Keeper

by Kim Chance

  “You’re right,” Gareth said. “I’ll tell her.” He let out a long sigh. “When I find the right moment, I’ll tell her.”

  I couldn’t move. The wheels in my head were whirling, trying to process the information I’d overheard, but it was like trying to punch through a brick wall—nothing was getting through. My stomach pitched and rolled, and I wanted to throw up. I would’ve put my head between my knees if not for Maggie yanking on my arm.

  Serena and Gareth were now talking in more hushed tones, her arm looped through his as they slowly made their way toward the front of the shop. We needed to move or we’d be seen.

  Following Maggie’s lead, I crawled toward another row of bookcases.

  “Over there?” Ty was gesturing toward a door off a small alcove.

  Maggie nodded, and it was all I could do to follow them. We crawled inside the tiny space and Ty shut the door behind us, careful not to let it slam. The smell of old books, incense, and cleaning supplies burned my nose. It must have been the supply closet.

  “Lainey? Are you okay?” Maggie was whispering to me, but I’d lost all ability to speak. My brain was spinning out of control, and my heart thumped against the walls of my chest. If he finds out who she is, what she is, he will hunt her down just like they did her mother. Serena’s words reverberated in my ears. Every inch of my skin was covered in goose bumps, and a cool shiver danced up and down my spine.

  “I don’t understand,” I managed to whisper. “I don’t understand.”

  My entire body was shaking. Maggie wrapped her arms around me and held me tightly. Ty watched from his post at the door, his fists clenched at his sides.

  “I don’t understand,” I kept whispering.

  Who am I?

  What am I?

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Maggie held me long enough for the shaking to subside.

  “Are you okay?” she asked me when I pulled away.

  “I don’t know,” I whispered. The weight of that horrible conversation between Gareth and Serena weighed down on me, but I sucked down a large gulp of air and exhaled slowly. I would not let it crush me. “But I’m going to find out.”

  Neither Maggie nor Ty said anything as I pushed past them and out the door.

  Who am I? What am I? Like a cadence, the words bolstered and guided my steps as I marched past the rows of bookshelves.

  The wooden planks of the floor creaked as I walked into the main room of the shop. Maggie and Ty walked wordlessly behind me.

  “Serena?”

  Serena’s head popped out of the office. She was holding a ledger and small stack of papers. She looked at me first with confusion; then her eyes widened. “Lainey, what are you doing here?”

  I ignored her question. “I heard what you said to Gareth. I heard everything.”

  The color drained from Serena’s face.

  “You need to tell me what’s going on.” My voice wavered but grew louder as a rush of adrenaline coursed through me. “You said I deserved to know the truth. What truth?”

  Serena squared her shoulders. “You need to talk to Gareth. He—”

  “No, Serena,” I said, the volume of my voice causing us both to jump. “I want the truth now.”

  We stood staring at each other, locked in a silent showdown, but then Serena lurched forward, closing the distance between us, and yanked me forward. Her other hand reached up to grip my chin, angling it to see better.

  “Your eyes,” she whispered. “They’re green.” She let go of my chin. “It’s happening.” The words were barely more than a whisper. The hand that held my arm tightened.

  I squealed as Serena jerked my arm closer and forced my clenched fist to open. Behind me, Maggie muttered a curse word under her breath and Ty moved closer, his eyes darting between the two of us as if he were trying to decide whether or not to intervene.

  “What are you doing?” I squirmed, trying to pull my hand from Serena’s surprisingly firm grip. “Stop!” I tried to push her away, but Serena was unhearing as she pored over my hand, her fingers tracing over the lines in my palm.

  Abruptly, Serena gasped and dropped my hand as though it were on fire. She muttered something incomprehensible under her breath, swept past Ty and Maggie—whom she seemed not to even notice—and rushed back into her office.

  “Where are you going?” I cried out, my hands clenching into fists. “Serena!” I bellowed. “What the hell is going on?”

  She didn’t answer me, but when she came flying back out of the office, she had two lit candles in her hands. She was still murmuring under her breath.

  “Serena!” I tried again, louder this time.

  If Serena heard me, she didn’t acknowledge me in any way. She walked over to the large table between the two blue reading couches and pulled a stack of thick, colorful cards from the front pocket of her long skirt. She cut the deck, shuffled the cards with nimble fingers, and placed the cards on the table.

  I marched over and yanked the remaining cards from Serena’s hands. “Talk to me! What is going on?”

  At my touch, Serena seemed to snap to her senses. “Oh, Lainey,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.” Her large brown eyes were full of sympathy and regret. “We should’ve told you. It’s not supposed to happen like this.”

  “Told me what?” I cried out. Hot tears burned my eyes as emotion after emotion slapped me in the face. Anger. Frustration. Confusion, Fear. “Please . . .”

  Serena’s shoulders slumped in resignation. With a sigh, she pointed to the cards in my hands. “Choose one.”

  I was about to protest, but Serena eyed me fiercely. “Choose one,” she repeated, her voice firm.

  I wanted to scream, but instead I clenched my teeth together and pulled a card facedown from the stack.

  “Place it on the table,” Serena instructed.

