by Jaci Miller
Table Of Contents
Also by Jaci Miller
Dedication
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
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Acknowledgments
About the Author
The Arcana: Book 3
The Scrying Trilogy
Copyright © 2019 by Jaci Miller
Solitary Pen Press
Cover design and interior formatting by Streetlight Graphics
All rights reserved. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it or in any form without permission.
Print ISBN: 978-0-9988069-4-5
Ebook ISBN: 978-0-9988069-5-2
First Edition 2019
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is purely coincidental.
www.jacimiller.com
www.solitarypenpress.com
Also by Jaci Miller
The Scrying Trilogy
The Scrying
The Hallowed
Anthologies
Realms of Magic, A Spellcasters Story Collection: The Dark Season
Dedication
To all those who love to write,
and those who love to read.
“Walk into the darkness but do not be seduced by the illusion.
For if you cannot see your way through to the light within, all will be lost.”
-Adaridge, the last Druid of Thanissia
Chapter 1
Christmas 2014
The party was in full swing when Lucien Beck exited the elevator from the thirteenth floor. An energized buzz drifted toward him. The second-floor gallery, a wide-open space with a grand balcony overlooking the main lobby, echoed with laughter and shouts.
Holiday decorations highlighted the revelry as the guests unwound from the workday. The forty-foot Christmas tree stood at the center of the lobby the top visible over the wrought iron and glass railing. An impressive silver star sat atop the crown twinkling as the joyous sound of holiday music filled the air. Tiny fairy lights illuminated a gold banner that read Beck Holdings Annual Christmas Party.
She outdid herself, Lucien thought.
His eyes searched for her in the crowd finding her standing by the staircase laughing with the other guests. Sensing the familiar gaze, she turned and smiled giving him a subtle wave. Lucien nodded in response and moved through the throng of holiday revelers, shaking hands and acknowledging guests, until he reached the makeshift bar at the back of the gallery.
“The usual Mr. Beck?” The bubbly blonde bartender said, batting her eyelashes as she flashed him a pearly-white smile.
“Yes, thank you. Jenny, isn’t it?”
She blushed, nodding and handing him an iced champagne flute of sparkling Perrier. Her fingers brushed his hand, and she smiled coyly before flitting away to help another guest.
“Does it ever get tiring?”
“What, throwing holiday parties for my employees and clients?” He turned to address the statuesque woman beside him.
Dressed in white, her pantsuit was a stunning offset to her rich caramel skin and amber eyes. With her graying hair pulled back into a perfect chignon, she was both stylish and classic.
“Hello, Celeste. I’m glad you could make it.”
She ignored his pleasantries. “You know what I mean Lucien. The endless parade of faceless women.”
He shrugged, indifferent to Celeste’s astute observation.
At thirty-four Lucien Beck was New York City’s most influential and eligible bachelor. CEO and sole shareholder of Beck Holdings, the multi-million-dollar company he built from the ground up. In the past decade Lucien had amassed a commercial real estate empire but in the past few years had branched out, buying failing businesses and re-energizing them or liquidating their assets. Today his portfolio included commercial properties, a news organization, and a five-star restaurant. His charitable organizations comprised of two animal shelters, a youth center, and a small medical facility located in the Bronx and aiding low-income individuals.
Lucien scanned the familiar faces in the room. Besides his employees, many of the guests in attendance at this year’s annual holiday party were charitable donors. Celeste, one of the most important.
She cast a pitiful look toward the young bartender who still couldn’t take her eyes off Lucien. “They will never learn.”
“Learn what?”
“That you have no interest in any of them, past a night in their bed.”
“Don’t be so crass Celeste, it’s beneath you,” Lucien said in a teasing manner.
He and Celeste Winslow had been friends and colleagues for the better part of a decade. They had a strong business relationship and a comfortable friendship. Lucien admired her tenacity even though sometimes her tact lacked.
He glanced at the stunning woman beside him and smiled. She’d done well for herself.
Celeste grew up poor, married rich, and became a widow twenty years later. Although many called her a gold-digger, she liked to think of herself as an opportunist.
Growing up in the heart of the Louisiana bayou Celeste was a poor black girl with no future, but she refused to become a statistic. The first in her family to graduate high school and the valedictorian of her college class, Celeste flourished. After graduation, she got a job at one of New York City’s premier financial institutions specializing in multi-million-dollar portfolios. Her natural beauty and talent for numbers soon elicited the attention of the owner. Despite their thirty-eight-year age difference, they married within months. After his untimely death, Celeste thrived rising in the ranks of New York society and becoming a respected power broker. As the CEO of the most prominent financial institution in the city, Celeste took her late husband’s significant estate and tripled it. Her business prowess silenced her critics.
