Passage (Soul of the Witch Book 1)

by C. Marie Bowen

She leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes. He called to her from across the years. What was the pulling sensation inside her chest whenever she heard his voice?

  His words—so close—she could almost feel his lips against her ear. Come back, my love.

  She let her senses follow him, and then her eyes snapped open, and she gasped for breath.

  The filthy old attic still surrounded her, but for an instant, she could have reached out and touched him. Her hand trembled as she lifted it to the light, expecting to find blood on her fingertips, but there was none. Only tears.

  His voice had grown distant again, calling to her from far away. A hard shiver shot down her spine. Granny Curtis would have said someone stepped on her grave.

  Tears blurred her vision as she looked down at the photograph.

  I don't want to be here without you.

  She closed her eyes and threw her senses wide. What if she let the pull of Merril's voice take her? Could she follow him back?

  Hadn't White Eagle said she was the wind? What were his words?

  “...a day will come when the wind will choose a direction. There will come a time when the door must close.”

  Was this the day? Was now the time to choose?

  Courtney took a deep trembling breath and looked toward the attic doorway Dessa had left open. If this worked, how would Dessa feel when she found her? Courtney had no doubt she would die when she let the voice take her. She didn't know if she would wake in Merril's arms, or simply follow him into death.

  This would be a blind leap of faith.

  She closed her eyes and clutched the oval frame to her chest. She opened herself to Merril's voice as it came near her once more. He was on the stairway—in the attic—right beside her.

  Her breath rushed out, and she reached for the sound of his voice.

  His lips were beside her ear. His breath soft on her face. “Nicki, please. Come back.”

  “I'm coming, Merril,” she said softly. “I'm coming.”

  * * *

  Amy Harris

  June 12, 1875

  Amy gasped at the Entity's sudden departure and moved from the bed.

  Nichole coughed the blood from her lungs and struggled to breathe.

  Merril rolled her onto her side and rubbed her back. “It worked.” Tears streaked his dirty face, and his sudden laugh became a sob.

  Amy stumbled around the bed and knelt beside Merril. The sense of duality had vanished from her mind but left her shaken. She ran her hand over Nichole's face and choked back tears of relief.

  Oh, blessed Lord and Lady, whatever that was, I thank you.

  Merril looked from Nichole's face to Amy. “I’ve known the healing power of your salve. It works like a miracle, but this—I've never seen anything like it.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Are you a healer, Amy?”

  “No, I'm not.” Amy couldn't hide the tremor in her voice. “I've never done... or experienced something like this before.”

  “You could’ve fooled me. Look at her face.” He pulled back Nichole's hair and held it away from her cheeks.

  Nichole's eyes remained closed. Tears poured from them as she coughed and battled to breathe. Her skin, beneath the blood and tears, continued to heal. The bruises cleared, and the cuts closed. The swelling around her eye diminished, and her appearance returned to normal.

  Amy rose from Merril’s side. “I'll get some water and towels.” She took the pitcher from the dresser and left the room to the sound of Nichole's stirring—coming back from the dead. She stopped just outside the door and held the pitcher close to her chest to stop its shaking.

  Nichole was alive, but not because of her; or maybe not just because of her. Something had joined with her, entwined its magic with hers. More terrifying yet was the promise that echoed in her mind.

  I will find you.

  Jason’s voice carried to her from downstairs as he spoke with Jim.

  Concern for Jim and her errand to tend to Nichole forced her to put aside her own worries and speculations. With a trembling hand, she wiped the tears from her face. She needed to go downstairs, but not yet—not until she knew her legs would hold. She took a deep breath and watched the magical glow fade from her arms.

  What have I done?

  * * *

  Nichole Harris

  Nichole blinked and brought her hand to her face. “Merril?” She wheezed, and then coughed again.

  “I'm here, my love. You'll be all right.” Merril's voice choked off, and his lips quivered. He pressed them into a hard line.

  Nichole nodded and covered her face with her hands. Uncontrollable emotion welled up inside her, and she sobbed.

  Merril wrapped the quilt around her, lifted her into his arms, and sat on the bed with her on his lap. He rocked and whispered to her as she cried. “I've got you, sweetheart. I won't let you go. I love you.”

