden deep, shoved into the darkest of caverns in my mind and heart. It’s a dead end, never acknowledged or spoken of growing up.

  Winnik’s face almost moves, before asking, “Who raised you?”

  “GiGi Jo.”

  “And with hopes I suppose she has now passed away, too?”

  Winnik almost sounds as if she is reading from a book instead of having a conversation, a very boring book. Her face sits as cold as she holds her voice. If she ever held any feelings for GiGi, or my mother, there are none over their suspected death.

  “Oh, that one is very much still kicking. She just doesn’t know we are here. Well, not yet.” Jedrek leans against the wall when telling her this. His all normal all dark outfit almost places him seamlessly in the home.

  “Interesting,” Winnik muses, coming the rest of the way down the stairs.

  Jedrek follows her into the large den as if invited to do so. I pause, attempting to sneak a glance up those steps, hoping to see a row of strong women staring back at me, but there’s no one. It’s empty and I can’t fight the feeling of disappointment when I follow the other two.

  He has stopped beside a glass case, staring into it as if the pictures and trophies fascinate him. Exhaling his breath to fog the glass, I watch as he uses his finger to clean away the word ‘no’ before swirling over it to remove it.

  I may have failed in every silent eye lock of conversation casted my way so far, but this, this I understand. Sort of.

  He motions for me to seat myself on one of the burgundy couches placed for conversations. It’s stiff as if newly purchased, hinting this is not a room used very often. Winnik is standing at an old-fashioned tea station. She’s adding the cubes of sugar to petite cups on matching saucers. If it weren’t for the three cups being prepared, she hasn’t acknowledged we have followed her at all.

  “Would you like some tea?” her cold voice asks over her shoulder.

  “No,” I say politely but proud I put the clues together.

  “Jedrek?” she asks.

  “Love some!” he enthusiastically tells her with a smile.

  I put my confusion on my face, trying to get his attention before she turns around. He ignores me, but I know he knows of my attempt.

  When she hands the set to him, he smiles at me when taking his first sip. “Let’s talk,” he tells the older woman.

  Winnik does nothing to start the conversation. She’s ice, empty and simply here.

  “I need to punish a witch who once belonged to the Ripples,” Jedrek informs her.

  “And you need my permission.”

  “And I need your permission.”

  I’m watching the two of them verbally volley back and forth.

  “Why does this witch no longer belong to the Ripples?” she asks, finally moving to taste the tea.

  “They want her punished, too,” my mouth says. When they both turn to look at me, I wish the couch allowed me to sink further down.

  “She ran from them,” Jedrek clarifies, but I notice he isn’t mentioning the reason we are really looking for her.

  Winnik sips from her tea with almost passive, hostile flair. Her hair doesn’t move. The soft plaits of waves sit as bored and uninvested as she does with her spine so straight, I’m self-consciously adjusting my posture. The self-confidence rolls off of her in waves of authority and power.

  I’m trying to recall every witch movie I have ever binged for ‘rules’ no one has yet to tell me to best judge how to address such a woman. How did all the other girls react to discovering everything is real, and not just lines from a favorite book or show? Did they sit mute, wearing a dumb smile? Why did I open up so easily to the ice queen who I’ve just met when I’ve kept people on emotional lockdown whom I have known for years? How am I supposed to act being the necromancer who was never told? And what the hell kind of title is that? And why am I spiraling mentally?

  “We tend to not get in
volved in such matters. If she was a witch of the Ripples, she is already lost to us. She is beyond my reach and interest.”

  I hear Winnik say with the same winter chill, snapping me back into the present. Her teacup doesn’t even clink when she places the pair back on the table between her and Jedrek. Nor does her spine bend or head tilt, but her eyes are very invested in mine.

  I’ve missed something again. Jedrek is all teeth in his smile before he nods to her.

  “As much joy as that brings me, you may change your mind,” he says, still wearing smile so wide it’s unnerving, bringing her attention back to him.

  Winnik arches one of her perfect sculpted brows. “I doubt that.”

  The little tea game is fraying my nerves. When she opens a little tin of flat cookies to offer, I’m pretty sure we have reached supernatural domestication hell. I’m almost grateful when the whispers start. Like a soft breeze, they almost tickle my neck, lifting the little hairs on my arms. Since anything is better than sitting here watching this complete disappointment of meeting a powerful witch, I listen to them. I invite them, and as if I flung open a window, they flow through.

  I try to keep my face as present as I can, nodding when I feel the conversation requires it, but I can’t really hear Winnik and Jedrek playing verbal chess. I can only hear the many voices screaming for attention. Their screams aren’t of their past lives. Their urging is for my present situation. Jedrek was right. We are about to paint the walls red. The Ripples are here.

  “We have a problem,” I throw into their polite conversation. “If you two are done jerking each other off with whatever this is, the wolves are here.”

  Winnik stares at me as if I just grew another eye in the middle of my forehead, or maybe a complete other head, but whatever she is seeing finally puts a crease in her milk white skin.

  “Impossible,” she scolds me. “The wolves are not allowed beyond the gates without a formal invitation.”

  “Someone forgot to remind them of that, then.”

  I don’t waste time arguing with her or trying to convince her they are here. If she’s so powerful, let her discover it, or maybe someone else lurking unseen upstairs. For me, I prefer to meet Deon and her family standing at a door I can close if I need to.