I brush my hands over my face, then throw the covers back.
By the time I got back home, my mom was fast asleep, so there was no resolution there. She’s never been the type of parent who would wait up in a dark room, ready to pounce. She values her sleep too much and knows waiting wouldn’t make a difference anyway. If anything, it would mean a big blow-out with no joy at the end. Instead, it would just keep everyone awake and pissed off. I suppose morning makes as good a time as any to pounce.
Dressing as quickly as I can, I throw on a pair of ripped-up skinny jeans, a form-fitting t-shirt that says Be the Change, and my dark-gray Vans. Pulling my thick auburn locks into a haphazard ponytail, I give myself a quick glance in the mirror and rush out the door.
I don’t need to be gobbed in makeup or have my eyebrows drawn on like I’m paying homage to Groucho Marx. Other girls in town have that covered, anyway. I’d rather stand out by being the opposite of all of that insanity.
Tiptoeing down the stairs, I make my way to the kitchen as quietly as possible. As I reach the heart of our home, I’m surprised to find it devoid of the usual activity. Not only is Mom not waiting to dive into a conversation, she isn’t even rushing around trying to make a healthy breakfast before she bolts out the door to her office.
“Mmmkay, this isn’t good,” I say aloud. I walk over to the kitchen window, leaning over far enough to see if her Subaru is still in the driveway.
Its shiny black paint glistens in the early-morning sun and its windows are still fogged over with a hint of frost.
A lightbulb goes off in my head and I spin around, racing to the kitchen cupboards. If Mom’s overslept, she’s going to be freaking about not having a decent breakfast to start the day off right.
Yanking the fridge door open, I grab the eggs, bacon, spinach, garlic, and those weird tiny tomatoes she loves. I chuck them all at the counter and spin around for an avocado and her gluten-free toast.
My eyes flit to the clock on the stove: 7:11 a.m. Plenty of time for me to get this thing rockin’ before I have to bolt out the door, too.
“May as well make some for both of us. Nothing like totally surprising her by eating healthy along with her,” I chuckle, grabbing the whisk and going to town. “She’ll be totally convinced.”
I dice up the garlic and onions the way I’ve seen her do almost every single morning of my teenage years, and throw them into a frying pan of olive oil.
And she thinks I never pay attention to her. Pft.
I turn the burner on high and walk back to the spinach, tomatoes, and avocado. Scratching the back of my head, I realize I have no idea what she does with those. I must have tuned her out at that point as I engaged on Insta.
I cut up the tomatoes into fours and wash the spinach. I assume it’s a salad, right?
Before I realize it, the garlic and onions are smoking and I race back to the stovetop, fanning the noxious odor as the beginnings of the eggs go up in flames.
“What on earth are you doing?”
I jump, pushing the pan to the back burner as if I’d been caught doing something I wasn’t supposed to. Staring at her with wide eyes, I’ve drawn a completely blank.
“Were you—were you trying to make breakfast?” she asks, her face a bundle of surprise.
I shrug sheepishly.
“Wow, I expected you’d want a continuation of yesterday’s discussion, not deliver some ass-kissing,” she says, blinking rapidly. “I’ll take it.”
“Yeah, well, I think I screwed up the eggs.” I point to the charred remains.
She nods, a hint of a grin sparkling in her eyes. “They certainly are beyond resuscitation.”
My gaze falls to the floor and I scrunch my face.
Mom sets her briefcase down on the counter and takes the handle of the frying pan and the wooden spoon. “Looks like you just had the oil too high. How about we start over?”
Walking to the small countertop compost bin, she scrapes the contents into it and rinses the pan out in the sink.
“Yeah, okay.” I nod.
“You did a great job with the dicing, though. How about you do that again and I’ll start the toast,” she offers.
I set to work and before we know it, a newly cooked version of the meal is laid out before us. She’s right. I definitely had the oil on too high. The eggs, too, come to think of it.
“Thanks for getting this going. I was planning on swinging through Panera on the way to work,” Mom says, reaching for my hand and giving it a squeeze.
