Witched at Birth--A Paris, Texas Romance Page 14

  But Ben wasn’t done. He cornered Randolph, his jaw so tight, he thought his teeth would break. “You stay the hell away from Winnie Foster, got that, asshole? I don’t know what your problem is with her, when all she was doing was looking out for both of our children, but you’d better direct that shit elsewhere.”

  “Fuck you, Yagamawitz. I’ll see you and that whore at Council tonight.”

  That was all it took.

  Just that one word before he saw red and his fist was high in the air, clocking Randolph Jackson with a hard blow.

  Winnie let her wig drop to the floor of the living room as Daphne and Ben hovered around her like mother hens.

  “You shouldn’t have hit him.”

  “At least I didn’t blow him up,” he joked, flexing his fist.

  “Not laughing.”

  “Too soon?” he asked, his expression sheepish.

  “Much,” Winnie said, trailing to the kitchen and pulling out a chair to drop down into.

  Daphne sent Lola and Travis off to the garden to play then gathered some ice for Ben’s hand. “You should’ve seen him. He clocked Randolph so fast, I’d swear he was a champion boxer. Blood everywhere, too.”

  Ben ran a hand over his jaw. “I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

  “He called her a whore. If you didn’t slug him, I would have.”

  Winnie let her head fall to her hands. “I don’t understand. How could Bitsie have seen me? She swore she saw me, Daphne.”

  Daphne waved a wrist adorned in diamonds in the air. “Maybe she drinks? I don’t know.”

  “And you lied,” she accused, shaking her finger at her new friend.

  “Yep, and I’d do it again. Randolph is a damn bully, always yelling and carrying on. I’d have left him for Satan if he offered, were I Louisa.”

  “Did she really leave him for a cabana boy?” Winnie asked.

  Daphne pulled out a chair for Ben and pushed him into it. “That’s the word.

  Winnie shook her head again. “And she just left her wand with him? C’mon, Daphne, you know a wand is like a witch’s lipstick.” That had bothered her since she’d found Wyatt with the wand. No witch left their wand unless it was a serious oversight.

  “You have a point,” Daphne agreed. “Now listen, we’ll figure this out. Promise. You let me do some snooping around—”

  “No!” Winnie put a hand on Daphne’s. “Please don’t. I appreciate the support. The lie you told to save me, and telling Mr. Jackson off, but don’t get any more involved. Please.”

  “Wait. Daphne lied?” Ben asked, holding the bag of ice to his hand.

  Winnie’s shoulders sagged. “Yes. She wasn’t really with me when I took a walk on my lunch break. I’ve been feeling uneasy all day, probably because my parole hearing’s tonight, and I just needed a minute to gather my thoughts.”

  “I believe you.” Ben grabbed her hand and kissed her fingertips.

  Daphne snapped his shoulder with the towel. “You should. She’d never set someone’s house on fire. Not after all this. She’s hours from being free of her parole, and she’s the obvious suspect in town. What earthly sense does that make?”

  Winnie sagged against the back of the chair. Ben believed her. That was all that mattered.

  “So what the hell is going on? Who did Bitsie see?” Ben asked.

  But them something occurred to her.

  She’d always be the scapegoat when things went wrong in Paris. Look at what had happened today when Randolph had openly accused her of stealing his wand. Almost all of the parents had been on board to believe it.

  Because she was on parole. And ex-con. Parents who’d gushed about her not three nights ago at the Halloween Party now believed she’d set Randolph Jackson’s house on fire. She’d seen the skepticism in some of their eyes.

  Winnie rose from the chair, her legs wobbling. “Does it really matter? I’m always going to be the go-to guy when it comes to blame, Ben. If anything goes wrong here in Paris, or at Miss Marjorie’s, everyone will always look to the convict.”

  Ben rose, too, his face hard and determined. “I don’t give a damn, Winnie. All that matters is you know you didn’t do it. I know you didn’t do it.”

  Tears began to flood her eyes. God damn it and all this crying! “But I do, Ben. I care about Lola too much to let her be labeled like that.”

  Ben reached for her hand. “We’ll work it out, Winnie.”

