“I’d like three of your breakfast specials and a half dozen assorted donuts.”
“Got it.” Then she was gone. I don’t think she glanced up at me once.
The breakfast specials were an easy pick. More food than I’d eat for one mean but I could save the leftovers. Scrambled eggs, hash browns, bacon, toast, and a stack of three pancakes.
I took a seat on the stool at the counter and waited. I didn’t think it’d take too long and I realized as I sat there alone that I hadn’t told Luken or Miller that I’d left. Oops.
Unfortunately, ignoring everyone around me worked against me because I didn’t see Ashley and Taylor closing in on me in time to avoid them. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“Your grandmother killed our father,” Ashley snarled.
I frowned. Not exactly the greeting of a lifetime. “My grandmother died in her bed the same night your father died. What are you talking about?”
“You’re next,” Taylor snapped ignoring my logic. “I’ll make sure of it.”
Then I remembered what Luken had said. “Strange behavior for a preacher’s kids,” I said, echoing his words out loud. Then I turned away to continue my wait.
Taylor grabbed my arm and spun me around. “I mean it.”
I could feel myself seething. The anger was boiling in my stomach at both her accusing a dead woman of something she couldn’t possibly have done and at her having put hands on me. Yes, Luken and I discovered that Grandma probably died in the yard. But I wasn’t about to tell those two that nor had we truly made sense of it yet. But it was the fury over her thinking that my grandmother would harm anyone that took up the biggest space… because I’d known her. She’d never have hurt anyone. Me, on the other hand… the jury was still out. I was feeling awfully murderous right now.
Taylor’s eyes widened and she yanked her hand back. “Ow!” She shook her hand like she’d burned it, opening and closing it twice before balling it into a loose fist. It was a protective move not an aggressive one.
I caught a glimpse of her fingers and they were a bright, angry red, but that didn’t make sense. Unless somehow I’d burned her. Luken told me that I’d been responsible for the tree in the cemetery. And there were other incidents that I thought were coincident
Had my witchy self scorch her fingers? How would I have done that?
The answer to that was easy. I was a witch. Then I began to wonder what else I could do as I tried not to grin. I wouldn’t be bullied by anyone anymore. I didn’t have to be a victim. I could defend myself but I didn’t think I was ready to go on the offensive when I didn’t understand the power I had yet.
Then I wondered… what would Luken do?
“You’re such a witch!” Ashley’s voice brought the attention of everyone around us. The two of them ran to the bathroom, I’d guess to put some cold water on, what looked like, a painful hand.
“Uh… Here’s your order,” Marielle said as she placed two plastic bags on the counter in front of me. The she rattled off my total.
For the first time in my life, I left a very generous tip as I dropped a couple of bills on the counter and scurried out of the diner.
The drive home, my mind focused in on Taylor’s fingers. They’d become red hot so fast at the point of contact with my arm yet my arm was fine. I hadn’t even felt my skin heat up. Luken had mentioned the elements. Fire was one of them. Earth, fire, wind, rain. Those are what I could think of. Had I just conjured up some fire that didn’t hurt me but did hurt Taylor?
A small part of me felt good about hurting her for once. That was wrong but I couldn’t help how I felt.
Once home, I took the stairs two at a time with a bag in each hand and ran into the secret mansion, down those stairs to the living room where I’d left Luken and Miller. I expected that they’d still be on their computers.
They weren’t there.
I froze and closed my eyes, letting all the emotions wash over me.
Fear. Why would they have left? What if I was alone again? What if Luken had been called back home?
Then I opened my eyes and saw a note on the table, almost as if it’d been begging for my attention.
Call me. A phone number followed. I had to assume it was his.
I dropped the bags on the table and yanked my phone out of my pocket because I had to talk to him. Tell him what had happened.
“Good morning, Miranda,” he answered.
“Morning. Where are you?” I asked.
“Checking on a few things,” he said. I focused in on the background noise on his end and knew he was outside somewhere. “Miller and I think we know what happened to your grandmother.”
My breath caught in my throat. If that was true, then nothing else mattered. “Tell me.” I held my breath. The memories were coming back more and more but they were still fuzzy. The idea of her spelling me to not remember things simultaneously pissed me off and warmed my heart.
She’d wanted me to be safe. To protect me. I got that. But it made me question what else I wasn’t remembering.
“Soon. When I get back. I need to be certain first.”
I swallowed hard as nerves took over. “How long do you think you’ll be?”
He was silent for too long before he answered. “Too long.”
I nodded and wet my lips. The idea of being alone again wasn’t one that I loved. But I wouldn’t be a clingy… whatever I was to him. I was stronger than that.
“I went to get us breakfast at the diner this morning,” I told him as I sat down on the edge of the couch. The very nice couch.
“I’m sorry we’re not there for that. But save it. We’ll have it when we get back,” he told me. “Eat yours though. I really don’t know how long we’ll be.”
“Fine but if I eat all of the donuts it’s your loss.” Even though there wasn’t a chance in hell I could eat six donuts.
