The room fell silent as everyone took in my sudden appearance.
Aunt Vonda’s eyes roamed over me as if I were a ghost.
Gran was the first to recover, her face shifting from shock to understanding. A recognition of something more powerful at play.
To my left, Diana shot up from her chair, knocking it over in her haste. Her face was a mask of desperation at my unexpected arrival.
I offered her a small smile and turned my attention to little Deedee, who was sleeping in my bed. I reached out and gave her tiny foot a gentle squeeze.
She woke with a start, and the sound of a baby’s cries filled the room.
Everyone’s heads whipped around, and Diana and her husband bolted from the table to their daughter.
Their heavy footsteps echoed through the house until they were out of earshot, replaced by the faint sound of Diana’s relieved sobs.
I gave my other cousins a small smile before turning back to Gran, who had fully recovered from her initial shock.
I glanced at her empty teacup, then met her gaze. “Gran, I need you to be honest with me. Did you kill Ewan Jones?”
The silence in the room deepened, becoming almost tangible. My family’s mouths hung open in shock at my question as I held Gran’s gaze.
Margaret Wardwell started to speak, but only a stutter came out before she closed her mouth again.
She glanced at the teacup briefly before looking back at me.
I tried to keep my expression neutral, but a small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. We both knew she couldn’t lie.
With the power of my blood compelling her, she had to answer.
“Tell me the truth, Margaret. Did you kill my father, Ewan Jones?”
She lifted her head with a regal air, a hint of pride in her demeanor as she said, “Yes.”
Instead of the shock and gasps I expected, my family’s faces were filled with sadness and disbelief.
I nodded to myself. I’d known it was a possibility. Jolene had hinted as much about her own mother. But I’d always held out hope. It was strange to hope your mother had lied to you.
“Kelly, before you jump to conclusions, let me show you.”
Margaret walked towards me, a softer, kinder look on her face. It was unusual for my stern grandmother. “You’ve heard one side of the story. Let me tell you mine. Let me show you mine.”
Her voice trembled slightly at the end, and I looked at her again, tears welling up at the thought of my Gran being soft and kind.
Even after I’d accused her of murder, and she’d confessed.
I nodded silently, and she placed a hand on the side of my head, gripping the back. Another hand, invisible but firm, rested on my other shoulder.
I ignored it and focused on Gran as she prepared herself, bringing up old memories. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, ready to watch.
Margaret Wardwell approached Ewan and Jolene’s house with a determined stride.
I watched Gran’s memory as if I were a spectator, viewing a scene from fifteen years ago through a camera placed just behind her left shoulder.
The house was still standing, untouched by fire. It was the night of the fire.
Gran, her hair less gray than it is now, marched up the steps of my front porch. She knocked on the door with a clenched fist.
A moment later, my father, Ewan Jones, opened the door. I had to swallow a sob at the sight of him.
Margaret’s memory was so vivid, so real, that I felt like I could reach out and touch him.
He was tall, with a strong jaw and eyes that mirrored my own. But his eyes were tired, worn. His red hair was shaggy, and his overall appearance was unkempt.
He looked older and rougher than I remembered. He was wearing a blue tank top and black sweatpants, a beer bottle dangling from his hand.
Beyond my twelve-year-old hero worship, Ewan Jones was a sad, angry man. He opened the door wide and gave Margaret a withering look.
“Ewan, may I come in?”
“They’re not here, Margaret. They’re at Vonda’s. Kelly’s having a sleepover with her cousins,” he replied, his Welsh accent still thick after all these years in America.
“That’s fine,” Gran responded, her voice equally stiff. “I came to see you. Some mail arrived for you today.” She pulled out a thick envelope from behind her back and held it up.
He reached out to take it, but she pulled it back.
“It’s from the British consulate in LA,” she said tersely.
He sighed heavily and walked back into the house, leaving the front door open.
Margaret followed him in, slamming the door behind her. She turned her head, and I could see her profile, her face set in a grim expression.
She followed him into the living room, where he was leaning against the fireplace mantel, staring into the flames.
“What do you want, Margaret?” he asked, not bothering to look at her.
“Why are there visas and passports in this envelope, Ewan?” She slapped the envelope onto the coffee table between them.
He didn’t move from the mantel, but his body language showed his growing agitation.
“Are you surprised? You made Kelly an outcast with that spectacle last month, failing her in front of everyone. Kids can be cruel, Margaret. Did you think there wouldn’t be consequences? Do you think I can just sit here and watch her go through that? Watch someone as strong as she is supposed to be take that?”
Margaret started pacing behind the couch, a confused look on her face. “You know why I did it. We can’t risk her bringing out…the other side, if it’s even there.
“Do you think I want to see my granddaughter go through something like that?”
Ewan backed away from the fire, lifting his hands as if he was about to reveal a secret. “Alright! Let’s get to the heart of the matter.
“Margaret, your constant hatred for the ‘weres’ is getting tiresome. Especially since you use that pack across the river like they’re your personal guard dogs. It’s a bit hypocritical, don’t you think?”
