Two
We swing by my room, so I can change and collect Sam for the party. She’d never forgive me if I went to Tate’s without her.
It’s not the house she loves. Although the words grand and magnificent come to mind when I think about the Winthrop family summerhouse.
“Remind me again which robber baron built this house?” I step out of Andrew’s nondescript, older, black Audi 4.
“Don’t let Tate hear you call his family new money.” Andrew holds his hand over his heart.
Sam closes her door. “Tate’s family is old compared to everyone but the Bradfords. The Winthrops made their initial fortune in England, and then in politics and the fur trade here.”
“Bunch of Mayflower followers,” Andrew fake-grumbles. “Damn, I sound like my father.”
The same feeling of unease from the quad prickles up my spine. Any mention of the man gives me the heebie-jeebies. Who puts a hex on his son? A curse against love? The worst kind of person. Stanford Bradford, that’s who.
We climb the wide stone steps to the front door. Without all of the festive Halloween decorations, the house reminds me of a dowager countess—impossibly old, yet still elegant. Not warm, or friendly, but impressive.
Site of Tate and Andrew’s annual Halloween blowout, the house looks different without ghosts hanging from the trees and a giant spider dominating the lawn. No holiday lights brighten the enormous stone front.
Yet it manages to still feel imposing.
“I can’t believe this is their summer house. Nothing says relaxation like a grand portico,” I mumble to myself.
“Gargoyles ruin the relaxation vibe.” Andrew doesn’t hide his amusement as he slips his fingers between mine. “That’s for the winter palace.”
Sam squeaks beside me.
“He’s joking. No one has a palace,” I reassure her.
When Andrew doesn’t immediately confirm, I add, “Right?”
“Don’t be silly. His extended family lives in modest Federal brownstones in Beacon Hill like the rest of the hoi polloi.” His smile is teasing.
Sam’s eyes are dessert plate wide. I think knowing her crush is the one percent of the one percent kind of wealthy might be freaking her out. She and I both come from solid middle-class families, completely boring and average in every way.
The same isn’t true for Andrew and the giant with the dark blond dreadlocks who’s just answered the front door.
“Since when do you knock, Wildes? Were the windows locked?” Tate slaps his best friend’s shoulder and grins at all of us. “Come in, come in. Don’t let out the heat. Not even a Winthrop can afford to keep this place warm.”
I doubt that.
“Some say the old manse is full of drafts, but I prefer to call them ghosts. How boring to have a house over two hundred years old that isn’t haunted. Complete disappointment if you ask me.” Tate’s walking and talking to us over his shoulder, leading us across the grand foyer and into the library.
A fire burns in the oversized fireplace with its huge stone mantle. Golden glass eyes glow in the owl-shaped fire irons. Three enormous leather couches fill the not so small space. A few people I vaguely recognize occupy the two closest to the fire.
“Everyone, this is the rest of everyone.” Tate makes a general sweeping movement around the room to introduce us. “You should all know each other.”
Andrew smiles and greets the couple sprawled on one of the couches. With their dark curly hair and dark eyes, they could be twins. Siblings or couple, I’m not sure, but Andrew introduces them to me. “Everett and Aldie, this is my girlfriend, Madison.”
No one seems surprised by the label. However, my back straightens with pride at my new title. I still can’t believe he’s my boyfriend. I wave at the collective group and move closer to the warmth of the grand fire.
“Who needs liquid refreshment?” Andrew asks the group.
“I can help.” Sam steps next to him.
“To the kitchen!” Tate links their arms and spins both of them out the door.
“Is the house really haunted?” I ask Andrew.
Resting on the arm of the closest sofa, he stretches his long, black jean covered legs out and crosses his ankles. “Depends on how you define haunted. Is a possessed doll going to come to life and kill you to avenge the unfortunate and gruesome death of a child? Probably not.”
I swear my eyes bug out of my head. “Probably?”
“Almost certainly not. Never wise to completely rule out any possibility.” He arches one of his dark eyebrows. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Has anyone died here?” I glance around shelf-lined walls and rich wood paneling.
“In the library with a candlestick. Or was it a fire poker?” He grins. “This isn’t a game of Clue.”
“Does anyone still play that game?” Everett asks from the couch.
