A Deadly Secret (The Deadly Series Book 2)

by R M Connor

  Pushing out my bottom lip, I responded, “You could say that.”

  I escorted them through the swinging doors into the kitchen, taking note of both men hesitating at the sight. Michael walked to the pair of ovens, he lowered onto his haunches and touched the white residue from the fire extinguisher. He stood, rubbing the residue between his pointer finger and thumb, and looked at me with a furrowed brow.

  I pushed my hair behind my ears, my cheeks blossoming with heat. “Don’t ask.”

  “Let us have a look at the other and see what we can do.” Eugene placed his bright-red toolbox on the island then lowered to his knees in front of the open oven door.

  “Thanks, guys.” I hurried back into the café to help Maisie.

  She busied herself at the register, and I made my rounds to each table, filling cups and offering to take empty plates. Setting a few dishes into the sink behind the counter, I heard the two men in the kitchen arguing. I moved closer to the display case and ‘inspected’ the remaining muffins.

  “Dad, you have to drop it,” Michael pleaded.

  “Someone got to them,” Eugene responded. “Something’s—”

  “Just stop it. Please. You’re going to get yourself hurt, or worse,” Michael interrupted.

  He pushed through the doors and I let out a mousy yelp. Spinning on my heels toward him, I watched his chest heave as he sucked in a deep breath.

  Brows scrunched, and jaw squared, his tongue darted out, wetting his lips. “Hey, Riley. I’m going to run back to the store and see if we have a heating element for your oven in stock, but . . .” he paused, tensing when his father came to stand behind him.

  “Your ovens are pretty outdated,” Eugene said, wiping his hands on a towel.

  “Can it be fixed?”

  A smile touched Eugene’s eyes. “You know I can fix just about anything.”

  I handed both men a cup of coffee. “I don’t know what I’d do without you two.”

  “I’ll be back.” Michael patted the counter then moved through the crowd gracefully. He had his father’s muscular build, a little leaner and much taller, but just as light-footed.

  I caught Eugene watching his son walk out the door. His lips turned down and his chin quivered. What could be going on between them? Eugene cleared his throat, turning to me, the seriousness on his face replaced with a weak grin that didn’t touch his eyes. “I’m gonna get to work. We’ll head to Twin Falls later to get you a replacement.”

  After the café closed for lunch, I bundled up and sprinted down the street toward Odds ‘n’ Ends. The musty smell of old things mixed with cinnamon from the bowls of potpourri scattered around the store overwhelmed my senses. The door shut behind me, closing off any and all fresh air. During warmer months, Tessa would prop the door open to help with the smell. But it was around thirty degrees outside and that just wasn’t an option right now.

  Tessa popped up from behind a bookcase near the back. She had pulled her waves into a messy bun that rested on top of her head. Her bangs were pushed to the side. Deep creases between her eyes softened when she spotted me.

  “I’m so glad you’re here.” She dropped a book on the top of the bookcase and a plume of dust lifted around her. Swatting at it, she sneezed.

  I walked to the back of the store, scanning the shelves, and purposely looked away from the row of watchful porcelain dolls. Sitting outside of her office was an old trunk. The same one that had carried the necklace that led to Leah’s death. The rest of its contents were still missing. No one knew who or what had emptied it. Madam Mayor had been in a tizzy for weeks, scouring the town for magical items only to come back empty-handed. It wasn’t easy to find what you were looking for when you didn’t know what it looked like.

  A pile of handbags laid next to the trunk. “Do you need help with those?”

  Tessa ran a hand over the top of her head. “I’m hoping to get rid of them during the sale.” She picked one off the floor. “Who doesn’t love a good bag?” She hooked it on a rolling clothing rack.

  I pointed to a brown, floppy bag on the top of the pile. “Surgere.”

  The bag rose into the air, floating slowly as I moved my finger toward the clothing rack. The straps slipped into a small, metal hook.

