Witch's Awakening (24 page)

Tears glistened in Inez's eyes. “Your grandmother and her sisters nearly grieved themselves to death when Rose was taken. I've always thought that was why Sarah went wild and took up with that gypsy.”

Brenna and Fiona exchanged a glance. Sarah had nothing to say on the subject of their biological grandfather.

“Did you know him?” Brenna asked.

Inez sniffed. “Good heavens, Sarah barely knew him. All he did was put two babies in her belly and take off.”

“She won't talk about him,” Fiona said.

Inez peered into Fiona's face. “Well, you look a little like him with your dark hair and maybe the cut of your cheekbones.” She sighed. “I'm just glad Sarah found a good man at last.”

“We all love Marcus,” Brenna agreed. She nodded to the room's bookcases. “Are all of these books your journals?”

“All but that case.” Inez pointed behind her. “Those are the records I've been able to obtain about our community and the Connelly family.”

Brenna itched to dive into those volumes.

Inez added, “I began writing in a diary when I was ten years old. I wanted to be sure there was a history of me, that future generations would know I existed.”

“Why would a ten-year-old girl worry about that?” Fiona asked.

Inez used the chair to lift herself to standing and tottered over to the tiny kitchen area. “Would you like some tea, ladies? I haven't had visitors other than my children and grandchildren for a while, and I love to entertain.”

“Of course,” Fiona said. “Can I help?”

Inez didn't hesitate. “Yes. The cups and saucers are there and I have a stash of cookies under the sink. If I don't hide them, my great-great-grandson helps himself.”

When they had everything prepared, Fiona brought the tea tray to the coffee table. Inez returned to her recliner, adjusting it so she sat comfortably.

“This china is beautiful,” Brenna said admiring the array of flowers on the delicate cup.

“It belonged to my husband's great-grandmother. I was thrilled when his mother gave it to me.” The old woman's voice strengthened with pride. “It was imported from Ireland. The Connellys never forgot their roots.”

“You were going to tell us why you started keeping journals,” Fiona prompted.

“I was left on the back steps of a church in Dahlonega. The minister and his wife, who were childless, became my parents. They were loving but very strict. I was determined to gain my freedom as soon as I could, so I ran off with Craig Connelly six months after his first wife died in childbirth. He had three small boys, but I knew I'd be freer with him than I ever would with my parents.” Inez stopped to drink some tea.

“And were you happy with him?” Brenna asked.

“Absolutely,” Inez said with a laugh. “We had a home crowded with love and children—his three and our four—and the Connellys accepted me without hesitation. My daughter Maeve has some magical abilities, being a female Connelly, though she chose not to develop them. She was too heartbroken when Rose died. She distanced herself from the family. But for the first time in
my
life, with the Connellys, I knew what family was. Surrounded by all that magic, I wanted to be a Connelly witch, too.”

Brenna nodded. “Is that why you began collecting family history?”

“History can become very important to someone who has none of their own. Let me show you something that Craig and I found on Connelly land.”

She started to get up again, but Brenna put a hand on her knee to stop her. “Let me get what you need.”

“It's the wooden box on the bottom shelf over there,” Inez said. “Like my great-great grandson, I like to keep my treasures.”

Brenna retrieved the box. Inez took hold of it eagerly, but her hands trembled.

“Are you okay?” Brenna asked Inez.

The woman was focused on the box. “Why, I'm just fine, Brenna dear.” She opened the lid with great care. Small artifacts rested on velvet—several arrowheads in various sizes, some broken pottery, and a long, sharp, shiny rock that looked lethal. Inez picked it up.

“This is a skinning knife,” she said. “The Cherokee were great hunters.”

Fiona leaned forward and took one of the arrowheads. Brenna started as Fiona jerked and began to shiver.

“What is it?” Brenna grabbed her sister's other hand.

Fiona flinched, as if in pain.

Brenna had to pry the arrowhead from her sister's grasp. Though she felt nothing from it, she was quick to return it to Inez's box. Fiona took a deep breath and leaned back, visibly shaken.

