Chapter 20
At the stop light, Amber glanced at her phone to check her last text. It was from Willow.
Have you left yet?
Amber quickly fired back: On my way.
She wanted to call Willow and get details on what was happening back at the shop, but she figured Willow was sending texts as discreetly as possible. They had to keep Kieran distracted.
Just then, the mental alarm connected to the wards on the Quirky Whisker went off in her head. Kieran was getting restless already. Amber pressed down harder on the accelerator.
The long stretches of back roads heading to Edgar’s place were deserted. With no street lights, Amber was sure she was going to miss Edgar’s road in the waning light, as it was hard to locate even in the middle of the day. But a lone rectangle of light appeared in her peripheral vision near the area where she thought his street might have been, guiding her like a beacon to where she needed to go.
She made a slow turn onto the dirt path, the slap of branches and leaves against her car even creepier in the growing dark. Thankfully she could still see well enough. Driving this in total darkness would have completely done in her nerves.
Her car bounced and the beams of her headlights jerked wildly as she did her best to get to Edgar’s house without the wheels falling off. The one small rectangle of light on the top floor was the only sign of life. She’d called him a couple more times, but he still wasn’t answering.
Climbing out of the car, she eyed his old, rusted pickup truck, and remembered the memory she’d seen of it idling at the curb outside 543 Ocicat Lane. It, like its owner, had seen better days.
Before she could convince herself not to, she hustled up the creaky front steps, across the weather-worn patio, and slammed a fist repeatedly against the door. “Edgar! It’s Amber. Let me in!”
She waited for him to call out obscenities from an open window upstairs, to hear the pounding of footsteps down steps, or the sharp shlock of bolts sliding free. But it was silent.
She pounded on the door again. “I’m not going away, Edgar! I know what my parents gave you fourteen years ago to keep safe. We have to find it. The whole town is in danger otherwise.”
Nothing.
She let out a groan of frustration, head tipped back toward the spiderwebs clinging to the wooden porch’s ceiling. Then she remembered what had gotten him to open the door last time.
“There’s a Penhallow in town and he’s already killed someone. He’s going to kill others, Edgar! He’s going to do the same thing to them as Neil Penhallow did to you. The starburst mark on your back? The same mark was found on Wilma. That’s what killed her.”
Amber bit her bottom lip. Her next plan was to hurl rocks through the windows, so she really hoped he didn’t make her resort to that. Her throwing arm wasn’t great, and who knew what would happen if she threw a rock at one of Edgar’s heavily warded windows. She imagined the rock bouncing back as if hitting rubber, then knocking out all her teeth.
Schlock, schlock, schlock.
Amber flinched.
Seconds later, a disheveled Edgar peered out at her. He didn’t look much different than the last time she’d seen him. She hoped he was at least taking regular showers.
“You Blackwoods are persistent witches …”
“Hello to you too, cousin,” she said in her most cheerful tone.
His gaze flicked over her shoulder and he scowled. “Is that your sister? I’m not sure I can deal with two of you right now.”
Amber whirled around and made her way across the porch, the boards protesting loudly. Sure enough, a car with its headlights cutting through the dark was bouncing its way up the drive. She’d been so busy yelling at Edgar, she hadn’t heard the car approach. Nor had she seen anyone following her. Her heart thundered; if Willow was here, something had gone very wrong.
But as the car moved up the drive, the surer she became that it wasn’t Willow. Could Kieran have found them? She could feel Edgar standing right behind her now. Whether he planned to shove her in Kieran’s direction as a distraction so he could bolt inside to safety, or he planned to be a united front with her against the cursed witch, Amber couldn’t be sure.
Her hands tingled as she funneled her agitated magic toward her fingertips, ready to blast Kieran with a sleep spell if he was the one who got out of the car.
It was to her great surprise, relief, and general annoyance that the person who emerged from the car now parked beside hers was Jack.
The wards on her shop gave another sharp rattle. Amber winced. But at least that meant Kieran was at the shop and this Jack was the real one.
