A Deadly Secret (The Deadly Series Book 2)

by R M Connor

  A large, two-story Victorian mansion sat at least a half-mile beyond the gate. Stunning and foreboding, it loomed over us the closer we got. A tower protruded from the right corner of the second floor. A dozen tall windows perfectly spaced out on the top floor gave clues to how many rooms must be inside. Large columns connected the overhang to the porch that wrapped the house.

  “Are we in Peaceful Acres?” I whispered.

  Harold nodded.

  I looked at Ethan. “Was the pack fighting over this place?”

  “You’d have to ask Eugene. Believe it or not, there are some things I just don’t know.”

  Ethan parked the truck in the circular driveway in front of the large, double-door entry. I climbed out with Harold huddled on my shoulder, using my hair as a hiding spot.

  “We don’t go inside,” Harold warned, pulling my hair.

  “Ow!” I removed my hair from his hands. “Okay. Where do we go?”

  He pointed to the side of the mansion. “It’s in the back.”

  We moved through the overgrown brush. The hairs on the back of my neck stood as we walked past the side of the mansion, feeling as if someone was watching us. Harold jumped off my shoulder and ran toward a large, domed building.

  I could barely hear him tell us, “Here. In here!”

  As we neared the building, I realized it was a greenhouse. Harold jumped and grabbed the doorknob, but it was locked. Maisie snapped her fingers. There was a soft click then the door swung open with Harold still attached to it. I followed behind her as she stepped inside. Maisie cupped her hand, and an orb of light danced on her palm as it drove away some of the darkness. The smell of warm soil and moss wrapped around me. For a place that was abandoned, the greenhouse had been cared for greatly. I looked around in awe at the number of plants growing inside.

  “Here.” Harold jumped up and down in front of a knee-high wooden border in the back. As we drew closer, I gasped. At least a dozen tall plants with hooded, purple petals.

  “Wolfsbane,” I said in a hushed tone, letting out my breath.

  This was where Sophia got the Wolfsbane. Someone had been growing it up here, out of sight. But who? It could only be someone who knew how to find the mansion, who could see past the magic concealing it.

  I kneeled in front of Harold. “Who takes care of these plants?”

  A shadow moved outside the building. I grabbed Harold, holding him close to my chest as I stood. We weren’t alone. Harold pulled the side of my jacket over him. He was shaking, whimpering. Maisie turned around, as the shadowy figure grew in size. Harold shrieked, large crocodile tears pouring from his big, brown eyes.

  Whatever was on the other side of the building, two witches and a werewolf could handle. But the creature in my arms needed to get as far away as possible. If only my legs didn’t feel glued to the floor. I looked around and couldn’t see the shadow, but it had been there. Someone had been outside.

  Ethan placed his hand on my arm and pulled me toward the door. “We need to get out of here before he drowns in his tears. I don’t think this place is safe.”

  Maisie stayed behind us, her hands ready to wipe the floor with whatever came our way. I pressed Harold close and ran to the truck. I threw open the door and climbed in. Ethan and Maisie jumped in seconds later. With doors locked, the truck roared to life and we sped back toward the Falls. I pulled Harold away from my body. He was clutching at my shirt, tears and snot mixing, running down his face.

  “Harold. Who grows those plants?”

  He used my shirt to wipe his face then shook his head. Gross, I groaned to myself. I ran my fingers between his ears, shushing him. He would tell me, but we needed to get out of here. He needed to feel safe before he told what I imagined was a terrible secret.

  I looked at Ethan, a deep dread setting in as his jaw tensed. I glanced at Maisie over my shoulder. She was turned, watching the mansion disappear behind the trees. Someone in Wildewood was growing Wolfsbane for a very specific purpose: to subdue, seduce, and kill the wolves of Wildewood.

  But who?

  Vargas wasn’t acting on his own. He was following someone’s directions. Someone else was pulling his strings, just as he had pulled Sophia’s.

  The truck turned into the safety of our driveway; the engine purred for a moment before Ethan turned it off. Maisie jumped out of the truck, disappearing into the kitchen.

