Convicted Witch: Jagged Grove Book 1 Read online

  Concern spreads across Tawny’s pert features and she stands up. “OK, but...” She looks at me, frowning, and takes my hand. “Please be careful, Trinket. You’re my best friend.”

  “That was slick,” I say when I hear my door close.

  He at least has the sense to look ashamed for lying. It doesn’t help that he’s cute when he’s embarrassed. “I’m sorry, but technically, my agency doesn’t exist and we really need to keep it that way.”

  “Fine.” Not fine, but I don’t even know where to start with the questions. “So why are you involved with my mother’s case?”

  He releases a deep breath. “Because your mother performed her little...stunt...in the center of Cranberry Glades Shopping Mall. There were at least two hundred witnesses.”

  I groan. “She didn’t mention that part.”

  “Right. Didn’t think so. Now we’ve got lots of people asking difficult questions, and no real answers to give them.”

  “And your agency,” I resist calling it ASS, even though that is funny, “Has to come up with a plausible story.”

  “Partly. We also have to make sure this never happens again.”

  “How, exactly, do you do that? I mean, don’t get me wrong. I would love, love, love for this kind of thing to never happen again, but you aren’t going to like, kill her or something, are you? Burn her at the stake or drown her?” I’m only half kidding; there are still people in the world who would do that.

  He shoots me a look. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Well, then? What?”

  “I need to move her - and you - to a safe haven.”

  “What kind of safe haven? Do you mean a witch protection program or something?”

  “Kind of. She’ll be moved to Jagged Grove, where people of your...kind...are safe from the rest of the world.”

  I really don’t like the turn this is taking. “And me? You said me.”

  He looks uncomfortable. Good. “I’ll need you to accompany her, because her age and her abilities determine that she won’t be able to live alone.”

  “You think she’s going senile, and you need me to watch her.”

  “Basically.” At least he has the nerve to blush. Sexily.

  “I can’t.”

  “You don’t have a choice.”

  I’m standing up and shaking my head now, because - thanks to my mother - my life is suddenly falling down around my ears. I’ve worked too hard to separate myself from everything witch, and this sexy, serious, calm as the clouds agency dude is threatening to take all of that away. I won’t let it happen.

  I start to pace, just to stem the panic, but then turn on him and plant my hands on my hips. “Can you force me to do this?” I ask. “Just to be clear. Can you arrest me and make me go to this...Grove...place with her? Because I didn’t do anything wrong. Angelo.”

  He stands up too, and looks down at me. Until this moment, I don’t realize how tall he is. He towers over me, and when the muscles in his forearms flex I get the impression that he could just pick me up and break me in half if he wanted to badly enough. When he speaks, his voice is measured and deep. “Not technically, no. I haven’t seen you use your powers, and -.”

  “And you won’t. I stopped using them when I was sixteen.” Mostly. “I made a vow to never do those things again. So why are you punishing me?”

  “I’m not trying to punish you, Trinket. But the truth is that your mother is a danger. Not on purpose. Not mean. But she is dangerous, and the United States of America needs to contain her before something bad happens.”

  He’s right. I know he’s right. I’ve been ignoring my mother’s irrational actions for a while now, ever since she changed all the fire trucks in Harte to purple on a dare from Aunt Louise, but then accidently made all the ladders disappear. I figured that everything would work out, and she would stop this nonsense. But now I wonder if she’s got some symptoms of senility going on, too. The thought breaks my heart, but the evidence is staring me in the face.

  That still doesn’t mean I have to give up my life for her. “OK. Is there some sort of facility I can put her in, while she’s there? Like an old witches home, or something? Because I have a lot going on right now. A lot. And there is no way in hell I can just waltz off to ....” I pause. “Where is this place anyway?”

  “That’s kind of hard to explain. It’s on an island, but it’s also in another dimension.”

  I blink at him. “What?”

