by Andris Bear
His response had been, “I know. My uncle Buff was close with your parents. He told me all about them.”
The experience in the basement had shaken her so badly she hadn’t made the connection—Shane’s uncle knew her parents. The man might be the key to unlocking this whole mystery.
Excitement lighting her veins, Evangeline jumped to her feet, earning a startled hiss from Chester, and snatched her phone. She patted the recalcitrant feline on the head with the command to, “Kill anything that comes in.”
Grabbing her purse on the way out the door, she hoped Shane’s offer for dinner still stood.
Chapter Fourteen
Shane scanned the faded photographs and newspaper articles spread over the countertop. Buff had saved so much that it would take Shane forever to go through it all.
His left eye twitched at the thought of reading every scrap. The clippings spanned three years, beginning in the early 1990s, and tracked the disappearances of twenty-three witches, which was a lot of missing people for a town as small as Whisper Grove.
Choosing a photo of Paul and Lily Winther, Shane asked, “What was the theory as to what happened to all these people?”
Buff passed him en route to the fridge. “Depends on who you asked. Light casters pointed fingers at the dark. The dark did the same to the light. But since both were disappearing, it made no sense that either side was to blame. Not that logic stopped them from doing so.”
“Is there really that big of a difference between the light and dark?” Shane asked. They were both witches, right? It wasn’t as if they had different blood running through their veins. Hell, maybe they did. He was far from the authority on magic folk. Returning the photo of Evangeline’s parents to the line, he studied several others, but couldn’t guess which was light and which was dark.
“Oh, hell yes. They’re as different as the sun and the moon. Just because they’re both hanging in the sky doesn’t make them the same.” Buff shook his head, opened the fridge door, and muttered, “Are they different? Sheesh.”
Shane snorted at his uncle’s snide comment. “Pardon me. Sun and moon. Big difference. Got it. What about the police—what did they think happened?”
Pulling out a beer, Buff asked, “Want one?”
Shane considered it, but as good as a cold one sounded, he said, “No, I want a clear head.”
“I don’t.” Buff twisted off the cap before taking a long pull from the bottle. He settled against the counter, a pensive frown on his face. “At first, they chalked up the disappearances to runaways. Obviously, that was quickly tossed, but they offered up everything from a cult, to human trafficking, to an enthusiastic serial killer. None of it stuck, though. They didn’t have any more of a clue than the rest of us. The missing were just here, then… not.”
Shane couldn’t help but notice his uncle’s gaze drop to the photo of him with the Winthers, lingering on the woman under his arm. It darted away, and Buff took another long pull on his beer.
“I’m sorry. I can look through this on my own, and I’ll put it away when I’m done,” Shane offered. “You don’t need to go over this again.”
Buff’s big head was shaking before Shane finished speaking. “Of course I do. You’re full of questions, and while I don’t have all, or even most, of the answers, I know enough to get you started.”
Relief surged even as guilt threatened to drag Shane under. There was no denying he needed his uncle’s guidance, especially after Evangeline and her friend, Carrow, nearly burned his retinas from his skull. Buff hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said Shane would start to see them—boy, had he. For a brief, terrifying moment, their brightness was all he saw.
An image of Evangeline, glowing like a damn Lite Brite, flashed through his mind. Her terror had practically had its own body and had scared the hell out of him.
With a sigh, Shane dragged a hand down his face. Needing Buff’s help and wanting Buff’s help were two different things. Shane would rather not walk the man through the worst memories of his life, even if it was to help the woman he lov—liked.
Yanking his thoughts away from that cliff, he blurted, “Why?”
Buff paused mid-swig. Lowering the bottle, he frowned. “Why what?”
“Why do you think the witches were taken?” Shane shook his head, knowing that question made little more sense than the one before. “I mean, why not anyone? What did they get from taking witches?”
Buff’s shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Power, obviously.”
“Exactly.” Excitement revved his pulse. Maybe he was running in the wrong direction, but he was on the right track. Of course, it had something to do with power—add the Duh right here—but why else target witches unless they could take what they have?
Shane jumped straight from his lean against the counter, making Buff jerk in surprise. The bottle upended and splashed its contents down the front of his uncle’s shirt.
“What the hell?” he demanded.
Shane, trying to snatch the mental string before it unraveled, ignored him in favor of asking, “Can you steal a witch’s power?”
Buff froze. Then his face crumpled into a confused frown. “No. At least, I don’t see how. No. Whatever power a caster has, they’re born with it. It’s a part of their DNA or something.”
The air left Shane’s lungs on a rush. His excitement popped like a bubble, and he returned to his lean against the counter. “There goes my theory.”
Placing his empty bottle on the counter, Buff leaned in close. “I did not show you this mess to fix it. What’s done is done. I wanted you to understand the dangers for a caster in this town, because her danger is your danger.”
Shane started to ask for specifics, but several loud, hard knocks sounded at the front door.
Buff spun on his heel, disappearing around the corner. The creak of the door opening reached him an instant before his uncle’s, “Speak of the devil.”
“Hello, Mr. Carlson. I apologize for barging in like this, but I was hoping you could answer some questions for me.”
