by Cindy Stark
Mr. Kitty watched her, his green eyes full of adoration, and his purrs vibrated deep into her heart. She smiled and stroked his soft fur.
She swore she heard several owl hoots from beyond her closed window, and she frowned. She wouldn’t look. Didn’t want to know if any new omens waited to give her bad news. She’d had enough trouble from that creature in the past, and she didn’t want to allow him to affect her thoughts today.
She focused instead on Mr. Kitty. “What’s this, silly cat? Have you decided after all this time that maybe I’m okay?”
His answer was a deep rumble that came from the back of his throat.
Perhaps he was happy that she’d chosen to marry Peter. If so, that only confirmed her belief that he was the right man for her.
Either way, she was thrilled to finally have a deepened connection with her familiar. “I guess it’s about time, huh?”
Commotion from the hall stole her attention. Peter carried a tray of fresh waffles, sliced strawberries, and a cup of what smelled like Majestic Morning tea into their bedroom. He’d freshly showered and shaved. His dark wavy hair and green eyes devastated her like they had the first time she’d laid eyes on him.
She lifted Mr. Kitty off her and set him on the bed. “Sorry, love. My man has brought food, and I’m starving.”
Peter grinned as he set the tray across her lap. “I’m glad you’re awake. I thought I’d bring you breakfast before I head into the office.”
Her happiness faded into a frown. “You can’t work today. We’re on our honeymoon.”
He smiled and shook his head. “No, when I take you to Barbados, then we’ll be on our honeymoon. I promise no one will bother us then. But for now, I think it’s best if I step in and handle the library break-in. If I don’t, it might look suspicious, and if I do, that might give me info on Timothy and possibly Samuel.”
She snorted. “If you think either one of them is going to give you any useful information now that you’re married to me, you’d better think again.”
He settled on the bed next to her. “Yeah, you’re probably right, but they might say something to one of my guys. That information will come directly to me.”
The thought of Peter’s deceased officer, who’d also belonged to the Sons of Stonebridge, crossed her mind. “I wonder how John Bartles would have handled the fact that his boss, the chief of police, married a witch.”
A hint of sadness glinted in his eyes. “Despite his beliefs, John was a good man. I’d like to believe, that given the chance, he would have come around. He didn’t have a black heart, just some misguided values.”
“Yeah,” she said softly. “I’d always thought the same about him. Or at least, I’d hoped it was true.”
She stole a slice of strawberry from the bowl and placed it in her mouth. “I’m surprised you’re willing to leave me home alone after everything that’s transpired. Not that you should worry, because I’ll be fine. It just doesn’t seem like you.”
A solemn look crossed his face, and he gave her several slow nods as though he considered once again the wisdom of his choice. “Trust me. I’ve given a lot of thought about going into the office, and here’s what I’ve come up with. Tell me if you don’t agree, because I’ll stay with you day and night to keep you safe if I have to.”
She smiled at his sentiment.
“If this prophecy of healing the town is to work, you and I won’t be able to remain hidden behind these walls forever, as if we’ve done something wrong. The best way to move forward is to rejoin the citizens and let them see that you’re the same person they’ve known and loved. With precautions, of course. But they need to know that there’s nothing to fear.”
His words made absolute sense to her. “You know, I agree. I can’t let this make me afraid to leave the house, or it all will have been for nothing.”
He pointed a finger at her. “That doesn’t mean I’m not going to do everything I can to protect you, but hiding will only serve to grow their fears.”
Her heart swelled with pride. “Have I ever told you how smart you are?”
He peered into her eyes. “If I could, I’d steal you so far away that no one here would ever find us. Unfortunately, I have to think about more than just us.”
She, too, wished she didn’t feel the need to make the town more important than her new life. But the need to fulfill her destiny burned in her veins, and she knew there would be nothing she could do to fight it.
She had a purpose, and she would see it through.
He reached out and squeezed her hand. “However, having said that, I’d like you to remain here today. We need to come up with a plan before we send you wandering out into the big wide world.”
His choice of words made her chuckle. And she loved that he loved her. “I’m actually okay with that, too. I need to figure out what to do with some certain items that came into my possession recently, and the sooner I figure that out, the better.”
“Don’t hide them too well. As soon as I’m back, I’d like to thoroughly read what Timothy has written in that notebook.”
Her heart softened. “To see what it says about Sarah.”
He nodded. “Someone stole her life from her, and in the process, caused me a great deal of suffering. There’s a penance to be paid.”
She knew he harbored mixed feelings about his first wife because Sarah had used a love potion to make him fall for her. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t cared for her at all and didn’t grieve when she’d died. Hazel understood his need for justice for Sarah.
She hadn’t known the woman, but she still felt the same. Her murderer or murderers needed to pay. “I want to know the truth, too. We can read it together after you’re back. In the meantime, I want to check out Clarabelle’s diary and find a secure hiding place for everything in Timothy’s box.”
He stood. “If you finish with Clarabelle’s diary, I don’t mind if you start on Timothy’s notes. You can give me a report later, and we’ll go over it then.”
