She sighed and squeezed her eyes shut. No one could make her feel like a little girl again the way her aunt could. Dropping her hand from the doorknob, she turned around.
Aunt Gretchen stood at the base of the stairs, backlit by the warm yellow light cascading down the steps, casting her face in deep shadows. But Amber could have seen that furrowed brow and pinched mouth even with her eyes closed. Her aunt’s arms were folded across her chest, one foot stuck out in front of her, ready to tap out a rhythm of disappointment if necessary.
“I need to find someone to talk to about all this, because you won’t,” Amber whisper-hissed, surprised by the venom in her own voice. “You’ve shut me down every time I try to talk to you about my parents or that night. Every. Single. Time. And now the Penhallows are apparently back here and they almost killed you this time. You might not be scared about that, but I am. Call me a worrier if you want to, but I’m not going to keep pretending like nothing is happening here.”
Amber felt her magic’s thrumming beneath her skin turn to something closer to thrashing. Her aunt was the only person she’d ever met who could make her feel this frustrated. This boxed in. Her chest heaved and the hand not currently clutching her keys in a death grip opened and closed.
When a small display of ever-burning candles lifted from their nearby shelf—which Amber saw out of the corner of her eye, as she had yet to stop glaring at her aunt—Gretchen closed the distance between herself and Amber. She got into Amber’s space, head tipped back to look her in the eye, and pointed a finger in her face. “Calm yourself. What have I always said? Be careful about your magic. What if someone sees you?”
It was almost the exact same thing Amber had said to Willow earlier. Be careful. Hide. Deny. And what had that denial gotten her? Chief Brown saw her magic anyway. Keeping their secret wasn’t keeping her safe. If anything, it made her more unsafe. Because she felt wholly unequipped for all this—she didn’t even know what “this” was.
“Who cares?” Amber snapped. “It’s only a matter of time before the Penhallow comes back. I can’t do anything but make really crappy tinctures and plastic toy animals that perform children’s tricks. If a Penhallow comes after me, I’m a goner. So who cares who sees me? My days are numbered, right? So are yours. Just like Mom and Dad’s were.”
Amber had never gotten confirmation from her aunt that the Penhallows were responsible for her parents’ death, but it never stopped her from asking. Even if the question had gone unanswered for fourteen years. She maintained her death glare at her aunt, putting her sixteen-year-old self to shame. Amber was older now, had run out of patience, and was scared half out of her mind. She wasn’t going to back down now.
A few books and a marble cat statue rose into the air now too, hovering, waiting for the okay from Amber’s magic to fly about the room. Amber felt like a coiled spring.
“You can do more than children’s tricks. Much more.”
Amber faltered for a moment, the floating objects wobbling in midair. It was the soft, almost sad tone her aunt had used that got to her. “What?”
Her aunt crossed her arms, breaking eye contact. “This is what you can do,” she said, waving a hand at the hovering objects. “You have a strong affinity for the manipulation of matter—moving objects, changing the form of objects. And thanks to the Henbane part of you, you can also manipulate time.”
Henbane. Her mother’s maiden name.
With a dejected sigh, Gretchen added, “Just like your mother could.”
Amber staggered back a step and the objects in question hit the ground, her anger drained out of her in an instant. The curving tail and one ear of the marble cat statue snapped off on impact. She groaned inwardly; that thing had been expensive.
Then her brain caught up. “Time?” Amber asked.
“Before that overactive mind of yours starts running through the possibilities … no you can’t go back in time and stop your parents’ deaths. But you can freeze time for short durations. You can even reverse it or speed it up. But, again, you’re not a time traveler; you’re quite limited in how far back you can go.”
Amber blinked at her. Nothing in all Amber’s years of self-taught magic had even hinted that she had magic strong enough or capable enough to manipulate something as complicated as time.
