Burkheart Witch Saga Book 3, Page 2

  At the back of the church, a man dressed in what appeared to be an expensive silk suit sat in a pew by himself. He stared directly at Grace with brilliant blue eyes that looked like two sparkling sapphires. A shiver traveled up her spine, and she stood there, unable to speak. She felt suddenly overwhelmed with grief. After a few moments of silence, she shook her head and returned to her seat.

  As the ornately carved casket was lowered into the ground later that day, Grace and Harold concentrated on consoling David. He was in a state of complete shock. The woman he had spent more than two decades loving was now just a shell that was being covered with dirt. He was just so lost. They walked away from the gravesite and went home to get ready for guests to arrive. Joy had prepared cookies, mini bacon wraps, and other foods that Kayla had loved. They would all sit and talk about their memories of Kayla. There was definitely no shortage of good stories to go around.

  Grace had prepared a protection potion that would prevent anything evil from entering the house while everyone was there. The last thing she needed was some jackass werewolf or vampire crashing the memorial, and she wanted everyone there to feel safe.

  Grace sat on the couch, holding David's hand on one side and Harold's on the other. She felt safe in this house. Maybe she and Harold would move back in for a while to take care of her dad until things settled down. David would probably be grateful for the help, and she would feel better that he was not spending all of his time alone in this big house.

  Watching Joy and Daisy refreshing coffee and taking empty plates to the kitchen, she was suddenly overcome by that same feeling she had felt in the church. Her legs became weak and her stomach sank. She looked over to the corner of the room and saw the same man from the church staring directly at her.

  He stood there, removed from the rest of the crowd, holding a cup of coffee but not drinking. For a moment, it seemed like he and Grace were the only two people in the world. Without taking his eyes off her, the man placed his coffee cup down on the table and walked over to where Grace sat. He paid no attention to David or her fiancé, even though both men postured, ready to protect her at a moment's notice.

  "Dear Grace, I am so sorry for your loss," he purred with a slight Middle Eastern accent while he reached into his pocket, retrieving a business card. "Please accept my deepest condolences."

  "Thank you," she replied, not knowing what to make of this dashing young man.

  His eyes were an even more brilliant blue when viewed at close range. He held the card up between his index and middle finger and offered it to her. When she reached out to take it, he placed the card in her palm, running his fingers lightly over her hand. She felt a surge of electricity pass through her arm. It was not sexual in any way; she actually found the handsome man to be unsettling at best.

  "If you need anything at all, please do not hesitate to call me." With that, he turned and walked out the front door.

  "Who was that?" Harold asked, slightly ruffled by the dark-haired stranger.

  "I have no idea." She looked at the card in her hand.

  * * *

  Roland Stillson

  Procurement Specialist

  Obtaining That Which You Desire

  (360) 555-0729

  * * *

  "I have no idea," Grace repeated, still not knowing what to make of the strange young man in the expensive suit.

  The guests issued their condolences and filed out of the house. Harold asked if she would like him to stay, but she just wanted to be alone with her father for a while. After the last of them had left, Grace took off the black dress and put on jeans and a t-shirt. She could not spend one more minute wearing Kayla's dress. It still smelled faintly of the perfume her mother had worn for as long as Grace could remember.

  Sitting down at the dining room table where she had eaten her meals at for the majority of her life, she put her hands over her face and sobbed. After the events of the day, she was just exhausted. She felt tired all the way to the center of her soul. David entered the room and sat next to her, trying to find a way to speak to her.

  "You know, you look so much like her, Grace. You are so beautiful, just like she is… was." His voice trembled as he continued to speak. "And she loved you so much."

  "I know, Daddy." Grace reached out and gripped his hand.

  "I just don't know what I'm going to do without her." David could no longer hold back his tears. His pain spilled out as if a dam had broken. Grace felt it come over her in a wave.

  The two sat at that old table and cried for what seemed like hours. Grace tried to project peace onto David, but it was no use. She did not have any to give away. When the tears lessened, the two began to think of better times.

  David recounted the stories of meeting the coven of little people that would become their family, their wedding day, the day Grace was born, and memories from her happy childhood. They talked about their frequent camping trips to the Washington forests, and time spent together as a family doing even the most mundane activities like cooking dinner or playing Scrabble. Mostly, they talked about all the things they would miss about Kayla Burkheart.

  The whole time they were talking, Grace could not help but think about the man with the brilliant blue eyes. Who was he and what the hell did he want from her?

  2

  As Grace and Harold packed up their bags to go stay with her dad, she looked at all of the things in their apartment that reminded her of Kayla. It suddenly appeared to be a shrine to her mother's life: the photos of Kayla and David on the mantle, the crystal vase her mom had given her as an engagement gift, even the reflection in the mirror in the hall… it was all just a morbid reminder of a terrible loss.

  Grace bore a striking resemblance to her mother, and she had always been proud of that fact. Now, though, that too was just a sad reminder of a lost friend.

