by Cate Dean
MORE THAN A FEELING
THE PREQUEL TO THE CLAIRE WICHE CHRONICLES
Cate Dean
Copyright, 2016
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author, except for use in any review. This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, locales, and events are either pure invention or used fictitiously, and all incidents come from the author’s imagination alone.
Cover art by Nadica Boskovska
Cover Design by ResplendentMedia.com
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Table of Contents
Copyright Page
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
About The Author
Further Reading: Rest For The Wicked
ONE
Annie Sullivan stopped when she spotted the store on the other side of Forest Street. One she’d only glanced at before today. Before she acknowledged her growing power; before she found herself alone.
“The Wiche’s Broom.” She felt a smile coming on—her first in three months. “I bet there’s a story behind that one.”
At least it would be a distraction. And she badly needed a distraction.
Jaywalking across the two lane street, she opened the glass door, looking up when a bell chimed over her head. Not a headache-inducing screech, like the buzzers she’d set off when walking in other stores. Just enough to alert the sales staff in case they were out of sight of the door.
She stepped inside the store, and immediately felt calm. The scent of lavender soothed her—a nice alternative to the choking amount of patchouli Madame Serena pumped into the air at The Witch’s Way. Her store was three times the size of this one, but Annie never seemed to find what she needed.
Three steps in she saw the shelf of crystals.
“Oh—yes.” She strode over to the tall shelf, trying to take it all in at once. The crystals were displayed for easy access, some on stands, some spread out across the shelf, the palm size crystals in a shallow basket. And bless whoever did it, they were arranged by type, instead of size. The way Madame Serena had hers marching from smallest up on dark wood shelves gave Annie a headache every time she tried to find a particular one. “Amethyst crystals—where are the amethyst—”
“Third shelf down, on your right.” The voice froze her, the kindness in it touching a part of her she thought she managed to bury with her parents. “Is it for a particular use? Or were you wanting something decorative?”
Annie swallowed, forced herself to smile as she turned to face the voice’s owner. The smile faded when she looked down—nearly a foot down from her own almost six foot height—and met silver-edged blue eyes.
She blurted out her real reason for coming in before she could stop herself. “It’s for—I’m just learning about my powers, now that my—”
A small, warm hand closed over her wrist when she faltered. “It is an exciting, scary time for you, isn’t it? How long have you known?”
Annie blinked at her, and to her horror, tears started to fill her eyes.
“I have to go.”
That hand tightened on her wrist, incredibly strong for such a petite woman. “Please stay. You need to talk. I can listen, and hopefully, offer you some relief.”
Before Annie could refuse, the woman wrapped an arm around her waist and let her through the long, narrow store. A round table sat in the back, on a colorful rug. The woman settled Annie in the closest chair and moved to the chair on the other side of the table. It gave Annie a few seconds to blink her eyes clear, and study her new acquaintance.
A gorgeous face framed those unusual eyes, and a cloud of red brown hair surrounded it, falling almost to her waist. A blue blouse and black trousers enhanced her slender figure. She made Annie, with her jeans, boots and oversized jacket, feel like a plodding giant.
Those feelings faded when she sat, and smiled across the table. “I am Claire.”
“Annie.”
“Annie Sullivan?” Her heart clenched. She nodded, staring at the table. And jerked in shock when one arm slid over her shoulders. “I am so sorry for your loss, Annie.”
The same kindness filled Claire’s low voice, and shattered the thin wall Annie managed to build between her and her pain.
“I can’t—”
“You can. You need to. Let it go, Annie.”
Just like that, all the rigid control disappeared.
Annie cried, like she should have at the funeral, at the cemetery, with her parents’ friends. It took a stranger to finally allow her to give in to the overwhelming loss.
When she finally came up for air, feeling like an idiot, Claire handed her a box of tissue.
“Stay put. I’m going to get you some water. Hey,” she paused in the doorway of the back room. “Do you happen to like roast beef?” Annie’s stomach growled, and she clutched it, embarrassed. Claire smiled. “I’ll take that as a yes. I have half of my sandwich left over from lunch. It’s yours.”
“Why are you doing this?”
Pain flared in the silver blue eyes, disappeared so fast Annie wasn’t sure if she imagined it.
“I know what it is to be alone. To lose everything you are, in a moment.” She cleared her throat. “So—roast beef and water, coming up. You stay right there.”
The words should have sounded bossy. Should have gotten Annie’s back up. She hated the holier-than-thou attitude, the “I know what’s good for you” speeches disguised as concern.
But Claire’s words were—real. And Annie was more than a little curious about the woman who effortlessly broke through, when even her closest friends had been shut out.
Claire swept back in, set down a real plate, with—oh, God love her—one of the roast beef sandwiches from Lily’s takeout just down the street. Annie’s taste buds were already doing a happy dance.
“I think I love you.” The words jumped out of her mouth before she could stop them. Claire’s laughter had her blushing.
