New England Witch Chronicles

  “Lamb.”

  Peter handed me his half-eaten apple. “Mya’s lamb is definitely worth the dinner charades.”

  “That’s debatable.”

  He read the title of my book. Bright blue eyes glanced at me. “Hester Prynne and Arthur Dimmesdale? How sinfully romantic.”

  “You’ve read it?”

  “Come on Lex, just because I don’t go to McMoney High doesn’t mean I’m not getting an education.”

  I took a bite of the apple. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant it more like, how on earth could you understand it, you know, since you’re a blond.”

  Peter had light brown hair with natural blond streaks running through it. He hated it when I called him a blond.

  “Very funny. Actually, I read it last year as a sophomore. The Hawthorne Prep English department appears to be slacking.” Peter motioned to the apple. “Don’t want it?”

  I handed it back to him. “Too sour. It hurts my jaw.”

  Peter threw the apple in the garbage can. “How was school?”

  “You know, just an average day—I was sent to the office for being late, had to show a new kid around, got busted for breaking into the swimming pool and my principal had a heart attack while she was yelling at me.”

  Peter opened his mouth, but I put my finger up. “I’ll tell you all about it later.” I checked the clock on the bedside table—six forty-five.

  Peter must have seen my grimace. “Is it time?”

  “Are they downstairs?”

  “Dunno. I snuck in the back.”

  Peter rarely used the front door. He either came in through the back door or climbed the big oak tree in the backyard and hopped onto my balcony. He went to great lengths to avoid Victor.

  Peter held out his hand. “Let’s get this over with.”

  * * *

  Mya set the sizzling lamb in the middle of the table. It was topped with rosemary and cloves of garlic. Peter’s blue eyes widened. He could have eaten the entire rack of lamb by himself.

  “Thanks, Mya,” I said.

  Mya winked at me.

  Victor was deep in conversation with his old Harvard buddy, George Murray. Emma, seated at the opposite end of the table, was attempting to refill a glass of wine. Her blonde hair was neatly pinned back with diamond beaded combs. Emma’s clothes were perfect, but her tidy attire was at odds with the rest of her. Her face was flushed from drinking and her light green eyes were already glassy. The bottle of wine wobbled dangerously as she tried to fill her glass.

  Peter grabbed the bottle from my mother. “Here Mrs. Ramsey, let me help you.”

  A smile spread across her face as the dark red liquid sloshed into her empty glass. “Thank you, Peter. You are such a good boy.”

  “We pay people to do that,” Victor said from across the table.

  Emma took a gulp of merlot. “Obviously we’re not paying them enough, because my glass is always empty.”

  Mya turned red. She lowered her head and carved the lamb.

  I deliberately reached across the table and grabbed the platter of asparagus. All conversation ceased. Mya froze with the carving knife in her hand. I forked a few stalks onto my plate. I placed some asparagus on Emma and Peter’s plates. Then I handed the dish to George.

  “Don’t worry,” I said to Victor. “You don’t have to pay me for that.”

  Emma laughed, but it quickly changed to hiccups.

  Victor’s lips tightened into a straight line. He opened his mouth to say something, but George cleared his throat.

  “Peter, I read about your hat trick in the hockey game last week,” George said.

  “Yes sir, we beat Middlebury High.”

  Victor looked at Peter. “I told you, a sport isn’t the way to go. You’ll never make it to the NHL. You need a real career. Have you changed your mind about applying to Harvard?”

  I made a face at Victor. Peter couldn’t go to Harvard because his family couldn’t afford it and Victor knew it. Peter’s father died a few years ago and it was a constant struggle for his mother to pay the bills. Peter worked part-time at the docks to ease the financial burden on his mother.

  “No, Mr. Ramsey,” Peter said. “I have no intention of wasting their time.”

  “Peter’s going to play hockey at Boston College,” I said. “He’s already been scouted by the coach.”

  “They have a great hockey team,” George said.

  Peter winked at me. “Hopefully, I’ll get a scholarship.”

