Chapter 20
20
JOSEPHINE
P ain pulses from my fingers with every pass of my hands down Debra McSweeny’s back. She’s a regular customer who comes in once a week. Some of my clients have chronic pain–bad backs, a bum hip–but Mrs. McSweeny just likes the energy she gets from my healing. She’s one of my mother’s friends and her personality is nearly as pleasant.
“Are you even using your magic?” How the woman can sound belittling when she is face down in a pillow is a mystery.
“Yes.” I manage to keep a neutral tone as I send another burst of healing energy into her. My head throbs, and my joints ache. Debra is my third appointment today, and it will only get worse as the day goes on.
“And that’s our time. There’s no rush. Get dressed at your leisure.” I use the quiet tone that the dim room and soft spa music demands. The second I shut the door, I shake out my hands and roll my shoulders. The worst of the pain recedes now that I’m not touching Debra, but the lingering ache remains. It’s almost noon and I have another client booked in five minutes. My mother doesn’t even like to give me time to pee during the day.
I fortify myself with a deep inhale and head out into the lobby. Jade, the receptionist, is painting her fingernails. She’s my mother’s lackey. If I take too long in the bathroom between appointments, Jade tattles on me. She always wears her dark hair half up, in a slicked back ponytail. Her eyes are never without her winged eyeliner which, honestly, looks absolutely ridiculous. I never wear make-up to work, though, so who am I to talk?
“Your noon appointment had to reschedule.” Jade pops her gum and paints a stripe down her pinkie nail. She doesn’t look up at me. “Mrs. Delvaux is gone for the day, so I wasn’t sure who to call to offer up the slot.” She says it with a sneer.
I try hard not to smile.
That canceled appointment means I’ve got nearly two hours of free time. Normally, my mother would hurriedly reschedule someone else for the open time slot, but she’s not here. I’m sure I’ll get hell for it when she finds out, but that’s tomorrow’s problem. I know the perfect way to use this free time. I slink out of the lobby, not bothering to say goodbye to Jade.
The staff room is thankfully empty as I grab my coat. Exiting out the back door to the alley where we throw our garbage allows me to escape without having to explain where I’m going.
It only takes a few minutes to reach our coven house. It sits in direct view of Briar Hollows Bridge, where my friends and I made a wish just a few weeks ago. Ironically, the Tenebris coven house is directly opposite the Lumen house. I gaze across the river at the classical revival-style home with columns that rival the White House. I’ve never noticed how oddly similar the two buildings look. It’s as if one coven built their headquarters, and the other said, you’re not so original and erected its twin across the river.
I wonder how often Roman is there. What if he’s inside right now? He sent me a text yesterday to see how I was feeling. We’re stuck in this odd stage of still getting to know each other but also wanting to bang like crazy. At least I do. And I’m pretty sure he does, too. I just don’t know how to get from where we are to that other place. I really wish I did because every moment, even when I’m actively trying not to think of him, he’s on my mind.
It’s sunny but cold today, the wind whipping with an extra bite. Thanksgiving is only a week away and the days are getting shorter. Pretty soon it will start to snow. I’m surprised we haven’t had a dusting yet.
Our coven house was never built to be used as a home, but you wouldn’t know that walking inside. There’s a grand entry with a sweeping staircase. Oil paintings of past coven leaders decorate the walls. To the left is a sitting room with an ornate marble fireplace, and to the right is a smaller meeting room. There are kitchens at the back of the house, and the basement has a room for coven trials. I shiver at the thought.
Beyond the main entry is the largest meeting room, where they hold coven gatherings that take place outside of the Grimwood. The library is housed upstairs, which also has a few bedrooms. I’ve never known anyone to sleep here. Even our coven leader Selene has her own house.
I slip inside, opening the door as little as possible to keep out the cool air. The faint hum of voices comes from the back of the house. If at all possible, I want to avoid running into anyone. The library is available to the whole coven, but I’d rather not explain why I’m looking through old grimoires. People get jumpy when you talk about curses and the Briar Witch. Plus, I can’t get what Fitz said about the Maiden, Mother, and Crone out of my head. I don’t know why it matters, but I want to learn more.
I hurry up the steps as quickly as possible without running, my hand sliding against the smooth wood of the thick banister. The double doors at the end of the hall are open, leading into the library. I pass by the rest of the closed doors on the floor and tentatively step into the library, watching for any other visitors.
The scent of old books and leather greets me. The coven’s library is breathtaking. The circular room is two stories, with a glass dome overhead. There are no windows in here; all the wall space is taken up by bookshelves. The dome provides light and keeps the room from feeling confined. There’s no carpet on the dark wood floors, and you’d think that would make the room cold, but it has a glow to it thanks to all the magic in the books. The shelves are lined with volumes on the history of magic, biographies of witches, and instructional writings. That’s just the first floor. The second level is where all the grimoires that have been donated over the years are located. I use that term loosely.
A while back, there was a blow-up about one of the grimoires. Someone accused the council of stealing their family’s property, but Selene insisted that the grimoire was donated and now belonged to the entire coven.
