Two

I pushed a cup of coffee across the kitchen table to Chyler and watched her scowl at it as she blew the steam away with pursed, glossy pink lips.

“You’re going to have to tell me more about this book,” I said at last.

“It’s, like, magic and my family have had it, like, forever!”

“Do you think you could not say ‘like’ so much?” I asked. Chyler threw a look at me as if to say, you’re so old, when she couldn’t be more than a few years younger than me. But then, anyone was old to a teenager I reminded myself, I’d probably been just as petulant. Even so, I scowled back at her. It was my house, after all and she had just come in unbidden. I wanted an explanation. Now.

“So, the book has been in my family for years and years and every generation adds their spells to it and we use it for our magic.”

I nodded. There were spell casters, a different breed of magic from me, but a valid strain nevertheless. It explained why the read I was getting from her wasn’t quite the same as the smooth vibration I felt when a witch with blood magic was nearby. Spell casters gave off more of a fuzzy feeling.

Chyler continued. “I’m next in line for the book after my mom. My aunts had a lot to say about that! They want the book and they’ll do anything to get it. It’s got a lot of power.” She stroked the book and I watched in amusement as the cover seemed to hiccup and the pages ruffled within. If I didn’t know better I would have said the book was being affectionate.

“Duh, do you not get the magic news? The council are splitting up and everyone wants as much power as they can get their hands on. My mom’s sister wants it because she thinks it should go to her. My dad’s sisters want it too, because they want to get away from what’s left of the council.” Chyler looked dejected, like she had already heard a dozen arguments against her possessing the book. “And it’s not just them. The council want it too. It’s so old and powerful and they’d do anything for that.”

“Include killing a teenager?”

“I knew you’d help me.” Chyler grinned, her face brightening.

I held up my hands and her face fell slightly. “Wait. I never said that. I don’t know why the book thinks I can help you against the council, or why it thinks I would.” Though, when I said it, I couldn’t think why it wouldn’t think that. Hadn’t the last leader of the council tried to kill me? And hadn’t I been hiding from them for the past six months? I was definitely not in their fan club. Also: thinking about a book thinking was just plain weird.

“I’ll show you what it said.” Chyler thumbed open the book, flipping the edges of the thick paper until it heaved open to the page she had shown me before, the page with my pen and ink portrait. She ran her forefinger under the neat black print underneath, reading aloud, “It says: Stella Mayweather is who you seek. Trouble from you she will keep. She’s a powerful witch whose magic goes without a hitch. Go to her and ask for haven, she will help you from the horrid ... coven. Say her name three times, and you’ll find yourself in her humble climes. See? Also, I know, the book likes rhyming but sometimes it isn’t very good at it. It’s old school like that.”

I sat back in my chair, my hands warming around my mug as I thought. I’d tried to keep out of the magic business. I might have been saved because of it but it had caused me nothing but heartache and pain ultimately. It had turned me into a killer, albeit in self defence.

I might have been done with the witches’ councill but it seemed like they weren’t done with me. My heart sank.

I couldn’t decide whether it was disturbing or not that the council was fracturing like Chyler had said. I wondered if it was down to the lack of a strong leader now Robert Bartholomew was dead or whether it was because of the uneasy division between blood magic witches and spell casters and those who straddled the middle. But I knew one thing: I couldn’t in all good conscience turn Chyler away and leave her to face her apparent enemies alone.

“I’ll help you,” I said, right before it occurred to me in a jolt of understanding that someone from my past probably wasn’t far away. That had been the signature I detected a faint trace of earlier. Would they be friend or foe? It stood to reason that if the council really had it in for Chyler that they would be tracking her. No, I realised, I’d detected it earlier, before Chyler had arrived. Whoever it was was here for me.

“But the book says you’re really powerful. Can’t you defeat them all and then I can just get on with my life?” Chyler asked, rather too optimistically in my opinion.

“Your book’s mistaken. I’m not really powerful.” Damn it, I was barely even trained and as far as magic went, it was like asking an amateur to try out for the Olympics. I’d help Chyler because my conscience told me it was the right thing to do. My mind told me I should get her real help.

“But you’re going to look after me, right? How are you going to keep the witches away from me?”

I thought for a moment, trying to resist the urge to drum my fingers on the table as I went through the few options I did have. “We’ll have to disguise you,” I said, finally.

