Howl (Witches & Warlocks Book 4) (2 page)

People pass by the coffin, say their last goodbye, pull roses from the flower arrangements to take home with them. This whole deception thing is starting to wear on me. I turn on my heel and walk away, trailing Noah and my mother behind. She catches up, a sputtering mess of apologies and explanations.

I hold up my hand and smile. “Mom. I knew. Don’t worry. I’m OK. You don’t need to explain.” I don’t want to get into it with her. Not here.

Not anywhere really.

But as she smiles and tries to get one last apology out, I realize that’s not true either. I most definitely am going to want her to explain. I want to know how much she knows about my birth parents. How much she knows about what I am. What Noah is.

I mean, does my mom know that I’m a witch? That my birth parents were witches? Did she know that Becca’s a witch? Dear God, did she know about all the spells Becca had on me to keep me silent?

Suddenly, I’m not so OK anymore. Suddenly, I’m a little mad. A little upset. Here I thought I was the one keeping the truth from my parents, that finally, after a lifetime of not knowing, of not understanding what I am, that I finally was the one with all the information. Turns out, once again, everyone seems to know more than me.

As we climb back into the limo, my mind is going a million miles an hour. How do I find out what my mom and dad know without coming right out and telling them what I know?

Well, for one, I’ll start by letting them apologize to me about the bomb they think Mr. Howard dropped in the limo. I’ll listen instead of talk. I’ll try to hear all the things they don’t say. See if I can piece together what they know and what they don’t.

But then what?

I think there’s a lot of genealogy books in the library at Windsor Manor. A lot of books on the history of witches. Hell, I think there’s a wealth of information there on
all
the supernatural species. I think, rather than try and have an awkward confrontation with my parents, the people who raised me, the people who gave me the happiest childhood of anyone I’ve ever known, I think I’ll just go to the library and do a little research.

I’m supposed to an all-powerful, badass witch, right? And if knowledge is power and I’m lacking knowledge, then I’m not really doing a very good job at the whole ‘all-powerful’ part, now am I?

The limo pulls into the parking lot of the funeral home and we all climb out, share a few more hugs, a few kind words. My mom looks deep into my eyes, so much fear in her own. I smile and hug her twice.

“It’s OK, mom,” I say, my words a whisper moving in her hair. “I knew. And I don’t care.” I say it because it’s mostly true and she squeezes me tight.

“You are our little girl. Always have been, always will be.”

I search her eyes when we pull apart, looking to see how much she really knows despite having just said I don’t care. All I see is pride. And tears. My dad pulls me in for a hug, wraps his bearish arms around both me and my mom, speaks words of love and comfort and family and togetherness. His scent makes me think of a million different bear hugs stretched out over the years and reasons.

Tired of the facade of grief, I turn down their offer of a late lunch and make them promise to call when they get back home. “I love you guys,” I say as they squeeze me extra tight and I mean it.

But as they walk towards their car, hand in hand, her head leaning into his shoulder, I can’t help but think about all the lies that have brought us to this point. And for the first time since I found out I was adopted, I find myself wondering about Tara and Malichi - the light witch and dark warlock whose love was powerful enough to cross the boundaries of their magic and make
me.

Chapter Two

Noah and I climb into his shiny new car and head back to my shiny new house.  After I discovered that Barnabe Withers — the witch king — was actually working with the vampire queen to breed vampire/witch hybrids with the sole intention of taking over the world, and then managing to kill both of them, something that should have been waaayyy above my pay grade, the witches decided that Noah and I deserved a reward of sorts. So, we both receive a monthly stipend that not only pays our bills, but allows us to actually buy things we want. You know, spend money without worrying about spending money. What a strange concept!

And so, we each got new cars and new places to live. An apartment for Noah and a house near the woods for me. We’re supposed to be busy figuring out what we want to do with our life. How we want to blend in with human society.

I think it’s safe to say that I don’t have a single clue what I want to do or how I’m going to blend in. How do you go back to normal after spending weeks as a trained assassin? A witch deployed to kill vampires? How do you go back to normal when nothing about the last few months even slightly registers on the normalcy scale?

