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  TALES OF A REDHEADED

  SEA-WITCH

  J.E. HUNTER

  Other Books by J. E. Hunter

  Black Depths Series

  Tales of a Redheaded Sea-Witch

  Broken Tide

  Dark Shores

  Windbound (Novella)

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  Twitter: @byjehunter

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  TALES OF A REDHEADED SEA-WITCH

  BLACK DEPTHS

  BOOK ONE

  J.E. HUNTER

 

  Tales of a Redheaded Sea-Witch

  Cover Art by Leah Keeler

  Copyright © 2014 J.E. HUNTER

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-10:1499300158

  ISBN-13: 978-1499300154

  CHAPTER ONE

  There was something wrong with my hair.

  I leaned closer to the bathroom mirror, picking up my brush. I combed my long strands horizontally outward from my scalp, studying each one individually. Late afternoon sunlight glinted through my frosted window, illuminating the handful I was inspecting. I froze mid-brush.

  There was something really wrong with my hair.

  It was brownish-red. My hair was not supposed to be brownish-red. My hair was dark brown, perfectly matched to my dark brown eyes.

  Before I could look at it further, my cell phone began singing. I raced to answer it, dropping my brush without a second thought. “Marnie. Did you hear from them?” I asked breathlessly, already knowing my best friend was on the other end of the line. I sat down on my bed. It was still unmade because I'd just found the energy to wake up even though it was five o'clock in the afternoon. Summer vacation was definitely my favourite part of the year.

  “Yes, and they're coming! Aaron, Cody, and Graham are all in. But there's something else.” Marnie's voice moved into the high octaves; she was excited about something.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Aaron's going to call you! He’s finally going to ask you out.” Marnie squealed into my ear.

  I yanked the phone away. When I heard the squealing stop I put the phone back. My hands were shaky and damp with sweat. I gripped my turquoise bedspread tightly as I asked my next question. “When?”

  A beep blocked out Marnie's answer. I looked at my call display and felt my heart flutter.

  “O-M-G Marnie, he's calling me right now. I'll call you back.” I cut the line with Marnie just as she began squealing. “Hello?” Letting go of my blankets, I wiped my sweaty palm on my jeans.

  “Nessa? Hey, it's Aaron.” His voice came over the line as smooth and sexy as it was in person. I'd never spoken to him on the phone before, even though he was a regular member of the group Marnie and I hung out with. Last weekend he’d almost kissed me—I was sure of it—only we’d been interrupted by a puking Graham.

  “Aaron. Hi. It's nice to hear from you.” I mentally smacked myself—I sounded like such an idiot.

  “Hey. Yeah, For sure. I'm just calling to see if you're coming to the beach tonight, and to see if you need a ride.”

  I closed my eyes, picturing Aaron's curly, dirty-blond hair, hazel eyes, and athletic build. My pulse fluttered. “Oh. I'll probably just borrow my mom's car and pick up Marnie on the way. I'll be at the beach for sure. Probably around eight. So if you're there, I'll see you. Unless you're hiding… or something… then I won't see you...because you'd be hiding.” I pinched my eyes shut, embarrassed by my own uncontrollable babbling.

  “Great. Great! I'll see you there at eight then.” Aaron's voice still sounded hopeful. That was a good sign.

  “See you later.” I hit the end button on my cell phone and with a heavy sigh I fell backward onto my soft, unmade bed. I closed my eyes for five seconds before I realized I really needed to get moving if I was going to be ready in time for the beach. And I needed to get to Marnie's as soon as possible if I was going to look drop dead gorgeous.

  On my way, I texted Marnie, then I jumped up from my bed, grabbed my tan-coloured purse and my favourite cherry-red summer dress, and ran out of my room. As I passed my parent’s bedroom door, the familiar loss of oxygen came over me and my head began to spin. I grabbed the banister as I headed downstairs, fighting to stay on my feet and keep the shaking out of my hand. Things had been getting better over the past couple weeks—I felt like I could breathe deeper now compared to the first couple days—but things were still far from okay. That was the good thing about distraction: if I was sleeping or busy I could forget about everything that had happened.

