Writing Wrongs: Crow’s Feet Coven, Book One

by Gael, Christine

He was clearly remembering the last time we’d seen each other at the reunion. Lord, that had been a night. We hadn’t done anything even remotely close to sexual, and yet it had been one of the most intimately charged nights of my life. We’d danced, and flirted. I’d stroked his lapel, and he had tucked a stray curl behind one of my ears, his fingers lingering a moment too long.

  What could I say? It was hot. On fire, especially given how tepid the rest of my life was. But we’d been good. We’d kept it a fantasy instead of reality.

  Now, though, there were no vows in our way. No husband and kids waiting at home. There was just Ethan and I. And right now, he was eyeing me like a starving man at an all you can eat smorgasbord.

  “I’ve missed you, Cricket. That summer…” he broke off and let out a pained laugh. “Let’s just say I spent all four of my college years trying to forget it. To stop comparing other girls to you. But I couldn’t. They all came up short.”

  My stomach did a flip and a shiver ran over me. Here, I really thought this was going to be more of a catch up and gab session. But it was crystal clear, now, that Ethan had more in mind than some casual, friendly conversation. Despite my attraction to Ethan, I was starting to feel a tad bit guilty, here. Ethan obviously viewed this as a date. And Patrick hadn’t even tried to hide the fact that he wanted to take me out this week.

  Having two gorgeous men both vying for my attention and wanting to spend time with me? Well, that felt almost as bizarre and out of place as my magic typewriter. Yeah, I was a ton of fun at parties, but I’d never been the type of gal that men fell over themselves trying to snag.

  It was different, that was for sure. At the same time, it was awfully flattering. I was really starting to enjoy feeling attractive and desired. Who wouldn’t?

  Plus, I wasn’t cheating on anyone or doing anything untoward here. A few fun, casual dates. Well, and the occasional kiss. But as long as I was honest and careful not to hurt anyone’s feelings, what was so bad about it? I’d gotten married in my early twenties. At forty-eight, I’d never really had the chance to date. Maybe it was time.

  I grinned up at Ethan. “Do you remember the first time you came to pick me up?”

  He laughed broadly, his eyes sparkling. “How could I forget? I thought your Mee-maw was going to have a coronary when she saw me.”

  Mee-maw seemed to have no beef with Ethan these days, but back when I was still in high school? Yeah, she hadn’t had a very high opinion of him or his family. Not that I could entirely blame her. The Morrisseys had a lot of money and power in town, and they weren’t always the kindest people to be around. Once she had a chance to get to know Ethan a bit, Mee-maw started to realize that he wasn’t quite as pretentious as his parents and grandparents. Sure, he was still super privileged, and didn’t quite get what it was like to live without having money to burn. But he wasn’t rude or cruel about it.

  “Yeah, well. You know my Mee-maw. She gets pretty stuck in her ways.”

  Ethan chuckled, sipping his sake. “I’ve noticed. But I like to think I eventually made a good impression on her.”

  “You made some good progress, for sure.”

  “In fairness to Mee-maw, my family is full of snooty blowhards, so I can’t blame her for fearing the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree.” Ethan grinned wickedly, pitching his voice low as he refilled our sake. “Remember the night out at the lake? With the bonfire?”

  My cheeks flamed. We’d spent a lot of nights at the lake with a bonfire, but I knew exactly which one he was talking about. It was the first time I started to feel like maybe there was something more between us, something that wasn’t just whirlwind teenage romance.

  Not that anything had come of it, of course. We’d had different paths in life and had taken them. But the spark was obviously still there.

  I laughed, shaking my head. “I remember what a god-awful mess that was.”

  He smirked. “Well, how was I supposed to know pushing you into the lake would only make the marshmallow stickier?”

  We’d kissed in the lake, the sticky mess of my exploded s’more spreading from my clothes to his. By the time we made our way out of the water, laughing and practically exploding with passion, we were both a heck of a lot filthier than we’d been when we started.

  Not that it mattered a whole lot, since all our clothes ended up in a heap next to the dying fire.