  “The island is on a different continuum from earth, to separate it from any...thing.” He’s struggling, and I’m getting it, but I’ll be damned if I let him off the hook. I cross my arms and stare at him, waiting. “It works just like earth, but it’s invisible to a normal human being.

  “You’re kicking her out of earth? That’s mean.”

  “Not out of earth, just...above it. A little. And invisible to the naked eye, like I said.” He looks up at me, distressed. “It’s hard to explain.”

  I still don’t want to let him off the hook. “So - not a place I can travel to, like, I don’t know, Wyoming?”

  He shakes his head.

  “Is there Wi-Fi there?”

  He sighs.

  “You mean I can’t even email her? That sucks. She loves Facebook.”

  “I know. We’ve been monitoring her since last year, when she gave one of her friend requests a wart and then denied them access to her page.”

  I wince. “That would be my Cousin Tilda. They have a history.”

  “I assumed.”

  “OK can you take me to her, so that I can at least say goodbye?” It’s strange, the way I’m feeling right now. I’m not a fan of my mother’s antics, but I also don’t want her to go away forever. What would it be like, never seeing her again?

  Bad. As nuts as she is, she’s my mother, and she has her good qualities. Like wanting to make poor old Miranda’s dream of flying come true. She always means well - except for the wart thing. And the fire truck thing - but she also always screws up somehow.

  Once upon a time she was powerful, head of our coven back in Washington, and a pillar of the witch community. Everyone looked up to her. Then we moved here - thanks to my choice of college - and something inside of her broke. She missed her friends and our family, and she lost all the prestige that gave her self-esteem. I didn’t know it at the time, but she really depended on her support system. When I figured it out and tried to talk her into moving home, it was too late. Years. She was afraid to go back and be a nobody there, too.

  In a way, this whole thing is my fault.

  “Take me to her.”

  Three

  The ride to Carlo’s is silent. I’m trying to find an answer that will please all of us while not having to give up my entire life, and Angelo is probably trying to figure out how to arrest me for something witchy so that I’ll have to go to that Jagged Cove or Grove place, whatever it’s called.

  It’s fully dark and raining out now, and I count passing headlights through the raindrops while I think. Angelo drives a big, black, comfy sedan, exactly the kind of car an undercover agent would drive, and the radio is playing some soft pop station.

  Somehow it feels like a date.

  Date. The word sets off alarms in my head, and I almost scream when I realize I haven’t called Clay to let him know...what? How do I even explain this? He has no idea I’m a witch, or that my mother is a witch, so what exactly am I supposed to tell him?

  I dig through my purse for my phone. “What?” Angelo says, glancing at me before turning his eyes back to the road.

  “My fiancée. I forgot to call him.” I find the phone and scroll through the call log, looking for his picture. It’s a beach picture of us together, actually, one of my favorites. I imagine him standing outside of Maestro’s waiting for me in the rain.

  He picks up on the first ring. “Honey? Where are you?”

  “Clay, I’m so, so sorry. I...” What do I say that’s not a lie? “Something has come up with my mother, and
I don’t know how long it’ll take to get things worked out.”

  His silence is nerve-wracking. Finally he says, “I know you care about her, Trinket, but she needs to be in a home. We’ve talked about this.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut. No - we’ve fought about this. My mother is the one burr under our relationship saddle. “I know. I’m sorry...” Angelo is turning into the restaurant and he says, “There’s Ray and your mother.”

  He says it low, but Clay hears anyway. “Who is that? Did I just hear a man’s voice?”

  “I - yes. But Clay, it’s the police. They’re taking me to my mom at Carlo’s, here in town. Can we talk about this later? I promise I’ll call as soon as I can.”

  “The police are taking you to a Mexican restaurant?” His voice is acid, and it’s killing me. I’ve never heard him sound like this before, although I have seen his jealousy rear its ugly head.

