Spells Trouble Kristin Cast (a court of thorns and roses ebook free TXT) 📖

“Come over, Em. Just get in your car and come over here right now.”

Emily took several deep breaths before she answered, and when she did she sounded broken. “I can’t. Mom’s not okay.” She paused and then added in a whisper, “They let her see him. I wouldn’t—couldn’t. But I should have. I shouldn’t have let her go in there by herself.”

“They shouldn’t have let her see him! Bloody hell, Em! What’s wrong with the sheriff?”

There was a sharp sound in the background and Emily spoke quickly. “Gotta go. I think Mom just dropped another cup. She’s, uh, medicated. Heavily. I’ll text you later.”

Before Mercy could say anything else the phone disconnected. Mercy finished putting on her slippers and slowly went downstairs. She hadn’t imagined Abigail’s music. Hunter must have flipped on the Pandora station. Mercy was glad. She stood in the kitchen and let the beautiful lyrics of “Shores of Avalon” soothe her shattered nerves as she brewed another pot of her mom’s special dark roast coffee. Mercy didn’t love coffee like Abigail had, but she did like the way it smelled—and if she added enough coconut milk and sugar it didn’t taste too bad. But, more importantly, it was part of her usual morning ritual, and even though it was past noon Mercy craved whatever might help her feel normal, if only for a little while.

She put two slices of thick sourdough bread in the toaster and got Abigail’s homemade strawberry jam from the pantry. As she slathered sticky-sweet goo on the warm bread her thoughts spun. Horrible things are happening in Goodeville and it all started the night Mom was killed. What if the sick trees have something to do with it?

Mercy sat at the table in the breakfast nook, which Xena had piled high with old grimoires the night before. She moved them out of the way and texted Em again:

CALL ME WHEN U CAN! I’M HERE. LOVE U!

Then Mercy stared out the back window as her coffee went cold as she faced the thoughts she’d pushed aside the night before.

What if Hunter’s choice to swear into the service of a god instead of a goddess is causing the trees to be sick? All of it—every bad thing—started that terrible night. The night Hunter officially claimed Tyr as her god. It was the only thing Mercy could think of that differed from their Beltane Ritual and the Beltane Rituals that had been successfully performed by Goode witches for hundreds of years.

But wouldn’t Mom have known that Tyr was a mistake? Mercy clearly remembered the day young Hunter had first mentioned to Abigail that she was drawn to Tyr. Their mom’s response had been that it was Hunter’s choice, and there was no wrong answer when a witch chose her deity. Okay, maybe Abigail hadn’t known it was a problem that H had chosen a god back then, but during the three years between that day and their dedication night she definitely would’ve said something if it could cause problems. From her memory Mercy replayed her mom’s words to Hunter as they walked to the Beltane Ritual: It’s about time a Goode chose a god instead of a goddess.

She shook her head and sighed as she nibbled on her toast. “No, Abigail would’ve known. She was an amazing witch. She would never have let Hunter make such a big mistake. It must be something else and I’m going to figure it out and fix it. I have to.” Resolutely, Mercy pulled the closest grimoire to her, grabbed a stack of pink sticky notes and her favorite purple pen, and got to work.

Mercy was deep into her great-great-grandmother Janet Goode’s summer 1927 entry entitled Healing Trees from the Drought when she pumped her fist and shouted, “Yes! That’s it!” Then she wrote quickly on the sticky notes as she muttered to herself. “This will work with just a little addition from the spell Gertrude Goode cast in 1859 after the entire state of Illinois flooded and damaged all the trees big-time.” She paused for a moment, chewing the end of the pen before lifting it triumphantly and proclaiming, “Plus, I’ll make a big dose of my Awake and Alive Oil! That’ll be my own Green Witch contribution. This is going to be perfect!”

One problem solved, Mercy picked up her phone and clicked into the texts.

EM, HOW U DOING?

YOU OK?

EMILY, I’M WORRIED ABOUT YOU.

Zero response from her bestie. Mercy got it—of course she did. She completely understood about how grief could suffocate every other emotion. But H hadn’t left her alone in her despair, and she wasn’t going to leave Em alone, either. She tapped out another text.

EMILY PARROTT IF YOU DO NOT ANSWER ME I AM COMING OVER THERE. NOW!

Three dots appeared almost immediately.

CAN’T TALK RIGHT NOW. GRANDPARENTS R HERE. I’LL CALL LATER. PROMISE.

Mercy sighed and chewed her lip. “Okay.” She spoke to the phone like Em could hear her. “But if you don’t I will come get you. Seriously.”

She drummed her fingers against the table as she turned her attention back to the grimoires and the spells she needed to combine. It was easy—comfortable—to focus on spellwork. It was something she could do to make at least part of the chaos around her right again.

Mercy was listing the ingredients she’d need for her oil and realizing she should go upstairs and get her own grimoire so she could record this new protective and healing spell when several loud knocks on the front door made her jump. Momentarily confused, she glanced at the old clock in the foyer as she headed to the door and was surprised to see almost two hours had passed while she’d been researching. She didn’t have to peek out the front window to see him standing there. She could feel that it was Kirk. Mercy smoothed back her long, dark hair and opened the door.

“Babe! Man, it’s good to see you!” He stepped inside and engulfed her in a hug