Warm and comfortable for the first time since they’d sat down outside of the coffee shop, Heather tried to think about what Theresa was suggesting; but all she could do was wish for a different family. When people she knew complained about their family issues, about irritating Thanksgiving dinners, about exhausting holiday traditions, Heather kept her mouth shut. Because first, how do you explain that your family is huge, like ‘I have forty-two first and second cousins’ huge, and therefore family get-togethers wouldn’t happen at someone’s house, they’d require a fucking convention center? And second, how exactly would you explain that your family is powerful? Not powerful politically like the Kennedys, or media-powerful like Brad and Angelina, or — whatever. Nope, when it came to the Pritchetts, power came in the form of magic.
Real magic.
As in making things move and float without touching them, starting fires and floods, making spells and potions, playing mind games and crafting illusions. The Pritchett women were nightmares wrapped in pretty blue-eyed packages, because all of that stuff sounded really cool until it was your seventeen year old sister who suddenly had the ability to levitate you out of your bed and put you on the fucking roof.
Thanks, Katy, for that lovely memory.
All Heather had ever wanted was to have been adopted, to be a part of some other family that wasn’t actually a coven of power hungry, perfect looking witches pretending to be normal women.
But that was never going to happen. She was a Pritchett and she always would be.
She pulled her hands from Theresa’s and shoved her cold coffee forward on the table. “If you’re going to do that shit in public, at least use it to heat my coffee.”
Theresa grinned and grabbed the coffee cup, but remembered to close her eyes and look down before she started to channel the energy. Glowing eyes tended to freak out anyone outside the family. As soon as she saw steam coming from the lid, Heather yanked it back. The last thing she needed was to explain boiling coffee bubbling out of her cup if someone chose to pay attention. “You know, you could probably do something like that if you’d just take care of your little problem.” Theresa was smiling, riding the high of using her magic. Her eyes were still a little too vibrant a blue to be natural, but they were calming down.
Heather took a sip of her coffee and almost burned her mouth. “It’s my problem, thank you very much.”
“Well, actually, according to the aunts it could be everyone’s problem at the vernal equinox. If we offend He —,” she stopped before she said the name out loud, “— if we offend the one who gave us these gifts, the aunts say it could be bad. Really bad.”
“And how would I offend her?” Heather drank more of the coffee now that it was slightly below scalding, and reveled in the warmth that still hummed under her skin while she studiously tried to ignore where the conversation was heading.
“The vernal equinox is a chance to enhance our power, to gain more for the whole family. To have someone of age who hasn’t claimed their right?” Theresa winced and grew quiet, speaking fast like she didn’t want to say the rest. “It might, sort of, be, like, a slap in the face of a really powerful ancient being who could crush us all beneath her heel?”
Heather just stared at her cousin in disbelief. There were hundreds, no, thousands of Pritchett women across the world. There had been over three hundred years of Pritchett women, a ton of generations, since Esther Pritchett lost her son and sold her soul to darkness. Why would one less witch matter? Why would she, Heather Pritchett, mean anything to the one who had given her family the power?!
Fuck this.
Heather didn’t want to be discussing her, or the rite they wanted her to complete, or the power she’d denied herself all these years. She wanted to go home, watch some TV, eat popcorn, and go to sleep. She wanted to be normal. “You can’t be serious.”
“As a heart attack. The aunts mean business this time, Heather. They love your mom, and you, but the coven comes first. You know that. And, if you put that at risk…” Theresa trailed off ominously and Heather almost choked on her coffee.
“What? Finish the goddamn sentence, Theresa! If I put that at risk — what?!” Heather grit her teeth as pedestrians stole glances at her while they navigated the narrow sidewalk between the small mounds of snow on either side.
“Heeeaatthheerrr….” Theresa whined, her brows knitting together above her eyes that had just barely returned to a less unearthly blue. She spoke so quietly Heather almost couldn’t hear her over the sound of traffic, “If you put everyone at risk, they’ll have to make sure you aren’t a — a problem, you know, at the equinox.” Theresa’s eyes were firmly glued to the top of her coffee cup as Heather’s world seemed to start collapsing around her.
Her family, her fucking family, the people who had watched her grow up, cared for her, made her birthday cakes, sent her off to school, let her cry on their shoulders — were going to kill her if she wouldn’t complete the rite and claim her power?
“Say something.” Theresa looked so worried, as if she wasn’t part of the group of people who were threatening her life.
“You would kill me?” Heather’s voice cracked as she said it quietly, and Theresa flinched like she’d hit her.
“Heather, no one wants to —“
“Really?!” Heather struggled to keep her voice low, and so she ended up doing a weird kind of whisper yelling that consisted of a lot of hissing between clenched teeth, “You guys would really kill me because I won’t find some guy and complete the rite?!”
