Spellcasting with a Chance of Spirits: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Romance Novel (Grimm Cove Book 3)

by Mandy M. Roth

  “Bram?” asked Harker, pulling Bram from his thoughts. “You there mentally or are you having an internal argument with your demon—again?”

  “I am here,” responded Bram, locking gazes with his friend. He wasn’t sure why he’d thought of the dreams at a time like this. “You said there were two things you needed to tell me. What is the other?”

  Harker sighed. “Michael found something when he was getting more photos of the area.”

  “What?”

  “Bram, I need you to stay calm when I show you this,” said Harker.

  He nodded.

  Reluctantly, Harker led Bram back in the direction he’d only just come from. They entered the wooded area and walked about thirty feet until they came to a stop at a rather large pine.

  First, Harker motioned to the ground, before planting himself in front of a tree, obscuring Bram’s view of it. There, in the blood, were shoe prints. Their owner had large feet. Not as large as Bram’s, but considering just how tall Bram was, that wasn’t a surprise. What did shock Bram was that he recognized the sole imprint.

  “I have a pair of cap-toe oxford shoes with soles similar to that,” stated Bram.

  Harker cleared his throat. “I’m not surprised. We did establish you’re something of a shoe whore. But they’re not from any of our people. We think they’re from one of the people responsible for this mess.”

  Unsure how he felt about sharing the same tastes in fashion as someone from The Order, Bram shook his head. “Are those what you wanted me to see? The shoe prints? Why would I be upset by them?”

  “No. Those aren’t why I brought you over. That is.” Harker stepped out of the way of the tree and then pointed to it.

  Bram wasn’t sure what was so important about a tree, but he looked all the same. There, pinned to the pine tree with a ceremonial dagger was an old photo of three young women.

  One of the young women was his daughter—Dana Van Helsing.

  The photo was from when she was in college, some twenty years prior. It had been taken at Yale, outside of the building she’d resided in, by one of the various people he’d employed over the years to watch her from afar. All too often Bram would have to be away for slayer-related duties, and he’d not wanted to miss out on seeing her grow up.

  But she’d never known that.

  This picture was one he had in a picture book in his top desk drawer back at his main home in Grimm Cove, South Carolina. In it, Dana was sitting on the grass, on a blanket with a dark-haired girl next to her. The two young women were laughing as a blonde woman stood before them, her back to the camera, her arms out wide.

  Had Bram not been acutely aware of the year in which the picture had been taken, he might have assumed it was from the sixties, with the manner of the blonde woman’s style of dress.

  She looked like a free spirit—a hippie flower child in her long flowing skirt and loose shirt. A purple scarf was wrapped around her midriff and a multitude of bracelets covered both her arms from her wrists to her elbows. She had a pink heart painted on her upper arm, as well as a peace sign, of all things.

  She’d been one of Dana’s college roommates and was still close to her to this day.

  Marcy Dotter.

  She was a vivacious woman who seemed to live life to its fullest, at least from the information his men brought back whenever they were shadowing Dana.

  Bram had found it difficult to visit Dana during that timeframe because of a number of work-related matters that had been going on, so he’d insisted on photographs and daily updates from those he assigned to the area. It was the only reason he recognized the other two women with his daughter.

  In the photo, there was a red circle drawn around Marcy with an “X” on it.

  Seeing it there, over her, shook Bram to his core, but he didn’t understand why. Maybe it was because she was so important to his daughter.

  Harker touched his shoulder. “You okay? I don’t need to call others to help restrain you, do I? Your demon is still behaving, right?”

  Bram continued to stare at the photo.

  “The fact you’re not answering is worrisome,” said Harker.

  “I am fine.” It wasn’t the truth, but it was all Harker was going to get from him right now.

  His friend yanked the dagger from the photo and then handed the picture to Bram. “Why did they only circle the blonde one? The other is Dana when she was younger, right? Is that when she was at university?”