He chuckled. “I’m sure it is. But listen, I have to go.”
“OK.” I could only hope my voice didn’t sound as defeated as I felt.
“I’m really sorry, Miranda. That you went out and we had to leave but trust me when I say, we really had to check this out.”
“I trust you,” I told him quickly. “Obviously. But something happened at the diner that I want to talk to you about. It can wait, of course—”
“What happened?” There was a hard edge to his voice and I knew where his mind went. To the encounter with David at the fair. Luken still held more anger over that than I did.
“It can wait.”
“No, no.” Something scratched against his end of the phone and he said something to, I assumed, Miller before coming back to me. “At least give me the condensed version so I don’t go out of my mind with worry.”
I wet my lips and let the vocal damn break. “The minister’s daughters were there and they of course said some nasty things to me.”
He groaned into the phone. “Fuck.”
“I’ve heard worse… kind of. Anyway, they said my grandma killed their dad. I told them that was impossible but when Taylor put her hand on me, I… I don’t know, Luken. It was like I burned her. Like I hurt her.”
He was silent. For too long he didn’t say a word and I could only hear his breath on the other end. “Are you OK?”
“Yeah. I’m fine. Her hand wasn’t though.”
“We will definitely talk about this when Miller and I get back but Miranda, could you do me a favor?”
“Anything.”
“Just stay put until we get back, OK? I put a protection spell on the house so you’re safe inside.”
“I will,” I promised.
Though I wanted to know how to do that protection spell myself so I could keep myself safe. Luken couldn’t be with me twenty-four hours a day.
Chapter Eighteen
Luken
Every old town had a historian, even a town as small as Warwick and even if the position wasn’t an official one. So when Miller and I left Miranda’s house, we heade
d to the library.
The middle-aged librarian was of average height and had a classic librarian look with her brown hair, greying at the edges, pulled back into a bun and big glasses that made her eyes hard to see.
“Hi,” I said as we approached the circulation desk. Normally, I would’ve been quieter but the place was empty except one guy who was so far away from us, he wouldn’t be able to hear anything either way. “We are wondering if you have a town historian.”
“We do. Mr. Whitaker,” she said without looking up. “He comes in every day and is already here.” The librarian wasn’t wearing a name tag and didn’t take the time to introduce herself. But she did come out from behind her counter to lead us toward the back of the library.
There was an older man, maybe around sixty, at the furthest table with a thick head of white hair and a full white mustache that reminded me of pictures of Mark Twain I’d seen in school. He wore a suit with a bow tie that made it look as if he’d been born in the wrong time. Papers spread out across the table in front of him in what, to me, looked like a disorganized mess, but I’d bet my motorcycle on the fact that to him it was a finely-tuned filing system. He didn’t look up from his papers and it was like we could actually see him physically absorbing the information he was discovering.
I half-wondered if he had a bit of magic in him.
“Mr. Whittaker?” I asked. When those sharp eyes squinted up at the two of us, I knew I had the right guy. “We’re trying to find out about some of the town’s history.”
He nodded. “Anything in particular?”
“The Mathers.”
Whittaker grunted and pushed out a chair, which I took as an invitation to sit. Miller pulled one out beside me.
“What about the Mathers?” he asked. Ashley and Taylor’s father specifically but we’d get to that.
Intuition told me he already knew, but I’d have to say it. He wasn’t about to offer up anything I wasn’t looking for which raised an eyebrow for me. If there was nothing to hide with those people, why wouldn’t he drop right into story after story the way historians tended to. “Perhaps how the family ended up in Warwick? That might be a good place to start.”
The old guy nodded again, then took a long drink from the cup in front of him. It smelled like black coffee. “Yes, they’ve been here for generations—going back pretty far.”
“Well, did Benedict Mather—”
“Reverend Benedict Mather,” he corrected me, though it sounded more sarcastic than I would’ve expected.
“Right. When did his family settle here?”
Whittaker leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of him. “Well, that goes back to the time after the Salem Witch Trials.”
My stomach tightened. Those trials had been a dark time for my people and just the thought of what had happened all those years ago make any witch equal parts angry and fearful that it could happen again. Miller’s muscles hardened the moment the historian said the words. None of us like to talk about it.
“As the Mathers were founding members of Warwick,” he continued, not noticing either of our reactions. “We have a lot of genealogical information on the family. The good reverend directly descended from Increase and Cotton Mather, who, you may know, played a large part in the Salem Witch Trials.”
Yeah. I knew. We all knew. The way it was told among my kind, those poor people never would’ve been murdered had the Mathers kept their rhetoric to themselves. The idea of Miranda living beside these people all this time turned my stomach. Her grandmother had obviously protected her but keeping her in the dark wasn’t the way it should’ve been done.
“Every generation since Increase have been community leaders. Including his son Cotton. All men of the cloth but with very successful businesses. Though through their calling, they’ve been heavy-handed in politics as well.”
“So just regular businessmen?” Miller asked.