She held out a hand toward him, and he grasped it. “I know you need to go to work, but please don’t stay all day. This might not be our official honeymoon, but it is the first day of married life, and I don’t want to spend it apart from you.”
He squeezed her hand and grinned. “You took the words right out of my mouth. Two hours tops, and I’ll be back.”
He leaned down and placed a lingering kiss on her lips. When he straightened, she missed him immediately.
Peter left the room, and Hazel turned to find Mr. Kitty watching her intently.
“What’s that look for? You know I love him. I think you do, too.”
Mr. Kitty answered with several meows that made Hazel believe she was right.
Hazel should have savored her breakfast instead of gulping it down, but she was eager to pull out the loot from the previous night and inspect it. The sooner she learned more about Clarabelle and the Sons of Stonebridge, the sooner she would be able to better protect herself and the other witches, should they decide to come forward.
The second she finished eating, she set the tray aside and slid off the bed. She didn’t bother to dress or fix her hair, but instead, pulled the vintage wooden box from the back of the closet.
She sat on the floor and held the box on her lap. The potential answer to so many mysteries sat before her, and the thought released shivers of hope and expectation.
She considered burning candles to help with the strength of her spell since she didn’t have an extra burst of power from Cora, but then decided to give it a try on her own.
Hazel grasped the lock with one hand and inhaled deeply. She searched for the energy holding the lock together and then emptied her lungs. “Release your hold. Relax your guard. Let the strength within you free. Allow me entrance. Allow me to see. This I ask, so mote it be.”
The modern gold lock released its hold, and she pulled it from the closure. Anticipation skittered through her veins as she lifted the lid.
The content
s had been jostled during her escape from the library, but Clarabelle’s diary, the spell book, and Timothy’s notebook all remained inside along with an array of candles, parchment, and herbs. Timothy’s witchy tools of the trade.
Everything inside the box interested her, but she was eager to read Clarabelle’s diary the most. With gentle hands, she pulled out the old tome. Electric currents crackled between her and the leather-covered book, and she swore it was as glad as she was for it to be home.
Excitement pulsed in the tips of her fingers, and she opened the cover.
A wild gust of wind brushed past her, startling her. Of course. Her grandmother would want to be here for this.
She searched the room, trying to sense Clarabelle’s presence. “It’s here, grandmother. I have the diary. This is yours, right?”
Yesss…
A cloud of happiness surrounded her, and despite everything bad that had happened, she knew she was on the right track.
“I’m excited to read it,” she said to the ghost in the room. “I’m eager to learn everything I can about you and your life.”
A hush fell about her, a reverence for what she held, and she shifted her gaze downward to the page.
She whispered the words that had been written so long ago. “Stonebridge, Massachusetts, sixteen-eighty—”
She gasped as the words morphed before her eyes into an indecipherable code or language. “No.”
Clarabelle’s wail echoed hers, and Hazel’s heart broke all over again for the poor woman.
Hazel glanced about, hoping Clarabelle could help her. “What happened? Did I cause it?”
An unseen force whipped past her face, and a second later, an upstairs door slammed shut.
Hazel sat stunned. She wasn’t sure what had just transpired, but it wasn’t good.
After several seconds of waiting for another outburst that didn’t happen, Hazel turned her gaze back to the diary. She shook the book, knowing it was laughable to think that might fix it.
Clarabelle’s writing had always been difficult for her to read, but this didn’t appear to be even written in English. Something had scrambled the words before her eyes.
She couldn’t imagine how that could be. Unless…
Timothy.
That dirty bugger. He must have cursed her grandmother’s diary. How dare he?
Hot blood roiled in her veins. He would not prevent her from reading her grandmother’s words. That he would even try…
Hazel set the book aside and lifted Lily’s dark brown spell book. It was heavier than Clarabelle’s and her friends’ books, and Hazel wondered if it held more spells as well. Her hands shook with trepidation as she opened the cover, afraid she’d find the words to be indecipherable.
The words changed with eerie abandon.
“Son of a crunchy biscuit.”
Still, if a person could curse text, then someone could also remove it. She might find help in Clarabelle’s spell book. If not, she’d figure out something else because she would read those books.
A memory nudged her, and she recalled someone saying Polly was good with old texts. Perhaps she would be willing to help.
They weren’t the best of friends, but they were civil. And she figured Polly owed her that much after she’d returned Genevieve’s spell book to her.
With a sigh of disgust and prayer that Timothy had only cursed the vintage tomes, Hazel opened his notebook. This time, good-old American handwriting filled the pages and stayed.
She sighed in relief. “Thank goodness.”
She couldn’t imagine why he wouldn’t have encrypted his own words, but that was a mistake on his part. She was about to learn all kinds of things that she knew Timothy wouldn’t want her to know. After what he’d done to the diary and spell book, she wouldn’t feel the least bit bad about delving into his personal property and exploiting it. She hoped she found all kinds of things that would incriminate him, and Samuel, too.
Four
Hazel pulled a fresh notebook from a drawer in the small antique desk she kept near her favorite chair in the living room and settled in to read Timothy’s notebook. She flipped to the last page with an entry intending to start at the most recent date and work backward.