Her magic needed an outlet. Her nerves couldn’t take much more of this. She should blast Jack with the cued-up sleep spell if only to make sure nothing happened to him.
“Jack Terrence! What are you doing here?” A truth spell hadn’t come with the question this time, but she hoped he’d answer truthfully anyway.
Jack stomped up the steps and halfway across the porch, hardly looking her way. He jammed a finger toward Edgar’s face. “Why are you harassing her? She was anxious all night. I don’t know if this is connected to her aunt, but you need to back off, buddy!”
“Jack, I—”
“And you!” He whirled to face her and she came up short. “I had a box of pastries in my car I forgot to give you, so I followed you back to your place so you could give them to your sick aunt. Well imagine my surprise when you didn’t even head in the direction of your place! You ended up in the middle of nowhere. Is this who you saw during the fashion show? Is he the supposed lead the chief told you about? Is he the reason why you ended up with a concussion? Is this some abusive ex you’re scared to say no to? Is this where you got those bruises all over your arms and hands?”
Good gracious. She’d somehow broken the mild-mannered guy.
“Jack—”
“I don’t even know what to think anymore. I really don’t. There have always been wild rumors about you, but I just figured you were shy. I don’t know. Maybe this crush has clouded my mind,” he said, now seeming to talk to himself more than her. “Maybe this is your bad boy boyfriend who’s all rugged and dangerous and you’re bored with ‘sweet’ Jack Terrence.”
It was pitch-black out in Edgar’s yard now. Amber stared out at it, wondering what she could possibly tell Jack to calm him down. It wasn’t like the truth was any better.
“Can you take your domestic squabble off my porch?” Edgar asked, turning on his heel and heading back inside.
She’d almost forgotten. “Edgar, no. I need the grimoire.” Then she winced.
“Grimoire?” Jack asked from behind her. “Like … a spell book?” He laughed incredulously. “Are you a witch, Amber Blackwood? Is that the story you’re going to go with next? It’s a new one at least. I’ll give you that.”
Amber was just about to say something else when her phone buzzed in her purse. She fished it out.
“What is it with you and that phone!” Jack snapped.
She ignored him. He was in full meltdown mode now and she wasn’t sure how to get him out.
It was a text from Willow. He’s getting antsy. Don’t know how much longer we can keep him here.
Crap.
“Oh, now I see,” said Edgar, resting a shoulder against the doorjamb of his open door, arms crossed. “Lover boy here doesn’t know your little secret and he’s trying to figure out why so many weird things happen around you—and now he’s losing his cookies. I’ve seen it happen before.”
Amber turned to glare at him.
“Lose your cookies somewhere else!” Edgar said, pushing away from the jamb and grabbing the door as if to close it.
Without thinking, Amber thrust out her hands. Her magic had been boiling under her skin like a volcano about to blow. She’d just reacted. High emotion and magic were rarely a good combination—especially for her. A gust of wind knocked Edgar clear off his feet and sent him skidding into the dark entryway of his house and
out of sight. She heard his cursing well enough, though.
But now Jack was cursing too. “Oh. Oh my God. You are a witch? That wasn’t a joke?”
Amber squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, then turned around. She stared at him.
The longer the stare lasted, the more he began to wilt under her gaze, as if he were worried she was using her magic to liquify all his organs.
“Amber?” he asked, somewhat shakily.
Something in her snapped. “Yes! Okay? That’s the big secret. Happy now? I’m a witch, my sister’s a witch, my aunt is a witch. Even the foul-mouthed man in the house who is in desperate need of a shower is a witch. A rogue witch killed the maid at the Manx. The rogue witch is related to the man who killed my parents—who were also witches—and now wants my mother’s grimoire, which has a very powerful spell in it that could rewrite history as we know it if the witch gets a hold of it. Edgar, my very stubborn cousin, has been keeping the book hidden for fourteen years even though it’s mine and my sister’s. He claims he doesn’t know where it is even though my parents gave it to him. It’s very possible the rogue witch is on his way here now. We won’t have the first clue how to stop him from killing us the same way his brother killed my parents because Edgar. Won’t. Cooperate!”
