Hidden Coven- The Complete Series

  Hidden Coven

  The Complete Series

  By Kim McDougall

  © Kim McDougall 2019

  Published by Wrongtree Press.

  Cover and book design by Castelane.

  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.

  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.

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-9994107-4-2

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-9994107-3-5

  Version 1

  FICTION / Fantasy / Paranormal

  Praise for the Hidden Coven Series

  “Kim McDougall delved deep into her imagination when she wrote Inborn Magic: Hidden Coven Series, Book 1, and created a stunning fantasy land that in no way mimics anything I have read about before.”

  ~ Sarah Stuart for Readers’ Favorite

  “…tight writing, the simmering sexual desires, and the exciting action keep you turning the pages of Trigger Magic, Book 3 of the Hidden Coven Series. The characters retain their identities and strengths from book to book and you have the opportunity to grow with Bobbi and the others as they continue to face demonic challenges.”

  ~ Melinda Hills for Readers’ Favorite

  “Kim McDougall brightens a dark path, filled with mystery and suspense…It is rare that I find a Pagan romance which is so action-packed and well written.”

  ~Rosie Malezer for Readers’ Favorite

  Book 1

  Inborn Magic

  Incantation

  My will into fire. It was a simple spell. What could go wrong? I tilted my head, studying the three spell ingredients on the grass—a red amethyst, a posy of fresh buttercups catching th last rays of sunlight, and a candle in a glass votive—all sitting with me inside a ring of salt.

  I had no idea if that was right. This was a seat-of-the-pants adventure.

  Damn, it’s humid.

  A proper witch left her hair long and loose for rituals. Mine hung like a damp towel around my neck. The grimoire suggested spells were best done sky-clad, but public nudity made me self-conscious. Even in my secluded backyard, I wore a long t-shirt and panties.

  I peeled the shirt from my damp skin and rearranged the ingredients again, laying the flowers across the amethyst. Buttercups were a visual aid to represent heat and light. The crystal would bend my sympathetic magic to ignite the candle and POOF! I’d have fire.

  Light into heat, heat into flame.

  I frowned at the wilted flowers. Did withered buttercups retain their affinity with the sun? Would a carnelian stone be better than the amethyst for fire magic? Maybe. I dithered and I knew it.

  This was the problem with independent learning. I had no one to ask about the finer details of spell weaving. The only decent instruction book I’d found was Miss Abernathy’s Grimoire, an ancient, hand-written tome of dubious origin. Miss Abernathy said to “use a crystal attuned to your spirit and the cycle of seasons.” What the hell did that mean? How could I tell if a stone was attuned to me, let alone the season?

  I sighed. The afternoon wore on toward dusk. The amethyst would have to do. At least it had grounding properties. If nothing else, I could use some grounding. This whole process left me jumpy.

  Carefully, I poured more salt on the circle around me to keep out bad spirits. Better not to chance it. Not that I expected demons to be interested in my lowly attempt at magic, but Miss Abernathy’s first rule of conjuring was “try your best and prepare for the worst,” one of her frequent and slightly patronizing platitudes.

  The ground was warm and damp under me with the loamy smell of recent rain. I crossed my legs and stretched the kinks from my neck before closing my eyes and trying to relax. Turning my mind inward, I pushed away hundreds of fledgling thoughts vying for my attention. My connection to the ground evaporated as I tuned out the itch of grass on calves and thighs. Waves of light and shadow swirled across the canvas of my closed eyelids, splitting and melding like breakers on a beach.

  This has to work.

  The number of near-disasters and odd coincidences in my life came to a head last month. I could still feel the strain of my clenched fists while Charles, my cheating ex-boyfriend, choked and clawed at his throat. I hadn’t touched him, but his eyes bulged, and his face turned red before realization made me stop. I had done that to him.

  That fiasco spurred me to finally take up the reins of my education into the dark arts.

  Wrong thoughts.

  I shoved Charles aside and focused on the sensation of my body parts dropping away one by one. My toes disappeared first, then my calves. A light breeze prickled my sweaty skin, breaking my concentration.

  Deep breath in. I began again.

  Goodbye toes, calves, thighs, shoulders…

  My mind floated in a whorl of light and dark, free but anchored to the secret well inside me—a space between my heart and my womb where I imagined all my memories, hopes and dreams were stored. I dipped into that well, drawing on the power I found there.

  I opened my eyes. The last rays of sun glinted off the crystal.

  “Ignis.” My voice rang like a church bell heard two counties away.

  The blood-red amethyst glowed. The rest of the world blurred and darkened as I looked down a long tunnel at the stone and posy.

  Light into heat, heat into flame. Power of the sun into fire!

  Something inside me broke, like the membrane around a yolk, spilling power through my veins.

  “Ignis!” I shouted.

  The amethyst gleamed.

  The flowers blackened and smoked.

  Light into heat, heat into flame!

