Twisted Magic (27 page)

If there was anything I needed to know it was all in this book. I turned several pages and found an old photograph. A man and woman, flipping the photograph over the date
was
scrawled on it.

“April 3
rd
, 1935,”
I
read; it
was Francesca and Georges.

Francesca
stared back at me with
ethereal
eyes of
gloom
. The photo had no color, but I was sure they had to be brown. She was
majestic. Pin
curled hair that stopped at her sharp cheekbones, a
hat upon her head. She wore a long dress that hugged her body elegantly with a jacket that had a big fur collar. Who was she? And why was I holding all her most
personal
possessions?

The man—who I was sure was Georges wore a dark suit and had perfectly groomed hair upon his head. They both were sleek and refined, but the life that shown in the eyes of Georges was not there in Francesca. She was empty, a simple ghost of a young woman staring at the camera.

I wondered what kind of life she had to look that way. It had to do with
magic, maybe
she was a witch.

I opened one of the letters.

My dearest Francesca,

It’s been several months since our last moments together. You will never understand how angry I am with myself for not believing in you. For not trusting in what you were. You will never understand the amount of pain and
anguish
I feel inside
daily. 
One day I hope to see you again. I hope for your forgiveness every night, I long for it.

All my love,

Georges

It seemed no matter what era we lived in we all battled with love and doing the right things. I returned the letter to the pages and shut the book. I slipped it to the back of my closet and dialed Hutch’s number.

“It
was you. You sent me this book,
” I said
,
the minute he answered the phone.

“That is a great guess, doll. How have you been?”

I smiled. “Better. That book, it seems like it carries a lot of baggage for
those
two
people, who
were they?"

“Francesca Cunningham was my great grandmother. Georges was
the man she fell in love with
.”

I settled into my pillows listening to Hutch.

“My Grandmother’s mother was a very powerful woman. Ever since the day she was
born,
she was capable of
a lot.
She grew up in an orphanage because she scared her parents
so much they wanted nothing to do with her
. And once she turned sixteen she was free to be on her
own,
and she met Georges. They loved each other very much until she revealed her secret.” Hutch explained.

“That she was a witch.” It was sad to think the one true love of Francesca’s life was ripped away from her. I listened
,
eager to hear more.

“That she was
linked to the supernatural world. Remember, I don’t like to label our kind witches.” He
paused
. “Georges was from a
rich
family and back then the idea of anything unnatural was deemed dark and dangerous. They killed people that practiced magic of any kind. And they killed
Francesca
.”

My heart
ached,
“Then why all the letters?”

“Georges didn’t know she was dead. The letters came for years and
years. He
wanted to fix things. He wanted to see the woman he loved so much again. My family never had the heart to tell Georges that she was gone.” It was sad, possibly the saddest story I had heard ever.

“But you said it was your grandmother’s mother, so that means
Francesca
had children?” This only made sense.

“Yes. My grandmother
’s
father was a banker in the town. He was greedy and
evil
and the one
to blame
for her death
. Once her secret was out they destroyed
her,
and he wanted nothing to do with my grandmother and
the
gift she inherited from her mother.”

His family had a rich history. One I was sure I could dive deep into and learn
a lot
from. So interesting I wanted to.

“I don’t understand why you gave me the book. This is something to important to hand over to some stranger.” I couldn’t accept it.

“
Francesca
was a lot like you. She was sensitive and sweet. She just wanted to belong, but she was
different,
and she was simply trying to learn how to take control of who she was. Everything she ever learned
she wrote
in that
book,
and it has been with my family for a long time. I have learned everything I need to learn from
it,
and now it’s a gift to you.”

I raked a hand through my hair. It was a sweet gesture.
Even so,
I wasn’t sure if I was the one who should be holding on to so
mething so dear to someone else, s
omething so intimate. “
You’re
not going to let me refuse the gift are you?”

Hutch laughed softly. “Of course not, I couldn’t imagine
Francesca
wanting
anyone else to have it but you, i
n
fact,
she told me so herself.”

I raised an eyebrow confused by his statement. “She’s dead, how would you know that?”

“How many times do I have to say I am connected to
the
supernatural?
She
was my ancestor
,
of course I know
what she would
want, t
dead talk too.
They guide us through life.
”

The idea the dead talked to anyone wasn’t new to me—Ezra had
proven
that. But it was just
too
strange of a thought to believe someone that new nothing about me wanted to gift me something.

