Mercy hovered between awake and asleep—and for a few precious moments her world felt normal. Birdsong and a gentle, corn silk–scented breeze wafted in through her open window. From the crack under her closed door the rich aromas of coffee and toast slathered with homemade strawberry jam teased her, and she imagined she heard Abigail’s Pandora station—perpetually set to her favorite singer, Tina Malia—drift up the wide stairway as the songstress’s sweet voice told tales of this world’s magic and beyond.
“Mag! Psst! Mag! Are you awake?”
Mercy rubbed sleep from her eyes as she came fully awake, and with consciousness also came reality. Abigail Goode was dead. The trees that kept this world safe from ancient evils were sick. Emily’s father had been killed. The world was upside down.
And Hunter’s face was peeking into her room.
“Are you awake?” her twin repeated.
“I am now,” she grumbled, rubbing sleep from her eyes. “What time is it?”
“Late. Seriously. Like, past noon. You’ve been sleeping forever. FYI, Jax is here. He’s going to take me to the nursery. Xena has about a zillion old grimoires put out for you to go through. She just discovered coffee—heavy with cream and sugar—but apparently caffeine works on a cat person the opposite of how it works on people persons. She was practically falling asleep on her feet and had to excuse herself to Mom’s room to nap.”
Mercy yawned. “Then why are you waking me up?”
Hunter leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms. “Because Jax just told me your boyfriend got permission from his parents, with his coach’s okay, to skip a couple of his afternoon classes and come over here to ‘check on his witchy woman,’” she air quoted as she rolled her eyes. “So, he’ll be here in a while. Thought you’d want to brush your teeth or whatever.”
Mercy sat up and stretched like Xena—in cat or human form. “Aww, that’s sweet of him. And as Abigail would say, if you keep rolling your eyes, someday they’re going to freeze like that.”
“Oh, please. Just don’t let him distract you for long. I’ll be back with whatever stuff the tree person—”
“Arborist,” Mercy supplied.
“Yeah, that. I’ll have what the arborist recommends as mundane help for the trees when I get back. You, Miss Green Witch, need to have the magic part ready. Tonight, we fix this mess with a double-whammy—muggle stuff and witchy power.”
“Stop stressing. I already have a few ideas. Why do you think I’m so tired?” Mercy jerked her chin at the pile of old grimoires on her bedside table. They had colorful sticky notes protruding from their closed pages like paper fringe. Then her eyes widened and she reached for her phone. “Oh, bloody buggering hell! Have you heard from Em?”
“I texted her and called her. Twice. I didn’t get any answer until I told her you were sleeping and that I was checking on her for you. She only answered with two words: I’m okay.”
Mercy ran one hand through her hair as she squinted at her phone and read through the six texts she’d sent Emily last night and early this morning while she’d been going through the grimoires. No response. Em hadn’t answered her even once. “She’s not okay. No damn way. I’m texting her right now. Again.”
“Hey, Mag?”
Mercy looked up from her phone. “Huh?”
“Remember that we all grieve differently. Be there for her, but don’t be surprised if this changes her. Mom’s death has changed us.”
“You’re right. I’ll remember. Thanks. And good luck today.”
Hunter smiled. “You, too. Later gator.”
Mercy’s response was automatic. “After ’while crocodile!” Then she returned her attention to her phone, texting:
EM! SORRY. I JUST GOT UP. U OK? CALL ME!
While she waited for a response Mercy brushed her teeth, piled her hair up in a loose knot, and took a quick shower before putting on her most comfy Free People boho dress. It was the color of moss with blue flowers embroidered down the bodice of it and an adorable high-low ruffle that made it sexy and cute in the front, but long enough in the back not to cause stress whenever she had to bend over.
Her phone rang as she was sliding her feet into her favorite moccasin slippers.
“Em!”
Emily’s voice was muffled, like she had a cold that had completely clogged her nose. “I can only talk for a sec.”
“It is awful?” Mercy asked.
There was a long pause—so long that Mercy frantically wondered if she’d asked the wrong question—when Em’s shrouded voice finally replied. “Mag, his eyes are gone.”
