The Witch Stone Read online

  “Your very welcome, miss. If I get more customers like you, I just might consider hiring a new chef.” He chuckled.

  “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Right you are. Night, miss.” He picked up his crinkled newspaper and continued to read. Brenna took one last look out the dark window in an attempt to prolong her stay in the office. Unable to prolong the inevitable, Brenna went outside.

  Eeriness hung in the air as Brenna talked her heavy feet into moving. They finally carried her to the creaky staircase. She took one step and stopped It wasn’t the spookiness that made her freeze, it was the blood-curdling scream rippling through the darkness. Her teeth chattered. She tried to stop them by clenching them shut but it didn’t help. Her jaw trembling caught on to her legs and they jittered together.

  Silence followed the deadly scream. After a few tense seconds that seemed to stretch into hours, Brenna convinced her feet to climb the staircase two steps at a time, taking giant leaps. She bounded across the dark balcony and flew into room number six. Her heart stopped. Or it felt like it did.

  The room was dark; somebody had turned off the light. Brenna ran to the light switch and flicked it up, filling the room with light. She let out a sigh of relief when an empty room greeted her. She slammed the door shut and locked it. How was she meant to sleep after that? Maybe a little mindless television would help her sleep. Everything would be clearer in the morning. She hoped so anyway. She dared one last peek out of her window to make sure there were no vamps or entities lurking, then fed enough coins into the TV set to keep it on all night. She flicked through boring channels clogged full of reruns and infomercials until she finally gave in to the sandman.

  Chapter Five

  Oakwoods 1645

  Shrouded by night, Jonathon rode through the heavy forest toward Darkwood as Rowena drifted in and out of troubled sleep. Every time she fell asleep, the horse would lurch or stumble over uneven ground. Turned out sleeping on a horse was as hard as it sounded. She tightened her grip around Jonathon’s waist as the horse bounded over a tangle of vines blocking their way.

  “Sorry, that was unavoidable. We’re nearly there by the way.”

  “Oh, good. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’ve had enough of riding with you for one night.”

  “Fair enough.” Jonathon laughed.

  It wasn’t long until night began to lift and golden light seeped through the trees. The horse steered onto a beaten path and came to an abrupt stop.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “We’re here,” Jonathon said, looking back at her. Rowena raised her eyebrows as she took in the sight of the dozing town beginning to awaken. Sunlight kissed the roofs of cob buildings that housed blacksmiths, bakers, and tailors. She imagined the town a few hours from now when people bustled up and down the cobblestone road. Jonathon led the horse past the businesses and toward what looked like residential cottages. The town had an empty quality to Rowena, but it wasn’t because they were the only people visible, it was because it lacked any homeliness. The cottages all looked the same, without any personality, brown with tall white chimneys sticking out of the roofs. None of them had welcome mats at the doors like the cottages in Wood Grove. They lacked rambling vines and wildflowers. Rowena remembered joyous nights sitting around fires with her whole village singing and dancing. Everybody knew everybody. Everybody cared for one another. This place just seemed impersonal. The sheer size of the place made it seem imposing. Although the people who lived here were probably asleep, she felt like all their eyes were on her. She could have been completely wrong; life here could have been wonderful. Her views might be skewed, given recent events.

  Jonathon suddenly dismounted and offered his hand to Rowena. He helped her down, gripping her tightly as she collapsed into his arms. Her legs felt like tree limbs. Jonathon helped her stand until she regained feeling. A thousand needles pricked and prodded, making her bounce up and down. Once the needle jabbing subsided, Rowena followed Jonathon through the streets of Darkwood.

  A large homestead eyed them as they approached its courtyard. A young boy was sitting on the terracotta steps in front of the front door. He jumped up quickly at the sight of Jonathon and bounded over to them.

  “Who’s this, Jon?” the boy said excitedly, eyeing up Rowena.

  “This is Ronan’s sister,” Jonathon stalled. “Gwyneth.”

  “Gwyneth?” the boy looked puzzled, “I’ve never heard of you before.”

  “Well, I haven’t heard of you either.”

  The boy laughed in response and took Jonathon’s horse by the reigns.

  “I’m Bill. See you at breakfast, Jonathon.” The cheeky boy curtsied at Rowena and winked, “Gwyneth.” He led the thirsty horse to a water station and secured it to a pole, where it lapped up the water.

