Dowser 8: hunting with misfits

Okay, this tiny snippet made me laugh out loud yesterday. I thought you might find it fun as well.

Feeling the teenagers behind me becoming restless, I wrapped my hand around the hilt of my knife. Someone was going to have to teach Peggy and Maia to be patient hunters.

Unfortunately, I was concerned that person was supposed to me and I was honestly getting bored myself.

– Dowser 8, chapter one, second draft

Click here for the reading order of the Adept Universe.

Dowser 8: the ‘girls’ go hunting

Jasmine glanced between us. “You two are a little crazy, you know.”

Kandy shrugged. “You’ll get it, baby girl. When you’re all grown up and never meet your match.”

Jasmine twisted her lips wryly, tugging her phone of out her jacket pocket. “I’ve already met him.”

Kandy laughed huskily, shaking her head. “The nearly immortal are more vulnerable than us three, darling. They’ve forgotten they can die. And it’s the possibility of death than keeps us sharp.” Kandy tapped on her temple.

Jasmine raised one eyebrow at the green-haired werewolf, texting without looking at her screen. “Thanks for the life lesson, wolf.”

Kandy snapped her teeth. “You can owe it to me, vampire.”

I laughed. “Shall we continue?”

– Dowser 8, first draft [unedited and unproofed]

Click here for the reading order of the Adept Universe.

Dowser 8 to be released late-spring 2018.

 

Dowser 7: chapter one, part two

Click here to read chapter one, part one first.

Continued …

“Nine minutes,” Kandy said.

I jutted my chin out. “This isn’t the right spot.”

The werewolf bared her teeth. “It’s exactly the right spot, dowser.”

Belligerently, I took two wide steps to my left. I might have been only half-witch, but I could still feel the slumbering current of magic that I was about to try to tap into underneath my feet.

Kandy narrowed her eyes at my position adjustment, but she didn’t comment.

“We could have at least set up distraction spells.” I gestured around the empty park. “People jog at night around here. Chalking runes on the seawall is going to look weird, even in Vancouver.”

“You know that any other spells might interfere with the casting of the grid.” Kandy’s tone was unusually cajoling. She was babying me in response to the baby I was being.

I exhaled harshly. No matter my previous bravado and declaration of might, in truth, I was worried that I was going to ruin the intricate spell that my grandmother and Kandy had spent six months planning and constructing. Twelve witches — most of whom had flown into the city for the occasion — were currently set up all around the borders of Vancouver, waiting for the stroke of midnight. Because together, we were going to attempt to raise a magically triggered boundary around the city.

In its primary phase, the grid would help the witches track magic users within a wide area — from the north edge of the Lions Gate Bridge to the property that Rochelle, the oracle, owned in Southlands; from the western edge of the University of BC to three eastern points along Boundary Road, the border between Vancouver and Burnaby. And if that initial grid held and functioned properly, the witches had plans to expand the coverage to include all of Greater Vancouver — aka all of the territory held and regulated by the Godfrey coven.

“Eight minutes.”

“Screw you, werewolf.”

“Any time, any place, dowser.”

I laughed. Kandy flashed her teeth at me.

“Fine. I’ll give it a go.” I glanced down at the runes carefully printed on the paper Kandy had given me, wishing I had more light and that the paper wasn’t so crumpled. “Why is it all wrinkled? It looks like someone balled it up and threw it away.”

Kandy shrugged.

All right, then.

I hunched down to chalk the first rune, copying it as precisely as I could from the paper onto the concrete. It looked a little like a —

Kandy cleared her throat expectantly.

I cursed under my breath. “What? Do you have a freaking checklist?”

“Hand them over, Jade.”

“You know it doesn’t matter if I’m wearing them, right? They are me.”

“Illuminating.”

“You know what I mean. What if I told you that you were going to have to take off the cuffs?”

“I refer you to the T-shirt,” Kandy said, her tone deceptively mild. She was pointing at her chest, where the words I do bite were emblazoned in thick black lettering on orange cotton. The aforementioned cuffs — gold, rune carved, and three inches across — adorned her wrists, creating a perpetual aesthetic conflict with her sporty outfits.

CHAMPAGNE, MISFITS, AND OTHER SHADY MAGIC (DOWSER 7)

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Dowser 7: chapter one, part one

The green-haired werewolf handed me a broken stick of bright-pink chalk, fishing a crumpled wad of paper out of her backpack and halfheartedly smoothing it out on her blue-Lycra-clad thigh. The fake leather backpack was dyed bright purple and adorned with puffy leather spikes, mimicking some sort of dinosaur. It clashed spectacularly with the lithe werewolf’s deep-green-dyed hair and orange T-shirt.

