by Kristy Tate
“But since going back isn’t a choice, doesn’t it make sense to make the best of it?” Lizbet asked.
He slung his arm over her shoulder and kissed her temple. “Absolutely.” His back pocket buzzed with an incoming text. He pulled out his phone. “It’s Courtney. She wants us to meet them at the Wonderlust at eight.”
LIZBET FLINCHED BENEATH Courtney’s frown. “That’s the same dress you wore the last time,” Courtney said, raising her voice to be heard over the steady beat of the classic rock blaring from the speakers suspended from the ceiling of the Wonderlust club.
Lizbet glanced around at the crowd. Like Courtney, everyone in the bar wore a supernatural beauty. Lizbet doubted that anyone would even give her a second glance. “I don’t think anyone will notice.”
Courtney rolled her eyes and lifted her hand. “Do you mind?” she asked.
“Huh, no?” Lizbet wasn’t sure what she was agreeing to, but in a flash, her blue dress was transformed into a silver sequin-studded sheath.
“Wow,” Malcolm breathed.
The look in Declan’s eyes told Lizbet he agreed.
Malcolm motioned for them to sit at a corner table. Lizbet weaved through the crowd following the others, feeling increasingly out of place. Glancing around, she wondered if she were the only human in the room and if her ordinariness was as obvious to others as it was to her. She felt as if she wore a neon sign declaring her a human.
“Where did you guys go this afternoon?” Declan asked as they settled into a red crushed velvet booth.
Courtney’s eyes sparkled and she folded her arms and leaned across the table. “We had to watch the itch fest,” she said in a barely audible voice.
“You should have seen it,” Malcolm said. “It was hilarious.”
Courtney elbowed him. “Hush. We can’t let anyone know it was us.”
“We rubbed the plants into their underwear,” Malcolm said.
“Which was more than a little gross,” Courtney said.
“We were wearing gloves,” Malcolm told her.
“But still...” She shuddered.
“Just their underwear?” Lizbet asked.
“I wanted to do all of their clothes, but we ran out of time,” Malcolm told her.
“We were interrupted by a janitor,” Courtney said.
“Did he see you?” Lizbet asked.
Both Courtney and Malcolm shook their heads. “At least we don’t think so,” Courtney added.
“We got the most important parts,” Malcolm said with a smirk. “You have never seen so much contorting.”
“Or heard so much howling,” Courtney added. Her smile faded. “What’s happening with Mr. Neal?”
Declan shrugged. “I hated to just leave him there, but I’m sure someone must have found him by now.”
“What are you talking about?” Lizbet asked, her gaze flashing from Courtney to Declan. “What do you mean, someone would find Mr. Neal?”
Declan paled. “Geesh, I’m sorry, Lizbet. I should have told you. Mr. Neal is dead.”
“What?”
Declan put his hand on hers, trying to steady her. “We found him at the nursery. He probably had a heart attack.”
“And you’re just telling me now?”
Declan squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry. I know you liked him.”
“Of course I liked him! I thought you did, too.”
“I do! I mean I did.”
“But you just left him there without getting any help?”
“What were we supposed to do?” Malcolm asked. “We weren’t supposed to be there. We were invisible.”
“What if he wasn’t dead? What if it had been just a stroke or something?”
“He was cold... He didn’t have a pulse.”
“But still! Mr. Neal!” Lizbet pulled her hand out of Declan’s grasp. “I can’t... I can’t be here right now.” Standing, she tried to stalk away, but could only totter on her shimmery high heels.
Declan moved to follow her.
She stopped him. “Just give me a moment.”
It took her a long time to move through the crowd. Someone grabbed her bottom, a pale woman with long silver hair jostled her, a man with crimson lips and amber eyes leered at her. Was this where Declan now belonged? The thought made her breath catch.
Outside, the cool, damp air filled her lungs. Leaning against the building, she pulled off one shoe and then the other. With her feet firmly on the ground, she felt more like herself. She cast a glance over her shoulder, worried that Declan would follow. She couldn’t talk to him right now.
