I clenched my fists together. I was angry. I had been so successful in the past. Each spell had come easy to me. Stella insisted this was proof I was meant to live out my life as a practicing witch.
I dug deep inside of myself. I wanted to harness all of the magic that lived inside of my blood. I had avoided using magic for my own gain, but I was ready to make an exception. I needed a real memory of my father. I screamed into the wind, “Come forth Ronald Jacobs to me. I command thee.”
A gust of wind sent my hair flying in my face. Turning back, I cursed aloud since I was certain the breeze had blew out the candles. However, when I peered down, my altar was gone. I gasped and tried to make sense of what was going on. I shook my head in an attempt to clear my thoughts and establish whether I was dreaming or not. My movements stilled as I saw something in the corner of my peripheral vision. A figure was standing about ten feet away.
He looked like he had stepped out the photograph I had just burned. He hadn’t aged a day.
I had prepared myself for several scenarios. I expected an apparition. I would be able to see through him and not be able to touch him. As fear took hold of my heart, another vision came into my head. My dad had been shot in the head. What if he appeared as a horrific zombie complete with blood and gore?
Hesitantly, I took a step towards him. His eyes were what struck me at first. They weren’t the laughing and kind eyes of my mother’s collection of pictures and videos. They were the eyes of a sad and tormented soul.
“Dad?” I asked.
His eyes filled with recognition. “Quinny?” My heart soared when I heard his voice. My father had a nickname for me. He was here and he was saying my name.
In seconds, I tried to memorize everything about him. His face was young. He was trapped in the age of his death at thirty-one. His hair was brown and longish, hanging past his ears. He was dressed simply with a Boston University t-shirt he wore paired with a pair of jeans. He looked so real that I put my hand out without a second thought. I was shocked when I felt flesh.
“How?” I stuttered.
He looked concerned at my ability to touch him as well. After a long pause, he said, “I think you may be on the spiritual plane with me.”
I was about to disagree, but I began to take notice how deathly quiet it was. The noisy birds had silenced their angry caws. The weather was different too. I was no longer chilled to the bone. The temperature was completely neutral, which explained how my father could be wearing a t-shirt in lieu of an impending snowstorm.
“Quinn, what happened? Were you in an accident?”
Oh, I thought, he guessed I was dead like him. I didn’t know how much time I had with him and tried to think of the shortest explanation possible. “I’m not dead…I don’t know how much you know about witchcraft…”
He stopped me. “Oh, your mother’s family helped you get here.”
I didn’t contradict him. I had more pressing issues to discuss. “Dad, are you okay?”
His dark eyes looked past me. “Let’s not talk about me. Tell me about you.”
What kind of summary could I give my dead father to let him know about me? A hundred thousand memories flooded my consciousness, but I tried to keep to the basics. “I’m eighteen and graduated with honors. I have plans to attend Lehigh after taking a year off…” my voice trailed off. I questioned, “You’re not watching over me?”
My dad looked at me sadly. “It doesn’t work like that…what I did…it keeps me here,” he confessed.
“What did you do? What happened when I was eight?”
“Quinny, why are you asking me these questions? Don’t you know?”
My need to self-edit the truth appeared once again. “I blocked everything out and Mom won’t tell me. Dad, what happened?” I heard the plea in my voice.
He dropped my hand and turned away from me. “I’m so ashamed…”
“Dad, whatever it is, I can deal with it. I’m an adult now and I feel like…I can’t move on without knowing the truth.” A thought struck. “It could be the reason you’re stuck here. Maybe you need some sort of closure. Does it have to do with the person who killed you?”
He spun around. “What’s going on here? Are you really my daughter?”
I was thunderstruck by his response. “Of course I am. We have the same hair color and eyes. I know it’s been a long time…but I just figured you would know it was me on sight.” Tears pricked my eyes. Was I not what he expected? What was wrong with me that he didn’t instantly feel a bond?