I had needled Kandy about the backpack when she’d shown up wearing it, just before she dragged me from the comfort of my apartment fifteen minutes before midnight, forcing me to jog to one of the many parks along Kitsilano Beach. But needing to deflect the tension I was feeling over the spell I had been asked to cast, I couldn’t resist teasing her again.

“So … did you lose a bet? Or what?”

Once again, Kandy refused to engage on the backpack topic. Instead, she offered me a deeply disapproving glower and the still-wrinkled piece of paper. Of course, I might have been reading the judgement into the look.

I glanced at the carefully printed design, noting the handwriting of both my grandmother, Pearl, and my mother, Scarlett. Apparently, I was now expected to chalk the ornate circle they had scribed on paper onto the seawall. At exactly midnight. With only a smoke-shrouded sliver of a moon overhead for light.

“Runes?” I moaned dejectedly. “I thought it was just supposed to be a simple circle. And, like, just standing here.”

Kandy shrugged her backpack-laden shoulder. “The witches decided you might need some help. You know, focusing.”

I eyed her snottily. “I’m one of the most powerful Adepts in North America. A renowned dowser and skilled alchemist. I can tear down wards with my bare hands!”

“And you bake the tastiest cupcakes,” Kandy said mildly. Then she glanced at her phone. “You’ve got ten minutes.”

Still grumbling under my breath about my magical prowess, I surveyed the well-worn concrete path under my feet. Then I glanced to either side of the seawall running along the edge of Kits Beach Park. The Maritime Museum was just a short distance away, but this part of the seaside park was pretty much just a wide stretch of trimmed, mostly brown grass. So other than a large-leafed chestnut tree to our left, we were standing out in the open.

The eclectic mix of homes across the swath of grass behind Kandy were mostly dark, though I could see that someone was watching TV in the uppermost window of a Spanish-villa-inspired converted triplex on the eastern corner.

Those houses along Ogden Avenue rarely came on the market, as teardowns or otherwise. Hence the mixture of architecture. Practically every decade since Vancouver had been established was represented in this one residential block, from the fairly modern sandstone-clad mansion on the western corner, to the untouched Cape Cod. Across from where I was supposed to be chalking a rune-marked witches’ circle, a recently painted Craftsman stood, which I vaguely remembered was one of Godfrey Properties’ long-term rentals.

So yeah, I was dithering. Over architecture.

CHAMPAGNE, MISFITS, AND OTHER SHADY MAGIC (DOWSER 7)

COMING JANUARY 18, 2018

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Click here to read chapter one, part two.

Dowser 7, chapter 1: taste of peppermint

Walking the seawall, rather than cutting through the streets of Kits Point, we rounded a wide corner as the sandy stretch of Kits Beach came into view. The ocean was to our right, with a stretch of sparsely spaced evergreen trees interspersed with picnic tables to our left.

The taste of peppermint tickled my senses. My step hitched.

“What?” Kandy whispered, immediately alert.

I glanced around. The moon was still a tiny sliver overhead. The buildings ahead of us were dark. I could see a pair of joggers in the distance, lights clipped to their wrists.

But no magic.

No vampires.

Specifically, no Kett.

“Kett,” I murmured. “I thought I tasted Kett’s magic.”

Kandy grumbled under her breath. The werewolf was seriously peeved at the executioner and elder of the Conclave, who hadn’t been in Vancouver for longer than a day or two since the previous October. And who had barely communicated with either of us since late April.

“He’s coming for the engagement party, isn’t he?” I asked, slightly annoyed at the needy note that twisted its way into my question.

“He RSVPed,” Kandy said with a shrug.

COMING JANUARY 18, 2018

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WONDERING WHAT KETT HAS BEEN UP TO SINCE DOWSER 6? You find out in the Reconstructionist Series, starting with Catching Echoes. If you haven’t had a chance to read Wisteria and Kett’s trilogy yet, you still have 21 days to catch up!

I’m only agreeing so I get chocolate

“You were holding this entire time?” I cried, making a grab for the chocolate.

Kandy easily evaded my thievery attempt.

Apparently, my depth perception was a little off.

“Sometimes rewards should be actual rewards, Dowser. Not just daily indulgences.”

I smiled. “Fine. But I’m only agreeing so I get chocolate.”

