A Deadly Secret (The Deadly Series Book 2)

by R M Connor

  “Sorry.” He pressed his lips together in a thin line. “I’ll go.” He looked behind him. “I’ll wait outside.”

  “You don’t have to do that. It’s freezing outside.” I felt bad, but damn if he wasn’t distracting.

  Ethan chuckled. “I’ll be fine.”

  We dropped Maisie off before heading to Ethan’s house. He lived on the next street past ours. He parked the old pick-up truck and I climbed out, following him under the carport and into the mudroom outside of the kitchen. His house had a bachelor feel. Minimal decor. A large acrylic painting of a wolf howling at the moon hung over a navy-blue couch. A flat-screen TV, triple the size of mine.

  I laid my jacket on the arm of the couch and pulled my shoes off. My pinkie toes sighed in relief. These boots just weren’t the same as the old ones. I padded over to the kitchen. Ethan opened the refrigerator and pulled out two beers, handing me one. I frowned and stuck out my tongue. I didn’t want to taste or smell alcohol again for a very long time.

  Ethan’s eyes creased in amusement. “How ‘bout a water?”

  “That sounds better.”

  He handed me a cold water bottle, popped the lid off his beer, then led me to the darkroom. Ushering me in, he shut the door behind us and flipped a red light on. It took my eyes a moment to adjust to the strange lighting. As my eyes dilated, I saw a couple of pictures hanging by clothespins on the opposite end.

  “I didn’t understand why Tessa wanted you to see what’s on the film, but . . .” Ethan walked past me and unclipped one of the photos. I took it from him, making note of how attentively he was watching me as I brought it closer. “I can see the resemblance. Is it a relative?”

  My breath caught in my throat. I choked back a cry. A wave of dizziness rushed over me. The picture slipped from my hand as I reached out to grab onto something, anything to hold me steady. Ethan wrapped his hands around my arms.

  “What just happened, Riley? Are you okay?”

  Tears hovered in my eyes, clouding my vision as I looked up to meet his stare. I never told him what Tessa told me. I never mentioned that the film had a familiar feel, or that it was my mother’s memories. I figured Tessa was wrong. She had to be wrong because why would anything belonging to a woman who had been dead for almost three decades end up in her store?

  Then again, Agatha ended up there.

  Ethan picked the picture off the floor. “Do you recognize her?”

  Taking in a shaky breath, I touched the woman’s face in the picture. My fingers trailed down her arm to the bundles in her lap. “She’s my mother,” my voice was so soft, I wasn’t even sure I had said it out loud.

  “Your mother?”

  I just knew it was. She looked so much like me, even though the picture was in black and white. We had the same features, the same square jawline. We even had the same smile. Confusion rushed over me. She was smiling. How could that be? We were given up. How could she be smiling while holding us when we were abandoned shortly afterward? A tear slipped down my cheek and landed on the picture. Drying it with my shirt, I looked at Ethan. His features were serious, brows creased, as he brushed my cheek, wiping away another tear.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  I nodded. Sitting next to her was Bean. The white patch between his eyes in the shape of a crescent moon gave him away. This was her, there was no doubt in my mind. “What’s on the other pictures?” my voice quivered.

  “They’re mostly the same.” He unclipped the rest and handed them to me.

  I shuffled through the pile. In half of the pictures, the flash hadn’t been on and they were dark. I flipped through them again and something caught my attention. In the bottom corner, though it was dark, I could just barely make out a shape. “Can you enlarge this?”

  Ethan looked down where my finger was. “Enlarge what?”

  I pointed to the spot. “I know it looks like nothing is there, but could you humor me? Please?”

  “Yeah.” His eyes roamed my face for a moment. “Yeah, I can.” Ethan took the photo from me to hang back up with the clothespin. “It’s nothing more than just a shadow though.”

  It wasn’t just a shadow. It was the shadow. The one I had seen a few times recently. If I could see it better, it might be possible to figure out what it was. If I knew what it was, maybe I could figure out why it was following me around.

  I picked out the first picture he had given me. “Can I keep this?”