“But your questions…they don’t make any sense. No one murdered me,” he claimed.
“What?” I choked out.
“Quinn!”
I stilled. A distant voice interrupted the quiet of the forest. My eyes darted around, but I couldn’t find the source. I ignored the call and stared back at my father. “But Mom said…”
“I don’t know what Bridget told you, but no one killed me Quinn. I killed myself,” he confessed.
“You did what? Why?”
“Quinn! Jesus Christ! You have to stop the spell!”
The voice was getting closer. My father made no acknowledgment of the interloper. Even if I wanted to leave this place, I had no idea how. I resolved to ignore the warning. My world was crashing around me and I had so many more questions for my dad.
“I’m so sorry, Quinn. It wasn’t your fault. But can you tell me why? Why would you go into the woods when we told you not to?”
“Dad,” I cried, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“The guilt and the shame…it was too crushing. I couldn’t bear it…I felt sick every time I looked at you. Every time I looked in the mirror.” He was now talking more to himself than to me.
Before I could reply, I felt a pulling sensation. I was being taken away from this place against my will. “No!” I cried out. “Dad, I don’t have much time left here. You have to tell me. What was so awful that you couldn’t live any longer?”
He was fading before my eyes. His hands reached out and I grasped wildly at it. It was no use. The pull was too strong. I was falling away from him, the truth once again being stolen from me.
Arms were laid upon my shoulders and I was being shaken wildly. I lashed out and tried to punch whoever was gripping me. “Let me go!” I screamed.
“Quinn, what the hell is wrong with you? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Mason’s voice was pleading.
Mason was staring at me with a mixture of horror and revulsion. I tried to focus on his face, but I still felt my body convulsing. It took a moment to realize Mason’s hands were now at his sides. I slipped onto all fours in front of him. My stomach revolted and I launched into a fit of dry heaves. Something was very wrong.
“Quinn, what spell did you do? What was your offering?” Mason demanded urgently.
“I didn’t,” I croaked.
“Jesus Christ Quinn!” he admonished. “Haven’t you learned anything from my aunt?”
I watched him out of the corner of my eye and he was looking around in a pure panic. I heard him mumble, “This is bad, really bad.”
Since he wasn’t looking at me, I deduced he might not be referring to my sorry state. I forced my head up and let out a horrified gasp.
At least two-dozen crows were felled before me. The altar had reappeared and they lay in grotesque formations around it. Their dark bodies were a startling contrast to the freshly fallen snow. Their bodies were broken in unnatural ways. Their dead eyes stared lifeless into mine.
“Oh God…” I moaned.
“I was outside. Figured I get a jump on shoveling. I looked into the woods and I saw every bird that flew over, drop to the ground,” Mason said in a rush.
I tried to move, but I couldn’t. The tightness in my belly was worsening with every passing second. I thought I was shaking from the cold and fear, but it wasn’t the case. Something was physically happening to me. Nature was taking its payment for my spell.
“Mason…somethi
ng’s wrong,” I spat out.
Mason kneeled before me without hesitation. “Oh Quinn.” He lifted me into his arms. I leaned into him to help control the way my body was shivering. As black spots danced before my eyes, I was sickened over the idea that I may be dying. I was going to die because of my sheer stupidity and my unwavering quest to find out the truth.
“Mason, am I dying?” I whispered.
He let out a strangled sound. “Quinn, don’t talk like that. You’re going to be fine.”
“But the birds…”
“I’m not going to let you die, I promise,” he said and marched through the forest at a breakneck pace. His movements were swift although I’m sure it wasn’t the easiest thing to carry my convulsing body through the snow.
Wrenching open the front door of his cabin, I struggled to remain conscious. I said meekly, “The bathroom…”
After Mason deposited my limp form softly on the floor of the bathroom, I was able to get me to the toilet just in time. I was too sick to feel embarrassed over how much I vomited. When nothing seemed left in my stomach, I still gagged over the toilet.
