by G. A. Rael
The Witch’s Familiars: A Reverse Harem Fantasy
Harem of Babylon #1
G.A. Rael
Copyright © 2018 by G.A. Rael
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Also by G.A. Rael
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
About the Author
Also by G.A. Rael
Also by G.A. Rael
The Nocturne Agency Series (Completed)
The Nocturne Agency
Twice Bitten
Blood and Water
The Harem of Babylon Series (Reverse Harem)
The Witch’s Familiars
The Rise of Babylon (Coming June 2018)
The Fall (Coming July 2018)
One
This won't be like last time, thought Jordan. She ran a hand through her long brown hair to make sure that it wasn't too tousled as the mayor's wife passed with a woman she didn't recognize. The newly middle-aged women were sharply dressed in the requisite small town New England uniform of nautical stripes and sweater sets, but their eyes were even sharper. The mayor's wife spotted Jordan and waved from across the brick lane.
Jordan waved back and hoped her nerves didn't show as she approached the two women. "Hello again, Cindy. I've been meaning to send you a thank-you note for the fruit basket."
Cindy waved a manicured hand to dismiss her apology. "You've barely been settled in a week. Save yourself the trip to the post office." She leaned in and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper as she added, "The clerk is a bit of a jerk anyway.”
That caused the woman next to her to cackle and Cindy soon followed suit. Jordan gave a nervous laugh in return and fixed her gaze on the other woman. "I'm sorry; I don't believe we've met."
"I doubt it. I've never set foot in Texas," the woman replied, extending her hand. "I'm Tina, Cindy's far more attractive little sister, as I'm sure you can tell. You must be Jordan Adams."
Cindy rolled her eyes. "She's only two years younger."
"It's nice to meet you, Tina," Jordan said with a wary smile. She was pretty sure Tina was joking but didn't want to respond just in case. Henry Danbridge might hold the highest office in town, but his wife was the one who really called the shots in Cold Creek, Connecticut. Her approval was a necessity if Jordan was going to pull off the fresh start she so desperately needed. "I'm sorry, you said something about Texas?"
Tina gave Cindy a quizzical look. "Didn't you say that's where she was from?"
Cindy turned the look back on Jordan. "That is what you told me, isn't it, dear?"
"Oh," Jordan said, her breath catching in her throat. Her face grew hot and her pulse quickened in her ears. "Yes, I'm sorry, I did say that. And I am," she added quickly. "My family moved a lot, so I'm originally from Texas, but I just moved from Arkansas."
"Oh, was your father in the military?" asked Tina.
Jordan tried to swallow, but the knot in her throat just wouldn't budge. "No, nothing quite that heroic. He's a traveling minister."
"Well, we all have our lot in life," said Cindy, giving Jordan a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "Jordan here is quite an accomplished--I'm sorry, dear, what exactly is it that you said you do?"
"I'm sort of an amateur horticulturist," she replied. The rehearsed answer flew out of her mouth almost too easily. It was a good cover since no one really seemed to know what it meant and it explained how she was able to afford an apartment without working a regular job.
"How posh," said Tina. "What exactly does that mean?"
Cindy rolled her eyes. "It means she grows plants."
"Pretty much," said Jordan. "I specialize in some of the rarer ones and sell the seedlings to nurseries and enthusiasts."
"How interesting. Well, you'll have to tell Henry all about it when you come over for dinner this Friday," said Cindy. "He's always going on nature hikes. Sometimes I swear the man bleeds green."
"Oh, I couldn't impose--"
Cindy raised her hand with all the silencing authority of a queen. "Now, it's no imposition at all. I've invited a few people from around town and I'm sure they're all dying to meet you. It's not every day our sleepy little town gets a newcomer, and such a young one at that."
"What my sister means is that there's a shortage of single women in our town and she's planning to throw you to the bachelors like a scrap of meat to a den of lions," Tina said dryly. "Fortunately, her poor taste in men extends only to my brother-in-law."
"Oh, stop it. Just because you're a bitter old spinster doesn't mean that young love shouldn't have a chance to blossom. You are single, aren't you, Jordan?" Cindy asked hopefully.
Jordan tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and shifted her paper-wrapped parcel onto her other hip. "I am," she admitted. "But I can't say I'm really looking for a relationship at the moment."
"They never are," Cindy said with a wink. "This town does have its share of eligible bachelors, you know."
"You mean Darren St. Clair," said Tina.
"He's among them, yes," Cindy replied curtly.
Jordan had no sooner opened her mouth to reply than Cindy let out a cry of alarm. "Oh, I almost forgot--I promised my nephew I'd make his commendation ceremony tonight. He’s in the National Guard and those people are nothing if not punctual."
