Soothed by Magic

  Contents

  Copyright

  Title

  1. Detonation

  2. Disruption

  3. Investigation

  4. Altercation

  5. Confrontation

  6. Intoxication

  7. Prediction

  8. Recollection

  9. Zombification

  10. Direction

  11. Affliction

  12. Prescription

  13. Disruption

  14. Preparation

  15. Anticipation

  16. Impregnation

  17. Resuscitation

  18. Contrition

  Before you go

  About the Author

  A WrongTree eBook

  Copyright © Kim McDougall 2017

  Cover design by Castelane Inc.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Published in the United States in 2017 by WrongTree Press

  An imprint of the Castelane Inc.

  1710 MacArthur Rd. #203

  Whitehall, PA 18062

  www.Castelane.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  ISBN-10:0-9988651-1-7

  ISBN-13:978-0-9988651-1-9

  Version 1

  Soothed by Magic

  Hidden Coven Series, Book 2

  by Kim McDougall

  1

  Detonation

  MOTHER NATURE FORGOT TO SWITCH ON THE AUTUMN BUTTON.

  I parked in the municipal lot three blocks from my shop. I didn’t mind the walk as the day was clear and a warm wind blew off the Anneke River. It matched the heat in my stomach as I thought of my date last night. New relationships were always good. That zing of electricity when your eyes meet his. The constant urge to touch, and the restraint that only heightens need.

  Yes, I had it bad.

  “Mama, look! A witch!” I froze. With my mind wandering, I’d been absently playing with my keys, pushing one along the ring using kinetic magic.

  Crap! Abilene had warned me about practicing in public, but I tended to fidget with magic the way some people doodle while on the phone.

  The little girl’s shriek made me drop the keys. I bent, hoping the child’s mother was too preoccupied to pay attention.

  “She’s a pretty witch,” the mother said.

  “No!” giggled the child. “She’s ugly!”

  Well, that was uncalled for.

  Mother and child walked past me, pointing at the decorations tied to lampposts. With Halloween only days away, the streets of Ashlet were festooned with scarecrows, pumpkins and witches. Not real witches, but the cute pointy-hatted kind with green faces and warts. I supposed those stereotypes should annoy me, but they didn’t. The world wasn’t ready for the reality of witches, magic and demons.

  At Main Street, I turned right and spotted Gavin sitting on a bench in Bridge Park, a tiny green space that doubled as a town square. I stopped. Seeing Gavin here was unexpected and it brought back a mixed bag of emotions I was still working through.

  Gavin was the head of the vestals, a group of witches who dedicated their lives to keeping the Hidden Coven…well, hidden. Their efforts came at a great cost. The core—the engine fueling the protective spells around the coven—hungered for magic. Many vestals had died over the years when it overpowered them.

  Last summer, the demon Koro used a confused teen to let a legion of wraiths loose inside the coven. They murdered every active vestal, leaving me and a few others to take up the reins and feed the core.

  It nearly killed me, but I learned a lot about my aether, the life-force magic that pooled deep within me.

  I hadn’t seen Gavin since I left the coven over a month ago. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees and a cup of coffee dangling in his hands. The sun lit his face, showing off tired lines. Behind him, the Anneke River rushed under the bridge connecting the two sides of town like a Band-Aid. Trendy shops on one side, decaying homes built by the original residents of Ashlet on the other.

  “Hey, Bobbi.” Gavin looked up with troubled eyes. His smile was genuine, if sad.

  “Hey, yourself.” I sat beside him. “Nice to see you around these parts.” I wanted to hug him or shake his hand. It’s what you did when you met someone who had lived through a crisis with you, someone you considered a friend. But he’d only shrug me off. Gavin didn’t like to be touched. So I sat awkwardly holding my purse in front of me like a shield, and fidgeted with my keys. The wind swirled brown leaves around our feet.

  Gavin gulped the rest of his coffee and tossed the cup into a waste bin. A large flower box sat beside the bench, filled with dead petunias that the town landscapers hadn’t yet cleared away. He touched the dried husks one after another, not saying anything for a long time. And there was a lot to say. We’d fought demons together. It left a mark.

  When he did speak, it wasn’t what I expected.

  “I’m mustering the courage to visit my mother. She’s at Riverview.”

  Ah. Riverview Psychiatric Care Facility was an imposing building on the west end of town.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” I shoved down the desire to pat his back.

  “It’s not a big secret. She’s been there for years, since I was a toddler. That’s when Jane took me in.”

  “We have something in common. I was raised by friends of my parents too.” I’d never understood what motivated Ellen and Emmett Kennedy to take in a lost, scared child. I only knew that Emmett and my birth father had been friends before the fire that killed my parents and my younger sister. It seemed Jane had the same selflessness, though she hid it well.

  “I always feel like I need to stockpile sunshine before I see her. That place is…dark,” Gavin said.

  Riverview hospital had been converted from an old manor house. It was only a few blocks from my shop and I often passed it on errands. From the outside, it seemed charming, with a gabled roof and wrap-around porch. Inside? I really had no idea. But some days I heard screaming.

  Gavin dug his fingers into the dirt of the flower box. Aether burst from him and the dead plants unfurled, turned green and bloomed.

