Invoking the Witch (The Faction Series Book 1)
Dedications
Preface
Prologue
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
Invoking the Witch
Book 1 of The Faction series
By Lindsey Jayne
Copyright © 2014
L. J. Thorburn
Pen name Lindsey Jayne
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce
This book, or portions therein
No parts of this book may be reproduced without
The written consent of the author
All persons in this book are fictional and any resemblance
To persons living or dead is purely coincidental
All illustrative material used has been purchased legally,
And with the right to use in such a manner as for, but not limited to,
The purpose of book cover design. Website used is
www.canstockphoto.com
First Published January 2015
Dedications
I dedicate this book to all those that have stood by me while I shed blood, sweat and tears into making it happen.
It goes without saying that the support of my family, friends and loved ones has been truly paramount in the success of my first published piece. I appreciate the time and effort they have afforded me during my goal.
I want to thank everyone that has wished me well and/or offered to test read my story before releasing it to Joe Public; old school friends, Facebook fans, other authors (whose advice and time has been insurmountable), the great people I have interacted with through author websites, Beta readers, you have all been absolutely amazing.
To all those that have injected supportive humour into backing me, bounced ideas back and forth with me, listened to me go on, and on, and on. I can’t tell you enough how much you made me smile.
If I list everyone here who has really stood by me during this trial I will be here for pages and pages, and by that time you will be too bored to want to continue.
However, I will personally send my everlasting thanks and undying love to my mum, Judy, my sister, Kirsty, and my best friend, Luke. Finally, to my friend Dan, who just would not shut up about reminding me on the adverbs we discussed over multiple evenings. Your words of encouragement, your support, your fabulous marketing skills (Kirsty! Ha!), your patience and your time, none of it has gone unnoticed, and so this book is dedicated to each and every one of you. I love you all.
Preface
Wow, where does one even beginning mapping this remarkable journey? I suppose the beginning is a safe place to start.
It all began with Fifty Shades…
My partner at the time bought me E.L James’s books and I was hooked. I went on to read the Crossfire novels by Sylvia Day and that was it for me – filthy, rich, alpha males! Say no more.
But, in truth, it goes even further than that. It started when I was a young girl on a trip to Scotland to visit family. My aunty, Carol, gave me her copy of The Sleepless by Graham Masterton to read while I was in bed of a night. I loved it, and from there it went on to Shaun Hutson and James Herbert.
I have no idea why, but I restricted myself to these three authors because I loved the horror elements of their books, especially if a supernatural twist was thrown in every now and again. I tended not to deviate too much, save for reading the classics like The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings by J.R.R Tolkien, too afraid I might not like what I read.
Cue Fifty Shades.
After reading my way through a couple more novels of naughty fun, Simon went one step further and bought me a Kindle Fire one Christmas. Well, it was game over after that; thousands upon thousands of books at the touch of a button. And better yet, recommendations based on my choices.
To this day, I still have hundreds of books I haven’t even begun to read yet – I have a habit of seeing a collection of say eight or ten hot, alpha male stories and I am all over those like a rash! In fact, it was because of this that I discovered some of my favourite authors to date.
After reading my way through The Protector series by Teresa Gabelman, I began to consider the possibility of writing something myself. And, actually, for myself – I had no intentions of publishing or taking it any further than the experiment I intended for it to be.
But I wrote something that roughly constituted a novel. Invoking the Witch. And it was the biggest pile of rubbish I could have ever hoped to come up with. But then I used that lovely social media site we all know and love as Facebook, and I found myself someone willing to give my work a good going over. Sean Hoade – author of Deadtown Abbey (read it!). He read my first draft and after a few emails back and forth I completely re-mastered the whole manuscript, I mean the only thing that remained were the character names!
He copy edited my work, and while doing so, I discovered a fabulous website called Scribophile. I was originally looking for other people to read my work and offer reviews that I could put on the front or back cover. But what I got instead was something truly amazing. A bunch of like-minded, talented authors (or pending authors) who critiqued my work. It opened my eyes up like I couldn’t even believe. Everything changed again, (albeit not quite as drastically), my flow and pacing improved and I picked up on my grammar and punctuation.
And here we have it, after months and months of meticulous tweaking, re-editing, revising, re-wording. The end hath finally arrived.
My final piece.
I have loved every single minute of creating these characters, the settings, the romance, the tension, the banter. Every bit of it! The characters (the good ones at least) are a part of a whole new fictional family and they all hold a place in my heart for one reason or another. I laughed with them, cried with them, rejoiced with them and felt their pain, and I sincerely hope you experience it, too.
