“Pizza is a gift. It should be treated as such. And homemade is the best,” Thea said, and Sophie nodded in agreement. While the pizza baked, the two women sat at the table.
Thea pulled a piece of white paper out of the printer nearby, drew a symbol on it. “I'm wondering if you've seen this before,” she said, sliding the paper over to Sophie.
Sophie inspected it. It looked something like an arrow, but where the feather fletchings would have been on the end it looked almost like birds in flight, wings curving gracefully. To either side, of the arrow shape, were smaller, simple shapes that looked like crescent moons.
Sophie shook her head. “What is it?”
“That is Migisi's rune. I have the feeling that, were you to look around your land, you'd likely see it carved into tree trunks. There were stories that the runes helped protect her land.”
“How do you know that?” Sophie asked, still looking at the paper.
“We have journals, articles in the archives from her day. Before things went bad, as I mentioned before, she was a renowned healer. She wrote to members of the tribe. She always signed her letters with her name and this rune. Most healers have one.” She pulled her eyes away from the paper, looked at Sophie. “I feel like there are things you're not telling me, kiddo.”
“There are. They're not my story to tell. Not entirely. If we come across references to them, I'll explain what I know. I'm hoping we do.”
Thea nodded thoughtfully. The oven timer started beeping, and for a while they sat in companionable silence, eating their pizza. Once they'd finished and cleaned up, Thea led Sophie back to another room, this one full of long black metal filing cabinets and rows and rows of bookcases, almost like a miniature library. “Our community here, thanks to one of our predecessors, has always been devoted to recording our history, including personal stories, spoken histories that we transcribed and stored. We know, all too well, how easy it is for people to get written out of history, so we make sure we write and remember our own.”
Sophie nodded. This sounded exactly like the Mrs. Redleaf she'd known so many years ago. “I think it's sad that more communities don't do this,” she said. “Imagine all of the stories that get lost over time.”
“It is a shame,” Thea agreed. They maneuvered their way down a narrow pathway between two rows of bookcases, Thea scanning the shelves as they passed.
“Here we go,” she said, stopping before a section of black-spined books that looked, to Sophie, just like all of the other books they'd passed. “So, what do you want to hear about first? We have a bound book of newspaper articles written about Migisi and her work with the community. We have collected correspondence. And we have stories people she knew shared about her.”
“Can we start with the stories first?”
Thea nodded, pulled one of the books, this one fairly thick, from the shelf. They headed back to the room with the long table, and Sophie pulled a notebook and pen from her bag.
They began reading, heads bowed over the book. It was written in Ojibwa, so Thea read aloud while Sophie took notes. Most of it, while interesting, was useless as far as Sophie was concerned. Story after story about Migisi, as a young woman, healing this child or that elder, or helping crops that were failing, or speaking words to bless a hunt and men returning with record-sized deer or bear. Over the next couple of hours, two things became evident: Migisi had been the ultimate do-gooder, and it sounded, to Sophie at least, as if she had never denied a request for help, no matter how insignificant. There was a story from a woman who remembered asking Migisi to heal an ailing sparrow that the woman, who was quite lonely after the death of her husband, had become attached to, and Migisi had done it, and the sparrow lived for another five years, and by the time it died, the woman was no longer lonely, having found love again.
“This explains how she was so powerful later on,” she murmured, noting that the dates of the recollections were from when Migisi would have been a teenager.
“What do you mean?” Thea asked.
“A Lightwitch's magic becomes more powerful with each good, kind deed they use their magic for. She did all of this in the span of a couple of years.”
“And these are likely just a fraction of her deeds. These are just the ones we managed to record,” Thea added.
Sophie nodded. “Right. And what I've heard, from two people now, is that she was ridiculously powerful at her peak. This is how she got that way.”
“Has this answered any of the questions you have, though?” Thea asked.
Sophie blew out a breath, shook her head, trying not to be irritated.
“It's a thick book, kiddo. We have a lot of reading ahead of us,” Thea said, patting her hand.
Sophie nodded. “Thank you for your time. I wish it had been more interesting.”
Thea gaped at her. “Are you kidding? I loved every moment of this. And we learned that she was good, and we have recollections of some of her recipes, which you wrote down, I noticed. Her thoughts on popular books of the time, which she discussed, apparently, with those she was helping. She was very well-educated.”
“Does that fit with what you already knew of her?”
“Everything I know from the stories told of Migisi is that she had an insatiable mind. She spoke our language, French, and English, as I mentioned before, simply because she wanted to.”
Sophie helped Thea clean up, replacing the book in its original place, then they headed out, and Thea locked up. “Have you heard any stories about a Frenchman and Migisi? Like a romantic relationship?”
Thea looked uncomfortable, and that was the instant Sophie knew that there was something to Calder's story.
“What?” Sophie asked.
“She was rumored to have had a French lover. A fur trapper.”
Sophie watched her, trying to keep herself calm. “Do we know anything else about this trapper?”
Thea's phone started ringing. She glanced at it. “My grandkids have arrived,” she said.
