Seven
I wake up to warmth pressing against my back. Silvery winter light casts faint shadows on the wall through the lace curtains. I blink and try to clear my head. My room doesn’t have lace curtains. I’m uncertain if what I’m seeing is the present or the past.
Something moves behind me, and a heavy weight falls around my waist followed by a deep, sleepy groan.
“This is a nice morning surprise,” Andrew’s raspy voice says against my hair.
I leap from the bed like I’ve been fired out of a pumpkin catapult. The momentum carries me across the room and I press my hands against the window frame to stop myself from face planting into the glass.
A few inches of snow cover every surface from the roof of the barn to the cars in the drive. Overnight, the world has been zapped of color. Undisturbed snow clings to the trees and shrubs. My eyes scan the landscape until something dark and out of place catches my attention.
Near the side of the barn is fresh earth, untouched by white. There’s a deep rut of dirt cut into the pristine surface like dried blood from a gash on porcelain skin.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Andrew’s voice carries from the bed. “But in my defense, you crawled into my bed in the middle of the night.”
My breath condenses on the glass and I swipe my fingers through it to clear my view. “I had a dream and I must’ve sleepwalked in here.”
“Does that happen often?” His feet softly thump on the rug behind me.
When I turn, he’s standing up in a pair of plaid sleep pants and a rumpled black Hawthorne T-shirt.
“Not in years.” I face the window and study the dirt patch in the snow. “I dreamt of someone digging for turnips and rutabagas in the garden. They were stealing the vegetables, tossing them into an old burlap sack before they hoisted it over their shoulder like a root vegetable stealing Santa.”
“That’s a horrible dream. Who’d want to steal turnips?” He pads across the room to stand beside me. I’m instantly self-conscious of my thin camisole and lack of a bra. And my morning breath.
“Look,” I tell him. “Something’s been digging in Gram’s kitchen garden. I probably heard the critters. We had a raccoon infestation in the barn a few years ago.”
Andrew’s chest stills as he pushes all the air from his lungs. “Get dressed and meet me in the kitchen.”
His words tumble out in a rush as he not so gently shoves me away from the window.
“What’s going on?” I pause in the doorway.
“Go now. Questions later.” He practically shuts the door in my face.
I dash down the hall and wake Sam. “Something’s going on and we have to get downstairs right now.”
Her hair is a nest and a thick blond strand is stuck to her cheek when she sits up. “What? It’s dawn. Too early for drama, Madison.”
I’m pulling a thick red sweater over my head as I hear her bed creak. When my head pops through, she’s rolled over and burrowed under the covers.
“Come on,” I plead as I switch my pajamas for leggings. Rushing, I forget to remove my socks and they bulge out around my ankles beneath the black fabric. “Meet me downstairs.”
I stop in the bathroom and swipe toothpaste over my teeth before swishing the minty flavor with water. No time for proper brushing.
Voices carry from the kitchen when I reach the first floor. Gram’s door is open and her room is empty. Rounding the corner into the great room, I find her standing at the window with Sarah and Andrew. All three wear their coats, ready to go outside.
Tate bumps into me from behind.
“Did you see the dirt?” he asks, sounding like he ran downstairs. His thick locks of twisted hair hang around his shoulders.
“Madison, grab your coat and boots.” Gram’s voice leaves no room for argument.
I retrieve my coat and boots from the mudroom along with Sam’s shoes.
Sam’s footsteps pad slowly down the stairs. I shove her shoes at her. “Meet us outside.”
Our little group tromps through the ankle-deep snow toward the barn in silence.
“Not turnips,” I whisper when I see the deep rectangle in the earth. A messy pile of soil flanks the hole, and a shovel leans against the stone foundation of the barn.
“Whoever did this didn’t care about being discovered.” Andrew steps closer to the edge. “Nor did they bother to cover up.”
“That’s because they want us to know what they have. It’s a threat.”
Sam reaches our semi-circle, out of breath and coatless. “What’s missing?”
“Bones,” Gram says, a cloud of frosted air forming as she exhales. “From Giles or Martha.”
“What would someone want with old bones?” I ask.
“The bones of those who died by hanging or another violent death are believed to contain stronger traces of spirit, or life essence,” Sam rattles off this information from memory.
My mouth opens as I stare at her.
“What?” she asks. “I’ve been curious about witchcraft for ages.”
Sarah picks up a handful of dirt and sniffs it. “Human bones are only used in dark magic practice now. For healing, an animal bone is preferred. There’s no need to rob a grave unless the reasons are nefarious.”
“But how did they get past the protective spell?” Gram’s voice waivers as she examines the grave.
Andrew stands up again. “I left the gate open for my mother.”
My own breath snags in my throat. “Someone followed us here?”
“Or you released a pulse of magic when you had your vision in the cellar. Perhaps you caused a shimmering in the protective spell. A powerful witch lurking close by could’ve picked up on the shift.” Sarah squints as she gazes into the dark woods.
Tate paces a circle around the area. “The energy isn’t familiar. I’ve never met whoever did this.”
Sarah sprinkles the dirt from her hand over the grave. “We must locate the book Sarah saw in the cellar. If we’re up against someone using corpse magic, this is outside even my powers.”
* * *
I dread the cellar even more, but Andrew tromps down the stairs behind me. The others stay in the kitchen under Sarah’s instructions. We want to recreate the details of my first vision as closely as possible.
“We’ll need to kiss,” Andrew says. “I brushed my teeth. I promise.”
I can’t say the same, and hope the finger-brush and swish worked.