How could he be so heartless about Mr. Neal? She followed the sidewalk into a shadowy alley and took a seat at a step leading to a cigar shop’s back door. The smell of tobacco filled her head while tears gathered in her eyes.
Mr. Neal had given her a job when no one else would because she didn’t have a social security number. He’d taught her to love Mozart, Beethoven, and Bach and helped her realize that the plants had feelings, too.
And right now, she wondered if Declan had any feelings at all.
“Hey, pretty, why so sad?” a voice asked in the dark.
Lizbet glanced around, but she couldn’t see anyone. Who had followed her and why? She stood, looked right and left. Something fluttered above her head, ruffling her hair. Glancing up, she caught sight of black wings. Something tapped her on the shoulder. Whirling, Lizbet stumbled back just as a fist slammed into her face.
Pain exploded in her jaw and her vision blurred. She landed hard on her butt. Her head banged against the cigar shop’s door.
“Wait. Are you sure she was with them?”
She looked up, trying to focus despite the confusion and pain engulfing her. A tall lanky man hovered over her. She wondered if he had been one of the basketball players Declan had talked about.
“Why would those wolves hang with an ordinary thing like her?” the same voice asked.
The lanky man swung his foot and kicked Lizbet in the chest. She rolled away and curled into a tight ball as agony rippled through her.
Someone grabbed a handful of her hair. Lizbet mustered her remaining strength and screamed.
Footsteps pounded down the alley. The hand entangled in her hair released her.
A voice chuckled. “Now we got ourselves a real dog fight!”
The sickening sound of flesh hitting flesh filled Lizbet’s head. She uncurled, and tried to lift her head, but pain kept her down.
The sounds changed. Snarling replaced words. When Lizbet managed to raise herself to her elbows, she saw four wolves embroiled in a fight filled with fur, blood, and saliva.
EVERY PART OF LIZBET ached. She cracked open an eye and was surprised to find herself in her bed. Her closet doors gaped open and the silvery dress hung on the rod. The only telltale sign of the previous night’s trouble was that one of the silver shoes had lost its heel. The shoe lay on its side on the closet floor like a toppled tree.
Pain screamed through her when she tried to move, making her wonder if her rib was broken.
“What happened to you?” Tennyson asked.
“Dogs,” Lizbet said through dry and cracked lips, knowing that because of the cat’s absolute hatred of the species, he would need no further explanation. She crawled from her bed and stood on wobbly legs. After tottering to the mirror hanging above her dresser, she gaped at her reflection. She had expected to find her face looking as bruised and battered as she felt, but her skin was as flawless as always. She ran her fingertips over her lips. In the mirror they appeared perfect... This, she decided, had to be Courtney’s work. A witch was much more skilled than a plastic surgeon.
As if thinking of her could conjure her, Courtney appeared in the center of the room amid a haze of silvery light.
Tennyson sprang to his paws with a hiss.
“It’s okay,” Lizbet whispered, climbing back onto her bed and gathering her cat into her arms. She wanted to sound reassuring, but she heard the fear in her own voice. She stroke
d the cat.
“Sorry for barging in on you like this,” Courtney said as soon as she fully materialized.
Tennyson jumped from Lizbet’s arms and bolted out the open window.
“Chicken,” Lizbet murmured, even though she pretty much wanted to do the same thing.
“Declan is frantic about you.” Courtney strode across the room, picked up Lizbet’s phone from the bedside table and pressed buttons. “You need to keep this charged.” She waved the phone at Lizbet before settling down on the bed beside her and studying her. “How are you?”
Lizbet shrugged and tried to look brave.
“Pretty freaked out?” Courtney pressed.
Lizbet stared at her feet. “I don’t know if I can do this,” she whispered. “I love Declan, but I don’t want to be a part of this world.”
Courtney bumped Lizbet’s shoulder with her own. “Remember, being a werewolf wasn’t something Declan signed up for, either.”
“I know, but...”
“Besides, paranormals are a part of this world no matter what. You can ignore us and pretend we’re not here...but the truth is, we are here. We always have been. And we’re not going away.”
