Enchanted

by Daisy Prescott

  Sarah nods in support. “All of what’s happening now was set in motion long before any of us.”

  I study Andrew’s face, then Tate, and finally settle on Sam’s.

  “Are you as lost as I am?” she asks me. “I feel like I’m dreaming.”

  “This isn’t a dream. Nor is it a nightmare, no matter what our enemies wish,” Sarah speaks with calm authority. “Let’s eat and save the scary stories for the fire.”

  No one argues with her. Sam fidgets with the stack of cards. Gram asks Tate and Andrew to bring in more firewood from the barn.

  When they leave and it’s only the women in the room, Sam steps close to me. Sarah and Gram make a platter full of grilled cheese sandwiches.

  “Are you okay?” I ask her, resting my head on her shoulder.

  Sam pets my hair and releases an uneven breath. “Not even a little bit, but I’m trying to hold it together. I really don’t want to flip out in front of Tate and be the crazy girl who can’t handle real magic. Plus, I think I saw this in my tarot reading last month. I didn’t understand it at the time because I wasn’t focused on the right question.”

  I straighten. “What did you see?”

  “You changing. And someone who is greedy. And dark, duplicitous, maybe even dangerous.” Concern shakes her voice. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything. I’ve never had such a negative reading before. I almost decided to destroy the deck. Instead I sprinkled the cards with salt to cleanse the energy and left the deck wrapped in silk in my dresser. Basically, I put them in time out for being naughty.”

  “Even if you told me, I wouldn’t have done anything differently. Gram’s farmhouse is the safest place I know.”

  Six

  After dinner, Gram shuffles over to her chair with a cup of tea. “I suppose we’ve delayed this long enough.”

  Tate and Sam finish the last of the dishes. I put them away while Andrew stokes the fire with more wood. Sarah curls up like a cat in the corner of a couch. Despite this domestic scene, unspoken words thicken the air.

  Once we all gather on the couches, with Tate stretching his legs out in front of him where he reclines on the floor, Gram clears her throat.

  “When my family first settled this land, the memories of the Salem trials were fresh. People were still alive who remembered the panic firsthand. Or heard the stories from their parents the way we talk about 9/11, or when I was younger, the Kennedy assassinations. Rumors abounded and no one wanted to be associated with the names of those who were killed.” Gram sips her tea before continuing.

  “Among the non-magical, a few real witches were caught in the web of hysteria. Neighbors and friends turned on each other, no one escaped suspicion as a witch or a conspirator. So the Corey children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren disappeared. They moved away from Salem.

  “With their small inheritance, they bought this land at the edge of nowhere. At the time, most farmhouses were built right next to the road for convenience. Tucking the house deep into the woods provided a visible layer of protection.”

  My mind sticks on the necessity for her to clarify the visible.

  “And what about what couldn’t be seen?” I ask.

  Gram’s lips go white as she presses them together.

  Sarah sets down her cup on the coffee table. “Celeste, they need to know. I know you wanted to delay this as long as possible. I understand the need to protect our own.”

  Gram closes her eyes. “The farm is enchanted by old spells set into the stones lining the property. No new magic has been created here since that wall was finished.”

  When she opens her eyes, the irises cloud over with emotion. Love. Fear. Regret. Hope. “Until today.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Survival. As the generations died off, the secret was forgotten. The history books told their version of what happened in Salem and replaced first person stories. Time forgets.”

  “I mean, why today?”

  Gram’s tired eyes shift to Sarah. “Perhaps you know, Sarah?”

  “The bodies of the executed were hastily thrown into shallow graves and covered. Many families risked further accusations to retrieve their relatives in the middle of the night. None of the officials would think to disturb the graves of a witch out of fear. So no one verified the bodies stayed buried there. I believe most were reburied on the family properties,” Sarah explains to the group. “Do you know where the family graves would be on the farm?”

  Andrew and Tate hold each other’s gazes for a beat too long. I wonder if their wood gathering excursion was really a recognizance mission. They’re both stoic about the graves of two trial witches being right here on the farm.

