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

by Mandy M. Roth

  Feeling bold, Bram nudged her hand with his gently and winked. “Kind of.”

  Her laughter made him smile. “You’re turning out to not be the giant tool I thought you must be.”

  “Uh, thank you?”

  She snorted. “You get what I mean, right?”

  “I do,” he said, his hand still brushing hers. “In case you have a sudden change of heart and want to leave, only to never speak to me again, I want you to know how much getting to share this—our history—with you has meant to me. It’s a legacy I didn’t think would ever be known to you.”

  She took a deep breath. “Why hide it from me? I mean, I guess I sort of understand you wanting to keep me safe when I was little. But after Mom died, why didn’t you pull me aside at the funeral and tell me who you were?”

  “You were grieving,” he stated evenly. “It wasn’t the time.”

  She met his gaze. “If I wouldn’t have come to Grimm Cove, would you have ever told me?”

  “No,” he admitted. “Because I’d convinced myself that keeping you in the dark also kept you safe. I understand now that was foolish.”

  “Yeah,” she said, taking an interest in the journal once again. “It was. You know, you’re surrounded by a lot of people. You’d think one of them would have had the balls to stand up to you and point out as much.”

  Her moxie didn’t shock him. If anything, it only drove home how much like his mother she was. “Actually, someone did have the audacity to point out how wrong he thought my choice was.”

  One of her brows shot up. “Did you eat him?”

  Bram chuckled. “Eat him?”

  “Drain him dry. Suck the life from him. Stick a straw through his eye and feast your fill,” she said, grinning as she did.

  “A straw through the eye? Really?” he asked, enjoying being teased by her.

  She shrugged. “You got a thing against plastic straws? No judgment from me. I’ve seen the video with the sea turtle getting one pulled from its nose.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said.

  She inclined her head. “Not a big YouTube guy?”

  He stared blankly at her.

  She laughed. “Never mind. Okay, so about the person who stood up to you about me. Where are they? I’d like to thank them for trying.”

  “Seward and I had something of a falling out,” confessed Bram. “It’s been a bit since we last spoke.”

  She kept watching him, curiosity in her eyes. “How long is a bit?”

  He debated on telling her the truth. He’d already kept so much from her for so long, damaging her ability to trust in him. Lying again, even by way of omissions, wouldn’t endear her to him any. “Shortly after your mother’s passing, Seward put his foot down, insisting you be told everything. That you be brought here, to Grimm Cove, and trained as a slayer so that you’d be able to protect yourself should the need arise.”

  “But you thought otherwise?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “And it ticked him off enough that he stopped talking to you?”

  Bram tapped the tabletop softly. “You know how it is I became what I am, correct?”

  “I think so,” she said.

  “Seward and I shared a building in London. I practiced medicine and taught at the university level and he was a psychiatrist. He was known for taking on hard cases. As was I. My specialty was rare diseases, and a passion of mine was trying to find cures for them all. The rarer the better.”

  Dana sat back in her chair. “So, you’re a doctor?”

  “I was,” he corrected, feeling very removed from the life he’d once had. “Now I head the Van Helsing slayers among other things.”

  “From the paperwork I found at the law practice I took over, you’ve got your hand in a lot of businesses,” she said.

  “Over the years, I learned it was best to diversify my income, and time gave me ample opportunities to do as much,” he replied. “What about you? Do you miss your position in New York?”

  “With the district attorney’s office?”

  He nodded.

  “I thought I would. That maybe I’d get down here and realize I made a giant mistake.” She touched the journal more. “I wondered if I was having a midlife crisis or something like that.”

  “And were you?” Bram questioned.

  “I think I was always supposed to be here,” she said in a hushed tone, her gaze lowered to the tabletop. “I don’t mean it as a dig at you. It’s not. I just…well, here feels right. Like it should have always been this way.”

  Emotions welled in his throat and Bram found it difficult to speak.

  When she looked up, and he saw her eyes were moist and rimmed with red, he lost his battle with his own emotions. A lone tear worked its way from him. He turned his head rapidly, hoping she hadn’t noticed. Now was her time to share her feelings. It wasn’t his.

  Her hand slid over his and she gave it a gentle squeeze. “I don’t know if I want to hit something or ugly cry.”

  “Ugly cry?” he asked.

  She snorted. “Sob uncontrollably while your mascara runs and snot drips from your nose.”

  That left Bram looking back at her. A grin slid over his mouth. “Good thing I’m not wearing any makeup.”

  She kept her hand on his. “If you ever have time, I’d love a translation of this journal. I like hearing what your mother’s journey to becoming a slayer was. Does it talk about your father?”

  He stiffened. “It does.”

  “From your expression that’s not a good thing.”

  He sighed. “Dana, there are things about my past—about my father and brothers—that I know, when revealed, will ruin what is starting between us. When you learn the true scope of the evil deeds I’ve done—the heinous acts I’ve committed…I don’t think I can let you go again. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done—sending you away as an infant. I know that it would be even harder to say goodbye now.”

  I would not permit her to go, said the demon, chiming in for the first time since Bram had sat to go through the journal with Dana.

  He grunted. “You would not have a choice.”

