by A. N. Sage
Above us, thunder roared and lighting clashed as the storm I summoned erupted into an orchestra of sounds.
That’ll work, I smirked and lunged for the shifter.
My body slammed into it, pushing it back to land on its back. I twisted my legs from under me to straddle the tiger’s thick chest and brought the dagger’s tip deep into its heart. The creature roared as I twisted the blade, burrowing it further. I could feel its ragged breathing as it fought to free itself of my hold but my dagger held it still in place. Its eyes flashed open and I registered the rage in them, swirling amid bright hazel irises.
I reached for the amber crystal tucked into my shorts and slammed it down on the shifter’s wide forehead. It growled and hissed, spit foaming at the mouth, as it kicked its legs beneath me. Nothing could help the shifter now; I had it beat.
On instinct, I twisted the dagger again and pushed it further into the tiger’s chest until I heard something snap. The storm raged around us and I had to slip and slide off the beast while its body thrashed on the driveway. My eyes widened as the shifter’s limbs snapped into unnatural bends and I could hear the bones in its body break with each turn. Slack-jawed, I stared while the tiger shifted into its original form.
In mere moments, the tiger was gone and I was towering over a middle-aged man. His thick, red hair curled down to his shoulders and his deadened hazel eyes stared up at the sky that continued to blast us with rain. My knees shook as I stepped over him, snatching the amber crystal off his brow with one hand while pulling my dagger from his chest with another. As soon as the dagger was free of his body, I jumped back, widening the distance between myself and the shifter. The air that was heavy and warm before thinned out and a chilly breeze blew over the shifter’s body. I watched in amazement while it dissipated into ash that fluttered off in the wind.
The vanquishing was complete.
My hands still trembled, but I managed to pull my cellphone from my jacket pocket and typed a message to Peyton.
Crystal Cauldron. Tomorrow at noon. We have work to do.
Sun beat down on us through the windshield of Peyton’s car as we rounded the corner onto Main Street. My fingers brushed over my chapped lips while I retraced the events of last night in my head. River was a hunter and less than twenty-four hours ago I was on a beach full of his hunter friends. How many of the kids at the quarry were actual hunters? I had no way to know without asking him and zero intention of ever talking to him again. He lied to me. Worse, he didn’t even know how badly his lie affected what I had to do next. I needed to tell the High Coven what I found out and when I did, there would be hell to pay for him and his friends. How did this happen and why, even after all this, could I not forget that kiss?
River kissed me. He freaking kissed me.
And I liked it.
I felt like a traitor to my kind just for thinking it. The High Coven sent me here to stay out of trouble and here I was, kissing a witch hunter and liking it. I was no better than Beatrix at this point and it made me sick to my stomach. River was completely off-limits and as soon as I got to the bottom of the murders, I was going to deal with him myself. No more crushes and no more staying off track. I had to get my life back in order. My head pounded to the sound of an off-beat drum and I leaned my messy bun on the passenger window while Peyton tried to parallel park her beast of a car for the third time.
“Got it!” She exclaimed and shot a smile my way. “What are we doing here, exactly?”
I glanced out the window at the worn-out sign that hung above the shop. “Well, we’re dealing with some serious paranormal myths here,” I fibbed. “I mean, witch hunters? That’s some creepy stuff even by Shadowhurst standards, no?”
“I guess…” Peyton nodded. “But why here?”
“Are you joking? What better place to dig up witchy dirt on the town than an occult shop?” I asked. “Plus, did you see that shelf of books behind the counter? Looked pretty witchy to me.”
“Girl, you’re turning into quite the detective. I love it!”
Peyton hopped out and slammed the door shut behind her and we made our way into the shop. We marched in unison, our fingers wrapped around the ice coffees Peyton picked up on the way to get me and I fought the urge to smile. For the first time, I had a partner in crime. Not the high priestesses and not the witches in the coven that left me to my own devices. A genuine friend. Sure, Peyton did not understand what we were dealing with here but her eagerness to get to the truth was astounding and I couldn’t be more proud to have her by my side through all of this.
The bell welcomed us in and I bolted straight for the counter where Ms. Broussard was fumbling with a jewelry display. When I approached, her eyes snapped to mine and she parted her lips into a welcoming smile. Today, the shop owner let her hair loose and it hung in waves over her shoulders and down to her waist. It was so long that she looked like sea foam swallowed her whole; an ancient siren of sorts.
“Ah!” She clapped her hands together when we approached. “Welcome, girls!”
“Hi, Ms. Broussard.” I smiled and leaned over the counter. “We were wondering if you might have some books on the town’s history here? Maybe something on the founding families?”
Ms. Broussard arched an eyebrow. “If you’re looking for history, the town’s archives are a wonderful start,” she said.
“We were hoping for something a little darker.”
My friend winked at the shop owner and I rolled my eyes. Take it down a notch, P. We’re not making a drug deal.
