Adept Universe Bible: Kett’s sketches

Kettil “Kett”: vampire. Elder and Executioner of the Conclave. Grand Conclave investigator. Aka he hunts down rogue vampires and ‘disposes’ of them, no questions asked. Ability to absorb the powers of other Adepts by drinking their blood. Ice blue eyes (occasionally referred to as silver). White blond hair, usually worn short. Broad forehead. Lanky frame. 5’11. Had (witch) powers before he was turned. His magic tastes like cool peppermint and appears red. Drives a white BMW SUV. 1200+ years old. Second son of witch family, bred to be a sacrifice to his grandsire, Ve, who was playing at being a God at the time. Sire is Estelle, who killed him out of jealously and then was forced to remake him as punishment. Ve’s shiver is based out of London, England but Kett is currently leasing a 5000 sq ft penthouse that overlooks False Creek in Vancouver, BC, formerly owned by Rochelle Saintpaul (Oracle), now owned by Pearl Godfrey (Head of the Godfrey Coven). Maker and master of Jasmine Fairchild, mentor (and now master) of Benjamin Garrick. Objects of power: Invisible satchel. As well as a collection of centuries of untold treasures, including the fountain pen he gave to Benjamin Garrick.

Kett first appeared in Cupcakes, Trinkets, and Other Deadly Magic as well as every other book in the Dowser series. He’s a main character in the Reconstructionist trilogy, starting with Catching Echoes, and makes an appearance in Misfits 1.

Kett. Vampire. In smooth, cool predator mode. Favours dark washed jeans, cashmere sweaters, and ridiculously expensive Italian leather dress shoes. A collector of rarities, usually in the form of living, breathing, uber-powerful people, like Jade Godfrey and Kandy Tate. *Sketch by* Memo.

Kett. Vampire. Lord of the micro-expression. A raised eyebrow is reserved for the acknowledgment and disapproval of extreme idiocy. Or he’s anticipating draining someone dry. Possibly both at the same time. Actual smiles are reserved for charming those few people he can’t just outright beguile, or possibly to indicate delight over some certain-to-end-in-blood endeavor. *Sketch by* Memo.

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!

Reconstructionist 2: first excerpt

*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.

Tangled Echoes (Reconstructionist 2)

Chapter One

I was pacing. Again. Despite the early hour, my mind was already whirling with unarticulated thoughts and unanswered questions. The same as it had been for the past three months. That was why I was at the legal firm of Sherwood and Pine at eight in the morning on the eleventh of January. Seeking answers. For the seventh time.

Hence the pacing. And the ever-mounting frustration.

I strolled across the width of the brightly lit office for the umpteenth time, turning back at the front edge of the black leather sofa. Then, avoiding the matching set of chairs situated before the large oak desk inlaid with curly maple, I steadily wore the tightly woven beige carpet in the other direction.

I was aware that pacing made me appear weak, or worse, indecisive — though I was neither. Plus, the witch seated behind the desk wasn’t paying any attention to me.

As it had been for every single one of our previous visits, Ember Pine’s attention was riveted to the magical contract carefully laid out across her desk. I’d presented the magically imbued sheets of black-inked parchment to her three months before. Conveniently, her office was situated in a business tower a few blocks north of my apartment in downtown Seattle. Inconveniently, the only way she could read the document that had turned my entire life upside down was while I was in the room. The contract went blank if I was more than a few feet away.

Hence my perpetual pacing.

Ember’s straight-edged nose was so close to the page she was holding gingerly at the edges that her bluntly bobbed dark-auburn hair brushed against it. Wary of disturbing the magic embedded within the contract, she’d worn cotton gloves during my first three visits.

She was murmuring quietly, peering through her gold-rimmed glasses from the tiny black lettering of the contract to her notes as she worked through what had to be her third pass on the document this morning.

Seven visits. Thousands of dollars in legal fees. My life in the balance. And evidently, the application for membership into the vampire Conclave — signed by my uncle and presented to me by Kettil the executioner in my bathroom at the beginning of October — was unbreakable.

Unbreakable.

As in, on pain of death.

Ember unfortunately hadn’t been able to figure out yet whether that meant the demise of the signatories — aka Kett and my Uncle Jasper –- or if it also included the only other names remaining on the contract — Declan and me.

I was seriously hoping for the former, blaming the vampire for this predicament almost as much as I blamed my power-obsessed uncle for offering up the entire Fairchild coven ‘For Consideration.’ Presumably that was to cement the deal, though he wanted the immortality for himself.

Speaking of being obsessive, I’d prepared for each of these meetings with Ember almost as carefully as I would have if I’d been about to come face to face with my maker. Given the context of the contract, the dark humor of that sentiment wasn’t lost on me. But nevertheless, I had smoothed my blond hair into the simple French twist I favored, double-checking that my nails were perfectly French manicured and that my navy-blue tweed sheath dress was pristinely pressed.

I hadn’t seen the vampire since he’d given me the contract. And though I had no intention of reaching out to him myself, I kept expecting Kett to abruptly appear, demanding my acquiescence while I traversed the few blocks from my apartment to Ember’s building.

And when he didn’t, I ignored the nagging disappointment that lingered for the rest of the day.

To be continued …

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Reconstructionist 1: Wisteria meets Kett

I settled on the dungeness crab risotto to start, and had just reached for the wine list to find a Pinot Noir to pair it with, when I realized that someone was sitting across from me.

Not just a someone. A vampire.

A white-blond, blue-eyed, exceedingly pale, tremendously powerful vampire who I’d thought was dead. Well, more dead. I had reconstructed the moment of his destruction myself. In London, three years before, I’d seen him stabbed through the heart with a magical blade. I’d seen him fall.