Andrew glances over his shoulder with a smile. “Who can say. I’m sure there’s a copy around here somewhere if you’re interested in murder.”
My back thoroughly heated, I step closer to Andrew. “You didn’t answer my question.”
He takes both of my hands in his. “Of course people have died here. Loads of them. Well documented natural deaths. For the most part. A few questionable accounts of poisonings and an unfortunate fall out of a second story window.”
Andrew and Sam return with beers and cups of drinks. I sniff the cup Sam hands me. “What is it?”
“Never you mind. Drink and be merry.” She taps her red cup against mine.
I sip it and the taste of apples and cinnamon hit my tongue followed by a lingering heat. “Mmm, delicious.”
Drinking his beer, Andrew watches me. “Want a tour of the house?”
Tate speaks up from across the room, “The couple who leaves the group is always the first to die. Classic horror movie trope.”
“I think we’re safe.” Andrew stands and leads us out of the room.
“Do you believe in ghosts?” I ask as the tapping of our shoes echoes across the marble floor in the foyer.
“I believe anything is possible.” He tugs me closer to the stairs. “Like hidden rooms and secret passages.”
“Really?” I don’t fight my excitement. “I’ve always wanted to remove a book and have a wall open to reveal another room.”
“Tonight, your wish is going to come true.” I love when he smiles. It’s like the sun breaking through dark storm clouds—fleeting and stunning.
We’re a couple of steps from the top of the grand staircase when deep, booming chimes fill the grand space.
“Is that the doorbell?” I pause on the stair below Andrew’s.
He turns to face me, his brow furrowed. “Strange. We all knock or just come in.”
“Did you invite more people?” Tate appears at the base of the stairs. “Print up flyers? Send out engraved invitations?”
“Not me.” Andrew steps beside me. “You know I don’t really like people.”
This earns him a chuckle from Tate. “Must’ve been me. The more the merrier.”
Andrew groans. “Tate can never keep these things small.”
“We can sneak away before the new arrivals see us.” I squeeze his hand.
“Is my son here?” a deep voice asks from the threshold. “He’s not returning my calls.”
We both stiffen. Andrew’s hand grips the banister, his knuckles turning white from the pressure.
“Father.” The word is poison in his mouth.
Again, he moves in front of me, blocking my body with his. I peer around his shoulder at the enormous open door, mostly blocked by Tate’s tall form.
The deep voice continues, “Ah, he is here. Figured he’d be neglecting finals to party with his buddies and pals.”
The last two words are spat out like sunflower shells.
“Finals are over,” Andrew says calmly. “Thanks for checking up on me.”
My own pulse rivals a hummingbird’s beating wings.
“We’re about to play a game of Clue, Mr. Bradford. I apologize, but we don’t have enough pieces for late arrivals. Perhaps you can join us another time,” Tate speaks slowly and condescendingly. Unbelievably, he begins to shut the door on Andrew’s father.
“Nice try, Winthrop.” A shiny, polished black shoe wedges itself between the door and the jamb. “I’d like to have a word with my son. Since he refuses the aids of modern technology, I’ve taken the courtesy of driving all the way up here from Boston. He’s not rude enough to turn me away after all my efforts.”
I can’t even begin to unravel all the layers of insults and entitlement in his statement. I’d ask if he was for real, but after everything Sarah and Andrew have told me, this is the mild version of Stanford.
A charcoal colored suit covered arm braces against the door, opening it farther. A slim line of white shirt cuff is exposed above an enormous statement watch. Everything about the man screams wealth and power, and I haven’t even seen his face yet.
Tate glances over his shoulder at us, a silent question behind his warm eyes. I have no doubt he could force the door closed or escort Mr. Bradford from the premise without much effort.
Almost unnoticeable, Andrew shakes his head no. I feel his hair brush against my cheek.
“If I asked you to go upstairs, find a room, and lock the door behind yourself, would you go?” Andrew asks without turning his head.
“No. Your father doesn’t scare me,” I whisper.
In a flash, his lips press against my cheek before cool air caresses the same spot.
“Didn’t think so.”
I can’t tell if he sounds resigned or proud. Both maybe.
Tate steps aside, making a grand gesture of welcome like a model showing off merchandise on a game show. “You may enter.”