Her chest rose and fell. But just as quickly as her anger and frustration had fueled her rant, it was retreating now, and embarrassment was taking its place.
Edgar had gotten back to his feet during her tirade and was in the doorway again. “Fine,” he snapped. “Get in here. You too, lover boy. Unless you want to get incinerated on my porch when the cursed witch shows up.”
Amber watched Jack and waited for him to make a decision. She expected him to scream bloody murder and bolt for his car. Instead, he huffed out a breath and stalked into the house.
Once they were inside and the door was closed, Edgar turned into a conductor of lock and protection spells again. Jack watched in slack-jawed amazement as bolts and keys slid into place and turned on their own. Then Edgar conducted a few more elaborate hand motions and the house gave a shudder. Then another.
Jack rocked on his feet a bit, hands out, as if he were on a surfboard and the water had just gotten choppy. “What the hell was that?”
“I just reactivated the cloaking spell on the house,” he said. “No one finds me unless I want them to.” Then he glanced at Amber. “Almost. Can’t seem to keep family out, no matter what I do.”
“Love you too, cousin.”
With a flick of his wrist, three wall sconces in the front entryway came to life. Jack flinched. Edgar wore ratty sweatpants and a stained gray shirt again. His hair was a wild mess of black curls and he was well past the stage of keeping his facial hair in any sort of order.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Edgar said to Amber. “I’m fine. And, for the record, this isn’t me not cooperating or being stubborn. I really don’t have any damn clue where the damn thing is. I don’t. All I know is that they gave it to me. I have this … compulsion to stay here. My gut tells me that I can’t leave the house for very long because if I do, someone will find the book. I’m stuck here.”
Amber’s brow furrowed. “My parents trapped you here?”
He shook his head. “No, not them. Best I can figure out, they put a spell on me to forget the location of the book. To forget about it completely. But when I was attacked, things got all scrambled up here.” He tapped his temple. “His name was Neil?”
Amber nodded. “At least I assume it was him.”
“I can’t even remember the attack,” he said, the edge to his tone gone. “I just know it happened.”
“Do you still have the mark?”
“Yeah,” he said, idly scratching at his side with one hand.
Amber wondered why, after fourteen years, his mark still lingered. Wondered why being hit with the magic had killed Wilma and not Edgar. “Can I see it?” she asked cautiously.
He dropped his hand. He crossed his arms, uncrossed them, crossed them again. Then, without a word, he turned around.
Amber shot a quick look at Jack, more or less to make sure he hadn’t fainted yet. He stood wide-eyed a few feet from her. She wasn’t sure he’d moved much in the last five minutes. Or blinked.
Amber turned back to Edgar and carefully lifted up the hem of his shirt until his shoulder blades were exposed. She let out a soft gasp.
Suddenly Jack was beside her. “Geez! Is that … that’s what those supposed bites looked like from the attack at the fashion show.”
Except this appeared to be infected. The black snaking lines looked like the thick branches of an elaborate tree tattoo that covered nearly his entire back. But instead of a trunk as a base from which the branches originated, it was a two-inch-wide scorch mark in the center of his back, right over his spine.
Amber reached out tentatively with the hand that wasn’t grasping the hem of his shirt. She touched a finger to one of the thick lines closer to the middle of the mark. He slightly jerked away from her touch, but she figured it was due more to surprise than pain. The skin wasn’t at all upraised like a welt or brand. “Does it hurt?” she asked softly.
“No,” came the choked reply.
What happened to you?
Her fingertips drifted to the starburst mark, and she touched the eye of it. She imagined the tendrils of black hitting his spine. It must have hurt then. Had he writhed in agony on the ground as Neil had in the grass while his father was more concerned about the whereabouts of the grimoire?
Who did this to you, Edgar?
And then a burst of bright white tore through her vision.
