Bound In Blood (The Adams' Witch Series Book 1) (11 page)

“I know—”

“Cannot you ask your father to excuse him?”

“I tried, but he is the magistrate and this is what he wishes.”

Isabella stumbled through her words, grasping for a different solution. “Might he ask someone else?”

“He is asking everyone. Those who do not help will be considered suspicious.”

Isabella staggered backward, dropped the flowers from her hands, and almost fell when her foot caught the rock on the side of the door. Thomas reached out to steady her.

“You do not understand what it has been like here. Mother Shipton…” Her words dissolved into a choked sob.

“What of Mrs. Shipton?”

Isabella’s words poured from her mouth like a gushing stream. “I think she is a witch. I dreamt of her. A nightmare. She bid me come to her in the woods. She stood by a fire, singing incantations. Then, she turned to me and said, 'I see you.’ Her eyes like fire.” Isabella finished breathless, but upon seeing the doubt in his eyes, she started again. “And you know she is a medicine woman. She mixes herbs and plants, and cures the ailments of others. Does not that ability recommend her?”

“If that were true, every woman would be thought a witch. Has not your mother taught you something of medicine?”

“But of course.” Isabella took a steadying breath. “Pray, listen, Thomas. Her knowledge is great. She has powers.”

“My father does not think—”

Isabella reached out and grabbed his wrist. “That is not the worst part! This morning, I woke up to find a piece of parchment on my desk that I did not write. The words are not mine. It was the song that came from her lips.”

Thomas’ eyes burned into hers. His arms went rigid and she dropped him from her grasp. “What has become of the parchment?” he asked.

“I do not know. I believe my father has got rid of it.”

His shoulders sagged. “Good. That is exactly what I would have done.” He reached for her hand and then let it drop in the space between them. “Do not speak of this to anybody."

Isabella shook her head. “I would not.”

Thomas gazed out at the road and breathed in deep. “My father does not believe Mrs. Shipton to be a witch. Others share your fear though. Mrs. Crawford was caught stealing today.”

Isabella’s mouth fell open. “Who caught her?”

“No one. ‘Tis said that Mrs. Owens paid a visit to Mother Shipton and within the half-hour, Mrs. Crawford came running down the street, singing.”

“Singing?” Isabella stared at Thomas, refusal darkening her eyes.

“Yes, I was right there to see. She repeated this song over and over. ‘I stole my neighbors’ smock and petticoat, I am a thief and here I show it.'”

“Might it be Mrs. Crawford is unwell?”

“I am sure she is. However, that is of no matter. She is locked in the stocks as we speak.” Thomas dug his foot into the earth, his face long and drawn. “‘Tis not the worst of the news. All the townspeople believe Mrs. Shipton is the reason for our misfortunes. The crops failing. The stricken children. I agree that she has powers, Isabella. We all know that. All but my father, the magistrate. Who has not gone to her for medicines and such? And why else would Mrs. Crawford admit to stealing the petticoat, if she indeed did steal it?”

“Perhaps Mrs. Crawford felt guilt. She wanted penance.”

“You were not there to see. Mrs. Crawford wore a strange expression as if she was not trying to do what she did.” Thomas mimicked the townswoman, staring at his arms, his jaw slack and eyes full of wonder. “She kept looking at her legs and arms like she could not understand why they moved. And all the while, she was singing that song. Everyone from town is in an uproar because of it. They are all scared.”

“What is the magistrate going to do?”

Thomas’ hands clenched into fists. “Nothing! He believes it not.”

“Shh,” Isabella silenced him. She held her hand aloft.

The floorboards creaked inside.

“Be careful of her,” Thomas whispered.

The door opened and Mr. Lynne stepped out.

Isabella bowed to Thomas. “Here is my father now, Mr. Ludington.”

“Thank you, Miss Lynne.” Thomas bowed back and then straightened his jacket as Mr. Lynne approached them.

Isabella excused herself. She entered the house, her head hung low over her shoulders. Her father would not be pleased when he came in.

“Isabella,” her mother called. “I wish to speak with you.”

She came into the hall, her hands still around the bonnet, twisting and untwisting the ties. “Of course, Mother.”

Mrs. Lynne set aside her sewing. “Who is here?”

She could feel her heartbeat as her mother’s eyes bore into her. “Thomas Ludington.”

A flint of recognition crossed her face. “I need you to tell me what they are speaking of.”

“I am sure I do not know.”

Mrs. Lynne stood, her hands quivering as she gestured to her daughter. “Do not lie to me. You have been seeing him, without chaperone, and in these dark times.” Her mother stepped in front of her, face red and shaking. “You will bring suspicion down on your whole family!”

Mrs. Lynne raised her hand and struck her daughter’s face with trembling fingers.

Isabella’s own hands flew to her cheek as the pain swelled. Tears dripped from her mother’s eyes as she turned, chin up, and walked steady to her sewing.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Sarah

“Tell me you didn’t know. Just tell me you didn’t know.”

The drive over here had been one heck of a mental whiplash. First, I was sure Drake knew all along and was trying to make it up to me by liking me. As crazy as that sounds. Then, I was sure he didn’t know anything and that his grandfather was a lying, skuzzy old geezer.

Drake swayed on the doorstep of his house, one hand still on the doorknob, the other wiping sleep from his eyes. His shirt was off and his chest was etched in the glow of the moon. “Sarah?”

I held my lips in a tight line, pushing the pain deeper inside. My fingers still pinched the key to the Escalade so hard I was getting a cramp. “Please tell me you didn’t know.”

