“Anderson Witacre?”
“That’s what gave me the hint I needed. Hang on a sec.” She stands and rushes out of the room. I hear her footfalls against the hardwood floors as they recede and then return to the dining room. She holds a large, thick black book emblazoned with gold foil lettering.
I squint at the title. “Founding Families?”
She snorts as she puts the book down on the table. It makes a solid thump as the spine connects with the hard wood. She lets the book fall open to the middle before flipping forward and backward in search of something. “Yeah, this is something some of the families in town got together to write a few decades ago.”
“Let me guess: members of the founding families?”
“You’re quick.” She skims a page and points at it triumphantly. I lean in to see what she found.
“Anderson Witacre? Is that the same—”
“The same guy? Yeah. Back in the early 1800s, he and a group of others founded Clearwater.”
I attempt to understand the implications of Jodi’s revelation, but nothing comes to me. “So, my mom’s ancestors are from Clearwater too? Alright, both my parents can tie some family members to this town. No offense, but, what does that matter?”
“I’ll admit, even I didn’t understand the depth of what this meant until just now. See, your dad’s sent me lots of little things over the past five years. Sometimes it’s mysterious family trees, sometimes it’s pages from journals kept by early settlers. From what I can tell, for generations, people have been drawn here to Clearwater. There’s something about this area that pulls certain kinds of people in.”
“Witches?” Owen asks.
She nods. “Yes, but not just witches. Like I said, dealing with time isn’t really a witch thing.”
I glance at Owen before turning back to her. “Well, who deals with time then?”
“Psychics.”
Owen leans back in his chair, removing his hand from mine for the first time. “You’re messing with us, aren’t you?” The chair legs scrape against the hardwood floors as he pushes it back to stand. “You had me going there for a minute.”
Jodi stands too. “I’m being serious.”
Owen shakes his head, running a hand through his hair and causing it to stick up on the side.
I turn to him. “You’re willing to believe in witches but not psychics?”
He sighs, resting his hands on the back of the chair he was sitting in. “I don’t know. It’s just… It’s all so crazy, isn’t it? Witches, psychics, magic, visions… I mean, it can’t really be real, can it?”
Jodi’s shoulders slump, her face resigned—sad, even. “I’m not lying about any of this.”
The candle on the table flickers to life and I jump. Owen places his hand on my shoulder.
Jodi offers a small smile. “I’m a witch.”
Chapter Twenty-One
It takes me a moment to register Jodi’s words. It takes me a moment longer to remember to breathe.
“How’d you do that?” Owen asks.
Jodi shakes her head. “To be honest, I’m a little surprised it worked. It’s been a long time since I’ve practiced. But I guess it’s like riding a bike.”
He navigates around his chair, sitting down again. “What do you mean, it’s been a long time since you practiced? Are you a witch or not?”
Jodi closes her fist and the candle flame extinguishes. “Like I said, some people are born with magic in them. It seems like abilities build over generations. I’m guessing my grandmother, Hannah, had magic in her—that’s how she knew about herbs and crystals. And my dad is the one who taught me. But I never really noticed anything particularly magical about him. I never sensed it—even when I was practicing.”
I rest my forearms on the table, leaning toward Jodi. “Wait—if you’re a witch, and it runs in families, doesn’t that mean… You said I’m not a witch.”
She bites her lower lip. “I had a friend back in high school whose mom used to make some extra money by telling fortunes and holding séances. But my friend never had an inkling of psychic ability. What she did have was magic. From what I can piece together, when a psychic and a witch have a kid, one set of abilities or the other wins out. Nature doesn’t seem to like having both the skill sets in one body. But sometimes, it happens.”
The meaning in Jodi’s eyes makes me flush. “No, I’m not… I can’t, you know, light candles without matches.”
“But what about the things you told me about?” Owen asks, his voice quiet. “Things breaking and exploding around you?”
