Chapter 27

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Holly walked slowly into the old orchard. On a good day she could travel from the house to the orchard in ten minutes flat. Tonight it had taken her twenty, and it wasn’t because it was dark. The moon was bright enough that she was easily able to navigate the silver-blanketed terrain, but despite her internal pep talk about how everything was going to be all right, she was terrified of what she was about to face.

Never before had anyone known what Holly and her family truly were—and she wasn’t fully convinced Connor did either. Her doubt was the reason she hadn’t told any of her family about the text that had made her heart drop straight to her feet, and why she hadn’t told them she was meeting him in the orchard. It was possible she was wrong, and she would have alarmed everyone for no reason.

The apple blossoms were morphing into tiny green fruit, but their sweet scent was still in the air. Grasshoppers chirped and a few lone fireflies circulated over the grass, blinking in tandem as they signaled for a mate. Normally, Holly would have basked in these simple spring gifts, but tonight she was so consumed with dread that she was barely able to appreciate her surroundings.

She was deathly afraid that if Connor was right, he was going to expose them on national TV. And a tiny, far more selfish part of her was worried how he would treat her now. It was possible he wouldn’t want to come within ten feet of her, much less bang her brains out, as Missy had so eloquently put it.

Holly swallowed as she entered the last row of the old orchard. She swore if she saw Councilman Miller’s ghost right then, she’d punch his damned face. She could not handle that ghoul on top of this disaster.

Connor was already waiting for her. He’d brought a quilt and spread it on the ground and was lying on his back, his hands stacked behind his head as he stared up at the stars. Holly batted at a mosquito and dragged her feet as she approached him, until at last she stood at the edge of the quilt. She took a deep breath and said, “Hi.”

She still wasn’t sure what she was going to do if he had figured it out. Beg him to keep it quiet? Threaten to sic Winter on him? Cry?

Connor turned his head and ran his eyes over her. “Come sit down.”

Holly dropped onto the blanket and sat with her legs crossed, her hands loosely clasped in her lap. Connor rolled to a sitting position and faced her. She studied his face, trying to discern from his expression what he was feeling, but he was predictably stoic, with nothing but those keen gray eyes returning her searching gaze.

“No small talk,” Holly blurted. “Let’s get this over with.”

He nodded. “Okay. I finally know what you are, Holly.”

She lifted both brows.

“You’re Wicked.”

“Like that’s original,” she snorted. But inside she quailed.

His lips curved. “You know that’s not what I mean. You’re Wicked , as in the supernatural creature. I didn’t see it for so long because, like the rest of society, I think of wicked witches, but that was never the case, was it? They were always two separate things. Two separate pages in the book. Two separate supernatural beings mistakenly conflated into one.”

Holly ran her tongue around the dry inside of her mouth but didn’t speak. Couldn’t speak.

“The book I have explains the difference. Witches were seen as having good magic. They healed, made love potions, and were creatures of the sun. Wickeds were known for being evil. They incited plagues and disease.” He looked her directly in the eye. “They caused floods and rainstorms that ruined villages, and they brought on droughts that withered crops.”

Holly’s heart was pounding so hard she almost couldn’t hear his words over the roar of blood.

“Wickeds are evil and do evil,” Connor continued, “or at least that’s what the book says. But you know what, Holly? I know you. I know your family. You’re not evil. So either I’m wrong or that book is wrong.” He leaned back on his hands, his granite eyes never leaving her face. “I’m willing to bet history got it wrong.”

Holly was appalled when moisture appeared in her eyes, and she quickly blinked it away. She had doubted him, but she should have known that Connor Grimm would look deeper than the surface. This was a man who didn’t stop until he reached the truth—the real truth.

In that moment Holly made a choice: for the first time in her life she was going to be brave enough, reckless enough, to trust someone else with her secret.

She took a deep breath. “History got a little wrong, a little right.”

Connor leaned forward with laser-like focus. “Tell me about it.”

Holly wanted to reach for his hand, but she still didn’t dare touch him. Just because he wanted to learn about Wickeds didn’t mean he wanted one to touch him, and she knew if he pulled away it would crush her. “Not until you give me your word that you won’t expose my family to the world.”

Seconds ticked by, one after another. Connor said quietly, “You have my word. I’ve been trying to convince myself that it would compromise the integrity of my show if I discovered something paranormal and didn’t share it, but I think I knew all along I couldn’t do it. Because you’re not just some thing , Holly, you’re some one , and I don’t think the world is ready for what you’re about to tell me.”

Relief pulsed through Holly until she felt electrified. She’d feared that out of a misguided desire to help others, this ruthless story hunter would lay her and her family bare for strangers to ridicule and hate, not understanding how it would destroy them. Again, she should have known better.

If anyone knew how the paranormal could ruin a life, it was Connor Grimm.

