Rowan's Responsibility

by Terri Reid

  He stepped out of his car and had only walked a few steps toward the house when the front door opened and Agnes walked out. He didn’t know how she did it, but she looked as young as she had when he left eight years ago. He braced himself for the anger and was shocked to see a smile.

  “Donovan,” she said warmly. “It’s good to see you again.”

  He walked up to the base of the stairs and met her. “Is it?” he asked candidly.

  She nodded. “Yes, it really is,” she replied. “Can you come inside?”

  “Thank you, yes,” he said, climbing the stairs and joining her.

  When they walked into the house, he paused just inside the doorway and slowly looked around. “It hasn’t changed,” he whispered, feeling like he finally arrived home.

  Agnes shrugged. “Well, we have dusted and swept a few times since you left,” she teased. “But for the most part, it’s stayed the same.”

  He turned to her and smiled. “I don’t know if you realize how much your home and your family meant to me when I was growing up,” he said. “You accepted me for who I was and took me in when others had shunned me. You became my family.”

  Agnes smiled sadly. “But that wasn’t enough, was it?” she asked.

  He turned away from her and studied the fireplace for a moment. “I had to prove myself,” he said. “I had to be somebody.”

  “And see, that’s where we differ in looking back,” she said. “To us, you already were somebody.”

  He nodded. “You all had more faith in me than I had in myself,” he said.

  She put her hand on his sleeve. “We still have faith in you, Donovan,” she said.

  He turned to meet her eyes. “Do you trust me?”

  She paused for a long moment and sighed. “I really want to trust you,” she said.

  “Well, I guess that’s going to have to be enough for right now,” he replied. “I need to meet with you, with all of you, and tell you about some of the things I’ve learned.”

  Agnes nodded. “Come into the kitchen with me,” she said. “And I’ll call the girls in.”

  He followed her into the kitchen and sniffed the air appreciatively. Then he paused. “That smell,” he said in surprise. “Aren’t those…”

  “Your favorite cookies?” Agnes asked, taking a plate of cookies from the counter and placing them in the middle of the table. “Yes, I believe they are.”

  “How did you…” he stopped and shook his head ruefully. “I could never surprise you.”

  “Whether you acknowledge it or not,” Agnes said, “you are one of my own. I like to keep tabs on my own.”

  Hazel walked through the back door. “You called?” she asked. Then she stopped and looked at the man seating himself at the table. “Well, this is certainly an interesting turn of events. Hello, Donovan.”

  He stared at her for a moment. “Hazel?” he asked. “Really?”

  She grinned. “I grew up a little in eight years,” she replied. She sat down at the table and grabbed a cookie. “You’re looking good. Sacrificed any virgins lately?”

  He smiled at her and shook his head. “I can assure you, they were all willing,” he teased.

  “Remember, I am standing in the room, within hearing distance,” Agnes said and bit back a smile when Donovan blushed.

  “I’m so sorry,” he apologized.

  “Sorry about what?” Rowan asked as she and Henry came into the room.

  “Donovan was just bragging about his conquests in front of me and mom,” Hazel said casually. Then she leaned towards him. “And how many virgins did you say?”

  He groaned softly and buried his face in his hands. “Can we just start over?” he begged.

  “Funny, that’s something I’ve wished for years,” Cat said as she walked through the door. “Donovan.”

  He stood up and met her eyes for a long moment. “Catalpa,” he replied. “It’s good to see you again.”

  She shrugged off his greeting and then turned to Henry. “Has anyone introduced you two?” she asked.

  “We just came in before you,” Henry replied. “So, we haven’t had a chance.”

  Henry reached over and offered his hand to Donovan. “I’m…”

  “Professor Henry McDermott,” Donovan finished. “Yes, I know. I’m Donovan Farrington. And I have some information for all of you, including you professor, that you need to take very seriously.”

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  “Do we need to meet in a circle?” Agnes asked.

  Donovan shook his head. “No, I think we’re safe,” he said.

  “What did you need to tell us?” Cat asked, her voice business-like and cool.

  Donovan turned to her and sighed. “Okay, the coven is meeting again,” he said. “They have some of the older generation presiding at the meetings, but some of the younger ones are starting to go off and do things on their own.”

  “Like Buck?” Rowan asked.

  Donovan nodded. “Exactly,” he said. “Buck has a group of them following his lead. They meet over at the Dark Arts and sit in the corner and drink and plan.”

  “Not last night,” Henry inserted.

  “Excuse me?” Donovan asked.

  “Last night I decided to visit the Dark Arts and see what I could learn there,” Henry said.

  “That was not a very wise thing to do,” Donovan remarked.

  Henry shrugged. “When I got there, I was told that most of the coven were not there because they had a special meeting,” he said. “Do you know anything about that?”

  Donovan shook his head. “No. No, I don’t,” he admitted. “And that has me even more concerned. I had been able to temper some of Buck’s antics, but if they’re doing things behind my back…”

  “What kinds of things are they capable of?” Rowan asked.

  Donovan shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “Somehow they’ve been able to link with the entity.”

  “That’s impossible,” Cat said. “He’s still bound. He has no power.”