“There is no way I’m dying my hair. My mom paid two hundred dollars at...” Chyler trailed off and heaved a breath as if something had suddenly hit her hard in the stomach. She gasped for a moment then steadied herself. I reached over and squeezed her hand and as I did so I felt a familiar surge of power ricochet through me.

“I’ve got a better way.” I stood and moved round the table until I could put both my hands on her shoulders. I willed her to be hidden and felt the magic flow through me, entirely under my control, seeping around her. At the same time I felt something flow back at me and it was like seeing a blurred scene on the backs of my eyes. An attic, Chyler ... a knife falling to the floor as someone whimpered. I stepped back quickly, raising my hands from her shoulders to break the connection.

“What did you do?” Chyler whispered. She was shaking slightly when she held a hand up in front of her as if wondering if she would still be able to see it.

“I’ve masked your magic. I think.” Like I said, I was no master of magic. I’d just envisioned what I wanted to happen. I wanted to disguise Chyler’s magic, not her physical appearance, though I thought I could probably do that too. Right now, the strange vision was at the fore front of my mind. I wasn’t sure what I’d seen but I knew what I felt. I felt horribly cold and anxious. Could I have just glimpsed the attack? Even more frighteningly, had I just pulled the vision directly out of Chyler’s head?

I shrugged. “I’m not that kind of magic.” Though that wasn’t strictly true; I could use spells to give my magic a boost and vice versa. I didn’t think Chyler needed a lecture from someone who barely understood it herself. Chyler had clearly grown up around magic. It had been in my life, fully, recognisably, for only a year and I was still getting to grips with the basics of what I could do.

“How are you going to help?” Chyler pressed and, well, she had me there. I hadn’t the faintest idea. I couldn’t call in reinforcements – not without attracting attention to myself – and I didn’t exactly have vast resources.

“Can your book help you? It brought you here.” I eyed up the thick old tome and wondered how many secrets and spells it contained. I wondered if my parents had a spell book, and if so, what had happened to it.

Chyler stroked the cover. “I don’t know. Book, can you help us?” She pushed it to the centre of the table and sat back, arms folded, and waited. Seconds ticked by then the book slowly began to ruffle its pages, flipping through them until the gaps became further in between as the cover rose higher. After a few more seconds, it heaved open to a page. We both leaned forward to get a look.

The book was writing as we watched, the ink looping across the pages. It read: hidden in plain sight, something is far from right. Protect yourself witch, beware of the scary bitch. The ink began to fade until it disappeared altogether, leaving the page blank again.

“Oh, for goodness sake,” said Chyler, suddenly sounding twenty years older. She tipped the book shut. “I told you it does stupid rhymes.”

“I’ve known you less than an hour and I don’t actually know you,” I said gently. “Plus if you’re here, someone might have followed you and we’re not prepared. So please go to your safe place while I work out what to do.”

“Fine. Whatever.” Chyler scooped up the book and stood up. I saw her mouth move as if she was saying words inside her head, but some of it couldn’t help but leak out. In the split second before she winked out of existence, her eyes widened, her pupils dilating. “Stella, help me,” she pleaded, her voice nothing more than a whisper.

I sat there for a while, staring at the space she had occupied wondering what the hell I should do. I wasn’t stupid enough to think I was a one woman army who could take on who knew how many witches. I knew I wasn’t strong enough to take them all; I couldn’t really rely on being able to take one and that was if I was looking after myself, not as well as protecting a teen witch who had asked for my protection. Crap. It didn’t matter which way I was looking at it, things were not looking good.

I made myself a cheese sandwich and a packet of crisps – I still couldn’t get my head around calling them chips – and munched them down while sat at the table, deep in thought. I couldn’t help the feeling that there was something horribly wrong with the whole situation. More wrong than Chyler had even said, thanks to the unnerving feeling I got from the strange vision.

I quickly cleaned up after myself, brushing crumbs into the bin and rinsing my plate before I went into the living room and settled in front of another film about some kind of group of dysfunctional friends searching for love. I must have snoozed for a while because when I woke up, my head against a blue cushion, the movie had gone off and the digital clock on the DVD player was flashing a quarter after six. I’d have to get a shuffle on to get myself ready for my night of forced socialisation which would be better than staring at a wall willing my brain to come up with a great plan.