I only heard rumors of this. I don’t even know which family it was, but I believe it. The grimoires take up a small section on the second floor, which is accessed through a spiral staircase. A circular walkway looks down onto the first floor, where a leather couch and two matching burgundy chairs sit. They surround a grimoire encased in glass. It’s the oldest of the collection.
My shoes clunk a little on the wrought-iron steps that curl up to the second floor. I look up at the glass dome overhead. It’s one of the most beautiful features in the house. The sky is overcast right now, and there are only gray clouds above. It still lets in a diffuse light. There’s a leather chair that matches the ones down below tucked in a small alcove. Shrugging out of my coat, I toss it on the seat and move toward the collection of grimoires.
Magic hums in the air around the books, almost like they are living entities. My fingers tingle as I trace the spines. These grimoires hold family spells, recipes, snippets of history, marriage, birth, and death records. Honestly, I’m not surprised that the witch was pissed the coven took her family's grimoire. These books hold much more than spells.
Most of the works are bound in leather, but there are a few really old ones that are bound in thin sheets of wood. Some are warped, but most have a protection spell on them to keep the pages from deteriorating. Family names are embossed into the spines of a good number of the grimoires, but there are some blank ones. I slide one of the unidentified books off the shelf and nearly drop it when someone speaks.
“Make sure the book isn’t cursed before you open it.”
With a choked sound, I spin around. The grimoire is clutched to my chest, and my heart hammers.
“Oops. Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t open one of the books with a hex on it.” Dax Whitlock grins at me sheepishly. He’s barely legal to buy alcohol, can’t grow a beard, and has gangly arms and legs. His tightly curled brown hair is unruly, and his clothes are wrinkled. I mainly know him from coven events. He’s awkward, but has always been kind.
“I come by and check on the books every few weeks. Make sure none of the preservation spells are fading,” he says, as if he owes me an explanation. Probably because I’m staring at him with a panicked look on my face. It’s not forbidden for any Lumen witches to be here, but I really don’t want anyone to know I was poking around. It will lead to questions, and if it gets back to my mother, I know there will be an inquisition. She’ll touch me the entire time.
What a shit deal when your own body can be used as a torture device.
“Are you interested in the old grimoires? There’s some really fascinating tales in there.” His cheeks go pink, and I find myself wondering if there are dirty stories in some of these.
“Uh, yeah, actually. I wanted to learn more about the history of Mystic Hollows.” I fumble over my words. Dax is sweet, but I’m not sure I should be blabbing that I’m looking into the curses that plague the most powerful families in town. It’s always been a taboo subject. Whenever I’ve brought it up to either of my parents, I’ve been punished just for speaking about it.
“Oh, sure.” Dax nods excitedly. “You don’t want that one, though. That family was oddly obsessed with turnips. Most of their grimoire discusses the merits of using different kinds of dung as fertilizer.”
I slide the book back into its spot and dust my hands off. I take a step back as Dax squats down near my feet. He mumbles to himself, his pointer finger tapping against his mouth while his eyes scan the books.
“Not that one. That book sucks.” He’s not talking to me, but I reply anyway.
“That one doesn’t have good information?”
Dax looks up at me with wide eyes, blinking as though he forgot I was there. “No. It drains your power. The longer you hold it, the more it sucks out. I’ve woken up on my back with that book on the floor next to me a few times.”
“Why read it, then?” I give the leather-bound pages a horrified look.
Dax gives me a similar look. “Because I want to know what’s in the book.”
I nod, since he seems to be looking for confirmation that I understand. And to a degree, I do, but it can’t be that interesting, can it?
“Here we go.” He pulls out a grimoire that looks much older than the rest. The dark leather is shiny from years and years of handling. The name is barely visible on the front. I take the book from Dax, and a zip of magic races up my arms.
“Oh wow.”
Dax smiles as he stands up. “I know, right? They were a powerful family. Really interesting too, because they just sort of went poof from our history.”
I trace my fingers over the letters of the name. “Ravenhurst?” I question. I don’t recognize the last name. This grimoire is obviously one of the oldest in the library, but it isn’t a family that currently resides in our town. And they’re not one of the founding families.
“I’ll leave you to it.” Dax gives an awkward wave, even though we’re only a few feet away from each other, and heads back downstairs, touching books as he walks past them. I check my watch. I have less than an hour before I need to get back to work. There’s no way I’ll get through this book in that time, but I’m going to see what I can accomplish.
I open the Ravenhurst book, drawn to the low thrum of magic surrounding it. The first page is a family tree. It's so small I’m not sure what the point is. It only has three names. Padraig, Niamh, and Briar Ravenhurst. Two parents and a daughter. There are birth dates listed, but no death dates. Briar, the daughter, was born in 1686. I stare at the name and wonder at the connection. Is this the Briar Witch?
I frown at the name, tracing my finger over the dark ink. Whenever I hear stories of the Briar Witch, I’ve only thought of her in the abstract. As though that was a moniker and not her real name, but what if it really was her name?
I gently flip through the book. The beginning is full of recipes and gardening tips. Spells to keep pests off your vegetables, or to increase the size of the yield. There are other curative spells to banish a cold or mend a cut. For witches who don’t have a healing ability, some of the same tasks can be accomplished with potions or even a simple tea with a spell spoken as it’s being brewed. This type of magic is still used today.
