Anya Bast - Witch Fury

For Pete G. who used to share his poetry with me. You’ll never be forgotten.

Thanks to the Sixth and Main Coffeehouse where I spent many hours working on this book. . up until I figured out they had free Internet.

SARAFINA MIGHT’VE BEEN NAMED FOR THE ANGELS, but she’d always known one day she’d end up in hell. Her mother had told her that a hundred times while she’d been growing up. She just never figured it would be while she was still breathing. But here she was — broke, dumped, and grief-stricken. It couldn’t get any worse.

Her fingers white and shaking, she released the yellow rose she held and let it fall onto Rosemary’s casket. It came to rest on the polished poplar top, followed by many more roses released by those around her. Yellow roses had been Rosemary’s favorite. They match your hair, buttercup . That’s what Rosemary had always said, holding one of the flowers up to Sarafina’s nose.

Sarafina had scraped together every last cent for that shiny coffin. She hadn’t been able to afford it. The funeral had almost beggared her. However, her foster mother had deserved the best. And since Rosemary had never had what she deserved in life, Sarafina had made sure she’d had it in death. The only problem was that now Sarafina had ninety-five dollars left in her bank account and rent had been due last week. She’d make it through, though, she always did.

She couldn’t cry. It was like all the tears were caught up inside her, stoppered tight. It would be good if she could. It would relieve this awful pressure in her chest. Sometimes crying was like bleeding, it helped cleanse a wound. That’s what Rosemary had always said.

“Bye, Rosemary,” she whispered.

Reverend Evans droned on, but Sarafina hardly heard him. She barely noticed the others around her, either, all of Rosemary’s friends who’d come to say their farewells. They clasped her hands after the funeral was over, squeezed her shoulder, and offered condolences. Her foster mother had had lots of friends.

If Sarafina had still lived here in Bowling Green, she knew she’d have half a million sympathy casseroles on her doorstep by now. As it was, she was headed back to Chicago right after the funeral. Back home.

She couldn’t wait.

Still in a daze, she turned away from the grave and came face-to-face with Nick. His dark brown eyes regarded her solemnly from the handsome face she’d known for years. “You’re not fit to drive seven hours today, Sarafina. Stay the night and head out in the morning. You can crash at my place.” A smile flickered over her mouth. “Oh, really? Amanda said that would be all right?” She and Nick had been sweethearts during high school. Although that fire had long since flickered out and faded to friendship, Sarafina had lost her virginity to Nick. She strongly suspected his wife, Amanda, didn’t want her on their couch.

Robin, another friend from childhood, came to stand near Nick. “If you don’t want to stay with him, you can stay with me.” She tilted her blond head to the side in a gesture Sarafina knew meant she was concerned.

Sarafina couldn’t swing a cat in Bowling Green and not hit someone from her past. As soon as she’d arrived, she’d been beset by old friends — and other people. Those other people were why she wanted to leave so badly. Like, now.

Whispers .

In Bowling Green there were whispers wherever she went. Hey, that’s the girl who. . Isn’t that the daughter of the woman who. . She was a walking freak show. Even fifteen years after it had happened, people still recognized her. High school had been hell.

She leaned forward and hugged Nick, then Robin. “You-all are sweet to offer, but I have to go into the office tomorrow. I can’t miss any more work than I have already.” She had a funeral to pay off.

Nick shifted and frowned. “They don’t give you grief leave?” Damn it. Caught right in the middle of her subterfuge.

“Yes, a few days.” She pressed her lips together. “It’s just that — I don’t want to. .” Understanding came over his face. “Oh.” Sarafina relaxed. “Yeah.”

“It’s too bad, but I get it, Sarafina,” Robin said, her brown eyes sad.

“I’m glad you both understand. The other reason why I don’t want to stay is because I don’t want to wallow, you know? I need to stay busy, get my mind on something else. If I don’t do that, it’ll be worse. The grief, I mean.” If she lost her momentum now and allowed herself to be mired in the loss of the only true mother she’d ever known, Sarafina knew she’d just dissolve.

“This fall I’ll come to visit.” The words popped out before Sarafina realized it. She’d wanted to appease Robin, but they both knew her words were a lie. Sarafina only came back here when she absolutely had to.

“Will you, really?” asked Robin suspiciously.

“I–I promise to think about it.”

Robin patted her back. “Will you at least call when you get home? I’m going to worry about you all day.” Sarafina nodded. “I will.” She paused, swallowing hard. God, she wished she could cry.

It wasn’t that she wanted to leave her friends. Sarafina loved them, as she’d loved Rosemary, but the town itself held too many bad memories. Once she’d turned eighteen she’d saved up her money, bought a car, and had driven away. Spending time here now, just breathing the air, it made her feel suffocated.

“Why didn’t Alex come with you, anyway?” Nick asked.

Sarafina looked down at her toes. Ugh. “Alex and I broke up.” “What? When?” Robin exclaimed.

“About a week before Rosemary died. It just wasn’t working out.” Alex had dumped her, actually.

“I’m so sorry, sweetie,” said Robin, cupping her shoulder.

Sarafina probably should’ve broken up with Alex first, a long time ago. Selfishly, she hadn’t wanted to be alone. She’d been afraid to be alone, to be perfectly honest. Because of that fear she’d stayed with him long after the fire had gone out, up until Alex had decided to give the relationship the axe. He’d done them both a favor. It’d been like pulling a dying plant out by its roots. It was a relief not to have to watch the leaves wilt anymore.

“Honestly, I don’t miss him much. I do miss you guys, though,” she finished, her voice breaking.

Robin hugged her again, making Sarafina let out a small sob. “Well, then, come back,” Robin whispered.

Sarafina shook her head and held on to her friend for another long moment. “I can’t.” Robin drew back and smiled sadly. “I know.” Sarafina turned and walked away, toward her rusty Honda Accord. “I’ll phone you when I get home,” she called over her shoulder. That was, if her telephone service hadn’t been shut off.

Robin and Nick stood at Rosemary’s grave, waving.

She might be penniless and on the verge of bankruptcy, she might have no family left, and she might be newly dumped, but at least she had good friends. There was always a spot of light in the dark if you looked for it.

The Accord started with a little hitch that made her heart pound.

“God, please, no,” she whispered. The last place on Earth she wanted to get stranded was Bowling Green, Kentucky. “If you’re going to have trouble, do it far from here, okay?” she crooned at the vehicle. “Or better yet, don’t do it at all. My bank account can’t take it.” Holding her breath, she guided the car away from the curb and out of the cemetery. She’d take the long way back to the highway, avoiding the subdivision where she’d grown up. It was a pretty drive from here to Louisville, full of hills, gorgeous exposed rock walls, and green trees. Kentucky was a beautiful state, but Sarafina couldn’t wait to get back to Chicago, where the scent of car exhaust filled her nose and the honking and voices of humanity constantly filled her ears. Where no one knew her on sight. No one knew her bizarre family history.