by Jane Hinchey
“Gran seems to think I’m worrying over nothing,” I admitted.
“You should listen to your Gran.”
“I guess.” I lapsed into silence, my eyes still on the magnificent view before me.
Blake let the silence ride for a minute before asking. “How did it go? With the cleansing and warding?”
“Oh yeah, really good.” I described the process and then felt myself blush. He was fae, I’m sure he was already very familiar with it all.
“What changed?” he asked, and I frowned. “You were all bright and happy telling me about the smudging, and then your voice changed. Why?”
He was far more astute than what I was comfortable with and I was scratching around for an answer when Agnes called out “Dinner’s ready.”
It was with a sense of relief that I blurted, “Gotta go, dinner’s ready,” and hung up. Hurrying inside, I closed the front door, rested my palm on it, and sent a little wave of energy into the wards before crossing to the table and taking a seat, smiling at the women who were indeed, my family.
Chapter Twelve
“Great minds think alike.”
“Jesus!” I almost jumped out of my skin at Blake’s words in my ear as I stood in line to place my order at Bean Me Up the following morning.
With my hand pressed to my chest to still my thundering heart, I looked at him over my shoulder. Dressed in jeans with a dark sweater, he screamed bad boy. Maybe that’s why I found him so irresistible?
“It’s okay. I can wait until you’re caffeinated and fully functioning as a human adult before we attempt anything resembling conversation,” he teased, and I felt my face heat.
“Sorry. Good morning. How are you?” I said.
“I’m good. How are you? How was your first night in your new place?”
“Yeah, it was good,” I lied. Truth be told, every little creek and groan the house made had jarred me from my sleep. I’d seen the dark shadows staring back at me from the mirror this morning, and despite trying to hide them beneath makeup, it seemed they were blatantly obvious because Blake whispered in my ear, “Liar,” as his lips brushed my skin, making me shiver.
“Possibly.” That’s all I was prepared to concede on this topic.
“Positively,” he shot back. Then it was my turn at the counter. I’d pre-ordered for Wendy, Gran, and myself, so our drinks were already in a cardboard tray. All I had to do was pay.
“Have a nice day,” I said to Blake, leaving him at the counter while I headed toward the door. I didn’t see Jacob Holt, but I felt him as we collided—he was coming in as I was attempting to leave.
“Oof!” I bounced off the door and felt it hit the side of my head as I staggered back, lost my balance, and toppled over. Oh great. This was going to hurt. Despite keeping a death grip on the cardboard tray, it nevertheless tilted and I sent up a prayer of thanks to plastic lids.
Trouble is, plastic lids tend not to stay on when the cups they are attached to drop from a great height. As I hit the ground, so did the tray. Three to-go cups bounced once, twice, and liquid went everywhere. It was at that point, as I lay there staring up at the ceiling and wishing I’d stayed in bed this morning, it dawned on me that my fall hadn’t hurt. I’d been expecting a jarring impact. Then I noticed Blake, with his hand toward me.
“Protective energy?” I asked from my position on the floor.
“Indeed.” He dropped his hand, releasing the force field he’d shielded me with. “You okay?”
“Totally fine, except for my dented pride,” I said, sitting up and pulling my soaked sweater away from my chest. Thankfully, the drinks, although hot, had not scalded me.
“Shit!” Jacob exclaimed, looking at me in horror. “I’m so sorry! Are you okay? Oh my god, I didn’t see you.”
I laughed good-naturedly, my head only now starting to throb where it had connected with the door before I fell. “Not your fault, I didn’t see you either.” I let both of them help me to my feet when Jacob reached out a hand and touched my face. I automatically recoiled—what was he doing? Jacob was a witch, a member of The Crescent Coven.
“You’re hurt…” He held out his hand, showing me the blood staining his fingers. I lifted my free hand to my temple and felt the damp stickiness of blood. Oh great.
“You’re hurt?” Blake spun me around to examine my injury, pushing my hair back. “Napkin!” he barked at the barista, who dutifully handed over a bunch.
“It’s okay, Blake, honestly,” I protested, embarrassed at the attention. “Just a scratch.”
