by A. M. Mahler
I am not a witch.
Olivia
The next day, we packed up our little homestead and checked out of the campground. It would take us just about two hours to get to West Point, New York, where Pippa said a guy named Brody was. According to her, he was going to be extremely difficult to bring in. Willow saw nothing amiss, but she had been frustrated the last few days over not being able to tell us definitively how things were going to work out. She was concerned that the Society would refuse to let her and Jagger in. If that turned out to be the case, none of us would stay with the Society. Jagger’s confidence was shaken with the discovery that his father was even more evil than we had originally thought, but my faith in Jagger held firm. I would go wherever he went.
I spent my time in the passenger seat thinking about the Order and what they were really like. They couldn’t all be bad, right? Corrupt leaders governed good people all the time. Why should the Order—or the Society—be any different? From what I knew, the Society was governed by a council of family representatives, and the Order was run by Preston DeWinter. Was he elected or was it an inherited position, passed down from generation to generation? If that were the case, in theory, then maybe Jagger or Willow would actually be the Order’s next leader after Preston. Wouldn’t that be a pickle for everyone.
The other thing that was most concerning to me was the family I had waiting for me in Maine. Who were they? How many were there? Would my uncle just hand over the council seat when I drove through the gates? Did I even want him to? The thought that I was supposed to help govern a centuries-old organization that I had never heard of before was terrifying to say the least. I hoped my family were good people and that they gave me plenty of time to learn before throwing me in the fire. I had spent my whole life learning how to blend into the background, so much so that I didn’t know how to step forward.
And I hoped they could accept Jagger’s place in my life.
To my knowledge, I had never met these people before. If I had, I was too young to remember them. I really didn’t care what they thought of Jagger being in my life, but I would need their help. That I was sure of.
Curling my feet up underneath me, I rested my head against the back of the seat. Turning, I watched Jagger as he drove, the yellow and amber changing leaves acting as a backdrop outside his window. He was so young for the task set upon him. Jeremiah had made him a Protector. Did Protectors only shield the Corey family or the Healers? Maybe the Healers only came from the Corey family. Somehow Jeremiah had found out what I was and got away with me when my parents died. If only he had shared all this with me, I could have been more prepared. Even though, as they say, hindsight is twenty-twenty.
“What are you thinking about?” I asked Jagger.
Furrowing his brow, he looked over at me. “An odd question between telepaths.”
Shrugging, I adjusted myself in my seat to get more comfortable. “You know I’m not always in your head. You deserve your privacy.”
“I don’t care if you’re always in my head,” he said. “I have nothing to hide from you. I never have.”
“Humor me.” I said, rolling my eyes.
“Fine,” he said. “I was thinking no way in hell am I a witch.”
Laughter burst out of me like it was coming from all the way down in my toes. Jagger always gave me the unexpected, and as he said, that was not an easy feat between telepaths.
“You sound like the very idea offends you.”
“Well, it sort of does. I was getting used to the idea that I was some kind of supernatural being. I was okay with that. But a witch? It sounds a little girly to be honest. I mean, it’s okay for you to be a witch, and you probably are with your healing ability. My superpower is controlling someone else’s mind, to make them believe they’re in pain. Nothing physical happens to them. Therefore, I’m not a witch. I’m just plain old paranormal.”
“Just like every other eighteen-year-old guy from our town.”
“That’s no joke. There might have been others.”
“If there were,” I said. “They knew how to block me from their thoughts. I think I would have picked up on them. Jeremiah certainly would have.”
“No one picked up on my father.”
“Good point.” I said. Being able to read Preston DeWinter would have definitely been a plus. “So, since witches exist, what other paranormal folklore species do you think are out there? Like vampires and werewolves?”
“A couple of weeks ago, I probably would have said that was ridiculous, but now it appears anything is possible. Clearly, we don’t live in the world we thought we did. I’ve thought so many times over the years wondering how it was possible for us to speak to each other in our minds. I only ever really came up with the idea that some people were able to tap into more dormant parts of their brain than others, you know? Like maybe everyone has this ability, but they can’t all access it.”