  A tense, achy silence fell between us. I could tell Ethan was just as lost in the memory as I was, and oh what a memory.

  The pulsing heat in my cheeks suddenly made me feel like I was dying of thirst. I grabbed my rapidly cooling green tea, chugging the mug in hopes that it would help. Sake seemed like a bad idea, given our current topic of conversation and our shared singlehood.

  Dating was one thing. Jumping into bed with a guy on the first date—even a guy who I’d slept with in the past—didn’t seem prudent. Especially with everything going on in my life right now. If anything did happen with Ethan, I wanted it to be intentional and meaningful, not a random hookup fueled by our memories of the past and too much sake. We had to live in the same town, after all, and I didn’t want things to end poorly or become awkward.

  Plus, there was Patrick to think about. I wasn’t exactly sure how I felt about him yet, but there was definitely something there. Something just starting to bloom into being. It was new and exciting and unexpected.

  I really was starting to develop feelings for both of them. Different ones, but equally intense. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them, or myself, to dive into anything head first.

  Like an angel with perfect timing, our waitress swooped in, bearing a massive tray laden with sushi and sashimi. And, while food certainly didn’t change the fact that eventually I’d need to figure out how I really felt about these guys, it was a nice distraction in the meantime.

  Ethan grinned at me, rearranging the plates between the two of us. “Are you ready to get adventurous, Crick?”

  Boy was I ever, apparently.

  The sheer amount of food between us was astonishing, and most of it was a heck of a lot tastier than I’d expected. Ethan was clearly deriving some serious joy out of stuffing me full of delightful morsels of raw fish and rice.

  We made a game out of it. He would pick out a piece of sushi for me to eat—sometimes even using the chopsticks to feed it to me—and then I had to try and guess what was in it.

  If he sensed any of my apprehension about the two of us, he wasn’t showing it. In fact, he seemed to be having the time of his life, laughing and relaxed.

  Once we were done eating, Ethan’s phone jingled cheerfully, and he slid it out of his pocket. Immediately, his cheerful demeanor disappeared as he peered down at the screen with a sigh. It was like looking at a completely different man. His shoulders stiffened, his body language becoming tense. He flicked his eyes up to me with a deep frown. “I’m sorry, Cricket. I need to take this. Excuse me.”

  Without waiting for my response, Ethan slid down from the high-top table and stalked toward the bar.

  For the next few minutes, I waited, sipping on my sake as I scrolled through my phone. It was just as I challenged Zoe to a new game of Words With Friends that it happened. Crippling stomach pains, each one a rabbit punch to the gut. I bent low and tried to rub at it like a cramp, but it only intensified, and I gasped out loud as sweat beaded on my forehead.

  Oh no. Oh, this was not good. Not good at all. The last thing I needed on a romantic date was some kind of serious gastrointestinal distress.

  Panic hit as I suddenly remembered all of those scary stories I’d heard. People eating improperly prepared pufferfish and dropping dead of the poison. What if I’d eaten something terrible that was going to kill me?

  Or worse, make my stomach explode in front of Ethan?

  My stomach let out a terrifying grumble that had to have echoed throughout the whole darn restaurant. This was mortifying. I couldn’t be in the car with Ethan like this! Not with my stomach on the verge of utter revolt
.

  I glanced at the bar to see him still on the phone and weighed my options. But as a fresh wave of agony bubbled through my belly, my options disappeared. I launched out of my chair and made a beeline for the front door. This was not the way I wanted to end our date, but the alternative was so horrific, it made for an easy decision. I could beg for forgiveness later.

  As I stepped outside, the fresh air felt like a balm, easing my pain ever so slightly. Oh, it still hurt, but at least it didn’t feel like I was on the verge of a humiliating revolt. With a few quick keystrokes, an Uber just a block away was heading toward me.

  Now to try and explain my mysterious disappearance to Ethan. I swallowed back my guilt, typing out a quick text that hopefully wouldn’t offend him too much.