– Dowser 7, Chapter One, Third Draft

Just a head’s up. Every time I share an excerpt that references any sort of chocolate I’m thinking about using the above image.

Also, “Fine. But I’m only agreeing so I get chocolate” will now be my go-to response to … well, life in general.

Reconstructionist 3: Ch 1, Part 1 – excerpt

WARNING: The following excerpt contains spoilers for book one and book two of the Reconstructionist Series. Click here for the full reading order of the Adept Universe.

Unproofed. [I shared an unedited version of this scene in my August 2017 newsletter].

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CHAPTER ONE

The moment that Jasper reclaimed the manor … the moment he regained control of the magic embedded in the Fairchild estate, I fell to my knees in the produce section of a Whole Foods in Chicago. Losing hold of the lemon I’d been about to add to my basket, I gasped as the magical connection was ripped from me — torn from what felt like my very soul, my very essence.

Then, with a wash of brownie magic, rough-skinned fingers I couldn’t see brushed my arms, and a disembodied voice whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“Lark,” I murmured, struggling to focus through the aching emptiness radiating out through my chest and into my limbs.

“You must come.” The brownie’s hushed request was woeful.

Lark had pledged herself to me after I’d claimed the Fairchild estate magic almost four months before, in a rash attempt to free Jasmine and Declan from the clutches of three vampires. Even as I struggled to regain my equilibrium, I felt a moment of honest surprise that it had taken Jasper so long to wrestle control of the ancestral magic back. Though I didn’t doubt that it had taken some terrible feat to break the connection, anchored as it was to the power of three — namely Jasmine, Declan, and me.

That same manner of dreadful magic had most likely been responsible for my uncle getting out of his wheelchair. He’d been walking when I saw him in Litchfield, for the first time in more than twelve years. But I’d chosen — selfishly perhaps — to once again walk away from Connecticut and everything it represented only a day after rescuing Jasmine. And I had no plans to return, despite my aunt Rose’s repeated attempts to woo me back into the Fairchild coven.

The energy of the brownie’s magic lingered around me for the space of a single breath. Then I was alone.

Once again, I was disconnected from the magic of the Fairchild coven. Severed from the power that it was my ancestral right to wield.

I should have felt relieved of the burden, of the obligation. Instead, I knelt on gray-stained wood flooring and felt … bereft.

Weak.

Incomplete.

Missing.

A low pulse of frenetic energy nearby informed me that Jasmine was running back through the grocery store toward me. I’d left her drooling over the candy bars and chips a couple of aisles away. I could feel her magic and her panic before she cleared the towering display of organic Royal Gala apples, then slid to a stop as she spotted me.

Her dark golden curls tumbled across her shoulders. She was pale, frantic. Her bright-blue eyes were wide with tension and simmering with her witch magic. The vivid and unusual power display was likely a residual of whatever effect Jasper’s reclaiming the estate was having on her — on us — since I’d inadvertently bound her and Declan, along with myself, to the estate’s magic.

Jasper. Our uncle. The bane of my existence. Reaching out once again and playing with my life, as easily as the wind stirred the leaves in the apple orchard that had once been a haven from my childhood.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have walked away so readily. But there was no place for me in Litchfield. Nothing but constant reminders of an abusive childhood, despite us holding the ancestral ties to the magic of the Fairchild estate. The coven was corrupt from within, and I had no ability to forgive and forget. Honestly, I hadn’t wanted the responsibility of confronting our elders, purging the corruption and destroying the coven in the process.

Jasmine took another step toward me. Her expression twisted with despair, reacting to whatever she saw on my own face. Reacting to a decision I hadn’t even made yet. But Lark wouldn’t have asked me to return to the manor if it wasn’t crucial.

“You aren’t his keeper, Wisteria,” she said. She meant Jasper.

“If not me, then who?” I whispered, placing my palms flat on the floor and pushing myself to my feet.

Jasmine’s phone buzzed.

Glancing around and hoping I hadn’t drawn any awkward attention from the few patrons quietly grocery shopping alongside me, I smoothed the fabric of my fitted, dark-navy, stretch-linen dress, making sure the subtle black lacework appliqué that ran from the center neck to the hem wasn’t oddly twisted.

Jasmine pulled her phone out of the pocket of her figure-hugging brown suede jacket, answering the call but not taking her gaze from me. “She’s here.”

Declan. He would have felt the severing of the connection to the estate magic, as Jasmine had.

