Heirloom Magic: Every Witch Way
Read Heirloom Magic: Every Witch Way Online
Authors: Megan Berry
© Copyright 2014 by Megan Berry-
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“Miss Jones?”
Startled, Harper
turned towards the gentle pressure at her elbow.
“Yes?” Harper
asked as she turned and encountered the broad chest of a man. Her eyes landed
nipple height, so Harper was forced to look up and then up some more. It was a
bit shocking, but before her was one of the largest men she’d ever seen in her
life. He had to be at least six foot five, if not an inch or two taller, and
despite the well-tailored, somber black suit that was obviously trying to
diminish his appearance, he was a wall of solid muscle.
“My condolences,
Miss Jones,” he said.
Harper hesitantly placed
her much smaller hand into the large one he was offering up.
“Thank you,”
Harper murmured, not really in the mood for more idle chit chat. Most people
moved on after this polite exchange, but the man stayed firmly in front of her.
“My name is Keaton
Bell, Miss Jones,” he began, quite obviously feeling awkward about approaching
her.
“Please, call me
Harper,” she responded automatically, but the gentle giant shook his head.
“That is a very
nice offer, but I’m afraid it would not be appropriate. You see, I am the
lawyer handling your grandmother’s estate.”
Harper blinked in
surprise, her eyes watering at another sharp reminder that her grandmother was
no longer alive. Getting that call had been bad enough; returning to this small
Alabama town was another stab to her heart. The funeral was the worst of all,
and now, she realized, she’d have to deal with lawyers to settle the estate.
“Oh,” was all she
managed to squeak out—her mind racing a mile a minute, wondering what this man
could possibly want with her? He should probably be talking to her parents.
“Yes,” Mr. Bell
said with a somber nod. “Your grandmother requested I speak with you as soon as
possible.”
Harper glanced
around at her grandmother’s well-attended funeral, her eyes taking in all the
people dressed in black and the overflowing bouquets of obnoxious smelling
flowers. “This might be a bit too soon?” she suggested, trying to be as nice in
her dismissal as possible, and Mr. Bell had the grace to flush.
“Yes, I apologize
for my inopportune timing. We can save our business for after the funeral of
course. She had wanted me to give you this before her…burial.” Mr. Bell held an
enormous, meaty palm out.
Curious, Harper
leaned forward to look.
“Her ring?” Harper
exclaimed in surprise as she examined the milky oval stone set in the simple
silver band. Mr. Bell held it in his palm wrapped up in a cloth handkerchief,
open for her examination.
“Yes—please take
it!” he spoke, sounding strangely hasty, and Harper looked up at him sharply.
The man was sweating and flushed, and the hand holding the ring was trembling
slightly.
Harper reached
over and plucked the ring from his hand before he could drop it. “Are you
feeling alright?” she asked, and the man nodded. His color was already better,
and he was watching her like a hawk as she stared at the ring.
“Are you sure she
meant to leave this to me?” Harper felt the need to double check. Her grandmother
didn’t have a lot of living family left, but Harper’s parents were both still
alive, and she would’ve thought that her gran would’ve left everything to her
only son, Harper’s father.
Mr. Bell was
already shaking his head. “I can assure you, Miss Jones, that the ring was
meant expressly for you and only you.”
Harper felt a curl
of nostalgia warm her belly when she thought about all the times she’d seen her
gran wearing this ring. The woman had never taken it off. “Thank you very much.
I will treasure this,” Harper promised as she began to tuck the ring into her
pocket for safe keeping. Mr. Bell cleared his throat loudly, causing her to
look up at him, startled.
“I hate to insist,
Miss, but you must wear the ring,” Mr. Bell informed her, looking uncomfortable
at his own insistence. “It was your grandmother’s wish that you put it on
immediately.”
Harper frowned. It
was a strange request, but her grandmother had worn the ring on every occasion
that she could recall. Harper smiled down at the worn piece of jewelry and
slipped it carefully over the knuckle of her third finger—the same finger her gran
had always worn it on. It fit like it had been perfectly sized just for her.
