Evicted Witch (Jagged Grove Book 3) Page 8
To my relief, he nods and lets me go.
I spin around and walk away from the group, hoping I’m headed in the right direction. Is the landmark I need before us still, or is it already past? I don’t know, and my head won’t handle too much analysis right now. We are slicing through the water way too fast, and ‘m starting to get a sinking feeling, even as I grip the rail and squint to see ahead.
My heart is already pounding from the energy rush, but it speeds up even more when I make my way around the bow of the boat and spot exactly what I’m looking for - twin rocks, poking up through the water’s surface. They’re much bigger than I thought they’d be, big enough to shadow the ship as we pass by them.
And I was worried about missing them.
I walk along the deck, staying close to the rocks. The idea of jumping overboard chills me to the bone, now that the time has come. I’m probably ten or fifteen feet from the purply water below, and from here on deck, that seems like a really long way. I stop walking and grip the railing tighter, take a deep breath, and launch myself into the air.
I don’t hear the splash when I land, and I hope no one else did, either. I can just imagine them rescuing me and then having to start over. The water swallows me completely, and it’s so cold that it shoots pain through my limbs. I tighten my lips together and start swimming underwater, away from where I think the boat is. If I can get to the other side of the rocks, I can hide from the crewmen and come up for some air. The thump of the ship’s engines reverberates through my body, forcing my heart to keep pace.
Help is waiting on shore. Just keep moving.
The water drags at my clothes, but I just swim harder. A couple of times, I squint my eyes open and see the dark bulk of what I hope is the rocks I need and not the ship I just escaped.
When my lungs feel like they’re going to burn through my ribcage, I risk coming to the surface. It’s closer than I thought, surprising me. I break through and gasp for air, treading water and thanking the Fates that I learned how to swim. When I catch my breath and orient myself, I realize that the shore seems really far away.
So does the ship. Sink or swim, Trinket.
I look for the sun, get my bearings again, and kick off the rock.
I swim, even though my headache is coming on strong and my arms are threatening to stop working altogether. I’m not exactly in the best shape of my life, and I’ve got a long way to go. Bilda is depending on me, though, so I don’t really have a choice.
Of all the times I’ve saved her butt, this time is the most important of all. This time I might have to save her life.
The thought gives me new energy and I swim harder. The water laps against my face, making me sputter a few times before I get the hang of it and remember to turn my head away. Soon I feel like I’m making some progress, even though it’s taking its toll.
I look up once to see that the shore is closer, but not as close as I’d hoped. This is going to take forever, and I start to be afraid that I’m not going to make it.
When something sharp brushes against my leg, I kick it away and try to avoid screaming and swallowing a gallon of water. I hadn’t thought of it before, but who knows what inhabits this foreign water?
“...help?”
The voice comes from nowhere, and this time I do scream. And start to sink. My clothes drag at me, clinging to my body as if they’re trying to suffocate me.
“Shh. No need for that.”
I spin to see a gorgeous redhead floating along beside me. Her skin is pale, and her hair billows out around her in the water. She would be runway model beautiful, if she didn’t smell like a shrimp boat. She’s floating effortlessly - unlike me. I’m so tired I can barely stay afloat. She offers a smile, but when I try to backpedal and tell her to get away, I swallow enough water to make me sputter.
“No - wait! It’s OK.”
“Who are you?” I gasp.
“I know Angelo told you about the mermaids that inhabit the waters around Jagged Grove.” Her smile widens.
“Oh,” I heave. I do remember, now that she mentions it. “Oh, wow. OK.”
“Do you need help?”
“Yes, please.” Regardless of who - or what - she is, I need help. She might just be saving my life.
She turns her back to me and says, “Place your hands on my shoulders and hang on.”
I do, hesitantly, thinking about those documentaries where people swim with dolphins. “Won’t this drag you down, with my extra weight?” I don’t weigh a lot, but she looks fragile.
“I’m stronger than you think, and I’m a much better swimmer.”
