Rowan's Responsibility : The Willoughby Witches (Book One)

by Terri Reid

  “I would love to interview you,” he interrupted, his voice shimmering with excitement as he frantically searched around the bed for something to write on. “Learn about your rituals. Your culture. How you believe you came into your power. If you find the whole witchy thing to be profitable.”

  “Witchy thing?” she asked. “Profitable? I really think you have the wrong—”

  “I’d like to get some blood samples and maybe some hair samples,” he interrupted once again.

  “Would you like us to pee in a cup for you?” she asked, totally offended.

  Not paying close enough attention to her changing mood, he grinned at her. “Really? Would you mind?”

  She suddenly felt like one of the specimens she’d studied under a microscope. He wasn’t even making eye contact with her, as he volleyed questions in her direction. What did he think she was, a side show?

  She took a deep breath, but her anger got the best of her. The room suddenly darkened, and the curtains whipped around in the sudden blast of cold air that blew through. “Yes, I mind,” Rowan stated forcefully. “What the hell do you think?”

  Henry blinked several times. What had just happened?

  “Um, I think you’re upset,” he ventured. “What did I do?”

  The room brightened, and the wind died down. But the storm was not diminished in Rowan’s eyes. Although, Henry could see that mixed with the storm was hurt, and for that, he sighed.

  “Please accept my apology, Rowan,” he said, “for whatever I just did.”

  She nodded, but her initial friendliness was gone. “I’ve got things I have to do,” she said dismissively. “I’ve got some tests to run in my lab. If you’re up to it, my mother can give you a ride to where you had your accident. If needed, she can also help you call the local tow truck. And she can probably give you more information about this witchy thing, as you call it. I wish you success with your research.”

  The door opened for her, and she stormed out. The door slammed, all on its own, with the same fury he’d seen in her eyes. He stared at the door for a long moment, then slipped out of the bed and headed to the adjoining bathroom. If Rowan’s reaction to his questions was representative of the rest of the Willoughby Witches, the sooner he got out of their home the better.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rowan stormed into the kitchen where her mother sat sipping a cup of tea. “This is so not going to work,” she exclaimed, angrily moving the dirty dishes from the tray to the dishwasher. “I am not going to be able to deal with Henry.”

  Her mother turned and watched the amazing fury that was her daughter. “Things didn’t go well this morning?” she ventured.

  Rowan turned, her eyes blazing. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “Being asked for samples of my blood and hair might be a part of polite conversation in England, but it just doesn’t cut it in the good old US of A.”

  Agnes picked up her cup and sipped again, hiding her smile. Rowan was usually so unshakeable and even-tempered, despite the reputation redheads generally had. But Henry had somehow gotten past that too cool reserve. Interesting.

  “So, what would you like me to do?” Agnes asked calmly.

  Rowan turned from the sink and sighed. “I lost my temper,” she admitted. “And I told Henry that you would be able to drive him back to where he had the accident. Unless, of course, he wanted to walk.”

  Smiling, Agnes nodded. “I can do that,” she said. “And what will you do?”

  Rowan inhaled slowly and tried to calm herself. “I’m going to go weed the lavender plants,” she said. “And if that doesn’t calm me down, I’m going to weed the chamomile. Then I’ll run the tests I had scheduled for today.”

  “That’s a good idea,” her mother replied. “I can take care of Henry this morning.”

  Rowan closed the dishwasher, wiped her hands on the dishtowel and grabbed her leather gloves from the shelf near the door. “Thanks, Mom,” she said. “I owe you.”

  She pushed the screen door open and walked out.

  Agnes walked over to the door, her cup in her hands, and watched her daughter jog down the steps and into the barnyard. “Yes, you do,” she said softly. “But don’t worry. Somehow it will all come out in the end.”

  Fuzzy appeared at her side, leaning against her for some attention. She absently stroked the wolf behind his ear as she watched her daughter climb into the Gator and head towards the fields.