  Gram nods once. “There’s a family plot behind the barn. I remember the location from when I was still in braids.”

  My eyes seek Andrew’s before I focus on Gram. “Where?”

  “Beneath the hydrangea trees.”

  Twin trees grow behind the barn, blooming in the fall when the rest of the plants are dying. As a girl, I made a fort between those trees and spent days playing make believe. Which means I’ve been playing and dancing on the graves of my dead ancestors all my life. That’s not creepy. At all.

  “Those are Martha and Giles’ graves?” I ask, because I need her to confirm she let me play on top of dead people.

  Gram dips her chin in confirmation. “Happily undisturbed the last years of the seventeenth-century. Before this version of the house was built over the original cellar.”

  “I hate the cellar,” I mumble.

  “Is it haunted?” Sam asks, her eyes filled with trepidation.

  “Not that I know of,” Gram replies, but doesn’t sound convincing. “Madison, what did you see down there?”

  Andrew squeezes my thigh in encouragement as I try to explain the blue haze and seeing the ghosts of old objects.

  Sarah hums as I speak, winding her long hair into a bun and pulling a chopstick from her sweater’s pocket. Once her hair is up, she stares at me. “I knew your powers would relate to history. You made connections between the puritan family lines and the magical ones so easily when no one else saw the patterns earlier this month when we were trying to sort out why Andrew turned into such an asshole around you.”

  Since Halloween and Andrew’s curse, I’ve spent hours sitting with Sarah trying to tap into my magic in preparation for turning twenty-one last month. We never got a whiff of magic.

  “Madison’s an old soul. She’s always been interested in history,” Gram says, completely unfazed.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about the graves?”

  “You didn’t need to know. Not before, and I’m sure I’ll regret telling you now. You’ll never look at me or this farm the same way.”

  “Do Mom and Dad know?” My heart hurts as I realize she’s right about the farm.

  “No. They’re perfectly normal and happy with the world as they know it.”

  “Sometimes magic can skip a generation,” Sarah says. “Unless it’s triggered, power can remain dormant. I suspect that’s what happened with both sides of your family. Until you chose to go to college in Salem.”

  Sam furrows her brows. “Is it something I did? I’m the one who was always pushing magic on you because of your heritage.”

  “Oh, sweetheart, no.” Sarah pulls her into a half-hug from her spot next to her on the couch. “I saw Madison coming to Salem long before she met you. Clear as day, she popped into my head as the dark-haired Bradbury girl. You brought her to the shop for the first time, but her meeting with Andrew was inevitable.”

  “I’d like to think my devilish good looks and dry wit helped win you over a little bit. Fate or not.” Andrew tilts his head closer to mine so only I can hear him.

  Tate snorts from the other couch. “Devilish? Really?”

  Andrew narrows his eyes, then sighs. “Damn lack of magic. I can’t even smack you with a pillow.”

  “Getting back to that.” Sarah refocuses the group with a stern expressi
on tossed at her son. “How could Madison have a vision if there’s an umbrella protection spell against magic here?”

  “Perhaps because she was in the old cellar where the last spells were cast,” Gram says.

  Sarah’s eyes go wide. “Did you see a book?”

  I nod. “Hidden in the beams, but it’s not there anymore.”

  “Could it have been a grimoire?” she asks, but more to Andrew than to me.

  “It’s possible. She said it was black leather-bound and tied with straps.” He shifts to stand. Poking the fire, he stares into the flickering orange light.

  Disagreeing, I shake my head. “I don’t think it was a textbook. Too small. More like a journal.”

  Gram’s hand shakes and Sarah goes still.

  “The true history of the families,” Sarah speaks so quietly we barely hear the words. “I’ve only heard rumors of it. No one in the coven believes it still exists.”

  “It might not. I only saw it being in the cellar in the past. Along with a cream scroll of paper, the table, and the stool.”

  Gram points to the hearth. “That stool?”

