The Stone Witch Society /// Sisters of the Twelve Stones (book two)

Prologue and Chapter One

PROLOGUE:  The Best Laid Plan Ezekiel 11:19, King James Version (KJV):

 And I will give them one heart, and I will put a new spirit within you; and I will take the stony heart out of their flesh, and will give them an heart of flesh.”

CHAPTER ONE: Memorial Day

A black leather journal stretches open across the desk of teen, Josie Jameson. Fragile pages full of slanted script that time has reduced from black to sepia, the words describe the life of young, Regan MacLaren. They are an account of her experience as the daughter of homesteaders in an early United States. Her words are accompanied by curious drawings. The sketch that lies face up on the desk is of a woman hunched beneath a tree, chiseling away at the ground with a sharp tool. At her side sits a box awaiting a burial. A full moon stands watch over the strange ritual from high above the cedar branches. Moonlight, the same thirsty light that gave birth to werewolves and hungry vampires casts a glow over the woman’s work. What evil was born under the moon that night?

Resting beneath the old journal on Josie’s desk is an envelope. Inside rests a letter written in Josie’s tidy handwriting and reads:

Dear Mom,

 It’s Memorial Day. Dad, Owen and I will leave flowers at your grave later. But, what I want most is to talk with you. I won’t sit at your grave and attempt a one-sided conversation anymore. Not because I I’ve figured out that you don’t live there. It took me long enough to figure that out, didn’t it? You exist somewhere between dreams and wishes, in the space from here to the sun.

 I miss you. And lately, I’m pissed off at you too for deserting me. You left me behind to deal with Owen, and Dad, and all the crap life flings my way. I’m sick of pretending I can grow up without you, without a mother.  Okay, I’m sorry. I’ve just had to deal with so much this year.

 I don’t even feel like myself anymore, Mom. I used to have everything in control, my looks, my feelings, and my reactions to whatever. But since Halloween night, I’m a wreck. I don’t do ‘out of control’ well, believe me.

 I meant to rub your grave on Halloween, I even dreamed about it! I rubbed graphite over impossibly delicate paper and made your name appear in the blank spaces. That’s what I meant to do.

God, I hoped you’d come to me that night, not as some fantastic Shakespearean vision, just a hint of you and who you used to be on earth. Something tangible. I wanted to feel your finger brush back my hair, tuck away the cowlick that always falls over my eyes. I wanted to hear your voice whisper something that would give my life direction. I wanted to listen to you sing again.

I know. I know. I have direction. I’m a sister, a daughter, a friend, a niece, but no one needs me like they used to anymore. Owen’s nine now. He reads his own bedtime stories, turns on his own nightlight, and even brushes his own hair, well sort of. And Dad’s got Grace, which is sweet and perfect, but they’re attached at the hip and have gone gaga with the whole domestic nesting thing. They grocery shop and cook and do laundry. I should feel grateful because I have free time now, but it also makes me feel less, I don’t know, just less.

You probably worry that I think of you as some monster, or at least crazy, for believing that you were some kind of witch, a stone witch. And that puzzle box that supposedly held your human heart, well, I’m embarrassed that I kept it to myself for so long. I should have buried it with you the day we found it. I’m sorry for that. The box had this hold on me for a while. Regardless of its contents, the box was my last piece of you. But, I got over it.

I don’t care about the box, Mom. Whatever you think you were, it’s enough for me to know that you were a great mother, really great. You were an amazing artist, a kind human being. A gardener. I don’t care about the whole stone heart thing because that doesn’t change what you were to me. Does that make sense? Whatever beat beneath your ribs, it worked and you were great at life and all that. It’s not weird between us, okay?

So, speaking of weird…Seth and I are together. It’s been a month or so now. Yep. You’ve known him since he was practically born, but he’s still sweet like that and funny. He told me he loves me, it just kind of spilled out by accident last night on the phone. And then after he said it, there was silence. I couldn’t say the words back. 

What’s wrong with me? I love him, I always have in a way, but I don’t want to go past the point of no return, where we can never return to being just friends. Is that awful? I’m hopeless, I realize. Because when he kisses me, it leaves my lips feeling tingly and the rest of my body aches for something more. I just, I don’t want anything bad to happen to him, that’s all. Well, or to me. I don’t want anything bad to happen to me either.

Anyways, it didn’t shock Casey or Blaze in the slightest when we told them. They’d already shipped us months ago, you know set us up in their minds. And Dad’s so distracted by Grace, he doesn’t have time to obsess over my first boyfriend. I suppose that’s lucky, isn’t it?

See? This is what I’m talking about! I shouldn’t have to write a freaking letter to tell you about all this. You should be here to talk with in real time. It’s been seven years and I still miss you. Is that pathetic or flattering? You decide.

  Josie

 Wind blows through the fractured glass window pane, aqua chiffon curtains billow across an empty bedroom. The pages of Josie’s letter flutter through the air then land on top of a spattering of blood across the floor. Blood seeps through the paper and crimson blots out Josie’s words.

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The Stone Witch Society is book two in the series. Check out book one, Four Rubbings, available now at all your favorite places to buy books. Connect with me here or on my website at http://www.jenniferlhotes.com