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

by Darynda Jones

  After searching the local papers for her name, I found a Clara Thomas from Peabody, Massachusetts, in the second grade who’d won a pumpkin carving contest last Halloween. The caption listed her parents as Bernie and Hope Thomas. From there, it wasn’t terribly difficult to find an address.

  Sinking back into the chair, I wondered if I should do what I was about to do. A lost dog was one thing, but if the girl’s message was radiating light like a glow stick made of sunlight, something else had to be going on. I thought about enlisting Annette’s help, but it was past eleven. I didn’t want to bug her if I didn’t need to.

  I made up my mind. I’d just drive by. See if anything felt amiss.

  After changing into warmer clothes, I hurried to the front door. The front door that was no longer visible. Percy had covered every inch of it in vines and dark roses and razor-sharp thorns that could easily open a vein.

  “Percy.” I put my hands on my hips. “I’ll be safe. I’m just going to drive by and get a feel for what’s up.”

  He still didn’t budge.

  “Look.” I held up my phone. “Help is just a phone call away.”

  The vines shrank back slowly, and I stepped to the door. “Thank you.”

  But when I put my hand on the knob, he wrapped a vine around my wrist. At first, I thought he was going to lock me there, but then the vine broke off. I looked down at the tiny delicate buds that decorated it, black with a deep crimson underlay, and wondered if he were still in control of the cutting.

  I got my answer when the vine tightened softly around my wrist then relaxed. I smiled up at him as though he’d just given me a diamond bracelet, only this was so very much better. Diamonds had nothing on enchanted roses.

  I ducked out before he changed his mind and climbed into the bug, my vintage mint green Volkswagen Beetle. She started up on the first try, Goddess bless her.

  Thanks to the wonders of the modern smartphone, I easily found the address. It sat on a quaint side street that had close neighbors on either side. An old blue Taurus sat in the driveway along with a yellow panel van. Apparently, Mr. Thomas owned a janitorial service.

  The house had white siding with dark trim, the color I couldn’t quite make out, both in bad need of a fresh coat.

  But that wasn’t what captured my attention. It was a feeling, a niggling at the back of my neck, that kept me from stopping in front of the house. I cruised down the block and parked in front of a small colonial.

  “Ready?” I asked the vine on my wrist. It tightened again, and I wondered just how much of the vine was Percy. Like, could he be two places at once? Could a part of his ghostliness, his essence, break off and still be conscious? And how was even a part of him able to leave the house? I thought the salt kept him locked inside.

  Not that any of that mattered at the moment. I had a glowing message to investigate.

  Exiting the bug, I kept my head down and crept toward the house until I realized how creepy and suspicious I must look, so I straightened and walked like a normal human bean.

  Something told me not to knock on the front door. It was probably the sign that read, Do not knock on this fucking door.

  Okay, then. How did they feel about light rapping?

  At least I knew what kind of person, or people, I was dealing with. I couldn’t imagine Clara’s mother putting the sign there, but who knew? I would totally put that sign on Percy’s door if I thought it wouldn’t get me kicked out of the neighborhood. Well, faster than I was getting kicked out anyway.

  I used the flashlight on my phone and walked around the house, curious if I would feel anything or see anything or hear anything. Who the hell knew how these magics worked? Not me. That’s who.

  The scent of rain and fireplaces filled the air. W and wet leaves insulated my footsteps, but the sound still seemed too loud no matter how softly I tried to walk.

  Sure enough, when I got to the back of the house, I felt something. Two somethings, actually. A darkness and a pull. The pull was one of innocence and fear, and I knew instantly something was very, very wrong.

  “Any thoughts?” I asked Percy.

  In a movement full of grace and beauty, the tip of the vine formed a question mark against the paleness of my skin.

  “This is officially the coolest bracelet I’ve ever owned.”

  He squeezed again.

  I kept walking until the pull grew stronger. So strong, in fact, it felt like I’d been ensnared in the Death Star’s tractor beam. But the hot spot, the area I felt the most pull, came from was toward a basement window.