I forced myself off the sofa and into my bedroom where I pulled out a clean pair of jeans and a white shirt with a little button down detail. I finished the look with tooled leather cowboy- style boots with a low chunky heel that I’d picked up in a sale when out shopping with Annalise. They were starting to look appropriately worn in, just like everyone else’s did around here. Perhaps footwear was the first step of small town assimilation, I thought with a smile as I sat in front of my dresser. I added the lightest dash of eye shadow and some mascara to make my green eyes pop and ran my hair through my fingers, pleased that it looked sleek and glossy brown.

Earlier I had put a bottle of wine to chill in the fridge, and I grabbed it by the neck before letting myself out the front door. As my house was side on to the street, I didn’t immediately see my neighbour’s home but when I stepped off the porch I could see they had a good number of visitors already. Two trucks were parked on the wide driveway next to Annalise’s car and Gage’s motorbike. Several more cars of varying sizes and ages – nothing ostentatious or showy – were parked along the side of the road as there were no restrictions here. I could hear music and laughter drift over and I let it wash over me, trying to make it sink in. I could have fun. I would have fun. I repeated that to myself two or three times, hoping it would actually stick.

When I got to the end of my drive I almost faltered, but just then two people I recognised as Annalise’s friends drove up and parked and waved to me so I went in with them as it would have been rude to just turn around and walk away. Plus, I’d have looked like an idiot. As I went in, I couldn’t help look over my shoulder before I shut the door, the same feeling of being watched as I’d felt earlier teasing me. I shook off my paranoia, pushed thoughts of Chyler to the back of my mind and shut the door.

A game was already underway with six players sat in solid concentration around the circular dining table. For tonight, it had been covered in green baize and there were several stacks of cards as well as a bunch of coloured poker chips. I hadn’t the faintest idea what was a good hand or not so I hung back to talk to Annalise as she introduced me to faces I didn’t yet know. I nodded politely, said my hellos and had my hand pumped enthusiastically a couple of times. It seemed people didn’t move to Wilding often and, small towns being what they are, everyone knew who I was already and that I’d taken the house across the road. I guessed no amount of wards would have staved off the locals from knowing that. However, I wondered if I should do something about containing that information and made the decision to think on it some more later. I didn’t know if I ever wanted it getting out where I lived especially as I’d spent months trying to live as anonymously as possible in a small town where everyone knew everybody and my English voice stuck out like a sore thumb.

“Can you play?” asked Annalise and when I shook my head, she carried on, nodding at the table as she spoke. “Gage learned to play when he was real little and he’s pretty damn good. He keeps trying to teach me but it’s really not getting in here.” She tapped her head and rolled her eyes vacantly.

“You’ve known each other a long time, huh?”

Annalise looked at me quizzically and nodded. “All our lives, hon’.”

“How long have you lived together?” I asked her to be conversational as she took the wine bottle and motioned that I should follow her to the kitchen.

Annalise looked at me like I had gone a little mad as she uncorked the bottle and poured a glass for me, then for her. “Well, except for a few years here and there, all our lives too. Our parents left the house to both of us when they passed.”

“I thought you were...” I started then choked back the words as I followed her back out to the living room. Realisation hit Annalise at the same time and she hooted so loudly with laughter that the players broke concentration to turn and look at us.

“Stella, oh Stella,” she howled and tears started to run down her face as she bent almost double, holding her wine glass steady in the air so she wouldn’t spill any liquid.

“What’s up with you?” asked Gage looking up from his cards, then from her to me, a frown pitting his forehead. Some of his hair had spilled forward and he brushed it back with his free hand, then reached for the beer bottle, touching it to his lips.

“Oh my,” Annalise snorted, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands. “Stella, here, thinks we’re ... you know ... hah!”

“You know ... what?” Gage flicked his eyes to his hand then back to us. I knew he understood when he choked on his beer, earning himself a thump on the back from the player next to him.

I felt myself redden as eyes turned on me when Annalise finally breathed, “Stella seems to be under the impression that we’re married, or living together, or something.”

His coughing fit over, Gage grimaced. “Gross,” he muttered and looked at me like he couldn’t fathom why I would think such a thing. Finally he rolled his eyes and busied himself looking at his cards with more attention than they could possibly deserve.

