Invoking the Witch (The Faction Series Book 1)

by Lindsey Jayne

  This woman would be his.

  Chapter 7

  A loud knock at the door caused Amelia to jump out of bed. Jesus Christ, who the hell is banging at this time? She looked at her alarm clock—4:42am.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she moaned aloud.

  She stumbled to the door, bleary eyed and on shaky legs. “This had better be bloody important,” she murmured with clear agitation, throwing the door open.

  “Dreaming about me, were you?”

  She snapped her head up and met Blake’s deep gaze—desire poured from his hooded expression in thick waves.

  “What do you want, Blake?” She pulled the shirt she wore tight across her breasts, aware her long legs were still on display.

  “Well, now there’s a loaded question.” Blake’s focus drank her in from head to toe and he licked his curved lips.

  In spite of herself, Amelia smiled. “Seriously, what the hell?”

  Blake dropped the smile. “There’s been another one.”

  ∾∾∾

  Given the hour, neither Deacon nor Blake could accompany Amelia to the crime scene, but Nate arrived on location, and she called Sam and Chloe to meet her back at the Compound in a few hours.

  Another warehouse, another murder.

  “Good morning, Inspector,” Nate offered her a half-smile from the window of his rusted, old van.

  Amelia left her car to lean on the doorframe of Nate’s deathtrap. “Been here long?”

  “Long enough. Care to take a look?”

  “Might as well,” Amelia stepped away from the door so Nate could exit the van. “Same as before?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Did you find any evidence of a perp from the last scene? Any fingerprints, fibres, hairs?”

  “Actually, yes. I did pick up a few black hairs, but nothing matched in any databases. I’ve got Sebastian working on it.”

  Sebastian Barrow, the Faction’s lab technician, could work wonders with even the tiniest bit of evidence—Amelia wondered how he would be getting on with this case, though.

  “But we’re still no closer to an ID?” Amelia inferred.

  “Not yet. We’re putting the feelers out there among the supernatural community, but so far no one’s come forward.”

  “Once this is over, remind me to create some kind of paranormal DNA database for you guys,” Amelia smiled and shook her head.

  “Wouldn’t be a bad idea, in all honesty,” Nate smirked back.

  Amelia rolled her eyes—no way did she have the patience to even attempt to try and catalogue the profiles for the multitude of supernaturals in existence, even if it were possible.

  Inside another derelict warehouse, another crime scene, the smell hit Amelia square in the face.

  “Jesus! I can see how you managed to sniff this one out.”

  “Yeah, from a few miles away.”

  This warehouse contained no extended room—the body lay in the furthest corner of the building amid the familiar sight of candles and blood. Amelia didn’t hesitate and strolled over, kit in one hand, torch in the other.

  Flicking her light on, she crouched down. “Same incisions,” she observed, sweeping the beam across the victim’s stomach.

  Nate took the camera wrapped around his neck and snapped off a few pictures of the scene.

  “Look at this.” He motioned for Amelia to join him near the far wall. “What do you make of that?”

  Amelia got up close and inspected the familiar symbol of Lilith burnt into the wall, dried blood flaked around it… wait… .

  Upon closer inspection, she explained, “Lilith’s symbol is the one in blood, not burnt into the wall. It’s covering something else. Do you think they tried to hide it with Lilith’s?”

  “Hardly. If Lilith’s symbol is in blood, then whatever was burning beneath it isn’t evident anymore; there’s nothing left to conceal.” Nate looked perplexed. “What would a witch be burning a wall for?”

  Fumbling in her kit she told Nate, “I think I know.” She used the swab from her bag to dab at the smouldering remains, careful to miss the blood.

  Walking back to the butchered body lay sprawled across the floor, she dug out another cotton bud and swabbed around wrists in the same position and state as the last victim.

  “What you got, Millie?”

  “It’ll still need to be tested in the labs, but look at this…,” Amelia held both swabs up against the dim candlelight and showed them to Nate while he squatted down beside her. “It’s the same stuff.”

