Witch Hunt: Haunted
SILHOUETTE NOCTURNE™ #6
December 2006
ISBN-13: 978-0-373-61752-4
WAS HE HER SAVIOR OR HER WORST NIGHTMARE?
Ariel Cooper is about to marry her soul mate, but she has a secret. She
can see ghosts.
For years Ariel's resented her gift, believing it a curse. She's been
hiding it from her powerful, brooding fiancé, David, afraid that he
wouldn't understand. But now she has to tell him. Twenty years ago, she
and her two sisters were separated to protect them from a man who had
vowed revenge on the women in her family. And someone has resumed the
hunt.
Ariel knows she must warn her sisters before it's too late—the killer is
closing in and his power is growing stronger. With David's help, they
begin the search. But the closer Ariel comes to finding her sisters, the
more secretive he becomes. Can she trust the man she plans to spend
eternity with? Or has he been waiting for the perfect moment to destroy
her?
Reviews
"Lisa Childs' Haunted
(3) begins a series focusing on the cursed
descendants of a family of witches.
This compelling story has a sympathetic
heroine, and the devotion between David and
Ariel is palpable, creating a strong love
story." -- Stephanie Schneider,
RT BookClub
"This paranormal thriller is exciting and
filled with so much action that readers
won't have a chance to catch their breath.
The heroine is looking for her sisters to
warn them of their peril and a part of her
doubts David's love for her because she has
been disappointed so many times before.
Readers will root for this duo to make it
through the trials they must go through and
come out the other side strong in their love
for one another." -- Harriet Klausner,
The Best Reviews
" 5
clovers and awarded a Recommended Read.
Lisa Childs proves herself to be a writer that will be sought after soon enough,
so for now it is comparable to finding a rare gem amongst a barrel of beads.
Discovering authors you never knew were out there makes every new book a chance
at becoming one of many books you wouldn’t be able to live without. Lisa Childs
is one of those authors who may just make that sacred list. Unfortunately as a
Silhouette book Haunted won’t be available forever as once the limited supply is
sold out the chance of exploring this starts to deteriorate. This is a must buy
for anyone who loves to dabble in the paranormal world of witches." --
Joyce,
CK's Kwips & Kritiques
"HAUNTED is a fast paced read
that will keep you guessing until the very
end. The romance and suspense are deftly
woven with the paranormal elements to
provide a satisfying read that will keep you
turning the pages well into the night. "
-- Cat Cody, RomanceJunkies.com
Prologue
Europe, 1655
Strong hands closed over her shoulders, shaking her
awake. Elena blinked her eyes open, but the darkness remained, thick,
impenetrable.
"Child, awaken. Quickly."
"Mama?" She blinked again, bringing a shadow into
focus. A shadow with long, curly hair. "Mama."
"Rise up. Hurry. You have to go." Those strong hands
dragged back the blankets, letting the cold air steal across Elena's skin.
"Go? Where are we going?" She couldn't remember being
awake in such blackness before. Usually a fire glowed in the hearth, even the
dying embers casting a glow over their small home. Or her mother burned candles,
chanting to herself as she fixed her potions from the dried herbs and flowers
strung from the rafters.
"Only you, child. You must go alone." Mama's words,
the final way she spoke, chilled Elena more than the cold night air.
"Mama..." Tears burned her eyes,
leaking out the corners to run down her face. "Mama?"
"There's no time. They will come soon. For me. And if you are still here,
they will take you too."
"Mama, you are scaring me." It was not the first time.
She had scared Elena many times before, with the things she saw, the things she
knew before they ever happened.
Like The Fire.
"Is this...is this because of The Fire, Mama?"
Mama didn't answer, just pulled a cape over Elena's
head, lifting the hood over her hair. Then she slid Elena's boots onto her feet,
lacing them up as if she were a small, dependent child, not a thirteen-year-old
girl she was sending alone into the night. Mama pressed the neck of a satchel
against Elena's palm. "Ration the food and water. "Keep to the woods, child.
Run. Keep running..."
"How can they blame you for The Fire?" she cried. "You
warned them."
That the storm was coming...even
before the sky had darkened or the wind had picked up. And that the lightning
would strike in the night, while they slept. And they would die...in a horrible
fire. Mama had seen it all happen...in a dream. Or had she been awake?
Elena didn't know how it worked,
but she knew that Mama was always right. More tears leaked from her eyes. "You
asked them to leave."
But the women had thought with their men away for
work, that Mama was tricking them. That she, a desperate woman raising a child
alone, would rob their deserted house. She'd been trying to save their lives.
Mama shook her head, her hair swirling around her
shoulders. "The villagers think I cast a spell. That I brought the lightning."