When the light faded, Amber was standing on the sidewalk outside 543 Ocicat Lane. The front door was closed, her parents inside. Were they already running up the stairs to pack? A few seconds later, he was behind the wheel of his still-idling pickup truck.
Some alternative rock song she hadn’t heard since high school played softly on the radio as he made a U-turn in the cul-de-sac and then drove away.
The grimoire sat on the passenger seat, sliding a little here and there on the faded blue fabric when he turned. He cut glances at it periodically, the word HENBANE staring up at him from the thick leather cover.
Once he got home, he grabbed the book and got out of the truck. But almost immediately, he froze in place, his gaze focused straight ahead. Amber wished she could hear the thoughts of her hosts as she watched their memories, but she was learning she was merely a passenger along for the ride.
“Yes, I understand,” he suddenly said to no one. “Yes, I understand.”
Then, for what seemed like several hours, Edgar was hard at work. He got a large trunk out of the house, put the grimoire inside, dug a huge hole on the side of the house, dropped the trunk into the hole, and then dragged debris to sit on top of it. Old farm equipment, broken tools, and other rundown items were added to the pile. As soon as he was done, a bright burst of yellow light pulsed from the spot under the debris and then faded.
Edgar swayed a bit and put a hand to his head. “How did I get … where … when did I …”
Amber knew then that Belle had layered a memory-wipe spell on top of everything else. To ensure, Amber supposed, that then even Edgar would forget where the book was hidden. Just as he suspected.
He truly hadn’t been lying when he said he had no clue where the book was.
Edgar paced back and forth along the wooden porch that wasn’t nearly so creaky then as it was now. “Something is wrong. Something is wrong.”
Then he gasped and dropped to one knee, grabbing a fistful of his own shirt, near his heart. “Aunt Belle,” he groaned. “Uncle Theo.”
And then he was running so fast he almost hit the ground again, scrambling as he was to get his feet underneath him. He started the pickup once more and peeled out into the night, racing back, Amber knew, to Ocicat Lane.
But the house was already on fire by the time Edgar came to a screeching stop out front. He flung himself out of the
car, leaving the driver’s side door open in his haste, and thrust his fingers into his hair, staring in horror at the jumping blue flames. He called his aunt and uncle’s names, but there was no sound save for the crackle of fire and the splitting of wood and the bending of metal that got too hot and then collapsed in on itself. The one time he tried running up the front porch steps, the fire had reared up like a wild horse, nudging him back.
Tears blurred his vision.
“Tragedy, isn’t it?” someone asked from behind him.
Edgar whirled around to find Neil Penhallow—though Edgar didn’t know his name yet—leaned against the passenger-side door of Edgar’s truck, feet crossed at the ankles, and hands in his pockets. Edgar frantically looked up and down the street.
Had any of the neighbors called the fire department? Amber didn’t hear the scream of sirens in the distance. Not yet.
“Where is everyone?” Edgar asked, his voice hitching. “Oh God. Poor Amber and Willow.” Edgar sunk to his knees on the sidewalk, clutching at his chest.
Neil appeared in Edgar’s view again, shoes first. Edgar pulled himself together enough to start a slow scan of the man, but Neil soon dropped into a squat before him. The man leaned in and gave Edgar’s shirt an intense sniff—on a spot by his right shoulder. Edgar appeared to be too shocked to even react to this.
Neil sat back on his haunches. “She gave you the real one. Why you, I wonder. I can smell it all over you, boy.”
“Wh-what?”
“Where is the grimoire, little witch? It’s your fault I had to resort to arson, you know. If you had told me you had the book, I wouldn’t have had to kill them.” Anger and grief flashed across Neil’s face.
Edgar scuttled backward like a crab until his back hit one of his tires. He yelped. “You did this?”
“Yes, I’ve already told you as much,” he said. “Where is the book? Her hold on it was supposed to be severed when she died, but I can’t sense it now. It’s not here.”
“Who cares about the book!” Edgar said, voice shrill. “Where are all the neighbors? Did anyone call the fire department?”
Pawsitively Cursed Page 24