  Agnes paused, a dark feeling of danger coming over her. She concentrated on it. Who was in danger? A quick vision of the General Store came to mind, and she knew something was threatening Cat.

  She started to turn when she saw that Rowan had turned the Gator around and was now driving it quickly in the direction of the General Store.

  Her heart calmed, and she allowed herself a moment of gratitude for the unique bond she and her daughters all shared. Then she looked down at Fuzzy. “Go over to the General Store and protect Cat,” she said. “And don’t leave her side until I tell you.”

  Instantly alert, Fuzzy darted through the house toward the large doggie door adjacent to the front door.

  “And now I can deal with Henry,” Agnes said softly.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Willoughby’s General Store had been part of the community for over one hundred years. What started out as a place of refuge from the uproar in Whitewater ended up being a place of belonging and family, where generations of Willoughbys had laid down roots.

  Although the store had increased in size over the years, it was still a place where shoppers could find salves, lotions, tinctures and other herbal remedies that could cure anything from poison ivy to acne. The first store had been a small pole and beam building that had been about twelve feet wide and twelve feet long. Now that original shop with its cedar-shingle roof and white pine beams served as the entranceway to the giant, barn-like store that held everything from local produce and crafts to a bakery and butcher shop.

  The apothecary portion of the store was near the front, its shelving bright and inviting. The bottles and tins filled with their various concoctions all possessed the familiar Willoughby logo. Most thought the two W’s stood for Wilhelmina Willoughby, the founder of the store. But those who understood the family’s secret knew it stood for the entire clan of Willoughby Witches.

  Cat was opening some boxes behind the counter when the sense of foreboding hit her. She looked up immediately to see Buck Abbott push open the door of the store and stride in. Buck and his associates had been the Willoughbys nemeses for as long as Cat could remember. From teasing them in grammar school to spreading rumors about them throughout the community, they had been little more than bullies. And the sisters had been able to deal with them in their own unique ways. But Cat had the distinct feeling that something or someone had emboldened them, and their level of malevolence was rising.

  Cat slipped out from behind the counter and walked across the floor. “May I help you?” she asked, blocking his way from moving farther into the store.

  He sneered at her, taking his time looking at her body. “Yeah, you can,” he said, slowly licking his lips and grabbing his jeans-covered crotch. “Cat-in-heat. Why don’t we just take ourselves outside behind the store, and we can help each other.”

  “Ugh, I just threw up a little in my mouth,” Rowan said, coming up alongside of Cat.

  He glared at her and shrugged. “You ain’t worth my time or effort, Row-hag,” he sneered.

  Rowan studied his face and saw a streak of purpling black and blue along his forehead, and his nose looked like it had been punched. “Hey, Abbott, looks like you walked into something.” She tapped her finger on the side of her cheek. “Or maybe the poor sheep you were romancing kicked the stall door into your head.”

  “Or perhaps you ran into a flashlight,” Cat suggested.

  Rowan gasped softly and knew Cat was right. “You?” she asked. “You did the wolf thing?”

  “You Willoughbys think you’re so powerful and so untouch
able,” he said, his hate for them obvious. “But things are gonna change. Things are gonna change soon. And then we’re going to have ourselves a little party with the Willoughby whores.”

  “No, that’s not going to happen,” Cat said calmly, although inwardly she was shaking with anger. “And if you harm any member of my family, you will die.”

  “An harm it none,” he sneered. “You can’t do a damn thing.”

  “I would sacrifice my soul to eternal damnation by killing you and your cohorts before I would let you harm any of my family,” she whispered, her voice filled with power. The shelves around her shook, the jars clinked together and the floor trembled.

  He stumbled back. “It still won’t be enough,” he replied, his voice shaky but determined. “We’re getting our power back. We’ll be able to do what we want, when we want. This time the Willoughbys won’t stand in our way.”

  “Buck, this is not what you want,” Rowan said calmly. “This power that you speak of will just use you and then destroy you. It is not something you can control.”

  “Maybe you can’t, but I can,” he said. “I’ve already tasted it, and I controlled it just fine.”

