Beautifully Broken

by Sherry Soule

  “Sure.” Ariana ambled to the table laden with food where Trent chatted with my friends.

  “Shiloh, did you invite Trent?” Jillian asked.

  “No. Why?”

  Her expression darkened. “I don’t like him. There’s something about him…” she paused, choosing her next words carefully. “…that’s odd.”

  Yeah, you think? But I kept my mouth shut for a change, because I was odd too.

  “Needing air, I slipped out the back door. The cool night breeze rushed to greet me. The anthracite ceiling of sky flowed with a million stars.

  “Shiloh.”

  I jumped at the sound of my name. “Hey.”

  “Happy belated birthday,” Trent said. “Why didn’t you give me an invite to your party?”

  I shrugged my shoulders, I said, “It seems you don’t need one.”

  “I suppose not.” He laughed quietly. “Does it upset you that I came uninvited?”

  “No…it doesn’t upset me, sparky.” I snickered, playfully slapping his arm.

  But why haven’t you called me? Were we just some casual hookup? No. We were friends. Friends that kiss? Ugh, my head hurt. Even if he was a jerk for not calling, a part of me still wanted to share more smooches with him. Real, deep kisses that lasted—

  “Such a smartass.” He stepped back, his mouth curved down. His expression stung and hurt. I stared into his intense emerald eyes and saw past the arrogant demeanor he wore like armor, to the genuine regret shadowed in his expression. “Look, I’m really sorry about your friend. I came over tonight to smooth things over, but I guess you’re still pissed.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It’s obvious you aren’t happy to see me. But there’s no reason to be all salty with me.”

  I can’t do this. I can’t pretend. Not with him. What he said hit home, struck my heart. He was right. I was still feeling pissed and a mix of other emotions varying from melancholy to confusion that crowded my heart. I swallowed, thinking about our fight. The drama-queen way I had acted.

  “Now who’s being sensitive?” I gave him an apologetic smile. “We always seem to be fighting.”

  “Opposites attract?” He chuckled, digging his hands into his pockets. “So we cool?” When I nodded, he said, “Good. I was afraid you were still mad at me…”

  I moved behind the stone bench, putting space between us. It wasn’t like he was some whipped puppy-dog. I was the one with the burning fever of desire raging in my blood. The pull I felt for him was bizarre, wonderful, magical. Also it felt dangerous. Obsessive. Forbidden.

  My eyes searched for signs of my shadowy foes in the garden. “But I should make one thing clear, while we’re working together—we shouldn’t be making—I mean, hanging out.”

  Did I really just almost say making out? I mentally slapped my forehead.

  He rocked on his heels, gazing at the stars. “Fine. Whatever you say. Not gonna push. I’ll see ya,” Trent said and walked toward the backdoor. He was leaving.

  Wait, what am I doing?

  “Trent!” My voice sounded raspy, betraying my feelings. “Don’t go. Do you wanna hang out Friday?”

  Trent swung back around. His coy smirk returned, putting a twinkle of light in the depths of his eyes. “Yeah. Seven-thirty?” He smiled, moving to stand directly in front of me again. “Um, can I ask you something? You wear a lot of pink. What’s that about?”

  “It’s my favorite color. What? I can’t be a feminist girly-girl and like pink?”

  Trent’s smile never wavered as he held his palms up. “Slow your roll! Just asking.”

  I laughed then sobered. “Have you heard from Paige’s family?”

  “No.” He kicked at the dirt. “We sent them a funeral wreath for the private service…” Trent moved closer and his gaze became appraising. “You know, you have a unique bone structure. Like an Indian princess.”

  “Uh, original…” I muttered.

  “It’s true.”

  I suppressed a smirk. “Does that flowery talk usually work on girls?”

  He shoved his hands into his pockets, hooking his thumbs through the loops. “Gets ’em every time. Not you though, eh? Think you’re immune to my charms?”

  “Depends. Is that your best line?”

  “Ouch! Harsh.” He placed his hands over his heart, pretending to stumble backwards. “Why so cranky? Seriously, you’re the kind of girl a guy could blog about. And it’s not like I have a girlfriend.”

  “Hmm, then a test.” I spun around, putting my back to him. “What color are my eyes?”

