Witch Hunt, A Paranormal/Urban Fantasy (The Maurin Kincaide Series) (33 page)

I woke up, for the second time, to Conry growling at my answering machine. 'At least it was a more reasonable hour', I thought as I glanced at my alarm clock. I laughed when I heard the voice coming through the speaker, amazed how Conry instinctively didn't like her. "Good boy." I said, scratching him behind his ears.

"I hope you're in the shower. I have never unde
rstood why you can't seem to get yourself out of bed before ten in the morning. It is going on eleven and your sister's bridal luncheon is in a little over an hour. Obviously you forgot but for some reason your sister wants you to be there, so I expect you to be there. For appearances sake." My adoptive mother nagged through the answering machine. She couldn't leave the message without slipping that last dig in, reminding me not only about the luncheon but that she didn't really want me there.

Unfortunately for her I had gotten a lot of press after helping SPTF solve the Witch murders. Her bridge club knew I was living in Salem now. She couldn't keep up the charade that I had moved to the West Coast and was far too busy working to make it back home for a visit. It hadn't been hard for me to avoid her and the Boston socialite scene. Until now that is. Still, my mother would probably give up her best diamonds before letting her snobby friends know the truth about her feelings for me, which bordered on hate.

I was definitely the black sheep growing up but it wasn't until last month I really understood why. That's when Arawn told me the truth. He was my real father and my real mother used the last of her magic and life to hide me from the war in Elysium with my adoptive parents. Knowing the truth about where I came from explained a lot but didn't excuse the ostracism that was my formative years. Don't get me wrong, I didn't live in a cupboard under the stairs or anything. My adoptive parents kept me clothed and fed, everything that was expected except love and compassion. Once they realized I wasn't like them and never would be, no matter how many Norm activities they forced me to participate in, I was pretty much an outcast. Things only got worse when they got pregnant with my sister. I left at seventeen and never looked back.

A couple years ago my sister looked me up. She was the collateral damage of my teenage years. It hurt to leave her behind. Francesca was the one person growing up that was always nice to me but I couldn't stay one minute longer in that house, not even for her. I think Frankie understood that. Just like I understood her not getting in touch with me until after she went off to college. I'd actually gone down to RISD to visit her a couple of times. When she told me she was engaged I secretly hoped it was to a starving artist and that she'd run off to Vegas to elope- causing a scandal in my mother's eyes and saving me an invitation to a big wedding. It wasn't of course. In Francesca's case pedigree won out. She was engaged to a charming young man finishing his law degree at Harvard and was having the wedding our mother had basically been planning since the doctor smacked Frankie's ass in the delivery room.

I completely forgot about the bridal luncheon and the rehearsal dinner later in the evening. In fact I forgot the wedding altogether.

"Shit." I said to Conry. "What do people wear to bridal luncheons anyway?"

He just stared at me as I headed back to my closet, grumbling the entire way. I hopped in the shower but skipped washing my hair. There was no way I'd get it washed and dried and still make it to the stupid lunch. I stood in front of my bed staring at the three outfits I laid out unable to decide what was most appropriate for lunch at my estranged parents. A simple skirt and blouse combo won out. I would have preferred the fitted plum colored cashmere sweater but the high collar of my blouse would hide the brand on my neck. No need to give my mother another reminder of what I was or more importantly to her what I wasn't. I pulled my hair back in a low bun and slipped on my heels.

If I traveled through the between I could skip traffic and still arrive at the luncheon fashionably late.

***

Using my new abilities in place of my car probably wasn't what Arawn had in mind when he showed me how to do this I thought as I mentally deconstructed my apartment and visualized my childhood home in Beacon Hill. The federal style row home came into view bustling with people. I managed to move through the cluster of people lingering by the front door only to be accosted by the caterer.

"Don't just stand there empty handed. Go get a tray and offer hors d'
vours to the guests." The woman, who I could only assume was the chef by the white coat she stuffed herself into barked at me. Before I could object and inform her that I was a guest I was pushed into the kitchen. I opened my mouth to protest but was quickly informed I was not being paid to talk to her or to the guests. She shoved a large silver tray loaded with stuffed mushroom caps into my hands, spun me around and pushed me out into the room full of Boston's elite. I realized too late that I was on a collision course with my mother.

"Mushroom?" I asked one of the women talking with my mother. "You just have to try one."

I was probably the only one who noticed the flash of anger in my mother's eyes. Before anyone could so much as reach for one of the mushrooms she was snapping her fingers at one of the other waiters and pointing at my tray. A mortified young man hurried over to relieve me of the appetizers.

"Maurin this is Joanne Barton. We volunteer t
ogether at the hospital." My mother said forcing a smile.

"I didn't even know Kate had another daughter until I heard about your exploits on the news. It's amazing how you were able to overcome your cond
ition and assist the police." Joanne extended her hand.

My condition? Were they saying I had some kind of disease on the news? Oh wait, she just meant being an Other. I hadn't been home in so long I forgot my mother's friends were almost as bad her. I reached out to shake Joanne's hand but my mother was moving before I made contact.

"Maurin, Francesca's been waiting for you to arrive. Why don't we go find your sister. If you'll excuse us a moment Joanne." My mother was practically dragging me away.

Old habits die hard. I didn't bother to pull away, nor did I bother to tell her I could shield. She woul
dn't have tolerated either and we would just end up having another one of our famous arguments ruining Frankie's day. I hadn't been home half an hour but it was like I never left. I could feel my mother's embarrassment and irritation. Her disdain radiated off her skin like rays from the sun. If I stood next to her for too long I was bound to get burned.

