Convicted Witch: Jagged Grove Book 1 (12 page)

“About a month. Maybe two.” Her voice is softer than I imagined, and I have to lean in to hear her.

Two months. Maybe the tumor isn’t so big and bad yet. Maybe I can help. Suddenly, I dearly appreciate doctors and hospitals, but we apparently don’t have that here. “OK, I’m not very good at this, but I’m going to try. Is that OK with you?”

She nods. “It’s becoming painful. Please try.”

I don’t know where the tumor is, so I’m not sure how to concentrate. At the same time, I didn’t know how my mother was hurt, either, and my healing power seemed to know for me. That thought helps a little as I link our palms again.

Almost immediately I feel the familiar pulse of power. “Spirit bold and Spirit bright,” I whisper, closing my eyes at the rush. It weaves like a strong thread down my spine, and at the same time spreads outward to my shoulders and arms, almost as if I’ve thrown a shawl across my back. It tugs through me and makes my entire body tingle.

For the first time I notice something else. It feels exactly like tendrils of power are poking around for the problem. They yank at the surface of my palm, not hard, but enough that I know what they’re doing. It’s an amazing sensation, and once again I find myself wishing that I’d not hidden my gifts quite so completely, or for so long. I’ve got a lot to learn.

Feena’s head falls back and I hear her groan, but I’m caught up in her heaving, gasping chest and praying that I don’t accidentally make her heart stop somehow. Even if I didn’t know how powerful this magic inside of me was, I would be able to feel the strength of it.

Just as with the man in the boat, I try to regulate what’s happening and make it a steady flow instead of a tidal wave that destroys more than it helps.

I know when the tumor is found, because the pulsing changes tempo. Now it’s making me somewhat lightheaded, so I sink back until my butt is on my heels on the floor. That way I won’t fall over at least.

All I can do is trust the magic and let it flow. I’m not doctor and I have no medical opinion. The energies do, though, so I trust them to fix what needs fixed. I make it sound like a simple decision, but it really takes ten minutes of mental wrestling with the idea before I can allow it to happen.

It takes almost forty minutes before the magic releases us, and Feena simply falls sideways onto the sofa cushions with her eyes closed. I hold my breath and watch closely until I see the steady rise and fall of her chest, then I fall back, too, and just lay in the floor for a moment.

My mom and Blakely find us like that an hour later.

What happened?” She’s looming over me, looking worried. I struggle for a moment and then sit up. “Is Feena OK?”

Blakely gives me a sharp look. “Why wouldn’t she be?”

I don’t answer. Instead, I drag my mind the rest of the way out of my daze and go to check on her.

She’s still on the sofa, but I can already see that the duskiness is gone from her skin. It’s pinker now and a little more taut. Her hair is still stringy, but its luster is returning, too.

Maybe I should open a beauty salon or day spa. I can make people healthier looking, at least, without killing them.

Even as I look at her, Feena opens her eyes. She doesn’t move, although she does offer me a small smile. “I’m exhausted,” she murmurs.

“Is the pain better?”

She thinks about this and feels around her abdomen for a moment, then up along her jawbone. Then her smile grows as her gaze meets mine. “I think it is.” There is a hint of laughter now to go along with the smile. My mom is beaming in my direction.

Her smile, by the way, is a beautiful thing. It occurs to me that if her illness was causing the problem she’ll get better and be the most gorgeous woman in Jagged Grove by a long shot.

If Wisp’s reaction to plain old me is any indication, she’ll simply explode when she sees a happy, healthy Feena.

Is it bad that I can’t wait to see it?

Yes, probably. But I don’t care.

As for me, I’m relieved and exhilarated all at once. I laugh out loud, simply because I’m happy I didn’t kill anyone and I’m pretty sure I actually helped Feena. The adrenaline rush from that alone is delicious. Maybe even saved her life. It’s an incredible feeling, and all the tension melts away as quickly as it came. 

Feena sits up, with Mom’s help. “I think I need to go home,” she says. “I’m so tired.”

But she’s moving more easily and her aura is much, much better. Still pink, but more like roses than Pepto. When she’s gone, escorted by Blakely again, I go upstairs to my bedroom and close the door softly. Then I go to the window and look out at the evening sunshine.