“Are you having a nice time?” Lucien inquired. His eyes drifted, searching the crowd.
Celeste noticed the redheaded woman who drew his attention. “Have you slept with her, yet?”
“Who?”
“Don’t play games, Lucien. Your assistant that’s who.”
His eyes clouded over, and his jaw clenched. “Lilith is off-limi
ts.”
Lucien’s strange obsession with the redhead was so unlike him but Celeste knew better than to push. “Is Lilith ready to come to our little group?” she asked moving the conversation toward a more acceptable topic.
“Soon.”
Celeste mused. Lucien had found Lilith on the streets a little more than a year ago. Taking her in, he’d gifted her a small apartment in one of his buildings and hired her as his personal assistant at Beck Holdings. He was incongruously overprotective yet kept her at arms-length personally, a dynamic that didn’t fit the Lucien Beck she knew.
“We will be ready when you are, Lucien.”
He nodded curtly his eyes flicking back to the redhead weaving her way through the crowd, greeting guests. Lilith had come into his life unexpectedly but at an essential time and now was part of a very specific future. Lucien needed Lilith to be guided by Celeste and the others, but he didn’t want to scare her. His plans required her to trust him completely so when the time came, she would do as asked without hesitation. “Give her a few more months, and you can introduce her to the group.”
She nodded. “The Coven will be waiting.”
Celeste Winslow was not only one of the most influential women in New York City but also the High Priestess of a secular group who lived in its shadows. Practicing the magical arts in seclusion, the Coven would help cultivate a side of Lilith locked too deep for Lucien to access.
“I must make the rounds,” Lucien said, kissing Celeste chastely on the cheek. “We will talk soon. I have something important I need to discuss with you after the holidays.”
“Of course. Merry Christmas, Lucien,” she said as he walked away.
Even though they’d been friends for a long time another side of Lucien Beck existed, one he didn’t want anyone to know—a dark side. Obsessively private Lucien rarely let others get close. Celeste knew he hid secrets but never dared to ask. He’d only ever trusted her with one and even then, it was because she could help him keep it.
Celeste sighed as he took Lilith by the elbow and whispered something in her ear. She found his interest in her curious. His philanthropic nature drove him to help those in need, but Lilith was different. Whatever Lucien Beck wanted with the little redheaded waif Celeste would probably never be privy to—and her instincts told her it was probably for the best.
He stood staring out his office window at the city far below.
The executive suite, encased in a deathly quiet this time of night, soothed his frayed nerves. The last of the partygoers had left about thirty minutes ago, and he relished the silence.
Lucien loved this time of night when the office was his alone and the lights of the city stretched out before him. Darkness lay beneath the acres of concrete, a hunger morphing the city into something primal, something he desired to be a part of.
Taking the key from around his neck, Lucien unlocked the door at the back of his spacious office and stepped inside. Pushing aside suits and coats he slid a hand down the back wall until he found the hidden panel. Mechanisms clicked and whirred as he turned the key, and a section of the wall slid open to reveal a small elevator within.
Lucien stepped in and opened a second panel. A red beam flickered from the high-tech retina scanner hidden inside. A series of electronic beeps sounded as he leaned forward and placed his eye close to the panel. In response, the elevator began to descend.
The doors opened revealing a dimly lit room. It flooded with a soft white light as his presence initiated the motion sensors. The stainless steel walls reflected the glow. The single room had a king-size bed against the far wall and a small kitchen near the elevator. Located to the right of the bed, on the other side of a protruding half wall was a full bathroom.
The one access to this room was the elevator.
It was not only a fortress but a prison.
Lucien walked to the kitchen and pulled out a small bottle of Perrier, taking a long sip before proceeding to the office area.
He turned on the electronic panel embedded into the wall and a bank of video screens lit up. Images of the lobby, both elevators, the gallery, and his personal office appeared. Lucien studied the silent images before opening the top drawer in the desk and pulling out a bulky manila folder.
Pouring the contents of the envelope on the desktop, Lucien shifted through the numerous private investigator’s reports and notes until he found the grainy photo. The piercing green eyes of the woman staring back at him were intense severing deep into his soul. He didn’t know who she was or where to find her, he just knew he must. Someday their paths would cross but until that time something urgent required his attention.
Lucien put down the photo and picked up the Offer to Purchase waiting for his signature. It took him years to discover its identity and its whereabouts but to think it was in such a mundane place—an old flour mill in Brighton Hill.