“Lily is a genius with food. I’ve been addicted since my first bite. Please, Annie—eat. You look like you haven’t had a good meal in a while. I know how grief can chip away at you.”
“Claire.” The other woman smiled at her. She looked—ageless. Not a line on her face, but Annie knew, somehow, Claire’s real age was not showing on her face. “Thank you, for—everything.”
“It was my greatest pleasure.” She leaned down, set a heart-shaped amethyst on the table next to Annie’s hand. “And this is a gift. I hope it will help to ease some of the pain you carry.” Annie looked up, saw the gorgeous amethyst point Claire wore on a silver chain. She obviously favored them. “Take your time—I’ll be up front if you need anything.”
Feeling lighter than she had in months, Annie took her first bite of the roast beef, and sank into food nirvana. Claire’s laughter echoed from the front of the store, and Annie relaxed in the chair, closing her free hand over the amethyst heart.
The part of her that had pushed down her power, her need, knew the moment she touched it. She had come home.
TWO
Claire waited for Annie to make the next move. While she did, she assisted customers, and planned the next addition to the Halloween display in her window, glancing every so often toward the back.
The young woman’s grief was almost visible, a wall she put between herself and the rest of the world. Claire had watched her for a few minutes before a
pproaching her, wanting to ease the ache that showed in every movement.
She had not planned to open the well.
Getting close to—anyone, was not an option for her. As a shopkeeper, in a beach town that lured visitors from around the world, Claire had all the socializing she could ever want. But something about the tall blonde sitting at her table reached in past her solid defenses. That something could be dangerous for both of them.
The bell over the door chimed, and Claire looked up, letting out a mental sigh when her least favorite customer toddled in. She forced an easy smile and walked around the counter.
“Good afternoon, Mildred. How can I help you today?”
The old woman blinked at her, wringing her hands. That was not a good sign with Mildred.
“I need your help, Claire.” She sounded spooked, instead of her usual borderline rude.
Claire took her hands, surprised by her icy skin. “Tell me what happened.”
“I went to visit Harold, like I do every week. Leaves are the worst this time of year, and he’s resting right under a tree. That was his idea, of course.” She sniffed. “I told him I’d be the one dealing with his bad decision—”
“What happened next?” Claire knew if she didn’t gently prod, the old woman would ramble on endlessly.
“I just finished whisking off the top of his headstone and—I saw it,” she whispered, her voice wavering more than usual. Claire wrapped one arm around her shoulders when she started shaking. “A ghost, staring at me like he wants to—possess me.” She shuddered, clutching at Claire’s hand. “I nearly fainted dead away right then and there.”
“Are you certain it wasn’t another visitor?”
Mildred raised both eyebrows. “Quite. I could see through him.” She lost all pretense of fear, her voice changing to the high-pitched, excited voice that always had Claire stepping back. She did so now, because Mildred also started waving her free hand around. “He practically swooped down on me, like an avenging angel, or—a demon.”
Claire gave herself points for not flinching. “Can you describe him? Aside from the swooping.”
“Tall, dark hair to his shoulders. He had on a black coat, one that went all the way to his ankles. Like Heathcliff.” Mildred sighed, the sound more suited to a teenager than a seventy eight year old woman.
“More like Sutherland.” Annie stepped around the tall shelf, arms crossed. “Daniel Sutherland, the local legend. You haven’t heard about him?” Claire shook her head. “He was one of the original founders of Santa Luna, but it wasn’t called that when they first built the town. The town was originally named after his fiancée, Juliet.”
Claire studied her. “Why haven’t I heard this before?”
“Because you run a woo woo store?” Annie smiled. “It’s not something the local Chamber of Commerce likes getting around. According to what I read—before the book was yanked out of the library—Daniel killed his fiancée and committed suicide. On Halloween.”
*
Mildred refused to return to the cemetery with them, so Claire let her go, slipping a quartz crystal in her hand.
“It will help calm you, Mildred, and it’s free of charge. I’ll talk to you soon.”
She guided the old woman out of the shop, watched her toddle down the sidewalk, yelling at the two local kids who were foolish enough to step in her path. Claire smiled, knowing she would be just fine. When she stepped back inside, Annie waited for her, hands on her hips.
“You’re not thinking of going there.”
“Do you know anything about ghosts, Annie?”
The young woman looked surprised by the question. “I—not really.”
“They can become trapped, doomed to wander where their soul has been bound. Do you believe this Daniel Sutherland committed murder?”
“I—”
“Don’t think, just answer.”
“No.” Annie sighed, and lowered her hands. “Their story was one of the most romantic I’ve ever read. If Daniel’s diary entries are accurate, he loved Juliet more than life.”
“Where is she buried?”
“The family graveyard. The Sutherland family graveyard.”
“Interesting.” Claire moved behind the counter and pulled out her personal stash of crystals and potions. “Since Mildred saw Daniel in the town cemetery, I am going to guess he is buried there. Away from his family, away from his love. Though someone had enough influence for him to be buried in consecrated ground, if the story of suicide is true.”
