Four Warned

by Cindy Stark

  “Yeah, well, this whole holy water thing needs to stop. People are getting out of control.”

  She peeked out the window again, looking for signs of them. “They’re only kids.”

  At the sound of a motorcycle engine racing away, she jerked her gaze to the opposite end of the street and caught side of a shiny black Harley with a hotter than sin dude driving away.

  That didn’t mean Victor had been involved in Peter’s attack, but she’d bet her best broom that he wasn’t innocent.

  She turned back to Peter and snickered again. “Looks like they’re gone, and you’re safe now.”

  A smile hovered in the corner of his mouth. “You think this is funny?”

  She tried to hold back a chuckle but failed. “Kind of.”

  He lifted his chin in acknowledgement and stepped toward her. “We’ll see about that.”

  She tried to fake to the left and head to the right, but he caught her around the waist anyway. She laughed and pushed against his soaked shirt in protest. “You’re getting me all wet.”

  Laughter danced in his eyes as he stared hard into hers. Her heartbeat raced to catch up with his and then fell into undeniable synchronization.

  “It’s only a little water,” he whispered and lowered his mouth to hers.

  Heat and desire whipped through her, and she fought to keep her senses straight. When need threatened to overwhelm her, she pushed against his chest.

  A breathless laugh slipped from her, and she ran a hand down her damp shirt. “That was some kiss, officer.”

  He grinned. “Liked that, did you?”

  She should have never let him know how much he affected her. “Just a little.”

  He chuckled then. “Do you have a towel I can use?”

  Hazel pulled a towel from the linen closet and returned to him. “I hope you caught a glimpse of their faces.”

  “Not one,” he said with disappointment. “I was halfway to your doorstep when they started launching a million a minute. I didn’t want one in the face, so I ducked and ran.”

  “Good thing they didn’t catch you in a dark alley.” She turned her lips into a teasing smile.

  “Uh-huh.” He scrubbed the towel over his short hair, making it stand straight up. She ran her fingers over it, smoothing the strands.

  “I stopped by to see if you wanted to go for ice cream, but I think it might be safer to stay indoors for now.”

  She schooled her features into a serious look and nodded. “Probably for the best. If you want, I could toss your shirt in the dryer.”

  Which would leave him shirtless again, but she wouldn’t complain.

  “It’s not that wet.”

  “It’s wet enough to be uncomfortable if you plan on hanging out.”

  He sighed. “Fine.” His fingers went to work on the buttons.

  When he’d removed his shirt and undershirt and handed them to her, she paused a moment to give him an obvious stare of appreciation. Her grin turned saucy, and then she headed to her dryer.

  “Be careful when you look at a man like that,” he called after her.

  She changed from her damp shirt into a soft cotton tank while she was at it and returned with her silky pink robe in hand. “You can wear this if you’d like.”

  He snorted. “First of all, I don’t wear pink. Second, I doubt my arms will fit.”

  She glanced over him again, appreciating his amazing biceps this time, and then tossed the robe aside. “You’re probably right.”

  He turned and reached for the quilt on the floor.

  “Wait,” she said, but it was already too late. He’d lifted the quilt, revealing the two ancient tomes on the floor.

  He glanced to her with a questioning gaze and then back to them. “What’s this?”

  She hurried forward and picked them up, holding them close to her chest. “Books. Very old books.”

  He stared at them. “They look like it.”

  Son of a biscuit. She’d revealed her witchy heritage to him already, but she’d tried to downplay most references to it in her life. At some point, though, she’d have to trust him instead.

  She slowly lowered them from her chest. “One is Clarabelle’s spell book, and the other belonged to Glenys’ relative.”

  His eyebrows shot up his forehead, and he met her gaze. “How did you end up with hers?”

  She crinkled her nose, not wanting to tell him. “Oh, boy. Umm…it’s a long story that might involve breaking and entering, although technically the door was unlocked when I went in… Is it illegal to enter if the door isn’t locked?”

  His gaze grew concerned. “Were you invited in? Did Glenys know you were in her house?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then yes, it’s illegal.”

  She cast her gaze downward in mock submission. “I can’t believe I just confessed that to the police chief.”

  “Did another witch go with you? Coerce you into entering?”

  She glanced up at him. “Does my cat count?”

  He dulled his expression. “You’re not serious.”

  “Actually, I am. He talks to me, too.”

  Peter held up his hands. “Okay, whoa. You’re pulling my leg.”

  She stared at him with a hopeful gaze, and he shook his head in denial.

  She hoped she hadn’t gone too far. “I probably shouldn’t have told you all that so soon. You’re not going to run away, are you?”

  He hesitated long enough to make her squirm, and then eyed the books in her arms. “I’ll stay as long as you let me have a peek inside those.”

  She snorted. “Your curiosity is as bad as mine.”

  Fourteen

  Hazel led Peter to the couch where they sat together. Showing him this intimate part of her life was a huge thing to her, and she hoped he understood that.

  She handed Clarabelle’s book to him, ignoring the sizzle where her arm bumped his bare skin. “This one belongs to my family. To Clarabelle.”

  He gently took it from her but didn’t open it. “Passed down through generations?”