  Tessa grinned and squealed. “If you do that, I’m going to finish my sign.” She backed up into the bookcase. It wobbled and I bared my teeth, waiting for it to fall and cause a domino effect through the store. She grabbed it, another cloud of dust rising and with it, a fit of sneezes came from Tessa. Four in a row, I was impressed. “I feel as cluttered as my store today,” she mumbled, sneezing again while moving around the bookcase toward the register.

  Chuckling under my breath, I lowered to the floor with my legs crossed in front of me and continued to hang the bags with a flick of my wrist. To fill the silence, I called from my spot loud enough for Tessa to hear me, “Have you heard from Samantha?” After the death of her fiancé, Trey Brewer, Samantha had left Wildewood without saying goodbye, even to Tessa, and they had been lifelong friends.

  “I talked to her a few days ago. She told me to give you her love,” Tessa responded.

  I glanced through the aisle to see her leaning over the counter as she worked on her sale sign. Twisting my lips, I decided not to call bull crap. I had a suspicion Samantha blamed Maisie and me for Trey’s death. She had very little love for me that much I was sure of.

  Wrinkling my nose at a large, black tote that rose upside down, I motioned for it to turn right side up. A small, gray canister fell from one of its pockets, landing with a muted plop on the remaining bags. I leaned over, picked it up, and pulled the black lid off the top.

  Pouring a used roll of film into my hand, I couldn’t help but think of what it contained. A child’s birthday party, or sunny days on vacation. I could get Ethan to develop it. He had recently set up his darkroom in a spare bedroom in his house. Whoever it belonged to, I might be able to find them and return the pictures.

  I just hoped it wasn’t an X-rated roll of film. That would be awkward.

  Standing, I walked to the counter. “Hey, look what I found.” I placed the film in front of her.

  She picked it up and her body went rigid, her eyes fluttered closed. It was her tell-tale sign: She was receiving a vision.

  Seconds later, she blinked. Her dilated pupils were shrinking, and her muscles relaxed. Her gaze moved up to mine, and she handed the film back. “I think this belongs to you.”

  “Me?” I palmed the film. I couldn’t remember the last time I had used a film camera, but I knew for sure I had never owned that particular bag it had been hiding in.

  “You should ask Ethan to develop it.” She nibbled the side of her bottom lip.

  I put the film back into the canister and pressed the lid close. “What did you see?”

  Her gaze dropped to the sign she had been writing. Unlike her store, her handwriting was neat. Memories make the best gifts. She tapped the chalk, marking on the word memories.

  “Whose memories?” I prodded.

  Tessa looked back at me, her face lighting up. She skittered down the aisle beside her, the metaphorical lightbulb glowing above her head. Standing on her toes, Tessa cradled an old camera in her hand. “Here.” She placed it on the counter in front of me. “I know you haven’t found Ethan a present. This would be perfect.”

  I crossed my arms. She was avoiding the question. Whatever she saw, she must not want me to know. It didn’t matter; I would find out eventually. I took the camera and started back toward the pile of bags.

  “Riley.”

  I could feel her standing behind me, and I slowly turned to face her.

  She gave me a weak smile. “They’re your mother’s memories.”

  My breath caught in my throat and I stepped backward. The canister fell to the floor as I reached out to grab a shelf to steady myself. I closed my eyes, hot tears trying to escape. I swallowed with effort. “My mother?” I croaked. “How?”

  My mot
her had been dead for decades, or so we assumed. She hadn’t been seen since Maisie and I were born. How was it possible that something of hers had made its way into Tessa’s store then into my hands? I wiped the tears from my eyes with the back of my hand.

  Tessa laid her hand on my arm. “You look just like her.”

  My lips parted. She had seen what my mother looked like? I stared at the canister.

  “Have Ethan develop it.” She gave me a soft smile. “I’m rarely wrong.”

  I hadn’t recovered from Tessa’s vision. Between distracting myself with the clutter in her store, and picking Maisie up from the café, my mind was still reeling with the prospects of what was on the roll of film. Did I want to know? I swallowed the lump in my throat. I hadn’t even told Maisie yet.

  “Have you seen Bean?” she asked, walking ahead of me up the porch steps.

  “Not since this morning.” I made sure to check the chairs on the front porch. Sometimes he napped on the cushions.

