Chapter Five
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Barrett considered himself a good reader of people. He had to be in his profession. It’s how he made his characters come to life. So he was reasonably certain he was standing off with a woman on the edge of control.
“Hold on a second,” he said, sticking his head back in the window.
He heard a muffled mmmph come from next door and grinned. A red head and her temper. She practically sizzled with it.
He grabbed two beers from the refrigerator and left through the front door to the balcony. She was still standing there with her mouth open in a surprised O, her head sticking out the window.
“Might as well come out here,” he said with an easy grin. “The smoke and smell will need time to clear. We should start over. I’m Barrett. Barrett Delaney. Your sister rented me the apartment.”
“Yet she still lives,” Eloise said.
Self-preservation was the only thing that kept his smile from growing wider. No wonder Minerva hadn’t been around the past week.
Eloise stared at him for what seemed like minutes, and he stayed completely still, afraid if he moved that she’d turn as skittish as the cat that had already made his escape out the window and was licking his paws on the front porch.
He couldn’t stop starting at her—couldn’t explain the reaction. It had never happened before. But the overwhelming urge to love and protect this woman above all costs hammered at his heart.
He realized she must have said something when she said his name. He liked the way it sounded on her lips.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?”
She rolled her eyes. “I said okay. Let me make sure the fire is tamped down. I won’t be able to work anymore tonight anyway.”
When she came out her front door a few seconds later he handed her the beer as a peace offering.
“Thanks,” she said, taking it from him. Their fingertips brushed and Barrett sucked in a deep breath at the contact. In his books he would’ve said the touch ignited sparks between them, but it would have been nothing more than a metaphor for attraction. He had no way to explain the actual sparks that shot up from their connected flesh.
If her grip hadn’t been solid on the bottle he would’ve dropped it. He looked up at her face but her expression was like a blank page.
“Static electricity,” she said, taking the bottle and moving out of reach. “I’m Eloise Goodnight. Thanks for the rent check. How long do you think you’ll be staying?”
He barked out a laugh and appreciated her answering grin. She had dimples. And her eyes were just brown. They were dark and rich, the color of expensive whisky.
“Don’t let the door hit me on the way out, huh?”
She shrugged and took a sip of her beer. “We don’t get a lot of visitors in Cauldron’s Hollow. We’ve learned to be wary of strangers.”
“An odd sentiment to be sure, considering most places rely on travelers to help support their businesses.”
“Well, we never claimed to be like other towns. That would be boring.” Her lips quirk in a rueful smile and he had the sudden urge to kiss the corner of her mouth.
“No, not like other towns. I’ve watched this past week out my front window.”
“Mmm,” she said, nodding. “You have the best view of the street.”
“It makes a wonderful setting for my book. And the people who live in it.” And he’d already decided his heroine was going to bear a startling resemblance to Eloise. Especially that temper. He’d been so hard as a rock the minute she’d arched that brow. And when she’d dared him to ask her again if she was trying to kill him he thought he damned near might combust on the spot. He’d had no choice but to stand in front of the open refrigerator a few seconds to get his body back under control.
Her brow creased. “You’re a writer?”
“That’s the sound of my ego crumbling.” He smiled and put his hand over his heart as if she’d pierced it. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that him being a writer bothered her. He didn’t know why he was so sure of that, but it was something to think about. Writing was what gave him life. A purpose and a legacy.
“There’s a man that stands across the street every day at eleven o’clock,” Barrett said, trying to put her back at ease. “He takes a croissant and two cups of coffee and stays precisely twenty-five minutes. But he never drinks the second cup of coffee, and no one comes to share it with him. Who is he?”
Eloise smiled, her eyes lighting with pleasure and he vowed to put that look on her face as often as possible.
“That’s Walter Grace. And he’s having coffee with his wife, Georgia. She passed on about five years back and he’s been doing it ever since. He says he likes to keep her updated on things that are going on around town.”
