Deadly Rising Read online

  EverAfter Romance

  A division of Diversion Publishing Corp.

  443 Park Avenue South, Suite 1004

  New York, New York 10016

  www.EverAfterRomance.com

  Copyright © 2018 by Jeri Westerson

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  For more information, email [email protected]

  First EverAfter Romance edition October 2018.

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-63576-460-4

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-63576-459-8

  LSIDB/1810

  To Craig, with all of his magic and delights

  CHAPTER ONE

  I stood back, hands on hips, and watched as Barry Johnson, handyman and owner of Moody Bog Hardware, hung my new door. There had been nothing wrong with the last one…until some bikers and a demon creature destroyed it two nights ago.

  You’d think saying that would be odd, but it wasn’t anymore, not to me.

  He dropped the last pin in the hinge and there it was. He swung it and closed it. Opened it again and stood back. “Ay-yuh. There you go, Miss Strange.”

  “You can call me Kylie, Barry. I feel we’ve bonded these last few days.”

  He chuckled. “We have a hard time getting used to flatlanders in our little town, Miss—Kylie—that’s folks not from Maine.”

  “California is as far from Maine as I can imagine,” I said. And truly it was. But for better or worse, I had chosen Maine as my new home, and I looked on at my door proudly. A “Shaker-Style Three Light,” the accompanying literature had said. It was solid and sturdy, something I was likely to need, since demons and bikers were now a common occurrence.

  “You did a great job, Barry. And with the window repairs too.”

  “No problem, M—Kylie. That must have been some fight Doug and his biker friends had in there. Funny them being in a tea shop at all.”

  “He was drunk,” I was quick to add. That was the story I’d decided to go with. It made as much sense as anything.

  “Looks like you’ve fixed up your shop mighty quick. Open for business again?”

  “Two days closed right after my grand opening? That’s two days too long. So yes, we are open. Again!”

  “Good. I’ll send the missus in. She’s a tea drinker and has been wanting to try something other than teabags.”

  “I’ll be happy to set her up.”

  He saluted as if touching the brim of a cap he wasn’t wearing. “I’ll be collecting my things and getting out of your hair, then.”

  “Thanks, Barry. I mean it. You really worked fast.”

  He saluted again, gathered his tools, dropped them into his toolbox, and walked up the blustery street toward his store.

  I ruffled my hair and observed my shop anew. Strange Herbs & Teas was carved in gold letters above the door. That didn’t begin to describe what went down here these days.

  I opened the door again, hung the store bell, and closed it, satisfied with the tinkling sound. Walking over the threshold, I sighed. It was back to normal. Or whatever served as normal in Moody Bog. The town itself was quaint and old world, and I had fallen in love with its tree-lined streets, its surrounding hills and farmsteads. The pioneer in me loved this shop—my shop. Old built-in shelves that reached the ceiling. Apothecary jars full of teas on the buffet. I filled my shelves with teapots and tea paraphernalia of my stock and trade: colorful china cups and saucers, distinguished infusers of brass and stainless steel, dessert plates, brown betties, tiered plate stands, cozies, towels, books…anything you could want. I kept the herbs inside carefully marked wooden drawers. Unusual herbs. Hard-to-get herbs, with exotic names and origins.

  The fireplace against one wall with two cozy wingback chairs facing one squashy sofa made the perfect little nook for both customer and proprietor, since I also lived here. With small side tables placed about the space with samovars for tea tasting, I deemed it perfect.

  “Now all I need are customers.”

  A tingle across my shoulders made me turn. I knew that feeling. The Booke. It wanted my attention.

  I passed through the swinging door to my kitchen. There, on the kitchen counter, where I distinctly had not left it, was the Booke. Yes, it liked to follow me around the house—around the town sometimes. It was large, like an old family Bible. Of ancient and unknown origin, I had found it bricked up in my shop wall and oh how I wished I had left it there to rot. But the best I could figure, it somehow called to me, making me break through three-hundred-year-old brickwork to free it. And once I’d opened the cover…

  Even though I didn’t want to touch it, my hand came up and involuntarily smoothed over the ancient leather of its binding. I ran my fingers over the gold embossed words “Booke of the Hidden.”

