New England Witch Chronicles

  “Do you always have to intervene?” James said to Peter. “What are you so afraid of?”

  James went from sympathetic to pissed in two seconds.

  “I’m sick and tired of you popping up everywhere,” Peter said. “And what you told Lex the other day—about how I didn’t care about her, that I was only with her to keep her from you—that was pretty low. Even for you. What did you think would happen? Cast a little doubt in her mind and she’d coming running to you?”

  “Like I said before, you sound very afraid of me for some reason.”

  “I’d be glad to show you otherwise,” Peter said.

  James shrugged off his suit jacket and placed it on the trunk of the car. “Fine. Let’s go.”

  Peter pulled off his jacket and tie and handed it to me.

  “No, wait! Stop it! Peter!” I tossed Peter’s clothes on the hood of the car.

  James lunged at Peter. It probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but I jumped in between them. James’s momentum propelled him forward and he couldn’t stop in time. James shoved me to the side to avoid colliding with me.

  I slammed against the car door.

  Peter watched me hit the ground in complete disbelief. He pulled his eyes away from me and punched James in the mouth. James staggered back from the blow.

  And then they were rolling on the ground. Punches flew from all directions. James rolled on top of Peter, but Peter threw him off. Peter flipped James over and grabbed him in a headlock.

  This was beyond ridiculous. “Peter! James! Stop it!”

  They ignored me.

  “Stop it!” I slipped off my high heels and flung them at James and Peter.

  Nothing.

  “STOP IT!”

  The sky rumbled. A surge of wind blew Peter’s clothes off the hood of the car. James’s jacket flew off the trunk. Leaves scattered across the parking lot. The wooden Hallows Country Club sign toppled over with a crash.

  Oh, jeez.

  James and Peter stopped fighting. They watched the broken sign clatter on the sidewalk. James jumped to his feet and gazed up at the sky. He was probably wondering where the thunder and wind had come from, because the night sky was clear.

  “Please stop fighting,” I said quietly and picked up my high heels. I was too upset to drive. I marched over to the passenger side and got inside. Just in case they didn’t get my meaning, I slammed the door shut as hard as I could.

  From the rearview mirror, I watched James wipe his bloody lip with his sleeve. He picked up his jacket and walked back toward the country club. He glanced over his shoulder a couple of times, but he wisely didn’t come back to talk to me.

  Peter stood up, retrieved his own jacket and tie and got into the car. I’d already put the keys in the ignition. He tossed his clothes in the backseat and pulled his seatbelt on.

  We backed out of the parking lot and drove out of the Hallows. I was silent. Peter didn’t say anything until we were a few blocks from his house. He grabbed my hand. “Lex?”

  I placed his hand in my lap, careful of the fresh scrapes on his knuckles. “Yes?”

  “Did you do that back there? In the parking lot?”

  The tears fell again. They filled my eyes and blurred my vision. “I think I did.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “Please?” Peter said.

  I shook my head. “Absolutely not.”

  We’d avoided the topic all last night. We went to sleep and acted like everything was normal, but I could see the questions forming in his mind.

  The house was empty when we woke up. We ate cereal on the couch and watched old Bugs Bunny reruns. Then we watched a movie. The subject still not broached.

  Now, here we were at the kitchen table, our half-eaten lunch in front of us.

  “I’m not trying to be funny. I promise.” He cleared off a corner of the table.

  “Peter.”

  “Please. Just try once, okay?” He placed my necklace and charm (with the new silver chain from his mother) on the oak surface. “This is going to work, I know it.”

  His enthusiasm was too much. I pushed my plate to the side. “Fine. What do I do?”

  “Concentrate on the necklace,” Peter suggested.

  I felt my face flush. I was glad no one else could see this.

  Peter gave me an encouraging smile. I squared my shoulders and focused all my attention on the delicate necklace, willing it with my mind to move across the table.

