Witch's Diary: A Paranormal Urban Fantasy Tale (Lost Library Book 4) (2 page)

Her mom just cocked her head and waited.

Kenna narrowed her eyes. She recognized that long-suffering, you’re-being-unreasonable look. But she wasn’t the unreasonable one here. Okay—she had cried herself to sleep in her car earlier today. So what. They didn’t know that.

“Wait.” Kenna stared hard at her mom. Then she nodded. “I get it. You’re having a midlife crisis, aren’t you?” Turning to Lizzie, she pointed an accusing finger. “But why are you involved in my mom’s midlife crisis?”

Lizzie’s blush spread to encompass the tips of her ears.

“Lizzie. Your ears are glowing. What the hell is going on?”

“You should get dressed. You have to be freezing.” Lizzie gave her a hopeful look.

Trying to act as dignified as a woman who’d forgotten she was only wearing a towel could, Kenna said, “I’m going to change. But I’m not cold.” Giving Lizzie a knowing look, she added, “And don’t think I don’t recognize the evade-distract technique. I taught it to you.”

Without waiting for a response, Kenna headed up the stairs to her bedroom. Yoga pants, a T-shirt, a fleece, some socks—all good. She didn’t want the two most important women in her life plotting and scheming any more than they clearly already had.

She found them huddled together at her kitchen table over a steeping pot of tea. As soon as she walked in, they fell silent.

“What gives?” Kenna’s patience—already in short supply these days—was wearing thin.

She sat down across from the dynamic duo and waited.

Lizzie looked nervous. Kenna’s mom looked like she always did. Practical, calm, capable. Except for the clothes, maybe she was the same as she always was.

“I’m a witch,” her mom said.

Gwen McIntyre, witch extraordinaire. Kenna couldn’t help it—she giggled. “I get the midlife crisis thing. The clothes—I mean, you look kinda hot. I’ve been telling you for ages you should get out there, play the field. But Wicca? Really, Mom? Isn’t that a bit loony, even for a midlife crisis?”

She looked at Lizzie for support. Kenna felt like she was at an intervention. Why bring her mom over to the house, especially now? Why were they dealing with this now? But Lizzie wasn’t looking so good. She’d gone from red to very pale. And her eyes looked huge in her face. Kenna’s head whipped around to her mother.

“First, I’m offended for Wiccans the world over. Don’t you dare belittle someone’s religion in such a way. I taught you better.” Her mom looked pissed.

Since her mom was pretty even-keeled, that was a bad sign.

Kenna scrubbed her hands over her face. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m a—I guess you could say, a born witch.”

“You’re a witch witch?” Kenna’s gaze flicked between her mother and Lizzie.

Lizzie smiled weakly.

“You’re an actual witch.” Kenna’s voice came out funny, half hoarse, half squeaky. She cleared her throat. Turning to Lizzie, she said, “And you knew.” She couldn’t keep the hurt, the sense of betrayal, from blossoming in her chest. And she was leaking tears yet again. “Dammit. What is wrong with me?” she practically yelled as she wiped angrily at her tears.

She blinked furiously, trying to clear her vision. Then she got it—why Lizzie had picked up Gwen on the way; why they both seemed to be in on the secret; and why she was so completely not herself. She rested her cheek on the cool wood of her kitchen table. This was an intervention—for her. Shit. “So, what exactly am I?” Squinting enough to make her head hurt, she turned to Lizzie. “And how the hell did you know?”

Lizzie swallowed. “Gwen and I have worked together. You know, that job in Vegas…” Lizzie stopped, hesitating to finish the thought. Not shocking, since Kenna was feeling violent and probably looked worse.

“So you knew about Mom and about me—or at least that I might be a witch.” Lizzie didn’t argue with Kenna’s conclusion. Kenna shifted her laser stare to her mom. “Mom?”

“Fire witch, like me.” Her mom reached out and gripped Kenna’s fingers in a fierce hold. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. It’s—” She sighed. “It’s complicated.”

“But you knew?” Kenna asked Lizzie.

Lizzie nodded slowly, her eyes latched on to Kenna’s face. “I did. I wanted to tell you, but—”

Kenna held a hand up. “I love you, you know I do. But you need to leave now.”

Lizzie bit her lip and her eyes got wide. She blinked, nodded quickly, and stood up. “I’m so sorry.” Her words came out in a rush. She took a deep, slow breath. “Call me if… Call me when you’re ready to talk.” And she left, letting herself out the front door.

“She was my ride. You’re going to have to give me a lift home later.”