I lost track of time. My body felt spent, but I was finally able to stop the convulsing that had plagued me since Mason came upon me in the forest. I leaned away from the toilet and collapsed backwards. Before I could hit the ground, Mason had his arms around me.
He smoothed back my hair and whispered into my ear, “Quinn, are you okay?”
“No,” I sobbed. I let him cradle me as I shut my eyes tightly. My body and mind were falling apart. This was my fault. Casting a powerful spell without making the right preparation was stupid and reckless.
Mason’s body tensed as his cell phone rang in his pocket. After removing the phone from his pocket, he acknowledged, “It’s my aunt. She’s probably calling for me to pick her up.”
I stifled a sob. “She’s going to be so angry with me.” Ruining an herb garden had earned Mason a hunger spell for a week—how would she punish my negligence? One of her rules was I needed her approval before practicing a spell. Once she discovered the altar and dozens of birds bloody and broken against the ground, there would be hell to pay.
He tightened his hold on me. “It’s going to be fine, Quinn. I’ll take care of it.”
After Mason left the bathroom to answer the call, I attempted to turn my brain off. It was impossible. My father’s sad eyes were seared into my brain. How did I even begin to process his confession? He had killed himself and by the sound of it, he laid the blame for his suicide at my feet.
I wondered if he would’ve told me everything about my childhood if given more time. I was tempted to try the spell again, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to go through it. The soulless eyes of the birds would haunt me for the rest of my life.
Noisily, Mason entered the bathroom. Taking an inventory of my appearance, he seemed appeased. I assumed I no longer looked as though I was at death’s door.
With my knees knocking, I attempted to move into a standing position. His hand shot out to steady me. “Do you have to leave?”
“No,” he replied. “The snow is coming down hard now and she said the roads are probably dangerous already. She’s going to stay the night at her friend’s house. I also told her we had Chinese takeout and you were now sick. She wants me to look out for you until you’re feeling better.” Eyeing me thoughtfully, he asked, “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” I assured him. “Just really cold.”
“Why don’t you take a warm bath?”
“Okay,” I agreed. A warm bath was too inviting to pass up. Not only could it relieve the chills, but also help remove the residual filth after getting sick.
He ducked by me and turned on the faucet. “Do you need help undressing?” he asked watching my shaking fingers fumble at the zipper to my jacket. Taking my hands in his, he unzipped the coat and lifted it gently off of my shoulders.
“No, I’ll be fine.”
I wouldn’t meet his eyes. The embarrassment of the situation was starting to get to me. With my workaholic schedule and study habits, I leaned towards a type A personality. Allowing Mason to see me in such a vulnerable state bothered me. This was the second time he was seeing me at my worse. I assumed any attraction he felt for me would be erased completely by my display.
A ghost of a smile appeared on his striking features. “If you’re sure…”
“Yes.”
He moved past me to the door. “Call out if you start feeling dizzy or nauseous. I’ll get something you could change into after the bath.”
My eyes clouded over as I looked at my savior. “Mason…thank you,” I said.
He didn’t reply. Instead, he nodded and disappeared into his bedroom. A minute later, Mason handed me a t-shirt and sweats that I would be swimming in. The bathroom closed and I set out to remove my clothing.
My movements were slowed and clumsy as I took off each piece of clothing. I had to stop several times to fight off waves of queasiness. I wondered how long this feeling would last. Although my body was in a miserable state, I couldn’t help, but feel grateful.
If Mason hadn’t come along, I may have died out there. If the spell was strong enough to unleash death upon the birds that happened to fly by, it was safe to assume I was close to fading along with them.
I sank into the water and dipped my head underneath. I held my breath and looked out at the distorted ceiling through the surface. The illusion was reminiscent of my life. Everything I knew before had been a distorted version of the truth concocted by my overprotective mother. She had created a fantasyland for me to live in. I had gone along for the last ten years living a pretend life with no idea that my father had died by his own hands.
