by S. A. Ravel
Witches of the Cove
Arcane Affairs Agency
S.A. Ravel
Contents
NEVER MISS AN S.A. RAVEL RELEASE
Sneak Peek
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Join my Clan
Arcane Affairs Agency
Also By S.A. Ravel
About the Author
Copyright © 2016 by S.A. Ravel
All rights reserved.
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NEVER MISS AN S.A. RAVEL RELEASE
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Sneak Peek
As her tears passed, instinct took over. Anything had to be better than this fear, this pain. She stood up on her toes and leaned forward to press her lips against his.
The warmth that spread over her body as their lips touched was intoxicating, the most beautiful thing she'd ever felt and yet completely familiar. Just like their first kiss.
He stroked her hair. "Lia..."
She looped her arms around his neck, pulling his lips down to hers. "Don't tell me you don't want to," she whispered. "I know you better than that."
Parker wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her from the ground. For one delicious second, his lips brushed against hers, but he set her back down on the planks of the porch, an arm's length away.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card, holding it out to her. "Ward wants me to make myself scarce around town, but if you need me, call me."
She took the card and shoved it into her pocket knowing she had no intention of ever using it.
Parker turned and walked back down the steps. The details of his clothes and body disappeared as he stepped into the darkness, leaving only his outline, as he walked toward his car.
"Parker?"
He stopped and turned to look at her.
The tears came to her eyes again. "I need to know who killed my sister."
1
Lia squinted to refocus her eyes on the crystal ball. The bay window in the living room was wide open, letting the briny air flood into the space and infuse it with natural energy. Theoretically, she didn't need the trinket to achieve her goal, but in the second hour of kneeling beside the squat table in her chilly living room, when her arms trembled and her stomach growled in protest, it helped to have a physical object to focus her intent.
Fall was a special time for witches. Of the four-season changes, the two that signaled the beginning and end of Fall carried the most energy. The transition to winter was an especially potent time to reach out to those beyond the veil. Lia was counting on the extra energy to bolster her attempts to reach Melora, but so far she had come up short each time.
Unfortunately, her energy was already running low. Not even the magically infused air that flowed through the open bay windows could prevent the fatigue forever. In a few minutes, her reserves would be too weak to reach even the strongest spirit, much less one that was freshly transitioned.
Come on, Mel. Where are you?
A creaking floor board was the only answer she received, the only answer she'd gotten in the four days since her sister's body was found. The two-story house had belonged to their Aunt, now ten years dead, but it had been built decades before. There were no shortage of creaks and moans from the old frame, but those weren't the sounds Lia was looking for. Sometime on the first day, Lia had stopped letting the random noises raise her hopes. If Melora did make contact, it wouldn't be through a noisy plank of wood.
Give me a whistle, a flickering light, anything!
Fatigue and frustration gave way to tears as Lia opened her eyes and found herself alone.
For two days, Lia sat on the floor in two hour intervals, trying to find the spirit of her sister. She never slept for more than a couple of hours at a time. She rarely stopped for longer than it took to down a glass of juice or munch on a bagel. Yet, each time, she had come up empty.
If she knew for sure how Melora had died, that might make it easier to reach her. In centuries of documented research, no witch or warlock had ever established what made a ghost. In truth, no one tried. What sort of person would deliberately trap someone between the world of the living and the dead?
Instead of answers, Lia had theories and wild guesses. Rage seemed to help, as did a violent death. Some of the more wistful witches thought the sadness of a broken heart would do the trick. For every theory on what created a ghost, there was a spell, charm, or potion to aid communication.
Too many questions surrounded Melora's death for Lia to know which method to use. Healthy, thirty-year-old women didn't drop dead for no reason. But, as Sheriff Ward insisted, experienced swimmers of all ages drowned every day. When his department pulled Melora out of the frigid waters of Belmont Cover, there was no reason to suspect that she had been any different. No reason except a nagging tug in Lia's chest, a sensation that let her know something wasn't right.
She leaned back and sat on the hardwood floor, folding her legs under her. She wasn't sure which was worse, the idea that Melora had left her behind, or the idea that her big sister was trapped between worlds, just beyond her reach. A spirit could take days or weeks to manifest; if one manifested at all. Melora was strong. The strongest witch born to their family in generations. If the veil between the living and the dead could be pierced, she would find a way.
There were other witches in town who might have a better chance of reaching Melora. One witch claimed that she spoke to the dead as easily as she made a phone call, but Lia always thought it was bullshit. Even if she believed her, it felt wrong to ask a stranger to communicate with her sister's spirit. Traditional scrying wasn't working, but there was one method she hadn't tried.
