Charmed Page 3

  One major downside to the past month: no Andrew.

  I’ve missed him but we Facetimed daily and when we weren’t staring at each other, we texted.

  Still, four weeks felt like forever. Three years of crushing on Andrew from afar flew by in comparison.

  Dorms opened two weeks ago, but I’ve barely seen Andrew. We don’t have any classes together and he’s been busy managing the drama of dorm life as a resident assistant. We’re ships passing in the night with a few stolen hours when we can find them.

  This afternoon Sam and I are trudging through the snowy streets of Salem because Sarah has invited us to stay at her house.

  Which is also Andrew’s house.

  We’ll be sharing a room. Sam and me. At least that’s what Sarah said when we spoke.

  It might be weird that my boyfriend’s mother asked me to spend the night before my boyfriend did, but these are strange times.

  I hope I don’t sleepwalk into his room again.

  Or worse, into his mother’s bed and spoon her. If that happens, I’ll finally find out if it’s possible to die from embarrassment.

  “Why are you blushing?” Sam asks as we walk through the snowy, narrow streets of Salem from where we parked a few blocks from Sarah’s house.

  “I’m not. It’s the cold. See? Looks like I’m crying too, but my eyes are leaking tears in an attempt to keep from freezing.” Pointing at the narrow span of skin showing between my forehead and mouth, I whine in complaint. “Why is it so cold? I need one of those old-school ski masks.”

  “Not sure Andrew’s into the whole robber look.” She hoists her bag higher up her shoulder. “He’s the dark, brooding type, so maybe role play is his thing. Although I’d guess he’d be more into vampire and damsel than cops and robbers.”

  “Except they’re witches, not vampires. I don’t think bloodsuckers really exist.” I frown at the thought that other paranormal beings walk among us.

  “As we’ve learned in the last several months, anything is possible. Witches, werewolves, ghosts.” Her voice hitches despite her nonchalant shrug, and I hate that I’ve made my best friend sad. It’s clear she’s still hurting about not being told sooner.

  “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you when I found out about Andrew.” I apologize for the hundredth time. I can’t seem to stop.

  “I know. I’m still processing, but if I was paying better attention, my tarot cards predicted this months ago. Real magic seemed impossible, so I dismissed what the guides were trying to tell me through the cards.”

  “Was that the same reading about me changing and the dark energy?” She mentioned a negative reading back at Gram’s farmhouse. “Did you take your cards out of timeout yet?”

  “I have. Smudged and cleansed. No more weird energy. I brought them with me in hopes Sarah can give me a lesson.”

  “Does someone have a girl crush?” I tease her, twisting so my backpack bumps her bag with each step.

  “Second only to my crush on Tate. I can’t help it. She’s the coolest woman I’ve ever met and that’s before I knew about the extent of her powers.” She sighs like she’s talking about her favorite boy band heartthrob.

  “Do we know what Sarah’s special powers are? Last fall I spent hours in the shop while she taught me the basics of herbs and crystals, spell work to draw out my own powers, but I couldn’t tell you what makes her powerful other than she just is.”

  “What do you know about the original Sarah Wildes?” Sam asks. “Have you researched the family yet? If these magical powers are hereditary, her own lineage must contain powerful witches.”

  I nod. “Her namesake was a second wife who had a reputation for being ‘glamorous’ before marrying Wildes.”

  Sam laughs. “Is glamorous seventeenth century shade for being promiscuous?”

  “Kind of. She was accused of fornication and sentenced to be whipped for it. Crazy, right?”

  “Crazy, kinky Puritans.” Sam gives me a two mitten covered thumbs up.

  “We should start a band with that name. You know, if we played instruments and wanted to be musicians.”

  “Can we have a coven nickname instead? Or start an official girl gang?” Her voice cracks with laughter at her own ideas.

  “A girl gang of two? Which one of us is the kinky one?” I point at her because I know it’s not me. I’m still officially in the middle of a very long dry spell.

  “We can invite Sarah and—” she pauses, tapping her chin, “Mrs. Wardwell. I bet she’s a hoot.”