She gasped.
Hazel Hardy. Potential witch.
Timothy had entered it the day she’d been caught by him and Samuel doing reconnaissance at the library. The day when she’d believed Mr. Kitty had saved her from suspicion.
But he hadn’t. She suspected her name in Timothy’s notebook probably had a lot to do with Samuel Canterbury’s impression of her. She’d sensed his ugly, suspicious nature right away.
Though, she had to admit, he’d been right.
She swallowed a heavy lump of fear.
Even without Harriett and Olivia’s treachery, she’d made herself a target. She’d joined the ranks with Cora and had blacklisted herself.
With trepidation pulsing beneath her skin, she made an entry into her own notebook with the date Timothy had placed her on the suspect list. She supposed she should be grateful she hadn’t been there all along.
Other entries included the suspicion about Fauna and the resulting attack. Timothy had jotted his own conclusions about who’d hurt her and murdered John Bartles. She frowned. But then that meant he hadn’t been in on it. If Samuel had hurt Fauna, Timothy hadn’t known.
Timothy had also written Margaret’s name along with a question mark, which set her blood to boiling again. Peter’s assistant and one of her best friends was not a witch, but her association with them had earned her a big, fat maybe.
Timothy went on to write about Samuel’s mentorship and how Timothy revered his solid commitment to banishing all witches.
The uneducated, imbecilic jerks.
She continued reading and found that the Sons of Stonebridge didn’t seem to meet regularly, only when issues arose. Timothy had seemed pleased with himself for encouraging the town to fight witches by using holy water balloons. None had exposed witches, and he’d reported to Samuel while Samuel had been out of town that the Sons were doing a good job of keeping the town free of infestation.
She paused to chuckle. Timothy might have descended from witches, but he had no clue who or what they really were, despite spending hours studying his precious old texts at the library.
I’ve sinned to save the others. Samuel’s recent concerns convinced me that we aren’t free, which has led me to tarnish my soul and use witchcraft to hide important tomes. If they were to enter the wrong hands, the Sons might lose control.
She rolled her eyes at his impertinent tone.
He continued to note the few spells he’d used to hide his secret chest, and Hazel laughed at how easily she’d broken them. Except that darned one that encrypted text. He’d definitely won that round, and unfortunately, he didn’t note which spell he’d used.
I must fight fire with fire, and I vow that once witches are eradicated, I will burn the evil books, until nothing but ashes remain.
She narrowed her gaze in disgust and shook her head. “Good thing we grabbed them when we did,” she muttered.
More pages of drivel, hatred against witches and Timothy’s diatribe to eradicate them.
Vague talk about Samuel’s intent to get rid of “her”.
She discovered another entry where Timothy was upset. He’d misunderstood Samuel’s intent. Thought he meant to run “her” out of town.
Her?
She reread the paragraphs again, looking for clues as to which woman he referred to or what exactly they’d done instead of chasing her off, but she found nothing.
Hazel couldn’t be certain, but she had fierce suspicions the woman was Sarah. The date on the entry wasn’t long after her death, and throwing water balloons at a woman or some such thing wouldn’t leave Timothy that upset.
Samuel Canterbury had murdered Peter’s first wife.
She was sure of it, and they needed to find a way to prove it. Timothy didn’t exactly write th
ose words, but she understood his implication, the reason for his distress.
Timothy didn’t want witches in Stonebridge, but he hadn’t intended to murder anyone as a way of cleansing the town.
She dropped the notebook to her lap. Discovering a gentle way to inform Peter of her discovery wouldn’t be easy. Telling him might not be as bad as when she’d disclosed she was a witch, but the announcement would hurt him.
Mr. Kitty jumped onto the arm of her overstuffed chair, startling her. She shot him a nasty look. “Why do you do that? I don’t have nine lives like you to toss away every time you scare me.”
He stepped onto the notebooks resting in her lap and stared her squarely in the face. His whiskers twitched.
She sensed his displeasure and opened her hands in frustration. “What have I done now?”
He glanced toward the notebooks and back to her.
She shook her head, not understanding. “I’m just—”
An unspoken thought popped into her head. “You want me to stop reading.”
Mr. Kitty released a long meow.
“Because?”
She stared into his eyes for several long moments, trying to decipher his thoughts.
She gave up. “Fine. I think I’ve read enough for now anyway. Maybe it’s best if Peter reads about Sarah for himself.”
Mr. Kitty gave a short, satisfied meow and jumped from her lap.
She closed the disturbing notebook and set it aside. The clock on her phone said she had another hour to wait until Peter returned.
An eternity.
She supposed she should busy herself doing other things like finding a better hiding spot for her latest acquisitions. Somewhere no one could find them. Of course, she’d also cover them with a protective spell, make that several protective spells, but she wasn’t about to put them on a shelf in the open, like Timothy had.
She was smarter than that.
Although she wasn’t smart enough to undo cursed text, dang it. But she wasn’t giving up hope.
Hazel drew a strand of hair across her lips as she considered the possibilities. Hiding them outside gave her more options. But then she wouldn’t have easy access and the ability to check on them often. She preferred having them close.