“Thanks for teaching me how to make eggs without burning the house down,” I grin.
A smile lights up her face, but her eyes glass over. Instead, tears work their way to the surface.
“C’mon Mom,” I say, tipping my head, “don’t do that.”
She takes a deep breath. “I’m—I’m okay,” she whispers. But her voice cracks, betraying its sentiment.
“What’s wrong now? I thought this was a good morning.”
“It was—is.”
“So then, what?”
“It’s just—I’m going to miss you so much,” she says, her lip quivering.
I sit up straighter and lean in. I search her eyes, pleading with my own.
“Mom, I haven’t decided on anything yet.”
Her greenish-hazel eyes, just like the ones I’ve acquired from her, blink slowly as a single tear falls. She swipes at it and shakes her head.
“I wish I could believe that, sweetie. But I know you. I know how stubborn you are. You’re just like your—” her words break off and she holds my gaze for a moment.
“Even if I am like Dad,” I whisper, “I really haven’t decided yet.”
A twinge of guilt punches me in the gut, but I ignore it.
She gives me a knowing look, but nods. “Well, thanks for a nice breakfast, sweetie. I—I gotta get to work,” she says, pushing away from the table.
“Yeah, uh—me, too,” I say, blinking back the surprising spring of emotions.
Each collecting our things, we trod down the front steps, one after the other. Mom heads to her SUV and drives off with a small wave, but I keep walking. I move in a haze past the garden of flowers I’d normally stop and admire and onto the sidewalk. Hiking my purse strap up, I consider heading to the cemetery again to clear my head and relieve some of the guilt I have over trying to make this all about Mom. I should be opening the craft store in the next fifteen minutes, but no one will notice if I’m a couple of minutes late. Most of the locals don’t even stroll in until well past nine, anyway.
“Eh, why not?” I say, walking straight past work with a shrug.
As I turn the corner, I hear someone yell, “Hey—Dru! Drusilla.”
My insides trip all over themselves, and I chance a glance over my shoulder. Jogging after me, his dark hair flopping up and down with his steps, is the same guy from last night. Surprisingly, his features are even more striking in the daylight. I’m oddly excited to see him again.
I continue walking, but despite myself, slow my pace a wee bit, just in case he really wants to catch up. After a moment, I feel a tap on my shoulder.
“Hey, didn’t you hear me back there?” he asks, matching my stride as we walk shoulder to shoulder.
“Yeah, sorry. I, uh, didn’t realize you were talking to me. Sorry, forgot about the nickname,” I lie, trying to sound more confident than I feel.
“Ouch. You already forgot about our tit-for-tat in the cemetery?” he says, pretending to jab a knife into his heart. “That hurts.”
“That’s life,” I say, quoting my mom without thinking. She says that no matter what crap thing goes wrong. Who knew I’d already be turning into her this young?
“Well, all right then,” he says.
I turn to look at him. He’s dressed in a casual button-down shirt beneath the same leather jacket as before. It splays itself open nicely, revealing an outline of his trim torso. His ripped-up blue jeans certainly suit his shape.
Goose bumps flash across
the back of my neck and I shiver involuntarily. Most of the guys in town think they look like God’s gift in their baggy Champion shorts and t-shirt that could fit three of them inside.
“So, you look like you’re on your way to the cemetery again. Are you still sorting out whatever was bothering you last night?” he asks, watching me closely with those discerning silver eyes.
I nod. “Yeah, a lot on my mind.”
“Anything I can do to help? I’m a good listener,” he says, grinning broadly.
“No. Thanks, though,” I say, my gaze surveying the expanse in front of me.
“C’mon. Nothing I can do? Are you sure?”
“Nope. I think it’s pretty much screwed,” I say, covering my mouth with the crook of my pointer finger.
“That sounds dire…” His eyebrow twitches upward.
I let out a slow sigh and curse under my breath.
