Spellcasting with a Chance of Spirits: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Romance Novel (Grimm Cove Book 3) Read online

  Spellcasting with a Chance of Spirits

  A Paranormal Women's Fiction Romance Novel

  Mandy M. Roth

  Spellcasting with a Chance of Spirits: A Paranormal Women’s Fiction Romance Novel (Grimm Cove) © Copyright, Oct 2020, Mandy M. Roth®

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  All books copyrighted to the author and may not be resold or given away without written permission from the author, Mandy M. Roth®.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Any and all characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or events or places is merely coincidence. The book is fictional and not a how-to. As always, in real life practice good judgment in all situations. Novel intended for adults only. Must be 18 years or older to read.

  Published by Raven Happy Hour, LLC

  Oxford, MS 38655

  www.ravenhappyhour.com

  Raven Happy Hour and all affiliate sites and projects are © Copyrighted 2004—2020

  Grimm Cove Series

  Cloudy with a Chance of Witchcraft

  Hexing with a Chance of Tornadoes

  Spellcasting with a Chance of Spirits

  Starry with a Chance of Nightshade

  Windy with a Chance of Wolfsbane

  and more to come…

  Dedication

  To Gena Showalter and Jill Monroe for stopping everything to help me work through plot points, for listening to me ramble, and for motivating me to find the positive at a time when so much negative was happening in our world (and for making me laugh so hard I wet myself). To Yasmine Galenorn, Kate Danley, Kelley Armstrong, Christine Pope, Sara Reine, and Carolynn Gockel for cheering me toward the finish line each day. To Becca Syme, thank you for helping me pinpoint why I was struggling with this book and giving me the tools I needed to get out of my own way. To Heather Nelson, who read every version of every chapter of this book more than once. Her thoughts, proofing, and encouragement helped me find my way to a better book. To Kelli Collins and Jennifer Blackwell for finding my mistakes and helping to make the story stronger. To every reader who waited patiently for me to get this book released. And finally, to Mr. Mandy, who spent over seven months walking on eggshells as my emotions ran the gamut while writing (okay, re-re-re-writing) this book.

  Blurb

  Every cloud has a silver lining…even in matters of the heart.

  I can see and hear the dead. I can also talk to animals. As a natural-born witch and medium, I can do a lot of odd things. In most people’s eyes, that makes me a loon. I like to think of it as being unique and eccentric. Plus, now that destiny has brought me back to the town I was born in, I’m not all that different from the supernatural residents of Grimm Cove.

  When I find myself being hunted by a dark entity, I turn to the only person who can really help. Too bad he dislikes people in general, would rather keep to himself, and is positive my elevator doesn’t stop at all floors. Plus, he’s not a fan of squirrels, which does put a kink in things, considering my familiar is one.

  Should make for an interesting adventure, seeing as how he’s my mate and we’re destined for one another.

  Part One

  Then

  “It’s easy to glance in the rearview mirror, judging everything and everyone behind you. It’s a lot harder to keep an open mind when focusing on the path ahead.” —Marcy Dotter

  “Forever is a long time to live with regrets.” —Abraham “Bram” Van Helsing

  Chapter One

  Bram

  Hoia-Baciu Forest, west of Cluj-Napoca, Transylvania, Romania, six weeks ago…

  Abraham (Bram) Van Helsing stared down at the moonlit aftermath of the carnage before him. All the death, all the evil that remained, had a backdrop that was hauntingly beautiful. From the mists rising off the ground to the crooked trees that seemed to defy nature, logic, and gravity, the spot felt as if it was enchanted.

  In truth, it was cursed.

  Bathed in darkness and hungry for blood. There was a heady mix of decay, from rotting wood and leaves, the forest in general, and from the bodies. While the victims hadn’t been dead long, Bram’s supernatural senses could pick up everything, including the large quantity of blood coating the area. He didn’t need to see it all to know it was there. He could smell it. It excited the part of himself that he tried to keep hidden from everyone. The very side that set him apart from the rest of the Van Helsings.

  The demon.

  Bram didn’t dare let his guard down or give in to the lure of the blood that seemed to be everywhere. His control had been hard-fought and had taken well over a century to attain. He refused to let that victory be diminished in a moment of weakness, especially when he knew that had been one of the goals of the man responsible for the bloodshed.

  A dangerous supernatural who had been a thorn in Bram’s side for over a hundred years, going dormant for decades, only to resurface, making sure Bram was aware he’d returned. Nothing was ever easy when it came to the old foe.

  Ager.

  It was as if his name was a self-fulfilling prophecy. It meant gatherer, and that summed up Ager nicely. He was like moss on a rolling stone, collecting other criminal supernatural masterminds as he went. He was feared among most circles.

