Page 19 of Fated Moons
“Daddy. We can’t tell anyone about this. It will cause widespread panic.”
“Trask isn’t anyone, and you, my darling daughter, need to learn to contain the dust, or it's going to fly from your eyes when you blink or come off your fingertips when you wave your hand in front of the whole world,” her dad said. “What does Jackson believe or understand about the fairy dust? I hope you said it was all part of your spell.”
“I couldn’t do that,” she admitted.
“And why not?”
“Because he saw it for what it was and then asked me if I knew anything about the Legend of the Fated Moons.” She pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Please tell me you lied to him about possibly being part fairy.”
“I’m sorry, Daddy. I didn’t. He already knew and I didn’t see the point,” she said. “I need to know if you’ve heard of this legend or not.”
“Why?”
“Just answer the question, please.” She let out a long breath.
“There is only one witch coven that speaks of that legend openly. For our kind, it’s a fictional story. It used to be told much like we tell the tale of the Trolls of Bridgewater, demonizing the wolf fairy that dared to impregnate an innocent witch.”
“That’s not how Jackson describes it, and I think it’s a wolf and a witch fairy. I believe that’s an important distinction.”
“Witches couldn’t ever accept that version. It meant that a witch fairy already existed.”
“Trask exists,” she stated the obvious.
“We didn’t know that at the time and many witches are still fearful of Trask. They don’t care that he destroyed Tara,” her father said. “I’d like to come out there tomorrow. I also want to ask Trask to come as well. Can you ask Jackson if that would be okay? We need to figure out how to contain this dust. And I need to make sure Jackson isn’t going to tell anyone.”
“He’s an alpha. Sworn to protect fairies. He won’t. In the meantime, I need you to get my Book of Spells and take a picture of my protection spell and send it to me.”
“Do you have a connection spell?”
“No. Why?”
“If you mix the two, you’ll be able to tell if anything is about to happen to him if you’re not near. And the same will happen in reverse. It’s one way we might be able to see who the black magic is targeting,” her father said. “It’s not a difficult spell. I can tell you how to add it to yours. You shouldn’t need to tweak or practice it.”
“Thanks, Dad. This entire thing has been a lot to take.”
“The timing of it all is not ideal,” her father said. “I’ll see you by lunch tomorrow.” The line went dead.
She rose and made her way to the fireplace. She lifted a picture of Jackson and his mother. Fairy dust circled the frame.It danced around it as if it were happy. It felt warm and soft against her skin. It was the most foreign thing to ever happen to her, yet it felt so natural, so a part of her essence.
And it seemed to love all things Jackson.
5
Jackson tossed a couple of logs into the firepit over the flame he’d created with kindling and a brick fire starter. The sun had begun its descent behind the mountains. Soon it would be dark, and the temperature would drop, but he didn’t want to be locked inside with Amanda, especially when she was looking through some book while talking with her father about this stupid protection spell that, like an idiot, he agreed to let her cast.
Witches had always made Jackson nervous. When he was in second grade, the girl who sat next to him had been a witch. She had been his first crush with her strawberry-blond hair, generally worn in pigtails, and a freckled face with big bright-blue eyes that always drew him in like a rabbit to a carrot. But being around her family, when they performed witchcraft, even though they seemed like decent people with good intentions, the actual rituals made him wonder if she’d put a spell on him to like her to begin with.
As an adult, Jackson knew his paranoia stemmed from his abusive father, who always told him no one ever likes anyone for no reason. Everyone had a hidden agenda, and everyone would want something from Jackson. His father also constantly toldhim what a loser he’d been. Even today, from prison, his father would send him letters, telling Jackson what a horrible actor he was and how rotten his films were. He knew he shouldn’t even bother opening the letters, but something inside him made him keep them. His mother had been supportive but believed his inability to believe in himself truly was because he didn’t burn the letters and cut his father completely out of his life.
His mother was right.
He was the idiot who got hit with a baseball bat every time he opened the door but kept opening it anyway, expecting different results. He knew the results he wanted. Wished for. Prayed for. And that was to hear his father never intended to kill anyone.
But that was a pipe dream.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell. He stared at the contact information for Trask Blue.
