Convicted Witch: Jagged Grove Book 1 Read online

  She’s lying face down, staring at the doorway we just entered. Her green eyes are wide open, and her skin is starting to turn an odd shade of...orange? That’s weird. She’s wearing a thigh-length white dress that looks like a tennis outfit and lots of makeup. Her hair is dark and curly. In life, it would have fallen well past her shoulders.

  “What’s wrong with your hands?” Angelo stands up and comes to look at them, too.

  “I’m not sure. I’ve never seen them do this before.”

  “And it doesn’t mean you can still save her?”

  I shake my head. “No. I can’t feel any of her life energy at all. What kind of supernatural was she?”

  “A witch, like you. Young, though.” He looks distressed. “She was really eager to learn from you.”

  “I’m sorry. What happened to her?” I didn’t see blood or any sort of wound.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Could it have been a heart attack? Or maybe an aneurysm?” I say that out loud, but a different thought is poking into my mental reasoning.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Angelo?”

  “Yeah?” He’s pulling out a small radio. It’s no bigger than an mp3 player and has three buttons on it. He presses one and speaks into it, calling for help with the situation.

  My mind is thinking back. “A minute ago we smelled something strange. Could that have something to do with this?”

  He’s shaking his head, but I can tell he’s thinking about it, too. “I don’t see how.”

  I shrug, still not looking at the body. “A poisoned gas of some sort?”

  “Wouldn’t it have killed us, too?”

  “Probably. Maybe? I have no idea, Angelo. I’m not a doctor.”

  “You sort of are.”

  “No. Not really. My magic can fix broken things, but not diagnose or revive dead things - or people.” That sounded really disrespectful. “You know what I mean.”

  He doesn’t bother answering. He’s too busy staring at Maggie again. The room suddenly feels very small. “I’m going to get some fresh air,” I say. “I’ll let your guys in when they get here.”

  He’s checking for a pulse again when I stumble outside into the sunshine.

  The town suddenly doesn’t feel very welcoming at all, and I shiver as I look toward the dock for Angelo’s people. I wish they’d hurry, but that’s because I feel sad and scared and helpless all at once and I want somebody to do something, even though there is nothing left to do for the woman in my new office. I press my back against the wall, feel the edges of the brick bite in, and wait.

  There seems to be more people around now than there was when we went in, and that’s kind of freaking me out, too. Doesn’t the murderer always come back to the scene of the crime?

  I’m thinking about going back inside and out of sight when I remind myself that she probably wasn’t even murdered. Angelo is right - she probably just died for some perfectly normal reason, and I’m getting all worked up over nothing. That said, why does it feel like everyone in the vicinity is looking right at me?

  Probably because they are, but it’s not something sinister. I know how small towns work, and everyone will want to get a look at the newcomer, especially if she’s going to be their only healer, too.

  Healer. The title doesn’t feel like it fits me very well, especially considering the circumstances.

  Angelo’s men are here within minutes, brushing past me when I wordlessly point toward the door. Two of them are carrying a folded gurney of some sort, and the other two are carrying black cases in their hands. Their grim expressions and tight shoulders don’t make me feel any better at all.

  Angelo comes to find me a couple of minutes later. “They need you inside,” he says quietly.

  I look into his eyes, and he smiles reassuringly. “Just a few questions. We have to treat this with proper protocol.”

  I nod and follow him back in.

  The man who sits down to talk with me in the receptionist area is named Ronnie. He’s around thirty, with kind eyes and a thin mustache, and he’s wearing a navy uniform of some sort. He smiles at me and reaches to pat my hand after he pulls up a seat. “I’ll make this quick, because you obviously have nothing to do with it.”

  “OK. Thank you.” Something pops into my head. “By the way, do you smell that?”

  The odor from earlier is fading, but I can still smell it. He sniffs the air and then looks at me. “I do. What is it?”

  “I don’t know. It was really strong when we first came in, but it’s not as bad now.”

  He bends his head and writes something down on a pad that he’s balanced on his knee, but doesn’t say anything else about it. Then he walks me through the scenario from when we came in. It’s fairly cut and dried, and I start to calm down a little as I listen to his soothing voice.

