Nate tilted his head to one side. “Frankly, I’ve never really thought about it. Gillian seems normal enough.”
“Now, maybe, but what if she puts a spell on you? Ooh!” Adam raised his hands and wriggled his fingers, scary Halloween style.
“Come on, that’s ridiculous.” Still, Nate couldn’t help himself. He grinned. If I got to be with her more, maybe I wouldn’t mind being a part of one of her spells.
* *
Across town at another bar, a man sat still, lost in thought. Only inches in front of him was a tight lineup of seven empty beer bottles, along with seven shot glasses, all placed across the bar top. Each time he’d finished a full one and its small glass companion, the female barmaid had tried to whisk them away. But he’d have none of that. “No, honey,” he said. “Leave ‘em be.” After all, he knew what he was doing. He wanted to remind himself exactly how much he was drinking, because the more evidence he gathered, the better chance he’d see just how many beers and whiskeys it would take to obliterate all reminders of the completely disastrous minefield he had found himself mixed up in.
Sitting there on the weathered, 1950’s-style barstool, he flashed back to his life six months before, a time when he was needy for money and open to suggestions. Sick of consistently low-paying, menial jobs, when this opportunity arose, he grabbed it with both hands and his lifted hopes. But that was then, and now was now. Just who would have thought he’d be so deep into things he could never talk about it? Not even to Adam, his old pal. Well, that wasn’t true. He did try to tell him, but that sure didn’t work.
“Just ‘cause he’s Mr. Detective now, he can’t even listen to me?” he groused as he signaled the barmaid for his eighth beer and whiskey shot.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Gillian woke up the next day on edge. No surprise there. Experiencing such a scary knife threat in the parking lot certainly did nothing to calm her state of mind. Nevertheless, she decided not to reveal what had happened to her family, to protect her mother. So, she sat with them at breakfast, listened to their detailed discussion about going to the Gambit House that day for an impromptu meet-up, and tried her best to appear carefree. With her pulse still pinging hard, it became exhausting.
Since Cousin Esther drew the short straw, she would be the one working at Old Time Readers that day. Gillian was envious. She really wasn’t in the mood to go to the coven, and even offered to take Esther’s place, but it was decided—á la Ellen Good fashion—that she and everyone else but Esther had to attend their meeting en masse. No ifs, ands, or buts.
Unlike years before in New Orleans after Elijah met his end and Ellen suddenly refused to attend Witch Academy gatherings, here in Wheelton, she made her family’s regular witch attendance at the Gambit House mandatory, no matter the Connecticut’s muggy summer days, or its wind-driven fall, and snowy winter nights. It was that complete turnaround that Amanda Rankin and their cousin Esther both claimed was so healing. Gillian wasn’t so convinced. These days, anytime Ellen became overly insistent, her eldest daughter was instantly reminded of those dark days after their father had died.
Having gotten to know many of the Wheelton coven members, even the cranky and obnoxious ones, Gillian had learned how best to handle them—all except Phoebe McCann, the formidable woman who had insisted on meeting up privately with her the next time the Goods were at the Gambit House.
I guess that’d be today. Oh, boy…
An admired herbalist, Phoebe’s reputation preceded her far and wide. It was she who was mostly called in to aid people when they were having stomach pains, unbearable migraines, depression, sleeplessness, or lovesick woes. There was no one more knowledgeable and willing to research natural medicine than the tough, fifty-plus woman with crinkly, leather skin, dark, probing brown eyes, and curly gray hair.
Gillian had decided the moment Phoebe had asked to speak to her in private, she would do some further investigation on the woman. After the “invite,” that very same night, she researched this potential nemesis online to see what else she could possibly find out about her. As it turned out, there wasn’t any more to learn than she already knew. Several bios stated that Phoebe McCann had been married, was divorced, and had just one child, but nothing new cropped up.