  “Seriously?” He chuckled. “Deep brown. Dark as a forest on a moonlit night. More the color of sable, mysterious and rich and full of secrets,” he said, his voice sweeping through me, faint, like leaves ruffled by a gentle breeze, brushing my consciousness so softly that my mind barely registered his voice, yet the whispered words imprinted themselves forever into my heart. “And when the sunlight hits them, the iris turns a gorgeous bronze hue.”

  I turned to face him. My mouth hung open like a moron.

  Okay, maybe I do like flowery talk.

  Trent moved a step closer, closing the distance between us. He took the tip of his finger and pushed back a strand of hair from my eyes. He slid the hair behind my ear, his fingers trailing across my cheek and leaving a path of warm sensations on my skin. I forgot to be watchful of the shadows. I licked my lips, pretending to act nonchalant, while my insides trembled and dissolved into mush. Shivers raced across my skin. It was hard to catch my breath. I leaned into him and his body responded. He cradled my head in his hands, lowering his face to mine. Our lips inches apart. I got ready for the smooches.

  Nothing happened. I opened my eyes.

  His body had gone glacial, rigid. Muscles in his jaw twitched. His hands dropped to his sides and he stepped back. Blinking rapidly, he appeared torn by confusion. Uncertain and tangled. His withdrawal felt like a slap.

  Did I do something wrong? Have bad breath or something?

  My peripheral vision caught the shades in the garden. They glided over the roses, turning them from crimson to onyx, shrouding everything they touched like an oil stain. They whispered, making the little hairs on my arms rise. Shadows slithered and twined. Before my unblinking eyes, they morphed into distinctive shapes. Like goblins from a fairytale with shimmery black skin and red devil stares.

  Fear expanded in my gut. The ligaments in my knees liquefied. I peeked at Trent’s face. He was staring up at the sky, lost in thought. My eyes swung from his face to the shades.

  Without me prompting it, magick spun around me like a mystical transformation of moonlight and night air. A supernatural wind swooshed through my hair, lifting the strands to float about my face. My arms went instinctively above my head. I was encased in a tornado of silver, turquoise, and violet stained magick. My senses expanded, instinctively absorbing the trees, grass, and earth. Before Trent could glance over, I focused on the shadows and pointed at them. With my finger, I hurled magickal energy at them. They whimpered and turned to shades of grey.

  Trent grasped my shoulders. “What were you doing?” The magick faded with the change of tone in his voice. Which simmered with barely checked passion.

  “Just stretching.” I looked into his eyes. Got lost in their magnetic power.

  Neither of us said anything for a minute. He raised his hand, tracing my lips with his fingertips. His touch made my body relax and quiver simultaneously. He bent to place those luscious lips on mine. Finally.

  Someone stepped onto the back porch. “Shiloh? You out here?”

  Damn. Damn. Damn. I pulled away, my cheeks fiery with irritation.

  Ariana moved into the light. “It’s time to cut the cake.” She lounged against the doorframe. “Whatcha guys doing?” she asked in a singsong tone.

  “Nothing,” Trent and I said simultaneously.

  Great timing, Ari. Just when things are getting interesting.

  Her left brow lifted. “Oh, really.”
<
br />   Trent flushed and pushed past Ariana into the house. She laughed.

  I gave her the stink eye. “Thanks,” I mumbled as I passed her, and she laughed again.

  Stepping into the dining room, someone switched off the lights. A chorus of voices crooned the Happy Birthday song. Dad carried in the cake and set it on the table. I weakly smiled at everyone. Pulling my hair back with one hand, I bent to blow out the candles.

  “Don’t forget to make a wish.”

  I peeked at Trent before blowing out all the candles. Except one.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The single candle flickered like a beacon of bad tidings. I blew it out. Nobody said anything. Dad carved the cake. I caught Jillian staring at Trent with intense gimlet eyes. I moved closer and stood behind them. I pretended to fiddle with the paper plates, staying within earshot.

  Aunt Lauren slid up beside Jillian. “Sooo, Maxwell Donovan’s son. I wonder why Maxwell finally returned to Whispering Pines after all these years.”

  “What are you implying?” Jillian’s tone was low, malicious.

  “Please. You know exactly what I’m implying.” Aunt Lauren’s face contorted into a scowl.