  I slowed at the bottom of the steps when I heard the familiar, choking sobs. The worst part of being around Mom. I wanted to help her, to stop her crying, but I didn’t know how. So instead, I bit the inside of my cheek and prepared myself for the black hole that used to be my mother. Stepping forward softly, I pushed open the squeaking, swinging kitchen door. Mom instantly raised her hands to dry her face. She was sitting at the chocolate-coloured kitchen table, a glass of tea in front of her. Peppermint; I could smell it as soon as I stepped into the room.

  I could have asked her how she was. But for the past two weeks the only response I’d gotten was, “Fine.” We both knew that was a lie. “I’m going out,” I said instead.

  She nodded. “The keys are on the table.”

  “Could I have a few dollars? You know, for gas.”

  Mom nodded her head of short, straw-blond hair. She turned to her left, keeping her gaze downward and away from me as she dug through her purse. I looked like my dad: I had his dark brown hair and eyes, and his perfect, round nose. I’d always wished I looked like Mom, with her blonde crop of shiny hair. But now that dad was gone, I was glad to have a living reminder of him, except that it seemed to make it hard for Mom to look at me.

  “Of course; here’s forty.” She held the money out to me with a boney, shaky arm. “Drive safe. Have something healthy for supper.”

  “What are you going to eat?” I asked.

  “Don’t worry about me, Nessa. I’m fine.” She pushed the money into my hand and then grabbed my shoulder. “Just be safe.” Abruptly, she stood up, walked past me, cup of tea in hand. Her slow, plodding footsteps grew faint as she climbed the stairs. I wouldn’t see her again until tomorrow morning.

  My lip shook as I headed out the door. Why couldn’t she just hug me? Why couldn’t she tell me it would be all right? That was what she was supposed to do; she was the adult. I was the child—I wasn’t supposed to be comforting her. The way she ignored me—it just made me feel so…

  I pulled my cell phone out of my purse and speed-dialed Marnie.

  “Tell me what happened with Aaron,” she said.

  “I...” Words failed me. “I… I'm just leaving now.”

  “What's wrong?” Marnie caught on immediately, proving why she was my best friend. “Did Aaron say something to upset you?”

  “No. It wasn't Aaron.” I took a deep breath. “I'll tell you when I get to your house.”

  “Okay. Drive safe.” That was Marnie: responsible, practical, and mature beyond her years—except for the squealing.

  I jumped into Mom’s well-used Volkswagen Jetta, turning the engine. It started—reliable as always. I reached up, pulled down the visor, flipped open the mirror, checked my natural and dad-approved make-up before remembering I wasn't wearing any. Before remembering that something was wrong with my hair. Before remembering that Dad was dead and Mom was as good as.

  I turned the visor back up with a sharp snap. I backed out of our treeless driveway and onto the twilight streets of Surrey, British Columbia. I needed to get away, fast. But getting away didn’t help; it tore me apart. Why had Dad been so careless? Why had he been so stupid and answered hi
s cell phone while driving? If only he’d thought for one second, maybe he’d still be here. My chest constricted, my vision blurred. The next thing I knew, I was halfway to Marnie's house, tears streaming down my face. “Stop it, he’s gone. Crying won’t change anything,” I choked on the words. The vacuum of reality sucked the good feelings from my heart.

  I reached up and wiped my eyes as I turned the wheel to the right. Through my tears, the yellow fire hydrant caught my eye. It wobbled. “Too much stress, Nessa. You are too stressed. Just calm down and stop talking to yourself.” The yellow fire hydrant wobbled again, and then skyrocketed away.

  “What the hell?” I yelled, slamming the breaks. The heavy hydrant landed on the hood of the car with a thick, loud crunch. Fat drops of water followed it, pounding into the roof of the car. Slowly, I stepped out of the vehicle, away from the water. I looked back: less than ten feet away sat Mom’s car: silent, unmoving, and utterly destroyed.