“You’re right about the book,” she said, her newfound freedom loosening the words from her tongue. “It’s one of very few written volumes that correctly recorded our species. A long, long time ago Mother Mage, or the Creator—whatever you want to call her—loved humanity so much that she gave them Witches. And they were good and had ‘good’ magic and did good things. But the laws of this universe require balance, and so she was compelled to also make Wickeds, who had ‘bad’ powers and were meant to do evil. Mother Mage truly did care for humans, though, so she gave them another gift: she made the Wickeds women.”

Connor’s intensity was almost overwhelming, as if he were focusing so hard on her that he could hear the very blood pumping through her wrists. “There are no male Wickeds?”

Holly shook her head. “It’s only passed to women. Mother Mage was confident that women were smart enough, strong enough, and resilient enough to bear the burden. She trusted that they would find a way to use their ‘bad’ powers for humanity instead of against it.”

Connor wrapped his hands around one knee. “Smart,” he said after a moment. “My sex has many attributes, but the ability to handle that kind of power without burning down the Earth in dick-measuring contests isn’t one of them.”

Holly smiled at him with such gratitude for his understanding that he seemed momentarily stunned. “Each Wicked has a particular power that calls to her. For me, it’s manipulating weather events: the better to flood, cause droughts, start hurricanes, and the like.”

“Let me guess: Winter can see the future.”

Holly’s eyebrows flew upward. Clever, clever ghost hunter. “Yes, to thwart good things from happening of course.”

“And Missy?”

“Missy can cause illness.” Holly rubbed her palm over her thigh. “Over time Wickeds learned to do exactly as Mother Mage had wished. My family and I use our powers for limited good. I say ‘limited’ because we’ve discovered the less we meddle with the natural order of things, the less karmic rebound and unintended consequences there are. And the more we stay off the map.”

Connor was quickly piecing together how they used their powers for good. “So you do things like water the orchards and drain the dirt when it pours.”

She nodded. “Occasionally I get involved in bigger things, but I really try not to. Oftentimes my emotions manifest as power. I don’t always succeed in separating the two, but I am much better than I was when I was younger.” After she’d started a thunderstorm and killed her mother with a middle school tantrum. “Winter uses her visions to foresee things like shipping cost increases and what the winter will be like, but her visions are spotty, and she can’t control them.”

Connor gave a low whistle. “You do realize you guys could be millionaires with that kind of ability to see into the future, right?”

Holly laughed. “Yeah, but that would be pretty evil, wouldn’t it?”

“Okay, so Mother Mage was definitely smart to limit this to women. How does Missy manipulate something like creating illnesses into a good thing?”

“Remember that apple tree plague that never touched us?” When he nodded she said, “Missy created an illness that killed it off at our borders. She uses her abilities like an antibiotic.”

His eyes widened. “That’s brilliant . So she makes illnesses that kill diseases.”

This was more fun than Holly had expected. She’d never had the chance to explain what they did, to someone who didn’t already know. “Aunt Daisy has a death touch, and so she uses her power to decay and ferment the apples for our cider. That’s our secret ingredient.”

Connor closed his eyes and smiled as if he’d just been given knowledge of how the universe started. “ That’s why she always wears the gloves.”

Holly nodded. “There may have been a time when Wickeds with a death touch could control themselves without gloves, but my family has lost that knowledge. Aunt Rose can make potions. My mother”—she inhaled deeply—“she could fly.”

He processed that for a moment. “What about the nightmares? Your paintings?”

“Well, the powers aren’t fun like Witch magic. They’re a burden. A curse. You know how the capable person at work gets more and more projects just because the boss knows it’ll get done, but the slacker has it easy? It’s sort of like that. Mother Mage knew we could handle the curse, and so we do, but it takes a toll. We feel compelled to use our power for evil. Images appear and they haunt us until they’re manifested. I guess it was the universe’s way of ensuring we complied. We’ve all found ways around it. I manifest my visions into paintings and then they go away. Winter pours hers into violin music.”

Connor took her hand in his, and some of the tension in her shoulders eased at his touch. “I’m sorry, Holly. That’s a massive burden to bear.”

It really was, but she’d never had sympathy before because the only other people who’d known were people who had to carry the same load.

“How did it all get mixed together?” Connor asked. “How did Wickeds and Witches become Wicked Witches?”

“The story is that a long time ago Wickeds and Witches worked in harmony with humanity. Wickeds cleared diseased fields and brought rain when it was dry, while Witches made potions and cast charms.” She paused and added, “You should know that Witches can be male or female. That’s an important distinction, and it explains why over time the male elders of the communities became angry and jealous of the Wickeds. The men hated that they had no influence over the Wickeds, that women alone had so much power that no male could control. They began to grumble that if the Wickeds could cause a drought, who was to say they weren’t responsible for all droughts? When a field lay fallow, they whispered that it was because of the Wickeds’ death touch. When illness took a child, they reminded people that Wickeds could cause sickness. The elders had found a marginalized group to blame for everyone’s problems, and in doing so they solidified their own power and importance.