  “Who invited you anyway?”

  “Why, your handsome husband, dear sister.”

  “I’ll bet,” Jillian said through clenched teeth. “So you thought you’d show up after all these years and try to rattle me? Pathetic.” Her eyes flashed with outrage. “Stay away from my husband.”

  Aunt Lauren flinched. “Why?” she asked, her tone frosty and exact. “Should I tell him that you got him by spells and trickery, little sister?”

  Jillian’s eyes changed. For a second, the hazel within them was totally engulfed in black. Her tone was sharp enough to cut a diamond. “How dare you speak to me like that,” she exclaimed, obviously incensed that her sister would dare chastise her.

  “Watch yourself. Before I tell you-know-who the truth.” Aunt Lauren’s sea-green eyes narrowed. “We all know—you like to steal what isn’t yours.” She shrugged. “One day, the truth will be exposed. And I can’t wait to watch you squirm.”

  Jillian prowled around Aunt Lauren, her aura darkened with a deepness older than night. In her dainty hand, the glass of wine was in danger of spilling. “Truth? You’re living in the past. I’m the one who has made sacrifices. I’m the one stuck doing the family duty, because you were found incompetent.”

  “Duty? To the coven—maybe, but not to your own flesh and blood.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Jillian picked invisible lint off her dress. Her cheeks turned bright red, like a drop of blood on a single white rose. “The years haven’t been kind to you. Your magick has become feeble.”

  Aunt Lauren snorted. “Hardly,” she said in a low and menacing voice. “God, we are such opposites. You worked dark magick and risked your soul pursuing power. And now I am surrounded by white light. You can’t hurt me.”

  Jillian opened her mouth then shut it, something cruel stirring in her eyes. Their voices escalated over the chatter and music. People gawked at the quarreling pair. Everyone appeared uncomfortable. They resembled two wild cats with their fur up.

  “You can’t mess with old magicks.” Jillian’s next words were acidic. “You should be careful, Lauren. In the old days, if a witch betrayed her coven, they killed her.”

  “You don’t scare me. Or are you gonna try to curse me too?” Jillian’s gaze flicked to me and her eyes went black. The room went quiet at Aunt Lauren’s next outburst. “Don’t even think about it! I love Shiloh, and I’ll do everything I can to protect her. Everything.” Aunt Lauren’s murky aura glimmered above her head like dark clouds threatening a storm. Her tone became fire and ice. “Our blood is strong in her. She will understand that someday, and she’ll understand all the sacrifices I’ve made!”

  Dad jerked his head to glare hard at Jillian. With long strides, he crossed the room and confronted the two women. “That’s enough! I don’t understand either of you. Can’t you set your differences aside and be civil for one night?”

  Aunt Lauren bowed her head. “I should go.” She gave my shoulder a quick squeeze before leaving, and Jillian stalked into her room.

  “I’d better go, Shiloh. It’s getting late,” Ariana said, putting on her coat. Everyone did the same, saying hasty goodbyes. My eyes searched for Trent but he had slipped out with the others. Dad disappeared into his bedroom, followed by the sounds of loud arguing. My party had been a disaster, and I didn’t even get to say goodbye to Trent.

  I went to my room, tears welling in my throat. Even with the light on, every shadow seemed to move. I curled up in bed and clenched my teeth and toes, pulling the covers over my head. Some celebration.

  In the morning, I woke up cranky. I decided to drive over to Ravenhurst and hang out with Evans. Trent’s car wasn’t in the driveway, and I was sorta glad. Evans and I had been spending a lot of time together in the library honing my magickal skills and learning spells. Doing research too. The titles strange and foreign, Introduction to Parapsychology, Elements of Witchcraft and Underworld Hellspawn. My powers were developing and expanding. And I actually looked forward to going to work most days, just to feel that supernatural purr that filled my senses whenever I practiced magick.

  “I hope you enjoyed your post-birthday celebration,” Evans stated from the porch as I climbed out of the Jeep carrying a stack of books. He sat in the shade at the wicker dining set, eating his lunch.