“Do you think she ever answers?” Barrett asked, charmed by the story and already trying to figure out a way to work it in.
“Maybe,” she shrugged. “Who’s to say that death severs all connection between true soulmates?
Barrett could feel her pulling away, but he wasn’t ready for their time together to come to an end. He wanted to know more about her. Just wanted to hear her voice. Share the same space.
“Why don’t we go for a walk?” he suggested. “It’s going to be a little while before we can go back in the apartments. And I haven’t been out to explore the town yet. I’ve been too busy working.”
“Might as well,” she sighed. “It isn’t pretty in there.”
“You want to tell me what happened?”
“Lets just say the sound of your typewriter can be startling in the middle of the night.”
He winced. “Sorry about that. I didn’t think about the sound carrying over. I should have considering I can smell your cooking and hear you talking to yourself every now and then through the vents.”
She looked at him oddly and then drained the rest of her beer. “You done with that?” She took the empty bottle from him, careful not to touch him this time. He had to admit he’d wanted her to again. He’d wanted to see if he’d only imagined the feeling—the spark.
He watched as she took the bottles inside to dispose of them and grab a light jacket from the coatrack by the door. He hadn’t noticed the cold before, but damp air and cold wind seeped into his bones.
“It smells like rain,” he said.
“We’re due for a soaker, but probably not until morning,” she said, zipping her jacket. The she looked down at the cat. “Stay close, Nicodemus. We’ll be back soon.” And then she said something in a language Barrett didn’t recognize and he could’ve sworn the temperature on the balcony warmed.
Barrett arched his brow at the cat and gave it a long look. The different colored eyes were a bit disconcerting, and he could have sworn the cat nodded when Eloise gave him the instructions.
“For someone incorporating Cauldron’s Hollow into your book, it seems odd you haven’t made the time to look around yet,” she said as they made their way down the circular staircase to the street below. It was just the two of them and the flickering gas lights casting an eerie shadow over the street.
She’d think him a lunatic if he told her he hadn’t needed to get out and see the town. That the pictures of Cauldron’s Hollow were so vivid in his mind and dreams that he could recall it with startling accuracy.
“I had plans to do a little research tomorrow,” he said, thinking it the safest response. He looked down at his watch and noted the time. “Or I guess today if I’m being accurate.”
“You strike me as the type who likes to be.”
“Oh, really? What else do I strike you as?”
They started up main road, across the uneven cobbled streets toward the fountain an the sculpture of the woman.
“Persistent,” she said after a few moments of silence.
“I’ve been known to be. But I’d also add open minded to that. Who is she?” he asked when they stood in front of the fountain. “There’s no marker.”
“Because everyone in Cauldron’s Hollow knows who she is. She’s ours. Not meant for the curiosity of tourists.”
The defensiveness in Eloise’s voice had his brows raising. “Well…ouch.”
She cut her eyes at him and smiled. “I told you we’re not used to newcomers in town. Our hospitality might be a little rusty. Don’t say I didn’t warn you when you head out on your research tomorrow and everyone stares at you.”
“That’s pretty much what they did the day I drove in, so hopefully they’re over it by now.”
“Don’t count on it. Our memories are long.” She hugged her arms around her middle to ward off the cold and looked up at the statue of the woman. “Her name is Amelia Goodnight.”
“Ahh,” he said. “I can see it now. You resemble her.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“I recognized you. As you’d go back and forth from your apartment to the shop. But I didn’t know why I recognized you. It was driving me crazy. Tell me about her. Who was she?”
“A woman. A wife and a mother. Fearless. Someone who stood up for what she believed in no matter the cost.” Then she turned and looked him in the eyes. “A witch.”
He nodded, unsurprised by Eloise’s news. It was starting to make more sense now. The differences of he saw in Cauldron’s Hollow in his visions. The way the women had been condemned and killed. It would’ve been during the witch trials.
“You can see her power.”
