Bound In Blood (The Adams' Witch Series Book 1) (12 page)

“I am sor—” Thomas’ step forward halted and he fell back into his place, eyes on the floorboards as Mrs. Lynne stood from her perch.

Thomas’ face reddened. He did not know she was there.

Mrs. Lynne’s face was completely calm now. No wetness gleamed from her cheeks or eyes. She fretted with her lip, trying, but failing to mask her worried face. “But what of us?” She walked up to Thomas, standing before him with her hands outstretched. “We have no others here. ‘Tis just Isabella and I.”

Her quavering voice lifted Thomas’ eyes to hers. His features melted into limp clay.

Head bowing below his shoulders, the slow footsteps of Mr. Lynne’s heavy boots once again sounded as he came up behind his wife and laid a comforting hand around her shoulders. Isabella could not tell if her father pulled her mother back or if she did so under his protecting hand. Soon all three of them stood together, facing Thomas.

His head perked again, but his features still fell loose on his face. He looked more like a boy than ever. Isabella wanted to reach out, to hold him and tell him none of this was his fault.

“Thomas assures me that the hunting parties do not last very long. The evil ones come out when the moon is high, neither before, nor after.” Mr. Lynne looked back at the boy; an unpardonable smile sneaked its way across his lips. "And if I have my chance to rid this town of
true
evil, I shall not hesitate.”

Isabella’s mother wrapped her arms around him, sobbing a little into his shoulder. Isabella watched her father stroke her mother’s long hair. Thomas tried a few times to catch his lover’s eye. She ignored him. Instead, she retreated to the corner of the room and looked past all the pain she could be sharing, should be sharing. Her cheek still burned underneath her skin and she let the anger swarm her.

Mr. Lynne whispered in his wife’s ear and then moved to Isabella. His reassuring smile faltered when he got near. He took her face in his hands and peered at her cheek. She flushed and tried to turn away, but his thumb stroked her swollen skin. Isabella could not help but wince.

Frowning, he turned to his wife who stuck her chin in the air, face resolute, though fresh, wet tears adorned her cheeks. Thomas caught the exchange and he moved closer. His face transfigured in pain and even though he still stood, his whole body buckled into itself, shrunk with the weight of despair.

With great care, her father kissed her aching cheek and looked deep in her eyes. His face solemn, but heroic. His eyes said what his words could not. An apology. For her throbbing cheek? For his future absence? For her unacknowledged love? She knew not.

Isabella pushed past him and escaped to her room.

***

A short time after the men left, a loud knock rapped on the door to the Lynne home. Isabella stiffened, her quill ceased to move across the journal paper in mid-word.

Voices.

Isabella listened, waiting to hear shouted orders from her mother. The words exchanged were in whispers though. Hardly audible from within the confines of Isabella’s bedroom. She moved to the door and cupped her ear against the wood.

Women voices.

Isabella turned the knob and, as slow as the worm crawls in the summer heat, she inched the door open. Her heart quickened with the ever-growing sliver of light. As the picture before her appeared in full view, she gasped and grabbed hold of the door casing lest she might fall.

She stood there—the witch—just before her in the kitchen, towering over her mother with a crooked grin. Isabella’s step faltered and she tripped back into the room. Her footfall sounded heavily on the creaking board in the middle and her mother’s head snapped to look at her.

Isabella drew in a ragged breath and blood raced through her veins. “Mrs. Shipton?”

She searched the little crevices of the room, looking for something, anything to use as a weapon against the evil thing.

“Isabella, calm yourself,” her mother implored. “Please.”

Her eyes were etched in anger.

“Why is she here?” Her voice came out terse, but wavered despite herself.

“Dear Isabella,” Mrs. Shipton exclaimed. “You are getting prettier and prettier by the day.” Her constant haggard features wrinkled even more. “Pray tell me, what is your secret? Do you possess those womanly powers that most artless women crave?”

