Witchin' USA

by Amanda M. Lee

  “This isn’t any of my business … .”

  “That hasn’t stopped you from commenting before.”

  “No, it really hasn’t.” Galen’s grin was mischievous. “Still, I don’t think you should be too hard on him. He came from a world without magic, or at least a world that does a better job of hiding magic. Over the years, no matter what your mother told him before she died, he might’ve convinced himself that she was making it up. That probably would’ve been easier for him.”

  I’d considered that myself. “That doesn’t change the fact that I feel as if I’ve been robbed of something.”

  “And you have every right to feel that way,” Galen said. “You’re dealing with so much I don’t know how you don’t buckle under the weight of it. I think you’re doing extremely well under some very difficult circumstances.”

  He could say that with a straight face only because he didn’t witness my crying meltdown on the third floor an hour before. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it.” Galen sighed and patted my hand. “You’ve got a lot of work to do around here. I think you should focus on that today.”

  “You’re not the boss of me.” I meant the words to be playful, but they came out a bit harsher than I expected. Still, he was a bossy thing. I couldn’t decide how I felt about it. “I think I’m going to tackle some of the heavier lifting this afternoon.”

  “Don’t do that yourself,” Galen cautioned. “I’ve seen some of the furniture on the second and third floors. It’s heavy, and I can’t help you today because I’m busy looking for a serial killer, as you keep reminding me.”

  I cocked a challenging eyebrow. “Did I ask for your help?”

  “No, but you strike me as the sort of person who never asks for help. You need to get over that,” Galen replied. “If you insist on moving the furniture before I can clear some time to help you, I suggest calling Booker. May left you money, and Booker is essentially our odd jobs fellow. He’s strong, and he’s likely to be able to help on short notice.”

  I hadn’t considered that. In fact, I hadn’t seen the oddly-dressed and yet ruggedly handsome taxi driver since he dropped me off that first day. “I’ll consider it.”

  “Do that,” Galen said, heaving himself to his feet. “If you need to talk or have questions, I’ll be around. I know it will probably seem like a good idea to shut everyone out right now, but don’t. That will only delay the inevitable, and I think that’s the last thing you want.”

  “Do you have any news on your killer?”

  “No, I’m still trying to figure out what all three of my victims have in common. It’s not exactly easy, because Moonstone Bay is an island full of secret keepers.”

  “I thought everyone knew everyone’s business in Moonstone Bay.”

  “In some ways that’s true,” Galen said. “In others … everyone has secrets, Hadley.”

  “Oh, yeah? What’s yours?”

  Galen’s smile was back. “You’re not ready for that one yet. When you are, we’ll have another talk.”

  I couldn’t wait for that day. Um … actually I could.

  INSTEAD OF CALLING Booker I spent the day doing busywork, sorting through shelves and dusting books so I could arrange them in what looked to be the proper way. I’m a big fan of alphabetization, but I was afraid that if I screwed with May’s organizational system I wouldn’t be able to reclaim it.

  I made Campbell’s tomato soup for dinner and sat on the back patio to watch the sun set before locking myself inside the lighthouse for the night. I double-checked all of the doors and sent a whispered admonishment in May’s direction before drawing a bath.

  “I know you probably want to talk, but I need a good night’s sleep,” I said. “You’re dead, so it’s not exactly as if you’re working on a timetable. I need sleep.”

  She didn’t answer, but I was almost positive I felt a feathered hand brush over my hair before I sank beneath the water and let the heat and steam wash away the day. I spent a good thirty minutes in the tub before draining it, debating whether or not I should tie my hair back in a braid because I was sleeping on it wet. Ultimately I figured I would shower before anyone saw me the next morning, so bedhead wasn’t nearly as terrifying a prospect as it could’ve been.

  I was determined to put the day – the past several days, really – behind me. I wanted to start fresh in the morning, meet new and exciting people, maybe even call Booker to help me around the house while also digging for information.

  The sheets were fresh and clean when I slipped between them, the breeze from the open window serving as a salve to my healing emotional wounds. Everything was going to be okay. I believed that. I had faith that somehow I would get through this and come out the other side better for it. It might’ve been naïve to think so, but my weariness made it necessary, so that’s what I embraced.

  I was three-quarters of the way to dreamland when my inner danger alarm pinged. Even though my body screamed in protest, I bolted to a sitting position and narrowed my eyes as I scanned the surrounding darkness. I registered the hint of movement at the same time I managed to make my muscles work, rolling off the bed as something hard and metallic smacked the middle of the mattress.

  I widened my eyes when I realized what I was dealing with – an intruder with an ax – and worked overtime to control my ragged breath as I crawled away from the bed. I wasn’t sure where to go or what to do to protect myself. I’d never been in this situation before. Sure, I’d lived in a suburb of Detroit, but that didn’t mean home invaders were part of my everyday experience.

  I felt rather than saw the figure move in behind me, a hand slide through my hair so the anonymous individual could get a good grip. He – and I was sure it was a man because the shoulders were far too broad to belong to a woman – wore a black mask over his features as he hissed something in a language I didn’t recognize.

