Witch's Wheel

by Abby L. Vandiver

  Witch’s Wheel Copyright © 2017

  Shondra C. Longino. All rights reserved.

  This eBook is intended for personal use only and may not be reproduced, transmitted, or redistributed in any way without the express written consent of the author.

  Witch’s Wheel is a work of fiction. Any references or similarities to actual events, organizations, real people - living, or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. All other events and characters portrayed are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Find me on my website: www.abbyvandiver.com

  Follow me on Twitter: @AbbyVandiver

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/authorabbyl.vandiver

  Cover Design by Shondra C. Longino

  Chapter One

  “There he is,” Calayiah said, a wide grin on her face. She clapped her hands, bobbling in her seat, her green eyes sparkled. She pointed to the tarot card she’d just turned. “There he is.” Her long, red crinkled wavy hair bouncing with each excited jump.

  “I see him,” Lybbestre said, her green eyes set with indifference. She let out a huff. “You know, Layah, I’m not at all for this.”

  “Oh stop it, Sister.” Calayiah picked up the cards and put them in a stack. “Just stop it. It’ll be fun. Not only will we get to help, but we get to go out. We haven’t gone out in ages. Ages!” she repeated.

  “We have enough work here to keep us busy.” The raven haired one shook her head. “I don’t want to do it.”

  “Oh for Goddess’ sakes,” Calayiah said, a lopsided smile on her face. “Libby, you’ve turned into an old witch.”

  “We are old witches, Layah. So, I don’t mind acting like what I truly am.” She gave her sister a look of disdain. “You should think more of acting your age.”

  “My age has brought me wisdom, and it’s what has given me the power to know he needs us.” She scrunched her nose. “Yours, dear Sister, has only served to make you overly cautious and quite dull and dreary.”

  Calayiah heard the stroke of the large grandfather clock that sat in the corner and looked at her watch. “It won’t be long now!” she said, her cheerfulness returning. She rubbed her hands together and giggled. “It won’t be long now.”

  ͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼ

  Hello there. Welcome to Normal Junction. A place where time and space are relative, and the vastness of the things in the universe collide and conform for good.

  Okay, maybe it isn’t that big of a deal, but surely it’s worth taking note of.

  And it is true that Normal Junction is everywhere.

  So, that is kind of important.

  What do I mean by everywhere? Well, it’s where you are, no matter where that might be, at exactly the time that you need to be there. It is a state of mind, a state of being – the road to that silver lining right behind your dark cloud.

  It is certainly a good place to be.

  Well. For most people.

  Have you ever wished that you could just sleep through the bad times? Or perhaps shut your eyes so tightly that you’d become oblivious to all the misfortunes that had you pinned against the wall, then open them up, and all was right again? Maybe you’ve wished that you could slip through time to a place that wasn’t so filled with worry, doldrums, or the eroding strife that is eviscerating the very fibers of your life.

  For some it may have happened almost just like that. Eyes shut or wide open, thanks to a place like Normal Junction, they made it through with only a few scars to show. They are the few (or maybe it was many more than we know) who have found a way to overcome. Conquer. Trounce, and yes, even Triumph over life’s hiccups, heartaches, and headaches, and come out the better for it.

  Unfortunately, however, Teagan Bales wasn’t able to weather the storm and find the optimism and hope buried in his disconsolate circumstance as others might have. It hadn’t been his fault, the sadness and hurt that had seeped into his existence and forged the mold of the man he came to be. It was just life – the general course of things that we all have to endure. And, in Teagan’s defense, it happened when he was very young. He had been just a small boy who was unable to find the shelter offered by such a place as Normal Junction. No, not then. But in a place like this, where the continuum of time is fused with space into a dimension of the fourth kind, it is never too late. And that, Dear Reader, may just prove to be Providence for Teagan Bales, who, unbeknownst to him, has just arrived.

  ͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼ

  He looked at himself in the mirror, and ran his hand over the stubble of his five o’clock shadowed square jawline. His cool olive-colored skin was smooth and looked more youthful than his thirty-five years. Leaning in close to the mirror over his vanity, he wiped a finger across the lid of his eye trying to ease the twitch that seemed, as of late, to plague him. Deep set, his almond-shaped eyes were bordered by thick lashes, the corners becoming etched with the emergent of crow’s feet.

  Teagan closed his eyes, took in a breath and counted to ten. When he opened them the same hazel eyes stared back, filled with gold flecks that never sparkled, they were expressive only of the fatigue and desolation that seemed to constantly embrace him.

  He was dressing to go to an obligatory gala. One that he dreaded more with each passing moment over the last month and a half. With each step he took toward walking into those doors at the Gabrisette House and being consumed by the fragments of his family’s fractured legacy, the emptiness of his actuality crowded out more and more any compassion and substance he had left. The fundraiser gala had been the life of Olivia Grafton-Bales, the grandmother who raised him. And to the utter detriment of any promise he had held at the tender age of twelve, it had been the death of her.

  Olivia Bales had thrown the extravagant gala every year for more than twenty-seven years when her body, found during the party, put a screeching halt to any future philanthropic undertakings by the family. That was until now. In the tradition set by her, an afternoon fundraiser – a soiree of sorts – was being held. It would mark the fiftieth anniversary of the event, and also the end of the family’s ownership of the House and its vast outcropping of the robust vineyards that supplied their celebrated winery.

  The looming affair had penetrated his usual tough façade and given him sleepless nights and troubled days. He tried to dismiss his misgivings, seeking comfort in work and women, but neither eased his ache.

  In his bouts of sleeplessness, he’d heard voices - familiar, but too distant to recognize. Always reciting the same mantra. And eventually, even in his waking hours, the words seeped through to his consciousness and replayed over and over in his head all day.

  “You’re losing time.”

  Teagan picked up the tube of gel and squirted a generous amount in the palm of his hand and ran it threw his dark blonde hair. He styled it with his fingertips, and once satisfied with how it looked, washed his hands, and dried them on a white towel, throwing it into a nearby hamper once finished.

  Teagan, not one to give into premonitions or mystic beliefs, knew that the dreams nor the voice, though agonizing, meant anything.

  Now if you would’ve asked my grandmother that . . .

  His grandmother.

  Perhaps she was the reason for his continued dread.

  She had been everything to him. And the night his grandmother was found dead in her wine cellar, Teagan’s lifeline had also been drained. From that point on he was hopelessly void of the happiness and exuberance toward life that he’d shared with her. His confidant. His cheerleader. His grand-mother. The only one he’d known since his own mother left when he was two was no longer there.

  He had push
ed himself forward after her death – eventually, and he would do the same tonight. Push those notions manifested in his dreams and the unhappiness they conjured out of his mind, and push forward. Push ahead. It was easy, because that was what he did best.

  But what Teagan didn’t know was that neither the nightmares, nor the voice in his ear, were unintended. And it wouldn’t be long before he was to uncover what price time lost could demand.

  Chapter Two

  Teagan stood in the ensuite to his bedroom. It was a cool white – white subway tile on the walls, hexagon patterned matte white on the floor. White towels hung on a silver rack next to the white vanity that had shiny silver hardware, and a glass bowl. Sterile. Functional. Exacting. Just like him.

  “I’ve got the car waiting for you,” a voice swirled in through his thoughts. “And a glass of wine.”

  “Thank you, Caroline,” he said turning from the mirror, he nodded at her standing at the doorway. He walked out of the bathroom, past her, buttoning the white pleated shirt with black buttons that he’d slipped into. She followed him out. Stopping at the side of his bed, Teagan looked at the woman lying in it, still asleep.

  Caroline handed him the glass of wine. “Would you like for me to rouse her, sir?” she said noticing his gaze.