Harper gasped when a strange vibrations raced down her finger and up her spine.
Harper blinked, it was almost like the ring had zapped her, but that would be
crazy. She glanced at the ring and shook her head, it had probably just been
static.
“There,” she said
with a small smile of remembrance, and Mr. Bell beamed at her.
“Wonderful, Miss,
it’s exactly what your grandmother wanted.” Tears pricked at Harper’s eyes, and
she had to swallow several times before she could answer without weeping.
“Thank you,” she told
him earnestly, looking at him awkwardly for a moment and wondering if she
should turn away and continue moving about the room.
“…Miss.”
Harper turned back
to Mr. Bell.
“I know it may
seem too soon and everything is still so fresh, but your grandmother insisted
that I act quickly. Would you be able to meet with me after the funeral?”
Harper was
startled by his insistence. “You should probably discuss that with my father.”
Harper searched the crowd until her eyes landed on him. “He is right over there,”
she pointed, but Mr. Bell did not turn to see where she was pointing.
“Again, Miss, my
business is with you—not your father—since you are of legal age,” he paused and
consulted a piece of paper that he pulled from his pocket. “You are
twenty-five. Is that correct?” he asked, and Harper nodded numbly, wondering
why she was the focus of all of this.
Mr. Bell nodded as
he tucked the paper back into his pocket. “Are you able to meet this
afternoon?” he asked again, and this time Harper didn’t protest. Her heart
ached to even think about it, but she gave him an affirmative nod. It was
probably like pulling off a bandage—best to get it over with quickly.
Mr. Bell smiled at
her nod and replied with one of his own. “I will find you after the service
then,” he promised before melting away into the crowd, leaving Harper to stare
after him, wondering how such a large man could move with such predatory grace.
“Oh, you poor
dear…” Harper’s attention was torn from the retreating back of Mr. Bell by the
exclamation made right next to her elbow. She turned to see a small, rotund
woman in black furiously dabbing a tissue at her red nose.
“…Thank you?”
Harper replied, not entirely sure if that was even the correct response. The
woman began sobbing uncontrollably and lunged at Harper, pulling her into a hug
that had every vertebrae in her back popping uncomfortably. Harper gasped in
shock as much as in pain and began to flail around helplessly.
“Mom!” a voice
called out in panic.
Harper searched
through the dark fog that was rapidly beginning to descend over her eyes and
saw a young man run forward and start tugging to extract her from the bone-crushing
hug.
“I’m really sorry
about this,” the teenager stammered, his face pinkening. “She’s just really
upset.” The boa-constrictor-like squeeze finally stopped and Harper gasped for
breath, her ribs twinging uncomfortably.
“Oh, no, now I’ve
done it!” the small woman cried, sobbing even harder.
“It’s…okay,”
Harper managed to wheeze, and the teenage boy led his sobbing mother away, shooting
apologetic glances over his shoulder.
Harper managed to
compose herself just as the next round of people swarmed her, though she was
leery to let anyone else close enough to hug.
The service was
beautiful, but sad. So many people stood up and said such nice things about her
grandmother—though not everything they said made sense to Harper.
After the funeral,
one woman had approached Harper and tearfully told her that her grandmother was
responsible for helping her conceive both of her pups and that Harper herself
would always have the full support of the Howard Pack. Harper managed to keep a
polite smile on her face as she smiled and nodded her way through the rest of
the conversation, inside broiling with confusion. Her grandmother hadn’t been a
veterinarian; what was she doing assisting in the delivery of puppies?
Another strange
little man had approached, given his condolences, and had actually kissed
Harper’s new ring!
Harper was
searching for Mr. Bell, ready to get the hell outta crazy town, when the
strangest encounter yet met her in the form of an older woman with flyaway
white curly hair. “Can you help me?” she demanded, snagging Harper’s hand in
her own gnarled talon.