“That part was pretty official, according to what I read. He was found not far from his mansion, the day after the murder.” Annie leaned over the counter, her nose all but buried in the padded bag. “What’s this—wow. Is that, like, your witch kit?”
Claire smiled. “Something like that. Are you coming?”
“You’re going—right now?”
“I can close the shop a few minutes early. I’d like to reach the cemetery before dark, to give myself time to set up. I could use an extra pair of hands.” And the power Annie had no idea she radiated.
Claire opened her laptop and typed in Daniel Sutherland. The summoning would be easier with an image. Several popped up in the results, and her eyes widened. He had been a striking man, and he looked familiar. Too familiar. She studied the strongest photo of him, and her unease grew.
Dark hair fell to his broad shoulders, framing an angular, patrician face. He had been tall, if the chair he stood next to was of normal height. Claire realized she was staring, and sent the image to the printer.
He won’t recognize you, not now.
She brought up a couple of bios, which confirmed her suspicion. The man she met would never have killed his fiancée. All she had to do now was summon him—and find a way to break him out of the cemetery.
THREE
Despite every warning she could think of running through her mind, Annie followed Claire to the Santa Luna cemetery. Damn, she wanted to be part of this. Today was the first time since her parents died that she felt something beyond crushing grief. She knew the woman driving the car in front of her was the reason.
Who knew walking into the cleverly named Wicca store would end up with her heading for the cemetery to summon the ghost of a murderer?
“Alleged murderer,” she muttered, turning on to the street that ran alongside the cemetery. “I always thought he was too hot to do what he was accused of.” Not that looks should have been a measurement of guilt or innocence, but any woman would be crazy to cheat on someone so easy on the eyes. The sun was already setting, and that only added a whole new level of creepy to this whole idea. “Just play back up, Annie. It’s not like anything’s actually going to happen.”
That made her feel better, and by the time she stopped behind Claire and got out of the car, she was calmer, and almost ready for the adventure.
Claire waited for her at the iron side gate, the small black bag in her hand, the breeze tugging at her black leather jacket. “Are you ready?”
“Yeah—I guess.”
“You’ll be fine, Annie.” Claire smiled at her before she pushed open the gate. It squealed like a banshee. “Appropriate.”
Annie burst out laughing. “I like you, Claire.”
“Good, because I like you, Annie Sullivan.” She looked—surprised. “The summoning is simple. I wrote it down for you.” She pulled a slip of paper out of her jacket pocket and handed it over. “All we need to do is light candles, then read that three times, together.”
Annie held the paper up to the stylized light that topped the gate post. “That’s—short. I expected—”
“A long, complicated spell?” Claire smiled. “Sometimes simple works best. Let’s go.”
Fog crawled across the ground as they moved deeper into the cemetery, toward the older headstones. Some of them were like mini mausoleums, huge monuments to whoever was buried in the ground. One of the biggest belonged to Daniel Sutherland.
Claire set the bag down and opened it, pul
ling out white candles. A lot of white candles. She started handing them to Annie. “Place them around the headstone. Here’s a lighter. You can light the candles as you go.”
“Got it.” Annie set one on each corner of the absurdly huge headstone, lighting each one before she moved around to the back. She picked up more from the growing cache on the ground, and after a minute, the glow of candlelight was almost as bright as a streetlamp. “Did you want them anywhere else?”
“No, this will do.” Claire lit the last candle, flipped the lighter closed, and slipped it in her jacket pocket. “Ready?”
Annie swallowed; focusing on the prep had taken her mind off the reason they were here. “Yeah.”
“Come, take my hand, and we’ll speak the summoning together.”
Annie took her outstretched hand, surprised to find her skin warm, even with the cool, fog shrouded night. With shaking fingers, she pulled the paper out of her pocket and nodded. Claire faced the headstone, squeezed Annie’s hand, and started speaking.
“Shadows lurking in the night,
I summon you,
come to us tonight.”
Annie joined her in the middle of the first round, and they spoke together this time.
“Shadows lurking in the night,
I summon—”
“What do you want?”
Annie stumbled backward as the tall figure materialized, looking far too solid to be a ghost. If she hadn’t just seen him appear out of thin air, she’d swear he had been hiding behind one of the tall headstones.
Instead of looking scared, Claire crossed her arms, like she had expected him to appear.
“You terrified a friend of mine. I came to find out why.”
“I am a bloody ghost.” He strode across the space separating them, fog curling around his legs, and loomed over Claire. She didn’t even blink. “I terrify by existing. Though you do not seem to be affected...” His eyes narrowed. “You are familiar to me. Do I—”
“No.” Claire retreated, and Annie finally saw fear on her face.
Daniel Sutherland paced her. Oh, yeah, Annie recognized him, the candlelight flickering over his handsome face. And he became more solid with every step, until she couldn’t see the flickering candles through him.