“Oh. I should go. Thanks so much again for your help.”
“When will you come back?” Thea asked. “I want to read more!” she said with a smile.
“When will it work for you? I work most weekdays.”
“Same time on Friday?” Thea asked, and Sophie nodded. Thea walked her out, locking the front doors behind them when they stepped out onto the front walk. It was getting dark, and Sophie cursed herself for losing track of time. Especially since it had been pretty much a waste. Now she'd have to do her evening chores in the dark. She hated having to juggle the flashlight along with everything else. And now, with Marshall around, she was even less happy about being out in the dark.
They walked toward Sophie's car. “You asked about the trapper,” Thea reminded her.
Sophie nodded.
“The stories we have… Migisi the Mad. That all starts with him. The stories go that he was the first victim of her madness. I don't know all of the details. There was supposedly a curse.”
“Was she 'the Mad' before the curse?” Sophie asked.
Thea shook her head. “After. Whatever it was, whether it was regret or guilt or something else, the stories say that she slipped into madness afterward.”
“Wouldn't you have to be kind of nuts to curse someone in the first place?” Sophie asked, unlocking her car door and setting her bag on the passenger seat.
“It depends. I can see the value of cursing someone who deserves it. Don't you? Haven't you ever heard of someone, or known someone, who just deserved to have bad things happen to them?”
A face flashed to her mind immediately.
“It still seems a little extreme. Especially if it made her go mad afterward.”
Thea shrugged. “Maybe we'll learn the whole story. I'll see you Friday.”
Sophie thanked her again, got into her car, and watched as Thea climbed into a shiny silver pickup truck. She gave Sophie a wave as she drove past, and then Sophie put the car into drive.
On her way down
the highway toward her house, she tried not to be too frustrated and irritated over what little they'd accomplished. She had learned a few things. Useless as far as Calder's curse was concerned, unfortunately.
She did have one key piece of information, though. There had been a French lover, and the story that he'd been cursed was known to more than just Calder and his family. So it was something, at least. She wasn't sure if that made her feel better or worse. She had kind of been hoping she'd be able to tell Calder he had the wrong witchy family.
As she neared her property, her headlights swept across the driveway, illuminating a yellow rose near the road. She took more than a little pleasure in running over it.
It was pathetic. Maybe it was something with being there in Copper Falls. Maybe it was feeling like she had some control over her life for maybe the first time, ever. Maybe it was age and maturity, or maybe she'd just reached the point where her anger was stronger than her fear. Whatever it was, she was more angry at Marshall and his games than anything else. Where he'd terrorized her before, he enraged her now. Without a doubt, he still freaked her out. Memories, too many memories, of his threats, written in his hand, whispered in her ear… too many.
Maybe she was angry now, finally, because she realized how she'd lost part of herself trying to get free from him. That was power she'd had to work very hard to get back. Once you profaned your power, as a Lightwitch, it wasn't easy to make amends.
Which brought her thoughts back to Migisi. The Mad. It had obviously made Thea uncomfortable to have to break that to her. And though she hadn't pressed, Thea hadn't seemed all that ready to share exactly what her “madness” entailed.
If the rumors were true, if what Calder knew was true, it had all started with Luc.
She got out of the car, taking her bag with her. She also flipped the top on the canister of pepper spray on her keychain, just in case Marshall managed to get by her wards and surprise her. He always did like the sneak attack.
She knew that, tired as she was, she wouldn't sleep, expecting every single sound to be him.
Chapter Nine
The next morning, Sophie showered, dressed, and put on some makeup, mostly to hide the dark circles under her eyes. Another night of nightmares, of jumping at every sound.
She hated it. And she was torn between wanting to hide in her house forever and wanting to go back to the way things had been before Calder, and then Marshall, had thrown her life into chaos.
Concrete plans, she told herself. Lists, action steps. Focus on things she could actually do, because focusing on anything else would drive her insane. She wanted to stop by the tiny library in town to see if they had any books about local Ojibwa. It was a small step, but at least it was something.
She did her morning chores, then got in her car, eyes darting around her, expecting to see a face, dark hair, dark eyes. But she knew better. He'd made his presence known, knowing it would mess her up. He'd bide his time now, letting her wonder and jump at every sound, until he left her any other “gifts.”
She drove into town, keeping her eyes on her rearview. She made a quick stop at the hardware store, then into the library, where they had two pretty old books about local Ojibwa. She checked both of them out, then walked a couple of blocks down to The Mine to have some of their double chocolate cake and a cup or five of tea. She brought her books with her, figuring she could start poring over them while she ate. She also had her pen and notebook. She could use something else to focus her mind on for a while.
She walked into the diner, placed a quick order when the waitress, who was one of Layla and Cara's younger cousins, greeted her. She settled into one of the booths in the back where she could see the front entrance easily.
Old habits never really died, she realized. It felt like the past two years hadn't even happened. Different place, same nightmare.