“Just fucking do it!” Theresa half-yelled at her. More turning heads on the sidewalk. “Just — GOD why are you so stubborn!” Theresa grabbed her head and growled in frustration. There were tears brimming at the edge of her cousin’s eyes, but Heather couldn’t summon any sympathy. Not with the knife of betrayal poised over her heart, waiting to be plunged in. Theresa was looking around, again avoiding Heather’s eyes as though that would somehow erase the fact that she had just threatened to kill the girl she’d grown up with, her best friend. They were closer than they were with any of their sisters. Only eight months apart, they had done everything together.
Everything except the rite, of course.
“Theresa. I just can’t —”
“YES! Oh my God! Yes, you can!” Theresa jumped up, moving to the window of the coffee shop and slapping her hand against it to the absolute fright of a couple sitting on the other side of it. “This is the answer!”
Heather couldn’t see through her hand to read the red paper taped against the inside of the glass. “An ad is the way to keep you and the aunts from murdering me?” Sarcasm wasn’t a strong enough descriptor for the tone in her voice, but Theresa ignored the comment.
“Speed dating. ‘Find your Valentine in just two minutes, just in time for a night of love’. February 12th. Speed. Dating. Tomorrow night!” Theresa clapped her hands together and bounced up and down, grinning from ear to ear. “It’s perfect! You won’t know the guy, won’t know his friends, won’t know his family, it’ll be completely no strings attached!”
“Theresa —”
“Shut up, Heather, and just do it!” Theresa snapped at her, but she softened her voice, her brows pinching together again, “Please. For me, for your mom, for our nieces. You had to know that someday you’d have to choose a guy. It’s not like you’re a virgin, just do it.”
Heather dropped her head into her hands. No, she wasn’t a virgin. Just in the last four months there had been Rick who liked to tie her up and tease her until she begged for him, Brendan who had made a game of how many public places they could fuck in without getting caught, and Clay who had spent their entire three weeks together trying to recreate every Nicholas Sparks novel known to man. Clay had been her least favorite, but she’d put off breaking up with him because she’d known he would cry. And he had. She had made herself break the others off because the longer they spent in her life, the more her family paid attention — and the attention of a Pritchett wo
man was something no man should ever wish for. Ever.
These were some great choices. Perform the rite that she had spent a lifetime opposed to, a lifetime arguing against, a lifetime refusing — or die at the hands of her own family.
Which would leave her sweet mother with only Katy and Bonnie, who could easily get the roles of the evil stepsisters in any stage production of Cinderella.
Mom.
Of all the things on the table - the threat to her own life, the threat of an ancient powerful psycho-bitch destroying her entire family, the threat of being cast out if they let her live for some reason — the worst of it would be leaving her mom to them.
“Fine.” Heather whispered.
“What did you say?” Theresa was scribbling the details from the flyer on a receipt she’d snagged from her purse.
“I said fine, Theresa. I’ll do it.” Heather felt sick just saying the words. Theresa’s squeal of joy, her vibrant hug as she pulled Heather from her seat and wrapped her arms around her, the way she pressed the information on the speed dating event into her hand — none of it could seep through the weight of her decision.
Because the rite to gain her power, to become a Pritchett witch, didn’t just involve finding some man, choosing him, and taking him to bed. That would be easy. That would be simple.
But, it wasn’t simple. Because whomever she met, whomever she chose, whomever she fucked under the power of the rite…
would die.
Heather spent the afternoon wandering downtown Cambridge and adamantly refusing to show up for her shift at the shop. Unlike most days that she was late for a shift, Aunt Carol didn’t call her.
No one called her.
Which meant Theresa had already announced the news.
Stubborn Heather was finally going to claim her magic. She was going to let go of her ridiculous morals and finally join the ranks of thousands of other Pritchett women who had sacrificed a man to gain power.
Good men, because the immortal psycho-bitch who controlled her family wanted warriors. And as actual warriors had dwindled with the modern world, it had translated into men who fought the good fight, stood up for what was right, were brave, and strong, and good.
Heather kicked open the gate to her mother’s garden and swallowed the urge to cry. Her mom was sitting on a stone bench in the middle of a jungle of flowers and ferns and bushes. She was humming and as Heather watched her, new flowers pushed through the dark soil towards the last evening beams of sunlight.
“Mom?” Heather took a breath to calm her temper, and quietly approached her mom’s small form. Patrice Pritchett. She had almost-black hair that she kept wound back in a bun to keep it out of her way as she worked in her garden. She had a green thumb that would make botanists the world over envious. There were things in her garden that, literally, should not grow in this climate. She could grow anything, and she made the best tea. A cup of her tea, a hug, and a song, and everything might feel alright again.
“Oh, Heather…” Her mom’s voice had that same dreamy quality she always had. Like she wasn’t really aware of her surroundings. Those blue eyes turned to her and her mom reached out for her. Nothing like going back to your mom when your day had taken a nose dive. Heather slid down to sit on the ground next to her feet. Instantly, her mom was brushing fingers through her hair like she had when Heather was little. “I’m sorry my sweet girl.”
“I guess you’ve heard?” Heather kept her eyes on the garden, which should be sleeping under snow; but somehow the snow never stuck in her mother’s yard. It was only an illusion spell cast by one of her aunts that kept the neighbors from calling the news, or, you know, bringing back burning people at the stake. It wasn’t her fault though. Her mom couldn’t control it.