Lia closed her eyes and breathed the incense in the air. She visualized her spirit rising out of her body, crossing into the void that separated the worlds of the living and the dead. A chill crept over Lia in the real world and the projection as she stared at the semi-transparent veil that separated the worlds.
Using her memories of her sister as a guide, Lia reached for her. In her mind, she saw Melora on the other side of the veil dressed in the same purple sundress she'd been wearing the night she died.
She called out to Melora, but her voice didn't carry across the void. Even so, Melora turned around. Her skin was pale, her lips tinged blue. More than anything there was fear, a deep fear that registered clearly in her eyes. Lia's heart clenched in her chest.
Melora opened her mouth to speak, and rivets of water trickled out. Lia tried to go to her sister, but the air wouldn't let her. The living weren't meant to travel through the world of the dead. It was Melora who moved forward, laying an icy hand on Lia's arm.
The shock of her sister's frigid touch snapped Lia awake. She sat up and hugged herself, rubbing her arms to push away the lingering cold. The comm
unication had been brief, but it was definitely Melora. She'd managed to send one word to Lia before the connection broke. A single word that was as much responsible for the shiver in Lia's skin as the horrifying image of her terrified sister.
Trouble.
Parker's plane touched down just after breakfast, but the drive to Blackthorn Mountain ate up all the hours between then and dinner. His mother, born and raised in one of the three clans that called Blackthorn home, always said this part of the country swallowed everything. Time, lives, loves, and dreams all disappeared in the misty air of the mountain. She claimed most people didn't notice and as he drove through the old-fashioned homes and worn cabins in the county, he wondered if she was right.
By the time he added his rental car to the dozen or so vehicles parked in front of the Kane residence there were only a few hours left until sunset. In his time with Arcane Affairs, Parker learned that clans and covens honored their dead in much the same way. A gathering was thrown at the home of the deceased's closest relative. Every member of the clan would attend. In special cases, like the death of an Alpha or Supreme, elders from nearby clans would pay their respects as well.
The front door of the house was wide open when he approached. So much the better, the longer he could go without flashing his badge, the more likely he was to get useful information. Already some of the mourners were staring at him, likely wondering what to make of him.
By his count, there were three Alpha's in the living room, each giving one another and him a wide berth. Most of the memorial guests hovered near a framed photograph of the deceased wrapped in black lace.
According to the case file, Melora Harper was a 30-year-old witch from nearby Belmont Cove. She had the distinction of being the only person in living memory to have memorials in both communities, in no small part because she had been Branden Kane's fiancée when she died. Parker didn't see any witches or warlocks in the Kane house, but that wasn't surprising. As a rule, witches and shifters did not mix, but the covens and clans of the Lost Coast had long since come to a shaky truce. Tensions between the two must have been rising.
The voice that came from behind his back startled him, though it was familiar. "Parker?"
He turned, only to find himself face-to-face with Branden Kane, son of the Blackthorn Mountain Alpha. In the twenty years since they'd last seen each other, Branden had grown three inches and put on fifty pounds of muscle. Both made him an imposing figure compared to Parker's runner's physique.
Branden's swollen, blood-shot eyes moved over Parker, looking him up and down in disbelief. Then he held his arms open, wrapping them around Parker and clapping him on the back
"Its good to see you, little brother," he said, his voice thick with barely contained emotion. "Welcome home."
Parker forced a smile to his face. "I'm sorry it couldn’t be under better circumstances. How are you holding up?"
Branden raked his palms over his face, looking for a moment like the teen he'd been when Parker last saw him. "My fiancée was just buried and I didn't even get to say goodbye to her. How would you be?"
Parker winced slightly. It was a rookie mistake, but the Arcane Affairs Agency rulebook didn't come with a primer on investigating estranged relatives. Strictly speaking, he shouldn't even be on the case. The time that passed since he and Branden had spoken wasn't enough to erase family ties in the Agency's eyes.
His only chance was to tell the truth. "Honestly? Probably ass deep in a bottle trying to out drink the hangover."
"Don't think it hasn't crossed my mind." Branden glanced at one of the Alphas, a grizzled old man who looked like the only thing stopping him from spitting on the floor was it would be a sign of disrespect to the owner of the house.
"Come on," Parker said, clapping his brother on the shoulder. "There's gotta be somewhere we can talk without prying eyes."
Branden nodded. "Of course, my office is down here."
Parker blinked. "You have an office?"
"I work from home a lot."
He led Parker down the hall to the backroom on the ground floor. When they were kids, their mother claimed the space as her sewing room. The faded floral wallpaper had been replaced by sleek wood paneling.
"Where's Dad?" Parker asked.
Branden poured two glasses of whiskey, passing one to Parker. "He's around here somewhere. The Alpha's went to separate corners. Nobody wants to lose their shit at a funeral."
