The Rule of Three
Page 1
Contents
TITLE PAGE
Before you go on...
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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
What's next?
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Copyright
Author's Note
THE RULE OF THREE
Amber Lee Mysteries
Book 2
By Katerina Martinez
Wait! This is not the first book in the series!!
You probably got this book as part of a Free promotion (maybe you saw it on a BookBub email or an eReader News Today email, or perhaps you stumbled onto it during a random search). If so, then you should know that this is not the first book in the Amber Lee series, and I would be doing you a disservice if I didn’t warn you. The books each lead in to the other with… well I won’t call them cliffhangers because they aren’t quite that severe, we’ll just call them unanswered questions. I would have wanted to make the first book in the series free for this promotion, but authors don’t always get a choice.
Luckily, you can get books 1-4 in the series, PLUS one of the Novellas that comes after this book, for only $5.99 - that’s insane savings! But the price on the Boxed Set won’t last forever - it’s an exclusive part of this promotion campaign I’m running as the Boxed Set already includes the Rule of Three.
So you have a choice; you can go ahead and read this book without having read Midnight Magick (I don’t recommend it!) if you like, and then help yourself to your freebie later on. Although you’ll have to pay for Midnight Magick, and then also pay for the Necromancer (that’s just under $8). Or, and this is definitely a better idea, grab yourself FOUR books (plus a fifth freebie for signing up to my Reader’s Group - another exclusive perk of having downloaded this book) at a bargain price and don’t miss any of the magick, mystery, and romance.
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CHAPTER 1
Damien, Frank and I were sitting around a cauldron on a cold December night. Between the three of us we had hoisted it all the way into my attic, jammed it through the opening as best we could, and were getting ready to call down a spirit known as the Dagda. So not only were there three witches sitting around a huge iron pot, but we were also flanked on all sides by candles, crystals, and bowls filled with herbs.
Could the scene have been more cliché? Yes, it totally could have.
For starters, we could have had a black cat running around in the attic with us. There could have been straw brooms floating along the floor, autonomously sweeping the dust that seemed to never to want to leave my attic. Or we could have all been wearing black hats—the tall pointy hats. But there was no cat, no brooms, and unfortunately no hats.
At least, Damien and I weren’t wearing hats. But Frank was. It a little blue and white sailor’s hat he had chosen to wear along with a pair of colourful leggings and a plain black vest. The sight of him, with his square face, messy silver hair, and a hat clearly intended to be worn by a child, was pretty mortifying, like seeing a duck resting on the head of an alligator. But I had come to love his weirdness and embrace it much as I had my own.
Damien crawled over to the side of the room and lit a stick of cinnamon incense while I lit the pine and cedar. In moments, the three scents intermingled and infused the room with a warm, woody smell; like cookies baking on a tray over a crackling fireplace. I leant into the aroma, closed my eyes, and smiled.
"I love this time of year," I said, "There's a whole foot of snow outside and the three of us are in here, warm and cozy."
"Don't get too comfortable," Frank said, "We're invoking the Dagda tonight so we’d better be at attention. He's a big deal."
Frank wasn't kidding. I had learned a lot about the Spiritual side of Magick from him in the last few months since we met. It was one of his passions, he had told me, to learn about the invisible forces living in our universe and figure out how they may have informed the myths of yore. I soon learned that the strange witch was a veritable encyclopedia, if encyclopedias could go to clubs and wield Magick.
"So, okay, how do we do this?" I asked.
"Hands," Frank said, like a surgeon requesting a scalpel.
The ritual was Frank's idea. I had a cursory knowledge of the Dagda, but it was Frank who decided to lead this ritual. Neither of us had ever attempted something like this before, but the sailor hat wearing witch seemed pretty confident he knew what he was doing. So Damien and I complied, and the three of us joined around the iron cauldron. It had to be made of iron "for authenticity's sake" Frank had said. But it meant the thing weighed a shit-ton.
My arms hadn't yet stopped aching from the effort it took to hoist it up.
I wanted to use Magick and just wish it into the attic, but Frank and Damien had scolded me for being reckless. I didn't think I was being unreasonable, though. What good was telekinesis if you weren’t allowed to move things around with your mind whenever you wanted to? Unreachable itches would be a thing of the past, for one. As would be getting up and walking over to bookshelf to pick up, or put back, a book.
But no. No telekinesis for Amber Lee.
"Close your eyes," Frank said. "Clear your heads. Let the incense fill your nose…. and… all that bullshit."
I did as Frank said and closed my eyes. I had meditated a thousand times, so this part wasn't difficult for me. It would always start the same way. All around me was water, and I was a little ship. The waves would lick at my hull, and I would listen to the gentle lapping sound until my mind began to float. Once I had started to float, I would be able to tell my invisible body where to go; higher into the astral Nether--that place where invisible things live--or lower into the self, into the deepest reaches of my psyche.
I never went lower.
