Really, what was safer than living in a place no one thought was occupied? What better spot to be left alone. To be able to live your life by your own terms.
She smiled and nodded. Please let all of that be true. Please let Shadowvale be some secret community that had decided to hide itself away from the world. Because if it was, she was definitely in the right place.
Also, if they could be welcoming to newcomers, that would also be great. Because she might not ever leave.
Chapter Three
Em slowed down on pure autopilot. She’d gone a little distance without another house in sight, but now she’d found one and was too busy staring out the window to pay more attention to the car and her driving. This couldn’t be right. Could it?
Specifically, the house in front of her was what she was questioning. Well, house maybe wasn’t the right word. Mansion? Estate? Manor home? Whatever you called it, one word definitely applied. Enormous. Two sprawling stories of what she could think to describe only as a French chateau sat like a pale jewel at the end of a winding, tree-lined drive.
From the creamy stucco walls to the deep-blue, pitched roof, the entire house seemed to float above the pearly fog that draped the manicured lawn. Adding to that effect was the delicate illumination by landscape lighting so expertly hidden that it seemed as if everything just glowed because it was so beautiful.
If Cinderella herself had strolled out of the house in a giant ball gown and glittering glass shoes, Em would not have been surprised.
There was no way this was where her aunt lived. It didn’t seem possible. Mostly because of what she knew about her aunt.
Em’s mother hadn’t liked to talk about Aunt Amelia, for some reason, but when she had, she’d always made it seem like Aunt Amelia was a poor relation. As if talking about her too much might make the woman suddenly show up, looking for a handout.
Which was pretty much what Em was doing here now. Okay, not a handout, exactly, but a place to stay, for sure.
She pressed down on the brake, finally bringing the vehicle to a complete stop. This was the right address. Seventeen Hollows Lane. She peered through the windshield. There was no name on the mailbox, just the house number.
She snorted. The mailbox alone probably cost more than her car. It was a beautiful wrought-iron thing that matched the fence around the property, all of which was decorated with a scowling-tiger motif. That had to be custom. She’d never seen anything like that at the DIY Depot in the eight days she’d been employed there before the news about her mother had hit and Em’s position had mysteriously been downsized into nonexistence.
She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. She had to make a decision. She couldn’t sit in the middle of the road all night. And not just because this place probably had security that rivaled the prison where her mother was now serving six to ten.
With a long exhale, she shrugged and turned down the long drive. She rarely let adversity stop her. This situation was no different than any of the other things she’d faced.
But she drove slowly, trying to piece together what she’d say to whoever answered the door. Hi, I’m Emeranth Greer. Is my aunt Amelia home?
No, that wouldn’t work. It was too assumptive. She’d just ask if Aunt Amelia lived here. That’s what she’d do. Straight out with it.
And if Aunt Amelia didn’t, well, then, Em would just—she braked suddenly as a realization hit her.
Of course Aunt Amelia didn’t live here. Aunt Amelia worked here.
That had to be it. A house like this must have live-in staff, so maybe in a way, Aunt Amelia did live here. Maybe…there’d even be a job for Em. She could do anything if it meant paying her bills and keeping a roof over her head. Cook, clean, garden, run errands, scrub toilets, whatever they needed.
With new determination, she grabbed her purse and got out of the car.
She stood for a moment, looking at the house. This was going to be all right. It was going to work out. They wouldn’t turn away the niece of one of their employees, would they? Em hoped not. She ran her hand through her hair, hoping she didn’t look like a vagabond. She also hoped Aunt Amelia was a really, really good employee.
She bucked up her courage, put on her best smile, and headed for the front door. Which was really two doors. Beautiful blue arched doors flanked by carved statues of tigers done in some glittery blue-black stone that probably also cost a fortune.
The doors were mostly blue glass, but it was wavy and swirled and impossible to see more than shapes through. Despite the late hour, a chandelier in the foyer burned brightly, so someone was still awake, right?
She took a breath. She’d never been in a place this swanky. Heck, she’d never been near a place this swanky. She really hoped she didn’t screw anything up.
She pushed the doorbell. Pretty chimes, muted by the house, reached her ears. Not long after the chimes faded, a figure appeared behind the glass. A man.
He opened the door. “Good evening. What can I do for you?”
He was trim, but barrel-chested and a little on the shorter side. Stocky. Like a bulldog. With neat, salt-and-pepper hair. Former military, maybe. Like, special ops military. Black ops. The kind where they killed bad people in secret places and denied all knowledge of—okay, she was working herself up now.
So much so, she almost turned and ran. “I, uh…I…”
He smiled. “There must be something I can help you with.”
That smile somehow made everything all right. She nodded, her pulse slowing back to normal. “I’m looking for my aunt. Amelia Marchand. I think she might work here.”
He let out a little snort, then schooled his face to eliminate the sudden smile, but the twinkle in his eyes remained. “I wouldn’t say she works here, exactly.”
“Oh. I guess my information was wrong.” Em’s heart sank, and she started to turn back toward the car.
“That’s not what I meant. She is here. She just doesn’t work here. The lady of the manor has staff to do the work.”