Parker nodded. In most cases, he would have gone straight into questions about the case, but he couldn't do that with his own brother.
"How long were you two together?"
"A year, last May," he said.
Parker realized that he had no idea how to proceed. If it were a normal case, he would have asked who arranged the marriage and who had spoken out against it. Forward and to the point. But he couldn't do that with Branden. He took a sip of whiskey, opting to let his brother do the talking.
"We wanted to get things settled sooner," Branden said. "But the fucking negotiations and..."
"Negotiations?"
Branden nodded. "Who can go where, how often, and why. Which community the kids--" He closed his eyes and sighed, his shoulders slumping.
Parker's gut clenched. He'd never seen his brother so full of grief. It wafted from him in waves, filling the air in the office.
"I'm glad you’re home, little brother," Branden said. "Fucking hell, do we need you here now."
Parker swallowed. He'd hoped to get a little more time with his brother before he told him the truth. "Branden, you should know...I'm not just here for a reunion." He reached into his pocket, pulling out his Arcane Affairs Agency credentials.
Branden's nostrils flared as he looked at the ID. He stood and drained his whiskey glass, throwing his head back as the amber liquid disappeared down his throat.
He slammed the glass on his desk and glared at Parker. "Why is Arcane Affairs in my clan's business?"
"There are concerns about relations between Belmont and Blackthorn now that the marriage alliance isn't going through." Parker winced as the words left his mouth. They were the truth. Perfect Agency language right out of the procedure book, but he didn't think they were what Branden needed to hear.
"Is that what you people think it was?" Branden demanded. “How the fuck did you even know about it?"
"A Belmont witch and a Blackthorn bear? How the hell could we not?" Parker climbed to his feet. "Look, nobody's trying to come down on you. If it had worked, it would have been amazing. The best thing the Coast has ever had. But now--"
"Mel was my mate." Branden spat, his eyes flashing yellow. "I loved her and she's gone, and you come to my door bitching about treaties? Get out."
"Branden, don't be that--"
"I said get the fuck out." Branden growled as he slid from behind the desk and went to the door, tugging it open.
Parker drained his glass and set it on the table. He had no choice but to leave, and no doubt that Branden would make good on his threat if he didn't.
"If I catch you on my father's land again, Agent, I'll stomp a mud hole in your ass and walk it dry."
"Is Dad still saying that?" Parker asked.
Branden didn't respond. Parker shrugged and walked through the door.
2
The drive down the mountain into Belmont Cove gave Parker just enough time to lick his wounds and put his bear back in check. He couldn't really blame Branden for kicking him out. The residents of the Lost Coast were a solitary bunch. They didn't like outsiders, especially not when they tried to lord authority over them. Parker was a double insult, a local who'd abandoned the mountain and come back a traitor.
He had what he needed from the clan anyway. They weren't likely to start a war with the covens while the Alpha's family was in mourning. Any tensions between the two groups over the marriage probably died with Melora. Likely as not, once the two communities had finished mourning, things would go back to their normal stalemate.
But he couldn't leave
town without getting the witches' perspective, and he couldn't think of anywhere better to start than Melora's sister.
Unlike the clans, the witches of the cove and their culture was a mystery to Parker. Witches were the second most secretive of the paranormal races, but the covens of the Coast put those in every other region to shame. Census records put the population around 500 which could represent any number of full covens, informal covens, family units, and solitary witches.
The file didn't have much on Amelia Harper, except that she hadn't appeared in the Coast census until three years prior. The Harper women owned on a 9-acre plot on the outskirts of town. She probably couldn't give him details on the town council's official response, but she could tell him where to look.
He drove to the Harper residence first, planning to talk with Amelia before he checked into a hotel by the highway. It took longer than he expected to find the driveway hidden from the road by a line of trees and bushes. The Harpers had only lived in Belmont for a decade. Their coven house was on the outskirts of town, where the hills near the beach gave way to the forest. A marked Sheriff's Office vehicle was parked on the private road leading to the house. Parker pulled over and killed his engine just as a man in a brown uniform climbed out of the cab.
The man extended his hand to Parker. "Evening, I'm Glenn Ward, the local Sheriff. You with Arcane Affairs?"
Parker nodded and flashed his badge. Local law enforcement officers always liked it when agents proved who they were. "Agent Kane. Just thought I'd introduce myself to the victim's family before I turn in for the night."
"Victim? You know something I don't?"
"32-year-old woman dies of unnatural causes? She was a victim of something, even if it was only fate."
"Did you see the body?"
"Trick question," Parker said. "Melora Harper died four days ago. Witches who keep the old traditions bury their dead on the second day, unless there's good reason not to."