  “I noticed that last night,” Hazel said as she walked up from the back of the store. “When you rammed your ugly face into my shield. Wanna see what else I can do with my power?”

  He rubbed his nose, jolted at the pain, and then glared at her. “You forget. You’re tied to those stupid rules,” he said. “You can’t do nothing to me.”

  Hazel shrugged. “I think I could turn you into a rabbit,” she said. “And then, if you happened to dart away and Fuzzy happened to see you, I really don’t think I would be responsible for that.” She turned to her sisters. “What do you think?”

  “I’ve never heard that rabbits were harmful,” Rowan replied with a shrug.

  “And, considering Buck’s reply to my offer of help, he might enjoy being a rabbit,” Cat mused. “Yes, I can see it falling within ‘an harm it none.’”

  Cat spied Fuzzy standing on the porch of the store, waiting for permission to enter. “Fuzzy,” she called. Fuzzy trotted in, placed himself in front of the sisters and glared at Buck.

  “Okay, Hazel,” Rowan said. “Do it now.”

  Buck darted backwards, running into the door. “What the hell?” he asked. “That’s against the law!”

  Cat knelt down next to Fuzzy. “Rabbit,” she said to the wolf, and he immediately stood up and looked alert. Then she looked over to Buck. “And who would believe that we turned you into a rabbit and watched our wolf eat you?”

  He stumbled backwards. “This ain’t over,” he said. “You think you’re so smart. Don’t worry. We know all about that professor. We know that he’s the key. You ain’t going to win this one.”

  Hazel lifted her arms over her head.

  “Tail of cotton, ears of…”

  Buck ran out the door, sprinted across the parking lot and quickly jumped into his pickup truck and drove away.

  “What an ass,” Rowan said.

  Hazel nodded. “Good thing he left when he did,” she said. “I had no idea what the next line of the spell was going to be.”

  Rowan and Cat rolled their eyes. “Well, it was a good beginning,” Rowan laughed.

  Cat hugged the canine next to them. “Good Fuzzy,” she said, patting the wolf’s side. Then she looked up to her sisters. “This is not good. Buck’s powers have never been strong enough for him to shapeshift.”

  Rowan nodded and sighed. “And it seems that Henry is part of this, whether we like it or not.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Henry wiped the steam off the mirror, looked at himself and shook his head. “Well, Professor, once again your amazing interviewing skills and attention to detail are astonishing. Similar to the astonishing maiden voyage of the Titanic.” He laid his head against the mirror. “You’ve screwed up again. Big time.”

  He had reviewed his earlier conversation with Rowan as he was taking a shower, and he realized that he not only insulted her and her family, but also treated them like they were amoebas in a petri dish. He hoped that she would accept his apology.

  About ten minutes later he let himself out of the guest room and stood in the hallway, wondering which way to go. A sleek, tortoise-shell cat rubbed against his legs and purred.

  “Good morning,” he said to the cat. “You wouldn’t happen to know where the lady of the house is at the moment?”

  The cat meowed in response and then padded down the hallway. It paused at the end of the hall and looked back over its shoulder and meowed again, this time with a little impatience.

  “Oh, sorry,” Henry replied, hurrying after the cat. “I didn’t realize you actually were going to show me the way.”

  He followed the cat into the great room and stopped and stared. The large room had a rustic stone fireplace on one end with an ancient cauldron hanging on an iron rod. The chimney that rose up through the second floor was decorated with old, corn husk brooms, interspersed with small shelves that held folk art owls.

  The walls held quilts in the colors of summer and large, primitive Americana prints of New England scenes. The couches were overstuffed leather, and the tables gleamed of polished oak. The carpets were huge, braided throw rugs, and there were whimsical statues and beautiful crystals adorning tables, shelves and corner spots.

  On the wall next to him were a cluster of family photos. He could pick Rowan out immediately and could also see the striking resemblance of the other women in the photos. They all had the same colored eyes and heart-shaped faces.

