Witch's Awakening (7 page)

They were all getting on each other's nerves. Despite the need to find answers about the Woman in White and the curse, they had made little headway. Sarah and the elder aunts turned peevish about
The Connelly Book of Magic
, insisting they needed to study it first. So the younger witches had no new information about past visits of the Woman in White. Which made it difficult to understand how they related to current events. Jake was too busy to do more than stop by Eva Grace's a few times to check on her.

On top of all of this, Brenna was supposed to be setting up her third floor studio-bedroom at Sarah's. She hadn't unpacked before Garth was murdered, and the large room was a jumble of boxes. She knew she should make herself at home in the attic where she, her sister and cousin had played so often as children. Having her own space was essential to being able to live with Sarah and Marcus.

But who could unpack or concentrate on a curse when the mountain roads of her home called on this bright June Saturday?

Better to think about work on the book she was illustrating, Brenna told herself. A friend in Atlanta who was a kindergarten teacher had written a beautiful story about tolerance and acceptance that featured a small bird and a caterpillar. She submitted a few of Brenna's sketches to the publisher, and now they wanted Brenna to revise and add to the drawings. She was thrilled with this new challenge, not to mention the paycheck. She hoped this opportunity and her savings would launch a new phase of her career.

She pulled to a stop in the driveway of Aunt Frances's sprawling ranch-style home. Red brick was accented with crisp white trim, green shutters and deep awnings. Both the elder aunts had been given four-acre plots of Connelly land when they married. Frances's husband, now deceased, was a successful insurance salesman, and the home they built reflected their affluence. Her granddaughter Lauren now lived with her.

Brenna asked Lauren about being in town on Friday night when the fighting in the streets erupted. Her cousin said she was so surprised by the outbreak of hostility that she rushed home to make sure her grandmother was safe.

Brenna got out of her car as Aunt Frances came bustling out the front door, waving. Her silvery hairdo was stiff as ever, and her pink and white pantsuit was immaculate. “I'm so happy to see you,” she said and grabbed Brenna in a bone-crushing hug. She smelled of lilac and clover, familiar and warm. Despite the elder aunts' irritating stubbornness, Brenna did love them.

“It's wonderful that you've come back to live with us,” Frances said. “Atlanta was too far away. Especially with all of this trouble going on.”

The older woman took Brenna's arm and chatted about the past days' disturbing activities as she led the way through her well-appointed home to a screened porch.

“Oh my,” Brenna said, stepping forward to take in the colorful garden that stretched in every direction. The vast backyard could have been featured in
Home and Garden
. The array of flowers, plants, trees and bushes was stunning. “I had forgotten how beautiful this is.”

Frances hugged her again, laughing in delight. “It just takes care and the right spells, my dear. You could do it all just as well if you put your mind to it.”

Brenna knew she'd never have the patience for gardening on this scale. She followed Frances down the porch steps. “Is Lauren learning all of your secrets?”

“Good heavens no,” Frances retorted. Her green eyes twinkled. “You know my granddaughter is a witch with very different talents than mine.”

Brenna was surprised to see her elder aunt was aware of Lauren's activities, and it didn't seem to bother her.

“Your cousin Maggie has always loved working in the garden,” Frances continued. “She has many of my plants growing at her own place. I'm just as happy that dear Doris's granddaughter will be the one carrying on my traditions instead of Lauren. Maggie was here working this morning and I told her you would be coming over, but she said she couldn't stay.”

It was easy to picture Maggie here with Aunt Frances, freckles blooming on her cheeks in the sunshine. What a perfect place for her sweet cousin.

“The butterfly garden is over there,” Aunt Frances said, pointing to the left. “This is my herb garden, and over here is the vegetable garden. Cucumbers are ready for pickling. The green beans are about ready to come in, with tomatoes, okra and corn on the way. Doris and I will be canning the rest of the summer.”

They talked awhile longer, strolling through the various gardens. The older woman explained the plants' life cycles and times of planting with pride. All successful gardeners, witch or not, followed nature's signs in planting. The phase of the moon, the appearance of the last frost, and the spacing of spring storms dictated each step. Aunt Frances had it down to a fine art.