  Rowena turned to Jonathon. “How old is he?”

  “He’s fourteen I’m afraid,” Jonathon replied, looking at Rowena. “He’s a good kid, just getting to be a bit of a handful.”

  “Does he belong to you?” Rowena dared to ask.

  Jonathon threw his head back and laughed. “Heavens no!” He shook his head, clearly amused. “I’m not yet attached.”

  “Not yet?” Rowena looked away from Jonathon feeling roses bloom on her cheek. What was she doing prying into his personal life?

  “No. And before you ask it’s not because I’m not in high demand. I can assure you there are plenty of suitors that are indeed after me. I’m just not after them.”

  Jonathon’s burning eyes caught Rowena’s gaze and held it, making her feel as if she was going to melt. He gave her the biggest smile she’d ever seen and walked ahead of her to the front door. She watched the wind blow his dark hair sending it in all directions. She cleared her throat and followed him.

  Jonathon went through the large wooden doors, motioning for Rowena to follow. When she entered the massive house, she couldn’t help but stare at the highly polished floors and the huge dark oak sideboards lining the beautiful hall. An ornate winding staircase in the middle of the room seemed to go on forever. She’d never been inside a building this big before.

  Snap, snap. A clicking woke Rowena from her daze. Jonathon was clicking his fingers in front of her face. “Oh sorry!”

  “It’s okay, you must be awfully tired.”

  “Very.”

  They were interrupted by a short, flustered woman bursting through a swinging door. Her short brown hair was matted to her sweaty round head. She swiped a hand across her forehead then on her stained apron.

  “Ah, Jonathon, you’re here. It’s a madhouse in there!” She blew out hot air and neatly placed her hands behind her back.

  “Looks like it.” Jonathon gently pushed Rowena in front of him a little. “This is Ronan’s sister, Gwyneth, Gwyneth this is Polly.”

  “Nice to meet you, Gwyneth. Can I call you Gwyn?” Polly held out a round, moist, podgy hand and shook hands with Rowena.

  “Um sure, nice to meet you, too.” Great, Rowena thought, now she had to remember to get used to two names that were not hers.

  “Would you kindly show Ro…” Jonathon stopped himself before he gave away Rowena’s secret, “Gwyneth to a guest room.”

  “Surely. Come this way, Gwyn! Hope you don’t mind if I call you Gwyn.” Polly took Rowena’s hand and lead her up the huge winding staircase with huge gold-framed portraits lining the walls. The stairs were hard on Rowena’s weak legs, causing them to ache with every step.

  When they reached the top Polly walked to the second room on the left of the long narrow hallway and stopped. She took a large ring full of keys from her belt and shuffled through them. Polly finally held up the correct key, unlocked the door, and pushed it open with a creak. Rowena followed her into the spacious room and looked around; her mouth dropped open. Dusky rose-pink walls with carved wood panels set off large leadlight windows. A huge four-poster bed with heavy burgundy velvet drapes and a rose coverlet called to Rowena. She was so tired she wanted to
dive in and sleep for days. Huge pieces of wooden furniture were scattered about the room.

  Polly opened a wardrobe, revealing a row of pretty outfits. “You can help yourself to any of these clothes. Chamber pot underneath the bed. I’ll fetch you some freshwater, feel free to freshen up and change, breakfast will be served in an hour.”

  “Thank you, Polly.”

  “You’re most welcome. Any friend of Jonathon’s is a friend of mine.” Polly scurried out of the room, leaving Rowena alone with her thoughts. Luckily, she wasn’t alone for long, because her thoughts were troubled. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Isabel’s harried face as she was dragged away. Polly’s face, when she returned, was the picture of everything Rowena thought made up a decent person. Her smile reached her eyes and creased the skin there, and her eyes were warm and kind. She placed a pitcher of water on the nightstand. “See you downstairs soon.”

  Rowena removed her heavy cloak and boots, dropped them onto the wooden floor. She opened the heavy doors of the wardrobe. Gowns and outfits hung neatly on coat hangers, some were worn looking and others seemed brand new. Rowena ran a hand across the selection of clothes and stopped.