  Nichole sniffed and rubbed the bedcover beneath her nose. She closed her eyes and rested her head against Merril's chest. He smelled of dust, and horse, and man. The scent anchored her and made closing her eyes bearable. As long as she could feel his arms around her, and smell the dust on his shirt, she knew he was real and no longer a ghost.

  Her breath hitched, and his arms tightened.

  “Do you feel better now?” Merril's voice rumbled through his chest under her ear.

  “Yeah. I think so. My lungs hurt—and I feel nauseous.”

  He dropped his chin to the top of her head, and his hand ran up and down her back.

  “I could hear you, you know,” she murmured, and a tear escaped from under her lashes and slid down her cheek. “You were looking for me.” Her breath caught, and she paused to still the quiver in her voice. “You searched every night. I even saw you once, but you couldn't see me. I almost left the house after that.” Those memories were too close—too raw. Emotion crawled up her throat and choked off her voice.

  “What house, Nic?” Merril held her away from his chest.

  She opened her eyes and saw he studied her face with a furrowed brow. His brown hair had pulled free from its binding and hung tangled to his shoulders. His deep-set eyes were dark with worry and fatigue.

  “This house.” Her chin trembled as she struggled to explain. “White Eagle said you would chase the wind, remember?” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And I was the wind.” She pressed her lips to still their trembling but didn't drop her gaze.

  Concern filled his eyes. “Do you know where you are, Nicki?”

  She almost laughed. A hoarse sound escaped her throat, and when her eyes closed, the unshed tears rained down her face. “I do.” She nodded and opened red-rimmed eyes. “I do indeed know where I am.”

  She tried to offer him a smile and took a deep breath into her burning lungs. “Do you... do you remember the talk we had behind the house the night of The Highlands barbeque?”

  “You mean last night?” Merril grinned and pushed a curl behind her ear.

  “That was last night?” Her voice rose, and nausea rolled in her stomach.

  How could that be?

  She wasn't missing time; in fact, she had too much of it.

  “We talked beside the tree near your balcony. You left the ranch this morning with Amy and Jim. We planned to meet in Denver.” He shook his head and dropped his eyes. “What happened to you—it's my fault.”

  “How? Why didn't you come?” Nichole tipped her head to see his face.

  When he lifted his gaze, guilt and regret filled his green eyes. “Jones must have overheard us talking. He bushwhacked me after you went inside. I didn't come to until this morning. By then, you'd already gone.”

  “So, how is this your fault?” She shook her head and looked out the broken wall. The sun threw long shadows across the dirt road.

  How many times had she—had Courtney Veau—stared out that window at sunset?

  “At least you got here in time,” she whispered.

  His hand on her back stopped moving.

  “What
is it?” She pushed back from his chest to see his face.

  He swallowed, glanced into her eyes, then looked away. Grief distorted his face. “I—” His reply choked off as he turned his head and clenched his jaw. When he spoke, his voice was low. “We didn't make it in time. Jones had—you were—”

  “I was what?” She freed her arm from the coverlet and pushed the hair from his face. Her arm and hand were covered with blood.

  “You were ... dead, Nic.” His voice broke. “You were already gone.”

  Nichole stared as he struggled to compose himself, but her focus had turned inward.

  Of course. I was dead.

  She had to have died to return to Courtney's time—even for a moment. She blinked at the realization that she retained both sets of memories—the future and the present. “Who revived me?”

  “Revived?” Merril looked up. “Amy did. She touched you and ... I don't know how she did it.” He shrugged and shook his head. “You began to choke and breathe again. She says she's not a healer, but I swear to you Nicki, she brought you back.”

  Nichole freed her other hand and captured his face. Their gazes locked—ice-blue and emerald. She drew his mouth to hers, tasting his tears as they mingled with her own. Their kiss deepened, completing her soul's journey—to have her heart beat next to his.

  He pulled back to look deep into her eyes. “That's the second time I lost you. Never again.”

  “I won't leave your side.” She tipped her head and kissed him softly. “Next time you say you're going somewhere, I'll damn well go with you. And whatever happens, we’ll be together.”

  Soft kisses feathered across her face, and then he pulled her close to his chest again. “You'd better. You're a part of me, Nic. I never want to lose you.”

