Bewitched: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel (Betwixt & Between Book 2)

by Darynda Jones

  “I don’t think so,” Ruthie said. “It had to have been there when they built the house.”

  “Then why are we just now finding it?”

  “Because of you.” She graced me with a patient smile. “You’re the finder of lost things.”

  “No.” I held up an index finger. “You are the finder of lost things. That’s what you did for the people of Salem for decades.”

  “And now it’s passed to you. I never even knew that cavern existed. You’re the finder of lost things on steroids.”

  Nette laughed at Ruthie’s choice of hip words.

  “Okay.” I threw my hands up. “Let’s table that for now. What do we do about the other two?”

  “If you had your powers”—her emphasis on if couldn’t have been heavier—“I would say we need to do a little casting.” She got up and strolled to the door. “But since they’re gone, possibly forever, and you’re leaving anyway, I guess there’s nothing we can do.”

  “You’re funny.” I crossed my arms. “By the way, what in the ever-loving hell is in the attic?”

  She whirled around, her lids rounding for a brief second before she recovered. “What do you mean?”

  I pursed my lips. “There’s a darkness in one of those rooms, and I’m willing to bet you know what it is. Is it a warlock?”

  “A darkness?”

  “Yes. A very angry, very aggressive darkness. It almost knocked down one of the doors. I didn’t check the other rooms but—”

  “It can’t get through. There’s no reason to worry about it.”

  “Why can’t it get through?” Annette asked at the same time I said, “What can’t get through?” I mean, it was the more pertinent question.

  “I don’t know,” Ruthie said. “I never knew there was anything in those rooms. I can feel malevolence like you can, but I’ve never felt anything from the attic. We’ve tried opening those doors several times over the years.”

  “Did you try a locksmith?” Nette said, trying to be helpful.

  Revisiting her place on the chair, Ruthie looked at both of us. “We’ve tried everything. Locksmiths. Plasma cutters. Sledgehammers. We even tried small-charge demolitions. The doors are magically sealed. Nothing can get in or out, and I rather think there is a good reason for it, so we stopped trying.”

  “Holy crap, Ruthie. Who lived here before you did? Were they witches too?”

  “This house has been in our family for generations, so yes.”

  “Okay, let me rephrase. Who was powerful enough to cast a spell like that?”

  “To be honest, no one. None of our ancestors ever possessed the power or skill to create a spell that would remain absolutely impenetrable for decades.”

  “Then who could’ve done it? Someone who lived here before our family took possession? You know, in a non-ghostly way.”

  “This house was built in the early 1800s, and it’s always belonged to us. We’re one of only a handful of families in the entire state to have kept control of a property for over two hundred years. And we’ve owned the land even longer.”

  “Then who?” I asked.

  She bowed her head. “You.”

  I frowned at her. “I don’t understand.”

  She came over to the bed and sat on the edge with me.

  Annette scooted closer, caught up in the intrigue.

  “You’re a charmling, and your lineage goes all the way back to Mesopotamia,” Ruthie said, as if that cleared it right up.

  “Still not processing.”

  “I think that you somehow went into the past and sealed those rooms.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck perked right up. “And I think you’ve seriously overestimated the scope of the abilities I no longer have.”

  Nette inched even closer, until she was practically sitting on my lap.

  “You may think I’m crazy, Defiance, but I just know it was you,” Ruthie said. “I think I know how, but I don’t know why.”

  “How?” Nette’s eyes widened.

  “My theory is that Defiance has access to all of the witches in her direct line going back thousands of years.”

  “Access?” I tugged absently at my earlobe.

  “Yes. You can, how should I say it, summon them to help you out when you need it?”

  “How do you know?”

  “Research. There being so little known about charmlings, I’ve had to dig. But I found a few accounts from eyewitnesses. It’s the only way to explain how you were able to pull something like that off.”

  In all honesty, we didn’t know for certain I’d pulled off anything. “And when would I have done this?”

  She lightly tapped her lips in thought. “If my calculations are correct, you did it when you were three.”

