Invoking the Witch (The Faction Series Book 1)

by Lindsey Jayne

  Stationed outside the steel-gated entrance, Amelia spied one other car and a couple of bikes. Great! She would need to make a run for it up the dirt track to the main house.

  Jumping from her vehicle, she raced up the driveway—Nate followed at a steadier pace.

  Without a thought she barged straight through the front door—eager to get out of the torrential rainstorm outside—and bounced straight off Blake’s rock-hard torso.

  “Well, well. I see you’ve made the effort for me,” he smirked, brows raised while he stared wide-eyed and without shame at her chest.

  Amelia rolled her eyes at him, “You’re nothing if not predictable.” She crossed her arms over her chest, but it didn’t make the slightest bit of difference.

  “Oh, believe me when I tell you, I am so much more than that.” He flashed that smile again, and gave her a devilish wink.

  Amelia’s cheeks flushed, despite an attempt to suppress her smile. What the hell? You’re a thirty-two year old woman; you don’t get embarrassed by a man! she thought. Yes, but look at him!? And she did—the blond-haired, beautiful, toned definition of sex stood staring at her.

  She shouldered her way past Blake, making sure to catch him.

  The large kitchen boasted several off-white, lattice-windowed cupboards with light oak work surfaces, an envious Aga stove and a large island bar in the middle with a pots and pans wire rack above it—all very Country Living.

  Deacon stood to one side of the bar talking to Chloe and Sam, who, judging by their soaking wet clothes and hair, came fresh from outside themselves.

  “Damn, I need to get my kit out of my car.” Amelia padded the pockets of her jacket in search of her keys.

  “I’ll go for you,” Blake leant in close and whispered the words in her ear, his hand on the small of her back.

  Curling his hand around her waist in a slow, sweet motion, Amelia’s breath hitched. With his lips still close to her neck, her heart rate quickened and the warmth of his breath on her skin caused a shiver to shoot down her spine.

  Snaking his hand further around, Blake delved into the pocket of Amelia’s blazer. He pulled out her car keys and bolted out the door in a blur.

  Amelia released her breath, only to suck it in again when Blake reappeared in front of her. He placed her kit on the bar, and sauntered over to her, handing her the car keys. An electrifying ripple shot through her skin when his hand brushed hers. She fought the desire to close her eyes and imagine—

  “Scene’s upstairs,” Deacon’s voice knocked Amelia out of her erotic trance.

  With a quick mental shake of her senses, she motioned for him to lead the way. Blake remained in the kitchen while Deacon took everyone else upstairs.

  Positioned on the landing Amelia could see four doors, three already open, their contents signifying two bedrooms and a bathroom. The other remained closed. Amelia pressed forward and, putting on latex gloves, pushed the doors inwards with due caution.

  The smell hit her first—the same stench of fear and death intermingled, but also a mixture of urine and blood; the copper scent the stronger of the two. Amelia dealt with blood on a regular basis, but in such a confined space the stench always overpowered her.

  Gloom permeated the area thanks to the drawn blackout curtains, but Amelia made out the outline of the victim lying in the centre of the dark wood floor. She felt her way along the wall for a switch, and flipped it when she found it. Light bathed the room in a dull glow giving Amelia view of the bloody, half-naked body outstretched amid a disturbed circle of salt. Small splashes of blood sprayed the walls, floor and furniture.

  An altar stood at the far end of the room; dark wood with one shelf attached at the top. It housed a large book, or tome, leather bound with gold clasps; the paper looked like dated parchment. Amelia could see dark writing, but couldn’t make any of it out from where she stood. Numerous candles in various states of use were positioned on shelves and around the floor; some black, some red, some white.

  On one of the deep red-painted walls Amelia noted the familiar symbol of Lilith with the same smoke emanating from whatever once lay beneath. A large wardrobe dominated most of the left hand wall with various other items around the room; bones, charms, trinket bags. However, the centre of the room drew Amelia’s immediate attention.