"Honestly Maurin, you show up late, dressed like a waitress, could you at least pretend you belong here? For your sister's sake. And for the love of God don't touch anybody. It's bad enough your face was plastered all over the news, no one here needs to experience what you do first hand." She hissed through a porcelain smile.

I work for some of the most dangerous people in Massachusetts, I've faced Gods and demons but none of them compared to this woman. She could suck the life out of me faster than any vampire I knew. I looked down at my outfit. Crisp white blouse, black skirt. Ugh, no wonder the caterer shoved a tray in my hands. In my defense though, no waitress worth her salt would work a day in these heels. When I left my apartment I vowed today would be different. I would not be a victim of her cruel words and disapproval. I would not fall into the same patterns of insults and arguments. I would not revert back to the school girl desperate for the love and approval of a mother who would never give her either. I bit my cheek until I tasted blood to keep the rebellion burning in my chest from escaping.

By the time she had gotten to 'It's like you r
efused to control it. You wouldn't even try to be normal. I don't know why you couldn't have been more like your sister.' I was ready to go. I was trying to remember why I had subjected myself to an afternoon at home after almost a decade away when I caught sight of Francesca. Her auburn hair perfectly coiffed, her pleated skirt and sweater perfectly matched. In that Stepford Wives kind of way. She hardly looked like the inspired artist I saw in Providence last spring. Of course a lot had changed since then for both of us. Francesca turned up the dial on her million dollar smile, concentrating its full power on me. I felt a smile creep across my face despite the company at my side.

"Hey Frankie!" I said as my sister pulled me into a hug. I could feel my mother roll her eyes at the nickname. She always hated it when I called her that.

"You came." She whispered, surprise audible despite her hushed voice.

"I told you I would." I replied, not bothering to tell her how I had completely forgotten and if it wasn't for the viper masquerading as my mother I wouldn't have made it.

"I wouldn't have blamed you if you didn't." She said, starting to pull back from our embrace.

"Hmm, somehow I didn't get that impression when you were laying on the guilt trip, I mean invi
ting me to this." I teased.

She laughed and it was like someone ran their fingers through a wind chime. "Let me introduce you to some of my friends." She was born with a gravit
ational pull that seemed no one could escape. Not even me.

2

After a couple of hours of pretending to be one of
the
Kincaides and not Maurin Kincaide I decided I had fulfilled my sisterly obligation. I was back in Salem, standing outside of The Daily Grind trying to muster the courage to go inside.

I hadn't spoken to Amalie since the Council stripped Mahalia and the coven of their council seat. Mahalia deserved everything the Council dished out and more for trying to kill me. I just wished it hadn't cost me my friendship with Amalie. And my favorite place to go for coffee. I wasn't officially banned but it was owned and operated by coven members. Som
ehow I doubted my money was good here. With a heavy heart I walked away from my favorite chair and the best croissants in Salem. A new coffee house had opened a couple of blocks away and I decided to give it a try.

Brewed Awakening. I stared at the sign hoping the coffee lived up to the name. The smell of freshly ground coffee hit my nose as soon as I walked through the door, so did the realization that coffee wasn't what I wanted. Brewed Awakening was nice enough. The coffee smelled heavenly and there were glass cases filled with fresh scones, muffins and even croissants. There were comfortable chairs and a couch nestled in between shelves loaded with used books. A book exchange sign hung above them. It was my kind of place. Except for one thing. This place was run by norms, which normally wouldn't have bothered me but after spending an afternoon at my mother's I'd had my fill for the day. I decided on something stronger. It's five o'clock some where I told myself and headed for Toil and Trouble where there was sure to be company more like me.

There was no need for a bouncer that early in the day so I just walked right in. It was still dark in the bar despite the early hour. Mike, the bartender, was behind the counter drying glasses. He looked up from the martini glass in his hands and nodded.

"You want the usual?" Mike asked, his eyes a
lready back on the glass.

"Vodka. I'll take the bottle, sugar and lemons. "

"One of those days, huh?" He said as he set the bottle of Van Gogh and a shot glass on the counter.

"In the grand scheme of things I have definitely had worse but I just spent the afternoon with my mother, surrounded by women she wished I turned out to be. Trust me I earned a drink or two." I said, managing to grab a bowl of lemon wedges, bowl of sugar, the bottle and shot glass.

I had my choice of seats since the place was practically empty but found myself headed towards a booth in the back. I slid across the vinyl seat, pressed my back against the wall and stretched my legs out on the rectangular cushion. I undid the bun holding my hair, kicked off my heels, coated a lemon wedge in sugar and poured myself a shot. It took a lot more vodka to get drunk than it used to thanks to my metabolism. I was down to one third of the ingredients for lemon drop shooters before I started feeling the effects. This was going to be an expensive bender I thought as I tossed back another shot. I wasn't one for wallowing in self pity or trying to find solutions at the bottom of a bottle but halfway through- sitting across from the table where all my problems with the coven began- both seemed like good ideas. The spins finally threatened to take hold so I rested my head against the wall and closed my eyes.

I must have dozed off for a few minutes. Someone's fingers were tapping on the old wooden table. I opened one eye expecting Mike with the check but through the fog in my head I made out Cash's face. Maybe my nap was longer than a few minutes. I hoped I hadn't snored.

"I thought maybe you turned your phone off or something but I can see now you just decided to completely check out for awhile." Cash said, lifting the bottle to see how much was actually left. "What's up?"

"Fighting demons." I forced myself to sit up straight. Cash raised a brow at the mention of d
emons. "Not that kind." I grumbled, wishing it was a monster with gnashing teeth and glowing eyes that had me feeling this way. Actually that description fit my mother on more than one occasion.