“Not at all. It’s from the pulpit that they’ve accumulated the most influence,” Whitaker explained. “Even fame in some cases and enormous amounts of wealth. More than any true man of God should amass. According to the scripture.”
“Did they seek the influence for the money?” I asked, already knowing the answer. But I didn’t want Whittaker to think I wasn’t following along.
“It was their agenda they cared about most. Still do with the death of Benedict. I assume that agenda will be passed to his girls. Historically, the wealth and influence along with the agenda would be passed down to sons while the daughters would marry someone from the church to help the cause through their husbands. Benedict had no sons which is why I assume the daughters will step in.”
Miller and I locked gazes. Each burning with a fiery rage possibly for the same reason. Miranda. But also because these were our people the Mathers had spent centuries trying to wipe out.
Acid burned my throat with the words that I knew I needed to ask. “And which agenda is that?”
“Ridding the world of witches no matter the cost. For them they feel the need for vindication. They’re determined to clean up their family name after those awful trials but a black mark next to it. They want to prove witches exist and that they are the only ones who can keep the world safe from the dastardly devils. Imagine the influence they’d have then.”
“Devils?” I asked, trying not to smile. We weren’t all that different form anyone else. Other than the magic but our coven used white magic. The magic of light and love. “How are they doing so far?”
Whittaker snorted. “Their drive is to clean their family name and so far they haven’t proven witches exist, let alone rid the world of them if they do exist. However, they also no longer make it clear that’s what they want to do.” He took another drink from his cup. “In that sense, their family name is in better condition than it once was. They’re no longer that crazy family who believes witches and magic are real. Though there have been rumblings of wrongdoings, at this point, no one would oppose them.”
“And what do you think?” Miller asked him.
He raised an eyebrow. “About the Mathers or about witches?”
I snorted but tried not to smile. “Both.”
“I think the Mathers are misguided and have an unhealthy obsession with something that doesn’t exist. Their explanation for anything that doesn’t fit their idea of normal or average is witches. But magic?” he asked. “In all my years, I’ve never met a witch so until there’s irrefutable evidence, I’d have to say I don’t believe they do. And I mean real evidence. Not tossing someone into a lake and if they drown, they weren’t a witch. Not a lot of logic in that.”
Doesn’t exist? At the same time relief flooded me over the fact that the general public knew nothing about witchcraft, it kind of irritated me that he’d just said we didn’t exist. But that wasn’t something I could discuss with him. Plus, he’d just said he’d never met a witch when there were two sitting right across from him. He might not know it but he’d met witches.
“Thank you for your time,” I said as I pushed to my feet. Miller followed. We both shook his hands as well.
“If you need anything else, please let me know. I’m right here at this table most days.”
“We will,” Miller told him as we walked away.
On the ride home, I tried my best to put together everything Whitaker had told us into something that would make sense. Miller was driving his car because I really hadn’t wanted him hanging onto me on the back of my bike.
“So, what do you think?” he asked.
“I’m thinking a lot of things,” I told him honestly. “First, I’m pissed as hell that Miranda had to grow up around these people.”
“You’re really into her aren’t you?”
“I’m not supposed to be. Michael warned me not to influence her.”
He chuckled. “Too late, bro. Having sex with a woman will probably influence her.”
I groaned and ran a hand over my face. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
>
“But it did.”
“Yeah.” I sighed. “It did but I’m trying my best for it to not happen again.”
“Why not?” he asked as if I’d just said the dumbest thing he’d ever heard. “She’s hot as fuck.”
“Watch it,” I told him automatically.
He laughed harder. Miller was a good friend. He was trying to get a rise out of me and I knew it. Yet I let him do it anyway. The rise had purpose for him though. He only did it when there was a reason and in this case it was to get me out of my own head.
“What Michael doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” he told me. “Miranda is powerful even if she doesn’t know it yet. Her lineage proves that and he’s not going to say shit as long as she ends up a white magic witch. That’s all he cares about.”
He wasn’t wrong. Michael likely wouldn’t care how I got her on the right side, other than crossing the line of influence and I had no idea if having sex with her would do that.
I wet my lips quickly and said, “Listen, everything Whitaker said made sense and I need to talk to Miranda about it. We need to talk to her about. If you’re here, you’re helping and don’t be gross about that.” Because I didn’t think I could take a joke about him and Miranda together right now. “But we need to be careful. She’s looking less depressed than when I got here, but her emotions are still raw. She’s volatile.”
“Yeah, we don’t need her hurting someone because that would make the decision for her.”
“Exactly.” I swallowed hard. “And according to what she’d told me on the phone, she already did.”
His eyebrows shot up. “What?”
“Yeah. Apparently she burned one of Mather’s daughters but it sounds like it was self-defense. I don’t have the full picture yet.”
“You know that’s not how it works,” he reminded me. “You know she need to make a decision. There has to be intent behind it and the magic has to be for a dark purpose.”
“Or you have to drink the Kool aide and make a pledge.”
“Exactly.”
Kool aide was what we called the concoction that the dark coven called communion.
Witch of Warwick (Dark Coven Book 1) Page 12