“Carol called me. Marguerite is the one who started all of it, and I’m terribly sorry. I should have never —” Her mom stopped talking and continued trailing her fingers through her hair.
“What, mom?” She looked up at her and her mom smiled wistfully.
“I never should have given more daughters to Herja.” Her mom spoke clearly of her wish not to have ever had her, or her sisters, but what made Heather gasp was the use of that psycho-bitch’s name. Out loud. Unless you wanted to summon her, you never used her name. Heather tensed, looking around the garden as if the monster would suddenly appear, trample the flowers, and destroy them both for the insult of calling her name without a sacrifice.
Nothing happened.
“Mom, you can’t just —”
“Have you chosen him yet?” Her mother cut her off, but she was staring at a flower that was growing impossibly large to her right, the petals seeming to reach for her hand at the edge of the bench.
“No. I haven’t chosen anyone yet. Theresa found a speed dating thing downtown tomorrow night, I’m just going to pick one then.” Heather rested her head against her mother’s knee, trying so hard to seek the comfort she’d obviously craved when she’d unconsciously found herself in front of her mom’s house after driving around.
“You’re going to be different after. You’re going to change. Just like Katherine. Just like Bonnie. My sweet girl, my sweet Heather, will be gone.” The flower that had been growing steadily suddenly collapsed under its weight, the stem snapping. The grass beneath them, which was impossibly lush and green for February in Massachusetts, began to recede, leaving the cold, dark soil behind. A circle of barren earth was spreading out from her mother at an insane rate.
The earth giveth, and the earth taketh away. And Patrice Pritchett controlled it all.
It was a seriously terrifying power when one considered what she could do with it. She could end world hunger, or, she could kill the planet, depending upon her mood and the amount of energy she wanted to pour into it. The world was lucky her mom didn’t try.
The backyard garden was where she spent all of her time because she had a bad habit of literally leaving a trail of flowers when she walked around the city. Impossible to explain, impossible to keep track of and destroy evidence in a world of security cameras and smart phones and YouTube. Not enough illusions and memory wipes in the entire Pritchett family to keep up with it. So her mom was cursed to stay in her house, and in the garden, and as long as she was happy it was a beautiful, peaceful place. But when she got upset…
“Mom, it’s okay. I won’t be different. I won’t be like Bonnie or Katy.” Heather jumped when a branch snapped off an apple tree a few yards behind her and smacked into the earth, the leaves withering and falling off like watching Summer change to Autumn change to Winter in fast forward. “Mom! Stop!” Heather grabbed her face and made her look at her. Brown eyes into electric blue, glowing like the blue was on fire, unearthly power trapped inside a tiny body. Too much power. It smelled like the air after a lightning strike. Scalded and traumatized.
Is this what Heather would be like when she claimed her power? So changed by what she would be capable of that she would have to keep herself hidden away? To be calm and placid all the time so she didn’t destroy the fucking planet?
For a moment she saw something else in her mother’s eyes. Not the sweet woman who made chamomile and mint tea on a whim, not the woman who could sing like an angel, not the woman who made you feel like the most precious thing in the world. Right now she was devastation, the embodiment of Herja’s power.
“Mom?” Heather knew she was crying, her cheeks burning in the cold and the acidic quality of the magic in the air. “Please, mom. Calm down? Come on. Please?”
It took a minute, but the electric crackle finally began to fade. Her mom blinked, shook her head, and stared out at the homage to death her garden had become. Wilted flowers, limp ferns, naked trees and bushes, piles of dead leaves, vacant earth where the grass had receded. “I’m sorry. I guess I lost control. I — I just don’t want to lose you. Heather, my sweet girl, I never wanted to lose you, I never wanted any of this for you.”
“Patrice?” Michael’s voice came from the patio door, strong and cl
ear. Thank God he came outside. Michael was a good man with the good fortune of meeting her mother long after she had completed her rite and had three daughters with strangers. He had faced the reality of a world with magic with a strange calm, and had told Patrice, and her, and her sisters, that he had no plans to run. And he hadn’t. Not when Katy had claimed her power and started moving shit around the house with her mind, not when Bonnie had gained control over the elements and could shake the earth during a teenage temper tantrum, or cause the fireplace to send a pillar of fire out the top of the chimney. Not even when her mom would have an episode and reduce half the block to barren earth, only to have it come back a day later like it had never happened. And it was his eternal calm that centered her mom. Heather stood up to give them space as Michael wrapped his arms around his wife, whispering soothing words. A moment later new grass pierced the cold earth under her mom’s feet. It spread out in a circle around her, and Heather finally breathed a sigh of relief.
She should have known not to come here and burden her mom with this. She was fragile. No one was supposed to upset her.
Heather was an idiot.
“I’m going to go. I -, I love you, mom.” Her mom glanced up at her, once again far off and faded in her expression. The garden was waking up, but her mom was going back to sleep.
The Darker Side of Love (A Dark Erotica Boxed Set) Page 16