Em stared at him. Her gaze narrowed. “The lady of the manor? You make it sound like…she owns this house? That can’t be right.”
“But it is.” He nodded. “Amelia Marchand is the owner of Indigo House. Always has been. Would you like to come in, Miss…?”
“Oh, um, Em. Emeranth. But call me Em. Wow.”
“Welcome, Miss Em. I’m Beckett. The majordomo. You can call me Beckett.” The smile returned briefly. “I’ll fetch your aunt.”
Em stepped through the doors in a daze. Aunt Amelia owned this place. How was this possible? Also, what was a majordomo? “Thank you.”
“If you’d like to follow me into the sitting room.”
“Sure.” It wasn’t a question so much as a strong suggestion, but she was occupied with checking the house out and happy to comply. The foyer opened into a rotunda that had to be thirty feet high. Wrought-iron balconies looked down from the second floor.
She followed him, still feeling a little dumbstruck. The house was beyond words. Gorgeous thick crown moldings, beautiful furnishings, expensive art, inlaid marble floors in some rooms, gleaming wood in others, and all of it keeping the French chateau theme going.
He stopped and opened a set of double doors. “Please make yourself comfortable. I’ll let her know you’re here.”
“Thank you.” She walked into the sitting room. Wood beams, like something she imagined you’d see in an old French manor, braced the pitched ceiling. The beams looked well-aged, but maybe they’d just been finished like that on purpose, although she had a suspicion they were genuinely old. And expensive. As in imported from a French castle.
The wood floors looked a little like that, too, even though they were highly polished. The planks were laid in a herringbone pattern that gave the big room a more intimate feel. A broad carved stone fireplace sat at one end with a cozy seating area positioned around it. At the other end was more seating and a wall of shelves filled with books and objects.
Despit
e how high-end everything obviously was, the house had a comfortableness about it. Like it had been designed for the sole pleasure of those who lived in it, not to impress anyone. Em liked that. A lot. The idea that someone like her aunt could have so much money and so little care what others thought was completely charming. She couldn’t wait to meet the woman.
Em sent a longing glance at the fireplace. How nice it would be to sit in one of those overstuffed chairs, curled up with a good book and a hot drink. She’d never done anything like that, but people did it all the time in movies.
Life in this house must be amazing. Her aunt must be amazing. Em already adored the woman.
Em just hoped Aunt Amelia liked her in return. Enough to let her stay anyway. It wasn’t like Aunt Amelia would even notice Em in a house this size.
* * *
Amelia stood in the doorway of the sitting room for a moment. She needed that moment. Needed to absorb the gift—and the burden—that had shown up at her front door.
She hadn’t seen a single member of her family in nearly a century. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. She hadn’t seen a member of her family since Manda Greer had come calling for help, which Amelia had refused to provide, for a plethora of reasons. The primary one being Manda should have known better than to ask for something so…unsavory to begin with.
Now Emeranth Greer, Amelia’s niece, was here. In her home. Amelia’s heart strained with love. It didn’t matter that she’d never met the child before. Although calling her a child wasn’t fair. A woman stood before her. A beautiful creature with the dark hair and willowy frame and bronze skin that Grandmama Pavani had passed down.
Amelia saw herself in the young woman. Many, many years ago, but still, this was her blood. Her family. And one of very few left.
Amelia only hoped she hadn’t come with her hand out like her mother had. At least not asking for things that were better left unspoken.
Either way, Amelia would have to send the woman away as quickly as possible. The dangers of being in this place with Marchand blood in her veins were too great.
Amelia took a breath. “Hello.”
Emeranth whipped around, blinking like she’d been caught at something. “Aunt Amelia?”
Amelia nodded. “Yes. And you must be Emeranth.”
“I am. But everybody just calls me Em. Your home is…” She shook her head and laughed softly. “It’s so beautiful. I just love it.”
“Thank you.” Amelia gestured toward the sitting area in front of the fireplace. “Let’s sit so we can talk. Old bones, you know.”
Em moved toward the chairs, still smiling. “I was thinking when I first came in what a nice spot this would be to curl up with a book. Especially with a fire going.”
Amelia smiled, overcome with feelings of generosity and affection. She waved her hand toward the fireplace, igniting a happy little blaze.
Em gasped and jumped back. “How did you do that?”
Amelia frowned. “With a touch of magic. How does a witch do anything?”
That did nothing to dissipate the fear in Em’s eyes. “I’m sorry, what?”
Amelia realized all too quickly that her niece, no matter what power might dwell within her, had never been initiated into the way of Marchand women. Manda had a lot to explain. And now Amelia did, too, because of her assumption that her niece had been raised as the witch she was. “It’s okay. It’s nothing.”
Em shook her head. “Oh, it’s definitely something. Are you saying you’re a witch?”
Amelia sighed, folded her hands in her lap, and made a snap decision. “We are all witches, my dear.”
“We?”
“The Marchand women.”
Em snorted. “Um, maybe in, like, the metaphorical sense, but not—”
“Yes, we are. In the very literal sense. My grandmother was, my mother was, as am I and your mother. And you.”
“No.” Em reached for the arm of the chair nearest to her and held on. “That’s not possible.”