  “I’m sorry, but what?” demanded Dana, squeezing his hand more.

  Bram bit at his lower lip a moment. “I was speaking to what lives inside me.”

  Her eyes widened. “The vampire demon part?”

  “Yes.”

  “And it talks back?” she asked, seeming skeptical.

  “It does.”

  “That normally means someone is crazy,” she replied with a half-smile. “Do the two of you sit around cracking jokes to each other?”

  No, said the demon. Because he lacks a sense of humor.

  “You are an asshole,” snapped Bram. He gasped when he realized it seemed as though he was calling Dana one. “Not you. Him.”

  Dana’s lips quivered before she outright laughed. “I so followed that logic!”

  He chuckled. “Good.”

  It took her a second to gather herself to speak once more. “Dare I ask what you were calling your inner demon an asshole for?”

  “Mostly because he is one,” said Bram. “But he informed me that he would not allow you to leave should you decide here is not for you.”

  She studied him. “Can he hear everything I say?”

  “Yes,” said Bram with a nod. “Speaking to me is the same as speaking to him. But the same is not always true in reverse. There have been a few times since he came to reside in me that rage and bloodlust have left me in a blackout state and him in charge fully.”

  She gasped. “Bet that ends like a scene from Carrie at the prom.”

  Confused, he shook his head. “I don’t know what that means.”

  “Soaked in blood.”

  He thought about it a second and then nodded. “Yes. That is exactly how it often ends.”

  Her gaze narrowed slightly. “What did you do that is so bad? You weren’t who murdered Mom. I know that. So what was it?�
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  “The creature who was responsible for your mother’s death was dispatched with. I saw to that.” Bram sighed before continuing. “By the time your mother came into my life, I had learned to control what lives in me.”

  “Meaning there was a time when you couldn’t control it?”

  It was easy to see why she’d done so well as an assistant district attorney. Her cross-examining abilities were impressive.

  He inclined his head. “Yes. There was a time I had no control whatsoever over the demon I share my body with.”

  She stiffened. “W-what did you do?”

  “Something I can never take back. Something that is unforgiveable,” he confessed. “Do you wish to hear more from my mother’s journal? You should know, there are many more of these. She recorded much of her life in this manner.”

  “Smooth change of subject,” said Dana.

  He pressed a grin to his face, and then thought more about the reference she’d used to explain a bloody scene. “Was this Carrie you spoke of a vampire?”

  “Dude, we really need to get you updated on pop culture. You and Marcy. She’s hopeless when it comes to a lot of it too. She’s mostly current through at least the ’80s. I bet you’re current through like 1880. Close, but not close enough.”

  At the mention of Marcy, Bram’s gaze drifted toward the area with the birth records. She wasn’t where he could see her from his vantage point.

  Odd.

  She’d been there only moments prior, hadn’t she?

  Chapter Seventeen

  Marcy

  The air around me suddenly felt heavier, just like it did when I caught glimpses of the dark entity in my dreams. It was the last thing I needed on top of creepy hallway voices.

  “Do not panic,” I said out loud. “You are the Queen of Creepy. You deal with the dead all the time and they don’t scare you. You faced down a succu-witch and didn’t panic. Thralled vampires didn’t freak you out and make you lose your cool. A deranged vampire with a horde of ghouls didn’t make you run in the other direction. A disembodied voice that laughs like it just finished up a lovely little murder spree shouldn’t either.”

  “Marr-cee,” repeated the voice, this time sounding closer than before. With proximity came clarity.

  The dread in me turned to fear rapidly as I realized then just how much the voice sounded like my ex-husband’s. The only thing that would have made it sound more like Donald would have been if it called me…

  “Marr-cee Girl,” it said, instantly driving the spike of fear in me further.

  Memories that I didn’t want to revisit slammed through me as I recalled the last time that I’d been called that—Marcy Girl.

  It had been something Donald had called me.

  To outsiders it had sounded like a term of endearment. As someone who knew just how dark the man’s soul was behind closed doors, I’d come to learn it was anything but affection. It was a reminder of the cruelty of which he was capable.

  “It’s not him,” I whispered to myself, closing my eyes tightly as I did my best to calm myself. It was one thing to have something dark scaring you in an old, underground corridor. That wasn’t exactly out of place in what had become my new reality in Grimm Cove. It was another matter altogether if that reality now included Donald, because he was the truest monster I’d ever known in my life.

  He was what I feared when the lights went out.

  Not succu-witches or their thralls.

  Not master vampires or their ghoul hordes.

  Donald was my version of the monster under the bed. Whatever was in the tunnel system with me had somehow managed to tap my number one fear and it was using it against me.

  That had to be what was happening. While I was a believer in almost everything, even I had a hard time believing that a man I’d not seen in well over a decade would suddenly be at the Van Helsing estate. It was too preposterous to entertain.

  That being said, I couldn’t stop the sliver of fear that remained when I opened my eyes. Whatever was with me was doing a marvelous job of coming in a close second to my greatest fear.

  The temperature continued to plunge. I wasn’t sure if fear or the cold air was causing me to shake. Maybe it was a combination of both. All I did know for certain was that I was no Dana.