Mercy’s stomach rolled in rebellion. “Your dad? His eyes?”
“Yes,” Emily whispered. “The sheriff told Mom.”
“Oh, Freya!” Mercy’s legs stopped working and she sat hard on the end of her bed as bits and pieces of the sheriff’s creepy words about Mr. Thompson, the dead guy he’d found by the olive tree, lifted from her memory:… dead man … with no eyes … Ripped right out of his head …
“It’s so terrible I don’t want to think about it, but I can’t stop thinking about it,” said Emily.
“Is that how he died?”
“No. He—he was strangled and then the murderer took his eyes. Mag, I just—” Emily’s words ran out as she sobbed.
“Come over, Em. Just get in your car and come over here right now.”
Emily took several deep breaths before she answered, and when she did she sounded broken. “I can’t. Mom’s not okay.” She paused and then added in a whisper, “They let her see him. I wouldn’t—couldn’t. But I should have. I shouldn’t have let her go in there by herself.”
“They shouldn’t have let her see him! Bloody hell, Em! What’s wrong with the sheriff?”
There was a sharp sound in the background and Emily spoke quickly. “Gotta go. I think Mom just dropped another cup. She’s, uh, medicated. Heavily. I’ll text you later.”
Before Mercy could say anything else the phone disconnected. Mercy finished putting on her slippers and slowly went downstairs. She hadn’t imagined Abigail’s music. Hunter must have flipped on the Pandora station. Mercy was glad. She stood in the kitchen and let the beautiful lyrics of “Shores of Avalon” soothe her shattered nerves as she brewed another pot of her mom’s special dark roast coffee. Mercy didn’t love coffee like Abigail had, but she did like the way it smelled—and if she added enough coconut milk and sugar it didn’t taste too bad. But, more importantly, it was part of her usual morning ritual, and even though it was past noon Mercy craved whatever might help her feel normal, if only for a little while.
She put two slices of thick sourdough bread in the toaster and got Abigail’s homemade strawberry jam from the pantry. As she slathered sticky-sweet goo on the warm bread her thoughts spun. Horrible things are happening in Goodeville and it all started the night Mom was killed. What if the sick trees have something to do with it?
Mercy sat at the table in the breakfast nook, which Xena had piled high with old grimoires the night before. She moved them out of the way and texted Em again:
CALL ME WHEN U CAN! I’M HERE. LOVE U!
Then Mercy stared out the back window as her coffee went cold as she faced the thoughts she’d pushed aside the night before.
What if Hunter’s choice to swear into the service of a god instead of a goddess is causing the trees to be sick? All of it—every bad thing—started that terrible night. The night Hunter officially claimed Tyr as her god. It was the only thing Mercy could think of that differed from their Beltane Ritual and the Beltane Rituals that had been successfully performed by Goode witches for hundreds of years.
But wouldn’t Mom have known that Tyr was a mistake? Mercy clearly remembered the day young Hunter had first mentioned to Abigail that she was drawn to Tyr. Their mom’s response had been that it was Hunter’s choice, and there was no wrong answer when a witch chose her deity. Okay, maybe Abigail hadn’t known it was a problem that H had chosen a god back then, but during the three years between that day and their dedication night she definitely would’ve said something if it could cause problems. From her memory Mercy replayed her mom’s words to Hunter as they walked to the Beltane Ritual: It’s about time a Goode chose a god instead of a goddess.
She shook her head and sighed as she nibbled on her toast. “No, Abigail would’ve known. She was an amazing witch. She would never have let Hunter make such a big mistake. It must be something else and I’m going to figure it out and fix it. I have to.” Resolutely, Mercy pulled the closest grimoire to her, grabbed a stack of pink sticky notes and her favorite purple pen, and got to work.
Mercy was deep into her great-great-grandmother Janet Goode’s summer 1927 entry entitled Healing Trees from the Drought when she pumped her fist and shouted, “Yes! That’s it!” Then she wrote quickly on the sticky notes as she muttered to herself. “This will work with just a little addition from the spell Gertrude Goode cast in 1859 after the entire state of Illinois flooded and damaged all the trees big-time.” She paused for a moment, chewing the end of the pen before lifting it triumphantly and proclaiming, “Plus, I’ll make a big dose of my Awake and Alive Oil! That’ll be my own Green Witch contribution. This is going to be perfect!”