  George took a sip of water. “If you keep playing like that I’m sure you’ll have one in no time. Do you have good grades?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Emma patted Peter’s hand. “Peter is—whoops, I spilled a little on the tablecloth—Mya, come here.” Emma dabbed her cloth napkin on the table. “Peter is at the top of his class.”

  “What about you, Alexandria?” George asked. “Where are you thinking about going to college?”

  Victor smiled behind his whiskey glass.

  My eyes dropped to my plate. “I’m not sure yet, Mr. Murray.”

  Victor snorted. “She’s not going anywhere with her grades. What was it last term? Two point four? I may have a lot of connections, George, but with those lousy marks, it won’t do any good.”

  “We’re only juniors,” Peter said. “Lex has time to work on her grades. I’m sure she’ll get into a great college.”

  “I’m sure she will.” George raised his glass to Victor. “She is a Ramsey and all the Ramseys I know are successful.”

  Emma snickered.

  I checked the clock to see how much longer I had to subject myself to another wonderful Ramsey dinner. Peter caught me checking the time. He covered his mouth with a napkin to hide his smile.

  “See what I mean?” Emma raised her empty wineglass in the air. Peter moved to fill it again, but I shook my head.

  “Mom, don’t you like the lamb? You hardly touched it,” I said. Maybe if she would eat something….

  “I’m not hungry. Just thirsty. Where is that maid? One minute she’s here, the next minute she’s gone.” Emma looked for Mya, but the wine glass slipped out of her hand and shattered on the floor.

  Victor slammed his fist on the table. “Control yourself, Emma!”

  Emma’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, shut up.”

  “Alexandria, take your mother upstairs. She’s had too much to drink. Again. Fancy that,” Victor said. “Sorry, George.”

  George shrugged and placed a slice of lamb in his mouth. It was nothing out of the ordinary for him—he ate here at least once a week.

  Peter nodded toward the stairs. It was that time.

  “Let’s get you to bed, Mom.” I scooped a forkful of mash potatoes into my mouth before I stood up.

  “I don’t want to go to bed,” Emma said. “I want a drink.”

  Peter took a wistful look at his half-eaten plate. “Come on, Mrs. Ramsey, I’ll help you. Careful. Watch out for the glass.” He gently lifted Emma to her feet.

  “But I’m not tired.” Emma said.

  “I know,” Peter said. “Let’s just go upstairs. Okay?”

  Emma sighed and allowed Peter to usher her out of the dining room.

  * * *

  Peter flexed his arm. “Your mom is strong.”

  “Ha. It’s probably from those yoga classes.” I scraped my fork against the plate. Mya had thoughtfully saved food for us, so we were finishing dinner in the kitchen.

  “Another eventful dinner?” Bradley leaned against the counter with a plate of apple pie.

  “Aren’t they all eventful?” I asked dryly.

  “That’s true,” Bradley said. He looked at Peter. “But you may be the craziest one in the house, mate.”

  “Me?” Peter said with his mouthful.

  Bradley pointed at himself and Mya, who was bustling around the kitchen. “We’re paid to be here.” He pointed his fork at me. “This poor girl has no choice, but you….” Bradley smiled at Peter. “You are a good man. Or a
crazy man. Maybe both.”

  * * *

  After we ate our reheated dinner, Peter and I hid out in my bedroom. I watched TV while Peter worked on his homework, which probably explained the disparity in our GPAs. Peter left a little before midnight and I, exhausted from the scene at dinner, went to sleep.

  I had my first nightmare that night.

  I sat on the floor of an unfamiliar bedroom. The room was dark, except for the light of three candles placed in a triangle on the hardwood floor. Shadows danced off the walls from the flicker of candlelight.

  The jeans and white tank top that I was wearing were not mine. The rings on my fingers were also not mine. I flipped my hands over. White dust covered my palms. Flour? Then I saw the crude symbols etched in chalk on the floor in front of me. Stars. Moons. Strange letters. An eye. A pentagram.

  Where was I? What on Earth have I been doing?

  Thump.

  I snapped my head in the direction of the sound. The bedroom door was closed.

  Thump. Thump.