“Eventually humans grew to distrust anything supernatural, be it Wicked power or Witch magic. Over time the two became one and the same in people’s minds: Wicked Witches. The following persecution was ruthless.

“The majority of people massacred during the witch hunts were women, and very few were actually Witches or Wickeds. After the witch hunts, Wickeds let themselves be erased from history for their own safety. As a species, we’ve lived in the shadows ever since. My family even more than others.”

Connor stood suddenly and began to pace back and forth behind the blanket. “Exactly how powerful are you?”

Holly’s breath caught in her throat. “Why would you ask me that?”

Connor paused mid-stride. “I meant you in the general sense of all Wickeds, but exactly how powerful are you , Holly?”

Holly’s fingertips tingled. “I—I’m powerful. So are my sisters. Our family line has been more temperate than others, eager to downplay what we are, but it had an unintended consequence: generation after generation, the restrained powers built until the three of us were born.”

“The stifled powers spilled into you and your sisters.”

Holly nodded. “The universe demands balance.”

“If your kind let loose and did all the evil they were capable of, what could they do?”

“We could destroy the world,” Holly said simply. “Humanity is doing it well enough on their own, but we could end it in a fraction of the time.”

Connor rubbed his palm over his chin and assessed her. “What happened four years ago?”

Holly knew not to underestimate him, and yet he still managed to surprise her when he made connections that shouldn’t have been so obvious. “Aunt Rose was able to hide the strength of our powers for a long time by giving us a potion. Four years ago it stopped working; our powers outstripped even the strongest of her concoctions. Maybe if we hadn’t turned our backs on our culture, we could have found another way, but she’d reached her limit of knowledge, and what we needed couldn’t be found in any book.”

“When you stopped taking the potion, there must’ve been a surge of power. That was what drew Councilman Miller to your plane,” Connor said. “That’s when the sightings began.”

“That’s what I now believe, yes.”

“Why did you need to hide the strength of your powers? Humans don’t know of your existence, so why does it matter?”

“Humans may not, but there are other, scarier Wickeds out there. Specifically the Shadow Council. Wickeds don’t have a formal government, unlike the—” she bit her tongue.

“We’ll come back to that. What’s the Shadow Council?”

“It’s an organization that functions as a check on any Wicked who gives into her impulses too much and jeopardizes the secrecy of our identity.”

“So a hit squad.”

Holly gave a strangled laugh. “I guess so. Aunt Rose and Aunt Daisy tried to hide my sisters and me so that our unusual level of power wouldn’t draw the council’s attention. It’s been four years since the potion stopped working.” She shrugged. “Maybe we’ve escaped their notice.”

Connor studied her with his piercing gray gaze. “Who does have a working government?” Even as he asked the question, realization dawned in his eyes, and he went utterly still. “Witches.”

She nodded in confirmation.

His focus drifted to an apple tree in the distance. “You keep talking about balance,” he said slowly. “Wickeds balance Witches and vice versa. In order to do that effectively, they must need to live in the same vicinity. That’s why they used to work in harmony with humanity all those thousands of years ago, and it’s how they were eventually conflated into one: they were always near one another.”

Holly felt as if she were watching a master piece together a ten-thousand-piece puzzle.

Connor’s intense scrutiny returned to her face. “Stacy is a Witch,” he said.

Shit. Holly was suddenly grateful this man was on her side. “Stacy’s family was likely drawn here by Autumn’s presence. Stacy and her brothers were born to balance out me and my sisters, or maybe the opposite is true. Stacy’s family knows what we are but very little about what we can do. Wickeds are an enigma, even to ourselves. We’ve lived in the shadows too long. My family especially.”

“You feel nauseated around Stacy.”

“Yes, and I think I give her a headache.” Holly chewed on her bottom lip. “That’s why when I say her perfectionism makes me ill, I’m only half joking. It’s an unpleasant feeling, and we separate as quickly as we can. I’m not certain, but I think in close quarters we may nullify each other. The truth is Witches get the fun magic. They have a strong network and government, and they can sparkle without having to battle personal demons and stress about balance. When it comes to equilibrium, the world is always going to need more good than bad. That’s partly why Witches can practice without restraint and why there are more of them. It’s also one of the reasons The Apple Dream does so well and Wicked Good Apples does not. For Wickeds, maintaining balance isn’t just a crappy mission assigned to us at birth; it’s a key component of our sanity.”

“Damn, Holly. So you’re telling me Wickeds suffer on a daily basis denying their powers and evil impulses, bearing this curse for centuries and secretly keeping the world together through sheer cleverness—all while humanity, and men in particular, have persecuted them out of ignorance, jealousy, and fear?”

“That about sums it up.”

“ Screw that.” Connor dropped to his knees in front of her and framed her face between his palms. “We don’t deserve you.” His lips touched hers with such tenderness that it felt like a physical thank-you, a gift of gratitude for what she and the other Wickeds did.

Holly’s heart blipped again.