The Witch Stone Read online

  “What? You never mentioned this before! You can’t do this now!” he screamed.

  Brenna gasped. “Mr. Hector, there is no need to be so childish. I want to see the place once before I make such a big decision. I just want to spend a week there…”

  “One week? Are you crazy?” Hector pointed at Brenna. “I will call you in two days on this cell phone.” Hector slid a phone across to Brenna who had never owned a one before. “You will make your decision then. We cannot wait a week. I’ve got the bulldozers ready to clear the land. Do not disappoint me; you do not want to see me mad.”

  Brenna thought he was probably right if he wasn’t mad right now, she didn’t want to know what he was like when he was angry.

  “Very well, Hector I will give you my decision in two days,” Brenna said, handing the papers back to Mr. Gambit.

  As she approached the door Hector hissed her name. “You’re wasting everybody’s time, you know. There’s nothing for you there. If you’re hoping for some sort of family connection, you’ll be disappointed.”

  “I don’t think it’s unreasonable for me to have a look first.”

  “You know the land is haunted.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve done research. Women were burned in those woods. Probably your ancestors. Do you think that’s going to be a nice atmosphere for you?”

  The skin on her palms clammed up. Hector didn’t appear to be finished. “I’ve seen your shop. You’re into that mumbo jumbo stuff. You should know there’s nothing good for you waiting in Oakwoods.”

  “Even if any of that is true, I’d still rather see for myself.”

  “One more thing, Brenna, I always get my way.”

  Brenna returned to her car, happy to leave the towering building behind, still hearing Hector’s scratchy voice rattling around in her head. If he was so convinced the land was haunted, why did he want it so bad? It could be an up and coming area. Maybe five hundred big ones was too cheap. More research was in order. Much more research.

  Brenna sped along the highway, weaving her way through the traffic. She arrived home and pulled into her driveway. She grinned. Tiddles peered at her with his flat face pressed against an upstairs window. His wide yellow eyes were little moons that lovingly watched as Brenna moved to the front door. He dropped out of sight.

  Brenna heard a crash against the door and slowly opened it, looking behind the door. A dazed Tiddles stared up at her. “Tiddles, not again,” Brenna said as she bent down and stroked him. He rolled over and showed her his fluffy stomach. She rubbed his tummy and he purred in return. Once she was sure he was satisfied, she headed to the kitchen. Her throat was dry from the nerve-wracking meeting. It felt like she had helped herself to a bucket of sand. Tiddles weaved between her feet as she headed to the fridge. Just as Brenna was about to open the fridge her phone rang. Tiddles meowed in protest as she pivoted away from the fridge and answered the phone instead. “Hello.”

  A bouncy Maggie greeted her. “Hey, Bren, I’m dying to know what happened.”

  “Well they offered me a huge amount of money,” Brenna teased Maggie, purposefully leaving out details.

  “Bren! How huge?”

  “Five hundred thousand smackeroos,” Brenna held the phone away from her head expecting an ecstatic scream but there was only silence. Maggie couldn’t shut her mouth all the way if she tried, so she must have been completely stunned.

  “Mags? You there?”

  “Yeah, I think so. What did you say?”

  “I didn’t accept the money. Not yet anyway. I told them I was going on holiday for a week in Oakwoods, and I would make my decision when I got back. That dirtbag Hector told me I have two days to make my decision,” Brenna said.

  “Well, I think you made the right decision. When do you leave?”

  “First thing in the morning.”

  “Stop by the shop in the morning before you go. I’m going to pack you a care package. I’ll leave it around back.”

  “You’re the best.”

  “I know. Have a good trip. Don’t worry about Tiddles or the shop. They’ll be fine with me,” Maggie said.

  “Thank you, Maggie. I’ll see you in a few days.”

  “Good luck, Brenna.”

  Brenna placed the phone back on the hook and remembered about her dry throat. She opened the fridge and scanned the shelves, pulled out a bottle of orange juice, and a half-empty can of food for Tiddles. Tiddles squawked at the sight of it. She spooned the sloppy food into Tiddles’s bowl. Brenna screwed up her face as the smell of sardines invaded her nostrils.

