by Kristin Cast
And Hunter’s face was peeking into her room.
“Are you awake?” her twin repeated.
“I am now,” she grumbled, rubbing sleep from her eyes. “What time is it?”
“Late. Seriously. Like, past noon. You’ve been sleeping forever. FYI, Jax is here. He’s going to take me to the nursery. Xena has about a zillion old grimoires put out for you to go through. She just discovered coffee—heavy with cream and sugar—but apparently caffeine works on a cat person the opposite of how it works on people persons. She was practically falling asleep on her feet and had to excuse herself to Mom’s room to nap.”
Mercy yawned. “Then why are you waking me up?”
Hunter leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms. “Because Jax just told me your boyfriend got permission from his parents, with his coach’s okay, to skip a couple of his afternoon classes and come over here to ‘check on his witchy woman,’” she air quoted as she rolled her eyes. “So, he’ll be here in a while. Thought you’d want to brush your teeth or whatever.”
Mercy sat up and stretched like Xena—in cat or human form. “Aww, that’s sweet of him. And as Abigail would say, if you keep rolling your eyes, someday they’re going to freeze like that.”
“Oh, please. Just don’t let him distract you for long. I’ll be back with whatever stuff the tree person—”
“Arborist,” Mercy supplied.
“Yeah, that. I’ll have what the arborist recommends as mundane help for the trees when I get back. You, Miss Green Witch, need to have the magic part ready. Tonight, we fix this mess with a double-whammy—muggle stuff and witchy power.”
“Stop stressing. I already have a few ideas. Why do you think I’m so tired?” Mercy jerked her chin at the pile of old grimoires on her bedside table. They had colorful sticky notes protruding from their closed pages like paper fringe. Then her eyes widened and she reached for her phone. “Oh, bloody buggering hell! Have you heard from Em?”
“I texted her and called her. Twice. I didn’t get any answer until I told her you were sleeping and that I was checking on her for you. She only answered with two words: I’m okay.”
Mercy ran one hand through her hair as she squinted at her phone and read through the six texts she’d sent Emily last night and early this morning while she’d been going through the grimoires. No response. Em hadn’t answered her even once. “She’s not okay. No damn way. I’m texting her right now. Again.”
“Hey, Mag?”
Mercy looked up from her phone. “Huh?”
“Remember that we all grieve differently. Be there for her, but don’t be surprised if this changes her. Mom’s death has changed us.”
“You’re right. I’ll remember. Thanks. And good luck today.”
Hunter smiled. “You, too. Later gator.”
Mercy’s response was automatic. “After ’while crocodile!” Then she returned her attention to her phone, texting:
EM! SORRY. I JUST GOT UP. U OK? CALL ME!
While she waited for a response Mercy brushed her teeth, piled her hair up in a loose knot, and took a quick shower before putting on her most comfy Free People boho dress. It was the color of moss with blue flowers embroidered down the bodice of it and an adorable high-low ruffle that made it sexy and cute in the front, but long enough in the back not to cause stress whenever she had to bend over.
Her phone rang as she was sliding her feet into her favorite moccasin slippers.
“Em!”
Emily’s voice was muffled, like she had a cold that had completely clogged her nose. “I can only talk for a sec.”
“It is awful?” Mercy asked.
There was a long pause—so long that Mercy frantically wondered if she’d asked the wrong question—when Em’s shrouded voice finally replied. “Mag, his eyes are gone.”
Mercy’s stomach rolled in rebellion. “Your dad? His eyes?”
“Yes,” Emily whispered. “The sheriff told Mom.”
“Oh, Freya!” Mercy’s legs stopped working and she sat hard on the end of her bed as bits and pieces of the sheriff’s creepy words about Mr. Thompson, the dead guy he’d found by the olive tree, lifted from her memory:… dead man … with no eyes … Ripped right out of his head …
“It’s so terrible I don’t want to think about it, but I can’t stop thinking about it,” said Emily.
“Is that how he died?”
“No. He—he was strangled and then the murderer took his eyes. Mag, I just—” Emily’s words ran out as she sobbed.
