by E. M. Moore
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
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
Hidden
Chronicles of Cas: Book Two
E. M. Moore
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 by E. M. Moore. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact E. M. Moore.
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition May 2016
CHAPTER ONE
Sweat dotted my forehead as I ducked and threw another uppercut that connected with a thud. Fainting to the right, I kicked out and landed a solid strike. My muscles ached from the effort and intensity. I was in full on beast mode, hair matted to my head and black tank sticking to my damp skin.
With a quick toe bounce to get my bearings, I got right back in the game and continued to stalk my target. Circle right, circle left, and back again. I took my time, waiting for the perfect shot to open up. “Brains, not brawn,” Damen would say.
Zeroing in on an opening, I went for the kill shot. I cocked my fist back and let it rip. The entire force of my power whipped through my arm like a taut rubber band that had just snapped. My fist connected with a satisfying crack. Concluding with quick alternating jabs, the heavy bag swung uncontrollably.
I steadied it and bent at the waist, hands on my thighs, trying to catch my breath. Beast mode was freaking exhausting work.
All around me, the room, real life—everything—came back into focus. The chain the heavy bag hung from creaked. The basement smelled musty, and the still air was thick and heavy around me.
It had been ten days since the Wiccan showdown on Gallows Hill and the only thing I’d been able to accomplish in relation to finding my brother was a broken left pinky and a sore neck from training too much.
He was still out there somewhere. In what condition, I didn’t know and that was what weighed on me. It drove me down here every morning, pushed me to work harder and harder.
When a lead led to nothing, I threw myself into training even more. The latest SNAFU? The event that had me down here at the ass crack of dawn this morning? Elite Command—Guardian Headquarters—wouldn’t even return my damn phone calls. Sister to a missing Ley Line Guardian, not to mention a Ley Line Guardian herself, and Command, who was supposed to be spearheading the mission to find said missing brother, couldn’t even throw me a bone with a two-minute phone call. Bastards.
Massaging my neck, I bounced from foot to foot, practicing my reflexes and footwork drills. I needed to get myself ready. For what? I wasn’t sure since I had nothing to go on and no one included me in anything but I just had this feeling deep down that it wasn’t going to be good.
Even Jake kept me in the dark about everything. He hadn’t shared one piece of information with me in these whole ten days. The only things I’d learned came from my own efforts.
I hated being treated like a kid, and even worse, a girl.
I threw a hook, my favorite punch, and sent the heavy bag flying. I could almost hear my brother laughing, telling me that I was using my awesome hook as a crutch to inflict the most damage. He’d tell me to work on something that needed it instead of resting on my laurels or some shit.
I sighed as if I was actually responding to him. He was right of course, but sometimes it just felt good to kick the crap out of something well and with precision. I threw some front kicks into the bag, taking note of how far up the heavy canvas bag swung each time. One of these days, I wanted to send it to the ceiling. Now that would be one hell of a kick.
Tucking my hair behind my ears, I did some leg stretches to cool down. Lack of stretching was how I’d made my stupid neck sore. Too much action, not enough build up and simmer down. Again, if Damen were here, he’d throw an ice pack at my face and tell me to suck it up and not be so damn stupid next time.
God, I missed him.
I unwrapped my fingerless gloves and dropped them to the floor. I’d had enough this morning. Of the training and of the memories. I was half tempted to find somewhere else to train so I could focus on what needed to be done instead of thinking about Damen and how I’d left him to the wolves. His safety was within my grasp and I didn’t take it. I was probably in the running for top prize in the Worst Sister in the World Award. Though, that had to be one of the Kardashian’s, right? In my opinion, runner-up would be just as bad though.
I took the basement steps two at a time. Halfway up, I heard singing and immediately tensed. That damn fae raised my hackles without even trying more than anyone else I’d ever met. I didn’t know why he kept coming over. I threw the heavy door open and stopped mid-stride at the scene before me. “Jesus. Don’t you have your own damn house?” I asked.
Troian turned, a spatula in one hand and an apron around his waist. A dumbfounded look completed the ensemble. If I wasn’t so pissed, I’d probably laugh. He looked so domesticated, yet fierce and beautiful at the same time like any other fae. The problem with Troian though, he was more beautiful than fierce. It was enough to drive someone nuts.
I kicked the door shut behind me. “Well?”
“You have a nicer kitchen than I do?”
Was that a question? I wasn’t exactly sure how to respond to that so I just shook my head and made my way to the refrigerator. Troian cleared his throat and pointed to the table. A glass of orange juice sat there waiting for me.
Infuriating.
Rolling my eyes, I grabbed the glass and gulped it down. I didn’t know why I was so mad. This had been a routine of ours for the last week.
