Spells Trouble, Kristin Cast [books to read in a lifetime .TXT] 📗

sitting at the bar staring at Xena, who was sitting on the bar—her long bare legs swinging over the side as she inspected her fingernails.

“Did Abigail know you could change form like this?” Mercy blurted as she filled her mother’s fancy electric teapot and pressed the button to heat water for herbal tea.

“Yes, of course. My Abigail knew everything. She was a splendid witch.”

Mercy felt as if she were unraveling inside. She drew a deep breath to steady herself as she held the old wood honey dipper over a mug and dripped thick golden liquid into it. She was trying to sort through her many questions when Hunter found the one that touched them all the deepest.

“Then Mom knew that you’d be here to take care of us—to be sure we wouldn’t have to leave our home. She—she died knowing we’d be okay.” Hunter choked out the last of the words and wiped her cheeks quickly.

Xena leaned forward and gently stroked Hunter’s dark ponytail. “Yes, kitten. Abigail would never have wished to leave her girls, but last night when she realized she had to sacrifice herself to save you—to save us all—she died in peace and must have gone to the arms of Athena knowing I would watch over both of you and help you with what is to come.” She brushed a tear from her own cheek. “My Abigail was a fierce protectoress.”

The electric pot chimed at the same moment the front doorbell rang, making the three of them jump. Xena sniffed the air.

“It’s the boy. The one whose scent was all over Mercy last night.”

“Kirk! I’ll, um—”

Hunter got up and took the teapot from her. “Let him in. I’ll get Xena her tea.”

Xena slid sinuously from the countertop. “Emily and Jax shall be here soon. We will greet them, accept their condolences, and then be rid of them. Your mother’s last words told you what you must do; you have trees to check on and no time to waste in tending them.”

Mercy and Hunter stared at her.

“But our friends—” Hunter began.

She fluttered her sharp-tipped fingers about dismissively. “Are not as important as the trees. As the adult in the household I shall tell them—”

“Xena, they can’t know you’re a cat,” said Mercy.

“Seriously,” agreed Hunter.

“Of course not!” Xena scoffed, batting her hands at them. “I am your auntie.”

The front door echoed with vigorous knocking. “We have no choice,” Mercy told Hunter, and she hurried from the kitchen. Her body felt strange—numb and ultrasensitive at the same time. If she didn’t have to answer the door—to talk to people—she would just sit. And stare. And wish with everything inside her that she could go back twenty-four hours and wrap her arms around her mom and never let her go.

She opened the door to see her quarterback boyfriend, hair wet and disheveled, like he’d just gotten out of the shower, fist raised to knock again.

“Oh, babe! Come here.” Kirk moved into the house and lifted her up in a hug. Mercy pressed her face to his chest and closed her eyes, hoping the scent and feel of him would erase the rest of the world, if only for a few beats of her broken heart. Then his arms unwrapped from around her and he stepped forward—toward Hunter, who was just coming into the living room. “Hunter, I don’t know what else to say except I am so sorry.” He scooped Mercy’s twin into a gentle hug and patted her back. “Really. I’m here for you—for both of you. Anything. Anything at all I can do I will.”

“Boy, you embrace the wrong twin.”

Kirk released Hunter and took a step back as Xena, carrying a steaming mug of tea and a truffle, slunk past him and into the living room, where she resumed her perch on the arm of the couch.

“I—I know,” he stammered. “I was just telling Hunter sorry, too. Who are you?”

Mercy took Kirk’s arm and led him to the far end of the couch—away from Xena—as she said, “This is our Aunt Xena—from the East Coast.” She sat beside him and Kirk put his arm around her, pulling her comfortingly close to him.

Hunter nodded and sat in one of the several chairs adjacent to the couch in their big, comfortable living room where everything faced an enormous fireplace framed by a mantel ornately carved with triple moons. “We called Aunt Xena last night and she caught the red-eye to Chicago. She just got here.”

Kirk’s shoulders sagged. “So, you’re moving to the East Coast?” There was no way Hunter, or anyone, could miss the genuine distress on his face.

“No!” the three women said together.

There were two quick knocks on the door and then it burst open as Emily and Jax spilled into the room.

“Ohmygod! I just—I just can’t. I can’t!” Emily flew across the room and collapsed on the couch on the other side of Mercy as she took her best friend’s hand. Her eyes were puffy and red and mascara was smeared down her tearstained cheeks. “What can I do? How can I help?”

Mercy clung to her hand. “You being here helps.”

Jax went to Hunter and pulled her up out of the chair. Wordlessly, he took her place and then cradled her on his lap so that her head rested on his shoulder, childlike. His voice was gravelly and his eyes bright with unshed tears. “I don’t understand. What happened?”

Mercy forced herself to sit up straight. She wiped her face on her shoulder. Kirk held one of her hands and Emily the other. She tried to pull strength from them—tried to form the right words. What was it she and Hunter had decided to tell everyone? Her anger at the sheriff’s callousness and then the shock about Xena turning into a person had moved her forward earlier and allowed her to think normally, but it had drained away the second Kirk pulled her into his arms. Now her brain felt wrong—like she was trying to think through mud.

“There was a