by Tish Thawer
“Thank you all. Your support means more to me than you could know. Let’s go home.” Marie smiled when others cheered and agreed. They loaded up and hit the trail, a looming chain of mountains ahead of them.
Epilogue
It took the caravan the rest of the year and into the beginning of 1854 to make it through the mountains. The journey was slow and arduous. Some of the humans had the roughest time with sicknesses that didn’t affect the supernaturals in the same way. They even lost a couple who weren’t affected by any of the healing spells and tonics. Blizzards hit them, causing them to camp in caves at the bases of the mountains for long periods of time, waiting for the snow to lift. Even though they used magic to assist in the traveling, sometimes Mother Nature won out.
The pull up the mountain grew stronger and stronger the closer they drew to the summit. No one knew exactly what it was that had been pulling them, but no one could deny the powerful force either. Evergreens and pines stood tall and thick before they thinned out again near the top. The path was often overrun with snow and ice. It grew dark early, and the sun took too long to rise in the mornings. Marie thought they would never make it. Until one day, the sun rose warm and strong in the sky. Snow began to melt, and tiny green foliage peeked its crowns through the cold ground. Spring had finally arrived, and they had almost reached the top.
It was spring, March 1854, when the caravan reached a box canyon nestled between several mountain peaks. They all breathed a sigh of relief.
Home.
The canyon provided everything they had been searching for—seclusion, space for shifters to roam, land for their homes and crops, all the resources they needed, and the perfect conditions for protection wards. Overwhelmed, they slowly moved into the area, eyes wide with wonder, excitement, and shock. It was real. Their dream of a place to call home was real, and they had finally made it.
Marie couldn’t believe they had actually arrived. They had set up the wagons and tents right in the center of what would be their new home. The air was cool and fresh, and the mountains held something magical. With snow-capped mountain peaks in all four directions, privacy and seclusion was all theirs. Building the town of homes and businesses would take time, but she was excited about the prospects.
Upon arriving, they had been compelled to the northwest corner, where the magical pull was the strongest. A waterfall nearly three hundred feet high roared with the melting snow from the mountain it was cozy with. The falls poured into a pond surrounded by forest and large boulders; it was the most serene setting Marie had ever seen. A magical energy emanated from the falls itself and wafted into the town. Rachael had speculated that that energy was what pulled them from the very beginning.
With Marie and Judson’s experience working the land and growing strong tobacco crops and vineyards back in Virginia, they had been granted land at the lower edge of one of the mountains, where the base met the plateau of the town, to grow a new vineyard and other large crops. It took time and magic, but Judson and Marie built their first home. Judson had also built a lower room within the home that was hidden away, for him to work on his weapons. Her father Hank and her cousins Michael and Caroline were going to live with them until they had places of their own, and they would work for the vineyard. The house was going to be quite spacious, with each addition they had planned to make space for everyone. It was going to be the most beautiful vineyard Marie had ever seen as it climbed up the mountain. She dreamed of one day building small buildings where others could come and stay with them to enjoy the views—family, friends, or visitors, it didn’t matter—she wanted to share her dream. It would be a place of peace where others could find tranquility, but it would also serve to calm her inner hunter when it grew challenging. Judson had also built an outbuilding for an actual forge to continue with metalwork for the town, as well.
Part of their agreement when choosing to stay in the town was that everyone had a part to play. The Blackstones’ part would be threefold: to inform the town council if they sensed black magic, as it would not be allowed, to inform the town if other hunters showed up in the area unannounced, and to provide weapons for the town’s use. Judson and Marie had agreed.
One day, at the base of the waterfalls, Marie sat reading through her family’s journal once more. Content to put it away for a time, whether she found out the secret of the book or not, she wanted one last viewing. Dante was out of the picture—she hoped for a long, long time—and she had her chance to start over and define who the Blackstone hunters would be from now on. Running her fingers gently over the metalwork on the front, she stuck her finger into the depression in the middle, where it appeared something should fit.
An idea struck her, and she pulled out the dagger Judson had restored for her that had also belonged to her family. Examining the metalwork on the dagger, she realized that instead of them being the same pattern, they were each an exact mirror copy of the other, except where the book had a depression, the knife had a round stone set in the middle. Anticipation bubbled up in Marie. Could the key have been with her all along? Was it that simple? She placed the dagger face down on top of the book’s cover and gently pushed the interlocking metal together like a puzzle. The stone on the knife fit snugly into the depression on the book. Unfortunately, nothing happened. Frowning, Marie tried it a couple more times, but the same result remained. Nothing.
She had taken her shoes off earlier and dipped her toes into the cool refreshing water of the pond. Dipping her hand into the water, she stirred it around her fingers. It wasn’t warm enough for a dip at the moment, but she hoped to swim in it someday soon. Turning her focus one last time to what would become just a family heirloom, she pulled the knife free and ran her finger over the colorless stone; it was such a curious stone—she had no idea what it was. This time, when her water-moistened finger moved over the stone, it flickered with color. Marie gasped and almost dropped the thing.
