Eight
My head pulses with a dull pain. Less severe than the headache on Thursday, this one is an echo. Almost like someone is pressing on a bruise or swollen ankle. Repeatedly.
“Headache back?” Andrew takes his eyes off the rearview mirror to check on me. He’s been taking random back roads to Salem and staring in the mirrors most of the time to make sure we’re not followed.
“Sadly, it is.” I press my fingers against my temples.
“I think someone is trying to get into your thoughts. The first headache started when you met my father.”
“You think he has something to do with this?”
“Of course. If there’s evil stirring, Stanford is probably involved.”
Tate’s name appears on Andrew’s phone. He hits accepts and puts the call on speaker.
“Hey,” Tate’s voice fills the car, “I think you’re being followed.”
Tate and Sam left a few minutes after us in hopes of following anyone who could be trailing us.
“I’m not a hundred percent sure, but there’s a silver Lexus sedan taking the same route as us.”
Andrew scowls. “I haven’t seen him, but there’s a Dunkin Donuts coming up. I’ll pull over and wait.”
He takes a last minute turn into the parking lot and drives behind the building to park in the rear on the far side. A minute later, a gray car passes us, but doesn’t stop.
“Spotted the car. Meet us here and we’ll backtrack to 495. Taking the highway will give us a time advantage.” Andrew speaks with authority before ending the call and facing me. “Want some donuts?”
“I do.” I’m embarrassed by how excited I sound. “But is now the time?”
“There’s always time for Munchkins.” He opens his car door. “I’ll be right back.”
Alone for the first time since my visions, I’m uneasy as I scan the parking lot for a silver car. People come and go with their coffees and white bags, normal everyday caffeine and donut runs in progress on a Saturday morning. I used to be one of those people who thought life was simple. Ordinary.
Relief courses through me when Sam’s familiar blue car pulls up beside me. She waves from the driver’s side and gives me a thumb’s up.
How is it possible it was only yesterday we were on our annual road trip to the farmhouse for a wonderfully boring, quiet weekend?
* * *
Only a few patches of snow brighten the dark grounds of the Winthrop mansion as the Audi’s headlights sweep down the drive. Clouds filter out any weak sunlight, leaving the early afternoon gloomy and as gray as late twilight. Darkened windows greet us.
“It looks more imposing than ever.” I crane forward to stare at the house as Andrew parks. My shoulders slump with defeat. “How am I going to find a small book in there?”
“You’re going to need your extra sight. Want to start on the outside to get your bearings?”
Sam’s headlights shine through the rear window, casting Andrew’s face in sharp angles between light and dark.
“I suppose,” I reluctantly agree.
His warm hand brushes my cheek before he replaces it with the heat of his mouth. I tilt my head, capturing his lips with mine, secretly hoping kissing him is the key to my power.
As we kiss, a car horn bleats behind us. Andrew gives me a peck before leaning away. When I open my eyes, a faint blue light shimmers outside the windshield.
“It’s back,” I whisper.
“Hold on to the feeling.” He opens his door and runs around the hood to get mine.
When I step out, I focus on the front of the house. Blue light forms a fog that slowly clears as I stare at the elegant façade. Nothing is different.
“I can see the light, but nothing about the house is different.” I sense Sam and Tate step beside me. A flickering of the porch light catches my eye. “Except the lights are powered by gas, not electricity.”
“Interesting,” Tate says. “Shall we go inside?”
Grabbing my hand, Andrew tucks it over his elbow. “Try to keep the vision and let us know what you see.”
I follow him up the front stairs to the grand entry.
Tate pulls a set of keys from his jacket pocket and unlocks the door. “Give me two seconds to disarm the alarm.”
He steps inside and closes the heavy wood door. I blink a few times and the blue haze returns.
When he opens the door again, I step back. The foyer is decorated for Christmas. An enormous tree fills the center of the entry hall, illuminated by real candles and silvery mercury glass ornaments.
“Madison?” Andrew’s voice carries through the haze, but I’m already stepping forward into the warmly decorated room.
Boughs of evergreen and boxwood drape every entry and twist like a giant snake up the staircases. White candles provide more light, their flames dancing in the drafts.
“It’s a holiday party,” I whisper.
Aware of my friends nearby, I wander into the library. The familiar fireplace glows with a fire beneath the mantle heavy with greenery. The lack of warmth against my skin reminds me it is only part of my vision.
Books stand in perfect rows on the shelves, but I don’t see anything resembling the gilt leather volumes from my previous vision. I wander through the room, trailing my hand along the shelves and molding, hoping for a secret catch. Finding nothing, I move to the middle of the entry hall, and slowly spin, trying to blur my vision enough for the book to call to me.
Laughter and the quick dance of shoes across the marble foyer stops my movement. I blink, expecting to see the sound coming from Sam and Tate, or even Andrew, but they’re standing closer to the fireplace.