“Yeah, and we know how head wounds bleed, don’t we?” he teased, pressing a napkin to my temple. “Hurt?” he asked, not easing the pressure.
“No.” Only a little lie. The throbbing had eased and it didn’t hurt so much as sting. I brushed his hand away and replaced it with my own. “I’ve got this. Thank you, but I’m fine.”
The door to Bean Me Up opened and Delores Lane, along with her granddaughter, Kristen, and fellow coven members, Bernice and Gladys, filed in.
“Watch for the mess!” I warned, worried someone could slip and hurt themselves.
“Oh goodness, Harper,” Delores exclaimed. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I waved away their concern. “Jacob and I ran into each other—literally.”
“I’m so sorry.” Jacob shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and looked awkward. “I’ll clean up.”
“We all will,” Delores announced and before my eyes, she cast a spell to clean up the mess on the floor. Only something must have gone wrong with her spellcasting because a mini cyclone developed, dragging the empty cups and cardboard tray from the floor and whipping them into the air.
“Oh no,” Gladys whispered, “not again.”
“What do you mean, not again?” Blake demanded, ducking to avoid being hit by a flying cup.
“Damn it,” Delores muttered, trying in vain to control the cyclone that was picking up momentum. Napkins and salt and pepper shakers joined the fray as the cyclone traveled around the café.
“Everyone outside!” Blake commanded, ushering me out with a hand on my lower back. We all huddled on the footpath outside, watching through the window as the cyclone made an absolute mess of Bean Me Up.
Gran, hearing the commotion, came out of The Dusty Attic and crossed the street to where we stood.
“Delores tidying up again?” she asked, arms crossed as she surveyed the damage.
Gladys glanced at Gran, opened her mouth, but then snapped it shut and nodded instead.
“Here. Let me.” Gran whipped out her wand, tapped the window three times, muttered a spell under her breath that I couldn’t make out, and we watched as everything inside returned to its rightful place.
“That’s how it’s done, witches,” Gran crowed, tucking her wand into the waistband of her pants. “I guess you’re wearing my latte?” she said to me.
I nodded. “And my coffee and Wendy’s hot chocolate.”
“I’m sorry,” Jacob said for the third time, and I shot him an irritated look.
“It was an accident,” I assured him. Enough with the apologizing already.
“Let me buy you replacements.”
“Done!” Gran grinned and linked her arm with his. “I’ll place the order, you can pay. Harper, I suggest you go get cleaned up.”
Brilliant suggestion, Gran, thanks. But I kept the thought to myself, standing back to allow the members of the Crescent Coven to file back inside. Blake gave me a mock salute and returned to his spot by the counter and I headed across the street to The Dusty Attic, sans coffee, but now soaking wet with a bleeding head wound. What a Monday.
“Hey.” Wendy glanced at the blood-stained napkin pressed to the side of my head. “Are you okay? What happened?”
“Bounced the door off my head,” I joked. “I’m okay, it’s just a scratch.” I pulled the napkin away and tentatively touched the lump forming. It had stopped bleeding so I tossed the napkin in the trash. “Gran is
getting replacement drinks. I’m wearing ours.”
I headed into the bathroom that led off the storeroom out back, dragging my soaked sweater over my head. The tank I wore beneath it was damp, but not sopping, so I pulled it over my head and held it under the hand dryer for a few minutes, getting the worst of the moisture out. Thankfully, it was black, hiding any stains. I really should go home and change but a book delivery was due in and I didn’t want Gran or Wendy hefting heavy boxes around.
Peering in the mirror, I examined the cut to my head. There was a slight bump from the impact and a small scratch, which, of course, had bled like crazy, but it had stopped now. I dabbed at my blood-stained hair with a wet paper towel and was just finishing up when I heard Gran return with our order.
“Thanks, Gran, I’ve never needed this more,” I said, pulling my coat over my tank and grabbing my coffee from the fresh cardboard tray that sat on the corner of Wendy’s desk. Wendy picked up her hot chocolate and cupped it in her hands.
“Mmmmm, thank you.” She smiled, taking a sip and rubbing her rounded belly. “This one is going to come out craving chocolate. I’ve been obsessed with it this entire pregnancy.”