Harper stopped and
frowned, not quite sure what she needed. “Do you want me to find your coat, or
is there someone you came with that I can find for you?” she asked, not really
sure what she was supposed to be doing here. The woman shook her head.
“I need one of
your potions,” she replied, and Harper blinked, not sure she’d heard her
correctly.
“You want a…
coffee?” Harper guessed, wondering if the old woman had dementia.
“Are you daft
girl?” the old woman snapped, her white bushy eyebrows raising into her hair in
surprise. “I need the potion your gran always made for my arthritis,” she clarified,
and Harper’s mind went blank.
“I’m sorry, but I
have no idea what you’re talking about,” Harper said finally, making the old
woman frown.
“Well, can you
make me some?” she asked—with all the grace of a dog refusing to let go of a particularly
juicy bone—Harper didn’t know how to respond. This woman had all the grace of a
badger and made about as much sense.
“Irene!” Harper
turned to find Mr. Bell glaring down at the demanding old coot. “You know
better!” he scolded, and the old woman started to back away from Mr. Bell’s
enormous disapproval. It wasn’t until she had backed away several feet that
Harper felt like she could finally take a breath.
What was it
with all the strange people around here?
Harper couldn’t help wondering as she made a promise
to herself not to drink any of the water from the faucet.
“Apologies,” Irene
muttered as she slunk away into the crowd, her limp much more pronounced than
when she’d walked up.
“I’m sorry about
that,” Mr. Bell said, passing Harper her coat. Harper briefly wondered how he’d
managed to find her coat out of all the other coats in the coat room. “I hope
she didn’t say anything to upset you?” he pressed, and Harper shook her head.
“It’s just been a
long day,” she replied, rubbing her fingers over her tired eyes and giving a
small yawn. She was still a bit jet lagged.
“Understandable,
I’ll try not to keep you too long.”
Harper winced,
hoping he didn’t think she’d been trying to get out of their meeting. She
thought about trying to explain, but decided to let it lie instead of
stuttering her way through an explanation that would only confuse things
further. She followed him down the street, past large planters filled with
cascading flowers, a large wooden gazebo in the center of town, people bustling
everywhere, and kids drawing with chalk on the sidewalk, to a small office
across from the local grocery store.
Mr. Bell took a
key from his pocket that looked miniscule in his large hands and deftly opened
the door. “After you,” he offered gallantly with true southern hospitality—men
in Chicago weren’t half as polite. Harper stepped into the tidy, air
conditioned office, gawking around.
It was a small,
simple space. The front door opened to a little waiting room with a white
secretary’s desk that sat outside a frosted glass door that read: Keaton
Bell-Esquire.
Keaton motioned
her into his office, and Harper found herself stepping into a surprisingly
masculine room with an overpowering scent of leather, musk, and pine. “Take a
seat,” Mr. Bell said as he went around the large L-shaped desk and hovered over
his own leather wing-backed chair until she’d seated herself.
“There are a few
time-sensitive things that we need to deal with first,” Mr. Bell informed her
as he reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a huge stack of loose papers
and folders. Harper stared at the stack, her eyes going wide.
“A few thing huh?”
she couldn’t help asking.
Mr. Bell grinned,
flashing extremely white teeth with especially sharp canines. “This is more
than your usual cut and dried case,” he admitted, and Harper leaned back in her
chair and watched the lawyer sort through the paperwork to familiarize himself.
“Ahh… here we go,”
Mr. Bell sighed, tearing an envelope open and dumping several sets of keys out
onto his desk. He then picked up a thick document that Harper assumed was her grandmother’s
will.
“Are you sure my
parents shouldn’t be here?” she blurted out, unable to help asking again.
Mr. Bell frowned
at her, no doubt because she sounded like a broken record. “Your parents will
be brought in as the will stipulates, but Mrs. Jones wanted me to speak to you
privately about your inheritance first,” he explained, and Harper finally
nodded her head, giving up on her guilty feelings that she was somehow pulling
something over on her parents. This was the way Gran had wanted it apparently.