Moon Coven: a Paranormal Witch Romance Read online

  When he was a child, Roman used to come here and talk to the woman. She never spoke back, of course. The magic that bridged the gap between this world and the next had been lost for so long that most magic practitioners swore it never existed in the first place. And necromancy had been outlawed centuries ago.

  The way Roman Blackwood spoke to his mother was something far more human than that. He would sit there, legs crossed, staring at her gravestone. He would speak and then let his mind race, wondering what his mother might say had she actually survived this long.

  He hadn’t done that in years though. Something about growing up, about hardening, made the whole thing seem ridiculous.

  But today, with his brother gone and his life in shambles, it didn’t seem so childish.

  In fact, it felt downright necessary.

  Roman settled in front of his mother’s marker. He knew more of the world than to think that any part of her that mattered was in the ground. But the part that he knew—her loving eyes, her velvet touch, the strong yet sensitive way that she made the whole world bend until it felt safe—that was all there, buried six feet underground.

  He blinked hard, careful not to glance at the freshly turned earth that would mark his brother’s final resting place.

  He wasn’t ready for Adam to become someone he ‘talked to’ right yet.

  “It’s been awhile,” Roman said, staring at the stone slab. “I’m sorry about that. Things got complicated.”

  He sat in silence, long enough to imagine her forgiving him. And then he continued.

  “I’m so angry, Mom,” he said, looking away from the stone. “I know that I have to be strong, that you raised me to be strong. But it’s hard. Everything I have is gone. The only thing that makes any sense is her.”

  He swallowed hard.

  “They’re going to kill her. Even if I wanted to stop it, it wouldn’t save any of them.” Roman ran his hand against the long grass, realizing how unkempt this spot had become in the last few years. “But she doesn’t deserve that and, honest to God, I don’t know that I’d survive myself if she didn’t. So I gave her the Slumber.” He sighed heavily. “I know it’s dangerous, and I know it’s outlawed. And I know—” He scoffed. “God, I know it’s a family secret and the last person I should be giving that potion to is a Fairweather. But I don’t see what other choice I have. The only way they won’t kill her is if they think she’s dead, and that potion is the only way to make it look that way.”

  For a long moment, he closed his eyes. Then he looked down at the wax drippings in his hand. “And when it’s over, I’ll use this to wake her up again.” He shook his head. “But does it work, Mom? Does the spell really work? Adam used to say it was a myth, that no one comes back from the slumber, but you always said…you swore…it was the realest magic this world had ever seen.”

  Roman squeezed his eyes shut, stopping the tears before they could form.

  “It better work,” he said to the grave. “Because I’ve forgiven you for a lot of things. I even forgave you for leaving us. But I don’t think I could ever forgive you if you lied to me about this.”

  He waited another moment, as if this time—just this one—she might reach across from the afterlife and let him know, once and for all, if there was any coming back after they drank the Slumber.

  “Dad said that’s how you went. That you took the Slumber and never woke up again and that’s why it’s outlawed now. I’d come here, to this spot, every night for a year with fresh wax dropping, certain you would wake up. Certain you would come back.” He cleared his throat. “It took me years to let go of that dream. But I never doubted you. I never for a minute thought you had lied about that potion. That’s how I knew someone had taken you from us. But now…”

  Roman removed the container of wax drippings from his pocket. “But now I’m not sure. Now that it matters—now that her life is really on the line—I just can’t help but doubt you.”

  He began to dig a small hole beside her grave. “Just in case, though,” he said, “I’m going to do it just the way you said. For the Slumber to take effect, this has to be near something I love just as much as I love her.” He blinked more tears out of his eyes. “There’s only one thing in this whole world, Mom. So I’m going to let you keep this for me until I need it again.”

  Pushing dirt back over it, he whispered, “Keep her safe for me, okay?” He swallowed hard, unsure of what the future might bring. “I’ll see you soon.”