  A green velvet gown caught her eye. Rowena pulled it out and examined the dress; it was very similar to the dress Isabel was wearing when she was dragged into the black wagon. Rowena examined the bottom of the dress. There were faint dirt stains on the green material. Rowena’s eyes widened. This was Isabel’s dress.

  “Isabel…” Rowena clutched the dress. “Where are you?”

  Rowena imagined Isabel’s delicate body lying Goddess knew where and began to cry. She took the dress off of the hanger and spread it on the bed.

  She cleared her mind of the horrible things she imagined could have happened to Isabel and heard Hawthorn’s voice, “You must be strong, Rowena. You can only help Isabel and the others if you go along with our plan. Remember the moonstone.” Hawthorn’s whispered voice echoed in the otherwise silent room.

  She stood in front of a full-length mirror and stared at her pale face. The stress and lack of sleep from recent events made her look older than her years. Dark hair hung to her waist in tangles. There must be a brush in this lavish room somewhere. Nestled among a set of gilded combs was a long bristled brush. She found a burgundy cotton gown that gathered around her petite bust and fell softly to the ground. She braided her freshly brushed hair and let it fall to one side in a loose plait.

  Before leaving the room, she hid Isabel’s dress with her dirty clothes under the bed. Leaving behind the room seemed to leave behind some of the creepy feelings that had penetrated her mind, and she wondered if it had anything to do with all those clothes in the wardrobe. One of her lessons with Hawthorn had taught her that items can contain energy from the previous owners. If that wardrobe full of clothing once belonged to women who were or were about to be murdered, it was bound to be full of negative energy.

  Jonathon was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs with his arm resting on the railing. It seemed to take an age to reach the bottom. The hem of her dress kept getting in the way of her feet, and she feared tumbling headfirst to the bottom. Jonathon waited for Rowena to reach the bottom and took her arm.

  “Do you feel better, Gwyn?” Jonathon smiled.

  “A little. These people we are staying with, they are responsible, aren’t they?”

  Rowena ignored Jonathon’s smile and stared at him with cold eyes.

  “Responsible for…”

  “You know what for, Jonathon. Invading homes, kidnapping innocent women and men and putting them on trial!” Rowena’s heartbeat rose with her voice.

  “Rowena lower your voice.” Jonathon placed both hands on her shoulders. “Don’t give them any reason to think you’re a witch.”

  “Or what, they’ll serve me for dinner?” Rowena snapped.

  “No. They will do much worse.” Jonathon looked around furtively. “Rowena, I know you so-called witches are not the evil ones and do not deserve to be tormented. But these people are crazy. Because they believe in evil and want to convert others, they choose to use killing witches as a means to an end. All we can do, Rowena, is keep a low profile for now if you want to help your friends. You can trust me.”

  “It’s not fair,” Rowena’s voice trembled. She began to cry, “we never hurt anybody! Why do they want to hurt us?”

  Jonathon rubbed Rowena’s back. “I know this is hard, but it really isn’t the time to discuss this.”

  “I found Isabel’s dress upstairs.”

  “Who is Isabel?”

  “My closest friend. We shared a cottage in Wood Grove. I saw her being dragged and thrown in one of those horrible black carriages. I swear the dress in that room is Isabel’s.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. I had no idea they took their clothing.”

  “Well, they do,” Rowena drew away from his arms, “my dress would be up there too, you know.”

  “Thank the Goddess it’s not.”

  Rowena’s eyes widened. “You’re a witch too.”

  They were interrupted by Polly entering through a door behind them. Jonathon winked at Rowena.

  “Gwyn, it looks like you have been crying,” Polly’s voice was high with concern.

  “No, it’s nothing I just had something in my eye. From the ride.”

  “I’ll fetch you a damp cloth. I’ll meet you in the dining room, breakfast is served.” Polly shoved her hands into her grubby apron and scurried away. Jonathon motioned for Rowena to follow him as he walked toward the double doors.

  Sun spilled onto a large oval table from ornate French doors that looked over a giant garden. Five bowls of porridge had been set and in the middle of the table a plethora of bread, fruit, and pastries. Jonathon pulled out a chair for Rowena. She tasted the porridge as Jonathon took a seat across from her. The porridge was hot and sticky and stuck to the top of Rowena’s mouth in a big clump.