  Moving closer, Amelia detected the same gaping hole in the victim’s chest; it ran from her chest, the length of her stomach and down to her groin. The face remained untouched, save for the splatters of blood, and Amelia detected the same burn marks around her wrists and ankles. Leaning in, she noticed something wedged in the victim’s throat.

  “Careful, she might try to tongue you.”

  Amelia turned to see Sam in the doorway, grinning like a buffoon.

  “Even a dead victim with their stomach slashed open would be a step up from the states that’ve had their tongues down your throat.” Amelia cast him a smug smile before making her way out the bedroom.

  Sam glared at her. His mouth flapped open, but promptly closed with no hint of a comeback.

  “Check out the other rooms,” she instructed.

  Nate waltzed past her into the murder scene to conduct his collection of evidence, after she highlighted the object in their victim’s throat.

  Chloe followed to give a hand with photographs, though, faltered when she caught sight of the mangled body.

  Amelia turned to Deacon, “Someone called this in, do we have an ID?”

  “Ivy Swanson,” Deacon responded.

  “Her sister called you guys?”

  Deacon nodded. “Yes.”

  “Where is she now?”

  The vampire shrugged, “We don’t know. No one was here when we arrived.”

  “Are we sure it was the sister?” Amelia queried.

  “Yeah, she said as much on the phone and I don’t see why the witches would wanna call in their own murder scene.”

  Amelia nodded and stared into the distance in thought. “I agree. We need to track her down; she might’ve seen something that can help.”

  “I’ll call for a search,” Deacon offered. He pulled his mobile from his back pocket.

  Sam appeared back on the landing. “What about the father?”

  Amelia pondered over it for a moment before she popped her head in the altar room. “Roberts, see if you can find any pictures of the vic’s sister, as well as a name, and any pictures of a boyfriend or husband. Gather whatever evidence you find downstairs, then go check around the perimeter, see if you can find anything that might indicate where this missing sister went to. Take Blake and Chapman with you.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Chloe replied, making her way downstairs.

  Amelia walked back into the room where Nate busied himself with the evidence. “Same kinda stuff?”

  “Looks that way. Owl’s claw in throat, burnt residue on wrists and ankles, and the same wounds. There is one difference, though.”

  Crouching beside him, she asked, “Why’s that?”

  “You said before that the witches were using demons to restrain these women.”

  “That’s right.”

  Nate tilted his head in Amelia’s direction, “Then either Ivy managed to put up a bit of a fight before she was held down, or the killer slipped up. There’s trace evidence underneath her fingernails.”

  Chapter 9

  I spent my day wandering the Compound. I chatted with Wendy and got a general feel for the place I would call home for the next few days—at least, I hoped it wouldn’t be any longer than that.

  Some of my reservations and fears dwindled the moment Deacon’s gaze captured mine. When he touched me, fireworks erupted through my body and I felt safe, protected. I knew my daughter and I would be secure here, but for how long? What would happen when the time came to leave? Would the police have found Daniel by then? And what of Deacon?

  My soul yearned for his closeness in a way that both scared and excited me. Inside me grew another man’s child—a man I never really knew, a man
I feared. A man hell bent on kidnapping my daughter.

  Deacon made me forget. In such a short space of time, I found myself pining for a man I feared could never be mine. To expect him to raise another man’s baby… what did all this make me?

  It wouldn’t do me well to dwell on a situation I couldn’t change.

  But I couldn’t help it.

  To ease my tension somewhat, I spent a good amount of time in the Compound’s library reading baby book after baby book after cheesy, raunchy romance novel. I even spent some time trawling the internet, adding numerous pink toys and clothes to several online shopping baskets. But then I remembered I had no home for which to have them delivered, and next to no money to purchase them.

  I spoke to Alice before she started her shift at the pub. Not having spoken to her for a day or so, I had hoped she could share with me some juicy piece of gossip, anything I could ponder over needlessly to distract from my predicament… and the nightmares that plagued me.