Elena heard the frightened murmurs and saw the
downward glances as her mother walked through the village. Everyone thought her
a witch...because of the potions she made. But when the townspeople were sick,
they came to Mama for help even though they feared her. How could they think she
would do them harm when she had always helped them? "No, Mama..."
"No. The only spell cast is upon me, child. These
visions I see, I have no control over them," she said. "And I have no control
over what will happen now. I need you to go. To run. And keep running, Elena.
Never stop. Or they will catch you."
Elena threw her arms around her mother's neck, more
scared than she had ever been. Even though she heard no one, saw no light in the
blackness outside her window, she knew her mama was right. They were coming for
her. The men who'd returned, who'd found their family dead, burned. They were
coming for Mama.
"Come with me, Mama," she beseeched her, holding
tight. "Run with me."
"No, child. T'is too late for me to fight my fate. But
you can fight. You can run." She closed her arms around Elena, clutching her
tight for just a moment before thrusting her away. "Now. Run now!"
Tears blinded Elena as much as the darkness. She'd
just turned toward the ladder leading down from the loft when Mama caught her
hand, squeezing Elena's fingers tight around the soft velvet satchel. "Do not
lose the charms."
Elena's heart contracted. "You
gave me the charms?"
"They will keep you safe."
"How?" Elena asked in a breathless whisper.
"They hold great power, child."
"You need them." Elena did not know from where they
had come, but Mama had never removed them from the leather thong tied around her
wrist. Until now.
Mama shook her head. "I cannot keep them. They are
yours, to pass to your children. To remember who and what we are."
Witches.
She did not say it, but Elena knew. She shivered.
"Go now, child," Mama urged. "Go before it is too late
for us both." She expelled a little ragged breath of air, then pleaded, "Do not
forget..."
Elena threw her arms around her mother's neck,
pressing her face tight against her, breathing in the scent of lavender and
sandalwood incense. The paradox that was her mama, the scent by which she would
always remember her. "I will never forget. Never!"
"I know, child. You have it, too. The curse. The gift.
The spell. Whatever it be."
"No, Mama..." She didn't want to be what her mother
was; she didn't want to be a witch.
"You have it, too," Mama
insisted. "I see the power you have, much stronger than any of mine. He
would see it, too, and want to destroy you." Before Elena could ask of whom her
mother spoke, the woman pushed her away, her voice quavering with urgency as she
shouted, "You have to go!"
Elena fumbled with the satchel as she scrambled down
the ladder, running as much from her mother's words as her mother's warning. She
didn't want the curse, whatever the mystical power was. She didn't want to flee,
either. But her mama's fear stole into her heart, clutching at it, forcing her
to run.
Keep to the woods.
She did, cringing against the noise as twigs and
underbrush snapped beneath the worn soles of her old boots. She had run for so
long breath burned in her lungs and sweat dried on her skin, both heating and
chilling her. She'd gone a long ways before turning and looking back toward her
house.
She knew she'd gone too far, too deep into the woods
to see it clearly with her eyes. So, like Mama, she must have seen it with her
mind. The fire. Burning.
The woman in the middle of it, screaming, crying out
for God to forgive them. Pain tore at Elena, burning, crippling. She dropped to
her knees, clutching her arms around her middle, trying to hold in the agony.
Trying to shut out the image in her head. She crouched there, on her knees, for
a long while, her mama's screams ringing in her ears.
"Run, child." Again her mother's words. "Keep
running."
She forced herself up, staggering on her weakened
legs, turning away from all that she'd known, all that she'd loved.
Behind her, brush rustled, the blackness shattered by
the glow of a lantern. Oh, God, they'd found her already.
The glow fell across her face and the face of the boy
who held the lantern. Thomas McGregor. He wasn't much older than her, but he'd
gone to work with his father and uncles, leaving his mother, sisters and aunts
behind...to burn alive.
Like they'd burned her mother. "No..."
"I was sent to find you. To bring you back," he said,
his voice choked as tears ran down his face. Tears for his family or her?
Her mother had seen this, had tried to fight this fate
for her daughter, the same fate that had just taken her life.
"You hate me?" she asked.
He shook his head, and something flickered in his eyes
with the lantern light. Something she had seen before when she'd caught him
staring at her. "No, Elena."
"But you wish me harm? I had nothing to do with your
loss." Nor did her mother, but they had killed her. Smoke swept into the woods,
too far from the fire to be real, and in the middle, hovered a woman. Elena's
mother.
"I have to bring you back," Thomas said, his hand
trembling as he reached for her, his fingers closing over her arm.
The charms will keep you safe.
