House Of Ivy And Sorrow Part 16

"Good. Then we're in agreement." He slips his hand around my waist. "He didn't try to make a move on you or anything, did he?"

"No. I would have killed him if he did."

"Then what did he want?"

I pause, searching for a cover. "He thinks I have something that belongs to him, but I don't. He's totally insane."

Winn doesn't look completely satisfied. "I don't want to sound like a possessive boyfriend, but you shouldn't be alone with him like that. It'd be nice if you never saw him again, even. He seems really unstable."

He has no idea. Just the thought of Levi-of what he can do-makes me sick. I didn't think the Curse could be worse than it already was. I squeeze Winn's hand, looking him directly in the eye. "I know, and I'm not ever doing that again."

"Okay." He breathes a sigh of relief. "Let's get back to our date, then."

"Yes, please."

After dinner, we drive to Winn's house, which is so much more beautiful in the dark. The white glows a silvery blue in the moonlight, and the stained gla.s.s shines bright from each lit window. Winn parks in the gravel up front, since their garage is closer to the barn.

When we get out, my stomach twists at the thought of meeting his parents. Maybe I shouldn't have made fun of him, because it's kind of scary. I want them to like me, but at the same time I'd rather avoid them completely. Winn takes my hand and, to my surprise, doesn't head for the house.

"We're not going in?" I ask.

"Not yet. I wanted to show you my favorite place out here." He steps into the long gra.s.s, and a few fireflies flee at his steps. "You know, before my parents scare you away forever."

I laugh. "I don't think that's possible."

"I guess we'll see."

The evening gives up its last shreds of light as we walk hand in hand. It's quiet, which is when I realize Winn and I aren't usually quiet. It's nice, being together like this. Sometimes I worry the second I stop coming up with clever comments he'll get bored, but maybe not. He doesn't look bored, at least.

I like the trees here, mostly because they aren't willows, which get tiring in large quant.i.ties. Winn's trees are oak, and I imagine the person who planted them planned to be here a long time, since they aren't the fastest-growing tree. These are ma.s.sive, their new leaves not big enough to hide the starry sky.

When I see the swing, I smile. It's wide enough for two and carved with flowers. Old things were always done with such care, and I immediately get why Winn likes it so much. "I haven't seen one of these in forever."

"My grandpa put it here." He grabs the old rope, and the tree branch creaks like my house. "I guess my grandmother loved to swing, but she died before I was born."

"It's beautiful. May I?"

He smiles. "Of course."

The tree protests when we both sit, but it holds our weight. I lean my head on his shoulder and watch the fireflies dance around us. The air is quieter since it's spring. There are crickets, but they are timid about their newfound voices. The bullfrogs sound young, the deepness of their croaks not quite there.

"I never brought Chelsea here," Winn says.

I look up at him, his profile strong in the remaining light. "What?"

"I hardly ever brought her to my house. It's weird, but everything wrong with her seemed to stand out when she was here. I guess I was in denial about it." He pushes the swing back, and we rock softly. "But you fit here so well it's scary."

Hearing him say that makes up for everything that happened at the diner. "Great. I'm scary."

Gently, he kisses my cheek. "Terrifying."

It sends a wave of warmth through me, and I hold my breath as I wait for what must be coming next. I study the lines of his face. The creases from his smile. The place by his eyes where laugh lines will someday show his age. We have so much life ahead of us, so many more experiences that will change our faces from young to old. And then something in my heart snaps. This won't last forever.

I look down, trying to recover the water pooling in my eyes. Now. Think about now. Enjoy it now.

"Jo?" Winn puts his hand on my face. "Is something wrong?"

"No. Nothing." I look back up, smiling as best I can. "I just wish this moment could last forever."

He leans in. "But there are so many better ones to come."

"True." When our lips meet, it's unlike anything I expected. It's not "meh" as Gwen once described her first kiss. The power inside me tingles, growing stronger the more we kiss. It begs me not to stop, as if my magic has been waiting a lifetime for this moment.

Winn pulls away first, breathless. "Where . . . how . . . was that as amazing as I thought it was?"

I gulp as I search his eyes, confused not only by how strong our connection seems to be, but by his ability to recognize it. "I think so."

He kisses me again, and my magic sizzles at our lips, so addicting I can barely control myself. The only thing that stops me from unleashing it is my confusion over what it wants, why it would react to Winn. Maybe this is totally normal for a witch. If it is, I plan to be with Winn as long as I can, even if I can't have forever.

After a long time swinging and kissing, we head for his house. I'm not as nervous as before. I do feel like I belong here, as if the place is familiar in some way. But it's not until we enter the house that I know why. I have to catch myself from falling because the magic is so strong and deep and warm, like a well straight down to the Earth's core. I know, with everything in me, where I am.

I'm in Great-Great-Aunt f.a.n.n.y's house.

TWENTY-SIX.

I force myself not to panic, but I can't stop wondering about how on earth the Carters ended up in f.a.n.n.y's house. Agatha did write that f.a.n.n.y's house was bound to a family. Maybe it was Winn's.

But as I take in the spells, it seems impossible that any witch-let alone a normal human-could find this house and bind to it with such powerful barriers surrounding it. They are overwhelmingly strong, more so than any on our house. My head spins as it tries to decipher all the magic in the air.

"Jo?" Winn says.

I jump. "Huh?"

He seems really worried, like he thinks I might run and never come back. "Are you okay? You kind of s.p.a.ced out a little."

"Oh, I'm fine. I just . . . didn't realize your house would be so beautiful inside." It's the truth. The simple beauty of the outside follows you in. White walls with striking, colorful art mirror the stained-gla.s.s windows. The soft navy blue area rugs mimic the shutters. The lush greens and browns bring the trees inside.

It's magical.