When I allow the blue haze to cover my vision, I have to jump out of the way of a laughing couple dashing out of the dining room. Faint tea rose perfume tickles my nose. He spins her and kisses her on the mouth while she smiles up at him. Dressed in a classic tux, the man’s brown hair is slicked back from his face. Debonair is how I’d describe him. Holding his hand is a young woman in a strapless black gown, her dark hair twisted into a chignon bun.
“Is your family having a party here tonight?” I ask Tate. “I’m suddenly feeling very underdressed.”
“What?” he asks. “The Winthrops don’t believe in holiday cheer.”
“The couple who ran through the foyer, laughing and kissing?” I point at the same time I realize there’s no one there.
“You can see ghosts?” Sam’s voice comes out as a squeak. “I’m out of here.”
“They can’t hurt you, Samantha,” Tate reassures her. “I’ll hold your hand if that’ll make you feel better.”
Without glancing at them, I know Sam is probably blushing.
“Follow them,” Tate instructs.
I listen for the sound of the couple’s happy laughter. The faint echo comes from down the hall, so I move in that direction. Soft voices engage in light banter that ends in giggles after he says, “Come on, I’ll show you if you don’t believe me.”
Scanning the darker interior hallway, I catch a door closing. “This way.”
Stopping in front of the doorway, I inhale. I don’t believe in ghosts. Like I didn’t believe in magic.
“I’m here and I’ll protect you.” Andrew squeezes my hand.
“Me too,” Sam agrees without hesitation, and Tate repeats her words.
I open the door and reveal an office, lined with more bookshelves. There are no decorations or candles in the darkened room. A sliver of light from an opening in the wall illuminates the space.
“There’s a hidden door.” I don’t bother to pretend the thought doesn’t excite me.
Even though I’m terrified right now because I’m following a ghost couple.
Unfortunately, the secret passage closes before we can step inside and the laughter fades away.
“It’s gone,” I say, disappointed.
Tate flips the lights and bright electric light fills the space. It feels harsh and I’m aware of the faint buzzing in the wires.
“This is my father’s office. I used to play under his desk when I was an adorable toddler.” Tate walks into the middle of the room. “Pretty sure I’d know if there’s a secret door in here.”
I’m listening as I study the wall where the couple disappeared. The deep wood paneling follows a pattern of rectangular molding above thick wainscoting below a chair rail. I run my index finger along the chair rail until my nail catches on a crease.
“I think I found it.” Above the notch is a portrait of a stern looking man in all black with the fluffy white wig of eighteenth century men’s fashion.
“Of course,” Tate laughs. “Jonathan Winthrop, you old dog.”
Tate rubs his hands along the wall and under the chair railing. A soft click sounds when he finds the catch.
The panel swings forward, revealing a small room lined with bookshelves from floor to ceiling.
“This must share a wall with the library.” Sounding curious, Andrew pulls out his phone and turns on the flashlight. “I wonder if there’s a door on either side for escape.”
Sure enough, there is a faint outline of another door opposite ours.
“Is the book in here?” Sam refocuses me.
I blur my vision, wondering if I can call up my visions without kissing Andrew first. Scanning the shelves, a bright shade of blue catches my attention.
“Up there.” I point to the top shelf. “In the middle.”
Andrew reaches up and pulls down the slim black leather book I first glimpsed in the cellar.
I expect a wind to swirl around us, or the lights to go out, but nothing extraordinary happens. Besides the fact that I had a vision of a book and two ghosts helped me find it.
The only thing of note that happens is my headache disappears.
The doorbell chimes from the foyer. Causing us all to jump and Sam to scream.
Holding her chest, she bends at the waist and chants, “I’m okay. I’m okay. We’re okay.”
I rub soothing circles on her back. “It’s all right. Just the doorbell.”
“Expecting anyone?” Andrew asks Tate with a lifted eyebrow.
“At this point, nothing will surprise me.” Tate’s the first to step out of the room.
Andrew replaces the book on the shelf. “It’s been safe there. Best to leave sleeping books lie.”
I hand him the envelope from my coat pocket. “Place this on top. For now.”
He gives me a curt nod. “Until you need it.”
I wonder if he knows what the envelope contains, but don’t ask him.
Once we’re all back in the office, Tate closes the door and makes sure the painting is straight. “Shall we see if they’re naughty or nice?”
* * *
Andrew and Sam flank me as we wait for Tate to answer the door. I can feel the tension rolling off of Andrew’s shoulders on one side, while Sam vibrates with nerves and disbelief.
“Who is it?” Tate asks with a wink. “I hope you’re not here for tricks or treats because Halloween was almost two months ago.”
“How can he be joking?” Sam asks through gritted teeth.