“A solid theory,” I nodded.
“Until you factor in you being able to physically heal someone’s body with your mind. I guess that’s witchcraft.”
We laughed together, and I thought that we were almost like our old selves—entertaining each other during the monotony of the school day. I didn’t just love Jagger because I could connect to him with my mind. I fell in love with who he was. Somehow, despite his upbringing and the horrific male role model in his life, he respected women. He had always built me up and boosted my confidence. He believed in me. We were best friends before becoming a couple and eventually, lovers. Our core connection would always be there no matter what life decided to throw our way.
And it was throwing some crazy stuff at us.
“What do you think we’re going to find in Maine?” I asked.
“A bunch of people running around in robes and pointy black hats.”
“Dancing naked under a full moon around cauldrons?” I replied, delighted by his playful mood.
“All fiction started out based on some kind of fact,” he said before his mood sobered. “I don’t know really. Just when I think I have a handle on things, something else unexpected happens. Whatever it is though, I’ve got your back. Or more likely, I’ll be standing right in front of you. No one will take you from me, Livvy, I promise.”
“And no one will take me from you,” I vowed. I didn’t know what the Society’s reaction to Jagger and Willow was going to be. Willow couldn’t see anything. I didn’t know if I should feel comforted that nothing was going to happen or wary that maybe her visions were being blocked. I highly doubted that Preston DeWinters’ children setting foot on Society ground was going to be a non-event.
Of course, I didn’t have the power Jagger did. Still if I was a member of some sort of prominent family, and a being that hasn’t existed in centuries, hopefully my feelings would be taken into account.
I sure as hell wasn’t going to stay if they were forced to leave.
Jagger didn’t do well when he couldn’t reach me psychically. Even if he didn’t actually communicate with me, there was always my presence in his mind hovering there. I knew the terror of losing our link. I had nearly gone insane when he was hit by a car and knocked unconscious. It’s different when we’re asleep. We’re there, but not. When he was injured, he was just gone. I really couldn’t say what would happen to us mentally if we were to lose our connection permanently. It was simply unfathomable.
We passed the rest of the trip to New York by playing, ‘I spy.’ It occurred to me as we approached the little house that our license plates were registered to that we hadn’t put on any makeup that morning. It was like the presence of Pippa and what she’d told us relieved our fears. I wasn’t sure it was wise to let our guard down though. We had a long way to go until we got to Maine. The Society knew where we were, what we looked like, and what we were driving, but presumably, the Order did not. Preston most likely had people out looking for us and we were fully exposed. Once we picked up this last person, I think it was wise for us to make the rest of the tri
p in disguise.
The one-level house was a dingy white, no shutters, concrete steps in front and had no eye-catching landscape. A picture window covered most of the front of the house. It was situated on a deserted back road. Jagger pulled the RV onto the grass behind Pippa’s and Miles’ vehicles. I stared at the little house, looking for signs of life. It didn’t look like anyone lived there now or anytime in the last decade. All it was missing was the “Do Not Enter” sign. This Brody guy was clearly shooting for the “keep going” look.
“I don’t suppose I could convince you to wait in the back,” Jagger said.
You should know better by now. I pulled up on the handle and pushed the door open. A heavy sigh followed me.
“I didn’t think so.”
The others walked around the cars and stood on the front lawn. Pippa put her hands on her hips and assessed the situation. “It’s a clever glamour,” she said. “It’s quite a nice house, really.” The four of us looked at her like she was insane.
“Oh, shit!” Willow shouted a second before a front window opened and a rifle pointed at us. A young man’s face appeared behind it. With chiseled features and dark hair cut short, he was handsome in that rugged way some men were. I assumed this had to be Brody.