  The rectangular pane had a vertical bar over it and sat at ground level. No light seeped out.

  I filled my lungs with crisp New England air, got down onto all fours, and tried to peer inside as the knees on my jeans soaked through. I saw a lot of blackness and little of anything else. After reciting the Lord’s Prayer, because it was the only prayer I could think of at the moment, I shined the light from my phone inside.

  A small face stared back at me with a haunted expression.

  I yelped and fell back onto the wet ground.

  The window opened out, though just barely. The bar kept it from opening too far.

  I crawled back to a mop of brown hair that looked like it hadn’t been washed in days—I knew the feeling—and huge brown eyes looking up at me.

  We took each other in for a long moment, then I asked, my voice low, “Are you Clara?”

  Reeking of fear, she glanced back over her shoulder, then nodded.

  My heart broke for her. “I’m Defiance Dayne. You left a message for me about a lost dog?”

  She nodded again.

  “This isn’t about a lost dog is it?”

  Her grip tightened around a stuffed turtle, and she shook her head.

  I tried to see inside, but it was too dark. My light simply didn’t reach that far, and my effort only seemed to distress the girl. “Sweetheart, what’s going on?”

  “My dad,” she whispered. “He’s mad at my mom and won’t let us leave the house. He has her in his room and . . .” Tears pooled between her thick lashes. “And he’s so mad.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Did you call the police?”

  “My mom already tried. She wrote a note on a pizza receipt to get help. The cops came, but Dad was holding me behind the door. He threatened to kill us all if they came in. So, my mom told them I did it as a joke, and that she was fine and would give me a good talking to.” She hiccupped with emotion, trying to stay brave.

  “Oh, my God.” Why would the cops not insist on seeing Clara? I reached a hand through the narrow slit, and she grabbed it and held on for dear life. “Okay, I’m going to get help.”

  “Please, don’t leave me.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Wait,” she said, a tear finally escaping its cage. “If the cops come back, he’ll kill us.”

  I got onto my stomach and reached through the bars with my other hand to wipe away her tears. “I have a friend who is very good at this stuff. He’s a policeman, but it’s okay. He’ll know what to do. Can I call him?”

  She thought about it—hard, by the way her face scrunched—her tiny brows knitting before she finally nodded her consent. “But you won’t leave me?”

  “Never,” I promised, hoping I hadn’t just lied to her. The chief may need me to move away from the house.

  I took back my hand and called him.

  “Daffodil?” he said, his voice thick and groggy. “What’s wrong?”

  I explained the situation as quietly and succinctly as I could.

  “No sirens,” I warned. “No lights.”

  “Got it. I’ll call the police chief in Peabody. He’s good people. And I’ll be there in thirty.”

  “Thanks, Chief.”

  “Don’t thank me yet.”

  Uh-oh.

  “I want you away from that house right now.”

  “I can’t do that, Chief. I promised Clara.”

  “I don�
��t care. I want you away from there or . . . or I’ll have Ruthie put a hex on you.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “I would.”

  A grin fought its way to the surface. “I’m not scared of my grandmother.”

  “Then you don’t know her as well as I do. Please, daffodil.”

  “I’m in the back, Chief. I’ll be the one soaked head-to-toe, turning blue, and shivering from hypothermia if you don’t hurry.”

  “I’ll arrest you,” he said, lobbing his last Hail Mary.

  “Chief,” I tsked him. “What makes you think I don’t have a thing for handcuffs?”

  “Damn it.” He hung up, but I’d watched enough TV to know what happened next.

  If the cops came in with guns blazing, despite what the chief advised the Peabody department to do, this would turn into a hostage situation. I had to get Clara out. Now.

  I studied the bar. Hinged on the top, it was bolted to the wood frame above and below the window to keep someone from opening it as it swung out. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a wrench, or a hacksaw, or plasma cutters. But I might have a tire iron. Didn’t most cars have those? Then again, if I tried to pry the bars off, it would be too loud.