  I study the wood and count the legs. “It’s more worn, but could be.”

  “It is. Only a few heirlooms survived the centuries, and that is one of them.”

  Andrew picks up the stool and studies the bottom. “No markings, but it’s clearly handmade.”

  “So we have a stool, but not the book?” Sam asks. “Do you know where the book could be?”

  “Maybe if we spend more time in the cellar, Madison can strengthen her connection to the book. Might give us more information.” Andrew sits on the stool.

  “Can we wait until morning?” My stomach drops at the thought of spending time down there late at night.

  “The solstice,” Sarah says, “will strengthen whatever power you used earlier today. It’s probably smarter to wait.”

  “I’m not sure how much more I can handle today,” Sam says with an exhausted sigh. “I need to process.”

  Gram covers her yawn with the back of her hand. “You can sort out your sleeping arrangements. I’m not so old fashioned as to assume the girls will sleep in one room and the boys in another.”

  My cheeks heat. “Sam and I’ll take my room. As we usually do. I think Sarah would be comfortable in the front bedroom with the queen bed. Andrew and Tate can each choose one of the smaller back bedrooms.”

  Gram stands and walks over to me. “Sleep well, sweet one. The world isn’t the same as when you awoke this morning, and it will change again with the new dawn. Sleep and remember your dreams.”

  I stand to hug her. “Nothing will change my love for you, Gram.”

  She squeezes me tighter before releasing her hold. Her room is located on the first floor in the old, formal parlor, right below my room. Sarah leaves with Gram, the two of them whispering as they walk down the hall.

  Facing Andrew, I give him an apologetic half-smile. “I know she basically gave us her blessing, but …” I don’t finish the sentence because I’m not sure what to say.

  “It’s okay, Madison. If you haven’t noticed, I’m old fashioned. I’d love nothing more than to wrap you in my arms while we sleep, we’ve had a long day. This is for the best.” He gives me the softest of kisses that I feel spread through my veins like warm honey.

  After showing the guys to their rooms, Sam and I flop on our individual twin beds. Mine groans and squeaks as I shift.

  “You could sneak down the hall to Andrew’s room. I won’t tell.” Sam stares up at the ceiling. “My mind is churning and I doubt I’ll get any sleep at all tonight. I don’t want to keep you up.”

  I slip over to her bed and snuggle next to her side. “I’m sorry about today. I didn’t want to leave you out.”

  “I have to admit I’m freaking out. Sure, I’m all about the candles and herbs and natural mysticism of Wicca, but this is a whole other world running parallel with ours. On some level, I’ve known something was different with Sarah and Andrew.” She shifts her head on the pillow to see me better. “And you.”

  “You’re too smart.”

  “It’s a gut instinct more than anything. Like how you know a guy is a toad on the inside instead of getting tricked by his handsome face.”

  “Fool me once.”

  “Whatever I can do, I’ll do it. You’re my best friend, Madison. Witch or not, I hope you know I’ll always do everything I can for you.”

  In response, I give her an awkward horizontal hug. “Same. Love you more than pumpkin spice.”

  She laughs. “Love you more.”

  We take turns using the hall bathroom. I ignore the narrow strip of light below Andrew’s door as I pass it. Once I’m snuggled into bed, sleep drapes over me like a thick blanket, comforting and erasing the world.

  Seven

  I wake up to warmth pressing against my back. Silvery winter light casts faint shadows on the wall through the lace curtains. I blink and try to clear my head. My room doesn’t have lace curtains. I’m uncertain if what I’m seeing is the present or the past.

  Something moves behind me, and a heavy weight falls around my waist followed by a deep, sleepy groan.

  “This is a nice morning surprise,” Andrew’s raspy voice says against my hair.

  I leap from the bed like I’ve been fired out of a pumpkin catapult. The momentum carries me across the room and I press my hands against the window frame to stop myself from face planting into the glass.