  “Yes,” added Bram, his mind racing with what the message might mean. Was Marcy a target now? Had Ager set his sights on her? Would hers be the next body he stood over at a crime scene?

  No, roared his demon from within.

  “Bram, it’s okay. Dana is safe,” said Harker.

  “I need a team dispatched to…” Bram drew a blank as to where Marcy might be. She was somewhat nomadic, going from city to city, never seeming to lay roots anywhere. “I don’t know where she is!”

  “Where who is?” asked Harker.

  Bram held out the photo to him and pointed to Marcy. “Her! The blonde! This picture is from my study in Grimm Cove. They know!”

  “Whoa, take a breath there, big guy,” said Harker. “Let’s practice some calming breathing or something, okay? It’s close to a full moon and my wolf is almost looking forward to having a go at your demon. And what do they know?”

  The demon oddly didn’t rise to the challenge. It was as worried about Marcy as he was. He grabbed for Harker. “She’s out there, alone. The Order has their sights on her. This is a message to me.”

  Harker looked from the photo to Bram’s face and then back at the photo again. “I already told you that Dana is fine.”

  “I understand that,” said Bram, just shy of shouting. “But Marcy isn’t!”

  “Okay, calm down. You’re worked up over your daughter’s friends? You said you don’t know where they are?” asked Harker. “I thought you once mentioned one of them lives in California, but I might be remembering that wrong.”

  “Poppy,” said Bram quickly. “She’s the other woman in the photo. The brunette.”

  “Right then. I’ll reach out to our teams there. Do you have an address?” asked Harker. “I’ll also phone Elis and let him know The Order clearly managed to find their way onto the estate.”

  Bram swayed slightly. “This threat is aimed at Marcy.”

  “The blonde?” questioned Harker.

  Bram nodded.

  “You’re taking this threat against her very personally,” said Harker, his tone changing slightly. “This is about more than her just being your daughter’s friend, isn’t it?”

  “What?” asked Bram, his mind racing.

  Harker’s brows met. “What interest would The Order have in Marcy other than her being friends with your daughter?”

  Bram just continued to stare down at the picture.

  “Okay, you’re acting odder than usual,” said Harker. “Need me to leave you alone to talk to your other half for a minute? Maybe the demon can help figure out what is happening.”

  “No,” said Bram, his throat still tight with worry.

  Harker watched him closely. “While we’re trying to figure out what The Order wants with this Marcy woman, we should probably try to wrap our heads around why you’re acting odd about her too.”

  “I’ve never met her,” whispered Bram, still running his finger over her image. “At least not face-to-face. I know of her only through pictures. This one is twenty years old.”

  “I wish we had a current one of her,” said Harker. “I could send it out to everyone so they can help track her down and protect her until we figure this out.”

  Bram stilled. “Call Elis and have him go to my study. There is a box in the bottom corner of the back shelving unit—in one of the locked safes I have. In the box are photos of Marcy throughout the years. There is a three-year gap from years ago when I don’t have any photos because she was off the grid, so to speak, but there are nearly seventeen ye
ars’ worth of pictures there. My computer—or as I firmly believe it should be called, the digital devil—has more. The newest is from a few months ago, if that. There are a number of known locations that she’s been at over the years as well. Have those locations checked first. Alert all our teams. Leave no stone unturned.”

  Harker stared at him with a curious expression.

  “What?”

  “Bram, are you telling me you have a collection of photos of your daughter’s friends?” questioned Harker. “And that you’ve been keeping tabs on places they go?”

  “Not the brunette—Poppy. I have only a few photos of her. Most are of Marcy,” confessed Bram. “I keep track of her.”

  His friend just kept looking at him as if he was waiting for Bram to come to some realization. “Suddenly your ‘they know’ is making more and more sense.”

  “What?” Bram shrugged.

  “Nothing,” Harker replied before leaning closer. “And your demon, it’s into this whole collection-of-pictures-of-a-woman thing?”

  “You are making it sound wrong—dirty even,” returned Bram, not liking where this was going.