  We heard footsteps overhead and Clara stilled, her gaze snapping up, her lungs seizing.

  “Hey,” I whispered to take her mind off the imminent danger. “How did you know to call me? Did you really lose your dog?”

  She blinked back to me, but it took her a moment to process what I’d asked. “No,” she whispered. “My dog ran away when I was little. My dad said it was my fault, and so he never let me have another one.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. My mom told me if I ever needed anything ever to call you.”

  “Me? Do you mean my grandmother?”

  “I don’t know. She made me memorize your phone number and said if I was ever in trouble, the person at that number would help. She said you’re magic.”

  As I lay shivering in the wet leaves, I was once again struck by how many people Ruthie had helped over the years. How many people knew they could count on her. They could trust her.

  Another round of footsteps echoed above, and Clara gasped.

  “What are you standing on?” I asked. My jaw ached from biting down to keep from chattering. I really was soaked, blue, and shivering.

  “My bed.” She looked down and bounced for me. “Can you come get me?”

  “Help is coming, sweetheart.” I examined the bar again and realized something. I really was magic. “Step to the side, hon.”

  She did but didn’t dare let go of my hand.

  What to use? I only knew a couple of symbols. They just seemed to pop into my head as I needed them, but nothing was coming to me. Then I remembered one that might work.

  I lifted two fingers and drew it on the air. It was like a the charmling version of open sesame. Normally, when I drew a symbol, the lines glowed much like the messages had. As though the sun was bleeding through them.

  But nothing happened.

  I racked my brain. I’d gotten it right. I knew I had. That was it. That was the right symbol. It was like a charmling version of open sesame.

  “Did I really lose my powers?” I whispered aloud. Then I remembered the attic. I’d drawn a symbol then. Maybe I was shivering too much. Maybe I didn’t draw the symbol right. Wait. I’d felt a resistance. I looked up but could only see the eaves and the storm drain. Was the house enchanted?

  Then it hit me. I looked at the vine around my wrist. “Percival Goode,” I said, talking to my wrist like a secret agent. “Are you blocking me?”

  Clara simply watched, possibly afraid to interfere with the crazy lady.

  I couldn’t try to unclasp Percy get him off without releasing her hand, and I was worried she’d panic too. Best if only one of us was as useless as a flounder in a gunfight.

  Headlights slid along the trees behind the house as a car turned into the drive.

  “That might be them,” I said to her, relief flooding every cell in my body. I looked at the vine, and said through clenched teeth, “You and I are going to talk later.”

  He squeezed my wrist gently.

  “No. It’s too late. If this goes south, it’s on—”

  Before I could finish my tirade, the back door swung open, flooding the area with light. A thin man in a dirty tank stepped onto the back porch and turned in my direction.

  I shrank back and held my breath. Mostly because it was creating huge clouds of vapor, just waiting to give me away.

  I’d been too loud. I’d put Clara’s life in danger, so I could threaten a plant. Not to mention her mother’s.

  But instead of coming after me, the man walked down the three steps to the ground and carried a garbage bag to a bin on the other side of the house without a care in the world.

  This was my chance. If I could keep him out of the house, it would give the cops time to go in and get Clara and her mother out.

  I heard a knock sound from the front of the house. He was going to be back up the porch steps and in the door in no time. I had to stall him. I had to keep him from going into that house and creating a hostage situation.

  When he cornered the side of the house, I had no choice. I ripped my hand away from Clara’s, stood, and hurried over to him, trying to wedge myself between him and the porch steps. I couldn’t tell if I was shaking from the cold or the massive adrenaline dump.

  He stopped and frowned at me. “Who are you?” He looked around, suspicion coloring his face. narrowing his lids. He clearly hadn’t heard the knock. “And what the hell are you doing in my back yard?”

  I rubbed my hands together, trying to stop the shaking. But my teeth chattering when I spoke couldn’t be helped. “I’m going door-to-door, talking to people about their car’s extended warranty.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and looked me up and down. “You look more like a drowned rat than a door-to-door salesman. And it’s almost midnight.”