  The residue on both swabs continued to smoulder, an unusual orange-brown against the white cotton. With a deep sniff of each, the foul odour of decayed flesh and sulphur clawed at the back of her throat.

  Amelia waved them in front of Nate.

  “They’re the same, but what does it mean?” Nate stood, wafting the stench away with his hand.

  “It means that these witches have been controlling lesser demons. They’ve been summoning them through a portal they burned into the wall. The demons hold their victims down while their babies are cut from the stomach. Once their job is done, they disappear back into the portal, which closes behind them; like a secret door. It burns out and leaves behind the stench of the souls decomposing in—”

  “Holy Hell.”

  “Well, you’re half right.”

  “Have you seen something like this before, then?”

  Amelia nodded, her jaw rigid. “A couple of times. A witch’s summoning gone wrong.”

  “And the results?” Nate furrowed his brow.

  “Horrific.” Amelia glanced back down at the mutilated body. “Come on, let’s finish up here and get her back to the lab. Sebastian might be able to tell us more.”

  ∾∾∾

  I stood in a pitch black room. How did I get here? An awful stench clawed its way to the back of my throat and clung to my taste buds. It tasted of rot and decay, and I swallowed a few times to stop myself being sick.

  It took long moments for my eyesight to adjust to the pitch black, but then lights began to flare up one at a time around me, rising at least six inches high. They were surrounded by salt.

  Looking around the room, I made out a bundle of red rags. Blood red rags!

  My body began to tremble, and I broke out into a cold sweat, my breathing erratic. Despite my bad feeling about this, I couldn’t stop myself. I inched closer toward the tattered heap on the floor.

  The stench became stronger the closer I got. I stilled, hearing whispers from nowhere in particular. I wanted to throw my hands against my ears and scream to drown out the ever-increasing sounds. They changed to harsh, rasping words I couldn’t discern. Panicked. Desperate.

  Lily? Were they saying Lily?

  With my hands over my ears, I edged closer to what I now noted to be two bodies, immobile and saturated in deep red crimson. After the final few steps, bile rose in my throat.

  Staring into the dead, glassy eyes of two women, I tried to scream. No sound escaped my lips, but my throat burned raw from the effort.

  Blood-caked hair swathed their gaunt, skeletal faces and their stomachs gaped open, sliced with careless abandon from throat to groin. Slick, red gore congealed across the walls and floors. It seeped towards me, slow and heavy; I took a few cautionary steps back. Then I looked back at their haunting, decayed faces.

  My mouth opened in a silent scream and I dropped to the floor beside them. They turned their heads to stare at me. Blood pooled around my knees, soaked into the thin material of my white nightgown. I watched, transfixed, while their decomposing arms moved up until decrepit, bony fingers pointed behind me. The expression in their dead stares widened in utter terror.

  A hooded figure emerged from the shadows as I turned my head, the face obscured by the hood of the old, brown, monk-style robes he wore. He held a black candle, wax dripped down the sides and over his hands, red like molten blood.

  I stood with infinite slowness and the figure stopped in front of me. Stretching
my hand toward the head of the cloak, instinct told me I knew this stranger’s identity. I threw the hood back and let out a blood-curdling scream at Daniel’s half-lit face glaring back at me.

  He dropped the candle. It ignited my nightgown. I screamed again and fell to the floor, using my hands to douse the flames with little effect. I held my blistered, melting palms in front of me in horror. Daniel kicked me onto my back, drew a knife from his robes, and plunged it toward my swollen belly.

  Shooting bolt upright, I clutched my stomach. My breath came in short, sharp gasps and my hair stuck to my face from the sheen of perspiration blanketing my body. A headache gnawed at the base of my skull.

  I looked over at the bedside clock—5:03am—the red numbers going in and out of focus, the room starting to spin around me.

  Throwing the covers off me, I staggered out of bed and fumbled with the en-suite door. It crashed open against the wall as I hurtled toward the toilet. Bending over the bowl, I vomited the contents of my stomach into it. Spasms wracked my body while I gripped the toilet and wretched violently.

  The last vestiges of my nightmare played over in my mind. My stomach continued to swirl.

