Wiccan, A Witchy Young Adult Paranormal Romance (32 page)

Grayson and the remaining orderly had
backed up some and were speaking in hushed tones about the
incident. I hadn’t moved an inch. I just stood there in
shock.

I couldn’t take my eyes off
of the burned corpse that lay only a few feet away. That woman had
given life to me and now, eighteen years later, she’d given her
life
for
me.

I looked down at my curled fist. I
relaxed my fingers and the gold chain fell from between them. In
the center of my palm was the charm my mother had given me for
protection. She’d moved the cross hairs off me and onto herself.
She’d known what would happen and she’d done it anyway. That
must’ve been the other part of why she needed to prepare. She was
preparing to die. By giving me the charm, she’d given her life so
that I could have that protection for the rest of mine.

Looking back up, I noticed that her
easel had been turned over in the struggle and I walked around to
pick the wet canvas up off the floor. The easel had been facing
away from me the entire time so I never saw what she was painting.
I couldn’t suppress the gasp that bubbled up when I looked at
it.

Grayson heard me and walked quickly to
my side.

“
What the—” he said when he
saw the picture.

It was a woman with red hair standing
in a shaft of sunlight just like the one my mother had been
painting in. She’d been a talented enough artist that it was easy
to recognize the work as a self portrait. The sweater was similar
to the one my mother had been wearing, but I couldn’t tell about
the pants. They weren’t visible behind the long orange flames that
were consuming this woman’s legs. Just like the invisible ones had
consumed my mother’s.

He’ll make me burn for what
I’ve done,
she’d said. And she was right.
He had. Like he’d done with the girls he’d killed and like I’d done
with the dog, he’d hurt her with his mind. Killed her
even.

Was this what was in my blood, this
evil? Was this what he’d made me?

My brooding thoughts were interrupted
by the arrival of all sorts of administrative, medical and law
enforcement personnel. For the next two hours, we talked to an
assortment of people, answering questions and explaining over and
over again what had happened, what we’d seen. It gave me little
time to think of other things, which was probably for the
best.

When we were finally able to leave, I
glanced once more at the blackened spot on the floor where my
mother had burned to death. As I turned to walk away, I saw the
rolled canvas she’d given me. I must’ve dropped it at some point
during all the commotion. I rushed to collect it before we
left.

Once we were out in the car, we sat
there in silence for a long time before Grayson started the car. He
looked over at me, grabbed my hand and asked, “Are you
alright?”

It was a silly question and we both
knew it, but I understood what he was trying to do and it comforted
me just the same.

“
Did you look at the picture
yet?”

“
No.”

He gaze flitted between me and the
canvas. “Are you going to?”

I knew the cop in him was dying to know
what she’d painted and said she didn’t want to see. And since we
hadn’t gotten the last name of my father, he was undoubtedly hoping
that it would somehow be helpful to the case. That was enough
reason for me to open it, too. I wanted him caught and preferably
killed, not only for what he’d done to my mother and those other
girls, but also for what he’d done to me.

I started to unroll the canvas and then
I stopped.

“
Do you think that evil can
live in a person’s blood?”

He watched me closely as he considered
my question, his eyes never leaving mine. “No,” he finally
answered. “I believe evil is in the choices we make.”

I nodded. As for me, I
wasn’t sure what I believed. There was a lot for me to learn about
my father, what he’d done to me and what it meant in my
life.

“
Do you think I could be
dangerous?”

“
Anyone can be dangerous if
they don’t control themselves. Humans are capable of some pretty
terrible things.”

“
But do you think
I’m
dangerous?”

“
No. No more so than I
am.”

“
But what about—”

“
That doesn’t change who you
are. You’re a good person, Mercy. I know it. I can feel
it.”

“
You don’t think you should
stay away from me? I mean, look at all the trouble that surrounds
me. Death and pain and torture. Who can live like that?” I could
feel panic rising in my chest. I wasn’t sure
I
could live like that.

“
I can. I do every day. It’s
my job.”

“
But I don’t want to be a
job to you. And I always will be if this is what my life is going
to be like.”

“
Mercy, you—”

“
I think you should stay
away from me. I care too much about you to hurt you and I’m afraid
that’s what will end up happening.” The thick ache of a sob was
pressing in on my lungs.

“
Mercy—”

“
I’d never forgive myself if
you got in trouble because of me or got fired or- or what if
something happened to you? I couldn’t stand it!” I cried, my voice
quivering.

“
Mercy—”

“
It’s for the best,” I said,
shaking my head and closing my eyes against the heartbreak. “I
can’t—”

“
Mercy!” He shouted. This
time he interrupted me. “Would you listen?”

“
Grayson, I can’t. I can’t
let you do this. We can’t be together. It’s too much of a risk. I
just—”

“
It’s too late, Mercy,” he
interjected.

“
What?” I asked, my eyes
jerking up to his.

“
It’s too late for
this.”

“
For what?”

“
For this
conversation.”

“
Why?”

“
Because I think I’m falling
in love with you.”

My heart came to a sudden stop and then
it felt like it exploded in my chest before it started to beat
again. I squeezed my eyes shut again and just listened. “What?” I
whispered.

“
I said I love you,” he said
quietly.

And then I felt his fingers slide into
the hair at my ear as his thumb stroked my cheek.

When I turned to look at him, his hazel
eyes were warm with the truth of his words. It was all right there
in the soft expression on his face, in the tilt of his head, in the
smile that graced his lips. And right then I knew there would never
be another man for me.