  Teagan took a sip and turned to look at the woman who’d spoken to him. “No Caroline. Not until after I’ve gone.”

  “After that, Mr. Bales?” Caroline stood in the middle of his huge bedroom. She was dressed much older than her years, something she thought appropriate for her job. A job she loved, even if her employer was at times unappeasable.

  “After that,” he took another sip and set it down on the bedside table next to his cufflinks. He picked one up and clipped it on. “I don’t want to see her again.” He nodded his head. “Make sure that happens.”

  “Certainly, Mr. Bales.”

  “Oh, and Caroline . . .”

  “Yes.” She looked up at him, iPad in hand, the Bluetooth like an additional appendage, fastened snugly to her ear.

  He huffed a sharp breath out his nose. “Make sure you discard all of the sheets on the bed.”

  She nodded and glanced over at the sleeping intruder. The king size bed had a cream-colored, five-foot high, tufted headboard, centered on a huge Persian rug, one of two things Teagan had left of his grandmother’s, looked almost lost in the huge room. Sparsely filled, the bed, mirror and one side table furnished the space. The bedding, soon to be trash per his instructions, was like the bathroom – all white – made up in Egyptian cotton 800 thread count sheets, a DKNY duvet and matching comforter. “I will, sir,” she said.

  Teagan had found that even sharing his bed with someone was not enough of a distraction to stop his night demons and the messages they assaulted him with. At one time, when bad things crept in, his grandmother had been there to shoo them out. Sweep them from under his bed, hang her potpourri in his closet from where they hailed. She had been his protector . . .

  “Mr. Bales. Do you need me to do anything else?” Caroline glanced at her tablet. “It’s getting close to time for you to go.”

  Teagan blinked, and let his eyes drift to her. He didn’t speak, it seemed he couldn’t. He didn’t want to go, nor did he want to go through the motions.

  “Mr. Bales?”

  He closed his eyes, and let them flutter back open. Running his hand through his hair, he said “I don’t need to be reminded of the time.”

  “No. Of course not.”

  Teagan picked up his glass of wine and walked over to the floor length mirror. Setting the glass down, he pulled the bowtie off the edge where it had been hanging. He draped it around his neck and began clumsily twisting the ends around.

  Dressed in a black Armani tuxedo he looked the part. Modish. Debonair. But his mood was a different story. Broody. Uneasy. And his resistance to what the night brought plainly shown in his comportment. Fumbling hands. Edgy commentary. Lack of concentration.

  “Would you like some help with that?” Caroline asked. Not waiting for a reply, she walked over to him and laid her tablet on the nearby table. He turned to her and lifted his chin. Much taller than her five-foot three inch frame, she almost had to stand on her tippy toes to reach up above his chest.

  Caroline, his assistant, was nearly the same age as Teagan, and with a life a lot less privileged, she was filled with much more patience. She was thin, but shapely. Well-dressed, she used her modest salary to make herself comfortable, but secure. Her thick brown hair hung past her shoulders, and her curls bounced when she walked. Fair-skinned, she had brown eyes, a full bottom lip, and a straight-edged nose. Not beautiful, but certainly most would consider her pretty.

  “You like the wine?” she asked as she ensured one end of the tie was longer than the other.

  “I do,” he said, a half smile on his face. “It has a hint of sweetness and cedar wood. Smokey.”

  “I’d thought you like it. It’s from your vineyard.”

  He looked down at her, but didn’t comment.

  “You look nice in your tuxedo,” she said looping the ends of the bowtie over each other.

  “Thank you,” he said, no expression of sincerity in the response.

  “I didn’t say it because you’re my boss, you know?” she said.

  He took in a breath. “Finished?”

  “Finished,” she said and gave the bow a pat.

  He grabbed the jacket from a chair, put it on and turned back to the mirror. He brushed his hand down the front of his tux, and then across his shoulders.