  “Thanks.” I staggered forward, balancing the heavy tomes in my arms. The ever-present fog that surrounded Ravenhurst did little to cool the muggy weather, and my chiffon blouse and cuffed shorts stuck to my skin. I carefully ascended the steps in my low-top black Converse. Under my breath I said, “Light as a feather. Swift as the breeze, make these books light as can be.” They became weightless.

  Ahhh, much better.

  “Glad you could come by today,” Evans said, standing as I approached. His gaze flicked to the maid sweeping the porch. “We need to, um, work on that thing after I finish my lunch. Meet me in the library.”

  “Huh? What?”

  “Inside the house. Where the books live. Ring any bells?”

  “Uh-huh. Sure.” I went inside and entered the library on my left. I dumped the books on the massive mahogany desk, knocking over a couple of white candles and scattering blueprints. Sitting down, I opened Evans’s laptop and searched the Internet on auras. I had been able to perceive auras for the last six years and I wondered if it was because my magick was emerging or if it had been brought on by my near death experience.

  The stuffy room had a myriad of artwork on the walls between the built-in bookshelves. Above the fireplace mantel, sculptured with lavish scrollwork, there was a hook in the wall but a clean space. Odd. I slumped in the high-back chair, closing my eyes and leaning my head against the cool leather. I needed to think.

  I’d no sooner closed my eyes when I became aware of a presence in the room. Whispers of unnatural heat wrapped themselves around my legs. Crawled up my torso. I bolted upright and that familiar panic seized me like a fist squeezing my heart. My knuckles clenched tight on the arms of the chair. Uncertainty pitched in my stomach, almost strong enough to rival the dark fear fueling my anxiety.

  Black clouds of mist seeped beneath the double-doors. Whispers made my skin prickle and my teeth grind. The shadows undulated like some evil miasma from hell. Sinister shapes slithered over the floor.

  I forced myself from the chair and lit the white candles on the desk I’d scattered earlier. I stood over them and visualized a band of silver light encircling me like a cocoon. I chanted softly, “All evil dwelling in this place. By my command, cleanse this space. Guard this house with my power. Be gone by the darkest hour.”

  The shades recoiled and slunk away. They made horrible whimpering moans like wounded animals.

  Ha! Take that evil baddies! I smiled with pride.

  I sat back down at the desk with my elbo
w on it and rested my cheek on my fist. I browsed the books Evans had left out on Wicca, kept returning to the spell I’d just cast. One book said: Wiccans use ancient and modern ceremonies, rituals and shamanic practices to attune themselves to the natural rhythms of nature, the world and the universe in their efforts to commune with this divine force. The Old Religion is known by many names: Nature Spirituality, Shamanism, and Wicca, which goes back to Neolithic Times through prayer, casting circles, reciting spells, using herbs and candles…

  I shut the book, opened the laptop again to search the web for heritage witches, and found hundreds of websites. After reading eight different sites, I felt more knowledgeable regarding my magick. About casting spells and rituals. But I didn’t know enough. That was clear.

  My phone vibrated in my back pocket and I pulled it out. Trent texted: Want 2 hang later?

  I texted back: Oh yeah.

  “My apologies, Maxwell called and wanted an update,” Evans said, striding into the room. “His son may be in denial about what is happening here, but I can assure you that Maxwell is not. You’d be astounded at how overly dictatorial he can be.” He rubbed his eyes. “I promised to help, but I’m not a miracle worker and these things take time. Like learning about magick and its proper usage.”

  I frowned and shoved my cell back into my pocket. “This isn’t my first casting, ya know. Not that I get around—er—so not what I meant! I’m a good girl!” I was babbling. My face heated. “I meant,” I said in a softer tone. “I’ve done spells before, and my mojo is getting stronger every day.”

  “Yes, I commend your confidence, but all witches must exercise their abilities. Today we’ll work on something new. You may not realize this, but most witches are not only capable of harnessing mystical forces through invocations and rituals but also by force of will, especially in more experienced witches.”

  My face went slack. “Whatever.”

  “This is critical, young lady. Magick is seductive and additive. You can become spellbound by its power. Magick doesn’t alter the laws of physics, but instead modifies them. Therefore, magick adheres to the elementary physical laws of the universe. For instance, it is impossible to create or destroy energy, but it is possible to transfer it with use of a catalyst, such as a crystal or element.”