  Chapter 15

  News spread quickly around the coven. Though just three nights ago had been one of the best of Julia’s life, today was quickly shaping up to be one of the worst.

  Her mother brought it to her. Though she looked detached—and even a little tipsy—Julia could tell that the news was taking its toll on her.

  Aria Fairweather was a near institution in Savannah. She had served the Fairweather coven faithfully for over thirty years, going so far as to take the lead during the great wars.

  And now she was dead. The words fell sloppily from her mother’s mouth.

  “That’s not possible,” Julia stammered.

  But her mother just tipped a little to the side, frowning. A wave of anger rushed through Julia. How could her mother have so little respect for the dead? Couldn’t she sober up at least for this?

  But as Julia studied the older woman’s face, she realized what was underneath. Aria had practically raised Julia’s mother. Many were the nights that Julia fell asleep to one story or another centering on Aria’s escapades with her mother.

  No, Julia couldn’t fail her now. Her mother couldn’t survive being sober for this.

  Julia soothed herself, pushing aside her own feelings so she could focus on her mother. She guided the older woman to sit on the edge of the sofa, then sat beside her and wrapped her arm around her mother’s shoulders.

  “How did it happen?” Julia asked, her voice measurably lower.

  Julia’s mother looked up, meeting her daughter with glassy eyes.

  “They found her this morning.” She hiccupped. “Her flesh had been turned to stone. They tried to undo it, but she just crumbled. Like dust.”

  She lifted the drink to her lips, but Julia eased the flask away from her mother’s mouth.

  "Scattered in the wind,” her mother said. “That’s what’s left of her.”

  Julia’s heart sank. How was that possible? Aria was one of the oldest and most powerful witches in North America. She was second only to Grandfather in terms of sheer magical talent in the Fairweather line. And Grandfather was second to no one in any line.

  “I don’t understand,” Julia said, shaking her head and remembering all the times she’d spoken to Aria. She had always been kind and understanding. The old woman held a special place in her heart for Julia, because she too knew what it was like to hear the infuriatingly indecipherable voices of the ancestors.

  God, Aria would be one of those voices now, too. The thought was almost too much for Julia to bear.

  “She wasn’t hurting anyone,” Julia said, swallowing hard. “They had already moved her out to pasture. She was a goddamn figurehead, for Christ’s sake!”

  Her jaw locked up, anger flushing through her system. If only she had been there, if only Julia would have spent the night at home—really at home, in body and mind and spirit—then maybe she would have heard something. Would have been able to save the woman.

  But no, she couldn’t be bothered to do something like that. Instead, she’d spent her time—

  Julia froze. What had she been doing?

  Panic set in on Julia’s mind quickly because, for the first time since she’d ran away to Iowa, Julia couldn’t account for a stretch of time.

  “Excuse me, Mother,” she said, trying to keep her voice and expression steady and flat.

  “They’re having a meeting in half an hour,” Julia’s mother said, turning and stumbling toward her room. “They want you there, though I can’t imagine why.”

  Brushin
g off her mother’s halfhearted insult, she rushed into her room. She could barely feel the doorknob in her hand as she shut the door tight behind her. Could barely feel the wood against her spine as she leaned her back into the door.

  Julia was numb, her breaths coming quick and shallow.

  This wasn’t happening again. God, it couldn’t be happening again.

  The last time this happened—the last time Julia blacked out and couldn’t remember large stretches of time—it was the precursor to the darkest time in her life.

  Cassandra had blamed Roman for it.

  “If he’s not poisoning your mind on purpose, then it’s a result of the way you feel about him. Either way, it’s not good.”

  That was what she’d say. And, though Julia was loathed to admit it, the facts did play out on Cassandra’s side.

  The blackouts came more and more frequent as Roman and Julia’s relationship got more and more serious. And, as that happened, Julia found herself waking up in some strange places.

  And here she was again, once more with Roman, once more trying to piece together lost time.

