Enchanted

by Daisy Prescott

  “But how did they get past the protective spell?” Gram’s voice waivers as she examines the grave.

  Andrew stands up again. “I left the gate open for my mother.”

  My own breath snags in my throat. “Someone followed us here?”

  “Or you released a pulse of magic when you had your vision in the cellar. Perhaps you caused a shimmering in the protective spell. A powerful witch lurking close by could’ve picked up on the shift.” Sarah squints as she gazes into the dark woods.

  Tate paces a circle around the area. “The energy isn’t familiar. I’ve never met whoever did this.”

  Sarah sprinkles the dirt from her hand over the grave. “We must locate the book Sarah saw in the cellar. If we’re up against someone using corpse magic, this is outside even my powers.”

  * * *

  I dread the cellar even more, but Andrew tromps down the stairs behind me. The others stay in the kitchen under Sarah’s instructions. We want to recreate the details of my first vision as closely as possible.

  “We’ll need to kiss,” Andrew says. “I brushed my teeth. I promise.”

  I can’t say the same, and hope the finger-brush and swish worked.

  He takes a half step closer, leaving only a few inches between our bodies. Tilting my head back, I gaze into his eyes.

  “Remember when I asked you if you really wanted to be involved with a witch? I warned you nothing about me was normal,” he says, softly and apologetically.

  “I have a feeling dating me is going to be nothing but trouble,” I apologize.

  “Too late.” His dark lips curve with amusement. “I’m yours and you’re mine. Nothing you can do will change my mind.”

  We haven’t said the big L word, yet, at least not in a formal way. I don’t want to think of this cellar and our love, so I hold off vocalizing what I’m feeling. Instead, I pull his head down to mine.

  His kiss is warm and full of emotion as he takes control. I begin to lose myself in the sensation of our bodies moving on instinct. The gloom and chill fade away as the blue light brightens the darkness behind my closed lids.

  My sharp intake of breath breaks the kiss.

  Andrew leans back. “What do you see?”

  This time, the shadows of the past are clearer, brighter. Gram’s shelves and food jars fade away as the ghost objects take over my vision. I can still see Andrew clearly.

  Taking a few steps, I move in the direction of the book’s hiding place. Above me, I see the dark edge of the leather jutting out from the top of the beam.

  Again I reach for it and touch nothing but cobwebs and dust.

  “Focus. Imagine the leather underneath your fingertips. What does it feel like? How heavy would it be if you held the book in your hand?” Andrew’s voice sounds far away.

  I follow his instructions and tell myself that the book is real. If I believe it’s really resting on the beam, I’ll touch it by lifting my arm. It’s right there.

  My fingers brush against wood and dust, then pause when I feel the smooth surface of worn leather.

  For a brief moment, I’m touching something that doesn’t exist in this time. As my brain fights the impossibility of what my hand is touching, I have another vision. The book is no longer here because it has a new hiding place. Tucked away and forgotten, it hides among a collection of other old books. Lacking any ornamentation and overshadowed by larger volumes covered in gilt decoration, the book we seek is plain and overlooked.

  “Tate’s house,” I blurt out. The blue haze and vision disappear instantly.

  “Are you sure?” Andrew asks, holding my dirty hand. “The Winthrop collection numbers in the thousands. We’ll be seeking a needle in the proverbial haystack.”

  “If we go there, I might be able to have another vision and pinpoint its location.” I try to sound more confident in my new abilities than I feel.

  Clasping my fingers tightly in his hand, Andrew climbs the stairs to the kitchen.

  Sarah and Gram sit at the table, whispering with their heads close together. Sam sips tea and Tate paces near the fire.

  “We need to go back to your summer house.” Andrew pauses by the counter. “Madison had a glimpse of the book on a shelf.”

  Tate pauses. “Why would it be in the Winthrop collection?”

  “Like the Corey farm, your house is enchanted,” Sarah answers.

  “It is? But that’s the first time I saw Andrew perform magic. He lit a fire right in front of me,” I say in disbelief.

