Wiccan, A Witchy Young Adult Paranormal Romance (2 page)

I sighed and sat back to
take a drink of my coffee. I hated to admit it, but I was a little
put out, too, that the foxy Jake Wheeler was
taken—v
ery
taken.

I hadn’t been aware of it,
but apparently he’d made a bigger impression on me this morning
than what I’d thought. I guess I’d been unwittingly infected by all
the clichés about college. You know
The
best years of your life
and
College guys are better,
all that stuff. In the back of my mind, I must’ve been
thinking that my first day was going to turn out to be a real
whopper if I landed a guy like Jake Wheeler right off the bat. But,
alas, it wasn’t meant to be.

The smooth deep baritone of Jake’s
laugh shook me from my thoughts. I didn’t suppose there was any
reason for me to sit here and torture myself over him if Lisa was
gone. I needed to find her, but I had no idea where to even begin
to look.

What a great hero I was turning out to
be. I’d been listening to Jake laugh when I should’ve been keeping
an eye on Lisa. One day soon, possibly very soon, she’d be laughing
her very last laugh with her lover only minutes before her death.
And I was supposed to be trying to prevent that.

Pushing thoughts of Jake aside, I
focused on my mission. Renewed urgency swelled and churned inside
me. I had to do something, but what?

As I mulled over my unsavory options,
something occurred to me. If Lisa was romantically involved with
Jake (which she obviously was) then when was she going to meet her
killer? It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the long red
hair I’d seen belonged to a female. Was Lisa a bisexual and, if so,
was her killer already in the picture? Or would she be leaving
heterosexuality (and Jake) altogether to pursue another lifestyle,
one in which she’d eventually meet and be slain by her
lover?

Maybe I had time, maybe I didn’t. There
were too many unknowns for me to put it off any longer. Slamming my
book shut and stuffing it into my messenger bag, I decided right
then that I was going to the cops, regardless of the consequences.
This was getting too complicated for me to be dabbling in. I needed
to leave it to the professionals.

But how? If I were to go in
there and explain what has actually happened, they’d swear I was a
lunatic. But therein lies the rub because if I didn’t explain what
happened, I’d have nothing.
I’m
the only evidence that I have. What I’ve seen is
the only tool at my disposal to help Lisa. So how was I going to
get the police to help me? To help Lisa?

Purposefully, I walked out of Ruger’s.
I was going to the police and I’d just have to think of something
creative once I got there.

I was halfway across the
quad when I stopped, stomping my foot in frustration.
Crap!
I thought. I had
completely forgotten that I have two more Monday-Wednesday classes
today.

For a few seconds I toyed with the idea
of skipping them, which wasn’t my style at all, but I quickly
discarded that notion. It was fairly apparent that today was not
the day that Lisa was going to die. Too many puzzle pieces were
missing and she lacked the men’s attire necessary for my vision to
come to fruition.

It was with that comforting thought in
mind that I veered off to the right and hurried to my next class in
hopes that maybe I’d be able to get at least a little learning done
today.

By the time my third and final class
was letting out, I had worked myself into a fit of epic
proportions. The more I thought about my one viable option (going
to the authorities), the more I realized that my one option sucked.
And I think one of the worst parts about the whole mess was that I
couldn’t even ask someone else’s advice, brainstorm for
alternatives. It was all on me.

That was my fault, too. I’d never told
anyone, including my parents, about my bizarre visions. I’d never
really needed to, I guess. Well, maybe when I was younger; it
probably would’ve been helpful then. But not now. I’d been seeing
this stuff since I was eight years old. I was used to it, in a
nightmarish kind of way. But I had to admit I’d never felt so alone
in it before. Not until today.

I knew that the only choice I had was
to go to the police and try to be as circumspect as possible when
telling them that I suspected Lisa was going to be killed. It was
going to be a humiliating trip no matter what I did. I knew that.
How could it not be? They’re cops and cops ask pertinent questions
like by whom, when, where, how, why. And I, of course, would have
very few answers for them, at least not ones they’d consider
concrete or sane in any way.

As I envisioned the worst case
scenarios (like involuntary commitment and public humiliation), it
occurred to me that I didn’t even know Lisa’s last name. An
oversight like that would likely transform an already bad trip into
a complete disaster. I made a mental note to be sure and take care
of that ASAP, which meant I’d have to take a detour and go by my
house.

I thought about the student directory.
There was a possibility I could pick Lisa out from a list. I’d know
her by her picture. And surely there couldn’t be that many girls
named Lisa to sift through, especially in this day and age. Now if
she’d been named Brittney or Brook, it’d be a whole different
story.

I hurried home, knowing I
needed to be quick and get out of there before my parents got home.
They weren’t necessarily
suspicious
parents per se; they were just incredibly nosey
and interested in all things that pertained to me. They’d been that
way my whole life.

It had always been more of an
inconvenience than a tragedy. Not that it mattered either way.
There wasn’t a thing I could do to change it. I’m sure the
overprotected thing is common among adopted children, which is what
I was—adopted. Or “chosen” as my parents liked to call
it.

When I got home, I logged in to my
school account and hunted Lisa down. It was harder than I expected,
as there are seventy-four girls named Lisa actively enrolled in my
school right now. I found that surprising for some reason. But, I
committed her last name, Bauer, to memory and readied myself to go
to the police station.

I sat on my bed, keys in hand, thinking
about what I could say to the police and how I could say it. No
matter how I twisted and turned it, there was just no way to
approach them without coming off as a total nut job.

Laying my keys aside, I decided I’d
mull it over a little while longer and then go. Maybe I’d come up
with something soon.

When my belly started growling, putting
off my trip until after supper wasn’t a difficult decision to make.
Plus, it’s not like the police station closes at six or
anything.