  The candle wick sparked. A giddy surge of power washed over me. It was amazing. Exhilarating! Every fiber of my body tingled with a brilliant intoxication. I held up fingers that glowed from within. I was the fading twilight, even as I bathed in the twilight. I was the power. Magic rushed through me, flooding my veins, bolstering me until I felt like a leaf tossed on the wind. I laughed with pure joy.

  Then the wind became a tornado.

  Magic turned livid. Light flared with a white-hot screech. Pain shot through me. The candle shattered in an explosion of wax and glass, slashing me with dozens of tiny blades. But the pain went much deeper. This new force bit my soul, tore a piece of me away, and shredded my power.

  I tried to scream but heard only a desperate gurgle from my throat.

  I couldn’t move.

  The magic I’d unleashed thrummed, drowning out all sound and thought. I tried to unlatch the razor-sharp tendrils biting into me, binding me to the magic. But they clung to my secret well. I’d laid open my sacred space, and it was now violated by power I couldn’t control. I was caught, held tight in an invisible iron grip.

  And it sucked my magic dry.

  Frozen, I teetered back and hit the ground.

  Salvation

  The pain of my face rubbing against the ground woke me. My body spasmed with cold that had nothing to do with the weather. My thoughts rolled like sludge. I tried to sit up but my arms and legs didn’t respond. I breathed deep. At least my lungs worked.

  Shards of glass littered the
ground and clung to my skin and hair. A war drum pounded in my head. I felt a desperate need to blink, but couldn’t force my eyelids shut.

  How long had I been out? My limited view took in the back end of the yard, the fence and tall cottonwood tree now lost in shadow.

  I tried to move my legs. Nothing. The effort left me shaking again.

  The ground felt solid and rough under my bare legs. A whispering breeze chilled my damp skin. I could feel these sensations, but I couldn’t move.

  You are a strong, intelligent woman. You got yourself into this mess. You can get yourself out.

  I tried to calm the panic tightening my chest by going through the spell’s instructions again. What had Miss Abernathy said about such things? I’d read a quarter of the massive grimoire, written as it was in fine, cramped script, but I remembered that only advanced witches could affect permanent change. Most spells wore off over time.

  I’d have to wait it out. Or someone would eventually find me. Tomorrow, when I didn’t show up to open my shop, Danielle would come looking for me. Or she’d call my dad and he’d come. I wished I’d put on something more than a thin t-shirt and polka-dot underwear.

  I was cold, but reason told me I wouldn’t freeze to death, not in August in Pennsylvania. Unfortunately, reason had left me when the candle exploded. Fear replaced it.

  A car door slammed. Feet crunched on my gravel driveway.

  “Are you sure this is the place?” asked a deep voice. A woman answered too softly for me to understand.

  I’d left my windows open and the doorbell chimed clearly through the house. I was torn between the need for help and wariness of the strangers. But surely, someone who wished me harm wouldn’t ring the bell?

  After a short wait, feet crunched on the gravel again.

  Back here! Back here! I screamed in the silence of my mind, willing the pair not to leave. I couldn’t be left alone again. I’d die here. I felt it with every beat of my heart. My body would shut down, bit by bit, and I would die.

  The footsteps continued past the driveway to the back gate. The latch rattled and stuck. The deep voice swore. Tears blurred my eyes, and my heart pattered erratically. I feared the strangers at the gate, but I feared they’d walk away and leave me frozen and alone even more.

  The gate swung open with a creak, and footsteps thumped as the couple ran toward me.

  “Are you all right?” Her soft hands touched me, looking for injury. “Quinn! She’s bleeding!”

  An upside-down face appeared in my line of vision, giving me only an impression of long dark hair and big eyes.

  “Can you move?” she asked. “Are you hurt? My name is Abilene. This is my brother, Quinn.”

  “Abi, give her some air. She’s spell-locked. Look at the circle of salt.” The deep voice reflected irritation. Suddenly, I was very conscious of my polka dot panties. Then the rest of his words sunk in.

  Spell-locked?

  “Your name is Barbara. Is that right?” Abilene said.

  Bobbi, not Barbara. No one had called me Barbara in a long time. But how did these strangers know my name? Was it a coincidence they’d found me when I needed help? Or had they been looking for me?

  “You’re caught in a serious magical backlash,” she said. “We’re going to help you.” They stepped back to confer. My senses were in hyper-drive and their whispers grated like sandpaper on a sunburn.

  “We have to take her to Mom,” Abilene said.

  “No.”

  “Quinn, I can’t do it on my own.”

  “It’s not an option. She’s a complete unknown.”

  “She’s a novice. Look at the setup. Crystals for God’s sake. She’s a complete amateur. No way she’s a threat.”

  Amateur? I would have taken offense, except she was right.

  A long silence crept by before Quinn’s face appeared in my line of sight. In the dark, I saw only the angular shadow of his chin and jaw.

  “We’re going to help you, but we can’t do it here. I promise we mean you no harm. We have to take you to someone who can unlock your aether. Do you understand?”

  I didn’t understand, but he radiated calm authority. My fear and panic eased so suddenly, I wondered if they’d drugged me.