  “Of course. They’re yours.” He gave me a half-smile and wrapped one of his large hands around mine then led me out of the darkroom. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  I nodded, but even I didn’t believe it. I was just sick of being asked if I was okay. It was a lot to take in, and it would take more than a few seconds to be okay. I had never seen what my mother looked like. I figured she resembled Agatha, the same way Maisie did. But no. My mother and I favored one another, and it was so strange to finally put a face to her name.

  Ethan took the picture from my hands and set it down on top of my jacket. “You look spooked.”

  No, not spooked. Speechless. Confused. Even with Tessa’s warning, I had not expected this. A picture of my mother holding us. I wonder how soon after she abandoned us? I didn’t know how to feel. I wanted to cry. I wanted to be happy that I finally knew what she looked like. But then I was angry that she was smiling in the picture. Agatha said she would’ve been a good mother, that it was her magic that consumed her.

  I was feeling so many things at once and then I caught Ethan watching me.

  The golden ring around his irises had grown, the blue shrinking away. He lowered his head to mine, his lips gently touching me as if he were afraid I would break. I grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer. At this point, I didn’t care if I shattered. I pressed myself against his lean, muscular form, unable to get enough of him. His hands roamed down my back, cupping my bottom and picking me up. I wrapped my legs around his waist and he carried me down the hall to his bedroom.

  I pulled the thread-barren, charcoal-gray comforter over my body and rolled onto my stomach. With my arms crossed under my head, I watched Ethan. His eyes were closed, his arms behind his head against the headboard. His chest rose and fell evenly. The corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk as he opened one eye to catch me staring.

  He slid down, turning to rest on his side with his head propped on his fist. His fingers trailed over my shoulder. “What’s on your mind, beautiful?” He pressed his lips over the goosebumps his fingers left.

  “You.” I pushed my hair behind an ear. “Your secrets.”

  His fingers hesitated for a second. “What secrets?”

  Narrowing my eyes at him for just a second, I responded, “Your issue with Esther, for instance.”

  His forehead creased. He looked at me and the expression was gone. “I don’t have an issue with her.”

  Sitting up, I pressed the comforter tightly against my chest. “You get grumpy whenever she’s around and she’s—”

  “A bully.”

  He moved back to lean against the headboard with his arms crossed over his chest. The sheet pooled in his lap, leaving little to the imagination. I moved my focus up his body, over his chiseled pecs, his muscular arms, and rested on his lips. Biting the inside of my cheek, I pondered what he’d said. I knew Esther could be demanding. But a bully? I’m not sure I’d go that far. Well, maybe borderline bully.

  Okay—she did occasionally dip her toes into bully territory. But she usually had a reason.

  Ethan stared across the room. His blue eyes focused, deep in thought. I toyed with the idea of pushing the conversation further, but the stern look on his face made me reconsider. He could say nothing was going on between them all he wanted, but I knew that to not be true. He spoke in grunts and growls when he had to interact with her. It had me wondering what she knew about him, or vice-a-versa.

  But, if he didn’t want to talk about it, then I’d change the subject.

  “Were you able to find Mic
hael?”

  He shook his head. His fingers combed his hair back away from his face. “Not yet.”

  “I hope you find him soon.” And I really did. Michael running off the way he did had me concerned over what he was running from.

  Ethan leaned over, the serious look slowly melting away, and kissed my temple. “Did you tell me you and Maisie had something to do tonight?”

  His words caused me to recoil. Was he kicking me out?

  I turned my back to him, leaning over the bed to grab my clothes off the floor. I could take a hint. He didn’t want to talk, fine. We wouldn’t talk. If I wanted to, I could use the same spell on him that I use on Pete when I needed information. But I had promised myself I would never do that. I didn’t want to have to force him to open up—a girl had to have some standards—but he was making it obvious he didn’t want to let me in.

  I would just have to figure out what was going on between them my own way.

  The bed rocked slightly. A moment later, Ethan stood in front of me, wearing only his boxer briefs. He handed me my pants and I resisted the urge to snatch them out of his hand. Instead, I took them like a mature adult and slipped them on as I stood.

