Convicted Witch: Jagged Grove Book 1 (13 page)

I follow, feel more like an ugly duckling than I did an hour ago.

The truth is, I always thought it was vanity to use magic for selfish things like growing gorgeous hair or clearing up my skin. But now that Imala has put it in these terms, I wonder what I’ve been missing all this time.

T
he Salty Hog is crowded, and it’s only Thursday, which makes me wonder what most of the people in Jagged Grove do for employment. Do they live on some kind of government funding, or is everyone here an entrepreneur like Blakely? Do all of us get some sort of stipend like the one Angelo set up for us? That seems doubtful, but it explains all the drinking that goes on around here.

Imala is noticed immediately. It seems that every head in the place, both male and female, turn to look at her - and by default, me - when she walks in. I try to stand directly behind her, but I don’t think I’m fooling anyone. Portia, at least, is already glaring at me, so I try to look cool as we head directly for the bar.

Imala smiles at her when a couple of stools open up right in the center and we slide onto them. Then she turns to me. “Do you want to taste the local booze?” she asks, but I’m already shaking my head.

“No thank you. Jones introduced us earlier, and I think the stuff tried to kill me. Besides, it smells weird.”

“It does. And you’re right that it isn’t for the faint of heart, but at least you can sober up fast if you need to.” She turns around again and orders us a couple of shots of Hennessey.

I scanned the room for a glimpse of Feena.

The general air of the place was much happier than the last time I was here. Lots of couples were dancing, and even the ones who weren’t were smiling and laughing with their friends. If the dead animals would just quit staring at me, I would be having a much better time.

Feena isn’t dancing at the moment, but standing in the center of her own circle, talking about something. From the glances I’m getting I have to assume that she’s telling the story of how she was healed. I fight the urge to slide under the bar.

Maybe this whole mess will be good for the business that I’m still not sure I want.

Feena smiles over at me. I smile back and give her a little wave at the same time Jones and I spot each other across the room. He still looks pissed. “What is his problem?” I mutter, more to myself than any person.

Imala follows my gaze with her own. “Who? Jones? I imagine he’s lost his crutch.”

I turn fully around on my stool to look at her. “What?”

Her smile is sardonic. “You’ve taken away his one hint of respectability.”

I blink at her and feel very tired all of a sudden. I think I’m about to hear yet another tangly story. “Please explain.”

“Jones is great about taking care of Feena - making sure that she has everything she needs, bringing her groceries and stuff like that - and he thinks that gives him free reign to act like a playboy the rest of the time. He uses the adorable bad boy image to its fullest advantage.”

“That actually works for him?” Even as I ask, I know it does.

“Oh, yeah.” Her eyes dance playfully.

“Why? I mean, how does helping Feena play into it?” I’m so confused that I’m about to give up and go home.

She blinks at me. “I really need to take time and catch you up on things, Trinket. Feena is Jones’s little sister.”

“Oh.”
Oh.
That makes sense, as far as why he was throwing a fit about her dancing around in a mini-skirt. “So he’s upset that she’s better?”

“Probably not once he calms down and thinks about it, but you’ve just made it necessary for him to rethink his entire womanizing game plan.” Imala sounds delighted about this fact.

I can’t help but grin too, even as I look at his sexy form in the purple glow of the jukebox and wonder what it would be like to experience that kind of attention. So far, he’s been nothing but polite to me, and I’m a little bit disappointed, even as I figure I’ve dodged a bullet.

His head turns and he looks directly at me. Something besides anger sparkles in his eyes before he turns away again, and I think I know what it might be.

“Imala?” I lean toward her a little on my stool.

“Yeah?”

“Is tonight a-.”

“Yeah. Full moon.”

That explains the sudden scary magnetism of Jones’s gaze. He’s probably going to sneak into my house and rip me to shreds later with big werewolf teeth. I tear my eyes away, grab my Hennessey and take the shot. Imala sips at hers and looks amused.

She points to a couple near the small, sad excuse for a dance floor. They’re holding hands and swaying to the music, lost in their own little world, but they aren’t exactly dancing. “They’re an interesting pair,” Imala explains.