“He’s lightening the mood,” Andrew explains.
“I’m not sure it’s working,” I say, squeezing his hand tighter.
“That’s because he’s not directing it at us.” Andrew tilts his head toward the door.
“It’s your friendly community coven,” a familiar voice replies from the other side of the door.
“We have brownies,” another familiar voice chimes in. “Double-chocolate.”
It’s Sarah and Martha, from the Black Book, our favorite coffee house. The Black Book. It has to be a coincidence that the book I found is also black.
Cold air twines through my hair and over my skin when the door finally opens.
Sarah pours a straight line across the threshold with a box of salt. When she catches me staring, she says, “Extra precaution to keep out the bad energy and any uninvited guests.”
Her voice lowers, sounding more somber as Sarah casts a spell. “Salt of the earth and salt of the sea, protect all those who are granted entry.”
One by one the familiar members of Salem’s coven ask Tate for permission to enter. He repeats his welcome to each person before they cross the line of salt.
“Andrew, do you mind lighting a fire or two to warm up the old manse?” Tate asks while herding everyone into the library.
Andrew nods and steps close to the fireplace.
I recognize Mr. Bishop by his cane as he escorts Mrs. Howe to a seat close to the fireplace. They’re followed by the Wardwells and the Good sisters. The Parker sisters fuss over Sam, who they recognize from Mabon in September. No sign of Dr. Philips, but he’s probably at The Nutcracker tonight.
Martha sets a large tray of brownies on the console table below the large library window.
“Eat, you must be starved.” She pats my cheek.
I can’t remember eating anything but donut holes earlier. How is this even the same day? Is it possible the bonfire where Andrew broke the curse was only a week ago? I’m losing all sense of time.
Sarah takes a brownie and bites into it. “Martha, your baking is pure magic.”
The group laughs at the joke. Even Sam seems to relax now that the coven has arrived. She knows these people, having danced in the harvest moonlight with them. Or whatever it is the Wiccan do in the woods.
“Did you find the book?” Sarah cuts through the polite chatter.
I seek out Andrew for confirmation we should share this information with the others. He nods.
“We did. It’s safe,” I speak quietly.
“What’s safe?” the elder Parker sister asks, peering at me through her red-colored readers instead of over them, making her eyes appear extra large.
“Our history,” Sarah responds.
“Good, because I was beginning to doubt your prophecy about the Bradbury girl.” Mr. Bishop sneaks two brownies into a napkin and shoves them inside his tweed jacket.
“Corey-Bradbury,” I correct him.
The voices in the room all go quiet at once.
“That changes everything, doesn’t it?” Mrs. Howe asks the group. “We’ve all noticed the change, whether we want to admit it or not.” She frowns at Mr. Bishop. “Sarah’s been talking about this prophecy for a decade now. If our magic is fading, the time has come.”
“For what?” I ask.
“The changing of the guard. We’ve maintained peaceful relations for decades. Now dark magic is growing and our ability to shield has weakened. At first, we worried it was all magic ebbing away as the family lines diluted over the generations.” Mrs. Howe assumes the role as group spokeswoman.
Others join the conversation as they begin to discuss a new age for the Salem Coven.
“Madison?” Sarah draws my focus to her. “I know it’s been a whirlwind, but this is your birthright.”
“Ghosts and spells and curses and visions and magical books?” I ramble a list of everything I’ve encountered since Halloween.
“Ghosts? That’s delightful,” Mr. Bishop says dryly.
Sam and I meet gazes, and she starts to laugh. “What’s in these brownies, Martha? Magical herbs?”
Tate chuckles. When Sam glares at him, he lifts his hands. “Not my doing. Some things are just funny.”
“I think this evening calls for champagne,” Martha suggests.
My jaw drops with disbelief. “What are we celebrating?”
“For one thing, champagne is always a good thing and I suspect the Winthrops have a very nice bottle or two in the wine cellar. Second, we’re toasting to the four of you.”
“Why?” Sam asks, vocalizing my same question.
“You’re the next generation of the Salem coven,” Sarah says, pride shining in her eyes as she focuses on Andrew, Tate, Sam, and finally, me.
He gazes down at me. “I tried to warn you. Life will never be boring with me. Are you ready for all of this?”
My decision is automatic. This is my fate; my future is with him. Whatever that means.
Nodding, I stand on my toes. In response, he presses the softest kiss to my mouth.
As we stand wrapped up in each other, I glance around the room at this unlikely group of witches.
We could be having a book club meeting. And in some ways, I guess we still are.
Somewhere outside lurks our enemy, perhaps a whole coven of old enemies who wish us harm. The balance between good and evil is once again at risk.
* * *
~*~*~
Thank you for reading this novella. I have the best time with these young witches in Salem, intermixing history and magic.
Look for Charmed in 2018.
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