Charmed by the Salem Witch: A Witch Romance (Appalachian Magic Series Book 3)

by Debbie Herbert

  “Do you think I need to hire an attorney?” She could swing it, but it would take a big chunk out of her savings account.

  “No. My uncle will be there, and he’ll look out for your best interest.” He reached for her hand and squeezed it. “They won’t let me sit in there with you, but I’ll be right outside the hearing room. Waiting.”

  Sarah laughed uneasily. “You make me nervous when you get serious. Is there something you’re not telling me?” A slight flush crept up his neck, and recognizing his sign of guilt, she pushed away her soda glass. “Let’s hear it.”

  “I see I can’t get anything past you, can I?” He gave a rueful laugh. “Okay, but you aren’t going to like what I’ve done now.” Sarah waited as he shifted in his chair and ran a hand through his dark hair. “We’ve been avoiding the subject of that coven. I didn’t want to push you, kept hoping you would volunteer what went down with your old friends.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You won’t,” he countered. “You said yourself they tricked you into a promise. I think they set this whole thing up. Planted that book in your room to get you in trouble.”

  “Can’t say I haven’t thought of that,” she admitted. “But why? I never told . . .” Abruptly, she clamped her mouth shut.

  “You never told anyone that they stole that book. Is that it?”

  Sarah waivered. Weighed her promise against their deception.

  Screw it. Screw them.

  She nodded. “Okay, you’re right. It was them.”

  “They set you up from the start. Befriended you and then tricked you. The question is why.”

  “Good question,” she muttered.

  “So I decided to do a little searching.” Tanner picked up his silverware, then set it back down. “I’m running background checks on them. I haven’t found anything yet, but I’m not finished.”

  “And you thought I’d be angry?”

  “You did pitch a fit when I checked yours. Was afraid you’d see this as more interference.”

  “No.” She clenched and unclenched her fists in her lap. “I want you to search. If anyone can find out why, it’s you.”

  8

  “Isn’t the full moon gorgeous?” Claudia asked, peering out the car window. “And how perfect that it fell on All Hallows’ Eve.”

  Although only late afternoon, the moon had been visible for hours. Bet Bridget and the gang are planning a grand time tonight. If not for the falling out with the coven, she’d be celebrating her dedication ceremony and would be officially welcomed as a member.

  “I appreciate the ride,” Claudia said. “It sucks not having my own car.”

  “No problem. Now that I’m living off campus, this is the only way we can get together.”

  Technically, she was violating the terms of her agreement to only be on campus for classes, but she hadn’t even set foot outside her vehicle. So it didn’t count. She turned into the long, columnar drive to the dorm area.

  Clara Hall was aglow with lit candles in every window. A pang of loneliness swept over Sarah. She was going to miss the dorm’s big party. Every year, they had a big shindig with catered food, games, and even a band.

  Claudia patted her shoulder. “You look sad. I’m sorry you’re missing the party.”

  “Me, too,” she admitted. “But one of Tanner’s coworkers is throwing a party. It’ll be fun.” Not as fun as this one, though.

  “Sure,” Claudia agreed a little too brightly. She shot her a questioning glance. “You know, you can have a little taste of this party, if you want.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Sneak into my room, and I’ll fix you a plate. They’ve made those pot roast sandwiches you love, and there’s chocolate mint brownies for dessert.”

  Sarah groaned. “Oh my god, those brownies.”

  “Your favorite,” Claudia said with a grin.

  “I’d better not.”

  “Chicken. It’ll be fine, you won’t get in trouble.”

  Her unwillingness had more to do with fear of running into Bridget and company than it was the WCS authorities. “It’s not that—there’s certain people I’d rather not bump into.”

  “Ah yes, the scary foursome. Tell you what, I’ll go in first and make sure the coast is clear. Okay?”

  Sarah was tempted. It would be fun to have a little more girl time talking with Claudia. She pulled into a parking space near the back of the lot. “Okay, but I can’t stay too long. Tanner’s expecting me in an hour.”

  Claudia climbed out of the car. “I understand. Be back in a few.”

