Enchanted Read online

  Contents

  Blurb

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Also by Daisy Prescott

  About Daisy Prescott

  True love. An old enemy. It begins where it ends.

  Two months ago, I didn’t believe in magic.

  Sure, I’d cast a love spell involving glitter and peppercorns, but come on … even I didn’t think some pink pepper could make a man fall in love with me.

  How quickly I’ve changed.

  Seeing is believing, and watching Andrew light a fire with only his hands definitely changed my mind.

  My former crush, the brooding, beautiful Andrew Wildes, is now my boyfriend.

  And a witch. A real one.

  The question is, am I?

  Copyright © Daisy Prescott 2017; All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design: RE Creatives

  Cover image: Depositphotos.com

  Editing: There for You Editing

  Proofreading: Proofing Style

  ISBN: 978-0-9988582-7-2

  First Print Edition: October 2017

  For every woman who owns her power.

  The beginning is always today.

  ~Mary Shelley

  One

  Two months ago, I didn’t believe in magic.

  Sure, I’d cast a love spell involving glitter and peppercorns, but come on … even I didn’t think some pink pepper could make a man fall in love with me.

  How quickly I’ve changed.

  Seeing is believing, and watching Andrew light a fire with only his hands definitely changed my mind.

  My former crush, the brooding, beautiful Andrew Wildes, is now my boyfriend.

  And a witch. A real one.

  The question is, am I?

  I’d think I’d know. Wouldn’t I?

  According to Sarah, Andrew’s mom, most witches don’t come into their powers until they turn twenty-one. I’m evidently a late bloomer because I’ve been twenty-one for over a month, and so far, nothing.

  Every week since Halloween, I meet with Sarah in her shop in Salem. She makes tea and then we try to figure out if I inherited any gifts from my ancestor, Mary Bradbury. According to Sarah, Mary escaped the infamous trials by fleeing Salem. As a cat.

  It’s a lot to process.

  Everything I’ve believed about the world has shifted. Yet on the surface, life is as boring and normal as ever.

  My best friend, Sam, still does tarot readings and practices Wicca. And pines over Tate Winthrop.

  Luke Hamilton continues to be a toad, but a slightly more likable amphibian.

  In class, Professor Philips discusses Hawthorne while wearing elbow patches on his tweed jacket. For the hundredth time, he admonishes us to not wait until the very last minute to start our final papers. His gray beard is more scraggly than normal, and his hair looks like he got caught in a windstorm.

  Thankfully the semester is almost over.

  “Tick tock. Tick tock.” Philips taps the ancient watch on his wrist. The glass is clouded and stained amber like someone spilled tea inside of it. “You have until tomorrow at ten o’clock to turn in your papers.

  “Please take pity on me and drop them off early so I may enjoy The Nutcracker in Boston on Saturday instead of reading papers into the wee hours.”

  Andrew’s warm breath tickles my ear as he leans close to whisper, “How long has yours been finished?”

  “Last week.” If I turned my head, our lips would touch. He’s too tempting, so I shift in my seat, putting enough distance between us to look at him. “You?”

  “I finished two weeks ago when I had nothing better to do. All my finals projects are done. I have one exam left tomorrow morning, and then this semester is over.” He brushes his long fingers through the mess of dark hair he can never tame. Personally, I love his permanent bedhead.

  A sense of relief settles over me. “Thank goodness. I can’t wait to get off campus this weekend.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to ditch our friends?” He lifts his dark eyebrows and pushes up his unnecessary glasses, a leftover from his “boring guy” disguise utilized to avoid detection. The thick black frames barely temper the force of his icy blue eyes. “We haven’t had any time alone since your birthday do-over dinner.”

  I sigh. It’s tempting, especially when he stares at me like he can read every thought in my head and knows exactly the affect he has on me.

  “Let’s ditch our friends and run away.” He gives me a soft smile, and I melt.

  I blink a few times to clear my head. “I can’t. It’s tradition for Sam and I to spend the weekend after finals together. In the summer we crash at my grandparent’s cottage on the Cape. Winter at the farmhouse is our early Christmas before we go our separate ways.”

  “I’m looking forward to seeing this farmhouse.”

  “You’ll probably be bored. It’s in the woods and there’s nothing to do but puzzles, drink hot chocolate, eat, and nap. My grandmother bakes constantly, so it’s completely impossible to ever go hungry. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she was trying to fatten us up like the wit—” I stop myself from saying the witch from Hansel and Gretel.

  “Witch. You can say the word. As far as I know, the Grimm brothers didn’t know any real witches. Hence the stereotypes. I’ve never met anyone who wanted to eat children. Plus, a house made of gingerbread is entirely unrealistic and unsustainable in the New England weather.”

  His super serious tone makes me laugh.

  “No, not realistic. Think of the squirrel infestations.” I tuck a lock of my dark bob behind my ear. I chopped off my hair earlier this semester. It’s finally growing back and mostly long enough to put in a ponytail.

