Southern Secrets: Book 2 in Southern Charms Series

Hiding

I stopped counting at one hundred, but I didn't stop watching raindrops drip from the eaves of my hiding place. Like gray diamonds they clung to the edge, stretching until the tear shape almost disappeared. Then, the tension broke and they rushed downward, their glassy shells filling with dim daylight before splatting onto the ground. All that they were- gone- absorbed into the soil.

    My eyes tracked upwards to catch the next drops forming, knowing already that they would fail to hold on, and the voice inside me- the one growing stronger everyday- whispered that the rain had a better chance of not falling than I did of not failing.

    "Rose! Rose Wych!"

    The discordant tones of my new teacher, Cybil Flowers, rattled about the school yard, and I tugged my knees closer to my chest, making sure the tips of my boots didn't peak beyond the barrier. For two weeks now, I'd been a student at the Francis Barrett Academy of Witchcraft despite lacking the all so important craft part of being a witch. It had been my father's idea, and one of the rare occasions Mama agreed with him.

To be honest, I agreed as well. After all, I couldn't go back to St. Augustine's now that we'd wiped Flannery's memory, and my lack of basic magical knowledge had nearly led to my demise on more than one occasion. But being here was made more difficult by two factors outside of my missing magic.

Ash was studying advanced courses.

And ten year olds were mean.

Avoiding Ash was easy enough. Especially considering he didn't seem to want to be around me. Could I blame the guy, really? If refusing to speak to him for weeks wasn't bad enough, I had to go and get caught sneaking off in the opposite direction just to keep him from seeing me.

I picked at the polish on my nails as I recalled  the blank expression he wore when we parted ways. That hurt worse than seeing anger or sadness. It was like he didn't care.

"Rose! Mary, have you seen the youngest Wych girl?"

I bit back a groan. Mary Waldrop was the Headmaster, and she was a witch in every sense of the word. Her daughter, Lilith was a carbon copy, and she was the one who drove me into hiding today, the little gap-toothed, red-headed menace... I rolled my eyes. Who was she to call me a dim-witted, magical moron? Really, where did she learn words like that at ten?

   I leaned back so I could line my eye up with the slight crack in the shed's wall. Mary and Cybil stood next to each other, both of them scanning the yard. Rain stopped just above their heads, striking an invisible barrier and sliding down around them in a gentle stream.

"Don't waste your time looking for her, Cybil. Go back and focus on the children with talent."

Cybil's forehead creased. "Well, now, Mary. Some witches just need a little extra work."

Good old Cybil. She might sound like nails on a chalkboard, but she tried to be kind. "Of course, teaching my tone deaf granddaughter how to sing the national anthem was easier and had better results."

    That old bat.

    "Well, I for one think you deserve the highest praise for putting up with this nonsense. The girl is almost seventeen, and she can't light a candle. I thought the family was sensible the way they put her in that impoten school. No reason to be prideful. I mean, they have Harmony. Having her for a daughter is enough to hide any stain."

    My eye twitched, and my hand went to the locket warming my chest. All I had to do was break it, and they would see power. Saliva pooled in my mouth, and the muggy air felt electric. First, I'd summon flames. Just like Cybil had been trying to get me to do all week, only instead of a flicker barely strong enough to light a candle, it would be a plume of fire- blue bottomed and glaring red at the tips.

    The locket resisted the pressure of my hand, and I realized I need to yank it from my neck. Crush beneath my heel. And then I would be free.

    "Who are you hiding from, Rose?"

    A voice like thunderstorms and honey washed over me and beat back the strange haze. Jerking my hand free, I stared at the imprint in my skin, shuddering as something foreign skittered beneath my skin. Just like the doubting voice in my mind, he grew stronger everyday, finding ways to tempt me, but this was the closest I'd ever come. If Ash-

    "Ash," I said, shooting to my feet. Pricks of pain blossomed beneath my skin as blood rushed to my backside. How long had I been out here?

    He leaned against the door frame and raked his eyes over me slowly, but the shadows over his face hid his thoughts from me. So, I returned the favor. If he could so openly ogle me, then why couldn't I drink my fill? Even if it would hurt later, it felt good to be so close to him after all this time.

    But then I truly registered what I was seeing. It was the same handsome face. Golden skin stretched over chiseled cheekbones and a strong jaw. Enviable lashes fanning over cinnamon eyes. He'd gotten a haircut, leaving his curls longer on the top while the sides were shaved down. The patchy stubble was now a full five o'clock shadow, and I half wondered if its growth was magically assisted. That type of vanity didn't suit the boy I knew, but with just one look, I was beginning to understand that boy was no longer present.

    "You like what you see?" he asked, holding out his arms, causing the edge of his navy henley to rise high enough to let a strip of skin show between his shirt and pants. Pants that were a smidge tighter than I remembered him wearing. Not enough to fall under the banner of skinny jeans, but certainly tight enough to compliment his lean build.

    He shrugged off his black jacket and draped it over one arm while spinning around in a circle. The movement wasn't so fast that I missed the fresh black ink peeking out just below his shirt sleeve. When he caught me looking closer, he dragged his jacket back on and took a step back.

    "I see you got a makeover. Did Jemina help you? Did y'all google cliche bad boy looks?"

    Ash ran his hand through his hair, touseling the curls in a way that was far too purposeful. And far too effective, damn him, and damn my teenage hormones.

    "Figured I might as well start dressing the part since everyone has their mind made up."

    Whoever he was playing at, he wasn't a good enough actor to hide the pain in the words. I cocked my head to the side. "I know who you are."

    We stared at one another, saying nothing. The inches between us felt like miles. I wanted to ask him about the letter he left me, but I didn't know how to bridge the distance. What had once been so natural felt forced.

Charlie is safe. Don't stop believing in me.

    He didn't look possessed, but the demon prince was a skilled pretender. I shuffled closer, stepping out of the shelter of the building. Rain splashed on my head, soaking through my hair. I ignored it.

    Reaching for him, I whispered, "Malphas?"

    Ash's lips stretched into a thin line, and he moved as I reached for him.

    "Headmaster Mary," he shouted. "Looks like you've got someone skipping class."

    "Rose, is that you? Why on earth-"

    Cybil and Mary's voices grew louder, but I heard nothing they said. My focus was on the boy sprinting across the yard. He threw his leg over the motorcycle he'd parked against the school building and put the helmet over his head. The visor remained up as he started the engine, and I begged him to look at me one last time. Just to check for silver.

    But he flicked the visor shut and zipped down the road. Never once looking back.