  Footsteps. Fear snaked up my spine. I wasn’t sure what I was afraid of, but I knew I had to get out of the room before whoever was in the hallway came in.

  I blew out the candles. Smoke whirled into my nose. With one swoop of the arm, I shoved everything under the bed. I grabbed a rug piled in the corner and unrolled it over the chalk symbols.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  It sounded like two or three different footsteps. I darted across the room to the window. The glass slid open without a sound.

  Thump.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught my reflection in the mirror hanging next to the window. I blinked. I leaned closer. I waved at the reflection. It waved back.

  But it wasn’t me.

  The eyes were brown and almond shaped—not round and bright green like they should’ve been. Chestnut hair was pulled back into a sloppy ponytail—my hair was dark brown, almost black. The bridge of the nose too wide. Cheeks too full.

  It wasn’t my reflection in the mirror, but I recognized the girl that was staring back at me.

  Megan Lackey.

  The doorknob rattled. I hoisted one leg onto the windowsill and then the other. Without looking down, I jumped out of the window.

  I landed in a crouched position, using my hands to keep me from tumbling over. The jolt of the impact jarred my knees. The wet grass squished under my bare feet. The sound of splintering wood erupted from inside the bedroom. They were coming.

  I sprinted across the backyard to the chain link fence. I lodged one foot into the small metal hole and pulled myself over.

  I risked a look back at the house. The back door, which led to a patio deck, was opening. The shadowed outlines of three men appeared. Their muffled voices carried from the house, not a hundred feet from where I stood. Their intentions were clear. They were coming for me. For Megan.

  I turned on my wet heel and plunged into the forest. My feet were caked with mud and damp leaves. Rocks and branches stuck out from the cold ground, threatening to trip me as I stumbled through the trees. I could see my breath in puffs of white air.

  The forest was dark. The canopy of tree leaves was too thick for the moonlight to penetrate the forest floor. I couldn’t see two feet in front of me. Branches whipped my face and arms as I ran in total blindness.

  I ran and ran, until I couldn’t go any further. I put my head between my knees to catch my breath. My entire body heaved in exertion. I strained my ears to listen for the men, but there was nothing. Only the sounds of the forest. Which way should I go? How would I get out of the woods?

  Behind a thicket of trees to my left was a small clearing. Maybe I could hide until they passed? I crawled under the bushes and curled into a ball in the small pocket of space. I checked behind me to make sure I couldn’t be seen from the other side.

  The sound of my panting rang in my ears, but surely they couldn’t hear me? I closed my eyes and concentrated on slowing my breathing.

  Muffled whispers circled the trees.

  They walked into the small clearing. I covered my mouth with both hands, not trusting myself that I wouldn’t scream.

  I had to know who they were. The branches hung down to the forest floor, obscuring my view of them from the waist up. With exaggerated slowness, I lowered my head to the ground. Dry pine needles stuck to my cheek. All I could see was a pair of dress shoes and a pair of hunting boots. The one with the boots held a coil of rope in his hand.

  I knew the rope was for me. For Megan.

  All too late it occurred to me that there had been three men at the house. At that exact moment, powerful hands grabbed me from behind.

  * * *

  I wasn’t late for school the next morning. I couldn’t fall back asleep after my nightmare. Olivia Humphrey was waiting for me at my locker. It might’ve been better to be late then to deal with her.

  Olivia tossed her long curly blonde hair over her shoulder. “I heard you already have your claws in the new guy.”

  I wasn’t in the mood to deal with Olivia. I was never in the mood to deal with Olivia. Come to think of it, I wasn’t quite sure why I was friends with her.

  “You heard wrong,” I said. “He’s all yours.”

  Olivia’s back straightened. “You don’t like him? Why not? He’s hot.”

  “Not interested.” I slammed my locker shut.

  “Then why did you two skip lunch yesterday? Logan said he was going to eat at our table.”

  “James asked me to give him the tour. So we went.” I didn’t mention the pool incident. I wasn’t sure how much everyone knew.

  “Is he going to eat lunch at our table today?”

