Spells Trouble by Kristin Cast (mystery books to read .txt) 📕

town and snaked through the verdant fields that made up the country surrounding Goodeville, Mercy realized she also couldn’t hear the whispers the corn made as the breeze rustled through it, or the chattering of the soy plants, their pods heavy with growing beans. She heard nothing. She felt nothing—nothing at all except exhaustion and grief—not even when her sister slowed as they neared the section of brilliant green fields that framed the mighty olive tree. So, Mercy stared and let her mind be completely empty like her heart and the unimaginable future.

“Oh, crap. Is that a cop car?”

Mercy forced her gaze to focus. “It looks like the sheriff’s car and a cop car. And I think I see yellow caution tape, too.”

“Roll your window up! I can’t turn around. It’d be too obvious. If someone recognizes Mom’s car, let’s hope they think Xena’s driving.”

Mercy kept her face pointed forward as they drove past, but glanced to the side. “Yeah, there’s that yellow crime scene tape and I think I saw the outline of a body.”

Hunter shivered. “No way we can check out the tree with the sheriff here. We’ll have to come back.” At the next stop sign Hunter turned to her sister. “I can cut across town super fast and swing by the Hindu tree. It’s on the way home. Want to go there?”

Mercy lifted a shoulder. “Yeah, okay.”

Hunter sighed, but didn’t comment. Instead she took a right, crossed Main Street, and wove through a quiet neighborhood and past the high school as they silently made their way to the tree that guarded the gate to the Hindu Underworld.

“I’m gonna pull into the easement so the car can’t be seen from the road,” Hunter said as she braked and turned off the road and onto a grassy area that was flanked by a wall of willows on one side and a bean field on the other. Mercy jumped and rubbed a hand over her face as she realized she’d almost fallen asleep. Hunter put the car in park and touched her sister’s arm. “Hey, are you okay?”

It was difficult to summon enough energy to turn her head to look at her twin, but slowly Mercy did. “No,” she made herself speak. “I am not okay.”

“I know, Mag. Me, either. But let’s get this done—for Mom. Maybe we won’t find anything wrong at all. Maybe it was just the Norse tree that was messed up, and Mom fixed it, so we won’t have to do anything until Solstice. But I can’t do this alone. I need you.”

Mercy forced herself to sit up straighter. She nodded. “I’m with you, H. Like always. We can do this.” The words sounded right, but felt wrong—like everything else.

“Let’s take the deer path. The one that winds away from the road and runs along the creek. I can’t deal with talking to anyone right now and there’s no way we can be seen from the road if we go that way.” Hunter pointed to a slim ribbon of a path that led from the cleared easement area through a wall of gently swaying weeping willows.

Their joined hands anchored each other as the twins followed the path that would lead to the point of the pentagram where generations ago Sarah Goode had conjured a banyan tree to guard the gate to the Underworld of the ancient Hindus.

Sugar Creek was only a few yards to their right. The scent and sound of it drifted through the tendrils of the willows. Usually Mercy would have inhaled the rich smell of the crystal water passing over rocks and soaked in the music it made as it cascaded toward Goode Lake, but that day she walked in a bubble of grief that was so thick it didn’t allow the world to touch her. She would’ve stopped and slumped to the ground, unmovable, had her sister’s hand not propelled her forward, so when Hunter abruptly halted, Mercy stumbled and did almost fall.

“There it is. I’ve always thought it’s the coolest looking of all of them.” Hunter jerked her chin at the enormous tree that filled the area between the tall bank of the creek and the bean field that stretched up a gradual incline to meet the blacktop road. “It looks fine from here, don’t you think?”

Mercy wanted to say that she was having a problem thinking about anything except their mom, but Hunter was counting on her—and she tried to never let Hunter down. She cleared her throat and swallowed the dryness in her mouth. “It seems normal.”

“Right? Maybe everything will be okay. Let’s get closer.”

Hunter dropped her hand and Mercy followed directly behind her as she left the little path. No one was in sight. Mercy thought even the birdsong was subdued. They approached the enormous tree that was so out of place in the American Midwest, and could never have existed—let alone thrived—without the magic of generations of Goode witches. The trunk of the tree was really strange looking. From a distance it appeared to be one big, thick base, but closer it became clear that it was actually a whole bunch of smaller trunks butted right up against each other, like the banyan was trying to be its own forest. Vines dripped from the mushroom-shaped green canopy. Even through her grief Mercy acknowledged that her sister was right. The tree was uniquely awesome. As they entered the area under the canopy the calf-high grass became sparse and short, which was good because the banyan’s roots had broken through the fertile earth and they had to pick their way over them carefully. Mercy stopped and stared up. The banyan’s leaves were small for such a huge tree, and shaped like little grass-green hearts.

Her sister’s voice, hushed like she was afraid of disturbing the tree, pulled at her attention. “Do you feel anything? Anything weird?”

“Not yet.” Mercy stopped staring up and walked closer to the trunk. Hunter sat cross-legged facing the banyan—situated between thick fingers of roots. She