Then I happen to cast my eyes around at the other imprisoned victims. They, too, are following in the same mold as my dear cousin. Above all else, fear hath infiltrated this lot. A fear that shall never be soothed, never be remedied. Most importantly, never be neglected. It will surely live on past these women’s fate and well into the lives of their loved ones.
On this trip, Sarah grows philosophical. Indeed, as tired as she appears, as difficult as it seems to be for her to speak clearly, she slowly draws me to her and whispers in slow, belabored words.
“Dear cousin, I shall impart upon you yet another warning. It has become crystal clear to me that most likely none of us shall survive this ordeal. Indeed, as the trial continues, the young accusers appear to be stronger than ever. And why should they not be? They have the attention of not only the entire town, they have horrified—and fascinated—the entire county. They have risen up and are now spewing forth their message, further than it once was deemed possible.”
My cousin pauses to draw several shallow breaths. Needed breaths that hitch out from her throat, much like a sick calf—half alive, half dead. “Alas, those who hath thrust me in here do not allow my beloved husband to come visit, so I must impart this information to you.”
“Of course,” I say, wondering what her next words might bring.
“These young girls are not truly evil. They have been placed under a spell by someone far, far more wicked than they—the slave, Tituba. It was she who put these innocents under the kind of bewitchment she had learned from childhood.”
“Dear cousin, pray tell me, what is the import of thy words?”
“The import of my warning ‘tis simple: Be wary of divine proclamations that some people swear will help bring peace. For in truth, these foretelling statements may not only be as false as the day is long, they may also invoke grave danger.”
* *
“I must be losing my mind,” Gillian said aloud, lying under the covers, trembling at the dark intensity of her ancestor’s words. “What kind of proclamations was Sarah talking about? Back then it was probably through the slave, Tituba, but how does Sarah’s warning relate to present time? Was her own family in danger? Rebecca and her friends sure had been in danger.
Closing her eyes, Gillian concentrated hard. She drifted back years to when Ellen told her daughters that their entire family needed to start afresh after Elijah had died. But why the need to move so far away to a place like Wheelton? Sarah Good talked about grave dangers. Was there another, darker reason why her own family all had to leave New Orleans, not during the day, but in the dead of night?
Without warning, all her reflections shut down. Click–click–click came the sound of Joselyn pacing down the hall, heading toward her bedroom. Click–click–click. Two throaty whistles later, and Gillian got out of bed, shuffled over to her door, opened it up, and let the cockatoo in.
“Peek-a-boo!” Joselyn trilled. “Peek-a-boo!”
“Yeah, yeah. Peek-a-boo to you, too.”
She was met with long, human-like wolf whistle.
Putting aside Sarah’s troubling words, she studied the parrot for a few seconds. Perhaps she should once again try a spell. Maybe even a combo. A love spell and solving the case spell—in preparation of her cooking date with Nate. But first, she should test it out on Joselyn to see if finally, anything magical could evolve through their pet.
In the distance, she could hear breakfast goings-on in the kitchen, so she decided to proceed with caution. Closing her door gently, she got out five candles and lit all of them. Then, sitting on the floor in her PJs, once again with her eyes closed, she began. It was her old standby, a spell she’d always used as a teenager. The kind that had always brought her male affection. Don’t think about Willy.
Breathing in deeply, she remembered how, whenever she’d use Joselyn as a guinea pig, the bird tended to come through.
“Joselyn, your love for me will come in strong, come in bright.
And no matter what, no matter when,
For me, your love shall never dim its light.”
Her eyes still shut, she could just picture it. The show of affection from their pet that the world would definitely classify as adorable. The movements her bird would do as she waddled over to her, with the feathers on her head slightly raised, her throat emitting soft trills. Then, she’d surely hop up onto Gillian’s lap, where she’d rub her head against her owner’s chest, just begging for some rubs and soft words.
Tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap.
What the—? She popped open her eyes.