  “I’m not kicking you out, Riley.”

  I walked out of the room to grab my belongings. Pulling my jacket on, I folded the picture in half and slid it into a pocket.

  Ethan grabbed my wrist, turning me to face him. “Don’t be mad.”

  I wriggled my arm free. “I’m not mad.” Nope, not at all. Not one tiny iota of anger, but of course I was lying. “I just wish you’d let me in some. You know everything about me.”

  I stiffened as he wrapped his arms around me. “Riley, I—” He snapped his jaw shut, searching my face. “Do you want me to drive you home?”

  “No.” I slid my feet into the uncomfortable boots, not bothering to tie them. “I’ll see you later.” I walked past him and stepped into the cold night, shutting the door behind me before he had a chance to follow.

  The snowfall had picked up. The large fluffy flakes dampened my jacket and hair. A shiver ran down my spine, and I pulled my hood up. Reconsidering his offer, I glanced back at the house, the lights in the living room had already been turned off.

  Nope. I would not give him the satisfaction. I just needed to walk off my irritation and hopefully tomorrow it wouldn’t bother me so much. But, dammit! It hurt that he kept shutting me out. Rolling my eyes, I remembered I still had to deal with Agatha.

  I stomped on to Cattail Road, my shoelaces slapping the ground, the sound loud on the quiet street and then a howl stopped me in my tracks. I stood under the weak light of a lamppost, my breathing growing rapidly. The hair on the back of my neck stood. Another wolf answered the first. I turned in a circle and screamed as something large ran past me.

  My coat fanned away from my body as it moved out of sight so fast I couldn’t make out what it was. Heart racing, hands shaking; had it been a wolf? Were there wolves in Wildewood? Not wanting to find out, I started to run, and another howl echoed.

  New plan! There was no way in Hell I was going to run home while wolves were so close. I grabbed my keys and unhooked the little broom. My house was only another five minutes on foot, but I was not going to end up a midnight snack for these creatures.

  “Crescere,” I whispered, hoping nothing could hear me. I was taking a chance at my neighbors seeing, but I had bigger problems to worry about right now.

  The broom teetered in my hand, shaking as it grew in size until I could no longer palm it.

  I swung my leg over the handle. “Subvolare,” I spoke magic into the broom, allowing it to get me the hell out of dodge.

  Rising into the air, I made a sharp turn and cut above the trees to head straight toward my backyard. Hopefully, the large, wooden privacy fence would keep whatever was stalking me out. I hovered above the trees and forced the broom to turn in a slow circle. I caught a glimpse of two very large—I mean, unnaturally large—wolves heading into a thick patch of trees. I knew we lived in the middle of a forest; I knew there had to be animals around us. It was sort of a given, but I had never seen one up close.

  The wolves howled in unison, and I jumped, pulling the broom upward. Unfortunately, my jump caused the broom to move vertically and I began to slide down the handle. I had never had my broom flip upside down before and the more I struggled, the worse it became.

  “Demittere!” I screamed for it to lower.

  The broom only budged a few inches toward the ground. My legs dangled a dangerous height above the porch, I gripped the handle tight as it completely turned over, back to horizontal, but without me on top.

  “Demittere!” I repeated and dropped down a foot. I tried to pull it down, but the magic of the broom was stronger than my ability to do a pull-up. “Lower, now, you asshole!”

  The broom fell. My feet landed on the porch. My knees bent under the impact and I fell forward, barely catching myself in time before my nose hit the ground.

  Pushing myself into a sitting position and glowering at the broom, I stood on achy knees and laid it against the house next to the back door. I had no idea what that was about, how that had even happened. I would make sure in the future that I didn’t clutch the handle in a hug, no matter how freaked out I was. I had been lucky not to be so high up. I wiped the snow off my knees then walked into the house.

  In the kitchen, Maisie looked up from the table, a big smile on her face. “Look who came back!” She turned, so I could see Bean curled up in her lap.

  I let out a sigh of relief, it was so good to see him. Especially after witnessing what was running around Wildewood.

