Wiccan, A Witchy Young Adult Paranormal Romance (9 page)

As I lay in bed later that night,
thoughts buzzed around in my head like dozens of tiny bees. I
desperately hoped that I wouldn’t have nightmares. I’d like to get
a good, uninterrupted, non-terrifying night’s sleep just
once.

I also really hoped that I’d meet Jake
on his morning jog and that he’d walk me to class again. Though
it’s probably in the poorest taste ever, the fact that he just lost
his girlfriend did not diminish his appeal to me, though respect
for his mourning period probably should have.

Maybe, with his help, I could find me
and Billie a good party to attend this weekend, one where I could
casually find out who had attended the Marvel Masquerade and how
they were costumed.

Those thoughts led me to Detective
Grayson and his warm hazel eyes. They were circling through my
mind, teasing me, as I drifted off to sleep.

********

The next three days were bizarre, but
in a really good way. Every morning when I got to the sidewalk
where I crossed into the grass that led to the quad, Jake was there
waiting for me. He said that he hated to think of me having to walk
all the way to school alone, what with a murderer still on the
loose and all. I thanked him for his consideration, of course, but
I really didn’t care what his reasoning was. I liked seeing him so
it didn’t matter to me.

I was learning a lot about him, too,
like he’s an engineering major, the captain of the Chess Club and
he’s a running back for the UE Talons. He’s originally from
Baltimore and he’s a member of Tau Kappa Epsilon (one of the most
elite fraternities at school, I’d heard), though he lives off
campus in an apartment with two other guys from the football team.
He’s as smart as he is good-looking and he’s as funny as he is
nice.

On Thursday morning, Billie’s request
was hovering somewhere near the front of my mind. I knew I had to
get to work finding us a decent party to attend. I was waiting for
the right time to broach the subject with Jake, enlist his help,
but I didn’t want him to think I was trying to finagle a personal
invitation from him.

As I worried my lip, I kept thinking
that it would be nice if he just volunteered a party recommendation
without me having to ask.

And then he did.

We were nearing Browning Hall, which
was where my first Tuesday-Thursday class was held, when Jake
turned to me and asked casually, “So, we’re having a party at the
TKE house Saturday night. Why don’t you stop by?”

I know my mouth worked itself open and
closed a couple of times, like a fish’s, but I couldn’t seem to
stop it. I couldn’t stop the smile that spread across my face
either. “Actually, that’d be great. One of my friends is coming in
for the weekend and I promised her a party, so…”

“
Awesome. Bring her. The
more the merrier,” he exclaimed with a grin.

“
What time should we stop
by? I don’t want to be too early or too late.”

The look he gave me
said
Poor clueless girl.
“You can never be too late, but I wouldn’t come
before 10:00 or so.”

“
So we should be there by
midnight?”

His grin turned into a full-fledged
smile. “You got it.”

We’d reached my building and I climbed
onto the first step. “Well, this is me. Thanks for walking me. You
really didn’t have to do that.”

“
I know. I wanted
to.”

Unless I was totally out of practice
reading guys, I was pretty sure Jake Wheeler was developing an
interest in me. I’m not conceited. I’m just saying…

“
Well, thanks again. I guess
I’ll see you Saturday at two a.m.”

“
You’re getting better,” he
teased, reaching out to tug on a wayward chestnut curl.
“Arrivederci, Mercy Holloway.”

“
Sayonara, Jake
Wheeler.”

He grinned in casual way that he had
and then turned to go off and finish his run I assumed.

Though I wanted to stand and
watch him go, bask a little longer in the sheer pleasure of what
had just transpired, I made myself turn and walk up the steps and
into the building. It just wouldn’t do for me to stand there
gawking at him. It
just wouldn’t
do.

Only having ever dated guys from my
high school that were near my age, I wasn’t altogether prepared for
college guys. They were just …I don’t know…different. They had a
different way about them, a confidence that younger guys don’t
have.

The happy glow from our exchange lasted
all the way through dinner to when I was cleaning up the dishes.
Mom had cleared the table then gone to sit beside Dad, as was her
custom. And Dad was glued to the television, flipping through the
news channels, as was his custom.

As I loaded the dishwasher, I listened
with half an ear like I usually did. I was mentally browsing my
wardrobe for something appropriate to wear to the TKE party
Saturday night when bits and pieces of a news report started to
penetrate my brain. Grudgingly, I turned all my attention to the
television in the next room.

Details released from the
Arville Police Department are limited at this time. Citing
protection of an ongoing investigation, Lead Detective Caleb
Grayson refused to comment on speculation that this incident could
be the first in a series of related murders. Only moments ago,
Grayson issued a statement confirming the identity of the victim as
Ashton Webber, a second year liberal arts major at University East.
An official crime scene photo was leaked and provided to WRRB via
an anonymous e-mail. Detective Grayson refused to comment on the
picture, though our sources indicate that the image is indeed a
legitimate photograph of the motel room in which Webber’s body was
discovered only four short hours ago…

At the mention of a motel room, I wiped
my hands on a towel and walked to the living room doorway to get a
look at it on the television.

And my heart stopped when I
did.

CHAPTER SIX

It was clearly the same motel room that
I’d seen in my dream several nights ago. Though the victim had been
removed and the sheets had already been stripped from the bed, it
was still easy to identify the crappy old furniture and orange and
brown bubbly curtains. Not to say that no other motel room in the
world had those same characteristics, but this room was identical
to the one I’d seen. Identical! No doubt about it. My guts even
twisted to confirm it.

