by Kat Turner
“She can’t. She’s gone off the rails.”
That meant trouble. It was habit, something my twin did when she couldn’t handle the messes she’d made for herself.
“What…” A small exhale and I readied for the bad news I suspected was coming. “What do you mean?”
“She’s back at Papa’s and won’t come out of her room.”
“Circe help us.”
The bourbon didn’t burn when it went down, despite the long swig I took. My throat had grown numb to the sting of liquor a long damn time ago, and the small little noise of judgment Sam made got completely ignored. When you numb yourself in order to forget, something that had become one of my more practiced habits, you tend to get used to both the bite and the judgment, no matter where they come from.
Mai’s hiding away—my twin’s way of forgetting—wasn’t the worst of the situation. Not by a long damn shot.
“She caught him with that same stripper from last year.”
“The one with the pixie cut?”
“Yeah, whatever, but this time he didn’t bother begging Mai not to kick him out.” Sam leaned on his arm, rubbing the back of his neck. His complexion was darker than mine or Mai’s, taking on more of our mother’s Haitian creole features than our blue-eyed father’s French, but like both me and Mai, Sam had full lips and hazel eyes. We were all a good mix of both our parents. “Papa thought giving Ronan a job would maybe keep that asshole from running off for weeks at a time.” Sam looked tired, like he hadn’t bothered with sleep in days. My stomach tightened at the thought, and I couldn’t quite ignore the weight in my chest that settled there. My brother had enough to deal with. He didn’t need Mai’s jackass of a husband doubling up his anxiety.
“Bet that was pointless.”
“You got no idea.” Sam released one long exhale and scrubbed a hand against his fade at the back of his head. He’d abandoned the short afro he’d grown out the last time I saw him and looked more like himself. “He totally fucked us over.”
“What do you mean? What happened?”
“If Papa hadn’t let Ronan take care of so many clients when they came calling, none of this would have happened. He just botched up too many jobs, was too sloppy, and I was too busy to notice that his haplessness had become a serious problem.”
The whole time he had been talking to me, Sam had kept looking at his cell phone. It wasn’t like him to let a text distract him. The string of beeps coming from his phone was odd, but the expression on his face was almost funny. Almost.
“The whole damn town is talking about it. Papa says if we can’t pull in a big client, our name will be ruined.” Another heavy sigh and Sam threw down his cell. “Not to mention all the damn attention we’ve been getting from the mortals.”
Watching Sam, seeing the tension bunching up his features, I suddenly realized that this conversation was the longest we’d had in a year. In the past, we simply fought all the time. Even after our mother died five years ago, we hadn’t managed a civil conversation. But then last summer, his wife, Adele, and their unborn child died in a car crash. The kid that killed them had been confused, barely legal, and since their deaths Sam and my conversations had simply become short and to the point. But this was different.
“Has Ivy or his men been snooping around?” I’d held my breath after asking that question. Ivy Beckerman was Crimson Cove’s chief of police. We all suspected he wouldn’t blink twice if he caught any weres shifting into their animal forms or spirits haunting the edge of the cemetery, never mind any chance encounters with a wizard doing something beyond human comprehension. There was something about the man that made him different from the other mortals. They only saw what they wanted. But Ivy was smart, observant; he saw things that the others didn’t. So far, though, he’d kept his questions to himself.
“No, not so much,” Sam said, once again focusing on his phone when it beeped, offering only a glance my way when he spoke, “but he did come by asking who busted in the store window.” Sam waited for that to make an impact.
“What the hell happened to the store window?”
“Some asshole pissed off that we hadn’t done our best to hide whatever bullshit they didn’t want the mortals to see, we think. Thanks to Ronan, we got a sledgehammer through the front window.”
That was unnerving. My father had managed to keep up the façade of running a respectable antiques store for decades. It was a decent way to front his real business—making sure the mortals never caught wind that a good majority of the Cove’s residents weren’t mortal at all; Papa was what the supernatural community called a “fixer.”
“How bad is it really, Sam?” That question came in front of a small, silent prayer that I could help my family from the comfort of my fifth-floor walkup in Brooklyn.
I should have known better.
Another of Sam’s exhales came out slow, this one with a labored drag of frustration, maybe the small hint of defeat. “Carter Grant has pulled his coven’s contract with us. He doesn’t want to be involved in any accidents we can’t quite cover up.”
“Shit.” That revelation warranted another swig and another disapproving shake of my brother’s head. If the Grants, a founding family and one of the oldest covens—and the one family our ancestors had pledged fealty to generations before—cut ties with us, then things were about as bad as they could get.