“There are worse things,” I said, taking a sip of my coffee.
“Your mom liked pickles with strawberry ice cream when she was pregnant with you,” Gran said.
I made a gagging noise. “Gross.”
Gran drained her drink and slammed the empty cup on Wendy’s desk. “Thanks for the latte, Harper, gotta run!”
Before I could reply, she was out the door. Judging by her Jane Fonda outfit, complete with leg warmers, I assumed she was going to some sort of exercise group. Or yoga. Or pole dancing. Honestly, with Gran, it could be anything really.
“Did you have fun Saturday night?” Wendy asked, leaning back in her chair and balancing her cup on her bump.
“Yeah.” I nodded. “I didn’t see you there?”
I cast my mind back, trying to remember if I’d seen Wendy or Bruce at the ball, but Wendy was already shaking her head.
“I wasn’t feeling well so we decided to stay home.”
“Oh no, is everything okay?” I was instantly on alert. Wendy laughed, waving me back.
“Relax, I’m fine. Pregnancy plays havoc with your body. My morning sickness comes and goes and lately, it’s been mostly gone but it came back Saturday afternoon. In all honesty, I think it was a bit of anxiety about attending the ball.”
“You and Bruce have been keeping a pretty low profile.” I nodded in understanding.
“It’s just so soon after Whitney died. People won’t understand.”
“Some won’t. But others will. Don’t let it get you down.” I didn’t really have any words of wisdom for her. After all, she’d been having an affair with Bruce before his wife died. It had been quite the scandal. With her death only happening two months ago, for Wendy to be pregnant on top of it all was even more scandalous.
“Anyway, I hear you had some excitement at the ball?”
Oh god, was she talking about the bachelor auction? I vaguely recalled bidding, but Jenna and Monica nipped that in the bud real quick. It wasn’t as bad as it sounded. They weren’t auctioned off for dates, not the raunchy kind anyway, they were auctioned off for chores.
“Your Gran stripped some guy naked?” Wendy prompted.
“Oh yeah. That.” I shuddered, remembering the scene with Simon. Once again, when I’d expected to hear from him, I got nothing but radio silence. The whole situation was bizarre.
“So?” Wendy watched with anticipation written all over her face. “Do tell. What happened?”
I gave her the reader’s digest condensed version and had just finished when the book delivery arrived. The rest of the morning was spent cataloging and tagging books and finding homes for them on the shelves. A perfect morning, in my book. If only I didn’t reek of coffee and chocolate.
I fell into bed that night, blissfully exhausted, but even as slumber claimed me, my mind was on the Crescent Coven and the possibility that they were behind the orb. I mean, who else could it be? They were using the orb to try and find the grimoire—and they thought…what? That I had it? Did they think that I killed Bonnie because the murderer had to have the grimoire. The thought was sobering. Maybe they thought I was in on it with Gran—or that I’d possibly framed Gran. After our meeting with Delores, I’d thought we’d left on good terms, despite the practical jokes.
I tossed and turned, desperately tired yet unable to sleep. Probably because I was in a new bed, in a new house, with new sounds. Didn’t seem to bother Archie much, he was curled in a ball at my feet making little snoring noises, while I lay staring at the full moon out the window.
Eventually exhaustion won out, and I fell asleep, but it was a disturbed one. Strange dreams, with magic pushing and pulling at me. The orb was here, bigger now, bigger than me, bigger than the house, and I was scared. I tossed and turned, mumbling in my sleep, then something changed, almost like an atmospheric change. What felt like pressure building now dissipated and, in my dreams, I saw a path of magic.
I followed it, flying along at dizzying speeds, like a rollercoaster, making my stomach churn. My fingers wrapped into the bed sheets, clinging on tight, but I didn’t let go of the image. I followed it as we flew down the road into town, hurtled around a corner, down another street, zigging and zagging until I reached a house.
I didn’t have time to check it out, to see if I recognized it, because I barreled through the front door, downstairs, and into a basement where a pentacle was painted on the floor, candles burning at each point. Sitting in the middle of the pentacle was a young man, and in his hand, a bloody napkin. His eyes snapped open as did mine. It was Jacob Holt.
