Witch Me (Blood Chord Book 3) Read online

  “Hey Quinn,” I called out into the sunflower patch. “Stay where I can see you. I have to run inside and grab the burgers for the grill. Do you want cheese on yours?”

  “Does a cow say Moo?” she chuckled and ducked behind an enormous sunflower.

  Inside, I loaded a tray with a bowl of raw burgers, my mouth watering at the sight of the blood running around the bottom as I moved it. Next I grabbed a few slices of cheese, condiments out of the fridge and a grilling spatula from the utensil drawer. I surveyed the tray, trying to think of what else I’d forgotten. Right, the pitcher of sweet tea. I retrieved that as well and shoe-horned it onto the tray.

  “I can bring out the rest,” Morgan held up the basket filled with paper plates, plastic utensils and hamburger buns. “If you don’t mind the company? I know you were trying to spend some one-on-one time with Quinn.”

  “Oh hush, you’re family too. Get those booty shorts out here and help us eat some of this food—lord knows I can’t help make a dent in it. For the life of me, you’d think I’d stop cooking like half of it was for me.”

  As I picked up the tray, one-handed of course, my cell went off in my back pocket. I set the tray down and looked at my phone’s screen. Great, it was my Ex Pete. Talk about an instant mood killer.

  “Yeah?” I answered, not even pretending to be interested in what he had to say.

  Pete jabbered on for a minute or so, about some new job he’d gotten, about breaking up with his stupid girlfriend, whatever her name was, and finally got to the meat of why he was calling. He needed not one, but two favors from me.

  First, he was hoping that I could take Quinn to her horseback riding lesson that coming Saturday? He had training for his new job, blah, blah, blah. I should have been supportive and pointed out that it would be a treat to see her ride for a change. She’d only been taking lessons for a couple of months, but the sunlight and fear of how horses would react to my kind had kept me away.

  But instead I chose the low road, obviously. “Why not, I’ll get to see what I’ve been paying for at least.”

  I’m not proud, but dammit, I enjoyed sticking it to Pete and it’s not like he didn’t deserve it. He’d ended our marriage via text message while I was hundreds of miles away and finding out that I was a dead woman. You don’t get over shit like that in the blink of an eye.

  He blathered on some more, finally asking if he could switch up the Quinn-keeping schedule a bit, also to accommodate his new job. Since school was out, we’d agreed on a week- on-week-off routine for dividing time with her. He was scheduled to have Quinn for all of next week. Instead, he wanted to get her after dinner that night and bring her back Friday evening, so three lousy days, and then she’d be with me through the weekend and halfway into next week. The logistics didn’t really bothered me, what was sticking in my craw was bending around his schedule, making things easier for him.

  I had to remind myself that in the end, it was about Quinn and nothing else.

  “Fine,” I agreed. “We’re eating now, so by the time we get done and she has a bath it’ll be close to eight. Pick her up then?”

  He sighed, probably thinking of asking me to go the extra mile and drive her over to his shitty little apartment instead. He must have thought better than to push his luck by asking me for a third favor, because he replied, “Okay, I’ll see you then,” and hung up.

  I asked myself every day what in the world I had seen in Pete to begin with. We had nothing in common, never had that white-hot initial attraction and he’d irked my nerves even back then. The best answer I have been able to come up with is that I had been in love with the idea of having a family and he’d been ready and willing to give me that. Some girls want to grow up to be a doctor or a ballerina, I just wanted someone to call me Mom.

  “Mom!” Quinn called from the back door, right on time.

  I approached the screen door, smiling with a tray of food in hand. At least I had her out of all of that. “What baby?”

  “Did you remember the hot sauce?” she asked.

  “No, I did not. Be right back.” I retraced my steps to the kitchen, balanced the tray on one arm and got the spicy pepper sauce that Quinn wanted on everything lately, and carried everything outside.

  Once the meat was on the grill and I’d successful kept myself from licking the bloody bowl, I looked around the yard to see where everyone was. I spied Quinn climbing the gnarly old apple tree in the field and the rev of an engine led me to Morgan.