I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I have enjoyed the journey to creating it. So, ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, I give you…
Invoking the Witch
Book 1 in The Faction series
Prologue
Long, black hair whipped around the High Priestess’ face in the wild wind billowing through the plastic sheet-covered windows. She knelt on the concrete floor of the derelict warehouse and moved the strands aside with the gentle caress of her hand, gaze focused on the listless body on the ground. A single trickle of blood trailed from the hairline abrasion of the unconscious witch, deep crimson against her pale skin. Dear, sweet Morgan. How easy to manipulate your damaged soul.
“This is it, sisters. This is where supremacy begins for us.” Lifting her head, the Priestess smiled at the four before her. She pulled a long, leather-handled knife from the dark robes covering her thin body; the feathers around the hilt danced in the tempestuous winds. “We cannot afford to fail now. The difficult part is over.”
Her chance at justice, at retribution, presented itself here and now, and with the help of these four loyal followers she would have it.
“Years of guidance, dedication, planning. It’s all been for this moment. I could not have gotten this far without you, my devoted friends. You
will receive your just rewards once this is over and she walks among us.” Her confident voice rang strong over the gusts and reverberated off the corrugated walls.
Turning to an enraptured, young brunette on the far right, the Priestess nodded. “Now, Sister Farris.”
The brunette rose to her feet, brown robes swaying at her ankles as she walked with purpose across the warehouse floor to the nearest wall. She splayed her fingers over the cold surface. With quick, circular motions of her palm, the dark-haired witch repeated, “Egredietur spriritus, ego præcipio tibi, exi foras.”
Beneath her hand the outline of a large symbol glowed, faint at first, then bright orange. It expanded to the size of a human head before smoke spilled from the embers.
The languid haze made its way towards the raven-haired Priestess, and she grabbed hold of the thin cotton covering Morgan’s belly. Knife in hand, she cut through the material with little effort and exposed the swell of the child inside.
Sister Farris sliced into her palm with a similar blade. Blood oozed and she used the slick substance to smear a sigil atop the smoky remnants of the preceding emblem. “In nomine, Lilith,” she whispered over and over.
The Priestess stretched forward. Grasping Morgan’s limp arms, she pulled them above the prone woman’s head and held them in place. The misty fog coiled tight around Morgan’s thin wrists. The same went for her ankles.
The smell of scorched flesh permeated the large room. Morgan stirred, screamed pained cries. The skin on her wrists bubbled and burned through the hazy vapour.
The Priestess released her limbs. “Now!” she yelled with power and control.
“Tace!” Sister Farris cried out.
Sound dissolved.
Morgan writhed and thrashed on the hard ground, her screams mute.
The four advanced to kneel on the cold, concrete floor before their leader. Their wide-eyed focus settled on the Priestess.
I will not fail, I will not falter. Her coven eyed her with poised eagerness; any fear vanishing. They turned their gaze to their prisoner’s wide-eyed form. The Priestess smiled down at their captive and slid the tip of her knife into Morgan’s stomach to make the first incision.
∾∾∾
With a speed born of purpose, the five women shed their dark gowns and ascended the hill, against howling winds and lashing rain.
Dressed in white threads—the saturated material tight against their soaked, slippery bodies—they stayed closed to one another. Concentration fixed on their route; they ignored the mud and blood caking their bare feet while they trudged across the uneven terrain, over large tree roots, steep inclines, and jagged, stony outcrops.
The Priestess, at the front, carried a screaming bundle wrapped in the same white cloth they wore. With every clap of thunder ringing through the dense woodland, the bundle cried louder.
Darkness swamped the forest, and the full moon cast brief glimpses of light through the thick foliage.
A clearing came into view, circled by rocks of various sizes. All but the Priestess arranged themselves in formation using the boulders to stand on. The Priestess’ wet, ebony hair and sodden robes stopped thrashing, rain ceased to bead off her bronzed skin the moment she stepped foot over the formation’s perimeter.
Before a shallow ditch, dead centre, she crouched down, laying the stricken child inside while the rest of her acolytes stripped naked. She pulled a knife from her rags, and moonlight bounced off the sharpened blade before she drew it across her outstretched palm.
Dark crimson fluid seeped out. It dripped onto the infant, a slow, thick trail down his body before it soaked through cloth and seeped into the dank mud. Balling her hand into a fist, she moved it around the ditch. Blood pumped to create a glimmering circle. Once complete, she stripped down, bound her wound and joined the rest of her coven.
Re-entering the storm, the Priestess mounted one of the large stones. The torrential downpour beat against her bare skin, whipping wind caused goose bumps to ripple across her body.
“It is time to call for her. To offer her the first of many,” she shouted above the windstorm.
The five closed their eyes and stretched their arms towards the full moon. Rain continued to hammer off the ground and bounce off their bodies. The relentless pounding of the storm tousled with their hair and it beat around their faces like sharp, stinging whips.
