by T. M. Cromer
Changing irises were a witch’s or, in Keaton’s case, a warlock’s tell. The closest she’d gotten to him in recent years was a few months ago when he confronted her over setting fire to his truck. Because of her own hurt, she hadn’t registered the change in color at the time. Had she done so, she’d have recognized him for what he was.
His daughter, Chloe, hadn’t inherited his aquamarine eyes. Hers were a warm, golden shade of honey. It bothered Autumn to think that, eventually, some dickhead would come along and hurt little Chloe, too. Her eyes would lose that stunning color.
But such was life. Getting your heart bruised and battered was inevitable. She hadn’t met an adult, certainly not a Thorne, who hadn’t had a rough go of it.
“You’re wasting my time, Keaton. You had two hours from when you showed today. Clock’s ticking, buddy.”
“I don’t remember you as such a hard ass.”
Autumn’s inability to swallow came unexpectedly. She struggled through it. “Yeah, well, we all grow up.” To create distance, she moved to the stand holding the Thorne grimoire and flipped through the pages. “It was bound to happen.”
Because she could feel his gaze studying her profile, she tilted her head down and removed her hair clip. Her thick locks created a curtain, blocking his view.
“Thank you for being kind to Chloe.” His husky voice came from close beside her and made her jump. Despite his six-foot-three, muscular frame, he moved as silently as a damned cat.
She inched sideways. To give herself something to occupy her hands, she touched a fingertip to the candle wicks around the room and lit each one in turn.
As far his daughter was concerned, Autumn could afford to be kind. “She’s lovely, Keaton. A daughter anyone would be proud to call their own.” And she might have been theirs had things not taken such an ugly turn that day in the glen all those years before. The thought had taunted her on more than one occasion. Whenever she saw the two of them together, laughing or sharing an ice cream in town, or whenever Chloe ran toward the Thorne gardens in search of Autumn’s sister, Spring, the sight would stab Autumn right in the chest.
By now, Autumn was well practiced at shoving down her bitterness and anger. A few months ago, when she’d so carelessly set fire to the truck, she realized her destructive behavior had hurt an innocent. The wake-up call caused her to pack up, leave town, and re-evaluate her life.
“I worried about her reception here when C.C. first mentioned she… we were… like you.”
He stumbled over his words and triggered her first genuine laugh.
“You make it sound like some dreaded disease you happened to catch.” She sobered. “It’s a gift from the Goddess. You should be proud to be from a powerful line. There aren’t many pure-blooded witches or warlocks left. Most have been bred out of existence. And about your daughter…” She offered some semblance of a smile. “I don’t hold the sins of the parents against the child.”
“Bred?”
Apparently, he chose to ignore her dig about “the sins of the parents,” and Autumn was happy to ignore the topic if he was.
She shrugged. “Throughout history, pure-bloods have married non-magical humans. Any children they created would’ve only received diluted abilities. Like Chloe.” She finished lighting the candles and brushed her hands together. “Some witches bound their children to give them a normal life, or what they believed would be normal. Not unlike what your mother and father did to you, Coop, and your cousin, Zane.”
Keaton frowned. “What about Knox? He’s a Carlyle.”
“I’ve only spoken ten words to Knox in as many years. I haven’t had much interaction with your family and wouldn’t know.”
“I should ask him.”
“I can’t believe it hasn’t come up in the weeks since you’ve found out the truth,” she said as she stopped a few feet from him.
“He’s been away, acquiring new breeding stock for our herd, and hasn’t been around.”
“Gotcha.” No skin off her nose either way. She checked her watch. “We’re down to one hour and forty-five minutes of training time left.”
“You’re going to be a stickler about this, aren’t you?” he said softly.
“I am. I have a busy schedule, and I don’t appreciate my time being wasted.”
The hard edge crept back into her voice, but she’d be damned if she could prevent it. She didn’t want to train Keaton. But a favor was a favor, and Autumn had grudgingly promised her sister, Summer, that she’d teach Coop and his brother. Since Summer’s own powers were hit or miss most days, it fell to Autumn or one of their other sisters. And because those sisters had actual money-producing businesses, Autumn was the one chosen to help the newbie warlocks.
“Where did the carefree girl go? The one you used to be?” he mused aloud.
Tears burned behind her lids, and resentment gnawed at her insides. She presented her back and stared out the large attic window. From her vantage point, she could see the clearing where her life had gone to hell in a handbasket. “She was an idiot. And thankfully, no longer exists.” She died with her unborn fetus.