My horribly aching arms and lungs can attest to that. I grip her shoulders, feeling delicate collarbones under my fingertips and a cool, scaly texture on her skin that I can’t see just by looking. “Let me know if I’m too much.”
She giggles, a musical sound, and reaches up to pat my hand. “Don’t worry.”
Then she takes off, so fast that I almost lose my grip at first. “Hold on tight,” she says, that cheerful voice tickling my ears through the breeze.
Now that I don’t have to swim, I can see, and the shore comes into focus and zooms toward us at amazing speed. In no time, she’s drawing near a stand of trees that hang out over the water. “Is this good?” she calls over her shoulder.
I have no idea where good is, and the note didn’t exactly specify, so I just say, “Yes. Perfect.”
She pats my hand again, says, “Hold your breath,” and lowers us underneath the water. We move forward until I feel something bump against my arm. I risk letting go of her and feel hard, scratchy bark, so I let go and wrap my arms around it.
I’m fully aware that this is the craziest moment of my life, in a life filled with Bilda.
I follow the limb upward until I break the surface and look around to see her do the same. “Go save your mom,” she calls to me. Then she waves and dives again with barely a ripple before I can wave back or at least thank her. I wonder how she knows me - or Bilda, for that matter.
I’m only about three feet from completely dry land, and I’m surprised that I can simply stand up and wade through it to the shore. The trees block the sun and make the land appear murky here, and I guess that I’m partway along the path to the colony, but far enough from Jagged Grove to avoid detection.
“That was lucky, wasn’t it?”
I spin around too fast, almost slipping in the wet sand, and see Blakely standing there, looking as cool as ever in his signature tux. Farther back in the shadows, I see other movement and make out Glade’s tall form.
“What?” he says. “You think you’re the only one who cares about Bilda?”
Chapter Eight
The trip to Blakely’s house is long, but none of us talk much along the way. Blakely looks thoughtful, Glade seems almost embarrassed about something, and I’m exhausted.
I think about the way they acted earlier, at the jail, and knew that they must have all been in on it - Glade, Blakely, Jones, and Rain. Glade and Blakely are here, but not Rain and Jones.
They drag me inside quickly, before anyone happens by Blakely’s cottage and catches sight of me. Blakely’s house is exactly like him - understated and elegant, but with a certain flair that you have to like. Glade sees us inside, then goes to tell the others.
I’m shivering and staring at a Thomas Smith painting when Blakey brings me a cup of tea. The woman in it is looking at me disapprovingly from under her bonnet. “Is this an original?” I ask, partly because I remember that Thomas Smith paintings are rare, and partly because I’m in Blakely’s house and it feels weird. I’ve never been inside before.
“Direct from the artist himself,” he says with a smile.
“Wait...” I wrack my brain, trying to remember. “Didn’t he live during the sixteen hundreds?”
“Yes.” Blakely looks impressed, his elegant features brightening a little. “Do you know art?”
I shake my head and follow him through a hall to a shadowy li
ving room. “Not really - just what I remember from an art appreciation class.”
“Oh, that’s a shame.”
“So you were alive back then, and knew Thomas Smith?”
“Pompous ass,” he said, and motioned for me to sit on a long black leather sofa. I did. “But yes, I knew him. He thought being a Puritan made him fabulous.”
I chuckle at his tone. “And you didn’t agree?”
“It made him a pompous ass. I told you that already, dear. Now, what do we do about my sweet Bilda?”
I want to tell him that she isn’t his anything, but he might be my best hope at getting her out of trouble. Instead, I say, “Well, we either need to find her, or find the real killer.”
He nods thoughtfully and strokes his chin. “When did you see her last?”
“The last time I saw her was when she walked away with Aries and a man named Calhoun.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “That’s interesting.”
“What?”
“Calhoun works for Dravo. A personal assistant, you might call him.”
“Dravo never mentioned that.”
“Dravo doesn’t share a lot.”