She didn’t break her gaze from his, searching him like she would a germ under a microscope. “Most people can’t see. They believe, because there are eyewitness accounts and stories passed down through generations. But they can’t see the true power. And you can. Who are you, Barrett Delaney?”
“What? You think because I don’t know the history that I can’t be open minded? I’m a writer, sweetheart. Compared to some of the things I’ve seen and researched in my line of work, I’m not surprised a place like Cauldron’s Hollow might inhabit a few witches. I’d be more surprised if it didn’t I’ve seen things that can’t be explained by logic. I know there are things bigger than me and any of the rest of us in the universe.”
He smiled, trying to put her at ease. She’d been expecting his rejection, or at least for him to make fun of her declaration. And it made him all the more curious about Eloise Goodnight and what made her stand in that protective stance, her arms crossed over her chest as if waiting for the next blow.
“Let’s keep walking and I’ll tell you a story,” he said, not waiting to see if she agreed. He moved around the fountain and felt a sigh of relief when she fell into step beside him.
“It was a time of unrest” he began, the story coming to his lips with the ease of one who’d lived it. And under the guise of religious freedoms communities and governments were built. But there were rumblings of dissatisfaction that could only be recognized behind the privacy of one’s own home for fear of persecution. Except for a place secluded in the midst of the thick pines and oaks, surrounded by nature’s beauty and protected by the very ones who’d fled their homeland to find the freedoms all sought.”
Barrett closed his eyes and breathed in the night air. He didn’t know if the story was real or if it was all just a figment of his overactive imagination. But the compulsion to tell her wouldn’t be repressed.
“These protectors built their home high on the hill, so they could watch for those in need and any who might seek to harm. The people were grateful, because while they were distanced from the grumblings of dissatisfaction, the rumbles were growing in volume and spreading like wildfire from town to town.
But the people didn’t think they could be harmed. Though they embraced, respected, and loved these protectors, they became cocky and complacent. And they took advantage of the protection they were given, never offering anything in return to their protectors to guard their own safety.”
The black rock came into view and they stopped in front of it, keeping a respectful distance away.
“What happened?” Eloise asked, her voice hoarse as it drifted off in the wind.
“The grumblings became rebellion, and those who’d once fled together to unite under the guise of all freedoms separated, drawing lines in the sand of what each thought was right and wrong. Who was good and evil.
“There was a traitor in their midst. A trusted woman. A wise woman who the protectors loved as if she were one of them. The woman was jealous of the protectors’ powers, her heart black with envy and spite. And the protectors didn’t see, because sometimes magic can be blinded by pure love. And what they felt for this woman was love in its purest form. She’d helped raise them, let them weep their sorrows on her shoulders, and she’d celebrated their triumphs.”
The wind picked up, blowing his hair into his face, and he wished he’d remembered to grab a sweatshirt. He stuck his hands in his pockets, but it did nothing to ward off the chill. The black rock seemed to vibrate, and he could almost feel its heartbeat as if it were a living, breathing thing.
“These dissenters, who were so sure they were right in their beliefs, scoured the lands looking for those who had these unexplainable powers. Though they overlooked the fact that the God they worshipped created all, even those they couldn’t explain or understand. And all witches—and many who were not but believed to be anyway—were torn from their homes and children, and murdered in the name of these freedoms.
“The woman who’d become their Judas heard rumors of a great reward offered to those who turned in the witches, and an even greater reward if their power was proven. But she was careful. She knew she could trust no one in the town to see her ways, so she traveled under the cloak of darkness to the next town, where she met in secret with the fanatics who had already killed so many innocents.”
Eloise shivered and he resisted the urge to put his arm around her and comfort her.
“And the next night, the woman led an angry mob of men and women into the peaceful and protected village, laying torches to homes and trees so the sky looked as if it belonged in the farthest depths of hell. They marched straight up the hill to the house where the three sisters lived and set it ablaze so the women had no choice but to come out and face the mob.