  “On Halloween,” Tate explains. “Magic can only be created on the grounds on certain days. Halloween, the solstices and equinoxes, and a few others sprinkled throughout the calendar year. Otherwise, no magic is allowed. Nor can anyone stroll inside uninvited.”

  I remember his strange formal tone with Andrew’s father. “You invited Mr. Bradford into the house two days ago.”

  “And I disinvited him when he left.”

  “You’re no longer welcome here,” I repeat the words he used.

  He nods his head. “Exactly.”

  “I thought that only worked with vampires,” Sam says, setting down her tea and eyeing Tate.

  “I’m not a bloodsucker.” He rolls his eyes. “Let’s not get carried away. Nor do I have a pet dragon. Or know any werewolves.”

  Sam sighs with disappointment.

  “If you’re leaving, I need to give you something before you go.” Gram stands and wobbles on her feet. Dismissing Sarah’s offered hand, she carefully rounds the table and walks toward the fireplace. “Andrew and Tate, if you could help me move my chair.”

  The guys rush to lift the heavy wingback chair and set it a few feet away. Gram steps behind the chair and pulls a loose brick from the left side of the fireplace. Even with the roaring fire, the hearth is big enough the flames don’t reach her hand.

  Once the brick has been removed, she extracts a familiar looking piece of cream paper.

  What I thought was a scroll is actually an envelope, folded and worn with age.

  “I thought I had more time and I’m sorry I can’t explain more, but you’re going to need this for what’s coming next. Take it with you, but don’t open it out of curiosity. The right moment will present itself and you’ll know. Use it carefully and tell no one you have it.” She gives me an attempt of an encouraging smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

  My hand shakes as I take the envelope from her. The weight doesn’t reveal the contents. It could be heavy paper, or a small object. “What if I don’t know what to do? What if I’m not ready?”

  The tremors in my voice betray my nerves. Tears burn as they form in my eyes.

  “You’ll know. Trust me, but more importantly, trust yourself. Make sure you’re the one to find the book. Keep it safe.” Gram hugs me. “Someday this farm will be yours. Not any time soon, because I don’t plan on going anywhere, but this will always be home for you. Remember that.”

  Tears spill from her watery eyes. “Now go and quit wasting time.”

  Sarah joins us and gives me a hug, too. “I’m going to stay behind and make sure the protection spells are reestablished. We don’t want any more unexpected guests before the holidays.”

  I smile at her attempt at humor in the face of an unknown threat.

  Turning to Andrew, she pulls him in for a hug as well. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’ll alert the coven. They’ll show up in all their corduroy clad glory if you need them.”

  I chuckle at the thought of a group of magic empowered middle age professors and librarians coming to our rescue.

  Tucking the envelope into my coat pocket, I begin to think of a safe place to hide it if Gram wants it off the farm.

  Eight

  My head pulses with a dull pain. Less severe than the headache on Thursday, this one is an echo. Almost like someone is pressing on a bruise or swollen ankle. Repeatedly.

  “Headache back?” Andrew takes his eyes off the rearview mirror to check on me. He’s been taking random back roads to
Salem and staring in the mirrors most of the time to make sure we’re not followed.

  “Sadly, it is.” I press my fingers against my temples.

  “I think someone is trying to get into your thoughts. The first headache started when you met my father.”

  “You think he has something to do with this?”

  “Of course. If there’s evil stirring, Stanford is probably involved.”

  Tate’s name appears on Andrew’s phone. He hits accepts and puts the call on speaker.

  “Hey,” Tate’s voice fills the car, “I think you’re being followed.”

  Tate and Sam left a few minutes after us in hopes of following anyone who could be trailing us.

  “I’m not a hundred percent sure, but there’s a silver Lexus sedan taking the same route as us.”

  Andrew scowls. “I haven’t seen him, but there’s a Dunkin Donuts coming up. I’ll pull over and wait.”

  He takes a last minute turn into the parking lot and drives behind the building to park in the rear on the far side. A minute later, a gray car passes us, but doesn’t stop.