  I had no idea what he said, whether it was a spell or curse or even a threat, but I reacted the only way I knew. I lashed out with my arm, slamming my fist into the man’s groin and relishing the way he sucked in a hissing breath and groaned.

  His obvious anguish allowed me to jerk away from him – leaving a small chunk of hair behind that I was certain I would miss in the morning (should I live to see it, that is) – and crawled closer to the wall. I was several feet from the door, fear causing me to shake, but I knew that even should I manage to gain some footing I didn’t think I’d be able to keep it. I was outmuscled and in a precarious position.

  My new friend seemed to realize that, because even though he wasn’t fully recovered from my blow he gripped the ax with one hand and swung it toward me. The “whoosh” of the metal blade was enough to chill my blood and all I could think was: I’m not ready to die.

  I didn’t have time to think of a way to escape or scream for help. Fear overtook me, crawling into holes in my mind and heart I didn’t even know existed. I was terrified, yet no sound would come out of my mouth.

  It was over and I knew it. I would die here without learning anything of my family’s history.

  I briefly pressed my eyes shut, bracing myself for the inevitable, and then a frigid breeze blew through the room. I heard a loud crash, and even though I waited for the blow to hit, waited for my life to end and the hereafter to begin, it didn’t.

  I was cold, terrified and certain I would open my eyes to find imminent death. Instead, when I wrenched them open, I found the room empty.

  The window was broken and the breeze bounced between walls, the air moving so fast I was convinced it was about to give birth to a monster of some sort. It didn’t, but that didn’t mean everything was okay.

  The wind didn’t dissipate, instead increasing until it was a swirling mass of air that felt strong enough to take form.

  And then the screaming began.

  12

  Twelve

  “Hadley!”

  My head pounded as I tried to regain control of my senses. Wait, it wasn’t my head pou
nding. My heart was – that’s for sure – but that wasn’t the source of the noise. No, the pounding was from my front door, a full floor down, and whoever was trying to get inside was hitting the door with enough force that the entire lighthouse shook.

  Oh, wait, no. I’m the one who was shaking.

  “Hadley!”

  I heard something break on the main floor, the sound slapping me across the face as I raced back to reality. I rolled to my knees, shoving myself to a standing position and grabbed the only thing on the nightstand that could possibly be construed as a weapon.

  Galen barreled into the bedroom, his chest heaving and his hands clenched into fists at his side. I moved before I registered his identity, swinging my newly discovered weapon at his head before sanity gained a foothold. It was too late to stop the forward momentum, and all I could do was watch in horror as my hand moved toward Galen’s neck.

  As if sensing the blow was about to come, Galen reflexively grabbed my wrist and stared at the item clutched in my hand.

  “You were going to kill me with a hairbrush?”

  It was a fair question. “I thought you were somebody else.”

  “I can see that.” Galen carefully released my wrist, his eyes keen as they scanned the room. “I heard you screaming.”

  That was impossible … mostly because I tried to make my vocal cords work during the attack and failed, miserably. “I didn’t scream.”

  “I heard screaming.”

  “I didn’t scream.” My voice was barely a whisper. “I heard what you heard, though. It wasn’t me.”

  “Okay.” Galen dragged out the last syllable as if he expected me to change my mind. When I didn’t, he continued. “What happened?”

  “Um … .” I wasn’t sure. How could I explain what happened when I had no idea?

  “Honey, look at me,” Galen prodded, moving his finger to my chin so he could tilt my head and hold my gaze. “There you are. Take your time, think for a second, and tell me what happened.”

  He sounded so reasonable. “I worked all day until I was in a sweaty frenzy. I ate canned soup for dinner because I was afraid to go downtown. I would honestly kill someone for a steak, so it was a real effort.

  “Then I took a long bath with a clove-scented bath bomb,” I continued. “I sat in there until my skin was wrinkled and pruned. Then I went to bed and slept on wet hair, which is why I have bedhead.”

  I slid a gaze to the mirror and frowned at my medusa-like style. It caused me to burst into tears. Who knew my breaking point would be bedhead? I couldn’t wait for the doctor at whatever asylum I would ultimately be locked in to pick apart my bedhead issues.

  “Don’t do that!” Galen exploded, his expression pained. “Don’t you dare cry!”

  The more he yelled, the more I blubbered. “I can’t stop myself. Someone was in here … and he had an ax … and look at my hair.” My shoulders shook as the sobs overwhelmed me and I buried my face in my hands.

  “Someone came in here with an ax?” Galen was beside himself.

  “Have you even looked at my hair?”

  “Your hair is cute,” Galen snarled. “Talk to me about the guy with the ax.”

  “My hair isn’t cute. It’s terrible. I look like a monster. Oh, maybe that’s my superpower. I can leap bad hairdos with a single bound.” Instead of returning to reality, I sank to the floor at Galen’s feet and lowered my face into my hands, rocking back and forth as I tried to calm myself. “I’ll never live down the shame.”

  “Yeah, that’s the real tragedy here,” Galen muttered, shaking his head as he moved toward the broken window. He leaned over and touched a shard of shattered glass, narrowing his eyes for a moment before turning his attention outside the window. “It looks like whoever was in here went out through the window. How did you manage that?”