  “What do you want, you stupid Booke?” I whispered. Because it did want. It wanted to be open and cause havoc. It served as some sort of Pandora’s box, once opened releasing supernatural creatures into the world. And I, the now not-so-proud owner of the damned thing, was tasked with closing it again. Not so easy a feat when I had to recapture all the beasties now running free. The most recent one was a succubus and hadn’t that been fun. And as far as I could figure, the last owner of the Booke, one Constance Howland from 1720, the same person who built this house I now called my home, was chased off a cliff by a “dark man,” a demon who was attached to the Booke. Or so the legend went.

  With immense willpower, I stepped back, my hand jumping to the amulet hanging from my neck. The face of a demon, tongue extended, eyes made of rubies. Not something I would have picked for myself. Wearing it secured my safety against the demon of the Booke. But just where that demon was…well. Erasmus Dark drove me nuts! He was arrogant, a pain in the ass, pushy…and…sexy as hell.

  “Don’t think about him, Kylie,” I admonished myself, but it was of little use. I couldn’t stop thinking of him. Tall, dark, brooding, with an English accent. We’d had a…well. An “intimate moment,” which had been a mistake. I couldn’t tell if he was using me or not…“Don’t be an idiot. Of course he was using you.” But two nights ago, he had disappeared when Baphomet was summoned and I had just as quickly sent the god back to the Netherworld with my chthonic crossbow…

  No matter how many times I said that sentence it never got less weird.

  Still, it meant that Erasmus was sent away too. I didn’t want to think about it. I would much rather think about Sheriff Ed. Wouldn’t it be better to think about a human man than a supernatural one?

  “Just one more stupid problem in the great life of Kylie Strange,” I murmured, leaving the kitchen to once again survey my shop.

  And then the sheriff’s black and white Ford Interceptor SUV pulled up in front on the gravel parking area. I could see him through my newly repaired front window.

  I automatically smoothed my hair, tugging the loose strands up over my ears, and brushed at my sweater.

  Sheriff Ed Bradbury himself got out. He was a tall man, dark haired, square jawed, broad chested. Every adjective you could think of. A fine specimen all around, especially in his uniform, though most of it was covered with a thick jacket with a fake fur collar. His deputy got out the passenger door and stood, looking up distastefully at my
shop sign.

  Deputy George Miller had a small dark mustache and carefully groomed hair. He never seemed quite fond of me. Not like Sheriff Ed. In fact, he waited outside, stomping around, cold air clouding his face, as the sheriff walked up to the front door and pushed it open. The bell above the door jangled merrily.

  He doffed his Smokey Bear hat and smiled. That grin was heart melting. “Hey.”

  “Hey, yourself,” I said, trying not to fidget.

  He gestured with his hat toward the shop. “Looks good as new.”

  “Yup. Barry Johnson just got done installing the door.”

  “I like it,” he said, swiveling here and there to get a good look at the place, before he squared on me again with those intense eyes. “And how are you doing?” He took a step closer. “Are you okay?”

  My hand went to my throat, covering the amulet that always felt hot under my touch. “I’m fine. Open for business. I mean…my business is open for business. The shop, I mean…jeez. Just forget I said anything.”

  He ducked his head, hiding a grin. “Yeah. I, uh, just came to tell you…that Doug and his gang have been released.”

  “Oh?” Doug and his biker gang, known as the Ordo or, more particularly, Ordo Dexterae Diaboli—Order of the Right Hand of the Devil—had trashed my place with the help of the late succubus.

