A Conspiracy of Ravens: A Raven Saga Book 1

by Crymsyn R. Hart

  "It's true. I'm not a dud after all.” After so many years, her power was finally blossoming. She closed her eyes, savoring the pulsations from the gemstone tickling her arm and wondering what had triggered it. Linnea had stuck up for herself last night and had felt power and confidence fill her. Maybe that one little push was what she needed to ignite her magick. All the witches in their family had their power awaken when it was most needed in their lives. Her grandmother's had awoken when her best friend fell ill, and on instinct, she had laid her hands on her and healed her. The Old Cronies had stories of their own, too. Each was different. They had told her stories about magick lying dormant for generations and then springing to life in descendents when no one thought there would be power. It was like a switch. Once turned on, it was not going anywhere. For many years, Linnea had thought she was one of these few with no power. She could learn as much as she liked, but never be able to really experience magick. What was the good of being from a magickal family and being nonmagickal? To be able to watch your parents or brothers talk to spirits, move objects with their minds, or control the weather, when all you had was book knowledge. There was no life in that.

  Knowing Maili would not understand, Linnea had never told her best friend about what was hidden in the attic. Now, she desperately wanted someone to confide in. Her first instinct was to call the Old Cronies and tell them something was going on with her. Even as she listened to the buzz of the gemstones, she did not want to get her hopes up. Whatever was awakening in her might be the only taste she got. If this turned out to be all the magick she had in her life, she sought to savor it. It was a gift to have this much, and she did not want to be greedy. At that moment, she thought about her parents. What would they say about her powers? She did not know exactly what gifts her parents had, but both had been witches. Her father was one of the few males in his line. Tragedy followed his lineage. All of his relatives died within a couple of years of having their children come of age. His mother had died in childbirth, and his father had died two days after he graduated from high school. She had heard stories about their gifts and had inherited all the Books of Shadows from both families. Now, she was the last within her family. Witches were a dying breed these days. Even the Old Cronies, her grandmother's friends, had very few children and relatives. Of the three who were left from the original coven, Henrietta and Charlotte had one child apiece, and their children had one child each, but none practiced. Coralline had multiplied with seven children, but two had died in childbirth and two had rejected their powers. The three who had followed in their mother's footsteps had settled in different parts of the country. All the hopes of the coven now lay on Linnea, and they were patiently waiting for her to come into her gifts. She was the most powerful among them, and only she could lead the coven. Hopefully now was the time her abilities would flourish. If it were the case and they were growing, what did she need her gifts for?

  "Grammie, now is the time when I need your guidance.” Linnea listened. Last night, she thought she had heard her grandmother whisper in her ear and smelled the lemondrop candy she had sucked on. As she held the crystal, she did not get any answer. Sighing, she placed the crystal on her nightstand and glanced at her answering machine to see if she might have slept through a message from Maili. When she saw none, she knew she had to go and see if her friend was okay.

  Grabbing a pair of jeans, she slid into them along with a black men's shirt she had gotten at the thrift store down the street. She put the quartz in her pocket and slung her purse over her shoulder. As she did, her mind wandered to the events of last night. Things were clearer now she had gotten seven hours of sleep. Linnea replayed the questions the police posed to her and thought about how the dressing room had been ripped apart. Maili's dressing table was destroyed. The mirror was shattered. All her trinkets and jewelry had been cast onto the floor as if child had been playing dress up. Then it dawned on her. Maili wasn't wearing her favorite necklace. A silver chain with an onyx music note her mother had given to her.

  Was the searcher looking for it? It wasn't anything valuable. I know her mother gave it to her when she started singing, but why would someone want to steal it? Maybe they were looking for something else? Jewels or something. But there was nothing in the dressing room except paste and rhinestones. She had better be home! It's unlike her to run off and not let anyone know where she is.

  Before Linnea closed her door, she realized she didn't have her keys. Great. She stopped and ran a hand through her hair trying to remember where she had dropped them the night before. Normally they were in the bowl on the table in the front hall where she always put them, where her grandmother always rested them. After last night, she had no idea where they were. She scanned the kitchen. The gold metal glinted in the sunlight on the table along with the mail which had been piled in between her screen door and the regular door and had cascaded out when she opened it. She must have plopped it down along with her keys and forgot all about it. Scooping up the keys, she noticed a package. There was no return address. As much as it piqued her interest, Maili was waiting for her even if she was not there. Worry had begun to crawl in the pit of her stomach like a rat gnawing away at her insides. Linnea tried to ignore the feeling that something was terribly wrong with her friend, but the longer she did not heard from her, the bigger the rat grew.

  Finally on the subway, she sat trying to erase all thoughts of Maili and focus on the energy of the quartz burning a hole in her pocket. She kept playing with it ignoring the stares of people on the train. Each time the car stopped it lurched forward making her stomach go topsy-turvy. Everything was a little crazy at the moment. She was glad she rested, but last night had been odd at the theater. This morning was even stranger. How was she going to tell her best friend she was a witch? Then again, what would happen if Maili found out and wanted to burn her like her ancestors?