“The horde didn’t realize that inside the house, the eldest sister’s husband was escaping through underground tunnels with their newborn daughter. And in a show of sacrifice, the middle sister used her magic for harm, striking down the woman who’d been their friend before she could tell about the babe, even though the sister knew she’d pay penance for an eternity for taking another life. But the secret of the baby died with the woman, so her sacrifice wasn’t for naught.
“They threw rocks at the women and tied their hands behind their backs. But the sisters didn’t fight. They understood their destiny and that they had to die so their legacy could continue through the child. So they were pushed and kicked, stumbling repeatedly, down the hill to the church.
“The townspeople screamed and cried as their protectors were given a sentence of death without trial. But they grew silent out of fear as the mob began to turn on them. The priest the mob had brought with them stood on the stairs of the church, screaming for their repentance and damning their souls to hell when they stayed silent.
“The flames grew hotter and higher, and the eldest sister realized the path for escape was quickly closing—the fire surrounding them all. It was that moment the executioner stepped forward, the blade of his large axe glinting in the firelight. She straightened her spine and lifted her chin in defiance, walking willingly to the black rock where she would meet her end. She didn’t curse her defilers, but she didn’t hold back her power. She used her magic to burn through the ropes binding her wrists and her hand shot into the air, her head thrown back in submission to a higher power. And while the crowd erupted around her, trying to restrain her once more, they couldn’t get to her. Something protected her. And all they could do was stand back and watch in awe.
“Her last act on this earth was selfless, when she could have used her power to save herself instead. Little by little, the flames burning around them dwindled until there was nothing left but smoke and ash. The act took unimaginable power, more than she’d ever used before, and she collapsed in exhaustion onto the black rock. Before she drew her last breath, she reached out to her husband—her soulmate—to make sure he and her daughter were safe. And then she closed her eyes for the last time as the axe fell.”
Barrett didn’t know how long they stood there in silence after he’d finished the story. The wind had died down with his last sentence, and grief like he’d never known plagued him, bringing tears to his eyes from the loss.
Eloise hadn’t responded at all. In fact, she hadn’t moved a muscle in several minutes, but tears streaked down her cheeks, making him feel all the more protective of her.
“What do you think?” he finally asked.
Her body jerked, as if coming out of a trance, and she took a couple of steps away from him before facing him.
“I think you’re a hell of a storyteller.” She wiped the tears from her face and sucked in a deep breath. “I also think you’re a liar and that I’m a fool. Again.”
She turned quickly on her heel to escape, but he stopped her. “Eloise,” he called out. “I’m not a liar. I was only telling you what I saw. I’ve seen visions of stories I wanted to tell like that one my entire life.”
Her laugh was cynical and she took another step.
“You can trust me, you know.” She turned back to look at him and he held out his hand, hoping she’d grab it. He needed the physical touch, because he knew without a shadow of a doubt that they were connected in more than mind and soul now. He’d gotten a clear picture of the eldest sister in his vision—the one who looked like Eloise. And he’d gotten a glimpse of the soulmate who’d escaped with the child they’d made together. A man who looked to be the reflection of his own image.
What Eloise didn’t know was that that man had never recovered from Amelia Goodnight’s death. He’d lived for the child, until she’d reached an age, but he’d never been whole again. Not without her.
Eloise glanced at his outstretched hand and he could see the indecision on her face. “You come into this town out of nowhere and expect trust? I don’t know you Barrett Delaney.”
“You could if you wanted to. I’m offering you a look. I’ll keep no secrets from you. There’s a reason I was brought here. Don’t you want to know why?”
“I just want to run my shop in peace. That’s all.”
“That seems like a very safe life. Especially for a witch. Wouldn’t you rather take chances and really live?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, stiffly. The she turned her back and he watched her make her way back down the long cobbled street. When she got to the statue of her ancestor she kissed her fingers once and then laid them against the edge of the fountain.
“It’s okay, darling,” he said, remembering Amelia’s last words to her beloved. “We’ll be together again.”