No Crone Unturned

by Amanda M. Lee

  No Crone Unturned

  A Spell’s Angels Cozy Mystery Book 3

  Amanda M. Lee

  WinchesterShaw Publications

  Copyright © 2020 by Amanda M. Lee

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. One

  2. Two

  3. Three

  4. Four

  5. Five

  6. Six

  7. Seven

  8. Eight

  9. Nine

  10. Ten

  11. Eleven

  12. Twelve

  13. Thirteen

  14. Fourteen

  15. Fifteen

  16. Sixteen

  17. Seventeen

  18. Eighteen

  19. Nineteen

  20. Twenty

  21. Twenty-One

  22. Twenty-Two

  23. Twenty-Three

  24. Twenty-Four

  25. Twenty-Five

  26. Twenty-Six

  27. Twenty-Seven

  28. Twenty-Eight

  29. Twenty-Nine

  Mailing List

  About the Author

  Books by Amanda M. Lee

  Prologue

  Eleven years ago

  I was late.

  I wasn’t particularly worried about it. I lived in a group home, after all. I was due to age out ... and soon. I only had until my high school graduation. There was very little they could do to me. If they wanted to kick me out two weeks early it wouldn’t be the end of the world. I had nowhere to go and no idea what to do with myself, but that wasn’t going to change between now and my removal date. I was living on borrowed time, and it wasn’t the best feeling.

  My boots thumped the ground as I trudged the sidewalk, the shadows on either side causing me to watch my surroundings carefully. Very little frightened me. I’d seen too much in my almost eighteen years ... even though I couldn’t remember everything I’d seen.

  I was an orphan, or at least that’s what they called me. I had no idea if my parents were dead or simply woke up one day, said Scout Randall was too much work, and abandoned me in front of a fire station. That’s where I was found, and the only thing I knew with absolute certainty was that I was truly alone.

  I didn’t have a name, so the firefighter who found me gave me one. Scout, from his favorite book. I never did figure out where the Randall came from. Of course, I didn’t ask. It didn’t matter.

  I grew up in the system, shuffled from home to home. I never had a bad placement. Not really anyway. No one wanted me long-term, though. I couldn’t decide if that was a good or bad thing. When you grow up in the system you hear these stories about children finding forever homes and being happy. To me they were always fairy tales, because I’d never known anyone in the system to get a happy ending ... and that included me. Still, other kids remained hopeful. I’d given up that dream a long time ago.

  All I wanted was to survive.

  A furtive noise caught my attention and I flicked my eyes to the tree on my right. I had very good survival instincts. Of course, I had a little something extra, too. I was magical. That wasn’t a word I threw around lightly — or wanted to dwell on. I knew it made me an enticing target for those who might want to use my powers for evil. I learned at a young age to keep my abilities to myself to avoid unwanted attention.

  Despite my best efforts, I recognized there were people who suspected. The firefighter who found me always made it a point to check in. I think he believed I was somehow his responsibility, which was ridiculous. As far as I was concerned, he’d done his job when he turned me over to his superiors. He owed me nothing ... and yet he still visited once a month and always asked if anything peculiar had happened since his last visit.

  He brought me presents, including candy and toys, when I was younger. As I grew older, the gifts became more thoughtful. He knew I liked to read and bought me an e-reader. He loaded it with books he thought I should read and then gave me a gift card to fill it with books I wanted to read. He told me over and over again that books were the key to adventures. As fond as I was of him and the time we spent together, I had news for him. The key to adventure was getting out of this hole.

  In truth, I’d given up even trying to find a home several years before. I was never that into it, all the pomp ... and circumstance ... and pretending that was associated with adoption events. I was always the suspicious sort, so I was never one to open up to relative strangers. I didn’t want to pretend to be something I wasn’t. I didn’t want to open up. I needed to protect myself ... so that’s what I did.

  I was sixteen when they tried the last home placement. Thanks to my magic I knew right away it wasn’t the place for me. I could sense danger there. It didn’t come from the husband, but emanated from the wife. She was mentally ill, wanted to purge young minds and bring them to a certain way of thinking, and her method involved four church visits a week. I didn’t even spend a full night in the house. I simply left and walked to the previous group home I’d been housed in. When Steven, the man who ran the home, found me sitting on the front steps the next morning, he didn’t look surprised.

  He asked me what had happened. I thought about not telling him no matter how much he declared it to be important, but ultimately I knew other children might not be able to figure out their plight in that home (it might not be immediately obvious after all) until it was too late. So I told him the truth and he squeezed my shoulder. He promised me it was going to be okay and he would find a different place. I responded that I didn’t want a different place, that I wanted to spend my last two years in the home.

  He looked conflicted at first, as if that flew in the face of everything he’d ever learned. Ultimately, though, he saw something in my eyes that convinced him I was telling the truth. After that, the group home was my home. He talked various foster fathers into teaching me a variety of things, including mechanics and home repair. He knew from the other homes I’d stayed in that those were the things I was most interested in, so he arranged various unofficial classes.

