Something wicked, p.1
Something Wicked, page 1
Something Wicked
Title Page
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
EPILOGUE
SOMETHING WICKED
C. J. Baker
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Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2010 C. J. Baker
Cover Image ©Cardiae @Dreamstime
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PROLOGUE
Something wicked and dark was being born out of the ground, something with black holes for eyes and a grotesque, rotten smile. It was angry and hungry. There was blood and thorns everywhere. The air smelled of death, and of rotten apples. Madeline Wisdom screamed, but no one heard her. She knew that this dark creature both wanted her, and hated her. Terror rose like cold water in her chest, but she couldn’t move. She couldn’t get away.
Maddie whimpered in sleep and fretted with the blankets, twisting her feet up, face contorting with terror. Rain lashed the windows and lightning threw sparks of blue against her pale skin as a lesion-riddled hand broke free of the earth. It clawed at the grass with broken fingernails, pulling itself up. It whispered things to her, promised her, threatened her, loved her.
Maddie tossed and turned in the bed, fingers clutching at the sheets, her short black hair thrown against the pillows in a cloud of sweat-dampened tangles. Her eyes flicked back and forth beneath her lids, dark lashes fluttering against her cheeks as the terrible thing, which both wanted her and hated her, clawed free of the breach.
There was an angry snap of teeth and the fetid odor of rancid flesh, and the sound of angry bees hot on the sting filled her ears. The rest of the body appeared, vomited out of the earth like the afterbirth of some horrible catastrophe. It rose, movements halting and stiff as it staggered toward her.
Maddie reeled backward, raising her hands to ward off the touch of the horrible creature. And something heavy landed on her chest.
“Wake! Wake, witch!” Pain sliced across her face, startling her, drawing her out of the nightmare and into the hot, thundering terror of the storm-lashed night.
Maddie sat bolt upright in the bed, upsetting her familiar, Grimm. The fat tabby cat landed on her legs and dug in his claws. A moment of disorientation hit her; she was still half-trapped in the dream, terrified and dripping with sweat. Her blankets were tangled and she was breathing hard. There was a sting of pain across one cheek. She lifted a shaky hand and touched it. In a quick flash of lightning, she saw blood on the fingertips she withdrew.
“Grimm? Why did you scratch me, you stupid—” she started, but her familiar rose up, placing both paws on her chest and staring into her eyes.
“Mistress! Come! Brontë and the warlock!” Grimm said into her mind, his lamp-like yellow eyes centering on her, his pupils huge and round and black, like the dark side of the moon. His words, thick with fear, broke her completely free of the nightmare. Then it hit her. Her witch-senses were screaming, on fire with soul-deep alarm.
Something was terribly wrong with her father.
“Get Grandmother!” Maddie gasped and swung her legs out of the bed. Though of course, her great-grandmother would already know…she always knew…
Seeing understanding in her panicked gaze, Grimm leapt down, his tail held aloft, the fur along his back lifted. He disappeared in the blink of an eye and she followed him out of the room, her bare feet slapping the hardwood floors as she ran down the hall toward her father’s bedroom. A lusty roll of thunder rattled the house to its foundations.
She heard a whine and nearly tripped over the massive form of her father’s familiar. Brontë, a golden Labrador retriever, was twitching on the floor, one brown eye glittering up at her. She was in pain, that much was clear. Maddie fell to her knees and held out her hands, touching the dog’s head. She could not speak to another’s familiar unless she was in physical contact with them and as soon as she touched Brontë’s soft brow, a flood of pain and panic was released in her skull.
“Brontë? What’s wrong?”
“Heart,” she managed, her mind-voice thick with pain. “Nearly gone.”
“Oh God,” Maddie breathed and looked up at the doorway to her father’s room, where everything was dark and silent, save the storm still threatening the frame of their Victorian house. “Brontë…I…”
She wanted to stay, to help Brontë, whom she had known since birth. Tears started in her eyes. Seeing her in pain was unbearable.
“Save him. Save me,” Brontë whined, her mind-voice fading. Her eyes closed, her paws twitched, nails scraping the wood as she tried to hold on. Her great sides heaved and her breathing sounded ragged. Maddie understood.
Witches and warlocks were bound at birth to their familiars. The animals were given unnaturally long lives as a result, but they died when their masters or mistresses did. If Brontë was in this much pain…
Her heart squeezed in horror. She kissed the dog quickly and then climbed to her feet. She ran into her father’s room. There was a lump in the bed, so small under the summer-weight blankets. She caught her breath, pulled the blankets back and rolled her father over.
Caleb Wisdom was blue in the face and clutching his chest. His light blue eyes, the eyes she had inherited, were wide and popping with pain. His breath was as ragged as his familiar’s was. Upon seeing her, he tried to speak and choked on the words.
