Alix (The Coven's Grove Chronicles #1)

by Virginia Hunter

  Alix

  The Coven’s Grove Chronicles

  Book I

  by

  Virginia L. Hunter

  Copyright © 2016 Grove Publishing, LLC

  All Rights Reserved

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  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.

  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. Please purchase only authorized electronic or physical editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Dedicated to my loving family.

  Alix

  The Coven’s Grove Chronicles

  Alix hadn’t always been gifted. In fact, she hadn’t been or done much of anything until after she’d turned sixteen—that’s when things had really gone to shit. Her mother was murdered, her father...well, no one knew where he was. That left Alix on her own in a selfish world filled with people who didn’t give a damn.

  Nine years of hell had passed since her sweet sixteen and the discovery of her gift. So far, she’d managed to handle everything the world had thrown at her. Everything until Troy Sullivan strolled into the tattoo parlor where she worked.

  Alix had known men before, sure, but none of them could hold a candle to the man that walked up to the counter looking to get some art done. As fate would have it, Alix finds herself on the run with the wouldbe man of her dreams while a band of fanatics, hellbent on finding her, give chase.

  All Alix had ever wanted was a normal life. What she’d gotten was a messed up tragedy. And now, she’ll have to fight tooth and nail just to keep that.

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  I call across the great divide

  join with us side by side

  ancient evils again once roam

  time has come for a new home

  come sisters thirteen

  you are needed to fight the unforeseen

  only a witch ready to see

  may find her path to me

  we will no longer stand alone

  a complete coven ensures evil overthrown

  Miranda tightened her grip on each of her sister’s hands, as she recited the words, her voice building in intensity with each line. Hannah and Rhea, connected through a bond stronger than blood or friendship, recited the spell along with her.

  The pain in Miranda’s throat crept down into her chest, but she couldn’t cease in her chanting. None of them could. Once started, the ritual could not be stopped—not without consequences. She began to doubt the wisdom of attempting such an incantation with so few sisters, but what choice did she have? It had been over five years since finding Hannah, and not a single sign of their kind had appeared since. She had to do something more drastic.

  The old adage “strength in numbers” was a mantra that truly applied to witches. History had proven those who could work magic weren’t welcome in societies, high or low, and they would be expelled from such communities with extreme prejudice. Miranda had already gone through such a purging once, and she didn’t intend to experience it again.

  Hannah fell to her knees, her voice cracked, but she continued to chant.

  With Rhea’s help, Miranda pulled Hannah to her feet.

  Over and over they recited the holy rite. Miranda’s mouth became dry from the repetition, but still she continued. Again, she squeezed their hands in hopes of empowering them. We must not stop, she thought desperately. They were so close; Miranda could feel the energy pulsing within the roots under her feet, and she risked a glance at the stone and wood dais they surrounded.

  The cool colors of the green-blue lichen that covered the sacred platform had warmed into shades of gold, and glowed softly against the dark night. Tiny pinpricks of white light sparked off the stone, to float lazily through the air in all directions, lighting up a forest the likes of which none had seen in over a million years. Ferns, vines, and flowers of enormous sizes, packed the spaces between the snaking roots of trees that would make the largest Redwood appear small in stature.

  Hope flooded Miranda’s heart, and she belted out the next line with renewed vigor.

  A low thrumming vibrated from the dais into the soft earth around them. Each following quake became stronger. In turn, the gentle glow became more brilliant, until a surge of golden light suddenly burst into the star-filled sky. The blazing light engulfed the three women, and continued to radiate out into the forest sanctuary around them. The beam flashed for only a few seconds, as the accompanying shockwave knocked Miranda and the others to the ground.

  Light still pulsed from the living altar after Miranda crawled to her knees. She shook her head, and blinked away the blurriness in her vision. Foolish, she thought, reiterating her lack of wisdom, as she looked to her companions.

  Rhea was still conscious, and sitting on her haunches, while Hannah laid on her back in a soft bed of grass not far from the dais. The young, dark-haired woman groaned, as she propped herself up onto her elbows, looking around, dazed.

  “Did it work?” Hannah finally breathed.

  Miranda smiled, as all of them stared at the glowing dais. “Yes, it worked.”

  Alix hadn’t always been gifted. In fact, she hadn’t been or done much of anything until after she’d turned sixteen—that’s when things had really gone to shit. Nine years had passed since that fateful day, but her situation only seemed to worsen year after year. Until a couple years ago that is.

  She set the outline for one of the shop’s standard tats on her desk, and then poured cherry-red ink into the well of her tattoo machine. Two clients, twitterpated fools that they were, had come into the shop wanting to commemorate their never-ending love by having matching hearts forever embedded into their skin. At least she had convinced them to not use their names.

  “You want it here?” Alix pointed to the back of the girl’s left shoulder.

  The smooth-skinned, spunky blond, managed to pull her eyes away from her Prince Charming long enough to smile, and nod.