Joselyn was busy chewing on one of her feet, devouring a bit of cracker that had landed on it from the night before.
“Oh, for goodness sake.” Gillian blew out the candles, put them aside, got dressed, and shook her head. “That used to be a slam-dunk. So much for spells,” she snapped as she marched by the still pre-occupied bird.
* *
Perhaps Chief Hutton had sensed the urgency in Nate’s tone when he had called the night before. Why else would their meeting be scheduled for six-thirty the next morning when no one else would be there yet?
As soon as Nate walked in, he could feel his pulse soar and his hands tremble. He had rehearsed his speech the night before, of course, but he never knew what he would encounter when it came to Wheelton’s chief of police.
Sure, everyone knew about Hutton’s wife also being connected to a case he was working on quite a ways back. The gossip about whether or not the chief had recused himself had always been a bit fuzzy. So, the big question? Would Chief Hutton’s own history make him sympathetic to Nate’s dilemma? Maybe. Maybe not.
Hutton looked up at the clock. “Have a seat. You’ve got ten minutes.”
Oh, man. He’s gonna be tough.
So, Nate gave it his all. He talked about his always trying to be not just a conscientious cop, but also an ethical one as well. Instantly, he could see Hutton tapping the fingers of his right hand on top of his desk.
Okay. Here goes complete accountability.
“Chief Hutton, I hope you know I have spent hours and hours on the Rebecca Newell case. I have found the journals when others have not. You must know that I am as dedicated as the next detective. More so, in some cases. But—” He paused. This is it.
“But because there might be a future conflict of interest in terms of my social interaction with a person connected to this case, I feel it is only right that I come clean with you.”
“Who are we talking about?” the chief asked, his eyes so narrowed they resembled slits.
“I’d rather not say, sir. Just know that I am here to tell you about this situation and to obey whatever decision you make regarding my role in the Rebecca Newell case.”
His silence lasted so long, Nate wondered if he should repeat what he had just revealed.
“Look, detective,” Chief Hutton said, “I appreciate your coming forward, I do. Without going into this kind of situation any further, just know that if you do start a relationship with this person, my hands are tied. I must take you off this case. Frankly, I urge you to hold off on your involvement until this case is finished.” He leaned in toward Nate. “Is that possible?” he asked.
Not get involved with Gillian? Nate shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”
Chief Hutton seemed to soften. “I understand more than you know, Meeks. Meanwhile, I’ll apprise your team that I’m pulling you from the case, but I advise you to also tell your partner personally.”
* *
After pulling Stevie aside privately to tell her not to freak out if she didn’t come home that night and telling their mother she was staying with a friend, Gillian headed out, nervous, but also excited. What will the night bring? kept flitting through her mind as she drove over to the south part of town where Nate’s apartment was.
Stepping inside his place, she was pleasantly surprised. For a cop, his one bedroom apartment had definite appeal. She observed a tasteful sofa with small, color coordinated pillows acros
s it, a wooden planked floor throughout, topped with several throw rugs, and interestingly, four antique fire extinguishers made into lamps, placed on top of side tables and a credenza.
As low-key jazz softly played, she handed him a bottle of Chianti.
“Perfect,” he said, his dark, intense eyes drawing her in like magnets. “Thanks, Gillian. I appreciate it.”
He helped her off with her coat, and as he put it away in a nearby closet, she couldn’t help herself. She had to check him out more fully. He was wearing black jeans and an olive green polo shirt that hugged his torso and barely covered his well-defined biceps. When she noticed his hair looked slightly damp, like he’d showered not long before she arrived, she smiled. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe because it showed he wasn’t so concerned about fashion—like her?
She cleared her throat. “So, what are you making tonight?”
Holding the bottle of wine, he escorted her over to a small kitchen area. On the stove, he stirred the contents in a large pot. “Marinara sauce. We’ll be having simple spaghetti and a salad to go with it. And some Italian bread I picked up this morning.”
