The Promise (Book 1, The Coven Series)

Chapter Twelve

"CJ?" Kay's voice came from the hallway. My stomach knotted, telling me to hide my discovery. Instinct, Emily had written. My instincts screamed to keep this from Kay. I didn't know why, but they did. Maybe it was reading the diary and it's insinuations that caused my caution, but I hid it nonetheless. I put it back into the shoe box and carefully set it where I'd found it.

Drying my eyes, I pushed myself up off the floor and closed the closet door. My head buzzed with hundreds of questions that Kay was going to answer. Then I saw her. She had collapsed against the wall beside Emily's door. Her ebony hair hung damp and limp around a face gone ashen. She looked like she'd just been through ten kinds of hell.

"Kay, are you okay?" Tears streamed down her face and she was shaking. "Was it the dream again?"

She nodded, her eyes wild with fear.

I pulled her up, helped her back into my room and put her back into bed. "Shh, you're safe now, Kay. I've got you."

"B-b-bur-rr-nn-ing," she stammered. "I was...was...was..."

"It's okay, I'm here. I won't let anything happen to you."

Kay had dreamed of being burnt at the stake since she was a little girl. It was a horrible dream. She could feel the heat of the flames as they licked their way up her body, feel her flesh blister, burn, and swell as the fire kissed her. Sometimes she'd scream herself hoarse even after she'd woken up. It was always the same dream and it always scared her shitless.

"Awful," she whispered as I tucked the covers around her. Her skin felt hot, feverish.

"I know," I soothed. "It's just a dream, Kay, you're fine."

She nodded, her eyes still wide and frightened. "It's getting worse, CJ. I'm having it every night."

I didn't know what to say. What could I say? I never had nightmares, ever.

"I can still feel the heat from the fire on my skin," she whispered. "So afraid."

"But you're not burning, Kay," I told her firmly. "It was only a dream."

"Just a dream," she agreed. "Just a dream. God, I need a drink."

"No, you don't," I argued. "Drinking won't help anything."

"I don't dream when I'm drunk, CJ."

Is that why her drinking had gotten so much worse over the last few weeks? Because her dreams had? "That's still not the answer, Makayla Joyce."

"I know, Mom." She rolled her eyes and took a shaky a breath. She flipped the channel with the remote and found an old Clark Gable film on AMC. I guess she'd had her quota of scary movies for the night. "This will put me back to sleep as well as a good shot of whiskey."

I smiled at her pained expression. She was starting to bounce back. I could understand where her dreams came from. She was a practicing witch and we were all taught about the witch trials at an early age – kindergarten I think. I still remembered the story.

It started in Salem Village, Massachusetts. Fear ran rampant through the countryside as men and women were accused of witchcraft from all walks of life. It was this fear that drove our original Coven to betray thirteen of its own members. They struck a bargain with George Corwin, the Sherriff, to keep themselves from being named as witches. They betrayed their own to save themselves.

I always thought that pretty much sucked. How could you betray your friends and family? My own ancestor and leader of the Coven, Sara Bishop, had burned with the others. Such a tragic waste of life. They had been witches, yes, but they didn't deserve to die like that. No one did.