  Wow. Gavin was a flora mage. I had no idea.

  “Enough gloomy talk.” He plucked a petunia and twirled it in his fingers. “What’s new with you? I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

  “I’ve been busy.” I couldn’t help the guilty rush of blood to my cheeks. “You know how it goes with new relationships. The first weeks are pretty intense. I guess we’ve been cocooning.”

  Gavin frowned. “I thought Quinn was away last week.”

  “Quinn? No.” I laughed. “We had our moment, but it didn’t work out. This is someone new. His name is William.”

  “Huh.” It was neither a question nor an opinion. He looked at me for a long minute.

  “What about your magic training?” he asked.

  “William is taking over. He’s super. I’ve learned more in the last week than I did all last month with Abilene.”

  “Huh.”

  That tone was beginning to irk me.

  “Does Jane know?” he asked.

  “Jane is not the boss of me.” That came out too much like a whine. �
�I mean, she won’t even let me know how to get to the coven.” Actually it was Quinn who insisted that I be kept ignorant of the coven’s exact location. When I left, he made me wear a blindfold and I still hadn’t forgiven him.

  Thoughts of Quinn brought a brief unexpected pang to my chest, not exactly guilt. Remorse, maybe. But it was gone as quickly as it came.

  “William says I should have progressed much faster than I have been.” That was true. Since meeting William, I realized my aether wings had been hobbled by the coven’s restrictive policies. William cut the cords for me. I held up my key chain with a grin and showed Gavin how I could pass the keys one by one with pure aether.

  “Impressive.” He frowned. He didn’t look impressed.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, sure. I should go see my mother and get back to the coven. Something I need to check on.” He rose, and handed me the blooming petunia that had been a dry husk only moments ago.

  “Next time you visit your mother…” I suddenly felt shy. I didn’t know Gavin well, but he seemed to need a friend. “I mean, if you’d like company. I’m always around.”

  He smiled. “I might take you up on that.” He paused, considering. “This new friend of yours, does he have a last name?”

  For some reason, I didn’t want to tell Gavin William’s last name. I fought through the unreasonable tangle of my tongue. “Fain. His name is William Fain.” The words hurt my chest as I spoke them and I had a wild urge to beg Gavin to forget them.

  Gavin smiled and the odd feeling passed.

  2

  Disruption

  THE BELL ABOVE THE DOOR JANGLED.

  Molly McFadden looked up from her knitting and winced. Dottie Benson stormed through the door, wearing her trademark floppy hat. In houndstooth print, for God’s sake. She spotted Bobbi, sorting the day’s receipts. Already out of breath, she puffed up her chest, hiked up her massive bag of knitting, and made a bee-line for Bobbi.

  She dropped her bag on the counter, scattering receipts.

  Molly sighed. This wasn’t going to go well. She turned back to her needles. Bobbi could handle herself.

  “Miss Cole, I’m disappointed that you would sell such an inferior product. Look at this mess!” Dottie dumped a tangled lump of hand-dyed, artisan silk blended yarn on the counter. Bobbi frowned and tried to save her carefully sorted receipts.

  “I warned you this wool was difficult to work with, Mrs. Benson.” Bobbi spoke in her reasonable shopkeeper’s tone, but you couldn’t tell Dottie anything.

  “Don’t treat me like an amateur, girl!” Crows thought Mrs. Benson’s voice was shrill. “I’ve been knitting since before you were born. I know poor quality yarn when I see it.”

  “I’m just suggesting that a less delicate wool might suit your purposes better.” Bobbi had made the same suggestion the week before when Dottie insisted on buying the damned silk wool in the first place. Her sausage-like fingers were ill suited to delicate work.

  “I paid good money for this!” It had been expensive, but she paid as much for the yarn as she did for scolding rights. She continued her tirade, touching on every unhappy moment she’d experienced in the shop.

  The old cow’s husband had gone deaf years ago. Some said it was voluntary.

  Her rant gathered momentum. She moved onto the ills of social media and how this youth culture was destroying the arts. Yes, it was a mighty leap, but one Dottie made with flourish. Eventually, she’d wear herself out. Then Bobbi would credit her account and she’d buy some other equally unsuitable yarn.

  “Why is everything today made fast and cheap? What happened to good old fashioned job satisfaction? I swear, you young people…”

  Bobbi nodded in the right places and made vague noises. Her knuckles were white around the pen in her hand. She watched Dottie with a flat, flinty gaze.

  Molly tried to keep her knitting even. No point in ruining a perfectly good hat over a Dottie Benson tirade.

  “Are you even listening to me?”

  Bobbi refocused on Dottie’s face. It had gone a rich shade of crimson, the bags under her eyes a deep purple. More of a burnt plum. It would be a nice color for a baby hat.

  “I swear, you young people have no respect!” The old nag worked herself into a good lather now.

  “Mrs. Benson I’m sure we can work out some kind of exchange…”

  “Exchange? I want a full refund! In fact, you should be paying me for wasting my time!”

  “I can’t do that.” Bobbi’s voice was as calm as a lead pipe. In the dining room, with Colonel Mustard.

