Bound In Blood (The Adams' Witch Series Book 1) (20 page)

BOOK: Bound In Blood (The Adams' Witch Series Book 1)
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The house was filled with antiques—ceramic knickknacks, metal plates, country paintings, doilies—the epitome of an old person’s house and it was all accentuated with dark wood. Dark wood door frames. Dark wood floors. Dark wood cabinets and molding. So dark inside, it could’ve been nighttime. She’d missed all this when she’d left in a hurry.

The old man snickered. “I heard you had a rough night the other night. I hope you’re feeling better.”

“I am,” I lied, wondering if Drake invented a story about me sleeping over or used the truth.

Mr. Connors turned and walked off toward the living room straight ahead. “Drake’s not here. I do expect him any moment though.”

My heart pulsed in my chest. “Oh. Well, I can come back if you want.” I half-hoped he’d say yes.

“No, no, that’s okay. I figured you would be coming by to talk to me sooner or later.”

I didn’t reply and the air settled in heavy now. I shut the front door and the darkness swallowed me in it as I made my way through the house.

The wobbly old man used his cane to steady himself as he lowered into an armchair. “I was just wondering when you’d come.” He sighed as his backside finally landed on the cushion of the chair and then he propped his glasses further up on his nose. “Have a seat.”

I sat on a blue and white plaid sofa. Drake’s grandfather started right up. The sides of his eyes etched in years of wisdom, in smiles and frowns.

“It is hard when we lose loved ones. I lost my wife you know, many years ago. Drake was a toddler.” He motioned toward the mantle. Pictures lined up across the jutting stone and a huge ivory canvas crowned everything. “And my son and daughter-in-law. Drake’s parents. I’m sure he told you.”

I nodded. “I am sorry for your losses.” The extra s choked me up.

“As I’m sorry for yours. And whatever part I may have played in it.”

I held my hands together in front of me. “That’s exactly what I want to ask you about.”

“Well, ask away.”

I figured a straightforward question was the best way to go about it. Like a Band-Aid. One quick swipe and I would have my answer. “Did you kill my father?”

He didn’t seem surprised or taken aback. He tapped his cane a couple times and said, “You know, I’ve been asking Drake to bring you over here since he told me who you were and who you were related to. This was back even before he knew about…this.”

“He says you’re too sick to see anybody.”

Mr. Connors’ yellow-tinged eyes stared at the wall behind me. “Too sick? I guess you can call it that.” He chuckled a little, the amusing tinge stuck in his phlegm-filled throat. A half-laugh, half-cough filled the small sitting room. “I don’t know how much detail I can give you.”

“Did the cops ask you not to say anything?”

The old man waved his vein-rippled hand, tossing the words aside. “No. It’s an old man’s memory my dear. I fear memory has left me with only the absolute worst moments of my life.” He made a hacking sound again and brought out a folded blue handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his mouth. “I can tell you for sure that I was not the one that killed your father.”

“He was dead already then?”

“Yes.”

The corners of my eyes moistened. Than it is like I thought. Something much worse happened. I had hoped, maybe, that I was tormenting myself, jumping to awful conclusions. Now I know for sure. “Thank you.” I wiped the tears away with my fingers. "This might sound strange, Mr. Connors, but do you know if anyone else may have killed my father?”

“I’m afraid I can’t answer that.”

“Of course,” I said. Stupid. What was he? Psychic?

“No, I mean, I
can’t
answer that.”

I nodded, my mind a mixture and jumble of sporadic thoughts, and lifted my eyes away from Mr. Connors. His eyes were too sad to look at for too long.

I took stock of the room around me again, studying the fireplace photos more closely. There was one with Drake in a graduation cap and gown, standing in between two very happy people. A man and a woman. Drake’s parents, I guessed, glowed with pride. The picture stuck out to me as a beacon, and I wondered if Cici would make time to come to my own graduation next year.