She brought Brenna back to the butterfly garden and left her alone. Brenna took a deep breath, enjoying the wonderful, earthy smells of summer.

She dropped on the ground and pulled out her pad and pencils. A rough sketch took shape on paper—yellow sunflowers, lush purple verbena and the Joe-Pye weed blended with spindly, bright green dill. Though butterflies were not plentiful on this hot afternoon, a few colorful wings dipped and glided through the garden.

Brenna knew this would be the perfect magic place for the book's little characters. They could walk and talk among the plants in a world she would create with her brush and watercolors.

She moved carefully among the plants, examining many with a magnifying glass to be sure she had the details correct. At one point, she even lay down amid the sunflowers to look up at the stems to get a “caterpillar's eye view” of the world above the ground.

The pages of her sketchpad filled with samples and diagrams and plans to go with the pages of text. Aunt Frances brought her lemonade and cookies at one point. It wouldn't have been properly Southern of her not to provide refreshments.

Brenna was so absorbed in her task that she worked for another hour before realizing how hot and uncomfortable she was. She closed her sketchbook and was pulling bits of flowers and grass from her hair when a flash of crimson at the base of an oak tree caught her eye.

The beautiful, blood red bloom didn't look familiar. Curious, Brenna walked closer. The flower might not have a place in the book she was working on, but she could imagine a fairy adorning the entrance to her home with such beauty. Drawn to the red plant, Brenna stepped forward. In her mind, she sketched in a pair of eyes peeking out around the flower. The expression in those eyes turned from friendly and welcoming to dark and sinister.

The image was so real that Brenna blinked. Fae of every form and fashion made Mourne County their home. Even the wee folk. However, she couldn't imagine Aunt Frances willingly sharing her garden with any of them, or a fae who was willing to live so close to a witch. There was simply too much magical conflict, so those eyes couldn't be real.

“Of course not,” Brenna said as she stepped forward, still enthralled with the lush plant. The vivid red petals were like velvet against the green of the plant's leaves. She pulled her magnifying glass out of her pocket to get a closer look. She couldn't resist touching the bloom see if the petals were as soft as they looked.

Suddenly, a vine snaked out and wrapped around her wrist. Brenna dropped the magnifier and pulled back, but she was held fast. When she struggled, her other wrist was ensnared. She braced herself, hoping her legs would give her leverage enough to release the vine's hold. Instead, she was jerked hard against the oak tree's unyielding trunk. More vines encircled her torso and neck, flattening her face against the tree.

Brenna tried to scream. The vine was compressing her lungs and she couldn't get out more than a squeak. With her cheek against the rough bark, she couldn't move her head or see much of her surroundings. Her breathing became fast and shallow as her panic grew. The vine continued to strangle her.

Lightheaded, she couldn't move, couldn't call out and couldn't focus her powers to summon help from the goddess. Surely Aunt Frances would come out soon and rescue her. Fighting for every breath, she opened her eyes and caught a glimpse of someone near the herb garden. Was it her cousin Lauren?

Brenna felt a brief surge of hope before everything went black.

Chapter Eight

Jake saw Brenna's vehicle in the driveway at her aunt's home and slowed his cruiser. Should he stop? Since their conversation in the diner last Friday night, there had been little opportunity to talk.

The trouble in the county was steady. His deputies covered five domestic calls today, most of them involving families who were normally quiet and peaceful. That was more domestic cases than the department saw in months. Even if getting closer to Brenna was a good idea—which it wasn't—he was too busy.

But throughout this busy week of fourteen-hour days and the final goodbye to his best friend, Jake thought about Brenna often. He could close his eyes now and remember her naked in the moonlight, her ivory skin gleaming, auburn hair tousled by the wind while she cleansed her family's land. Since then, he fantasized many erotic scenarios with her.

He wanted her.

