Shadows in the Mist Read online

  SHADOWS IN THE MIST

  Copyright © 2019 by Jeri Westerson

  All rights reserved.

  Published as an eBook in 2019 by JABberwocky Literary Agency, Inc.

  ISBN 978-1-625674-22-7

  Cover design by Mayhem Cover Creations

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

  JABberwocky Literary Agency, Inc.

  49 W. 45th Street, 12th Floor

  New York, NY 10036

  http://awfulagent.com

  [email protected]

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Afterword

  The Darkest Gateway

  About the Author

  Also by Jeri Westerson

  Though he is a shadowy presence, my husband Craig is all goodness and light. This is for you Craig, you devil, you.

  Chapter One

  One wall. One dumb wall in my seventeenth century house in this dumb small town… No, that wasn’t fair. The town wasn’t dumb. I actually still liked the little town of Moody Bog, Maine. As picturesque as they came. White church steeple and village green. Check. Quaint little houses on sleepy streets. Check. A pumpkin on every porch with beautiful fall colors in the surrounding woods. Double check. And friendly people…for the most part. If you don’t count the demons. What’s not to like?

  Except for that dumb wall that I broke into one night in my shop and found the Booke of the Hidden inside. I was the last person to guess that creatures and demons—stuff I never knew existed—would all pour out of there. Because of me. Because of that damned Booke that I opened.

  And now my ex, Jeff, was a werewolf. Because of me and that Booke. Were Jeff, I guess. What else was I going to call him? If it weren’t for my coven of local Wiccans—Doc, Seraphina, Nick, and Jolene—I’d be a dead tea shop owner five times over.

  And even now, there they were, standing by me. Helping me. Sometimes with spells, sometimes with just a hug. But there was no time for hugs with demons and evil gods on the loose. Was this really my life now?

  Someone had summoned the demon Andras to kill me. A winged guy with a strange skin-tight hide suit. I was pretty sure I knew who summoned him. Our own Mayflower queen, Ruth Russell. Anti-Wiccan, anti-Kylie. Or it could have been the biker gang run by Sheriff Ed’s brother…

  “Shit!” I suddenly remembered Ed outside.

  Andras had knocked WereJeff out, and Nick and the other Wiccans had carried him inside my shop. Doc was ministering to him. But Ed hadn’t known such things were real in Moody Bog until he’d seen Andras and WereJeff in a battle royale.

  Surprise.

  I stuck my head out of the doorway of my shop again. Sheriff Ed was still standing on my gravel parking lot. At least he’d holstered his gun. One of those big white feathers from Andras’ wings was in his hand. He examined it as if it were something amazing. I guessed it was.

  When he raised his face to mine, it was all written there in his eyes.

  “You’d better come in, Ed. I don’t think it’s safe out there.”

  He stood a moment more before he slowly began to approach the doorway and cross the threshold.

  He pulled up short again when he saw Jeff. The blond werewolf was breathing oddly, lying prone on my settee surrounded by my friendly neighborhood coven.

  “Kylie,” he rasped, “what the hell’s going on?”

  Seraphina, our middle-aged boho witch, took a step toward him to offer her gentle explanations. I headed her off and dragged him into the kitchen, where he didn’t have to look at Jeff, and sat him down at my farm table. He deserved to hear it from me. “It’s kind of a long story.”

  He didn’t look good. He looked like he was going to faint…or throw up.

  “Do you want some brandy or something?”

  “Bourbon. Do you have bourbon?”

  “Yeah.” I rushed to the kitchen cupboard that doubled as a bar and took down the untouched bourbon bottle that I had for guests. I didn’t indulge. But I was starting to rethink that.

  I poured a short glass and handed it over. I expected him to knock it back, but he sipped it instead. Good old Ed. Practical even in a panic situation.

  His mic squawked. Deputy George was responding to his call. “Sheriff! I’m on my way.”

  Ed must have sussed out my face, because he pulled the mic toward him. “No. It’s okay, George. We’re…we’re okay. False alarm.”

  There was a pause before his crackly voice came back on. “Sheriff, are you sure?”

  “Yeah. Just a…a deer. I’ve got it. Bradbury out.” His hand fell to his lap again, and his attention was on me.

  “So…so when I bought this place pretty much sight unseen,” I began. And then once I started, I couldn’t stop. Like a roller coaster. I was talking faster and faster. “I knew it was old. From the seventeen hundreds. Which was good. I mean, it wasn’t exactly sight unseen. I’d seen pictures on the internet. It looked perfect for my herb and tea shop. Living quarters above.” I pointed to my ceiling. “I was fixing it up the week before I opened, and I tore down this crooked shelf, and when I did, I accidentally made this giant hole in the wall. And then there was this bricked wall inside that. Which seemed odd, you know. So, on a whim, I took a sledgehammer to it.”

  His eyes tracked me. “On a whim,” he parroted vaguely.

  “Yeah, on a whim. And a little Chardonnay. Inside the wall was…”

  I heard it whoosh toward me. Ducking just in time, Ed was nearly struck by the Booke of the Hidden soaring through the doorway. It stopped mid-air, hovering just before me. I gently grasped it and laid it on the table. It seemed to become more active the longer I dealt with it, as if it were fully awakening.