  She shook her head. “Mr. Kitty showed me where it had been hidden in Clarabelle’s house, quite possibly since she’d lived there.”

  He lifted a doubtful brow, and she shrugged. “I’m telling the truth. I was quite shocked to find it, too. It happened that day when I’d twisted my ankle. Mr. Kitty had knocked me down the stairs and that’s where I found it. Hidden beneath one of the steps. I can show you the space sometime.”

  “Fascinating,” he said under his breath. He glanced at her. “May I?”

  She nodded.

  He lifted the cover, trailed a finger down the page. “Better to follow your heart, or you’re already dead.”

  She leaned closer to him and scanned the writing. “I guess that’s the motto she lived by.”

  “Sounds like some wise words.”

  His skin was warm, his arm strong, and she soaked up the heat. “There are other words in there that might not be so wise…or at least not nice. Scary things.”

  He angled a sideways glance at her. “What do you mean?”

  She held his gaze, waiting for his reaction. “Blood spells. Dark magic.”

  “Stuff that really works?”

  She twisted a strand of hair around her finger. “Possibly. There are spells or parts of spells that coincide with the draining of Redemption Pond where the town tried to drown them. The Witches’ Wrath. Others.”

  The air tightened, and she drew a section of her hair across her lips. She feared at any moment, he’d say he’d heard enough and run for the hills.

  “You’re telling me the crazy lore that everyone goes on about is real?”

  She swallowed. “I don’t exactly know since I wasn’t there, but it seems like maybe. Some of Clarabelle’s spells are only partial spells and ingredients. The rest seem to be in the other book.”

  “Have you tried them?”

  She scoffed and leaned back. “No, I haven’t tried them. Are
you crazy? I tried that truth-telling spell on myself before I used it on Glenys to get her to confess, and I nearly spilled my entire guts to Charlie Rossler. I might as well have given him complete access to my diary.”

  One side of Peter’s mouth lifted. “I’d like to read your diary.”

  She elbowed him but smiled. “I don’t know why. There’s nothing in there about you.”

  He gave her a wounded look. “Nothing?”

  “Okay, maybe a little.”

  He grinned. “I bet there’s a lot more than that.”

  “We are not talking about my diary. Not when we have three-hundred-year-old tomes right in front of us.”

  “I’m more interested in your diary,” he teased.

  She cleared her throat. “Pay attention. I’m trying to tell you about another that turned my irises purple.”

  He narrowed his gaze. “I remember that. You said it was because you wore contacts.”

  She lifted her hands in defeat. “What else was I going to say? That I’d practiced witchcraft and screwed up a spell?”

  He chuckled. “Yeah…probably not.”

  “The only other thing I’ve done besides those and what you witnessed with Glenys was a money spell. That only earned me five bucks.”

  “Sounds like you need to get better at this. We could retire early.”

  She liked the way his words hinted that they might grow old together. “Trust me. To get any great benefit from that one, you’d have to pay a hefty cost. Besides, it’s blood magic. Always dangerous.”

  He scowled. “You tried blood magic? I thought that was bad.”

  Shame nipped at her. She’d always promised her mother she’d steer clear. “Only a small spell, and only because Mr. Kitty wouldn’t stop nagging me to learn.”

  Peter glanced about the room. “Where is he? Do you think he’d talk to me?”

  “I’m pretty sure you don’t want him to. He never has anything good to say. Although,” she added grudgingly. “He did save my butt a few times. Another witch in town says he’s Clarabelle’s cat who’s never died.”

  He shook his head and gave a sarcastic laugh. “That might be a little too much to believe.”

  She agreed with a nod. “I have to wonder if he’s an offspring, too. But he does have some amazing abilities.”

  She paused for a moment and then reached up to touch his cheek. “Thank you for letting me share this with you. It’s been so hard to keep it all inside.”

  “I thought you had other witchy friends.”

  “One friend, remember? And I haven’t dared tell her everything. Not about the tomes, especially. I do trust her, but this town can make people crazy.” She waved a finger over the spell books. “I’m not sure about any of this, and I don’t want to share until I am.”

  His expression softened. “But you’ll share it with me?”

  She stared into his eyes, practically feeling the threads between them growing, and she nodded. “I’ve wanted to before now, but I didn’t know what you’d think.”

  “It’s all pretty incredible. That’s for sure. But I believe you, Hazel. And I believe in you.”

  Her heart melted like chocolate over a flame. She leaned closer, and he claimed her lips in the sweetest kiss she’d ever experienced. This falling in love stuff was so much more than she’d expected, but so amazing, too.

  He released her and glanced at the books. “Can we try a spell?”

  A jolt of panic knocked her. “Here? Now?”

  “Why not?”

  “Because what if something goes wrong? I know tons about potions and healthy spells. The rest of this is all new, and messing with it scares me. I could blow up the house.”

  He chuckled. “Not if you do a little one. On me. I’ll volunteer.”

  “You, Chief Parrish, are insane.”

