Enchanting Wilder

by Cassie Graham

  Copyright © 2016 Cassie Graham

  All rights reserved.

  This book is meant for personal enjoyment only. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without prior written consent of the author except where permitted by law.

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Cassie Graham

  Edited by Golden Roots Consulting LLC (goldenrootsconsulting.com)

  Cover Design by Kandi Steiner

  Cover Photo by Dollar Photo Club

  Formatted by Elaine York/Allusion Graphics, LLC/Publishing & Book Formatting

  If you’re reading this book and it hasn’t been bought from a proper retailer or won in a verified contest, please delete and purchase the book from one of its distributors. Feel free to visit www.authorcassiegraham.com for more information.

  Dear beautiful readers,

  In this book, you’ll find spells and incantations that are made up by me. Have some fun with the dictation and enjoy the book. Also, there’s a glossary at the end of the book in case you have any questions regarding the new terms.

  Thank you so much for reading! Enjoy!

  xo

  -Cassie

  For my strong and brave Grandpa Tom.

  Thank you for teaching me how important it is to use my imagination.

  This one is for you, you crazy old man.

  “Magic isn’t spells and potions. It’s not incantations or chanting. It’s believing in something extraordinary, even if you can’t see it.” – Cassie Graham

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Epilogue

  Coming Soon

  Enchanting Wilder Glossary

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  It slinks with eerie precision across the wet grass in my direction. Thick and dense, the mist takes on a life of its own as it grows in size. Maybe if I sit here long enough the fog will reach out and engulf my body. I wonder if it’ll burn when it finally touches my skin. Or if perhaps it’ll suffocate me and take me somewhere else—an alternate realm. I marvel at the fact that the sticky air may work its way into my mouth and down my throat slowly take me as its prisoner. I revel in the possibilities of what may come.

  I sigh.

  Cold and firm, the stone against my back is uncomfortable. I don’t move or readjust my body, instead I simply lean my head against the headstone, the dew of the early morning sticking to my unruly, curly red hair. I don’t wipe it away. The droplets fall down my tendrils. It’s a little awkward sitting on lumpy grass with damp hair but at least I’m able to feel something other than exhaustion. Every so often my eyes drift back to the fog, but it never quite stretches to where I sit. It evades me, cautious and maddening. I rest my head back against the headstone again and let my lids fall closed.

  Twirling the pen in my hand, I open my eyes and notice an older couple walking along the pathway just over the hill from my parents’ memorial. Their small footsteps don’t make much noise, but the shuffling of my notebook alerts them of my presence. They both look to me, their eyes curious. I imagine a twenty-something woman with wild, lioness red hair sitting in the grass would put most people on edge. But, here in Summerson, Massachusetts, the weird and strange are considered completely ordinary. In a place where the freaky is cool, a girl sitting in a cemetery all alone in the wee hours of the morning is yesterday’s news. Boring.

  Huffing, I fight against the wind to hold the pages in my notebook down. Every morning since my parents’ death, I’ve come here to write. Most of the time, it’s nothing at all. Scribbles and words, things that make no sense, but I feel sane in the confines of my creativity. It doesn’t matter if I’m exhausted. Every morning, at six o’clock on the dot, my body wakes up whether I want it to or not and I make my way to the cemetery to find a tiny bit of sanity in my life of insane.

  The suddenness of my parents’ passing took everyone in town by surprise, but more so for my sister Candy and I. It’s never easy to lose your parents, of course. I mean—no one really wants to say goodbye to family, but when it happens unexpectedly, it has a way of hitting you deep in your stomach. The realization they’re gone forever does something to your psyche. It settles in your mind, taunting you with the what-could-have-been’s and the I-wish-I-could-have-done-better’s. The battle raged inside me on a daily basis. It was an ongoing battle.

  Our worlds were turned upside down. Everything we thought we knew about this life was thrown on its axis. Someone abruptly turned off the lights in our bright world and we’ve been walking around trying to find a lamp ever since.

  So here I sit, emotionless and tired, lamely attempting to find answers in the words I write.

  Being a pillar of the community will not only earn you a bench with your names on it when you die, but also disturbing, life-like statues. Insert body chills, here. Two perfectly depicted statuettes of my mother, Abigail, and father, Cole sit on the bench next to their gravestones. How, even in this abnormal town, is that okay? Who wants to sit down next to them and chat? “Hey Mom and Dad? How’s it going? I bet pretty chilly considering you’re made completely of steel and it’s supposed to be thirty-nine degrees today.” No. It’s creepy.

  “McKenna.” Candy appears out of nowhere, snapping me from the thoughts of my lifeless parents. “I thought you weren’t going to come out here anymore.”

  I set my pen down, not having written a word, and shield my eyes from the rising sun. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t sleep.”

  Candy huffs and sits down cross-legged next to me, laying her head on my shoulder. “I know.”