I did it.

Against all odds, in the face of my fear and inexperience, I helped Feena. I really think she’ll be all right now. If not, she’ll come to me again.

Either way, I think it’s time to open up my real office.

Not that I’m not still scared, but maybe what happened in those woods when I was sixteen really was a fluke. Maybe I’ll be OK doing this. If nothing else, I should get better with practice, right? I flop down on my bed to stare at the ceiling and think about that, but then finally decide that I need to talk to Angelo first, in case there is more that I need to know before I begin. Besides, he’s got the keys to my office.

And no, I’m not making excuses - even if he is sexy. No way am I going to step into the Wisp-Scott-Angelo Bermuda Triangle of love.

Angelo is off-limits. I just need my office key.

I decide that it’s time to unpack, put everything away, and then sit down to write Clay a nice long letter. In which I lie about who, what, why and where I am.

Piece of cake.

I refuse to ponder the reasons for why this isn’t bothering me. I’ve been lying to him, in a way, since the beginning. You don’t just tell the man you love that you are a witch, or that your witchiness got somebody killed. That creates conflict, or so I imagine.

Instead, I’ve buried my true identity and thought that I was just fine, when maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t as fine as I thought. Maybe I’ve really been a little bit lonely inside all this time.

I don’t really want to think about that, either, because it means that life with Clay hasn’t been as perfect as I like to imagine. I feel disloyal.

It doesn’t help that my letter peters out at around paragraph three. What can I possibly tell him about any of this? Other than writing ‘I love you’ over and over like a seventh grader, I’m out of stuff to say.
I’m away with my mother. We’re doing fine. I’ll be back in a year.
Not much else to say.
Have a nice day? Wait for me - it’s only a year?
I chew on my pinky fingernail and worry over it, but don’t get much farther than that.

A knock at the door downstairs saves me. I listen closely and then jump up and run when I hear Mom call my name. Anything to keep from facing the truth - that I probably won’t be able to save my former life after this, even if I got to go home right now.

I jump down the stairs to find Jones taking up the living room. He doesn’t look happy.

His arms are crossed, and he’s glaring. That’s no surprise, though - a lot of people glare around here. It’s like the default expression. His words, however, surprise me. “What did you do to Feena?”

I stop dead. It’s the last question I expected. “Uh...helped? I think?”

My heart is hammering. Did I do something bad after all? She’d looked so great when she left. Was there some kind of side effect that didn’t appear until later?

I need to find out, but not from Jones. The ethics of healing are the same for a witch as a doctor, as far as I am concerned: Don’t ask, don’t tell.

OK, I know that’s not exactly right, but I can’t remember the oath thingy and Jones is still staring at me like I killed his dog.

“Have you seen her? Where is she?” I ask. “I’m not telling you anything without her permission.”

“You have her permission.”

That’s the opposite of true. “No I don’t. She isn’t here.”

As good-looking as he is, he’s starting to annoy me.

“I know she isn’t here - she’s down at the Salty Hog in a mini-skirt, dancing.”

I can’t help it - I laugh. Loud and long, clutching my sides and happy that I made Feena better. Happy that I did something right and fixed a problem. Possibly even happy that I somehow irked Jones by doing it.

It isn’t funny,” he says, leaning his shoulders back against the door.

“Yeah, it kind of is,” I gasp. “Why are you so upset?”

“She’s making a fool of herself.”

I stare at him. “Seriously? The man who supposedly sleeps with anything breathing is worried about someone else’s reputation?” I peer closer at his face. “Why do you care, anyway?”

Instead of answering me, he turns around and stalks back out the door, slamming it behind him.

I make a snap decision and decide to follow him, because I know he’s headed for the Salty Hog and I know he’s possibly going to make a scene of some sort. I may be new around here, but human beings are human beings.

I just want to know what makes this one tick and why someone’s happiness is making him so mad.

Also, I want to see Feena’s triumph for myself.

Then I remember Wisp’s attitude from earlier and pause. I wonder if it’s a good idea to go alone. She may be little miss prissy, but I don’t trust her to not brain me or cast some kind of spell to do me in, especially if Angelo is there and she thinks I’m with him.