  The whole process takes less than thirty minutes, even though I stop talking altogether when I see them take Maggie’s now-covered body out on the gurney, covered with heavy sheets. As the men go by with their sad cargo, I catch a stronger whiff of that same strange chemical odor. When I look at Ronnie to mention it, he nods - he’s noticed it, too.

  Another thing I notice is that my lifeline has stopped blinking at me.

  “We’ll do a tox screen,” he assures me as he stands up to go. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Banks. Sorry it has to be under such terrible circumstances.” Then Angelo comes up behind me and Ronnie nods to him. “Let me know if you think of anything else,” he says to both of us.

  When everyone is gone again, the office feels cold and spooky. “Can we come back tomorrow? Or later?” I ask Angelo. “I don’t want to be here right now.”

  He nods. “Me neither. How about I buy you a drink before we meet Blakely and Bilda for supper?”

  “That sounds wonderful.”

  “Let’s go. Oh, and Trinket? Will you do me a favor and not mention this to anyone until we figure out what happened?”

  “Of course.” If I know anything about small towns, everybody already knows anyway.

  When we step outside again, I notice that town seems less quaint and more menacing than it did on the walk over. It feels like there are more shadows and dark alleys than I noticed before. I also notice that everyone is staring, and it’s not my imagination. “Will they think I killed her?” I ask.

  Angelo looks down at me like I’m a little bit crazy, but then he takes my hand, and squeezes it. “You’ve only been in town for two hours. How could you have? Don’t worry.”

  He takes me to the Salty Hog, which looks exactly like the kind of place that Blakely described. It’s at the very end of one of the streets in town, out of the way of most traffic. I probably wouldn’t have found it for weeks if Angelo hadn’t brought me here. A gravel lot leads to a porch and entrance made of rough cut lumber, lit up here and there with neon lights that advertise the beer selections on tap. I can hear laughter and music coming from inside, punctuated by an indecipherable shout now and then.

  When I shoot Angelo a questioning look, he grins. “It’s not that bad. It’s just a bar. Surely you’ve been in a bar before.”

  Actually... “Do clubs count?”

  “What’s the difference?” he asks, ushering me in ahead of him.

  I look around the surprisingly well lit room to see dead things staring back at me. The dead things are deer and what looks like a black, shaggy bison head. I see fish and squirrels, too, all mounted on wooden plaques that hang around the room. “A lack of wildlife?”

  He laughs, takes my hand, and leads me through the crowd to the bar. My simple jeans and blouse fit well here, at least.

  “Didn’t Blakely say the other place was better?” I ask, trying to follow him without bumping into any tables.

  “The other place doesn’t serve alcohol.”

  “Oh. Ok, never mind.” I definitely need a drink drink, so this is the spot.

  No one seems to notice us at first, which is a plus.

  Angelo leads us
directly to the shiny copper-trimmed bar and pulls out a stool for me.

  “Angelo!” The bartender is a slender, blonde witch in a white half-apron whose eyes lit up when she sees us. Well, when she sees him. Then she sees me and some of the luster dies.

  I glance at Angelo to see if he’s noticed, but no - he’s laughing and talking to some guy - a shifter - that just came up behind him, leaving me and Miss Bartender to stare at each other.

  “Hello,” I say, rubbing my suddenly clammy palms on my jeans. I have to fit in here, might as well try to make some friends. “Could I get a shot of Hennessey? Er, two, actually?”

  She looks from Angelo to me, nods once - that smile is a little tight - and turns to the hundreds of bottles behind her and selects two. Then she lines three shot glasses on the bar in front of me, fills two with whiskey and pours some greenish concoction from the third bottle.

  I watch as it bubbles. “What’s this?” I ask.

  She nods toward Angelo. Not really a talker, this one. “For Angelo.”

  “Oh, OK.” I clear my throat, suck back my first drink. Then I wait for the warmth to kick in, moan appreciatively, and hold out my hand to her. “Hi, I’m Trinket.”