I woke with a start, sitting up in bed with the covers clutched to my chest. Had that been real? It felt real. And if it was real, I was pretty sure Jacob Holt had seen me. He knew I knew that he was behind the orb.
Flicking on the bedside lamp, I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and called Gran, listening as it rang. After leaving her a voicemail, I tried Annie next. Hers didn’t ring at all, it went straight to voicemail. Damn it, what was with these witches and their phones?
I had one more number to try.
“Y’llo?” Blake’s voice was deep and sleepy. I’d woken him. But at least he’d answered his phone.
“Sorry if I woke you,” I whispered. I heard rustling and did my best to block out the image that was currently playing in my head, of him sitting up in bed, sheets tangled around his waist, chest bare.
“You don’t have to whisper, Harper.” There was humor in his voice and I was relieved he hadn’t bitten my head off for waking him in the middle of the night.
“Sorry.” In the quiet of the night, my voice sounded super loud. Sitting in the middle of my bed, I kept my eyes glued to the door as if Jacob was going to burst through any second. Right at this moment, I missed the comfort of living with Gran, of knowing there was another body in the house. I was scaring the shit out of myself for no good reason. Well okay, a little bit of a reason.
“What’s up, Harper?” Blake reminded me he was on the other end of the phone. “Something happen? Or is this a booty call? Because I’m totally okay with that.” The drawl in his voice had my stomach flip-flopping in girly anticipation.
“Not a booty call,” I said, and he chuckled.
“You sound disappointed.”
“I know who’s in control of the orb.”
That got his attention. “Who?”
“Jacob Holt from the Crescent Coven. I had a dream. I saw him, in his basement, sitting in a pentacle painted on the floor, with candles burning, and a napkin with my blood on it.”
Blake was silent for a moment. “You had a dream?”
“It felt real. Like a vision.” I realized how insane I sounded, calling him in the middle of the night to tell him I had a dream that felt real. “Blake, I think he saw me,” I whispered.
“This Jacob Holt
…he’s the guy from the café this morning, right? The one you collided with?”
“He is.” I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me.
“This could be your subconscious playing a trick on you, you realize that?”
I nodded again. “It felt really real.”
“Okay, here’s what we’ll do. We will go and visit Jacob Holt tomorrow, see what he has to say.” At least Blake hadn’t written me off as a total nutjob.
“Thank you.” My relief was evident. He’d believed me.
“You’re welcome. Now, is there anything else I can do for you? Now that I’m up?” The insinuation was clear in his devilish drawl.
“Not right now,” I squeaked, clearing my throat. “I’ll see you at The Dusty Attic, if that’s okay? Swing by when you’re ready.”
“It’s a date.”
“It’s not a date. It’s a…” I paused, fishing for the right word.
“I’ll see you in the morning, Harper.” Blake laughed. “Sleep tight.”
Placing the phone back on the nightstand, I snuggled beneath the covers but didn’t turn out the light. Sleep was a long time coming and when it did come, it was filled with dreams of being chased by Jacob Holt and rescued by Blake Tennant.
I wasn’t sure which was worse.
Chapter Thirteen
Jacob Holt’s house was just as I had seen it in my vision. Or dream. I’d given up trying to work out which category it fell into, I just knew I had to follow through on it, to know, one way or another.
“Ready?” Blake had picked me up from The Dusty Attic at ten and now we sat in his rental vehicle in front of Jacob’s place. I’d grilled Gran about Jacob but she knew as little as me. Seemed a nice guy, he was the youngest member of The Crescent Coven, worked as a mechanic over at Exhausted, and rented a room in the big old Victorian house in front of us.
“You think he’ll be here?” I asked, my gaze flicking from Blake to the house and back again.
“He called in sick to work. He’ll be here,” Blake assured me, opening the door and climbing out. I didn’t ask how he knew he’d called in sick to work. There was a mysterious, almost menacing air about Blake today, which made me wonder if he’d always been a lawyer and what, exactly, had put him on that path. Was he a reformed bad boy? Had he once led a life of crime but was now on the straight and narrow?