  Donovan shook his head. “I don’t know how it’s being done,” he said. “But somehow they’ve been given access to power they haven’t had in a long time.”

  “Like Buck’s shapeshifting,” Hazel mentioned.

  “Exactly,” Donovan said. “And, their personalities are changing. They are more aggressive and less cautious.”

  “Well, Buck was never an incredibly bright young man,” Agnes said. “And power mixed with stupidity is a dangerous combination. What can we do?”

  “I wish I knew,” Donovan said.

  “Wait. You came out there to tell us this without any solutions?” Cat asked.

  “The coven is getting stronger. They are preparing for the release, looking forward to it,” he said. “They see this as a chance to gain power and push their agendas. Even the men who I believe are well-intentioned are being caught up in this frenzy.”

  “And we are the only things standing in the way of their success,” Cat said.

  “You and the professor,” he said.

  “What do they think I have?” Henry asked.

  “All Buck told me was that the entity told him that you held a key,” Donovan said.

  “Well, if someone could just tell us what the key is, things would be a lot easier,” Hazel said.

  “You don’t know?” Donovan asked.

  Henry shook his head. “I came here to research the legend of the Willoughby Witches. I had no idea about any of this until I was run off the road by your friend Buck and then rescued by these amazing women. Actually, when you think of it, Buck caused your group more harm than good. Had I been able to just go to the cabin, I probably wouldn’t have gotten as involved as I have.”

  Hazel shook her head. “Yes, you would have Henry,” she said. “Sooner or later, fate would have led you here. Just like it did Donovan all those years ago.”

  “Fate led you here?” Henry asked. “Then why are you on the other side?”

  Donovan met Henry’
s eyes and sighed. “I’m where I need to be at the moment,” he said. “That’s all the explanation I can give you.”

  Chapter Forty

  The drive back to Whitewater only took about twenty minutes. It always amazed Donovan that twenty miles in the late 1800s was enough of a separation from the city that the Willoughbys and other witches had been safe from persecution. As he pulled down the narrow residential street and turned at his driveway, he thought about what Cat had said, “And we are the only things standing in the way of their success.”

  A chill ran down his spine. He needed to figure out what Buck and the others had said during their private meeting. He activated the garage door opener and drove his car inside. Without thinking, he quickly pressed the opener again to close himself in and then opened his door and got out of the car.

  A thick arm wrapped around his throat and pulled him tight. “Been with your Willoughby whore, Donovan?”

  The voice was thick and raspy, but he knew it was Buck. But whatever he had shapeshifted into was much stronger than Donovan.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he exclaimed, struggling to get free.

  “Yeah, that just what I want to know too,” Buck said. “Why are you meeting with them? You’re supposed to be on our side.”

  “I am on your side,” Donovan said, trying to pull the arm away from his throat. “I went there to get more information on the professor. The idiots still trust me.”

  The arm around his neck tightened even more, and Donovan felt his windpipe being crushed. The light was already dimming and the room around him becoming blurry.

  “What did you learn?” Buck asked.

  “He doesn’t have any idea about the key,” Donovan said. “He only came here to do research.”

  “You expect me to believe that?” Buck asked.

  Donovan gasped for air. “It’s the truth,” he gasped.

  “Maybe it is, and maybe it’s not,” Buck chortled, but he released his hold on Donovan’s neck.

  Gasping, Donovan dropped to his knees, his lungs burning as air finally filled them.

  “You’ve got to understand, Donnie-boy,” Buck said, “that I’m the one in charge now. I have the backing of the coven. I have the power from the Master.”

  Donovan looked over his shoulder. Buck was now a half-man, half-wolf creature with a thick protruding snout, long fangs and a massive body. “The Master?” Donovan asked.

  “He told me to call him that,” Buck said. “He told me that I was his second in command.”

  Donovan struggled to his feet, using the side of his car to pull himself up. “Listen, Buck,” he said. “You have to be careful. This power…this entity—”

  “His name is the Master!” Buck screamed.

  “Okay, right, the Master,” Donovan said. “He might not be giving you the straight story.”

  Buck moved closer to Donovan. “He told me that you would question him,” Buck growled, spittle dropping off his fangs. “He told me that you would try and stop us.”

  “Stop you from what?” Donovan asked.

  Buck smiled, a canine leer that pulled up one side of his face. “Stop us from getting rid of the key, of course,” he said.

  “I told you,” Donovan pleaded. “The guy knows nothing. He’s just writing a book. That’s all. He’s innocent.”

  Buck lifted his arm and hit Donovan’s side, sending him flying in the air and crashing against the wall of the garage. Buck leapt over the space and landed in front of the now unconscious man. Leaning over, he shook his head. “Ya gotta learn, Donnie-boy,” he growled. “Sometimes the innocent gotta die to further the cause.”

  Chapter Forty-one

  Henry sat at the kitchen table, drinking tea and flipping through old diaries and photo albums. This was the fourth day of his research with the Willoughby women.

  After the first day he’d spent with Rowan, looking through the grimoire, nothing other than the interesting ingredients for a love philter caught his interest.

  The next day he spent with Hazel, mucking stalls, milking goats, processing the milk and even working in the cheese barn. Still, nothing clicked when it came to an answer about the spell.