  Certain the nausea passed, I closed my eyes and leaned back against the wall. The icy sensation of the tiles soothed my feverish skin, and I took in shaky lungfuls of air before I stood. Approaching the basin, I turned the taps on and splashed cold water over my face and neck before gulping down a couple of handfuls.

  On shaky legs, I made my way back to bed. The sheets were sodden with sweat and lay in a crumpled heap from my thrashing about. I climbed in and sat up against the headrest for a few moments, running the last few days over in my mind. I feared Daniel, I feared what he could do to me. But most of all, I feared for my unborn child.

  ∾∾∾

  Candlelight illuminated the darkened room. Ivy sat alone, dead centre, eyes closed while she rocked back and forth.

  “Spiritus ducentia, protego me,” she chanted, volume increasing with each incantation.

  Her words faltered with the fear she felt. Sweat beaded her forehead, her blonde hair plastered to her face and neck. She swiped it away with one hand while the other cradled her swollen belly. Tears fell down her pretty, pale face.

  A faint noise startled her, followed by another and another. Her words faltered as she scanned the room, her gaze honing in on the closed door. Still alone.

  Every breath came in short, sharp rasps while her body turned icy. Grabbing salt from a bowl beside her, she threw a handful over the candle in front, “Protego me, protego me.” Her voice grew urgent and she closed her eyes once again.

  A lengthy creak stopped her midsentence and her breathing trembled with fright. Her heartbeat raced and, with sweaty palms, she balled and unballed her fists to rid herself of the prickling sensation.

  She stared into the darkness. They’re here.

  The door burst open amid a huge gust of wind, extinguishing the majority of the candles. Her breath caught in her throat, and her eyes widened at the figure of the Priestess silhouetted before her—hand held up, palm outwards and clenched into a fist.

  “Tace!” the Priestess shouted.

  Ivy opened her mouth in a silent scream when the tall intruder stalked toward her. Her throat and lungs burned from the effort and the pressure built behind her ears with the exertion.

  A light-haired witch followed the Priestess, striding to a shadowy corner of the room. The intruder spread her fingers and placed a palm on the wall now in front of her.

  “Egredietur spriritus, ego præcipio tibi, exi foras,” she whispered.

  Ivy turned to see a symbol burning through the paint. Smoke poured from it and the terrified girl watched a lazy trail drift in her direction.

  Shaking her head in sheer panic, Ivy’s eyes grew wide. She tried to get up only for the dark mist to race toward her. It knocked her down and curled around her wrists and ankles.

  She thrashed wildly around on the floor, trying to scream. Her mouth flapped open, but no sound expelled. White hot pain twisted her insides as the flesh of her wrists seared through to the bone, the demonic fog relentless in its hold.

  The Priestess loomed over her with a crazed grimace. Dim light glinted off the blade in her hand. The witch bore down and drove the weapon into her victim’s chest. Fresh agony exploded in Ivy. Globules of deep, red blood spurted from the rent in her breast while she tried with desperation to break away.

  Her life’s essence ran warm and thick down her abdomen to pool beneath her. Hot tears coursed down her face. She wanted to beg for her life, for her baby’s life with every pull of the blade toward her stomach. Writhing on the floor, she fought the veil of darkness creeping in.

  Her body numbed after slow, torturous minutes, succumbing to the hellish pain. Her eyes closed and each breath became shallower than the last. Blood filled her throat, spilled from between her lips, while her struggles turned into odd, spasmodic twitches, before death claimed her in its slow, tormenting hold.

  Through hazy vision she watched the Priestess remove the baby from her eviscerated womb—her baby. Sound filtered back, a death echo while she watched her baby move, heard him cry, then darkness swooped in on black wings.

  Chapter 8

  Amelia stood in the foyer of the Compound. She made small talk with Wendy while she waited for Nate. Evening approached and, after meeting with Sam and Chloe to discuss the second body, she sent them home and returned to the Compound.

  “You’ll get your key card soon, love, so no more waiting around.” Wendy smiled at her.