  He slid an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him. The back of her arm slid against his strong chest, sending more shivers cascading through her. “You, Miss Hardy, should never underestimate yourself. You said your cat’s pushing you to know more. You’re not going to learn your strength if you don’t practice. It’s how everything in life works. Don’t be scared. Just respect your heritage, but don’t trust it blindly. I know you have good instincts. Follow them.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t do anything to you. What if I turn you into a frog?”

  “Then you can kiss me to turn me back.”

  She gave him a dull stare. “Not funny.”

  “Fine.” He glanced about the room. “What about my shirt? I’m sure it’s still wet. Is there something in the books that can make it dry?”

  She might have seen a spell in the early, less volatile section. “Maybe.”

  He jumped up, catching her off guard, and she almost toppled. “I’ll get my shirt, and you find it.”

  He was off, and she stared at the books with trepidation pulsing through her veins. He was right in that she needed to practice more. She would never dare try to master a stronger spell until she’d done well with easier ones. But still…

  The moment he stepped into the room, she turned the page and found what she was looking for.

  “Got one?”

  She stared at him for a long, indecisive moment, and then begrudgingly answered. “Yes.”

  “Great.” He held the shirt out to her. “Are we going to do it right here? Do you need anything for it?”

  “A blue and a red candle. One to represent water and the other fire. Then I just need to repeat the words in the right order.”

  His features fell. “I don’t suppose you have those colors of candles, do you?”

  Something about his boyish curiosity charmed her. “I’m a witch, aren’t I?” she said with a fair amount of sass. “I might not have eye of newt, but I have candles.”

  She walked to her bedroom, shocked that she’d allowed him to know so much about her. Now, she’d be showing him the tools of her trade. If she wasn’t careful, she’d be letting him cook in her cauldron.

  He watched as she lifted the suitcase from the closet and placed it on the bed. A small grin tilted his lips when she unzipped the secret compartment and revealed numerous candles, crystals, and dried sage. “You know, you’re like the coolest girlfriend I’ve ever had.”

  She gasped a laugh. “Okay. And here I thought you’d arrest me or something if you saw this.”

  He lifted his brows flirtatiously. “I’m not going to arrest you, but I might ‘something’.”

  She snorted. “Let’s be serious here. In a few moments, we might be standing outside calling the fire department.”

  He took the candles from her. “Don’t worry so much. Are we doing this in the kitchen?” Before she could answer, he left her bedroom, as excited as a kid with a new toy.

  First, she required a promise from him to be serious and not interrupt her while she practiced. He agreed, placed his shirt on the counter in front of them, and stood back to give her space.

  She felt utterly ridiculous as she scanned the rest of the spell. She could do this.

  With that thought in mind, she closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths to clear her head. When peace settled over her, she didn’t look at Peter as she pulled a long wooden match from the box she kept.

  She struck the match against the side of the box, sending the strong scent of sulfur into the air. “Water, a gift from the sea, I ask that you take it back to thee.” She held the flame close to the blue wick until it caught fire.

  Her nerves crested, and she took a moment to search for peace again.

  She swallowed. “Fire, chase away the rain, to where it waits to come back again. I send to the Blessed Mother this plea. Make dry this shirt, so mote it be.”

  She lit the red candle, and both flames leapt high into the air and danced wildly, causing Peter to grab her arm and pull her back a step.

  “Is it done?” he whispered.

  Her emotions ran high, and she slipped her fingers between his and held on. “Let the
flames die down,” she whispered as they bonded closer to each other.

  She didn’t need Cora to tell her that allowing Peter to watch her perform magic would have consequences. She should have known it would.

  Good consequences if they stayed together.

  Bad, if they didn’t.

  The flickering flames finally slowed and returned to normal. She stepped forward, inhaled, and blew them out.

  Peter lifted the shirt and squeezed it in several places. “Oh, my God. It’s dry.”

  She smiled, allowing herself the smallest bit of pride. “Blessed Mother, it is.”

  He grinned and lifted the shirt, sliding his arm into the sleeve. “It’s really dry.”

  She waited for the reality of her curse and how she’d screwed it up to appear, but miraculously, it didn’t.

  With his smile still in place, he buttoned up the shirt and then turned in a circle for her to see. “I’m sending all my laundry to you from now on. You could have it clean and dry in two seconds.”

  She teased him with a snort. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, buddy. I’m not interested in being anyone’s maid.”

  His features dropped, but she could still sense the playfulness inside. “Dang. What’s the point of having a cool girlfriend if she doesn’t share her skills?”

  Intense happiness radiated from her heart, and she slipped her hands around his neck. “This.” She stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips against his.

  Several moments later, he broke their kiss and chuckled. “I guess that is pretty sweet.”

  Fifteen

  As Hazel pedaled, her gaze flitted from the riot of white and purple wildflowers growing in Mrs. Jackson’s yard along the white picket fence to the bird taking flight from a nearby tree. Only a few fluffy clouds played in the crystal blue sky. And once again, she couldn’t imagine calling anywhere else home.

  She coasted as she neared the corner by the church, enjoying the wind blowing through her curls. She might regret the decision to not secure them with a band, but for now, nothing could mar this perfect day.

  Except the sight of kids selling holy water balloons on the street corner and Victor planting geraniums near the main entrance to the church. She blinked, trying to find words, but none would come.