  “She’s a hundred and two.” I laugh and realize we’ve reached the address Sarah gave me. “Holy smokes.”

  I’ve never really thought about what kind of house Salem’s favorite witch would live in, but if I had to imagine Sarah’s house, this would be it.

  “Wow,” Sam whispers beside me. “It even has a turret.”

  The dark gray Victoria sits back from the street like a grand dame flanked by ladies in waiting. A bright red door reminds me of lipstick or one of Sarah’s signature colored chopsticks she always seems to have stuck in her bun. The arched wrought iron gate protects the front walkway from the riffraff on the sidewalk, which is currently us.

  Sam’s expression of awe mirrors mine. It’s not a grand mansion like Tate’s, but it’s not a tiny cottage like the Black Book café.

  “It’s so elegant, but in a shabby, not pretentious way,” I whisper back because it feels right.

  “Are you going to stay out here all night staring at my house? It’s starting to snow and you’ll freeze.” Sarah’s laughter greets us from the porch.

  Andrew leans against the jamb of the front door. With the light behind him, he’s in shadow but I can still make out the smirk on his face.

  “Come in, come in.” Sarah waves us forward. “I’d meet you at the gate, but I’m in socks”

  She lifts her skirt and wiggles her striped socked feet.

  For a greeting, Sarah gives both Sam and me warm, enveloping hugs, shooing us into the house. Andrew trails behind, closing the door against the cold, early February afternoon.

  “You can leave your bags on the bench and I’ll carry them up to your room.” He speaks to both of us, but his cool blue eyes hold my gaze.

  “Sam, come into the kitchen and help me make a pot of tea. I just got a box of dried herbs and I want to experiment with a new blend for Imbolc.” Sarah tips her head in the direction of the long hall off the front foyer.

  “Subtle, Mom,” Andrew groans. “Awkward enough that my mother invited my girlfriend to a slumber party.”

  Sarah’s already moving toward the kitchen, but her laughter carries back to us. “You’re welcome.”

  Embarrassed but happy to be face to face again, I wave at him.

  He waves back before crossing the small space to stand in front of me.

  “I missed you,” he whispers, bringing his lips close to mine, so close the warmth of his breath brushes against my skin.

  “Me too,” I say, quietly.

  His mouth crashes against my lips as his arms envelop me. At first, I’m hyper-aware of his mother down the hall, but when his tongue sweeps across my bottom lip, I forget any reason why this isn’t the best idea in the world. Opening my mouth, I encourage him to deepen the kiss, and he does. Warmth spreads through my body as he explores me with his tongue. He tastes of mint and something essentially Andrew. My body cries out for more, more, more and I press myself against his chest, attempting to close any space between us. When he grips me tighter and a small moan catches in his throat, anything outside of him, this kiss, and the contact between us, disappears.

  I have no idea how long we make out until the need for oxygen overrides my need for him.

  Pausing for air, I kiss the corner of his mouth.

  “Wow,” he whispers, placing small pecks along my jaw. “I didn’t think time apart would be this tortuous. Promise me we’ll never do it again.”

  Before I can answer, he resumes our kiss, a thirsty man and I’m a glass
of cool water.

  “Let’s go upstairs.” He grasps my hand and takes a step toward the stairs. “They won’t miss us.”

  I give him a peck, but don’t immediately follow. My chest flutters with my rapid breathing and his scent envelops me, making me forget why I’m still standing still.

  “What’s wrong?” Worry creases his brow.

  “Your mom’s home.” Evidently, I’ve lost my ability to use my words.

  “I live here, too.” He kisses me as persuasion. “In fact, I have the entire attic. Want to see my turret?”

  I giggle, and he rolls his eyes.

  “I’m not being a pervert. Nor am I taking you to my tower to ravish you. At least not now.” He nips the corner of my jaw.

  I’m embarrassed by the moan that comes out of me.

  “Come on.” With another tug, he pulls me forward. “We’ll drop Sam’s bag off in the guest room.”

  “I don’t want to disrespect your mother.”

  “You won’t. She adores you and if you haven’t figured out yet, she’s thrilled about us.” He gives me a soft, open kiss.