  Ager was a natural-born necromancer—someone whose magik centered on death. He could reach through the veil between the living and the dead. He could control vampires who were under a certain age. He could raise the dead depending on the age of the corpse. It was said he could drain the life force from the living. All Bram knew for certain was that others feared Ager and followed him blindly. He’d surfaced with a vengeance recently, leaving behind a river of red from the death and destruction he’d caused. If left unchecked, there was no telling what the man was capable of, and Bram didn’t want to find out.

  He needed to be stopped.

  In all the years Bram had been hunting the bastard, Ager had worked with nearly all the greats—an all-star league of paranormal heavy hitters. Supernaturals so evil and vicious, their very names were spoken in hushed whispers by most.

  He’d not become what he was alone. He had the backing of a group so large they had proven impossible to take down—The Order of the Dragon.

  The Order was a secret society devoted to the supernatural, whose end goal was ever fluid but appeared to center on no longer hiding from humans but instead, ruling them. It was composed of nearly every type of supernatural creature there was, all vying for more power and a higher standing within their group.

  Often, internal power plays and fighting kept The Order semi-manageable.

  Over the years, The Order had made multiple attempts to get Bram to stand with them, rather than against. The very idea of aligning himself with the likes of The Order set his teeth on edge. They existed to be in direct opposition to all that he held true and right. Regardless of how many tempting carrots they dangled in his face, he would not join them.

  He didn’t need or want power badly enough to give away what little was left of his soul. Already he straddled a fine line between good and evil. Pressing his luck was unwise.

  Bram wasn’t sure what, if any, position of power Ager held in The Order, but he had to assume the man was revered. The few face-to-face encounters Bram had with the man spoke volumes to the man’s ego. It was virtually endless. Bram could only take a guess that The Order was the one stroking said ego.

  T
he gang of supernaturals Ager had run with for a long time was infamous. A veritable who’s who of evildoers. And from the looks of the dead bodies around Bram, the band was back together again.

  The trail of destruction they’d left in their wake in recent weeks was proving to be difficult to hide from the humans. If it continued, the secret of supernaturals existing was at risk.

  With the ever-increasing abilities of law enforcement and advancements in forensics, it was all Bram and the others like him could do to keep a lid on the truth. Ager and The Order didn’t care if the truth was out there.

  Then again, the newest kills had been tucked away from the general public’s view. In a spot that wasn’t the killer’s normal stomping grounds. Typically, Ager and his crew liked to hunt and kill in populated cities, making a show of it, not in the middle of a forest. There wasn’t quite the same shock and awe. But this kill site wasn’t for the public’s consumption. It wasn’t to get his name—or some variation of it—in the newspapers, creating panic and intrigue.

  This one was off the beaten path.

  It was a message.

  The spot held meaning to Bram. It wasn’t Bram’s first time in Romania—or even the Hoia-Baciu Forest. It marked the spot where he’d shed his mortal coil, only to take up the mantle of darkness. Bram had fought the battle of good and evil from the shadows, steadfast in his convictions even if a part of him fought against his decisions on nearly every issue.

  There had been only a few times in his life, since he’d become one with the demon inside him, that they’d come to an understanding. One of those times had been when Bram had insisted his daughter, Dana, be whisked away from him shortly after she’d been born. That she be raised far from him and the world of supernaturals. Bram and the demon he carried had believed they were acting in Dana’s best interests. That they were protecting her from evil.

  While that had been forty years ago, the death surrounding him in the Poiana Rotunda—the round glade—of the forest said the decision had been a good one. His world was violent, and he didn’t want that to touch her any more than it already had. After all, he was the embodiment of death.

  The demon, already on edge with the smell of blood coming at him from all directions, growled inside Bram. It didn’t like being reminded its offspring was far from it.

  For all the demon’s faults, it cared for Dana. Bram dared to say the demon even loved her. It wanted her safe but it also wanted her close.

  So did Bram—to a point.

  The problem was, she believed him to be long dead. Telling her differently now would also mean having to disclose the truth—that he was immortal. There would be no other way to explain why he looked no more than forty years of age. And at last check, Dana was still in the dark on supernaturals being real, let alone the fact her father was one.

  Technically, so was she.

  The demon snarled at him from within.

  Blood was everywhere, seeping into the forest floor, splattered onto nearby blades of grass, even finding its way to the tree line. The metallic-smelling liquid called to his darkness, presenting a tempting buffet for it to lose itself in.

  Bram held firm and stood tall, directing his focus to one of the numerous crooked trees that dotted the landscape of the forest. It was then he picked up on faint notes of hydrogen sulfide in the air.

  The rational side of Bram knew what that scent more than likely meant. The side that struggled with the demon couldn’t think clearly at the moment. Not with all the death and blood around them. It had basic needs.

  Ones that caused it to act with a singular focus.

  The monster that lived in him pounded at its metaphysical cage, wanting to be free, wanting blood.

  Release me, it pushed, the words appearing in his mind much like they were his own thoughts, but he knew better. He’d shared himself with the demon far too long to think the internal voice was anything but it.

  Feed. We need to feed, it continued.

