Hauntings in the Garden, Volume One Read online

  Table of Contents

  Hauntings in the Garden

  Copyright

  Witch’s Tattoo by Eliza March

  Witch’s Tattoo

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  A word from the author...

  Caster’s Unfriendly Ghost

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  A word about the author...

  Crimson Summer

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter

  A word about the author...

  The House

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either 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.

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Witch Familiar

  Copyright

  Chapter

  Hauntings in the Garden

  by

  Eliza March

  Alicia Dean

  Cecilia Farrell

  Lara Parker

  Dayana Knight

  Volume I

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either 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.

  Hauntings in the Garden Volume I

  COPYRIGHT © 2014 by…

  Eliza March

  Alicia Dean

  Cecilia Farrell

  Lara Parker

  Dayana Knight

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Faery Rose Edition, 2015

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0430-4

  Print ISBN 978-1-5092-0429-8

  Published in the United States of America

  Witch’s Tattoo by Eliza March

  Caster’s Unfriendly Ghost by Alicia Dean

  Crimson Summer by Cecilia Farrell

  The House by Lara Parker

  Witch Familiar by Dayana Knight

  Witch’s Tattoo

  by

  Eliza March

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either 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.

  Witch’s Tattoo

  COPYRIGHT © 2014 by Eliza March

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Faery Rose Edition, 2014

  Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-582-1

  Halloween Anthology 2014

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To the staff at The Wild Rose Press

  Acknowledgments

  A special thank you to Senior Faery Editor, Amanda Barnett, who always comes through for me, and also to my wonderful critique partners, author Lorelei Confer and author Linda Bleser, who came through with ideas when the plot hit a wall.

  Chapter One

  Beltane, The woods outside New Orleans

  Michael lifted his arms to the North, the East, the South, and the West, casting the circle of fire. The Fire ceremony was the most effective used with the searching spell. The Prophecy promised him a soul mate, a witch who would return his coven’s powers, but she had yet to materialize. Beltane and the Blood Moon would enhance his magic, and hopefully, he’d finally see her face.

  The power he called built, and the vision formed.

  She appeared from the bushes and shifted, assuming the spirit of the wolf. Beneath the pale moonlight of the Blood Moon, he joined her, choosing the panther spirit. Relief filled the warlock’s heart. The ability returned. Once the Prophecy was fulfilled, his coven would be able to assume their spirit animals again.

  But in this vision, the wolf moved beyond the creek, too far ahead for the panther to block the bear that entered the clearing and attacked. The image of an ancient demon, Artemis Shade, superimposed itself over the bear’s muzzle, morphing in and out of focus. As the panther raced to the wolf’s aid, bounding as if flying, he jumped, and while the panther was in mid-air, the bear turned and faced him. Before he could sink his claws and fangs into the beast, the bear disappeared.

  Michael Veret willed his trembling muscles under control until the aching in his bones subsided, but shaking himself free of the vision took more energy than he expected. Sweat poured off him, yet he was chilled to the bone, and when he went to wipe his forehead, he wondered at the dirt beneath his nails.

  One thing the vision made clear; Artemis Shade wanted his soul mate. But which coven member did the demon control?

  A sound in the bushes startled him.

  Lisette Bouchard walked into the clearing, appearing as if he’d conjured her. Hell, any warlock worth his salt should have known she was there. Then, he hardened with the knowledge that she was—standing directly in his line of vision, unnerving him.

  No powerless mortal should be able to fluster him the way she did—the way she had since the day she arrived at Tulane. He struggled to resist and forced down his body’s reaction.

  “Am I interrupting?” The young woman’s earthy voice, mellow and smooth as aged whiskey, took a toll on his resistance.

  He held his breath, not speaking, wondering what she’d observed from the bushes.

  “What? Not glad to see me?” she continued as if his silence meant nothing.

  Her crop top showed enough skin to make him notice her pale midriff when she shrugged. Delicate and sturdy all at the same time. Fragile and strong. Sex and innocence wrapped up in one tiny package, a package he found impossible to resist.

  “U-uh, how did you find me?” Damn she had him stuttering.

  “What makes you think I was looking for you?” She tilted her head and put a hand on one cocked hip.

  There was a flash of resistance in her expression. That particular attitude had intrigued Michael from the start—among other attributes.
>
  He raised an eyebrow, challenging her to tell him the truth. She lifted both shoulders with an indifferent shrug.

