Invoking the Witch (The Faction Series Book 1)

by Lindsey Jayne

  “I have something I need to tell you,” I blurted out.

  “I figured as much.” A slight smile drew across his expression; it put me at ease, sort of.

  Christ, where do I even start with something like this? Lost for words, I tried to figure out what to lead with. Whatever came out my mouth would not be anything near intelligent or thought about, so I blabbed out the first thing to spring to mind.

  “I think I’m a witch.”

  Lucas’ facial features remained impassive while he moved over to the sofa. “Come and take a seat. We need to have a chat.”

  I shuffled over like a naughty school girl reprimanded by the headmaster. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean… what I meant was—”

  “It’s OK, Ellie. You’re not in any trouble. For what it’s worth, I think you’re right, but we need to discuss the ramifications of what you’re saying.”

  I breathed a quivering sigh of relief—if you could call it that—and sat down beside him, shaking like a nervous child. He studied me for a few seconds, but I became edgy under his gentle scrutiny.

  “Am I a target?” I blurted out. I needed to settle my nerves and my mind once and for all.

  “A target for what?”

  Oh come on. “You know what, Lucas. I know you saw my reaction to Belinda’s story.”

  “Her visions… ?”

  “… Are similar to my dreams.”

  “And the knife… ?”

  “… The same as the one I found in Daniel’s car.”

  Lucas took a deep breath, “You think he’s involved somehow?”

  “Do you?”

  A reluctance to admit I may have been living with a murderer circled my brain. I carried his child; it didn’t bear thinking about… those atrocities. Could Daniel do something like that? How could I have been so blind?

  Lucas interlaced his fingers under his chin, “I think he might be, yes. How involved, though, I don’t know.”

  “Cassandra’s home… I think he might have sold it her.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  I told Lucas about Daniel’s occupation, and how I overheard several of his conversations concerning complications with a property in Simonstone. Unfortunately, my knowledge of property development and planning permission fell much shorter than what I would have liked—I couldn’t tell Lucas much more besides.

  Lucas absorbed it all, inching closer with each snippet. I didn’t like the worried expression forming on his rugged features. My stomach somersaulted and I felt sick all over again.

  “We’ll get someone to look into him right away.”

  Is that all you have to say? I wanted reassurances suggesting I bordered on paranoia, that the father of my child didn’t go around murdering women and sacrificing their babies. That perhaps the notion of me being a witch didn’t exist anywhere beside my over-active imagination.

  I’d likely not buy a word of it, but I needed someone to tell me my child and I would be safe from murderous, psychotic witches.

  My body shook.

  Lucas left and I couldn’t fight it any longer—I ran to the toilet and threw up.

  ∾∾∾

  The moment Amelia heard Laila’s name, she pulled her phone out and called Sam. Neither he nor Chloe knew about Belinda. In all the excitement to gain the upper-hand, she forgot to inform them.

  “Ma’am, I was just about to call you—”

  “Get back to Farris, Chapman and arrest her. She’s involved in this. You need to bring her in right away.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Belinda’s here and she’s named Laila. I’ll explain later, just get back there and arrest her on suspicion of murder; we’ll hash out the details later. Bring her straight to the Compound.”

  Sam’s voice cut off when Amelia ended the call.

  Turning to Nate, she instructed him to show Belinda to a room, and then see if he could find an address for Serena and Keira—someone needed to pay them a visit. She’d do it herself, but right now Cassandra took priority. She’d leave a message for Lucas with Wendy, then head out to grab Darcy from the station for back-up.

  Almost forgetting her manners, she turned to thank Belinda for her information and cooperation. Grabbing Belinda’s damp hand, Amelia held onto it for a few minutes while she looked the witch in the face, her eyes registering a smile of thanks. Belinda returned her smile as tears trickled down her face.

  “I hoped I’ve helped this time,” she whispered.

  Amelia nodded, then left.

  *

  Nate showed Belinda to a room before he went in search of a computer to track down Keira and Serena. Seating himself at a machine in the labs, he began his search.