  And now one of her favorite people in the world was dead, murdered at the same time Julia had her first blackout in over a year.

  She couldn’t have had anything to do with it.

  Could she?

  * * *

  As Julia stepped into the sacred room, she was struck still by the sight of their company. For the first time, Grandfather had brought choice pieces of the Louisiana coven into the sacred room.

  But they weren’t of the blood. Just how desperate was Grandfather for this to work anyway?

  “You’re late, Julia,” he barked.

  In her mind, she scrambled for her chair, but it took a moment for her body to catch up. All eyes on her as she sank into her usual seat. She clenched her jaw, trying to keep her gaze trained on Grandfather, though she desperately wanted to scan every face in the room to see who all was here from the Paris’ coven.

  Grandfather wasn’t sitting as he usually did. Instead, he paced around the table.

  “This is unacceptable,” he said. His voice was even. Low. Steady. But it wasn’t calm. It was the worst of Grandfather’s tones—the one that came when he was too angry to yell.

  Julia’s gaze found Paris, with the moon shining above them and the table circling to match its movements. His expression was pure sympathy, and Julia’s chest ached at the moments she could remember.

  Three nights ago, amidst planning to marry another man—this man sitting before her—she had slept with the enemy. She might not love him, but it was her duty to be with him; to honor him was to honor her family.

  But Roman was the exception to every rule. Julia would never betray her family…except for when it came to him.

  She snapped her gaze away from Paris and tried to re-center her attention on the coven meeting. Paris’ father was instructing Grandfather to calm down.

  “Yer actin’ like you ain’t never been in a brawl before,” the man said.

  Grandfather slammed his fist on the table. “Brawl? This is war! And we’re losing!”

  “You sure as shit are with that attitude,” Paris’ father said.

  “Father,” Paris said, letting his deep southern accent lay heavy on his voice. “Let’s take a minute. These folks just lost somebody real close to them. Maybe we oughta respect that.” He nodded, looking over at Julia. “Give them a chance to mourn.”

  “I got nothing but respect for the dead, Boy,” Paris’ father hissed at him. “But if we sit back and let them mourn, then they ain’t ever going to stop mourning, and they sure as shit ain’t gonna be able to stand against what’s comin’.” He leaned forward, leveling his gaze at Grandfather. “Now, I know that I’m just a guest here. Marriage or not, I get that. But I know a thing or two about tussles. You drew first blood. You did that when you killed the boy.”

  “Adam?” Cassandra’s nose wrinkled, and her lips curled. “He paid the price for his brother’s intrusion onto Fairweather property. That was a property security spell set before we ever knew who would step foot there. It wasn’t personal.”

  “You’re speaking out of turn, little lady,” Paris’ father said, turning to Cassandra.

  “I beg your pardon, sir,” Cassandra started, “but I will lead this coven one day.”

  “That day is not today,” Grandfather said, glaring over at her. “Sit down.”

  Cassandra balked at Grandfather, staring like a hurt child before gathering herself and sitting back down in a huff.

  “Mr. Wheeler may have a point,” Grandfather said. “Though we’ve suffered an immeasurable setback, we’re not defeated. We need to circle our wagons, shore our defenses.”

  “Attaboy!” Mr. Wheeler practically howled. “And I can help you do it. I’ve got an army of bayou witches ready and willing to lay their lives down for me at the slightest word. You won’t ever have to worry about what happened last night ever happening again. I can promise you that or my name’s not branded on my belt. I can have them here at a moment’s notice, protect you from asshole to appetite. And I will, the instant after my son’s wedding.”

  “The wedding?” Julia asked before she could stop herself. “You’re going to wait until after the wedding?”

  “Well now, I’ve got constitutes, too, Ms. Fairweather. I have to justify putting our boys on the front line. They’d do it gladly for family and, once you’re family, they’ll gladly do it for you.” He looked to Grandfather. “What do you say?”