“Come over, Em. Just get in your car and come over here right now.”
Emily took several deep breaths before she answered, and when she did she sounded broken. “I can’t. Mom’s not okay.” She paused and then added in a whisper, “They let her see him. I wouldn’t—couldn’t. But I should have. I shouldn’t have let her go in there by herself.”
“They shouldn’t have let her see him! Bloody hell, Em! What’s wrong with the sheriff?”
There was a sharp sound in the background and Emily spoke quickly. “Gotta go. I think Mom just dropped another cup. She’s, uh, medicated. Heavily. I’ll text you later.”
Before Mercy could say anything else the phone disconnected. Mercy finished putting on her slippers and slowly went downstairs. She hadn’t imagined Abigail’s music. Hunter must have flipped on the Pandora station. Mercy was glad. She stood in the kitchen and let the beautiful lyrics of “Shores of Avalon” soothe her shattered nerves as she brewed another pot of her mom’s special dark roast coffee. Mercy didn’t love coffee like Abigail had, but she did like the way it smelled—and if she added enough coconut milk and sugar it didn’t taste too bad. But, more importantly, it was part of her usual morning ritual, and even though it was past noon Mercy craved whatever might help her feel normal, if only for a little while.
She put two slices of thick sourdough bread in the toaster and got Abigail’s homemade strawberry jam from the pantry. As she slathered sticky-sweet goo on the warm bread her thoughts spun. Horrible things are happening in Goodeville and it all started the night Mom was killed. What if the sick trees have something to do with it?
Mercy sat at the table in the breakfast nook, which Xena had piled high with old grimoires the night before. She moved them out of the way and texted Em again:
CALL ME WHEN U CAN! I’M HERE. LOVE U!
Then Mercy stared out the back window as her coffee went cold as she faced the thoughts she’d pushed aside the night before.
What if Hunter’s choice to swear into the service of a god instead of a goddess is causing the trees to be sick? All of it—every bad thing—started that terrible night. The night Hunter officially claimed Tyr as her god. It was the only thing Mercy could think of that differed from their Beltane Ritual and the Beltane Rituals that had been successfully performed by Goode witches for hundreds of years.
But wouldn’t Mom have known that Tyr was a mistake? Mercy clearly remembered the day young Hunter had first mentioned to Abigail that she was drawn to Tyr. Their mom’s response had been that it was Hunter’s choice, and there was no wrong answer when a witch chose her deity. Okay, maybe Abigail hadn’t known it was a problem that H had chosen a god back then, but during the three years between that day and their dedication night she definitely would’ve said something if it could cause problems. From her memory Mercy replayed her mom’s words to Hunter as they walked to the Beltane Ritual: It’s about time a Goode chose a god instead of a goddess.
She shook her head and sighed as she nibbled on her toast. “No, Abigail would’ve known. She was an amazing witch. She would never have let Hunter make such a big mistake. It must be something else and I’m going to figure it out and fix it. I have to.” Resolutely, Mercy pulled the closest grimoire to her, grabbed a stack of pink sticky notes and her favorite purple pen, and got to work.
* * *
Mercy was deep into her great-great-grandmother Janet Goode’s summer 1927 entry entitled Healing Trees from the Drought when she pumpe
d her fist and shouted, “Yes! That’s it!” Then she wrote quickly on the sticky notes as she muttered to herself. “This will work with just a little addition from the spell Gertrude Goode cast in 1859 after the entire state of Illinois flooded and damaged all the trees big-time.” She paused for a moment, chewing the end of the pen before lifting it triumphantly and proclaiming, “Plus, I’ll make a big dose of my Awake and Alive Oil! That’ll be my own Green Witch contribution. This is going to be perfect!”
One problem solved, Mercy picked up her phone and clicked into the texts.
EM, HOW U DOING?
YOU OK?
EMILY, I’M WORRIED ABOUT YOU.
Zero response from her bestie. Mercy got it—of course she did. She completely understood about how grief could suffocate every other emotion. But H hadn’t left her alone in her despair, and she wasn’t going to leave Em alone, either. She tapped out another text.