  “Do you know what’s going on?” I turned toward Ethan.

  “I wish I did.” He reached for my hand, giving it a squeeze before he climbed out of the truck.

  Harold blinked at me, tears still in the corners of his eyes. I patted his head and climbed out of the truck. Snow began to fall, adding an extra chill in the air. I rushed to catch up to Ethan.

  I set Harold on the kitchen table and offered him a kitchen towel to use as a blanket. He wrapped it around his shoulders like a cape. Maisie started making coffee, probably to keep herself busy. Climbing the steps, I changed into a black, crew-neck shirt. Once I was back in the kitchen, I plopped into a chair and watched Harold snuggle the towel against his shoulder. The exhaustion of staying up all night was beginning to sink in. I wasn’t ready to allow the emotional exhaustion to take hold yet, but I could feel it creeping around the edges.

  “Harold, if you know who is growing those plants, please tell me. They’re dangerous.”

  Maisie placed a cup of coffee in front of me. I wrapped my hands around it. She put a small bowl of cream in front of Harold and he licked his lips.

  “Harold.” Agatha appeared behind me.

  He jumped and spilled the cream across the table.

  I glared at her. “Stop scaring him!” I stood, grabbing another kitchen towel that hung on the oven door to clean up the spill.

  Agatha rolled her eyes, exhaling sharply through her nose. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  My attention returned to the little hobgoblin. “You were about to tell me who is growing those plants . . .”

  Harold took in a shaky breath, his little chest swelling. He exhaled hard enough for me to feel his breath against my skin. “Angela.”

  The cream-soaked towel fell to the floor. My knees gave out and I hit the back of the chair, the front legs lifting off the floor as I fell into it. I looked at Maisie. Her eyes were large, her lips parted, and her brows scrunched. She looked at me and shook her head. How could that be? How could our mother be taking care of a greenhouse?

  “Impossible.” Agatha moved closer, pointing her index finger at the frightened hobgoblin. “Don’t lie to us, you little bat.”

  “Harold can’t lie.” He picked up the empty dish and held it in front of him. “You know Harold can’t lie!”

  I stood so abruptly that the chair fell backward and hit the ground. I ran to the front door, grabbing my bag and pulled out the gift tag from the present that had been left at the café with the skeleton key. Rushing back into the kitchen, I forced my voice to stay calm, “Maisie, get your journal.”

  Before Maisie and I met, she had received a letter telling her to go to Wildewood. It hadn’t been signed or stamped. One sentence had been written in a flowy script: In Wildewood, you will find your sister, Riley Jones. I had always assumed Agatha had sent it.

  Adrenaline pumped through my veins. I placed the tag on the counter and balled my shaking hands into fists, taking deep breaths to keep myself calm. But it was useless. Maisie walked from her room with the leather-bound journal in her hands. She unwrapped the string that kept it closed, and pulled out the folded note. She placed it beside the gift tag.

  The handwriting matched.

  “Could our mother . . .” I looked at Agatha. She looked as shocked as I felt. My voice shook, “Could our mother be alive?”

  I only ever wanted two things in my life: to know the parents who abandoned me and to be happy. Those things had a tendency to conflict with one another, but with the idea that my mother might still be alive, they went to war.

  It felt as if my heart had been ripp
ed out of my chest and shattered into a million pieces as I watched Agatha grasping for words. For once, she was speechless. There was no snarky comment to share. Her eyes locked with mine and she shook her head in disbelief.

  Hurt barely described the way I felt. Heartbroken and confused only scratched the surface. My limbs felt like noodles as I picked the chair back up and plopped onto it. Resting my forehead on the table, I took a deep breath. Maisie sat beside me, her hand found mine and I rolled my head to the side to look at her.

  I just had one question: Who all knew?

  The shower I took after we got back proved Connie’s poultice had acted like a glue. After vigorous scrubbing, the black substance had finally come off to reveal a completely healed wound. The shower may have helped my body feel better, but it had done nothing for the ache in my heart. I was exhausted, but I couldn’t sleep, even with Ethan’s arms wrapped around me. There was too much on my mind.