  He rests his hand on my chair as he stands. “Out of curiosity, is this your father’s mom?”

  “Yes, Grandma Bradbury. My grandfather passed away when I was in high school. She refuses to move, even though the house and the land are too much for one person. Somehow, she manages with help from my parents and other family. Says the house has been in the family too long to walk away.” After gathering my stuff, I shove it into my bag. “She’ll be happy to have the company.”

  “I look forward to meeting her.” He steps back to give me room to stand.

  “When can you and Tate be ready to leave on Friday?”

  “Two? He needs his beauty sleep. And we have to make sure the residents clear out of the dorm. The joys of being Resident Assistants.” Andrew’s frown tells me there is no joy in being on duty in the residence halls.

  “All that power.” I bump his shoulder with my own. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

  I could be talking about his official powers on campus, but he’s the son of the most powerful witch in Salem.

  Andrew chuckles. “I’ll remember that. One year we had a guy hide in his closet because he didn’t want to go home. Same kid who cried when his parents dropped him off at the beginning of the semester.”

  “How did he plan to survive without the cafeteria?” Our fellow students are a bunch of weirdos.

  “He’d stockpiled cereal, crackers, and packets of hot choc
olate, stolen from the dining hall.”

  “I can’t imagine choosing that over going home.”

  “Some people have horrible parents.”

  Andrew would know. His father seems like a nightmare.

  “Speaking of …” I leave my sentence unfinished.

  “No, I haven’t spoken to him since we figured out the curse and his role in it.” Andrew grimaces.

  I can’t imagine one of my parents trying to keep me from falling in love. Or being loved. No decent person could ever be so despicable. “Does he still call multiple times a day?”

  “He does, but I let him fill up my voicemail. Now he can’t leave a message. That will make him apoplectic.” Andrew grins at the idea.

  “Will he show up instead if he can’t reach you?”

  “He avoids the North Shore at all costs. I believe he once referred to Salem as a provincial hell hole.”

  “The more you tell me about him, the more charming he sounds.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I hope you never meet him.” His eyes go cold and hard.

  “Sounds good with me.” I slip my hand into his and squeeze. Glancing around, I realize everyone else has left. Emboldened by the empty room, I give him a quick kiss at the corner of his mouth. His cheek curves as he smiles beneath my lips.

  “What would Professor Philips think of such a display of affection?” he murmurs before kissing me properly, leaving my mouth too occupied to give my opinion.

  The kiss becomes more as our tongues sweep against one another. When his hand slips beneath my sweater, his skin blazes against my waist, I wonder if anyone has ever christened the seminar table and how much trouble would we be in if someone discovered us.

  “We should go before I block the door with the bookcase,” he says between pecks against my lips.

  Part of me wants to find out if he’d move it with brawn or magic. “How?”

  “With my brutal man strength. Of course.” He winks at me. “For someone who didn’t believe in magic, you’re obsessed with my special skills.”

  He’s right. Something about his abilities makes me lose rational thought. “I’d be just as happy to watch you use brute strength.”

  Shirtless, I think, but I keep that part to myself.

  The hall is empty when we walk to the building door. Outside, darkness has replaced the weak December afternoon sunlight.

  A bulb in the chandelier above us flickers a couple of times before snapping out, dimming the light in the foyer.

  “You?” I ask Andrew.

  “No. Were you hoping for more romantic lighting?” He steps closer and presses a kiss to my lips.

  “I never know what’s magic and what’s coincidence anymore.”

  We step outside and the bulb in the lamppost at the bottom of the steps blinks out.

  My eyes shift to Andrew. “Okay, once is a coincidence.”

  “I swear it’s not me.” His expression flattens and he stares in the gloaming.

  A creepy feeling of being watched settles over me. “Let’s get out of here.”

  He grips my fingers tighter. “What is it?”

  “All the tiny hairs on my arm went on high alert. Feels like someone is out there, watching. Waiting for us.”

  He sweeps his arm out and gently draws me against him, placing his body in front of mine. His hold on me is tight and he radiates adrenaline. Spinning us around, he wraps his arms around me, so my back is to the lawn as I face him.

  I listen, searching for footsteps or menacing noises. I’m not sure if I’m expecting snarling, but whatever is out there isn’t friendly.

  “Kiss me,” he commands, brushing his mouth against mine.

  “Now?” I whisper back.

  “Trust me.”

  Even with my eyes closed, I’m too tense to fully enjoy the feel of his lips on mine. I give up and lift my lids. Andrew’s eyes are also open and he’s staring over my shoulder.

  “Can you see anything?”

  A small herd of dried leaves rustles across the sidewalk near our feet, blown by a breeze that didn’t exist a moment ago. They swirl and dance, falling down the steps and over the lawn; their sound muffled as they skitter across the dead grass.

  “You?” I stare into his crystal blue eyes.

  He doesn’t break his focus when he kisses my lips. “Me. If something, or someone is out there, I want to be sure they know who I am.”