  To Ed’s credit, he didn’t so much as flinch. Well…maybe he flinched a tiny bit.

  “This. This was inside. This damned Booke. And then I opened it to take a look, like anyone would, right? But all the pages were blank.” I unlocked the latch, opened the cover, and showed him. Except for the ones I had written on with my own blood, all the parchmenty pages were empty. “But it was more than that. By opening it, I sort of opened a gateway, and all sorts of crazy things came out of it…and continue to come out of it.”

  His voice was gravelly. “Things like…that guy with wings?”

  “No, actually, he was a demon. Someone else summoned him. He’s an assassin. To probably to kill me.”

  “An assassin demon?”

  “Yeah. But…the thing that killed Karl Waters and that bicyclist…that was a succubus.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t even know what that is.”

  “It doesn’t matter. It’s dead.”

  “What about…th
ose missing women? Was that a…a succubus too?”

  “No. That was a kelpie. Um…it’s also dead. Or…just gone, I guess. Back into the Booke, or wherever it is they come from.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  I walked away from the table, pacing across the floor from table to sink and back again. Ed’s gaze followed me like his life depended on it.

  “See, I have to put things right. I’m the one who opened the Booke. Only I can stop these things.”

  “Kylie…are you saying that…all this time…”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to know. I just wanted you to think I was a normal person, especially on our…our dates.”

  He looked down at his hands fidgeting with the feather on the worn, wood table. “All this was going on at the same time?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “This has to be a mass illusion. Drugs. Hallucinogens. This isn’t real.” He stared at the feather again, twisting it in his fingers. The black blood spatter on it looked real enough. I could see him trying to work it out in his head: the reality of the fantastic in his fingers.

  Maybe it was a good thing Ed finally knew. Maybe he could help. But not if he went nuts on me. So I raised my hand, waiting for it. Sure enough, in seconds the chthonic crossbow screamed through the house and slapped into my open palm.

  Ed jolted from his chair, knocking it over.

  “It’s not a hallucination,” I told him. I gently laid the crossbow on the table between us. “I got this from Erasmus. He’s…he’s the demon of the Booke.” A sharp pang stabbed my heart when I spoke his name. After all, Erasmus was still out there. And his time had run out.

  “I knew something was up with that guy,” he growled.

  His jealousy suddenly made me angry. “So demons you believe in.”

  He ran his hand over his face before crouching to right the chair. The feather that had fallen from his hand fluttered to the floor.

  Ed staggered toward the sink and leaned over it. Maybe he was going to get sick this time.

  He was quiet for a long moment, before speaking in a soft and even tone. “If I hadn’t seen Karl and the bicyclist for myself, I might have had a hard time believing you. But as it is…” He turned his head. His eyes were haunted. It was a familiar expression—the same one I saw every time I looked in the mirror these days. “So that’s why you’re friends with Doc’s coven.”

  “Doc fixed the hole in my plaster, and then he mentioned the Wiccans. I needed help. They’ve been helpful.”

  Did I dare tell him about his brother? Doug had already been a handful to Ed, getting into trouble with his biker gang. Was Ed ready to hear that his own brother was a practitioner of black magic?

  “So you do…spells and stuff?”

  He was looking pretty forlorn. I wondered if I shouldn’t have hugged him first thing. “No. I don’t do magic. I just opened the Booke and it all started. I don’t know how to do anything but run a tea shop. This is all new to me too.”

  He glanced toward the living room. “That guy is a werewolf?”

  “Yeah. My old boyfriend.”

  “Was he…always a werewolf?”

  “No. A werewolf came out of the Booke and bit him.”

  He shook his head slowly, breathing in and out.

  I wrung my hands. “At this point, I’m not sure whether or not to…to tell you about Doug.”

  There was color back in his face when he whipped around. “What about Doug? Does he have something to do with all this?”

  I sat and clasped my fingers together on the table. The Booke and the crossbow sat before me. I was aware of both of them like a throbbing heartbeat. I couldn’t not be aware. “He and his gang dabble in the dark side of Wicca. They summoned a god, Baphomet. And he’s loose out there too. We don’t know what’ll happen.”

  I didn’t think Ed could take much more. He looked to be on the edge of what was left of his sanity.

  He stumbled to the table and landed back in his chair. “This has to be a dream. A nightmare.”

  “I wish it were.”

  A howl from the other room startled us both. I leapt to my feet and ran to the doorway.

  Jeff stirred. His fur was falling off in chunks. Already his face was beginning to draw back to normal, until only his ears were still long and pointed. But even those were receding. He opened his eyes and looked at me. They were wolf eyes at first but soon morphed into human eyes.

  Our teen Wiccan Jolene tossed the crocheted throw over him just in time as all the fur fell off, leaving a naked Jeff. I was at his side in an instant. “Jeff?”

  “Yeah,” he gasped. “Yeah, I’m back.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I guess.” He sat up and realized the throw was covering him. “Whoa. Am I ever gonna get used to that?”

