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Chapter 1
October 1st—
“I need coffee,” I groaned, dragging my feet as I shuffled into the kitchen, greeting my Aunt Gwen with a quick kiss on her cheek while I strategically snatched the mug from her outstretched hand. “Morning. Is the list ready?”
“Yes,” she laughed, “even if I am distracted by all the energy circling the house.”
Mystical energy, to be precise.
The Howe Manor almost vibrated with its powerful presence.
Samhain officially took place from October 31st to November 1st, but this crisp cool morning kicked off the event for us. The witches’ New Year. A time when we thanked our ancestors and entered a festival of blessing and gratitude for the next 30 days, culminating in a final celebration equivalent to the Christian holiday of Christmas. Except we were pagans. So, it was a lot darker, sexier, and bloodier.
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“You’re lucky I love you,” she grumbled as I watched her pour another cup, stirring in a heaping spoonful of raw sugar and a bit of Baileys’ Irish Cream.
Her favorite concoction, outside of spellcasting, of course.
“I finished it a few minutes ago.” Slapping the list on the counter, she gave a small laugh. “You’re all set.”
Good. “Are we still making cider and soul cakes?”
Taking a sip of my coffee, my eyes wandered over my aunt’s petite frame. She was my mother’s only sister, but they looked nothing alike. Gwen was fair with pale blonde hair, piercing green eyes, and a curvy, voluptuous figure. Her long, layered hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders as she pushed the thin golden frame of her glasses up her nose.
I was the exact image of my mother—tall, jet-black hair straight to my waist, and slender. My silvery gray eyes were a gift from my father, along with the light caramel complexion. That was the end of my parent’s contribution.
My uniqueness originated from the multitude of tattoos across my body. My ink was my pride and joy, and I spent considerable money on talented, experienced artists. I had full sleeves on both arms, a mural of black angel wings on my back with violet accents, and several others, including various skulls and roses. There was no color except for those violet hints on my back. I preferred the simple look of black on my complexion since it showed off the quality of the ink.
“Yes, of course,” Aunt Gwen replied. “I want to cast a spell of protection on our first night, and we need to contact the ancestors before the moon reaches its zenith.”
I nodded in agreement. Samhain had been the same for the last twenty years of my life. Nothing new. “Additional apples for the candles?”
“Oh, I nearly forgot. Add more to the list. I hope I didn’t forget any of the herbs.”
Aunt Gwen could be a bit flighty, concentrating on the next task on her list before she completed the first one.
She juggled a dozen different things at any given moment, and yet, she always succeeded in accomplishing every one.
No spells ever went awry. No rituals forgotten. The runes perfectly executed and placed at the correct phase of the moon. She managed it all with a grace and poise I hoped to emulate one day.
“Well, I’m off to the market. If I notice anything else missing, I’ll pick it up,” I teased.
“Don’t give me shit, Cas. I let you have my coffee,” she joked.
“Point made,” I conceded. “I’ll be back soon.” I slid the empty coffee mug into the sink and bumped her hip with mine before I reached for my bag and slung it across my waist, heading outdoors. A light fog rolled across the lawn, creeping into the street as it hung heavy in the hazy air. Whispers carried on the wind, and my excitement grew as I thought of all the wicked fun the season heralded.
Cooler, misty mornings warmed up into pleasant, sunny afternoons in Mystic Hallows. Typical weather for this time of year. The leaves were beginning to change colors while the crisp breeze hinted at the aroma of pumpkin, apples, cinnamon, and spices. The lingering scent tantalized the senses, bringing the anticipation of celebration mixed with an undercurrent of devilish intent—sheer perfection.
The weather was so inviting that I skipped the short drive and decided to walk. The local market was one of the businesses that always thrived in this small town. Mystic Hallows wasn’t a large city by any means, but it was definitely full of the same generations of old money. Families that settled here for hundreds of years, their bloodlines populating the next generation with particular care, which mainly meant everyone knew one another. I grew up with the same narrow-minded people stuck in their traditions and old grudges, so when someone new rolled into town, I immediately recognized a new face.
Like right now.
A sinfully handsome stranger bumped into me in the dairy aisle not long after I entered the market. I’d like to think it was an accident, but I caught his mischievous green gaze as it boldly swept over my body for at least ten minutes before he got up the nerve and approached. Or maybe he was making sure I noticed him first. Under the guise of being lost and not watching where he was going, he literally smacked right into me, forcing my body to pitch forward.
“Woah, pet, careful now,” he cautioned as I tipped right into his arms.
Pet? Frowning, I untangled my limbs from his rock-hard body. Yeah, I noticed the rigid, sculpted length of him. Chiseled from smooth marble, his muscles perfectly formed, he molded against me with alarming ease. “I’m nobody’s pet.”