Interesting. Was there really not much to report or was the herbalist simply hiding something? Gillian immediately assumed the worst. Then she back-tracked. From her past experience, dark thoughts could be dangerous. So, instead, she willed herself into having a strong, yet realistic, positivity. Perhaps Phoebe wants to just have a little talk to get to know me better.
But when she gently probed her mother about Phoebe, Ellen’s bluntness was startling.
“Phoebe’s problem is she can’t shut up about herbs and her stupid tea leaves she’s always pushing in her private readings,” she had said, her speech turning strident with each new couple of words. “I just hate that kind of omen forecasting. A couple of people from the New Orleans Witch Academy had done it on the side, and then things got scary. So, after we moved here, I had to tell Phoebe to stop offering it to me. She wasn’t happy about that, but I didn’t care. No one, I mean no one is going to read tea leaves to me ever again.”
Shocked by her mother’s outburst, Gillian had stiffened. Uh, oh. Here we go again.
Now, entering the Gambit House, on top of worrying about her mother possibly going down another rabbit hole of fear, she was in no mood to walk into the meeting and see Phoebe across the room with a couple of members. Instantly, she could feel her stress ratchet up a notch. Think positive. Just think positive.
But after another ten seconds and her attempts at meditation had fallen flat, Gillian opted for a long table in the back of the room covered with breakfast treats. She placed a pastry onto a plate and smiled. Avoidance has its plus side.
Apparently not.
Again, Phoebe appeared as if from out of nowhere. “Gillian,” she said in an alto voice, “a half hour after the meeting has ended, please come to my indoor herb greenhouse, so we can talk.”
Uh oh. “What are we talking about again?”
Her smile was far too enigmatic. “About your powers—or lack thereof.” In a flash, the smile was gone, replaced by an icy glare.
So not good.
But Phoebe went no further. The general meeting was about to begin, and Gillian joined her family, grateful for some familial cushioning before Phoebe’s sure-to-come hailstorm later.
After a fairly boring start, the meeting quickly picked up as soon as it focused on an interesting topic: the local Wheelton Book Festival. Just seeing quite few of the members that often came into their Old Time Readers bookstore, Gillian figured this new subject would bring on a lot of enthusiasm. She was right.
“Yes,” Phoebe said behind the podium. “This year, the book festival, starting tomorrow, will include two excellent local authors as speakers: Lilith Anderson and Marsha Beaumont.”
When the applause blasted throughout the room, Gillian almost spilled her coffee.
“Nervous, are we?” Carly muttered next to her.
As soon as her teeth stretched into a wide grin, Gillian went proactive. “No, not particularly,” she said. “My life is pretty good right now. How’s yours with what’s his name? I can never remember it.”
Carly’s low snarl was her answer.
“Girls, girls!” Ellen Good hissed. “This is not the time or place.”
Of course, she was right. There’d be plenty of time later at home to hash out their petty spats. The problem was, this time, she really was concerned about Carly’s new “supposed” love, Josh Hodges. There’s something about that guy I don’t trust.
Without warning, she thought about Nate. Kind Nate. Understanding Nate. Comfortable Nate. Someone she could rely on Nate. Sexy Nate.
Quickly, she forced herself to concentrate on their mother, who had stepped up to the podium and delicately cleared her throat.
So, this is probably why it was so important for us to make a
family entrance today.
“Yes, these two authors are very special,” Ellen said. “Their body of work, along with their knowledge of witchcraft, have been inspirational to many people, not just my family. As you all know, through my late husband, my daughters are descended from Sarah Good of the famous Salem Witchcraft Trial.”
Gillian cringed. Instantly, she recognized the raised-and-lowered eyebrows and tiny shrugs. Obviously, the members were sick of hearing about the Goods and their infamous ancestry.
Nodding to polite applause, Ellen said a few more things then sat back down with Carly, Stevie, and Gillian, just in time to hear two low-key speakers. So low-key in fact, before long, Gillian’s mind drifted again—back to Nate. And why she was so attracted to him. Yes, he was appealing in a ruddy-faced, dark-piercing-eyes way. Yes, he seemed to really listen and care about Rebecca’s murder. Certainly more than that Adam Springer. What a jerk, what a windsucker[17].