Frank cleared his throat and started to speak. "We call to you, Dagda, father of Brigid. High King of the Tuatha Dé Danann. Hear us."
"Hear us," Damien and I repeated.
"Dagda," Frank continued, "Oh great Earth-God, we ask you to lend us your Undry so that we might be satisfied on this night. Hear us."
Once again, Damien and I repeated "Hear us."
Silence.
Besides the tingle of excitement I couldn't feel anything else happening. I had learned to identify when the Power flowed through me. It was like an electric current--no, a surge of electricity—and it surrounded and filled me. It didn't make my hairs stand on end, but it touched my insides, snaked in and out of every pore in my body, and left me feeling giddy and high after.
The Power hadn’t come.
"I don't feel anything," I said, opening my eyes.
"Fuck," Frank said. "I knew I should have brought a harp."
"A ha
rp," Damien said, cocking an eyebrow. "You wanted to get a harp in here too?"
"The Dagda played a harp. We could have done with a harp."
"And where were we supposed to get a harp from?"
"I don't know... we could have broken into a school?"
"A school..."
"Absolutely. We would have brought it back, of course."
"Sure."
I knew Frank was joking, but Damien hadn't yet adjusted to Frank's brand of sarcasm. I stifled a giggle at the thought of a gaunt man like Frank sneaking around a school wearing his sailor's hat and lugging around a huge harp. They wouldn't know what to make of him! I didn’t think anyone in Raven’s Glen was quite as flamboyant as he.
"Okay, we aren't getting a harp," I said, closing the discussion. "What do you think we did wrong?"
"Maybe the Dagda isn't home?" Damien offered.
"Oh, now he cracks a joke," Frank said, scoffing.
"How about a rhyme?" I asked.
"Actually, that could work," Frank said.
"A rhyme?" Damien asked.
To answer Damien's question, I recited a part of the Wiccan Rede. "To bind the spell well every time, let the spell be said in rhyme."
"I hadn't thought about that," Frank said, "I'm not used to using Magick with other people. It's like sharing a needle. I just don't do it... unless I'm out of needles or the guy is really, really cute."
I rolled my eyes. "Well, yeah, that's why witches rhyme," I said, "Because it just works."
"Any of you know any good rhymes we can use?" Damien asked Frank.
Frank cocked his head and raised both eyebrows. "Just because I'm gay doesn't mean I know how to rhyme. Or sing. Or even dance."
"Okay," I said, after a moment, "Let's try this. Hands again, please."
We joined again, closed our eyes, and allowed a moment for our minds to float again. Then, as though the words had been living in the back of my mind the whole time, I said: "We call upon a God so great, amidst a very sacred date, to bless us with a mighty feast of wine and bread and beast. To Dagda of the Irish Isle, God of Earth with charming smile, we gently do invoke thy power; be with us on the witching hour."
At the edge of my aura a trickle of energy poked at my own. It was a curious energy, like a cat deciding whether or not to let me pet it. I wondered if my incantation took hold but didn't dare open my eyes; just in case. I had learned a thing or two about how to react to Magick phenomenon and knew well enough to remain still and not spook it.
Spook it. As if Magick could be spooked.
"Nothing's happened," Damien said.
"What time is it?" I said.
"Eleven fifty eight."
Wow.
"Creepy," Frank said. "Uncanny, even. The girl's a natural."
I wasn't aware of the time before Damien had mentioned it. Using the witching hour in the rhyme just felt… natural. Somehow. Or maybe I was good at rhyming? Regardless, I still wouldn't open my eyes. The energy was there, tip-toeing around me, invisible, and I allowed it to continue undisturbed.
"Can you guys feel that?" I asked.
"Feel what?" Frank asked.
I guess that's a no.
"I feel... something," Damien said. We were all still holding hands. Between us, a current was starting to pass. His fingers were starting to feel rubbery against my own, as if one of us were plugged into a wall socket.
"Do you know the incantation?" I asked the other witches, "Can you repeat it?"
"I think so," Frank said.
Damien also agreed.
"Alright, let's do it three times. I'll start, we'll do it row-your-boat style."
A pause, a breath, and I started the rhyme again. Frank and Damien joined in on cue and our voices became a unified rhyme, echoing off the attic walls. This time, I knew, something would happen. I had no idea what exactly would happen–but it would be big.
We call upon a God so great, amidst a very sacred date, to bless us with a mighty feast of wine and bread and beast. To Dagda of the Irish Isle, God of Earth with charming smile, we gently do invoke thy power; be with us on the witching hour.
I had finished my first lap of the entire rhyme when it started. The reliable SS Amber Lee, floating along the vast ocean of my consciousness, never soared to the skies or sank to the depths unless I willed it to. She never ran aground, never veered off course, and her crew never mutinied against her captain.
Until now.