“Well, see, I just got a full ride to the Windhaven Academy, but my mom doesn’t want me to go. Last night we got in a big fight over it. I was trying to figure things out, but this annoying guy sorta derailed my thought process,” I blurt out. Shifting my gaze from his expectant one, I continue, “Of course, the fact that I don’t have an ounce of supernatural ability isn’t helping either. So, there’s that.”
“Hold up,” he says, grabbing my wrist. “You’re thinking of moving?”
I grin in a painful, wincing kinda way.
His eyes are serious, and he genuinely looks disappointed. “So, did you meet another guy? Or?”
I slap him across the chest with the back of my hand.
“It’s you, doofus,” I say, snickering softly to myself.
He breathes a sigh of relief and nods. “Oh, okay, good. That’s good.”
I can’t help but chuckle.
“So, Windhaven, huh…” he says, kicking at the ground in front of him.
“Yep.”
“Well, why do you think they want you then? I mean, if you haven’t shown any supernatural signs by now, I would have thought they would have passed you up.”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” I say, shrugging.
“Well, aren’t you the least bit curious? I mean, I know I would be.”
“Obviously, yes,” I say, turning forward again and continuing down the sidewalk. “It’s all I’ve been thinking about since I found out. Well, almost all I’ve been thinking about.”
He narrows his gaze, but doesn’t dig deeper, thank goodness.
When we reach the cemetery, he pulls my arm back and stares at me with the kind of serious expression that makes me self-conscious. “I know we just met and maybe my impression doesn’t amount to much, but here’s my two cents worth anyway. You need to figure out why you’ve been accepted, Dru. I mean, the Windhaven Academy doesn’t make those sorts of mistakes.”
“That’s what I was thinking too, to be honest. It’s just…my mom is pretty adamant I don’t go. She hates everything supernatural,” I say, scrunching my face.
“Are you living for you? Or are you living for her?”
I stare at him for a moment, unable to form words. It’s like he’s in my head.
“Fair point,” I finally say.
“A damn good point,” he laughs, pushing back strands of black hair from his eyes. “Besides, it would be pretty convenient for me since I’ll be going to Windhaven Academy soon, too.”
A strange sense of relief floods through me and I take a step back.
“Really? You’re supernatural?” I say, my mouth dropping open in surprise. He seems so…normal. Well, sorta.
“Yeah. I guess so. I mean, I don’t really know much myself. I guess I get psychic vibes, but they tell me I have to develop it,” he says.
“So, what are you waiting for? Why not go this year, too?” I say, quirking an eyebrow. “It would be nice to know another first-year student.”
His tongue grazes his lower lip, drawing my attention. “Unfortunately, I can’t. I have a few things I have to take care of here in Mistwood Point first.”
I tilt my head. “Like what? What’s more important than developing your gifts?”
He inhales deeply, then lets out a sigh. “Like caring for my grandfather until he dies. He’s on hospice and I can’t let him die alone. He’s the only family I have left.”
“Oh. Oh—I’m so sorry. Is that what brought you here?” I whisper, not really knowing what else to say.
He nods.
“Well, this conversation has taken a turn,” I say, staring out over the tombstones beyond.
My responsibilities are niggling at the back of my mind, and I know I won’t be able to spend much longer here, let alone head deeper into the cemetery—or the conversation for that matter.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean for—” he begins.
I raise a hand. “Hey, no…no worries. I’m glad you told me.”
“Well, the point was to let you know that even though I won’t be at Windhaven this year, I will be there eventually. And if it were me, I would want to unravel that mystery of yours,” he says, reaching out and tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “I hear orientation is coming up in a few weeks. I could go with you, if you want.”
“Yeah, they’ve made a pretty big deal about it in my letter, actually,” I say, biting the inside of my cheek.
“So, it’s a date then?” he asks, standing so close I inhale a heady mixture of Dove soap mixed with sandalwood.
I consider for a moment, realizing that if this has the chance of going any further, I no longer want to be talking to an alter ego.
“Angel, er—” I splay out a hand, asking silently for his name.