  “That’s where they took her, and now we’re here.” I see my mother and another very large man - do they feed them steroids? - waiting under the restaurant’s striped awning. The man points a long arm at our car, and my mother takes off running - right into traffic. She looks panicky and spastic. “No! I gotta go. Can you just...? Listen, I’ll call as soon as I can.” I don’t even bother ending the call, because we are pulling into the lot now and my mother is right in front of a big delivery truck. I see its brake lights blink and then hold, but there isn’t time. There isn’t any time at all, and my mother is bouncing off the front bumper, sort of in slow motion, still staring right at me through the dim lights and the rain. Like the movies, except that this isn’t a movie and then I’m out of the car and running around the back of the truck to get to her.

  She’s crumpled on the wet pavement, and she isn’t moving. She looks small.

  I drop to my knees beside her and see that her head is bleeding. When I shake her gently and say her name, she opens her ice-blue eyes slowly and looks at me, but something about her expression is all wrong. Something bad. Everything else fades from existence.

  My energy wells in me without my permission and travels from that spot just below my heart to my fingertips. A part of me tries to stop it, but I don’t even think I can. It’s my mother. She’s hurt. I have the power to save her, so I do. Simple as that, yet not simple at all.

  If anyone is watching, they can see the soft green light surrounding my hands and her head wound. I pray that no one is watching, but it doesn’t matter as much as Bilda’s life matters, and I’ll deal with the consequences later.

  I lick my lips and speak the words I know I need. “Spirit bright and Spirit bold.” I whisper it, and then whisper it again. These are my words, unique to me, and they come unbidden to my lips. Every witch has their own, found in adolescence and carried throughout their lives. It is a secret switch, to wake the power inside each of us.

  “Spirit bright and Spirit bold.”

  My entire body grows hot. It’s been eight years since I used my powers, but the sensation is like coming home, familiar and soothing. My palms pulse and I see my lifeline light up, as if someone has painted its trail with glow-in-the-dark paint. This is normal. This is me. A me that I’ve tried hard to smother.

  My mother looks tiny, and so frail. She has this beautiful silver hair that she keeps in a loose perm, and the kind of supermodel bone structure that most women would kill for. Her skin is just starting to show a few wrinkles, and she looks more like fifty that a hundred and ten. There is blood in her soft hair now, though, and I’m so, so afraid that I’m too late.

  I let the energy flow as the rain pelts us, scrolling down our faces. She’s so quiet.

  And after a few moments of concentration, my mother moves. It happens more quickly than I expected, but then again, my power has been waiting a long time, growing patiently and waiting for me to call on it. Her eyes flutter open, and it takes her a couple of minutes to remember what’s going on.

  Only after she’s sitting on the sidewalk do I see through my tears and the rain that people have gathered and are whispering among themselves. Angelo and the man named Ray are trying to shield us, but the two of them can’t do much in the way of that.

  Bilda throws her arms around me. “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry you had to do that. Are you mad? I didn’t mean to get hurt, or make you mad.” Her voice is quivering, and she’s a little pale, but otherwise she looks fine. Thank God. Even the huge black bump on her head is slowly disappearing.

  I hug her tight and brush her hair back from the nasty cut on her forehead. I’m so glad I didn’t accidentally kill her.

  Angelo helps us up while Ray does damage control. I can hear him trying to explain that I’m a doctor carrying specialized equipment, and I give Angelo a shaky smile.

  He doesn’t return it. He just quietly escorts us to the car and into the back seat.

  Four

  “What was I supposed to do? Let her die?” I’m pacing Angelo’s office, which looks just like any other government office, and flapping my arms in frustration.

  “You could have waited for the paramedics,” he answers calmly, clasping his finger together and leaning forward on his desk.

  “So...let her die? That’s what you’re saying, because the paramedics wouldn’t have gotten there in time, Angelo. She was dying - you didn’t see her eyes. You didn’t see how pale she was... There was blood and...” I let my voice trail off because my throat is burning with unshed, angry tears. I want to jump across the desk and beat him with the sad-looking lamp that glows softly on the shelf behind him.