  She shook her head, brushing him away. “No. No we won’t. I can’t. I won’t,” she said before she gave Daphne a quick squeeze of her hand and escaped to her room.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “This is a mistake, Pooh Bear. An enormous mistake. Don’t do it.”

  “It’s a mistake to protect Lola?” Misery clamped her heart in a vise-like grip.

  “How is leaving protecting anyone? Don’t run away, Winnie. Stop damn well running away!”

  “Hush, Icabod, or I’ll leave without you.”

  “Oh, Heaven forbid I don’t have the distinct pleasure of being stuffed in the pink Pacer with Jacques and his ridiculous accent. The horror.”

  “Icabod, be quiet. I need to think.”

  “You need to go to your parole hearing. It’s almost eleven-thirty.”

  “And I will if you’ll just quiet down long enough for me to write this note to Ben and Lola.”

  “Winnie, this is wrong. I know you didn’t set Randolph’s house on fire. Ben knows it, too. Stop and think, Pooh Bear. He believes in you. Don’t leave that.”

  “And that’s awesome. You can’t even begin to imagine how great that feels. But you didn’t see some of the looks I got from a couple of the parents while we were trick-or-treating. They’re suspicious of me now, Icabod—even if they tried to hide it. I will not have Lola subjected to that.”

  It had been agony for her to see the hesitant expressions of some of the parents’ faces tonight. But who could blame them? She had been in jail for blowing things up. Not to mention, Bitsie claimed to have seen her. It was physical proof she’d been at Randolph’s house, and damn hard to prove untrue.

  Ben refused to bow to the pressure, but she’d caved like a house of cards.

  “Then damn well stay and find out what happened!”

  She couldn’t. She just couldn’t do it anymore. She’d taken her licks, one right after the other, but to involve Lola? No. No more. Lola had suffered long enough.

  As she reread the note she planned to leave on the bed for Ben and Lola, she gritted her teeth and signed it before sealing the envelope.

  Gathering up the bag of clothes Daphne had given her, she set them on the bed and scooped up Icabod.

  “Winnie. I’m begging you. Listen to me.”

  “No,” she whispered, taking one last look around the room she’d called home for the last month.

  “How do you plan to get past Ben?”

  She grabbed the bag and snapped her fingers, landing squarely in the front seat of the Pacer with a hard jolt backward. “Like that, and don’t razz me about using my magic. I’ve hardly used it in a month. It’s not selfish to avoid causing others pain.”

  “Damn it, Winnie, I’m telling you, this is a mistake.”

  “Sorry, Icabod, but I have to do this.” Pulling open the black trash bag, she stuffed him into it, tucking a pair of jeans around him and placing some UGG boots over his mouth, muffling his protests. “When we’re on the road again, I’ll take you out of there. I swear it.”

  Blinking her eyes, she made the car roll to the end of the long driveway so Ben wouldn’t hear the rumble of the engine. As she watched Ben’s house disappear behind the long line of trees, she gripped the steering wheel for strength.

  She’d go to the parole hearing, and then she was out of Paris for good.

  It was too damn hot here anyway.

  She had no clue where she was going, but the minute she had a cell phone, she was going to text Zelda. Maybe, wherever Baba had sent her, it was somewhere she could rest for a while and nurs
e this gnawing ache of agony.

  Ben took the stairs to Winnie’s room three or four at a time, determined to go with her to the hearing, and determined to beat the living shit out of Randolph if he had to.

  He gave the door a quick rap with his knuckles, listening for her answer.

  Nothing.

  Pushing it open, he frowned when he saw the note addressed to him on the bed.

  His gut clenched when he tore it open, skimming the words.

  Nope. No way was he going to let her cop out of this. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind Winnie hadn’t set fire to that asshole’s house, and he wasn’t going to let her leave Paris.

  She was meant to be here—he was meant to be with her.

  With that notion, he tore out of Winnie’s room and headed for Lola’s. She was probably sound asleep, but he figured she’d be all for taking a ride to Winnie’s parole hearing to tell her how much she loved her.

  But his heart stopped entirely when he looked at her bed. The blankets were rumpled, her costume lay on the floor beside it where she’d stripped it off tonight before climbing into bed, exhausted from trick-or-treating—but Lola wasn’t in it.