One problem solved, Mercy picked up her phone and clicked into the texts.
EM, HOW U DOING?
YOU OK?
EMILY, I’M WORRIED ABOUT YOU.
Zero response from her bestie. Mercy got it—of course she did. She completely understood about how grief could suffocate every other emotion. But H hadn’t left her alone in her despair, and she wasn’t going to leave Em alone, either. She tapped out another text.
EMILY PARROTT IF YOU DO NOT ANSWER ME I AM COMING OVER THERE. NOW!
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
CAN’T TALK RIGHT NOW. GRANDPARENTS R HERE. I’LL CALL LATER. PROMISE.
Mercy sighed and chewed her lip. “Okay.” She spoke to the phone like Em could hear her. “But if you don’t I will come get you. Seriously.”
She drummed her fingers against the table as she turned her attention back to the grimoires and the spells she needed to combine. It was easy—comfortable—to focus on spellwork. It was something she could do to make at least part of the chaos around her right again.
Mercy was listing the ingredients she’d need for her oil and realizing she should go upstairs and get her own grimoire so she could record this new protective and healing spell when several loud knocks on the front door made her jump. Momentarily confused, she glanced at the old clock in the foyer as she headed to the door and was surprised to see almost two hours had passed while she’d been researching. She didn’t have to peek out the front window to see him standing there. She could feel that it was Kirk. Mercy smoothed back her long, dark hair and opened the door.
“Babe! Man, it’s good to see you!” He stepped inside and engulfed her in a hug and his familiar scent of sweat mixed with Abercrombie & Fitch’s cologne, Fierce.
Mercy pressed her cheek against his chest. He was so solid and strong and normal. He was the guy she’d crushed on since eighth grade, when he’d seemed completely out of her league. He was the guy who made her feel special and needed and wanted. He was there, with her instead of in school preparing for finals, because he cared about her as much as she cared about him. When she looked up at him she was flooded with emotions and tears filled her eyes.
He cupped her face with his hands. “Hey, don’t cry. I’m here. Everything’s gonna be okay now.” Kirk dipped down and pressed his lips gently to hers. He didn’t deepen the kiss. Instead he looked up, checking out the rooms behind them. “Is Emily here?”
“No. I wish she was here but her mom needs her. So, everyone knows about her dad?” Mercy took Kirk’s hand and led him to the couch. She curled up there beside him, with her feet tucked under her. His presence and the fact that she’d figured out the spell they needed to cast to strengthen and protect the trees had her feeling lighter than she had in days.
He nodded and kissed her hand. “Yeah, the whole school’s talking about it. He was murdered, which is really crazy.”
Mercy leaned into him. “That’s what Em said.”
“Did she say anything else?” Kirk asked. “There’re rumors about something really nasty happening to him, but no one knows what for sure.”
Mercy straightened and pulled her hand from his. “Well, I haven’t had a chance to talk to Emily much. She’s pretty upset.” The lie came out before Mercy planned it. She just wouldn’t, couldn’t gossip with Kirk about Mr. Parrott. It was already bad enough that everyone was talking about it, which Em would hate. She couldn’t add to her best friend’s misery.
Kirk was instantly contrite. He slid his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close to him again. “Sorry, that wasn’t cool of me. So, what have you been up to?” He glanced over his shoulder at the edge of the breakfast nook table, filled with old books and notes. “Are you actually studying in there?”
“Oh. Um. No. That’s Xena’s stuff,” she lied again and then chewed her lip. Mercy usually hated lies—and was pretty bad at them.
Thankfully, Kirk didn’t notice. All he said, with a little laugh, was, “Your aunt or your cat?”
She smacked his shoulder. “The one that can read, silly.”
“Speaking of—where is she?”
“The aunt or the cat?” Mercy teased.
He grinned. “The one who hates me.”
“Oh, well, that would be both. They’re upstairs napping.”