  Alice’s parents took on a new member of staff at the pub for the busy autumn nights—not all that juicy, but still. She did grab my attention when she told me she’d driven by my house a few times. Still no sign of Daniel, though. The mention of his name brought back the vivid image of his shadowed glare before he… drove… that knife. The recollection made my heart race and my skin break out in goose bumps.

  Now, sat in the kitchen at the Compound, I put my fears aside once again. He couldn’t get me here. The police would catch him and I would be able to return home. Me and my daughter wouldn’t have to worry about him ever again.

  My stomach rumbled.

  Lucky for me, after a quick rummage, I found the fridges stocked with edible food. I put together a basic chicken salad, and, sick of the confines of my room, sat at the island bar to eat it.

  The door to my right opened and a tall, slim woman with long, dark blonde hair walked in.

  She hesitated at the door, “Oh, sorry, I didn’t realise anybody was in here.”

  “That’s OK,” I smiled, “just grabbing some lunch before I starved.”

  She looked at my empty plate, then my swollen tummy. Nope, no blood. I’m not a vampire.

  “Do you live here?” she asked me with a crumpled expression while she grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge.

  Shaking my head, I responded, “No, I’m just staying here temporarily.”

  The lady sat down next to me and eyed me with a long glance. “I’m Amelia.”

  “Elora.” Amelia shook my offered hand.

  “Elora? B’s daughter?”

  I laughed, not surprised everyone knew my dad. “Yeah, do you work with him?”

  “No, I’m a DCI with the Lancashire Constabulary. I help out with certain case types. How come you’re here? I don’t recall B ever telling me you had supernatural abilities.” She smiled at, a chuckle filtering past her lips. “Sorry, bad joke.”

  I curled into myself and looked away from her stare. “I don’t… I… um… .”

  “It’s OK; you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

  What do I have to lose—this woman is a police officer? “I’m in hiding, I suppose. My ex-boyfriend assaulted me and threatened to take my baby from me.” My hands slipped to my belly.

  Amelia’s breath hitched as her sympathetic gaze eyed me cradling my bump. “I’m sorry to hear that. Did you report him?”

  “Yes.” I nodded, eyes still averted. “Only… he’s gone missing.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Dan—”

  Before we could talk any more, Blake barged into the kitchen with all the finesse of a British Bulldog.

  “Sorry to break up the party girlies, but I need to steal Amelia away.”

  Amelia turned to smile at me. “It was nice meeting you. Maybe we can carry on our chat another time?”

  “Sure, I’d like that.” And I really would—I liked her. I could almost feel her soul speaking to me—kind, protective, yet fearless.

  It worried me how I knew that.

  ∾∾∾

  Amelia and Blake joined Lucas and Deacon in the conference room.

  “Go ahead boss; tell her what you just told us.” Blake directed his statement at Lucas.

  “Take a seat, Amelia.”

  She positioned herself in a chair in front of Lucas. Blake sat down beside her.

  “We’ve had an anonymous phone call from a woman who claims to be a witch,” Lucas continued, sliding a copy of the phone transcript over to Amelia.

  Amelia’s interest piqued. “Is she good or bad?”

  “Good. She claims to be a member of the coven of the three murder victims.”

  Amelia’s eyes widened. “They were all from the same coven?”

  “That’s right,” Lucas rifled through the notes in front of him. “The scripture from the book at the Swanson place was mainly spells and incantations. It did acknowledge three witches, though; Morgan, Gill and Belle.”

  Taking in a breath, Amelia curbed her premature excitement. “No surnames? We need to track these women down; perhaps they know something; maybe they’re involved somehow.”

  “With no surnames it’ll be difficult to narrow down, but I’ll have someone work on it.”

  “How does the caller know the others have been murdered? We’ve not released any details yet.”

  “That’s the kicker. She reckons she saw it before it happened.”

  Amelia raised her brow, “Psychic? Did she say who it was? And why now?”

  “She didn’t stay on the line long enough for us to ask too many questions, but she fears she could be next.”

  Amelia hesitated, studying Lucas’ words. “She’s pregnant?”