“Shhh…it’s okay, Daddy,” she said and reached for the phone on his bedside beside the picture of the mother she had never known. She dialed 9-1-1 and talked to the operator in a much calmer voice than she thought she was capable. When she hung up, she turned back to her father, who was clutching one of her hands. His grip was icy.
“Your heart pills,” she said and closed her eyes, holding out her free hand. She concentrated hard and when she opened her eyes, the plastic bottle of pills was resting in the center of her palm where she’d witched it from the bathroom.
She placed a pill in his mouth and then gave him a drink of water, which he choked on, the water spurting out of his mouth and drenching his chin. She wiped it away tenderly, her hands shaking.
“M-my…my l-little Mad-Madeline,” he said, gasping.
“Daddy, they’re coming. Just hold on!” she said, tears falling down her cheeks. They were hot, scorching her. “Grandmother is coming, too!”
He tightened his hold on her hand, his blue eyes filling up with tears and agony. There was a touch of death on him, creeping through him like poison. It frightened her to the core. “B-B-Brontë…bring… Brontë…”
She pried her hand loose and went into the hallway, where Brontë was still laboring, twitching in pain, her normally happily thumping tail limp. She scooped the seventy-five pound dog up, staggering under her weight, and carried her into the room. She laid her on the bed and her father stroked her head feebly. He turned pain-clouded eyes on his familiar.
“So s-sorry…old g-girl,” he said, then turned back to Maddie. He attempted to lift his hand, but could not find the strength. Maddie fell to her knees next to him. A huge gust of wind hit the windows, rattling the glass in their frames.
“Daddy…?” His eyes fixed on her face and stayed there. His mouth went slack as his breath caught for one horrible moment, then expelled for the last time, hit the air and dissipated. Maddie let out a shuddering exhale of horror. Beside him on the bed, Brontë was still. Her breathing had also ceased.
“NO!” she screamed and the walls rattled, but not from the storm. The window beside his bed flew open and the storm came pouring inside in a rush of wind and rain and bits of debris from the orchard. Maddie held out one arm and did something dangerous, something she had never done before. Something that might kill her…
She called the lightning.
It arched through the open window and hit her outstretched fingers, sizzled and crackled there like fairies dancing at an orgy. The power of it poured through her. Her witch-senses exploded with the ferocity of it. Her fingertips blistered as the air around her shimmered. She could feel the electricity burning her, trying to unleash itself again, to get free of her magic and kill.
Then, before it could burn her up, she directed it at her father. The lightning arched between her open hand to her father s body on the bed and hit him in the chest. Caleb Wisdom bucked in place as the electricity went to his heart, the one that had been too large, that had finally given out on him. Betrayed him.
Seconds later, Maddie cut the stream of power, shaking with the effort. She hit her knees, weak and drained. Her hand was in agony. She crawled toward her father and put her good hand on his chest, where the cotton pajamas were smoking and burnt.
“Daddy? Please…Daddy?” she begged, gripping his dear face. His open eyes stared up at her. She folded his limp hand up in hers and tried every healing spell she knew to save him. “Daddy! Daddy! Come back...please...come back...”
But it was too late.
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CHAPTER ONE
Maddie watched in numb silence as her father’s casket was lowered into the ground, her tears nearly blinding her. It was a beautiful day, not the sort of day that should hold so much sorrow. The sun was shining and hot and everyone standing there in unrelenting black was suffering, sweat glistening on exposed skin. Several people had fans, which did little to push the heavy air around them.
Nearly everyone was stealing glances at her when they thought she wasn’t looking.
Superstition was rampant in small towns, especially Mercy Crossing. The Wisdom witches were famous. Their apples were bewitched; their money was from the devil, paid for in blood. It was annoying. These people had never cared for her father, why were they there? They’d whispered behind his back for years innumerable. Satanist, they’d called them both.
The Wisdoms were white witches, healers, good people tied to the earth, but you couldn’t tell the townspeople that. People could gossip all they wanted and speculate on the truth, but the Wisdom’s secret had to be kept at all costs. The citizens would never believe that they weren’t evil. They saw demons behind every smile and Maddie knew it well enough. They might give her platitudes now, but as soon as her back was turned they’d say she didn’t cry enough. It was always something.
The extended family of Wisdoms had declined to come to the services today. They had come yesterday, and held their own rites at the house. She had felt so comforted by their presence, but she was glad they’d left before the public services today. She was getting enough strange looks without the rest of the family at her side, most of whom would have delighted in causing some sort of scene. The only family member with her was her great-grandmother.
Prudence Wisdom stood staring with open hostility at the gathering mourners. She was a tiny woman, all bird bones and wrinkles. Her face resembled a shriveled apple, her toothless mouth giving her the appearance of a permanent scowl. Her light blue eyes, cloudy with age, nevertheless pierced the gaze of anyone foolish enough to lock eyes with her.