The town had no intention of selling and he knew he was in for a fight, but he needed this property for it was a place that would ensure the future his lost legacy had intended.
Chapter 2
March 1, 2016, 3:32 am
After Dane left, Stevie stood in the cold darkness numb with grief and shock. Paralyzed by the overwhelming horror inside the house and the haunting change in Dane’s eyes the hours ticked by unnoticed. She remembered dialing the phone and hearing the concern resonating in his voice before everything went black.
Huddled in the back corner of the yard she managed to get as far from the house as possible while still staying close enough to ensure Ella Watts wasn’t alone. The images of that room, the smell and fear haunted her memories as the cold fingers of death reached out toward her from the house’s darkened bulk.
The night air sunk deep into her bones as she remained transfixed in the backyard for hours, Diego by her side, until he arrived. Now Mr. Callan stood above her, his face ashen, his voice tense as bright green, worried eyes bore deep into her own.
“Stevie. Are you alright?”
Flinching at the sound of his voice she shut her eyes and thought back to the phone call, the conversation itself still murky in her memory.
How long has it been?
Her hand shook as she grasped the hand he extended and got to her feet. “Yes, I’m fine,” she answered. The sorrow buried deep within his bright green eyes was evident and her bottom lip quivered. “I’m so sorry.”
Mr. Callan’s strong arms encircled her, his chin resting on top of her head. The warmth penetrating through his wool coat soothed her, and she leaned into the soft fabric and his fatherly embrace.
A sorrowful shudder ran through his chest as Nathan Callan swallowed his pain and grief.
Breathing in his comforting scent, her aching fear diminished somewhat. No longer alone and no tears left to cry her body slumped, grief and fear had emptied her completely.
“We have to hurry,” he said, releasing her from his embrace. “There is much to be done before the sun rises.”
The sadness pooling in his jade eyes betrayed the confidence his firm voice conveyed, but she knew Mr. Callan would not let it paralyze him. There was too much at stake.
“Are you sure you’re fine?”
Nodding her assurances Stevie glanced around the dark yard. Shadowy figures appeared moving wordlessly toward where they stood.
Mr. Callan had come to her aid, but he hadn’t come alone.
Five individuals moved in behind him, three men and two women. They didn’t speak just gazed at her with curious eyes. Dressed in black they wore matching pendants hanging from a thin leather string around their necks—a simple silver Celtic cross. Crudely etched lines marred the smooth metal reminding her of tally marks.
“Stevie, these are members of The Syndicate.”
She looked from one solemn face to the next. “The Syndicate?”
Mr. Callan nodded. “An elite group of gifted witches
that ensure magic remains unseen by mortals.”
He turned to a young man, whose eyes shone gold in the muted moonlight. “See what remnants remain, but don’t disturb the scene. I will be up in a moment.”
The young man nodded. His yellow eyes flicked toward her before he turned and vanished into the dark house.
Mr. Callan addressed the others with a solemn nod. Without a word they turned and disappeared back into the shadows.
“What’s going on?” She motioned toward the gloom. “Why are they here?”
Mr. Callan sighed. “The sun will be up in a few hours and at that time I will come home from a business trip and find that my wife has passed in her sleep from an apparent heart attack. The Syndicate will make that a reality before I call the police and an ambulance.”
An image of the bloody horror in the bedroom rose in her mind. “How?” Her voice barely a whisper, cracked with emotion.
“Each member, including myself, possesses a particular skill set. I’m unable to get into it as time is short. You must trust me when I say, this is for the best.” His gaze trailed to the dark house. “Alistair will confirm my suspicions, but I am confident this is the work of dark magic. Dane’s mother was killed for a specific reason.”
His voice cracked with emotion as the last sentence fell from his lips. He slighted, then pulled his shoulders back, pushing the emotions inside where they would not be outwardly seen.
Stevie noticed the way Mr. Callan never let his vulnerabilities show for too long. Dane was a lot like her father in this way.
“But, why Mrs. Watts?”
Mr. Callan shook his head. “It’s unclear. Hopefully, Alistair can discover something that will be helpful.”
“What can I do?”
“I need you to come back inside with me. You have to tell me exactly what you and my daughter witnessed.”
Involuntarily she took a step back as the Callan’s home drew her gaze. Her hands began to shake, and her eyes widened.
“What I ask is difficult Stevie, but necessary.”
Diego pushed his head into her leg in reassurance. “OK,” she muttered, her fingers grazing his bushy fur.