Something terrible had happened to me, bad enough that my father couldn’t bear to live anymore. What had me meant by warning me to stay out of the woods? Was that where this awful thing had occurred? Is this why I had nightmares about the forest and the dark things that lived there?
Meeting my father had given me more questions than answers. It also filled me with longing. Our meeting was far from the happy reunion I envisioned in my mind. He had looked at me with mistrust and regret. It also ruined my ideal of him. I was furious that he had committed suicide. Instead of helping me through whatever had happened, he deserted both my mother and me. No wonder she was uncomfortable every time I tried to talk about my father.
The water was lukewarm by the time I was done with the bath. I stood up and wrapped a towel around my body. Soaking for such a long time in the bath had lowered my blood pressure and a dizzy sensation came over me. I slipped forward and cried out as I banged my knee on the rim of the tub.
Mason was in the bathroom in a flash. He grabbed my shoulders to assist me in regaining my balance. He frowned as he said, “I told you to call for me if you felt dizzy.”
I tugged the towel closer and felt my face go aflame. “I’m trying to tough it out. I made this mess and I have to pay the consequences.”
He slipped an arm around me while I stepped out of the tub. “You’re talking nonsense. I’m sure that you had a good reason for what you did. Which I expect you to tell me about as soon as you feel better.” Once he was certain I was steady on my feet, he released me. “Are you able to get dressed?” I gave a slight nod, he continued, “Get dressed and lie down. I’m going to be out for a little while. I’ll leave you with a phone and you can call me if you need anything.”
While he spoke, I had my eyes on the floor, watching the droplets of water spill on the ceramic tile. My head shot up. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going to the woods. I’ll clean up before the storm gets worse and Stella comes back,” he explained. “She seemed to believe my story about the food poisoning, but if she’s suspicious, she may find a ride back and try to figure out what’s really going on.”
“Mason, I can’t ask you to do that…”
“You’re not asking me. I told you I would take care of things.”
&nb
sp; I swallowed hard and watched him closely. I had a renewed sense of my partial nakedness as I saw his eyes travel down my body. His blue eyes were stormy with a range of emotions when his gaze moved back to my face. I was certain I appeared the same way. A part of me wanted to crawl into bed and cry until I had no tears left. Another part of me desired to be kissed by Mason and allow him to numb the pain I was feeling.
“I’ll be back soon,” Mason said and laid a chaste kiss on my forehead before rushing out of the room. I wanted to stop him, but didn’t have the strength. For once, I actually wanted someone else to take control and fix the broken things in my life.
Chapter Twenty
The wind was rattling the windows as I snuggled under Mason’s comforter. I grimaced as I saw the rate at which the snow was falling. Mason had been gone for more than forty minutes and I started to worry about him. As I picked up the cordless phone he left behind with his scribbled cell phone number, I heard the front door open. I breathed out a sigh of relief.
Guilt gnawed at me as he walked into the room. His cheeks were crimson and he was covered in snow. The bottom of his jeans was drenched to almost the knees. I expected fury on his face—instead I only saw exhaustion. I scrambled for something to say that would convey the depth of my gratitude. He had traipsed through a snowstorm with the indelible task of cleaning up the bodies of dead birds. Mason had done it all to keep me safe from his aunt’s wrath.
“You look freezing,” I noted.
“I’m glad you’re not. Your color looks back to normal. Feeling better?”
“Yes…thanks to you,” I said softly. “Your bed is really warm…” I couldn’t finish the statement. I wasn’t sure if I should extend the invitation to come in it with me. The thought of warming him up was both enthralling and terrifying.
“I could go crash on the couch if you’re more comfortable with that.” I hadn’t expected Mason to be such a gentleman with the opposite sex. His reputation made me figure he would try to ravish me as soon as he saw me in his bed.
The Memory Witch Page 14