  She was leaning into the window of our neighbor’s car. Lincoln. Yeah, that one. Definitely less irritating than his brother, Rooster, but still a wolf in sheep’s clothing. And I mean that literally.

  Something about the way she stood, with her back arched and her legs perfectly poised said two things to me. One, my dear Morgan still retained some of her stripper training—she was pulling out all the tricks that she could with her clothes still on. And two, she was into the little shit.

  No, I still hadn’t forgiven him— but not for semi-dating me without it ever getting anywhere. Lack of chemistry was no one’s fault. No, I was still ticked that him and his brother were freaking werewolves, yet had the audacity to act like I was some kind of freak. I hadn’t really spoken to either one of them since the night it all came out.

  You would think someone who turns furry at will and has a raw meat diet would cut a blood-sucking chick a little slack, but no.

  “Doesn’t he have a home to go to? Quinn plopped down at the picnic table, pouting.

  “Of course he does. The one right down the road here.” I waved a hand in the direction of his house.

  “Well, he should stay there instead of always coming up here and bugging Morgan when she’s supposed to be playing with me!”

  With that, Quinn stalked off in a huff.

  I hadn’t even had the chance to tell her about the change of plans with her dad. I wasn’t sure if I should laugh or chase after her. Moody daughters were scary, even for Vampire Moms.

  Nobody had warned me about parenting a pre-teen girl, and I could see now that the next several years were going to be a challenge. I could only hope the old adage wasn’t true; if Quinn was half the drama queen that I was as a teenager, I’m not sure either of us would survive intact.

  “What was that all about?” Morgan asked, walking back towards the picnic table.

  “Honestly, I’m not sure. I think she’s jealous.”

  “Jealous? Of what?”

  “The amount of time you’ve been spending with Wolf-boy,” I winked at her, in case my meaning was too subtle. Sometimes with Morgan I had to just spell things out.

  She blushed the cutest shade of pink, and I knew that I was right. There was something going on between those two. I should have been irritated, but I wasn’t. I was worried though. Morgan was sweet and severely naive and those Wolves were canny little bastards.

  I’d be keeping my eye on the situation, for sure.

  Chapter Three

  The next morning found me at the local library. The building was an outdated relic left over from the sixties. It wasn’t the grand old library of my imagination, but even with the green floor tiles and the plastic orange chairs, it was still a library; it was still one of my favorite places to spend hours wandering around.

  But that morning wasn’t meant to be a pleasurable one, browsing the stacks for whatever tickled my fancy. No, I was there on a mission. I needed to translate Venna’s journal and I was hoping to find a quiet corner, several Italian language books and a healthy dose of patience. Or at least two out of three.

  I found a quiet section of the library, back in the historical research room. A nice little old man working at a table up front even pointed me in the direction of the Italian language books and once I had a half-dozen of those in my arms, I hunkered down for battle.

  Five minutes into it I was about to lose my mind. It wasn’t working, not at all. At the rate I was going, I’d be five-hundred and ten years old before I translate every la
st page. I groaned and tossed an Italian translation book onto the table with a thud.

  “It can’t be that bad, dearie.” It was the nice old man from earlier. He shuffled closer to my table and set down the book he was holding.

  “I’m afraid so,” I offered a weak smile in return. “I have this journal, see, and it’s very old and completely in Italian. Of course, I don’t speak Italian, so you can imagine how it’s going.”

  “Do you mind if I take a look?” He reached for the journal and smile warmly.

  “Not at all. Help yourself,” I replied. I was slightly concerned about what he might see, since I had no idea what was in the thing. I could only hope Venna didn’t kick it off out of the gate with animal sacrifices and ritualistic orgies. I don’t think I could take that.

  He looked at the page, then slowly translated the first line. “I was the most beautiful of all my father’s daughters, the youngest, and the least delicate.”