Kenna hadn’t let go of her mom’s hand, and she felt a quick, reassuring pressure on her fingers.

“I might be too angry. But I can definitely call you a cab.” Kenna extracted her hand from her mom’s clasp. “Explain.”

Her mom hesitated, a riot of emotions passing across her face.

“Feel free to start with any of the major points. Like—how I’m a witch? Why freaky stuff is happening now? Or, maybe, why you didn’t tell me? You have a wide variety of confessional options.”

Kenna was ready for some answers. She was owed some answers. And still her mom remained silent. Kenna was allowed to be angry. This whole scenario was nuts.

Kenna raised her voice, slightly but noticeably. “Now. You can start now.”

Her mom reached into her purse—the huge mom-bag that she always carried, the familiar accessory at odds with her trendy-badass outfit. She pulled out a small box and pushed it across the table toward Kenna.

Kenna eyed the pastel box in confusion. “What… Wait a minute. No way. You think I’m pregnant?” she screeched.

Her mom’s eyes softened with sympathy. “I’m almost sure of it. It’s that, or”—she winced—“early onset menopause.”

Appalled, Kenna shook her head. “Those are my options? Are you kidding me?”

A child. Kenna’s insides turned mushy. She barely stopped the “aww” sound that was burbling in her throat. She was not a sentimental person. She wasn’t. Oh my God. Max. Full-blown denial set in. “No. You’re wrong. I’m not pregnant.”

Her mom sighed. “I’m ninety-five percent sure that you are, sweetheart.” She gently pushed the box another inch closer. “But I brought the test so that you’d know for sure.”

Kenna’s head shook from side to side. And it just kept shaking. “I can’t be pregnant. I’m not ready. I can’t…I just can’t.”

“Take the test. Let’s be sure before… Well, let’s just be sure, okay?” Her mom’s voice was gentle but firm.

Kenna was angry, uncertain, and confused. She was experiencing more emotions simultaneously than should be possible. But she wasn’t herself. She knew that her patience had run thin, her reason had fled, and she needed help. Hell, she barely recognized herself. So while there was a very small part of her that thought “maybe,” more importantly, taking the damn test would convince her mom she wasn’t pregnant—and they could get down to figuring out the real issue.

So Kenna finally picked up the pastel box, biting down a snarky comment, and headed to the bathroom.

After the longest three minutes of her life had passed, she flipped over the stick. Her heart stuttered. Two pink lines. She stared. That couldn’t be right. Then she stared a little harder. And while she was staring even harder, she started to smell…burning plastic? Dammit! She dropped the limp stick into the toilet.

Staring at the innocent white stick in her toilet—now bent into a distinct curved shape—she couldn’t decide. Not what to think, or what to do, or even how to feel. She closed her eyes and sank slowly down to sit on the edge of her tub. When she finally opened her eyes, she spotted the second test in the pack sitting on the floor.

The second stick managed to avoid death by melting, but it yielded the same result: two pink lines. She carried the stick out with her to the kitchen.

“These aren’t very accurate, are they?” Kenna waved the stick in the air as she spoke.

Her mom raised her eyebrows slightly, then retrieved the small kitchen trash can from under the sink. Holding the trash can out toward Kenna, she said, “They are. Very, these days.”

Kenna threw the wand into the garbage, grabbed the trash can, and popped it back under the sink. “One of the lines was faint…so maybe I’m only a little bit pregnant.” Washing her hands, she said over her shoulder, “You’re sure they’re accurate?”

“Even without the test, I’d be sure. The only time I’ve seen you this emotional…”

Kenna felt her whole body freeze, locked in one place, in one moment of time, her past pulled into the present. And then she was back, drying her hands, turning to her mom.

Her mom leaned toward Kenna. “I’m so sorry.”

Kenna waved her apology away. “No. It’s fine, Mom. That was a long time ago. And you’re right. I’ve only ever been this emotional when I was taking fertility drugs.” Kenna laughed, a touch of hysteria coloring the sound. “Clearly, a lack of fertility is no longer my problem.”

And then the tears came again.

“It’s worse for witches,” her mom said over Kenna’s teary hiccups.

Kenna wiped her tears away. “What do you mean?”

Her mom gave her a weak smile. “As a witch, your hormones are more closely tied to your magic than most magic-users—so pregnancy can be an emotional rollercoaster.”

“Can be. So not all pregnancies are? What was it like for you?”

Her mom’s gaze darted to the side.

Kenna waved a hand to catch her mom’s attention, certain yet more life-altering news loomed. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I love you so much.” Her mom’s voice was fierce, almost angry. A bizarre reaction to the events of the day, but Kenna was hardly in a position to throw stones.

