Get Witch Quick (Wicked Society Book 1)

by Daisy Prescott

Not sure if Alice is still at the Winthrop house with her handsome man or somewhere in this building, I say a silent thank you to her for the help and the clue today as I crawl under my covers.

  ***

  Four hours later, I’ve had a ninety minute nap, a bowl of pasta made by Mrs. Peale, and watched two episodes of Doctor Who with my favorite, David Tennant. Until they made the thirteenth Doctor a woman, I would’ve fought anyone who didn’t agree the Tenth Doctor is the best.

  Sam’s not a huge fan, so I know she’s indulging me by sitting with me.

  “You don’t have to babysit me.” I tug my blanket up to my chin, regretting not packing flannel pajamas.

  “I’m not.” She eats a piece of popcorn from the bowl propped on her lap.

  I give her a look that says I’m not buying it.

  “Fine. You went missing for hours today and were kidnapped by a flecking classhole. I don’t care if he’s Andrew’s father, he’s horrible. Then we find out from Geoffrey this is all part of ‘the bigger plan’ only no one bothered to tell us minions.”

  “Flecking classhole might be your best fake swear yet.” I grin at her. “I like that one.”

  “Thank you. Feel free to use it.”

  “I will.”

  “My point is that it’s been a rough day. Andrew was apoplectic and Tate had to subdue him, which led to them fighting.”

  “What?” I sit up. “Like with fists and punching?”

  “Arguing. I’ve never seen them like that.” Her brows furrow together.

  “I should text him. Make sure he’s okay.” I scan the coffee table while patting the blanket, trying to find my phone. “Should I go find him?”

  “Not happening. Send him a text.”

  Locating my phone in the crease between the cushions, I see I have three texts from Andrew. I hold up the screen for Sam to see.

  “At least he’s alive.”

  I tap the screen and the text thread appears.

  “Oh shit.”

  She turns the phone to face her. “Oh sugar jets is right. Let’s find Tate and Geoffrey. There’s no way you’re going there alone.”

  Thirteen

  Geoffrey insists we have Smith drive us. I argue it’ll be quicker to walk because it’s evening rush hour. I lose that fight.

  When Smith pulls into the front of Mass General Hospital, I open my door before the Mercedes comes to a full stop. Not waiting for anyone, I run, not wog, through the front doors. A large reception desk dominates the lobby. I don’t bother to ask for directions as I pass. I know I have to go up to the patient rooms and turn toward the elevator bank.

  Sam and Tate catch up with me as I jab the up button.

  “What’s the plan?” Tate asks, pulling my jabbing finger away from the wall. “We need a plan.”

  “Andrew is up there and getting to him is my goal. What comes next depends on if he is okay.” My stomach churns with fear and too much popcorn.

  The world’s slowest elevator finally arrives, delivering two patients in wheelchairs and their shuffling, dazed family members. I swear time slows as we wait for them to exit.

  “What floor?” Tate asks once we’re inside.

  A hand stops the doors from closing, and I groan, “Are you kidding me?”

  “Neuro ICU is on the sixth floor,” Geoffrey says calmly as he enters the elevator.

  “Six it is.”

  Time definitely slows as we ascend.

  A nurse’s station is empty when we arrive and that’s probably for the best because we’re not family of the patient and I have no idea what time visiting hours are.

  My shoes squeak on the highly polished floor as we calmly walk down the hall, peering in each room for Andrew. Beeping from monitors and the antiseptic soap smell do nothing to calm my nerves. I hate hospitals.

  We round a corner and I gasp. Andrew leans against the wall in the hall. From his exhausted pose, the wall is holding him up.

  “Andrew?” I say his name softly like calling to a skittish cat.

  Without lifting his head, he rolls it to the side and stares at me. “Hey.”

  I go to him, curling against his chest and holding him in my arms.

  “My father’s in a coma,” he mumbles. “I found him in his condo unconscious.”

  “We know, we read your texts.” Tate places his hand on Andrew’s shoulder.