  Lucas came over to him not long after. He looked anxious, a distinct note of urgency in his demeanour.

  “Nate, I need you to run a search for me on Daniel Compton.”

  Nate screwed his face up in confusion. “Elora’s ex nut-job?”

  “Yes, he could be involved. Where’s Amelia?”

  “She’s gone to question Cassandra.”

  Lucas averted his gaze and took a deep breath. “Whatever you find on Daniel, call me before anyone else, OK?”

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  Lucas stalked off, leaving Nate to continue his extended search.

  ∾∾∾

  Amelia struggled to breathe properly through her exhilaration—they were getting somewhere, she could feel it. If she could get her hands on Cassandra, things would be perfect. If she could get Laila and the ring leader into custody at the Compound, she felt certain the other two wouldn’t get far, regardless of their current location.

  The third unknown concerned her—no name or description. Even though Cassandra led the group of loonies, this stranger would still be dangerous; they needed to apprehend her, too. But first things first—Cassandra.

  She jumped when her phone rang. Hooking it up to her hands free kit, she connected the call. “Ellis.”

  “Ma’am, it’s Chapman. Laila’s gone.”

  “What?!”

  “We turned back around after your call. We weren’t even ten minutes away, but there was no one home.”

  Amelia banged on the steering wheel. “Shit!”

  “Sorry ma’am. We tried to get back as fast as we could.”

  “It’s not your fault. Get back to the Compound and help Nate. Fingers crossed we get lucky.” She didn’t feel lucky as she disconnected Sam’s call.

  Familiar doubts crawled under Amelia’s skin. Where are they all? Cassandra’s perhaps? She pushed her foot harder on the accelerator. The sooner she got to Huntroyde Hall, the better.

  Breaking every speed limit possible, Amelia made it back to the station in record time. She launched herself from the car and ran to grab a waiting Darcy. Bursting through the station doors, she sprinted up the stairs toward her office and collided with the Constable at the top.

  “Steady, ma’am, where’s the fire?” Darcy righted herself against the stair banister and smoothed out her blonde bob.

  “Now’s not the time, Simms, we need to get to Cassandra’s quick as possible.”

  “Ready when you are.”

  Amelia grabbed hold of Darcy’s arm and hauled her down the stairs two at a time—no way would she allow another witch to run out on her if she could help it.

  An afternoon downpour left the roads to Cassandra’s in a treacherous condition. A car had lost control in the weather, skidded ahead and landed side on. It blocked one side of the road, causing traffic to come to a standstill. It would take hours to get to Cassandra’s at this rate. Their twenty minute journey already eked out to a little over ninety minutes.

  Amelia’s patience wore thin, her disposition black like the weather. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, half tempted to put the blues and twos on, but it would only succeed in driving her insane, rather than any further forward. No-one could get through on the other side—the narrow lane could barely fit one car, never mind tw
o abreast.

  She slumped her head against the chair rest and sighed. “God damn it, why now?”

  Darcy cast her a half-smile, anxiously fidgeting with her fingers.

  The sooner they got to Cassandra’s, the better they would feel. Amelia knew her driving could be precarious at the best of times and, although they were stationary now, she’d be flooring the car at the first opportunity. It made everyone who rode with her uneasy.

  Amelia caught glimpses of Darcy checking her phone every so often—it won’t make time go any faster. Another half hour went by according to the dashboard clock. Amelia focused on the incessant green flashing of the colons between the numbers—there, gone, there, gone, there… a car horn behind them made her jump out of her trance.

  Moving again, Amelia approached a turning where she could head off onto a two lane road. Wasting no time, she flicked on the siren, took the corner like her life depended on it and raced up the road. Darcy grabbed hold of the door handle and straightened against her seat. Five or so more minutes and they’d be there.

  The first clap of thunder resonated over the skies and the heavens burst open, releasing fresh torrents of fat, heavy rainfall. Windscreen wipers going ten to the dozen, Amelia made out the outline of Cassandra’s house coming into view. She whipped the car up the lane and attempted to park the closest she could to the front door.