  The elevator doors pinged open and Nate strolled through. “We’re ready for you.” He winked at her and held out his hand.

  With a scoff, Amelia walked straight past him and into the elevator. She heard Wendy giggle.

  “You gonna leave me hanging?” He feigned hurt and placed his hand to his chest before following her in.

  Amelia stared straight ahead with a smirk on her face.

  The elevator took them up to the main living area, and from there Nate directed her to the Faction’s labs.

  Despite having been in the labs on several occasions. Amelia always marvelled at the sight—glass, chrome, light-wood. Ultramodern and full of high-tech equipment able to differentiate between normal human samples and those of the supernatural.

  They stopped at a large table where two guys and a woman in lab coats, latex gloves and protective glasses, busied themselves examining some kind of residue in glass test tubes.

  “Afternoon, Sebastian,” Amelia smiled at him.

  Sebastian stood tall with powerful, broad shoulders and brown hair shaved close to his head. Multiple piercings adorned his ears and one in his eyebrow, and tattoos emerged from the collar of his lab coat. Thick, brown eyebrows framed his smooth, shaved face and highlighted deep set, purple eyes.

  He returned Amelia’s smile, uttered something indiscernible to the other two lab geeks, then led Amelia and Nate toward the morgue.

  They entered through stainless steel, double swing doors into a clinical space smelling of antiseptic and sandalwood freshener. Metal dissection tables stood in the centre of the room with more of the same stainless steel units, sinks, dissection apparatus and a large refrigeration unit Sebastian headed for.

  He threw open adjoining doors of the unit and pulled out two sliding tables.

  “What we looking at, big guy?” Nate glared at the plastic sheet-covered, lifeless forms in front of him.

  Sebastian removed the material from the bodies. “Two vics. Female, Caucasian. Both early twenties and both with child, once upon a time. They were each in their final trimester, so both foetuses would have been fully formed.

  “A sharp, uneven object was used to make either wound. The weapon used was a sacrificial knife, the blade carved from aged human bone and coated in polyurethane for preservation. There’s trace residue on the skin. It cauterised as it cut.

  “Both women died from massive trauma and exsanguination. In h
er initial prelim Amelia found the women were restrained supernaturally. My team is investigating the residue as we speak, but it looks likely.”

  “Any positive ID yet? Anything from the hairs collected at the scene?” Amelia queried. She stared between the unknown victims and wondered what family would be missing them.

  “No ID yet, I’m afraid, but I do have something for you on those hair samples.” He walked over to one of the steel cabinets and pulled out a plastic evidence bag. “Female, Caucasian with black hair. There isn’t any blood on these samples, though, so this evidence is circumstantial at best. No follicular tags, either.”

  Amelia’s shoulders slumped. “Anything on the claws?”

  “Definitely owl claws, cut off with the same knife used to make the incisions in the stomachs given the jagged tool marks. The birds were dead when that happened.”

  “Thanks, Doc. Let’s get outta here,” Nate turned to Amelia.

  “Where to?”

  Before he could reply, his phone emitted a sharp ring. He halted in the doorway to fish it from his pocket. He answered, and continued into the corridor.

  Amelia followed him through the doors.

  “Tell me you’re shitting me,” he exclaimed, before he ended the call. He flicked his head in her direction, nostrils flared, jaw set. “We have another body. Victim’s sister called it in. Blake and Deacon are at the scene already.”

  “Shit! Let’s go.”

  Amelia called Chloe and Sam as they left the Compound; she reeled off the address and hung up.

  The heavens opened and she ran for the gates, her foot tapping out an impatient beat while she waited for them to open.

  “Ugh, I’m gonna smell like wet dog,” Nate stated matter-of-factly, trudging to his van.

  Amelia cast him a quick grin before she ran for her car.

  Gunning the engine, she peeled off toward their new crime scene—Nate in tow.

  ∾∾∾

  The September rain lashed down in torrents by the time Amelia and Nate arrived at the victim’s farmhouse. Amelia’s jeans stuck to her legs and the white t-shirt—she mentally kicked herself for wearing—got drenched to the point her black bra became visible through it.