“
I love you, too,” I said,
an unbelievable, surreal happiness bursting inside me despite the
horror that lay outside the car and everywhere else in my
life.

When he leaned over to kiss me, it was
the sweetest, most wonderful kiss I’d ever shared. He pulled away
and looked into my eyes, serious all of a sudden.

“
Whatever happens, we’ll
handle it. We’re in this together.”

I nodded, once again brought back to
the harsh reality of my situation. And that reminded me of the
painting.

“
Wanna see what she
painted?” I asked.

Grayson nodded and I unrolled the
canvas.

I stretched it out full length and
looked at the picture in confusion. I glanced at Grayson and he was
watching me.

“
No!” I cried, flinging the
canvas into the floorboard. I kicked at it with my foot, denial my
first reaction, and then I started to stomp at it furiously. “No,
no, no! It can’t be!”

The painting was of my
father, but his name wasn’t Robert. It was Roger. Roger Holloway,
my
adopted
father.

EPILOGUE

The bottom fell out of my world when I
closed my eyes and could still see the smiling face of my adopted
(and biological) father from almost twenty years ago. Eventually I
picked up the painting again to make sure my eyes hadn’t deceived
me. But they hadn’t. There was no mistaking my father.

All this time, he’d managed the
ultimate slight of hand. He’d let my mother think she’d won when
he’d been waiting in the wings to claim me the whole
time.

My head swam with disbelief and denial.
I refused to believe that the man that had loved me and provided
for me, who’d nurtured me and protected me all my life was a
killer. A cold-blooded, wicked, vicious killer.

Just then, the hairs on the
back of my neck rose to attention, tickling in recognition.
Immediately, those feelings I’d been having started to make sense.
I realized why I’d had that sensation two nights before when
Grayson had dropped me off and my Dad had been in the kitchen. It
wasn’t a threat
outside
that I’d been feeling. It was a threat
inside.

“
He’s watching us,” I
whispered.

“
What?” Grayson shifted
straight to Def Con Five. “I’ll call—”

When he started to get out of the car,
I stayed him with a hand to his arm. Panic was rising to the
surface as one thought circled in my mind.

“
Mom!”

“
What?” Grayson asked,
looking from my hand to my eyes and back again. “What is
it?”

“
Grayson, please. We have to
go find my mom.”

I could see his instant
rejection of the idea, but before he denied me, I asked again,
“Please. We’ll find him. Now we know who we’re looking for. Put out
an APB or a BOLO or whatever it is that you guys do, but just do it
on the way home. You
have to
take me to her.”

Grayson looked at me, his love for me
warring with his sense of duty. I wondered for a moment if his love
for me was enough, if we could pass this simple test, but then he
slid back into his seat, jerked the gearshift down into drive and
sped out of the parking lot.

I can’t decide if it seemed like we
were in hyper drive all the way home or if it was the longest trip
of my life. Either way, when we arrived, I wasted no time jumping
out of the car and flying into the house.

“
Mom!” I started roaming
from room to room looking for her, calling her name. I hadn’t
called to forewarn her; I didn’t feel like it was fair to drop a
bomb like that over the phone.

When I’d scoured all the rooms and
hadn’t found her, I started thinking about logical places she might
be. Then I remembered it was Sunday night.

I closed my eyes as relief flooded me.
Grayson’s hand on my arm brought them open. He looked
worried.

“
She’s at church,” I
explained. He nodded.

I stood in the kitchen, looking around
at the place I’d called home for almost nineteen year. Like a slide
show that rolled by at the speed of light, my life here flashed
before my eyes. All the happy memories and touching moments, all
the struggles and normal family stuff we’d suffered through. None
of it seemed like a lie. And yet…

My eyes drifted to the kitchen window.
A tiny decorative bag hung between the glass panes. Mom had said
Dad bought it for her to scent the kitchen. Said it smelled like
cloves. But, seeing it, I thought of the sachets that Debbie had
said my father had placed all over her house.

I walked over and pulled the little bag
down. It was made of material that looked like it came from a
blouse or a dress. Pulling on the drawstring closure, I opened the
bag, dumping the contents out onto the counter.

As I had feared, this was no sachet.
There was no potpourri or scented beads inside. Instead, there was
a piece of bone, some small teeth, a few sprigs of hair, a silver
locket, and what looked like several dried herbs.

Was this like the bags that had been
placed all around my mother, Debbie’s house when she was
pregnant?

Something else Debbie had said clicked
in my brain and I rushed to my room. If my father had done
something to my mother’s bed, maybe he’d done something to mine as
well. This was all about me, after all.

I fell to the floor and crawled to the
bed, flinging the bed skirt up and poking my head underneath. Much
to my relief—and confusion—there was nothing but a dirty sock, a
magazine, an empty candy wrapper and dust bunnies under
there.

I could’ve cried. I sat back and looked
up at Grayson. “Nothing.”

He didn’t look as encouraged as I did.
Purposefully, he walked to the bed, grabbed the mattress and yanked
it up.

And there on the bottom, sprayed in
black paint, was a circle with all sorts of symbols drawn around it
and an eye in the center.

My chest was tight with fear and a
thousand other emotions I couldn’t describe. I sat in the floor
staring at the mattress for a long time before Grayson let it down
and walked to me. He lifted me to my feet.

“
Come on,” he said, ushering
me out of my bedroom.