  She wipes one hand slowly on the apron and shakes, but I can tell she’d rather not. It isn’t that she’s not friendly - I get the feeling that she is, in general. It’s more that she’s uncertain about why I’m here with Angelo. Her eyes keep shifting to his back, where he’s still leaning into a conversation with the shifter.

  I want to put her mind at ease, but I don’t know how. Hi, I’m Trinket and I’m not sleeping with the big Italian next to me. Instead I ask, “What’s your name?”

  “Portia. You new here?”

  She looks like a Portia. I nod. “Yes. We got here this afternoon. Angelo was just showing me around and we decided to stop in for a drink before he showed me where I’m going to live.”

  “Nice of him. He hates this part, and he used to have Rachel do it.”

  “Oh.” I have no idea who Rachel is, and Portia doesn’t seem to want to explain. In fact, she turns her back on me completely and goes to lean against the bar and talk to somebody further down. I’ve been dismissed.

  I poke Angelo in the back with one clear-coated fingernail. When he turns around I say, “Who’s Rachel?”

  Instead of answering right away, he motions toward the shifter. “Trinket, this is Flux. He’s our fire chief here in Jagged Grove.”

  I smile. He’s a good-looking guy and fit, as most shifters are. Forty years old, give or take, and dressed in blue jeans and a flannel shirt. Thick blond curls lay over his forehead. “Nice to meet you.”

  His smile is bright. “You too...Trinket? That’s a pretty name.”

  “Thanks. You must have one of the most exciting jobs here in Jagged Grove. Do you like it?” I’m forcing this, because the drink is kicking in and I just want to go lie down somewhere.

  He laughs, showing his gleaming teeth. “I do, but you’re wrong about the job - it isn’t that thrilling. This is a pretty quiet place, as you’ll find out. Our last real fire was five years ago, when Portia’s coven accidentally set a hayfield on fire with ritual candles.”

  “Oh.” I’m not paying attention now though, because something has just clicked into place in my head. It’s the reason for Bilda’s acting out, and the reason for the sadness I saw in her eyes at times. I thought she missed Washington and being High Priestess, but now it hits me that she just misses being part of a coven. I don’t know how I know this, but I do, as sure as the dawn.

  I look around the room, which is getting noisier by the second, and smile at him again because he’s standing there waiting for an answer. “Quiet? I don’t know about that.”

  He laughs again. “You’ll see. Promise. Welcome to Jagged Grove. If you need anything give me a shout.”

  I smile and thank him, then watch him amble off to another table. “He seems like a nice guy.”

  “He is.” Angelo looks at his drink in surprise and then sighs. Then he leans forward on his stool until he catches Portia’s eye and waves her over. “Bring me a beer please, Portia.”

  She frowns at the odd-looking drink. “You sure?”

  “Yes. And stop it.”

  She slinks off to get him a beer and I look at him. “What’s that about?”

  He nods to the drink. “Love potion. She tries this every time I come in here.” He picks up the glass, stands up and leans over the bar to pour it...somewhere. I assume there’s a sink back there.

  When he sits back down, Portia brings him a Foster’s. She’s glaring, but we both ignore her. “Why does she do this, if she knows you won’t drink it?” I ask quietly.

  He looks uncomfortable. “I don’t know. She’s had a crush on me since I met her.”

  “That’s sweet.” I ignore the tiny twinge that I refuse to name. “She’s pretty.”

  He looks at me. “Her husband thinks so, too.”

  “Oh. I see. Well, Flux seems like a nice guy.”

  “He is - he keeps me up to date on a lot of the news around here.” There’s a glint in his eye when he says it.

  “Any other notables here?”

  He looks around. “Well, see the tall, skinny girl? Looks a little out of place?”

  “Yeah?” She was perched in a chair with her hands clasped primly in front of her. She’s a sorceress, I think, although her energy is similar to a witch. In fact the only difference between a sorceress and a witch is that a witch relies on her connection to the earth to perform her magic, and a sorceress uses more spells, potions, and incantations. OK, actually, there really isn’t that much of a difference at all, except for the big one - sorceresses don’t always practice white magic, the good kind. Hence, the difference in energy. She’s dressed in lots of jewelry and a silk dress that is very fancy and very low cut for just a bar, but perfect for her coiffed blonde hair.