Ignoring the way my heart rate momentarily ramped up at the thought of Jasmine’s brother calling out of concern for me, I checked to make sure my white-to-teal-blue gradient silk scarf was still draped around my neck, artfully tucked underneath my open Burberry heritage navy-blue trench coat.

“We’re on a job in Chicago,” Jasmine said, still eyeing me as she spoke to her brother. “A missing girl.”

Turning away from her conversation, I collected the items that had spilled from my basket — two bananas, an orange, and the lemon I’d lost hold of. We’d been shopping for light breakfast items for the following morning, filling the hour between our flights and the meeting that had brought us to Chicago. Well, along with snacks for Jasmine, though she appeared to have left her basket elsewhere.

“You know I can’t stop her,” Jasmine said crossly. “But duty will keep her in Chicago. For now.”

I contemplated the apples. Jasmine was partly correct. Duty did drive me. Duty to my job as a reconstructionist for the witches Convocation. But despite my resolve and resistance, I understood that Lark’s plea was going to force me back to Connecticut once again.

Because of Jasper. Because of whatever malicious spell he’d cast to reject the brownies’ dominion over Fairchild Manor. Whatever magic had let him tear through the familial ties I’d grounded in my own, Declan’s, and Jasmine’s magic.

Because investigating terrible deeds was our job. My duty.

Even if it meant facing our family again. Even if it meant facing our own ingrained fears and nightmares.

Unfortunately for me, those were one and the same.

“It’s time,” I said to Jasmine, heedless of whatever Declan was saying to her. “We’re just hypocrites otherwise. Investigating the crimes of Adepts not powerful enough to hide from us, from the Convocation. But ignoring those crimes committed by our own coven.”

“A child is missing …”

“And we’ll find her,” I said, interrupting the beginning of my cousin’s protest. “Then we’ll go and collect enough evidence to bring Jasper to a tribunal. We’ll depose him. Properly.”

Jasmine stared at me, utterly aghast.

I placed two apples in my basket.

Declan shouted something through the speaker on Jasmine’s phone. I didn’t catch his words, just the furious intonation.

Jasmine snapped her mouth shut, then spoke into the phone rather than to me. “If you want to stop her, then get your ass over here.” Then she ended the call, hanging up on Declan.

“No one in the family is clean,” she said to me. “None of them are without some tarnish. Are you prepared to head the coven?”

I shook my head. “Rose will. Officially, as she does now. And the coven magic will naturally settle on her.”

Jasmine snorted. “If you rip down the facade, she’ll be the first conspirator to be condemned.”

I closed the space between us, gently placing my hand on Jasmine’s arm. She shuddered at the touch of my magic.

“It’s time,” I said quietly. “You don’t ever have to be in the same room as him. But it’s time.”

“Just tear it all down, hey?” Her voice cracked with emotion. “Just expose all our darkness? Invite the world to witness our wounds?”

“Yes. It’s time to move forward.” I dropped my hand. I crossed through the produce section, adding seedless red grapes to my basket, then moving toward an open-front refrigerator that held freshly blended juices.

Jasmine trailed after me.

I couldn’t carry the pain any longer — mine, Jasmine’s or Declan’s.

I had almost lost myself, almost allowed myself to be consumed within my own reconstruction of my happiest childhood memory in order to flee that pain. We were all lost within it even now, clinging to each other — though none of us stood on solid ground.

Jasper wasn’t a monster. He was just a man. Flawed and depraved, yes. Insurmountable, no.

So though I felt like sobbing at the devastating loss of the magic that had just been torn from me, I would move forward. I would force the three of us into the future. I had no other choice, really.

It was time to put an end to the feud with Jasper. And it would be better to do so before Kett was compelled to demand my acceptance of the conditions of the contract with the Conclave. Time-sensitive stipulations, which required my lifeblood but would gift me with immortality and invulnerability.

It would be better to defeat Jasper as a witch, on witch terms, and within the bounds of Convocation law.

Because after I was a vampire?

Well, depending on how the transformation affected me, I expected it was going to be much better for the health of the coven if I never set foot in Connecticut again.

And I wanted my vengeance cold and calculated. After all, that was exactly how Jasper had ruined our childhoods. He deserved the same in return.

A violent, terrifying death would be too simple for him. And too easy for the coven to cover up — as they had already covered up the mental and sexual abuse our uncle skillfully inflicted on Jasmine, Declan, and me, under the guise of training the next generation of Fairchild witches.

No, I didn’t want Jasper’s blood. I wanted to strip away everything that gave his life meaning and worth. And I’d do it all aboveboard.

Then we’d finally be even.