His sandy hair stuck up in all directions. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

A bang sounded from upstairs and Drake looked worryingly back inside the house. “It’s okay, Grandpa,” he yelled.

Then, he stepped out onto the porch and shut the door. His eyes flicked to the second story again as he let out a sigh before turning toward me.

Anger ticked away inside. Heat in my veins spread through my entire body, waiting to ignite. “Your grandfather killed my father.”

His eyes narrowed. “What?”

“Your grandfather killed my father,” I repeated, trying to keep myself together.

“I heard you. I just don’t think you know what you’re talking about.”

Despite the fact I willed myself to keep the tears in, they spilled over, running down my face. “It’s true. Rose told me.”

“But, you said your dad had a heart attack.”

I stepped away from Drake’s reaching hand. “Apparently, a heart attack brought on by the fact that your grandfather was about to run him over.”

Drake’s mouth pursed. He shook his head from side to side and his eyes clouded over. “That’s ridiculous. I would’ve heard about it.”

“Ridiculous? You think this is ridiculous? What happened—?”

“There’s only one way to find out
what happened
.”

“Exactly.” I pushed Drake out of the way and marched toward the stairs. “Where’s your—?”

Drake grabbed my hand and held it. His grip tightened around my wrist when I tried to pull away. “No. Not happening. My grandpa’s sick. I’m not taking this to him if it's bullshit.”

I hesitated, looking back at the porch stairs and then to Drake again. His eyes had the same apprehension in them when he floated above me at the Wiccan meeting. His bare chest expanded to capacity every time he took a breath.

“But Rose told me.”

My voice came out small, certainly not boiling over in rage anymore. He dropped my arm and sat on the step, head in his hands.

“Why wouldn’t she tell
me
? Why wouldn’t my grandfather have told
me
?”

“Nobody knew I existed,” I offered.

The muscles in his back pulled taut at that explanation.

“They probably thought everything was all over. Done with. Why upset you?”

He looked up, eyebrows drawn together. The muscles in his shoulders and arms thick and rigid. “So why are
you
telling me?”

“Because I have to know.”

***

I pulled into a parking spot in front of the Adams Police Station, a dinky one-story concrete box with barely any windows. I looked at Drake sitting in the passenger seat. “This is the best you came up with?”

“They’ll have records on everything. You want to know what really happened to your dad? This is where we start.”

Drake hopped out of the Escalade and continued to the building door and through it before I even turned off the ignition.
Someone wound him up tight
, I thought.

Oh yeah, that was me.

I mimicked him, except I slammed the door much harder than he did.

A voice rang through the station as I entered. “Hey, Rudy, get me the Perkins-Connors file from the back. ‘94, isn’t that right, Connors?"

Drake turned to me and I nodded. “That’s right, Pauly,” he said.

The tag stuck out of the shirt he hastily threw on after he got his bright idea to come down here in the middle of the night.

The tall, wiry guy playfully punched Drake in the arm. “It’s Officer Pike now, Connors.”

Drake smirked. “Yeah, yeah.”

I strode up to them, searing my eyes into Drake’s.

“Hey, hey, what do we have here?” Officer Pike asked.

“Pauly, this is Sarah
Perkins.
”

The police officer averted his eyes and searched the back for Rudy. An older, rounder cop came around the corner. Pauly took the manila folder from the officer, opened the folder up and looked through the contents. “Yeah, didn’t even know this happened, 'cept I happened to run across it one day and the name caught my eye.”

He took a few papers out of the folder and placed them upside down on the counter.

“What are—?” I started to ask.

“Pictures,” Drake snapped.

I took a step back, knocked out of whack by his anger.

The next second, he turned to smile at Pauly. “Thanks for this man.” Drake bounced the folder off the edge of the counter and then walked toward the little sitting area, which boasted orange upholstered chairs with ripped seams and a fake fern plant. "Listen, before we open this—”

“Just give me the damn folder, Drake.”

I ripped it from his hands and plopped down in one of the faded chairs. This whole town needed to be freaking medicated.

“Hey,” Drake said, placing his palm on top of the folder as I tried to open it. He waited until I lifted my gaze to his. “I just wanted to say, whatever is in here, I swear I didn’t know about it.” He took his hand away, his eyes searching for something in mine. “And whatever
is
in there, won’t bring him back either.”

I rolled my eyes and opened the manila folder. It only took a minute to read through the report. The coroner was clear, patient had a heart attack and lost consciousness before the vehicle struck him. Could have happened seconds or hours after.

I sighed, relieved, but still hurt as my heart tore at the seams. I flipped through the other reports, just grazing them, when a half sheet of paper fluttered to the ground.

Drake took the folder. “I’m sorry, Sarah, but this—”

“Oh my god.”

My whole body convulsed as I stared down at the paper lying on the floor. A sketch on cloudy paper rested among the dirty, white-speckled linoleum tiles.

The lightning symbol with the circle.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Isabella

1639

Mr. Lynne returned to the house with Thomas in tow. The younger man nodded at Isabella, as was polite, and then kept his eyes to the floor. Mr. Lynne glanced at his daughter too and then found his wife still sitting by the hearth with her sewing.

Mr. Lynne looked as if he knew not what to do. Every time his eyes slid over Isabella, she cocked her head to the side, pretending to look at the far wall so she could hide her face. His eyes were sharp and cold as icicles as they bore into the room.

Isabella caught a tiny movement from Thomas as she stared at the wall. The young man cleared his throat. “Sir, my father is waiting…” Mr. Lynne’s heavy sigh interrupted him and the loud knock of his work boots on the wood floors silenced the friendly command.