  I respond and feel him smile against my mouth.

  It’s almost impossible to kiss someone when they’re smiling and this realization makes me laugh.

  Lacing our fingers together, he leads me up the wide staircase to the second story and then stops in front of a bookcase.

  My breath catches in my throat. “Your room is hidden behind a bookcase?”

  “Pretty cool, huh? I asked for it when I was eight and mom made it happen.” He flips a hidden latch and the bookcase swings open. With a sweep of his arm, he invites me to enter his lair, I mean his room. “After you.”

  Up the stairs, the large space is laid out like a loft apartment with a seating area in the round area of the tower, and a rumpled king size bed tucked under the slanted ceiling in the eaves. The warm spicy scent of him fills the room.

  “It’s so you. Why would you live in the dorms with all the smelly, gross urchins when you have this?”

  “You.”

  His one-word answer makes me swoon and my knees legitimately weaken. I manage to stay upright.

  “No, seriously,” I say, sounding more sarcastic and cynical than I intend. There’s no way he’s telling the truth.

  “I’m not lying. I split my time between the two.” He sits down on the old Chesterfield sofa, but his eyes follow me around as I explore. I notice we both avoid the bed.

  I brush my hand over the cool, worn leather of the club chair before sitting in it. My eyes find his and I return his soft smile. “I love it up here.”

  “Good. Stay with me.”

  I want to ask him if he means forever or the night, but we’re interrupted by Sarah’s voice coming through an ancient intercom box on the wall, calling us to come down for tea.

  “Her timing is perfect.” Andrew sighs. “At least I’ll have you all to myself later.”

  He holds my hand as we make our way downstairs.

  Mr. Mistoffelees, Sarah’s black cat, jumps down from his chair window when we enter the kitchen. He gives me the stink eye and softly hisses at Andrew.

  “We’re going to an Imbolc celebration tonight,” Sam announces, her hands cupping a steaming mug of tea. “I’m so excited!”

  I don’t know what an Imbolc is, but I’m too embarrassed to ask for clarification.

  “It’s Brigid’s Day, marking midwinter. Part Wicca, part pagan and sometimes known as Candlemas” Sarah explains without pretense. “There’ll be a sacred ceremony. And snacks.”

  “Will you come, too?” I ask Andrew.

  He shakes his head no. “No boys allowed at this one.”

  So much for spending the evening making out in his room.

  “It’s a perfect sabbat for your first one, Madison.” Sarah hands me a mug and squeezes my shoulder. “While our coven is co-ed some ceremonies are more powerful if the energy is purely feminine. No offense to men.”

  “None taken,” Andrew says, dryly. “Not like I’ve barely seen Madison in over a month or anything.”

  “Don’t get mad. I won’t keep her all night. We’ll be done by eight.” Sarah ruffles his hair and the gesture makes him squirm. The gesture is sweet given he towers over her. She’s right, he does tend to sulk and brood.

  Is it wrong how attractive I find his brooding?

  * * *

  Last February, my idea of a girls’ night involved watching Mean Girls and a pint of ice cream with Sam. Not this year. Everything’s changed and now a night hanging with my girls means sitting in a circle of fellow witches.

  Even though I’ve been told we’ll have cake as part of the celebration, I’m nervous.

  No men allowed.

  Just the girls.

  And the spirit of St. Brigid, goddess, saint, and patron of badass women for centuries.

  I’ve never been the type of girl who wanted to join a sorority and now I’m part of a coven.

  I wonder if Andrew and Tate have to join a drumming circle in the woods with Dr. Philips and Mr. Wardwell. I bet they wouldn’t have cupcakes after beating drums and howling like wolves. I’ll have to ask, because the visual of them all dancing around in a circle, covered in mud is too funny.

  And now I’m imagining Andrew in a loincloth and pelts.

  * * *

  At the Spelling B, Sarah, and the women who were at the Winthrop mansion in December, greet Sam and me like warm friends. A large room behind the main area of the shop is set up for the ceremony. Softly lit candle sconces create an inviting space. Sandalwood and rose scent the air.