I study them. Even facing away from me, they look remarkably similar. Both are skinny and short, like a couple of pixies, even though their energy is plenty witchy. It isn’t the purest energy, though. There seems to be a lot of emotional debris around them.

“Are they twins?” I ask.

Imala nods. “Yes, and they lost their mother and father both in a fairly bad accident.”

“What kind of accident?” Jagged Grove is weird, but it seems fairly safe. For some reason I think about Bilda, home alone.

“No one is sure - that’s part of the problem. They were found dead in the woods near Darken Cove, but there were no signs of struggle or trauma. It was like they just went there and died.

Something is pinging in my brain. “How old were the parents?”

“Twenty-nine, both of them.” She watches me glance toward the couple. “They were very young when they had Rain and Glade.”

“These two were born here?”

“So were their parents. They are third-generation Grovians.”

“Wow.” Is that what I’m supposed to be now? A Grovian?

“I know. The original family were some of the first residents, and helped to make this place as nice as it is.”

“How’d they do that?”

“With great ideas. Magic, too. They worked really closely with Angelo, from what I understand, to make Jagged Grove perfect for supernatural beings.”

“So three generations ago, a couple of the first witch families to come here helped Angelo design the place and then had babies. Those babies eventually gave birth to these two and then got themselves killed?”

“Umm...” Imala is squinting at me, following my chatter. “Ye-e-es.”

“And they died young, for no reason at all?”

“Yes.”

“Just like Maggie.”

Her beautiful eyes widen, but she doesn’t say anything but, “Oh.”

“And what are you ladies whispering about this evening?” A deep voice says from behind us. We both turn to see that Angelo is behind the bar with Portia. Portia is staring at his ass and practically drooling on her apron.

“Nothing. Just the local color,” Imala says with a smile.

Angelo looks back and forth between us. “Why do I get the feeling that you’re up to something?”

I decide that there is no time like the present. “Did Rain and Glade’s parents die the same way that Maggie did?” I hear two or three gasps around us, including Imala’s, but I keep my eyes glued to Angelo. He shows no hint of anything that resembles surprise. “No, Trinket. Why are you bringing up ancient history?”

I turn to Imala. “How long ago did they die?”

She shrugs. “Two years ago? Something like that.”

“See - no connection at all.” Angelo is staring hard at me, but he isn’t the only one. Several pairs of eyes have turned our way.

Portia looks nervous, too. She steps a bit closer and asks, “Is that possible, Angelo? That they all died the same way? Does that make it murder?”

Angelo drops his head to his fists on the bar and groans. When he looks back up at me again, I get the impression that he wants to murder me. “I asked you to not spread these kinds of rumors.”

“What if it’s not a rumor?” I shoot back. “What if something is going on around here?”

He holds my gaze but doesn’t answer.

Portia does, though. “Kyle and Karen’s death was never explained.” She looks pointedly at us.

“Did the area around the bodies smell like it did when we found Maggie?”

“What smell?” Imala asks.

“Evidently the mayor’s brew, or whatever it is - I smelled it today when Jones offered me a drink of it.”

Angelo’s eyes narrow even more at the mention of Jones, just as the tension in the room shoots up a notch. “You went to see Jones?”

I fight the urge to shrink back. “He brought us breakfast - which you didn’t do, I might add - so yes. I went to thank him.”

He stands up tall enough that my gaze now rests on his admittedly well-shaped chest. “I think it’s time for you to head home,” he says. “Before you cause trouble.”

“What trouble? I’m asking questions.”

“That’s plenty.”

“What is this? A dictatorship?”

“Only when necessary.” His eyes challenge me to argue, so I do.

“I’m not finished drinking yet. Besides, what are you gonna do - banish me again?” I slide my empty shot glass toward Portia. “Another, please?”

She looks at Angelo’s back and shakes her head. “Sorry. I’m cutting you off.”

My mouth drops open and I glance at Imala in disbelief. “I’ve had one shot.”

Portia shrugs. “Sorry.”

Angelo smirks.

“Asshole.” I push up from the bar, turn around and stomp outside, where the air is definitely cooler.

Imala follows. “You OK?” she asks, touching my arm.

“I’m pissed, but otherwise good.”