Mrs. Shipton’s gaze sliced through the young girl. Isabella reached back and ran her hand over her long braid, but Mrs. Shipton’s eyes did not follow. They stared into her, not at her, reading her, seeking all the good inside and scoffing at it, burying it with her fire eyes.

A tremor raked her body. What could Mrs. Shipton be about? Saying those things to her? “I assure you I possess no powers but those traits which my mother and father have given me.”

Mrs. Shipton laughed, laying a hand over her middle. “Oh Isabella, I see that the dire times have reached your ears.” The old woman looked back to her mother and frowned. “I did not mean powers such as Isabella took me to mean. I meant womanly powers such as beauty and grace, which most insipid, ugly women want. You know, much like myself. My mother and father were not as kind to me as yours have been to you.”

Mrs. Shipton waved her hands, shooing away evil like she would scare away a fly. As if this all meant nothing to her, as if everything meant nothing to her.

With narrowed eyes, Isabella walked up to her two elders. She leaned forward a little on her toes, tipped her chin and then looked down, masking the rapid beat of her heart. “You must know, Mrs. Shipton…You must see that you cannot be here."

Mrs. Lynne’s hands clenched the sides of her apron. “Isabella!”

Isabella did not spare a glance to her mother. “My father is away on a witch hunting party—”

“As is Mr. Shipton. The same one, I am sure.”

Isabella fell back on her heels. “I must ask you to leave. Three women, alone…at night…it looks suspicious.”

Mrs. Lynne, prepared to yell at her daughter again, choked back her words.

Mrs. Shipton gazed at Mrs. Lynne and then nodded. “Hmm. Perhaps you are right, young one.” She turned to leave, but before the door closed behind her, she looked back in and said, “Perhaps you should take as much caution with
other
villagers who come visiting at night.”

As the door shut, Isabella followed after, making sure the latch secured itself in the resting place. Her hand lingered there and she pressed her forehead against the cool of the wood door.

“Isabella, my, what is a matter with you? You cannot behave like that.”

Voice quieted by her churning mind, Isabella said, “She is evil ma’am. Please.”

Mrs. Lynne shook her head and snapped out, “You believe she is evil because she gave you away.”

Isabella spun around, her mouth open in surprise.

“Yes. She is the one who informed me of you and Thomas meeting secretly.”

Isabella shook her head as if the force of her disagreement would help sway her mother. “She is evil and I know it.”

Mrs. Lynne sighed and leaned against the wall, her face toward the rafters.

Isabella clamored over, stepping closer to her mother. “She did not hurt you?”

“I am well.”

“But she leaned over you here. The look on her face…” Isabella’s words trailed off, her mother already shaking her head in disagreement.

“We were just talking. She wanted to trade crop. Pretty Isabella…” her mother slouched down in a chair, confusion racking her face. Her brows drew together as she studied her daughter. “Why do you think this of Mrs. Shipton?”

Isabella’s heart stuttered to a stop, like the last gallop of horse’s hooves on packed dirt. Her terror let her speak the words. Too afraid for her family to lie to her mother now. “I have heard stories.”

“From Thomas, I suppose.” She looked deep into her daughter’s eyes.

Isabella could not tell what the look meant. It wavered between horror and sadness.

“‘Tis true, Mother, from Thomas Ludington. We—”

Mrs. Lynne interrupted. “Mrs. Shipton has told me of you and Thomas Ludington.”

Isabella’s eyebrows arched. “I am not sure how Mrs. Shipton would know of anything.”

Her mother patted the stool next to her. “She said she saw you talking. She meant to put me on my guard. She agrees that this is merely a silly dalliance, but Isabella, you cannot be too careful.”

Isabella’s heart ached.
Silly dalliance?

“If Mrs. Shipton was able to see you two together, any townsperson might have. If the wrong person spied you…”

“I love him,” Isabella choked out, her face drowning in sadness.

She wanted to say more, needed to say more, but her mother began again, “Then why has he not proposed? Has he spoken to his parents?”