  Over the years, Steven and I had developed a fairly easy rapport. Still, he didn’t like it when I was late. I was hardly going to break my leg trying to race to get to him, though. I had only two weeks left ... and I had to think.

  I’d dreamed of being out of the system for so long that I thought I had things figured out. In truth, the closer I got to my discharge date, the more fearful I became. I knew I wanted to be free, hit the open road and see the world. But I had no money. I did have an interesting skill set thanks to Steven. I could fix almost anything, and he’d taught me several coping methods to deal with my temper. I could make it ... as long as I found a job. That was easier said than done. I had no references, no parents, and most business owners weren’t likely to be thrilled about opening their doors to someone like me.

  I had to come up with a better plan. I was running out of time.

  I picked up my pace. Steven would likely still be up and I wanted to brainstorm with him. He often had good ideas, but he made me ask for his help. He stressed that. He said I was independent, which was a good thing, but it would be my downfall if I didn’t get it together and try to open my heart to people. I thought that was a lot of nonsense, but I needed him to help me figure things out. It was humbling to admit, but there it was.

  I was more than halfway home now. I’d been at the library researching jobs in the area on the internet when it closed. I hadn’t realized it was s
o late. I’d gone down a rabbit hole and emerged only when they kicked me out.

  It was early spring and the nights were crisp. I didn’t feel the cold as I increased my pace. All I could think about was what I was going to do in two weeks. I would be completely on my own then and was at a genuine loss. Steven reassured me that he would be there when I needed help — we’d grown closer than he usually allowed with his charges — but I was determined to do this on my own. I didn’t want to need people. That was the whole point of growing up.

  I was two blocks from the group home when the hair on the back of my neck stood up and saluted. Instinctively, I slowed my pace and began scanning the bushes on either side of the road. The magic allowed me to protect myself. Of course, I carried myself in such a way that strangers had stopped approaching me when I was fourteen for the most part. I wanted it that way.

  This was different.

  “I know you’re there,” I said after a beat, completely stopping my forward momentum and glaring at a clump of trees about thirty feet away. There was no movement, nothing to hint that I wasn’t alone. But I knew. There was a predator lurking, and he thought I was easy prey. Well, I’d show him what a true predator looked like.

  “You might as well come out,” I called out. “I’m not an idiot.”

  There was silence for a moment, then the rustle of leaves. When a figure finally materialized on the other side of the trees, it wasn’t what I expected.

  It was a man ... kind of. He couldn’t have topped five feet no matter how much you stretched him, and that included the shoes he was wearing that looked to have heels. He wore a weird little suit with patches at the elbows of the blazer. He sported a bald head — the moon bounced off it — other than about three wispy fibers that could probably be described as hair if someone was hard-pressed. One eye sort of sagged, giving him the appearance of winking.

  “Cripes,” I muttered under my breath. “What happened to you?”

  The man drew himself to his full diminutive height and puffed out his chest. “Nothing happened to me. What happened to you?” He seemed insulted that I would dare call him on the carpet for being a creepy stalker.

  “Why are you hiding in the bushes?” I demanded, folding my arms over my chest. “Are you a pervert or something?”

  His eyes flashed. “Of course I’m not a pervert. What a question to ask. I wasn’t hiding, by the way. I was ... taking a nap.”

  That was the lamest excuse I’d ever heard. “You were taking a nap in the bushes? Are you homeless? You don’t look homeless. You’re weird-looking, but that jacket looks expensive, despite the patches.”

  The man’s features blazed with annoyance. “I will have you know, young lady, that this jacket was designed by one of the finest tailors in all of England.”

  Oh, he was British. That explained it. Well, maybe. “What century was the jacket made?”

  “This century. It’s a new coat.” He sniffed as he straightened. “Who are you to judge what other people wear anyway?” He gave my hodgepodge of clothing a once over. “You look like you shop at a secondhand store.”

  “That’s because I do shop at a secondhand store.” I didn’t really care that he was insulting my clothing. I’d never been one for fashion. Sure, I had dreams of buying my own leather coat one day — something black and rugged that made me look tough — but I was resigned to that taking a while. I still had to get a job ... and a roof over my head ... and food would be nice. “You still haven’t told me why you’re hiding in the bushes.”

  “I wasn’t hiding in the bushes,” he shot back. “I don’t understand why you keep saying that. I was hiding in the trees, not the bushes.”

  “Oh, well, that’s so much better,” I drawled. I was growing bored with the conversation. Still, I knew that I couldn’t simply leave him to ambush some other unsuspecting victim. “You look like a pervert, so that’s what I’m going with.”

  He made a squeaking noise that sounded like disgust. “I’m not a pervert! Stop saying that.”

