Twisted Magic (Book 2 of the Ink Series)

Pain

Dad shook his head; he wasn't used to such words spouting from my mouth.

"So what now, sweet pea," Nona asked.

I shrugged. "I'll hang around for a few more weeks and then head back to school before classes start."

I headed back into my room. I felt more at peace. I shut the door ready to plop down on my bed and relax when something caught my eye. I hurried to the window. Sitting on the ledge was a large book.

I picked it up, the only way to hold it was with both hands. I dropped it on my bed and sat down.

"Wow," I gushed, running my fingers over the reddish-brown cover that displayed a giant tree with no leaves. I slid my fingertips over the fine details.

Where did it come from? I wasn't sure, but one look at it was all it took to see it was a book of spells. I cracked it open; on the first page was tiny barely legible writing.

To Francesca, with love Georges

I did not know who Francesca was or Georges. Whoever left this book on my windowsill knew. Flipping through the yellowed pages was remarkable, page after page housed spells of every kind scribbled in delicate black ink. Spells to banish nightmares, old love letters slipped between every couple pages. It was someone's personal keepsake, and it now belonged to me. I stared at the worn love letters, each ending with—all my love, Georges.

If there was anything I needed to know it was all in this book. I turned several pages and found an old photograph. A man and woman, flipping the photograph over the date was scrawled on it.

"April 3rd, 1935," I read; it was Francesca and Georges.

Francesca stared back at me with ethereal eyes of gloom. The photo was colorless, but I was sure they had to be brown. She was majestic. Pin curled hair that stopped at her sharp cheekbones, a hat upon her head. She wore an elegant dress that hugged her body, and a jacket with a big fur collar. Who was she? And why was I holding all her most personal possessions?

The man—who I was sure was Georges wore a dark suit with perfectly groomed hair sat upon his head. They both were sleek and refined, but the life that shown in the eyes of Georges was not there in Francesca. She was empty, a simple ghost of a young woman staring at the camera.

I wondered what kind of life she lived to look the way she did. Her life was linked with something awful, maybe she was a witch.

I opened one of the letters.

My dearest Francesca,

It's been several months since our last moments together. You will never understand how angry I am with myself for not believing in you. For not trusting in what you were. You will never understand the amount of pain and anguish I feel inside. One day I hope to see you again. I hope for your forgiveness every night, I long for it.

All my love,

Georges

It seemed no matter what era we lived in we all battled with love and doing the right things. I returned the letter to the pages and shut the book. I slipped it to the back of my closet and dialed Hutch's number.

"It was you. You sent me this book," I said, the minute he answered the phone.

"That is a great guess, doll. How have you been?"

I smiled. "Better. That book, it seems like it carries a lot of baggage for those two people, who are they?"

"Francesca Cunningham was my great grandmother. Georges was the man she fell in love with."

I settled into my pillows listening to Hutch.

"My Grandmother's mother was a very powerful woman. Ever since the day she was born, she was capable of a lot. She grew up in an orphanage because she scared her parents so much they wanted nothing to do with her. And once she turned sixteen she was free to be on her own, and she met Georges. They loved each other very much until she revealed her secret." Hutch explained.

"She was a witch." It was sad to think the one true love of Francesca's life was ripped away from her. I listened, eager to hear more.

"She was linked to the supernatural world. Remember, I don't like to label our kind witches." He paused. "Georges was from a rich family and back then the idea of anything unnatural was deemed dark and dangerous. They killed people who practiced magic of any kind. And they killed Francesca."

My heart ached, "Why all the letters?"

"Georges didn't know she was dead. The letters came for years and years. He wanted to fix things. He wanted to see the woman he loved so much again. My family never had the heart to tell Georges she was gone." It was sad, the saddest story I heard ever.

"But you said it was your grandmother's mother, so that means Francesca's children?" This only made sense.

"Yes. My grandmother's father was a banker in the town. He was greedy and evil and the one to blame for her death. Once her secret was out they destroyed her, and he wanted nothing to do with my grandmother and the gift she inherited from her mother."

His family was part of a rich history. One I was sure I could dive deep into and learn a lot from. So interesting I wanted to.

"I don't understand why you gave me the book. This is something to important to hand over to some stranger." I couldn't accept it.

"Francesca was a lot like you. She was sensitive and sweet. She just wanted to belong, but she was different, and she was trying to learn how to take control of who she was. Everything she ever learned she wrote in the book, and it has been with my family for a long time. I have learned everything I need to learn from it, and now it's a gift to you."

I raked a hand through my hair. It was a sweet gesture. Even so, I wasn't sure if I was the one who should be holding on to something so dear to someone else, something so intimate. "You're not going to let me refuse the gift are you?"

Hutch laughed. "Of course not, I couldn't imagine Francesca wanting anyone else to have it but you, in fact, she told me so herself."

I raised an eyebrow confused by his statement. "She's dead, how would you know that?"

"How many times do I have to say I am connected to the supernatural? She was my ancestor, of course I know what she would want, t dead talk too. They guide us through life."

The idea the dead talked to anyone wasn't new to me—Ezra proved that. But it was just too strange of a thought to believe someone that knew nothing about me wanted to gift me something.

"Okay, I'll accept it. But no more gifts." I looked at my desk where the long black feather sat.

Hutch sighed a defeated sigh, "on to a new subject."

"What would that be?" I teased.

"When are you going to let me see you again?"

I smiled at the thought of seeing him once again. And he wanted to see me again.

"Maybe we could meet up after I sing tonight at the café." I offered. I needed to get away from my house and have fun, not dwell on what once was, even if it wasn't bothering me right now I knew it would.

"I'll be there, see you soon, doll."