The group remained quiet, waiting. The child wailed over the storm. A streak of lightning brightened the skies above them, followed by a clap of thunder. The baby cried louder.
The Priestess yelled, “He cries for thee, Lilith. He is pure, untouched by the three. Come for his innocent soul. Pacify the wrongs done to thee.”
Dirt and leaves blew from the ground as the wind grew stronger. An owl hooted over the din and the five began their chant,
“Omnes te invocamus Lilith.
Omnes te invocamus Lilith
Afferte, si quid tenebrarum.”
Fierce gusts created havoc outside the centre of the circle, roaring like wild beasts while flying debris collided with trees and rock. The baby’s cries became more urgent and the chants grew louder,
“Omnes te invocamus Lilith
Egressus est ad nos.”
With a cry, Sister Farris dropped to the ground, eyes still closed. On hands and knees, she crawled through wet grass and oily mud to the centre, to the baby. Removing him from the hole, she held him above her head. For long minutes, the child remained raised before the moon, the chants dying to a whisper.
Returned to the ground, the child quieted. He stared at the witch before him. With a snap, Sister Farris’s head flew forwards, eyes enlarged, and baring milky-white orbs.
Eyes fixed on the infant, she took hold of his neck.
“Lilith, offero me ipsum tibi. Accipe munusculum. Largire mihi tenebrarum,” she whispered to him.
Raising her head to stare at the moon, her eyes pearlescent spheres, her grip tightened.
Chapter 1
Detective Chief Inspector Amelia Ellis leaned back against her chair and waved a hand in front of her face. Muggy air swirled around the DCI’s humid, Blackburn office.
Staring at decision logs and other case documentation with distaste, Amelia remembered why she preferred to be outside of her office. But no-one liked to piss off the boss, Detective Chief Superintendent Riley Thomas, by cutting corners—especially when he stood over six feet tall with the build of a Latvian shot-putter.
An incoming call on her internal phone line indicated the luxury of avoiding him before she finished, remained a pipedream.
“Ellis,” she answered with blunt professionalism.
“Ellis, Thomas here.” His deep voice held a hard edge.
“What can I do for you, sir?”
“I have a job for you. It’s come down from the Faction.”
Great. ‘On loan’ to a group of paranormal-hunting vampires with a God complex.
“Go on,” she sighed.
“There’s been a murder. It looks … supernatural.”
No shit, Sherlock. Since the paranormal exposed themselves a decade ago, her workload increased tenfold. Vampires loose with uncontrollable bloodlust, werewolves with schizophrenic tendencies and paranoid delusions, witches who managed to cock up simple protection spells and trap several of their coven in giant plastic cages. A few of the unusual things Amelia bore witness to.
“Who do I need to contact?”
“The General is running the show, but for now, you need to take your guys and meet Nate at the crime scene.” He reeled off the address to her.
The no-nonsense General—Lucas Drake—led Lancashire’s Faction group. Vampires were not the only supernatural creatures under his employ—humans, witches, werewolves, everyone got equal opportunity. Nate acted as head coordinator and lead investigator during daylight hours. Being a big believer in equality made Lucas a legendary leader amongst his aides.
Amelia dialled Nate’s number the moment Thomas hung up, and a deep, rough vo
ice answered within seconds.
“Yeah?”
Amelia rolled her eyes. “Nate? It’s Ellis—”
“Oh, Inspector Ellis, nice of you to call. Can I expect you any time soon? I have a stab victim awaiting your expertise. Take your time; she’s not going anywhere.”
Smug, sarcastic bastard…
“I’ve just been informed. I’m gonna gather my guys, then I’ll be over.”
“Can’t wait, gorgeous. I’ve missed your face.”
… Urgh, but your charms are about as effective as a chocolate teapot on me, sweetheart. She hung up and shook her head, pursing her lips.
Amelia made one more call before she went in search of her team. Running a hand through her long hair, she waited for the other person to pick up.
“Simms.”
Fairly new to the force, but a team player, Constable Darcy Simms made a competent officer. Young, willing to learn and great with a computer. Amelia liked her.
“Just the person. I need to go out to a scene, but I have some paperwork to finish for Thomas by the end of shift. It’s the Farrow case we worked. Do you think you’d be able to complete it for me? It’s nothing too extensive, just dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s.”
“Yeah, that’s not a problem, ma’am. Just pop it in on your way out. I’ll have it done in no time.”
“You’re a star. I’ll be down shortly.”
Outside of the office, Amelia found her team in one of the briefing rooms.
Detective Inspector Sam Chapman, Amelia’s loyal DI for the past three years, waited for her arrival. A big guy at six foot, full of muscle and tattoos with a mouthy sense of humour.