  A tall woman with squinty eyes on a pinched-up face entered the room. Her silver hair was pulled back so tightly it looked like it was painted on. She stared straight at Rowena and walked out again without uttering a word or showing any sign of emotion. Jonathon leaned in close to Rowena.

  “That’s Miss Stenchen. She owns this place.”

  “Friendly.” Rowena dropped her spoon into the porridge and opted for an apple and a pastry instead.

  Polly entered the room with a damp cloth, which she passed to Rowena.

  “Oh, thank you, Polly.” Polly took a seat next to Rowena.

  “How do you like the porridge?” Polly asked.

  “Oh.” Rowena lifted the spoon which was almost standing up in the porridge.

  “I cooked it,” Polly said as she jammed a spoonful into her mouth.

  “It's lovely,” Rowena said as she forced more of the sticky substance into her mouth. She heard Jonathon laugh.

  The sound of the double doors bursting open startled Rowena and almost made her choke on the thick stodge. A tall muscular man with long black hair entered the room. Rowena gasped and rubbed her eyes. Standing by his side, was a white wolf. The man’s dark eyes stared straight at Rowena. His mouth curled into a sly smile. He appeared to be happy to see her.

  Chapter Six

  Oakwoods Now

  Brenna’s dream ended when a harsh banging roused her from sleep. She looked around the glowing motel room at the television, which was flashing a message demanding more money. The alarm clock next to the bed told her the time was seven-thirty in the morning. Too early for her liking.

  She slid out of bed with a groan and made her way across the worn carpet. Sunlight poured in when she opened the door leading to the balcony and peered around the corner, looking for the source of the banging sound that woke her up. Nobody in sight, the sun shone brightly in a clear blue sky and the office appeared locked up. Puzzled, Brenna shut the door and went into the small bathroom that could have done with a clean, hopped into the shower hoping to wash away any lingering creepiness from the night
before.

  She dressed in a pair of faded jeans with a black t-shirt, grabbed her handbag and headed out the door with the box Maggie had given her, along with the wooden box from her Grandmother cradled under one arm. She fumbled with her car keys as she walked down the creaky steps and past the dark office.

  Brenna couldn’t stop thinking about the dream she was having before she was awoken by the mysterious banging. The man in her dream seemed familiar to her, she was sure she had seen those dark eyes, that long black hair, and dark skin before. And that wolf. That was something else. Suddenly it hit her; he was the man she had seen standing in the desolate car park on the way to Oakwoods. Chills ran down her spine. She didn’t know what was going on but figured she might find out more when she reached her inherited cottage.

  As she drove, her mind ticked over the last couple of days. How could she be experiencing such weird events and not be losing her mind? Perhaps she had lost it. Maybe she was actually locked up in a facility somewhere, ensnared in a straight jacket, babbling away to herself.

  No. The fresh smell out here was real. Large trees lined the road, lacing the air with the scent of pine. She followed the paved road until it gradually turned into dirt and stopped at a large iron gate. She hopped out of the car and cursed like a drunk pirate. A rusty padlock secured the gateway. With both hands on the black bars, she shook the gate violently but it wouldn’t budge. She looked up, estimated the gate to be a few meters high, and sighed. The pointy black spikes at the top put her off climbing the fence, and besides, she didn’t want to leave her convertible alone outside. She huffed and stormed back to her car.

  Staring at the gate from behind her steering wheel didn’t do much to help the situation. She hadn’t quite mastered her Jedi mind tricks yet.

  She leaned over and rummaged on the passenger side floor for her drink bottle. Her hand happened upon the wooden box from her grandmother. An urge to open the box overcame her. She shrugged, and thought why the hell not? As she lifted the lid her eyes widened; a blue light spilled from the leather pouch. She picked up the pouch and turned it upside down. The most luminous round moonstone sphere landed in the middle of her palm. The blue light it emanated pulsed and cast a blue shadow on Brenna’s palm. She brought it close to her eyes to get a better look when a high-pitched squeak almost pierced her eardrums. She nearly dropped the stone as her eyes shot forward and watched in disbelief as the padlock on the gate fell to the ground and the heavy black gate opened as if an unseen hand was moving it. She put the mysterious stone back in the box and stared at the open gate. There didn’t seem to be a motorized panel or anything that could explain the gate opening by itself. She thought about turning the car around and going back home, but before she knew it, she was turning the key in the ignition and moving forward.