  He stopped and smile at me. “Like riding a bicycle. I haven’t spoken Italian since the war...” he trailed off into his own memories, bless his soul.

  I felt bad for even thinking it, but I didn’t have time for a slow trip down memory lane. I wondered if I could do like I’d done in Orlando when I’d borrowed Clive’s talents to play the violin or Vera’s guitar playing skills. Granted, speaking another language wasn’t quite the same thing, but it wouldn’t hurt to try, right?

  I stood and placed my hand on the man’s arm, smiling. “Can you read a little more? I’m so very curious...”

  I’m a bit ashamed to admit that I fluttered my eyelashes at him for good measure. As soon as he started reading I would focus my thoughts on the words in Italian, morphing to English before my eyes. Not a very good plan, I know, but it was all I had.

  “Sure, here goes: Which is why I believe I was chosen. When the Medici command, no one questions.” He paused and looked back to me. “What is this anyway? It must be old to reference the Medici so casually.”

  “I’m not sure,” I leaned over his shoulder and tried to read it, but nothing appeared different. “Thanks though.”

  I smiled and took back the journal, dismissing him as politely as I could. When he was gone, I sat and pulled in a deep breath to center myself.

  Opening the journal, I focused on the faded script once more and found that the words no longer looked like gibberish to me. It was written in Italian, but my brain was translating the words to English as fast as I could read them.

  I was the most beautiful of all my father’s daughters, the youngest, and the least delicate. Which is why I believe I was chosen. When the Medici command, no one questions. Not one pious soul, not even my own father who carried around a rosary like one would a walking stick, asked why they wanted me. No one dared.

  Upon being shown to my new home I was enclosed in my quarters. My only company is brief... when the chamber maid comes to empty the pot, or the kitchen girl brings up a modest meal. I do not call this my room; the furniture consist of one large ornate bed outfitted with the finest silks, a modest bookshelf where upon which I found this paper and ink. A large dressing mirror opposite the bed, upon which an odd assortment of brushes and makeup have been carefully arranged. There is not a wardrobe or chest of drawers in this room; each day I find a new dress hanging about the bedpost when I awake and I have not yet set eyes upon whomever seems to be choosing my attire, but at the least they appear to have excellent eye for what suits my figure.

  The next few pages were smudged by time or the elements. I skipped ahead to the first clear page of text I found.

  It is he A. who bid me to this place and keeps me under lock and key.

  What I cannot ascertain is the nature of his affections. He looks to me often and I feel as if I am one of the insects pinned under glass in the Maestro’s library. Oftentimes, I can feel his eyes upon me, but am I to meet his gaze he departs abruptly. It is all rather curious. Why would a gentleman go to such trouble to bring me here, to his lonely palace, only to keep his distance?

  When I am not being tutored in the art of being a proper lady, I have been instructed to act as the apprentice the olde woman in the cellars, M. Rue. I do not care for walking down into the damp abyss unaccompanied, though I must admit that the collection of jars, salves and unctions fascinates me very much. If only she would carry out my tutorage in the garden areas more often.

  I find those days a generous relief, much like the salve M. Rue gave me in a tiny Murano jar. She hinted that it would take away the womanly discomfort born from carnal affections. I politely accepted, though I hope to never have need for such things. At my tender age of thirteen, I fear that I do not fully comprehend the message she provided me.

  I shivered at the thought. Thirteen? Why, she was just a few years older than Quinn was, though the young Venna sounded much more mature than the teenagers of my own era. Part of me didn’t even want to keep reading... what I didn’t know couldn’t creep me out. But the logical part of me knew that I had to press onward; I needed to know everything that I could about this woman that shared my DNA. I was beyond sure that it was important, even though I had no clue why... or how it could ever end up helping me.

  I had no choice but to continue reading.

  He came to me in the night. I awoke upon a noise barely registered, and when I opened my eyes, he stood beside my bed, an arm’s length away. He regarded me for a moment before brushing the back of his hand upon my cheek.