  The door to Cassandra’s home swung ominously on its hinges, and she felt an overwhelming sense of dread, and déjà vu.

  “Simms, call for back up.”

  Darcy attempted to call through on her radio, but got a loud hiss of static in response.

  “Damn. Ma’am, I think the storm’s interfering with the radios,” she stated.

  “Phone?” Amelia still glared at the mansion, watching for any sign of movement.

  Darcy fumbled with the Velcro on her vest. “No signal,” she informed after a brief pause.

  “Shit!” Amelia ran her hand through her hair, then checked her own phone—no signal. “For the love of God. OK, fine. Let’s go do this.”

  Letting out a heavy sigh, she threw the car door open, slammed it shut behind her and ran fast, toward the porch.

  Reaching the porch in seconds, her light, black blazer and deep crimson shirt stuck to her body. Hair plastered her neck and she attempted to pull thick, wet strands off it and her face. She delved into her pocket and grabbed a hair tie, scrunching her tresses up into a messy ponytail. Grabbing some grips also—smiling at her intuition, never knowing when she’d have to tie her hair back during a scene visit—she clipped a few loose strands out of the way of her eyes.

  Swinging round at the constable’s screech, Amelia watched Darcy race at high speed toward her, head down and arms up in a failed attempt to shield herself from the pounding rain.

  Giggling at both their misfortune, Amelia turned to enter the property. Something heavy smashed against her head. Stars burst into view and a hot trickle dribbled down her face before a black veil stole her conscious mind.

  Chapter 16

  Lucas met Sam and Chloe back in the living area at the Compound, he informed them of Amelia’s visit to Cassandra’s and all Elora and Belinda had divulged.

  “Small world,” Sam quipped, rewarding him an elbow to the ribs off Chloe.

  “I’ve had Nate delve into Daniel’s background, just as a precaution.”

  “Has he got anywhere yet?” Chloe queried.

  By sheer coincidence, Lucas’ piercing ringtone evaded the otherwise serene sounds of the music in the main quarters.

  “Nate, what have you got?”

  Lucas’ eyes widened. He ended the call and beckoned Sam and Chloe to follow him to the labs.

  Nate sat at the far end, face very nearly buried in the computer screen, studying. Lucas strolled over to him in a matter of strides and placed his hand on Nate’s shoulder.

  “What is it, Nate?”

  Without taking his eyes off the screen, he answered Lucas’s question, “I’m not sure how pertinent this is, but Daniel’s father was murdered about seventeen years ago. The case is still unsolved.

  “He and his father were up in some cabin his family owned; fishing I believe. His mother was an in-home caregiver, working at the time. She gave a statement saying she returned to her Burnley home some time before four in the afternoon and, afterwards, made her way to the family’s lodge in Wrea Green. Upon approaching the property, she noticed the door ajar and when she entered, she saw her son, Daniel, covered in blood sitting next to the body of his dead father.

  “It goes on to say that Isobel Compton found her husband, William, with multiple stab wounds to the stomach, chest, face and neck. She screamed and cradled his dead body, then she called the police.”

  “Sounds horrific,” Chloe commented before Nate resumed his story.

  “Further digging led me to a patient file. Daniel refused to speak after his father’s death and attended therapy sessions for several years; he started talking again around aged thirteen. His therapist’s name was George Hall, and a search on his name led me to another article, this time about his murder. I’ve printed it all off for you, there’s a few grainy pictures of a young Daniel and his parents at that time, as well as one of the therapist.”

  “The therapist was murdered?” Lucas exclaimed.

  Nate nodded. “Yeah. Stabbed outside his office as he was leaving one night.”

  “Coincidence?” Sam posed.

  “Possibly, possibly not. I need to get a hold of those files from his sessions with Daniel,” Nate explained.