  “Three,” I said, even more doubtful than I’d already been.

  “Yes.”

  “As in years old?”

  “Exactly.”

  “And I did this because . . .?”

  “Like I said, I never figured that part out. But the presence you felt could explain a lot.”

  “Ruthie,” Annette said, clearly having some trouble with this as well. “What makes you think she did it?”

  “It’s all in the book.” Ruthie looked at me like I was the crazy.

  I felt very attacked. There were levels of crazy. Layers. It wasn’t like I was the absolute worst. And hey, hadn’t she just claimed crazy for herself a few seconds ago for even bringing all this up? I mean—

  “And it’s in the video,” she added. “You never finished either of them, did you?”

  My hackles rose. “I’ve been a little asleep.”

  “You woke up days ago.”

  “Yesterday,” I reminded her. “Evening. Literally twenty-four hours ago.”

  “And we needed mani-pedis,” Annette added ever so helpful.

  “What video?” I asked. When her only answer was to purse her lips, I turned and slid my laptop off the nightstand. “I was just finishing them.” Honestly, it was like high school all over again with all the homework she assigned. “That’s why Annette came in here. To finish watching them with me.”

  “Yep.” She backed me up. Then ruined it by whispering, “What videos?”

  “The videos,” I said from between clenched teeth, as though Ruthie couldn’t hear me.

  When Ruthie died, she left me a series of videos to watch. Then I pulled her out of the veil. I just figured I didn’t have to watch them anymore with her being back and all. I was wrong. Apparently, in Fraulein Goode’s class, you watched all the videos whether Fraulein Goode was dead or not.

  I opened the laptop and clicked the folder I’d colored pink. It opened to four files. One was the link to Ruthie’s message, which basically was her chatting with us from the great beyond, because apparently they have WIFI there.

  “Okay, we watched that one,” I said, pretending to check it off. “And that one.” I checked off the one titled Missing Child. It was the one of me finding a boy—finding Roane—for his grieving mother. It was an amazing video. I’d learned how to use my power to find things by watching it.

  There were two more videos: Goodbye and Licked.

  “Pick Licked,” Nette begged. “Please pick Licked.”

  Out of the two, it did sound the most promising. I moved the cursor—

  “Watch Goodbye,” the Fraulein said.

  —and double-clicked on Goodbye. “Fine, but it doesn’t sound nearly as fun.” I scooted against the headboard, and Annette snuggled close.

  The last video we’d watched, the one of me saving Roane, had been filmed at night. It had been hard to get a sense of the colors and the environment. This one had been filmed during the day. Early morning, if I had to guess.

  Sun shone brightly through the huge plate glass in Percy’s front parlor, where two men stood. My dads and their handsome faces. Forty years younger, with horrible haircuts, but still they were the same.

  A younger version of Ruthie, probably in her earl
y forties, walked into the parlor carrying a sleeping little girl—a.k.a. me. I recognized myself from the earlier video. She handed me over to them along with a duffle bag. “This has her favorite stuffed animal, a cat named Clam Chowder, her pajamas, and her favorite sippy cup.” Her voice broke.

  Tears burned the backs of my eyes. This was the big day. The day she gave me up.

  “Gigi?” I woke up in the video, though sleep still clung to my face. “I haduh lock the doors for a long time ago so Bead-uh couldn’t get out.” Laying my head against Dad’s shoulder, I fell back asleep.

  “Okay, sweet girl,” Ruthie said.

  I remembered none of this.

  “I’ve got you, cariña,” Dad said.

  Papi rubbed my back and lifted a blanket to cover me all the way over my head.

  “These are all the documents.” Ruthie handed them a folder. “You adopted her through Sacred Heart Adoption Services.” Her voice cracked again.

  Dad gave her a minute before asking, “You did the spell?” in the same soft accent he still had now.

  “I did.” She dabbed her nose with a handkerchief. “They won’t find her as long as I’m alive.”

  “Ruthie,” Papi said. “You can’t imagine what this means to us.”