“Do you need water? Or this particular water?” Marie wondered aloud.
In a bold move, she cupped her hand and brought a trickle of water, dripping it right over the stone. It glowed a bright blueish-green and actually absorbed the water containing it. Not knowing what else to do, she pushed the face of the dagger back into the metal work on the book and watched the two click together like a locking mechanism. The book hadn’t been locked, but it unlocked pages that had not been there before—secret pages. It had now become a more personal diary, with grave details about the hunters and their powers, how to use them, how to contain them, how to not pass them on to human offspring, and how to control them and use them for good.
“I knew there was more to you!” Marie practically shouted in her excitement.
“More to what?” Judson asked, climbing up the pathway to where she was, carrying a picnic basket.
“My book! I figured it out!” She showed him all she had discovered. “Now I just need to read it all.”
“Well, I have no doubt you will do that and more. Is there a section for you to add your own experiences so far? You should continue to document things for future generations of hunters.”
“Yes, you are right. I have much to document so far. I also was thinking about the inscription on the dagger: Choose Yourself. I could see where one—a hunter specifically and in our case, Dante—would think it to mean choosing yourself above all else. But I believe it to mean I can choose for myself who I am to be.”
“I believe you are right,” Judson said with a big smile. “And have you?”
“I have!” She returned his big smile. “Did you bring me lunch?”
“I did.” He placed the basket on the ground next to her and sat down. “How is Rachael adjusting?”
“She has decided to continue her training with the Luna Coven. She didn’t feel she was ready to take over her coven, and they have since assimilated into the Lunas here, dropping the Stronghold name. It seemed like the best decision on all parts. I think she’s happy. Plus, she’s been busy with Ahote, from what I
can tell.” Marie winked at him with a devilish smile. “I can think of someone I’d like to be busy with.” Marie flung her arms around Judson’s neck.
He took a minute to admire his woman. But when she winked saucily, he laughed, then added, “I’m glad she is doing well.”
Marie barely let him finish his words before she planted her mouth on his, kissing him senseless and taking control. They broke apart moments later.
“Should we have lunch?” Marie asked, quickly recovering.
“I’d like more of that first, though, please,” he said breathlessly, pulling back from her strike attack.
He grabbed her around the waist and lifted her closer to him. Judson tenderly traced her lips with his own, keeping it light, teasing. Marie moaned and parted her lips for him. He wasted no time taking advantage of her open mouth and deepened the kiss, filling it with passion for Marie and their new life together. When she broke for air, she leaned her forehead against his.
“I love you, Judson Carter Blackstone.”
“I love you too, Marie.” He put her down and stepped back, still holding one of her hands. “There is something I’ve wanted to do for a while now, and since we are settled a bit more, I feel it’s the right time.”
“Oh? What’s that?” Marie asked coyly, thinking he wanted to take their loving a bit further there at the falls.
Judson got down on one knee and raised a ring from his pocket. “Marie, my love. I know we are already married in the eyes of God, but we have never married publicly in the eyes of man. Will you do me the honor of marrying me once again, so I can proudly proclaim you my wife in front of our new friends in our new life?”
Tears streaming down her face, Marie was taken aback at the thoughtful sincerity of the man she had already chosen to be with for the rest of her life.
“Yes, I will.”
Here in this new life, armed with new information and new support, Marie took a deep breath as she looked deeply into Judson’s eyes. This was what she had always wanted. This was a new era for the Blackstone family . . . the dawn of the witch hunters.
Read more about the history of the witch hunters, coming January 2019. Also, you can discover Marie’s descendants—the modern-day Blackstones—in Reawakened (A Havenwood Falls High Novella), available now.
About the Author
Morgan Wylie is an award-winning and USA Today bestselling author with several genres published, from YA fantasy to adult paranormal romance and other things in between. Morgan published her first novel, Silent Orchids, one year after moving across the country with her family on a journey of new discovery. After an amazing three years in Nashville, TN, and the release of two more books, Morgan and her family found their way back to the Northwest, where they now reside. Still working every day with great optimism, Morgan continues to embrace all things: “Mama,” wife, teacher, and mediator to the many voices and muses constantly chattering in her head . . . where it gets pretty loud!
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You can find her and news on her books at the following:
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MorganWylie.net
MorganWylieBooks on Facebook
@MWylieBooks on Twitter
Acknowledgments
First off, I’d like to thank my amazing husband and my eight-year-old daughter, whose patience and support allows me to keep doing what I love to be doing, which is writing.
Next, I’d like to thank Kristie Cook, who had the amazing dream of creating Havenwood Falls and inviting others like me to come and play in her world. And thank you for the use of your characters the Beaumonts, the Petrans, and others; they were invaluable to my story.