  She watched her friend merge with the crowd milling about by the entrance, putting up last-minute decorations. From here, she could see the cafeteria where tables were set with pumpkins and orange candles. Like she had been for most of her life, she was once again an outsider looking in.

  Claudia emerged from a back door, motioning her to come inside, and Sarah locked the vehicle and hurried over. “All clear,” Claudia promised.

  Sarah followed her up the back staircase. At the door to the second level, Claudia poked her head out and scanned the hallway. “No one around.”

  Quickly, they sped to her room. Halfway down the hall, a group of girls rounded the corner at the opposite end, laughing and talking. Thankfully, they weren’t paying her and Claudia any attention. Sarah lifted the hood on her parka, shielding her face.

  Once safely ensconced behind the closed door of Claudia’s room, Sarah sat down and shrugged out of her jacket. “Whew!” she breathed. That had been close. Luckily, no one else in her classes seemed aware of the storm surrounding her. But here at Clara Hall, she suspected everyone at least remembered the mouse incident.

  “I’ll get us something to eat and drink,” Claudia said. “Back in a few minutes.”

  Sarah paced the small room, drawing the curtains to keep from being observed. She felt like a criminal, or a pariah that others were afraid to draw near to for fear of being eaten alive. By the edge of the window, she drew back the curtain a bit, watching the others party, all dressed in spooky costumes. The band started warming up, a dissonant jar of guitar riffs that wailed and squealed like a floating tribe of banshees hovering above the quad.

  Funny, she was on the inside looking out, and yet she still felt like an outsider.

  I have Tanner, she consoled herself. She removed the cellphone from her purse to text him, then thought better of it. No sense bothering him on the job. The sooner he finished up at work, the sooner they could go to his coworker’s Halloween party.

  The door flew open and immediately shut as Claudia breezed back in with two plastic cups and two paper plates loaded with food. “I would have spilt everything after two steps,” Sarah said, taking a cup and plate out of Claudia’s hands.

  “Summers waitressing have finally paid off. I could balance a bowl of water on my head with puppies nipping my legs, and not spill a drop,” she boasted.

  Sarah frowned at the orange drink concoction. “What’s this?”

  “Pumpkin cider.”

  She took a sip and smacked her lips. “It’s good, but tastes a little funny.”

  Claudia tested the drink. “I think someone’s spiked it with rum.”

  “I better pass on the cider, then. Last thing I need is to return Tanner’s truck all banged up from an accident.”

  “Not to mention it’s dangerous,” Claudia agreed. “I’ll get us some soda from the vending machine down the hall.” Sarah started to dig out her wallet, but Claudia stopped her. “No need. I have a roll of quarters I keep in my desk. Be back in a minute.” Claudia grabbed the money and left.

  Sarah went straight for the brownies. Hocus Pocus, a local caterer, had made them for freshman orientation, and they were the best. Hot, oozy-gooey joy assaulted her taste buds. Some found the brownies too rich, but as far as she was concerned, chocolate sweetness couldn’t be overdone.

  Claudia returned with the sodas and passed one to her. Sarah popped the tab and chased the
chocolate with soda. Mmm. Again, she was probably in the minority of those who cared for that particular combination.

  “I knew you’d go straight for the brownies.” Claudia bit off the black licorice leg of a spider cookie.

  Sarah chewed on a ladyfinger with red frosting at it base, as if the appendage had been ripped off someone’s hand. Her stomach rumbled, and she placed a hand on her abs. “I’d better pace myself with sweets tonight. My tummy’s had enough sugar.”

  She set the plate on a desk and swigged the soda, hoping it would calm her gurgling belly. The frosty soda can slipped through her fingers, and Sarah blinked blearily as if she were watching a slow-motion movie of it happening to someone else. She tried to tighten her hand around the can, but her brain and muscles weren’t playing well together. Brown fizz spilled into her lap and on the concrete floor. Moments elapsed before her thighs registered sensation. Cold.

  “Not feeling well?” Claudia asked with a soft chuckle.

  The room spun, but she focused on her friend’s face. Why was Claudia smiling? Sarah’s mouth pursed to ask the question, but her numb lips stayed silent.