Shane cocked his head like the confused little doggie he was. He’d know that voice anywhere, but what was Evangeline doing on his front step? She’d turned down his dinner invitation with an emphatic but polite, No, thank you.
He’d like to blame her sudden change of heart on his abundant sex appeal and irresistible charm, but the hoping you could answer some questions for me part of her greeting kicked that to the curb.
His curiosity was quickly overrun when he realized she would soon walk into the kitchen and see the spread of information about her family and several others in Whisper Grove. Call him cynical, but he doubted she would take him researching her well. Not that he wouldn’t fully cop to doing so—eventually—but he wanted to know what they might be facing, and uncovering past threats was a good way to not only learn this crazy world of witchcraft, but also to keep Evangeline safe from them.
The familiar sound of footsteps on the foyer tile made his gut clench, and he willed his uncle to guide Evangeline to the living room, so he could shove everything on the counter back into its box.
Naturally, Buff’s large frame came into the kitchen. Before Shane could even sweep his hand across the counter, Evangeline appeared behind him.
“Hi,” she said, giving him a sheepish smile. “I hope you don’t mind me dropping in like this.”
If his butt hadn’t just puckered its way into his spine, he’d be delighted she had stopped by. However, he was practically choking on his colon as he anxiously awaited discovery. Pasting on a plastic smile, he prayed she didn’t notice. Or think he had to fart.
“No, I invited you, didn’t I?” Shane cleared his throat as he slid around the edge of the counter, trying to position himself to best block her view. “I’m glad you changed your mind. I, uh, didn’t prepare dinner, though, since you weren’t coming.”
Her cheeks flamed. She fluttered her hand at him. “Oh, no, I’m sorry, don’t worry about that. I didn’t come
for food.”
“Oh? Was it my winning personality that drew you here?” Shane asked. He cringed, wanting to punch himself for the douchery.
“Jesus,” Buff muttered, ambling toward the fridge. “I’m going to need another beer for this.”
Shane shot his uncle a dirty look that he didn’t catch. Returning his attention to Evangeline, Shane saw she had placed her purse on the chair to his right and was stripping out of her coat. Before he could snatch it and turn her in the opposite direction, she stepped around him and draped it over the back of the chair.
Because God hated him, her gaze caught on the photographs and clippings.
At first, her expression was nothing more than mildly curious as her attention scanned the counter. “What’s all this…?”
He knew the moment she spotted the news article with the large black-and-white photo of her parents. It was nothing but a speculation piece that suggest Paul Winther had wiped out his family for the inheritance.
Her lips parted with a soft gasp.
She leaned forward, peering down at it with an almost palpable sense of excitement.
Buff handed him a beer. Shane set it aside with a glower for the man. Buff shrugged.
“What is this?” she asked.
Shane turned back to find Evangeline reading the article. When she lifted her gaze, his innards shriveled. “Shane. What is this?” she demanded.
He lifted his hands in a calm down gesture—because that totally worked on angry women, right?
Yeah. He was so screwed.
Lowering his hands, he said, “I told you my uncle knew your parents.”
“Was he stalking them?” Evangeline shook the article, making a papery rattling noise.
Buff helped the situation by snorting, loudly, before taking another pull on the bottle.
“They were friends,” Shane supplied lamely. This was not going well.
“Oh? Does your uncle keep such record of all his friends?”
“Only the ones who disappear,” Buff offered. Again, with his help. Shane would be better off taking a shovel to the face right about now.
Evangeline’s eyes narrowed.
“Evangeline.” Shane waited for her to stop peeling Buff’s skin with her gaze. “There is a lot going on that you don’t understand. I know you have questions, and so do I—that’s why I’m…”
“Stalking.” She crossed her arms.
“Researching,” he corrected.
“What is there to research? My father moved away. So what?”
Buff sat his beer aside, then placed his palms on the counter. Leaning over it, he said, “Your father ran to protect his fiancée and their unborn child. If he hadn’t, you wouldn’t be here to throw around ridiculous accusations. But you are, with no clue what you’re talking about, and it’s going to land the both of you in more trouble than you know what to do with.”
The air crackled. The hairs on Shane’s nape jerked to a stand. His gaze snapped to Evangeline. He froze at the sight of her hair. It wasn’t floating around her head, exactly, but it wasn’t resting on her shoulders as it should have been, either. And unless his eyes were playing tricks, some strands were sparking.
Taking a step back, Shane calmly stated, “Enough,” with as much authority as any man who feared the burning of his favorite parts.
“Don’t ‘enough’ me,” Evangeline gritted out between clenched teeth. She pointed a finger in his chest. “The only question I have is whether you discovered all this—” She flipped her hand to the counter. “—after we met, or if it’s the reason we met. Have you been “researching” me all this time?”
Shane stared. Was she accusing him of fabricating their meeting, of everything happening between them? She’d plowed into him, not the other way around! How in the hell could he have made her do that?
Frustrated, he admitted, “No. Everything I feel, everything between us, is about us. No one else.”
Her glare lasted an eternity. Then, “I don’t believe you.”