“This ain’t a rest stop,” he shouted. “Get back to the highway and keep traveling!”
“Not very hospitable,” Jagger muttered.
“He means it,” Miles added. Willow stepped closer to him and put her hand on his forearm. Miles looked down at her hand and then back up at her with arched eyebrows.
“Brody,” Pippa said calmly. “It’s time for you to come home. I was sent to bring you back.”
“This is interesting.” Jagger popped into my head. “A little bit of drama is about to unfold here. Can you read him?”
Closing my eyes, I searched for a link to Brody’s mind. I found one and was surprised at the emotion coming from it. The pathway wouldn’t tie back to his thoughts though. They were closed off. It was impossible for me to tell whether he was blocking me or just unreachable. I’d never encountered a mind like this one, and the experience was leaving me frustrated. Usually, there was a distinct sort of lock down I came up against when someone was intentionally blocking me. Brody was simply ... unavailable.
A shotgun blast jolted me back to reality, and Willow screamed. Dirt kicked up right in front of Pippa’s feet, but she looked nonplussed. “Jagger,” she said simply. “It seems Mr. Dawson could use a little convincing. Maybe he’ll be more amenable after experiencing your charms.”
“I don’t know who you are, sister,” Brody growled at Pippa. “But you’re impersonating a dead girl.”
Well, now, this was getting even more interesting. Jagger and I shared a curious glance. He held off on cursing Brody with pain in favor of letting this new development unravel a bit. Given all the time we’d spent without answers, we were thirsty for more anyway that we could get them.
“I’m not dead, Brody,” Pippa said softly. “Put the gun down and come out. We have a lot to talk about. I waited all this time to see you. Don’t make me wait anymore ... please.”
The rifle lowered slightly, and Brody looked hopeful, like maybe he wasn’t seeing a ghost—though it wouldn’t surprise me if Pippa were dead. Anything was possible at this point and everything was on the table. If a leprechaun popped up and danced on the roof throwing gold around, it wouldn’t seem at all out of place.
Another blast from the shotgun had us all ducking. I guess Brody was unconvinced.
“What the hell?” When I looked up, Pippa had suddenly appeared behind Brody holding a frying pan. Before he realized that she was there, she clubbed him upside the head. A metallic gong rang out and Brody dropped out of sight. She was literally just by us, and now she was inside the house. The door hadn’t open, but we didn’t see her move.
“Miles! Olivia, help!” Willow’s anguished cry drew my attention. Turning, I saw her on the ground next to Miles, blood pouring from his chest and a look of shock on his face. The second blast had hit him square in the torso. His body was convulsing, and Willow was doing her best to comfort him while staunching the blood flow. Miles’ breathing was labored, his face contorted in pain.
Immediately dropping to my knees, I laid my hands on his chest and looked into his body. The bullet was still inside of him. It hadn’t exited out his back and thankfully had only gone through muscle. Concentrating on the tip of the bullet, I began to fashion the tissue back together in my mind and envision the bullet reversing its course out of Miles’ body. A light formed in my vision, following the bullet’s path and healing what it had destroyed.
“Be careful.” Jagger invaded my thoughts. “Remember what happened with me. Back off when he’s well enough to tend to the normal way.”
I would have laughed at his phrase, “the normal way,” had I not been focusing so hard on what I was doing. It wasn’t in my nature to back off when help was needed. I’d only ever healed Jagger and my grandfather, and neither of them had ever been shot before. But healing came naturally to me, so I continued to work the bullet slowly out of Miles’ body, ensuring that everything was healing behind it.
As his energy and health was restored, mine drained. I could feel the pain in my chest as I took it from him. This same thing happened when I had my hands on Jagger when he was hurt badly by the car. Jagger was getting anxious as he realized what was happening to me. I lifted my palms from Miles’ chest before Jagger could throw a fit, and kept my eyes closed, continuing to work. Though I was still tiring, the pain I was feeling eased. It was slower going now, but Miles’ breathing was evening out and color was returning to his face.