  “I didn’t do it. I swear,” Andrew whispers. “I didn’t do this. I thought about doing something, revenge for what he did to Madison this morning. I’ll never forgive him, but I wouldn’t try to kill my own father.”

  “I believe you. We all do.” I lean away to stare into his eyes.

  “You weren’t the only one to wish revenge on him.” Sam steps closer to our side. “I called him a flecking classhole earlier.”

  Andrew’s lips curl up a tiny fraction in amusement. “Harsh, Sam.”

  “I know.” Faking shame, she hangs her head.

  “Do you want us to stay?” I ask him. “We’ll do whatever you want.”

  “Are the police involved?” Geoffrey asks, a nervous edge to his voice. “We should probably avoid any direct connection.”

  “I called 911 for an ambulance. There will be a record of that, but I told them he was unconscious when I arrived. They said the injury to his skull was consistent with a fall. It’s possible he slipped and fell down the stairs.” Andrew straightens and tightens his hold on me. With a quick kiss to the top of my head, he releases me. “I’m okay. I panicked.”

  “Was the book there?” Geoffrey asks. “Sorry, but we need to know if it’s still in his possession.”

  “I didn’t see it. I stayed behind to check, saying I had to lock up the condo.” Andrew sighs. “It wasn’t there.”

  “Who else knew?” Geoffrey turns his attention to me.

  “The driver and the woman in the passenger seat. I never got either of their names.”

  A nurse exits one of the rooms a few doors down. “What are you all doing here? This is an ICU, you can’t be here. There’s a waiting room downstairs.” Her ‘no time for nonsense’ tone means business. “You need to leave.”

  “You have my number if there’s any change with Mr. Bradford?” Andrew asks her. “I should be the contact person.”

  The rest of us begin moving toward the elevator.

  “Let me check his chart. If not, I’ll add you.” The nurse in her colorful, cats in space scrubs walks past us to the station. “Bradford, Bradford. Hmm. I have a Mrs. Putnam and an Andrew Wildes as contacts. I assume you’re Andrew?”

  “Yes,” Andrew replies, unfazed. “I’m his son and only family. Please make me the main emergency contact.”

  He thanks her and takes my hand. No one says anything until we’re inside of the elevator.

  “Well, I think we can assume that answers the question of which witch is working with Stanford,” Geoffrey says what we’re all thinking.

  “What does she look like?” I ask, already guessing at the answer.

  “Blond and well maintained from my memory.” Geoffrey studies me.

  “The woman in the car. I never got a good look at her. I should’ve put it together sooner. Mrs. Putnam, aka Lucy’s mother, aka Mrs. Howe’s daughter.”

  “That would make sense. Could she be behind the attack on my father?” Andrew muses.

  “Perhaps,” Geoffrey replies. “He could be a liability to their cause. Use him for his connections and get rid of him after he performs his role?”

  “Did you notice a cloyingly sweet perfume in his condo?” I ask Andrew. “Like a rotting bouquet of flowers?”

  His eyes flash to mine. “Yes. How did you know?”

  “Our dear Mrs. Putnam was wearing perfume earlier today. The car smelled like an expensive funeral.” I stick out my tongue in disgust.

  When the doors open, Geoffrey steps off the elevator first. “With every answer, we have a new question.”

  “I think I’d like to walk back to the brownstone. Madison, will you come wi
th me?” Andrew squeezes my hand.

  “Will you listen to me if I say I don’t think that’s a good idea?” Geoffrey sounds resigned.

  “No. We’ll meet you back there.” Andrew steps off of the curb. At the corner, he pauses. “Up and over or should we take the long way around?”

  “Long way. It’s only half a mile and we need to talk.”

  “If I apologize now for overreacting and, to quote Sam, ‘turning into an angry, flaming toadstool,’ will that help?” He lifts our joined hands and kisses my wrist while staring into my eyes.

  “Yes.” My voice comes out all breathy. Damn erogenous zones.

  “Forgive me? I never want to hurt you or see you hurt. My lizard brain took over and all I could see was red. I did want to hurt my father and put an end to his attacks.”