Troian was currently on probation for leaving his assigned post at Stonehenge. Which, of course, according to Troian was all my fault because he’d only left because he owed my brother a favor, and the favor he cashed in was to give me a message. It seemed like faulty logic to me, but beside being beautiful, fae—and in particular Troian—were a tricky bunch and could talk you into circles if you didn’t pay attention. If he wanted to blame me, I was just going to let him roll with it. Especially if he was trying to butter me up with chocolate chip pancakes every morning like he’d been doing. I could get used to it. Maybe.
“Call into work again today?”
Maybe not. It was possible I could tolerate it, though that was even pushing it. We were like an old married couple who said things to each other just to get under the other’s skin. “You betcha.” I smiled too big in his direction. “I’m thinking about asking Mr. Dickwad for a leave of absence to find my brother. Then I can make my own damn pancakes.”
Troian smirked. He knew my feelings for the Mayor of Salem well. I also thought he may have guessed my culinary abilities were less than favorable. After all, I was willing to put up with him just to get pancakes every morning. It was kind of obvious for anyone who was willing to pay attention.
“Might I suggest you leave out the dickwad part if you want him to say yes?”
I shrugged. Damen was always the one who dealt with the political side of being
a Ley Line Guardian in Salem. Oddly enough, the douchebag mayor even seemed to like him. In my defense however, I also thought Hawthorn wouldn’t give me a chance because I was a girl. It wasn’t just a theory. He’d pretty much confirmed it for me in every single meeting we’d ever had. Well, he’d have to put his feelings aside. Girl or not, I was the only Ley Line Guardian he had for the time being so he’d have to deal.
Troian set a plate full of pancakes down in front of me. If I didn’t know his fae nature, I could’ve sworn concern etched his features. That rarely happened with his kind though. It was probably just the lighting in here. “Any news yet?” he asked.
I shook my head. I’d used all my contacts and put out all the feelers I had trying to find out what had happened to Damen at Stonehenge and so far had come up with nothing. I got a whole lot of “I’ll let you know” and “Let me look into it”, but when they came back, nadda. No one knew exactly what had went down. If I could just find someone who was there. Troian, though there in the beginning, was no help because he’d left a little too early to know anything useful. Apparently, that was all my fault too.
“Spoke to Frankie this morning,” I told him. “He’s still working on it. He might have something for me, but he didn’t seem all that positive about it. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
The fae made a face. It was clear there was some sort of backstory between him and Frankie the Necromancer, but they were both being pretty tight-lipped about it. Frankie had done nothing but help me, though. He’d been the one to heal the ley line to keep the magical people from going ape shit more than they already were. So, as far as I was concerned, he was an ally—a big one.
“Nothing from shifter boy?” Troian asked.
My fingers gripped the fork tighter. Shifter Boy Jake. If he was here, I’d think about stabbing him with the silver utensil currently in my hand.
Jake, Damen’s oldest friend who’d promised he’d help me get him back. Jake, who’d gone practically radio silent on the subject ever since he returned to Elite Command. “He checks in on me every day, but the most I can get out of him is a ‘We’re working on it’.”
Troian grumbled something under his breath as he sat across from me at the table with his own pancakes. I watched him dig in, taking slow, careful bites. It was odd, this relationship we’d been building. I could sit across from him and for some of the time, not even feel like ramming my fork into his neck for every little thing that came out of his mouth. Plus, he seemed to agree with me a lot. On the one hand, that could be a fae trick, but on the other, I just really liked when people agreed with me.
He took a break from eating and drank some of his own orange juice. His eyes watched me carefully over the glass. “I’ve been trying to contact some old friends, but I think they’ve been told not to communicate with me.” He lifted his eyebrows in an accusing gesture.
“Oh no. Don’t even start in with that ‘This is all your fault’ BS. When are you ever going to tell me why you owed Damen a favor anyway? This could be all your fault. If you didn’t owe Damen a favor, you never would’ve had to promise him one. This is on you, Pretty Boy.”
Troian’s jaw clenched. He hated it when I called him Pretty Boy, which is exactly why I did it. We were seriously like two elderly people with canes who hit each other in the shins all the time just because we wanted to. He pointed his fork at me. “You Marston’s are exactly the same. Fae are known for being clever, but I think you and your brother should come with a warning label.”
I sneered at him as I chewed. “I don’t seem to remember calling for you to come over. Feel free to stop anytime.”
“Please,” he scoffed. “You’d go bonkers without me.”
“You wish.” I hid a smile behind a forkful of pancakes. For whatever reason, I loved arguing with him. Call it boredom, call it lack of anything else better to do, but when we fought, I rather enjoyed myself. “By the way,” I said, catching his attention and motioning toward the kitchen countertops. “Don’t think I’m playing housekeeper to all the crap you leave around. Clean up after yourself after you’re done cooking.”
He eyed me over his fork. “You know, in most cases, the one who does the cooking gets to watch the other clean up. It’s only fair.”
I suppressed a laugh. This was masochism at its best. “I never invited you to cook. If I invited you to cook, I would consider cleaning up.”