“Why would you think that, honey? Gage is my big brother.” Apparently it was the funniest thing Annalise had ever heard.

“Well...,” I started. Then, I wondered, why had I thought that? I’d gotten their post in my mailbox once or twice and they had the same surname, Garoul, so when I added to the equation in that they shared a house and didn’t look much like each other – though when I thought about it now they had the same shaped eyes – I had jumped to a huge conclusion that they were some kind of – what? Couple? Lovers? – when it had never occurred to me that they might be siblings. Apparently I was a ginormous idiot. “I just assumed,” I finished lamely, a hot flush burning my cheeks.

“All this time you’ve been thinking we were ... eugh! I don’t even want to finish that thought.” Annalise laughed as she handed me her glass so she could break open a bag of chips to up-end in two big melamine bowls. She put one on the table for the players and then another on the side table by the sofa.

The man next to Gage, the helpful back thumper, took one look at the cards he’d been dealt and folded, tossing them on a table with a shake of his head. “You’ve the luck of the devil,” he moaned as Gage put his hands around the small pile of poker chips, pulling them to his side of the table.

“Can’t deny it,” grinned Gage with a broad smile that would melt an igloo. The good-natured man got up and freed his seat for another player and came over to stand by Annalise. Her whole face lit up as she looked up at him.

“Meet Beau,” she said and Beau, who looked more like a Butch with his bulging arms barely restrained by a check shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He had on blue jeans with worn patches over the thighs, and his blond hair was cut close to the scalp. He reached over and pumped my hand. “Beau just got out of the Marines and has moved back to Wilding,” added Annalise.

“Welcome home,” I said, wincing a bit as he crushed my hand in his strong grip.

“It’s good to be back,” said Beau and I noticed that he had gently looped his arm around Annalise’s waist. A-ha! Good job I had had my explanation before I’d seen that or I would have been thought they were having an affair. That would have been mortifying, not to mention completely confusing.

“We’ve missed Beau over these past few years,” Annalise added, her eyes still fixed on him.

Beau looked at her fondly and I wondered if there had been some history between them. “I was glad to come back and find Annalise still here.”

“Couldn’t keep away,” she murmured.

It seemed that Beau was a popular guy, judging by the reactions he was getting from the room. He was by no means my type, if there was such a thing, but he was broad and tidy looking with an amicable personality that matched his easy smile. For a big man, he seemed gentle around Annalise, who was rather petite, and I liked that. Annalise seemed to bring out a sisterly quality in me and with her easy nature, I liked to see people being nice to her.

“Why don’t you play a game?” suggested Annalise signalling Beau’s vacated chair at the table.

“I don’t know the rules,” I admitted, feeling like a lame ass. So far, this evening was excruciating for me even if I was trying. I felt like I was stood on the edges of fun, not quite able to lean forward and grasp the feeling. I felt like my social ineptitude was rolling off me in waves, but I put my game face on anyway so I didn’t disappoint my friend.

I looked to Annalise and Beau for my get out clause but they were busy making eyes at each other, so I just nodded and took up the spare chair. Seeing that I was a newbie, the other players made their excuses and headed into the kitchen for beers. I looked after them, feeling uncomfortable. “Now I feel like I’ve ruined the game.”

Gage shook his head as he shuffled the deck. “They just couldn’t accept that they were all out of chips. They’re probably on the first step of drowning their sorrows right now.”

“That sucks.”

“They’ll probably win it all back next week.” Gage grinned, dimples popping on each cheek, and I couldn’t help smiling back.

Gage showed me the basic plays and we played a couple of easy rounds with our cards face up on the table so he could tell me what to do. I was getting the hang of it but only if I really thought about it. At least it gave me something new to think about, something that wasn’t wrapped in sadness or involved in coming up with new and inventive ways to aid my search.

“Ready for a real game?”

“I guess.” I pulled a face.

“Are you going to play to win?” Gage cocked an eyebrow at me as he swept the cards up and started to shuffle, letting the cards ripple in his hands in a fancy move.

“I’ll do my best.”