  “First, you’re forgiven.” I stop walking and lean up to kiss his cheek. “Second, whatever is going on is greater than your father and his selfish motives. Even if the book originated in the Bradford family, it contains all of our histories. We need to focus on deciphering its secrets.”

  “I’ve never come close to hating someone, truly hating another person, until this morning. Now he’s lying unconscious in the hospital and I’m torn between guilt, anger, and love, which is the worst of all. How can I have an ounce of love left for that man?”

  “Because he’s your father. His blood runs in your veins. His history is also yours. This is the battle we’re fighting. How is it possible to hate our common humanity?” I wrap my other hand around his elbow. “You didn’t cause his injury with your thoughts.”

  “You can’t say that for certain.”

  “No, I can’t, but it’s more likely he was attacked for the book. And it’s also likely he’ll survive his injuries. Once he does, we’ll have more answers. For tonight, he’s safe and we can send him good energy.”

  “When did you get so wise?” He rests his hand over mine.

  “You’re wearing off on me. All of the months I spent training with your mother taught me a few nuggets of wisdom and truth.”

  He stops to kiss me and I lean into his embrace.

  “I love you, Madison,” he whispers against my mouth. It’s an oath and a promise.

  “I love you.” My words echo his, both a confirmation and a sacred vow.

  We stroll down Charles Street, lined with antique gas lights glowing in the soft twilight shadows. Normal life continues all around us and for one evening, I want to go back to being just Andrew and Madison, a young couple in love. I want to be one of those smiling, happy couples in the picture frames on display in one of the shop windows. Or the pair ahead of us, laughing and weaving their way to dinner in one of the restaurants lining both sides of this block.

  My thoughts shift to Alice and her tuxedo wearing beau. I wonder if they’re happy, or were happy when they were alive. Why did they get lost in between worlds?

  Miss Alice, what do you know?

  “What are you thinking about?” Andrew swings our clasped hands between us. “You got lost there for a minute.”

  “Alice. The ghost. I’m trying to figure out what role she plays in all of this.” Pondering the ghostly couple, a flash of blue in the window of the antique jewelry store causes me to pause mid-step. My first thought is it must be the reflection of police lights on the glass and my heart races with panic that they’re coming for Andrew. However, the light doesn’t move or continue flashing.

  “What do you want me to see?” I ask the light, drawing closer to the window to peer at the display.

  Like a falling star fading out, the blue glow becomes a pinpoint over a gold locket decorated with the letter A surrounded by a delicate floral pattern. As I stare, the glow extinguishes and the locket disappears.

  “We need to get back to the Society.” I tug Andrew’s hand.

  “Why the rush? What did you see in the window?” He keeps up with my quicker pace.

  “Alice’s locket.”

  ***

  In my room, I retrieve the empty tampon box tucked in the back of my underwear drawer.

  “Do you need a moment in the bathroom?” Andrew asks from where he leans against the doorjamb.

  “Tampon boxes are the best hiding places because men won’t go near them. It’s like a magical menses force field of protection.” Opening the flap, I extract the envelope from my grandmother and show him.

  “Huh. I’d never think to look in there.” He chuckles. “Point proven.”

  “My grandmother told me to keep this safe until the right moment. I have a hunch what’s inside, but I don’t know how it’s going to help us.” I pause before tearing the corner.

  “Open it. If your instinct says now is the time, go with your heart.” He steps into the room as I rip off one of the short ends.

  Inside is a rectangle of old tissue paper and I gently pull it free from the envelope. Unfolding the delicate paper, I feel the oval shape before I see it. The paper falls away when I hold up the chain to inspect the locket for the delicate A I saw in the shop window.

  “It’s the same one. Why would Gram give me a locket?” I slip my nail into the tiny clasp to release it. “Oh, it’s not just a locket.”

  Inside is a small compass on one side. The other holds a lock of coiled, brown hair tied with a tiny white, silk bow.

  “Is there anything on the back?” Andrew stands over my shoulder. “May I?”

  I hand it to him. He flips it over and studies the back. “This was worn a lot. Look at the scratches.”

  “There are letters on the bottom edge. Can you read them?”