  Tiptoeing from the loft, Ethan fast asleep in my bed, I crept down the stairs. Laying my boots on the steps, I gently closed Maisie’s door, not wanting to wake her. I took a seat next to my boots on the bottom stair and pulled them on. No one needed to know what I was about to do. I didn’t want company and I especially didn’t want anyone talking me out of it.

  Standing, I walked to the front door and unclipped the little broom from the keychain. At the rate I was going through brooms, I might need to consider keeping a few extras around. Holding the broom in my palm, it shook as it grew in size. It was still early morning but the rest of Wildewood would already be awake. They did not have the same night we did. I could take Ethan’s truck, but it was loud. It was a risk flying during the day, but I didn’t care.

  I was going to get some answers from the only person I knew to hold them. Walking to the back door, Agatha materialized in my way. Dammit. I had forgotten about her.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Town Hall.” The mayor would be in by now. Some days I swore she lived there.

  “People will see you.” Agatha stepped out of my way.

  I raised an eyebrow. She was letting me go without an argument? That was unlike her, but I wasn’t going to press it on the chance she changed her mind. “I’ll be careful.”

  I opened the door and stepped out into the early morning sun. The snow from the night before was already melting. The sky was clear; no clouds to hide behind. Agatha followed, watching me as I mounted the broom. I looked at her, she seemed to have more to say but drew her lips into a thin line, wrinkles forming around her mouth.

  “I didn’t know that she might still be alive.”

  “I believe you.” The broom rose into the air, my feet hovering above the porch.

  “I would have told you.” She rose with me.

  “Agatha, I believe you.” Was she feeling guilty because of all the secrets she’d kept from us? Good. Maybe she would think twice the next time.

  Her hand touched mine, and for a second I thought I could feel warmth. She flickered, patted my hand, then vanished in wispy black smoke.

  Here goes nothing. I hunkered down against the broom handle and whispered, “Subvolare.”

  I soared into the air, away from the safety of my porch. Hovering above the tree line, I took a longer route to stay away from the center of Wildewood where I knew I’d be spotted. As much as I claimed I didn’t care, I did. It scared me.

  In a matter of minutes, my feet touched the back steps of Town Hall. I tried the doorknob, and when it wouldn’t budge, I whispered, “Reserare.” The lock clicked, the knob turned.

  I stepped into the hallway, catching Esther walking into her office. She backed out of it, her head cocked and a single brow raised, seeing me with the broom by my side as if it were a staff.

  “I need to speak with you.”

  “Come on,” she walked back into her office.

  I leaned the broom beside the back door, relieved she hadn’t scolded me or put up her usual “I’m busy” argument. I chased after her before she could change her mind and sat in the chair across from her desk.

  “I figured this conversation was due.” She sat in her thick, leather rolling chair.

  Okay, good. Did this mean she wasn’t going to hide things from me any longer? That would be a nice change, but we’d see how long it would last.

  “I want to know about my mother.” My fingers dug into the armrest.

  “Anything specific?” She leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs at the knees.

  “Well, for starters . . . is she alive?” My chest tightened as I waited for her response. I didn’t know which answer I wanted to hear. If she was alive, would I finally meet the mother who abandoned me almost three decades ago? If the answer was no, then I’d never have the chance.

  “Yes.”

  Licking my lips, tears stung my eyes. I wiped them away before they could fall and took in a deep breath. Having difficulty swallowing, I croaked out, “Where is she?”

  “Twin Falls.”

  Of course, because Twin Falls had everything we didn’t—including my mother. “Where in Twin Falls?”

  Esther readjusted her legs, recrossing the other leg on top. “There is a place tucked away in the mountain. Before you ask, it has no official name. No one knows of its existence unless you need to know about it and most people do not need to know.”

  “Why is she there?”

  Esther pursed her lips. Her eyes met mine. “She was a danger to Wildewood. After your birth”—she stopped and moved the chair closer to the desk to lean on her arms—“Agatha came to me and begged me to lock her away before she hurt you or Maisie.”