I mean, I’m on my third living arrangement in not quite as many months and two of my three roommates have ended up dead. Or undead, as the case may be.

Noah pulls his shiny new car into the driveway next to my shiny new car and kills the ignition. “You gonna be OK?” he asks.

I nod and smile even though I’m not really sure if I believe it. That space between Noah’s eyes softens, it’s the look he gets when he’s reading all the things I’m not saying. “But really, Zoe. Are you gonna be OK?”

“I’m feeling a little numb is all. That was harder than I thought.”

Noah nods. “I can’t imagine.” Now he’s the one not saying everything he’s thinking. I know he wants to ask how I’m feeling about the little bomb Mr. Howard dropped.

“I don’t know what it means that Becca’s parents know I’m adopted,” I say before he can ask. “Maybe my parents told them when I was little and there’s nothing behind it. You know, just like two sets of parents keeping each other in the loop about their kids. Or, maybe Becca told them I was adopted and there’s all kinds of something behind it.” I sigh. “It’s just getting really tiresome not knowing who to trust. And now, maybe, I can’t even trust the people who raised me. The only people in my life I thought were outside of all this supernatural stuff…” I sigh again, really not ready to think too much about this.

“You can trust me,” Noah says, hope all over his handsome face.

I just smile in return, not ready to admit that when I say I don’t know who I can trust, he’s kind of included in that statement. He walks me to my door, pulls me in for a long kiss, and then watches as I put my keys in the lock and let myself in.

It’s kind of funny. Just last week, Noah and I lived together. And now we don’t. But if my life isn’t the prime example that a lot can happen in just the blink of an eye, I don’t know what is. I mean, last week, Becca was dead and Luke was alive and I thought Barnabe Withers was on my team.

I shudder a little. I think I finally understand that hunted look everyone gets when they say his name.

When we got word that we’d be getting a stipend from the witches to support ourselves, Noah sat me down and suggested that we get separate apartments. At first I thought it was because he didn’t love me as much as he said he did and needed some space. You know, for the extra girls he was going to bring home. But when he explained his reasons, I couldn’t help but smile.

He told me that since we didn’t actually get to do the whole dating and falling in love thing the right way, he wants to do it now. Give me a chance to learn who I am when I’m on my own, since, because of Becca, I’ve never really had a chance to just be me being me in my own space. Give us a chance to build this relationship the right way, with two strong people coming together, their own needs and personalities intact. It’s sweet, really, when you think about it.

Of course, on my worst nights, I stay up too late worrying that he had an ulterior motive for not wanting to live with me. It’s pretty safe to say I have trust issues. But, after a lifetime of lies, I think it’s kind of clear why I might not just hand my heart over to the first person who asks for it.

I stand just inside my front door and realize there’s nothing about coming home that actually feels like coming home. All my old stuff reminded me of either Becca or Luke and all the uncertainty and death that came with them. So, using a big hunk of this month’s stipend, I bought all new stuff. I’ve got a plush couch and great art and awesome lamps. The place looks amazing. It just doesn’t look like home. It will soon though, as soon as I finish decorating and put my mark on the place.

I also got a kitten. Mr. Twinklebottom, or Twinks for short. I named him one night in a fit of laughter as he half ran, half pranced around the living room, chasing a little ball of magic I traced along the floors and walls. His little tushy wiggled when he ran, just a tiny little ball of kitten fur. Twinks is mewing at my feet now, and I swoop him up and hold him close.

“I can trust
you
, I bet,” I murmur into his neck as I nuzzle my face into his fur. “You’ll love me for always, won’t you? Because I’m the one with all the foods.” I smile and carry him into the kitchen, set him down before I fill up his bowl. While Twinks chomps away at his dinner, I take off my coat and change out of my funeral clothes. I wash my face and fix my streaky make up. It’s nearly time for dinner of my own, but I’m not sure if I’m even hungry. I sit down on my shiny new couch in my shiny new living room. I watch my shiny new cat curl up on my shiny new pillow. My toes dig into the shiny new rug and I let my eyes wander the shiny new pictures on my shiny new walls.