  A few inches of snow cover every surface from the roof of the barn to the cars in the drive. Overnight, the world has been zapped of color. Undisturbed snow clings to the trees and shrubs. My eyes scan the landscape until something dark and out of place catches my attention.

  Near the side of the barn is fresh earth, untouched by white. There’s a deep rut of dirt cut into the pristine surface like dried blood from a gash on porcelain skin.

  “I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Andrew’s voice carries from the bed. “But in my defense, you crawled into my bed in the middle of the night.”

  My breath condenses on the glass and I swipe my fingers through it to clear my view. “I had a dream and I must’ve sleepwalked in here.”

  “Does that happen often?” His feet softly thump on the rug behind me.

  When I turn, he’s standing up in a pair of plaid sleep pants and a rumpled black Hawthorne T-shirt.

  “Not in years.” I face the window and study the dirt patch in the snow. “I dreamt of someone digging for turnips and rutabagas in the garden. They were stealing the vegetables, tossing them into an old burlap sack before they hoisted it over their shoulder like a root vegetable stealing Santa.”

  “That’s a horrible dream. Who’d want to steal turnips?” He pads across the room to stand beside me. I’m instantly self-conscious of my thin camisole and lack of a bra. And my morning breath.

  “Look,” I tell him. “Something’s been digging in Gram’s kitchen garden. I probably heard the critters. We had a raccoon infestation in the barn a few years ago.”

  Andrew’s chest stills as he pushes all the air from his lungs. “Get dressed and meet me in the kitchen.”

  His words tumble out in a rush as he not so gently shoves me away from the window.

  “What’s going on?” I pause in the doorway.

  “Go now. Questions later.” He practically shuts the door in my face.

  I dash down the hall and wake Sam. “Something’s going on and we have to get downstairs right now.”

  Her hair is a nest and a thick blond strand is stuck to her cheek when she sits up. “What? It’s dawn. Too early for drama, Madison.”

  I’m pulling a thick red sweater over my head as I hear her bed creak. When my head pops through, she’s rolled over and burrowed under the covers.

  “Come on,” I plead as I switch my pajamas for leggings. Rushing, I forget to remove my socks and they bulge out around my ankles beneath the black fabric. “Meet me downstairs.”

  I stop in the
bathroom and swipe toothpaste over my teeth before swishing the minty flavor with water. No time for proper brushing.

  Voices carry from the kitchen when I reach the first floor. Gram’s door is open and her room is empty. Rounding the corner into the great room, I find her standing at the window with Sarah and Andrew. All three wear their coats, ready to go outside.

  Tate bumps into me from behind.

  “Did you see the dirt?” he asks, sounding like he ran downstairs. His thick locks of twisted hair hang around his shoulders.

  “Madison, grab your coat and boots.” Gram’s voice leaves no room for argument.

  I retrieve my coat and boots from the mudroom along with Sam’s shoes.

  Sam’s footsteps pad slowly down the stairs. I shove her shoes at her. “Meet us outside.”

  Our little group tromps through the ankle-deep snow toward the barn in silence.

  “Not turnips,” I whisper when I see the deep rectangle in the earth. A messy pile of soil flanks the hole, and a shovel leans against the stone foundation of the barn.

  “Whoever did this didn’t care about being discovered.” Andrew steps closer to the edge. “Nor did they bother to cover up.”

  “That’s because they want us to know what they have. It’s a threat.”

  Sam reaches our semi-circle, out of breath and coatless. “What’s missing?”

  “Bones,” Gram says, a cloud of frosted air forming as she exhales. “From Giles or Martha.”

  “What would someone want with old bones?” I ask.

  “The bones of those who died by hanging or another violent death are believed to contain stronger traces of spirit, or life essence,” Sam rattles off this information from memory.

  My mouth opens as I stare at her.

  “What?” she asks. “I’ve been curious about witchcraft for ages.”

  Sarah picks up a handful of dirt and sniffs it. “Human bones are only used in dark magic practice now. For healing, an animal bone is preferred. There’s no need to rob a grave unless the reasons are nefarious.”