Alarmed by her sudden pallor, Brenna refilled her cup with tea and added a liberal amount of sugar. “Drink this.”

Fiona complied, some color returning to her cheeks as she gulped down the hot liquid. “That was strange,” she said. “I was in a dark, cold place. Someone was screaming in pain.”

“Who did you see?” Inez asked, her tone sharp. “Who was it?”

Fiona frowned. “I couldn't tell.”

“You're sure?”

The elderly woman's intensity struck Brenna as odd. “Why do you consider what's in this box so important? The Cherokee once populated these mountains, so finding traces of them is not so rare. Many families have collections like these.”

Inez blinked and appeared disoriented. She held the box out to Fiona again.

Fiona eyed the artifacts with reluctance, but with her gaze locked on Inez's, she reached for the long skinning knife.

The sunlight beaming into the room dimmed. A sense of foreboding rose like a tide in Brenna. “Don't touch it!” she cried in alarm.

“Take it and tell me what you see,” Inez coaxed.

“No.” Brenna put herself between Inez and Fiona. She called to the goddess and bathed the older woman with pink, translucent light.

Inez shuddered, and then sagged back in her chair, the open box in her lap. She looked alarmed at Fiona and Brenna, and pressed a hand to her mouth. “The devil. I felt him.”

“The demon,” Fiona murmured, staring at the box. “Is he in this collection?”

“No,” Inez exclaimed and clutched the box.

Brenna steeled herself for a change in the woman, but it didn't happen.

“Craig told me to keep these,” Inez explained. “He would never tell me to keep something evil.”

“But what happened?” Brenna patted her on the arm, fearing the frail woman would harm herself by being so upset. “What did you feel?”

“Like I was watching everything on TV or maybe in a mirror.”

The dark side of the mirror
. Brenna recalled Willow's warning with a shiver.

“Was someone telling you to hurt us?” Fiona pressed.

Inez shivered again, visibly shaken. “I've never hurt anyone in my entire life, but I was thinking about that knife at your throat. It was the devil, the very devil himself had hold of me.” She began to cry.

Brenna took the box and put it back on the shelf. She paced the room and put a protective spell in place while Fiona soothed Inez and freshened her tea. The room was warmer than just moments before. Too hot, she decided. The demon had briefly taken over Inez, but the black magic was weak, possibly from the blow she and Sarah had dealt him last night.

She turned back to Inez and Fiona. “I wonder what Inez has that the demon doesn't want us to discover.”

The older woman straightened in her recliner, tears drying. “I've kept all of these things for so many years. So many times my children begged me to let them take it all away, but I wouldn't let them. Maybe I've been waiting for you. Maybe there is something here to help you end that wicked curse.”

“But where do we start?” Brenna gazed at the shelves full of books. If there was a secret buried here, it would take time to find it. And the Connellys were running out of time.

“We'll start with the Cherokees,” Inez proclaimed, gathering her faculties about her once again. “The demon came at me when Fiona touched the arrowhead. Surely that's a clue.” She twisted around to survey the books on the shelf behind her.

A few minutes later, they had over a dozen volumes open—history books and journals—all eagerly searching for a scrap of local Native American history that would tell them something.

Fiona looked up from one of the history volumes. “They got along really well—the Cherokees and the Connellys—because they both had such strong beliefs in the magic and power of the elements.”

“I always loved hearing the Cherokee legends and stories. They're wonderful storytellers,” Inez said, “just like many of the Connellys, but your family wasn't as willing to talk. We all understood the need for secrecy about the magic and the witchcraft, but sometimes that made it difficult to get family stories straight.”

“What did they say about the Woman in White or the curse?” Fiona asked.

“Craig told me to leave that alone,” Inez replied. “Even when Rose was taken, no one wanted to open up about the history. I tried to talk to Sarah after her daughter was taken, but she couldn't speak of it. She was so heartbroken.”

And foolish, Brenna thought. Sarah should have let Inez help.

