“You should sleep.” Andres brushes my hair from my face.
“It’s our first road trip. I don’t want to miss it.”
“We’re driving less than two hours and you know this route by heart. Have a nap. Maybe you’ll feel better when we arrive.”
I snuggle into my seat, wrapping my cozy cardigan around me tighter. “Wake me up if you get lost. Or stop for snacks.” I lean my head against the seat and give him a lazy smile as sleep drags me under.
“Madison, we’re here.” Andrew’s voice sounds muffled and far away.
“That’s impossible. I just closed my eyes like thirty seconds ago,” I mumble.
Warm fingers brush hair from my face. “It’s been over an hour. You passed out.”
“Was I drooling?” I will die if I was drooling in front of Andrew. Ugh, nothing less sexy than that. Wiping at my mouth, I notice the car is stopped near a stone fence.
“Not at all.” He presses a gentle kiss to the corner of my mouth.
“Are we really here?” I shift positions so I can peer out the window. Sure enough, the familiar long driveway and woods of the farm greet me. We’re pulled off from the road, but the house isn’t visible. The old wooden gate has been opened for our arrival.
“How’s the head?” He presses his soft lips to my temple.
I think about it for a second. “Better.”
There’s no throbbing or stabbing. Nothing.
“Must be all the fresh air of being in the country,” he says, despite the windows being rolled up and the car’s heater blasting recycled air.
His voice holds an uncertain edge. He almost sounds nervous.
I blink a few times to clear the sleep haze from my mind. “You okay?”
“Sure. Why?” His eyes flick to the darkening woods lining the narrow, unpaved drive.
“Nothing.”
Warm air from his exhale caresses my cheek. “It didn’t occur to me before now that I’m meeting your family today.”
“Having second thoughts? Is it too soon? I’ve met both your parents.” Now I sound nervous as my voice rises.
“Don’t remind me.” He presses his soft lips against mine. “And I’m not having second thoughts. This feels like an important moment. Like I should’ve brought candy or wine for your grandmother. I’m showing up empty handed.”
“You didn’t need to bring her an edible bribe. She’s going to love you, too.”
The too slips from my mouth and flutters around the inside of the car like an unwelcome moth in a closet.
“Let’s not overshoot our expectations. Some people find my brooding to be less than charming.”
I’m not sure if I’m thankful he ignores my awkward declaration or if it’s my expectations that need lowering.
“Shall we?” Shifting back into his seat, Andrew points through the back windshield. “Tate and Sam are behind us.”
I glance over my shoulder and see the pair of them chatting away in the front seat of Sam’s car.
“They probably won’t notice we’ve left them behind.”
Staring in the rearview mirror, Andrew taps his horn three times. The platonic friends jump apart like he’s buzzed their seats.
Laughing, I face forward.
As we pass the fieldstone wall flanking the gate, Andrew visibly shivers.
“Did a black cat walk down your spine?” I ask. “Gram says when you shiver and aren’t cold, that’s what happened.”
He lifts an eyebrow and shakes his head. “Check my sweater for paw prints.”
We park in front of the leaning barn, its wood faded and gray with age. The barn door’s halfway open to reveal the dark interior, the shadows thick in the fading afternoon light.
Perpendicular to the barn sits an eighteenth-century colonial farmhouse. Unlike the shabby barn, the house is painted crisp white. Black shutters flank each of the windows like slightly askew frames. A flagstone path leads to the front door, which stands open despite the chilly temperature today.
My grandmother stands halfway between the barn and the house, wiping her flour-coated hands on her apron, the front of which is stained with a combination of browns and reds. Grinning, she waves at us. “I heard the cars pull up. Welcome, welcome.”
“Someone’s been baking.” I state the obvious.
“I hope you’re hungry.” Gram smiles
Andrew squeezes my hand. “Starved.”
As soon as I round the car, Gram steps forward and wraps me in one of her hugs. The scent of cinnamon and nutmeg envelops me as she presses her hand against the back of my head. I remember being young when she towered over me. Now I stoop a little to hug her back.