  Morphing into a butt-kicking chick with a built-in martial arts skill set wasn’t in my wheelhouse. If someone wanted to get a message delivered from their dearly departed grandmother, I was their girl. If they wanted to have the crap beaten out of someone or something, I was pretty much at the bottom of their phone tree.

  In fact, I’m fairly sure most people would call Nonna and her cronies for an assist before they bothered phoning me. I’d come in dead last. That was saying something, considering Nonna and her friends were around ninety years old and had recently taken to swimming in fountains.

  Truth was, I wanted to call Nonna at the moment.

  You really have got to start carrying that cell phone Dana bought you, I said to myself, hoping the scolding stuck for a later date.

  I had a funny feeling that if I had been able to reach Nonna, she’d have known what to do in the situation. Heck, she’d probably been in a similar scenario in her life more than once.

  With a gulp, I did my best to concentrate. It was then I found myself wondering what Dana would do if she was in my predicament. My gaze snapped to the swords on the wall and regardless how inappropriate of a time it was to laugh, I did.

  Dana would have totally gotten her version of a girl-boner at the sight of so many murder choices.

  My luck, I’d try to get a sword down and drop it on my own foot or something. It was best I stick to what I knew—which right this second didn’t feel like a whole lot.

  “Marr-cee.”

  Backing up a smidge, I continued to shake, so much so that hot wax splashed onto the back of my hand and all over my thumb. The pain helped to halt my rapid descent into panicking.

  Using the moment of clarity, I took a deep breath, ignoring the continued bite of pain in my hand from the melted wax.

  Just then, the smell of nutmeg and citrus, with hints of cedar, enveloped me, wrapping me in what felt like protective energy. It was a scent I’d come to know well. One I trusted fully. I nearly cried tears of joy.

  “J-Jack?”

  Something brushed my right shoulder, almost acting like a calming agent. I half expected Jack to materialize out of thin air.

  He didn’t.

  A deep laugh came from the darkness. With it came the feeling of dread and fear.

  There was no way the source of the voice was Jack. He didn’t strike fear in me.

  The overpowering urge to connect with nature struck me full-on. I’d been assisted by the ether and all that resided within it too many times in my life to look a gift horse in the mouth. The only problem with the suggestion was I was about as far from a grassy knoll or lush forest as one could get, since I was in an underground tunnel system.

  Backing up quickly, I bumped into the stone wall. It was cool to the touch. No sooner had my fingers made contact with the stone than what felt like a static electric shock got my hand. It stung, making me lift my hand so fast and wildly that I caught one of my fingers and then my palm on the tip of one of the many hanging swords.

  A flash of pain moved through my hand, and I didn’t need a better look to tell me I was bleeding. “Ouch.”

  Whatever was at the end of the hall hissed.

  “Not yet,” whispered another voice.

  There was more than one thing down there?

  The urge to chant “bubbles” was great but thinking about my happy place would do nothing to change what was happening.

  As my fingers slid over moss, I stilled, my senses beginning to return little by little. The need I’d felt to connect to nature seemed to lessen. For a second I did my own version of petting the moss, realizing it, along with the natural stone the walls were made from counted.

  Movement on my shoulder caug
ht my attention, and I lifted the candleholder higher. It was then I saw a small black spider on me.

  It was one I’d met before.

  I gasped. “Eunice?”

  The spider stopped and simply stared at me before vanishing into thin air as if it had never been there to start with.

  I couldn’t stop the smile that spread over my face as the realization that I’d just seen a spirit spider came over me. It was a first for me. Spirit animals were a rare treat and something I always looked forward to. Having a spirit arachnid was something altogether new. Of the few legit mediums that I knew, none had ever mentioned encounters with them.

  “Be excited about it later, when there isn’t a menacing voice coming from the shadows,” I said, unconcerned if whatever the source of the evil was heard me. If I had to listen to its creepy voice, it could listen to me talk to myself.

  The smell of Jack filled the air around me once more and it hit me then—he’d done it. He’d somehow gotten a message to me in the form of Eunice.

  Hope surged and a small laugh escaped me. “Jack, I’m so happy you weren’t demon fodder! And how dare you stay away for an entire month with no word. I’ve been worried about you.”

  No response.

  The smell lingered, and for a split second it felt as if something was touching my cheek lightly. He was close but for some reason unable to show himself to me.

  “Jack?”

  The lights popped on once more and then as quickly as the cold had come over the area, it vanished. The flame of the candle grew, creating even more light around me. My attention was drawn to the far end of the corridor—opposite the way I’d come.

  The same woman whom I’d seen in the green room and out in front of the mansion was there, touching her necklace still.

  Her gaze met mine, and while no words were spoken, I knew in my heart of hearts that she was there to help me. Not harm me.

  She lifted an arm and pointed to a vault door nearer to her than me. At the same second, the oppressive feeling of dread returned.

  Worry reflected in the woman’s eyes as she gave an insistent nod toward the door. The way she then jerked her hand at it left no room for doubt. She wanted me in that vault now. If it meant I’d be away from whatever was stealing my breath and scaring me, then I wanted that as well.