He watched me as I took a big bite of the steaming pancake. The chocolate morsels tasted like heaven inside the fluffy awesomeness.
“You sure don’t mind eating it though.”
Oh hell no. I narrowed my eyes at him. I could tell he was joking from the upturn of his lips, but it was never kosher to remark on how much a girl ate. If I’d had my Damascus with me, I probably would’ve grazed him with it. Jerk.
I took a few steadying breaths to calm myself. Then, I forced a smile on my face and sat back in my chair. “Have you had any news from Command?” I asked innocently enough.
His cheeks blushed ever so slightly. He stuck another forkful in his mouth and then leaned back in his own chair while he chewed. He took a napkin and wiped his lips in some sort of grand ceremony while I waited for him to answer me.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “No.”
I groaned at the one-word answer after all that. He hated to talk about it, but aside from wanting to turn the tables on him, I was actually curious if he’d heard when they were going to let him back in as an Elite Guardian. It seemed like he should’ve heard something by now.
Whatever. Wasn’t my problem.
I got up and put the plate in the sink. “I’m going to shower and then I’m heading out on patrol. You coming?”
Activity around Salem had really slowed since we took out the coven who’d broken the line. Frankie had put a nice fix on it for now so all the creatures weren’t hyped up on the magical version of speed anymore. Guardian life had basically returned to normal. Keeping up a presence and making sure no one got too out of hand and exposed themselves to the humans. It was imperative they were kept in the dark about everything so we could avoid another recurrence of the Salem Witch Trials nonsense.
“Sure thing,” he said, “I’ll just do the dishes, wipe down the counters, and maybe dust a little while I wait for you to come down.”
“Good boy,” I said, and pat his head as I walked by to make my way toward the stairs.
He scowled. “I think I liked it better when you called me Pretty Boy.”
CHAPTER TWO
Troian and I parked near what Salem residents called Gallows Hill Park. It was the closest place to leave the vehicle so we could walk further into the woods to where the actual 1692 hanging tree stood. Surrounding the infamous tree was just a huge grassy clearing that wild flowers had now taken over. Purples and yellows dotted the landscape. This was the true Gallows Hill.
No one came up here anymore unless they were stupid teenagers pretending to be brave, Wiccans trying to glean whatever power they could from the sacred spot, or Guardians who were just trying to keep the balance.
My heart ached a little as soon as the grassy knoll came into view. I’d lost a friend here ten days ago. Someone who I’d trusted and counted on. I thought for a few days that she’d betrayed me, but found out differently when she saved me from my restraints. In the end, I couldn’t save Gi though. How fitting that she died in this place where a bunch of other witches died too.
I blinked a few times and got back to the task at hand. I’d added Gallows Hill to my rounds so I could check the ley line for any suspicious behavior, or any weird feelings that I may or may not get around it. It was the one precious thing about Salem that could tip the balance of magic one way or the other. Right now, and always, it needed to stay null and void.
Troian walked the perimeter of the clearing. Searching for what, I wasn’t sure. For all I knew, he could be searching for anything—or nothing. He was pretty perceptive that fae. He could probably tell I liked to be alone
up here to think about what happened. Not that thinking about the past ever did anyone any good. But the past drove the future, didn’t it?
I shook my head and called out to Troian. “Anything?”
He shook his head, too.
I grabbed the weyfinder from my bag and drew it out. It was still, and the stone in the middle was frozen in place and clear as a diamond. Good news all the way around.
Troian walked up behind me and peered over my shoulder. “Nothing?”
I nodded, still staring at the weyfinder. It was a beautiful piece of equipment. Useful, too. Troian reached for it and ran his finger just above where I held it. It vibrated wildly at his touch and the stone, which had turned orange because of his fae nature, spun. I knew he was fascinated by it. As far as I knew, we were the only group to have such a magical tool, and it wasn’t our only one either. As far as Ley Line Guardians went, we were pretty kickass…and unique.
The weyfinder was shaped like a dowsing stick, kind of like a triangle with the top the point of the apex and then coming straight down to split into two. Some of the boomerangs I used to play with as a kid were also shaped like it. Though, none of them could point out any magical beings in the area, what type of magical being they were, and how close they happened to be. It was no wonder Troian was fascinated by it. It was pretty damn special.
“You know what would be cool? A weyfinder that anyone could use.”
I laughed. Of course he would say something like that. One of the best parts about the weyfinder was that magical creatures couldn’t use it. In fact, only members of SPAWN—Salem’s Ley Line Guardians—could. “Ha. Are you going to try and make one?”
“If I could, it would already be done by now. I want one that’ll tell me when a spunky Ley Line Guardian is nearby so I can run in the other direction.”
“Ha. Ha.”
He nudged me in the ribs. “Maybe when this is all over, the Elite can borrow it and try to replicate it.”