I’m beginning to notice. “So where do we start? Can I go talk to this Calhoun guy?”
“I’m...not sure that’s a good idea, sweetheart. He’s not the nicest man on the island.”
“If he works for my father, though, I doubt he would hurt me. Dravo wouldn’t allow it.”
He’s shaking his head, but a knock at the door keeps him from answering. My body goes tense. Glade hasn’t had time to get to town, much less find the others.
“Don’t worry - I’ll get rid of whoever it is.” I watch him leave the room, but then hear him arguing with someone. Then Jones bursts through the door and the next thing I know I’m in his arms and being squeezed to death. “Jones,” I gasp, almost spilling my tea before I can set it on the table. Jones doesn’t let go.
“I’m so glad you’re safe,” he whispers, kissing me on the temple.
“What are you doing? How did you know I was here?”
“Yes,” Blakely says. His voice is tight. “How did you know?”
“Well, I knew you’d be coming eventually, but I also used a tracker spell. That ring you’re wearing has its perks.”
My mouth drops open. “You’ve been keeping track of me? That’s low, Jones.”
“Somebody has to keep you out of trouble.”
I glare at him momentarily, but it really is good to see him. Blakely clears his throat. “Well, we still have business here. I won’t rest until Bilda is safe.”
“Right.” I shove Jones away gently. “Do you have any news? Has Angelo found Bilda?”
He shrugs and shakes his head. “I’m not on Angelo’s list of confidantes.”
“Maybe Dravo found her.”
Blakely looks surprised. “Why would Dravo be the one to find her?”
“He promised me that his security guys were looking.”
Well, that’s a relief.” Blakely rolls his eyes, but he looks truly agitated now.
I wonder if he’s jealous. He’s had his sights set on Bilda since we got here, and I’m sure that he doesn’t like the idea of her being saved by her ex-husband. “Do you have any ideas? Any special places that she’s likely to hide out?”
He shakes his head. “Other than the Crystal Cup, no. She hasn’t mentioned anything.”
I’m exhausted, but my mind is whirring. “Then what do we know about the deaths?”
“They were all witches,” Jones says.
“Well, who around here hates witches?”
“Hell, Trinket - half of the population is witches.” Blakely snaps.
“Then what about the other half?” I snap right back at him. “And how did those witches die? Shouldn’t that be a clue?”
“It was magical. Every time.”
“Then what about the signature? Won’t that tell us something?”
Jones takes my hand. “You’re getting a little frantic, Trinket. Why don’t you rest and let Blakely and I work on this?”
I stare at him. Is he crazy? “Uh - no.”
“I think we all need some rest,” Blakely say, opening panels of drapes that cover a huge window I didn’t notice before. “It’s getting late.”
I look to see that it’s dark, and wonder when that happened. “We’re wasting time.”
Blakely purses his lips and tugs at his lapels. “Trinket, you can’t exactly go wandering around the island. If Angelo sees you, he’ll just put you on the next boat out and then we’ll be saving you again instead of Bilda. You must remain hidden.”
He’s right. I’m technically a fugitive. “But I have to help.”
“You can help by staying put, and then tomorrow we’ll discuss our options.”
I stare out the window. Blakely’s house sits in a secluded lot on a small rise near the edge of town. I can see streetlights down below, and woods off to my right from this window. Bilda is out there somewhere, and I don’t know if I can rest until she’s safe.
“I’m staying here, too,” Jones says, but Blakely is already shaking his head.
“No you’re not. The only way Angelo would guess Trinket is here is if you’re hanging around. We’ve never been close enough to have sleepovers.”
Jones narrows his eyes. “Trinket’s a witch, Blakely. Whoever is targeting witches may have her on the list.”
“But they don’t know I’m here. Everyone thinks I went home,” I remind him.
“I’m still staying.”
“Go hunt something, werewolf. You aren’t needed here tonight.” Blakely flicks a hand in Jones’s direction. Jones growls.