Clearly sensing Amber’s bewilderment, Gretchen said, “While Willow’s magic clearly comes from the Blackwood side, your magic favors your mother’s. We Blackwoods are known for our tinctures and healing abilities—and that can mean healing a broken inanimate object, a broken bone, or a broken heart. The Henbanes, however, have always had an affinity for manipulation of matter and time. Belle saw it in you from a young age,” Aunt Gretchen said. “And she did her best to squash it.”
Amber shook her head, blinking quickly. She’d gone for so long without answers, and now she was drowning in them. “Why did she want to squash my powers? It’s who I am.”
“But it’s not, little mouse. You’ve lived a full life without your powers. They don’t define you. Your mother didn’t want you to rely on your magic like a crutch.”
A full life seemed like a stretch, but she kept that to herself. Amber felt like her life had been put on hold the moment her parents died. And her lack of knowledge about her history had been a big part of that. On some level, she’d never felt truly comfortable in her own skin—and neither had her magic.
Edgar was a Henbane. Did he know how to manipulate time?
“Why did she want to squash my powers?” Amber asked again.
After a few moments, her aunt sighed. “I don’t know all the details of this myself—”
Amber cocked a brow.
Hands raised in innocence, Aunt Gretchen said, “Honestly. I’m in the dark about some of this, too … but your mother had a bit of a dark past. Rumor has it, when she was in her early twenties, she’d been involved with a Penhallow.”
Amber’s eyes widened. “Involved how?”
Gretchen shrugged. “I don’t know. Some rumors implied it was merely her falling in with the wrong crowd, others imply it had been a romantic entanglement that went awry. Your mother didn’t like talking about it. I’m not even sure how much your father knew.”
Amber chewed on the inside of her cheek. “Was whatever happened back then the reason why they moved to Edgehill?”
“Yes,” she said. “That much I do know, even if I don’t know the details of why.”
A bit desperately, Amber tried to ask the same question she’d been asking for years. “So it might have been a Penhallow who tracked her to Edgehill and then killed her and my father?”
Aunt Gretchen lowered her gaze to the dark floor beneath their feet. “I believe so, yes. I’m almost certain.”
Amber felt tears prick her eyes and she had to walk away from her aunt. It felt as if something in her chest had cracked. Her aunt had known. Had known all this time that her parents had been murdered, that it hadn’t been some freak electrical glitch. For fourteen years, she’d lied to Amber about it. Lied to her face, lied by omission—it didn’t matter. Lying was lying. She was family, the only close family Amber had left aside from Willow, and she’d lied to her. Repeatedly. About the one thing that had ever truly mattered to her. The thing that kept her feeling trapped in Edgehill. No matter how much she loved this town, the mystery of her parents’ death kept her rooted here more than anything else.
Amber paced, head tipped back to the ceiling as she willed herself not to cry. She wasn’t sure if she was more upset by the truth, or by the lies.
She stopped and rounded on Gretchen. The woman had the decency to look nervous. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this sooner?”
“Your mother told me not to,” she said. “Demanded it.”
Amber was shocked into silence again.
Before Amber could get her jumbled thoughts in order, Gretchen spoke. “That tincture I take at night? The one that grants me foresight? Well, I used to make it for your mother. In the weeks before
their deaths, she’d been plagued with nightmares of fire. She was sure it was a premonition, but there were so few details in the dreams, she didn’t know if it was a premonition of something she could change, or merely a warning of something she couldn’t escape. I gave her the tincture to help bring her clarity.” After a pause, she said, “She’d even considered seeking out her brother’s help. His late wife, your aunt Kathleen, had been a Caraway. Caraways often have an affinity for the sight; your mother thought he might have some advice about how to interpret her visions.”
“Did she ever talk to him?” Amber asked.
“Not that I know of,” she said. “Edgar, by all accounts, had inherited a touch of the sight from his mother. But Belle never sought them out.”
Amber could only guess as to why. What had caused the falling out in the first place?