“Your boyfriend is so handsome,” she whispers against my ear. Louder she says, “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too.” My cheeks warm at her comment about Andrew. Reluctantly, I release her and look into her crinkled face. “You look beautiful.”
It’s easy to see the youthful beauty from the old photographs lining the hallway walls in spite of her wrinkles. My grandfather always called her a second looker because one look was never enough.
“Oh, please. I look more and more like one of those dried apple people.” She scrunches up her face and squints at me. “I’m lucky I can still go outside without the crows attacking me.”
Andrew’s deep laugh sounds from behind me.
I half turn to pull him forward to introduce him. “Gram, this is Andrew Wildes. My grandmother, Celeste.”
“The pleasure is all mine.” He greets her with a smile and a handshake.
She grins at him while patting my arm with her other hand. Andrew’s good breeding charms her. “Oh, you’re a keeper.”
Sam and Tate join us.
“Samantha.” Gram hugs her and then turns her attention to Tate. “And you must be the Winthrop.”
“The Winthrop?” I mouth at Andrew.
Shrugging, he observes my grandmother studying Tate while holding his hand in hers.
After a moment, things begin to feel awkward as the five of us stand in silence.
“It’s freezing out here,” Sam speaks first. She’s not wearing a sweater or coat over her T-shirt and leggings.
“Please come inside. I’ve got cocoa on the stove and cookies in the oven. You can warm up by the fire.” Gram tucks her hand around my elbow. “Drop the bags in the hall and we can sort out the sleeping arrangements later. Gentlemen, if you don’t mind, you can close the gate. Otherwise we’ll get all sorts of riff-raff knocking on the door trying to sell us vacuum cleaners and eternal salvation.”
I glance at Andrew as she leads me away. We haven’t discussed sharing a room. We’ve never spent the night together. Yet. Although, my room here has two old, and very creaky twin beds.
An embarrassed heat crawls up my neck. I sneak a peek at Andrew and he’s quietly whispering to Tate by the cars. Sam’s right behind me and rubbing her bare arms.
“Why didn’t you wear a sweater?” I ask her.
“The dorms are so overheated and I didn’t want to get sweaty in the car. I figured we’d go from dorm to car to house.”
We step inside the front door. Gram’s house is a classic center hall colonial. The stairs to the second floor line the right side of the entry and the four downstairs rooms branch off to the left and right in perfect symmetry.
In the back of the house, an addition contains the kitchen and a large family room with its enormous brick fireplace.
Sam makes a beeline for the warmth of the fire. With a sigh, she sits on the small stool Gram keeps next to the hearth.
A few minutes later, Andrew and Tate join us. Both wear confused expressions, and when I start to ask Andrew why, he interrupts me. “Later.”
Gram busies herself in the kitchen, ladling cocoa into mugs and arranging cookies on a large plate. “Madison, come help me carry this to the table.”
I join her in the simple kitchen. Over the years, the cabinets have been painted green, yellow, pale blue
, and white. Copper pots hang from a rack over the restaurant style range. The butcher-block counter tops are dinged and scarred from years of use. In front of the sink, the finish on the wood floor has worn down, exposing bare wood. It’s the kitchen of a cook and one of my favorite places on the planet.
“Mrs. Bradbury, these smell wonderful.” Andrew steps beside me and steals a cookie from the tray. Closing his eyes, he moans as he chews on the gooey chocolate chip goodness.
“Chocolate is his favorite,” I explain.
“Somehow I knew that,” Gram says with a toothy grin.
Andrew inhales another cookie and a dollop of melted chocolate clings to the corner of his mouth. I lift my hand and swipe it with my index finger. Without thinking, I suck the tip of my finger into my mouth, savoring the sweetness.
Andrew’s eyes widen as he stares at me.
“What?” I ask innocently.
“I’d say for you two to get a room, but your grandmother might overhear me.” Sam bumps my hip as she picks up a mug of cocoa.