  “Cat got your tongue?” Claudia smiled, but it was an ugly smile. A Cheshire-cat grin of malevolent mirth.

  “Wh-what?” she managed to stutter.

  “Wah-wah-wah.” Claudia cupped and arched her fingers over her thumb, moving them up and down in a puppet parody.

  Sarah fell back on the dorm bed, clutching her stomach against a roiling cramp. Even lifting her head sent waves of nausea swimming up her stomach.

  A door opened and closed. Footsteps and giggles, hushed voices. It sounded muted, as if some distance away, but from her lowered position on the bed, she observed that several sets of feet had entered the room and were milling by the steel frame. Through the babble, she recognized her name spoken a few times. A face suddenly sprang inches from her line of vision. Red hair, black shirt, pentacle necklace. “Bridget?” she whispered.

  Bridget palmed an ear. “Eh? Can you speak up?”

  “T-trying,” she replied. But her voice only rose a mere decimal.

  “I’d say now’s the time,” Bridget announced, rising.

  Sarah forced herself up on one elbow and fought against the haze of pain. The others were present: Rebecca, Ann, Priscilla. They each wore black, pointed witch hats and long black robes. Claudia pulled a robe and hat out of her closet and donned them.

  Holy shit. Terror immobilized her brain and body.

  “Go get the cart,” Bridget ordered.

  The ever-dutiful Pris retreated. The sound of wheels rolling on concrete confused Sarah even more. Priscilla entered the room with a gardener’s wheelbarrow and positioned it by the bed. “Nobody in the halls,” she reported. “And the band’s in full swing outside. No one will hear a thing.”

  “But what will we say if we run into someone?” Claudia asked.

  Rebecca picked up a mirror, adjusting her hat. “Tell them we’re taking garbage to the dump,” she said.

  Ann glanced her way. Sarah wasn’t sure, but she thought there was a drop of sympathy and sadness in her eyes.

  Bridget motioned to someone. “Help me get her in the cart.”

  From the back, a set of hands clamped underneath her armpits while Bridget gripped under her knees.

  “On the count of three,” Bridget instructed. “One.”

  Oh, hell no. Sarah moaned and twisted under their hands.

  “Two.”

  They tightened their hold. Sarah inhaled deeply, preparing to scream.

  “Three.”

  Hands lifted her a few inches. She exhaled. The scream was no louder than a sigh, a weak, ineffectual utterance that everyone ignored.

  They half-rolled, half-threw her in the wheelbarrow. A scraping pain burst on the left side of face. “No, don’t. Stop,” she begged.

  “Shut up,” someone said. She couldn’t identify the voice.

  “Ann?” she asked.

  Silence.

  She held out a small hope that Ann would be a restraining presence in the coven. Ann was better than the others, a bit of goodness still graced her heart.

  Bridget shoved Sarah’s knees to her chest so that she was crammed into a brutal fetal position. A heavy blanket was suddenly thrown over her body. The smothering wool reeked like chicken shit. Sarah plugged her nose and breathed through her mouth, but nothing could lessen the tear-inducing stink.

  They rolled, clickety-clanking, down the hall and into a service elevator. Silence, and then there was a sudden dead drop. Where were they taking her? The basement?

  The big question—why?—was a terror that she shoved to the back burner. Instead, she tried to focus on the sensory details to keep her bearings in the darkness—the elevator beep at passing the second floor, Bridget’s signature scent of patchouli, Priscilla’s asthmatic mouth breathing. Another beep signaled the arrival of the first floor. The door opened, and the wheelbarrow jostled her cramped body as they wheeled her into the hallway.

  At least they hadn’t taken her to the basement. There was that.

  Her ankles and back ached in the tight space. The pain pushed through the drugged effect of whatever the hell had been in the brownies. She strained to hear others passing by, but there was only loud rock music and the faint sound of laughter and a crowd talking to be heard above the band.

  What had she ever done to them to deserve this abuse? Anger fueled her strength, and she clutched at it like an anchor. When this was over, she’d go straight to Tanner’s uncle and tell him everything she knew. A regular whistling jailbird. All four would be expelled, five if you counted Claudia.