  “I’m not sure how you make surveillance photos of a woman throughout her adult life sound right,” argued Harker.

  “Stop. It’s not like that,” stated Bram, his ire rising.

  Harker squared his shoulders. “I need you to hear me and not shut me down.”

  Bram took a moment to collect himself. “Yes?”

  “This Marcy—the woman you’re so worked up about,” said Harker. “She’s blonde.”

  “Yes. What is your point?”

  “Bram, the woman you keep dreaming of is blonde,” added Harker. “Is that woman Marcy?”

  Bram started to shake his head but stopped, his chest tightening more. He found himself gripping the photo so tightly that it ripped.

  Harker lifted his head more. “Is she your mate?”

  “Do not be ridiculous,” snapped Bram, the words coming from his mouth at war with his heart. “She’s one of my daughter’s best friends.”

  Harker’s phone rang and he answered it, remaining close to Bram in the process. From the sounds of it, the person on the other end was from one of the New York teams. “Right then,” said Harker. “Can you describe the friend who is with Dana this weekend?”

  Bram held his breath.

  Harker smiled. “Blonde with a blessed chest and walks around barefoot humming songs, looking like a throwback to the sixties?”

  Relief moved through Bram. The next he knew, he was tearing up. “She’s there? She’s safe with Dana?”

  Harker nodded. “She is.”

  Bram lowered his head, offering a silent prayer to a god he’d not been on speaking terms with in over a century.

  “Don’t let either of them out of your sight,” said Harker. “If the blonde leaves, have a team shadow her too.”

  Bram met his friend’s gaze and mouthed the words “thank you.”

  Chapter Three

  Marcy

  New York City, four weeks later…

  With my head tilted, I soaked in the double-ended clawfoot bathtub, humming a song by Prince, doing my best to ignore the sounds of sirens wailing from the street below. There was always so much noise whenever I was visiting my friend Dana Van Helsing in New York City, I wasn’t sure how she managed to get anything close to quiet time. It really was the city that never slept. Limiting my time in the city was a must. There was too much concrete everywhere and not enough greenery for me. When I did visit, long walks through Central Park were often needed. Sometimes, I took my shoes off while there, needing to feel nature under my feet, not manmade roads and sidewalks.

  But the city fit Dana’s personality to a T.

  She too was loud and had a lot of concrete walls up around her emotionally. It had taken me twenty years to fully break through them, not that she’d admit anyone had achieved such a thing. I let her live in denial, and she let me live in my own version of reality.

  It worked out well for the both of us.

  A chunk of my sweet potato facial mask slid down and onto the top of my breasts before plopping into the tub water. The mixture that I’d made myself got lost in a sea of bubbles in the bath. It wasn’t the first glob to fall in, and it surely would not be the last. While I couldn’t see them, I knew there were at least four more globs floating beneath the mountain of bubbles surrounding me. The facial mask was great for the skin and was no cause for concern. I’d made the bubble bath bomb as well, when I’d been out visiting my other bestie—Poppy Proctor.

  She, like me, loved to make natural products and avoid unnecessary, often harmful chemicals.

  Dana didn’t really care what she used.

  Thankfully, she had Poppy and me around to keep her from putting toxins all over her face.

  Various candles were set about the bathroom, giving it a soft glow. The ones nearest me were on a small walnut table. I knew a thing or two about antiques, having spent a decent amount of time traveling the world with a collector friend of mine from Chicago. Claudia loved to travel as much as I did.

  The table, unlike most of the furnishings in Dana’s swanky apartment, was old. It had been a gift from me. Since I didn’t have a place of my own, I never bothered much with furniture hunting when I wasn’t with my Windy City friend. But one day, several years back, I’d found myself being drawn to a sale, waking at the crack of dawn and taking several buses to reach the estate sale location.

  At first, I’d felt pulled to a back table with several boxes of old jewelry. None of it had been separated or tended to. In the mass of necklaces and bracelets, I’d found an antique rosary. The minute my fingers had skimmed over it, I’d felt a connection to the object. Interesting, since I wasn’t raised Catholic. That didn’t matter. The draw to the rosary was simply too strong to ignore.