“I miss her.”
The wistfulness in his voice triggered her outrage. Where did he get off being sweet after all this time? Livid, she struggled to keep her voice level. “I don’t. Like I said, she was an idiot.” She consulted the time again. “One hour and forty minutes.”
Keaton observed the tension in Autumn’s stance.
She hated everything about him occupying her space. It was in the defiant angle of her chin, her harsh dismissal of the past, and her eagerness to be done with teaching him and his brother the basics of witchcraft.
He hadn’t wanted to learn and had initially rejected Coop’s revelation last month—especially if it put him in close proximity to Autumn. But when his parents had returned and removed the binding, Keaton felt the supercharged energy pulse through his body on a cellular level. Finally, he understood.
Magic was like a powerful sword he needed to learn to wield for the safety of everyone around him. If he walked around untrained, he might unintentionally let loose one day and hurt someone.
His father and mother had expressed regret for their lie, and because of who they were, because he’d known them to be loving and generous parents, Keaton’s only choice had been to forgive. In forgiving them, he’d been forced to compare their actions to Autumn’s. If he was honest with himself, he had to acknowledge her magical crimes against him were much less life altering.
“You wanted an apology. I’m sorry, Autumn. Truly.”
She jerked as if struck.
The urge to touch her overwhelmed him, but he curbed the impulse. He didn’t have the right, not anymore. He had killed her love. Maybe not with his words in the clearing, but definitely when he’d slept with Diane the same night of their breakup. He’d never had the opportunity to make it right before he found out Diane was pregnant with his child.
“Look, if your intent is to stand around jawing, then I need to get to my real work.” She headed for the door without sparing him a glance. “I’ll catch you later.”
Before she could leave, Coop stepped into the room.
“You’re late,” she snapped as she shoved a lock of auburn hair behind her ear.
Coop flashed her the patented Carlyle grin. One glimpse of those pearly whites was guaranteed to set fire to the panties of unsuspecting females everywhere.
Keaton had a moment of unease when he saw the twin spots of pink bloom on Autumn’s cheeks. Was she attracted to his brother?
He released his pent-up breath when Autumn said, “Your charm doesn’t work on me, Sheriff. Save it for Summer. Tomorrow, if you aren’t on time, you can find another sucker to teach you. I have better things to do than wait around for you while you flirt with my sister.”
“You’re warming up to me, Autumn. I can tell,” Coop teased as he tapped a fingertip to her nose.
Keaton called on every ounce of self-control not to rip his b
rother’s arm off for touching her. He didn’t want to think what it meant that he was still territorial after all these years.
Autumn snorted. “Pfft. Keep dreaming, Coop.” To Keaton, she asked, “Do you want Chloe to join us for future classes? I know she’s learned a few things from Spring, but she’s more than welcome to come with you tomorrow.”
Her generosity surprised him and shook him out of his pique. What kind of woman would offer to help the daughter of the woman you screwed in a drunken stupor? “I’ll ask her tonight.”
“Great. Now, let’s get started.” She tapped the book on the altar. “This is a spell book, also known as a grimoire. Every magical family has one. It is handed down through each generation. These books can be hundreds or, depending on the family, thousands of years old. Your family should have one, too.” She ran a hand lovingly over the binding. “Most spells are in Latin, although there are a few in our grimoire in another language that we’ve been unable to identify. I’m sure your family’s book is the same.”
“I thought a lot of people didn’t know how to write in the old days,” Keaton said as he inched closer to get a look at the book she held.
“The book is like a magical version of Dragon Dictation. You can speak a spell, and it will appear on the pages.”
“Dude! That’s badass.” Coop reached for the grimoire. “May I see it?”
“No.” She softened her sharp answer with a half-smile. “Not yet, anyway. I’ll explain why later.”
Keaton studied her as Autumn droned on about the altar and the best wood for magical purposes when creating one. She hadn’t changed much. Her ivory skin was still as flawless. The deep auburn hair still caught the light and glowed red in its beam. Her lips were just as full, and her body… God, her body. At thirty-two, the woman had the same tight, toned body she’d had as a twenty-two-year-old.
His skin tingled in remembrance of holding that curvy body against his own. Of tasting every inch. Of being cradled between those long legs. He mentally shook himself. If he didn’t stop, he’d be sitting here with serious wood popping up—and not the magical altar type.
With a suspicious glance in his direction, she went on to explain the process of casting a circle. Apparently, magic was to be done within this circle for a number of reasons. The most important was to protect the spell caster. She also explained the purification steps before a ceremony.