  “We’re trying to accommodate people’s schedules.”

  “Yeah?” He eased closer.

  Another knock sounded. That one he heard.

  He grabbed my hair, and not in a sexy way, and jerked me toward him until we were nose-to-nose. “What the fuck is going on?”

  Just then a male voice shouted, “Police! Open up!”

  Great timing.

  He jerked my head to the side, throwing me to the ground face-first.

  I slid across the freezing earth a total of two feet as he took the stairs in one jump.

  Without thought, I threw out my hand and drew the symbol that was the exact opposite of the one I’d tried earlier.

  It happened faster than my eyes could see. Then spell blinded me, and by the time his hand was on the knob, the door was locked up tight. He couldn’t get have gotten through that door with a wrecking ball. Not until I released it.

  He tried it again. Shook the handle. Kicked the bottom. Threw his shoulder against the door. “What the fuck?” he said, pounding on it. “Clara! Clara let me in!”

  “Isn’t she locked in the basement?” I said sweetly.

  He whipped around, turned to me, his face living and breathing the picture of rage.

  I heard the policemen in the front breaking down the door and someone running down the side of the house toward us. Either the chief had told the police them I was back here, or it was the man himself.

  Clara’s dad heard him, too, and stalked forward until he towered over me. And the man really liked my hair. He grabbed a handful and ripped me off the ground.

  “Bernard Thomas!” the chief shouted.

  We turned.

  The chief had a gun pointed at Clara’s father. Except there was one little problem. The man used me as a shield, pulled a knife from his pocket, and held it to the back of my neck while keeping his head ducked down.

  The tip dug into my skin, and I felt a tiny trickle of blood. Yet it didn’t hurt. My head should’ve ached a
s well, his grip was so tight on my hair, but the adrenaline must’ve been doing its job. I was no longer cold. My scalp didn’t hurt. I was no longer afraid, which was odd considering the knife.

  A uniformed officer ran up behind the chief, his gun drawn too. “We got them out.”

  A beautiful, sparkly kind of relief flooded my body. My knees almost gave. In fact, they would’ve had Bernard Thomas not been holding me up by the roots of my hair. It had been through so much lately.

  “Stay the fuck back!” Clara’s dad shouted, as he backed me toward the woods. “You are dead, bitch. No matter how this goes, you are fucking dead.” He said the last bit for my ears only.

  Hold a grudge much?

  “Let her go, Thomas,” the chief said, advancing slowly.

  “One thrust.” He pushed the tip of the knife farther into my skin. “I’ll sever your spinal column and disappear into these woods.” He kept backing me closer to the woods.

  We were still thirty feet from them, and the knife went a little deeper with each step he took. He bobbed and weaved, keeping me in between him and the gun. “I know this forest better than anyone alive. They’ll never find me.”

  A warmth came over me as I watched the chief. He was worried. Worried what this would do to Ruthie. Worried what Roane would do to him. Worried he would be the one to get a charmling killed. And still, a warmth covered me like an electric blanket.

  Either I was either going into shock—

  No way.

  —Roane was nearby.

  A low rumble cut across the chill in the air. Then another. And another. They came from all sides.

  Thomas stopped. He glanced around, his breaths coming in quick, panicked gasps. “What the fuck?”

  I risked a glance to the side and saw a wolf. One of the wolves Roane was feeding earlier. Then another emerged from the shadows, its sleek coat glistening under the hushed low light of the moon.

  Thomas pulled me against his chest and wrapped an arm too tight around my throat, cutting off my air supply.

  I might be in trouble. Even with his head exposed, it was simply too dark for the chief to risk a shot.

  I looked over at the lead wolf who’d emerged from the trees directly behind us. He was much larger than the others. He had red fur with a black undercoat. I knew that because I’d seen him before. Roane. His teeth bared, the snarl he wore was vicious. He stopped, lowered his head, waited the span of a heartbeat, then snapped his jaws.