Witching Tree (Alice Gray Book 1)

7

The hasty check that I'd performed last night didn't seem nearly adequate now, in the cold light of day.

I'd relied on my emotional responses, assuming that the tree was unharmed because the usual feelings of dread emerged when I opened its box. I cursed my lack of care. How could I have been so flippant?

Hurrying into my bedroom, my eyes shot to the brown paper box. Sitting on the bed I pulled open the top flaps. Silver branches sprang up and flexed; their movement, a joyous appreciation of freedom. I carefully removed the silver tree from the box and placed it on the palm of my hand. The base of the trunk was much larger than my hand, and I was surprised all over again at how easy it was to hold. Intricate roots wound together to form an uneven base that supported the tree as it rested on my palm.

Stimulated by my body's autonomic responses: the blood pumping through my veins and the breath moving in and out of my lungs, the tree bristled with life and movement. As far as I could tell without destroying it, there were no mechanical devices. Just the delicate flexibility of the silver material and the workmanship of a master silversmith.

Wonder filled me as I considered the lifelike model of a mature oak. It bore little resemblance to the fragile sapling that I'd found in a box on my doorstep five years ago. Full branches bowed under the weight of heavy leaves that jingled when it gently moved. The sweet chimes sang a chaotic but beautiful tune.

I had no idea when that had happened, how it had grown, and it saddened me. Guilt for keeping it boxed up for all this time weighed me down, as though it was a conscious being, with a right to freedom.

But it disturbed me too much to keep it on show.

The deep and unshakeable dread was with me now, warring with the sensations of its visual beauty and acoustic charm. My bruised head couldn't deal with the sensory overload or explain the phenomenon of its growth. Just the sight of it reminded me how little I understood of the world around me.

"What is that? It's beautiful," Evan whispered from the doorway. He'd brought two steaming mugs of tea, which he set onto the dresser without looking away from the tree sat on my palm. His eyes widened into pools of grief as he took in its haunting beauty.

A wave of possessiveness washed over me. "Nothing. Just a family heirloom."

A flurry of angry chimes objected as I packed it back up, away from prying eyes. But for the first time, it was with the intention of looking again, and soon. For, however much the tree unsettled me, I didn't want it to fall into anyone else's possession.

It was mine, for better or worse.

I pushed the box as far back into the closet as I could with my foot, relief flooding me, as it always did when I returned the ornament to its hiding place.

Evan's body twisted towards the closet, even though he was facing the wrong direction. Confusion flashed over his features as he shuffled his feet around to regain his balance. Angled towards the box in the closet, he stood, motionless with his back to me. The seconds ticked by, stretching out to feel like minutes while he struggled with his urge to see the tree again.

That wasn't going to happen. Not on my watch.

"Evan?"

He didn't even flinch.

"EVAN!"

"Hmm," he mumbled, head turning a fraction in my direction before being drawn back to the tree.

"You came to help me, remember?" I asked, reaching for his hand.

When our skin connected, the warm buzz that I'd experienced before magnified to an uncomfortable intensity. Evan's head whipped round as the sensation registered in his distracted brain. His bright blue eyes met mine, zeroing in, fixing me where I sat.

The heat between us flared, drawing a gasp from somewhere deep inside me as it reached my core.

Then it was over. Evan dropped my hand and looked away, an adorable blush spreading over his pale cheeks.

It was only when he glanced back at the closet that I realised that his embarrassment had more to do with the tree than the heat of our connection.

Disappointed, my gaze swept around the room. There was no way I was losing him to the tree again. Time to get back on track.

If not the tree, what could the thieves have been after?

As with the rest of the house, everything here had been carefully tidied. All my clothes had been neatly folded and piled on my bed.

"Was this you?" I asked Evan. "With it tidied like this, I can't tell what they were after."

"Found this in the kitchen," Evan said, handing me a folded piece of thick white paper.

Alice, I have removed the most damaged books for repair. I hope this is acceptable. Thomas.

What the hell!

How could Thomas think it was ok to rifle through my possessions? Dismay froze my veins as I thought of him handling my clothes. Even my underwear had been pulled out of its drawer and was now neatly placed into piles on my bed.

Crap, why couldn't I have updated my lingerie selection? I'd never have thought in a million years that so many people would see it in such a short amount of time.

If I had been able to examine the mess myself, I might have been able to understand the intruder's motives. Not only was any evidence now destroyed, but Thomas had committed a second violation of my space.

I passed Evan the note that Thomas had left on the counter.

"Really?" A suspicious look clouded Evan's face.

"Yeah, don't ask me why," I shrugged.

"You've got to be kidding," Evan looked at me with skepticism.

"No, why?"

"Alice, about Thomas, there's something not quite right..." Evan trailed off, unsure how to proceed. "Never mind, have some tea," he finished hurriedly.

"Okay," I said, confused. I really didn't have time to consider Thomas's bullshit right now.

So far, nothing was missing other than the damaged books that Thomas had taken. Back in the bedroom, I looked at the piles of stuff, no-one would bother with my department store clothes.

What else was there?

My jewellery box. All it contained was my mother's pendant and a few of her old letters. They were from my father. My mother had treasured them and it felt disrespectful to throw them out after she died. He'd been killed in a road accident a few weeks after I was born. She had taken solace from them since then, and I hoped that I would now.

I opened the box. The letters had been taken out of their envelopes, but they looked intact.

The pendant was gone.