As quickly as I could, I finished
cleaning up the kitchen and excused myself to my bedroom. I grabbed
my cell phone and scrolled through the recent calls until I came to
Grayson’s number. I hit the send button and waited nervously for
him to pick up.

“
Grayson,” he answered in
his clipped, no-nonsense way.

“
Detective Grayson, this is
Mercy Holloway.”

“
What is it, Ms.
Holloway?”

“
Um, well, do you have a
minute?” I could hear tons of background noise, lots of voices and
engines, a beeping sound like a truck was backing up, the static of
radios as people reported back and forth to one another. It sounded
just like a crime scene on CSI.

“
Not really. Is this
something related to the Lisa Bauer case? Is it something that we
can talk about later?”

“
Uh, I guess. But it’s not
about Lisa Bauer. It’s about Ashton Webber.”

After a pause, he muttered, “Hold
on.”

I could hear the muffled sounds of his
voice as he spoke to someone and then some crackling and rubbing
sounds like his hand was moving over the mouthpiece. I figured he
was going somewhere he could talk more privately.

When the muffled sounds lifted, Grayson
said, “Alright. What is it?”

I hadn’t given a second’s thought as to
how I would proceed once I got Grayson on the phone; I just knew I
had to call him. I paused while I was thinking how to
begin.

“
Mercy,” he
snapped.

“
Sorry. I, uh, I saw Ashton
Webber get killed.”

He was quiet for a really long time.
I’m sure he was wondering if he should listen to me while weighing
my claim against what had happened so far with Lisa Bauer. Then it
occurred to me that I could help his decision along.

“
If you don’t believe me, I
can tell you what was written on the sheets,” I said hopefully.
“And about her tattoo.”

That got a reaction. “Don’t say another
word. I’ll be by to get you in an hour.” He hung up and my stomach
leapt excitedly for some reason.

Even though it made no sense, I popped
into the bathroom to freshen up my makeup and put another spritz of
perfume behind my ears. I guessed my clothes were ok. I was still
wearing the brick red tank top and cut off jean shorts that I’d put
on when I got home. I pulled my hair up into a casually sexy
chignon and then laughed at myself for being so pleased that my
reflection in the mirror looked pretty.

I went out into the living room and sat
nonchalantly on the couch by Mom.

“
Oh, yeah,” I began
casually. “I forgot to tell you guys that Detective Grayson wanted
to talk to me tonight. He’s got some follow up
questions.”

“
Wow. Is that why you’re
looking so spiffy?” Mom asked with a knowing grin.

I frowned, trying not to get defensive.
“What do you mean? It’s shorts and a tank top.”

“
Yeah, but with your hair
like that and your pouty red lips, you look…sexy,” Mom said
teasingly.

“
Gross, Mom. I don’t look
sexy and you shouldn’t notice it when I do.” I got up and turned to
stalk from the room, but Mom’s question stayed me.

“
And this is all for
Detective Grayson? I have to admit, he is a pretty fine
catch.”

With a growl, I resumed my angry exit
to my room and shut the door behind me.

As hours go, that had to be the longest
one in the history of the world. And it didn’t help that he was
fifteen excruciating minutes late. When I heard the rumble of his
big engine in the driveway, I bolted to the door and walked outside
before he could make it to the steps.

He looked me up and down then frowned
and turned back toward his car. “Get in.”

I immediately had misgivings about not
changing my clothes. Not that I’d imagined any particular reaction
(I was determined not to think of Grayson in that way), but if I
had, that wouldn’t have been it.

“
I’m sorry about my outfit,”
I said as soon as we were both seated in the car. “I didn’t think
we were going anywhere. I can change if you—”

Grayson looked over at me, his greenish
hazel eyes starting at the crown of my head and working their way
down to my knees, stopping along the way at my eyes, my lips, my
chest and my thighs. It was like a physical caress; everywhere his
eyes touched, I felt a flush of heat erupt in response.

When his eyes returned to my face, they
came to rest on mine. For a second something hot and electric
passed between us. My breath caught in my throat and my mouth went
dry. But then it was gone.

Grayson’s eyes cooled and his frown
returned. Before he continued, he shook his head as if he was
rejecting a thought of some sort.

“
We’re not going anywhere. I
just wanted you to be able to talk freely. And not over an open
line,” he emphasized, referring to my cell phone call.

“
Oh. Sorry about that. I
didn’t know how else—”

“
It’s not a problem. I told
you to call,” he said reasonably. He turned in his seat to face me
and cleared his throat, keeping his eyes firmly glued to mine. “So,
this is about another vision, huh?”

“
Well, not really. This has
never happened to me before and it’s kind of hard to
explain.”

“
Try,” he encouraged, just
like he’d done at our first meeting.

I sat picking at my fingernails while I
thought how best to describe my dream without sounding even crazier
than I already did. Turns out there really wasn’t a good way, so I
just told it like it was.

“
This one came in a dream.
And I know that sounds ridiculous. I mean, a dream is just a dream,
right?” He was watching me with that carefully blank expression
again. “But this one was different. It was like
I
was the one stabbing her and
I
was the one cutting off
her finger and
I
was the one writing on the sheets.”

I knew by the change in Grayson’s
expression that I’d struck a nerve. And, like last time with the
red hair, he’d found a solid reason to believe me.

“
What did you see written on
the sheets?” he asked cautiously.

“’
It’s time’.”

Still, he watched me closely. “And
which finger was cut off?”

“
Her right
forefinger.”

Grayson turned in his seat to face
forward and he leaned his head back on the headrest. He closed his
eyes with a frustrated sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose like
he had a headache. “This is insane,” he whispered.