“Dad, I’m with a customer,” the man pleaded. I saw a moment of fear in his eyes—being embarrassed in front of a total stranger by his father.
“Always with a customer,” his father growled, finally halting in the doorway. “Where’d you put my—oh my sweet Jesus.”
I didn’t want to watch the man get tongue-lashed by a father who clearly needed medication, so I’d knelt down and started looking at the jewelry through the glass. But at the man’s gasp, I looked up again—to find him staring right at me.
“Can’t be, can’t be,” he muttered, suddenly wringing his hands in front of him. “Dead and buried, Sherrod Daggett is. Always knew he’d come back from the dead. Back for me!”
The old man swiveled back to his son, as though all his hip problems were nonexistent. “I told you he’d come back for me! He always said he would!”
I stiffened, looking to Malcolm, but he’d heard it as well and was walking up right behind me.
“Dad, it’s just a customer,” his son said, holding his hands out. He turned to the left to catch my eye. “Sorry about this,” he murmured. “Come on, Dad. Let’s go find your TV Guide.”
The man voice got thicker the more worked up he became. “You don’t never listen, boy!
Sherrod Daggett! I told you he’d come! I told you.” The man stared holes into me. “You won’t get it back! You know it’s mine.”
Malcolm’s hand settled on my shoulder. “Now we know what they were hiding,” he said quietly.
“Dad!” Ethan started shuffling him back into the hallway.
“He said he’d come back for it, don’t you remember? I told you!” There was a sudden plea, a need for his son to understand him.
“You gave it back to him,” the son said gently. “Come on, your shows are about to be on.”
“My shows,” the man said, suddenly melting down. “I gave it back?” he asked, sounding completely lost and uncertain.
The two of them disappeared back into the kitchen. “Everyone knows you look just like him,”
Mal said quietly from behind me.
“But he recognized me,” I said. “He knew Sherrod’s name. He knew he was trouble.” That shouldn’t have been the case if the man wasn’t a witch, but neither he nor his son had shown any sign that they knew anything about magic. If nothing else, the son would have recognized us the moment we walked into the store, and that hadn’t been the case.
“I am so sorry about that boys,” Ethan came back into the shop with false cheer. There were beads of sweat on his forehead, and his smile was just a bit too wide. “My dad doesn’t always remember to take his pills.”
“It’s no problem,” Malcolm said, taking point. I don’t think I could have lied very effectively at the moment. The man’s accusation was like a sucker punch to the stomach.
“He’s been getting so confused lately,” he confided. “He’s convinced all the people he used to know have turned into monsters. Half his stories are about evil children who want him dead.” He laughed a false, overcompensated laugh. “Can you imagine?”
“So whoever he was talking about was some kind of student here?” Mal asked. The question was laced with casual interest.
Ethan shrugged. “How would I know? Dad was the head of the history department for near on thirty years. Didn’t make much sense, he hated kids.” He picked up where he’d left off, pulling the tray of necklaces back out of the cabinet. “So … how about that girlfriend of yours.”
“We’ve actually got to be going,” Mal said, clapping his hand on my shoulder again. “Justin here has a lot to do before school in the morning.” His grip on my shoulder tightened, and I half walked, and was half pushed back the way we’d come.
The shopkeep’s eyes squinted, but he didn’t argue. A silver chain dangled between his fingers. Mal led me to the door.
My father had been here? And people in town knew him? Had he gone to school here?
Was this where Moonset began?
Fifteen
“There was a growing unrest between the classes of witches. The Covens had held power for so long, they expected to hold it forever.
They were nearly untouchable. All that changed on
Dark Monday, with the London bombing.”
Moonset: A Dark Legacy
Mal and I agreed not to say anything to the others for the time being. At least until we could start to figure out what was really going on in Carrow Mill. Jenna and Cole were loose cannons on the best of days, and knowing that our parents might have had history here would not have ended well for anyone.
The next day at school wouldn’t have been so bad, except that Jenna had fully embraced the dark side. Or encouraged Maddy and her entourage to become her disciples.
“So you never told me how Mark’s was yesterday,” Jenna said, appearing at the side of my locker like a vampire emerging after sunset. She grabbed one of the belt loops of my jeans, her smile twisting dangerously. “Was it everything that memories are made of?”
I pulled away from her, and slammed the locker door. Someone had come by and sanded the symbol off my locker door, but now there was an ugly tan stain where the original color was exposed. Tan-colored lockers? Who’d ever thought that was a good color?
“Was that your idea?”
Jenna covered her mouth with her hand, but her eyes were confirmation enough.
“Are we really doing this, Jenna? We’ve got more important things to worry about then whatever grudge you’re carrying. You’re pissed at me, I get it.”
“Relax,” she said, with her hand still covering her mouth. Whatever she said next was so low and garbled I couldn’t make it out. Her hand dropped, and she rolled her eyes. “I’m not the one who’s pissed,” she said.
It’s not until a couple of minutes later that I realized what she meant. The color of my jeans suddenly faded, significantly, turning from dark to pale blue as though the color simply dribbled out the bottom. All except the crotch, which was still the same dark color. It looked like I’d pissed myself.
Jenna 1, Justin 0.
“Nice shorts,” Ash announced, sliding into the desk next to me during homeroom.
None of the counterspells I knew had worked on the jeans, and even trying to enlist Cole to cast an illusion to make them look normal hadn’t worked out. “I’m not getting Jenna pissed on me,” he’d said, wide eyed and nervous. “Pissed off, I mean.” Mal had refused to drive me home to change, but had offered up the change of clothes in his gym bag. I had to cinch the waist twice to keep the pants up, but they were better than nothing.
I rattled my fingers against my desk and ducked my head away. It was bad enough that I had to deal with Jenna’s wrath. Did Ash know what had happened? Was it spreading around school that I’d supposedly wet my pants? The fact that I was in shorts stood out a little, since it was
January in New York and all.
“Oh, no witty retort? Come on, Mercutio. You have to have a thicker skin than that.”
I didn’t even blink at the name. Shakespeare was the new theme obviously. “If you’re looking for witty retorts, you want one of the older, more sarcastic siblings,” I pointed out. “Though I’d stay away from Jenna today if you value all your limbs staying attached to your body.”
“Ooh, snarky,” Ash responded, eyes sparkling. “Getting me all hot and bothered,” she said, fanning herself. “Tell me more about these severed limbs.”