  The beads were wood with a green glass one every ten. The cross was made out of a sheet of rolled silver. I’d clutched it close to me and bought it straightaway, keeping it with me always in my main go-to bag. On my way out of the estate sale, I’d walked by the table and instantly thought of Dana.

  I bought the table and managed to haul it all the way back to Dana’s place. That had been nearly five years ago. Much to my delight, she’d put it in the large bathroom. The last time I’d seen a table like that, it had gone at auction for nearly seven thousand dollars. I didn’t tell Dana as much. She’d have freaked out that I used it to burn candles on while I was there.

  The table currently held four large candles. Each candle had its own purpose. The white one was for a new beginning. That was what I would be doing in Grimm Cove—starting anew. The purple candle was to sharpen psychic abilities and possibly help me understand why dreams that had always been wonderful had taken on such a sinister vibe as of late. The two black candles were to aid in protective energy. I wasn’t sure I could call upon too much in the way of protective spells. Especially not with the nagging feeling I had that something was off.

  I just wasn’t sure what.

  My gut said I’d know exactly what was wrong sooner rather than later, especially with the upcoming move Dana, Poppy, and I were doing. We were going to share a home in South Carolina and start the next chapter of our lives. Some called us middle-aged, but I preferred to think of us as aged to perfection. Slicing us open would be like looking at a tree ring. For every year we’d aged up, the lines would tell our story. And oh what a story it would weave.

  The reason I was in New York was to help Dana finish any last-minute packing of personal items and iron out any details before the movers showed. She was giving up a position as assistant district attorney, and an apartment she loved, only to put most of her things in storage once we were down in South Carolina. It was a huge undertaking for her, and I was proud to see her stepping out of her comfort zone. She’d even surprised me and had already made arrangements to take over a law practice where we were headed.

  Dana had all her ducks in a row, a
nd that made her happy. She craved order in the face of chaos, and had OCD tendencies that left her cleaning to the point the skin on her hands cracked when she was in high-stress situations. Needless to say, her apartment, even with moving boxes everywhere, was spotless. Unless you counted my bags. They didn’t have a proper place in her world, and Dana’s heavy amount of huffing and shuffling them around said as much.

  Already she’d moved my three bags around several times, trying to find them the perfect spot (no doubt tucked far from the view of any others, since they didn’t fit her decor) since I’d been here. She’d also offered to give me her expensive luggage—that was a matching set—to replace my worn “hippie bags,” as she liked to call them.

  I’d made them myself years ago, and they served their purpose. I didn’t have any need for fancy luggage. What I owned fit in the bags perfectly, and I didn’t want for anything more.

  That was hard for Dana to wrap her mind around. She liked the finer things in life. I just enjoyed life—material possessions didn’t factor in.

  Okay, I was partial to the side table in the bathroom, but still.

  There had been a point in my life when I’d had a huge home and all kinds of things. Granted, it had been brief, but long enough for me to know it wasn’t for me.

  I valued people, not possessions.

  There was a light tapping on the door. Since it didn’t sound like someone was about to bang it down with one blow, that ruled Dana out of the equation. I loved her but she had some aggression issues for sure.

  “Yes?” I asked as the smell of nutmeg, citrus, and faint notes of cedar filled the room, letting me know who was there.

  “You doing okay in there, love?” asked a man, his English accent prevalent. It was something I’d had to overcome when we’d first met because his voice reminded me of that of my ex-husband, who also happened to have been born and raised in London. Thankfully, the voice’s owner wasn’t a sadistic prick like my ex. “You mentioned wanting to soak until half past the hour. That time came and went thirty minutes ago. Wanted to be sure you didn’t fall asleep and drown. We both know I wouldn’t see you if you crossed over right now. I’m no expert, but I think we’ve met our dead-people quota for a spell.”