Tate snickers from the other side of the wide island.
My gaze bounces between Andrew’s surprised but amused face and my grandmother’s back where she stands at the sink, loudly humming.
“What?” I repeat myself, genuinely confused now.
“Nothing.” Andrew’s voice is strained.
I look to Sam for an explanation or help, but she only shrugs her shoulders. “You clearly love chocolate, too.”
More confused, I replay the last few minutes. It’s not like I actually licked Andrew’s face. I’d remember that. Probably for the rest of my life.
I chose a mug and a cookie, then settle into the corner of the long four cushion couch facing the fire.
Instead of joining me, Andrew stands frozen at the counter. “I’m going to call my mom. Let her know we arrived safely.”
He gestures at the French doors leading to the deck off the kitchen before stepping outside.
Sam joins me on my end of the couch and drinks from her mug
“Is it me, or are the guys acting strange?” I ask her.
She shifts, tucking her socked feet under her legs. “Not that I noticed. Tate’s always kind of quiet and he’s talkative compared to Andrew on a normal day.”
Sipping my cocoa, I try to brush aside my nerves. I’ve never brought a guy home from college before. That must be what’s causing my unease.
Four
Snowflakes dapple Andrew’s shirt and dark hair when he finally comes back inside after ten minutes.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“It’s snowing,” he replies, brushing the moisture from his hair and shoulders.
The weather isn’t the answer I’m expecting.
“I love a fresh solstice snow.” Gram peers out the window in front of the sink. Light from the kitchen illuminates the small snowflakes. “Grow, little ones, coat the ground with your white and bring on the holiday delight.”
I swear the snow swirls in response as fat flakes appear.
Andrew’s eyes widen, but he replaces his shock with his normal calm expression in a blink.
“You can make snow angels if it gets deep enough. Madison, you loved making them when you were a kid. The entire lawn would be covered in angel shadows.” Gram’s voice softens with the long ago memory of younger me.
“I’d love to see that,” Andrew says, stepping beside me at the counter.
“You’ll be right beside me making your own, mister.” Somehow I can’t imagine Andrew doings something as silly as making snow angels. Then again, stranger things have happened.
Tate walks into the room and I realize I never saw him wander off. Again, he and Andrew have a silent conversation with their eyes. I’m beginning to wonder if they can read each other’s minds.
“Mrs. Bradbury?” Tate says.
“Celeste.”
“Celeste,” Tate continues, “if I’m not prying, what was your maiden name?”
Gram’s eyes flash with surprise but she answers him, “Corey.”
Sam’s gasp from across the room is audible. “As in Giles Corey?”
Gram nods, but keeps her eyes on Andrew. “Imagine being pressed to death over a period of several days by having heavy stones laid on your body. At least hanging is over in seconds.”
The two stare at one another, and it feels like she’s almost challenging him to imagine such horrible ways of dying.
“How did I not know this?” Sam gets up from the couch and joins the group at the counter. “You have Salem witches on both sides of your family, Madison. How many people can say that?”
“We never talk about it,” I say.
“No point in digging up old history. Let the bones of the dead return to the earth.” Gram busies herself by stacking cookies on a glass cake stand.
“See?” I ask rhetorically.
“It’s clear where you get your reticence,” Andrew remarks.
“Halloween was almost two months ago. If we’re going to talk about magical beings, let’s focus on Santa.” Gram sets the glass dome over the cookies.
“Taciturn is a good word, too,” Andrew says for only me to hear.
“Persistent,” I echo his teasing.
“Unlike witches and magic, we all can agree Santa doesn’t really exist,” Sam says.
“All this standing around is making my ankles swell,” Gram states. “If we’re going to chat about nonsense, let’s sit and be comfortable.”
Her ankles have never swollen that I know of. I think she’s trying to divert the topic. After removing her apron and hanging it on the hook in the pantry, Gram sits in the red velvet wingback chair to the left of the fireplace.
We call it her throne. Never more has she looked like a queen than in this moment with the fire throwing golden light across her face.