In a lot of ways, this place is just like my old world.

Jeans and a t-shirt are probably fine for the Salty Hog, but I change into a pretty flowing blouse anyway, just to make myself feel better, and then put on the single pair of boots I had room for in my luggage. They’re my favorite, and I threw away two pairs of jeans to make room for them. It still seems very unfair, but for tonight at least, I feel presentable.

I finish dressing, put on a light jacket because night is falling, and go into the kitchen to find Bilda, but she isn’t there. I wander around for a minute, checking the pantry and then upstairs, but she isn’t around. I’m standing in the kitchen again and wondering if I should worry when I spot her through the window. She’s out back, fiddling around in the area she’s already marked for a garden. By mid-summer, the corner of our yard will be bursting with fresh greens and herbs.

Right now, though, it’s a muddy mess and her sneakers are ruined. I need to ask Angelo where to buy clothes and things. It isn’t like I can order from Amazon and have what we need delivered to Jagged Grove, can I? It doesn’t technically exist.

I wave to Bilda to get her attention and yell my destination to her. She nods and smiles but then just goes back to her weed-pulling and planning, apparently content and needing no help from me.

I kind of wanted her to come along.

I look to the left, notice the gap in the fence, and remember that Imala is only two doors down. At least, I think that’s what she said. Maybe she’ll go with me.

I walk around the house to the front and then head down the street, counting doors until I get to a brick cottage about the size of ours but much prettier. Wooden gingerbread curlicues highlight all of the corners, the point of the roof and the porch railings. It looks like a little fairy-tale house.

I knock on the bright white, freshly-painted door.

When she opens it, I know immediately that I’ve woken her up. “Oh - sorry,” I say, backing away a little.

She smiles and shakes her dark, ruffled head. “Its fine,” she yawns. “We have a ritual later, so I need to get up anyway.”

Then she peers at me. “Did you need something?”

“I was going to ask you to go down to the Salty Hog with me. I think I healed Feena today, and I hear she’s causing quite a stir down there.”

Imala raises one perfect eyebrow. “You think you healed her?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Umm, OK. What time is it?”

“Around seven?” To be honest, I haven’t paid much attention to the time at all since I got here—I think it’s one thing I like about this place.

“OK, give me a few minutes.” She holds the door open for me to come in, flicks on a couple of lamps that are shaped like old fashioned torches, and then disappears through a dim doorway on our right.

I look around and see that I’m in a living room that doesn’t match the outside of the house at all. Imala’s furniture looks more thrift store than fairy tale, comfy but definitely frayed. Her sofa is actually a plaid loveseat, and her accent tables seem to be made of old crates. The only area of real beauty is the fireplace. It looks like it’s made of hand-cut stone and topped with a thick mahogany mantelpiece. The mantelpiece is graced with a line of huge, colorful crystals that look more like sculpture than chunks of rock.

I’m sure the crystals have magical properties - I can feel the hum of their energy - but I can’t begin to guess what those properties might be. I’ve been out of the magic, as Bilda used to say, for far too long.

Imala returns too quickly for how good she looks. Her hair is piled on her head, which on me would look like a ridiculous bird nest, but on her it looks elegant and actually highlights her long graceful neck. Her simple, flirty, earth-colored dress lands mid-thigh and she’s finished the outfit with a pair of taupe, studded cowboy boots that inspire instant jealousy in me. She looks like an Abercrombie model.

I feel very much like I fell out of a Target ad.

I must have sighed, because she looks at me with questions in her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. You don’t happen to sell sex appeal in a bottle or something, do you? I could use a dose.”

She laughs and pats my arm. “You just need a wardrobe makeover. I’ve only seen you in jeans and t-shirts until tonight.” She eyes my blouse. “And that thing needs to be thrown away.”

I pull my jacket a little closer. “It does not. It’s the nicest thing I own! Here, at least. At home I’ve got lots of stuff.”

Her full red lips quirk. “Remind me to take you shopping tomorrow, and to teach you to use your magic.”

“Ha! I knew there was a secret.”

“It’s not a secret, goofball. It’s using the energy of the elements around us to become our very best selves.” With a knowing smile, she grabs a leather jacket and leads me outside.