Annalise had sidled up behind me. “How about you put stakes on it? You’ll play better if you’ve got something to lose,” she suggested, which didn’t strike me as helpful but it did draw a little crowd round us and they murmured their agreement. I wasn’t sure if they just wanted to see me lose or, hope against hopes, watch Gage’s luck run out. I felt like I was being initiated and crap, was I about to make an idiot of myself. At least this evening had a general theme.

Gage looked at me thoughtfully and nodded. “Want to put a stake on it?”

I knew I didn’t have a hope in hell of winning so I thought for a moment and came up with the most ridiculous ask that I could, simply because I knew it would never happen. “I win, you paint my house.”

The little crowd murmured their approval while Gage considered his request. Annalise winked at me. Heck, it was a good job their house looked freshly painted or I would probably be doing that for the next few weeks. I hope he didn’t ask me to do his laundry. There was a line to be drawn, after all.

“I want Stella,” he said, at last and then got thumped on the back by Beau who whooped. Gage’s cheeks pinked under the stubble. “I mean an evening out. Dinner, maybe.”

“Like I cook?” I asked, not sure if he wanted me to feed him. I could do that. Badly. I was pretty sure his sister fed him well, which meant ... oh. I started to blush.

“Like a date,” he confirmed, “but you can cook if you want. Or we can do something else, like see a movie.”

“Oh, lord,” muttered Annalise and bent to whisper in my ear. “Take pity on him, sweetie.”

“Best of three?” I asked, starting to hope that maybe there was a slim chance he would paint my house because I was not handing over a date and he nodded. It was a good job I was no cheat or I would have considered having a surreptitious magical rummage in that card pile.

“Okay, then.” Gage shuffled the cards, clearly showing off a little as he took one hand up high and let the cards rain down into his other hand, then he spun five cards out each with a flick of his thumb. I picked mine up. I had a full house. Unbelievable. And I hadn’t even been tempted to me to use magic to get the right cards. I was on a lucky streak all right.

I laid my queens and twos out on the table and waited. The banter had gone out of the room. Apparently our stakes were far more interesting. Gage sighed and tossed his cards down. He had one pair. Win to me! I grinned, feeling a rush of energy crest and flow inside me.

“What colour would you like your house, hon’?” giggled Annalise with a little snort.

“Best of three, remember,” said Gage, looking a little surprised at my starter’s luck but otherwise not bothered. He eyed me like he was trying to see inside my head and I dropped my gaze to his hands.

“Deal,” I said, my confidence taking a little leap of its own. Gage reshuffled the pack and dealt again, his eyes meeting mine in challenge when I raised them for the briefest of moments. Picking up my cards, I held them to my chest and fanned them out. I didn’t have a single match. Either Gage’s hand had to be just as bad, or he was a clear winner. I wasn’t sure what play to make so I just shook my head. After a tense minute, he laid his out first. We were level one-on-one. My heart thudded. It’s just a game, I reminded myself. Besides dinner with Gage would not be horrible, even though this was the longest conversation we’d had to date. What would we talk about? Perhaps I could just look at him, I thought, which made my heart thump surprisingly fast.

“I like steak rare,” Gage teased.

“I’d like my house white,” I rebuffed, a small smile playing on my face.

On our third and final set, Gage laid off the fancy moves, shuffling quickly and thoroughly, before dealing our final hands. I waited a moment before picking up my cards and then fanned them in my palm. My opening hand was four tens and an eight. Four of a kind. I was so going to get my house painted. I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my face as he sighed and shook his hand out on the table. I laid mine down eagerly and heard a whoop go up behind me. My eyes widened just for a moment then I looked down. All clubs, all in the right order. All his. That had to have higher points than mine. Crap. And my heart sank when one of Gage’s buddies high-fived him.

Annalise patted my back in commiseration. “If it helps at all, he does chew with his mouth shut and he knows how to use cutlery.”

Great.

“Tomorrow night?” said Gage, with a nod of his head, and before I could answer, before I could tell him that we didn’t have to, he’d scraped back his chair and headed off to the kitchen. And just like that I had a date.

I couldn’t be churlish and cross because not only would that be pathetic but I didn’t want to embarrass him, not in his own house and not in front of his sister and friends. Besides, I’d accepted the bet, even when I knew I was unlikely to win, so I just plastered on what I hoped was a magnanimous smile, pushed my chair back and left the table to make way for the real players.