  “You brought me out here one night last year. I wanted to see the moon everyone is talking about—” she pointed to the Blood Moon “—this seemed like a good place.”

  “You think I’ll buy that?” Why she was here wasn’t as important as what she’d seen. “How long have you been here?”

  “N-not long.” Her eyes darted to the altar.

  Bullshit.

  The tell assured him the curious undergrad had seen too much. She’d seen the sacred Beltane ceremony—watched him drink the draught that caused the vision—and his reaction—the hallucination—the panther.

  With his jaw clenched tight, he barely ground out the words, coming straight to the point. “How much did you see?”

  She glanced around then stared at him, appearing amused. “I gather you’re not talking about the moon, right?” She angled her chin up and studied him. “Because...I think I’ve seen everything you’ve got, professor.”

  She dragged out each word, slowly, teasing him.

  Professor? “Stop calling me that.” The woman could be maddening. “I’m only an assistant profess—” Her last words rolled around in his head before they made sense. He looked down.

  Her smile suddenly made sense.

  Naked. Hell, he was still sky clad, and she was checking out every inch of him. And damn if her interest didn’t have parts of him responding, providing more inches for her to examine.

  Michael turned his back to grab his jeans, too late to realize his error.

  “Oh,” she groaned. “That’s nice, too. Now...I have seen everything.”

  “Damn.” He’d just flashed his ass at her and exposed the witch’s tattoo on his lower spine. Jeans in hand concealing his erection, Michael rounded to face her.

  She held up a finger. “Don’t move.” With a curious glint in her eye, she deliberately circled him. “What’s this? A tramp stamp?”

  “Not really. Uh hmm...a family tradition.” He cleared his throat, trying to dispel the tightness. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said, without much conviction in his words.

  Her deep throaty voice sent another surge of blood flowing to his groin. Not much left for Michael’s brain cells, especially when she touched the tattoo covering his witch’s mark. She seemed fascinated with the design, tracing her nails over the details. “Intriguing design. Celtic?”

  “Yeah, something like that,” he said, frozen in place.

  “Funny place for the family crest.” Her touch sent sparks through him, a connection he shouldn’t feel for her. He was the future of his people, and she wasn’t one of them.

  As much as he wished things were different, they...he and Lisette...were an impossible dream.

  “Don’t.” He whipped around, dropped the jeans, and gripped her fragile wrists in one of his hands. The frustration mounted when he saw her interest. He grabbed a handful of her waist length, ebony hair and dragged her against him. He wanted her with every fiber of his being.

  With their lips a breath apart, her lashes fluttered in surrender. He would kiss her this time. He would taste what he’d denied himself and then walk away. If he hurt her, this time it was on her. She knew what she was doing.

  Michael released the hold he had on her and gently pushed Lisette aside. He couldn’t...no, he wouldn’t. This had to end here. Now.

  “Go.” He turned away. Picking up his jeans, he pulled them on.

  She looked stricken when he turned back to face her. “What was that for, profess—”

  “Don’t.” His growled word stopped her from finishing.

  Changing the subject, he ran his hands through his hair and walked to the cooler. “Want a drink?” he asked, pulling out two bottles.

  She shook her head. “Alcohol? I-I don’t drink.”

  “I know.” Not much he didn’t know about her habits, but her background remained a black hole. And that bothered him.

  He offered her one of the bottles. “Mixed juices, some health concoction.”

  “O-okay.” She still appeared hesitant.

  He mentally said a quick spell over the bottle and opened the top before he handed it to her.

  “Thanks.” She placed her lips sensually on the bottle and tilted it up. Fascinated with her mouth, he watched her drink and swallow. After a few sips, she asked, “Why are we here?”

  The spell was working.

  “Lisette, hear my words...” Michael used the ancient words of memory. As night turned to day, she would come to believe she’d broken things off with him—that she was fed up with him and his “on again off again” pursuit.

  She’d forget about the tattoo, the ceremony, and Michael’s shared vision of shifting, tonight. If memories surfaced, she’d remember them like pieces of a long forgotten dream.

  The idea twisted his gut. His feelings didn’t matter. This had to stop. For her own good and the coven’s, she had to forget him and everything she saw.