Lizbet swallowed. “I liked things better when I didn’t...”
“Feel threatened?”
Lizbet nodded. “I want to hate the werewolves, but the truth is, I don’t totally blame them. After all, we did—”
Courtney stood. “No. They absolutely deserved what they got and worse. They killed Jason Norbit! And framed Malcolm. They’ve ruined his life. Not to mention Declan’s! And they killed his grandfather and the nurse.” She clenched her fists. “We’re not the only ones who hate the werewolves. They’re considered the scrubs of the paranormal world. But I have an idea. Declan and Malcolm are already on board with it. I think we need to enlist the help of the other paranormals.”
Lizbet wanted to do nothing more than put a pillow over her head and ignore the rest of the world, but since Courtney looked so determined, she tried to look mildly interested.
“And we’re in luck! There’s a circle meeting tonight.”
Lizbet did not see how luck factored into anything. “A circle?”
“Of witches.”
“Like a coven?”
Courtney sighed. “There’s a lot of debate on that. Technically, a coven can only have nine or thirteen members and those members tend to adhere to the same practice of magic.”
“There are different ways to practice magic?”
“Of course.”
“But I’m not a witch. Are you sure they’ll want to include me in their circle?”
“Frankly, I think there are a good many wannabes in the circle—although no one would ever call them that. This circle is pretty open. Witches tend to be free spirits and—as a rule—they shun hierarchy or pride of any kind. They’ll be very welcoming, not because of who you are, but more because any sort of exclusivity or elitism violates their values.”
“What...how...why?”
“Don’t you see? We’ll ask the witches to help us drive the werewolves from the area!”
Lizbet tucked her arm around her bent knees. “How are they going to do that?”
“They’re witches! I’m sure they’ll have some ideas.”
“How long have you been a witch?”
“I’ve always been a witch. I was born a witch...as all witches are. We can’t be turned like vampires or werewolves.”
Lizbet thought Courtney sounded on the verge of boasting. “Yes, but how did you become a witch? Is it something you can work towards?”
“No. Don’t be silly. No one gets to choose their lineage.”
“So, it’s as if a witch-born has scored a goal in a match that mere mortals aren’t allowed to play in?”
Courtney blinked. “I’ve never thought of it like that. But you’re right. When it comes to becoming a witch, no one climbs a ladder, checks off tasks on a to-do list, or fulfills a list of requirements. Becoming a full-fledged coven member is dependent on one thing only—your blood. It’s either in you, or it isn’t.”
“So, how do they know if you have the right blood or not? I bet some people think they’re witches—or want to be witches—and they’re just not.”
“I don’t know everything.” Courtney nodded. “I’m new.”
“But I thought you said you were born a witch?”
“I was—eighteen years ago. And I’ve only been practicing for a few months. That makes me young—like infantile young. A lot of the sisters—that what we call each other—in the coven have been practicing for centuries. That’s why asking the coven for a favor scares me.” She braced her shoulders. “But I’m not just asking for myself. I can’t think of any other creature that doesn’t hate the wolves.”
“That’s gotta be rough on the wolves,” Lizbet said.
“We can’t feel sorry for them!” Courtney said. “We have to get rid of them!” She paused and looked at Lizbet. “Are you in?”
“Of course, but—“
“No buts! I’ll pick you up at a quarter to midnight.”
LIZBET NEARLY STUMBLED over her grandmother sitting at the kitchen table in the dark. Elizabeth had her head buried in her arms and Lizbet couldn’t tell if she was asleep, awake, or... “What’s the matter, Grandma?” Lizbet asked.
When Elizabeth slowly raised her head, a whoosh of relief washed over Lizbet.
“I just don’t know what’s going to happen, child,” Elizabeth said.
Lizbet put her hand on her grandmother’s shoulder and glanced at the clock. She had about ten minutes before Courtney would pick her up. She desperately wanted Elizabeth safely tucked in bed by then. She didn’t have time for a heart to heart, and that made her feel guilty. Her grandmother had given her so much—shelter, both physical and emotional, food, guidance. After a quick glance out the window at the rising moon, Lizbet asked, “What do you mean?”
