Witch's Awakening (3 page)

Great-Aunt Doris, Lauren's grandmother, who had turned seventy-eight just weeks ago, glared at her. “You don't help anything with your attitude, missy. We're as upset and as mystified by this as you.”

“It's no one's fault,” added Frances, who was Doris's twin and older by three minutes. “We'll not have you blaming your grandmother.”

“She can blame me if she wants,” Sarah retorted, her green eyes sharp in her pale face.

Protests and agreements broke out, with elders, aunts and cousins trying to talk at once.

Sarah pushed to her feet and shushed them. “I'll not have this,” she said, earning Brenna's grudging respect by the way she took command of the room. “Sit down and talk reasonable or get out.”

Though younger than her sisters by eleven years, Sarah assumed leadership of her family by virtue of her powers. Like Brenna, she drew her strength from nature and cast spells that controlled wind, rain and fire since early childhood. Doris and Frances were given more to charms and potions, and had ceded authority to their younger sister without protest.

At eighteen, Sarah shocked the entire family and the county by taking up with the son of a group known as gypsies. Her young man disappeared when she became pregnant. Though the rest of the family married and were quite traditional, they closed protective ranks around Sarah. She had twin daughters that she raised in this very house.

Her grandmother led an adventurous life without ever leaving her home, Brenna reflected as her relatives settled around the table. In the 60s Sarah embraced the concept of communal living, and the Connelly farm opened to young people seeking peace and enlightenment from living off the land. The commune folded after a few years, but many of those men and women remained in Mourne County. They and their families were now pillars of the community, as well as Sarah's staunchest allies and best friends.

While she raised her two daughters, Sarah discovered a talent for turning natural stone into jewelry and art. Candlesticks she constructed from geodes lined the dining room mantle, and as usual, she wore earrings of her own design that dangled tiny, polished stones. She had taken advantage of the tourist industry that sprung up in New Mourne and sold her art. Though she guarded her privacy and didn't often leave New Mourne, she was a well-known and wealthy artist.

One visitor had an even more lasting effect on her. When Brenna and Eva Grace were about fifteen, Sarah married Marcus Hayes, who was seventeen years her junior. He came to New Mourne to sell his handcrafted furniture, met Sarah, and stayed.

To Brenna, it was never surprising that Sarah had a younger lover; there were many men in her life. The shocker was that she actually married Marcus. Good-natured and calm enough to settle Sarah's fiery nature, Marcus endeared himself immediately to the entire family and especially to Sarah's three granddaughters.

Brenna thought of Marcus as a father. Her parents had always traveled the globe, studying magic and mysteries, leaving Brenna and Fiona here with Eva Grace, whose mother was dead. Sarah raised her granddaughters with more discipline than she ever applied to herself or her own daughters. Marcus had just loved them all unconditionally.

The only thing that equaled his love was his respect for the power of the Connelly women. He was with the rest of the Connelly men at Eva Grace's house. They were taking down the tent and decorations for the wedding and reception, determined that she have no reminders of a celebration that would never be.

Instead of taking a seat with the others, Brenna remained on her feet, facing her grandmother. Sarah reclaimed her chair at the head of the table, between her two sisters. She met Brenna's gaze calmly, as she always did. This was a scene played out since Brenna was a stubborn toddler.

“Say what you need to,” Sarah told her.

“This doesn't make sense. Garth shouldn't have been taken.”

Frances cackled beside Sarah. “You think we don't know that—”

Sarah silenced her sister with a look. “We agree, Brenna. That's why we're going through the family book. We're trying to find a history of anything like this happening before.”

Doris sniffed. “But this book is a mess, of course. It's filled with all sorts of rubbish and nonsense.” She pulled a wrinkled and yellowed sheet of paper from the middle of the book. “Here's spell for easing the pain of kidney stones.” She turned the page and clucked again. “And right here is Aunt Delphina's pumpkin pie recipe.”

“We've been looking for that for years,” said Frances's daughter, Aunt Estelle. “How much nutmeg?”