  “I didn’t do it.”

  Galen’s expression was exaggerated as he peered at various corners of the room. “I don’t see anyone else.”

  “Yeah, but … .” I opened my mouth, picturing the ax moving toward my head, and tripped over my tongue.

  “Did you say something?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know if you said something?” Galen sounded as if he was at the end of his patience. “Hadley, look at me. I know you’re in shock, but I need you to tell me what happened.”

  “I told you what happened.”

  “I need the version that doesn’t focus on the bedhead.”

  That sounded reasonable. “I was asleep. Or, well, I was mostly asleep. Then something woke me. I couldn’t see who it was, but I’m sure it was a man. The shoulders were too broad to belong to a woman. I rolled out of the bed as kind of a survival instinct and I heard something whizzing through the air. I heard something hard hit the bed, and I could see the moon through the window and it glinted off the ax blade.”

  “You were lucky.” Galen crouched down so we were level. “If he hadn’t been klutzy and woken you things might’ve gone a lot worse.”

  I didn’t exactly feel lucky, but that was hardly worth focusing on right now. “He was right here.” I gestured toward the space between the bed and the wall. “I couldn’t make it out in time, so I was just sitting here and he was coming and I was out of time and I couldn’t help thinking what my father would say when he found out. I heard a lot of ‘I told you sos’ in my head.”

  Galen’s expression turned sympathetic. “I don’t think that’s what your father would say if something happened to you. I know you’re angry with him right now, but I think it’s fair to say that he loves you. He might’ve made mistakes, but that doesn’t mean the love isn’t real.”

  “You’re right.” That assumption wasn’t fair. “He would’ve only thought that. He never would’ve said it out loud.”

  “We’ll table that argument for now because there’s no point in focusing on it.” Galen slid his hand under my elbow and urged me to stand. “Come on. We’ll go downstairs and I’ll make you some tea. I want you to settle yourself and tell me the entire story without any colorful embellishments.”

  That sounded like a terrible way to spend an evening. Because my only alternative was kicking him out and dealing with things on my own, I didn’t give in to my baser urges and admit to that.

  “Sounds good.”

  “THERE’S NO one outside.”

  Galen let himself in through the front door, which was conveniently off its hinges, and forced a smile when he saw me drinking the tea he shoved in front of my face twenty minutes before.

  “He went through the window, though.” I was feeling a bit better, my mind firing again, although it wasn’t yet up to my normal speed. “There is no other explanation. How did he fly out the window and not break something going down?”

  “Well … .” Galen didn’t answer, instead flicking his eyes to a spot over his shoulder. I couldn’t see what he was looking at, but I was a bundle of nerves, so the simple act was enough to cause terror to clutch at my heart.

  “He’s back, isn’t he? He’s going to finish the job.”

  “He’s going to finish the job, but not the job you think,” Galen said, holding up his hands in a placating manner and stepping away from the door.

  The man swinging through the opening carried plywood and a hammer, his dark hair offsetting a pair of irritated eyes. His Hawaiian shirt was like a beacon in the dim light.

  “Booker.” I exhaled heavily. “I … what are you doing here?”

  “Fixing your door and window,” Booker replied, his tone amiable as he glanced around the kitchen. “I’ll start upstairs.”

  He clearly wasn’t in the mood for small talk, because he disappeared from the kitchen before I could question him.

  “What is he doing here?” My voice was scratchy, and even though I trusted Galen – well, trusted him as much as I could after knowing him for only a few days – I couldn’t help being suspicious.

  “He’s going to fix the window and door,” Galen replied. �
��It’s only a temporary fix for tonight. He’ll come back and do it right tomorrow. We’ve already talked about it.”

  It was a relief, and yet that’s not how repairmen worked in Detroit. “Doesn’t he have to give me an estimate so we can agree on terms?”

  “Not when he’s doing a favor for a friend,” Galen replied. “Besides, I’m paying for the door. I kicked it down when I thought you were screaming.”

  I looked at the sagging door. He’d brought up a good point. “Was he the one screaming?”

  “I don’t know,” Galen replied. “I thought it was you.”

  “I already told you that it wasn’t me.”

  “Then it had to be him.” Galen clearly wasn’t in the mood to engage in an argument. “It’s okay. You’re safe. Booker is going to fix the door and window and everything will be okay.”

  He said it in such a charming way that I immediately knew he was lying. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “You survived this mess, so you’re the one with the story to tell.”

  He was being purposely evasive. I recognized the tactic. My father used it when dating women he didn’t think I would approve of when I was a teenager. Now that I was an adult he’d given up hiding the fact that his girlfriends were often inappropriately young. That didn’t mean I didn’t recognize subterfuge when I saw it.

  “Why were you here?”

  The question caught Galen off guard. “What do you mean?”

  “You said you heard me screaming,” I replied. “You would’ve had to have been close to hear that. Why were you here?”

  “If you must know, I was doing a loop around town before heading home and getting some sleep,” Galen answered. “After our conversation earlier, I simply wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  That sounded reasonable, and yet it didn’t quite fit. Still, I had bigger problems. “What happened in my bedroom? Why did he stop attacking? What was that wind?”