Bound In Blood (The Adams' Witch Series Book 1) (10 page)

A tap on my shoulder made me whirl around to find Courtney smiling. The cloak gone, shed somewhere in the Wiccan magic world, the high priestess almost looked normal.

“Hey, I wanted to come over and introduce myself.” Her voice was so much softer than it sounded from within the circle. I wouldn’t even recognize the two voices as coming from the same person. “I’m Courtney.”

“I’m Sarah.” I tugged on Drake’s shirt and took a step toward the truck.

Courtney kept talking. “I’ve seen you around, just haven’t had the chance yet to say hi. You’re staying with Rose, aren’t you? She’s such a sweet woman.”

I peeked at Drake who hadn’t budged an inch.

Her eyebrows rose. “Are you okay by the way?”

I crossed my arms in front of me. “Yeah. Fine.”

“Sometimes the energy in a circle can be too much for newbs.” Courtney shrugged. “But Jennie shouldn’t have acted that way. She’s new here. She doesn’t get how we do things yet.”

“Yeah, you better watch her,” Drake said. “She’s strange. She said something to Sarah earlier today, too, when we were at the festival.”

Courtney looked over her shoulder. “I’ll keep my eye on her.”

I dropped my arms and rejoined Drake. Despite her eccentric behavior, and the fact that she practiced witchcraft, I actually liked Courtney. Could’ve even been friends with her even.

She stayed a while and talked, eager to answer my long list of questions. When I asked if she did magic, the witch just smiled and said, “Some may call it that. We cast spells during rituals, usually calling on a certain god or goddess to help bring about physical changes in our world. We like to think of Wicca as working with nature though, not particularly magic."

I liked that idea better than the vision I had stuck in my head from all those scary movies like “The Craft”. “Do you know about the history of witchcraft? Like, did convicted witches really get burned at the stake?”

“Actually, that’s a common misconception. The majority of accused women were hung. There are only a few infamous cases of witches being burned. Some of them just happened to be in this village. Were you at the opening night ceremony?"

“Yes.”

Courtney leaned in closer, her smile growing. “That was the reenactment of one of
our
ancestors. She actually
burned
on a stake.”

My jaw dropped. A nervous twinge fluttered in my stomach. “Wait. A reenactment? I thought you guys were just burning some doll that represented fear of witches and witchcraft.”

The witch shook her head. “Nope. She represented one of the witches that burned here.”

I stared to where the circle had been. The candles were blown out immediately afterward and now the clearing was as dark as the night sky had become. Now, those that drove up here, started turning their car lights on. Of course, I just happened to be looking directly at one when the light gleamed, effectively piercing my eye.

I shielded my face and blinked. The lights caught on something else shiny. I blinked a few more times to return my sight back to normal and realized the shiny something hung around Marlene’s neck. It was the symbol from my father’s journal.

“What is that symbol I keep seeing?” I asked, gesturing toward Marlene.

She followed my gaze but shook her head. “What symbol?”

“It has like a jagged line, a lightning bolt, maybe, with a circle around it.”

Courtney’s eyes darkened, as if she stared out into an oncoming storm. “No one would wear that here.”

“What is it?”

She blinked rapidly then smiled. “It’s a common misconception. We work with nature. It’s not particularly magic.”

“You said that already. The symbol. What’s that symbol mean?” I pointed again to Marlene’s neck.

“What symbol?”

“The one with the jagged line—”

“Oh,” Courtney laughed, “that one. It’s just a symbol. Means nothing really.”

“But you—”

“Are you ready to go?” Drake laid his hand at the small of my back.

I jumped at his touch. Both their faces were on full blast like a circus clown.

This town was so weird.
Twilight Zone
mixed with
Leave it to Beaver
and everyone had Botox smiles. The forest could catch fire around us and I was convinced people would still be smiling.

Jennie watched Drake and I as we left the clearing. She motioned for me to follow her to a spot behind a small car. When I didn’t move toward her, she waved at me.

Yeah. Right.

“Goodbye, Sarah,” Courtney shouted. “I hope to see you again.”

The truck lurched and bounced on the dirt road back to the highway. Pete and the others stayed. They shook their heads and waved Drake away, all while eyeing me and sending curious glances my way.

“Drake, if I told you something, would you think I was weird?”

“Probably. If it was something weird.”

He smiled over at me. I didn’t return it.

I stared out the window as the forest broke and the concrete of the road soldiered through it. “There was a symbol in my dad’s journal.”

“Uh huh,” Drake urged.

“It caught my eye and then tonight, at the meeting, I saw that same symbol. It scared me…almost.”

He didn’t speak at first and I watched as the old highway with vein-like cracks split the cement travelled beneath us.

“Hey,” he said, peeling my fingers off the upholstery of the truck. “I’m sure it’s nothing. I just don’t think you’re used to all this…stuff. It’s getting to you.”

I didn’t think that was all of it, but I also didn’t want him to think I was a baby. “Maybe.”

“Why don’t you talk to your mom about it?”

I looked over at him incredulously
.

He laughed. “Okay, well, talk to Rose.”

That sounded like a much sounder plan. “Maybe I will.”

***

Rose sat at the dining room table, a newspaper spread out before her. One of the nasty coffees steamed from a mug she cupped in her hands. “No festival duties tonight?” I asked.

“None tonight.”

“Great. I was hoping we could talk about my dad.”

The steam curled up and around Rose’s face, misting her in white shadows. “What don’t you know?”

“Everything.”

“Hmm,” she snickered, “I always thought your mom was kind of a bitch.”