Also, thank you to Kristie and Liz Ferry for your editing insights and expertise! Also for your patience as I attempted to challenge my thoughts and words from today’s speech back into the 1800’s.
I’d also like to thank Randi Cooley Wilson for the use of the Bishop boys, E.J. Fechenda for the mention of Elsmed, Amy Hale for the use of Lawrence Mills, and all the other authors whose characters made a brief appearance as a part of the wagon train. And to all my Havenwood Falls family, thank you for your tremendous support and encouragement. I’m thrilled to be in this adventure with you!
And thank you, readers! Whether this is your first introduction to the Blackstone family or you are a Blackstone veteran, thank you. Your support and time is most appreciated! And stay tuned for more from the Blackstone family in the future! Thank You!
Redemption’s End
Eric R. Asher
Also by Eric R. Asher
The Steamborn Trilogy:
Steamborn
Steamforged
Steamsworn
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The Vesik Series:
(Recommended for Ages 17+)
Days Gone Bad
Wolves and the River of Stone
Winter’s Demon
This Broken World
Destroyer Rising
Rattle the Bones
Witch Queen’s War
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Mason Dixon – Monster Hunter:
Episode One
Episode Two
Sometimes there is magic in the steam.
Chapter 1
“How can you stand the noise in here?” Charlotte asked.
I kept my eyes on the seemingly random array of tiny gears and screws under the magnifying glass in front of me. Trying not to give myself away, I screwed the top back onto the flask in my left hand and slid it under the workbench.
“What noise?” I asked. I pulled another lens over my larger magnifier and carefully screwed one of the cogs back together. Only then did I turn away and look up at my wife, not missing the subtle frown and crease of her brow above her light brown eyes.
“No need to hide your flask,” Charlotte said. “Even if I hadn’t seen your clumsy ass trying to hide it, it smells like a still in here. I’m sure that’s just what our customers want to see—you drunk, Gregory.”
I sheepishly held out the bronze flask to Charlotte. “Just testing.”
Somehow Charlotte managed to take a long swig out of the flask without breaking eye contact. The woman knew me too well, and I loved it.
“Who are you making that automata for?” Charlotte asked, indicating the detached body, limbs, and tiny gears strewn about the workbench. When it was assembled, it would be an intricately animated dancer. Now it was, admittedly, a bit of a mess.
I took the flask back as she handed it to me, narrowing my eyes and taking a small sip. The slightly sweet moonshine burned its way down my throat before settling as a fire in my gut. “This one’s just for the shop.”
“Another bauble without a buyer,” Charlotte muttered. “You need to finish those watches. At least until we find out there’s a fence in town for some of our . . . less legitimate keepsakes, as I don’t think the bank will accept stolen art. We can afford two more loan payments on the shop with what we have in cash. Maybe. We’ve barely been here a year, and the town has been here longer than that. I don’t want to leave a bad impression on the banks.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose and took a deep breath. “I know.”
“Sure,” Charlotte said. “What you really mean to say is that you find working on those pocket watches boring. And I understand that, I really do. But you aren’t getting paid by the city again until you finish the conservatory. And that’s if those contraptions will even work.”
“They’ll work,” I said. “They have to. With all the creatures . . .”
“Species,” Charlotte said, correcting me.
I nodded. “With all the species coming here, the town needs protection. Werewolves and vampires are peoples’ neighbors in this place, but I don’t think they fully understand the threat a fae can represent. Especially the Unseelie fae.”
Charlotte settled into the workbench beside me. It used to be we could share the workbench, like one giant communal space. But if I was being honest with myself, I’d grown sloppy in my old age. There was a met
hod to the chaos, and I always knew which screws went with which part and what springs I’d removed from which frame, but to the casual observer, it was pure chaos.
But beside me, Charlotte’s workstation was pure order. She could chisel and carve wood, building the most intricate locks and puzzle boxes you can imagine, from the picture in her mind. There were a few things I could build from memory. I preferred to draw things out ahead of time. So in addition to three dozen jars of screws and fifty different trays of tiny parts, my workspace was littered with paper.
“You sell many more of those puzzle boxes,” I said, “I won’t need to worry about fixing those watches, or selling moonshine.”
The front door—a thick heavy thing with a great deal of intricate carvings—swung open. Some of the patterns were subtle, but if someone had grown up around the tinkers’ guilds, they were sure to recognize a few. And if they had grown up in the company of pirates, they were likely to recognize the vague outline of the crossbones formed from old iron.
Theodore, my apprentice, glanced back at the hinges as he crossed the threshold. He’d let his sandy brown hair grow to the point that he looked more like some of the soldiers I’d known in the east than the neatly groomed young man I was used to.
“You finally got the hinges to stop squeaking? They didn’t even whisper.”
The door snapped closed a moment later, and welcome chimes sounded. While I may have been able to fix the squeaking hinges, I was still having trouble regulating the volume of the chimes. They thundered to life, playing a quick four-note arpeggio that one might mistake for a thunderclap.