Page 21 of The 13th Daughter
"Uh, definitely not."
"He likes you, though." Mom pulled out a jumbled mess of orange lights. "I told your father not to just throw these lights in here!"
"Just make Dad untangle them," I told her and opened a container with more lights. She was right. Dad had made a mess of them. No way was I going to sit here all day and untangle these things.
"So who were you kissing on the porch Tuesday afternoon then?"
Huh? I dropped the tombstone I'd just picked up. How did Mom know about that?
"Mrs. Avery next door took great delight in telling me all about it." Mom laughed at my shocked expression.
Damn that nosy old woman. I was sure it was all over town by now.
"It was nothing, Mom," I hedged. "Don't worry about it."
"Kissing a boy is nothing, CJ? Mrs. Avery said you were a bit involved for a minute."
Damn, damn that nosy old biddy.
"Ethan Warren," I told her reluctantly.
"Ethan's back?" Mom paused. An expression of shock morphed into one of extreme excitement on her face. "When did he get back?"
"Back?" I asked, confused. "He's been here before?"
She nodded.
"But he told me his mom wouldn't let them visit."
"No, she wouldn't, but his father always made sure he and Ethan visited for at least a day every summer." She pulled her phone out of her pocket. "I'll be back in a few minutes, CJ. I need to make a call."
What the hell? I gaped after her rapidly retreating backside. Why did Ethan's name cause her to get so worked up she looked ready to burst at the seams with excitement like a kid onChristmas morning? Oh, hell no. She was going to explain this. I started after her.
My foot tangled in a mess of lights and I fell. I landed face down in a pile of costumes. I pushed myself up with my good hand and froze. Something shiny and bright caught my attention. It was hidden underneath Grandma Bishop's old Singer sewing machine. I crawled over and pulled it out. My mind froze up for a minute as it took in the box wrapped in metallic red paper sporting little happy birthday logos all across it.
Oh damn. It couldn't be.
A card with my name on was anchored under the silver ribbon. I ripped the card open and almost dropped it in shock.
Happy Birthday, Little Sister
Love Emily
I'd looked everywhere for this after the funeral. She'd tormented and teased me unmercifully about what she'd gotten me for my fifteenth birthday. I couldn't believe I'd found it after all these years. I traced the words over and over, mindless of the tears that rolled down my cheeks.
I pulled the wrapping paper apart very gently, not wanting to lose even a piece of it, and uncovered a plain white shirt box. Inside, nestled in a bed of red tissue, lay Emily's induction dress. Her silver locket rested on top of the sheer material. My hand shook as I picked it up. We'd searched for this locket after the accident. Dad had wanted to bury her with it. Now I knew why we couldn't find it—she'd planned on giving it to me.
A whimper escaped as pain ripped through me. The old wound had never really healed and seeing this just made it bleed even more than usual. I opened the tiny clasp. Her face smiled up at me. Our hair lay twisted together over my own face. She'd worn it so she could have something of me with her at herceremony, and now I would wear it to have a piece of her with me always.
After fastening the locket around my neck, I held up the dress. It shimmered and glowed even in the dusty confines of the attic like a thousand tiny lights glittered against it. It was beautiful.
I started to put it back in the box when a letter caught my attention. It was addressed to me.
Hey Little Sis,
Happy birthday! I am going to put this at the foot of your bed so you'll see it as soon as you wake up. I can't wait to see your expression. I've tortured you long enough.
This gown is very special. It really is the original gown worn by Sara Bishop. She was the Coven Mistress in Massachusetts and this gown has been worn by all her descendants. Grandma Bishop gave it to me when I was twelve and told me its history. Like you, I didn't believe it then either, but it's true, Cassie Jayne. This gown is a part of our heritage, our history, and it's priceless for that reason. I know you'll take good care of it and the responsibility that comes with it. It belongs to you, always has I think. No one else has ever been able to touch it without the aid of a spell. It burns to the touch. I could hold it, but not for long. When you were able to touch it, I knew then it was yours.