To my surprise, Ms. Broussard winked back and stepped to the side to reveal the long shelf of books I spotted before. Their spines were empty and I wondered how someone was supposed to tell the difference between the volumes but the shop owner had no trouble picking them out. She rolled her fingers over the books, pulling out three and placing them gently on the counter. “These could help,” she whispered, “let me know if you need any others.”
She slid the books toward us and disappeared through the doorway behind the counter. When she was out of sight, we exchanged shrugs and dug in.
Though I couldn’t feel the same connection to these books as I did to the witch hunter tomes in the library, I could tell they were important. The pages were yellowed with age and as I flipped through one book, I spotted several diagrams and symbols that mirrored the ones I had in my grimoire. These definitely weren’t a tourist attraction. Ms. Broussard’s witchy book collection was the real thing.
My finger ran across the index of the second book I picked up and I tapped on a selection.
“Right here!” I yelped, leaning the book closer for Peyton to see.
“Carriage Hill; a brief history,” my friend read, her eyes widening in excitement. “Yes!”
I flipped to the right section and read. My lips formed the words in silent and I had almost forgotten that Peyton was standing next to me.
“Hey!” She punched my shoulder. “Share with the rest of the class, please.”
I sighed and skipped a few paragraphs before taking a deep breath.
“After the discovery of witchcraft in Shadowhurst, they shunned all those deemed to be in tune with magic from the main society and directed them to move to a nearby village and away from prying eyes,” I read.
“Carriage Hill!”
“Looks like it,” I continued. “Though peace between the members of Shadowhurst and those suspected of witchcraft was in place, it was short-lived. It was not long before the founding families gathered forces, determined to rid themselves of the infestation of the dark arts once and for all.”
Dark arts, my ass. These morons didn’t even know what they were dealing with. Typical humans.
“One by one,” I kept reading, “witches were snatched from their homes and dragged back to Shadowhurst to burn at the stake in the center of town.”
“The bell tower,” Peyton whispered and I nodded.
“Of the ten founding families, five banded together to form a united front from an
y further magical threat to their lands. They trained in secret, growing in numbers as each new member of the families was introduced into the clan.” My hands shook and I had to take a few deep breaths to calm down; this was it. “This has to be how the witch hunters started,” I said.
“So those books in the library were theirs?” Peyton asked. “Wait, you don’t think River and Savannah knew about them before we told him?”
“Probably not,” I lied.
Why am I lying to her? I had no clue but somehow I knew I was not ready to let her in on River’s nasty little secret just yet.
“Wait!” Peyton furrowed her brow and tapped her finger on a passage. “Look at this.”
I scanned the page she was pointing to and my eyes landed on four words that stood out. “Founding families, complete genealogy,” I read aloud. I flipped the pages to the index shown, landing on a large family tree that spanned several generations. I spotted the line for the Hunting family, River’s ancestors, and next to them the Michaels’. So he wasn’t lying and he and Savannah were part of the sordid history of this town. I read off the names, trying to remember the last names of River’s friends but I drew a blank.
“We were right,” Peyton said pointing to two last names at the lead of the family tree, “Lacey and Grady were both part of the founding members. That’s some freaky coincidence.”
“Yeah.” I nodded, even though I knew it was no coincidence at all. My suspicions were correct after all; the witch was targeting the families from this tree. “What does this mean, though?”
I nudged Peyton’s attention to a line drawn across the page—separating the founding families in half. River and Savannah’s names fell on the left while Lacey and Grady’s on the right. My eyes traveled up the list, landing on the top of the tier. Both Grady and Lacey’s great, great grandmother’s names were listed but there was a blank spot next to the space where their partner’s names would be. There was an asterisk next to the empty slots and another index sign. I rummaged through the pages to find the correct number association and my heart sank.
“What?” Peyton asked, registering my pale face. “What’s it say?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat and shook my head before reading aloud.
“Though not much has been uncovered as to the whereabouts of the first arrivals on the land that was later crowned Shadowhurst, it is believed that they were of non-human descent.”
Peyton’s eyes widened and she yanked the book from my hands. “What in the actual hell does that mean?!?” She yelled.
“I think…” I swallowed again. “That whoever found this town wasn’t Euro like we thought.”
“So they were, what? Witches?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so,” and pointed my finger on one word that clashed amongst the rest of the paragraphs that followed.
“Fae?” Peyton asked. “What does that mean ‘fae’? As in fairies or some shit?”
As I opened my mouth to speak, the door behind the counter swung open and Ms. Broussard walked out holding a tray of tea and macaroons. “You girls hungry? I thought you might want a snack?”
She slid the tray across the counter and closed the book in front of us, pushing it out of the way to nudge the teas closer. Her gray eyes twinkled and she winked before urging us to pick up a cookie each. My arm shook as I reached over, forcing myself to take a bite of the pink macaroon I picked up.