“We’ve asked a couple of the other Finders to help out, Jani, but none are as good as you. Papa says you’re our last resort.”
Whatever I was ten years ago—Finder of Lost Things, twin of a mighty healer, daughter to a man who swept our lives away from mortal eyes—I’d packed up in a steamer trunk my father swindled from a Tulsa antiques dealer and hopped a bus to New York. I’d been eighteen and thought Crimson Cove had seen the back of me. I hated being wrong.
It probably was tearing Papa up to know Sam was going to ask me to come home. He’d always maintained that once you left, that was it. No need to drag up the past with a trip down memory lane. Besides, he’d always told me “nothing but heartache for you here, Janiver.” But after the bomb my brother dropped, I had little choice.
“I’ll take the red eye.”
“About that, Jani…” Another alert. This time Sam read the message then immediately snapped his gaze back up to the screen. “You don’t need to worry about getting a ticket.” My brother swallowed, shifting his attention away from the camera like he’d rather do anything than explain himself.
Damn it. This definitely required more bourbon.
“Thing is, someone is coming for you.”
“Who?”
“In a few minutes, actually.”
“Samedi, who?”
“Should be there. Now.”
“Son of a bitch.”
Please don’t let it be him, I prayed.
I wanted to handle this issue my family had and be done with it. I had no intention of reconnecting.
Please, please, don’t let it be him.
“He was already in the city.”
“What are you talking about, Sam?”
“Look, Jani, something happened, with the Elam.”
The Elam? The talisman through which all the magic in Crimson Cove converged, which kept us hidden from mortal eyes and in check?
“Someone attacked and took it…” Someone had stolen it?
“You don’t lead with that? My God, Sam…”
“I know…it’s just… Look…we really, well, we tried finding anyone else to help find it, but shit, sis, you’re the best and there is so little time and he was there in New York and…”
“Balls…” I said, already knowing what point my brother was skirting around.
This was bad. Very bad. No wonder my family was on the edge of panic. I emptied the bottle but kept it between my legs as Sam tried and failed to explain himself.
“I just hope you don’t—”
Three loud drums of a knock on my door had me almost jumping out of my skin. The tem
perature in the room suddenly shifted, and on the other side of the door I picked up two signatures: elemental magic that identifies a witch or wizard like a thumbprint. Unbidden, my pulse started racing, and I found it hard to breathe.
“Jani…” Sam’s warning was too little and way too late. Nothing would save him from the shit storm I’d level at him as soon as I landed back home.
“Not another damn word, big brother.”
One of the bodies out in the hallway radiated heat and a familiar spicy, rich smell that made my mouth water.
“Jani…let me explain.”
Sam’s voice was rushed, muddled as I left the bed and stood in front of my door, my hand hovering over the handle. I didn’t need to look through the peep hole to know who stood out in the hallway.
“Whoever stole the Elam used old magic. They needed an old bloodline to make the hex work.” I squinted, looking over my shoulder toward the laptop as I twisted the handle, then didn’t blink or breathe at all as my gaze lifted to see Bane Iles. He stood on the other side of the open door.
“Yeah,” he said, as if he had been listening to our conversation. Just as shocking as his appearance at my door was the fact that his face was bruised, and there was a cut along his bottom lip —injuries that shouldn’t be there at all. “And that blood was mine.”
Don’t stop now. Keep reading with your copy of FORGOTTEN MAGIC available now.
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Don’t miss more of the Coven Daughters series coming soon, and find more from Kat Turner at katturnerauthor.com
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Until then, find more paranormal romance with FORGOTTEN MAGIC by City Owl Author, Eden Butler.
Bane Illes never smiled. He never spoke.
But each day, that brooding wizard gave Janiver Benoit a glance. And when she could not take another quiet stare, or the warmth that look sent over her skin, she took from Bane something he’d never give freely—a lingering, soul knocking kiss.
Ten years later, someone has stolen the one thing that keeps magic hidden from the mortals in Crimson Cove and only Janiver can recover it. But returning to her hometown means she’ll have to face the past and all the secrets she left buried there, including the one person she promised herself she’d never see again.
The dangerous wizard that might make leaving Crimson Cove the last thing she wants to do.
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Acknowledgments
It takes a village to write a novel, and I’ve been blessed with an outstanding community. This project would have never become a real book without all of the special people who have graced my orbit.
To my earliest readers, Eliza, Karyn, Marteeka, Vanessa, Ashley W., and Lena: Thank you for offering both encouragement and thoughtful and kind, yet honest, critique. I had so much work to do back in the days of Magical Thinking 1.0, and all of you helped me figure out the path forward.