  Of course she knows. Siblings in our family have a connection that binds us to one another. The Sephra Link. I feel her emotions and she can feel mine. It can be one of the biggest blessings considering the life we live, but sometimes it’s also be a burden. We’ve become more accustomed to turning it on and off lately, but there are days when I can’t decipher her emotions from my own. It also doesn’t help that the connection seems to be stronger now with our parents gone.

  And not to mention, we share a birthday. Different years, of course. She’s twenty-four and I’m twenty-six.

  But, siblings sharing a birthday in our line of work is unheard of. No one could quite figure out how it happened to us. We’re glitches in the paranormal system.

  Our parents spent a lot of their time trying to understand and research the reason for our common birthday. No one had any answers, though. It still plagues our community. Our parents thought they had done something wrong. Sure, the same birthday strengthened our bond, but all it did was cause questions for our family. And more often than not, there were no solutions.

  Those Sawyer sisters aren’t normal, people would gossip in hushed tones to each other.

  Candy and I thought it was cool. It never occurred to us that it might be a burden to our family.

  “Why do you come out here?” Candy asks in a small tone.
/>   Sometimes I forget she needs someone to look up to even though she’s a grown woman.

  I honestly don’t know why I come out here. I wish I knew. I don’t think I can answer her question. At least, not yet. “I don’t know.”

  “Do you miss them?” she asks, lifting her head.

  I turn to look at her. She blinks once and tilts her head. Her eyes search mine, looking for what, I don’t know. “Of course I do.”

  She nods and swallows, looking out at the grounds that sprawl before us.

  Her long caramel colored hair blows freely in the wind. I’ve always envied how straight and perfect it always looks. Where mine is wild and uncontrollable, hers is shiny and manageable—never a hair out of place. She looks so much like mom. Goddess-like with amazing hips and a tiny waist. I don’t really look like either of my parents. I’m short, close to five feet five inches, and have a smaller build. Candy and I are as different as night and day. Especially since she stands at almost five feet eleven inches. Yet, our one undeniable common characteristic is our eyes. They are the same piercing gold, not like either of our parents. We somehow inherited a new shade altogether. Still, mine fit my head perfectly, whereas Candy’s are big and wide, making her look exotic and ridiculously interesting. We’ve been told countless times our eyes tell a story. I’m just not sure it’s a good one or not.

  “How about we go home and make some breakfast?” I suggest, switching my damaged, I-need-to-find-a-purpose-better-than-this pants to big girl ones. The sun is peeking over the horizon now and today is our only day off. I’d prefer not to waste it here wallowing in sadness about my parents being gone.

  “Sounds good,” she says, stretching her arms above her head.

  We both rise from the ground and dust ourselves off, the wet grass sticking to our jeans. Looping my arm through Candy’s, we stroll to our house.

  The October weather in Summerson is definitely one to get used to. Some years, the weather is mild and gorgeous, but this year has been absolutely dismal. Halloween is right around the corner, but the frigidness has definitely put a damper on the holiday spirit. Plus, it doesn’t help this is the first year without my parents.

  When mom and dad passed, we got the house in their will. We’ve always lived here, but now it’s officially in our name. And as we walk up the long walkway, a sense of serenity fills my soul.

  The Sawyers have been living in this home for centuries, dating back before 1820. The cobblestone under my feet is resilient and strong, not budging under our feet, which is a huge achievement considering it’s probably been there since the house was built hundreds of years ago. Our neighbors constantly ask us how we keep our flowers so lush and beautiful, even in the harsh weather, and I usually give them mundane and obnoxious answers because the truth is far more complex than anyone could ever fathom. And honestly, they probably wouldn’t believe me.

  In a town obsessed with witches, or at least the concept of them, how do you explain they’re actually real?

  Because we are real.

  We do exist.

  I’m a Strix. We aren’t fairy-tale beings someone made up along the way to scare children during bedtime. We didn’t die out after the Salem Witch Trials. Though, that was one of the darkest times in our history. And, we certainly aren’t what society made us out to be.

  We don’t cast dark magic in hopes of finding ourselves closer to evil—well, most of us don’t. But, just like any other society, there are bad apples. As a whole, our kind is respectable. We do our jobs and strive to keep this world in harmony.

  The second I descended from my beloved mother’s body I knew I was a Strix. At least that’s what they tell me. At just a few days old, I was already able to manipulate and warn people of their impending, mistaken deaths. It’s in our blood. Sawyer blood, that is. It’s what we’re bred to do. Strix help humankind through dreams to warn of death. We give them a chance to see what might possibly happen if they continue to take the path they’re taking.

  There comes a time in every mortal’s life where they have one of two options. And depending on the choice they make, their soul either goes to Heaven or to Hell at their time of death. It comes at different times for everyone. Some have the choice at a young age, while others don’t have to decide until they’re older. Covens tend to call this time the “Pinnacle.” And when the Pinnacle occurs in a life, it’s very important they choose the option to live.

  Most do.

  Otherwise, the one dark coven—Mara—they get free reign of their soul.

