Page 31 of The Redd Key (Bone Coven #1)

T he historic Founder’s Village nested on the eastern side of the island, where the now burned Town Hall lay to waste. It struck me that the landscape was a bit more uneven, making it less suburban and more rustic. Houses stood few and far between, with more rocks and boulders than grass and brush. Something about these roads seemed harsh compared to downtown. A woman lingered in her yard as I drove by. The layers of her long skirt got caught in the breeze as her stare followed my car. There was something about her that made me feel frigid as her eyes bore into mine while I passed her. Paying no mind, I followed along the road, and she was out of sight.

Another bend in the road brought me frighteningly close to the sharp bluffs, having to swerve around some indecipherable roadkill. Sea spray shot into the air as the waves crashed against the rock. I pulled into the small parking lot of a tiny brick structure that had massive windows on the oceanside walls. Before going into the quaint, turn of the century building, my gaze fell over the grey sea, the horizon blurred by thick fog. The effect of the mist was like a smokescreen, veiling the abyss.

Salt stung my throat as I inhaled and headed for the front door. Having arrived at the library, I spotted a table with Sarah’s bag and a small pile of books lying about. Bridget and Sarah thought the library would be the best place to start our research, hoping to find anything that would point us towards uncovering the shipwreck we dreamt about. Honestly, Town Hall probably would have been even better, with the archives and history of Redd Hills Island, but all of it got destroyed in the fire.

I hoped to find journals or documents preserved here, from the original families, the ones who built this island. Black Sam Bellamy’s crew mates came here to settle, so if anyone knew anything about shipwrecks, it would have been them. This island holds the bones of some very old skeletons, and we were going to find exactly which closet they were hidden in.

Dust floated in the dim light of the foyer like fairies dancing in sweet celebration. A quiet peace enveloped me, not because the place was desolate, but the cozy essence of this space felt warm—almost familiar. The musty scent of the old, printed columns and rows of oak shelves evoked a sense of nostalgia. As I slowly strolled down the nearest aisle, I savored every detail. It was a modest library with only a few subjects dividing the space. While I perused the next row of books, I couldn’t figure out if this branch used the Dewey Decimal System. I inspected the nearest titles closer, and they were definitely not organized by any conventional method.

“ Psst!” Sarah startled me from the next aisle over, peering through the shelves. She laughed a little too loudly. “Took you long enough,” she said, her curls pulled up into a puffy bun on top of her head, revealing a full view of her beautifully broad cheekbones for the first time. “Let’s head over there,” she urged before I could compliment her.

Nestled in a corner beneath trailing plants, a plush chair sat beside windows that overlooked the jagged bluffs on this side of the island. I stood in awe, gazing over the expansive grey sea. Clouds parted like a chasm in the sky, and the sun’s reddened reflection glistened red, blurring in the rip current and bathing the surface in a hue reminiscent of spilled blood.

“Hey guys,” Bridget called out, her arrival snapped me out of my thoughts. “Sorry I’m late.”

“I just got here too.” I looked around the library realizing how alone we were. “I don’t even think there’s a librarian here or anything.”

“Usually, she stays in her office upstairs,” pointed Bridget. I hadn’t noticed the loft area above the entrance. The office was dark and seemingly empty.

“She might not even be here at the moment. She lives nearby and will sometimes run home for a bit if the regular bookworms hadn’t come in,” Sarah said, with a sheepish grin. The look on her face hinted she was one of the said-bookworms. “It’s one of the quirks of such a small town,” she continued. Just then, the front door opened with a small sound of a chime.

“Oh! I am terribly sorry; I forgot today’s tea blend at home, and tried to hurry back before anyone noticed I was gone.” It was the skirted woman who I passed on my drive in. She seemed harsh before, but her voice was soft and kind. “Is there anything I could help you with?” Her eyes scanned the three of us, stopping on me, and her brow rose the tiniest bit. Without looking away, she moved to place her scarf on the nearby chair. “Pardon, but you look so familiar, though I don’t think we’ve met before.”

“No, we haven’t. My name is Raina Archer. I just moved here a couple months ago.”

“Hmm, Archer.” She gave it some thought. “I’m not familiar with any Archer’s.”

