Page 51 of Secrets in Salem: Part One

Aleric stands without releasing my wrist, and when I look up at him, he's sporting a grin that would set panties all around the world on fire.

Narrowing my eyes on him, I question, "What? Why are you grinning like that?"

"Because I'm about to cash in on our deal. I'll drive you."

Ah, shit.

Chapter 27

Willow

"I'm not movingin with you," I snap, voice like steel and anger wafting off me like steam.

"You have to. It's part of the deal," Aleric sing-songs like an annoying little shit who's on the right track to getting his throat punched. Yet I find myself feeling... well, not really annoyed. I think I'm amused, but that doesn't make sense since I'm practically being forced to move from my own home into an apartment with strangers who don't seem like strangers. I'm also a little distracted by Aleric's ass in the jeans he's wearing. It's all so very confusing.

Glaring at the back of Aleric's head while he walks me up the wonky stone path, I envision throttling him, but Micah pulls me out of my head, snagging my hand in his and smiling down at me. Yeah, apparently this is a group trip. I insisted I was okay to run in, change, and get back out again, but the guys weren't loving that idea. Instead, I was overruled and joined by all three of them.

Bishop, keeping close to my back, says, "It makes the most logical sense, Low. Your house is ruined, uninhabitable really, and we have a perfectly usable apartment for you to stay in. Not to mention you'd be safer with us than here alone until your mom returns."

I think Bishop's words over and frown. He does have a point. It would probably be safer, but not necessarily for me. If I stay with them, maybe it'll lower the number of casualties Aleric mentioned before. They can keep me from going all unnatural and murdery.

Micah squeezes my hand, gesturing for me to enter the house before him. I kind of don't want to since I know it’s still a total disaster, evidence of the start of my casualties still staining the walls and floor. I suck it up though, stepping into the house after Aleric and straight up the stairs so I don't have to look at it all. The guys follow after me, Micah's hand moving to my lower back to keep me steady as I bound up the stairs.

Groaning at the sight of all the photos I forgot about, I practically slap my hands onto my face and groan behind my palms, "I hate my life right now."

"It could be worse," Aleric smarts from behind me, poking his head into my room with a shrug. "There could be close ups of a cat's asshole in here."

"That doesn't help," I respond dryly, though there isn't much bite to it. What once used to be my comforting and cozy home now gives me the creeps. My spine tingles with residual panic from last night, the hairs on my arms standing on end. The longer I'm here, the more on edge I become, and I've recently decided I don't like feeling on edge. Not when it might result in a line of dead bodies before I've calmed down some.

Stepping into the room and over several photos I do my best to pretend aren't there, I hurry to my closet and start pulling everything out, dropping it on the bed. Micah, the absolute hero here, takes it upon himself to fold everything and place them into neat piles. Bishop takes his lead and searches for a bag, coming back with a black suitcase I've only ever used once. As a team, they both pack my clothes away, the decision to move already decided.

"I guess I'll go pack your toiletries," Aleric quips with a grin I catch before he disappears. Whatever. If it means safety for everyone around me, then so be it. He can win this one.

It doesn't take a whole lot of time for us to pack everything: clothes, toiletries, books, and trinkets. I've pretty much put away my whole room save for a couple of things I don't particularly care to keep. My journal isn't under my pillow, which is strange since I tuck it there every night. Maybe it's in my dresser instead? I've hidden it in there before. I need to find it before leaving because it contains everything I've learned about my birth mother since finding out I'm adopted. It has all my leads in there. Without that, I'll be left further in the dark than I am now.

Making a mental note to check my dresser before leaving, I look around and feel a sliver of sorrow. It's a little sad knowing how easily I packed my things, like I've just been waiting on Mom to be ready before I moved on from here. Guess that's going to be an issue when she comes home.

Deciding to give her another call as the guys take my things to Aleric's car, I slide my cell from the pocket of Micah's sweats and dial her number.

It rings twice before a breathless voice I've longed to hear finally picks up. "Oh my god, Willow! I'm so sorry, honey. I've been trying to call you, but I've been shipped off to some stone age place where the network is sketchy at best."

I'm so stunned that I can't even reply to her yet, my mouth parted with a silent gasp.

"Willow? Willow, honey, are you there?" Mom hurries, like she's trying to get her words out quickly before losing connection. "Shit. I hate this damn place. I'm never coming here again."

"M-mom? Sorry, I'm here. You just caught me by surprise. Where the hell are you?" I blurt, dropping my ass to my bed in a stunned stupor. I've been worrying about nothing. She's okay. She's safe.

There's banging in the background, metal tools clanging against stone and debris as archaeologists dig up their newest find. It's a sound I've heard often enough over the years to recognize anywhere. Mom sighs, a guilty sound if I've ever heard one, before she says, "I'm so sorry, Low. I didn't mean to hurry off. I did leave a note for you, but there was an emergency with one of the finds and they booked a plane for me asap. My phone died just before I left, and as soon as I charged it, my network wouldn't work properly. This is the first time it's lasted as long as it has. I didn't mean to worry you."

Worry me? I've been going out of my frigging mind. I don't tell her that though. She doesn't need to feel guiltier than she no doubt already does. It happens.

"It's fine, Mom. I'm just glad I know you're safe," I breathe, shoulders slumping while one particular weight is lifted from my shoulders. Well, only for a heavier weight to be placed right back on them when I remember she doesn't know about the house yet. Cringing, I resign myself to what I have to do next and bite the bullet, asking, "Have you had a call from the police?"

Just like I knew she would, my mother stutters her way into a frenzy of questions, her panic seeping through the phone like cloying fog. I wait her out until her breathing is somewhat stabilized, biting my lip just as she inhales loudly and finally asks, "Are you okay? That's all I need to know. You can explain everything else after you answer that."

"I'm fine, Mom. I promise," I swear, tucking the cell between my ear and shoulder before standing and pacing around my room, picking at the skin around my nails. Not for the first time since growing into an adult do I feel like a child preparing to receive a scolding from her mother.

"Alright, good. I'm glad. Now tell me why I could possibly get a call from the police," she commands a little stiffly.

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