  “Okay, here we go,” Alix said, as she set the bottle of ink next to her ceramic Buddha. She’d picked him up somewhere along her travels on the East Coast. He was a cute, little fat guy she hadn’t been able to part with. The chubby god had been the first thing she’d stolen after her mother died. Her dad had been gone for years, but her mother... Well, she had stayed to fight the good fight, raising a child on her own in a sea of single mothers trying to do the same. Alix knew she had done the best she could. The two of them never had much in the way of money or nice things, but they’d had each other. For a time, at least.

  “Ouch!” The blonde squealed, as Alix pressed the iron to her shoulder.

  Charming shot a glare at Alix.

  “Sorry.” She pointed to the tip of the machine, “The needles, ya know.”

  Her answer seemed to calm Loverboy’s spiked testosterone. He leaned back against the wall, and returned to gazing into Beauty’s ey
es without a word.

  Most of those nine years since that fateful day Alix had spent alone—a desperate vagabond. Her mother had died a few days before her birthday, leaving Alix a cardboard box full of heirlooms as a present. After that, it was skid city. Alix learned a lot about herself, and survival during the first few years of her scavenging. The most crucial lesson being: Take care of yourself because no one else will. She had lived by that mantra wholeheartedly until Hank, the parlor’s owner, had pulled her off the streets just over two years back. He was a loveable old biker, with a potbelly, no hair on his head, and a handlebar moustache. He’d seen her talent on the walls in the back alleys of Brooklyn’s business district, and decided that if she could wield a paint can so artistically, she could learn to handle the iron.

  He hadn’t been wrong.

  Alix took to the art like a veteran of twenty years. She became the “Go-to-girl” within six months of laying tats on anyone willing to pay. Now, all the standard designs that littered the yellowed walls of the parlor, could be executed with nothing more than a flick of her wrist. She had actually done one blindfolded on a dare recently. A mistake in hindsight. Hank had walked in while she was midway through the process; he hadn’t made a sound, but she had known he was there. Regardless, she continued her work, and the tat came out perfectly. Not a single flaw. To a bunch of drunken fools looking to make their friend commit to a potentially horrible mistake, her feat meant next to nothing. To Hank however… Well, he hadn’t looked at her the same way since.

  The blonde squealed in pain again, and bucked, as if she were a branded calf.

  Alix jerked the iron away, before it made a godawful mess. “You sure you wanna do this?”

  Beauty’s tear-streaked face turned from Alix to Charming. “I...I’m not sure.”

  Charming frowned. “Baby you promised,” he whined. Then his frustrated gaze darted to Alix. “Can you make it so it’s not so painful?”

  Alix blinked. She could have afforded her own shop by now if she had gotten a dollar every time somebody asked that ridiculous question. “Uh, not really.”

  In actuality though, she could make it less painful. Painless, in fact. It was part of her “gift.” Ever since she turned sixteen, Alix had been able to transfer images from her mind onto objects. Paper, concrete, cars, and even people, became a canvas with a mere thought. No drawing with a pencil, or painting with a brush. The image would just appear where she wanted it. How she wanted it. There were other facets to her gift, but she rarely performed those on people other than herself.

  “But you’re supposed to be the best,” he scoffed. “What the hell?”

  Alix sighed, set her machine down, and stood so that she was facing Charming. “This isn’t for everyone, Bud. And she obviously isn’t up for the ride.”

  His frown deepened.

  “Here.” Alix dug the cash he had paid out of the tray on her work table, and offered it to him. “Take it and buy her some jewelry. That’ll go over a lot better, I promise.”

  “That sounds good to me,” Beauty piped in, rubbing her shoulder.

  Charming’s jaw worked as if he were gnawing on a piece of rawhide. After looking from Alix to Beauty a few times, he finally snatched the money from Alix’s hand and grumbled, “Whatever.” He stomped his way out the door, dragging Beauty behind him.

  Alix shook her head. When the feeling’s real, you shouldn’t need a tattoo to prove it, she thought bitterly. It’s not that she hated the idea of lovers coming into the shop looking to create permanent mementoes of their relationships. She just hated when both parties weren’t kosher with the deal, and the fact that she herself hadn’t found the guy to do it with.

  It’d been over a year since her last relationship, and that had been rocky at best—she always seemed to attract the broken ones.

  Alix plopped down on her stool, and began clearing the ink out of the machine. I need a vacation. That trip down south she’d been rolling over in her mind the past few months was overdue. Hank wouldn’t be happy, but he’d been kind of a dick recently, so he would just have to deal. She wished his reaction to her “blindfolded feat” had been different. She’d hoped he would’ve been proud, but instead he’d been freaked out. To be fair, his response hadn’t been all that surprising or unjustified. What she had done was pretty much impossible, unless you were gifted of course. It just stung that he’d reacted that way.

  Alix slumped in her seat. Despite the fact that Hank was acting squirrely toward her, he and the people of this tattoo parlor were like family, and she couldn’t leave them in a lurch. She resolved to ask about taking some time off, but not to cram it down his throat.

