Southern Charms

The Manor

 "Rosey-"

"Don't speak to me."

"Please."

Harmony never begged. Ever. The fact that she was directing her pleas in my direction ought to have pricked my hardened heart at least a little. But it didn't. Because every time I started to soften, I thought about how she pretended to be ill to trick us. About how our mother was accused of murder. How, even now, our father was in a bed fighting for his life. And even though I had no hard evidence that she was involved in any of those things, I knew it to be true.

"Just listen to me," she hissed, scooting closer to me on the couch. Polly paced the room like a caged animal, twitching and flinching in response to things only she could hear or see. "I need to tell you what's happening."

I twisted in my seat, pasting what I hoped was my most congenial smile on my face. It's the one I'd perfected as a child when Mama told me to tell Clemmy that her grits were just the best thing I'd ever tasted.

I had to smile because the grits glued my teeth together like cement, and I couldn't respond no matter how many threats Mama tossed me with her eyes. So my face had to answer for me, and if anyone knew one thing about me, it was that my face often threw me under the bus. It's like that meme says, controlling my tongue is no problem, it's my face that needs deliverance.

"Why is your face screwed up like that? Are you sick or something?"

A muscle in my cheek twinged, and I smoothed my brows. Now that I thought about it, perfection might be a bad word choice. That smile earned me more than one second helping of grits- no doubt, a bit of revenge on Clemmy's part.

"I am not sick, but you are clearly hard of hearing. I don't want to talk to you."

"Silly little girls," Polly said, dropping to all fours and crawling toward us with her head twisted to the side. Bits of flesh dangled from around her lips. I gagged. "No use fighting."

"Go away," Harmony snapped, lifting her chin.

I had to give my sister credit. Matted hair and dirt across her chin didn't affect her bitch face in the slightest. Polly just tittered and skittered back to the large window to watch for her prince.

When Harmony opened her mouth again, I jumped up and walked over to a bookshelf. Seeing wall to wall shelves of books would have delighted me any other time, and even with danger threatening, I couldn't help the little thrill that zipped through me as I ran my finger along the spines. Some were more well-loved than others, but I had no doubt they'd each been chosen after much thought. Luis Goodwin was a lot of things. Impulsive was not one of them.

I circled my arms around my waist and continued wandering about the study. I'd never been to Goodwin Manor before. Coming here would've been like a mouse waltzing into the trap willingly. Where Harmony and Jemina went, I did not, but to say I'd never been curious about the imposing mansion's interior would be a lie. The little I'd seen tonight didn't disappoint.

Harmony had teleported us to the end of their drive and cast no spells to conceal our destination. We marched brazenly up to the front of the house. No picturesque, plantation style home for the Goodwins. Where our house projected warm fuzzies and made a person think of sweet tea on a porch swing, this house went full Adam's family.

Three stories of gray stone and a high steeped, black roof loomed from the top of a hill. Only the gingerbread trim in white offered any relief from the dreariness, but it didn't lessen the mournful character of the house. Slender arched windows lined either side of the gabled entryway, designed for looks rather than their ability to allow light in.

Inside the ceilings were low and covered in dark panels, and our heels clicked on patterned tile. The sounds of music and conversation drifted from the back of the house, but Polly and Harmony led us straight up the stairs and into the study, allowing me to catch little more than glimpses of more paneling and faded tapestries. Talk about embracing a cliche.

But this room, I loved. It might be a prison now and possibly a grave later, but it spoke to my bookworm heart with its fragrance of ink and paper. If only I could be here alone.

Then again- though I was loathe to admit it- Harmony and Polly's presence made it hard to dwell on the cluster that had become my life. It made it hard to think about Ash's panicked expression as Willow dragged him away. And most of all, as long as they were here with me, they weren't out there- hunting down my friends.

"Rose, you have to listen to me."

"Oh look, a first edition Wizard of Oz. Do you know how much this is worth?"

"Fine. I'm going to talk at you. There's something you need to know about Mama-"

The door to the study burst open. Luis and Jemina Goodwin rushed into the room in a wave of glittering finery and oppressive perfume.

Luis pinched his nose as he studied me. It was difficult to look at him. Despite the lines of arrogance around his mouth and the cruel calculation in his eyes, I couldn't miss the similarities between him and his son.

Harmony edged closer to me, and I crinkled my nose in disgust. How could she be such a coward? Using me for protection. Then, I paid closer attention. She was in front of me, and magic glittered in her veins.

"Well you two have made a mess of things," Luis said. Scorn dripped from the lightly accented notes.

"You told me to get the girl. So I got the girl," Polly said with a pout.

"I said to do it quietly and without witnesses," he growled at her before pivoting toward us. "Harmony, tell me how many witnesses are running about town now?"

"Th-three sir," she replied. "But Jemina is out looking for them. They won't get away."

"You better hope not. Our plan relies on no one finding out what we're doing until the last possible moment."

"And they won't," she promised, cutting her eyes at me and whispering an apology before continuing. "But you promised me if I helped, you'd let my mother out of jail."

I stiffened. "Why is Mama in jail?"

Luis chuckled. "Because she killed poor, sweet Polly."

"She looks alive to me."

"That's just her body. Polly, did in fact, die."

"But my mother didn't kill her," I fumed.

"That's not what the police report says. The tests came back and the genetic markers were too close to be denied."

I blinked away tears and stumbled back into a bookshelf. It wasn't possible. My mother wasn't capable of murder. Okay, anyone with Clemmy's blood was capable of anything, but she loved my father. Even after everything.

Raising a shaking finger, I pointed at Polly. "How?"

"Betty Pilgrim was kind enough to revive her to be a host. Waste not, want not."

"So you are responsible for Malphas!"

Something flashed in Luis' eyes, and he crossed the room so fast he had to have used magic. "How do you know about Malphas?"

"How did you frame my mother? You know it wasn't her magic." I glared at him, and his grip tightened. I wouldn't show pain. Not for this man.

"I know it wasn't," he admitted, releasing me with a snarl. "It was yours."