While Autumn answered his brother’s questions, Keaton put his finger on what bothered him about her appearance. Her eyes. Once a bright, beautiful shade of light amber, they were now an average murky brown. How was that possible? It was as if all light had escaped them.
“When can we get to the good part?” Coop asked and rubbed his hands together.
“Slow your roll, Sheriff. Until you learn the rules, you don’t perform magic.”
“Rules?” Keaton asked, drawn back into the conversation.
“Rules,” she said. “Number one, do as you will, and it harm none. In other words, magic is never to hurt or strike out at another.”
Keaton’s brows shot up, and he snorted. “I’d say you broke that rule.”
Autumn turned incredulous eyes on him. “Are you serious right now?”
“I’m just saying, when you—”
Coop clapped a hand over Keaton’s mouth and wrestled him to the floor. “Shut up, you idjit! She already hates you. Do you want her to shish kebab you?”
“Are you two done? We are down to only an hour left,” she informed them. The cold tone left little doubt how much she despised Keaton’s presence in her home.
“Number two, you don’t use magic for personal gain.” She stared directly at Keaton. “No spells or binding potions for love, revenge, or financial gain. Nothing that doesn’t benefit the whole. Remember, do as you will, and it harm none.”
She knelt and gestured for him and Coop to do the same. “There are other rules, but those are the most important. I’ll be sure to have a list of the others for you tomorrow morning. Now let’s practice meditation. It’s important to be centered before starting any spell.”
With the breathing techniques she demonstrated, Keaton got a good grasp on how to calm and center his inner self. These would also be useful tools for his everyday life as the small town mayor where stress and mayhem were the name of the game.
Autumn went on to discuss ways to draw out their magic, the importance of discovering their individual elements, and the need to obtain a familiar to boost their spell-casting power. “You are to try nothing on your own. Is that clear? Nothing. Not even the smallest spell. I will tell you when you are ready. All spells should be cast in a dedicated circle. That is tomorrow’s lesson. I’ll see you at eight a.m. sharp. Don’t be late, or we’re done.”
CONTINUE READING
From the Author…
Thank you for taking the time to read Summer Magic. If you love what you’ve read, please leave a brief review. To find out about what’s happening next in the world of The Thorne Witches, be sure to subscribe my newsletter.
Books in The Thorne Witches Series:
SUMMER MAGIC
AUTUMN MAGIC
WINTER MAGIC
SPRING MAGIC
REKINDLED MAGIC
LONG LOST MAGIC
FOREVER MAGIC
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Also by T.M. Cromer
Books in The Thorne Witches Series:
SUMMER MAGIC
AUTUMN MAGIC
WINTER MAGIC
SPRING MAGIC
REKINDLED MAGIC
LONG LOST MAGIC
FOREVER MAGIC
Books in The Stonebrooke Series:
BURNING RESOLUTION
THE TROUBLE WITH LUST
A LOVE TO CALL MINE (coming soon)
THE BAKERY
EASTER DELIGHTS
HOLIDAY HEART
Books in The Fiore Vineyard Series:
PICTURE THIS
RETURN HOME
ONE WISH
Look for The Holt Family Series starting January 2020!
FINDING YOU
THIS TIME YOU
INCLUDING YOU
AFTER YOU
THE GHOST OF YOU
Afterword
According to Buddhist and Hindu legend, Chintamani Stone is a wish-fulfilling jewel that fell from the sky. This may be an indication that the stone was a piece of a meteorite. And while the Chintamani Stone was rumored to have actually existed, the object did indeed disappear around the 1920’s.
Were Nicholas and Helena Roerich in possession of the stone? Possibly. It ties into the time the Roerich family spent in the Himalayas.
But the bottom line? I took
a bit of creative license with the stone’s power and with Helena’s journal—as writers are wont to do—as I will also do with the artifacts listed in the coming stories for the Thorne sisters. I mean, that’s the great part about being an author, isn’t it?
If you care to learn more about Nicholas and Helena, you can find a link for the museum dedicated to the couple here: www.roerich.org.
ALSO…
Vestibular is a real medical issue for animals. I had two cats contract this disease. One went deaf, and the other retained the head tilt the rest of her life. They both eventually grew accustomed to their disabilities and learned to function like a normal cats.
The cone idea for Macy is made up. I’ve never heard or read of anyone attaching a counterbalance to an animal’s head. It just seemed like a fun element to add to the story that would irritate Coop.