We call upon a God so great amidst a very sacred date…
My meditation ship sighted land and raced toward it as if pulled by some kind of massive force. I tried to steer it back on course, but my will faltered. A trickle of exhilaration found its way to the base of my spine and was starting to creep, like a pair of warm hands—a lover's hands—around my abdomen.
… to bless us with a mighty feast of wine and bread and beast.
Every word that came out of my mouth sent a little vibration pulsing into the warm, wet space between my legs. I couldn't sit still! The vast ocean looked, now, more like a flat stomach—Damien's stomach—and the ship was a pair of fingers, a set of lips, and a tongue. Lapping, tasting.
To Dagda of the Irish Isle, God of Earth with charming smile…
Time began to grind to a halt. Each word I spoke felt like it had been spoken an hour apart from the last one. Days apart. Worlds apart. In the space between them there was only Damien and hunger, lust, want, need—close. Lips, tongue, breasts, groans, rhythms, heartbeats, desire—so close!
…we gently do invoke thy power; be with us on the witching hour.
My eyes snapped open. I bit my lip and turned my face away, though I was sure the others had seen the sudden flush to my cheeks. Or maybe they hadn’t. Maybe they had kept their eyes closed the whole time and hadn’t seen what had just happened to me. But I was a throbbing, aching mess, and I hadn't even been touched! What the hell was that about?
Blood was racing to my cheeks, flushing them with a warm glow. Frank and Damien were staring, now, although Frank had a sneaky grin on his face as if he was in on my little secret. And maybe he was. Frank had a knack for knowing things he wasn't supposed to know, and I felt like an open book to him even when I was at my most composed.
"Are you okay?" Damien asked.
"Yeah," I said. Breathe deep and slow. "I'm fine, why?"
"You trailed off at the end."
"Did... we finish?"
"One of us did," Frank said. Oh, Frank. He knew. Of course he did.
"We finished," Damien said, nodding.
"And... what time is it?"
Damien checked. 12:02am.
"Now what?" I asked. I let my shoulders drop, bid my body to relax, and leaned back on the pillows beneath my butt. But boy if I wasn't looking at Damien like a dog eying a piece of meat. I couldn't remember the last time I felt so... so... turned on. I blew a kiss to Damien when caught me staring and he smiled.
"Now," Frank said, "We do this."
He grabbed a plastic cup, dipped it into the empty cauldron, and scraped around at the bottom. He looked determined, concentrated, like a miner digging into a hole he knew was full of riches if only he could reach deep enough. Of course, the cauldron had a bottom, but after a moment I couldn't hear the sound of his cup touching the iron, and Frank's hand was stuck in there all the way to the elbow!
"Frank?" I asked.
"Schh," he said, and when he pulled his hand back his cup was filled with a sloshy, cinnamon scented liquid.
"Uhh... what is that?" Damien asked.
Frank brought his nose to the rim of the cup, took a whiff. "Spiced cider," he said.
"But… where...?" I didn't finish the question. It was a stupid question. Of course it came from inside the cauldron; I just didn't know how it was even possible for spiced cider to just manifest out of thin air.
"What did we just do?" I asked.
Frank took a sip of the drink and smiled, satisfied. "Just a little midnight Magick," he said.
CHAPTER 2
"So, okay," I said. "What the fuck did we just do and how did we do it?"
"You want me to explain the how to you?" Frank asked, a bemused eyebrow cocked.
Of course, we had done Magick. No great mystery there. Well, Magick was a mystery, but wielding it in small bursts had become as easy as breathing or speaking. This kind of thing though, rituals, were a different sort of beast. I wasn’t ready for this. I kinda thought Frank was screwing around when he said we could make booze out of nothing.
"Okay, maybe not the how," I said, "But the what?"
"Fine,” Frank said “But you have to pour us another shot each."
"Oh Gods, another shot?"
"Yup. We just performed a damned miracle here tonight and we have to celebrate."
Frank slid a bottle of Sambuca across to me. We had all enjoyed the spiced cider and bread—bread!—that the bottomless cauldron produced, but we were modern Witches, and modern Witches drink hard liqueur.
"Alright," I said, proceeding to pour a trio of shots.
"It's simple," Frank said, knocking back the shot like it was water, "I had never tried this before, but I was told that Magick, when performed in a circle, by a coven, was always way more powerful than the kind of Magick a Witch could produce on her own."
I took my shot and felt it burn a path down my throat. "But you've invoked the spirit before, right?" I asked.
"Yeah, but this was different," Frank said.
"How?"
"Because, Witch, we were invoking a seasonal spirit and asking it to lend us its power; not to just hang around and have shots with us."
The word Witch was, for Frank, a play on the word Bitch. He used it as a term of endearment toward me and I kind of liked it. Like an in-joke, except this time I was in on it and not the butt of it. I felt like Frank and I had been paired up in the heavens and destined to meet and become friends. Two peas in one freaky little pod.
Damien stood on his knees and reached into the cauldron with a plastic cup, but came up empty. The well had run dry. "That's it?" he asked.