“And the Godfather part?” she asked.
Chuckling, he said, “Plenty of wine with it? Will that do?”
Without thinking, she popped out a thought she’d had before. “Maybe the mob did something to Rebecca Newell.”
“What?” He instantly stopped stirring to face her. “Why would you say that? Do you know something?”
“I—I don’t know why I said that, Nate. Sorry.”
His probing gaze didn’t read complete believability.
Nice going, Gillian. Forget any kisses tonight.
“Look,” she said, “all I can say is Rebecca is still very much on my mind. I can’t help it. And knowing how she was always investigating something, I just thought of the mob—in keeping with our Godfather theme, probably. Fact is, I really don’t blame anyone. I’m just frustrated with the lack of evidence.”
“You and me both,” he muttered and returned to his stirring. Seconds later, he offered a slight smile. “Forgive my manners. I think it’s time to open up your wine.”
He opened up the bottle, poured them each a glass, and walking over to his sofa, head motioned for her to follow. “Shall we?”
She nodded, and as soon as she sat down beside him, he immediately asked her about her day.
“It was all right. Joselyn wasn’t too nice to me, though.” She laughed.
“Joselyn?”
“Our pet cockatoo.”
He laughed as well. “Now, that’s not your typical family pet. Funny. I actually used to know someone who had a parrot. An African grey.”
“They’re great talkers. Now, Joselyn, she can talk, make wolf whistles, imitate animal sounds. We’ve had her for years. I was a little girl back in New Orleans when she first came into our household. My father spent hours talking to her. He…” She suddenly paused and studied her hands.
Nate’s, “He?” was said so gently, it brought on unexpected tears.
Why am I so comfortable with this man? “My father was my rock,” she spilled out. “He was so loving, so patient. Much more so than my mother. But his life ended far too soon. He was killed in a car accident by a drunk driver.”
Nate reached out and covered her hand. “So sorry, Gillian.”
Nodding, she drew a deep breath. “What about you? Your parents are both alive and well, I hope?”
“My mother is, but who knows about my father. He left us when I was five.”
She squeezed his hand. “So sorry. But your mom is all right? I know my mother was a mess after my father died.”
“She’s been kind to me, of course, but over the years, she’s developed a really tough outer shell. I don’t see her that much, probably because of that.”
“Families sure can be complicated,” she said, nodding slowly.
Suddenly, he gulped. “Look, Gillian, there’s something I have to tell you.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve been officially pulled off the case.”
What? “Oh, no! Why? You’re the best detective they have.”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s a small department. Word does travel. I’ll still know about things in the case.”
“Nate, I just don’t understand why.”
He stayed still for several seconds before he put his wine glass down on the coffee table. “Because of my involvement—with you.” He gently took her glass and put it down next to his.
“Involvement with me?” she half whispered.
“Yes, you, Gillian.” His husky voice reminded her of a tiger’s purr.
When he first kissed her, his lips felt light against hers, almost as if someone was brushing watercolors onto a canvas. But with her instant response to him, that quickly changed. He deepened his kiss, setting off a surge of sparks that jutted over her arms, her legs, and set off an even greater need to be touched in places he had awakened before. Only this time, with no stopping on his part, she grew aggressive as she pressed and rubbed up against him.
Again, to her, the fact that his caresses, his strokes, his fondles all landed on her most vulnerable and excitable areas amazed her. It was as if he had created her body himself and knew exactly where and what would please her. Are grown human men always like this with women? If so, I sure have been missing out.
“What about the sauce?” she breathed when she came up for air.
“Oops, there’s that. Wait a minute.” Quickly detaching himself, he got up, strode over to the stovetop to shut off the marinara sauce but was back in seconds to draw her up off the sofa to join him in his bedroom.