  “I’m sorry, Trinket. I’m so sorry. But the rules are clear, and you have to know that we would have made you go anyway. I mean, you can’t just ship your own mother off somewhere and never see her again.”

  I plant both palms on his desk and stare down at him. “Actually, I was working out a way to avoid this whole thing.” That’s not exactly true, but I was attempting to wiggle my way out of it.

  He shakes his head. His hair is shaggy from running his hands through it about a hundred times while helping me give a statement to the police and the delivery truck driver, a skinny guy who saw the whole thing. “There is no way. Too many people saw too much at that mall, just like tonight. You both have to go.”

  He’s not moving on this, and I suppose I can see his point. I don’t have to like it or go along with it, though. “OK, answer this. Say we go quietly and do as we’re told - without a proper trial, I remind you - and don’t cause any more trouble.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “But instead of a life sentence, we make this a probationary period. If we can behave for...some specified amount of time, you let us come back.”

  “Behave? You aren’t toddlers, Trinket.”

  “I know, but you insist on treating me like one.” I pause to give him a dirty look. “Anyway, if I can make Bilda control herself for say...a month...we can come home. Tell everyone that we went on a cruise or something.”

  He’s already shaking his head. “Statute dictates that-.”

  I cut him off, my anger boiling over again. “Statute? I’m a law student, Angelo, so please tell me what that statute might be? Is it in the North Carolina Constitution, or the Federal Constitution? Because it’s funny how I’ve never come across modern laws against witches in all of my years of study.” I cross my arms, because I feel like hitting him in his big sexy, stupid face and that’s probably a bad idea. “Enlighten me, O Wise One.”

  Hid eyes flash with anger, and I could swear I hear him growl. He stands up so fast that his chair flies backward and spins around until it bangs against the filing cabinet. Then he stalks around the desk, and for a second I think he’s going to handcuff me, so I walk backward and press myself against the closed metal door we came through fifteen minutes ago.

  He shoots me a look and walks the other way, to a different bank of filing cabinets on the far wall. Yanking open the top drawer of the farthest on, he digs around for a minute and then pulls out a very old book, an inch thick and lo
osely bound with frayed red cloth. Turning around again, he slams it onto his desk. “There you go, honey. Read away.”

  I stare at him for a moment, biting my lip, then look at the book because his rage is suffocating me in this small room. There isn’t enough space for both of us to be this mad.

  I don’t want to step forward and open it, because I know that the words inside will back him up and change every part of my life forever. Instead I whisper, “Please don’t make me leave, Angelo.”

  I can’t meet his eyes. I can’t even think. It occurs to me that I might suck as a trial lawyer in the real world because of this, but I still don’t want him to take the chance away from me.

  And Clay. His handsome face flashes through my mind, and I remember how angry he sounded on the phone earlier. Something else I have to fix, all because of Angelo.

  No - this isn’t his fault. It’s my mother’s. OK, fine - it’s really mine. All because I just had to go to Duke.

  He goes around and sinks back into his chair. “You’re going, Trinket. If I have to take you into formal custody, I will, but you’re going. It has to be this way. I’m sorry.”

  I’ve been defeated and I know it. “Can I at least say goodbye to people? My friends? My fiancée?”

  He purses his lips, and his brown eyes look sad. “And tell them what, Trinket? Do you understand why I can’t allow that? No one knows about this place beyond a select few, and if the information gets out there will be a lot of hard questions to answer.”

  “So? I don’t care about your difficulties. This is my life, Angelo. Can’t you see that?” My voice is breaking, and I hate that he can hear it.

  He’s quiet for a long time. “You’re right. Tell you what - why don’t you sit down and write them letters. Tawny, Clay, whoever. There are obviously things you can’t mention, and I will be checking them before they go out, but at least you’ll have a chance to say goodbye to your loved ones.”

  “And then if we’re good, we can come back in a month?” I ask hopefully.