"I'm sure we've kept her long enough anyway," said Tina. "It was nice to meet you, Jordan."
"The pleasure was all mine," Jordan said, managing a more relaxed smile.
"My, so polite for a--" Cindy broke off, tilting her head. "How old are you, dear?"
"Twenty-four."
Both women exchanged astonished glances.
Jordan laughed stiffly. "I hear I look young for my age."
"You certainly do," Tina said with a click of her tongue.
"It would take the full force of the pharmaceutical industry to turn back the clock for this one," Cindy remarked in an oddly affectionate tone. Tina gave her a playful push and the two started down the path.
"See you Friday," Cindy called. "Seven o'clock at the big house on the hill. You can't miss it."
“Yeah, see you then," Jordan said, letting out a sigh of resignation once they had rounded the corner. She resumed the path toward her home but chose to cut through an alley behind the bank at the last moment in hopes of avoiding any other social interactions. Small-town living was a bit claustrophobic, but it beat the chaos of the city.
Cold Creek was it. This time, she was going to make it work. She had to.
The thing Jordan liked m
ost about the little town was how safe it felt. There was a lack of privacy that came with everybody knowing everyone, but there were benefits, too. The alley was wide and well-lit and the occasional flower pot hung from posts behind stores that had probably been in the town longer than most of its residents. It was a good shortcut and she had already stayed out well past dusk. The sooner she got home, the sooner she could treat her balcony nursery to the organic plant food tucked away in her parcel. Jordan might have still been living out of boxes, but her plants had been nicely settled in since her first day in town.
Jordan was momentarily drawn out of her planning by the sight of a white lump in the grass up ahead. She squinted through the thick black glasses that evidently weren't doing as much to help her look her age as she had hoped, but she still couldn't make out what it was. Perhaps it was a wadded up T-shirt, she reasoned, but it would be the first piece of litter she had seen on the clean streets of the pastoral town. As she drew closer, the lump looked more and more like a child's stuffed animal.
Except stuffed animals didn't breathe.
The parcel fell from her hands and dirt exploded onto the pristine brick walkway. Jordan's flat shoes nearly slipped off her feet as she made a dash for the creature. When she got a little closer, she could see that it was a cat whose brilliant white fur was matted with blood all along one side. The cat’s eyes fluttered erratically, flashing the most brilliant hue of green she had ever seen. Its breath, coming in puffs of fog that were barely visible from a distance, had already slowed dramatically.
"Oh, no," Jordan breathed, sinking to her knees as she removed her jacket. She draped it around the injured animal's body to shield him from the nip in the air as the night settled in. "I'm so sorry, kitty."
The cat's eyes focused at the sound of her voice before they rolled back in its head. The eye contact had lasted only for an instant, and yet the plea for help was clear.
You can help him, began the needling voice in her mind.
She cringed. "I can't," she whispered apologetically, stroking the soft fur on the cat's cheek. "I'm sorry, I wish I could do something."
The cat shuddered violently.
Jordan's hands began to tremble. "You have to understand, kitty, I promised myself it would be different this time. This is my last chance to be normal."
It is different. This time you can do something. You can save him--unlike them.
"Stop it!" Jordan cried when the voice became too much to bear. She lifted the dying animal into her arms and ran back the way she had come. She had passed the animal clinic on her way from the nursery. It wasn't far.
Maybe he would make it...
Jordan's legs carried her faster than she had thought they were capable of, but every second still seemed to drag on. By the time she made it into the town square, the clock above the administration building was chiming nine o'clock. The office would undoubtedly be closed, just like everything else in town, but she could only hope the vet lived above his office like so many of the other business owners in town did.
Just as she had feared, the lights inside the little clinic were all off. Jordan shifted the bundle that was gradually losing warmth to one arm and took a deep breath before pounding on the glass door just above the sign that read Cold Creek Veterinary Clinic. It might not have been a real doctor's office, but it was closer than she would have liked to get to one.
After a minute of frantic pounding, she began to accept that whoever lived above the clinic either wasn't home or wasn't answering. Then the upstairs lights came on and a weary and slightly agitated man appeared at the door a few moments later. His handsome face and almost-black hair put him in his early-to-mid thirties, but the weary lines worn into the corners of his eyes challenged that estimate. He was wearing a T-shirt and flannel pants, which confirmed her suspicions about him living upstairs.
"Are you the vet?"
"I am," he said, glancing at the bundle in Jordan's arms. A growing red stain had soaked through her light jacket. As soon as he saw the cat, the irritation in the vet's voice softened to concern. "Come on inside," he said, pushing the door open.
Jordan wasted no time accepting the invitation and held the cat close to her chest as she rushed into the small yet surprisingly up-to-date office. A couple of exam rooms sat behind a modest reception desk, waiting room and floor scale. Jordan followed the veterinarian into one of the rooms as he slid a tray of tools over to the exam table.