  “Yes. Almost to term.”

  “She can’t be the only pregnant witch in the County. Why else would she think she’s being targeted?”

  “She says she knows how the victims were chosen.”

  Amelia considered Lucas’s rigid facial expression. “She hasn’t told us, though.”

  Lucas shook his head.

  “Bollocks. Do we have an address?” she concluded.

  “Someone’s working on that now.”

  On cue a short, young woman with waist-long, box-dyed red hair and violet eyes walked into the room. She held a sheet of paper. Dressed in a small, denim skirt, a tight, skull-motif tank top and spiked, platform calf-boots, she looked like a gothic harlot.

  “Amelia, this is Ember Belrose, she’s from another Faction, but she’s fantastic with a computer. She’s offered to help track down anything we can, to get ID’s on our girls.”

  Ember ignored his words, instead she shifted straight over to Deacon and stared at him like a schoolgirl with a crush. She smiled sickly-sweet, flashing her fangs, and placed the paper down, brushing her showcased breasts against his arm—the reason behind her choice of revealing apparel now clear to Amelia.

  “Here’s the address you wanted. It’s under the name Belinda Larkin.” She spoke only to Deacon.

  He didn’t glance at her and Amelia caught the uncomfortable look marring his features—proof he didn’t appreciate the smitten vampire. He still didn’t make eye contact when he spoke to her.

  “Thanks, Ember. That’ll be all for now.” He sighed, heavy with agitation.

  Ember didn’t notice—or care—Deacon’s statement meant ‘sod off, you’re no longer needed’. She gazed at him with a dreamy look in her large, dilated eyes. Amelia couldn’t recall a time a vampire acted so… credulous.

  “If you need me to do anything else, just ask.” She sauntered out of the room, glancing back at Deacon to see if he noticed her. He didn’t turn his head.

  Amused, Amelia grabbed the piece of paper and studied the address. “This must be our Belle. I know where this is, I can go tonight.”

  “Don’t you think it’s a bit late, now?” Blake rested his chin on his hand and stared at her.

  “The later we leave it the more likely she is to skip out on us. There’s a rea
son she didn’t give her name or location.”

  “It’s dark enough now. The two of you go together,” Lucas instructed them, “Deacon and I have work to do here.”

  Amelia’s heart leapt into her mouth at the prospect of being alone again with Blake. Her breathing rate picked up and she felt a little nervous, or is it excitement? Perhaps both.

  “Let’s get this show on the road, then, sweetheart.”

  He winked at her and her resolve waned.

  ∾∾∾

  It took twenty minutes to get to the address Ember gave them. Pulling up across the road, Amelia and Blake observed the building. There were no lights on, in or around the property.

  “What now?” Blake’s gaze remained fixed out the window, toward the house.

  Amelia caught his stare, shook her head and smirked. “It’s a bloody good job I’m here. You’d stand no chance being a copper.”

  “What do you mean?” Blake’s eyes widened in disbelief.

  “It might look as though no one is home, Ace, but we still gotta check it out. Looks can be deceiving.”

  Blake curled his lips up at her. “Can’t they just?” He waggled his brows.

  Amelia reddened and turned her head away before they climbed out of the car.

  They made their way up the paved drive and knocked on the front door. To Amelia’s shock and dismay the door swung open on its own.

  “Crap.” Removing her police issue baton from her belt, she glanced at Blake and cocked her eyebrow.

  She stepped over the threshold with caution, and into the hallway of Belinda’s home. The place looked like a tornado ran amok—furniture lay strewn about, broken picture frames hung in disarray on the walls and broken ornaments and glass littered the floor.

  Amelia didn’t switch any lights on. She motioned for Blake to go ahead of her and check what looked to be a kitchen while she examined the front room.

  Blake held back from using his natural speed—not sure who they were dealing with or what power they might yield, he wanted to be vigilant. Not only that, but he took Amelia’s welfare into consideration, he’d be damned if she came to harm because of his thoughtlessness.