  I tried to walk by Olivia, but she stepped in front of me. I sighed. “I don’t know, Olivia. Probably. He met the twins yesterday. Here comes Jillian, why don’t you ask her? She looks like she has news.”

  Jillian Emerson waved frantically at us as she jogged through the crowded hallway.

  She was a bubbly redhead with a quick sense of humor. Jillian reached us before I could sneak by Olivia.

  “Candice Washington told me that her mother met the new guy’s father last night at the grocery store,” Jillian said, gasping for breath.

  Olivia grabbed Jillian’s arm. “What did you hear?”

  “His name is James Van Curen, obviously. He moved here with his father, William, from Boston. And he’s a junior, like us,” Jillian said.

  Olivia looked at me for verification.

  I nodded.

  Jillian’s forehead creased. “You already know this?”

  “Mrs. Pratt made me show him around school yesterday,” I said gently. I didn’t want to burst Jillian’s bubble.

  “Oh. Well did you know he’s your neighbor? They moved into the Hallows. On Cedar Mill,” Jillian said.

  The Hallows was the name of my neighborhood. My family lived there and so did the Coopers. And now, apparently, the Van Curens, too.

  “Ohhh, hot and filthy rich. I love it!” Olivia said.

  “Speaking of Mrs. Pratt,” Jillian said. “I heard she had a heart attack yesterday.”

  Olivia rolled her eyes. “I’m surprised it took this long. Tub of lard.”

  “Olivia!” I shot her a dirty look. “She’s lucky to be alive.”

  Thankfully, the bell rang and I escaped to calculus before they could corner me with more questions.

  Lucas took his seat next to me. “Look who’s up early today. I don’t think you’ve ever, in the twelve years that I’ve known you, made it to class before me.”

  “Ha, ha.”

  “You know it’s true.”

  “I can’t get sent to the office again. Any word on Mrs. Pratt?”

  Lucas pulled out his textbook. Lucas’s dad was a doctor at Hazel Cove Hospital. “I think she’s doing better. Don’t worry, she’ll be back in no time.”

  And I’m sure the first thing on Mrs. Pratt’s to-do list was to suspend me.

  Lucas leaned forward. “Did you hear th
ey found her?”

  “What?”

  “The missing girl. Megan Lackey.”

  The girl sitting a few seats in front of us turned around in her desk. I bent my head closer to Lucas and lowered my voice. “Wow. Did she run away with a guy or something?”

  Lucas tilted his head. “You didn’t see the news this morning?”

  I shook my head.

  “Oh.”

  “Is she okay?” Somehow I knew the answer to my question.

  Lucas grimaced. “No. They found her body.”

  “Her body?” I clasped my arm tightly around my waist to ease the queasy feeling rising in my stomach. She was dead. Last night’s dream replayed in my mind. I was Megan and I was running for my life in the woods. And now Megan was really dead.

  “She was murdered,” Lucas said.

  “I can’t believe it.”

  “Me either,” Lucas said. “They found her body in the woods behind her house.”

  * * *

  Everyone was talking about Megan Lackey. My first two classes flew by in a dreamlike fog. I was unable to focus on what the teachers were saying. The assistant principal, who’d taken over school duties until Mrs. Pratt returned, announced over the intercom that all sixth period classes were cancelled. Hawthorne Prep was having an impromptu school assembly in the gym today to discuss “recent events that have occurred concerning a fellow Hazel Cove teenager.”

  Events that have occurred. I guess “murder” was too harsh to say over the intercom. I was dreading the assembly. I’d been in complete shock ever since Lucas broke the news to me.

  My nightmare and Megan’s death had to be a coincidence. There was no other explanation. I’d dreamed about her death. So what? That wasn’t inconceivable or strange. News about her disappearance had been buzzing around town for over a week. I’d discussed Megan’s disappearance with Victor yesterday morning. And Sadie and I saw Megan’s flyer stapled to the telephone pole.

  Megan had been on my mind. She was present in some unconscious part of my brain when I went to sleep last night and that accounted for the dream. The news about her death becoming public this morning, well…that was just a coincidence.