  Souls are very important in our world. If mortals make the right choice, the choice to choose light, their soul goes to paradise. When humans die and cross over, they get to live out their eternal life with their loved ones in a never-ending perfect day. Those souls stay pure in every sense of the word. It’s how the world stays in harmony. Even though those people are gone from the world, they still play a huge role in keeping things balanced. There’s a coherence that comes from death, and unless the soul goes to the proper place, things can be thrown off.

  But, there are mortals who choose dark, and when they make that choice…that pivotal, unequivocal decision to choose wicked, their souls get ripped apart as they descend into hell. They turn into monsters—there’s no appropriate word for what they become. As humans they’re evil, and that doesn’t change in death.

  That’s when Mara get a hold of them. That clan, and their followers, capture and use those souls for whatever sinister, vile deed they choose. More often than not, the souls are turned into cringe-inducing demons.

  It’s just—something feels off lately. Normally, the balance between light and dark feels…tolerable. Usually, Strix and other clans feel in control of the world’s souls. We have for centuries. But that doesn’t feel like the case lately. The scales have been tipped and we’ve been working tirelessly to get it back on track. That means overtime for all of us, making sure each and every mortal finds the light in life.

  Wrapping my arms around my middle, the breeze prickles my face and I swear it’s a different kind of cold. It’s icy and piercing. My insides shiver and goose bumps rise on my arms. My eyes narrow to slits and I look around, checking my surroundings.

  Nothing seems out of the ordinary. People are still joyfully walking down the cobblestone streets. The trees still sway in their melodic way. The sky’s still blue. Cars still honk and birds still chirp.

  So, why does the atmosphere feel tainted?

  Candy trots up the porch steps to our house in front of me, barley missing the “Wonderstruck Flower Shop” sign. I laugh under my breath. She’s still so youthful.

  I’m glad she’s been able to move past our parents’ death.

  She pushes the large, dark wooden door, making her way to our office in the back, whistling the entire way.

  I couldn’t have been more than three when our parents converted the entire bottom floor of our four-bedroom house into a flower shop they labeled Wonderstruck. When mom and dad inherited our home twenty years ago, they decided to change things up to keep it more modern. In the late 1980s, it was a two-bedroom farmhouse. Mom and dad kept the farmhouse intact, but added footage to the bottom floor and an entire second story up above, making the house 3,000 square feet, four bedrooms and capable of handling a fully functional business.

  To this day, we pride ourselves on encompassing a whimsical feel while offering decently priced vibrant and colorful flowers. Our family has always been thankful for the ever-growing company. Though times have been hard in the past, we’ve been able to keep our doors open.

  Candy heaves herself into the black leather chair in front of the computer and begins to tap on the keyboard, probably working on invoices even though we aren’t supposed to work today.

  “Candy,” I say, sighing as I fall into the couch on the other side of the room. “We’re supposed to live it up today. We had a long night last night.” I flinch recalling the last dream I had jumped into. The woman was about my age, though still in college, a
nd Mara were already speaking to her. Tempting her into darkness. I only hope I got to her in time.

  As always, we aren’t allowed to reveal our true selves, so I showed myself to her as a yellow canary, my signature cloak. Most Strix have an animal cloak. The Sawyer family has always been birds, while I know other clans to be strictly deer, or even dogs. But when we speak to mortals in their dreams, we don’t even really talk. We coax with visions and subtle hints. It’s severely frowned upon to actually use your voice—and even then—it has to be an absolute dire situation.

  Candy continues tap-tapping on the keyboard and shrugs. “This is what I’m good at.” She finally tears her eyes away from the screen. “Besides, there are invoices we have to send out. Mrs. Thayer didn’t pay this month and you know if I don’t send it out this week, she won’t pay until next month. It’ll be a huge fight.”

  I spin the ring on my right middle finger and level my eyes—I didn’t miss her implying she’s only good at invoicing. “Fine, but that’s it. If I see you do any more today, I’m going to take that computer away and force you to go have fun.”

  She clicks the enter button on the keyboard with her pinky and makes a show of closing the laptop, swiveling the chair in my direction. “How can you force me to have fun, McKenna?” She grins.

  Tugging the hair tie off of my wrist, I pull my hair into a ponytail. “I don’t know,” I evade. “I could call that cute boy you met at the bar last week and see if he’d be up for some good, adult fun…” I trail off.

  Candy’s eyes go wide and she shakes her head vigorously, her cheeks turning an odd shade of pink. “I swear if you call Jared, I’ll boob slap you. Do you hear me? Seriously. I’m not sure he even likes me.”

  I smile and shake my head, putting my hands up in surrender. “Calm down, calm down. I’m kidding. I worry about you. You shouldn’t be here so much. You’re young and gorgeous. You should be out having fun, tearing up the town.”

  “You talk like you’re so much older than me, McKenna.” She scoffs. “You’re not some old hag waiting to rot in this house. You should take your own advice.”