My mouth dropped and a laugh spilled out. Soon, both of us were laughing so hard there were tears in the corners of our eyes.

I pulled out a chair across from Aunt Rose and sat. “I don’t know why she doesn’t want me to know.”

Rose took a sip of her coffee and set it down again. "Probably because she feels threatened. David was such a great person. It was too bad about the accident.”

Rose peeled up the corner of the paper and started to turn the page.

“Accident? I thought he had a heart attack.”

Rose dropped the page, eyes glossing over. “Is that what they deemed it?” She shook her head, the black liquid from the cup rippling her reflection. “Then it was because of the accident he had a heart attack.”

I sat back in the chair. “My mom didn’t tell me.”

“She didn’t tell me either.” Rose stared down at the same article, eyes moving across the words.

“What was the accident?”

Rose spoke in a controlled monotone, relaying everything she knew, which wasn’t much.

My mind whirred. Pictures of scenes I never saw flashed in and out of my mind like the shutter of a camera. Every detail Rose gave me, I relived it, a ghost next to my father as he lived out his last seconds.

No. It couldn’t be like that.

“Do you think I could see your father’s journal?” Rose asked.

I nodded and pointed upstairs, my body robotic. “In my room.”

Rose’s head bowed and hung over. Her shoulders shook and shining tears dripped one-by-one off the end of her nose.

I grabbed her hand. “Is there something else?”

“Your mom wouldn’t let me do anything. She came up here, took over, and had his body out of Adams so fast I didn’t even know what happened. I was still in shock." Her choked words melted to sobs. “I couldn’t even go to the funeral I was in such a state.”

My heart pounded in my chest with all the fury I’d buried deep. Anger wouldn’t do either one of us any good though. “I read some of his journal entries where he talks about you." I patted the old woman’s hand. “He loved you very much.”

Rose’s head cocked up. “You read it?”

“Some of it. I just got up the nerve to today.”

Rose grabbed my hands and squeezed them. “Can I read it first?”

My aunt’s face crumpled all over again though, balled up like a paper bag, tears streaming out. One second scared or jealous or some other mixed up emotion, and another, alone. Maybe the inability to understand my feelings was a passed down trait. That made me less psychotic, didn’t it?

“Sure, Aunt Rose. You can read it.”

She reached out and I went willingly into her arms, a weight lifting and flying from my heart. I hugged someone my father loved.

“Thank you, honey. Thank you,” she said.

I should be the one thanking her. This was the first time I’d ever felt a sliver of home.

She gave me one last squeeze and we broke away, each of us rubbing our eyes with the backs of our hands. I ran to my room. The journal lay on the bed, open to the place where the symbol was drawn into it.

Rose’s steps echoed in the stairway. I couldn’t help myself. I read the passage next to the symbol.
Today I found this painted on the library floor. Auntie Rose kneeled in the middle of it and I thought she was having a seizure because she shook violently. As soon as I stepped into the chalked-in circle though, she stopped and scolded me for coming into the library. I hope she’s not sick. Ever since her neighbor died in that car accident, I think she’s been losing touch with reality.

“There you are dear. Did you find it?”

I turned. My aunt’s waiting hand was stretched out before me. I handed the journal over to her, my heart breaking to do it. But she’d loved and lost where I’d only lost. Sure, I loved the idea of my father, but I’d never known him.

I couldn’t believe I’d been here a couple days already and no one had told me about the accident. Not even Drake.

Rose started to turn away, but I stopped her. “I need to talk to him.”

“I think that’s a great idea, Sarah.”

“Why didn’t
he
tell me what happened?”

Rose clasped the journal to her chest. “It’s possible he may not even know. Don’t be too harsh on him now.”

I clenched my hands at my sides. “His grandfather killed someone. Why wouldn’t he know?”

CHAPTER TEN

Isabella

1639

Isabella skirted the crop line that ran along the road with a handful of purple and yellow wild flowers she picked for her mother. The breeze of the evening air cooled her face. She took her bonnet off and held on to the tie as it trailed behind. Leaning her head back, she watched as the first stars sparkled in the dark blue measureless sky that would soon be turning black.

When she woke earlier, her mother released her from her duties for the day and begged her to stay outside, to breathe in the fresh air, and to not think of evil doings. The fresh air revived her, but it was the thinking of evil she could not contain. It surrounded her, engulfed her into a never-ending nightmare. Every cry of the bird or chirping insect started her heart thumping as if the creatures of the night waited for her wherever she walked. She peeked behind every tree and bush, fearful of what lay ahead.

The sun descended further, the stars bright now in the sky. Isabella’s steps quickened as she retreated to the house. She passed the edge of the barn and saw a figure walking up the dirt path. He was yet too far away to identify.

As she turned to open the cottage door, the man waved, motioning for her to stop.

Isabella’s heart sped. It was Thomas. She could tell by his wide-brimmed hat and breeches.

She stared at the ground, twisting her black shoes into the soil while she waited. Her cheeks burned despite the cool breeze.

“Good day, Isabella.”

“Good day, Sir.”

It was seeing him outside, and not in the sanctity of the barn that caused her formal greeting. She slipped into it as normal, like when they greeted one another on Sunday, or out on the town streets.

She looked up when he did not speak. His face drawn and grave, almost disappointed. “I must talk with your father.”

“What is it?”

Thomas shoved his fingers into his breeches and sighed. “My father wants his help with the search parties.”

Isabella gasped and shook her head. “The search parties? He will not like to, Thomas.”