  * * *

  I was driving home from Brooke’s Boutique. After I was unsuccessful in my attempt to move the necklace, I left Peter’s house to go dress shopping for our date tonight. I had the urge to do something normal, like shopping, as opposed to trying to move objects with my mind.

  Peter was convinced that either, one, I didn’t try hard enough to make the necklace move. Or, two, I didn’t know how to manually turn on my ‘powers.’ He had full faith in my potential. I didn’t care whether I could move the necklace or not. I had other things to think about. Like my date with Peter.

  It was our first official date, which seemed silly because we’d known each other our entire lives and we’d been dating for a few weeks now, but I was excited. Tonight was going to be a wonderful, carefree evening. Complete, uninterrupted alone time with Peter. We were way overdue on the normalness aspect of our relationship.

  It was a little after five o’clock. Peter wasn’t picking me up until eight. I had tons of time to go home and get ready, maybe even take a nap. I drove past the Hazel Cove Cemetery and said a quick prayer. I didn’t want to think about Bradley’s death, the faceless man in my cemetery nightmares or my long lost murdered father. I wanted normal.

  The light was green so I turned off Pennington Drive and onto Main Street. The big pine tree, the site of my car accident, came into view. I said another prayer and rubbed the dashboard. My car had saved my life.

  My foot eased on the gas once the entrance to the Hallows appeared. Victor, in the Rolls Royce, was pulling out of the neighborhood. He didn’t see me. He was too angry at whoever was on the other end of his call. Victor’s cell phone was smashed against his ear. His face was a bright shade of red.

  Victor snapped his phone shut and threw it in the back seat. He ran his hand over his face. Without looking for oncoming traffic, he turned right. The tires squealed as he peeled off down the road.

  What was that about? I hadn’t seen Victor or Emma since last night’s disaster at the country club. Why was he so angry? And who was he so angry with?

  For whatever ridiculous reason, I couldn’t stop the urge to follow Victor. I should’ve gone home. I should have taken a quick nap, a long hot shower, curled my hair, applied my makeup (wearing a little more than usual), admired my new dress in the mirror and all-in-all spent way too much time getting ready for my big date with Peter.

  But I didn’t.

  I flipped my blinker off and glided past the entrance to the Hallows, with my angry stepfather completely in my sights. The plan was to follow Victor until I knew where he was going (which was probably nowhere of any importance). Then I would turn around, drive home and get ready for my date.

  No harm, no foul.

  The Rolls glided onto Highway 95 South. The traffic on the interstate was heavy enough that Victor wouldn’t notice me if he happened to check his rearview mirror. To be extra cautious, I stayed a safe three-car distance behind.

  I followed Victor all the way to Cambridge, Massachusetts.

  He veered off the exit ramp for Harvard University and I realized how stupid I was. Why did I follow him all the way down here? He was probably meeting some old friend or going to the law library. A forty-five minute drive obsessively stalking my stepfather. Maybe I was as certifiable as Grandma Claudia.

  Victor turned at the light and we passed fraternity row. Greek letters adorned the mansions on both sides of the street. Maybe Victor was visiting his old frat house? I read the letters of each house as I drove by. I didn’t see the Gamma fraternity house.
Come to think of it, I didn’t even know the full name of Victor’s fraternity. I only knew it as “Gamma.”

  Regardless, Victor didn’t stop on frat row. He drove past Harvard University toward the outskirts of Cambridge. The scenery changed from urban to rural.

  Where was he going?

  Victor turned down a heavily shaded street. Hundred-year-old sycamores loomed over the narrow road. It was twilight and, because there were no other cars around, I had to widen my distance behind Victor for fear of being discovered.

  Vacant eighteenth century houses, sporadically staggered along the street, peeked out from the depths of overgrown grass. The once immaculate houses were now in shambles. Paint peeled from the siding. Weeds replaced front lawns.

  The road was deserted. I hadn’t seen another car since I turned down the street. A wave of uneasiness rolled over me. The road curved again. I rounded the corner and slammed on the brakes.