Had her mother's ghost spoken, or was it only Elena's
memory? Regardless, she reached in the pocket of her cape, clutching the satchel
tight. Heat emanated through the thick velvet, warming her palm. As if she'd
stepped into his mind, she read his thoughts and saw the daydreams he had had of
the two of them. "Thomas, you do not wish me harm."
"But Papa..."
Other memories played through Elena's mind, her
mother's memories. She shuddered, reeling under the impact of knowledge she was
too young to understand. "Your papa is a bad man," she whispered. "Come with me,
Thomas. We will run together."
He shook his head. "He would find us. He would kill us
both."
Because of what she'd seen, she knew he spoke the
truth. Eli McGregor would kill anyone who got between him and what he wanted,
power more than vengeance.
"Thomas, please..."
His fingers tightened on her arm, as if he were about
to drag her off. But Elena clutched the satchel so closely, the jagged little
metal pieces cut her palm through the velvet.
He shuddered as if a great battle waged inside of him.
"I cannot give you to him. Go, Elena. You are lost to me." But when she turned
to leave, he caught her hand like her mother had, his trembling as he pressed
something against her bloody palm. "Take my mother's locket."
To remember him? To remember what his family had done
to hers? She would want no reminders. But her fingers closed over the metal,
warm from the heat of his skin. She couldn't refuse. Not when he had spared her
life.
"Use it for barter, if need be, to get away from here.
As far away as you can. For the fire, my father has sworn vengeance on all your
mother's relatives and descendents. He says he will let no witch live."
"I am not a witch," she whispered the lie, closing her
eyes to the glowing image of her mother's ghost.
"He will kill you," Thomas
whispered back.
She knew he spoke the truth. Like
her mother, she could now see her fate, but unlike her mother, she wouldn't wait
for him to come for her. She would keep running. She turned to leave again, then
twirled back, moved closer to Thomas and pressed her lips against his cheek,
cold and wet from his tears.
"Godspeed, Elena," he said as she stepped out of the
circle of light from his lantern, shifting into the darkness and the smoke,
letting it swallow her as she ran.
This time she wouldn't stop...she wouldn't stop until
she'd gotten as far away as she could. And even then, she wouldn't ever stop
running...
From who and what she was.
# # #
Armaya,
Michigan, 1985
The candlelight flickered and wavered across their
faces as the wind danced through the open windows of the camper, carrying with
it the scent of lavender and sandalwood incense. Myra Cooper dragged in the
first breath she'd taken since she began telling her family's legend; it caught
in her lungs, burning, as she studied her daughters' beautiful faces.
Irina snuggled between her bigger sisters, her big,
dark eyes luminous in the candlelight, bright with unshed tears. She heard
everything but, at four, was too young to understand.
Elena, named for that long ago ancestor, tightened her
protective arm around her sister's narrow shoulders. Her hair was pale and
straight, a contrast to Myra's and Irina's dark curls. Her eyes were a vivid icy
blue that saw everything. But, at twelve, she was too old to believe.
Ariel kept an arm around her sister, too. But her gaze
was intent on Myra's face, as she waited for more of the story. The candlelight
reflected in her auburn hair like flames, and her green eyes glowed. She
listened. But Myra worried that she did not hear.
She worried that none of them understood that they
were gifted with special abilities. They had never spoken of them, to her or
each other, but maybe that was better. Maybe they would be safer if they denied
their heritage. Yet they couldn't deny what they didn't know; that was why she
had shared the legend. She wanted them to know their fate, so they could run
from it before they were destroyed.
"We are Durikken women," she told
her daughters, "like that first Elena."
"You named me after her," her oldest spoke, not a
question. She already knew.
Myra nodded. "And I'm named for her mother." And
sometimes, when she believed in reincarnation, she believed she was that woman,
with her memories as well as her special abilities.
However, most of the time, Myra
believed in nothing; it hurt too much to accept her reality. But tonight,
she had to be responsible. She had one last attempt to protect her children;
she'd already failed them in so many ways. They didn't have to live the
hardscrabble life she lived; they didn't have to be what she was, a woman whose
fears had driven her to desperation.
"Our last name is Cooper," Elena reminded her.
"Papa's name," she said, referring to her father, not
theirs. None of their fathers had given their children their name, either
because the man had refused or he hadn't known. "We are Durikken, and Durikken
women are special. They know things are going to happen...before they happen."
Pain lanced through her, stealing
her breath again, as images rolled through her mind like a black and white
movie. But she couldn't keep running; she couldn't make them keep
running.
She forced herself to continue,
"They see things or people...that no one else can see. This ability, like the
charms on my bracelet..." She raised her arm, the silver jewelry absorbing the
firelight as it dangled from her wrist. "...have been passed from generation to
generation."