“Your aunt thinks I’m too old to be living here on my own...and sometimes I think she’s right.”
Lizbet dropped into a chair beside her grandmother and clasped Elizabeth’s hand in hers. “But you’re not on your own. I’m here. My mom’s here. We’re not going to leave you or the ranch.”
Elizabeth raised her red-rimmed eyes to meet Lizbet’s gaze. “But you should! You should go to school. Daugherty should marry John!”
Lizbet laughed. “I think that’s up to my mom and John.”
“And you should go away to college! Have adventures!”
“I’d rather stay here.”
“You don’t mean that.”
Lizbet squeezed her grandmother’s hand. “But I do.” An idea clicked. “And I can prove it to you!”
“Now, how—”
Lizbet jumped to her feet. “Wait right here. I’ll show you.” She ran to her room and returned moments later with a bottle of blackberry wine.
“What’s this?” Elizabeth asked.
“This is magic, pure and simple,” Lizbet said, and she pulled a glass out of the cupboard. “Although it doesn’t always work. I hope tonight it will, for your sake.” She set the glass and bottle in front of her grandmother. “This is Matias and Maria’s mawmaw’s wine. But don’t worry. It’s not really alcoholic. I don’t know why they call it that.” She filled the glass. “But it is...amazing. Although not always.”
“What does it do?” Elizabeth picked up the glass with a shaky hand.
“Sometimes...it will show you glimpses of the future.”
“I’m not sure I want to see my future. I don’t have much of one left and I’m terrified Josie is going to stick me away in a home.”
“I think if you just take a swallow of this, you’ll see how much my mom and I love living here with you.”
“Are you sure?” Elizabeth asked.
“Absolutely,” Lizbet said. “We’re not going anywhere.” She kissed her grandmother’s cheek and prayed for Mawmaw’s magic to happen before Courtney arrived.
Elizabeth rai
sed her eyebrows and tilted the glass to her lips while Lizbet waited.
After a long moment, Lizbet asked, “So, what did you see?”
“It was a memory.” Elizabeth gave her a dreamy smile. “I saw your grandpa. He looked so handsome...so young. He was holding out his hand to me and there was music playing.”
“Were you young, too?”
“I was.” She looked into the now-empty glass as if she expected it to tell her something. “You know, I don’t feel old on the inside. In my head, I’m still that young girl your grandpa fell in love with. It’s only when I try to get up on a horse, or plant the tomatoes, or a million and one other things that make my body creak that I’m reminded that I can no longer do the bunny-hop without getting wheezy.”
Lizbet squeezed her grandmother’s hand. “Well, I love you, no matter how wheezy you get.”
A DENSE, COTTONY FOG hung in the trees. A few owls called out to Lizbet as she followed Courtney into the state park. “Don’t witches get cold?” Lizbet asked.
“Are you cold?” Courtney threw a glance over her shoulder.
Lizbet huddled into her jacket and tried to forget about the warm bed she’d left behind. The path weaved in front of them, twisting through trees and tangled bushes full of thorns and stickers. Her body ached from her beating. Even though the physical wounds weren’t obvious, the emotional trauma ran deep. She twitched at every snapping twig. Her skin prickled with apprehension and goosebumps pimpled her arms and legs. If she were an insect, her antennas would be waving in the air, searching for danger.
A lone figure sat on a fallen log, her face shadowed by the hood of her dark cape. As they approached, she uncurled from her perch.
“You’re late,” she said without a greeting.
Courtney stiffened. “I didn’t know I was expected.”
The woman chuckled. “You thought you could take us by surprise?”
“No...” Courtney’s voice faltered. “But I had hoped... Do you know why I’ve come?”
The woman, draped in black, was neither beautiful nor ugly. Her face had an ageless appearance, and her cloak covered her head to toe, but she carried herself as if she were royalty. The only remarkable thing about her was the staff she carried. It was blacker than the night sky and shaped like a snake. The handle was carved like a head and two glowing rubies formed the eyes. Lizbet couldn’t help staring at it.