"Put him on the table."
Jordan obeyed, transferring the cat to the slippery metal as gently as she could. He was still breathing, to her relief. She had been fearful that the trip to the clinic would do him in.
"I'm sorry, I know it's late," she began, "but I didn't know what else to do."
"Is he your cat?" asked the vet, pulling on a pair of blue latex gloves.
"No, I found him in the alley behind the butcher shop. He was attacked by something. A dog, I think."
The man's brow furrowed in consideration as he ran a handheld scanner along the cat’s scruff and back. “No chip, and he’s not neutered. Got some sharp claws on him, too. Probably a stray, everyone collars their cats here. Maybe he had a run-in with a coyote."
Jordan cared more about the outcome than the cause. "Can you save him?"
The vet’s frown took on a sharper angle. "He's lost a lot of blood and no telling what kind of disease the thing that bit him had. Even if he does pull through the night, I'd have to quarantine him for rabies, and that's a huge if."
"There must be something you can do," she protested. "You're a veterinarian, you help animals."
"Look, I'm the first person to give an animal a chance if I can, but in this case treating him would do more harm than good. There's hardly a chance for him even with highly invasive surgery, and he's only going to spend his last few moments suffering."
She gulped. "Fine, then just give him something for the pain and I'll take him home."
He paused. "What's your name?"
"Jordan," she replied impatiently.
"Jordan what?"
After a reluctant pause, she added, "Jordan Adams."
“Alright, Ms. Adams. You did a good thing bringing him to me, but I'm a professional and this is what I do. I'm telling you, this animal can't be saved and I sure as hell can't release him to your care.”
“I don’t want him to die in a cold office."
"You've done all you can do. The most merciful thing anyone can do for him now is to let him go. I promise you that I’ll do everything I can to make it easy.“
Jordan nodded slowly, deciding that she wasn't going to get any further by arguing. A new plan was beginning to form in her head. "Alright," she said, taking a shaky breath. "That's fine, but would you at least let me say goodbye? He deserves to enjoy a few minutes of attention and affection before he's killed."
The vet narrowed his eyes and looked between Jordan and the cat. He finally muttered something unintelligible and likely profane under his breath as he removed his bloodied gloves and deposited them in the biohazard container at his feet. "You have a few minutes while I get the injection ready, and I expect you to see Dr. Danbridge first thing tomorrow morning about that scratch on your wrist. I'll be checking in with her. There’s no telling what this cat has.”
"I will," Jordan said tersely. The Danbridges were all over town, it seemed.
The vet turned to leave but paused at the door for a moment, as if about to say something. He evidently decided against it, shook his head and left the room.
Jordan wasted no time wondering what he had come so close to saying. She was fairly certain that what she was about to do was a crime, but she waited until the vet disappeared into the back room before gathering the cat into her arms and making her way out the door anyway. She closed the door carefully to avoid triggering the bell that hung above it.
Once she was outside, Jordan held the cat close to her chest to shield it from the crisp autumn air as well as she could. She tried to be swift without
jarring the frail thing in her arms, but she knew that if the vet caught up to them, the white cat faced certain doom.
"I can't believe I'm doing this," she panted, half to the cat and half to herself. With each passing step, she grew a little more certain that the vet wasn't following them. That or he had already called the police. Surely this wasn't the type of cat burglary that could be prosecuted. Then again, it was a small town and the police probably had time, assuming they weren't all asleep.
So much for getting off to a good start in her new home. She told herself that one little setback couldn't possibly make that big of a difference and she almost believed it.
After what seemed like an eternity, the little two-story building that housed Jordan's apartment came into view. Breathless, she climbed the fire escape to avoid the risk of running into the elderly landlady who lived downstairs. Mrs. Herrin already seemed to have her suspicions about the various plants and charms hanging on the porch. Jordan could only imagine what the old woman's imagination would do with the sight of her carrying a bloody animal into her apartment.
Jordan's hands were trembling so badly that it took her three tries to unlock her patio door. She immediately cleared the coffee table and placed the fading creature in the center of it before gathering her supplies. They were vastly different from the sterile tools the vet used, but the idea was the same.
A little garlic for vitality. A bit of cat's claw for obvious reasons. A few roots with names that had long since been forgotten for the real magic and some lavender for an extra healing kick. The moon wasn't full, but it was waxing. That would have to be enough. She removed the small blade from a box beneath the coffee table and drew it along the lifeline that ran across her left palm, sprinkling a few droplets of blood into the mortar and pestle that contained the rest of the ingredients. It was a special occasion, after all. A true emergency required a spell with all the trimmings.