After so much passion, lying under his covers, naked and completely satiated, it took a while for their collective breaths to normalize. Still astounded by what she’d just experienced, Gillian casually draped one leg over Nate as he squeezed her even closer against him.
“That was wonderful,” he murmured in her ear.
“Yes, it was.” More than wonderful. Still—
He stirred. “Everything all right?”
“Yes, why do you ask?”
“I don’t know. Just sensing something. You know, detective ‘n all.”
She drew a very long, loaded breath. “All right. I’m worried about you being taken off the case.”
“Look, don’t worry. I have my ways,” he said, snuggling even closer against her.
“Such as?”
He shook his head. “You’ll just have to trust me. Sometimes things aren’t supposed to be explained.”
“Things not explained. Yes, I’ve been dealing with that, and it has nothing to do with Rebecca’s case.”
Not including finding her father’s note from so long ago, she proceeded to tell him about the incident with her almost being hit by a car and the laundromat’s parking lot where, at the last minute, she used that random toy gun to protect herself.
As soon as she finished, he sat up and looked down at her. “Oh, Gillian, you must have been really scared. And at the laundromat. I’m so sorry I didn’t protect you.”
“Scared. Hmm. Yes, I was definitely shaken up a little bit. But I recovered fast enough.”
A huge grin stretched his lips. “That’s my girl. Now, let’s get a wiggle on[25].”
Dropping down next to her, when he began to make love to her again, her body instantly charged into high gear.
Whatever’s happening to me, I’ll take it from this human. You hear that, Mama?
* *
Back home, after a quick hug for her mother, she retreated into her room so she could lie down and contemplate her newfound world. An existence her mother had always warned her against.
“Mama, I don’t care,” she said to the four walls. “I trust Nate, and if that means you think I will never be able to do a successful spell in my life, so be it.”
Beaming, she got up and shuffled off to her private bathroom, where she shed her clothes and turned on the water for a long, ho
t, luxurious bath. Used to grabbing quick showers, she had a sudden yen for something that would allow her to lie back, soak, and meditate—in the glow of three scented candles by her side.
As the water spilled into the tub, she thought about a certain thin jar of bath salts she hadn’t ever used. Something that Stevie had gotten her one Christmas.
Dear Stevie, how you’ve always acted like the oldest sister when you were the youngest.
She pulled out the third drawer of an old standing bathroom cabinet that she never used and rattled around for that jar. Her hand enclosed around something, but when she extracted the glass object, it came out with a folded piece of paper wrapped around it.
“What’s this?” she muttered as she opened it up.
Her heart started thumping. It was dated at least ten years earlier—from her father.
Dear Gilly,
This is yet another of my notes to you, my dear girl. Yet somehow, I believe it might be one of the most important messages you will ever receive from me.
It has come to my attention that within the New Orleans Witch Academy, and hopefully unbeknownst to Sister Gertrude, there is a truly evil woman amongst us. I know you are young, but I shall tell you her name because later on in life, I would like you to know her identity should anything bad befall upon me.
Her name is Priscilla Crowe. From the outside, she looks perfectly normal. Indeed, she is even attractive in a certain way. But Gilly, her soul is filled with darkness—of the very worst kind. Recently, your mother and I were at one of her séances. It was for your mother’s dear aunt, Cecily. There were only five of us present—your mother and me, Amanda Rankin, and two other people, who claimed to be friends of the Witch Academy.
Halfway through the séance, it turned ugly. The two “friends” started saying they were going into a trance as well as Priscilla, and soon, all three of them were spouting horrible, untrue things about Cecily. Needless to say, your mother and I started to leave, but the “friends” held her there captive, against her will—until I shoved them aside. Before we left, I told Priscilla that when I reported this to Sister Gertrude, her days at the Academy would certainly end.
Priscilla was furious. As we were leaving, we could hear her yelling behind us, “I shall get you for this, Elijah Good. You are a doomed man.”
Endangered Spells (Witches Academy Series Book 6) Page 12