EMILY PARROTT IF YOU DO NOT ANSWER ME I AM COMING OVER THERE. NOW!
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
CAN’T TALK RIGHT NOW. GRANDPARENTS R HERE. I’LL CALL LATER. PROMISE.
Mercy sighed and chewed her lip. “Okay.” She spoke to the phone like Em could hear her. “But if you don’t I will come get you. Seriously.”
She drummed her fingers against the table as she turned her attention back to the grimoires and the spells she needed to combine. It was easy—comfortable—to focus on spellwork. It was something she could do to make at least part of the chaos around her right again.
Mercy was listing the ingredients she’d need for her oil and realizing she should go upstairs and get her own grimoire so she could record this new protective and healing spell when several loud knocks on the front door made her jump. Momentarily confused, she glanced at the old clock in the foyer as she headed to the door and was surprised to see almost two hours had passed while she’d been researching. She didn’t have to peek out the front window to see him standing there. She could feel that it was Kirk. Mercy smoothed back her long, dark hair and opened the door.
“Babe! Man, it’s good to see you!” He stepped inside and engulfed her in a hug and his familiar scent of sweat mixed with Abercrombie & Fitch’s cologne, Fierce.
Mercy pressed her cheek against his chest. He was so solid and strong and normal. He was the guy she’d crushed on since eighth grade, when he’d seemed completely out of her league. He was the guy who made her feel special and needed and wanted. He was there, with her instead of in school preparing for finals, because he cared about her as much as she cared about him. When she looked up at him she was flooded with emotions and tears filled her eyes.
He cupped her face with his hands. “Hey, don’t cry. I’m here. Everything’s gonna be okay now.” Kirk dipped down and pressed his lips gently to hers. He didn’t deepen the kiss. Instead he looked up, checking out the rooms behind them. “Is Emily here?”
“No. I wish she was here but her mom needs her. So, everyone knows about her dad?” Mercy took Kirk’s hand and led him to the couch. She curled up there beside him, with her feet tucked under her. His presence and the fact that she’d figured out the spell they needed to cast to strengthen and protect the trees had her feeling lighter than she had in days.
He nodded and kissed her hand. “Yeah, the whole school’s talking about it. He was murdered, which is really crazy.”
Mercy leaned into him. “That’s what Em said.”
“Did she say anything else?” Kirk asked. “There’re rumors about something really nasty happening to him, but no one knows what for sure.”
Mercy straightened and pulled her hand from his. “Well, I haven’t had a chance to talk to Emily much. She’s pretty upset.” The lie came out before Mercy planned it. She just wouldn’t, couldn’t gossip with Kirk about Mr. Parrott. It was already bad enough that everyone was talking about it, which Em would hate. She couldn’t add to her best friend’s misery.
Kirk was instantly contrite. He slid his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close to him again. “Sorry, that wasn’t cool of me. So, what have you been up to?” He glanced over his shoulder at the edge of the breakfast nook table, filled with old books and notes. “Are you actually studying in there?”
“Oh. Um. No. That’s Xena’s stuff,” she lied again and then chewed her lip. Mercy usually hated lies—and was pretty bad at them.
Thankfully, Kirk didn’t notice. All he said, with a little laugh, was, “Your aunt or your cat?”
She smacked his shoulder. “The one that can read, silly.”
“Speaking of—where is she?”
“The aunt or the cat?” Mercy teased.
He grinned. “The one who hates me.”
“Oh, well, that would be both. They’re upstairs napping.”
“Whew.” He pretended to wipe sweat from his forehead. “It’s weird to be hissed at.”
“Sorry about that. The Xenas are protective, but they’ll learn that you’re one of the good guys soon, and then you’ll hear nothing but purrs.”
His eyes widened. “From the aunt, too?”
“It’s possible.”
“I’m gonna have to record that for the Cats of Insta. Talk about going viral.”
“Weirdly enough I’ll bet Xena would like that.”
“You’re obviously talking about the cat now,” he said.
“Obviously!” She grinned.