  A quarter of a mile down the road was an old Victorian farmhouse. All the lights were on, illuminating the house like a jack-o-lantern. Sure enough, the Rolls Royce was parked in the driveway next to a row of three other luxury vehicles—a Lexus, a BMW and a Jaguar.

  Something didn’t feel right.

  I put the car in reverse and retreated back around the curve. I pulled into the gravel driveway of a neighboring abandoned house and parked behind the massive home. The car wasn’t visible from the road, so it seemed like a decent hiding spot. I tucked my cell phone into the back pocket of my jeans, locked the car and placed the keys on top of the back tire, so they were hidden from view.

  I crept up the side of the road near the edge of the forest. An owl hooted in the distance, but everything else was silent. The farmhouse was white with red shutters and a red roof. The paint was peeling and the gutters were rusty. A wraparound porch encircled the house and a gravel driveway snaked up from the road.

  I crouched behind a tree and waited. I had to be sure no one else was going to arrive. Victor was usually late. It was safe to assume he was the last to arrive. And that was over twenty minutes ago.

  It was now or never.

  I sprinted to the side of the house. On the porch, there was a swing, two windows and the front door. The window closest to me was open, despite the cold.

  I listened for voices coming from inside, but I couldn’t hear anything. I climbed over the railing and flattened myself against the house. It was stupid, because anyone driving up would clearly see me standing on the porch, but it made me feel stealthy. I dropped to my knees and crawled to the open window.

  No voices.

  If someone was in the room, I would’ve heard them by now. I repeated that to myself twice before building up enough nerve to look in. The room was empty.

  I didn’t come this far to look into an empty room.

  My left leg went in and then I ducked inside. The hardwood floor creaked beneath my weight. I froze, waiting for someone to discover me. Nobody came.

  The walls were painted sky blue. The only furniture consisted of a couch, two loveseats and a coffee table. A large wooden cross hung on the wall behind the couch. An oil painting of an old man with a large nose and small eyes, holding a Bible over his heart, hung on the wall next to the cross. It was the type of creepy portrait where the eyes followed you regardless of where you were in the room. I immediately looked away. That’s when I saw the far wall.

  I stepped back.

  A mural spanned the entire length of the wall, from the floor to the ceiling. Twin living room lamps illuminated the painted images of a biblical scene that I recognized.

  The Archangel Michael, leader of God’s army, in his battle against the Devil. The scene depicted the epic struggle between good and evil. Michael, with white wings spread and spear in hand, casting the Devil and all his rebel angels out of Heaven and into the fiery depths of Hell.

  Well, okay. There was undoubtedly a strong Christian theme going on in this house. Borderline fanatical. But what was Victor doing here? And where was he?

  I tiptoed into the next room.

  Wooden fraternity paddles lined the walls of the dining room. It was a symbolic fraternity tradition—new members made paddles for the older members—but why were these paddles hanging in the farmhouse? Was this the Gamma house? Why was the fraternity house out here in the middle of nowhere?

  That’s when something clicked in my brain.

  It might have been the overly Christian-themed living room in proximity to the fraternity paddles decorated with Greek letters. I guess I had to see them next to each other to put two and two together. A knot formed in the pit of my stomach as I read the Greek letters of Victor’s fraternity. Gamma Omicron Delta.

  G. O. D.

  Was Victor a religious fanatic?

  Voices from downstairs catapulted me back to reality. And to the fact that I wasn’t being stealthy anymore, which was bad when you’re trespassing.

  The muffled noise was coming from down the hallway, from behind a door that was slightly ajar. Curiosity got the best of me. I crept down the hallway and peeked into the room. It was the basement.

  Great.

  I hesitated, but the desire to know what the hell was going on was too much. Nothing added up. Victor went to church, but he wasn’t fanatical. And what was he doing down in the basement of this strange house?

  Now that I thought about it, Victor didn’t have any Gamma T-shirts or fraternity memorabilia. I never saw an alumni newsletter or anything. Their house wasn’t on frat row—it was way out here in the outskirts of Cambridge. All this seemed to suggest that the Gamma fraternity probably wasn’t chartered by Harvard University. If it wasn’t chartered by the University, then it had to be an underground fraternity.