She willed herself back to the present. Are these women still droning on?
Switching gears, her overactive mind returned to Carly’s brand new boyfriend, Josh. Bad news there. Particularly after Gillian had spied him once behind a local theater with a man who looked exactly like a tough guy from a crime movie. Recently, when she’d asked Carly how much she really knew about Josh, her sister had shut her down fast.
“Stay out of it, Gil,” she said. “He makes me happy, and that’s all that matters.”
But Josh’s manner really got under Gillian’s skin. And it had nothing to do with their mother’s obsession about never getting involved with a human. No, it was the man’s obvious daredevil gene that had her concerned. She hadn’t always liked Carly’s boyfriends. Most of them were not worth a second thought. But for the first time ever, she was worried about this one. Probably because Carly seemed so infatuated with him.
Still, Gillian recognized how, with their sibling history of nonstop fighting, she probably wouldn’t be able to say anything more. Instead, she appealed to Stevie to try and influence the wild Carly not to continue with this character. Then, of course, Stevie should report back to her oldest sister.
“Stevie, you’re a sweetie pie,” Carly had apparently said to the youngest of their clan, “but I know why you’re here and who sent you. I do believe that person’s name sounds like reptilian. Why don’t you just go back and tell that meddling sister of ours to mind her own beeswax[18].”
Phoebe now stepped back to the podium. “All right, everyone, hope to see you all at the book festival this weekend. It should be a special treat! Check out all the books that will be on sale.”
“Maybe we should create a special spell tonight to make sure all the books at the festival will be marked down to mega sale prices,” Carly said.
“Oh, Carly,” Stevie said. “Authors need any money they can get.”
Shrugging, Carly said, “If you say so. Frankly, I really don’t care about writers.” She opened her mouth to say more, but after she caught Gillian’s squinted eyes, she cleared her throat. “Except for Rebecca, of course.”
Their mother stepped in. “Let’s go home,” she said, taking on her usual referee role with her two eldest daughters. Then, glancing over at Phoebe, she said, “Gillian, it looks like you have a meeting to go to, so we’ll see you later.”
As soon as Gillian looked across the room, she saw Phoebe signaling a meeting in twenty minutes by flashing all ten fingers twice. Great. Plenty of time to get even more nervous.
“I’m strong, I’m strong,” she muttered and checked out the little library of which the academy was so proud. Anything to help pass the time until her get-together with Ms. Scary Person.
At first, she wasn’t all that impressed. Eh. Not as many books as our store has. But suddenly, she noticed an old, leather-bound volume. Its title stopped her cold. Look Deeper had been a favorite read of her father’s. She gingerly took it from the shelf, and with trembling hands, opened it up. Immediately, she went to a page she had memorized as a child because it obviously had meant so much to him. On page 134, his cherished saying had been circled, and in the margin next to it, lay several of his notes.
Despite welling up, she managed to read the saying out loud. “Belief in oneself means more than intellectual knowledge or so-called truth. It is vital to all of humanity and any mysticism beyond.” Seconds passed before she was able to look up, she was so deeply affected. Memories of his soft, gentle words, guiding her to think beyond her age swept over her, reminding her of his great kindness, his insight—and how she’d ultimately failed him just before that fateful night.
“I didn’t know your father, but I loved how he picked a passage that included our special world of mysticism,” Phoebe said behind her. “He must have been a great warlock.”
Looking up, Gillian blinked back tears. “Why do you have this?” she asked.
There were several moments of silence. “Your mother told me she couldn’t bear to keep it in your house, she was so broken by his death. So, after you all moved here to Wheelton, and she got to know me a little, she said she’d rather I have it.”
“I should have warned her about my father’s death,” Gillian murmured.
“What did you just say?” Phoebe planted her hands on her hips. “Are you blaming yourself? Now, that’s rich.”
So much for wise, comforting words. Gillian blinked back her tears.