  “That’s Wisp, Rive Callahan’s daughter. He’s the mayor. I’m actually surprised she’s even here. She thinks this place is beneath her.”

  “So, spoiled rotten?”

  “Yes, but she loves her daddy to bits. She still lives at home, just so she can take care of him.”

  “Where’s her mom?”

  “Mrs. Callahan died before they came here.”

  Oh. “What about the hot guy at the juke box?” The man had just caught my eye when he stood up to walk across to the neon machine. He looks like a bad boy, one of those fascinating creatures that women can’t help but love. He’s a shifter with dark hair and eyes, and he’s dressed in a soft-looking navy sweater with the sleeves pushed up and has one of those model-gorgeous faces.

  Angelo grins at me. “That would be Jones. You’ll meet him soon.”

  I’m instantly suspicious. “Why? And why are you smiling like that?”

  “You’ll see.”

  “I don’t like your tone.”

  “What’s wrong with my tone?”

  “It’s sneaky. And it’s yours.”

  Angelo laughs and spends the next thirty minutes telling me about every person in the room. I discover that all of the ladies love Rive Callahan, that Jones has broken more hearts than Angelo can count, and that the mousy looking woman with stringy black hair in the corner named Feena was one of the most powerful witches in the United States before she burned down a building in a rage and Angelo brought her here. She looks depressed.

  I toss back my second drink and stare at him. “You’re a gossip.”

  “I am not. I’m just interested. I built this town, you know.”

  “Gossip.” The drink is making it hot in here, and the noise level is getting ridiculous, especially since the Jones guy is playing a mix of AC/DC and Pitbull on the jukebox. I pinch the front of my shirt with two fingers and fan it a little. “Can we go? I’d like to find my mom and see where we’re going to live.”

  “Sure. We have supper in a few minutes with her and Blakey, remember?”

  I groan, because I’
m getting sleepier by the minute. “I shouldn’t have had that second shot.”

  “I’ll help you,” he says as we stand up, and then before I can respond he scoops me into his arms. I screech, because my world just tilted, and everyone looks up and cheers. Well, except for Portia. With a wave at the room and a grin, Angelo carries me outside into the cool, fresh evening air.

  “Will you put me down? Why did you do that?” I swat at his shoulder and try to wiggle my way out of his strong grip.

  He grins and shrugs, then drops me gently to my feet. “I just wanted to - my impulse control sucks.”

  “Well, quit it.” A thought occurs to me. “You were trying to make Portia jealous, weren’t you?”

  “No. I was not.”

  He’s lying. I’m suddenly positive that this is exactly what he was doing. “Well, you wanted to get somebody’s attention; I can tell by the way you made sure everyone saw us before we left the room. Whose?”

  He doesn’t answer. In fact he begins to whistle happily.

  I smile slowly. “This is a small town, Angelo. I’ll find out eventually. Who are you crushing on? Feena?”

  “What? No.”

  The other girl...what was her name? Carrie - the redhead.” Angelo had told me that she was head of the town council.

  “Carrie is a nice lady, and we work well together, but I am not interested in her that way. Let it go, Trinket.” His voice had gone all serious.

  “OK. For now. But I’ll be watching you, Mr. Agent Man.” I resist the urge to call him ASS Man. That’s just too easy.

  He snorts and shakes his head. “Come on.”

  Ten

  Night is starting to fall as he leads me back down to Main Street. Lights flicker on over our heads and the breeze makes the tree leaves rustle quietly. I notice that, like this afternoon, there isn’t much traffic. When I ask, Angelo says, “Most people live close, so they just walk. There’s no sense in buying a car if everything is five blocks away.”

  Well, that’s good. I wondered about buying transportation sometime between agreeing to the healer thing and finding Maggie’s body. Angelo set up bank accounts for us - the economy here is based on U.S currency, thank the earth. It makes things a little easier for me, and we won’t starve. Well, at least we won’t as soon as I figure out where to live and find a grocery store.