He touched her cheek gently. “It’s good to see you smile again.”
Mercy pressed her cheek into his warm palm. “I’m better after Hunter’s spell. Plus, you’re another kind of magic that’s good for me.”
His hand dropped from her face. “That spell. It was kinda uncomfortable to see you—”
She waved her hand dismissively. “Hey, forget about that spell. Or if you want to remember it think of it as homeopathic healing.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, does acupuncture make you uncomfortable?” Mercy shifted so that instead of leaning into him she faced him as she reclined across his lap.
“It did before Coach made me go last year for my shoulder injury. It didn’t hurt. Actually, it helped.”
“That’s what Hunter’s spell was—acupuncture for my emotions. I can see that it might have been strange and even kinda freaky, but it was really just a movement of energy that helped me be able to deal with my grief in a healthier way.”
His brow furrowed as he considered her words, then he let out a long breath. “I guess that makes sense.”
“Of course it does. And how could I be your witchy woman without actually being witchy?”
Kirk’s face cleared and he pulled her closer. “Hey, I’m here for you, not me. What happened to Emily’s dad must be really hard for you after your mom.”
Mercy let her head rest on his shoulder. “Yeah. It feels like my world is totally falling apart.”
Kirk lifted her chin with his finger. “Then hang on to me. I won’t let you fall apart.” He kissed her again.
Mercy sank into him. She parted her lips and met his questing tongue. He tasted like the Big Red gum he liked to chew. His strong arms held her tightly and his mouth and touch were hot and insistent. At first she returned the kiss to keep him from saying anything more about death or spellwork, but soon she realized that his desire was a roadblock to the terrible things that had happened the past several days. When Kirk’s mouth was on hers all she could think about was his need. When Kirk’s hands found the ruffled edge of her dress and slipped beneath to caress her thighs and her butt, his heat burned away the misery she’d been living and breathing. She pressed herself closer to him and deepened the kiss, chasing his tongue, catching it, and then sucking softly on it. His moan drove away the sounds of the sobs that came from Hunter’s room every night when she pretended to be asleep.
Abruptly Kirk broke the kiss. Breathing hard, he whispered, “It wouldn’t be cool if Xena—either of them—came down here to find us like this.”
And Mercy suddenly knew
what she wanted—what she needed. She took his hand and stood, pulling him up from the couch with her. “Then let’s go where we can’t be interrupted—by either of them.”
His answering smile was as hot and sweet as his kisses.
She led him upstairs to her room and the bed she’d never, in sixteen years, let any boy so much as sit on. That wasn’t because Abigail had been uptight about sex—her mom had definitely not been like that. Mercy had never had a guy in her room before because until Kirk she’d never been in love.
Mercy guided Kirk to the bed and then playfully pushed him down on it. Laughing, she fell on top of him as they resumed their passionate kisses. Kirk’s hands quickly went under her dress again, and she was glad that she hadn’t bothered with a bra as he squeezed her breasts. She let her hands roam his body. His PROPERTY OF GOODE ATHLETIC DEPARTMENT tee was easy to untuck and she loved the way his hard, smooth muscles felt under it.
Kirk broke their kiss long enough to pull off his shirt and toss it to the floor. Then he raised a brow at her. “Your turn.”
Mercy hesitated.
“Hey.” He touched her cheek gently again. “We won’t do anything you don’t wanna do. No matter what, you say stop and I stop. Promise.”
She bit her lip and then spoke softly. “I—I want to, but I don’t think I’m ready for more than just, you know, making out and stuff right now.”
“That’s okay. Seriously. You have to be into it, too. I can wait.” Kirk met her gaze and said simply, “I love you, Mercy Goode. You’re worth the wait.” He started to reach for his T-shirt.
Mercy’s hand stopped him. “I love you, too, Kirk.”
“Babe, that means so much. You’re the only woman I’ve said that to except my mom.” He looked away, blinking fast. “And then she left me.”
Mercy pulled him into her arms. “I won’t leave you. Ever.”
His kiss was deep and hot, but he broke it off, reaching for his shirt again.