  “Lola?” he called, his heart starting back up to begin a hard pound in his chest.

  He stopped to listen for a moment.

  Nothing but the spit of rain beginning outside, pelting against the window.

  Terror, real and sharp, stuck him then. “Lola!”

  She pulled up to the school to find it completely dark. It was 11:39. Where was everyone? Weren’t they all saddled up to revoke her parole because of Randolph Jackson? Shouldn’t he be here with his stake, too?

  “We are here, Weenie!” Jacques chimed from the dashboard.

  Yeah. She was here. “Thanks, Jacques. I’ll see you when I’m done.”

  “Good luck, Weenie!”

  “Winnie!” Icabod’s muffled cry trickled upward from the bag.

  She put a hand over it and closed her eyes. “Be quiet. Just sit tight while I find out what’s going on, and then we’ll be on the road.”

  “Listen to me, Winnie!”

  She didn’t want to listen. She just wanted to run away and hide from the shame of being accused of something she didn’t do—on the day of her parole hearing, no less.

  “Winnie!” Icabod yelped again. “You’d damn well better knock this off. Take the stupid UGG boot off my head and listen before you go inside!”

  As she sat staring at the school, still wondering where everyone was, picturing the children greeting her every day with pudgy grins and absolutely no judgment about her whacky wardrobe; as she thought about reading to them, earning their trust, even keeping Travis Martin from yanking Tara Nettles’ hair right off her head, she gripped the steering wheel.

  She’d worked hard—so damn hard to get the kids to trust her.

  Then it occurred to her—they’d worked just as hard to get her to trust them, and that felt good. So good.

  And Lola and Ben. Her heart clenched, twisting in her chest. She’d worked the hardest to earn Lola’s trust. To earn back Ben’s. To prove she wasn’t the wild, loose cannon she’d once been.

  Now someone was trying to take it from her. Take away all the work she’d put in, and she was responding exactly the way everyone expected a convict would.

  By running away.

  Since when did Winnie Foster run away from anything? She blew shit up, but she didn’t run from it.

  Angry now, Winnie clenched her teeth. “I worked hard here, Icabod. Harder than I ever have in my lame, unproductive life, and now someone wants to take it from me. I don’t know who. I don’t know why—but I’m going to get to the bottom of it.”

  “Cheers from the crowd!” Icabod shouted. “But first, you need to get your butt into that hearing. Explain to Baba Yaga and her cronies. Tell them everything, BIC and Miss Marjorie will testify.”

  But then there was Bitsie—whose car wasn’t here, either, she noted. Winnie’s stomach took a dive. “But what about Bitsie? She said she saw me, Ic. How can I prove otherwise?”

  “Something’s just not right. I can feel it, Pooh Bear. We’ll figure it out. I’ll help. Ben and everyone else will help. For now, focus on your parole hearing. Go wow their asses off, Winnifred Foster!”

  She reached inside the bag, moving the boot off Icabod’s head, fighting the constriction in her throat. “I like you today, Icabod.”

  “I like you more,” he chirped sweetly.

  She chuckled. “Okay, knock that off right now. So here’s the deal. I’m going in there, balls to the wall, Icabod. I’m not letting anyone take me from Ben and Lola and I’m going to prove to these people that whoever set that fire at Randolph’s house, it wasn’t me.”

  “Grrrr! Tear ’em up, Pooh Bear!”

  She squeezed the bag and pushed the door of the Pacer open, cringing at the creak and groan. Wiping her palms on her jeans, Winnie looked around the deserted parking lot again. She just wanted this hearing to be over.

  She hadn’t heard from Baba Yaga in quite some time, something she’d assumed was purposeful. A test, sort of a throw-the-baby-bird-out-of-the-nest thing.

  But now she began to wonder if that wasn’t rather strange. What did Baba like to do more than taunt Winnie Foster?

  Not much.

  But she’d been so caught up in Lola and Ben and her job at the school, she’d almost forgotten the regular pop-ins from Baba.