"I've always liked it." He tugs my hand, and I take a few steps forward only to stop again. A stunning array of old ceramic tiles covers the hall wall, carefully arranged so that it looks like a night sky with hundreds of colorful stars.

"That's amazing." I step closer. The pieces certainly don't belong to one another, but are chips from something else. "Who made this?"

He shrugs. "It's always been there. A lot of things have always been here. They're so beautiful that there's no reason to change them."

I touch the tiles, imagining f.a.n.n.y herself putting them up. My fingers turn hot and then numb, and my wonderings are proved right. This is one ma.s.sive spell-a spell of hiding, like a star among many. This is why Nana and I haven't found this place right under our noses. I can't make out all the complexities, but it seems like only those bound to the house can bring people in. So there's no way someone could have murdered f.a.n.n.y unless . . .

Did Winn's ancestors do it? Maybe she let them in to give them a spell, and they attacked her. But surely she would have defended herself.

"Winn?" His mother's voice echoes down the hall. "Is that you?"

"Yeah." He squeezes my hand once. "Don't be nervous. She'll love you."

I am nervous, but not for the reasons he thinks. "I hate your confidence-makes it so much easier to disappoint."

He shakes his head. "C'mon."

We pa.s.s by the spiral staircase and through a swinging door, which opens to a rustic kitchen, the old wood stove still in place. To our right is the living room, where a TV gives off the only light to see his parents by.

They look normal and non-magical, hanging out on the couch after a long week. Mr. Carter is a total farmer, hard work written in every line on his face. Winn's mother's grin is warm, and her hair matches Winn's sandy color exactly. I try and try to see if I'm missing something, but there's not a speck of magic in them that I can find. It doesn't make sense, but I'll take it. That is much better than discovering a witch or whatever Levi is in the house.

"Well, aren't you pretty as ever, Josephine," Winn's mother says with her soft southern accent. I'm not sure which part of the South she's from, but she and Mr. Carter went to school in South Carolina and that's how Mrs. Carter ended up all the way out here in Willow's End.

"Thank you," I say. "Your house is gorgeous. I'm still trying to take it all in."

She smiles wider. "It wasn't until I saw the house that I said I'd marry Jim."

"That's the only way any of us Carters manage to tie the knot," his dad says.

I laugh, but then stop short because I'm not sure if I'm supposed to.

"You'll hear that joke at least twenty more times." Winn pulls me to the couch. I try not to look as awkward as I feel, sitting so close to him when they're staring. Not that they seem upset, but it's weird.

His dad takes a swig from a gla.s.s bottle. "It's the truth. The Carters have only had boys for generations-my grandpa used to joke about us ugly mutts needing a nice house to convince any woman to live in Willow's End for the rest of her life."

As much as I don't want to, I have to ask. "Generations, huh? How long have the Carters been here anyway?"

"Oh, since around nineteen hundred," Mrs. Carter says. "You should see the attic, honey. Someday we'll get around to appraising all that stuff. We'd probably be rich."

My heart skips a beat. It's too close to when f.a.n.n.y died. "Really?"

"We're not selling anything," Mr. Carter says. "But yes, my great-grandfather Phillip and his wife Cordelia moved here around the turn of the century. I remember my grandpa showing me their journals and letters when I was a kid-he loved exploring the attic."

"Wow." I don't want to go on, but Nana would be p.i.s.sed if I didn't. "Do you know who lived here before that?"

His parents glance at each other. "No one did. My family built the house," Mr. Carter says.

"I see." I know he's lying. Which means they have something to hide. I don't want to think about what that something might be.

"So, uh . . ." Winn clears his throat. "Are you guys going to bed soon?"

His mom laughs. "All right, all right, baby, you two be good. We'll finish off this movie in our room."

"The volume will be on low," his dad adds.

Winn covers his face. "We really need a movie theater within reasonable driving distance."

I offer a laugh, though it sounds halfhearted. When his parents leave, Winn gets up to put in a different movie. "What do you want to watch?"

I shrug. "I like anything. You pick."

He gives me this look, as if he knows something happened within the last few minutes but isn't sure what. "Okay, if you say so."

I watch him, wishing I'd never come here. I want to go back to not knowing that, even though it should be impossible, Winn lives in a witch's house. A witch who was probably murdered. But it feels like I'm falling into darkness deeper than anything I've ever felt. I don't want to accept the most logical explanation: Winn's family is somehow like Levi.

Is that why my magic reacted so strongly when we kissed?

Is Winn after it as well?

My stomach turns as I worry about whether or not Winn can sense my powers. I hate that Levi's claim about people lying has gotten to me. The way Levi looked at him when we first met screamed of recognition. Levi probably knows how Winn plays into this, and he's somewhere smiling that evil smile, thinking about how devastated I'll be when I find out.

I am devastated.

Winn sits next to me again, pulling me close. I hate how quickly his touch has turned from comfort into fear. Maybe he's like Levi-maybe he's not the kind who Curses immediately, but instead waits for the right time to ask for what's not his. Maybe he's waiting until I'm so in love with him that I'd do anything to keep him.

I should leave.

I don't want to leave.

"You're so quiet," he whispers.

I blink, realizing that the movie has been going at least fifteen minutes. It's a comedy, and I haven't laughed once. "I . . . sorry, I was falling asleep." I lean into him more, his scent enveloping me as I fight back tears. I have to be wrong. Please, please be wrong. "You're just so comfortable."

He kisses the top of my head. "There you go, calling me fat again."

My laugh sounds more like a mouse being squashed, but I cover it up by burrowing my head into his chest. He seems happy with that, and I wish I didn't want to be this close to him. Why can't I get myself to leave?

"So much for our bad luck on dates," he says.

One tear escapes, and I hope he doesn't feel it wet his shirt.

TWENTY-SEVEN.