  “Oh, good, you’re here,” Agnes said, hurrying across room towards him. “My name is Agnes. Agnes Willoughby.”

  She could have been one of the sisters, he thought quickly as he turned to meet her.

  “Yes, hello. I’m Henry. Henry McDermott,” he replied. “I’m sorry to cause you so much trouble.”

  She studied him. “You spoke to Esmerelda,” she said. “How unusual.”

  “No. I spoke with Rowan,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve been…”

  The cat wound itself around his legs, and he stopped himself. “Ah,” he said, looking down. “Of course, Esmerelda.” Then he looked at Agnes. “Actually, no, I didn’t really speak to her. I actually misunderstood her, and she got a little snippy when I didn’t respond correctly.”

  Agnes chuckled. “You know cats?” she asked.

  “My mother loved them,” he said. “Well, actually, my mother loved all creatures, and they loved her. She spoke to them often and damn if they didn’t understand each other.”

  “I would have liked your mother,” Agnes said. “Animals are highly particular about who they converse with. She must have been exceptional.”

  He nodded and was embarrassed to find that his throat was tight. He cleared his throat and smiled. “Yes,” he replied hoarsely. “Yes, she was.”

  “And you need a ride,” Agnes said brightly, changing the subject. “Do you remember which road you were on when you had your accident?”

  “I believe it was Old Pine Road,” he said.

  “Do you want me to call a tow truck before we leave?” she asked. “Or shall we have a look at it and see if we can get it to the cabin?”

  “Well, I suppose I should look at it first,” he said. “In the light of day.”

  “Good choice, Henry,” she said with a laugh that he didn’t understand. “Things are always a little clearer in the light of day.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Agnes drove a Jeep Wrangler. Henry wasn’t sure why that surprised him, but the lovely woman dressed in a long, sweeping skirt, peasant blouse and sandals seemed more like a Mini Cooper person than a four-wheel drive, off-roader. The Firecracker Red Jeep had studded, off-road tires, a winch on the front and a six-speed manual transmission. He was in awe, and he was jealous.

  Agnes smiled at him, held her keys in the air and wiggled them at him. “Would you like to drive?”

  “Really
?” he asked, astonished.

  She laughed. The look in his eyes when he saw her car was similar to a little boy gazing through the window of a candy store. “Of course,” she replied, tossing him the keys. “You know where we’re going better than I do.”

  He caught the keys and immediately headed for the passenger’s side of the car. Agnes caught hold of his arm and shook her head. “Wrong side,” she reminded him.

  Blushing, he shook his head. “I, er, was just going to help you in,” he improvised with a smile.

  Laughing, Agnes allowed him to help her up into the passenger’s seat, and then Henry walked over to the other side of the car.

  “She’s letting him drive?” Cat asked, walking up to Rowan, who was standing on the front porch of the Willoughby General Store. “She never lets anyone drive.”

  “I don’t really care what she lets him do,” Rowan replied. “As long as she gets him off our property, at least for a little while.”

  Surprised, Cat stared at her generally even-tempered sister. “What did he do?” she asked.

  “He asked me for a urine sample,” she ground out between clenched teeth.

  “Kinky,” Cat replied.

  Rowan turned, saw the grin on her sister’s face, and had to laugh too. “Okay, not kinky at all,” she admitted. “Nerdy. And rude. Extremely rude. I tell him that we’re witches. I even demonstrate by having his breakfast tray float out of the room, and all he wants to do is take notes and samples.”

  “Samples?”

  “Blood samples, hair samples,” Rowan said, waving her hands as she spoke. “So, I asked him if he would like us all to pee in a cup.”

  “But he didn’t notice the flames shooting out of your eyes?”

  Rowan snorted. “No, he was too busy dreaming about samples,” she said, pushing up her glasses. “And when he looked up with hope in his beady, blue eyes I nearly lost it.”

  “His eyes aren’t really beady,” Cat replied.

  “No. No, they’re not,” Rowan agreed. “They’re actually quite nice, which is a shame. Small-minded professors from England should have beady eyes.”