  “I can, actually.” Her shoulders shook as Papi drew her into a deep hug.

  “We will protect her with our lives,” Dad said.

  As they walked to the front door, Percy shook beneath their feet, clearly not wanting me to go. Tiny me poked my head out from under the blanket and waved sleepily at him.

  I wanted to curl into a ball right then and there. Did they realize just what they’d promised my grandmother? Did they understand the dangers that awaited them had I been found? I didn’t know. But I did know that they probably had no idea what happened after Ruthie closed Percy’s door.

  She sank to the floor, her heart clearly broken, and cried.

  Trying to get control of my own emotions, the ones cinching my throat closed, I glanced over the screen at Ruthie. “Who’s filming?”

  The shy smile that spread over her face told me everything. It was Chief Houston Metcalf. They’d been seeing each other for decades, and she clearly still had feelings for him. Which is why it made less than zero sense why she’d banish him from her life now. Something else was up with that.

  In the video, the chief laid down the camera and went to her. The only thing in the frame was a shot through the front window out to the driveway. I watched Dad strap me into a car seat before car seats were mandatory while I listened to Ruthie cry in the background.

  The current Ruthie made a similar sound near the end of the bed.

  I handed the laptop to Annette. “I’m sorry, Gigi.” The old endearment just slipped out. But it was time.

  Ruthie pressed a hand to her mouth as she took in what I’d said, then threw her arms around my shoulders, and I fell into her hug. “None of this was your fault, sweetheart. You were born to greatness. It wasn’t a choice.”

  “But you did everything to keep me safe. I’m so grateful for you.” I looked up, over her shoulder. “And for you, Percy.”

  Ruthie pulled me tight for a long moment, then leaned back to look at me. She brushed a strand of hair off my face.

  I swiped at a stray tear and struggled to stay focused. “In the video, when I said I locked the doors, you think that meant I went back in time and did it with a supernatural spell to keep Bead-uh inside?” Whoever Bead-uh was. The mysteries wouldn’t stop piling up. At this rate, I’d need a pair of supernatural waders.

  She nodded. “I do.”

  “Why? I mean, how could you possibly come to that conclusion?”

  She lifted her head. “Because, before that day, sweetheart, there was no attic. There were no doors. There were no gables.”

  I stilled. “And then there were six? Just out of the blue?”

  “Yes. If you look at pictures of when the house was first built, there are six gables. Even the original plans show them, yet I couldn’t remember them being there until that day. And neither could Percy.”

  “What about the chief?”

  “He remembers them. He even had a memory of the first time he saw the house. He was riding his bike past it when he was a kid, and he fell in love with the gables.”

  “Wow. Maybe you just, you know, overlooked them.”

  She laughed, not even bothering to address the idea.

  “You realize that doesn’t actually prove anything.”

  “It does to me. And it did to Percival too. Oh, and just in case you needed one more witness, do you remember meeting Serinda today?”

  “Yes. She’s amazing. Fiery and funny and elegant like you.”

  Ruthie’s expression shimmered with surprise. “She remembers as well. That’s how we met. She stomped up to the house and demanded to know what magics I was doing to put six gables on a house of witches where anyone could see them.”

  “Sounds like her. Did she think the muggles would suspect?”

  “Oh, no.” Ruthie waved a dismissive hand. “She didn’t care about that. She was upset that I’d used six gables instead of five. That I’d created a Star of David instead of a proper pentagram. Said it was an embarrassment to the witch community.” She grinned as she thought back. “We’ve been best friends ever since.”

  “Did you tell her what you think really happened?”

  “Oh, goodness no. Not for years. Remember, I had you in hiding. I wasn’t about to tell anyone about you. But after a couple of decades—”

  “Decades?” Annette asked.

  “—I knew I could trust her completely.”

  “And she remembers the house without the gables even now?”

  “Yes. Exactly like me.”

  “It must be a witch thing,” Annette said.