The waitress brought her cake and tea, and she dug in, started flipping through the pages of the first book. It was a compilation of journals and letters written by an Ojibwa chief in the early 1900s. After Migisi's time, but maybe there would be a hint of her descendants or something.
She kept glancing at the door every time the bell tinkled. So when Calder walked in, she saw him right away. And, as seemed to be the case with him, he noticed her right away as well.
He walked toward her booth. Lumbered, really, was a better word for it, his huge frame seeming to fill the tiny diner.
He stopped at the side of her table, studied her for a moment or two before opening his mouth.
“Hi,” he said, and Sophie nodded in response. “Can I sit here?”
“Can anything I say I stop you?” she asked, raising an eyebrow in irritation.
He watched her wordlessly, seeming to try to decide what to say. “If you tell me to go, I'll go,” he finally said. “But I hope you don't, because I have something I want to talk to you about.”
Sophie nodded after a moment, and he slid into the booth. The waitress came over and he ordered coffee, black. They sat, awkward, trying not to look at one another until the waitress brought his coffee. She caught Sophie's gaze over Calder's head and gave her a thumbs-up. Sophie did her best not to grimace.
Calder was looking at the books she had on the table. “Any luck so far?” he asked after gulping down some of his coffee.
She shook her head. “Not yet, but I really just started reading. I don't expect to find much, but you never know.”
He nodded. When she finally raised her eyes to his, he held her gaze for a few long seconds and then she forced herself to look away. When she looked back up at him, he was rubbing a hand over his face, agitated.
“Are you going to tell me what the deal was with that rose the other day?” he asked her. She looked away again. “You looked like you wanted to cry. You were shaking. And you look like you haven't been sleeping. You keep looking at that door like you're expecting the devil himself to come through.”
“What does it matter?” she asked, meeting his gaze.
“You can't focus on my problem if you're distracted,” he said.
Sophie looked up at the ceiling, let out a bitter laugh. “Right.”
“And if you want me to be honest, I had this vision of you as being this cool, collected person. Even when I won your house, you didn't bat an eye. I think I was used to seeing you holding it together, and you were about to fall apart the other night. So I'm guessing that whatever that rose meant, it wasn't anything good.” He paused. “And I'm not that far gone yet. It pissed me off to see something scare you that bad.”
“Because you need me focusing on your issues, not mine.”
“And because you actually seem to care about my problem, despite the fact that I've been an asshole about it.”
Sophie didn't answer. He drank more coffee, and she stirred her tea listlessly.
“I did some sniffing around that night. There was someone new at your house. But you already knew that,” he said.
She met his eyes. “That's not at all intrusive,” she murmured.
“I was waiting to hear a scream or something, the way you looked. So I passed some time sniffing around in my bear form,” he said, irritation lacing his tone. “A trace of power, too. Warlock?”
She gave a short nod.
“He was gone by the time we got to your house. There was just a faint trace of him leading through the woods to the west of your cottage. It ended at that road over by the falls.”
She sat in silence. “It didn't circle in toward the house at all?”
He shook his head. “Straight line, pretty much, from your driveway, to the western edge of your property, then to that road.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I think that's good news. The wards protecting the property seem to be working, for now, at least.”
“Who is he, Sophie?” he asked quietly. “Let me know who I need to hurt.”
She shook her head. “You're not going to hurt anybody.”
“Whoever he is, he deserves it, I thin
k,” he answered. “I have no problem putting on a little punishment. Really, it would probably make me feel better.”
“He deserves it. But I won't stand for you causing any pain on my behalf,” she said.
“Why?” He seemed genuinely curious. “You're terrified. Clearly.” His gaze dropped to her hands, which were wrapped around her teacup, for warmth. He gently took one wrist in his enormous hand, and a shiver, though not an unpleasant one, went up her spine at the touch. He turned her wrist so that it was facing up. She didn't have a chance to pull away before he noted the series of pale scars across it. She pulled both hands away, onto her lap. “Sophie. Tell me,” he said quietly.
The intensity in his gaze made it hard to concentrate. “You have to promise me not to hurt him.”
“Why?” he asked, irritated again.
“Do you know about the different types of witches?” she asked.
“What? What does that even have to do with this?”
“Do you?” she pressed.
“No. I didn't even know there were different kinds,” he said. “Does it matter?”
She stared at him incredulously, and he held his hands up. “Okay. Apparently it matters. Explain, please.”
“The witches people tell stories about, the ones who have demonic familiars and cast spells that cause plagues or fires or whatever, those are known as dark witches. Shadow witches.”
“Okay,” he said.
“They're rare, but they're a lot more famous than the other type. The others are your do-gooder witches. The ones who were their village's medicine women. They heal, and help things grow, and try to help others. They work in the Light, so they're generally known as Lightwitches.”
He was watching her.
“My understanding of it is that Shadow witches can do pretty much whatever they want with impunity. Their souls aren't really their own, so any damage they do, doesn't really affect them all that much, though after they're dead, they supposedly become slaves to demons. I'm not sure about that, but that's the word. But the others—“
Shadow Witch Rising (Copper Falls Book 1) Page 9