“I wouldn’t think so; my dad’s family isn’t from here. But my mom grew up here. Bronwyn—”

“Burrows!?” the woman exclaimed. “Oh my! I haven’t heard her name in decades.” She swallowed hard and gave a little chuckle, turning into herself and going off somewhere distant in her mind. “We were best friends growing up. We would always go off and do the craziest things together.” Her smile was friendly, but the corners of her mouth pulled down just a fraction. “I remember this one time we got stuck on a sandbar as the tide was coming in and we had to ask the sea to settle down.” Her eyes snapped back to mine, and her cheeks flushed. “I mean, we needed to ask for help to get back to shore.” She cleared her throat and immediately turned around to put a couple stacks of books away. “I’m Lydia Roots. Let me know if you need any help.”

The girls and I exchanged a stunned look. Had Lydia just revealed that she and my mother were like us? Did they have the same abilities as we did? Maybe Lydia knew something that could help us.

“Well, we actually are having trouble finding something,” I pressed before she turned away, “but it’s hard to say what specifically. We’re trying to find out as much as we can about the pirate crew that colonized this island.” Lydia’s peaceful face faltered for the briefest moment and the corner of her mouth twitched.

“There’s a lot of old journals in that glass case over there,” she took a deep breath and pointed just beyond the line of windows. “Other than that, we don’t have much. There was a nor’easter that rocked the island in the late 1700’s and a lot of the island’s past was essentially wiped clean from the wreckage. Anything else we did have just burned in the fire at Town Hall.” We got a bit discouraged upon hearing such information and collectively sighed.

“Maybe there’s something, even the tiniest of hints,” Sarah encouraged us. She offered up a tight smile, feigning optimism.

“I apologize if this comes across as weird or forthright,” Lydia began, “but does any of what you’re seeking have to do with the Pirate Curse?” Our faces must have betrayed us because Lydia laughed. “I thought so. There truly isn’t much here that will help you. Most of the information was lost, as I said before, but it didn’t stop people from telling stories over generations. This island is rich with lore, as you two know.” She nodded toward Sarah and Bridget. “So, who knows how true any of the stories actually are?”

“We know the stories.” Bridget said. Her squinted eyes hadn’t moved away from Lydia since she entered the library. “The problem we are having is discerning the truth or whose word we can trust.” Lydia looked up from a book she was filing away, eyes directly at Bridget.

“That is very smart of you,” she said quietly. There was a hint of what may have been sadness in her voice. I felt like I was reading too much into this woman’s every action, but isn’t that what you do in a library? You ask questions, hoping to find the answers, no matter how difficult they may be to swallow.

“Black Sam’s truth and treasure has been something people have been seeking for hundreds of years. There’s been a lot of blood spilled over his legacy.” Lydia sighed as her eyes drifted towards the windows and over the horizon. “A lot of blood.” She climbed to the loft as she said the last bit curtly, like a punctuation to end our conversation.

Blood. A lot of it. Lydia’s words reminded me of the Blood Coven. Did she know they could possibly be resurfacing? The three of us peered into the glass display case at Lydia’s dismissal.

“These journals must hold some clues to all of this. Just a crumb?” I quipped at the books through the glass—half-joking, half-praying for an actual response. “Please, just give us a hint to the next step.” The case held half a dozen handwritten journals and diaries. There were two illustrated pages of the island set loose in the display, along with trinkets and artifacts that seem to hold no significance other than their age. I scoured the glass enclosure, still willing it to answer me. Sarah’s hand slid into mine, and her other with Bridget’s.

“Ask again,” she whispered, and the three of us were breathing in sync. I shut my eyes as I felt Aecor rise in my throat. Bridget gasped, and my eyes snapped open.

“I don’t see anything, but I feel our Aecor searching,” she said.

“Me too,” Sarah chimed in.

I didn’t feel anything other than the magical surge, so I waited for them to fill me in. They were hunched over, inches away from the glass surface. The waves crashing on the bluff outside caught my attention; each crash seemed like a warning, as the sea heaved. I took a couple steps back to peer around a large bookcase to see through the picturesque window. My heart stopped as I saw a shadowy figure on the horizon. The figure was too far away to identify clearly, but in my core, I knew exactly what—or who—I was looking at.

