Conjure Web
A Moonshadow Bay Novel, Book 3
Yasmine Galenorn
A Nightqueen Enterprises LLC Publication
Published by Yasmine Galenorn
PO Box 2037, Kirkland WA 98083-2037
CONJURE WEB
A Moonshadow Bay Novel
Copyright © 2021 by Yasmine Galenorn
First Electronic Printing: 2021 Nightqueen Enterprises LLC
First Print Edition: 2021 Nightqueen Enterprises
Cover Art & Design: Ravven
Art Copyright: Yasmine Galenorn
Editor: Elizabeth Flynn
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED No part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any format, be it print or electronic or audio, without permission. Please prevent piracy by purchasing only authorized versions of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, or places is entirely coincidental and not to be construed as representative or an endorsement of any living/ existing group, person, place, or business.
A Nightqueen Enterprises LLC Publication
Published in the United States of America
Contents
Acknowledgments
Welcome to Conjure Web
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Playlist
Biography
Acknowledgments
Welcome to the world of Moonshadow Bay, where magic lurks in the moonlight, and danger in the shadows.
Thanks to my usual crew: Samwise, my husband, Andria and Jennifer—without their help, I’d be swamped. To the women who have helped me find my way in indie, you’re all great, and thank you to everyone. To Kate Danley in particular, for running our author sprints that have helped me regain my focus in this current pandemic. To my wonderful cover artist, Ravven, for the beautiful work she’s done.
Also, my love to my furbles, who keep me happy. My most reverent devotion to Mielikki, Tapio, Ukko, Rauni, and Brighid, my spiritual guardians and guides. My love and reverence to Herne, and Cernunnos, and to the Fae, who still rule the wild places of this world. And a nod to the Wild Hunt, which runs deep in my magick, as well as in my fiction.
You can find me through my website at Galenorn.com and be sure to sign up for my newsletter to keep updated on all my latest releases! You can find my advice on writing, discussions about the books, and general ramblings on my YouTube channel. If you liked this book, I’d be grateful if you’d leave a review—it helps more than you can think.
March, 2021
Brightest Blessings,
~The Painted Panther~
~Yasmine Galenorn~
Welcome to Conjure Web
Moonshadow Bay…where magic lurks in the moonlight, and danger hides in the shadows.
As January faces the Aseer to find out what her magical strengths are, she also delves into her family history, where she discovers dark secrets about her great-grandmother Colleen and a long-lost child. But when she and Ari take on a private case, they find themselves in over their heads. They must ask Conjure Ink for help in solving a riddle when a mother insists that her child isn’t really her child. January’s investigation leads everyone down the rabbit hole of magical intrigue and into the world of the Woodlings, where January finds her worldview of what is actually real changing, even as it puts her life in danger.
Reading Order for the Moonshadow Bay Series:
Book 1: Starlight Web
Book 2: Midnight Web
Book 3: Conjure Web
Chapter One
“I refuse to be married in white,” Ari said. “I simply won’t wear a white dress. Neither will Meagan. We aren’t virgins, we’re both forty, and we aren’t even straight. Nobody’s giving away anything that hasn’t already been out the barn door and around the track. Since we’re getting married in summer, I want to wear purple and she’s wearing green.”
I suppressed a laugh and just nodded. Ari and I were flipping through bridal magazines, looking at dresses. She and Meagan were getting married on July 12, and that gave us five months to get everything ready. Since Meagan’s parents refused to take part in their daughter’s big, magical gay wedding, we were coming up with cost-saving ideas that would be beautiful, as well.
“So, do you have a theme yet?” I asked, picking up another sandwich and biting into it. We were eating lunch on my back porch. Even though it was still chilly—it was a rainy 58 degrees—we both were more than ready for some fresh air and sunshine. The fresh air, we had. The sunshine, not so much.
“We’re thinking of a wisteria garden party theme…Meagan wants a tea instead of a dinner, and I like that idea. Oh, hey, that brings me to another question. Can we hold the wedding in your backyard?” Ari tossed the magazine to the side and picked up another one, starting to leaf through it. “None of these is right. I haven’t seen a dress I like.”
“Of course you can. Hold the wedding here, that is. And may I suggest that you look at ball gowns? I know it’s not the typical thing, but most of them are more colorful than wedding dresses, and usually a lot prettier. I bet you could find something in that direction.” I set down The Mature Bride, which was a magazine that focused on women over thirty who were getting married. Ari and Meagan, like me, were well over that. “Honestly, thirty is not old. Hell, I’m forty-one and I don’t even feel that old—just…a little seasoned.”
As I focused on my lunch, a gust of fresh air whistled past. The wind was coming in off the Salish Sea, and the sound of birdsong echoed from tree to tree. We were due for rain again, but the ground smelled like it was waking up, and I could feel the rhythms of the earth shift and turn as the equinox drew near. We were headed for Ostara, the spring celebration of balance and new beginnings, and everywhere, I could see the signs that the world was preparing to grow and stretch out, like a rose whose petals were unfolding.