  “Spotted the car. Meet us here and we’ll backtrack to 495. Taking the highway will give us a time advantage.” Andrew speaks with authority before ending the call and facing me. “Want some donuts?”

  “I do.” I’m embarrassed by how excited I sound. “But is now the time?”

  “There’s always time for Munchkins.” He opens his car door. “I’ll be right back.”

  Alone for the first time since my visions, I’m uneasy as I scan the parking lot for a silver car. People come and go with their coffees and white bags, normal everyday caffeine and donut runs in progress on a Saturday morning. I used to be one of those people who thought life was simple. Ordinary.

  Relief courses through me when Sam’s familiar blue car pulls up beside me. She waves from the driver’s side and gives me a thumb’s up.

  How is it possible it was only yesterday we were on our annual road trip to the farmhouse for a wonderfully boring, quiet weekend?

  * * *

  Only a few patches of snow brighten the dark grounds of the Winthrop mansion as the Audi’s headlights sweep down the drive. Clouds filter out any weak sunlight, leaving the early afternoon gloomy and as gray as late twilight. Darkened windows greet us.

  “It looks more imposing than ever.” I crane forward to stare at the house as Andrew parks. My shoulders slump with defeat. “How am I going to find a small book in there?”

  “You’re going to need your extra sight. Want to start on the outside to get your bearings?”

  Sam’s headlights shine through the rear window, casting Andrew’s face in sharp angles between light and dark.

  “I suppose,” I reluctantly agree.

  His warm hand brushes my cheek before he replaces it with the heat of his mouth. I tilt my head, capturing his lips with mine, secretly hoping kissing him is the key to my power.

  As we kiss, a car horn bleats behind us. Andrew gives me a peck before leaning away. When I open my eyes, a faint blue light shimmers outside the windshield.

  “It’s back,” I whisper.

  “Hold on to the feeling.” He opens his door and runs around the hood to get mine.

  When I step out, I focus on the front of the house. Blue light forms a fog that slowly clears as I stare at the elegant façade. Nothing is different.

  “I can see the light, but nothing about the house is different.” I sense Sam and Tate step beside me. A flickering of the porch light catches my eye. “Except the lights are powered by gas, not electricity.”

  “Interesting,” Tate says. “Shall we go inside?”

  Grabbing my hand, Andrew tucks it over his elbow. “Try to keep the vision and let us know what you see.”

  I follow him up the front stairs to the grand entry.

  Tate pulls a set of keys from his jacket pocket and unlocks the door. “Give me two seconds to disarm the alarm.”

  He steps inside and closes the heavy wood door. I blink a few times and the blue haze returns.

  When he opens the door again, I step back. The foyer is decorated for Christmas. An enormous tree fills the center of the entry hall, illuminated by real candles and silvery mercury glass ornaments.

  “Madison?” Andrew’s voice carries through the haze, but I’m already stepping forward into the warmly decorated room.

  Boughs of evergreen and boxwood drape every entry and twist like a giant snake up the staircases. White candles provide more light, their flames dancing in the drafts.

  “It’s a holiday party,” I whisper.

  Aware of my friends nearby, I wander into the library. The familiar fireplace glows with a fire beneath the mantle heavy with greenery. The lack of warmth against my skin reminds me it is only part of my vision.

  Books stand in perfect rows on the shelves, but I don’t see anything resembling the gilt leather volumes from my previous vision. I wander through the room, trailing my hand along the shelves and molding, hoping for a secret catch. Finding nothing, I move to the middle of the entry hall, and slowly spin, trying to blur my vision enough for the book to call to me.

  Laughter and the quick dance of shoes across the marble foyer stops my movement. I blink, expecting to see the sound coming from Sam and Tate, or even Andrew, but they’re standing closer to the fireplace.

  When I allow the blue haze to cover my vision, I have to jump out of the way of a laughing couple dashing out of the dining room. Faint tea rose perfume tickles my nose. He spins her and kisses her on the mouth while she smiles up at him. Dressed in a classic tux, the man’s brown hair is slicked back from his face. Debonair is how I’d describe him. Holding his hand is a young woman in a strapless black gown, her dark hair twisted into a chignon bun.