Up above that, on the canvas, was a family tree. A huge, bold tree painted on it, with a thick brown trunk and gnarly sprouting branches holding generation after generation’s names. There weren’t that many branches actually for going back so many years. It must have been only immediate family. No cousins or aunts and uncles cluttered it up. There were places ready and waiting for the next generation. Drake’s name was there, waiting for his wife and child.

I mentally imagined my own. Mine branched even less than his. I could only put four people on there that I knew of. My mom, my dad, myself, and Dad’s aunt on a little off shoot branch that curled up and around. Only four people. “Sir, I need to ask you one more question. Do you know anything about a weird Wiccan symbol? I keep seeing it everywhere.”

Mr. Connors’ fingertips curled on the arm of the chair, the fabric gathering beneath him. “An S?”

“No. A lightning bolt with a circle around it.”

“I can’t say—”

The front door creaked as it swung open on its hinges. Mr. Connors stopped mid-sentence. Footsteps plotted a course for the living room and Drake moved into view, his back facing me as he walked up to his grandfather and kissed his forehead.

“Did you have a good time at the fair?”

“Hey Pops. Yeah everything was good.” He squeezed the older man’s hand.

Mr. Connors motioned to me. “Don’t be rude. Say hello to your friend.”

Drake turned and his face immediately fell. “What are you doing here?”

“I—”

“Now you calm down boy, you hear? This nice young lady came over here looking for you. Which you should be grateful for by the way. She’s quite pretty. And she’s had to sit here and listen to the ramblings of an old man while you sat around causing a raucous with your friends.”

Drake turned and smiled at his grandfather. “A raucous, Pops?”

The old man hacked and laughed again. Drake stood over him, hovering while Mr. Connors tried to wave him away. The episode didn’t last very long and I found myself laughing at the sight of the two of them.

“What?” Drake asked.

“She’s laughing at you. You act like I’m a piece of fine porcelain china. Didn’t I tell you? You aren’t getting spit when I die. There’s nothing to give.” He winked at me. “So why do you keep trying to ensure your trust fund?”

Drake walked away and plopped down next to me, my shoulders still heaved with silent giggles. “So you finally met her, huh Grandpa?”

“Yes, and she’s a heck of a lot prettier than you made her out to be.”

Drake chose to ignore him and stared at me with wide eyes. “Did you guys talk?”

I reached out and put my hand on Drake’s leg and nodded.

Drake’s grandfather said, “I guess that’s what two human beings do with each other when their mouths open and sounds come out."

Drake shook his head. “I love you, Pops.”

“I love you too, Drake. Now don’t sit around here wasting time talking to an old man, take her out.” He winked at me and grabbed a remote from the table beside him and turned on the television sitting in the back corner of the room. When Drake didn’t move, he wiggled his fingers at him, spurring us into motion.

Drake laughed and helped me to my feet.

“He’s great,” I said.

Passing once again through the house, seeing all the relics and family heirlooms, I realized something. Things are just things unless they’re attached to people
.
This whole house was filled with history. What ultimately mattered though, was people like Drake's grandfather. They had history all bound up in them. They practically lived it. They knew the stories, we didn’t.

If I had to be completely honest with myself, I’d realize Drake and his grandfather went through a hell of a lot more than me. Drake lost both his parents and his grandmother already. Yeah, so I lost my dad. Big deal. I didn’t even know him. Right now, he was just some spot on my family tree. That didn’t mean I couldn’t mourn him and shouldn’t mourn him. It didn’t even mean I couldn’t feel bad about not knowing him, but what really mattered?

Drake opened the door and I peered outside. Jennie was gone. She probably freaked when Drake pulled in and decided to hoof it.

“Yeah. I told you he was pretty great.”

“I never meant to say he wasn’t. I just had to know.”

“I get that. Well, I get that now.” He pointed back inside the house. “He made me see it.”

“He’s a smart man.”