  “No more hiding?” My voice cracks over the thought of a strange witch stalking us.

  He drops his gaze to mine and holds it. “I made myself known at the full moon bonfire. There’s no going back now.”

  I drag my teeth over my bottom lip as the fight or flight energy leaves my body. “I think we’re alone again.”

  When the lamp post doesn’t re-illuminate, I’m disappointed. I stare at it for a few seconds.

  Andrew clears his throat. “We should go to Tate’s house.”

  “Emergency coven gathering?” I imagine a witch version of the bat signal in the night sky. It’d probably still be a bat. Or maybe a black cat?

  He bops my nose. “No, it’s our tradition to have a small gathering at the house after finals. Everyone else is done, but me.”

  “A party sounds much better than loitering around in the dark here.”

  I focus on the light bulb enclosed by glass. Nothing.

  We’re halfway down the steps when our shadows reappear in the soft glow of the lamppost light.

  “You?” he asks.

  “Unless it’s a delayed reaction, no.” I assumed he flipped the light back on. I wish I didn’t sound disappointed.

  Two

  We swing by my room, so I can change and collect Sam for the party. She’d never forgive me if I went to Tate’s without her.

  It’s not the house she loves. Although the words grand and magnificent come to mind when I think about the Winthrop family summerhouse.

  “Remind me again which robber baron built this house?” I step out of Andrew’s nondescript, older, black Audi 4.

  “Don’t let Tate hear you call his family new money.” Andrew holds his hand over his heart.

  Sam closes her door. “Tate’s family is old compared to everyone but the Bradfords. The Winthrops made their initial fortune in England, and then in politics and the fur trade here.”

  “Bunch of Mayflower followers,” Andrew fake-grumbles. “Damn, I sound like my father.”

  The same feeling of unease from the quad prickles up my spine. Any mention of the man gives me the heebie-jeebies. Who puts a hex on his son? A curse against love? The worst kind of person. Stanford Bradford, that’s who.

  We climb the wide stone steps to the front door. Without all of the festive Halloween decorations, the house reminds me of a dowager countess—impossibly old, yet still elegant. Not warm, or friendly, but impressive.

  Site of Tate and Andrew’s annual Halloween blowout, the house looks different without ghosts hanging from the trees and a giant spider dominating the lawn. No holiday lights brighten the enormous stone front.

  Yet it manages to still feel imposing.

  “I can’t believe this is their summer house. Nothing says relaxation like a grand portico,” I mumble to myself.

  “Gargoyles ruin the relaxation vibe.” Andrew doesn’t hide his amusement as he slips his fingers between mine. “That’s for the winter palace.”

  Sam squeaks beside me.

  “He’s joking. No one has a palace,” I reassure her.

  When Andrew doesn’t immediately confirm, I add, “Right?”

  “Don’t be silly. His extended family lives in modest Federal brownstones in Beacon Hill like the rest of the hoi polloi.” His smile is teasing.

  Sam’s eyes are dessert plate wide. I think knowing her crush is the one percent of the one percent kind of wealthy might be freaking her out. She and I both come from solid middle-class families, completely boring and average in every way.

  The same isn’t true for Andrew and the gia
nt with the dark blond dreadlocks who’s just answered the front door.

  “Since when do you knock, Wildes? Were the windows locked?” Tate slaps his best friend’s shoulder and grins at all of us. “Come in, come in. Don’t let out the heat. Not even a Winthrop can afford to keep this place warm.”

  I doubt that.

  “Some say the old manse is full of drafts, but I prefer to call them ghosts. How boring to have a house over two hundred years old that isn’t haunted. Complete disappointment if you ask me.” Tate’s walking and talking to us over his shoulder, leading us across the grand foyer and into the library.

  A fire burns in the oversized fireplace with its huge stone mantle. Golden glass eyes glow in the owl-shaped fire irons. Three enormous leather couches fill the not so small space. A few people I vaguely recognize occupy the two closest to the fire.

  “Everyone, this is the rest of everyone.” Tate makes a general sweeping movement around the room to introduce us. “You should all know each other.”

  Andrew smiles and greets the couple sprawled on one of the couches. With their dark curly hair and dark eyes, they could be twins. Siblings or couple, I’m not sure, but Andrew introduces them to me. “Everett and Aldie, this is my girlfriend, Madison.”

  No one seems surprised by the label. However, my back straightens with pride at my new title. I still can’t believe he’s my boyfriend. I wave at the collective group and move closer to the warmth of the grand fire.

  “Who needs liquid refreshment?” Andrew asks the group.

  “I can help.” Sam steps next to him.

  “To the kitchen!” Tate links their arms and spins both of them out the door.

  “Is the house really haunted?” I ask Andrew.

  Resting on the arm of the closest sofa, he stretches his long, black jean covered legs out and crosses his ankles. “Depends on how you define haunted. Is a possessed doll going to come to life and kill you to avenge the unfortunate and gruesome death of a child? Probably not.”

  I swear my eyes bug out of my head. “Probably?”