“Whew.” He pretended to wipe sweat from his forehead. “It’s weird to be hissed at.”
“Sorry about that. The Xenas are protective, but they’ll learn that you’re one of the good guys soon, and then you’ll hear nothing but purrs.”
His eyes widened. “From the aunt, too?”
“It’s possible.”
“I’m gonna have to record that for the Cats of Insta. Talk about going viral.”
“Weirdly enough I’ll bet Xena would like that.”
“You’re obviously talking about the cat now,” he said.
“Obviously!” She grinned.
He touched her cheek gently. “It’s good to see you smile again.”
Mercy pressed her cheek into his warm palm. “I’m better after Hunter’s spell. Plus, you’re another kind of magic that’s good for me.”
His hand dropped from her face. “That spell. It was kinda uncomfortable to see you—”
She waved her hand dismissively. “Hey, forget about that spell. Or if you want to remember it think of it as homeopathic healing.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, does acupuncture make you uncomfortable?” Mercy shifted so that instead of leaning into him she faced him as she reclined across his lap.
“It did before Coach made me go last year for my shoulder injury. It didn’t hurt. Actually, it helped.”
“That’s what Hunter’s spell was—acupuncture for my emotions. I can see that it might have been strange and even kinda freaky, but it was really just a movement of energy that helped me be able to deal with my grief in a healthier way.”
His brow furrowed as he considered her words, then he let out a long breath. “I guess that makes sense.”
“Of course it does. And how could I be your witchy woman without actually being witchy?”
Kirk’s face cleared and he pulled her closer. “Hey, I’m here for you, not me. What happened to Emily’s dad must be really hard for you after your mom.”
Mercy let her head rest on his shoulder. “Yeah. It feels like my world is totally falling apart.”
Kirk lifted her chin with his finger. “Then hang on to me. I won’t let you fall apart.” He kissed her again.
Mercy sank into him. She parted her lips and met his questing tongue. He tasted like the Big Red gum he liked to chew. His strong arms held her tightly and his mouth and touch were hot and insistent. At first she returned the kiss to keep him from saying anything more about death or spellwork, but soon she realized that his desire was a roadblock to the terrible things that had happened the past several days. When Kirk’s mouth was on hers all she could think about was his need. When Kirk’s hands found the ruffled edge of her dress and slipped beneath to caress her thighs and her butt, his heat burned away the misery she’d been living and breathing. She pressed herself closer to him and deepened the kiss, chasing his tongue, catching it, and then sucking softly on it. His moan drove away the sounds of the sobs that came from Hunter’s room every night when she pretended to be asleep.
Abruptly Kirk broke the kiss. Breathing hard, he whispered, “It wouldn’t be cool if Xena—either of them—came down here to find us like this.”
And Mercy suddenly knew what she wanted—what she needed. She took his hand and stood, pulling him up from the couch with her. “Then let’s go where we can’t be interrupted—by either of them.”
His answering smile was as hot and sweet as his kisses.
She led him upstairs to her room and the bed she’d never, in sixteen years, let any boy so much as sit on. That wasn’t because Abigail had been uptight about sex—her mom had definitely not been like that. Mercy had never had a guy in her room before because until Kirk she’d never been in love.
Mercy guided Kirk to the bed and then playfully pushed him down on it. Laughing, she fell on top of him as they resumed their passionate kisses. Kirk’s hands quickly went under her dress again, and she was glad that she hadn’t bothered with a bra as he squeezed her breasts. She let her hands roam his body. His PROPERTY OF GOODE ATHLETIC DEPARTMENT tee was easy to untuck and she loved the way his hard, smooth muscles felt under it.
Kirk broke their kiss long enough to pull off his shirt and toss it to the floor. Then he raised a brow at her. “Your turn.”
Mercy hesitated.
“Hey.” He touched her cheek gently again. “We won’t do anything you don’t wanna do. No matter what, you say stop and I stop. Promise.”
She bit her lip and then spoke softly. “I—I want to, but I don’t think I’m ready for more than just, you know, making out and stuff right now.”