  She walked toward the front of the school just as the rain began. She looked up at the sky. “Where were you when I was out there sweating my balls off, setting up those sprinklers for the garden?” she asked the swirling clouds, shaking her head.

  Checking the front of the school, she didn’t find any broomsticks parked anywhere. All of Baba’s goons had broomsticks, and they were part of the Council.

  Thunder rumbled low, making the concrete beneath her feet vibrate.

  Suddenly, it became crystal clear. “Okay. You can all come out now. Aren’t you lot hanging onto this test thing just a little too long? Cling-ons, right until the bitter end, huh? You fooled me once, but not again. This is a test to see if Winnie Foster’s going to stick around for the final beat down, isn’t it? Well, I’m here, and I’m not leaving until you bunch show yourselves. I’ve got all night. Bring it!”

  She tightened the hood of the cute pink hoodie Daphne had given her and crossed her feet at the ankles as she leaned against the door of the school.

  And nothing.

  Was she in the wrong place?

  No. BIC had said to meet them here at the school. She remembered it clearly.

  A flash of lightning glowed over the parking lot where the Pacer sat, all alone, but in the windshield, she caught a glimpse of something swooshing past the flagpole.

  Something dark. Something slithering and oily. Something she didn’t want to believe she was seeing.

  Winnie took a few steps away from the school’s front door, her jaw unhinging.

  Demons?

  Fear ran along her spine. Unbridled fear.

  Holy shit. Had someone left a portal unmanned?

  The inky stream zipped into a window on top of the schoolhouse and she followed, waving her hand so she rose up until her feet touched the roof. Her eyes followed yet another swirl of black, slipping inside the window.

  What the hell was going on?

  She needed to get closer. If this was a test, and she was doing the wrong thing, tough shit. No way was she taking any chances those demons weren’t real.

  Shaking off the fear she was going to end up blasted for using her magic before she was officially cleared of her parole, she snapped her fingers, making herself invisible.

  She crept along the edge of the roofline, careful to keep her footing, freezing when another demon slipped into the window.

  This was wrong. This wasn’t a test. This was bad—so, so bad.

  Each time she tried to get to the window, another one floated by. She had to go in. There was no choice.
Reaching down to her feet, she ran her hands along the line of her body until she appeared inside the school.

  Pressing herself to the wall where the children had hung their Halloween decorations, Winnie cocked her head, listening.

  Still nothing.

  Rubbing her fingers together, she pushed her way through the door that led to the attic she’d found Wyatt and Lola in. A sick dread swept over her, desolation, fear, utter and complete anguish.

  Yep. Demons. The real kind, not the test-dummy kind.

  But how the hell was she going to get up the stairs without them feeling her presence?

  It felt like forever since she’d used much more than novice magic, but she had to think of something. Crouching down beside the stairwell, she racked her brain.

  Eyes. She needed eyes.

  Icabod was a pair of eyes, and no one could hear him but her.

  She rubbed her fingers together again, making Icabod materialize in her lap.

  “Jesus, Winnie! What the hell. Didn’t you hear me calling you? There are demons here. You have to get out!”

  “Now you tell me?” she hissed. “Listen to me. Something’s going on upstairs, but I can’t get there without the demons feeling me. I need a pair of eyes.”

  “And I’m guessing mine are on the chopping block?” he asked dryly.

  “Icabod, we can’t just leave if someone’s in danger. I mean, where is everyone? Where’s BIC, Miss Marjorie, and Baba Yaga? When has she ever missed the chance to judge me? We have to find out what’s going on. So here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to float you up there; take a good look around—a really good look around—and tell me everything you see.”

  “Fine. But promise me one thing. If I lose my damn head again, you’ll sew it back on.”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “I’ll sew it back on. Now go!” Winnie released him as if she were releasing a balloon and he floated to the top of the stairs unhindered.

  “Oh… Oh, hell no.”

  More fear seized her. “What?”

  “We got a hitch in your giddy-up, Pooh Bear.”

  “Explain,” she demanded, her fingers aching from keeping them balled in fists.

  “Well, this explains why no one was at your parole hearing. Or rather, why you didn’t see all the torches and stakes they made for you waiting on the front lawn.”