Kenna nodded slowly. “I know that, Mom. I love you, too. I mean, I’m super pissed. Seeing-red pissed. And really freaked out. But I love you, too.”

Kenna wasn’t sure what she’d do if they both had an emotional breakdown at the same time. Crap. That would be bad.

“I can’t imagine that I could love you any differently or any more than I do. You will always be my daughter. Always.”

The intensity and the fierceness of her mom’s speech lit a spark to Kenna’s anxiety. “Okay,” she said very slowly. “And?”

Her mom took a deep breath and looked her in the eyes. “And—I’m not your biological mother. My younger sister, Ginny, is your mother.”

Lightheaded, Kenna focused on the one piece of information that she could process. “You have a sister?”

“Yes.” Her mom peered at her, her brow wrinkled tight with concern. “You got the other part of that, right?”

The world snapped back into focus. Kenna snorted and her tone became sharp. “That was hard to miss. I’m silently screaming in denial.” Better a snarky tone than her reality snapping in half—a passing danger, she hoped. And her mom damn well deserved some snark. Trying to keep a handle on her temper, she asked, “Why would you keep this, all of this, from me? We have a family. I’m a witch. Some other woman—a previously unknown aunt—gave birth to me.” She shook her head…and dammit, she would not cry. “That’s a lot of hidden family baggage, Mom. What were you thinking?”

Her mom deflated, sinking back into her chair. “Our family situation is complicated. I wanted you to have a childhood, to grow up as happy and free from worry as possible. And that meant keeping secrets. The magic, our family tree—that all involves a history no child should know.”

Watching her struggle to find the right words, Kenna realized this was possibly almost as hard for her mom. “You know it doesn’t matter, right?” The words tumbled out. “You’re my mom. Nothing can change that.”

“Sweetheart, I couldn’t have asked for a better gift in all the world than you.”

Kenna’s eyes welled up again. “Good grief. Please tell me there’s a cure for these wild mood swings?”

Gwen laughed, her own eyes damp. “It’s called giving birth, sweetie.”

Kenna couldn’t have heard right. It was an appalling thought. “Nine months like this? No.”

“Well, no. Not quite like this.” Her mom poured the tea that had been steeping in the center of the table for ages. “The first three months are certainly the worst. And there are some remedies to lessen the mood swings.” She gestured to the tea. “It might help a little.”

Kenna accepted a mug and took a tentative sip. She couldn’t help a moue of distaste. “Thank you?”

“You get used to it, I’m told.”

“Uh-huh. Do I want to know what’s in it?” Kenna asked. She held up a hand. “No, never mind. If it works…” She took another sip and grimaced. “Can I drink it cold?”

“I don’t see why not. Ah. Yes, you can chug it.” Her mom dug around in her purse and pulled out a small brown paper bag. Handing it to Kenna, she said, “Instructions are written on the bag. A small pot, up to three times a day.”

Kenna took it and walked into the kitchen. “I can just store it in the pantry, right?” She paused after she opened the pantry. “Why do I feel like I’ve just made a black market purchase?”

After stashing it in the pantry, she turned around to see her mom’s lips pinched together.

“Mom? What the hell is in this stuff?”

Primly, her mom said, “Nothing that will hurt you or the baby.”

Geez. A baby. How could she have forgotten? Even for a few minutes? Kenna dropped down into her chair at the table. Do not freak out. She needed a distraction. “Spill—tell me about the family skeletons.”

Her mom sighed. “How much do you know about witches?”

“They’re different from spell casters. Their magic, our magic”—Kenna shook her head in annoyance—“whatever. Witch magic has something to do with the elements: fire, water.”

“Earth and air, that’s right. A witch’s magic is elemental in nature, but not tied to the elements. An earth witch doesn’t have to be touching or handling earth to work magic, for example.”

“Do I get the witch’s digest version on magic now? Since I wasn’t involved in the Vegas trip, where you apparently filled in Lizzie about our family secrets and shared all sorts of top-secret witch information.”

Her mom raised her eyebrows and peered intently at Kenna. Disapproval clear on her face.

Kenna refused to feel bad for her words. “I get a little slack today. It’s been a rough day.” She just found out she was a witch. She was pregnant—pregnant, for fuck’s sake. Her mom was a big, fat liar. And the “pants on fire” part wasn’t far off. Not to mention the whole mom-aunt-mom thing. Even if she loved her mom more than anyone else in the world—and she did—she was so not apologizing.