“We're running into the same walls,” Brenna told her. “We've been trying to find out why the original Sarah Connelly made such a terrible deal.”

Inez was distracted. She was flipping through the pages of one of her journals. “I thought I had written down a story someone told me about the Cherokee.” She frowned. “It's not in this one.”

Brenna flipped through the pages of another journal Inez had directed her to pull out. “I have to ask—how did you find time to write all of this with seven children?”

Inez laughed. “I was determined. You won't notice unless you read all of them, but there were days when I only recorded a few lines. I couldn't write every day, but I tried to get something down most days. As the children grew older, it became easier. My granddaughter works for a publisher in Atlanta and she had them bound for me.”

“I imagine you could tell me about some of the ghosts I encounter.” Fiona said. “There are a lot of restless spirits in our town. Many can't let go and move on to the other side.”

Inez studied Fiona's face. “It must be difficult for you to deal with all those ghosts.”

“It can be stressful,” Fiona admitted. “But it's also rewarding when I can help someone move on or pass along a message to a relative or friend.”

Inez turned to study the shelf behind her again. Brenna sensed the elderly woman was growing fatigued and she was jumping from one subject to another.

“Maybe the legend I'm thinking about isn't in the journals.” Inez pointed to the bottom shelf. “Bring me that book on the end of the row. I think the title is
The Ghosts of Northeast Georgia
.”

Brenna found the book and Inez turned the pages with impatience until she found what she was looking for. “This is it,” she said. “Let me tell you the story.”

She leaned forward, her eyes bright and voice growing husky. “The first white men in this area were missionaries who came to save the heathens.” She chuckled. “I shouldn't laugh, but it's funny because the Cherokee were actually a very civilized people. They were hunters and lived in clans, much like the Irish. They respected all living things and were in awe of the Great Spirit.”

She was quieter as her eyes focused on a distant point. “One of my good friends was a direct descendant of the original Cherokee families. He told me an old story passed down by the families for centuries. It was about a missionary who discovered his daughter had fallen in love with a young Cherokee brave. The missionary was so angry he kept her tied up for weeks. Eventually her young brave and his friends rescued her.”

When Inez paused, Fiona said, “Sounds a little like a Cherokee version of
Romeo and Juliet
.”

Inez agreed. “That story still rings true today with racial hatred so prominent. Supposedly, the missionary searched for days in a mad rage. He even kidnapped the young brave's friend and tortured him to death without learning anything.”

Fiona shivered.

“What is it?” Brenna took her sister's hand.

“I don't know. I just remember the screaming when I touched the arrowhead.” She patted Brenna's hand. “I'm okay. Go on, Inez.”

“Yes, what happened to the daughter?” Brenna asked.

“I was able to dig up several theories,” Inez said. “Some stories say she crept back to her father's house in shame with her baby by her Cherokee mate. Those versions say she was insane, so crazy that she killed her baby. But other tales have her father finding her, dragging her home and killing the baby himself because it was a half-breed. So she killed him and then took her own life. Threw herself right over Mulligan Falls.”

Brenna drew in a sharp breath, trading a startled glance with Fiona.

Inez turned the book she held around and pointed to a crude sketch of a woman. “Her death at the falls is just about the only part of the story that's an irrefutable fact. One of the other missionaries drew this picture and put in the date of her death, leaving off her name, but noting she was damned for eternity for taking her own life. The picture survived, and it's in the town library somewhere. I believe the date was around the mid 1700s.”

“Not too long before the Connellys settled Mourne County,” Brenna said, studying the sketch again.

“How awful,” Fiona murmured. “What happened to her brave?”

“Some stories say her father killed him. Some say he was sold into slavery. Others tell that he abandoned his pretty blond wife when she went stark raving mad.”

Brenna traced a finger over the features of the woman's picture in the book. Though the drawing lacked definition and detail, this could be the entity encountered by the falls and seen last night in the shop.

“Do you think this is the Woman in White?” Fiona said, giving voice to Brenna's thoughts. “One thing I know for certain, only a tortured soul could stay around this long.”