  Ethan, I’m so sorry I had to bail on you! Mee-maw just got home and found a burst pipe so I had to get back ASAP. I’m so sorry, but I promise I will call you later! I had a great time, thank you so much for the sushi.

  I pressed send and took a deep breath, before sending a brief amendment.

  P.S. – Dinner’s on me next time!

  A few smiley face emojis, and hopefully he would get the hint that I was still interested despite running away from him.

  My phone dinged to alert me of my Uber’s imminent arrival, and I scurried to the curb, frantically glancing over my shoulder to make sure Ethan wasn’t behind me. He was definitely the kind of guy that would chase me down just to double-check I was okay.

  For the next 20 minutes, I fought rising and ebbing waves of pain as I frantically scoured the internet, looking up all the different fish we’d devoured. Thus far, none of it looked like it should be deadly.

  Maybe I was just being neurotic? Was this all just some manifestation of guilt or stress or something?

  Possible. But with a new stab of pain eating at my innards, I had a feeling this was a whole lot more than some bad sushi. The closer we got to Mee-maw’s house, the worse the pain got. And just for added drama, the low-level tingling in my fingers was quickly ramping up to a deep, burning sensation. New panic hit, my chest tightening as I peered out the windows at the passing houses. Just a few more blocks. I could make it a few more blocks, but it was getting harder by the second. I wasn’t entirely sure what was happening, but I had a sudden, sinking feeling that my discomfort was directly related to the typewriter and my so-called destiny.

  The air in the car was too hot, too stifling. How was this drive taking so long?

  Finally, Mee-maw’s house appeared on the corner. The brief feeling of relief was immediately consumed by fresh panic. Something really bad was happening here, something that I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

  Story of my life, right?

  The Uber driver finally rolled up to the curb and I quickly shoved the door open. “Thank you! Have a great night!” I said, practically diving out of the car and onto the curb.

  The house was still pitch dark. Thank goodness Mee-maw was still over at Zoe’s house. Whatever was happening here, I didn’t want her involved.

  I ran up the walkway, desperately trying to peer into the windows of the house where I grew up. The pain in my stomach suddenly stopped, replaced by a sinking feeling of dread. Through the sheer curtains over the massive bay windows in the living room, I could see a shadow moving inside.

  Someone had broken in, and I knew in the deepest part of my soul they were there for my typewriter.

  Chapter 14

  Part of me knew I shouldn’t go in the house.

  That I should wait a safe distance away and just call the police, but every cell in my body seemed to be driving me toward the door. My fingers were burning so badly it felt as if they’d incinerate and fall off my hands completely, and I couldn’t stop thinking about my typewriter. It seemed obvious that the burglar was after it. Why else would I feel this way? It was like someone had my soul in their clenched fist and were tugging away at it, trying to pry it free from my body.

  I reached the end of the walkway and, heedless of my own internal struggle, rushed headlong inside, charging into the living room where I’d seen the burglar. Holding up my hands like I was wielding a pistol, I shouted, “The police are on their way and I have a gun. You’d better run!”

  The words had barely left my lips when I heard a grunt from behind me. Some instinct had me shooting a hand up to block my face, but the ninja-like move wasn’t enough to save me completely from the stunning blow. Pain shot through my wrist as the impact sent me toppling to the hard wood floor like a ton of bricks. By the light of the moon streaming through the windows, I was able to make out the twisted, desperate features of an older man standing over me, brandishing my typewriter like a weapon.

  He tried to brain me with my own dang typewriter, I thought, making a mental note of his dark hair and crooked nose as he rushed past me toward the door with a strangled, “Sorry!”

  I pushed myself to my feet, ignoring the stinging pain in my wrist, with every intention of locking the door behind him and calling the police, but my body had different plans. Almost as if I was in a trance, I charged after him like the Terminator as he ran down the road, turning off to dash through a neighbor’s yard toward a small patch of trees. It was futile to chase him, and some part of me knew it. The gap was widening between us rather than shrinking and, even if I caught him, what did I expect to do, anyway? He had me by a few years, but he was still an able-bodied male and outweighed me by fifty pounds or more. If he’d hit me full on that first time, he could’ve cracked my skull.