Margaret brushed off his jab. “Ewan… What are the visas for?”
He took a swig from his beer, a look of resignation on his face. “Seems like you’ve already figured it out, Margaret.”
“But…you said… You told me there was…an agreement about your firstborn daughter with that pack.”
My father took another, longer sip from his beer, his gaze fixed on the fire as he pondered his response. The silence stretched on.
Finally, he pulled the bottle away from his lips and turned to face her. “There is,” he confirmed.
“But if you went back, then Kelly would—”
“Yes, she would.”
“What are you thinking? How could you possibly think this is a good idea?”
“Besides, I have a feeling his son, Rhys, is going to grow into a fine man. His mother was a beauty, at least.” His words were soft, almost as if he was trying to convince himself.
Margaret remained silent, lost in thought. She paced the room, the sound of her soft shoes echoing. Finally, she stopped and faced him, shaking her head once.
“No, Ewan. I’m sorry. This is madness, giving Kelly away—”
“She’ll probably be the most protected girl in the county. She might even be encouraged to go on a few dates when she’s older. Who knows? She might even like the boy.
“Besides, plenty of parents still arrange marriages these days.”
My grandmother looked at him in horror from across the room. “I can’t believe you’d be so selfish. That you’d uproot both of them from their homes to a place notorious for burning witches.”
“This isn’t just for me…,” he weakly argued.
“Like hell it isn’t!”
Ewan had finally had enough, and he shouted back, “Okay! Fine! Maybe it is a little. Do you know what it’s like to be what I am, what Kelly will be, without a pack?!
“To not change and feel that sensation on your skin? It’s torture, Margaret. I miss my maim, my lands, the ocean, the salt. Everything!”
“If you need to go so badly, just leave, and leave Kelly.”
Ewan turned and growled at her.
Margaret’s voice softened as she tried to reason with him.
“Ewan, you can’t be serious. Dragging her halfway across the world from everything she knows and then throwing her to some mutts. And then if she somehow took a life when she…”
Ewan was done with the conversation. His anger seemed to have drained away, leaving him leaning on the mantel for support.
“It’s done, Margaret. I’ve already written to my mother and told her we’re coming. We have a flight next week.”
“What does Jolene think about this?”
“She thinks we’re going on a vacation. She’s over at Vonda’s planning it right now.
“But…she’s a witch. They’ll kill her, Ewan.”
He sank into the chair, as if becoming part of it. “She’s fine. She doesn’t have that old witch smell. Not like”—he sniffed the air slightly—“you, though even you don’t have it half the time.
“And my name still carries weight. We’ll be fine.”
Gran stiffened but remained still, her face showing the wheels turning inside her head, clearly not finished with her part of the conversation.
My father seemed to know she had more to say, and he leaned back in his chair, resting the beer bottle on his thigh while he continued staring into the fire.
He looked lost, sitting there, arguing with a woman twice his age, his mother-in-law no less. A woman with a force of will no man could ever hope to beat.
But he had chosen to ask for forgiveness rather than permission, and he was done.
After pacing a few more lengths of the room, she finally stopped in front of him. “I’m sorry, Ewan, but no. I’m sorry you’ve found life here difficult. We’ve tried to make you feel at home.
“You may leave and resume your life before you met my daughter. But I will not let you take my granddaughter and use her to barter your way back into your pack.”
My father jumped to his feet and violently threw the beer bottle into the fireplace, a look of rage on his face. The bottle shattered, and sparks flew out of the hearth and onto the rug.
His fists clenched at his sides, Ewan stepped toward Gran and towered over her, trying to intimidate her.
My mouth nearly fell open at the violence my father displayed.
He looked like he was about to hit my grandmother, a slender sixty-year-old woman. He looked like a fierce and proud alpha. He looked like Deian Maddock.
With that single look on his face, he was so foreign, so different from my memories of him. Had I ever really known him?
After a tense moment of staring each other down with neither backing down, my father gritted out through his teeth, “We are leaving, Margaret.
“You didn’t want Kelly in your precious little club, but mine will happily take her.”
Gran squared her shoulders, adding a little bit more to her height before replying, “That’s enough, Ewan. You are no longer welcome on commune lands.”
“Be ready to leave by morning. I’ll let Kelly and Jolene know.” She turned her back to him, and his face twisted with anger at her words.
His fist clenched, raised in the air. He pulled it back, lunging forward to strike her from behind.
But Gran lifted her hand and snapped her fingers.
Ewan’s body fell to the floor, heavy as a sack of stones.
Gran turned to look at him, pity etched on her face. I understood then what she’d done.
She’d put him to sleep, shutting down that tiny spark of consciousness in his brain.
She stood over him, silent, her thoughts almost audible in the quiet room.
My dad loved me. He would never have wanted us to be separated, no matter what he thought the future held. Family was everything.
He’d once longed for his pack, but he couldn’t return to Wales and reclaim his ancestral lands without me.
If he did, he’d have to start over. Love again, raise another family. Live under the watchful eyes of the Maddock clan.