  “Yuck, Tiddles, how can you eat this stuff?” Brenna took her drink and went upstairs to pack.

  Brenna set a small suitcase on her bed and stuffed it full of clothes. After packing her toiletry bag, she looked around the room. It felt like she was forgetting something. She looked in the wardrobe at her clothes which were mostly dark dresses. Then it hit her. Boots! One couldn’t go on a trip wearing only sandals. She reached up to grab her well-worn but favorite ankle boots and had to step forward to reach. Her foot hit something unexpected on the floor. She bent down and moved aside a pile of clothes that had fallen from hangars. The wooden box her grandmother had left her was nestled under the clothes. “Oh.” It struck her like a blow to the head. It was the same box. The one from her dream. She hadn’t been in the right headspace to go through her grandmother’s things when she died and had put the box in the bottom of the wardrobe. She ran her fingers over the carvings of the moon phases. What was going on? She sat cross-legged on the floor and sat to box on her legs.

  It opened with a slight creak. A puff of nostalgia-scented air escaped the box. Musk, lavender, and rosemary brought her back to her grandmother’s kitchen. To a time when she was too short to reach the counter and had to stand on a stool. Whipping up creations that either tasted good or healed ailments.

  Inside the box was full of dried herbs. Most of them were probably too old to be any use. Certainly not for cooking. Speaking of cooking, it was getting way too past dinner time for Brenna’s liking. Time for pizza. Pizza with lots of cheese. She closed the box and set the box down on the bed before heading downstairs to order said pizza.

  Pizza ordered, she grabbed the current book she was reading and stretched out on the plump sofa. Nobody would ever accuse Brenna of being an interior designer or anything, but her living room was one of her favorite places to be. The coolness of the rustic floorboards was offset by a large Persian rug. The far wall was lined with shelves overflowing with books and treasured trinkets. A modestly-sized television that didn’t see much use sat atop a distressed cabinet in the corner beside a well-used fireplace. The best feature, in her mind anyway, was the overstuffed floral sofa she currently slouched on. So far, she had managed to stop Tiddles from scratching the velour fabric with a few scratching posts scattered about the place.

  A loud crash upstairs made her jump. She flew off the sofa and raced toward the stairs then stopped. Was it wise to run toward the sound of an unexpected sound when you were alone in the house? She looked around for something to use a weapon. Among the plethora of books, cushions, and knick-knacks, the poker beside the fire looked most promising. Hefting it with both hands, she crept up the stairs and peered in each room she passed. Tiddles weaved between her legs as she walked, almost tripping her up with each step. “Tiddles, gimme a minute. This could be serious.” She kept walking, cat still underfoot, toward the end of her hall where her bedroom was. Images flooded her mind of shadowy figures hiding behind doorways, waiting to pounce. She looked into her room, held up the poker, then lowered it. The box had fallen off the bed and emptied its contents on the floor. Dried herbs surrounded the box, along with something she hadn’t seen earlier. A large leather-bound book and a small black pouch. A large leather-bound book and a small black pouch identical to the ones from her dreams. It couldn’t be true… Could it?

  Brenna stared at the book, her mouth agape. A lightness floated from her stom
ach to her chest, then hung around in her throat where it sat like a bubble. She saw her hand reaching for the book. It felt like she was watching somebody else. Like she was watching somebody on television. None of what was happening made sense. How could she have dreamed about something she had never seen before? If the book from her dream existed, did that mean the people did too? And if so, why was she dreaming about them?

  She picked up the book and hefted it. It felt about as heavy as a sack of spuds; it must have been about five hundred pages long. She tried to open the cover and froze. A hot bolt of energy sizzled up her arm and the cover slammed shut. What in the world? She put the book back into the box along with the dried herbs. Brenna scratched her head. Could she be dreaming right now? She didn’t think so. You didn’t usually feel pain in dreams, did you? She wasn’t an expert on such matters but Maggie would surely know. She decided against calling her; she needed time to process all of this herself.