“We have to get out of here.” The words barely escaped my lips when an even larger wave struck the bluffs. “We have to get out of here, NOW!” I snapped at the girls.

However, it was too late. Water rose in a giant swell, like the ones the fisherman at the Boathouse described as aquatic skyscrapers, and with unnatural speed, the surge of water broke through the building’s windowpanes. Water came rushing into the library carrying with it shards of glass, and we had to act fast.

“No!” Lydia yelled over the crashing waves. She came running toward us and grabbed my hand. “Hold onto each other!” she shouted. We all squeezed our fingers together, locking into each other. I gasped as I felt pure, untapped Aecor surge through Lydia. “No!” she yelled again, above the chopping water lapping at our bodies. “ Tides release, against the current. Power release, we return it,” she chanted loudly. We repeated her incantation in unison with Lydia, over and over, until the tide reluctantly receded back over the bluffs. The silhouette on the horizon faded away. A stillness settled around us, and all I could hear was the pounding of my own heart in my ears as it gradually slowed to a steady rhythm.

Lydia stood in the center where the rows of bookcases met, stretching her hands out with her palms facing down. With her eyes closed, she continued to chant under her breath as we watched in awe. Warm air washed over us, and we saw steam rising from the soaked carpet as the water evaporated. “Would you mind helping me out?” she asked with a half-smile, gesturing to the shattered glass that was strewn across every surface.

We all held hands, waiting for her guidance in silence. As if our apprehension towards Lydia had been swept away with the tide, Aecor flowed through all of us once more. There was a gust of air and all remnants of glass turned to sand. The glittering dust twirled in the air, and a rush of heat melded each grain together. As Lydia exhaled, the empty frames of the shattered windowpanes became solid, as if nothing had happened. The three of us stepped back to face Lydia, our mouths agape. Her cheeks were rosy from effort and perhaps a touch of embarrassment.

“You’re a witch!” Sarah exclaimed, devoid of any subtlety. We all burst into laughter, including Lydia. “I knew it!”

“I haven’t had to use my magic in about two decades, so I’m not sure that’s what you would call me.” Lydia clasped her hands together and chewed on her lip. “I really don’t like the fact that I was called to use Aecor again.” Her gaze drifted out over the now calm sea.

“First, that was incredible.” Bridget said to Lydia. “Second, that was the same person as at the pier. I know it was.” Bridget was all business when she turned back to us.

“I thought they were dead.” Sarah had an edge to her voice.

“This has happened to you three before?” Lydia’s eyes flashed with fear. Her hazel eyes glistened with the weight of the situation. “It’s different this time,” she whispered to herself. I wanted to ask her what she meant, but the sorrowful aura that shed from her was almost tangible, so I stopped myself.

Although dry, the library was still a mess. Books were thrown from the shelves and some of the display cases were tipped over. Focused, we helped Lydia straighten up. No doubt that the attack had shaken us all, and the threat of being attacked again was now a constant gloom looming over our shoulders. Then, a thought occurred. At first, the attacks seemed random, but what if they occur when we’re close to discovering something?

A thin journal, yellowed with age, found itself under my foot, and I bent to pick it up. I shook a piece of seaweed from its pages, and a loosened sheet floated to the floor. “Oops!” I said under my breath. I reached and grabbed the page to tuck it back into the journal, but the words caught my eye.

“Imposing, daunting, dark as black ink, with no ability to see. The tunnels twist and turn, damp and cold, just like his soul. The men and I are all trying to forget what we had witnessed under there…”

The page was waterlogged, and the writing was incomprehensible from there on.

“What is it?” Bridget came up to me, as I stood frozen.

“I think I found something.” They each took a turn to decipher the page. Lydia hummed in thought and looked up as if she was going to speak but then disappeared back up to the loft, parchment in hand, giving no indication she was coming back down.

I had countless questions for Lydia about growing up with my mother—what she was like as a kid and whatever happened to her magic. My mother never gave me any inkling about possessing Aecor or anything supernatural. To me, she always seemed completely ordinary.

Standing in the middle of the library, I felt the weight of every ghost from my past. Each version of our histories—from mine, my mother’s, and beyond. This island was stained with my ancestors’ blood, and at that moment, I felt every single one of their stories.