  The bell to the front door chimed as someone came in. It was getting pretty late, and only the real wack-jobs came in when it was late. She decided to let Sam get this one.

  After a minute a deep voice asked, “Anybody here?”

  Dammit Sam, where the hell are you, girl? she thought, as she finished cleaning the machine. Usually Mike was here too, but he had made arrangements last week to be at a rock concert this evening. That left the two girls by themselves for a few hours, until Hank made it in. “Yeah, just a minute,” she called, and got up to go to the front.

  Alix hesitated, changing her mind about stepping to the counter, and moved instead to the royal purple curtains Hank used as a partition for each of the artist’s work space. There was no sense in waltzing up front without checking to see if the guy was holding a shotgun or something. Armed robbery wasn’t a common thing in this area, but it’s not like it hadn’t happened before. She peeked through the velvety fabric, and when her gaze fell on the guy, she froze in place.

  His deep-blue eyes accented the shadow of the light ginger beard that covered his heavy chin. A thick neck swiveled, as he looked at the wall, from one design to the next. The thin black shirt he wore hugged his broad shoulders, and stretched tightly over a thick chest. It continued down his trim waist, to tuck into a pair of worn blue jeans. Well-rounded muscles encased his legs and butt, and his left ass-cheek twitched a bit as one of his black boots tapped softly on the floor.

  Oh shit, Alix thought, stepping away from the curtain. She darted to the mirror attached to her workstation. She wasn’t one to primp, but she’d be damned if she was going out there looking like she’d pulled a twelve-hour shift.

  Her hair was still decent. The purple fringe shone brightly against the jet of her long, straight hair, and her pale green eyes. She reapplied some pink lipstick, and shifted her bra around to give the girls a little perk. She stepped back to look herself over, turning so that she could see her butt. Good God, rhinos have smaller asses.

  The side door opened suddenly. Sam stepped in from the alley, her hands overflowing with soft drinks and fast food. Alix had completely forgotten that her friend had gone to pick up dinner. Her dark brown eyes caught Alix’s. Sam’s brows came together curiously, picking up on the fact that something was up. She looked toward the front through one of the parted curtains.

  Alix didn’t wait for Sam’s reaction, and sprinted for the counter.

  “Oh, you bitch!” Sam managed with a laugh, before Alix burst through the heavy curtains.

  Slowing to a fast walk, Alix smiled, as she approached the man who seemed to become more attractive as she got closer. Sam’s loss, my gain, she thought before asking, “Lookin’ for something in particular?”

  His well-muscled body moved smooth as a jaguar when he turned toward her. He ran a hand through his hair, and smiled at her. “Yeah. I’m looking for protection.”

  “You”—Alix eyed him up and down—“need protection?”

  He chuckled. The sound was warm and inviting. “A symbol of protection, I mean.”

  “Oh, I get ya,” Alix replied. She walked up to the counter and caught his scent. It was fresh and filled with virility. She paused, pushing the thought of tearing his shirt off right there on the spot back into the recesses of her mind. I know it’s been awhile, but get a grip woman. She
placed her hands on the counter to settle her nerves as he came closer. “I think we can find something for you,” she managed.

  “Sounds good,” he said, coming to a stop at the front desk.

  Alix wasn’t an especially tall girl. Coming in at about five-foot-five, she always had to look up at the guys. Mr. Handsome was no exception. He wasn’t overly tall, just under six foot, which was a perfect fit for her.

  His gaze moved over her body, and lingered on her nether region.

  She started to feel a bit awkward, as he continued to stare and narrowed his eyes at her crotch. She fought the urge to pull the tiny black half-shirt she wore down over her pierced navel. Not that she could, there was hardly enough fabric to cover her breasts, let alone her midriff. Now, under such scrutiny, she regretted her choice of attire.

  “Nice belt buckle,” he said, finally.

  A wave of relief washed over her. The creepy suspicion that Mr. Handsome was a closet weirdy evaporated. Alix looked down at the belt buckle she had pulled out of the cardboard box her mother had left to her nine years earlier. The golden skull that glared back at her was the gaudiest piece of costume jewelry she’d ever seen. She loved it. Crystal rhinestones covered the top part of its head almost completely. Red, blue, and more clear stones, decorated the golden crossed bones that sat behind the skull. She had added her own bit of embellishment to put a splash of purple, her favorite color, into the garish affair: an eye patch with similar accent stones, and a strip of deep fuchsia ribbon. “It was my grandmother’s. She was kinda strange.”

  He shrugged. “Looks cool to me.”

  Heat came to Alix’s cheeks. God, I’m acting like a twelve-year-old.

  “I like your tattoos too. Did you do them yourself?”

  She glanced down at her stomach. Thankfully it was pretty firm; sit-ups, with a short jog every day, could work wonders. That wasn’t what he’d commented on though. The purple flower that she’d placed around her bellybutton was his focus, along with the matching set of vines that weaved down her arms. “Yeah, I did.”