  “We’ll see what the ladies at the crafters’ guild think of this!” Dottie shoved the tangled mess of hand-dyed, artisan silk into her bag. “You think I’m a bothersome old woman.” She poked Bobbi with a fat finger. Yep, she went there. Bobbi’s eyes darkened. “But I have some influence in this town. You’ll see!”

  She headed out as fast as her orthopedic shoes would allow, stopping to yank the door handle. The door stuck. She yanked harder. A basket tipped off the top shelf, almost braining Dottie and spilling skeins of Icelandic wool across the floor.

  Wasn’t that a neat coincidence.

  Dottie glowered and kicked the basket before leaving. The bell on the door rang merrily.

  “Well, that was bracing,” Molly said.

  Bobbi shook her head and picked up the basket with shaking fingers.

  “Do you think she’ll really go to the crafters’ guild and complain?” she asked. Ashlet was a small town. The Woolery’s entire customer base centered on the guild of ladies who put on craft fairs every season.

  “Most certainly, but no one will listen. Last week she tried to get everyone to boycott Vincent’s Market because her can of corned beef was dented. Don’t worry. Dottie squawks, but nobody listens.”

  Taking the basket, Molly gathered spilled wool and eyed Bobbi.

  Had the falling basket been a coincidence? Funny how such serendipitous things happened with regularity around here. Molly had sworn to keep Bobbi’s family legacy a secret, but secrets had a way of betraying themselves. Sometimes at the worst possible moments.

  After her disappearance last summer, Molly had called Jane, not a call she’d wanted to make. Jane and Molly had a history. An ancient history. They hadn’t spoken in nearly twenty years, and time had not dimmed their animosity. But for Bobbi’s sake, she made the call. Of course, the coven wasn’t accessible by normal communication means. So she’d left a message and waited for a reply.

  Quinn answered her, but he was reluctant to tell Molly what happened at the coven. He said only that Bobbi was learning to master her aether. He suggested Molly should speak to her.

  Whatever had happened, it left scars. Bobbi didn’t want to discuss it, but Molly kept trying.

  “That was some trick, dumping the basket on Dottie’s head,” she said. Bobbi flushed and looked away.

  “Did you do it on purpose?”

  Bobbi shook her head, then nodded. “I don’t know. I guess so. I’m not really comfortable talking about it, especially to a…non-witch.” Molly knew she’d been about to say “mundane,” but stopped herself as if the word were offensive.

  Molly was a mundane. She’d come to terms with that fact years ago. It didn’t hurt anymore. She almost told Bobbi the whole story then, the story of Koro and the four stupid girls who’d fallen under his sway thirty years ago.

  What stopped her? Fear, maybe and a good dose of self-targeted blame.

  As she tucked the basket back on its shelf, she caught a glimpse of a familiar face outside.

  “Looks like your new beau is right on time for your date,” she said.

  Bobbi’s face melted from anger to happiness. The bell chimed again and William Fain walked in.

  “Hey, babe.” William opened his arms as Bobbi fell against him. She tilted her head back for a kiss.

  Molly pinched back a comment. Bobbi had never been demonstrative with her boyfriends before, not even with Quinn. Mol
ly had been disappointed when that relationship ended. They’d been a good match.

  She didn’t know what to think about this new one. William wasn’t exactly ugly, just plain. A bit pudgy, round-faced. Dopey looking. Not the sort of man who turned a girl’s head. But Bobbi seemed smitten.

  “I’m ready to leave,” Bobbi said. The daily receipts littered the counter, but she didn’t seem concerned. This wouldn’t be the first time Bobbi shirked her duties to spend time with William.

  “I’ve got a few errands to run in town. Let’s meet at your place later.” William smiled, an expression more like painful gas on his ruddy face. “I’ve got a new…uh, recipe for you to try.”

  Bobbi laughed. “It’s okay. Molly knows all about witches. You can say spell.”

  “Fine, I’ve got a new spell. One that’s best cast sky-clad.” His eyebrows waggled like an old-timey vaudevillian.

  “Well, I’ll let you two kids get on with your evening.” Molly grabbed her purse from behind the counter and headed for the door. She had nothing against young love, but William Fain gave her the creeps.

  William and Bobbi barely noticed her leave.

  3

  Investigation

  HEIGHTS MADE QUINN DIZZY.

  The balmy wind brought him no comfort as he scaled the fence behind Bobbi’s house. October should be cool with frost to welcome the spirits of Samhain. Warm winds brought unrest at this time of year.

  Grabbing a low branch, he pulled himself up and settled into the crook of an old cottonwood. The tree’s bare branches gave him no cover, but the night was moonless and he settled an obfuscation spell over himself. None of the neighbors would see him.

  He pulled a small pair of binoculars from his jacket and surveilled the house. They weren’t night vision, but he’d enhanced the lenses with a clarity spell and from his perch, he had a clear view into the dining room with the living room beyond. Bobbi and the mysterious William Fain ate at the table with candles and…was that champagne? This guy was going for broke tonight. He obviously didn’t know Bobbi was a beer and chips kind of girl. Or maybe she’d only been that way with him? Could he have been so blind?