This was completely insane. There has not been mention of the fae in any of the texts in the High Coven’s collection. In fact, the only other time I’ve heard the name was when I was still a kid and Beatrix told me fairytales of the magical beings that created my kind. I remember being in awe of the stories and forcing her to tell them to me repeatedly every night before bed. But the fae have been extinct for eons and from what I knew, there was only a handful of them to begin with. As far as the stories went, the fae were once free to roam the earth and delight in its magic. They drew from the energy of the elements, using their power—that no one conveniently knew anything about—to replenish the magic in the earth. According to myth, it was the fae that created the first witches by teaching plain old humans their magic. It all sounded like a crock of crap to me, even as a kid. Witches were powerful and strong, not some byproduct of fae intervention.
Yet no matter how much I tried to fight it, there was no denying what Peyton and I just saw. The fae once lived in Shadowhurst; not just lived here, they created the place. What was worse is that according to the family tree in that book, they stayed long enough to have kids with some of the founding members.
The macaroon I stopped chewing formed a sticky mess in my mouth and I forced myself to gulp it down.
Things just got so much more complicated.
Just an Urban Legend
Ms. Broussard let us borrow the book for the week which was a relief because my original plan was to break in after hours and snatch it up. Relief pummeled over me when she handed it over without question; there was no need to add any more indiscretion to the already massive list of wrongdoings my past carried. Plus, I couldn’t imagine the disappointment the Chandlers would have felt if I went through with it and got caught. Somehow I doubted they signed up for housing an unreformed felon under their roof.
“Where are we going?” I asked as the car’s wheels screeched while Peyton took another aggressive right turn. “This isn’t the way back to the Chandlers.”
My friend pumped the gas and sent us flying again. “Quarry,” she said matter-of-factly. “River wants to meet.”
Blood rushed to my neck and my lungs collapsed. I couldn’t breathe and I couldn’t think. Staying away from the witch hunters was tough enough as it was in a small town like this; I would not be purposefully putting myself in their path, no matter how much I wanted to see those full lips of his again. I curled my fingers around the spine of the book in my hand. “Uh uh!” I yelled out. “No way! I’m not going back to the quarry.”
“Cool your panties.” Peyton laughed. “Savannah won’t be there. He says he’s coming along.”
That’s not the problem, I wanted to yell but stayed quiet.
Peyton slammed the brakes before veering left and my heart leaped into my throat, though this time, I had the feeling it wasn’t her reckless driving that made my skin itch. I couldn’t get River out of my head. How was I supposed to be around him now that I knew what I knew? More than that, how could I explain to him why we could never be together despite the super hot kiss we shared? Without making him drag me to the bell tower to burn me to oblivion, that is. My head spun and I wanted to toss the macaroon I ate at the Crystal Cauldron all over the car.
“Hey.” A thought brushed over me. “Has Ms. Broussard ever seemed strange to you before? Stranger than usual, I mean?”
Peyton’s eyes narrowed my way and she shook her head no. “Nope. No way! Wait,” she asked, “you’re not thinking she’s the killer, are you?”
“Maybe,” I whispered. “She does have a lot of information on the founding families. And she fits the profile.”
“What profile?”
Shit! I can’t tell Peyton I think Ms. Broussard is a witch or I’ll never hear the end of it from Sebyl. “Oh, just, you know…” I thought of a cover. “She stands out like a sore thumb around this place.”
“Ha!” Peyton exclaimed, “So do we, and I don’t think you killed anyone.”
She had a point.
“So you’ve never heard her mention Grady or Lacey? Or the founding families before?”
“Nope.” Peyton shook her head. “And I’ve known her since I was a kid. She’s an oddball, sure, but not dangerous. At least I don’t think so. Besides, last year when I went out with her niece visiting for the summer, I got to spend some time in her house and there was nothing strange that I saw.”
Yes, but was there something witchy? I wanted to ask but didn’t. Wait, did Peyton just tell me she dated Ms. Broussard’s niece? I felt like an idiot. Peyton was into girls and I didn’t e
ven notice. Not that it even mattered, but that seemed like information that a friend should have. It was looking like I was an even more crap friend than a crap witch these days.
I cleared my throat and wiggled my eyebrows. “You’re into chicks?”
“Obvi.” Peyton smirked. “Everyone knows.”
“I didn’t.”
“Well, you do now. Why?”
I smiled. “No reason. I feel stupid for not catching on, though, in my defense, you did make a lot of inappropriate comments about River.”
“Girl!” Peyton chuckled. “I’m gay, not blind. That boy is a fine piece of man. You should totally go for it!”
Already did and no thank you…
“I’m off guys for a while,” I breathed out, “had a nasty experience with the last one.”
Peyton pulled the car in reverse and I realized we were about to park in the quarry’s parking lot. “What happened?”
Turned out he’s a witch hunter and would likely want me dead. “Long story,” I choked out and climbed out of the car.
River’s silver Tesla was already in the lot and I followed Peyton down the trail to the quarry. When we reached the beach, I spotted him in the water. His white slacks were rolled up at the ankles and he waded through the crystal clear blue like an old-time sailor. River’s shirt was scrunched into a ball and tossed haphazardly on the sandy shoreline behind him. Of course, he had to be topless.
I rolled my eyes and waved to get his attention.
