Witches (9 page)
“What nonsense. I see you have yet to grow up.”
“No, it’s true.” Taking her mother’s hand, Tiffany desperately held the older woman’s gaze. “You’ve been there. It’s a place called Haven. We were taken there after...after daddy hurt me.”
“Tiffany, stop this.”
“You don’t remember Haven because your memories were deliberately taken away when you left.”
“And how,” Mrs. Smith demanded, “could someone take my memories?”
For several moments mother and daughter remained silent. “Through magic,” Tiffany finally whispered.
Grunting, Mrs. Smith pulled her hand away. “Listen, Tiffany. I’ve read about girls like you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Prostitutes. Whores.” Smiling bitterly, the Smith matriarch folded her arms. “You live gods-knows-where on the three planets, fucking men for money. You’re a slut, my girl, and don’t think your old mother doesn’t know it!”
“Mother! That’s not true!” Despite herself, the sorceress began shaking. “How could you say such a thing?”
“I know, Tiffany!” she shouted “You’re a whore! And a drug addict!”
“No! Mother...”
“That’s why you made up those horrible lies about your father!”
“Those weren’t lies!” Shocked, a tear escaped Tiffany’s eye. “I was sexually abused! And you did nothing to stop it!”
“Please.”
“All those nights, he came into my room...”
“He was tucking you in. Like any father would.”
“Oh, mother!” Looking up, Tiffany wiped at her face. “How can you be so stupid!”
“Your father was a good man.”
“He abused both of us! That is, when he wasn’t cheating on you!”
“He wasn’t perfect,” Mrs. Smith conceded, taking another sip. “No man is.”
“Not perfect?” Helplessly, Tiffany let her hands fall to the counter top. “If my Coven-mates hadn’t intervened...”
“Coven-mates? Is that what they call the madams these days?”
“How could you not see what was happening?” Tiffany implored. “That’s why I came here today. To find out why you didn’t do anything!”
From underneath the counter Tiffany’s mother produced a pack of cigarettes, lighting up with great satisfaction before closing the lighter with a vicious snap.
“Let me tell you something about your father. When you...went away, left us, however you want to put it...he was frantic. Look, he wasn’t a well man, I know that. He claimed I went away too. For years, he said, but I don’t remember going anywhere.” Almost sensuously, she drew in a deep lung full of smoke. “But when you came back, and made all those horrible accusations...” Her voice trailing off, Mrs. Smith looked squarely at her horrified daughter. “Well, it’s no wonder the poor man got drunk and fell off the cliff, now is it?”
“Mother, I’ve told you. Daddy died while we were away.” Looking off, Tiffany closed her eyes. “He died while we were in Haven. You’re not remembering correctly. I understand what a shock it was to discover he was dead when we returned, but it’s not my fault...”
“You were a stupid little girl, tormenting your father with a bunch of lies!” Briskly, Mrs. Smith stubbed out the cigarette. “But I don’t judge. I never have. You’ve chosen your life, and I hope you’re happy.”
“I’m sorry that we still see things so differently.”
“So am I.”
Leaping up, Tiffany angrily strode toward the door, turning back as her hand touched the sliding partition. “So how’s your arm, mother? The one he broke when I was eleven?”
Eyes growing wide, Mrs. Smith began shaking. “Get out,” she snarled. “And never come back here!”
“Have all your bruises finally healed?” Tiffany shouted, finally losing control. “Or did I imagine them too?”
“Lies!” she declared, slowly reaching for the cigarette pack again. “Oh, my. To have lived a gods-fearing life, never a bother to anyone, all to be hounded by a hysterical, lying slut!” Again, Mrs. Smith chuckled softly. “And my own daughter, at that. What a shame.”
“I don’t serve men! I’m not dependent on them, and I’m certainly not afraid of them!” Tiffany shot back. “Unlike you, Mom!”
Several moments went by, Mrs. Smith taking another long puff. “I think it’s time for you to go, dear. I hope you’re feeling better when we meet again.”
“I...I hope you are too.” Taking a long, wistful look around the house, Tiffany finally oriented again on her parent. “Goodbye, Mother.”
Dashing from the house, the young enchantress strode quickly through the orange grove, holding her misery and rage firmly in check until reaching the sanctuary of the surrounding forest.