  Then he looked up and spotted Ed.

  “Uh…how do we explain…?”

  “Already done.” I swiveled to face Ed. “Are you buying all this? I don’t think there’s much time to dwell on it.”

  He hitched his utility belt, physically and, I supposed, metaphorically. Then he straightened his Smokey Bear hat. “Yeah. Got it.”

  He didn’t. Wouldn’t, for a while. But he was getting there.

  There was a knock at the door. My heart gave a lurch. Erasmus! I was up and running for it before I could think and threw it open.

  Stupid Shabiri. With her stupid face and her stupid catsuit and her stupid English accent.

  “What the hell do you want?” I snapped.

  “So not friendly,” she said, lounging against the doorjamb. Her hair had a green streak running through it. She gave a lazy perusal of the room and my Wiccans standing protectively in front of Jeff.

  “Did you not hear me the last time we met? When you sent my grandpa back to the Land of the Dead? I said I’d kill you.”

  “I don’t see a crossbow.”

  It thumped into my upraised hand from the other the room. She straightened, a worried look on her face. “I thought that was broken.”

  “You thought wrong. Oh, and look.” It had armed itself. “Looks like that special arrow that Erasmus made just for you.”

  “Made?” She took a step back, staring at the bolt.

  “Yeah.” I took a step toward her, aiming. “He did a really weird thing. He took the bolt and jammed it in his eye. Said it was now tipped with a poisonous venom that could kill you.”

  Her eyes widened.

  No, bitch, I wasn’t bluffing.

  “Who the hell is this?” Ed stomped forward. “Put the weapon down, Kylie.”

  “Yes,” said Shabiri, suddenly intrigued. She looked Ed up and down like he was a juicy T-bone. “Put the weapon down, Kylie. And tell me about this gorgeous hunk of human.”

  Ed twitched. I guess being called human—by someone who clearly was not—gave him pause.

  “He’s the law around these parts,” I said and winced at how it sounded like dialogue from a bad western.

  “The law?” She slinked into the room but only so far. My coven had surrounded us so it wasn’t likely she was getting much farther into my shop. Not without a face full of salt first. But she was reaching only for Ed. He flinched away from her touch. “Not like any constable I can remember. Tell me your name?”

  “You first,” said Ed.

  She smiled. “I’m sure Kylie will tell you all about—”

  “Her name is Shabiri and your brother summoned her. She’s not on our side.”

  “Oh, that’s why you look so familiar,” she cooed. “You’re dear Doug’s brother. My, my.”

  “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “I can’t believe Doug would do this. I can’t believe he can.”

  “There’s so much, I’ll wager, you couldn’t believe dear Dougie capable of doing.” She tried to touch him again but he stepped back, reaching for his gun. She frowned down at his hand. “Dear me. Manners, I’m afraid, are lacking in your family.” She glanced once more
around the room—raising her eyes at Jeff squirming to cover himself and at the rest of the Wiccans sneering at her—and moved backward outside to my gravel parking lot. “Looks like a party I have no interest in attending. I merely heard Erasmus was gone and I just wanted to offer my services.”

  I stuck the butt of the crossbow into my shoulder and aimed it at her. “What have you heard? From whom?”

  “The Netherworld rumor mill. Erasmus was trying to be all mysterious and got caught up in…things. Rumor had it that the Powers That Be…” She snapped her fingers.

  I winced.

  “And so I merely thought—”

  “You’ve got two seconds to get out.”

  She didn’t take two. She vanished immediately. I swung back into my shop. My Wiccans trailed after me, but I waved them off, tossing the crossbow to the chair. It had disarmed when Shabiri disappeared.

  Ed didn’t seem to know what to do now, but I didn’t have anything left in me to try to comfort him. I had problems of my own. Doc and Seraphina were speaking gently to him as I left him so I could pace around until I couldn’t stand it. Then I went outside to pace around my backyard instead, somehow thinking Erasmus would make an appearance, that I would run into him. I must have been at it for hours, ruminating over what Shabiri said. Had the Powers That Be killed him? Had we killed him with our spell?

  I was chilled to the bone when I finally came through my back door again. I trudged through the kitchen and into the warm main room where the Wiccans sat around, looking forlorn. Maybe someone had explained Erasmus’ situation to Ed, or maybe they hadn’t. Either way, it didn’t matter. Erasmus had failed. He wasn’t coming back. He was dead. I knew it. They knew it.

  Even though I crouched before the fireplace, I was cold inside. Colder than I had ever felt before. He was just a demon, and once I’d fulfilled my purpose, he would get his reward. He would eat my soul. That was what he was created for. Yet he had promised—and for some reason I believed him—that he wouldn’t, and no one knew what that would do to him.

  Stupidly, I had allowed him to mean far more to me than he should have. I dared not name the feeling, but I was empty. I didn’t even care that his mission had been for naught. What difference would it make anyway? Ever since the Booke came into my life, I felt a clock ticking that my time would soon be up. This was only a brief delay. An interval.