  We settle on the floor, sitting on large floor cushions. Mrs. Wardwell perches on a short stool, explaining she’ll never get off the floor again if she goes any lower.

  After setting up an altar in the center of our circle and lighting candles, Sarah smudges us with sage, causing both Sam and I to chuckle. Mrs. Wardwell coughs to draw our attention back to the moment. I wonder if Andrew will notice my roasted chicken scent.

  Sarah invokes the elements and cardinal directions before saying a blessing to consecrate the circle.

  I don’t know what I was expecting, but the evening has a feeling of peace and hope. There’s no hocus-pocus, or whatever I was expecting. No ritual sacrifice or bloodletting. No leeches or bats. Or brooms. Just a group of women sitting in a circle.

  Even after Andrew’s ceremonial, full moon bonfire in the woods, I’m more than a little disappointed this isn’t more weird, more … witchy.

  Mary Parker explains how tonight is a celebration of the maiden, all the while staring at me with an arched eyebrow and a mischievous twinkle in her eye. I feel like I’m getting the coven’s version of The Talk.

  Or I’m going to be the sacrificial “maiden” after all. I wonder if I should confess I’m not a virgin. It would be a shame to ruin their plans involving an unsullied maiden.

  We hold labradorite crystals as the smaller of the Good sisters guides us in a meditation to tap into our powers, fertility, the goddess and our divine feminine. The taller Good sister used the term “lady flowers” earlier and pointed to her lap. Not awkward at all.

  All this coded talk of sex makes me think of Andrew. I close my eyes as instructed while I only half listen as my mind goes back to making out and spending the night with him.

  When I open my eyes, the room shimmers with silvery blue light. Keeping my focus soft, I see younger versions of the women sitting in a circle. None are the woman from my ghost couple and when I think about them, I hear the tinkling of bells, which causes me to lose the vision.

  I keep this information to myself as Sarah serves slices of a lemon poppyseed cake. Poppy seeds for fertility, Mary explains and I want to tell her I got the message already.

  “See? Always good snacks at these things,” Sam whispers between bites.

  I don’t feel different, no more witchy or powerful than when we first arrived. And this knowledge disappoints me.

  As if reading my mind, M
rs. Wardwell clears her throat. “Magic will come, but you can’t expect to fly before you understand how to walk.”

  Images of Sam and I flying around Salem on brooms flit through my mind. After all, the town logo is a witch in her pointed hat on a broom.

  * * *

  Andrew’s standing outside the Spelling B when we leave. His hands are stuffed in the pockets of his black coat and a black beanie hides his dark hair.

  “What are you doing here?” Pulling on my scarf, I give him a happy smile.

  “I got bored waiting at home.” He grins at me. “I’m going to steal Madison for a little while.” He doesn’t ask permission from the other women filing out the door. Instead, he slings his arm over my shoulders and kisses my temple.

  “Fine with me if it’s okay with her,” Sarah says with a laugh. “I promised I wouldn’t hog all of her attention, dear son.”

  “Such a nice gesture to walk a young woman home when you’re courting.” Mrs. Wardwell taps Andrew’s arm with the tip of her cane.

  I swear he blushes while I cringe waiting for one of them to mention maidenhoods and lady flowers.

  Sam joins in the teasing, but I’m lost in Andrew’s intense stare. I think I hear a possessive growl vibrate low in his chest, but it’s barely audible and could be my imagination.

  “Where are we going?” I ask when we finally step away from the chattering group outside the shop.

  “Nowhere. I thought I’d walk you home, but take the long way. If that’s okay.”

  “More than fine with me.”

  An earlier snow dusted the sidewalks and trees sparkle with white holiday lights hung from their branches.

  “It feels magical tonight.” I snuggle closer, wrapping my arm around his waist.

  “I think you’re hopped up from the ceremony. Want to tell me about it?”

  I give him the overview of the evening, leaving out the fertility part. I’m sure he knows all about these holidays and their symbolic meanings. Caught up in the retelling, I lose track of where he’s leading us. I glance around to figure out where we are. The row of brick colonial homes and duplexes tell me we’re making a wide loop around downtown, avoiding the busier streets.