“All your mother told me was that …” Her aunt’s bottom lip shook, and her eyes misted over. Amber hadn’t seen her aunt cry in almost fourteen years. It was as if she’d cried herself dry when Belle and Theo Blackwood died. “All she told me was that I had to make sure you girls were away from the house that night. She said the danger they faced could be dealt with, but she couldn’t keep herself and your father safe while also worrying about you girls.”
Magic hummed beneath Amber’s skin again, but now it felt confused, bumping around haphazardly like a trapped insect. It wanted to lash out, but where? How could Amber so desperately want to pull her aunt into a tight hug and shove her away at the same time?
“We had a slumber party at Alice’s that night,” Amber said. “How did you have anything to do with that? You weren’t even in Edgehill then …”
“I called Alice’s mom and asked if she could keep you girls at the house overnight because your mother was planning a surprise for your father and needed you out of her hair,” Gretchen said, threat of tears mostly gone now. “When she confirmed she would be home for the evening and would be able to look after you, I cast a memory-wipe spell so she wouldn’t remember the last two minutes of our conversation, then I cast a spell for persuasion. I urged her to ask Alice to invite you girls over for a sleepover, since Alice would be leaving for summer camp soon and she should get some time in with friends before she left. I needed it to seem like the idea came from Alice and her mother. Within a day, the plans were in place and no one was the wiser but myself and Belle.”
Amber felt her own bottom lip shake now, and briefly sunk her teeth in to still it. “Did my dad know this was happening? What the plan was?”
A tear ran down Gretchen’s face, and she quickly swiped it away, sniffling hard. “I don’t know. I want to hope so. I want to hope he knew what was coming and he chose to lay beside your mother and accept their fate. Especially if it meant keeping you two safe. But …”
The majority of her parents’ remains had been found in their beds. Had they taken something to remain unconscious? Had they chosen to go out together, hands held tightly, as flames licked up the walls?
Yet, Edgar had said they’d been trapped inside. That they’d tried to get out and couldn’t. Had he truly suffered a psychotic break and made all that up? Or had the break been caused by what he’d seen that night?
Either way, Gretchen had not only known, but she’d done nothing to save them. She’d known her mother had predicted there would be a fire, had predicted that she and Amber’s father were in danger, and Gretchen hadn’t intervened. If anything, Gretchen had helped it along by agreeing to get Amber and Willow out of the house.
Jaw clenched, Amber’s attention snapped to her aunt. The woman looked broken, her shoulders slumped. But Amber found it hard to muster up any sympathy right now.
“Why didn’t you stop her? Why didn’t you help them?” Amber ground out.
Gretchen worked her jaw, eyes rimmed in silver. “You don’t think I blame myself every day for what happened that night? Belle told me they’d be fine. She told me that I just needed to make sure you girls were somewhere else and that everything would be all right.” She visibly swallowed. “I did what she asked—I kept you safe and I obeyed her wishes—but it meant that I lost my brother in the process. He’d been the glue that held our family together. Your grandparents—my parents—both passed a year after Theo. The grief was too much for them both. You and Willow never met them because Belle was so paranoid about keeping you isolated from anything or anyone related to magic. Why she let me into your lives when she shut out nearly everyone else, I’ll never know. But I trusted her because Theo worshipped the ground your mother walked on. Theo didn’t fall easily.”
Amber didn’t know what to say to any of this. Movement caught her eye toward the back of the store and she glanced over Gretchen’s bent head to see Willow sitting at the base of the staircase, hand pressed to her mouth. The glint on her face from of the weak light illuminating the steps told Amber that her sister was crying. Amber wondered how long she’d been listening.
“I …” Gretchen cleared her throat, her voice wavering, pulling Amber’s attention back to her. “I love you girls as if you were my own. I loved your mother like a sister. But … but I’m so, so angry with her for not giving me a choice. She’d made her decision based on information only she seemed to know, and it took my brother. It destroyed my parents. It destroyed both of you.”
Amber was crying now. She wasn’t sure when that had started.