Just last week I was fighting for my life. Stopping time and launching spells at vampires. Going on covert missions to the gym to discover what the werewolves might have planned. This week? I’m just any other girl in her early twenties, not sure what she’s going to do with herself. I don’t know how to be this person. Not now. Not after all that’s happened in the last few weeks.

I sit for a while and watch the sun sink lower and lower until it finally kisses the horizon. Somewhere, deep in the woods behind my house, a lone wolf howls and the hairs on my arms stand at attention. With a little wave of my finger and a tiny little blip of magic, I flip on the light switch without needing to get off the couch, hoping that light will help with the growing sense of unease reaching into my living room with the darkness. I don’t know what it is, but I feel like I’m being watched.

I putter about the kitchen, making dinner. I’ve always enjoyed cooking, but now that I can use my magic to help out, I love it all the more. I’ve got a pot on the stove, stirring itself. Cookie batter mixing up on the counter behind me. Dishes being washed right after they’re used. All while I’m busy working on the main course, humming to myself, my magic sparkling and creating a soft light in the room. The feeling of being watched fades along with the stress of Becca’s faux funeral and by the time I’ve got dinner done, I’m ready to start making my mark on this awesome new house of mine.

Other than the cookies, the meal is totally healthy. I kinda decided I like being in shape, so in addition to keeping my appointments with Albert at BAM! Fitness, I’ve been working on my meal plans as well. In an attempt to keep our hobbies aligned, Noah joined the gym, too. I had to fight down a huge surge of worry when he did. What if he’s got ulterior motives for joining the gym? What if he’s on a mission to scope out the wolves? What if Daya decided that without Luke to balance out my dark magic, I’m worthless? What if? What if? What if? Will I ever learn to trust?

Anyway, gym time is the only thing on the calendar tomorrow. I’m thinking after that, I’ll head over to Windsor and see what I can find in the library about the witch families and genealogy. Maybe start learning a little more about our history. Our strengths. Our weaknesses. Maybe learn a little about the vamps and the weres while I’m at it.

Not that I really need to. With the Trinity missing a key player, I’m not so sure that I’ll be any kind of useful at all anymore. Thing is, I’m not really OK with that. I liked my high octane lifestyle. Going back to work in cubicle-land while worrying about building a 401k and paying off student loans won’t hold a candle to being a badass witch out to save the world from the evil vampires plotting against it.

As impatient as I am to find out what they’re going to do with me, I’m gonna have to bide my time because there are some major shifts in the political structure of the witches. With Barnabe Withers dead, there’s a vacant throne and it looks like Daya’s going to take his place. That means someone’s going to have to take her place at Windsor Manor. There’s been like fifty summits since Barnabe died, all designed to suss out the new structure of things, and apparently, none of them have been have been pleasant.

I make a mental note to look up some info on our government while I’m at the library tomorrow. It really is time that I knew more about my culture. I chuckle to myself, the sound startling Twinks. He lifts his fuzzy little head and stares me down before stretching, rolling onto his back, and falling right back to sleep. I rub his belly and he cracks an eye open, clearly trying to decide between purring and turning into a buzz saw of teeth and nails. He finally comes to a decision and revs up the tiny motor in his chest and closes his eyes.

There’s the tiniest of sounds outside the big bay window in my living room. The one that looks out towards the woods. The one I absolutely love to look through while I drink my morning coffee. The one with the blinds I forgot to close. Twinks leaps to his feet, making good on that buzz saw promise and arches his back, fur standing out in all directions, yowling towards the window.

It’s dark outside and light inside. If anyone is out there, they can see me, but I can’t see them. With another wave of my fingers, I turn off the lights, even the playing field. Unfortunately, or fortunately, I guess, I don’t see anything out there. Just the long line of trees stretching out along the edge of my yard, snow gathering on their branches. The moon, low and full, glowing through their edges.