  “Hand me my phone, please. I need the flashlight.”

  I do as he asks and we both try to decipher letters from scratches.

  “I see an A. There.” I tap the edge.

  “ASW and a dash, then an N.” Andrew squints as he reads. “Could her maiden name start with a W and married name an N?”

  “Or the second N is a code.” Certainty fills my chest. “NESW were the letters repeated in the book.”

  “W for witch?” Andrew asks, reopening the locket and studying the compass.

  “No.” I tap the compass. “W would be west. North, east, south, and west. The cardinal directions and their corresponding elements. This is the book’s secret code. The initials are the name and the single letter is the type of witch the person was.”

  “Are you, have you … holy shit. You’ve unlocked the book?” he asks in awe.

  “Not just me. Alice played a major part. I would never have untangled the code without her.” I close the locket and press it to my heart.

  “Alice was an earth witch?” he whispers because this moment calls for reverence.

  “I think so.” My voice is thick with emotion. Goosebumps cover my skin as the truth of what this means hits me. “And I think we found our missing element to complete our power of five. Right now we are four witches. A true coven must have an odd number.”

  He frowns. “But we numbered eight when Sarah cast the circle.”

  I shake my head. “No, we were nine. Alice joined us.”

  His eyes widen. “Our coven has a ghost witch.”

  “I can’t wait to tell Sam. She’s going to flip out. And Sarah. And then find Alice.” My voice rises in excitement.

  Andrew meets my eyes. “Can we wait until morning? I want to curl up with you in this bed and make the world disappear for the rest of the night.”

  “Tomorrow will arrive no matter what tonight holds.” I return the locket to its hiding place.

  We turn off the lights and crawl into the middle of the bed. Wrapped in Andrew’s arms, I know I am safe and loved.

  I swear I feel the house release a happy sigh.

  “Goodnight, Alice,” I whisper into the dark.

  ***

  Thank you for reading Get Witch Quick!

  If you missed the story of Madison and Andrew falling in love, check out their beginning in Bewitched. Keep reading for the first chapter.

  I�
��m loving expanding the world of Bewitched into the new Wicked Society series for Love Spells. For more information and other books in the Love Spells collection, visit our website: www.lovespellsromance.com

  Someday my Witch Will Come, Sam and Tate’s book, releases October 25, 2018. There’s a sneak peek at the end of this book.

  If you enjoyed this book, please write a review and share it on Amazon, Goodreads, or Bookbub. Even better, tell a friend who might enjoy it, too. Thank you in advance!

  Bewitched

  Chapter One

  “Hester Pryne was a slut.”

  “She was not. You’re a Neanderthal asshat!” My chair scrapes across the worn wood floor as I stand and shout. Yep. Shout. I am shouting in my New England Fiction seminar led by a man in a tweed jacket with elbow patches. What is wrong with me?

  “Miss Bradbury, please sit down,” Professor Philips scolds me from the head of the long, polished mahogany table.

  I cross my arms and try to control my temper as I stare down the tree troll known as Luke Hamilton, aka self-proclaimed “Big Man on Campus” and golden-boy. “Professor Philips, how can you just let him spout off all that bull— nonsense about Hester Pryne being a slut? She didn’t take a religious vow or have sex with herself.”

  “That’d be hot.” Hamilton snorts from a few seats away. His golden-boy blond hair droops over his forehead as he doodles boobs with A’s on them in the margins of his book.

  Disgusting. I can’t figure out why he’s even in this class. Reading doesn’t seem to be his thing. The only things that appear to interest him are boobs, keg parties, and himself.

  I continue my rant. “It takes two people. Two. Hamilton and his hand don’t count as two people. Argh!” I toss my pen down on my notepad. “He’s missing the point. Hawthorne wasn’t slut shaming Hester.” I flail my arms around in some sort of awkward orangutan mating dance.

  A pen tapping at the opposite end of the long table draws my attention, and the spell of my frustration dissolves. The sound comes from Andrew Wildes, resident brooding, quiet, serious, handsome, slightly dangerous man of mystery. Or maybe he’s just quiet.