  “Yeah.” He ran his hand up over the back of his neck. “We really couldn’t hold them. Not if you weren’t going to press any charges. Kylie, I’m sorry about my brother. I told him to keep his gang of idiots away from you. But as you might have guessed, he isn’t too fond of listening to anything I have to say.”

  Well, I had pleaded for leniency. I was of the mind that Doug could be reasoned with, maybe even eventually help us. Of course, Ed didn’t know anything about what was really going on, and I wanted to keep it that way.

  “I told you it was okay.”

  He moved closer still. I was staring right at his seven-pointed-star badge, shiny and bright. And close enough to get a whiff of his spicy cologne. “If anyone harasses you in any way, or if you ever feel unsafe…”

  “I know I can call on Moody Bog’s finest.” I smiled up at him to try to wipe that concerned look off his face. When I pressed a hand gently to his chest, the frown fell away. “I know I’m in good hands.”

  He was leaning in. He was going to kiss me, and as much as I had enjoyed it on our date, I couldn’t help but slip away from him.

  “Kylie,” he said, his voice a little gravelly. “I know there’s a lot on your mind but…I’d like to take you out again.”

  I said nothing as I felt him approach.

  “I mean, I thought we were having a good time…till that owl took me out of the game.”

  It hadn’t been an owl. And wasn’t that part of the problem? Should I get involved with Ed when so much else was going on? So many unbelievable elses? So many secrets?

  “Sure,” I said. I wanted to kick myself. Not even a pause for reflection. Way to go, Kylie!

  Ed’s demeanor changed again. Straightening his shoulders, he smiled, clutching his hat to his side. “Well that’s…that’s great. Would tonight be too presumptuous?”

  The bell above the door sounded and we both turned. Deputy George stuck his head in. “Sheriff, got another goat theft on our hands. The Mason farm just called it in.”

  “Jeezum, another one? That makes three this week.”

  “Kids, you reckon?”

  “I don’t know. Let’s keep an eye out for homeless camps, campfires in the woods and such.”

  “Think someone’s eatin’ ’em?”

  “Well, I’d hate to think what else they’d do with them.”

  The deputy’s mustache twitched.

  “I’ll be out in a minute, George, okay?”

  Deputy George looked me over, managed not to sneer, and closed the door as he left. He thrust his hands in his parka pockets and paced on my gravel, surveying Lyndon Road.

  Ed gazed at me with a gentle smile. I guessed he wanted an answer to his question. I hesitated. “How about tomorrow night?” I offered. “Gotta get things squared away here.”

  He looked around again, sizing up the shop, which looked pretty squared to the both of us, and nodded. “All right then.” He leaned over and this time it would have been too awkward trying to duck away from him. His lips touched mine. It wasn’t a quick peck either, but the promise of more to come. Ed laid it on me, and feeling bereft, lonely, and not a little aroused, I leaned into him, accepting the gentle offering.

  When he pulled away, his eyes had a glazed-over look about them. I was feeling a bit fuzzy myself.

  He nodded, said nothing, and affixed his hat on his head. Looking over his shoulder at me, he left, closing the door behind him. I leaned against one of the wingbacks.

  The coven liked Ed. They’d be ecstatic.

  And speak of the devil, Jolene Ayrs, junior coven member and my teenage assistant, walked in just as Sheriff Ed’s Interceptor pulled away. She dumped her backpack with the Hello Kitty skull patch behind the counter.

  “Was that the sheriff just here?” she gushed, adjusting her clear plastic-framed glasses.

  “Never you mind, young lady.”

  She chuckled and looked around the renewed shop. “How about customers?”

  “None yet. I’m a little worried.”

  “But didn’t you say everyone at the Chamber of Commerce meeting was pretty excited by this place?”

  “That was before I broke into Ruth Russell’s library.”

  She sank. “Oh yeah.”

  “I’m sure she let everyone know that I’m a sneaky thief and to steer clear of my shop. Though Barry from the hardware store was friendly enough.”