Kettil, the executioner of the Conclave, was swathed in expensive green cashmere so dark it was practically black, sporting what appeared to be a solid gold Apple Watch and lounging back in the seat across from me as if he’d been sitting there the entire time. His eyes were so light blue, they could practically have been called silver. He quirked his lips in a shallow, pleased smile.

I hadn’t seen him sit down. I hadn’t even seen him cross the room.

My server, who’d been approaching the table from the back kitchen area, flinched. Her human reactions were even more delayed than mine. Startled, she exhaled, pressing her hand to her chest.

“Wisteria Fairchild,” the vampire said. His exceedingly straight teeth were even paler than his face. I couldn’t see any hint of his fangs.

“Yes.”

“Kettil.” He reached across the table.

I lifted my own hand from the linen tablecloth. Pleased that it wasn’t shaking, I grasped his outstretched hand as his gaze fell to my charm bracelet. He wasn’t as cold as I thought he’d be, but perhaps I was still chilled myself. His fingers closed completely over mine, firm but not crushing. Still, I could feel the terrible strength that lay just underneath his hold.

He could tear me limb from limb, slaughter every human in the restaurant, bathe in our blood, and I wouldn’t have been able to do a single thing about it.

I was panicking.

I never panicked.

But I could feel the adrenaline rushing through me as the vampire held my hand.

He lifted his gaze to mine, widening his grin. And without so much as a blink or a breath, he ensnared me. Idiotically, I’d been staring directly into his eyes.

He held his other hand up toward the server. She froze.

His presence flooded my mind in a warm, calming, and almost euphoric pulse.

“Steady,” he murmured.

My heart rate settled. I felt as though my arm was suspended, stretched across the table, lightly cradled in his hand … cushioned by the awesome presence of his mind.

I could have stayed there forever. At peace … protected … cherished …

I could have been his forever.

No Fairchild is weak enough to be ensnared by a vampire.

I wasn’t totally sure whether that was an original thought or a remembered edict of my mother’s, but it was enough to wake me up to the situation.

I gathered my mental shields, imagining a barrier of magic between the vampire and myself. Evoking layers upon layers of magic, similar to the sides of my oyster-shell cubes. I blinked my eyes, then shook my head slightly.

I lifted my hand away from Kettil’s.

He let me go.

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Reconstructionist Series: Introducing Wisteria

Wisteria Fairchild narrates my newest novel, Catching Echoes (Reconstructionist 1) aka the first book in the Reconstructionist trilogy. But I first introduced Wisteria in Dowser 3, then again in Dowser 4.

A carefully curated (to block out any potential spoilers) page from my Catching Echoes notebook.

From Treasures, Demons, and Other Black Magic (Dowser 3)

Just before dawn, a knock at the suite door pulled me away from watching Mory sleep. I’d been worrying that she hadn’t woken yet, but was also fretting about waking her to feed her if she needed the sleep to heal.

I’d ordered food the second the kitchen had opened, so I thought the knock was room service. Instead, I opened the door to find a dark-blond woman around twenty-five standing in the hall. She was a couple of inches shorter than my five feet nine inches. Her hair was pulled back and up in a French twist that wouldn’t last an hour on me, and every well-tailored piece of clothing on her dripped money — all without my recognizing a single label, because there weren’t any.

“Jade Godfrey?” she asked politely, already knowing the answer. Her slight accent identified her as American.

I met her gaze and flinched. Her blue witch magic curled and coiled behind her eyes so tightly that I couldn’t distinguish their actual color.

She furrowed her brow at my flinch. I transferred my gaze to her hands where her magic also pooled, though not as intensely as behind her eyes.

“I know you,” I said, and I met her gaze without flinching a second time. Her magic was heavily doused in nutmeg — which wasn’t a scent I associated with witch magic — along with the sweet floral tones I would have expected. Sweet nutmeg was an odd combination.

“Yes,” she answered. “I’m Wisteria Fairchild. The reconstructionist.”

From Shadows, Maps, and Other Ancient Magic (Dowser 4):

I could see Wisteria settling into a table at the farthest corner of the cafe and ordering something from the server. A tea, I guessed. Oddly, the chairs closest to her had been lifted and flipped onto their tables as if the floor was about to be scrubbed.

Wisteria’s dark blond hair was pulled back into the perfectly smooth French twist she had worn the last time I saw her. Her cornflower-blue, pristinely pressed cotton dress was belted in white to create an empire waist. She looked as if she were about to attend a wedding, but this was everyday attire for the witch. The blue of the dress was a couple of shades lighter than the magic I could see pooled in the palms of her folded hands.

Kett was somewhere in the shadows of one of the storefront stoops just ahead of me. I could taste his magic rather than see him. “Why are you hunting the reconstructionist?” I whispered into the dark night.

“Why do you assume I’m hunting anyone?” Kett murmured back without revealing himself.

“Well, you aren’t working together. Are you? Or dating? Do vampires even date?”

“Your words indicate jealousy, warrior’s daughter.”

“But my tone sounds concerned.”

“Indeed.” Kett laughed. “I would not be hunting a Fairchild witch without permission.”

“Whose permission? And do you have it?”

Kett didn’t answer.

“Have you even met her?” I asked.

“Not officially.”

“And this isn’t any of my business.”

“Not even remotely.”

I sighed. I had my own reasons for being in Seattle, for meeting with the reconstructionist. I wasn’t here to police Kett or Wisteria, if she’d done something to get on the Conclave’s radar.

“She saw you die in London,” I said.

“Yes,” Kett answered. “Perhaps it is best left at that.”

Find out why Wisteria holds her magic so tightly and why Kett was in Seattle – or at least the beginning of their story – in Catching Echoes (Reconstructionist 1).

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