  It was an almost impossible task for Grace to stop thinking about the dark-haired man she'd seen at her Mom's funeral the week before. Every time she thought of Kayla, Roland Stillson would pop into her head as though they were a package deal. Harold had told her that she should just forget him. He believed Roland was probably some sort of charlatan who was going to try to cash in on Grace's grief by preying on her emotions. At the right moment, he would try to sell her an insurance policy, or a burial plot or something. She was not so sure that was the case.

  Roland was quite obviously a magical being. David and Harold could not see it, of course, but she felt it. He was definitely not a witch. She would have known that right away. He wasn't a vamp or a wolf, either. So, what in the hell could he possibly be? He was too small to be a troll, and he was too big to be a goblin.

  While putting her clothes into the last suitcase, Grace decided that she was going to find out. There was no time to waste figuring out what it was this thing wanted with her.

  Whatever it was, good or bad, she knew it would need to be dealt with right away.

  She sat down on the bed and picked up the phone.

  When she dialed the number written on the front of the card, Grace had no idea what to expect.

  She definitely did not expect to get Roland on the first ring.

  "Roland speaking." His smooth voice was no less intoxicating over the phone than it was in person.

  "I don't know if you remember me—" She was unable to get anything else out before he cheerfully interrupted.

  "Ah, Grace. I am so very thrilled that you called me. I was very much hoping that you would."

  "I don't know why I called."

  "Perhaps it would be better if you came to my office. I find telephones to be somewhat impersonal. We can discuss your… situation face to face."

  "What exactly is my situation?" Grace was beginning to get impatient with this whole mysterious act.

  "Seven twenty-nine Desidero. Will 10:00 a.m. be good for you?" he asked, ignoring her question.

  "I'll be there." Grace hoped that defiance was what came through in her tone, as opposed to the fear and trepidation
she actually felt.

  "Excellent. I will see you at ten." Before she could answer, Roland Stillson hung up the phone.

  "You ready, babe?" Harold popped in and asked, causing her to jump in surprise.

  "Yeah, I'm ready."

  "You okay?"

  She got up off the bed and joined him in the doorway.

  "I'm fine." They walked arm in arm to the car.

  "Are you sure, Grace? You look distracted."

  "I promise; I am perfectly fine. You worry too much." She smiled as they headed off to her childhood home.

  Harold tried to make conversation with her, but she was too distracted. She couldn't stop wondering what 10:00 a.m. would bring.

  Grace pulled up to the building situated at 729 Desidero. It was exactly what she had expected.

  Two golden pillars sat framing the large front door. The ornately carved building looked somewhat out of place in downtown Olympia. Most of the buildings and businesses in the area looked older with brick and stone fronts with splashes of modern architecture thrown in randomly. This one was different. There were several carvings of horses, intertwined with men who had the tails of fish and things of that sort all over the facing of the office building. It was all very subtle, but enthralling and beautiful. Looking at the building as a work of art, she suddenly felt very small.

  Grace stepped up to the front door and pulled the heavy wooden thing open. She stepped into a parlor that looked like it had been stolen directly from the set of Arabian Nights. There were large circular couches and ornately carved tables. The walls were covered with a deep burgundy with golden accents. Rich purple curtains hung in the windows and over the doorways.

  Roland stepped out from one of those gilded curtains and reached out his hands in a welcoming gesture. He took Grace's hand in both of his with a warm smile.

  "I am so pleased that you decided to meet with me. Please come to my office and we can talk in private."

  "Mr. Stillson, what is this all about?" Grace asked, thoroughly confused by this man.

  "Please call me Roland. I will explain everything when we get into my office. Please."

  Grace stepped forward toward his office door, still feeling a bit worried. He seemed pleasant, and he had been able to enter the memorial after she had activated the protection potion. That had to mean that he was not evil. Her potions never let her down.

  Roland motioned for her to take a seat in one of the chairs at his desk. The desk looked more like an altar with its rich cherrywood and filigree carving. The white silk upholstered chair she sat in probably cost more than her car. Roland took a seat behind the desk and folded his hands in front of him, conveying openness and genuine interest. He was hitting all the right cues.

  "First of all, please accept my deepest sympathy for your loss. Your mother was an amazing woman."

  "You knew her?"

  "By reputation only, I am sorry to say. Her kindness and bravery is legendary."

  Roland paused, seeming to agonize over his next statements.

  "You are an empath and a telepath, correct, Grace?"

  "Yes, and seriously, if you don't get to the point in the next minute, I am going to start getting impatient." Grace was normally not so blunt, but if she didn't find out what this was all about soon, she was afraid she might explode.

  "Please forgive me, Grace. I do not mean to be cryptic, but I am trying to… feel you out. I believe that is the correct phrase," he chuckled. "This twenty-first century lingo sometimes eludes me."

  "I hate to sound rude, Roland, but… what are you?"

  Roland suddenly burst out in a booming belly laugh. Grace felt the urge to laugh along with him, but she refrained.

  "I love that you are so direct! A trait no doubt inherited from your mother."

  "Yes, definitely."

  "So, I will no longer beat around the bush. I am a procurer, Grace. I give people what they want. I was sent here to give your mother what she wanted most in the world, but sadly, I was too late. Debts must be paid, Grace, so I am now here for you."