  Bean wasn’t an ordinary cat. He was our familiar. Yes, our familiar. We shared him, and though it wasn’t common for two witches to share the same one, nothing about our witch-hood was common.

  Every set of Wildewoods came in twos—female twins, and only one set per generation. As long as both lived, their powers grew immensely. But that came with a price. One of the twins would become corrupt. The power would consume them, and they would slowly go insane. Someone, a long time ago, had tapped into a well of power and brought a curse upon the lineage. There was only one way to break it: the ultimate sacrifice.

  I stepped inside the warm house. Hushed voices trailed through the hallway. I pulled on Maisie’s jacket before she could walk any further and placed a finger over my lips, hoping to hear the conversation.

  Our deceased Aunt Agatha materialized in front of us and I made a little iiieee noise. I hated when she did that. She straightened the floppy, patched-up witch hat sitting on her head and crossed her arms over her chest. “There you two are.”

  Agatha had passed away a few months before our birth. She’d hoped to save us from the curse that had taken hold of our mother, assuming the ultimate sacrifice was her own life. She jumped to her death, but the curse remained.

  “Were you talking to someone?” I looked around but didn’t see anyone but us three.

  “Who would I be talking to, Riley?” She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “The dust mites under the couch?”

  She was still wearing the same outfit she had died in: A daisy-print shirt and high-waisted blue jeans. Her feet floated above the wooden floor as she rose to sit on the countertop. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get used to a ghost crashing on my couch. She was translucent, though she could pick things up and touch us—she just didn’t do either very often.

  “Did you find it?” Maisie asked before Agatha could get in another witty remark.

  “Not yet.” Agatha leaned back on her hands, swinging her legs. She had been searching for our family grimoire but was having a hard time pinning it down.

  “I’m sure it’ll turn up.” Maisie took off her jacket, hanging it in the hallway closet. “Have you seen Bean?”

  “Nope.” She lifted her nose into the air. Those two had a strange relationship, one that I would never understand. “I’m sure he’ll turn up.”

  I cupped the film in my hand and slipped it out of my pocket. Maisie watched me as I set it on the counter next to Agatha. I was worried about getting her hopes up, but I didn’t want to keep this secret to myself any longer.

  “What’s that?” she asked, grabbing a box of cocoa rice cereal from the pantry.

  I popped open the lid and slid it out. “I found it at Tessa’s. She said . . .” pausing, I glanced at Agatha. “They’re memories from our mother.”

  Agatha’s brows creased. “Impossible.”

  Maisie set the gallon of milk down and crossed her arms. “Why is it impossible?”

  “Your mother—” she stopped, snapping her jaw shut. “Did Tessa say anything else?”

  I shook my head and placed the film back in the canister. “No, just that it felt familiar.”

  Agatha hadn’t been too forthcoming about any information pertaining to our mother. She would get misty-eyed, then irritated whenever we asked questions. The only thing we finally got out of her after we found out what we were was a name.

  Angela.

  The mother who’d separated us and given us away. Her name left a bad taste in my mouth. It conjured too many emotions. I desperately wanted to know her, to know who she was, but at the same time, I felt bitter toward her. Because of her, Maisie and I had grown up alone, without any family.

  I shoved the film back into my pocket, as well as the hurt feelings bubbling to the surface. Maybe it was for the best that she wasn’t around to answer my questions. I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to forgive her.

  A knock came at the door. I looked at Maisie, her eyes were wide, then we both looked at Agatha. She raised her arms with a shrug.

  “You have to go,” I whispered.

  “Go where?” she asked, floating to stand on the floor.

  I waved my arms. “Anywhere. Just go.”

  Agatha crossed her arms, her body a little less see-through.

  “Now,” I hissed, walking to the door. The person behind it knocked again. She didn’t budge. Narrowing my eyes at her, I snapped my fingers. “Recursus.”

  Agatha yelped, her body dematerializing into a thin cyclone of black smoke. The witch hat on top of her head fell to the floor, pressing the cyclone down. Maisie bent to pick up the hat and peered inside. “She’s not going to be happy about that.”