  “We’ll know more when the coven meets tonight,” she said. “I think Doc wants to meet here, if that’s all right.”

  “More than all right.” I snuck a glance toward the kitchen, resisting the silent call of the Booke. “It’s probably for the best.”

  Nightfall. I had loved those first early fall nights in New England when I knew nothing of the Netherworld or demons or haunted Bookes. The nights full of the smell of nearby woods, of smoky chimneys. The bright reflected eyes of foxes and deer gazing at me from my wooded backyard. But now the night was full of portents and danger. And now I could never be sure about those eyes in the woods. What was next? What had the Booke released that now lurked out there? Erasmus had warned me that the nightmare was far from over, that more creatures were roaming and waiting to strike.

  So I was glad to have met what I like to call “my coven,” that is, the local Wiccans. Not that they were much of a coven before all this happened.

  Doc Boone arrived first, white haired and with a little glint in his blue eyes.

  He was followed soon by semi-goth Nick Riley, local barista. He liked his black-dyed hair, black nail polish, black clothes…but that seemed to be as far as it went. I hadn’t asked if he was going to college, but it didn’t seem likely if he was always hanging around Moody Bog.

  Seraphina Williams pulled up in her hybrid car and entered my establishment, casting a whiff of strong perfume. She wore clanking layers of necklaces and bracelets, and swishing Boho shawls and chiffon. Somewhere in her late forties, she was clearly fighting the march of time. Or was she older and doing a better job hiding it than I realized?

  No one in the little village knew what was truly going on. The Wiccans had gone from a small, barely tolerated bunch on the fringe, chalking pentagrams and waving smoky bundles of sage to little effect, to now, somehow, some of the strongest mages around. Not that I was all that versed on mages. I had met a few folks like them back in California when I ran my old boyfriend’s herb and tea shop, but this was different. Very different.

  Only our little coven knew about the supernatural happenings. Well, and Doug Bradbury’s biker coven. Did I mention that Moody Bog was slightly unusual?

  Doc Boone got right d
own to it. He was straight out of Central Casting as the kindly old retired country doctor, complete with white hair, round middle, and crinkly eyed smile. But he was all business when it came to spells and charms.

  “We need to use a very strong protection spell for Kylie’s shop,” he said in a strong Maine accent.

  “Won’t the Booke negate that?” I asked.

  “We were successful last time. I should say, Jolene was very successful with her potion.” He bowed to her and she grinned, blushing.

  “But that kept…” I bit my tongue. I had been about to say that that had kept out Erasmus. Yet that was exactly what they wanted to do. And it was probably for the best. But it was hard to see it that way when my heart wasn’t in it.

  Seraphina’s half-lidded expression of serenity never wavered. “What did you have in mind, Doc?” she asked in her breathy tone.

  “I’ve been doing some reading,” he said, taking the cup and saucer I handed him with a nod. “And we need to do something stronger. More than just salt on the perimeter or a potion.”

  Nick grabbed the delicate teacup with his hand, lifting it by the rim instead of the handle. “What’s left?” He sipped loudly and glanced at Jolene as she perched, legs folded beneath her on the rocking chair, snorting at the way Nick drank his tea.

  “A spell,” she said. “A very powerful spell.”

  Nick slurped again. “Do you think we can?”

  Doc took the teacup by its handle and sipped properly. “If you’d asked me a week ago, I would have said no. But ever since Kylie opened that book…”

  “It gave you powers,” I said quietly, thinking of Doug’s Ordo gang. Because it gave them powers too. And that was not a good thing.

  I toyed with my cup, spinning the spoon around and around, even though the sugar had long since dissolved. “But what about…Erasmus? Will it keep him out too?”

  They all looked up. They knew about our tryst, and Doc spoke for all with his frown. “Yes, Kylie. It should keep him out as well.”

  “But what if I need him? He helped me last time. Isn’t that why he’s attached to the Booke? To help the Chosen Host?”