Once again idle talk broke out in the room. Incensed, Brenna snapped her fingers and thunder rolled, followed by a shimmering dust that fell onto the chattering group of women, rendering them silent.

Except her grandmother. Sarah crossed her arms and shook her head at Brenna. “You're going to wake up Eva Grace with your parlor tricks.”

Brenna gave a guilty start and turned as Fiona came hurrying in from the kitchen, demanding, “What's all the noise down here?”

“I'm trying to get everyone focused on our real problem,” Brenna retorted. “All they can talk about is kidney stones and pies.”

“Release them,” Sarah ordered Brenna.

Muttering a curse under her breath, Brenna snapped her fingers again and speech was restored to her relatives.

As the tide of voices swelled once more, she was aware of a new presence. In the doorway from the front hall was Deputy Sheriff Jake Tyler. God knew how long he had been standing there, with his dark brown hat in his hands and his unusual gray-blue eyes taking in the scene. How was it, she wondered, that he made his khaki uniform look like a suit of armor? It had to be the combination of muscular body and absolute confidence he exuded wherever he went. She had to admit his handsome face and strong body could enchant even a witch.

He nodded to Brenna. “I knocked, but no one came to the door. I could hear you talking, so I let myself in.”

“I hope you're not here to interview Eva Grace again,” Brenna said. “She's asleep.”

He shook his head. “I just came from telling Garth's aunt the news. She took it hard.”

Sympathetic murmurs sped around the room. In no time at all, Jake was seated at the table with a mug of coffee, one plate heaped with casseroles and salads, and another with a giant slice of Aunt Doris's triple layer German chocolate cake.

Did all of these women keep prepared Southern delicacies on hand just in case of tragedy? Brenna wondered. If she did that, she would have even more trouble keeping her weight down. Now that she had moved back, would she be expected to have a casserole or a dessert ready for a birth or a death?

Once they were certain the man in their midst was being fed, everyone gathered around the table except Aunt Diane, Doris's daughter, who went up to sit with Eva Grace. Brenna sat down opposite Jake and eyed him with wariness.

“What do you need from us?” Sarah asked him.

Jake explained that the crime scene crew was finishing at the clearing and Garth's body had been taken to the coroner for an autopsy.

“No doubt they'll discover that his heart stopped,” Brenna said with heavy sarcasm. The shifter remained cool.

Fiona, seated beside Jake, frowned at her. “It's what has to be done. There'll have to be a reason given for the humans in town. Garth was sheriff, after all.”

“What did you tell Garth's aunt?” Sarah asked.

“The truth, of course,” Jake replied.

Brenna bit her lip. “She must hate us right now.”

“On the contrary,” Jake said. His eyes narrowed as he studied her. “She only wanted to know how she could help all of you. She's frightened for you.” He turned to Sarah. “I'd like to know more about the Woman in White.”

The silence returned as the women glanced uneasily at one another. Their family curse was a topic they didn't discuss among themselves, much less with outsiders.

“Why is that your concern?” Brenna asked Jake. She felt he was wasting their time.

“Garth would have made it his concern,” he countered. “He would want this stopped for Eva Grace's sake.”

“I don't know what a shifter can do to help us.” The air heated as Brenna glared at Jake.

“Just stop it,” Fiona cut in, scowling at Brenna.

“But he—”

“Might have something new to offer,” Fiona retorted. “Don't we owe that to Eva Grace? To Garth's memory?”

Chastened, Brenna sat back.

Jake looked to Sarah again. “Why does this spirit take members of your family?”

“We don't know,” Fiona volunteered.

“That part of the family history has been lost.” Doris tapped a page of the book. “We know there are pages that are missing. We just don't know where they are or exactly what they said.”

Frances sighed. “I'm afraid the book has been ill-used by our family through the years. It became a habit for young witches to take out sections in order to study the spells.”

“And somehow part of the family history was misplaced,” Sarah added. “That's one of the reasons I was supposed to keep it in good order, to stop that sort of thing.”