The handwriting changes in different sections of the book. Likely, this grimoire wasn’t created by Padraig or Niamh but was passed on from one of their families and added to over time. Odd though that the family tree is so small. That’s how our family grimoire is set up. Funny how I didn’t even think to look at it. Although that would mean going to my parents’ house and I try to avoid spending time there unnecessarily.
In the back of the book is a calendar of sorts, or at least a listing of important events. The summer and winter solstice, the spring and fall equinox, the dates of new moons, and even a founders celebration. Holy shit, they had those parties back then? That’s a long damn time to keep that painful tradition going.
The last page of the grimoire has a note about someone’s disobedience and the whole town being damned because of a fated bond. I flip to the next page, but there’s nothing else written. Fated bond. I frown at that. Kind of like the other stories told to coven children, fated bonds are a myth. My mother described it as being leashed to another witch who can use it to control you and steal your powers. I question every story my mother told me as a child, but I thought the false part of the tale was that fated bonds existed. What if they’re real?
I glance at my watch. “Shit.” I hurriedly put the book back in its place. Grabbing my coat, I shrug it on and take the steps as quickly as possible without making too much noise. Dax is still roaming the lower level of the library, and I offer him a goodbye wave. I’m nearly at the bottom of the grand staircase when I hear voices coming from the back hallway.
I freeze, my eyes darting around the entry for a place to hide. I’m not doing anything wrong, but my magic buzzes underneath my skin. Dashing back up the steps, I tuck myself against the wall where the banister ends. A laugh accompanies the click of heels on the tiled floor of the entryway.
“Are you ever going to have the talk with Josephine?” My sister Camille’s voice floats up to me. My heart stops beating, and my breath catches in my throat. I peek around the wall, looking down to see who she’s talking to.
“Never,” my mother snorts, and I jerk my head back, my heart taking off like a hummingbird. If she sees me here, it’ll be a shit show. Not in the coven house, but later when she has me alone.
“You will lead the family someday, and I have an idea of what to do about the curse.” Her voice is sharp, so callous it’s painful. What does she mean about the curse? An idea about what?
“I’m not saying that Josephine deserves to get rid of her curse, but do you really want the consequences of her not doing the ritual?” Camille chuckles as though this conversation is somehow humorous. My head is buzzing and I’m sweating even though my body is freezing.
“Josephine’s exactly where I want her to be.”
My mouth soundlessly forms the word “What.” What is she talking about? My stomach swoops uncomfortably. I just heard something I wasn’t supposed to. Even if I don’t understand it, I don’t want to think about her finding out.
“Oh, you’re still here.” Dax’s jubilant voice isn’t overly loud, but he may as well be shouting at that moment.
He cocks his head in confusion when I turn panicked eyes his way. Downstairs, my mother and sister have gone quiet. Camille appears at the bottom of the steps, getting a clear view of me pressed against the wall.
“Josephine. What are you doing here?” Camille’s eyes are wide and a little wild, like that time she got caught sneaking out of the house to meet a boy at thirteen.
My mother slowly slides over to Camille’s side, her face perfectly calm. At least to the casual observer. I know her too well. The ice in her eyes burns, it’s so cold.
“Josephine. Shouldn’t you be at work?” Her tone is clipped, even as she slowly buttons her coat, as if she has no cares in the world.
Dax is looking between all of us. He doesn’t know what’s going on, but he’s not completely lacking in common sense. “Ah, my fault.” He laughs awkwardly, dragging a hand down his face. “I ran into Josephine on the street, and she helped me carry some books I was rebinding to the library.”
My mother hums and then snaps her fingers. “Come, Josephine. I’m sure you have appointments you’re missing. It’s not as if Penelope can skip school to help you do your work.” There’s a threat laced in her words. She’s not above pulling a twelve-year-old from school to work at the family business. Especially since she knows it would gut me.
With a nod, I hurry down the steps, throwing a smile at Dax. I appreciate the effort, even if my mother didn’t buy it. Francesca’s hand wraps around my bare wrist before I’m off the stairs, nearly making me lose my footing. I grit my teeth at the pain from her touch, blinking rapidly and breathing in harsh pants as she leads me from the coven house. Camille chases to catch up, grabbing my other wrist with a cruel smile.
The front door barely shuts behind me before my mother’s hissing at me. “What did you hear? Did you come here to spy on me?”
I expected the first question, but the second surprises me enough that I stop walking. My mother’s fingers tighten to the point where I know there will be bruises. Camille runs into my side and pain ricochets through my body. I swear Francesca’s pushing some of her own magic into me to make sure it hurts worse.
“I had a cancellation. I went out for some fresh air. That’s all.” She tugs my arm, and I trip along behind her, being towed like a young child. I hate everything about this. The way my mother treats me. The way I give in to her. The control she has over me. Some rebellious beast stirs inside me, and I yank my arm from my sister's hold. My mother is another matter altogether. There are so many reasons to fight her, but the most important argument not to is Penelope.
“Then perhaps you need a reminder of our rescheduling process. And to remember that I am the one in charge of this family.”