  Julia’s heart was in her throat. Here she was, unsure of whether or not she had anything to do with Aria’s death, with Roman’s kiss still fresh in her memory, and sitting next to the man she was going to have to marry.

  But how soon?

  “Fine,” Grandfather said. “Move the wedding up. We’ll have it this weekend.”

  “This weekend?” Julia was really having a hard time keeping her mouth shut about all of this. “I mean—what I mean is, it’s a big thing, Grandfather. Do you really think we can pull a wedding worthy of these two families together in a week? Especially so close to our loss?”

  Did anyone but her see how inappropriate it was to move up a wedding so close to Aria’s death? Surely this was a bad omen, or something? At the very least, it would shadow the closure of a great woman in their family—a woman who deserved to be honored and mourned. But Julia couldn’t say that. Guilt trips wouldn’t go over well with Grandfather.

  Cassandra sighed. “We don’t have a choice, Julia,” she said. “If we don’t get our act together, then this won’t end with Aria. We could all end up dead. And what if, God forbid, Grandfather is next? If he dies without finishing the transfer of power, the entire coven could cease to exist.” She nodded firmly. “It has to be this weekend.”

  “And it will,” Mr. Wheeler said, smiling over at Julia. “Congratulations.”

  Chapter 16

  In the days that had passed since his night with Julia, Roman had begun to feel things again. Though he was still lost in the fog of despair that came with Adam’s death, he was finally starting to imagine the possibility of a life outside of that.

  He knew enough about himself to know that Julia had more than a little to do with that. Just being with her, feeling her touch, kissing her lips, it had lit a fire inside of him that promised to one day forge a new light inside of him. She had been a balm, set out to heal his fractured soul.

  But she couldn’t heal him. He knew that. And he knew that it was foolish to allow himself to think that way.

  She was engaged. She would soon be married to that dumbass bumpkin and, even if she managed to somehow get out of it—if that was even something she wanted—she would still be a Fairweather.

  Though the possibility of feeling better was now more than a laughable proposition to Roman, he knew the wounds that now existed between the families would never mend. He wouldn't allow it to, not with his brother rotting in the ground.

  Roman was halfway through his f
ifth crossword puzzle of the morning (something about the simplicity of it made him feel better) when his door burst open.

  He grimaced. He had been staying at the family manor ever since Adam’s death. His father told him it would be safer, but he didn’t really give a damn about that. The only reason he was here was to keep the family together, to keep them close by.

  And now he was beginning to regret it.

  April fumed in the doorway, hesitating for just a second and then charging him.

  “Tell me you didn’t!” she screamed, her eyes all bugged out and crazy. “Just tell me, Roman. Good God, just tell me you’re not responsible for this!”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Roman asked, standing up. He had never really seen his sister this way, way past the edge with no hint of turning around. It set his body on edge.

  April took a long, deep breath, as if trying to calm herself. She blinked hard and the words came slow, like she couldn’t believe she was saying them.

  “Did you do it, Roman? Did you kill that woman?”

  Roman jerked. Narrowing his eyes, he asked the only question he could come up with in his given shocked state. “What women, April? Who died?”

  Julia flashed through his mind, and then a splash of the unimaginable pain he knew without a doubt would cripple him if the next words that came out of his sister’s mouth was her name.

  Let her leave. Let her go to Iowa, or marry that idiot. Let him never see her again. Just let her live.

  “Aria Fairweather, Roman. She was murdered last night. And I would bet—”

  He held up his hand. “Don’t, April. You’re a terrible gambler. And that is one you will lose.”

  Roman collapsed into his seat with the relief that it wasn’t Julia. Who the fuck was Aria Fairweather? He didn’t care. So long as it wasn’t Julia, every one of those sons of bitches could drown, or burn, or disappear from the face of the earth. He didn’t give a damn.

  April crossed her arms. “Well, you don’t look so torn up about it.”