Phoebe cleared her throat. “Well, let’s go back to my room.”
Yeah, the herbal room. The place where she never wanted to be alone with this woman who had always frightened her half to death.
But the herbalist was certainly pleasant enough when she said, “Have a seat, dear.”
Dear? Wow. That’s a first.
“Look, I’m going to be frank. I’m worried about you.”
Gillian cocked her head. “You are?”
“Yes. Look, Gillian, from what your mother has told me, you probably have more ability than the rest of us put together, yet you refuse to use your powers. Now, what is that all about?”
Silence. Gillian gulped. “What do you mean?”
“Please don’t waste my time. I think you’re intelligent enough to at least give me a hint about why you don’t want to use your powers. Is it because of your father or that boy who almost died coming over to see you in such terrible weather?”
Gillian could feel the blood draining from her face. “When did my mother tell you that?”
“She told me a little. I figured out the rest. I’m a witch, remember?”
In spite of herself, Gillian chuckled softly. “And you say I’m good.” Her pause was long, and as her mother used to say, “pregnant.”
“Well?” Phoebe’s tone switched to one of impatience.
“The truth is,” Gillian said, “it was because of both of them. I could have warned my father about his upcoming death. I mean, I was very young, but still, I got a sense of real foreboding that morning, and I didn’t say anything to either my mother or him. And as for the boy who almost died, that was completely my fault. I was in my “get boys to fall in love with me” phase. At the time, I didn’t care that it was stormy outside. I was just into satisfying my ego. And it cost him dearly. Not a great witch legacy.”
She noticed Phoebe’s face didn’t register any emotion. Boy, is she tough.
The older woman sat down and drew an incredibly long breath. “Well, as for your father and what’s-his-name, what’s done is done. You can’t go back. But you do have another option. Perhaps you could try getting back to magic as a healing process, you know. That’s another possibility.”
Gillian nodded politely, and thanking the older woman, was about to go, when Phoebe reached out to lay a gentle, yet slightly firm hand on her arm.
“Bottom line? It’s time to go back to helping yourself, your family, and frankly, Rebecca. She could also use your talent now, don’t you think?”
* *
Carly loved how Josh Hodges drove. Confident and obviously a risk taker, she reco
gnized he must have trained to drive a racecar at some point. Had to. Why else could he swerve so gracefully as he cornered or brake so well, he could stop on a pin’s head?
She also enjoyed going to the one or two dive bars he frequented, where the clientele was often drunk, rowdy, and falling down as they stumbled to the restrooms. For her, it was a chance to feel free from her mother’s tight control and expectations. It was also her way of thumbing her nose at her older sister. See, Gilly? I can do whatever I want, whereas you always worry about Mama, your stupid spells, and your past mistakes.
After that long meeting at the Gambit House, she was more than ready to unwind with Josh at a local bar. He had offered to pick her up, but knowing her mother and Gillian, she figured meeting him at the bar instead was the safest thing to do right now.
“Are you ashamed of me, Carly?” he had asked over the phone when she told him, his voice tinged with hurt.
She immediately reassured him. She explained how her family was complicated, that their issues had nothing to do with him, and how much she was looking forward to eventually introducing him to them.
With a 1960’s rock ‘n roll station playing on the radio, she used her drive over to meet him as a way of figuring out how she would eventually explain to him the Good family’s witch inclinations and her mother’s aversions to humans as partners for her daughters.
As soon as she got out of her car in the bar’s parking lot, she raised one fist up toward the evening’s darkening sky. “Mama, you aren’t even a real witch,” she said. “Just remember that.”
Inside, the place was packed, and so noisy it was almost painful. Still, she loved it. This is great. It’s so loud, I don’t even have to think.
Searching for Josh, she was surprised to see he was in one of the only two booths available. Located at the back of the bar, the coveted, a miracle-if-you-can-nab-it seating was next to the hallway leading to the restrooms.
Endangered Spells (Witches Academy Series Book 6) Page 6