  "Who sent you to give me what I want?" Grace suddenly felt even more uncomfortable with the whole situation.

  "That is of no consequence. I seek only to give you what it is that you most desire."

  "I already have everything that I desire, Mr. Stillson. I apologize for wasting your time." She stood up and moved toward the door. Harold was right. Stillson was nothing but a charlatan.

  When she turned to go, Roland was suddenly standing directly in front of her. She looked back in confusion at the desk where he had been seated only a second before. He was no longer there.

  "What the hell?" She turned back.

  "Grace, I know this not to be true," he whispered, moving in close to her. "You are nervous about the safety of the baby that you carry. You pray that your upcoming marriage will be a love story akin to your mother's. You want to live a life without strife and interference from dark magic."

  "Those are things that I hope for, true, but I will have to wait and see how those things turn out."

  Roland placed a warm hand on her shoulder, and she was surprised that she made no instinctive attempt to remove it. He smelled of cinnamon and spices. His blue eyes seemed to be swirling pools of the clearest water as he continued to whisper to her.

  "What about your mother, Grace? Would you not like to have her back as if nothing had happened? I can do that for you within a blink of an eye. I can bring her back to you."

  She stared into his mesmerizing eyes, fighting back tears.

  "We are done here." she said, once again heading to the door. This time, he made no attempt to stop her.

  She felt anger welling up in her while she hurried out the door. She stopped suddenly when she heard his voice in her head. It felt as though he was trespassing in her personal space.

  "Think about my offer, Grace. I am only one wish away if you need me."

  She jumped into the front seat of her car and sped down the busy street, trying to get as far away from his intrusion into her head as she possibly could.

  When she finally arrived back at David's house, she had somewhat managed to compose herself. Harold sat at the kitchen table with her father, the two men drinking coffee and chatting about all manner of manly things.

  "Hi, Munchkin." David looked up at her. "Is everything okay?"

  "Yeah Dad, I'm fine. Doctor's appointment went great." She smiled back, trying to mask her nervousness and guilt at having lied to them about her outing.

  "That's great, honey." David eyed her, knowing that something was not quite right.

  "Do you want some lunch? We were just about to make some sandwiches." Harold got up from the table, ready to do whatever she needed. She was glad to have him there taking care of her; she needed the reassurance after her strange encounter with Roland.

  "That sounds great, babe." She walked over and gave him a soft kiss on the lips. "Turkey?"

  "With extra mayo and a pickle, just the way you like it," he confirmed.

  Grace loved the fact that Harold knew her so well and really paid attention to details. He knew her favorite ice cream flavor was vanilla bean, and that she loved maple bacon Voodoo donuts. He knew which movies made her cry every single time she watched them, even though she had seen them a hundred times. He knew what music she loved, that she loved cats, her favorite vacation spot was the San Francisco Bay, and that she secretly had always wanted to be a ballerina but couldn't dance her way out of a wet paper bag. It gave her comfort to know that he cared so much for her.

  There was one thing that he did not know.

  Since she had found out that she was pregnant two months before, her powers had begun to grow.

  She had long possessed the powers of empathy and telepathy, and she was great with potions and spells. When she was seriously threatened, she could pack quite a supernatural punch, and she was a master at enchanting items.

  Now, though, she had become occasionally telekinetic. She could sometimes move ob
jects using only the power of will. She also was able to conjure items from thin air.

  The second power she had only discovered by accident. She had been sitting on her sofa, wishing she had a donut. Feigning dramatic desperation, she had called out to the universe.

  "Spirits of the elements, my heart desires a donut more than anything. Let my desire be reality." She screamed aloud when a maple bacon donut had mystically appeared on the table in front of her.

  It had exhausted her to the point where she needed medical attention. She had felt an incapacitating weakness that had immediately frightened her. Of course, she had also eaten the donut.

  Harold had insisted on taking her to the hospital that night, and she had not put up much of her usual resistance. That was when they found out that a little bundle of joy was on the way.

  Grace had been so excited to tell her mom what they had discovered, but she also needed to talk to her about the new powers.

  Kayla had assured her that it was just a normal side effect of a supernatural pregnancy.

  "Wild hormones do crazy things to a witch's powers, honey," Kayla advised her. "Just try to keep the magic use to a bare minimum. It might be bad for the baby."

  The two had talked for hours about the new baby and what the nursery was going to look like. Grace was excited to tell the rest of the coven. Joy especially would be so thrilled. Kayla gave her some more pregnancy pointers and started planning shopping trips to get everything Grace would need for her new addition. When Grace left that night, Kayla was trying to decide between being called Nana or Grandma.

  Two weeks later, Grace was sitting in a church pew wearing Kayla's black dress, mourning the loss of her beloved mother.

  Life was not fair.

  She sat down at the table and took a bite of the perfect turkey sandwich that her perfect fiancé had made for her.

  Life was good, but it was not fair, she thought again as she looked at Harold and David sitting across from her eating their own sandwiches. Life might not be fair, but maybe there was something she could do about that. With a little help, life might just get a lot better.