  Rolling my eyes, I slammed the card down on the table. A pair of pillar candles sitting nearby rattled from the vibration. Serena swooped in and carefully flipped the card over so its image was facing up. Her eyes grew wide, and as I peered down at the image, I didn’t need Serena to tell me that it wasn’t a good sign.

  The tower itself looked innocent enough, sitting atop a mountain, but the bolts of lightning and flames that rose from the windows made my stomach turn. On both sides of the tower, a body was pitched forward, falling to the craggy depths below.

  “The Tower,” Serena whispered, her tone eerily reverent. She turned to me, her eyes brimming with tears. “It’s worse than I thought.” She leaned forward, as though to embrace me, but stopped suddenly when she saw the look on my face. “Please,” she said, indicating the sofas. “Sit down. There is much to say.”

  It was then that Serena seemed to notice Ty and Maggie standing stiffly near the wall, their faces narrowed in seriousness. She looked at me with raised eyebrows. “Perhaps we should speak privately.”

  “No,” I said, surprised by the strong tone of my voice. “They stay with me.”

  Serena nodded, though her eyes were still narrowed in suspicion. After a moment, she turned back to me, her face grave. She took a deep breath before she spoke again, her expression both serious and concerned. “What do you know about your mother?”

  “I know there’s some connection,” I said. “Am I right? Did my mother have something to do with whatever secret you and Gareth are keeping from me?”

  “She has everything to do with it, I’m afraid.” Serena began to wring her hands. “Lainey, your mother didn’t die in a car accident like you were told. She was murdered.”

  “What?” I stared at Serena. Her words made no sense to me. “That’s impossible. My mom was a schoolteacher. Why would anyone—”

  “She wasn’t just a teacher, Lainey,” she interrupted. “She was a witch.”

  “A witch?” The word tasted bitter on my tongue. “My mother was
. . . a witch?”

  “Yes. A very powerful one.” The look on Serena’s face was absolute.

  This can’t be real. I’d always know Serena was a little . . . well, kooky, but she didn’t actually believe all that hocus-

  pocus mumbo jumbo, did she? “This has to be some kind of a joke, right?”

  “I wish it were, dear, but the truth is even far more complicated than the mere fact that your mother was a Supernatural.” Serena leaned forward, grabbing my hands. “Lainey, your mother was killed by someone very dangerous—someone who, if they knew of your existence, would come after you also.”

  She paused for a moment and looked at our clasped hands. “I knew your mother. We were all friends, Gareth, your mother, and I.” She broke off and sniffed. “When she realized she’d have to go, she came to me for help, and I’ve done what I can for you all these years. I’ve done my best to watch out for you like she asked.” A single tear rolled down her cheek.

  “Please understand that Gareth and I swore to keep you safe, and so far we have . . .” She trailed off.

  All the moves, never staying in one place for too long. It was all starting to make sense.

  “Events are in motion,” Serena continued. “Things that are beyond our control. It’s only a matter of time until they discover the secret that we’ve kept hidden these sixteen years.” She heaved a sigh and placed a palm on my cheek. “You, Lainey.”

  “But why . . .” I trailed off.

  She’s her mother’s daughter and she is capable of far more than we can possibly imagine. The words poured over me like a bucket of ice-cold water.

  “I’m a witch, too.” My voice was barely stronger than a whisper as the realization came spilling out. “Like my mother.”

  “Yes.” Serena pulled her hands away and stared down at them, picking at the dark blue polish. Her voice was soft as she spoke, indicating that the next part was both important and painful for her to say. “And if anyone finds out about you,” she pointed to the card lying ominously on the table, “you’re likely to share her fate.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  My brain was working overtime to make sense of Serena’s words, but it all seemed so nonsensical. I half expected someone to jump out from behind the sofa and announce I was on one of those hidden camera shows. Please let this be some sick joke.

  Beside me, Serena was pacing back and forth. She had her tarot deck clutched in her hands, and her eyes kept darting between me and the tower card still lying faceup on the table.

  “Why my mom?” It was the easiest of the questions to ask. “There have to be hundreds of . . . witches in the world, right?” I nearly choked on the word. “Why would someone target my mother?”

  Serena took a deep breath as if to steel herself. “Your mother was the last living descendant of one of the most powerful lines of witches our kind has ever seen. Your mother was targeted because of the blood that flows through her veins—and yours—because she was a DuCarmont witch.”

  “DuCarmont?” My tongue was like sandpaper. “But my mother’s maiden name was . . .” The lump had formed in my throat again. “Is it all a lie, then? Everything I’ve ever known about my family?”

  Serena’s eyes brimmed with tears as she leaned over to grip my hand. “No, not everything. Your mother and father loved you very much.”

  “What about my dad? Was he some kind of witch too?”

  “No,” Serena answered, a slight smile at the corner of her lips. “He was entirely human and a wonderful man. Your mother never told him about who she was. The DuCarmonts had been all but eradicated, and as the last remaining DuCarmont still alive, she was forced into hiding. She thought it was best to keep your father in the dark—better to protect him that way.”

  I felt a strong kinship with the father I barely remembered. “At least I’m not the only one that was lied to.” Serena winced at the rancor in my voice.