Willow was softly sobbing next to him. She had his head in her lap and was hunched over talking to him, soothing. Initially, his only thoughts were of the pain, but I caught the moment he realized Willow was there and began to concentrate on her. It was sweet the way they had fallen in love and how he tried to dance around it. He wanted to wait until she was older.
“Holy shit.” A harsh whisper came over my shoulder as I realized Pippa had returned with Brody. As the bullet emerged from Miles’ flesh, I plucked it up and pressed it into his hand—a souvenir from what he had just survived.
Sitting back on my heels, I watched as Miles drew deep breaths, blinking his eyes to regain his focus. Pressing soft kisses to his forehead, Willow grabbed his blood-stained hand and held tight. Now that the healing was over, I was more aware of how Jagger had shielded me while I was vulnerable. Tension rolled off him as he faced Brody.
Exhausted, I stood and turned to face the strange being that had shot my friend. He was looking at me in awe. There was no threat from him now, but Jagger angled his body in front of mine anyway.
“Well,” Brody said, cocking his head to the side and rubbing at the spot where Pippa had hit him. “This is certainly a game changer.”
I AWOKE IN a strange bed, in a strange room. It was surprisingly luxurious. I had never stayed in such a place before. The ornate, four-poster bed was draped in soft white toile. The mattress beneath me was the softest I’d ever slept on, and the plush down comforters cocooned me like a cloud. Sitting up, I saw the room was as opulent as the bed. A dark wood dresser with gold handles and an extravagant matching mirror sat across from me. Light drifted in from large floor to ceiling windows adorned in the same floaty white as the bed. The walls were a soft seafoam green and the trim was painted white.
As I took in the rest of room, I stopped my jaw from dropping. Whoever lived here must be very wealthy. Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, my feet sunk into the soft, thick carpet. I looked down at the colorful patterns, and though I didn’t know anything about expensive rugs, the rich maroon and navy pattern on this one made me think it was as expensive as the rest of the room.
Still dressed in my leggings and sweatshirt from earlier, I stretched out my muscles. I felt rested and noted no lingering effects from having healed Miles earlier.
T
he bedroom door was cracked open, so I was confident that wherever I was, I was hardly a prisoner. When I opened the door the rest of the way, I heard raised voices from down the hall.
Having realized I was awake Jagger came bolting around the corner into the hallway. His eyes scanned me from head to toe as he walked toward me, taking inventory on my physical being.
“How are you feeling? Are you okay?”
Yes. I feel great. Where are we?
“This is the inside of Brody’s house. There’s some kind of spell or something camouflaging it to make it look run down, but it’s actually really nice. And not even his. The owners are away somewhere out of the country and he’s squatting.”
Wow. Brody was fine with breaking and entering. What would he do when the real owners came back? Would they see the rundown little hovel and think they were going crazy?
“Dude, you fucking shot me!” Miles screamed from somewhere else in the house and Jagger rolled his eyes. “Brody isn’t growing on anybody.” Taking my hand, Jagger led me down to the kitchen, which looked like it had popped right out of some fancy lifestyle magazine. My eyes grew wide as I stepped into the gorgeous space, obviously designed for entertaining. My whole house could fit in this one room and there would still be leftover space. I realized that Jagger and Willow probably felt right at home, given the way they grew up. I’d never been inside Jagger’s house, but I was willing to bet it looked a lot like this.
“Ah, the paranormal anomaly surfaces,” Brody said, sweeping a hand toward me.
Miles popped out of this chair, and before I knew what was happening, I was enveloped in his arms as he squeezed me tightly. “I can never thank you enough for what you did,” he said softly in my ear. “You are amazing. I never really understood what you can do until I experienced it for myself.” Pulling back, he placed his hands on my shoulders and looked at me in earnest. “You are a precious commodity. I will do whatever is asked of me to make sure you’re protected.”