“That’s okay. Seriously. You have to be into it, too. I can wait.” Kirk met her gaze and said simply, “I love you, Mercy Goode. You’re worth the wait.” He started to reach for his T-shirt.
Mercy’s hand stopped him. “I love you, too, Kirk.”
“Babe, that means so much. You’re the only woman I’ve said that to except my mom.” He looked away, blinking fast. “And then she left me.”
Mercy pulled him into her arms. “I won’t leave you. Ever.”
His kiss was deep and hot, but he broke it off, reaching for his shirt again.
Again, she stopped him, only this time she said, “Don’t put that on. I want to be close to you and your skin feels so good.”
Kirk dropped the tee and then plucked at the ruffled hem of her dress. He gave her a cute, cocky smile. “It would feel even better against your skin.”
And that did it. Mercy wanted to feel something besides sadness and worry and fear. She wanted to feel warmth and happiness—she wanted to feel safe again. Kirk made her feel safe, and he loved her. Mercy reached down and peeled her dress over her head so that all she wore were her panties and a tentative smile.
Kirk sucked in a sharp breath as he stared at her. Slowly, he reached out and lifted one of her breasts. “Do you know how beautiful you are?”
“No,” she whispered. “Tell me.”
Tenderly, his thumb caressed her nipple, causing it to harden as Mercy’s back arched and a jolt of pleasure sizzled through her body. “You’re not a witch. You’re a goddess.” His breath was ragged as his lips replaced his thumb.
Mercy wrapped her arms around his bare shoulders as she straddled him. He was right. The sensation of his hot, sweat-slick flesh against her naked skin felt so incredibly good that her world narrowed and she could think of nothing except the pleasure that pulsed through her body. She moved her hips so that the warm wetness between her legs found the hardness that pressed against his jeans, and he moaned again.
“You’re so sexy. You feel amazing.”
Mercy’s hands found his nipples—smaller and tighter than hers—but his sharp intake of breath as she gently teased them made her believe that they were as sensitive. Emboldened, her hands explored downward. Her fingers traveled to the six-pack that all the girls drooled over whenever he took off his shirt after football practice.
His moan was deeper. “Ah, god! You’re killing me,” he said as her searching fingers found his belt buckle.
“Do you want me to stop?” she whispered.
“Hell no!”
She smiled and felt unbelievably powerful as she pushed him back on the bed. Mercy moved off his lap as she unbuckled his belt and then slowly opened his jeans. As she reached inside them to touch him Kirk shifted so that his hand could explore her bare thighs.
“Do whatever you want.” He sounded breathless.
Mercy did whatever she wanted. She’d seen penises before. The internet was full of them. But she’d never touched one, and the hardness of it surprised her. She ran her hand up and down the thick length of him as his hips lifted and jerked in response. Mercy was surprised by how much she liked touching him, stroking him. It was incredible and powerful and sexy how just a small touch, a soft stroke, had him moaning and sounding like he’d just run several lengths of the football field.
She was intrigued by the drops of clear liquid that dewed the head of his penis. Mercy rubbed them gently around as Kirk gasped and whispered how good it felt and how much he loved her. And when her head dipped and her tongue replaced her fingers he groaned like she really was killing him.
“Don’t stop! Oh, you fucking gorgeous goddess, do not stop!”
So, Mercy didn’t. As her mouth covered him and she experimented by sucking and licking the thick, hard length of him, Kirk’s hand slipped inside her panties. She knew how to touch herself—she knew what made her orgasm—and she rocked against his searching fingers until he found the right spot and then she moved her hips in time with her mouth.
Kirk came first, surprising Mercy with the heat and force of it, but then she sank into the waves of pleasure that cascaded through her body, making her hips buck against his hand as her orgasm engulfed her. She kept sucking and licking as another orgasm and then another rippled through her until finally she was breathing so hard she had to fall limply back on the bed. She crawled up so that she lay in the crook of his sweaty arm while their breathing slowed together.
“You are a goddess. My goddess,” he said.
Mercy’s head found his shoulder. He pulled her closer to him while she stared up at the ceiling and tried to slow her breathing and sift through her tumultuous thoughts.