But first I had a job to do, and a missing girl to find.

READ THE FINAL BOOK IN THE TRILOGY AUGUST 31, 2017

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Reconstructionist 2: second excerpt

Sorry! I’m a day late with this excerpt. But here it is!!

*SPOILERS**SPOILERS**SPOILERS**SPOILERS**SPOILERS*

Do not read if you haven’t read Catching Echoes (Reconstructionist 1) yet.

Find the Adept Universe reading order here.

Read the first part of Chapter One here.

Tangled Echoes (Reconstructionist 2): an excerpt from Chapter One:

Even though this was my seventh time seeing her, it still appeared as if Ember had just moved into the corner office with its pretty peekaboo view of the water. Her degrees and artwork remained propped against the walls, ready to be hung except for the apparent lack of time and tools to do so. Instead of books and knickknacks, boxes cluttered the shelving matching the desk on either side of the sofa. The swanky space had apparently come with a recent promotion that Ember barely acknowledged, even when she’d been congratulated by a visiting senior partner during my second appointment. Given the state of the office, it was fairly obvious she hadn’t fully embraced her new status within the firm.

The only personal item set out in the entire space was a framed charcoal sketch, which was placed facing outward on a credenza behind the desk. The arresting image had drawn my attention the first time I’d entered the office, and I still found it exceedingly difficult to tear my gaze away from it.

Rendered in smudged yet fierce and unfettered lines, the image contained behind glass was of Ember. Or, rather, a grisly depiction of her apparent death. Gouged throat, lifeless eyes, and all.

But even though the ghost of a smile on Ember’s face — forever immortalized in charcoal — was haunting, I couldn’t bring myself to ask her about the sketch. I had an instinctual sense that if I lowered the personal shields I diligently maintained, the sketch would be seething with magic. And it was rude to ask another Adept about her magic, or any magical items she possessed.

Though why Ember Pine would choose to display such a gruesome, foreboding image in a place of honor, especially when her prestigious law degrees were gathering dust in the corner, I had no idea. The gesture was completely at odds with the uptight, focused young woman I’d first met in the Academy over a decade ago and to whom Kett had directed me when he gave me the contract.

I was, however, completely certain it was absolutely none of my business.

Ember finally looked up from her notes, seemingly surprised to find me pacing rather than seated in one of the chairs before the desk.

“I’ve still been unsuccessful at finding another example of a contract with the Conclave,” she said without any preamble. “Not in any of the vaults of any of the branches of Sherwood and Pine. Not even in the London office. And everyone knows that London is held by the oldest vampire in existence, along with his brood. His …” — she paused to scan her notes — “… his shiver.”

“Not everyone,” I said wryly.

Vampires were largely enigmas in Adept society. And though I might hopelessly wish that they had continued to remain a mystery for me — and for the only two people I held dear in this world — that was not to be. My name, placed without my permission on the contract now spread across Ember’s desk, irrevocably associated me with the vampires — a part of the magical world universally feared and scorned by the rest of the magically Adept.

Ignoring me, Ember shuffled through her notes. “I’ve uncovered accountings of such contracts, though. Written histories. I apologize for it taking so long when you’re on a relatively tight timeline, but I had to dig deep. Others have taken notes, though they had no more luck replicating the exact wording of the contract than I have.”

One of the first things I discovered upon meeting with Ember three months ago was that the contract completely blanked out if anyone else touched it while I was more than a few feet away. The second unfortunate discovery was that no copies could be made, magical or otherwise.

“The senior partners are still incredibly excited about it,” Ember said. “I’ve managed to contact every one of them, and from Washington State to New York to Amsterdam and London, they’ve all confirmed that it’s unbreakable.”

“But I didn’t sign it!”

“Your coven leader must have a talent for true naming, then, or for tying spells to specific targets. Because usually the names have to be spoken out loud during the construction of a spell. Oh! Maybe he did evoke your names while he was inking them.” Ember grabbed her pen and excitedly jotted down more notes to herself on a legal pad. “That’s more of a sorcerer-held talent, of course. But the magic contained in the parchment, let alone the ink and the specific wording, is remarkable. So perhaps whoever drafted it aided your uncle with the binding.”

I sat down, suddenly unable to keep pacing the office for another moment. Three months later, and I still couldn’t believe that I was once again entangled in my uncle’s machinations. He’d found a way to reach me, to rip away the freedom I’d sacrificed everything to obtain. He’d insinuated himself into my carefully constructed life simply by jotting my name on a piece of parchment.

 

To be continued …

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