But having her would be complicated. She was a strong witch in the ruling coven of the place he called home. If things went bad…

After the tragedy of his parents' mating, he avoided romantic complications. So why did he swing his cruiser into the driveway next to Brenna's SUV? The memory of full breasts, womanly hips and Brenna's fiery magic was a powerful draw. Even though the tempting witch had given him no encouragement or special attention the few times they saw one another this week, he felt compelled to talk to her.

He did have a reason other than lustful fantasies to talk to her, he reassured himself. This afternoon, he found the source of the phrase the young troublemakers had spray painted in town last week. According to the internet, the words “See you in the darkness” came from notorious convicted murderer Gary Gilmore while he was awaiting his 1977 execution.

Jake still had no idea why the boys had written it on the side of the Dollar General Store.

Those boys were the reason he was in this part of town. He had spoken with all of them after learning the source of the quote. Not one could even tell him who Gary Gilmore was. Their drug tests were negative. They were three average boys very ashamed of what they'd done. They couldn't explain their actions, either.

Jake was also frustrated by the store's white wall, which the boys had repainted three times. As soon as every coat of paint dried, the bleak words bled through. He was trying to convince the manager that a deeper color would solve the problem. In truth, he wasn't sure that would work. He had just been thinking he wanted to talk to Brenna about it when he turned down this road and saw her car.

A dark cloud loomed over Frances Hutton's house. He wondered if they'd have rain later tonight and watched the troubled sky as he walked to the front porch. There was something strange about that sky.

As he reached porch, he heard a hiss. He turned toward the woods, shocked to see an owl sweeping in out of the trees. What the hell was the bird doing out this time of day? With a loud warning call, the bird flew toward the back of the house.

Before he could react, Frances opened the front door. “I saw you drive up, Jake. I hope you're not here about more trouble in the county.”

“I'm just looking for Brenna,” he assured her. “I saw her car and decided to stop.”

She pressed a hand to her chest. “Thank goodness. She's been out back in the garden sketching for hours.” She held the door open. “Come on in.”

Frances led him to a kitchen bright with late afternoon sunshine. “You look like you need to cool off, too. Can I get you water or lemonade?” She opened the refrigerator door and smiled.

Damn, but these Connelly witches charmed you when their green eyes sparkled, Jake thought as he asked for water. Frances handed him two bottles and suggested he take one out to Brenna.

He nodded to the back door, itching to see Brenna. “I just need a minute with her.”

Now there was a knowing twinkle in Frances's gaze. “I'm sure you do. Go right ahead.”

Jake started to tell the older woman not to get the wrong idea. She might sense his interest in Brenna, but nothing was going to develop there, even though Frances was known as a stubborn matchmaker. A couple of years ago, she had the same gleam in her eye regarding Jake and her granddaughter, Lauren. The pretty witch had spent plenty of time trying to enchant Jake, but he had never given in. Forewarned by Garth, he knew not to look Lauren in the eyes.

Outside, the color and fragrance of Frances's garden filled his senses. After growing up in a desert where the dominant colors were shades of brown, he had a real appreciation for the colorful plants grown in the South.

Hearing the distinctive call of the owl again, he crossed the covered kitchen porch. An axe and some saws were leaned against the house, and a fresh tree stump was in the yard just to the left. Logs were stacked nearby, ready for splitting. He remembered his deputy, Brian, telling him the last storm had knocked a tree down at Frances's house. No doubt one of the many Connelly cousins had been out here working on the cleanup.

The owl's cry drew Jake's attention. An alarm sounded deep inside him. He saw a patch of white in the side yard. Brenna's sketchpad and pencils were on the ground. Where was she?

The owl screamed and thunder rumbled as if in reply. Jake lifted his head, scenting rain and something more—an acrid smell that turned his concern to panic. Where was Brenna? He turned in a circle, looking in each corner of the big yard, from the gardens to the big, ancient oak, to—

At first the nightmare scene didn't register. Then Jake realized Brenna was pressed against the big oak's massive trunk. A bright green vine tied her to the tree. It was so thick she was barely visible.