They might even throw one of their trafficked girls at him, hoping for a child.
He couldn’t leave me, but he couldn’t leave without me. And Gran, it seemed, had strong feelings about my future. She was my champion.
I looked at him on the floor, still in shock that he’d tried to hit Gran. It was a sickening display of violence.
She was at a crossroads.
An ember on the floor near my father’s leg began to smoke, the rug beneath it darkening. The gravity of the moment took my breath away as I watched Gran’s memory unfold.
My father was going to hand me over to the Maddock pack. He wouldn’t stop, and she probably couldn’t stop him.
She waved her hand over the ember, and a small flame sprang up from the carpet.
She took a deep breath, then started walking toward the front door, her palm still open toward the floor.
A trail of fire followed her through the house and down the hallway. She glanced down the passage, and an electrical outlet sparked, a flame licking the wall above it.
She was setting the house on fire. Down the hall and in the rooms, the crackle of electricity echoed, and smoke began to billow out of the bedrooms.
It wouldn’t be long before the house was engulfed.
Margaret looked back into the living room. My father lay on the floor, surrounded by a ring of fire.
She turned and walked out the front door, closing it behind her. As she turned, I saw a tear slide down her cheek before she quickly wiped it away.
Something crashed inside the house, and Margaret walked down the porch steps, her spirit noticeably dimmed.
She turned to face the house, the chaos she’d created. I guessed she wanted to see it through to the end, to make sure Ewan didn’t wake up and escape, either in a rage or on fire.
The front window exploded, flames pouring out, and the inside of the house was fully ablaze.
A scream echoed from the woods, and Margaret turned, startled, to see my mother running from the forest path. She rushed over to Gran, her voice filled with disbelief and panic.
“Mom…what… Where’s Ewan? Is he in there?” Jolene didn’t wait for an answer before she dashed toward the porch stairs.
Margaret caught her daughter’s arm before she could run into the burning house.
“Jolene…don’t. It’s too late.”
My mother turned, pulling her arm from Margaret’s grip. She shouted over the roar of the fire. “What are you talking about? Mom, help me put this out!”
Jolene raised her hands to the front door, now covered in flames, and pushed them down. The fire on the door was immediately extinguished by my mother’s will, and she ran up the steps and kicked the door open.
Jolene coughed as she stepped inside, raising her arms again, trying to smother the fire with the power only a few Wardwell women possessed.
She brought her arms down again, but the fire remained. She looked back to see Margaret still at the bottom of the steps.
From behind Gran’s shoulder, I looked up at my mother. Her face was streaked with tears and smoke, twisted with fear and panic.
“Mom! What are you doing?! Help me! I can’t put it out by myself,” she screamed, and I felt tears slide down my own face.
My poor mother. Crying and begging for help from a woman who refused to give it, all to save her granddaughter.
Margaret gestured to my mother, beckoning her to come out.
“Get out of there, Jolene, and I’ll explain everything,” she called, her voice steady.
Jolene’s eyes widened, and she took a step toward the exit. “Did you…did you do this?”
“Jolene, get out here right now!” Margaret shouted, her voice laced with frustration at her daughter’s disobedience.
A strange look crossed my mother’s face, and it took me a moment to realize what it was. Understanding. My mother understood what had happened.
She knew that Margaret had set the fire, and my father was inside.
Jolene shook her head once and bit her lip, tears and snot streaking her grimy face as she stood on the threshold.
The house was now completely engulfed, and if she took another step in, she would be too.
Without another word to Margaret, Jolene turned and covered her head with her hands, screaming out my father’s name as she ran into the inferno.
I pulled my head back from the hand that was still clutching it. I found myself back in the dining room. My family was still seated at the table, watching as Gran and I journeyed through her past.
A damp chill ran down my neck, and as I swiped my hand across my face, I realized I’d shed more tears than I’d thought while under Gran’s influence.
I sniffed, wiping away the remnants of my tears, and took a deep breath before speaking. “You could have made that up, remembered it differently,” I accused her, my voice barely above a whisper.
Gran shot me a look of pity before I quickly added, “But…you didn’t, did you?”
She shook her head in denial.
I’d always believed that only the spirit of my deceased father could convince me that Jolene hadn’t been his killer. But now, through my grandmother’s memories, he had.
The truth, however, was far from anything I could have predicted. The phantom hand that had been resting on my shoulder lifted, and I heard a whispered word.
Suddenly, I felt my mother’s presence behind me. My aunt and cousins gasped, and Aunt Vonda slowly rose from the table, her gaze fixed on her departed sister.
Across from me, Gran grimaced, not at all surprised. It was clear she hadn’t shared with anyone what she knew about my disappearance and the events in the caves.
Jolene had witnessed my gran’s memories through our bond, finally seeing the truth about her husband’s death after fifteen long years of unanswered questions.
I turned to face her, aware of the potential for malice she possessed. A single tear slid down her beautiful, furious face, and her icy gaze was locked on my grandmother as she whispered a single word filled with cold fury.
“Murderer.”