“That’s a good idea. I’ll run the idea by Meagan and we’ll look online. We’d rather spend the bulk of our money on a fabulous party and honeymoon than on the dresses and flowers. Though I insist on having wisteria there, and black roses—well, the ones that look black.” She took a long sip of her coffee.
“What does Meagan want?” I finished my ham sandwich and leaned back, sipping my mocha.
“She’s left the flowers up to me. In exchange, she gets to pick our first dance song. We’re both writing our own vows, and we both are agreeing on the menu for the tea and the cake. I wanted chocolate, she wanted tres leches, so we compromised on a chocolate-caramel cake.” She shook her head, grinning. “I never thought I’d be planning a wedding. I really didn’t believe that I’d ever meet anybody I could get along with enough to commit to.”
At first, when I realized that Ari and Meagan were serious, I had a spate of jealousy, worrying that I might lose my best friend. But Meagan—whom I had loathed in high school—had turned out to be a decent adult once she came out of the closet. I no longer worried about that. It occurred to me that Ari might have felt the same way when I had gotten married to Ellison, and I felt embarrassed that I had pulled away from her for so many years, thanks to Ellison’s dislike of all things magical. With me and my best friend both being witches, he really got his nose
out of joint when she came to visit. Meagan actually welcomed me in like a sister.
“Well, you picked a winner,” I said. “And you know I’d say something if I didn’t believe that.”
“I know—you sure did when you first found out who she was. No more ‘Mean Meagan,’ right?” Ari laughed.
“Right,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I’m sorry I was so whiny about her.”
“Well, she was a piece of work back in high school. So, are you ready to tackle your attic?”
I nodded, staring into my coffee mug morosely. “Yeah. But the caffeine’s done.”
“Get your butt out of the chair, January. We can have more when we’re done,” she said with a laugh. “Dangle that carrot in front of you.”
I grumbled but picked up my dishes. Ari gathered her things and we headed back inside as the clouds broke and a huge deluge came gushing down from the sky. Grateful that the porch was enclosed, I took one last deep breath of the air that hung heavy with the scents of cedar and fir, of geosim and pungent earth, and we headed inside to clean out the attic.
* * *
When I moved back to Moonshadow Bay after inheriting my parents’ house, I had changed out some of the furniture for my own, and I had finally faced reality and gone through the closets and cleared out my mother’s and father’s clothing. It had been hard—I still missed them dreadfully—but it was time, and I needed the space. But I’d left the attic alone. Now, it was time to tackle whatever was up there. Ari had agreed to help me.
The attic was accessible through a trap door in the hallway ceiling outside the master bedroom. I carried a stepstool up to the second floor so that I could catch hold of the ring attached to the trap door. As the door opened, a retractable set of stairs eased down. They appeared flimsy, but my father—who had been something of a handyman—had reinforced them so they were strong and sturdy. He had also affixed a locking mechanism to the bottom stair so the steps couldn’t jog loose and fold up when someone was on them.
I moved the stepstool and flipped on the light to the attic. The switch was located on the wall beneath the attic, and that made it possible to see as we headed up the steps. My father had been a practical man and had made life as easy as he could for my mother and himself.
I glanced at Ari. “Ready?”
She nodded. She was carrying a broom and a wet-mop. I was armed with a duster and a box of heavy-duty garbage bags. “And able.”
“Then onward, Wheeler!” I pointed to the stairs. “You first.”
“You just want me to make sure there aren’t any spiders hanging out at the top.”
“You know me well,” I said, laughing. I wasn’t arachnophobic, but I wasn’t that fond of the little buggers. I loved snakes, but spiders were not my favorite creatures.
The attic was well-kept. My mother had deep cleaned the house from top to bottom twice a year, so even though there was dust and a few cobwebs, and an occasional spider web, it wasn’t the attic from a horror movie. In fact, it was rather cozy. My father had tiled the floor, saying that, should the roof ever leak, no hardwoods or carpet would get ruined or spawn mold. The large room was finished, and my mother had painted the walls a creamy white to bring in more light through the windows on either end. The attic was almost the size of the second story.
One side was used for storage, and my mother had turned the other side into a crafting sanctuary. While she had kept her magical supplies in the library for easy access, she stored all her fabric and yarn and scrapbooking supplies in the attic. There was also a long folding table and several chairs, along with a very bright LED lamp. There was also a TV up here. I had only been back in Moonshadow Bay three months, and as I said, I had left the attic alone during that time.
“Wow, your parents really made use of this space,” Ari said.
“Yeah, they did. While I was growing up, the attic was pretty much beams and wood and insulation. But about ten years ago, my father got the renovation bug and my mother told me they were going to ‘optimize’ their use of the house. They must have redone the attic at that point, because I know that with the last set of renovations, they focused on the downstairs and their master bath.”