Jodi sighs. “I had my suspicions when I saw what was in your school file. It’s not surprising for these kinds of things to happen if you’ve got no outlet for your magic. Sometimes it builds up so much it needs to be released. And if you don’t know how to direct it, it can go haywire.”
“You had your suspicions?” I ask, my voice quivering. “Were you ever going to tell me about what you thought I was?”
Jodi shifts. “I’m not sure.”
Her words are a dagger in my back. “So, what? Were you just going to keep it to yourself?”
“I thought it was for the best! You have no idea what you could get yourself into. I told you I haven’t practiced in years. It’s been nearly two decades since I cast a spell.”
“Why?” Owen asks.
A faraway look settles in Jodi’s eyes. “When I was in high school, just a little younger than you two, a friend of mine figured out what she was—what we were. She learned about the town’s history and the founding families. She brought together a small circle of us—of witches. Oh, we thought we were so special. My friend found her family’s grimoire—this book full of spells and other magical things. Every time the circle got together, we’d try something new—whether it was getting a plant to grow quickly or lighting a candle or using wind to move objects. It wasn’t easy—not at first—but the more we did, the better we got. And the better we got, the more we were convinced we were capable of.
“But we weren’t quite as capable as we thought we were. And one night, my friend got in over her head. Magic ended up killing her.”
“Crystal Taylor.” My voice is quiet when I speak her name. “That’s who you’re talking about, right? Lexie and Crystal Jamison’s aunt?”
She nods. “After Crystal died, the rest of the circle stopped practicing. It didn’t seem fun anymore. It didn’t seem worth it.” She looks at me. “Magic can have consequences.”
I look at my hands. I only just found out I have magic inside me and it feels like it’s already being taken away. “You don’t want me doing magic, do you?”
She runs her fingers along her eyebrows before pressing her fingertips to her temples. “It might be better—safer—if you work at controlling your magic. Not using it, but controlling it.”
Owen snorts. “That’s easy for you to say. You use magic all the time, don’t you?”
“I just told you I haven’t cast a spell in years—”
“That’s not what I mean. All the stuff you sell in your store—the teas, the candles, the jewelry—that’s all witchcraft, isn’t it?”
Jodi sighs. “Not exactly. Everything has an energy and I know a lot about how to use those things.” She reaches a hand across the table toward me. “And I’m willing to teach you everything I know. There’s magic you can do without casting spells and practicing the craft.” She presses her lips together and her mouth twitches, like she wants to say something more, but she doesn’t.
A knock sounds at the door and I jump. Jodi curses under her breath. “I completely forgot—I’m going out to lunch with some old friends—Shelly’s friends.” She stands and takes a couple steps toward the front hallway. “Be there in a sec!” she calls through the door before turning back to me. “I’m sorry. We can talk about this more later, okay?”
I want to tell her it’s not okay, I need to talk about this now, but the words stick in my throat. She just lost her friend; I know too well wha
t losing someone is like to keep her from spending time with people who might be able to ease her pain. I nod and she smiles at me before heading for the front door. It opens and Jodi’s voice mingles with an unfamiliar female voice. It’s not until the door closes and I hear the receding footsteps of people stepping off the porch that I look at Owen.
“How you doing?”
He reaches forward and takes one of my hands. Pressing it between both of his, he looks into my eyes. “I should be asking you.”
Heat rises in my cheeks. “I’m… fine. I always knew there was something strange about me. I’m actually a little relieved that there’s an explanation.”
A smile tugs at the corners of his lips, but only for a moment. “That’s not what I mean. I saw you go all tense when Jodi mentioned your dad. And I… I saw in my head that you didn’t want me to hear about him.”
I look down at our hands, pressing my lips together. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to see that.”
He shakes his head. “And I didn’t mean to see it. But that’s not the point. The point is you don’t have to hide things from me. You haven’t said anything about why you’re here in Clearwater, and I haven’t pushed because I could tell it hit a nerve. I figured when you got comfortable around us—around me—you’d open up.”