  Destiny had other plans for him. He had to stop disappointing Lisette. His coven expected him to bond with a strong witch—a powerful force of nature, who would complement the warlock meant to lead the Louisiana Acadians. Michael’s vision showed him his soul mate could shift. She was everything the prophecy promised.

  “I’ll take you home, Lisette.” His truck was parked nearby, at the perimeter of the clearing.

  Her thick black lashes fluttered, spell-dazed. “Thank you. I-I don’t know how I ended up here, professor.”

  “Good thing I ran across you, then.” He held the truck door open and smiled without feeling.

  She still looked confused when he dropped her off at her apartment. Convinced the memory spell would replace what she’d seen tonight, he put the truck in gear and backed out of her driveway—the sense of loss an ache in his heart.

  Chapter Two

  Maine, the following June

  Lisette cast the protective circle according to the directions in her mother’s spell book, her Grimoire. She’d chosen this space with great care. Here, within a stone circle in the forest behind her cottage, her safety would be guaranteed, and during her meager attempts at spell casting, the high energy space would allow her to carry out her magic without interference from harmful entities. Or so she hoped.

  Untried and without the benefit of training, perhaps her inherited gifts would prevail.

  While she prepared, the white gossamer robe concealed her nakedness. Even so, she shivered beneath the light of the full moon. After spending four mild winters in New Orleans, she wasn’t used to Maine’s late spring chill, yet. Before she returned for graduate school in the fall, this trip home became a priority when she discovered who and what she really was.

  The information in her mother’s Grimoire and her father’s diary proved what she’d come to believe as she read the books. Her parents were natural born witches, not just followers of the Wiccan ways, and they’d been murdered because of it. They were descendants of a long line of druids, born with special gifts who settled in this area of Maine and strangely, also in parts of Louisiana. The mark of the witch, the pentacle, a symbol illustrated in the Grimoire, was identical to the birthmark on her lower spine, and according to the records the same as her mother’s and father’s.

  The wind picked up and blew open a page in the Grimoire. Lisette stared around the clearing. There was power here. She could feel it. Time to light the candles.

  Right. The candles. According to her parents’ notes, she was the most powerful witch alive besides her soul mate. A warlock no doubt.

  The page fluttered in the breeze.

  Why was she stalling? Certainly, she could light a few candles even if the directions weren’t very clear. When she met her so called, soul mate, this mythical warlock, shouldn’t she at least know how to make fire?

  Once again, she read the directions and tried the short incantation.

  The first candle lit with a “pop” then
went out. She tried the next.

  Focus, Lisette.

  Was there an order to this?

  She closed her eyes and imagined the energy streaming through her hand, to her fingers, and at the wicks as she carefully turned within the circle. When she paused, all five candles burned brightly, and in each flame, she imagined Michael Veret’s face. The shock caused her to blink, astonished then pained.

  No. Lisette squeezed her eyes shut until they hurt. This couldn’t be good.

  Soul mate.

  The words whispered in the wind, repeating her parents’ words. Would her soul mate be able to heal this emptiness, the ache tearing her heart apart whenever she thought about Michael?

  Discovering who and what she was, and taking the summer off, away from assistant professor, Michael Veret and his Yo-Yo attitude, seemed like the perfect solution.

  She broke up with him, now she had to forget him. Who was she kidding? But she had felt stronger since last Beltane. A soul mate might be just the answer she needed.

  Before she returned in the fall, she vowed to learn as much as she could about Wicca, witchcraft, or whatever.

  The breeze blew the pages in the Grimoire.

  Right...all right, I know there’s a difference.

  By then she’d be prepared to guard her feelings for Michael. She’d practice the craft and strengthen her natural abilities. Oh…and she shouldn’t forget, she had to find her warlock. That meant joining the local coven...and research. Four years of college taught her how to research. YouTube and Google helped, too.

  She turned back to the candles glowing in the dark. A tiny thrill made her grin. Fire! She’d made fire out of nothing. Awesome. She was ready for anything and to prove it, did a little happy dance.

  Her achievement made her feel closer to her parents. If they hadn’t been killed when she was six, Lisette would have been raised to use her inherent powers. This spring, on her twenty-second birthday, her foster mother presented her with a huge musty smelling chest. The leather bound trunk filled with talismans, books, and instructions was Lisette’s legacy. The gift came with a warning to keep herself hidden from others of her kind.

  “You will not be safe until you claim the other half of your power.” The other half of my power? Couldn’t they have been a bit more specific?