  “I’m going to pick you up now.” Strong arms supported me under shoulder and knee as I was hoisted up and held against a solid chest. Moments later he laid me gently in the back seat of a car.

  “She’s shivering,” Abilene said.

  “Her wellspring is dangerously dry,” Quinn said in clipped tones. I heard the keys as he tossed them to Abilene. He slid into the seat beside me and snapped, “Drive.”

  Abilene drove too fast on the country roads, skidding around corners. Quinn covered me with a blanket. I shook violently. Was I having a seizure? He rubbed my arms and legs, then gave up trying to calm my shaking and pulled me bodily onto his lap. His warmth drenched me in comfort.

  “Easy,” he whispered, tucking my head under his chin and wrapping his arms around me. “It’ll be all right.”

  Somehow, I believed him.

  Detention

  Time dragged by in a haze. An icy ball sat in my chest, radiating cold through my bones. I wanted to sleep, let the cold take me…

  “Stay awake,” said a gruff, male voice.

  Someone shook me. Quinn. I could smell him—deep woods and male sweetness. I clung to the scent, the only sensation penetrating my fogged brain.

  I was fading. That was okay—cold, but painless. I’d see my birth parents and sister again. It had been so long…I could hear her calling “Bobbi!” in her little girl voice…always yelling at me for teasing…

  Hard hands jostled me. Voices murmured. We were moving again. I tried to tell them to let me go. My face thumped against Quinn’s chest. Running. Hard footsteps. Stairs? Strange smells, clean but unfamiliar. A bed. Finally. I drifted…

  “You’ve got yourself in a right pickle.” The new voice vexed me. A woman. Something hot pressed to my lips, and liquid burned my throat. The drink jolted me back to life, reigniting the searing cold inside me.

  Shadows flitted past my eyes. Hands probed, testing for a pulse and rubbing life back into my cold limbs.

  “Barbara? Can you hear me?”

  Bobbi! I wanted to scream. It seemed important. If I was going to die here, I wanted die with the right name.

  “I’m Jane.” Her hands pressed my stomach and moved upward, past my chest to my neck. She peered into my face, too close for me to see more than a smudge of nose and eyes.

  “My daughter says you lit up the night with that spell you tried. You lost too much magic and your wellspring is locked tight. I’m going to fix you now. There may be some pain, but then you’ll feel better.”

  She seemed familiar, like the few vague memories I had of my mother. Maybe it was her posture, or the faint scent of sage clinging to her clothes. Her hands returned to my stomach. The warm touch soothed until she slammed a fist into my chest. Shattering pain jolted through me. Then everything went black.

  Again.

  *

  I woke to daylight streaming through a small window. I sat up and the memory of my ordeal hit me. Bandages covered the worst of the glass cuts on my arms. I tested the rest of my limbs. Hands working. Check. Toes pointing. Check. All seemed in order, and yet, I felt like a disjointed collection of badly used parts.

  The roof slanted over my head as if I were in an attic, but the room was clean and airy. I wondered if I should wait for someone to come for me or get up and find my hosts.

  My hands trembled. I lay back on the pillows, thinking about the series of bad decisions that brought me to this strange place. Learning magic wasn’t like learning to write computer code or even like educating oneself in history or math. Magic couldn’t be self-taught. Or it shouldn’t be, I now realized. I owed someone a big th
ank-you for bringing me back from the edge of disaster. Time to find out who my saviors were.

  I stood and waited out a touch of lightheadedness. Someone had changed my shirt and left a pair of cotton shorts folded on a chair and canvas runners on the floor below. I dressed, wishing I had a brush or even a bra. Without a mirror, I ran a hand through my tangled hair and opened the door.

  In a hallway with staircases at either end, I passed several closed doors. Could one of them be a bathroom? I was past the point of needing one.

  Indistinct voices filtered up from below. I peered over the landing. A man and a woman sat around a small table, drinking tea from earthenware cups.

  “Abi says she’s powerful,” he said.

  I recognized his voice from last night. Quinn. The memory of his arms holding me in the car and his soothing voice came back in a rush of…what? Embarrassment? Attraction? Apprehension? He sat with his back to me. I studied the strong lines of his shoulders and the dark hair that curled despite the short cut.

  “We should keep her here,” the woman said, “until we know more.”

  I remembered her name. Jane. The one who’d unlocked me. She must be some powerful witch if the others deferred to her.

  She didn’t look like a witch. A silver bob framed her lined face. She wore a printed dress with a knit sweater over her shoulders, despite the heat. Glasses hung from a chain around her neck. She looked like she’d be right at home baking cookies for a herd of grandchildren, except for her flat expression of distaste.

  I looked around the room. The rustic decor had touches of floral and lace. Statues of the eternal gods—male and female—sat on a plain wooden altar next to candles and shallow bowls. Those would be filled with salt, water, and earth for castings. This was definitely a witch’s house. I looked at the altar with greedy longing. Here, I could learn from real magic users.

  Quinn shook his head. “She has to go. The sooner the better.”

  And I thought Quinn and I had hit it off.

  “I’m telling you, she can help,” Jane said.