He stopped me as we stepped off the porch steps. “So where’s Jennie?”

I pointed to the SUV. “She was there.”

Drake looked over. “She wasn’t when I pulled in.”

“I don’t know. I left her there when I went in the house. I figured you would never forgive me if both of us went in to talk to your grandfather.”

He kicked at the pebble-strewn driveway. “I’m sorry we fought.”

I took a step toward him. “Yeah, me too.”

“I don’t think you should be seeing Jennie,” he said as I slid my arms around him, resting them on his shoulder blades.

“Why?”

“Because Courtney said she’s not a good witch.”

I stared back at him, eyes a blinking cursor on a computer screen.

“I mean literally, she’s not a
good
witch. She does black magic.”

“Funny. That’s what Jennie says about Courtney and her little coven.”

He looped his hands around my hips. “I grew up with Courtney and those guys. They don’t do that kind of stuff.”

“Animal sacrifices?”

“Animal sacrifices? Ha. That’s a good one. I think Jennie’s watched too many scary movies.”

“I don’t know, Drake. Things aren’t adding up.”

“You’re still worried about the symbol?”

“Yes. Jennie thinks my life is in danger. Your grandpa said he didn’t kill my dad, he was already dead. I don’t believe that heart attack crap. He was young."

Drake nodded. “I admit, it’s weird. But just weird, not life threateningly weird.”

“Will you help me figure out what’s going on then?”

“Help you figure out who the crazy person is? In the town that I love? Yeah. Sure. Sounds like fun.”

“I see where you get your humor now. And thanks, for saying you’ll help.”

 

***

We couldn’t agree on a suspect list as we sat in a far corner booth in the worst diner in town. Drake thought it would be the best place to meet because no one would be there to overhear our conversation.

I wrote down names and Drake went through and crossed them off, relying on his true detective skills. “Please, I was in Kindergarten with her” and “Boy Scouts with this one.” The one he crossed out until you couldn’t see the loops of my writing underneath it, was Rose.

“No way.”

“Jennie thinks she’s a witch.”

Drake scribbled down Jennie’s name at the top of the list. “For starters, her name goes here. No way is Rose a witch. You have no idea who she even is. You just met her. You have no idea who all of these people are,” he said, scanning his finger down the list.

“Maybe that’s why I can see them more objectively.” I folded up the paper and put it in my pocket.

Drake took a bite of his burger and then let the processed meat drop back on his plate. His face mashed together as he chewed. “Abigail’s is so much better.”

“Spies can’t afford to be seen.” A light bulb went off in my head like a corny cartoon. “…Oh my god, I’ve got it. We’ll spy on a Wiccan meeting. That’s how we’ll find out who’s bad and who isn’t.”

He smirked. “Who wants to kill you and who doesn’t?”

“Exactly.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

 

 

Isabella

1639

 

“Don’t do this to me John!”

A cry from the closed goal door carried through the wood and down into the dark interior. The door banged open and a bundle bounced off the stairs and rolled down, ending in a contorted heap at the bottom.

The judge stuck his head in and stared straight at his son. “Get away from her.”

Thomas shuffled away from Isabella and pointed at the tangle of clothing. “Who is that?”

Mr. Ludington’s chin rose in the air. “Mrs. Shipton.”

“But you—”

“Get up here now boy! Away from that witch!”

Isabella reached for Thomas, but he slapped her hand away. “Do not touch me.”

She looked once again to the mess of skirts and cried out. “Do not leave me in here with her. You know what she is. Please!”

Thomas stood and strode over to the steps. His father patted his back as the shaft of light emptied, leaving two women—two convicted witches—in the dank cell.

Mrs. Shipton stirred. She groaned and lifted herself up to a sitting position, rubbing her head and shoulders. The waning candle caught her eye and then her stare moved upward to Isabella’s face. “I warned you. You did not listen."

BOOK: Bound In Blood (The Adams' Witch Series Book 1)
13.53Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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