  If it wasn’t bad enough that Gareth has been lying to me my entire life, now it seemed that everything I knew about my own mother was also a lie. I had only a few memories of my mom, but now even those I did have felt tainted, as if the warm smile and the melodious sound of a lullaby I remembered weren’t even real.

  An unfamiliar emotion surged through me, threatening to break me in half: betrayal. The ache of it resonated in my bones, and it was only the notion that my father had also been left in the dark that kept me from completely erupting in the middle of Serena’s store.

  “Was my father murdered, too?”

  “He was killed in a car accident. Although your mother had suspicions that the crash that killed your father was somehow meant for her—orchestrated by those who wanted to kill her, of course. She could never prove it, though.”

  A different kind of ache rippled through my chest as I thought of my dad. My brain offered up a fuzzy mental picture of his face, full of kindness with warm brown eyes and a thick beard. Another tear rolled down my cheek. “So, who are these people?”

  “I’m not sure the ’who’ is important just now.” Serena’s voice was flat. “It’s the ’why’ that matters.”

  “Okay, then. Tell me about the DuCarmonts,” I said, swaying a little as the vertigo threatened to reappear. “Tell me about my family.”

  Serena stood up and crossed to the bookshelf on the far wall. She pulled a large, old-looking book from the shelf and began to flip carefully through the pages. When she found the appropriate page, she handed the book over to me. The page was open to a spread of antique photographs.

  I eyed the photographs, not understanding, but then I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth.

  There was a picture of a grand plantation with wide columns and a wraparound porch staring back at me. A family stood in front of the house. I recognized the house—I’d watched it burn. I leaned closer, taking in the images of the family. Two women, one older and one younger, with light-colored hair, stood side by side, wearing long dresses with wide hoopskirts. Their likeness was uncanny—clearly mother and daughter. But it was the other people in the picture who nearly stopped my heart.

  There was a man with his arm wrapped around another young woman at his side. The man was wearing a long overcoat, and though the photograph was black-and-white, I knew the coat was green. The woman next to him had long dark hair that tumbled across her shoulders in waves. I’d know that face anywhere.

  “Josephine,” I whispered.

  “You know her?” Serena was confused. “You know the woman in the picture?”

  As if I needed confirmation, there was a tiny caption underneath the photograph penciled carefully by a steady hand. The DuCarmont Family, 1860.

  I nodded. “Josephine . . . DuCarmont.” I turned to Serena with wide eyes. “That means . . .”

  “Yes,” Serena finished. “Josephine DuCarmont is your ancestor.”

  It was as if someone had punched me in the stomach, knocking all the air out of my lungs. Several seconds passed before I was able to suck down a mouthful of air.

  Serena looked perplexed. “Lainey, how do you know her?”

  In answer, I pushed up the sleeve of my shirt. The handprint was almost gone, but the faint outline of her fingertips was still visible. “The first time I saw her, she left me this.”

  Serena’s face was already pale, but the last bit of color drained away. “Of course. I should have known.” She reached out and touched the lines on my skin, then jerked her hand back like it was on fire. “Magic always leaves a mark,” she intoned, her voice eerily quiet.

  “What?”

  “It’s like a fingerprint. The more powerful the magic, the more potent the mark.” Serena’s eyes were wide, almost reverent. “Josephine DuCarmont was one of the most powerful witches of all time.” She stared at me.

  “But what does it mean?” I pulled my sleeve back down.

  Serena pursed her lips. I could se
e an internal debate going on in her head. Finally, she let out the breath she had been holding. “I believe she . . . established a Continuance.”

  “A Continuance?”

  “It’s like a bond, or a link, between the two of you. She’s trying to communicate.”

  “Josephine just wants to talk to me?” I recalled the pain that had lanced through my body at her touch. “She could’ve just sent a text.”

  “Lainey, you don’t understand. It is exceedingly rare for a witch to perform a Continuance from the other side. A link forged through the veil can only be created by channeling enormous amounts of energy, and sustaining it requires tremendous power from both parties.”

  “But why create a link in the first place?”

  “There’s only one reason I can think of.” Serena swallowed. “You’re in danger.”

  Those three little words echoed in my ears. I shivered, feeling the branches of the tree slithering across my skin. I nodded slowly. “I almost died tonight.”

  Serena gasped, but before she could ask questions, I told her of how the tree in the graveyard had attacked me.

  “I know it sounds crazy,” I said, “but it happened. I don’t know how or why, but—”

  “It was a dryad.” Serena’s face was still pallid, but she spoke with certainty. “A tree spirit.”

  “A tree . . . spirit.” I swallowed. All I knew about dryads was what I remembered from a Greek mythology book I’d read a few years ago. “Aren’t they supposed to be . . . nice?” I swallowed again, feeling both confused and ridiculous for asking.

  Serena shook her head. “Not all of them—that’s like asking if humans are nice. It depends on where their loyalties lie.”

  “Oh,” I said, though the answer made little sense to me. “Well, I think Josephine saved me. There was a flash of green light right before the tree dropped me. Afterward, my eyes looked like this.