  “I felt that way the first time I saw you. You rode up to the house with Kevin and your dad, remember? I was quite taken with you.”

  “You remember that?” He set her away from him again and searched her face. “Your memory's returned?”

  Nichole nodded. “All of it.”

  And more.

  “Whatever magic Amy used must have healed my head injury, too. I remember everything.”

  Both lives.

  Her desire to tell Merril about Courtney filled her mind with possible words, but the tale stuck in her throat. They had begun this conversation the night of the barbeque. Last night. She didn't have answers then, and although her memories were back, she needed time to sort things out.

  She smiled up at Merril. “I’ll tell you about it another time. Just hold me, Merril.”

  Nothing matters but this. I’m home.

  He pulled her close to his chest, his touch saying everything he didn’t speak aloud.

  Their future was uncertain; but, Nichole silently vowed, they would never be separated again.

  Preview: Soul of the Witch, Book 2

  Prophecy

  Buy now!

  Nichole has returned to Merril’s arms, but the cost could devastate her family.

  Amy pushed her magic to its limit in a desperate attempt to heal Nichole. In doing so, she encountered another—an Entity who can twist its magic through her—and who has promised to find Amy.

  A young woman near Toronto emerges from a trance. Her fire-magic twyned with another witch’s earth-magic to save a woman’s life. For Alyse, secrets kept from her for a lifetime begin to unravel as she learns of The Prophecy, and how it has shaped her life.

  Near New Orleans, a bounty hunter reluctantly agrees to find those who brought The Prophecy to life.

  Meanwhile, Morago—the serpent-demon—awakens to the sirens’ call of twyned elemental magic and slithers into the world of man, called forth to fulfill The Prophecy

  Preview: Soul of the Witch, Book 3

  Paradox

  Buy Now!

  The inhabitants of the Shilo-Harris Ranch have withstood the attack of a powerful demon, but the battle continues.

  Aided now by Hunter and his mysterious magic, the group plans to defeat the monster once and for all and free the innocent soul he holds captive.

  The demon, Morago, learned a valuable lesson in hubris and won’t be surprised by modern weapons or allow himself to be outnumbered again. While the demon licks his wounds, he makes plans to complete the Prophecy of the Twins on his terms.

  By Fire and Earth, he shall be felled, lest the twyne fail, then death shall reign.

  A Prophecy resolved.

  A Passage redeemed.

  Also by C. Marie Bowen

  Novels

  Aubrielle's Call

  (J.L. in France – 1939)

  ***

  Soul of the Witch Series – 1875

  Passage, Book 1

  Prophecy, Book 2

  Paradox, Book 3

  Novellas

  The Hunter Chronicles

  Hunter’s Gamble – 1865

  Hunter and Lily Graham - 1872

  The Kid in Black – 1872

  ***

  Hawthorn and Mistletoe

  (J.L. in Medieval England – 1328)

  Coming soon

  Burn - 1872

  (Jason and Amy’s story.

  A Soul of the Witch prequel)

  ***

  The Corsair’s Tempest

  (J.L. in the Caribbean – 1701)

  included in: Pirates, A Boys Behaving Badly Anthology #3

  About the Author

  Not your ordinary paranormal romance.

  Discover nail-biting suspense with paranormal romance author C. (Connie) Marie Bowen. She weaves her supernatural characters into a collection of tales linked to her first award-winning novel, Passage, the first book in her Soul of the Witch trilogy.

  Passage won First Place in the Paranormal Romance category in Indiana's Golden Opportunity competition in 2014. In 2015, her novels Passage and Prophecy were nominated for RONE awards in the Time Travel and Paranormal categories, respectively.

  Aubrielle’s Call released in August 2016. A historical, paranormal romance that takes readers to France in 1939, on the very brink of World War II. Aubrielle’s Call is linked to her Soul of the Witch world and her fans love the connection.

  After the much-anticipated release of Paradox, Connie intends to release Amy and Jason’s love story in a Soul of the Witch prequel, Burn. Also look for her immortal, J.L., to receive another magical call, while serving aboard a pirate vessel, in the short tale, The Corsair’s Tempest, to be included in the Pirates, A Boys Behaving Badly Anthology.

  Visit her website: CMarieBowen.com to learn more.