After supper, I thought about the butt
load of assigned reading I’d been given at school. I certainly
didn’t want to get behind this early in the semester, so I decided
to wait and go after I’d done some of my homework.

By the time I’d completed
about seventy-five percent of my reading, I’d managed to completely
talk myself out of going. I’d somehow rationalized that it was
better to do nothing. Not tonight anyway. I reasoned that the
chances of her getting killed
tonight
were probably pretty slim and
that I’d be much better prepared for a visit to the Arville Police
Department after a good night’s sleep.

I got ready for bed and slid between
the sheets, the decision I’d made sitting in my stomach like a lump
of karmic road kill. I lay there staring at the ceiling for a long
while, dreading the next day when I’d have no choice but to make
the trip downtown. I was going to have to swallow my pride and make
a fool of myself and there was just no way that I could think of to
avoid it.

********

The next morning, I woke
feeling depressed and angry. I was depressed because the daunting
task that should have been behind me was now lying in front of me
instead, just hovering out there on the horizon like an
intimidating storm cloud. And I was angry because I’d compromised
myself, put off doing the right thing, just to avoid a little
ridicule. I was afraid people would think I’m crazy. In fact, I was
sure of it. Now, not only had I
not
solved or addressed any of my problems, I’d
somehow managed to take selfish pride to a whole new, alarmingly
despicable level.

Well, never again, I told myself. I was
determined to conquer my cowardice and go to the police station as
soon as my classes were over. With that in mind, I got up and
launched headlong into the day.

When I stumbled into the kitchen for
some much needed caffeine-induced energy, Mom was already up. Of
course.

“
Morning, sleeping beauty,”
she said in her sing song way. She’d greeted me that way every
morning for as long as I could remember and it always made me
smile.

“
Mornin’,” I said as I
reached into the cabinet for a mug. I couldn’t suppress the yawn
that forced my jaws wide.

I don’t know how she even knew I was
there. I thought my approach had been completely silent when I’d
stopped in the kitchen doorway. But evidently her maternal spidey
sense was highly attuned to me; she always seemed to know when I
was around.

Walking to the coffee pot, I poured
myself a cup of brew and watched her as she read the paper. My
parents hadn’t been able to have children, so when one of Mom’s
friends had told her about me, they’d jumped on the chance to be
parents, even though they were both in their early thirties at the
time.

Mom still looked great, though. The bob
of her short brown hair was perfectly coiffed even after a full
night’s sleep. Her sparkling blue eyes scanned the daily news from
behind half-moon reading glasses that were perched on the end of
her nose. Her pajamas were color-coordinated and seemed to be
without a single wrinkle. I could even smell a hint of the sweet
gardenias in the perfume she wore…from yesterday.

I shook my head in amazement, thinking
of my own rumpled mass of auburn curls, sleepy caramel eyes and
ratty t-shirt and shorts. It was times like this that it was
painfully obvious that we were not biologically related.

Mom peeked at me from behind the paper.
“How’d you sleep?”

I shrugged. “Eh, I’ve had better
nights.”

“
What’s the
matter?”

“
Just a lot on my
mind.”

Mom put the paper down and gave me her
full attention. Little warning bells sounded in my head, alerting
me to the fact that she was getting ready to snoop. “Like what? Is
it school? Did you meet a guy? Did something happen in one of your
classes?”

I rolled my eyes. “No, Mom. None of the
above.” Then, when I saw the out she’d inadvertently given me, I
nabbed it up before it was too late. “Well, actually, I did meet
someone. Sort of.”

A smile crept across her face and she
was all but salivating over the prospect of me sharing some juicy
tidbit of my life with her. It was kind of sad really. Moms get the
short end of the stick—all the aggravation, none of the
satisfaction.

“
Who is he? What’s his name?
Does he go to school with you? What does he look like?”

“
Gees, Mom. Calm down,” I
said, softening my words with a smile when I saw a dash of hurt
flicker across her face. “His name is Jake and yes, he goes to
school with me.”

“
What does he look
like?”

“
He’s tall and kind of
athletic looking, he has blonde hair and blue eyes,” I described,
picturing Jake as I did so. “Oh, and he has a great smile. He’s
actually pretty hot.”

“
What’s his major? Does he
play sports?”

“
I just met him. I didn’t
ask for a resume.”

“
Are you going to see him
again?”

“
I’m sure, but it’s not like
he asked me out or anything. I
just
met him.”

“
Well, I’m sure he will. If
he’s smart he will, anyway,” she said, winking at me.

I rolled my eyes again and Mom turned
her attention back to the paper. I guess she assumed that my
excitement over meeting a hot guy was the reason I couldn’t sleep,
which was fine. It saved me from having to hedge any more
questions.

I was fiddling with my granola bar
wrapper when I heard the wrinkle of the paper. Mom was peering at
me over the top again, her spidey sense obviously twitching. “Is
there something else you want to talk about?” Her brow creased in
concern. Unfortunately she was one of those moms it was hard to
hide stuff from without an out-and-out lie.

“
Nope.” I took a sip of my
coffee and before I could stop them, the words were out. My lack of
sleep was affecting my natural tendencies toward secretiveness. “If
you thought you could help someone, but it meant telling people
something that would make them think you’re crazy, and I
mean
really crazy,
would you do it?”

Rather than jumping right in and
seizing the opportunity for a teachable moment, Mom gave my
question careful consideration. “That’s kind of hard to answer
without knowing the details. I guess it would depend on what kind
of trouble the person you’re helping is in and who it is that would
think you’re crazy. For instance, I’d hate to see you make a bad
impression on any of your professors and compromise your
grades.”