The words are formal and strange coming from Tate. I giggle, thinking he’s joking, but there’s no humor on his face.
“Thank you.” The most boring looking man I’ve ever seen enters the foyer. The suit, the watch, and the shiny black shoes are the only interesting things about him.
I’m not going to lie, I kind of expected a cape. And maybe a dastardly thin mustache.
Stanford is a middle-aged man with light brown hair, unremarkable brown eyes, and an average build. From my perch on the steps, I can tell he’s shorter than his son.
The only memorable thing about him is the smug superiority of his expression as he stares directly at me.
“You must be the Bradbury girl who has my son so enchanted.”
It’s not a compliment. He practically spits out the reference to magic. Nothing but malice and ice fill his voice.
Sarah must have been on some serious drugs or something to ever find him dateable or attractive enough to get naked with. Perhaps she was under a spell herself.
“Andrew has clearly forgotten his manners tonight in failing to introduce us. I’m Stanford Bradford, Miss Bradbury.”
The way he says my name sounds like a threat. The prickling down my spine returns.
Andrew ignores his father’s jabs. “What do you want? I’ve made it explicitly clear I don’t want to speak to you.”
“I assumed you were busy with classes and your studies.” His cold dark eyes flash to me. “Shall we step outside for privacy?”
Andrew doesn’t move. “Whatever you want to say can be said in front of Tate and Madison.”
His father clucks his tongue. “That’s not acceptable. I’m well aware of your friend’s meddling abilities.” He glances toward the library. “Are you sure you want all your fellow partygoers to listen in on our conversation?”
I’m not sure who knows what in this group. Sam’s still mostly in the dark about real magic, other than what she’s learned about herbs and crystals.
“No point in trying to get syrup from an oak tree.” Tate shrugs his shoulders. “Why don’t the four of us step into the dining room. More privacy and not as cold.”
I need a Tate-to-English translation dictionary tonight. He’s speaking in code. I know he can absorb and diffuse emotions like a super powered empath, but there’s something else afoot this evening.
Andrew squeezes my hand. “You don’t have to join us.”
“Yes, I do.” I walk down the stairs.
When we reach the bottom of the staircase, Mr. Bradford extends his hand and moves toward us. Andrew bristles. I step beside him, my back straight and my chin lifted. I’m not going to let another Boston blowhard try to intimidate me.
“You’re as lovely as I’ve heard.” He lifts my hand and his warm, stale breath caresses my skin like humid air on a crowded train.
Retracting my hand, I tuck it behind my back where I can wipe it on the seat of my jeans, which I’ll be washing soon.
* * *
Inside the elegant dining room, which is centered by a long table surrounded by twelve chairs, no one sits.
Tate leans against the closed pocket doors while Andrew and I stand across the table near the large buffet. Sanford rests his elbows on the top rail of the chair at the head of the table.
The uncomfortable tension has me scanning the wallpapered walls for a telltale line of a secret door, in case we need to escape. Sadly, I don’t see one.
Remembering my drink, I take a long sip, letting the soft burn of alcohol calm my anxiety.
Stanford finally breaks the silence. “There is a rumor of a coven gathering a few weeks ago.”
“Interesting. Is this the word on the street in Boston?” Andrew’s sarcasm is unmistakable.
“People talk.” Stanford brushes imaginary lint from his sleeve. I can’t imagine dust would dare cling to his clothes.
“Not the people I know,” Andrew says. “It surprises me you have any curiosity about what happens in Salem. You’ve made it clear you hate this place.”
“My concern lies with my only son’s welfare. If he insists on living here, it’s my parental duty to protect him.”
“Bullshit.” Andrew hacks out the word.
“Language.”
“Protection?” Releasing my hand, Andrew grips the back of a chair. “Is that what you call using dark magic on your son?”
Stanford pales, but recovers almost instantly, and releases a dry laugh. “Is that what your mother told you?” Flat brown eyes focus on me. “Or is this your doing, Miss Bradbury?”
Every time he uses my last name, I want to scream. It feels menacing, an unspoken threat lying behind the syllables.
“I figured it out,” Andrew speaks up, breaking through the staring contest his father is having with me. “All those years of you telling me to be boring. Hide who I am, or else? You poisoned me with your own fear and shame of my mother’s power. Turning me against my true self. Now it’s over.”