  That is a crazy thought. She'd never do anything to hurt me. I know that. What was it she wanted to tell me? She'd better be there because if she isn't then I'll really start to worry. Heck, I might even try one of Grammie's spells and scry where she is. That might even work now. Linnea smiled. The Old Cronies are going to be ecstatic when they find out about this. Maybe everything they ever told me is going to come true. I have to have hope that something is going to be changing in my life. I'm tired of everything and everyone knocking me around like I'm a piece of dirt. I'm more than that.

  The budding witch swept her gaze around the train. As she did, she realized she could see the homeless man's aura across from her as he snored on the seats. The black background of the tunnel whizzed along with the jaundice-colored lights. But against the gray metallic interior of the train, she discerned his aura as plain as day. It was cobalt blue like the oncoming night. He snored and the grizzle of his beard was filled with drool. Linnea laughed a little when a giddy feeling went through her as she realized she was seeing more than just their tones. Gazing at the other passengers she saw a rainbow surrounding the other people. Tears appeared in her eyes. It was truly happening.

  Grammie, what else is going to happen? Am I going to talk to spirits like you could? I wish you were here to tell me what is going to happen? I could break out the Ouija board, but if I did that, you'd probably come kick my ass and haunt me.

  The speaker overhead dinged. The conductor announced the next stop in a muffled voice, but she barely understood what he said. Linnea traced the map atop the door with her eyes studying the four different branches of the Green Line. All of them were numbered with letters traveling to different parts of the city. She lived on the outskirts of Boston near Boston College, in a back neighborhood. Hers was one of the only homes not inhabited by college students. The community was relatively quiet, lined with trees and with a hidden park and cemetery. There was hardly any crime, but the wards her grandmother had erected were strong enough to keep out any intruders.

  I only wish I was that strong or had the power to do that at the theater. Maili, you had better be t
here when I get to your apartment.

  Linnea stepped off the subway and fought her way through the bustle of people coming down the steps. This was one of the many things she hated about the city. She had a hard time with all the people, but she put up with it. Besides, it was her dream to one day play in the Boston Symphony. It was one of the most renowned in the world. She desperately yearned for front position. It was hard to even get an audition. She had only one and had blown it. The conductor had told her she just wasn't ready. None of the other members of the symphony had retired so she remained at the theater playing night after night. Maili, however, sang Linnea's favorite songs as Dorothy, or Cleopatra, or in whatever role came her way. It didn't matter what the lead was, Maili was sure to get it. Her best friend had the voice of an angel, and she could break glass without a second thought. The timbre and range of Maili's voice was almost like her flute, a finely tuned instrument. Linnea smiled as she thought of Maili. Everything about her was perfect. The budding witch had gotten past the idea she was drab next to her friend. Linnea knew Maili didn't compare herself to her in terms of her voice or her beauty. She knew she was in another league of women, but did not flaunt it. Her voice was a gift from the gods, but she always told Linnea she had a gift for playing the flute and one day she was going to have greatness.

  Linnea gazed up at the third-story balcony of her friend's apartment. She had lived above a secondhand clothing store called Second Britches for the past six years. The owner was a once-upon-a-time hippie who still believed there were flower children and that goblins dwelled in the store stealing the belts and the blue socks he got in. Of course, he was crazy! Linnea liked him. He was decent on the rent and understood when Maili was out on the road and would not be back for a while. Looking at the curling and yellowed masking tape over the last occupant of the apartment below Maili, she wondered when someone would move in. The place had been vacant for months. It was a desirable location located on Newbury Street near the Conservatory. Linnea had always wondered how her friend had landed such a nice flat. Her friend was not one to tell all of her secrets even though they had known one another for almost a decade.

  Linnea held the buzzer, knowing it would take at least twelve rings for Maili to get to the door. Normally she listened to music so loud Linnea heard it down on the street, through the empty apartment, and in Second Britches. George, the owner, didn't care. He thought it was groovy to have a famous singer living above him. Besides, he was normally out of his gourd on pot anyway. Normally, he invited both of the girls to come into the back room with him and smoke, but they never took him up on the offer. Linnea listened again for music or footsteps padding to the door. There were none. Something was wrong. Her stomach dropped. Maili never took this long to answer the door even if she had one of her nightly flings over.

  Sighing, she searched her keyring for the key. Very rarely did she have to use it. Finally, the flautist got the gold key in the old brass locks. The glass door swung open. To the left was an empty apartment. The door sported a silver-and-black number two sticker ready to fall off. Linnea pressed her head against the door to steady herself as a wave of dizziness overwhelmed her. She looked up the stairs and saw a wispy figure of a small child dressed in a sailor suit, skipping down the steps with a baseball and bat. Her eyes widened as she saw the blue of his sailor suit, the white-blond hair, the delicate eyelashes and eyebrows a slight shade darker than his hair, and intense blue eyes. He didn't notice her. Linnea stood dumbfounded as he passed right through her in a cold chill like a departing storm and into the empty apartment. Inside, she heard giggling. Linnea didn't have time to contemplate she was now seeing and hearing ghosts. It seemed her power was growing by leaps and bounds now. No wonder no one wanted to live in the downstairs apartment. I've always felt a distinct chill on the stairwell. Now I know why.