A tear streamed down the pink cheek of Isabella.

Mrs. Lynne stood up straighter and said in clear, commanding words, “You are not to see Thomas Ludington again.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Sarah

I eyed the two police officers joking at the counter. They were engrossed in a conversation about the older man’s wife and her less than spectacular cooking skills. Slipping my cell from my pocket, I made sure they were still pre-occupied and then snapped a picture of the symbol.

Drake’s eyes flicked to the laughing men. “You can’t do that," he whispered.

“Stop me.” The warning shot off my tongue, doused in sarcasm.

I texted the image to Mom, along with: TX for telling me dad got RAN OVER! Does this symbol mean ne thing to u??

I flipped the phone shut and waited. Drake nudged me with a piece of paper, the corner jabbed the fleshy skin of my bicep. “You need to see this.”

His eyes darkened as I took the paper. He watched the officers now too.

A SYMBOL (ATTACHED IN FORM 3-E) WAS FOUND ON THE LEFT BREAST. SYMBOL UNKNOWN AND CONCLUDED NOT IN INTEREST TO THE INVESTIGATION.

Not in interest to the investigation? These hicks didn’t even know how to do their jobs. How was I supposed to learn anything from this when they did nothing? I jumped up, grabbed everything from Drake’s hands and threw it.

Sheets of paper spiraled through the air in disarray between us and the counter. Catching air underneath, the sheets changed direction here and there as if a tornado of shoddy police work stormed through the small lobby.

Drake scrambled up behind me. “Sarah,” he warned.

“No…no…I want to know what this is.” I marched to the desk and slapped the drawing of the symbol down in front of the startled cops. “I keep seeing this everywhere.” I jabbed at the paper, pointing, like taunting a coiled snake.

“Miss…”

My phone buzzed and I opened it, holding out a finger to the cops. I can’t believe ur bitch of an aunt told u that.

“Miss?” the older police officer started again, teeth clenched.

I motioned with my finger again for them to give me one second. Screw you MOM!!!!!!!!,
I texted back before pushing the power button so hard I thought I might break the key before the phone turned off. The tip of my thumb turned white.

“Drake,” Pauly said. “You might want to…”

Drake tried to take my elbow to lead me away, but I tugged it from him and placed both hands on the desk, lifting myself up as tall as I could go. “I want to know why this wasn’t looked into.” I cocked my head toward the symbol.

“Miss!” the older cop shouted. “If you would like to file a motion to open the case again, by all means, go ahead.” His lips pressed tight together before they opened again. “But until then, I suggest you leave. Now.”

My blood pulsed in my head so hard I could feel my skin throbbing, like a needle dipping up and down, approaching warning temperatures. Drake’s lips moved on my ear. “Come on, Sarah. I know this hurts. Let’s get out of here and we’ll talk about it.”

My body deflated, conforming to Drake’s soft arms. He nodded at Pauly and Rudy while he led me away. When I felt the crisp night air on my skin, I collapsed into him.

He held tight, arms encapsulating me. After a few minutes, I moved away, not caring my mascara probably left my eyes black-rimmed with trails of dark tears down my cheeks. His fingertips lightly brushed them out.

“I’m sorry,” I choked.

“Me too.” He cleaned me up, his thumb trailing my cheekbone. “Where else have you seen that symbol?”

I breathed in the cool air, allowing it to calm me. “At the Wiccan meeting.” Remembering the eyes that blazed with the lightning symbol, I took a shuddering breath. “I asked you about a symbol on our way home? When I freaked out. That was why. I saw that symbol.” I started to rattle again, hands shaking.

“Shh,” he soothed.

“Have you ever seen it before?” I asked, searching his face.

“No.”

My shoulders sunk. Drake and Aunt Rose were the only ones I could trust around here and I now only had a fifty-percent chance of someone telling me what the symbol meant. “I’m sorry I accused your grandfather.”