This alpha thing is exhausting, and I’m still irritated that Jones has been tracking me. “This isn’t getting us anywhere, you two. Knock it off.”
But our conversation has given me an idea. I hedge my bets and say, “I think Blakely is right - I know I’m exhausted, and you both probably are, too. We’ll be better off if we start fresh in the morning.”
“Fine,” Jones grumbles.
I point at him. “And he’s also right that you need to go home. I’m sorry, but Angelo probably knows I’ve escaped by now and he’ll be looking for you to lead him to me.”
Blakely smirks. Jones’s eyes flash.
“Stop being so...wolfy.”
Blakely’s chin comes up.
“And you stop being a pompous ass.” I tell him. His face falls. “I’m going to bed.”
I really would love for Jones to stay, but I have a plan, and if he’s here it isn’t going to happen. “Blakely, can you show me to my room?”
“Don’t you need a meal first?”
I shake my head. “Sorry. I’m not hungry at all. I ate on the boat.”
Jones still hasn’t moved, so I go to him. “Please? I’ll be safe for tonight, I think, because no one knows I’m here. Tomorrow, we can make different arrangements.”
He reaches to stroke my hair, then smiles a little and leaves. After a moment, I hear the front door close. “I hope I didn’t make him mad. He’s been a good friend.”
“He’ll be fine, and I promise that he’ll be back here first thing in the morning.”
“Aren’t vampires nocturnal?” I ask.
“Not all of us. I’ve adapted - with a couple of good protection spells and lots of sunscreen.”
“Oh. You practice witchcraft, too?”
“No—these were gifts from friends who happened to be witches.”
“Oh...so you know a lot of the witches on the island?”
“Most of them.”
“This kind of threat to your friends must be devastating, then.”
He shrugs. “I’m more afraid of losing Bilda than anything.”
It occurs to me that I don’t know Blakely all that well, and that he could easily be the killer, if he has access to magic. His concern for Bilda is touching, but it could be an act. If he is the killer, I’m in danger just by being here.
“Can you read my mind?”
“No, my dear,” he laughs. “I can read your expressions easily, though.”
“Sorry.”
“I’m glad, actually. Don’t trust anyone.”
He leads me through another hall or two - I lose track - and into a room on what he calls the east wing. “You can sleep here.”
“How big is this place?” I ask.
“Bigger on the inside than the outside. Another magical gift.”
“You have a lot of friends,” I say, looking around. The room he’s brought me to is gorgeous and very feminine. Lots of ruffles and soft pastels, and under different circumstances I could see me sleeping like a baby here.
Not tonight, though. Tonight I have things to do.
The night is blessedly quiet, once I manage to get my window open and get through it, suffering a six-foot drop to the rose garden below. In the dark, with no knowledge of what awaits me. For all I know, Blakely has guard dogs posted on the property, although the lots in Jagged Grove are small enough that I probably would have seen them when we came in earlier.
Neither he nor Jones answered me when I mentioned the magical signatures, but I figure they just don’t know. If that’s the case, I know of one way to find out - break into Angelo’s files.
The moon is out, at least, lending some light to my situation. It’s not quite full, though, and that brings to mind Jones. The thought of him reminds me to take off the ring that he so casually uses to keep track of my whereabouts.
In a small way it’s flattering, because it felt nice that Jones wanted to protect me. I feel kind of odd with the ring off. In a much bigger way, it’s creepy and I’m mad at him for his intrusion into my life.
The soft, well-tended earth under my sneakers helps me walk silently and I only snag my clothes once on the rose thorns before making my way to the lawn and over the short fence at the rear of Blakely’s lot. No dogs, apparently, and that’s a good thing.
The street is deserted, which is pretty normal for Jagged Grove and helpful when I need to sneak around - which I’ll probably be doing fairly often, at least until this thing blows over. The houses are mostly silent, too, with no lights beyond the moon and periodic streetlamps all around town.