Stanford shakes his head. “You don’t know what you’re opening yourself up to. The world is bigger than little Salem. Darker, more dangerous.”
“Who helped you? Give me the name of the witch.” Andrew doesn’t sugarcoat his request with a please.
“I can’t.” His father’s voice leaves no room for negotiation.
“Can’t or won’t?” Andrew asks.
His father tightens his jaw. “Doesn’t matter, you won’t get the answer from me
“Did you use Curses.com? Bad idea, Mr. Bradford.” Tate joins the conversation.
“Are you ever serious?” Stanford asks. “Doesn’t it get tedious going through life playing the fool?”
Tate stares at the ceiling for a few beats. “Better than being a bitter ass.”
I giggle and catch the twist of Andrew’s mouth as he fights a smile. I can’t tell if Tate’s deliberately lightening the mood or not.
Andrew crosses his arms. His expression sobers. “If you’re not willing to give us the name of the witch using dark magic, then our conversation here is done.”
For facing the man who was willing to sabotage his son’s happiness out of bitterness and fear, Andrew’s amazingly stoic.
“Well, that concludes another awkward family meeting in this dining room. The streak is unbroken.” Tate slides open both pocket doors. Laughter carries across the foyer from the library.
Stanford’s shiny shoes click on the floor as he crosses it to stand in front of us.
“Don’t do anything rash.” Stanford reaches for his son’s hand, but Andrew evades his touch. Facing me, he continues, “I don’t approve of you dating my son. I’d ask you to rethink your romantic notions about witches and magic. Before it’s too late.”
The sensation of hanging upside down swarms over me, followed by the sway of the room spinning. I feel myself tilt and lean into Andrew’s shoulder.
“Don’t you dare threaten her,” Andrew shouts. “Get out. Now.”
I’ve never heard his voice sound so cold and commanding. The house seems to still in response. All conversation and laughter abruptly ends.
“And on that note, I’ll see you out.” Cupping Stanford’s elbow, Tate guides him to the door. “You’re no longer welcome here, Mr. Bradford.”
As soon as the door closes and the lock clicks into place, the sense of the ground swaying ends and my equilibrium returns.
“Are you okay?” Andrew wraps his arms around me and leads me over to the steps. “Sit. Tate, get her some water. Please.”
“I’m fine. I think. I got a little woozy. Probably drank Sam’s concoction too quickly.”
Tate returns with a glass and hands it to me.
Sam walks into the foyer. “Where have the three of you been?We found a set of Cards Against Humanity. You want to play?”
“Didn’t you hear us?” I ask.
Andrew stares at me and gives a shake of his head.
My mouth drops open as I meet his gaze.
How is that possible? The doorbell and the shouting?
He glances in Tate’s direction. “Later.”
“Andrew and I gave Madison a tour of the house,” Tate says, like we’ve been having the best time ever.
I join in the lie. “I wanted to see the secret passages and hidden doors.”
Sam pouts. “You’re not the only one.”
“Another time, I promise,” Tate says with a flirty smile.
“I’m not feeling well.” An annoying throbbing has taken up residence above my right eye. “I think I should go home and go to bed.”
Andrew’s brows lower as he frowns. “What did you put in the drinks, Sam?”
“I found some brandy in the liquor cabinet. Mixed it with hard cider and a splash of Fireball. Wasn’t it yummy?”
When Andrew and Tate hold a silent conversation with their eyes, I start to worry.
“Maybe the brandy had turned,” Tate suggests
“I drank it and feel fine. In fact, I was about to make another round,” Sam says. “Anyone else want one? Not you, Madison. You don’t look so good.”
“I’ll be fine after some sleep.”
Andrew doesn’t appear to agree. “I’ll take you home.”
“You can stay, Sam. I hate to ruin your fun.” I meet her eyes and flick my gaze to Tate.
“No, I’ll come with you. If you end up puking, I should be there to hold your hair. Unless Andrew wants to do it?”
“Um.” He pauses.
“Please no.” I wave my hands in front of myself. “Sleep. Some Aleve and water. I’ll be ready to drive to the farmhouse tomorrow. Promise.”