“I’m sorry.” I pull my gaze up to meet his, the hurt in his eyes stabbing my heart. He’s right. He deserves my honesty. I swallow and take in a deep breath. “Five years ago, just after my twelfth birthday. That’s when these things first started happening. I mean, I guess I was always a little more in tune with what people were feeling, but around the time I hit twelve, things just started going nuts. I’d hear these… voices… in my head. And at first I thought I was going crazy, but I realized the voices weren’t coming from me—they were coming from other people. I was overhearing people’s thoughts. And at first… at first it was awesome.” I smile at the memory. “I suddenly knew whether or not the boys my friends were crushing on liked them back. I knew all the answers the teachers were looking for during group discussions. But then one day at my friend’s birthday party, I got mad at her. I don’t even remember for what anymore—it was something stupid. We got into it, yelling insults back and forth. And then suddenly it came to me—the perfect thing to hit her with. A secret—a big secret—one she’d never shared with me, never shared with any of her friends.” I squeeze my eyes closed as the memory plays out in my mind. “The look on her face when I said it… I wish I’d slapped her instead. Everyone heard it. Looking at her, at what I’d done to her, I felt terrible. I felt worse than terrible—I felt empty.”
Owen squeezes my fingers. I know part of him wonders what the secret was, but he won’t make me tell. He allows me the time I need to regroup before going on.
“She attacked me. I couldn’t even blame her. I didn’t fight back. She knocked me over and just started punching me and I took every punch. We were at one of those pizza arcade places—you know, with all the games and the giant singing rats? And as she hit me, every one of the games started going berserk, lighting up and spitting out tickets and regurgitating tokens. By the time the adults got to us to break the fight up, the place was insane. Kids were running around, screaming, grabbing tickets and tokens. And the littler kids were screaming and crying, pressing their hands over their ears because it was so loud. My dad was a chaperone at the party and I’ll never forget the look on his face when he got to me. He took me by the shoulders and pulled me up to sitting. As soon as his hands were on me, all the machines stopped freaking out. And his face—he was terrified. My dad was terrified of me.”
I bring my free hand up to cover my eyes and am surprised to find my eyelashes are wet. I wipe my cheeks, smiling apologetically at Owen. He presses my hand between his.
“My dad left soon after that. I knew it was my fault he left, and I thought maybe—maybe—if I learned to control it, he might not be scared of me anymore and he might come back. But he hasn’t come back. Not even when my mom—” I cover my mouth with my hand, choking on the word. Died. My mom died. A sob escapes my lips and I stand, releasing Owen’s hands and starting toward the kitchen. It’s bad enough he had to hear what he already heard; I don’t want him to have to deal with this.
I’m a few steps from the kitchen when Owen’s hand descends on my shoulder. He spins me and pulls me into his arms before I can react. He wraps his strong arms around my back and I nestle my head against his chest. I’m getting the front of his shirt all wet but I don’t care. He won’t let me care about that. His hand finds the back of my head, his fingers rubbing gently at my scalp as I cry. His other hand massages my back in slow, gentle circles.
Minutes pass before he speaks. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs.
Bringing my hand to my face, I wipe my nose with my shirt sleeve. “I try not to think about it. When I think about it—about her…” I sniff. “Well, you can see what happens.”
He reaches his hand out and wipes a tear from my face with his thumb. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through. But if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here, okay?” A smile stretches across his face. “You can cry all over my shirt whenever you want.”
I laugh, eyeing the sizable wet spot I’ve left in the center of his chest. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that.”
“Don’t be. I’m serious. Anytime you need me, I’m here for you.”
His blue eyes smolder when he looks at me and my stomach flutters. He trails his fingers down the side of my face and I lean toward the touch. The cadence of my heart increases as he shifts toward me, the same way he did last night at the dance.