  I turned back toward the door to see Ethan standing in the hallway, his mouth hanging open. Shit. He looked at me, snapping his jaw shut, his lips pressed together. “Riley? I heard a scream. What was—” He looked behind me at Maisie. “Who was . . .”

  Maisie picked up her bowl of cereal. “I’m gonna go eat this in my room.” She mouthed “sorry” and ducked into her room next to the kitchen.

  Rubbing the back of my neck, I gradually raised my chin to look at Ethan. I wasn’t ready to have this conversation but it looked like I didn’t have a choice.

  “I think we need to talk.” I reached out to take his hand, fear closing my throat at the thought of him pulling away. His fingers intertwined with mine, and I released the breath I had been holding. I pulled him up the steps to my loft bedroom, loosening my grip on him when I reached the last step.

  I paced the length of my room. Ethan leaned against the dresser with his arms crossed over his chest. His gaze followed me from one end to the other. Would he leave? I took a glance at him. The ring of gold in his blue eyes was brighter than usual. Why wasn’t he freaking out? Why was he just standing there, watching me? I cleared my throat, stopping a few feet shy of him. “Ethan—”

  “What was—I mean . . .” He cleared his throat. “Who was that?”

  Agatha. I ran a hand over my face. How did I explain her? Why couldn’t she have just poofed herself out of sight so I didn’t have to deal with this? I straightened my posture. My mouth seemed to be salivating at an unreasonable rate and I swallowed several times to clear it. “That was my . . .” I looked up at him, feeling more scared than ever to tell him my secret. Just get straight to the point, Riley. Rip the band-aid off! “That was my dead aunt.” There. That wasn’t so hard, was it? But my heart was pounding so loud in my ears I was sure Ethan could hear it.

  He raised an eyebrow. “So, a ghost?”

  Wait. What? Why wasn’t he freaking out? I would be. Nodding, I lowered my eyes to the floor. “Yes.” I prepared myself to rip off another band-aid. I took in a deep breath, then said, “Ethan I’m a—”

  “I know.”

  His words caught me off guard and I jerked my head up to look at him. A grin formed on his lips. He motioned for me; his hand outstretched. I cocked my head, curiosity flooding me. He knew? How?

  “Come here.” He grabbed one of my
arms, tugging me closer. His hand trailed down to find mine. I was at a loss for words. I had been so scared for him to learn my secret, so afraid it would be too much for him to deal with.

  He pressed his lips gently against my temple and my shoulders sagged, my muscles loosening. “I’ve been spending a lot of time over here,” he started, a dimple forming in his right cheek as he smirked. “You two aren’t as sneaky as you think.” He kissed my jaw, right below my ear, and whispered, “Especially when you’re tired.”

  “Why didn’t you ever—” I shook my head, furrowing my brows. “You aren’t freaked out?”

  “We all have our secrets, Riley.” He pulled me closer, our bodies pressed tight. “Especially in this town.”

  I leaned back slightly, his arms keeping me from taking a step backward. “Yeah? What’s your secret?”

  Ethan chuckled. “What secret?” His grin widened. “I’m an open book. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  I started to protest but his lips found mine and all rational thought faded. Way to change the subject, Mister Mitchell. His large hands roamed my back, trailing down to my rear. He lifted me up and I wrapped my legs around his waist. His secret could wait. I felt so relieved that the one man I had finally decided to take a chance on wasn’t scared of me. He wasn’t going to run away, even after finding out what I was.

  Together, we fell onto the bed, our lips parting only to take a breath. Ethan ran his hand down my side, stopping at my hip. He opened his eyes, looking down as his hand slid into my pants. “What’s this?” He pulled the film canister from my pocket.

  “An old roll of film.” I tangled my fingers in his hair, pulling him back to me.

  “What’s on it?”

  I let out a sigh and removed my hands from around him to prop up on my elbows. He sat on his knees, my legs loosening their hold around his waist. He popped the lid off. The roll of film looked tiny in his hand.

  “I have no idea. Can you develop it for me?” Without waiting for an answer, I took it and tossed it on the other side of the bed. The film could wait. I, however, could not.