For another hour I hung around and was polite and exchanged conversational tidbits with Annalise’s friends and made polite enquiries to the people I had met before and took their poker jokes on the chin. A couple of the ladies quietly congratulated me and said they’d have played badly for a date with Gage too. I wasn’t quite sure what that was all about. Sure he was good looking and seemed to work hard, but he hadn’t said more than thirty words to me in six months, and we were neighbours. Maybe they liked the strong silent types. Personally, I hoped he’d bone up on his conversational skills before we were stuck silently gawping at each other like morons. I hoped our faux date wouldn’t be excruciating.

By the time I’d kissed Annalise on the cheek and stepped outside, the sun had almost set leaving a faded red tinge on the inky black horizon. I’d just walked down the steps when I heard the door open and shut behind me, a quick burst of noise escaping, and footsteps sounded on the steps as someone followed me out. I must have forgotten something I thought, as I turned round to face Annalise. Instead, I almost face planted into a man’s chest. I looked up and got Gage.

“Have I offended you?” he asked looking down at me, his face completely unreadable.

“Um, no.”

“Good.” He looked at me, his eyes boring into mine briefly, before saying, “You don’t have to go out with me if you don’t want to.”

I thought about that for a moment, probably a moment too long, and his face seemed to fall a little bit. What else had I planned? A big, fat, nothing, that’s what. Who was to say we wouldn’t have a nice time? And it wasn’t like it was a real date. It was just for fun. I needed fun. “No, that’s fine. I’m happy to go out with you,” I said, keeping my weak justification to myself.

He smiled and, there, under the moonlight, I thought him quite lovely. There was no denying he was handsome. At least he’d be nice to look at on our pretend date, which I was not going to think of as a date under any circumstances. Not even when my stomach was doing little flips. Not even when I felt the frisson of first date nerves. “So... I’ll pick you up tomorrow night at seven?” he said.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he repeated. Hmm, we were big conversationalists, all right.

Gage looked at me for another moment then nodded in that curt way of his and turned to go back inside. I stepped forward, reaching out so that I caught his bare wrist where he’d folded the sleeve back. He was hot, literally hot, and I could feel his vein pumping, strong and vital. There was something about feel of his skin that suddenly made me feel very alive. I wanted to feel alive. Gage turned back to me expectantly, his face starting to fall again like he really expected me to change my mind so quickly.

“Do I need to get dressed up?” I asked, withdrawing my hand, my thumb rubbing against my palm where I could still feel his heat burning against my skin.

Gage thought about it for a moment then shook his head. “No, casual is fine.”

“I’m just relieved I don’t have to cook.” I tried a coy smile on for size.

Gage laughed and turned back to climb the steps. He paused, one foot on the top plank, the other stretched long and lean. I admired his physique for probably a moment too long. He smiled down at me, like he knew exactly what I was thinking and was welcoming it. “That’s for the second date,” he grinned and before I could argue that I hadn’t agreed to two dates, he’d bounded inside and shut the door firmly on me.

“Hah,” I said to the still night.

I stood there for a moment looking at the closed door wondering what had just happened. Then I shook myself out of it and went back over to my house, shadowed under the dusky clouds.

It wasn’t until I was stood on my porch that I saw the parcel propped in front of the door. I walked towards it cautiously. It was way past the regular mailman’s hours and I hadn’t heard a truck pull up, but then people had left before I had and I’d barely noticed their engines on the road either. I picked up the parcel, bulky but soft, and took it inside. Just inside the door I reached for the light switch and flipped it on then took the package over to the sofa. My name was printed neatly on the outside, but without an address. Odd.

Leaving it perched on the sofa for no more than a minute, I rummaged for a pair of scissors in a kitchen drawer. Scissors in hand, I sat down next to the parcel and carefully slit open the taped ends which snapped with a gentle pop. I peeled off the paper, letting it slide to the floor as I shook out the coverlet that was inside, allowing it to fall over my knees. It was gently sprigged with hand embroidered pastel flowers and I recognised it at once. A small white card fluttered down to the floor and I stooped down to retrieve it. Dear Stella, said the note, thought you might be missing this. No name. Or return address, though I knew where it had come from.

The same coverlet had been on my bed every night at the safe house. I’d slept under it, dreamed on it, cried into it.

But what the hell was it doing here? More importantly, who had brought it to Wilding?