I had the attention span of a gnat and could easily forget I was making something with an open flame. In college, Poppy and Dana had taken away my hot plate because I’d done just that. They didn’t understand Eugene, the spirit of the janitor from the building we’d lived in, had come to me with an urgent matter. He’d been having issues with a dark entity in the basement of the building. The entity had been trying to get Eugene to leave the grounds.
It just so happened the dark entity made another attempt to force Eugene out while I was warming soup.
“Are you there?” asked Dana.
“Sorry, I was thinking about the time you took away my hot plate in college,” I admitted.
She snorted. “You mean the time you tried to burn down the entire building, using something that wasn’t even allowed to start with?”
“Yes, that time,” I said with a nod.
“Can I ask how your brain went from me asking if you’re sure about what we’re doing tonight to the hot plate?” questioned Dana. “I really want to know because my brain can’t make the leap.”
“The phone cord is wrapped around me,” I said, licking my lower lip.
She laughed. “Again? Do I need to call Poppy’s cell and tell her to go help you?”
I grunted. “It’s not like the last time.”
“So, you’re not stuck against the wall near the phone base?” she asked.
I smiled. “Nope.”
“What are you stuck against?” she asked.
“The stove.”
Dana laughed more. “Hold on. I’ll text Poppy.”
“She’s taking a nap,” I said.
“Okay, I’ll text Tucker. He’s home, right?” asked Dana. “You know, if you’d just break down and use the cell phone that I bought you—the one you refuse to let anyone call yours—you wouldn’t get stuck in a cord.”
I sighed. “I’m fine. I swear. I don’t need help. And I can’t use the cell phone, which is so not mine, because I’ll either lose it or it will fizzle out like most tech does around me.”
“I love you, and I love that you’ve gotten so wound up in a cord before that you’ve actually needed intervention,” she said, laughing more. “Don’t ever stop being you, babes.”
Her laughter was slightly infectious, and I found myself joining in.
“For realz though, you’re good?” she asked.
“Yep.” I nodded, not that she could see me or anything.
“Swear it,” she said.
“George Michael,” I returned without hesitation.
“Okay then, about tonight,” she said, returning to our original discussion. “You sure you’re up for it?”
“I’m sure about tonight. Are you?” I asked, already knowing the answer. Dana was thinking of backing out of our plans for the evening. I understood why.
When Maria, the head of the local witch coven and head of the Council of Elders, had learned I was searching for details about my biological parents, and had been coming up empty, she’d suggested I ask Dana’s father, Bram Van Helsing, about accessing the records he kept at his estate.
Since the courthouse and the county building had yielded no fruit on the subject matter beyond the worn old birth certificate I already had, I wasn’t so sure the Van Helsing estate would hold any answers, but Maria had been insistent. She’d also been slightly cagey when it came to answering questions, like how it was that she knew so much about me being born in Grimm Cove, yet seemed to know nothing more. Or why she was so insistent I show my birth certificate to Bram when the moment felt right.
As a fellow practitioner of the craft, as well as someone who also talked in circles, I found her ability to answer without answering impressive. So much so that I wanted to be her when I grew up.
We’d become close since my arrival in town and I loved deepening my knowledge of the craft with her guidance.
While she appeared totally and completely unassuming, there was something about her that left me wanting to listen to her recommendations. So when she’d told me to ask Bram for help, I’d done the only thing I could think to do.
I ran to Dana to ask for me.
Bram confused me, while also intriguing me. In my lifetime, there had only been one other person who had been as unusual of a read as Bram. That had been my ex-husband. As much as I disliked drawing parallels between the men, the fact remained that there were a number. They both seemed to sneeze money and had similar taste in clothing choices. Not to mention they were built a lot alike as well, both around six foot seven.
Giants compared to me.
Donald had been older than me by fifteen years; at least, that was what he’d first led me to believe. Now that I was on the other side of the relationship, I honestly wasn’t sure of anything anymore. What I did know was that Bram was old. Very old. But he was frozen in time.
Like with Donald, I instantly found myself drawn to Bram in ways that were far more intense than normal. Granted, both men were incredibly attractive, so that was a factor, but it was more than that. I knew I was grasping at straws but there was a reason for it all.
When Donald and I had first collided on a sidewalk in Chicago, I’d felt an unnatural urge to touch him, and to be touched by him. The same feeling had come over me a month ago when I’d first lain eyes on Dana’s father. Everything around me had stopped, and in that moment, it was just Bram and me.
I could almost hear his heart beating and could almost feel his desire to make contact with me. I’d mirrored everything I was sure he’d been feeling, wanting to run to him but resisting. I was all for hugging people, new to me or not, but something had kept me rooted in place. It was as if I knew I’d not stop with just a hug, and that would have been awkward for all involved.
Burgess, my witch’s familiar, had been present, and his impressions of my first meeting with Bram had not gone unnoticed by me. Burgess—who just so happened to be a Southern fox squirrel—seemed to think Bram was someone very important to me.
My special person.
The other half of what made me whole.
Since I’d thought as much of Donald years ago, I wasn’t ready or willing to walk blindly into anything again. I didn’t want to believe Dana’s father could ever be like my ex, but I was guilty of being an eternal optimist. Always believing there was inherent good in every person. The older I got, the more I was learning that wasn’t true. Some people ran out of good early on, having very little to start with.
Donald had been one of them.
Though, looking back, I’m not sure he ever had any good in him to begin with. There had been a lot more to him than even I’d known back then. Things that I had no solid proof of now, only speculation, but if my gut was right, I was lucky to have gotten away from him with not only my life, but my soul as well.
There were fates worse than death.
“Marcy, you’ve gone quiet. Are you communing with the dead, a mosquito, a bumblebee, or did you slip into some meditative coma? Dear God, did the cord win? Did it choke the life from you?” asked Dana, a touch of humor in her voice. I knew she was teasing me.
I laughed softly as I stirred the mixture in the pot nearest me on the stovetop. “Got lost in thought.”
“Do I even want to take a guess what you were thinking about?” she asked. “And did it involve my aura?”