  Claudia. Betrayed again. It would be a long, long time before she ever made another friend.

  Another door squeaked open, and cold air blasted her through the blanket. They were taking her outside. Perhaps to throw her in the dumpster as a prank?

  One of them oomphed and puffed with the strain of pushing the wheelbarrow. The bumpy ground made progress slow, and the cart careened and pitched from side to side.

  “We’re far enough from the building that no one can see us now,” Bridget said. “Dump her out. She can walk.”

  The blanket was yanked away and the wheelbarrow lifted. She slid onto the hard ground, the left side of her body wet with snow.

  “Get up,” Bridget demanded, as if ordering a dog to obey.

  Sarah got on all fours and struggled to stand. Her numbed ankles collapsed, and she fell again.

  “Here.” Ann grabbed her arm and helped her to a standing position.

  She didn’t want to, but Sarah leaned into Ann’s body for support. It was that, or crawl on the ground like an animal, which was even more humiliating than accepting help from an enemy. Ann snapped her fingers at Priscilla. “Put the blanket around her shoulders.”

  Pris gave no argument.

  Warmth settled in her body. They must not mean too much harm if they didn’t want her to get too cold.

  “Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?” Sarah croaked past the dryness in her lungs. With great effort, she stiffened her aching spine and stared each one of them down.

  “We’re taking you to our sacred coven ground.” Rebecca gave an unholy smile. “Tonight’s All Hallows’ Eve, when the veil between earth and spirits is thinnest. The date for your initiation. Remember?”

  Crazy bitches. As if she wanted to be any part of them.

  “Thanks, but no thanks. Just go on to your sabbat ritual and leave me alone.”

  “Can’t do that,” Bridget chirped.

  “We’re not going to hurt you,” Ann said softly. “We just need your promise not to speak of our existence to anyone or tell about the theft.”

  “The women in my family have attended WCS for generations,” Rebecca huffed. “No way I’m going to let a nobody like you get me kicked out.”

  Sarah crossed her fingers behind her back and lied without compunction. “I won’t tell. I haven’t yet, now have I?”


  “We’re going to make sure of that,” Bridget said.

  Her temper flared. “What do you want? A freaking blood oath?”

  “Just play along,” Ann whispered in her ear. “It will go better for you.”

  Screw them. She wasn’t in the mood for their theatrics. They’d scared her when they’d stuffed her in that cart and drugged her, but she refused to play the victim any longer.

  “I’m not going anywhere with you idiots. Tanner expected me to be home by now and is probably looking for me. If you—”

  Rebecca scrunched her nose and mimicked her, speaking in a high-pitched sing-song voice. “Tanner’s looking for me.”

  Bridget held up a hand, her face troubled. “This has gone far enough. We should let Sarah go. She’s not a threat to us.”

  Finally.

  Sarah took a deep breath and shrugged out of the blanket. If WCS didn’t expel these girls, she’d switch to another college. She never, ever wanted to lay eyes on them again, unless it was to testify against them at their own hearing.

  With all the dignity she could muster, Sarah turned and headed back to the beckoning lights of Clara Hall. Her legs were weak and wobbly, so she walked slowly and deliberately, unwilling to show fear or weakness.

  Someone slammed into her back with the brute force of a three-hundred-pound football linebacker.

  She tumbled and collided with the ground—a face-slammer hit that left warm blood trickling down her nose. Her lungs struggled to draw in air.

  Rope was tied around her wrists in the back.

  Sarah screamed and kicked, but several pairs of hands held down her legs as the rope was tightened, painfully binding her wrists. Another pair of rough hands jerked Sarah to her feet.

  Gleaming, mad-as-a-loon eyes glared at Sarah, inches from her face.

  Ann.

  Only not Ann. Not the girl she’d thought was the kindest of the bunch. That Ann had been a public mask. The real Ann was here—hatred oozing from every cell in her body.

  “Why?” Sarah asked, bewildered.

  “You’ll find out soon enough.”