He narrows his eyes, as if trying to decide whether or not to release his trade secrets.
“Wade.” He blinks slowly, his dark lashes fluttering against his cheeks as they mound from his smile.
“Wade,” I repeat. My pulse quickens as his real name crosses the threshold of my lips. “I would love to check out Windhaven Academy with you.”
“Excellent. I’d love to unravel the mystery of your superpowers with you,” he mimics my gesture from before, trying to suss out my own name.
“Autumn,” I whisper.
Wade grins broadly. “Autumn. I like that. It suits you.”
“Well, I better…” I jab a thumb back toward the way we came. “I actually have to get to work.”
“Ah, no problem,” he says, taking a small step back. “But…since we’re going to check out Windhaven together, maybe we would have dinner or something to get to know each other a little better. Whatcha doing tonight?”
His face is open as he beams back at me.
Nervous energy blossoms through me and my words catch at my throat. I flit my gaze to the headstones again, and despite my worries, I say, “Meet me here at seven and find out.”
Wade nods in approval and I turn around to head to the craft store before I can talk myself out of this.
Relationships and I have a sketchy history, at best. As I walk away, part of me wants to jump for joy, but a darker, more sinister part of me wonders if this is really too good to be true.
Chapter 4
Barely Existedness
After my parents’ separation and watching my mom struggle through the years, I always swore I’d learn to be more self-reliant than she was. There were plenty of times where my father’s had to bail us out—not that she’d ever admit that to me. I’m not even supposed to know about it. But each time, I’d heard her crying afterward. It was like speaking to him was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do. It was clear to me she still loved him, but for whatever reason, they decided they couldn’t be together. I grew up knowing that loving someone, really loving them, means suffering for it.
Now, I feel as though I’m running headlong into a train, and happily anticipating its wreckage.
As I walk up, Wade is standing in the same spot I’d left him earlier in the day, waiting for me. The grin that graces his face could light up the setting sun.
/>
“Hi,” he says as I approach.
“Hey,” I respond, ignoring the sound of my runaway pulse. “I have something I wanted to show you. Are you game?”
“Of course,” Wade says, a hint of surprise and confusion lighting his face.
“You’re new in town, right?” I shoot him a mischievous grin and wait for him to nod. “So, obviously, there is no way you could be in charge of this date, silly fool. I’ve taken it upon myself to show you the sights before you’re fully assimilated into the overwhelming monotony that is Mistwood.”
“Assimilated? Wow, that’s very Borg.” Wade grins.
Butterflies erupt from my solar plexus and I can’t help but laugh. It’s nice to have someone else around who gets the stupid, random stuff I end up referencing. Especially when it’s not about Fortnite, Call of Duty, or some other video game guys can’t seem to get enough of.
“So, Wade, not Angel…where did you live before coming to Mistwood Point?” I ask, venturing a sideways glance as we continue down the sidewalk.
Wade turns his gaze straight ahead, suddenly very interested in the concrete in front of us. “Oh, trust me, it’s nowhere noteworthy.”
“Oooh, that bad, huh? This could be fun. Let me guess…” I say, thrusting my hands out in front of me, interlacing my fingers, and giving them a good crack. “Your old town was really a traveling circus tent and you never really set up shop anywhere.”
He chuckles, shaking his head.
“No? Hmmm… I was so sure about that, too. Okay, okay…let me think.” I place my fingertips to the sides of my head in mock concentration. “You’re actually from the future, but you came back in time because you know the Antichrist is about to be born in Mistwood Point and it’s your mission to end him before the Earth falls into total annihilation.”
“Warmer,” he snorts, his lips curving upward, despite his not wanting to meet my gaze.
My eyebrows tug in.
“Really? Warmer… Hmmm. Okay. How about, you were stolen as a baby because your parents were really serial killers and they liked to hang out with dead bodies,” I say, grinning like a goof at my insane prediction.
The Windhaven Witches Omnibus Edition : Complete Paranormal Suspense Series, Books 1-4 Page 3