“Okay, I’ll accept it. But no more gifts.” I looked at my desk where the long black feather sat.

Hutch
sighed
a defeated
sigh,
“on
to a new subject.”

“What would that be?” I teased.

“When are you going to let me see you again?”

I smiled at the thought of seeing him
once again.
And that he would want to see me again.

“M
aybe we could meet up after I si
ng tonight at the café.” I offered. I needed to get away from my house and have fun, not dwell on what once was, even if it wasn’t bothering me right now I knew it would.

“I’ll be there, see you soon, doll.”

I carried the iced coffee I bought out to the outdoor
veranda
of the Shore café. It was
night. T
he
smooth fingers of the wind swirled around me as I stared at the water
in the distance
. Watching the waves strike the shore
repeatedly.

There was
a
certain
c
almness about
the night
, things were
tranquil. I
could feel it on my skin. I was
sure
Hutch would insist that was my body becoming
in tune
with nature.

I brought my coffee to my lips staring over the brim at the sparkling stars,
and
the lonely seagulls flitting overhead.

I sat
my cup on the table
catching
sight of Hutch approaching the boardwalk, his hands inside the dark hooded sweatshirt he had on. He immediately smirked when I stood up to greet him.

“About time,” I said sitting back down. “I was beginning to think you stood me up.”

Hutch raked a hand through his messy hair. “I fell asleep.”

I frowned. “Is it
too
late for you to be out?”

He shook his head. “No, don’t think that.
It’s
always good to have a nap occasionally, doll.” He snagged my coffee taking a sip. “How’d your night pan out?”

I eyed him
suspiciously.
Few people
just drink other people’s drinks without asking first. I wasn’t sure if this annoyed me or turned me on that he was so…intrusive. I reminded myself we had swapped
a great deal
of
spit making out and that sharing a beverage wasn’t a big deal.

“Did you want a
coffee?
The café is still open for another fifteen minutes.” I offered, jerking my head toward the door.

Hutch shook his head.
“Nope.
Why don’t we take a walk down the
boardwalk?
We can take a stroll around the annual festival.”

This was the first time I had heard of it. “I didn’t know there was a festival. I love festivals.” I smiled.

Hutch wrapped an arm around me as we weaved past the people walking the opposite direction of us on the boardwalk. “Maybe I can win you one of those silly stuffed animals.”

I nodded
enthusiastically. I
was a
cheese
ball. What
could I
say?
And I was sure if I had seen a festi
val when I first moved
to
Cherry,
I might have felt a little happier about moving to such a place. Festivals reminded me of home, of fun, of all the good parts of being a kid back in Georgia.

“Have you
taken
a moment to look at the
book,”
Hutch asked.

The more we walked the closer we got to the blinking lights and cheesy music.

“Not really, I plan on it though.”

“You will be surprised the things she was capable of.
It’s
very enlightening.” Hutch pulled me closer as the crowd thickened. He was my bodyguard
among
the chaos of Cherry’s festivities. The closer we were the hotter it was. And I wasn’t the only one who it was
bothering,
Hutch
drug
his sweatshirt over his head, revealing a
light-
blue t
-shirt
underneath. He shot me a
smile,
and we hurried through to the first game
we
could find. He was willing to
play,
and I was
ready
to cheer him on.

The first game was the
classic;
knock the milk jugs over
variety
. Hutch fingered the
baseball;
he tipped his head in my direction. “When I knock these over what prize do you want?”

I laughed. “Oh your cocky, don’t be so certain you even
will. They
glue those things together I heard.” I crossed my arms and backed
up,
so he had room to fail.

He bit down on his bottom lip studying the stacked bottles
closely. He
pulled back and let go releasing the ball
.
The ball sailed smoothly through the air knocking every bottle over.

I clapped my hands
,
cheering for Hutch. The man running the game shuffled forward taking the remaining balls back from hutch. He
tossed a thumb over his shoulder staring me down. I pointed at the giant brown bear, clapping my hands with glee that I was now the rightful owner of one.

“I have always wanted a giant stuffed animal,” I informed Hutch holding tight to the bear that was nearly as big as me. I couldn’t see where I was
going;
I was walking in hopes of not bumping into anyone. My chin fought against the fur of my new pal as I tried to see past his head.

Hutch pried the bear from my grip slinging him over his shoulder
effortlessly
“
Glad you got what you wanted. And happy to see you smiling,” he said. We caught each other’s pleased gazes for a split second lost in the moment.
However,
that was forgotten quickly.