  The day after that he spent working with Cat in the store, watching the way she worked with both customers and employees, then observing the work she did with inventory, stocking and advertising. It was all very interesting, but nothing that seemed to be noteworthy.

  He was hoping that Agnes and her family history might hold the key that he was supposed to discover.

  “Did you find anything?” Agnes called from the great room.

  Henry shook his head. “Well, your great-great-uncle Fergus was something of a lady’s man,” he called out. “And he had quite a collection of ladies’ shoes that he kept as souvenirs.”

  Agnes came back into the kitchen carrying several other large albums. “I remember hearing about Fergus,” she said as she placed the books on the table and smoothed her hair back into place. “The rumor was that Fergus only pretended to be a lady’s man in order to confiscate the shoes. He had a little bit of a shoe fetish.”

  Henry chuckled. “You don’t say,” he replied.

  Agnes nodded. “When he finally passed, they found over two hundred shoes hidden in various spots in his house,” she whispered with a twinkle in her eye. “Scandalous.”

  “I had an uncle who collected soap,” Henry said.

  Agnes slipped into the chair next to Henry. “Well, that’s not all that unusual,” she said.

  “From everywhere he went,” Henry added. “Homes, schools, hotels, businesses. I remember my father taking all the extra bars of soap up to the attic to lock them up whenever Uncle Finnian would come to visit.”

  Agnes laughed. “I always wanted to be the odd relative,” she confessed. “They are so much more interesting than the crabby ones.”

  “I think you are probably more destined to be the delightfully eccentric relative,” he replied.

  “Well, thank you, Henry,” she replied. “That was sweet.”

  She slipped the big album off the stack, and the book fell open. In the middle of the page was a picture of a child. Henry gasped softly. He knew her. He knew that little girl.

  “Wasn’t Rowan adorable as a child?” Agnes had asked with a fond smile.

  Henry looked up, confused. “Rowan?” he asked.

  Agnes nodded. “Yes, my little middle child,” she said. “She was so cute.”

  “Yes, she was,” he finally said, shaking his head to clear it. “Funny, she looked like someone I used to know.”

  “Who was that, dear?” Agnes asked.

  Henry tried to think of who it was but couldn’t remember for the life of him. “It must have been someone from when I was a child,” he surmised. “I’ll probably think of who it was later.”

  “Oh, isn’t it nice that you knew someone who looked like Rowan?” she replied. “Perhaps she was a relative. With so many witches going back to England after the mess in Whitewater, that is a good possibility.”

  “Did any of your relatives go to England?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Oh, no, we promised that we would stay here,” she said, and then she shrugged. “Well, at least for one hundred and twenty years.”

  Agnes studied Henry. He looked pale. “Henry, are you alright?” she asked.

  He nodded and ran his hand through his hair. “I think I have a bit of a headache,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”

  Agnes looked over to the clock on the kitchen wall. “Well, it’s no wonder,” she said. “It’s five o’clock. We’ve been at this for hours.”

  She closed the album and put her hand on Henry’s sleeve. “The girls will be here any moment,” she said. “Why don’t you stay for dinner?”

  “Thank you, Agnes,” he said. “But I think I need to process all the information I’ve gathered over the past week. My mind is just reeling with it, and I know I’d be poor company.”

  “Any t
ime there’s a handsome man at the table, it’s good company,” she teased.

  He smiled at her, then stood up. “Thank you again,” he said. “But there’s something on the tip of my brain, and I need to figure out what it is.”

  She stood too and laced her arm through his. “Thank you for doing so much for us,” she said.

  “We’re all in this together,” he replied. “Aren’t we?”

  Chapter Forty-two

  Henry was about to leave when Hazel dashed into the room.

  “I need help!” she exclaimed, her usual calm and teasing manner gone, replaced by a look of panic.

  “What’s wrong?” Agnes asked, standing up and hurrying over to her daughter.

  “It’s Clover,” Hazel explained. “She’s been laboring for hours. She’s almost worn out. I don’t know…”

  Henry looked over in amazement as Rowan hurried into the kitchen. “Clover?” she asked Hazel.

  Hazel nodded and wordlessly, they both jogged out of the house toward the barn.

  “You might want to join them,” Agnes suggested. “This would be very interesting for your research.”

  Not needing further encouragement, Henry jumped up and hurried after them. He entered the barn only a few moments after they’d arrived, but both women were already in a stall, kneeling on the straw next to the very, pregnant goat.

  “Hey, sweetheart,” Rowan said, her voice soothing and gentle. “How are you doing?”

  The goat bleated weakly in reply.

  “Okay, we’re going to take a look,” Rowan said, placing her hands on the goat’s belly.

  Rowan closed her eyes and could see the tiny baby goat in Clover’s womb. Its little heart was pounding, and it was in distress. “The baby is breach,” Rowan said. “And its legs are tangled together, so it’s stuck.”

  “What can we do?”

  Rowan opened her eyes, surprised to find Henry kneeling beside them. She smiled at him and nodded. “Well, let’s see if we can help move him around,” she said. She turned to her sister. “Ready?”