“He has a tendency to do that to a woman. Especially when the woman in question really likes him.”

I huff. “I do not
really like
him. I just know I need his help to eventually get home, and that will be harder to accomplish if I hate his guts.”

She apparently decides not to push the issue, because she changes the subject. “Do you think that those deaths are related?”

“I don’t know, Imala. I just think it’s weird that people so young all died without any real cause. Do you not think that’s strange? Suspicious, maybe, especially in a community full of magical beings?”

She is quiet for a while as we walk back toward our houses. “I suppose it might be - I didn’t really get the details of Maggie’s death, so I assumed that there was an explanation.”

“None that I’ve heard, but then Angelo hasn’t shared the coroner’s report with me.”

“Do you want it?”

I turn to her, my heart hoping. “Can you get it?”

Her smile is sly in the streetlight. “Maybe. Sither has had a crush on me for ages. I could ask.”

“Ooh, you bad girl. Yes, please.”

“I’m not bad, but since you came here I’m beginning to see that Jagged Grove is a little on the boring side. You brighten the place up.”

“I’m taking that as a compliment. When are you going to seduce Sither?”

She wrinkles her nose. “I’m not going to seduce him. That implies follow up sex, and I’m not that much of a bad girl. Or that desperate.”

“Blakely said he saw Sither and Maggie dancing the night before she died. Were they seeing each other?”

“Not that I know of, but then again, I don’t really pay attention.” Then she looks up and turns in a small circle until she spots the moon. “I’ve got to go, it’s almost time for our ritual.”

“Neat trick. OK. Thanks, Imala.”

“Sure - I’ll let you know what happens with Sither.” With a wave and a smile she is gone, sashaying lightly down the sidewalk. I need to ask her about her coven, and maybe get Bilda an invitation.

Speaking of Bilda... I head that way. She might be worried about me - I’ve been busy almost all day - and I probably need to go spend some time with her. Our earlier talk opened a lot of interesting doors for me.

My mother is a complex woman, one that I really don’t know very well at all.

I take my time walking back through town. As usual, there isn’t much traffic on the streets, and the storefronts are locked and silent. It’s the perfect small town, a peaceful place if you don’t manage to get yourself killed.

I know Angelo doesn’t want me to go there, but I have the strongest feeling that there is a sinister thread running through this whole thing. I just don’t have all of the pieces yet. Until I do, Angelo is going to do his best make me forget about it.

Angelo is getting very good at pissing me off.

At the last stoplight before I turn down my street is a small convenience store that’s still open. Its light shines brightly, blocking out the stars beyond. On impulse, I turn to go inside.

A small older man in a green knit cap is behind the counter, and it looks like he might be dozing. I don’t want to scare him, so I clear my throat. He jumps a little and then spots me.

“How do? What can I help you with?” His voice is deeper than I thought it would be, and has a little bit of a Scottish gruffness to it.

“Oh, hi. I’m just looking around,” I answer with a smile that I hope looks innocent. I turn down the first aisle and find that the store looks a lot like any convenience store I’ve ever been in - crowded shelves, dusty things that no one ever buys, and a refrigerator unit built into the back. Just what I’m looking for. I go to it and scan for what I want.

Most of the labels are unfamiliar to me, but a few I recognize. Mike’s, Seagrams, Gallo...Ah-ha! Found it.

I open the glass door and pull out my one guilty pleasure.

Boone’s Farm Wine.

Yes, I know it isn’t real wine. I just don’t care. It comes in my favorite flavors and I like it. Shoot me.

I find Strawberry and Pina Colada, pull out a bottle of each, and carry them toward the counter. The little old man looks at me sort of funny, but he doesn’t say anything. I smile at him because I like that - no judgment.

With the bottles safely tucked into skinny brown bags, I thank him and leave. Earlier I spied a small park, Killswallow, I think Angelo called it, and the night is still warm enough that I decide to go there instead of home.

Just for a while. Just to be alone and catch up with my thoughts.

I find a swing set and settle myself into one of the curved rubber swings. The night has gone quiet, which is a plus, and no one seems to be out to witness my debauchery. Another plus. I promise myself that I’ll go home to Bilda soon, right after I recharge.