  Ruthie agreed. “Whatever or whoever Bead-uh was, it was bad enough that a charmling summoned a witch from her past to cast a spell on the house just to lock it up. And, Defiance, you did all of that while in a state of suspended animation.”

  “After I changed Roane?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay,” Annette said, obviously unsettled. “I think we should change the subject, being as Bead-uh lives right above us. Let’s watch Licked now. As a palate cleanser.”

  Ruthie dove—a dive worthy of the Olympics—toward the laptop. She slammed the lid closed.

  Annette barely had time to save her fingers from being crushed alive.

  “You know what?” Ruthie said, taking the laptop from her. “How about we save that one for later?”

  I looked at Annette. “Oh, hell no,” we said simultaneously.

  Giggling like schoolgirls, we wrestled an old lady for a laptop that may or may not have porn on it.

  “Okay,” Ruthie said through our giggles. “But you have to promise me something.”

  “Anything!” Annette shouted, refusing to release her death grip on the laptop corner she’d claimed.

  I had a corner too, but Ruthie had managed to retain control of two of the coveted triangles, making her the victor thus far. But the battle wasn’t over. “Defiance?” she asked.

  “I promise. Anything. What am I promising?”

  Ruthie tightened her hold, her knuckles white. “That no matter what you hear, you will not let this sway your decision to stay.”

  I grinned. “Who says I’m staying?”

  “You can’t leave now,” she said. “You have a gorgeous little boy to take care of.”

  I almost gasped aloud. I did. Then again . . . “Samuel followed me here. Who’s to say he won’t follow me wherever I go?”

  She sobered, wiped her eyes, and sat up, relinquishing controlling interest of the laptop to smooth her hair and dress. Vanity strikes again. “Because . . .” she said, a sadness coming over her. “Because of what this house is made of.”

  I bolted upright. “I knew it! It’s the salt, isn’t it?”

  She nodded. “This house was built with wood from se
veral retired ships that spent years at sea, soaking in the salt and brine. Your ancestors repurposed before it was a thing.”

  “Is that why they did it? The salt? The spirits?”

  “It is. They used every kind of ship they could get their hands on. Wrecked merchant ships, a few fishing vessels, even a pirate ship confiscated by the government. But my favorite was an ancient Viking ship your ancestor bought from a tobacco farmer in Virginia.”

  I leaned back against the headboard. “Percy, I knew you were cool. But daaaang.”

  He hummed happily beneath us.

  “Ruthie?” Another thought hit. “Could there have been spirits already attached to the ships before they became part of the house?” It made sense. Especially if the wood had come from shipwrecks.

  “I would bet my life on it. Only I already lost it once, and I don’t want to tempt fate.”

  “Is that why you can’t leave?”

  Percy hummed again.

  “Most likely,” Ruthie said. “And when a spirit somehow finds its way in, which is almost impossible without a host, it can’t get back out.”

  “I’m the host. I brought Samuel in.”

  “That’s my best guess, sweetheart.”

  “Okay.” I thought about it for a bit but eventually promised, “I won’t let this video sway me either way.”

  “Then I give you my permission to watch it. Just know, you may find it a little disturbing.”

  “Phhttt.” I blew out a breath, reclaimed my precious from Nette, and opened it again. “Try not washing your hair for six months. I’m a rock. Nothing fazes me now.” I exchanged excited glances with Annette. “Ready?”

  “Ready,” she said with a naughty gleam in her eyes.

  Gawd, we were such pervs. I clicked on the video.

  “This happened right before we said goodbye that day,” Ruthie said. “That’s the only reason Houston got it on video.”

  Onscreen, Ruthie was bundling tiny me up. I was still groggy from being in what I assumed was suspended animation after performing the spell that changed Roane into, well, Roane. That meant it was soon after my mother had tried to take my powers. And Gigi had taken her life instead.

  Ruthie’s movements were hurried as she tried to button my pajama top and slide on my bunny slippers. She was an emotional mess. How could she not be? Losing both her daughter and her granddaughter in a matter of days. Possibly hours. I would’ve been a wreck as well.