Kirk kissed her damp forehead. “You were amazing.”
“Um, thanks.” Mercy spoke softly. Her body was still humming with the aftermath of pleasure, but as passion faded the real world rushed in to take its place. Freya, what did I just do?
“Seriously. A-maz-ing.” Kirk laughed joyously. “Like, you blew my mind!” His fingers traced up and down the side of her neck.
Mercy had no idea why, but she had a sudden urge to pull away from him. Instead, she forced herself to be calm and turned her head to stare at Kirk’s handsome profile. His face was still flushed. His full lips were lifted at the corners in a satisfied smile. He obviously didn’t have a worry in the world. But Mercy’s world, full of sadness and worry and loss, had come flooding back. Reality washed away the last of her pleasure and she felt utterly empty, numb—like she hadn’t just given Kirk a blowjob and had several earth-shattering orgasms herself. Someone else had done that—someone who had tried to hide from reality, to exchange grief for lust.
It hadn’t worked.
Mercy lifted herself up on her elbow. She needed to talk to Kirk—to explain to him how confused she felt—that what had just happened between them had more to do with loneliness and confusion than sex. But before she could speak she heard through her open bedroom window a car’s tires on their gravel driveway and then voices floated up with the breeze. “Oh, bloody, buggering hell!!” Mercy rushed to the window. “Sodding wanker! It’s Jax and Hunter!”
When she turned back to Kirk he was still lying on the bed smiling at her. She hurried back to him, throwing his shirt at him before she yanked on her dress.
“Hey, what’s the big deal? Hunter’s not your mom.”
Mercy just stared at him until he wiped a hand across his face as he realized what he’d just said. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry. That was stupid of me.”
Mercy grabbed a brush from her vanity and attacked her hair. “It’s okay. I know what you meant. Kirk, I don’t want Hunter to know about this. Not right now.”
Kirk looked up at her as he tucked in his shirt and zipped his jeans. “Are you sorry about what we just did?”
Mercy went to him and touched his shoulder as she avoided the honest answer there wasn’t time for her to give. “Now isn’t a good time. Mom died. Things are not normal. I—I don’t know how Hunter would take this. I don’t want her to think that I’ve forgotten about Mom—that I don’t really care she’s gone.”
“Okay, yeah, I get it. Hey, she already doesn’t like me much and this isn’t gonna help that.”
“H appreciates that you’ve been here for me—for us. The more you’re around the more she’ll like you.” She draped her arms over his shoulders and attempted to sound normal. “I mean, how could she not like you?”
He waggled his eyebrows. “Seriously.” He cupped her butt cheek and squeezed. “Hey, if your sister and Jax are back that means I gotta get to practice. Crap! I didn’t realize it was that late. Being with a goddess definitely messed with my sense of time. Good thing Jax is here. Mom dropped me off, and I can bum a ride from him.” But Kirk didn’t move except to bend and kiss her passionately.
Mercy let herself relax into his arms. Kirk loves me, she reminded herself.
Hand in hand they hurried down the stairs. Mercy stepped into his arms one more time as they kissed slowly again. She did feel closer to him than she’d ever felt to any guy. And I love that closeness—that specialness that only the two of us share, Mercy told herself sternly. Then why do I feel so empty? The question hovered in her mind and Mercy shoved it aside.
Kirk was still kissing her when the sound of a car door slamming made her break the embrace and push him playfully out the door.
He backed onto the porch and mouthed I love you, goddess! before he turned to leap down the stairs.
Mercy closed the door and sighed as she leaned against it. What is wrong with me? If Abigail were here she’d understand. Mom would help me figure this out. If Abigail were here it wouldn’t have happened, Mercy thought, though she didn’t speak the words. She felt strange, like a rubber band that had been stretched too far. Mercy shook herself and spoke the rest of her thoughts to the quiet house. “I need to eat something to ground myself. That’s all. And I have to believe it’s all going to be okay. Hunter and I can save the trees, Emily is going to be herself again, and Kirk Whitfield finally said he loves me.” Resolutely, Mercy headed to the kitchen as she repeated, “That’s right. My Kirk loves me!”