  “There is bagged blood at the hotel. We will drink it when we are done here,” whispered Bram, knowing the demon could hear him with ease. The issue was, so could everyone else near him at the crime scene if he wasn’t careful. Already they tiptoed around him, as if worried he may snap. Well, most did. Some who knew him well paid little mind to his antics.

  The demon hissed. Bagged blood. That will not sustain us. Free me!

  “Silence, or I will seek the sun to shut you up.”

  The demon knew Bram well enough to realize he spoke the truth. He felt it retreating—at least for now. After a few terse moments, he was able to once again survey the crime scene before him.

  Bram had seen a good number of kills in his long life and was something of an expert on causes of death. His medical background played a part in that, but his expertise also came from his upbringing.

  All signs pointed to a vampire being involved, though it hadn’t acted alone. There were additional bites on the bodies, as well as spots where flesh had been torn away. Those weren’t from a vampire, and Bram didn’t want to believe what he was seeing and smelling.

  The scent of hydrogen sulfide was strong, but not so much as to mask the smell of blood. That, or the vampire side of Bram was so fixated on the crimson life-giving substance that it muted the smell of rotten eggs to a certain degree.

  The smell of hydrogen sulfide was one Bram had committed to memory years ago. One associated with a man he didn’t want to think upon.

  Dragos.

  But that was absurd. The master vampire was locked away—unable to harm others—right? If by some miracle of chance he’d managed to gain his freedom with the aid of The Order of the Dragon and Ager, the situation had just gone from bad to worse. Not that it had very far to fall.

  The spree Ager had been on had taken him through a number of countries already. Only two nights ago, Bram had found himself in London, standing in the center of multiple bodies, all lying on the street outside of the very building where he’d had a medical practice long ago. The building had been one he’d shared with a colleague and close friend—Dr. John Seward.

  Seward’s area of expertise had been mental disorders, and his practice and knowledge had paired well with Bram’s. They’d been close friends in life and even closer in death. Seward, at last check, was in New York City. But it had been years since Bram had last spoken to him.

  Time moved differently for them.

  A falling-out had left the men on anything but speaking terms. Even so, Bram had his men keeping tabs on Seward to be sure he was well and good. The last report he’d gotten from the team that did periodic check-ins on Seward had been months ago. That wasn’t alarming, as their first purpose was to stand against evil in New York City and keep the truth of supernaturals from escaping.

  Seward was as old as Bram and could hold his own. Still, if what Bram suspected was true—that The Order of the Dragon and Ager had somehow freed Dragos—no one was safe, least of all Seward. There was no telling who else among their notorious partners in crime might be working with them.

  At one point, the infamous Whitechapel murderer was rumored to be part of their crew. It wouldn’t have surprised Bram. He knew The Ripper wasn’t human, but past that, he knew very little. The fact Bram could find next to no details about The Ripper beyond what the newspapers had reported, suggested The Order was involved. They were gifted at hiding facts and bending truths. Controlling the narrative was another of their specialties. Often this came in the form of the media. What humans were spoon-fed was very often anything but the truth.

  With Bram’s luck, The Ripper was part of the new wave of crimes as well.

  “In for a penny…” he said in a partially hushed tone.

  “Bram, did you say something?” asked Jonathan Harker, a close friend and confidant, as he bent near one of the victims. Harker’s English accent was less than what it had been when they’d first met long ago, but still pronounced. Now, Harker spent the majority of his time in America, heading various offices o
f the Van Helsing slayers. He’d been based out of the Chicago branch for nearly five years now. Before that, it had been Seattle for over a decade. He’d even headed the Vancouver branch for some time.

  As much as Bram disliked pulling Harker from his duties in Chicago, the crime spree Ager had been on was proving to be too much for Bram to handle alone. All hands were needed on deck.

  Harker leaned, reaching out, and moved a blood-soaked leaf with the end of a pen. Under the leaf was a small crystal Bram had seen used in death magik ceremonies more than once.

  It was then Bram noticed Harker’s wristwatch. It had a cartoon mouse on it. Harker had more than assimilated to the changes over time, growing and updating with each era, as noted by his watch and attire.

  Bram, not so much. He preferred to wear dress-casual clothing. Whenever possible, he went with timeless choices, often incorporating vintage pieces because they reminded him of when he’d been alive. He also felt more like himself in them. Though he had to admit the fabrics were nicer now than they had been.

  Less scratchy.

  Jonathan looked as if he’d just rushed over from a university campus after a hard night of partying to lend a hand in the investigation. Though there had been a time when the former solicitor was never caught dead in public without a suit. That was another lifetime.

  They’d both changed—considerably.

  Bram knew Harker stayed up on all things legal and with each new re-invention of himself, he made sure his credentials listed him as a lawyer, but he didn’t actually practice anymore. It was hard to blame him. That profession had been the reason he’d ended up under the thumb of a monster. And ultimately, it had been the catalyst for Bram, Harker, Seward—and their friends Holmwood and Morris—ending up supernaturals.