  “I don’t know anyone else who would hide in the bushes after dark. I mean ... I guess you could be a robber. If that’s your thing, you’re going to be disappointed. I don’t have any money.”

  “I don’t want your money. Really, what an undignified thing to say.”

  I had to give him credit. Even though he was hiding in the trees like a freaky criminal, he was making a good effort to put me on the defensive. It was an interesting trick. “I’m running late. I have to be going.” I moved to step around him. I thought he would let me pass rather than mess with me. Instead, he reached out and grabbed my arm, wrapping his spindly fingers around my wrist as he started to chant in a language I didn’t recognize.

  “What are you doing?” I jerked my arm from his grasp, causing his eyes to widen further as he squeaked again. I fixed him with a dark glare. “What did you just say?”

  “I didn’t say anything,” he lied. “You’re hearing things.”

  “I’m not hearing things.” This was no longer fun. “What language was that?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He stared at the sky. “You’re starting to become a nuisance so ... off with you.” He made small shooing motions with his hands. “I’m sure someone is missing you. Not someone bright, mind you, but someone all the same.”

  Someone was missing me. Steven. I didn’t want to disappoint him. It was rare that I could say that about anyone, but he was all I had. Well, Steven and the firefighter who refused to write me off. They were it.

  That didn’t mean I could simply turn my back on this idiot. “That sounded like a spell,” I pressed, my eyes narrowing. “Were you casting a spell on me?”

  This time when the man’s eyes landed on me he was incredulous. “What are you?” His tone was accusatory.

  “An Aquarian,” I replied. “Some people think that makes me aloof, but I happen to like the fact that people annoy me.”

  He rolled his eyes. “That’s not what I was asking.” His eyes drilled into me. “What are you?” He asked the question in such a manner that there could be only one answer. I knew what he was digging for, but even if I had the answers he sought I wouldn’t share them with him.

  “What are you?” I shot back. “I mean ... other than a creepy stalker who likes to hide behind bushes and attack teenage girls. Wait ... you weren’t whacking off in there, were you?”

  I didn’t think his eyes could bulge out of his head any further, but I was wrong. He seriously looked as if he was going to pop a gasket. “That is undignified!”

  “So is your face,” I argued. “Seriously, I’m not leaving here until you tell me what you were doing.”

  “I ... you ... .” He looked flustered. Then he straightened. “I don’t have to tell you anything. You’re not my superior.”

  “No, but I am a teenager who was accosted by a strange guy hiding in the bushes. I can call the police. I’m sure they would love to know what you were doing.” In truth, I had no intention of calling the police. I mistrusted them more than tiny little men in bad suits who hid in the bushes. He didn’t need to know that.

  “I wasn’t hiding in the bushes!” he exploded. “I was in the trees, and I wasn’t hiding. I was ... communing with nature.”

  “Yeah, that sounds like code for whacking off.”

  “I just ... you are an undignified girl.” He took an exaggerated step away from me. “I’m not a pervert. I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong.”

  “Uh-huh.” The more he talked, the more convinced I was that he was most definitely a pervert. It ultimately didn’t matter. I was late ... and he wasn’t my problem. “If someone goes missing from this area tonight, I’m giving your description to the police. You’ve been warned.”

  “Oh, well, that’s fair,” he barked as I resumed my trek to the group home. “I’m pretty sure you’re judging me on my appearance, and that’s wrong. I don’t know who raised you, but you need a manners adjustment.”

&
nbsp; “I’ll take that under advisement.” I didn’t look back until I made it to the end of the block. Once there, I looked back to the spot where I’d left him. He remained, but he wasn’t alone. Another man had joined him. This one was tall and dressed all in black.

  As if sensing me watching, he slowly turned until his gaze snagged with mine. Even though there was too much distance between us for me to see his eyes, I got a flash of clear blue and a chill went through my body. Whoever this man was, he wasn’t good.

  I felt caught, as if I should call for help and confront him. He seemed to grasp my predicament because he burst out in a mocking laugh and shook his head.

  “Perhaps we will meet again one day,” he called out. “No further communication need be attempted tonight. You should feel lucky.”

  That wasn’t the word I would use to describe how I felt. “Maybe you should feel lucky,” I shot back. “I’m terrifying.”

  “So my associate has told me. For now, you’re safe. You should go home.”

  “That’s the plan.” I continued staring. “What are you?”

  “I asked that question first of her,” the little guy complained. “She won’t answer.”

  “Perhaps that’s because she doesn’t know,” the dark man said. “Either way, she’s ... interesting.” I couldn’t see his predatory smile but I could feel it. “Go home. I believe we will meet again. This isn’t going to play out tonight.”

  I felt as if I should be relieved, but I didn’t know why. “You won’t like it if I see you again,” I promised finally. I liked pretending I was a badass and I wasn’t going to break my streak now. “I’ll be your worst nightmare.”