“Tell me what it’s like being a witch, Andrew.” Gram catapults over pretense and directly into the delicate matter of his magic.
Beside Tate on the other sofa, Sam chokes and sprays cocoa down her sweater as she coughs and laughs.
Andrew and I glance at each other. Sliding his hand over mine, he gives me a squeeze.
Tate hands Sam a cloth napkin from the tray of snacks. No one speaks while she blots the chocolate and composes herself.
“Celeste, you’re hysterical. His mom might be Wiccan, but that doesn’t mean Andrew’s a witch,” Sam happily explains. “There’s no transfer of power through the bloodlines. If anyone is going to be called a witch, it should probably be me. I’ve been studying.”
Gram’s worried dark blue eyes meet mine. “Madison?”
I definitely feel like I’m in trouble. Unsure if I should spill everything to my grandmother first or continue to protect Sam, I remain quiet.
“Sam’s a hundred percent correct.” Andrew shifts next to me and releases my hand. With his elbows on his knees, he faces his body directly at Sam. “And wrong.”
She narrows her eyes at him. “Which part?”
“Witch,” I say.
“That’s what I asked,” Sam says.
“Apparently, we’re not all on the same page or even in the same book,” Gram speaks up. “Samantha, dear, it would appear your friends have been keeping a secret from you. Normally, I wouldn’t insert myself into the drama of youth, but it would seem the decision isn’t mine. Time is pressing.”
Sam’s eyes grow as large as the plate on the tray. “Madison doesn’t believe in magic. At all.”
I correct her, “Didn’t.”
She juts out her chin. “Since when?”
“Samantha dear, the less you know, the better.” Gram dismisses her.
“No, no, no. Madison?” Sam sits up straighter. “What is she talking about?”
Andrew opens his mouth to speak, but I rush to get the words out ahead of him. “I didn’t want you to find out this way. I should’ve told you right after Halloween, but I couldn’t.”
“Tell me what?” Sam’s voice is barely a squeak and
red splotches dot her face. From across the table, her chest rises and falls with her rapid breath. She’s about to hyperventilate.
“Don’t completely freak out.” I keep my voice even and soothing like I’m talking to a skittish cat. I feel terrible for lying to my best friend.
“Too late,” she whispers, her gaze bouncing between the four of us. “Does everyone know but me?”
I study my grandmother’s familiar face. She nods.
With a soft, but firm tone, she explains, “Samantha, magic exists. The spells and curses and herbs are the surface, but there’s more. So much more.”
Andrew speaks when she finishes. “You were right about the families.”
“At least for the Wildes,” I add for clarification, earning me a surprised expression from Gram.
Tears pool along Sam’s lower eyelids. “And you all knew this, but me? I’m the one who’s been studying magic for years and you didn’t think to tell me?”
“It’s complicated,” Tate responds for the group. Frowning, he leans against the opposite arm of the couch and stretches out his long legs, resting the toe of one shoe on the edge of the wood coffee table. When Gram scowls at him, he drops his foot with a soft, “Sorry.”
“Between Harry Potter and Practical Magic, what are we talking about?” Sam asks, her voice hesitant.
“Magic exists on a whole other level than we ever knew,” I say softly.
Andrew pointedly stares at my grandmother. “Except for here.”
My brow crinkles in confusion. “What does that mean?”
“I’m not sure.” Andrew stands. He paces around the back of the couches to the fireplace where he pokes the fire and adds another log. “But neither Tate nor I can feel our usual powers since we arrived.”
“Powers?” Sam asks, giving him a sidelong glance.
“Isn’t that interesting?” Gram forces an innocent expression on her face, all wide eyes and soft mouth.
“Spill, Gram.” I sound like a parent talking to a guilty toddler with chocolate on her face and a story about how someone else ate the entire pan of brownies. After everything, my grandmother performing magic doesn’t seem to faze me. I glance at Tate, who won’t meet my eyes. He needs to focus his chill energy on Sam, not me.
Enchanted Page 3