  I rubbed under Bean’s chin. He raised his head, eyes shut tight, and began to purr. I knew he could take care of himself, but there were wolves in Wildewood and he was just a little cat. There was no way he could protect himself against an animal so large. Well, I assumed. He wasn’t an average cat, so maybe he could take on a wolf.

  “You look a little spooked.” Maisie handed Bean to me as she stood.

  “Yeah, a little.” I nuzzled his warm body. “There are wolves running around.”

  She stood in front of the open refrigerator door and looked over her shoulder. “Wolves?” She pushed the door shut with her hip, a gallon of milk in one hand. “You sure?”

  How had she not heard the howls? They had been so close, basically in our backyard. “Positive. They’re probably just trying to find some food now that it’s December,” I reassured, probably myself more than anyone.

  I set Bean on the ground and pulled the folded picture out of my jacket pocket. I tossed the jacket on the chair closest to me and laid the photo on the table.

  “What’s this?” Maisie placed a bowl of cocoa crispies in front of me before she picked the picture up.

  Through a mouth full of cereal, I asked, “Do you remember that roll of film I found at Tessa’s?”

  Maisie unfolded the photo. She looked up at me for a moment, before her eyes returned to what I could only assume was our mother’s face. “Is this who I think it is?” she whispered.

  Before I could answer, Agatha materialized behind her. “Where did you get that?” She grabbed at the picture, but her hand moved through it.

  I swallowed, the cereal scratching my throat as it went down.

  Agatha reached for the picture again, her hand hesitated. “Ya know,”—she crossed her arms, a finger tapping against her lip—“she could’ve been a great mother if . . .” She stared at the picture, her eyes distant as if she was lost in a memory.

  “If what?” I pushed the bowl away.

  “If her power hadn’t consumed her.” Agatha waved her hand and the grimoire floated from the living room to the kitchen island. “Too bad this thing is useless.” With a flick of her wrist, the book opened to the middle. The pages were still blank. She motioned with her fingers and the pages flipped to more empty pages. “We’re still missing the key to its knowledge.” She flicked her wrist and the book slammed shut. �
��Nevertheless, I still retain all the knowledge I died with.”

  “Why are the pages blank?” I asked, reopening the empty book. My fingers tingled as they trailed over the old pages. The book was ripe with magic, from generations of witches, even if we couldn’t see what had once been written. Magic oozed from its spine as if it possessed the magic of each witch before us.

  “In a way, it does,” Agatha answered.

  I glared at her. I did not like when she intruded into my thoughts. “How?”

  “Every Wildewood witch has used this book to learn and harness their power. It’s unfortunate you two are starting so . . .” She shrugged.

  “Starting so late? So old? You know we’re only twenty-eight. You’re what . . . in your mid-fifties?” I refrained from sticking my tongue out.

  “What I mean is, I was using complicated spells by the time I was ten. All you can do is simple commands. It’s a pity.” She clicked her tongue and waved me out of the way. Her hands solidified for a moment as her fingertips touched the page. A look of nostalgia washed over her, but she shook her head and closed the book.

  It wasn’t our fault we were abandoned as infants and lived outside of Wildewood our entire life. We hadn’t been given the opportunity to spend the last twenty-eight years learning magic. The fault rested on our mother’s shoulders, and, sometimes I think, Esther Miller. I had this suspicion she was behind us not being adopted or raised within Wildewood. Though, it was only a suspicion. I didn’t know what happened to our mother or why we were given up. Our father hadn’t known about us, but I know if he had, he would’ve raised us and we wouldn’t be newbies when it came to our magic.

  “Follow me.” Agatha floated toward the stairs. “Bring a few pencils.” She snapped her fingers and the junk drawer in the island opened.

  “This ought to be interesting,” Maisie mumbled, grabbing a handful of unsharpened pencils.

  We ran to catch up with Agatha, and then she floated through the back door. “She forgot to mention we were going outside.” I ran back into the kitchen and grabbed my jacket from the table, and Maisie’s hanging beside the front door.