His cell phone chimes and the spell is broken. A spasm crosses his face as he pulls the phone from his pocket. “It’s my mom,” he mutters, glancing at the screen. “I’m sorry—I’m supposed to take my sister to this Halloween thing…”
I nod, shooing him with my hand. “Go. I understand.”
His face tightens as he looks at me. He leans in for a hug before heading toward the front door.
His footsteps fade and a pressure constricts my chest.
Owen knows my secrets now. What’s more, some of my secrets are his, too. In the span of a couple hours, everything I thought I knew has been destroyed, yet I am at peace. As crazy as everything Jodi just told me sounds, I accept it without question. I finally know who I am.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The day of Mrs. Cole’s funeral dawns clear and bright, a light frost reflecting the late October sunlight. It’s a Tuesday, but I don’t dress for school. Clearwater High is closed today since so many of the teachers and students will be at the funeral.
I put on the black skirt Jodi lent me for the occasion. I don’t have a black dress. I wore purple to my mom’s funeral. Purple was her favorite color. The skirt is a little big on me, but it doesn’t look bad once I pull on my sweater. It looks cold, so I don my black leggings, too.
On my way downstairs, I stop by Jodi’s room. She stands in front of her dresser, trying to clasp a necklace at the back of her neck. Her fingers tremble and she can’t quite get the ends to connect.
“I’ll get it,” I murmur, crossing to her.
“Thanks.” She offers a tight-lipped smile when she hands the necklace to me.
I turn the pendant over in my hand. A purple stone the size of my pinky nail is set in the center of a circular ring of white gold. “It’s pretty.”
She turns her back to me and I lower the necklace over her head. “Amethyst. Helps with grief.”
I do up the clasp and smooth the fabric on the shoulders of her dress.
When she turns back to me, her hand is on the stone. “The last time I wore this piece was at Crystal Taylor’s funeral. It seems fitting to wear it today too.” She picks up a brush from the top of her dresser and runs it through her hair. “You really don’t have to come, you know. Shelly was my friend. She was your principal and you only knew her a couple weeks.”
“I don’t mind,” I say, although
it’s not entirely true. I don’t really want to go to another funeral—not so soon after my mom’s. “You shouldn’t have to go alone.”
Jodi holds open her arms and I enter into her embrace. I hold her tightly and she squeezes me so strongly I find it hard to breathe. She sniffles a few times and I hold on until her breathing returns to normal. “Thank you, Krissa.”
“Sure.”
Jodi puts her shoes on and the two of us head out of the house and to her car. During the car ride, she doesn’t turn on the radio and neither of us speaks.
The funeral home is just outside of downtown and the parking lot is nearly full when we arrive. Jodi locates an empty spot in the back corner and we make our way to the entrance.
The mood in the building is somber. Jodi is no more than a few steps through the door when someone calls her name. She walks over to a group of some women her age and they all embrace. Some of them have tissues in their hands and they dab at their faces at regular intervals. I stand over by a wall, not wanting to be in the way. I figure I’ll just keep an eye on Jodi and follow her when she goes somewhere.
Besides this one, my mother’s is the only funeral I’ve ever been to, and I’m not sure what the etiquette is. I barely remember anything about my mom’s funeral, truth be told. I figure the best course of action now is to do my best to mimic Jodi.
“Krissa?”
I look up at the sound of my name and see Lexie standing near a wall, looking like she’s trying to stay out of the way. She’s wearing a simple black dress and a chunky turquoise necklace and I smile, glad for some color in the area.
“I didn’t know you were coming.” I keep my voice low. “Jodi and Mrs. Cole have been friends since high school, I guess. I didn’t want her to have to come alone.”
Lexie nods. “I’m here with my dad. He’s a bit older than Mrs. Cole is... Was. But apparently his sister was pretty good friends with her back in the day. You know, Crystal Taylor?” Her eyebrows cinch together. “I wonder if Jodi was friends with my aunt Crystal too?”
Crystal Magic (Clearwater Witches Book 1) Page 14