“Sit down, Emeranth. We clearly have much to discuss.”
The woman didn’t move.
“Oh, sit down. I’m not going to hurt you or turn you into a toad.”
Em’s brows rose. “Can you do that?”
“Yes. Now, sit. Please. I’m getting a kink in my neck from staring up at you.”
Em sat, but the look of shock and confusion on her face remained. She stared at the fireplace. Maybe looking for answers in the flames. “I don’t believe in witches.”
Amelia laughed. “So you don’t believe in yourself?”
“I’m not—listen, why do you think that about me? There’s nothing witchy about me. Or my mother.” She flicked a glance at Amelia. “And I don’t know you well enough to make that judgment yet.”
“It’s nothing terrible, I assure you. And I didn’t mean to startle you with the information. I just thought you knew. I thought your mother would have told you. Helped you understand your craft.”
“My mother isn’t exactly the nurturing type.”
That didn’t surprise Amelia. “I’m sorry to hear that. And I’m doubly sorry to know that she’s never told you the truth about your nature. Maybe you should go home and have a talk with her. I’m sure she had a good reason for keeping things from you.” Actually, Amelia wasn’t sure of that at all, but she was trying to be kind.
Em grimaced. “That’s not possible. Going home. Or talking to her.”
Amelia felt a sudden panic. “Is your mother unwell?”
“You might say that.” Em stared at the fire again, a frustrated bend to her mouth.
That didn’t tell Amelia much, but she could see pain in her niece’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” Em was silent for a long moment. “If I’m a witch, wouldn’t I know it? Shouldn’t I be able to do magic and cast spells and turn straw into gold and all that?”
“Yes. Once you’ve been through the initiation. But I’m guessing your mother has never done that with you, so you’ve never experienced the true power that’s inside you. You’ve probably seen small glimpses of things, depending on how much power you have, but without knowing what you were really seeing, you most likely found ways to explain them away.”
“An initiation? And what kind of things?”
“The initiation for Marchand women is generally a bath of fire by moonlight.”
Em’s mouth twisted. “I’m afraid to ask what that means. Especially if it’s exactly what it sounds like.”
“It is. But don’t look so skeptical. We are immune to the touch of fire.”
Her brows bent doubtfully. “We are?”
Amelia got up, walked over to the fireplace, and thrust her hand into the flames. “See?”
Em’s mouth fell open.
Amelia held her hand there a few seconds longer for good measure, then pulled it out and presented it to her niece. “Look at it. Not a burn. Not a mark. Not even a speck of soot.”
Em took her aunt’s hand in hers and inspected it, turning it over. “That’s…amazing. Wait. Is that why my mother puts candles out by pinching the flame with her fingers? She always told me to try, but I was too chicken.”
“Indeed. It’s one of our many powers.” Emeranth was the first person who’d touched Amelia in years. The warmth and softness of her niece’s skin were almost breathtaking, but painful, too. It reminded Amelia how much she’d shut herself off.
Em looked up, still holding Amelia’s hand. “Could I try it?”
“Not until you’ve been initiated.” But she liked the woman’s enthusiasm and willingness. And her lack of fear showed real strength of character. What had Emeranth been through in her life to be this bold?
Em shrugged and released Amelia’s hand. “Then initiate me.”
“It’s really something your mother should—”
“She’s kept this from me my entire life. You think that’s suddenly going to change?”
“No. I suppose not.” Amelia went back to her chair
and sat. “What’s brought you here? I’m not the easiest person to find.”
“Neither is Shadowvale.” Em smiled, her expression lightening considerably. “But I’m a little like a dog with a bone. When I want something, I go after it wholeheartedly.”
That made Amelia smile, too. Em was so much like Amelia. “You’ll make a good witch.”
Em sat forward suddenly. “Are we really witches?”
“Yes.”
She let out a fast exhale. “I’ve heard some crazy things in my life, but that takes the cake.” She tipped her head. “You said I might have seen signs of my power already, but found a way to explain them away. What kinds of signs?”
Amelia was keenly aware that her question about how Em had found her had not been answered, but she understood the young woman’s curiosity. “Perhaps you knew who was at the door before you answered it. Or what a letter was going to say before you read it. Maybe you wished for something and it came true. Or needed something that suddenly appeared. Or you saw something that no one else saw. Things like that.”
“If you swap ‘email’ for ‘letter,’ then all of those things have happened. Are you saying those were actually manifestations of my power?”
Amelia nodded. “And chances are that it’s considerable. It tends to ebb and flow from generation to generation. Your mother’s power is decent, but nothing remarkable. Yours could be exceptional if things go as they normally do.”
“Wow.” She put her hand to her mouth for a moment. “Sometimes you just never know what the day’s going to bring when you get up, do you?”
“Sometimes.” Amelia paused for a breath. “Although I knew you were coming.”
Em went back to her shocked expression for a brief second, then laughed. “Of course you did. Oh, Aunt Amelia, I’m so glad I found you. When can I be initiated?”
“First things first, dear.” Amelia let her hands rest lightly on the arms of the chair. “Why did you come here to begin with? And what is it you hope to gain from this visit?”
The Trouble With Witches Page 3