“But you didn't.” Doris pursed her lips as she flipped pages to the front of the book. “It begins with a record of the birth of a Maeve Connelly, in Ireland, in 1739.”

“She came here with her family,” Frances added. “There's record of her death here in Mourne County at age eighteen, but no reason given.”

Doris continued flipping through the book. “At least one woman died in each succeeding generation—all between eighteen and thirty. The Woman in White took them.”

“Just no explanation of why,” Brenna inserted.

Jake frowned. “It's not hard to believe that young women died suddenly or tragically back then. Illness, injury, childbirth…”

Sarah said, “We know the curse is real. This spirit took our sister Rose when she was twenty-three. I was only sixteen, but I felt it happen to her. Just as I felt it with my own daughter.”

Jake's lifted an eyebrow, obviously confused by all the family connections.

“Eva's Grace's mother was my daughter,” Sarah explained. “Celia died twenty-eight years ago at the falls where Garth died today. The same as today, there was darkness and evil on our land, but no one could stop the Woman in White.”

“And was there no warning?” Brenna said, unable to hold back the question that hammered at her each time she confronted this issue. “Surely you could sense—”

“What did you sense today?” Doris asked, reaching out to enclose Sarah's left hand in her own gnarled fingers.

“Why couldn't you stop it?” Frances added with a cold glance for Brenna as she took Sarah's right hand.

The feeling of inadequacy Brenna had been fighting since the storm blew up swelled again inside her. The elder aunts were right, of course. She was the Connelly witch with the most power in her generation.

What had she done to stop Garth's murder?

She pushed to her feet, unwilling to meet her grandmother's tear-filled eyes. Sarah was the only person who had any idea how responsible Brenna felt, but Brenna would be damned before she reached out to her for comfort.

“I think you can look through the family book, but you're not going to find any account that the Woman in White took someone like Garth—a male and not a blood relative. I studied that book backward and forward when I was growing up—”

“And left it in a mess, it appears,” Doris pointed out again.

Sarah squeezed her sister's hand. “The state of the family book rests with me, as its current keeper.”

The room was suddenly too close for comfort. “I need some air,” Brenna said, avoiding her sister's soft entreaty and the shifter's silvery gaze.

She went through the kitchen and crossed the back porch. Outside, the air was hot, but not out of the ordinary for June. Debris littered the yard from the earlier tumult, but otherwise it was clear and beautiful. Tomorrow would have been a gorgeous day for Eva Grace and Garth's wedding.

That thought drove Brenna to the edge of the yard to a small picnic table under a tree. She sat on the crude wooden bench, arms clenched over her belly, aching with the pain of what happened today. No one deserved this, least of all her gentle cousin.

Wasn't it enough that the Woman in White had taken Eva Grace's mother? Celia Connelly was murdered just days after Eva Grace and Brenna were born. They were practically twins, as well, born at exactly the same time on February 2nd, the festival of Brighid. The family loved to tell of how they were gathered to celebrate when Sarah's twin daughters, Celia and Delia, went into labor. The babies' first cries sounded at the same time, precisely as the clock struck eleven p.m. in this very house.

And this was where they grew up, both motherless. Even Fiona's birth had not prompted Delia to stay home. She visited long enough to place Fiona in Sarah's care and join her husband in Russia or France or wherever else he dictated they should go.

But at least Delia was alive, Brenna told herself. Not like poor Aunt Celia, her generation's sacrifice. Brenna had sworn she would protect Eva Grace from more tragedy, but she had let her down today.

Could Brenna have stopped this? Despite her vows to protect her family, she had run away from who and what she was years ago. Maybe the spirit took Garth to show her the primitive power of the family legacy. Hurting Eva Grace was a canny move, guaranteed to keep Brenna home.

“You're being stupid.”

Brenna looked up. Her sister stood in front of her. Behind her, Brenna saw Jake standing on the back steps. “What do you mean?”

“It's not your fault.”

She shrugged that off. Fiona was only twenty-two. She could never understand the responsibility Brenna felt toward her and Eva Grace. “What does the shifter want?” she asked, jerking her chin in Jake's direction.