  Linnea raced upstairs, fumbling with the keys and dropped them in front of the dirt scuffed door. Once upon a time the door had a dark oak finish on it, but over time it had worn away from being kicked on, pushed in, weather warping the wood and god knows what else. The door was thick and muffled sound pretty well, but as she was bending down picking up the keys she heard rustling and things breaking. A shadow moved under the door.

  "Maili, you in there?"

  The shadow stopped. The witch got up quietly, placed the key in the lock, and turned it. She didn't hear anything else inside. Slowly, she opened the door. As she did, she heard the distinctive crystal giggle of the ghost boy. He was a few steps down watching her. She gave the ghost a little smile still not believing it was a spirit. She swallowed and pushed the door in. What she saw made all the hair on her body stand up. The day had certainly gone to hell in a handbasket, and she was already burning.

  Chapter Seven

  Tremain had returned to the mortal world, scouring all of Maili's haunts, and yet, she was nowhere to be found. Normally she was elusive trying to hide from him. The blasted girl was aware of her heritage and knew how to use some of her powers. She could bend the darkness around her and with her pendant could slip through the shadows as much as he could. It took more concentration for her to be in the Gray, and she couldn't stay for long periods because of the weight of her soul and flesh. He had even perched outside of her pet human's house for hours feeling the moon rise and set as he winged over the skies of the city hunting for his charge. He had gone back to the theater and used his power to slide under the door and peer into the shadows seeing if she was singing her blasted “Over the Rainbow” tunes about fairytale cities. When he saw the dressing room had been ransacked as her apartment had been, he knew the same intruder was also involved with Maili's disappearance.

  After not finding a scrap of where she was, he finally settled outside Maili's pet human's house, relying on Linnea to lead him to his charge. However, she did not come home until late, and when she did, he grew bored of watching her sleep. The Druid winged off searching again, flying around the area in case Maili decided to pop out of the bowels of the subway somewhere along the way. As he flew, he listened to the night around him and waited for the sun to rise, when he could take human form once again, rejoicing in the choice to turn back into the raven if he wanted and not be trapped inside the feathered prison he had been in for ages. It had been centuries watching the world change around the mortals he was assigned to.

  Witches were condemned, and the religion he once practiced and loved dethroned, with the Goddess turned into an instrument of evil. For years, he had cursed the human Inquisition for taking the lives of so many capable, powerful mortals who took the Old Religion with them. His fellow Warriors mourned along with him at the travesty. Even though there were very few mortals who were truly powerful witches, there were millions of people, mainly women, tortured. All because the Church wanted to fill their coffers and brainwash others. In the back of his mind, he felt as tortured and as imprisoned as the ones who had died. He never wanted the life he lived. Chaffing at the reins of his duties, he hated every night he was trapped in his raven form and rejoiced when he was human. The other Warriors celebrated the eight major holidays allowed to them if they were not working. They were the only other days they could resume mortal form along with the three days of the full moon. Tremain wanted to shed his feathers forever and never have to worry about being a Raven. He cringed when he saw a brother crow or domestic raven. Birds in general made him sick to his stomach. He was tired, and yet if there was only one way he could ever break the curse, it would never happen to him. Why would it? He had been jilted before, and he would be again.

  Watching the pet human sleep, he sensed sunrise was close. He should be at Maili's apartment so he could enter and look through the place with human eyes instead of the dark-tinted eyes of the bird. He took flight landing on the wrought iron balcony. As he did, the cold shiver of transformation raced up his spine. The sweet aroma of pot wafted from the back alley where the building owner welcomed the day in his own way.

  Way to go, old man, he thought.
As the first spears of sun hurtled over the horizon, broke upon the windows on Newbury Street, and touched his tail, his flesh morphed. Spreading his wings, the cool air caressed the naked flesh where his feathers fell away into ash leaving no evidence of his magickal and mystical change. The sun pushed higher shrugging off the night. His wing tips gave way to fingers. Bone hard, dangerous talons became toes. Skinny legs filled out into muscle and tissue to support sculpted legs and a defined torso. Arms, built strong from pumping wings, were now featherless. His vision grew clear. When he sighed, it was not a squawk which passed over his lips. The Druid swallowed, immediately feeling the never-sated thirst he had as a human. In Raven form, he didn't eat, only drank water here and there. When he was mortal, Tremain was racked by thirst and hunger. The burn of it would start soon, but he knew how to handle it. Licking parched lips, he stretched into a standing position instead of a squat. His muscles screamed from being locked up for twenty-eight days. Tremain stood and cried out as he cramped, but he rode it out, marveling how the grating of the wrought iron balcony cut into the soles of his feet. And it was cold. He smiled at the sensation. Experiencing cold and heat was different when he was in his feathers. On human skin, the sensations were more tactile, more alive. Through feathers, he sensed things differently. He could tell the difference between dust and sand moving between his feathers, the direction the wind blew by the way it ruffled his wings or the down of his head. His hearing was sharper than a mortal's even in his human form. But as a raven, his hearing was ten times better, and he could hear another Raven Warrior call out even if it was ten miles away. Then again, they were all linked telepathically just as he was linked with his charges.