Page 50 of Witch and Tell

“Help me?” Now my words came freely. “You’ve done the opposite for months. You stymied my power and cut off my magic by charming the linens you sold me. You sent crows to monitor me.”

Beata’s brows drew together. “I’ve what? No, you misunderstand. The crows were there to make sure you were okay. You’re my family. More than that, you’re….”

A rustling beyond the trees drew both of our attention. A coyote? A bobcat, maybe? Then the woods were silent again. I couldn’t get past the crazy feeling we were being watched. Nerves.

“What about the charmed quilt? Why did you do that?” I demanded.

She looked genuinely puzzled. “You thought I would hurt you? I intended to protect you. That’s why I wove the glyph into it.” Her expression relaxed. “My magic is still quite weak, and I might have miscalculated. I wanted you to feel cared for, not diminished.”

When I didn’t respond, she continued. “Think of the good things in your life these past months. You were almost killed not long ago.”

She was right. I’d helped bring in a murderer, safely.

“Your time with Sam, the good times,” she said. “Maybe I had something to do with protecting you. Did you think of that?” She stepped forward and raised a palm, but the protection dome held her back. She lowered her hand. “It’s true that your grandmother— my sister—bound my magic. I was a powerful witch, like you. Now my magic is ordinary. There’s only so much I can do to help you.”

Aunt Beata was so convincing. She was loving, calm, and her energy melted into my wounded heart like honey in tea. Yet I knew the emotion I felt was my own need to be consoled, not her magic. Her magic couldn’t trespass the dome.

Then again, wasn’t that what glamour was—the ability to use your own needs and desires against you?

“I know you hurt,” Beata said softly. “Sam let you down. Rejection like that—rejection of who you truly are—cuts deeply. I’ve seen how you’ve suffered. He ignored your calls and texts. He dismissed you like your time together meant nothing to him.” She stepped closer. “You deserve better.”

I was so tired. Her words tantalized me. This must be what an addict feels when she’s been deprived of her drug of choice, then finds it dangled before her.

Again, something rustled in the brush, and my aunt’s features seemed to harden—just for a second. I might have imagined it. Or had I?

“You’re right. I need your help,” I said. Tears burned at my eyes. “I don’t know what’s happening. I was so happy. Now my world is falling apart.” I stooped to pick upGrimm’s Fairy Talesand hugged it to my chest, feeling the soothing flow of magical energy.

“I understand.”

I sank to sit on a rock. “I’m so in love with Sam. I know people can fall in and out of love, and that I could find someone else, but there’s no one like Sam. No one.”

It was true. I was hopelessly stuck on the way Sam looked at me when I spoke, as if the house could be on fire but my words were more important. I loved cooking dinner with him, Sam at the stove, me chopping herbs. I cherished our evenings on the back porch with Nicky playing and Sam telling me about his day as the sun set over the river. I even adored the crazy way Sam smiled when he was upset and frowned with happiness.

But he couldn’t accept a fundamental part of who I was. A witch. I’d opened myself to him completely, and he’d turned his back without explanation. My heart ached more deeply than I ever thought possible. None of this would matter a whit, however, if I spent the rest of my life in prison.

Even if I were somehow cleared of the murder charge, my professional life was a shambles. The library’s trustees openly fought about the children’s books, and neither side seemed to value my opinion.

“I can help,” Beata repeated. Her voice was warm, hypnotic, and flowed through my blood like whiskey. “You didn’t deserve to be arrested. You didn’t kill anyone,” she said. By the thin light of my candle, Beata’s resemblance to my grandmother grew. “You couldn’t. Justice is in your blood. I understand.”

I wanted to step forward and fall into her arms. The past week had been the most difficult of my life, and the days to come didn’t look to be any easier. Oh, how I craved comfort.

She let out a sigh. “Josie, how I wish you’d let me help you. If I had my full magic, I could. I could make it all go away.” She spoke more rapidly. “I could find who murdered Tyrone Beaudrie and convince him to turn himself in.”

“You’re sure it’s Tyrone?”

“Yes, Josie. It’s him. I know.”

“Who killed him?” I asked.

“I have an idea. Beaudrie has no doubt made a few enemies over the years. With my magic restored, I could extract a confession.”

“With glamour,” I said.

“Yes. It’s my gift.” Her eyes searched the dark sky. “I could make Sam see the truth about you, too, that you’re a good, loving woman with the genetic anomaly of magic. He’d understand.” She laughed, and the warmth lightened my heart. “I bet I could even get Wanda to love cats.”

For a moment, I allowed myself to bask in the possibility. I’d be back in Sam’s arms, inhaling his clean, woody scent and feeling the vibration of his voice in his chest. People in town would know I wasn’t a criminal.

“If only my magic were released,” Beata whispered, her gaze on mine.