But Myra had gotten more than her
sisters, more abilities as a woman and a witch. That was why Myra had
been given the bracelet, because her mother had known she would be the only one
of her daughters to continue the Durikken legacy with children and witchcraft.
Myra's fingers trembled as she unclasped the bracelet.
She'd never taken it off, not once since her mother had put it on her wrist,
until tonight. Her daughters had admired it many times, running their fingers
over the crude pewter charms. She knew which was each one's favorite.
Elena always admired the star,
the sharp tips now dulled with age. Irina loved the crescent moon, easily
transformed from a smile to a frown, like Irina's moods, depending on the angle
from which it dangled. Ariel favored the sun, its rays grooves in a circle
around a smaller, smooth circle; despite its age, it seemed to shine brighter
than the others. Like Ariel.
Even now, in the dingy little camper, an aura
surrounded the child, glowing around her head as spirits hovered close. Did
Ariel know what her gift was, did either of her sisters? Her daughters needed
Myra's guidance so they could understand and utilize their abilities; they were
too young to be without their mother. But she couldn't put them at risk. All
Myra could hope was that the charms would keep them safe, as they had that first
Elena so long ago.
Myra knelt before her children,
where they huddled in their little makeshift bed in the back of the pickup
camper, their home for their sporadic travels. This was all she'd been able to
give them. Until now. Until she'd shared the legend.
Now she'd given them their heritage, and with the help
of the charms, they would remember it always. No matter how much time passed. No
matter how much they might want to forget it or ignore it. Like that Elena from
so long ago, even though she'd feared her future and tried to outrun it, she'd
never thrown away the charms. She'd known how important they were and so would
Myra's children.
She reached for Elena's hand first. It was nearly as
big as hers, strong and capable, like the girl. She could handle anything...Myra
hoped. She dropped the star into Elena's palm and closed her fingers over the
pewter charm. The girl's blue gaze caught hers, held. No questions filled her
eyes, only knowledge. At twelve, she'd already seen too much, in visions
like her mother's. The girl had never admitted it, but Myra knew.
She reached for the smallest
hand, Irina's. The weakest. She worried most about this child. She'd had so
little time with her. She closed Irina's hand into a fist around the moon. Hang on tight, child.
She didn't say it aloud; for Irina, she didn't need
to, the child could hear unspoken thoughts.
Myra swallowed down a sob before reaching for Ariel.
But the girl's hand was outstretched already. She was open and trusting, and
because of that might be hurt the worst.
"Don't lose these," she beseeched them. Without the
protection of the little pewter charms, none of them would be strong enough to
survive.
"We won't, Mama," Elena answered for herself and her
younger sisters as she clasped her charm to her bracelet and helped Irina with
hers.
Despite her trembling fingers, Myra secured the sun
charm on Ariel's bracelet, but when she pulled back, the girl caught her hand.
"Mama?"
"Yes, child?"
"You called it a curse...this special ability," Ariel
reminded her, her voice tremulous. She had been listening.
Myra nodded. "Yes, it is a curse, my sweetheart.
People don't understand. They thought our ancestors were witches who cast evil
spells."
But they'd been just witches,
ones who tried to help and heal. Her family had never been about evil; that was
what had pursued them and persecuted them throughout the ages.
"But that was long ago," Elena said, ever practical.
"People don't believe in witches anymore."
Better to warn them, to make them aware of the
dangers. She'd shown them the locket earlier, the one nestled now between her
breasts, the metal cold against her skin. It was the one Thomas had pressed upon
Elena all those years ago. Inside were faded pictures, drawn by Thomas's young
hand, of his sisters, the ones who had died in the fire. The ones whose deaths
could have been prevented if only they'd listened and fought their fate. "Some
still believe."
"Mama, I'm cursed?" Ariel asked, her turquoise eyes
wide with fear. Her hand trembled as she clutched the sun.
No one more than I. Myra had lost so much in
her life. Her one great love, Elena's father. And now...
"Mama, there are lights coming across the field!"
Ariel whispered, as if she spoke softly they wouldn't find her. Maybe she didn't
hear as much as her sisters, but she understood.
Myra didn't glance out the
window. She'd already seen the lights coming, in a vision, and so she'd
hid the camper in the middle of a cornfield. But still they'd found her; they'd
found them. She stared at her children, memorizing their faces, praying
for their futures. Each would know a great love like she had; all she could hope
was that theirs lasted. That they fought against their fate, against the evil
stalking them, like she would have fought had she been stronger.
She just stood there, next to the camper, in the
middle of the cornfield, as they took her children away. The girls screamed and
reached for her, tears cascading down their beautiful faces like rain against
windows.
This wasn't Myra's final fate; her death would come much
later. But as her heart bled and her soul withered, this was the night she
really died. The night her children were taken away.
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