  Hurt us? Wait—I closed my eyes—did this mean my mother hadn’t abandoned us but instead was forced to give us up? My chest tightened. If she hadn’t been locked away in this ‘hole’ in Twin Falls, would she have kept us? Raised us? Together?

  Taking a shaky breath, I pushed the hurt that was forming down as deep as I could. I still had more questions that needed answers. I couldn’t get off track, though what I really wanted to do was scream at Esther, at Agatha, and anyone else who’d played a part in our separation.

  “After she . . . left . . . how did the wolf pack acquire Peaceful Acres?” I assumed, since the mansion was on the land, it might have once belonged to the Wildewoods too. “And why?”

  “After your mother went away, the alpha was charged with keeping the mansion secure.”

  “Why does it need to be secure?” It’s only a house, right? A large, possibly haunted, house. Though, now that Agatha lived with me, maybe it wasn’t haunted anymore. Unless I had more dead aunts than just her.

  “It doesn’t, but the contents inside could cause havoc if removed. There is a lot about your family you still don’t know.”

  I didn’t know anything about my family, because everyone in this damn town kept it a secret. It’s as if we were the town pariahs. Don’t talk about it and maybe it’ll go away. Well, it wasn’t going away. We weren’t going away.

  “Okay . . .” I ran a hand over my face. “The alpha is in charge of keeping the contents of the mansion inside the mansion. Is it safe to assume that Vargas knows about something he wants to get his hands on, and that’s why he wanted control?”

  “I would say that’s a safe assumption, but who knows.”

  “Why couldn’t you just lock it up?” She was a powerful witch, couldn’t she place a spell over the mansion to keep it locked? Someone had already hidden the entrance, so why not go one step further?

  “I did.” She narrowed her eyes at me. I watched her eyes soften then grow large as if she had thought of something. Esther stood, her chair hitting the bookcase behind it. She moved around her desk to the door and peeked out then glanced over her shoulder. “Come with me.”

  I followed her to the vault. She opened it with a wave of her hand before we hit the bottom step. Rushing inside, she bent down to a locked drawer of a tall, wooden cabinet. Rummaging around, papers slipped out and floated to the floor, items
clinked together. Her fingers gripped the edge of the drawer and she let out a loud sigh then slammed it shut. “It’s gone.”

  “What’s gone?”

  She moved to a large, wooden trunk further in the room. After a few moments of digging through it, she slammed the lid with a frustrated cry, causing me to jump. This was out of character; Esther was usually poised and calm.

  “Esther, what is missing?”

  She straightened her posture, smoothing out her coat by pulling on the ends. Turning, she looked at me. “The key.”

  I walked to a small trunk nestled beside the larger one and pushed it open. “What does it look like? Maybe I can help find it.”

  “It’s not here.” She pushed on the lid of the trunk my hands were in.

  I yelped, moving them out of the way before they were crushed. “Can you at least tell me what the key is for? Is it to unlock the mansion?”

  I followed her back up the stairs. The vault door slammed shut behind us, the click and spin of the handle echoed through the space.

  “It’s not just a key, Riley.” She marched into her office. “I set up an elaborate spell to lock the mansion. I should’ve known something was wrong when that little creature—your shadow—appeared.” Esther plopped into her desk chair. She tapped her finger to her chin, her brows drawn down. “Our beloved sheriff must’ve gotten his hands on it. I just don’t know how.”

  Dread washed over me. Could Harold have given Vargas the key? Did he take it when he found the grimoire or the pendulum? I chewed on the inside of my cheek. Oh, Harold. What did you do?

  “Riley, there is something you need to know about the key.” Esther leaned forward, her elbows resting on her desk. “Something I thought only two people knew—myself and Eugene.”

  “What?” I lowered into the chair opposite her.

  “For it to work, to remove my spell, it requires the willing blood of a wolf and a witch. Specifically, the blood has to come from the alpha and either a Wildewood or a Keeper.”

  I swallowed, staring at my hands in my lap. “That’s why Vargas—”

  “Wanted to become alpha, yes. I think so.”