  She bent down, lifted up the small leather pouch and pulled out a shiny round moonstone. The smooth stone pulsed in her hand with rainbow-tinted flashes. She gasped, dropped the stone, and watched it roll under the bed. Brenna dropped to her knees. She peered underneath the bed, expecting darkness, but was able to see her lost hairbrush and running shoes illuminated by the shining stone (she hadn’t been too worried about losing the running shoes). She stayed down on her knees staring at the glowing stone. She reached under the bed and wrapped her fingers around the stone. With the stone enveloped in her hand, darkness returned under the bed.

  She dropped the smooth stone back into the pouch and returned it to the wooden box, carefully shutting the lid. A yawn crawled its way out. How could she be tired at a time like this? An almost absurd thought struck her. Could she be tired because something was wanting to communicate with her through her dreams? Whatever the reason, it was a good idea to get to bed if she wanted to get up early in the morning.

  Brenna placed a glass of water next to her lamp on the bedside cabinet then slid into bed. She laid her head on the soft pillow and pulled the covers up to her chin. Thoughts of the old Book of shadows ran through her head along, with the last conversation she ever had with her grandmother, Annwyn Ravenwood. Annwyn had been lying on a white uncomfortable hospital bed where she’d been for weeks. Brenna had entered the small ward and immediately had started to cry. Annwyns’s white hair was hanging loosely at her waist and her face was paler than usual. Her Gran had put up a fragile hand as if to say not to cry for her because she was fine but Brenna had cried even harder.

  She’d sat next to her grandmother, taking her hand and noticing how thin and transparent her skin had become. Annwyn then smiled the happiest smile Brenna had ever seen and laughed. Brenna could not understand what was so funny, so she asked her why she was laughing. All that Annwyn would tell her was she wasn’t dying, only her body was. Those words were like a slap to the face. They hurt but they woke her up. Death was natural; it wasn’t something to be feared. Still, it hurts like hell to lose somebody you love.

  Brenna had sat in silence with her grandmother for an hour hugging her until Annwyn whispered her last words. Brenna tried to recall them now. “Brenna, just because I am your last living relative does not mean that you are alone. One day you will learn that you belong to a large family who all love you.” Then she had said how a box would be delivered to Brenna, and that when the time was right, she would know what to do with it. The time might have been right, but she had no idea what to do with it.

  Brenna turned over and sighed. Her eyelids grew heavy and she could barely keep them open. She slowly drifted off to sleep, wondering what on earth was awaiting her in her dreams tonight.

  Chapter Three

  Just outside of Oakwoods 1645

  Rowena tried to move but was frozen to the spot. It was too dark for her to see the man’s face, but she gleaned he was much larger than she and perfectly capable of overpowering her delicate frame. She tried to keep her teeth from chattering, but it sounded like there was a tiny band of people in her mouth using her teeth as drums. The hooded man held out a lean, well-muscled arm toward her. The big horse snorted, blowing hot air onto Rowena’s cold face. She kicked Buttercup gently and whispered, “Come on, Buttercup, move.” The stubborn old mule stayed put. Running crossed her mind, but she knew the hooded man could move much faster than he could right now; her legs felt about as nimble as rocks.

  Suddenly the hooded man leaned forward and grabbed Rowena around her waist. He placed a gloved hand over her mouth and pulled her onto his horse. She tried to wriggle away, but the hooded man kicked his horse into action and sped off through the thick forest, dodging trees and giving her no choice but to hold on to whatever she could. All she managed was a fistful of her abductor’s coat. She hoped Buttercup would find her way home.

  They rode for what seemed forever through the dense forest. Rowena screamed as the horse galloped straight for a tree and dodged it at the last second. The hooded man brought the horse to a stop. He petted the horde on the mane and whispered soothingly in its ear.

  “What’s going on?” Rowena asked, her voice shaky.

  “Don’t say a word, they are right behind us. If they find you, they will surely kill you,” the hooded man said. Although his words terrifying, his voice was warm.

  Rowena nodded. She leaned back against the man’s chest, leaned into his warmth. He smelled of leather, musk, and horses. A good combination. The sound of men shouting and horses trotting. Rowena held her breath. She peered in the direction of the noise.