  And still, I ran, consumed by the rage and sheer horror of the thought of him taking my typewriter from me. I was so frantic, the strange pull inside of me so sharp, I felt like Gollum from the Lord of the Rings.

  My preciousss.

  Not being able to stop it, I chugged along, pushing my body to its limit and ignoring the ever-increasing stitch in my side. He dashed into the trees and I followed after him, aware that I was breaking every rule I’d ever been taught as a female. Running through the woods alone in the dark—no buddy, no system—chasing a man nearly twice her size, headed God only knew where. For all I knew, he was leading me straight to a murder cabin in the woods where a meat-hook with my name on it awaited.

  And still, I ran. I ran until every breath was agony. Until the ache in my side was crippling. Until I could no longer hear the crunching of branches that were leading me onwards.

  I dropped to my knees, hurting all over and emotionally wrecked. I was pretty sure I’d pulled muscles I didn’t even know existed, and I’d still failed.

  For a full five minutes, I lay there on the forest floor, trying to catch my breath. Once I had the energy, I forced myself back to my feet and limped home, trying not to think of how awful I was going to feel the next day. Tears streamed down my face the whole way, and I couldn’t quell the deep sense of loss in the pit of my stomach.

  Once I got back to the house, I considered calling the police and filing a report, but couldn’t make myself pull the trigger. Who’d go through all the effort of breaking into a house, just to steal a forty-dollar typewriter where there were loads of other items worth far more? A huge, flat-screen TV and other electronics that still sat in their rightful places, not to mention jewelry and other valuables that I was sure had been left untouched. The police would have questions and only call attention to what was swiftly becoming an all-consuming situation.

  My mind went back to the strange stomach pains that’d started at the restaurant and had only gotten worse now that the typewriter was gone. There was no way he’d already been at the house nearly half an hour ago, was there? Maybe the typewriter was somehow able to sense the danger that it’d been in before it happened. It made sense…at least, as much sense as anything did that was going on in my life lately.

  I opened the door to the basement and headed down, cringing as I stepped into the room. It was trashed. He’d searched the closet, apparently pretty frantically, and every box I had lying around with stuff from the old house I
’d shared with Greg. I turned towards the bed and, confirming what I already suspected. He’d left my jewelry box with my diamond wedding set on the desk, unmolested.

  I clenched my burning fists tight, barely keeping my emotions from exploding into a full-blown panic attack. Unable to sit still, I knelt down to start cleaning up the room, looking out for any possible clue, though I knew it was unlikely that he’d left anything behind that could help me. I’d gotten a good look at his face and I knew what he’d been after, but it wouldn’t help me much, as I didn’t have the know-how or the resources to track him down. Even more horribly, I couldn’t figure out how he had even known I had the typewriter to begin with. Did he know Connie? Was he working alone or for someone else? And if the latter, what could they do with such a dangerous item? Though Mee-maw’s survival after her heart attack suggested it was more of a maker of predictions than an object with the ability to create the future, I was nowhere near certain of the extent of the typewriter’s powers, yet.

  My mind flitted back to Connie’s strange behavior in the antique shop a week and a half back. What else did she know? I felt even more like I should be wearing a tinfoil hat than I already had as I imagined what kind of shadowy cabal or alien power could be responsible for all this. I pulled out my phone, ignoring two new texts from Ethan for the moment. Instead of texting her this time, I gave the store a call.

  I let the phone ring until voicemail picked up.

  “You’ve reached Connie’s Curiosities. We are open every day from ten to five. Please contact us during business hours and thanks for calling. Have a curious day!”

  I sighed and disconnected before pulling up the messages from Ethan. He was one of those texters that sent a message that would’ve fit in a single text in several, hitting enter at almost random points mid-thought.

  Okay, sorry to hear that, we’ll have to continue our date another time. Sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye to you

  Let me know if you want me to come over and help. I’m more handy than you’d expect