  Step by step, careful not to make a sound, I penetrated the dark underbelly of the Fanatical Christian Fraternity Farmhouse. I never, in a million years, thought those words would cross my mind.

  The cement staircase spiraled into the ground, further down than a normal basement. I realized how deep below the surface I was and a wave of claustrophobia paralyzed me. I gripped the wall for support. The stones were cool under my sweaty hands. I closed my eyes and inhaled through my nose. Breathe.

  I was sweating despite the cold. I wiped the perspiration from my forehead with my sleeve. After what felt like forever, I finally saw light at the bottom of the stairs.

  I reached the bottom step and shrank against the wall that separated the stairs and the underground room. I peeked around the corner and quickly pulled my head back. This wasn’t happening. I had to look again because I couldn’t believe my own eyes. I knelt down to the floor and peered around the wall.

  The basement was large and windowless. A single lightbulb, hanging from a metal beaded string, lit the room. A black curtain covered the doorway of another room, but I couldn’t see inside.

  Keeping with the decorating theme, an unusual amount of Christian symbols were down here, too. Wooden crucifixes hung on the walls. A table sat against the opposite wall. Books and papers were stacked in a messy pile in one corner, while the rest of the table held church candles, rosary beads and another crucifix. Oil paintings, depicting biblical scenes, decorated the walls in between the wooden crucifixes. All the pictures were of the Archangels casting evil into Hell. Everything was undoubtedly Christian.

  And it was absolutely terrifying.

  A circle of folding chairs were in the center of the room. Victor sat with his back to me. George Murray and Victor’s friend, Paul, sat next to him.

  They were all attentively listening to William Van Curen.

  William paced inside the circle. “If we wait too long, things will get out of control.”

  “Nothing’s happened yet.” George looked uncomfortable in the folding chair. “It’s too early.”

  William’s salt-and-pepper hair stood in all directions. “We have to eliminate the problem, before it gets too dangerous.”

  “We’re not even sure she knows,” Victor said.

&nbsp
; William threw his hands in the air. “She was wearing the necklace last night! Flaunting it in our faces!”

  Victor leaned forward. “So? That doesn’t mean she knows.”

  “You found the birthmark on her neck. Didn’t you?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “What more do you need? It’s the fingerprint of the Devil! She is a Longfellow and a Ross. Are we supposed to let someone with that kind of lineage reign freely? With that amount of potential? Do we want another Liam on our hands?”

  Holy crap.

  They were talking about me. Fingerprint of the Devil? My birthmark? Were they crazy? Was that the reason Victor snuck into my room? And who was Liam?

  Victor looked at George and Paul for support. “We took an oath of protection. She hasn’t done anything yet.”

  George and Paul were silent.

  “Exactly,” William said. “We’re supposed to protect. She has more evil inside of her than anyone else has had in over two hundred years. We cannot afford to wait to see what happens.”

  “Claudia and Vanessa haven’t been problems,” Victor said in a softer voice.

  It was obvious Victor wasn’t going to win this argument. He knew it, too. But why was he bringing Grandma Claudia and Aunt Vanessa into the conversation? What did they have to do with this? And why on Earth did William think I was evil?

  Then I remembered Grandma Claudia’s crazy story. They couldn’t honestly think….

  “Victor, we all understand your attachment to her, but we have to take preemptive action,” William said. “Alexandria Longfellow is a grave risk. She must be taken care of.”

  To actually hear them say my name made me shiver.

  Alexandria Longfellow.

  William was right about one thing—I wasn’t a Ramsey. I was a Longfellow.

  George shifted in his chair. “Fine. Maybe we move sooner. We have eleven months to decide what to do. We’re obviously not making any decisions tonight. What I want to know is, what’s with the initiation? Why now?”

  “A useful addition.” William grabbed something from a box underneath the table. A pile of brown velvet. Blankets?