  A group of men riding horses slowed and came to a stop near them. One of them was holding a shiny dagger in his hands and was yelling orders to the rest of the group. She placed a shaking hand around the pouch hanging from her neck. She let out her breath then took a deep one. The moonstone pulsed in response, filling Rowena’s chest with warmth. From where they hid in the dark, she thought they would be invisible to the men. Hoped so anyway.

  “There’s nothing here. It must have been an animal of some sort,” said a gruff voice.

  “Move on then,” replied the man holding the dagger.

  The lead rider booted his horse in the side and set off at a canter. Rowena sighed. Waves of relief shook her limbs as the riders disappeared from sight, leaving her and her captor alone in the thick dark woods. He made a clucking noise, setting the horse off. Rowena sat back, allowing herself to relax. If this man meant her harm, surely he would have done so already.

  “Who are you?” Rowena asked quietly.

  “My name is Jonathon. We need to get to Oakwood before sunrise. Those men are planning to abduct everybody there just like they did to your town.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “Hawthorn arranged for me to follow you from her cottage.”

  “What? She told me to meet you in Oakwood.”

  “I came to meet you because I heard they were patrolling the woods still.” He turned back and looked behind them. Rowena gasped. A large tree had fallen in their path. The large black horse flew into the air and jumped over the fallen log, making Rowena lose her grip. She tumbled off the horse and slammed to the ground. She cried out in pain, clutching her head. Jonathon pulled at the horse’s reigns bringing him to a sudden stop. He jumped off the horse and ran to Rowena.

  “Rowena! Don’t move!” Jonathon leaned down by her and took her hand. “Where does it hurt?”

  Rowena groaned. “Everywhere, I think I can walk though.” She tried to stand.

  “No, don’t!” Jonathon placed his hands gently on Rowena’s shoulders, holding her down. He touched her cheek with callused but gentle hands. Without so much as a grunt, he lifted Rowena back onto the horse.

  “Are you comfortable?” Rowena nodded back and managed to smile. A sharp pain ran down her back, making her wince.

  Jonathon climbed up. “We’ll take it easy. Just hold on tight.”

  Rowena was glad to see the wooden sign welcoming them to Oakwoods sticking out of the marshy ground.
Small cottages like the ones destroyed in her village, still stood strong as Jonathon led the horse into the village. People milled around large fires singing and chatting. The villagers suddenly grew quiet and watched as Jonathon guided the horse to a small hut near the back. Jonathon brought the horse to a gentle stop and slid down to the ground. He held out his hand for Rowena and she gripped it tightly as she climbed down from the horse.

  “How are you feeling?” Jonathon asked.

  “I’m okay, just a little stiff. Nothing serious.” Rowena managed a smile that Jonathon swiftly returned. In the dim light of the village, she could finally see his face. Although he had the classic good looks Rowena had always thought were pretty commonplace among men, his eyes stood out, deep brown pools of light against his tanned skin. They were almost inhuman; they were eyes that belonged to a wolf. He pulled down his hood, revealing thick, wavy black shoulder-length hair. She looked away from Jonathon’s deep gaze, feeling her face grow hot.

  “We’d better warn everybody,” Rowena suggested, trying to hide her red face.

  “Good idea. Who knows when those beasts will arrive?” Jonathon’s remark sent shivers down Rowena’s bruised spine.

  Jonathon knocked three loud knocks the small wooden door and waited. A small elf-like woman wearing a long white nightgown opened the door. Jonathon introduced himself and Rowena and asked if they could come inside. The woman led them to a cozy room warmed by a crackling fire.

  “My name is Ivy. What can I do for you?” The enchanting little woman sat in the chair closest to the fire and gestured for them to both sit. Jonathon helped Rowena into a seat while he stood close beside her.

  “We have some bad news I’m afraid,” Jonathon started. “There was a vicious attack on the nearby town of Wood Grove in Oakwood. All of the women were captured except for Rowena here, she was lucky enough not to have been home when it happened.” Jonathon watched as Ivy’s tired face grew solemn.

  “I saw the signs. The moon, and Hawthorn’s message in the scrying pool. Who was responsible?” Ivy asked.