  I dared not flinch or breathe deeply or close my eyes; somehow I knew that to do so would give rise to panic and worsen my position. Instead, I let my vision rest on the elaborate frescos painted on the domed ceiling while he stroked my face and quietly hummed a morose melody.

  He departed suddenly. The door shut and locked from the outside once again. It was then that I spied the dress hanging on the post of my bed stand.

  “Anything interesting?”

  Cass appeared on the other side of the table as I looked up from the journal, making me practically leap out of my chair. Yes, the scary Vamp girl doesn’t like it when things go Boo.

  “Geesh, I’m going to hang a bell around your neck! Don’t you get tired of making me jump out of my skin?” I joked, my way of taking my mind off of the creepy reading material.

  Cass shrugged her shoulders and laughed. “What can I say, a girl likes to make an entrance.”

  “When did you get in? And did I know you were coming?” I asked.

  “Just now, and no.” She crossed her arms and leaned back in the chair. “I’m only here for a few days between work things. I thought I could help with the journal and maybe keep you from killing everything in your garden.”

  “Whatever, heifer,” I rolled my eyes and stuck out my tongue.

  “Shut up, hag,” she countered. “You know you love me.”

  “I suppose... At least you’re just in time to share in my discomfort. I’ve been reading what I can translate of Venna’s journal...” I said, hefting the worn book up in front of me.

  “Wait, what? You speak Italian?” she raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying that I was a bilingual genius. Being fluent in snark must not count. Go figure.

  “No, dingbat. Did you see the little old man at the desk in the front of the room? He speaks Italian, and Spanish, Latin and any other long-dead tongue that you can think of. I borrowed his talent for a bit... you know, like I did in Orlando with Clive’s violin skills.” I explained, flicking through the next several pages of the journal.

  “Right, I keep forgetting that you can do that.” Cass looked around the room. For what, I wasn’t sure, but she sounded almost jealous of my weird parlor trick.

  I had to admit though, it was a handy skill to have.

  “So, how goes it?” she gestured to the journal.

  “Creepy. So far I’ve learned that Venna was taken from her family when she was thirteen by a man of the powerful Medici family. He kept her locked up, tutored her in high society skills and what sounds like early herbalism
, or even kitchen witchery, oh, and was probably grooming her to be his child bride. Seriously, I’m scared to read on.” I frowned.

  “Eww,” she grimaced. “Then I’ll just wait for you to give me the Cliff notes. Leave out the pervy stuff, okay?”

  With that, Cass disappeared around the next stack of books, headed god knows where. She was being even weirder than normal these days, I thought.

  Not getting enough rest is punitive on the body and will make you ill, according to M. Rue. She questioned me about my sleep habits, inspected the bags under my eyes and pinched the skin on my hand. I lacked the nerve to confess why I wasn’t able to sleep, so I accepted the admonishment as well as a tiny brown bottle that she called her strongest sleep potion. Part of me does not want to take the herbal tincture... I want to remain alert against his nightly visits. I fear that if I sleep, he will progress from merely touching my face to so very much more. Alternatively, I’m wise enough to know that eventually a line will be crossed and whether I’m awake or asleep, I harbor no illusions that it will matter. Perhaps the soundness of sleep can protect me from things I’d rather have no knowledge of?

  I couldn’t take any more of that, I skipped ahead to what I hoped was a safer passage after recognizing the Italian word for garden.

  M. Rue says that I am the finest student she has ever tutored. I can name all of the medicinal plants in the garden, by common tongue and Latin as well. I can recite the uses, precautions and preparations for each and every one of them on command.

  Impressive, she said. Now it’s time to utilize all of that knowledge.

  I do not know what next she plans to teach me, but I’m eager to learn all that I can. With the knowledge she passes over to me I can help myself to a better station in life. Why, the sleeping potion was just as she promised. I must confess though, I did not use it on myself to fall into a deep slumber— A. unwittingly had a few drops in his nightly cup, by way of the mute kitchen girl I have recently befriended, and as he slept the whole night through, as did I.