Snatching her coat and purse in one swoop , she was out of the kitchen before he realized what she was doing.
He started to go after her, but by the time he shoved his feet into the damn boots by the front door, she was already backing down the driveway at breakneck speed.
Slamming his palm against the door, he watched her headlights recede into pinpricks. “Damn it!”
“You better get after her, son,” Buff stated, coming to Shane’s side to stare out the window. “I may have been out of the game for a long time, but I recognize a power surge when I see one. She keeps up that pique for long, and we won’t be the only ones to notice.”
Shane threw up his hands. “And do what? I don’t think she knows she’s doing it, much less how to control it. What am I supposed to do to calm her down?”
“Tell her the truth. Everything—who she is, what she is.” Buff lifted a shoulder. “If nothing else, you’ll have been honest, and she can decide how to handle it from there.”
And if she decided to tell Shane to pound sand? Not a lot he could do about it. The thought of her pushing him away sat like a boulder on his chest, making it hard to breathe. The thought of her in danger because he hadn’t just told her the truth in the first place made it worse.
All he could do now was lay his cards on the table and wait for her move.
“Don’t wait up,” Shane said, grabbing his keys from the hook.
He was already off the porch when Buff’s, “Wasn’t planning on it,” reached his ears.
Chapter Fifteen
Blinking through her tears, Evangeline forced her eyes to focus as she shoved the key into the lock. It glanced off the hole, and she dropped the whole ring of keys.
A scream welled in her throat.
She tamped it down, swiped at the wetness blurring her vision, and grabbed the ring that had landed by her foot.
She would not throw a fit on her stoop like a common loon.
Even if she was rapidly becoming one.
Or was already.
If she could make it inside her damn apartment, she would allow herself to bay at the moon.
Refocusing on the only thing keeping her from doing so, she flipped through to the right key, shoved it into the lock with all the acrimony of hell—that was what it got for not cooperating in the first place—and flicked her wrist to the right.
The knob turned with the motion, allowing her to open the door, slip inside, and then kick the thing shut for good measure.
Not that the abuse of her front door made her feel any better.
It took all of a second for a sob to escape her, then another and another. The tears she’d been holding back broke through. Bawling, she stood limp and pathetic just inside the door. Nothing mattered but getting the horrible heavy despair out of her. She cried and snotted and hiccupped until there was nothing left but a hollow pit in her stomach.
She should make herself a cup of tea—desperate times and all that—take a hot shower, then go to bed before the universe could strike at her again.
Instead, she sagged against the door, needing a moment to just not react. No crying, no running, no thinking.
Just breathe.
Unfortunately, that shit didn’t work.
Her brain was in full-on jazzercise with your maudlin thoughts! mode. It didn’t want peace and quiet—it wanted to rev and roll until smoke blew out her ears and her skull exploded.
Or until she curled into a ball and gave up living for a comfy vegetative state.
When had she lost control of her own life? When she’d made the choice to move to Whisper Grove, she had been driven by a sense of purpose, of belonging. Not to mention a thirst for a little adventure.
No, she hadn’t wanted to go treasure hunting or to scale mountains, but she was finally setting out on her own, to claim a place in the world that was hers and hers alone. While she looked forward to new adventures in her life, she wanted her home to be a quiet, restful retreat.
She
loved her family and missed them so much she ached all the way to her bones, but a house full of four girls and one bathroom did not make for a calm and peaceful place.
She didn’t care how she’d make it work, only that she would. Because she would be Evangeline—not the oldest, not the chauffeur, not the babysitter… Just Evangeline, whoever she may be.
Had she realized who she’d turn out to be, she might have chosen differently because this one was losing her marbles.
“The boy you picked knows it too, or he wouldn’t be putting together a case study on you,” she said as Chester strolled into view. The cat took one look at her, did an about-face, and strolled his slinky, black feline tail right back out.
God, even the cat thought her too crazy to bother with.
An unhinged snort preceded her, “Some support you are. I didn’t want to pet you anyway.”
He didn’t respond. Not that she could blame him. She didn’t particularly want to be around her either.
Unlike Shane, who apparently found her fascinating. Like she was a puzzle he needed to solve. Or a lab rat for his science experiment.
Better to learn his motives now before she fell any further in… like with him.
A knock vibrated against her spine. She bolted from the door, then shook her head at her jumpiness.
“Who is it?” she demanded with the friendliness of an AK47.
It could only be one of two people: Carrow, with some hair-brained scheme to take her somewhere for God only knew what, or Shane, come to grovel his apologies.
When no answer came, she cursed the knocker and the entire apartment complex for being built before peepholes in doors were a standard addition to urban living.
Resigned to facing one of them, she yanked open the door.
Shane stood on the other side. Her stomach did a flip-floppy sort of thing, and she couldn’t decide if she wanted to run into his arms or high-five his face. Maybe both.
He opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “Oh, hey, Shane, so good of you to stop by and humiliate me further. I’m a little busy plotting your demise right now, so if you could come back in, oh, say, maybe never, that’d be more convenient for me, so leave a message at the door slam, you treacherous louse.”