I looked around, suddenly feeling melancholy. There were signs of my mother everywhere—in the silk flowers that graced the sideboard, in the delicate lace curtains on the windows, in the protection charms that hung on the walls. I wondered if my father had ever felt the urge to join her up here. He thought he was from a weak magical line, but since he actually had a strong witchblood heritage, I wondered if he had ever felt compelled to work with magic. Given he had no clue that Rowan Firesong—the strongest and oldest witch in town—was his mother, I doubted that he had ever been to the Aseer.
“What are you thinking about?” Ari asked.
“The fact that Rowan Firesong is my grandmother,” I said. “I wonder whether my father ever questioned his lineage. He had to feel the energy my mother worked with—it was in his blood. So why didn’t he ever question his roots?”
“Maybe he did, but he never told you,” Ari said, looking around. “Where do you want to start?”
“I guess the craft cabinets. I’m about as handy with a needle and thread as I am with a chain saw. Which is to say, Stand back, the woman is dangerous.” I sighed, opening the first cabinet. There were stacks of neatly folded fabric remnants and yardage. While some of it was pretty, I knew I’d never use most of it. There was also a pile of empty charm bags. Those I would keep. I decided that I could probably sew a straight line, so I would keep the stack of precut squares that sat next to the bags. Everything else, except for the thread and basic sewing tools, went into one of the garbage bags.
“What about the yarn? This is good quality and might come in handy for knot magic,” Ari said, holding up one of the skeins.
I shrugged. “Yes, but I don’t need two shelves of it. Keep one of each of the basic colors—and two of black, red, and white. The rest can go. I’ll keep all the embroidery thread, that can be used in so many charms. But the patterns can go. I’ll never sew a dress, my mother was skinnier than I was, and I don’t entertain any desire to turn into Suzy Seamstress any time soon.”
We moved on to the next cabinet. I kept the modeling clay, but opted to get rid of the papier-mâché strips. I kept all of the blank wooden plaques and paints—they looked like fun and I liked to paint at times—and the sketchbooks. I also kept the rotary tool, and a wood burner and the glue guns.
“I guess I’m keeping more than I thought,” I said. “I can see a use for a number of these things.”
“I can too, and you can always get rid of them later, if you find you don’t use them.” Ari carried the bag of material and other goodies I was donating over to the stairway and dropped it down to the floor below. “All right, the storage side. That will take more time, given there are a number of trunks and boxes there.”
I grimaced. “Right. We may have to ask Killian to come carry things down if they’re too heavy. Okay, let’s dive in.”
The storage area contained at least ten trunks and several pieces of furniture. I eyed the two standing lamps that were in front of the boxes. Neither was my style, and I picked up one.
“These go. Both of them.”
We carried them over to an empty area in the large room and set them to one side. There were also several chairs and a small table. The table was one of those with a built-in chessboard and drawers that held the pieces. And the drawers had beautiful silver pieces inside. I smiled.
“This was my father’s. He and I used to play every weekend. I want to find a place for it downstairs.”
“I remember that—you used to rope me into playing with you. I never told you how much I hated the game because I knew you loved it,” Ari said.
I stared at her. “Why didn’t you say anything? I loved playing but I never wanted to rope you into doing something you didn’t like!”
“You just seemed so geeked out about it. But I’ll play backgamm
on with you any day!”
“You’ve met your match. I used to play backgammon with my dorm neighbor every evening while we got stoned,” I said, snickering. “I’m a whiz.”
“You’re a whiz at just about everything,” Ari said. “I always envied your brain.”
“And I envied your ability to climb a rope. Good grief, remember old lady Krump? She hated me because I just couldn’t do what the other girls could. I could barely get up on the balance beam, let alone do a flip on it.” I rubbed the top of the chessboard. It was inlaid marble into the oak. “But chess… My father taught me to play when I was five. Every Sunday morning, Mom would make waffles and bacon and sausages…and we would sit and play while we ate. She would paint while we did that. It’s one memory I’ll never let go of.” I drifted off, thinking about my parents. “I’m one of the lucky ones, you know. I had a good childhood. I’ll treasure that always.”
Ari gave me a quick hug and let out a sigh. “I’m sorry, I know you miss them.”
“I do,” I said. “I hope they know how much I wish they were still here.”
They had died in a car crash not yet a year ago, and I still couldn’t get used to the idea that they were both gone. It had been so sudden. The frantic call from my aunt Teran at nine p.m. that my parents were in the hospital, to me speeding up the freeway, praying to every god who would listen that I’d get to the hospital in time and in one piece, to arriving at eleven p.m., only to find my mother crashing just as I got there.
The doctors worked on her frantically as I sat in the hall, numb, unable to speak. She had died before I could say good-bye. My father had already been pronounced brain-dead and I had to make the decision to let him go. That had been one of the hardest things I had ever had to do.
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