  “I’ll look into it,” Lucas started, “while you and Sam head to that cabin and see if he’s hiding there. We know he’s skipped out on us, so maybe he’s there somewhere if his family still owns it.”

  Searching the property titles for Wrea Green, Lucas dug up a cabin under the name Compton. Nate grabbed the address and he and Sam took off on the sixty minute round trip. Lucas hoped they’d come back with at least some information or, with luck on their side, a disgruntled ex-partner hell bent on kidnapping a child from her mother.

  In the meantime, Lucas instructed Chloe to sift through anything else that might give them more clues surrounding Daniel’s past. With Chloe occupied, he tried to gain access to Daniel’s patient files during the time of his therapy with George Hall.

  Some twenty minutes later, Lucas turned toward heavy footsteps, seeing Deacon appear beside him.

  Placing a hand on the General’s shoulder, he asked, “Why are you doing a search on Daniel?” His creased brow lined with curious confusion.

  The moment Lucas informed him Elora suspected she might be a witch, Deacon’s eyes bulged.

  “Surely you suspected.” Lucas speculated.

  Nodding, Deacon verified, “I did, but it’s still shocking to hear someone else confirm it.”

  Lucas told him of his reservations over Daniel’s involvement, and if Elora happened to be a witch, she would likely be a target.

  “Witches are usually born of other witches, so we need information on Ellie’s mother.” Deacon offered.

  “Do you know her name?” Lucas asked him.

  Despite knowing Bernie for several years, not once could Lucas recall the mention of his wife’s name.

  Deacon shook his head. “I’ll go ask her now.” A smile flittered across his face, despite the sombre circumstances.

  He left the labs bound for her room, while Lucas continued his search for Daniel’s therapy files.

  Fingers hovering over the keyboard, the piercing tone of his mobile phone cut through the concentration.

  “General Drake.”

  Chloe looked up at the sound of his voice and Lucas’ stared, unblinking. He told the caller someone would be right over.

  “What’s up?” Chloe stopped typing.

  “That was Madison Rose—”

  “No shit?! Ivy’s sister?” She stood and her chair clattered to the floor behind her. “What did she say?”

  Lucas shook his head
at her animated outburst. “She has video evidence from the night her sister was murdered. You need to go and pick her up. Now. We’ve got no time to waste.”

  Clambering over her fallen chair, she ran for the door before Lucas called her back to retrieve the address she forgot in her haste. He handed her a piece of paper with directions.

  “Hurry,” he urged her.

  ∾∾∾

  I couldn’t escape the familiar sick feeling in my stomach. I swallowed down bile while I lay on my bed, my legs refusing to acknowledge their existence as part of my body. I felt drained, beyond exhausted.

  After Lucas left, and I emptied the contents of my stomach into the toilet, I lay down and tried to wrap my head around the situation. A headache formed as the only reward for my efforts.

  Pained hummed through my head when I sat up. I reached for a glass of water, taking a few, small sips. The thumping subsided—albeit only slightly—and I recalled my earlier question to Lucas. If I happened to be a witch, my ‘magic abilities’—and I used the term very lightly—would have presented before now, wouldn’t they? And if not, why not?

  I couldn’t deny the strange things happening to me. The shock I gave the guard, the super charged bolt I bounced off Ember’s head—I smiled—and the unexplained feelings and sensations rushing through my body during emotional episodes; my heightened senses, time slowing down, far off noises only audible to my ears.

  Did my emotions have to be put through the ringer in order for my… powers to manifest? My years spent with Daniel would certainly constitute emotional battering, but I grew accustomed to them, they became part of my daily existence. My body built up immunity to anything he threw at me—a zombie. Going through the motions.

  But I couldn’t rely on my emotions, erratic at the best of times lately. Would I ever be able to control them? I made a mental note to ask Belinda—she showed me what she could do, but it came naturally to her, no emotional involvement. Otherwise, the episode with the guards might’ve ended badly for them.

  A knock at the door put my musings on hold. Moving would make my head explode and my stomach turn, so I shouted to whoever stood outside to let themselves in.