Not many did. At ninety-six-years-old, Grandmother Wisdom was still formidable. Rarely seen in public, there were many that sneaked curious glances at the witch.
The Maiden and the Crone, Maddie thought bitterly, looking down at her great-grandmother. She put one hand on her shawl-draped shoulder and squeezed gently. Grandmother Wisdom looked up and the hardness in her gaze softened. She lifted a hand and caressed Maddie’s fingers, her skin like dry, brittle paper as she looked back at the descending casket. It had completed its journey, her father inside. Nestled in his arms was the body of his beloved Brontë. There had been no separating them in life and there would be no separating them in death.
Her father was gone. Well and truly gone and no magic she had tried could bring him back. She wanted to shout, to curse. Literally. She wanted to hex something good and proper, just to feel better, but she couldn’t. It would only make tongues wag and she didn’t have her father to hide behind any longer.
Caleb Wisdom, second Selectman and wealthy entrepreneur, had been one of the most prominent figures in Mercy Crossing. Under his guidance, the Wisdom family orchard, once a humble business, was now a nationwide grower. The Wisdom’s specially bred apples, called Wicked Queens, were immensely popular.
The orchard had grown over the past twenty-five years, expanding into several thousand acres. Her father had loved the business. He’d been born with the power to make things grow. He could just glance at a droopy plant and it would look vibrant and healthy within seconds. That power seemed to have been extended to the family bank accounts; the Wisdom’s were the richest family in Mercy Crossing, yet another thing the citizens held against them.
Lost in her thoughts, Maddie didn’t realize the funeral was over until Sheriff Myers was at her elbow. She glanced up at his familiar face, one of the few people she was happy to see there. Fred Myers and her father had been friends since childhood and they’d remained closer than brothers throughout the years. She called him Uncle Fred and he called her Demon. He knew about her family, what they were.
He had been too close to Caleb not to know, but he was the only person in town who knew for sure. Everyone suspected, but had very little proof save hearsay.
“How are you holding up, Demon?” Uncle Fred asked, his voice thick with unshed tears. His bristly salt and pepper mustache twitched. His handsome, slightly heavy face was red and his brown, hound dog eyes were blood-shot. He was clearly holding himself in.
“Badly,” she answered and let him draw her into a hug. His arms around her were familiar and comforting. “I don’t know what I’d do without you and Grandmother. It’s just not fair.”
“No, it isn’t. And poor Brontë…”
She was going to miss her father’s familiar as well. A sweeter, more loyal dog you could never meet. She’d been Maddie’s babysitter as a child, as well as jungle gym and pretend pony, and in some ways, surrogate mother. Another tear escaped her. She pulled out of Uncle Fred’s arms and wiped at her face with shaky hands. “Are you coming to the house?”
“Of course. Do you need a ride?” he asked her.
“No. I drove Grandmother here in my truck. She’s—”
“Not coming,” Grandmother Wisdom put in, her eyes beady with dislike as she looked at the Sheriff of Mercy Crossing. There had been a long-standing feud between the two of them, ever since Fred’s first year on the force. He’d given Grandmother Wisdom a speeding ticket. That had been thirty years ago, a good five before Maddie had been born, when she’d still tooled around in her little Volkswagen. The Bug was now rusting quietly in one of the barns.
“Horrible things. Bunch of people you don’t like talking about you like you were a saint, giving platitudes to family members they don’t care about. It’s bullshit and I won’t go to another one. I’m too damned old to play nice with a bunch of witch-hating ignoramuses who throw rocks at me in the daylight and come to my cottage after dark, wanting help and giving nothing in return.”
Maddie sighed. Grandmother Wisdom’s voice had risen to a shout. All of the mourners filing away, or standing in clumps among the gravestones, had heard every word—which had been her intention all along, of course. She was not someone to mince words and never had been. “All right, Granny, I think it’s time we left…”
“I want to walk for a while. You can stay here and talk to this jackass. You’ll know when I’m ready to leave,” Grandmother said and then stumped off. Her carved willow cane struck the ground like the hammering of a fist, sure and steady and stubborn. The people she passed gave her a wide berth. Several people crossed themselves furtively, as if warding off evil. Maddie turned back to Sheriff Myers.
“Demon, if you need anything…” he said, studying her face. She nodded.
“I know I can always call my Uncle Fred,” she said. “But…I’ll be fine. The orchard is doing well. I’ve got Duke Cruff if I get in over my head, but I think I’ll be able to handle it. I’ve helped run it since I was fifteen.”
“I wasn’t thinking about the orchard, honey,” he said and touched her face.
“I know, but you have enough on your plate. You shouldn’t have to worry about me. How is the investigation going?” she asked. Immediately Fred looked vaguely disgruntled.
In the past two months, the bodies of three young women had been found in the woods and fields around Mercy Crossing. They were the first homicides the town had had in the pasty thirty years. Public interest was high, which was only to be expected.