  He was handsome, he knew that. But it didn’t matter to him how he looked. He looked like he was supposed to, to go where he needed to go.

  “Your uncle called,” Caroline said. “Wanted to know if you were sure you didn’t want to ride with him.”

  “I just told Uncle Teddy that yesterday when I saw him,” Teagan said. “I’m capable of getting there on my own.”

  “I supposed he thought you may have changed your mind.”

  “I don’t change my mind once it’s made up. No matter what the consequences. If I hadn’t thought it was for the best, I wouldn’t have committed to it.”

  “Yes,” she smiled. “I know that.”

  “Uncle Teddy should know it, too,” Teagan said. “He should know me better than anyone.”

  He picked up the glass of wine, walked into his dressing room and stood in front of the center island of drawers. Staring at it momentarily, he downed the wine in a single gulp, and handed the glass to Caroline who’d followed him in. Opening the top drawer, he lifted out the false bottom, and listened as the tumblers on the lock of the hidden safe fell into place. He pulled out a small jewelry case and opened it. Placing his fingers inside the box, he slowly ran them over the precious stones that made up the object inside. A knot rose up into his throat, as he remembered the last time its owner wore it.

  It was to the same gala he was readying for.

  His grandmother’s oval-shaped brooch was encrusted with brilliant round, and silhouetted with long and slender baguette, diamonds. Accented by a floating bridge across the top, it was adorned with flowers that were fashioned with ruby petals and emerald stems. The piece was stunning and timeless, but evoked somber memories.

  Teagan steadied his trembling hand as he pulled back the platinum clasp on the Art Nouveau brooch. Opening it, he revealed the motionless face of a jeweled timepiece. The time on the dial marking the moment of his grandmother’s death.

  Chapter Three

  You’re losing time.

  The words, taunting him, wafted past his ear as soon as he opened the precious keepsake. The words, clear and as real as they’d been spoken by someone standing next to him, sent a chill down his spine.

  Please stop . . . He wanted to cry out. But to who?

  Teagan stared down at the brooch through an anguished stretch of moments, raw emotions bubbling up and out from a long ago stowed away pain. Steeling back the tears that threatened to emerge, Teag
an closed the watch case and started to return it to its silk-lined box, when those words and the ramifications of the night’s events stopped him.

  The remnants of his grandmother’s life were being buried. Her majestic mansion, and feted fields of grapes, had been virtually auctioned off to the highest bidder and were being carted out that very afternoon. Her legacy ticking away. Slipping away . . .

  But there in his hand, he held something of hers that could continue. The heartbeat of who she was and what she had given to others could go on. At least for him.

  “Caroline,” Teagan said on a sudden whim. Not lifting his eyes, he clenched his jaw to mask the appearance of the sentiments he felt welling up inside.

  “Yes?” she said.

  “I need you to find me a place where I can have this watch repaired.”

  “I’ll make note of it, and have a list for you tomorrow.”

  “I’d like to take it somewhere today. Now. On my way to this afternoon’s gala.”

  Caroline looked at the time displayed on her iPad. It was 2pm on a Sunday afternoon.

  “I don’t know that I can find a place, other than in a commercial mall, that would be opened now,” she said. The only kind of watch repair business that would keep Sunday hours were places she knew he wouldn’t deign to appear – like Sears or a mall kiosk.

  “Do it,” he said. “I need to do this now.” He gave the brooch a squeeze before pushing it down into his jacket pocket.

  Caroline typed into the search box on her tablet, and scrolled down the listings her query had produced.

  ͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼͽͼ

  Teagan walked outside, and breathed in air filled with moisture. It smelled of wet leaves and dirt.

  “Evening, sir,” the driver standing in wait opened the back door to the black Bentley Mulsanne.

  “Hello, Charles.” Teagan slid into the plush leather back seat, and his driver closed the door after him. “I’ll need to make a stop,” he said to the driver after he had gotten in behind the wheel.