He takes a half step closer, leaving only a few inches between our bodies. Tilting my head back, I gaze into his eyes.
“Remember when I asked you if you really wanted to be involved with a witch? I warned you nothing about me was normal,” he says, softly and apologetically.
“I have a feeling dating me is going to be nothing but trouble,” I apologize.
“Too late.” His dark lips curve with amusement. “I’m yours and you’re mine. Nothing you can do will change my mind.”
We haven’t said the big L word, yet, at least not in a formal way. I don’t want to think of this cellar and our love, so I hold off vocalizing what I’m feeling. Instead, I pull his head down to mine.
His kiss is warm and full of emotion as he takes control. I begin to lose myself in the sensation of our bodies moving on instinct. The gloom and chill fade away as the blue light brightens the darkness behind my closed lids.
My sharp intake of breath breaks the kiss.
Andrew leans back. “What do you see?”
This time, the shadows of the past are clearer, brighter. Gram’s shelves and food jars fade away as the ghost objects take over my vision. I can still see Andrew clearly.
Taking a few steps, I move in the direction of the book’s hiding place. Above me, I see the dark edge of the leather jutting out from the top of the beam.
Again I reach for it and touch nothing but cobwebs and dust.
“Focus. Imagine the leather underneath your fingertips. What does it feel like? How heavy would it be if you held the book in your hand?” Andrew’s voice sounds far away.
I follow his instructions and tell myself that the book is real. If I believe it’s really resting on the beam, I’ll touch it by lifting my arm. It’s right there.
My fingers brush against wood and dust, then pause when I feel the smooth surface of worn leather.
For a brief moment, I’m touching something that doesn’t exist in this time. As my brain fights the impossibility of what my hand is touching, I have another vision. The book is no longer here because it has a new hiding place. Tucked away and forgotten, it hides among a collection of other old books. Lacking any ornamentation and overshadowed by larger volumes covered in gilt decoration, the book we seek is plain and overlooked.
“Tate’s house,” I blurt out. The blue haze and vision disappear instantly.
“Are you sure?” Andrew asks, holding my dirty hand. “The Winthrop collection numbers in the thousands. We’ll be seeking a needle in the proverbial haystack.”
“If we go there, I might be able to have another vision and pinpoint its location.” I try to sound more confident in my new abilities than I feel.
Clasping my fingers tightly in his hand, Andrew climbs the stairs to the kitchen.
Sarah and Gram sit at the table, whispering with their heads close together. Sam sips tea and Tate paces near the fire.
“We need to go back to your summer house.” Andrew pauses by the counter. “Madison had a glimpse of the book on a shelf.”
Tate pauses. “Why would it be in the Winthrop collection?”
“Like the Corey farm, your house is enchanted,” Sarah answers.
“It is? But that’s the first time I saw Andrew perform magic. He lit a fire right in front of me,” I say in disbelief.
“On Halloween,” Tate explains. “Magic can only be created on the grounds on certain days. Halloween, the solstices and equinoxes, and a few others sprinkled throughout the calendar year. Otherwise, no magic is allowed. Nor can anyone stroll inside uninvited.”
I remember his strange formal tone with Andrew’s father. “You invited Mr. Bradford into the house two days ago.”
“And I disinvited him when he left.”
“You’re no longer welcome here,” I repeat the words he used.
He nods his head. “Exactly.”
“I thought that only worked with vampires,” Sam says, setting down her tea and eyeing Tate.
“I’m not a bloodsucker.” He rolls his eyes. “Let’s not get carried away. Nor do I have a pet dragon. Or know any werewolves.”
Sam sighs with disappointment.
“If you’re leaving, I need to give you something before you go.” Gram stands and wobbles on her feet. Dismissing Sarah’s offered hand, she carefully rounds the table and walks toward the fireplace. “Andrew and Tate, if you could help me move my chair.”
The guys rush to lift the heavy wingback chair and set it a few feet away. Gram steps behind the chair and pulls a loose brick from the left side of the fireplace. Even with the roaring fire, the hearth is big enough the flames don’t reach her hand.
Once the brick has been removed, she extracts a familiar looking piece of cream paper.
What I thought was a scroll is actually an envelope, folded and worn with age.
“I thought I had more time and I’m sorry I can’t explain more, but you’re going to need this for what’s coming next. Take it with you, but don’t open it out of curiosity. The right moment will present itself and you’ll know. Use it carefully and tell no one you have it.” She gives me an attempt of an encouraging smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
My hand shakes as I take the envelope from her. The weight doesn’t reveal the contents. It could be heavy paper, or a small object. “What if I don’t know what to do? What if I’m not ready?”
The tremors in my voice betray my nerves. Tears burn as they form in my eyes.
“You’ll know. Trust me, but more importantly, trust yourself. Make sure you’re the one to find the book. Keep it safe.” Gram hugs me. “Someday this farm will be yours. Not any time soon, because I don’t plan on going anywhere, but this will always be home for you. Remember that.”
Tears spill from her watery eyes. “Now go and quit wasting time.”
Sarah joins us and gives me a hug, too. “I’m going to stay behind and make sure the protection spells are reestablished. We don’t want any more unexpected guests before the holidays.”
I smile at her attempt at humor in the face of an unknown threat.
Turning to Andrew, she pulls him in for a hug as well. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’ll alert the coven. They’ll show up in all their corduroy clad glory if you need them.”
I chuckle at the thought of a group of magic empowered middle age professors and librarians coming to our rescue.
Tucking the envelope into my coat pocket, I begin to think of a safe place to hide it if Gram wants it off the farm.