Mrs. Smith stood silently at the counter, smoking several more cigarettes before going upstairs to bed.
***
Dashing past the hallway mirror, Kary Reston Davis paused for a final check. Makeup...not perfect, but it would do. The new hairstyle looked good, and the blue dress complimented her eyes. All in all, Randy should be proud.
Just 23 years old, Kary had tried hard in her two years of matrimony to be the perfect southern wife. A scion of Mobile, Alabama society, Randy Davis was a good catch. Her own parents had been delighted, first with the marriage, then the birth of their grandson three months ago.
Randy’s mom had also been thrilled with the baby, though less so with Kary herself. The young wife had tried to win her mother-in-law’s respect, but the most to be achieved was apparently a grudging toleration. All imperfections, both real and imagined, were sharply commented on.
Unfortunately, Randy’s parents were far more forgiving of their son’s imperfections. Kary had tried to enlist Mrs. Davis’ help in ending Randy’s affair with his blonde secretary. Since the company was owned by Randy’s father, terminating her son’s mistress and urging him to remain faithful to his new bride would have been fairly simple. Instead, Mrs. Davis had urged Kary to be less “judgmental” and attend more to her home and new baby.
For his own part, Randy had denied the affair. Since their marriage day, in fact, he’d bitterly refuted any suspected transgressions, though Kary knew some to be true. A friend of hers had actually seen Randy the year before leaving a bar with some hussy in tight blue jeans, black boots, and a garish green stone on a silver necklace. But when confronted, Randy would only smile and laugh, walking away with a little more swagger in his step.
If Kary was lucky, that is. One day, growing tired of his wife’s “carping and delusions,” Randy had finally slapped her across the face, ending all discussion of the matter.
So that’s the way it was. Yet Kary was determined to make the best of it, for the sake of her new son, if nothing else.
This Sunday morning was part of that. Randy and Kary would be attending services with their new baby for the first time, the very picture of a happy, idyllic southern family. Her in-laws would be sitting beside them, the blonde mistress smirking in a rear pew.
Crossing into the nursery, Kary leaned over the bassinet, cooing at young Kyle. Burping in reply, the infant eagerly waved stubby hands and legs. For her own part, Kary would have been delighted with a healthy baby, no matter what the gender, yet Randy had felt it some kind of validation of his manhood to produce a son. Forcing down her sudden irritation, Kary turned away, preparing a bottle on the counter.
Behind Kary, on the far wall, a picture crashed to the floor. Heart leaping to her throat, the young mother spun about, lunging at the bassinet. But the mishap had been harmless, young Kyle unaffected, still gurgling and smiling. The only casualty was the broken picture.
But what on earth? Bending down, Kary examined the picture. Not only had it inexplicably fallen to the floor, but the glass had completely shattered, almost as if someone had struck it. But no one else had been in the room.
And the smooth black rock, sitting on the dresser. The one that Randy found in the woods last week, claiming it would make a fine paperweight, then had carelessly left in the baby’s room. Had it actually pulsed? No, she must have imagined it.
“What’s going on?” Bursting through the door, in his best Sunday suit, Randy glowered down at his bride. “How’d you break that picture?”
“Careless, I guess.” Kary smiled. “I’m sorry, dear.”
Rolling his eyes, Randy glanced at this watch. “Come on. Let’s not keep Mom and Dad waiting.”
“Of course. We’ll be right along.”
With a final shake of his head, Randy withdrew.
Thoughtfully, Kary stood, leaning once again over her son. Giggling, young Kyle focused on her right earring, reaching out a chubby hand. Though not actually touching it, the new mother felt a tugging on her ear, almost as if her son somehow had the power to yank the earring from afar.
Snatching him up, Kary attended church clutching the boy tightly to her chest, husband on one side, mother-in-law on the other, desperately trying to dispel the dark sense of foreboding smothering her entire existence.
You have just finished the first book in
The Cross-Worlds Coven Series
The adventure continues in book two,
Earth Fire
Phil Stern is a former radio talk show host who splits his time between New York and Florida.
For more on The Cross-Worlds Coven Series or the author’s other works, please visit
www.philstern.com
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