A shout out to the Yahoo critique group, especially Margot, Nancy, and Ainsley. Your close reading and thoughtful input on chapters of early drafts helped me learn the fine art of revision and rewriting, and also the best practices for incorporating feedback.
Keith, Lorna, and Danielle, thank you for reading early drafts and talking through ideas with me. Renee Leigh, you were my first “real life” fiction writer friend, and our page swaps and chats over Mexican food gave me hope and encouragement when I dearly needed both.
I truly believe that there are special people who come to us in quite auspicious circumstances, magical synchronicity even. When I was feeling down, an email from Katie B. would arrive at the perfect moment to lift me up. Love you bunches, author sister, and I’ll always hold that jade stone close!
I met numerous awesome authors during Pitch Wars whom I now consider to be dear friends. First and foremost, lots of love to Nadia. From tough love to support to brainstorming sessions in endless Twitter DMs, you are truly a rock star critique partner. I’m so thankful that we’ve gotten to hang out in real life, and I hope that we can attend another writing conference and stroll though an art museum again in the near future.
Huge thanks to Felicia for reading an early version of this during Pitch Wars and making me smile. You instilled in me a robust appreciation for the MST3000 style of critique! Lora, thank you for catching some zingers before I embarrassed myself, and thanks also to Brighton and Mary Ann. Jeni Chapelle saw directly into this manuscript’s soul and walked me through a major fix up. Thank you, Jeni!
Thank you Luna for reading this manuscript (and the other one!). I can’t wait to see our book beauties side-by-side! Renee, Reina, and Celia: your steadfast support has been a precious gift, and I’m so glad that we connected through the CP match. Michelle (and Felicia again!), thank you for reading over the series proposal and for your cheerleading. Speaking of awesome cheerleaders, thank you Evie, Lily, and Katrina.
To Tee Tate, my brilliant editor: you are amazing. I’m delighted that you love Brian like I do.
Lots of love to Barb for reading a later version of this book. Jaqueline, thank you for helping me out with that last-minute request, and for validating my decision to keep those darlings alive. I also owe a debt of gratitude to the 2020 Debuts and All the Kissing groups, as well as the City Owl Press team, for their steadfast support. Last but certainly not least, thank you to Mark for supporting my writing in countless, invaluable ways. Bricolage was the coolest name ever for a pop culture-themed bar, and I’ll manage to slip that into another manuscript somewhere down the line. Love you!
About the Author
Kat Turner writes urban fantasy, paranormal and contemporary romance, and domestic suspense. When not reading or writing, Kat works for a university, teaches yoga, and lives the mom life. She has two pet rats and too many plants, guards her gym time with her life, and is quite adept at picking up objects with her toes.
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katturnerauthor.com
About the Publisher
City Owl Press is a cutting edge indie publishing company, bringing the world of romance and speculative fiction to discerning readers.
www.cityowlpress.com
Additional Titles
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Award Winning Urban Fantasy
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BLOOD AND MAGIC
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BLOOD KING
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While Sybille’s ability to summon and guide spirits of the undead to the afterlife pays the bills, it comes with colossal risks, including becoming undead herself.
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BLOOD ROGUE
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There is the blood and can only ever be the blood. So, how will love survive in a world of pain?
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CODE BLACK
By: Tina Moss
USA Today Bestselling Author
Gossip mag reporter Sera Benenati knows a thing or two about unearthing secrets...and burying them.
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FORGOTTEN MAGIC
By: Eden Butler
Bane Illes never smiled. He never spoke.
But each day, that brooding wizard gave Janiver Benoit a glance.
* * *
FREYJA’S DAUGHTER
By: Rachel Sullivan
Well behaved women seldom make history, but they still end up as the monsters of folklore.
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FROSTBITE
By: Joshua Bader
Getting hired to be a personal wizard for a billionaire may just become a death sentence.
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GHOST OF A GAMBLE
By: J. E. McDonald
There’s something extraordinary hidden beneath Wickwood’s picturesque façade.
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HEART OF MALICE
By: Lisa Edmonds
The first time Moses Murphy’s granddaughter killed on his orders, she was six years old.
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HOUSE OF ASH & BRIMSTONE
By: Megan Starks
Hell has come to collect, but Gisele Walker has no plans to pay the debt.
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MIDNIGHT DESIRE
By: Shari Nichols
Danger and desire collide to form an unlikely alliance between a witch with a sordid past and a special agent who might be her future.