  “Is your family having a party here tonight?” I ask Tate. “I’m suddenly feeling very underdressed.”

  “What?” he asks. “The Winthrops don’t believe in holiday cheer.”

  “The couple who ran through the foyer, laughing and kissing?” I point at the same time I realize there’s no one there.

  “You can see ghosts?” Sam’s voice comes out as a squeak. “I’m out of here.”

  “They can’t hurt you, Samantha,” Tate reassures her. “I’ll hold your hand if that’ll make you feel better.”

  Without glancing at them, I know Sam is probably blushing.

  “Follow them,” Tate instructs.

  I listen for the sound of the couple’s happy laughter. The faint echo comes from down the hall, so I move in that direction. Soft voices engage in light banter that ends in giggles after he says, “Come on, I’ll show you if you don’t believe me.”

  Scanning the darker interior hallway, I catch a door closing. “This way.”

  Stopping in front of the doorway, I inhale. I don’t believe in ghosts. Like I didn’t believe in magic.

  “I’m here and I’ll protect you.” Andrew squeezes my hand.

  “Me too,” Sam agrees without hesitation, and Tate repeats her words.

  I open the door and reveal an office, lined with more bookshelves. There are no decorations or candles in the darkened room. A sliver of light from an opening in the wall illuminates the space.

  “There’s a hidden door.” I don’t bother to pretend the thought doesn’t excite me.

  Even though I’m terrified right now because I’m following a ghost couple.

  Unfortunately, the secret passage closes before we can step inside and the laughter fades away.

  “It’s gone,” I say, disappointed.

  Tate flips the lights and bright electric light fills the space. It feels harsh and I’m aware of the faint buzzing in the wires.

  “This is my father’s office. I used to play under his desk when I was an adorable toddler.” Tate walks into the middle of the room. “Pretty sure I’d know if there’s a secret door in here.”

  I’m listening as I study the wall where the couple disappeared. The deep wood paneling follows a pattern
of rectangular molding above thick wainscoting below a chair rail. I run my index finger along the chair rail until my nail catches on a crease.

  “I think I found it.” Above the notch is a portrait of a stern looking man in all black with the fluffy white wig of eighteenth century men’s fashion.

  “Of course,” Tate laughs. “Jonathan Winthrop, you old dog.”

  Tate rubs his hands along the wall and under the chair railing. A soft click sounds when he finds the catch.

  The panel swings forward, revealing a small room lined with bookshelves from floor to ceiling.

  “This must share a wall with the library.” Sounding curious, Andrew pulls out his phone and turns on the flashlight. “I wonder if there’s a door on either side for escape.”

  Sure enough, there is a faint outline of another door opposite ours.

  “Is the book in here?” Sam refocuses me.

  I blur my vision, wondering if I can call up my visions without kissing Andrew first. Scanning the shelves, a bright shade of blue catches my attention.

  “Up there.” I point to the top shelf. “In the middle.”

  Andrew reaches up and pulls down the slim black leather book I first glimpsed in the cellar.

  I expect a wind to swirl around us, or the lights to go out, but nothing extraordinary happens. Besides the fact that I had a vision of a book and two ghosts helped me find it.

  The only thing of note that happens is my headache disappears.

  The doorbell chimes from the foyer. Causing us all to jump and Sam to scream.

  Holding her chest, she bends at the waist and chants, “I’m okay. I’m okay. We’re okay.”

  I rub soothing circles on her back. “It’s all right. Just the doorbell.”

  “Expecting anyone?” Andrew asks Tate with a lifted eyebrow.

  “At this point, nothing will surprise me.” Tate’s the first to step out of the room.

  Andrew replaces the book on the shelf. “It’s been safe there. Best to leave sleeping books lie.”

  I hand him the envelope from my coat pocket. “Place this on top. For now.”

  He gives me a curt nod. “Until you need it.”