“So, no, I don’t enjoy discussing that night, Amber,” Gretchen said now, some of her familiar steeliness returning. “It was the worst night of my life. But what happened, happened. Dwelling on the past won’t change anything. They’re gone and life goes on. It has to.”
But that wasn’t entirely true. The past—specifically Amber’s mother’s past—had crept back into Edgehill, leaving behind a cursed, sticky mess. It had killed an innocent woman who had nothing whatsoever to do with Amber and her twisted family tree.
“I can’t be here,” Amber said, voice far away and small.
“What?” Gretchen said, bewildered. “We don’t know who or where the witch is. Don’t leave now. It’s not safe. Especially not at night. You just need some sleep and then we can discuss what to do next in the morning.”
Amber took several steps back. “I just need some fresh air.”
Before Gretchen or Willow—who was on her feet now—could say or do anything to stop her, she was out the door.
Chapter 8
Neither her sister nor her aunt chased her down. Amber guessed Gretchen had tried, and Willow had held her back. Willow would know that the harder someone pushed Amber, the more she pushed back. Her theory was confirmed when, several minutes later, a text message popped up on her cell phone, which was currently fastened to her dashboard. Her car was already well on its way to putting considerable distance between itself and the Quirky Whisker.
Amber’s gaze quickly flicked to the message.
Text me every 10 minutes so I know you’re okay. I’m scrying your location already. If you don’t message me, I WILL find you and drag you back.
Amber had no idea where she was going. Her half-formed plan when she’d crept out of her studio with her shoes in hand like some rebellious teenager had flown out of her head when Aunt Gretchen had finally started talking. Amber thought about driving up Ocicat Lane to stare at the old house. Perhaps she could beg her mother’s ghost to pay her a visit to explain what in the heck was going on. And why she’d kept so much from her and Willow.
What Amber truly wanted, though, was to go back to several hours ago when her biggest worry was whether or not her dress was too tight. Would her affinity for time-related spells let her do that?
Even her mind’s voice sounded bitter right now.
Ten minutes later, she pulled into the half-full parking lot of Feral’s Diner. Edgehill didn’t have a 24-hour … well, anything … but the diner stayed open until midnight. It was well-lit and people milled around both inside and in the lot. Amber pulled into a spot near the back, with several empty spaces betwee
n her and the nearest car.
She texted Willow. I’m fine. You know where I am. I just need time.
Fair enough.
Relieved, Amber set her phone on the passenger seat. Mere moments later, her phone pinged again.
I still expect to hear from you in ten.
Amber sighed and slouched a little in her seat. She had no desire to go into the diner. She wasn’t hungry and she didn’t want to be around anyone, let alone the crowd of people inside.
Strangely enough, though, the longer she sat there, everything her aunt had told her spinning around in her head, the more she realized there was only one person she truly wanted to talk to right now.
She snatched up her phone again and dialed his number, hoping it wasn’t too late and that he was somehow already settling in for the night. But, after an evening like tonight, she supposed he would be up for a while. Amber wedged a thumbnail between her teeth.
He answered on the second ring. “Hello, Miss Blackwood.”
“Hi, chief.”
“What can I do for you?” he asked, only slightly repressing a sigh, as if offering her assistance with anything, even if it was his job, pained him a little.
“What happened to that maid?” she asked, wasting no time. “I mean … how did she die?”
The pause on the other end lasted for several long seconds. “You know I can’t tell you that.”
“I think whoever did this meant to hurt my aunt,” Amber said. “She won’t be safe until whoever did this is caught.” And neither will I.
“The entire Edgehill police force is working on it, Miss Blackwood.” His tone was flat, even, and perfectly comforting. Amber hated it. “I understand why you’re concerned—I would be too—but you have to trust that we’re doing everything we can to find out who is responsible for this. We want him caught just as much as you do.”
“Or her,” Amber said, subtly reminding him that while he’d suspected Derrick Sadler of being Melanie Cole’s murderer, they’d figured out with Amber’s help that the killer had been Derrick’s wife.
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