Caitlin's Book of Shadows (Antique Magic #2) Read online



  Caitlin’s Book of Shadows

  by

  Juli D. Revezzo

  Antique Magic, book 2

  Raven Queen Publications

  Caitlin’s Book of Shadows

  Antique Magic, book 2

  Copyright ©2012 by Juli D. Revezzo

  Cover design by Matthew Revezzo Designs, art by ~Valentine-FOV-Stock; Raven Queen Publications Logo by Boulevard Photographica/Patty G. Henderson.

  Raven Queen Publications, December 2012

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

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  TOC

  Cover page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Caitlin’s Book of Shadows, December 25

  Chapter One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  December 25th, midnight.

  The Artist’s Inheritance sample

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Drawing Down the Shades sample

  Thanks for reading

  Also by Juli D. Revezzo

  About Juli D.Revezzo

  Dedication & Acknowledgment:

  To my dear friend Jolene Dawe. Thanks for everything, always.

  And also thanks to Laure Beth Lynch for inspiring Trevor’s “Call to Arianrhod”

  Fulmer House, December 25, 2PM

  Abigail grunted as she pushed the trunk’s lid up. Inside, a treasure trove of sketchbooks. She removed each one, flipping through the yellowed pages with care. Every sketch inside made her breath catch in her throat. She couldn’t remember seeing these drawings before, but her grandmother’s gallery still held many of the precious carvings Trevor Fulmer had produced. Even now, they brought in the bulk of their customers. Between this house, the gallery, and the university who helped each year with a small traveling exhibit of the works the Fulmer family’s fame would be assured.

  She handed the book to her assistant and tugged forth three more. Underneath them all, a gleam of red leather caught her eye. A swatch of black set in the center and she tipped it in the low light to read.

  “What do you have there, Abigail?”

  “More recipes, I guess.” She opened the cover and read the title, drawn in Trevor’s sure hand:

  Caitlin’s Book of Shadows

  Abigail gasped. No, not recipes.

  Was it true? Had she really committed something like this to old-fashioned pen and ink? She flipped a few pages, reading entries.

  I’d like to put in some orange trees.

  Trevor told me Arianrhod might stop by.

  She narrowed her eyes at the text. Was this really Caitlin’s work? She’d have to compare it to what they called Caitlin’s ideas pages—those pages scattered throughout Trevor’s five decades of collected sketchbooks wherein his wife had jotted down random thoughts and lists. Though the bulk of Caitlin’s work existed in electronic print the notebooks and this shared a similar slant. Although their grandson’s handwriting did seem comparable to this . . .

  “We’ll have to have the book authenticated to be sure.” Abigail finally shut the cover and set it atop the pile. Scanning the old attic, she sighed. “I think that’s the last of them.”

  Her assistant opened another trunk. Inside, old dresses, sweaters. “I guess so. Maybe there’s more somewhere else? Didn’t your grandma have a safety deposit box with some of their stuff inside?”

  “I didn’t see anything like this.” She tucked the book under her arm. “Maybe Trevor’s father had others.” Abigail crossed to the door and paused on the threshold for one last look at the attic. A car revved its engine as it zoomed by outside. “Send me that last inventory you did of his house.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “If that doesn’t yield anything—” She scrolled through her phone and frowned at her list of contacts. It seemed incomplete. “I’ll hit the state archive again.” A thought occurred to her. “When you went through Beryl Freedman’s stuff, did you find her granddaughter’s number?”

  “It’s on your desk.”

  “Good work. Finish up here and then, go home. I’m sorry to interrupt your Christmas, Stephanie.”

  “It’s no problem, ma’am. For the Fulmers—” She whistled. “I’d leave the Queen’s lunch, were she ever to invite me.”

  “So would I.”

  Abigail smiled and patted her assistant’s shoulder, then headed for the office on the second floor. The architectural plans said this used to be Caitlin and Trevor’s bedroom. Now it held Abigail’s desk, her computer, books, and files. Bookshelves lined the south wall. Some of Trevor’s smaller carvings stood here and there along the shelves tucked in between bound catalogs and reference books: Some of his small chairs, a trio of squirrels, a warrior in her chariot, spear raised to strike.

  She set the book on her desk, running her fingers over its soft leather cover again. Caitlin’s book of shadows. She couldn’t wait to read the story therein. Had Caitlin written it herself? If not, who had?

  Some said she entertained the devil. Some said she spoke to the dead and heroes from the distant past. Was it true? No one knew, but perhaps this would solve some of the mystery?

  What would it say about the famous gardener and mythology blogger from a half century ago? Abigail tucked the book under her arm and drove home to her Christmas dinner, but the book stayed in the back of her mind.

  When her dinner guests departed for the night, she settled into her office and slipped on a pair of soft archival gloves. After fingering the cover in a moment of reverent silence, she opened the book. The Christmas cleaning could wait.

  ~1~

  Caitlin worked the afternoon away in Kameko’s Print Shop, packaging a new order when the door opened. Hofter stepped into the shop. Caitlin froze. Hadn’t Arianrhod insisted she’d “taken care of him”? How, exactly, when there he was, flitting here and there amongst the customers, smiling, brandishing his claw-tipped fingers.

  Caitlin narrowed her eyes watching him, unsure of what her eyes told her. He can’t be here.

  She tried to will the unwelcome vision away but Hofter refused her silent order to leave. He approached one gentleman waiting in line. Hofter’s claws flashed. The man yelped and cursed.

  Had he cut the gentleman? At least that’s what she thought she saw. She dropped the bundle of fliers she’d been carrying and screamed.

  In the next second, Hofter disappeared but she couldn’t stop screaming.

  Calvin sprinted out the office door. “What’s going on here?”

  Hofter was gone and yet, she kept on screaming.

  Calvin took her by the arms and shook her. “What is it, Caitlin?”

  She pointed to the crowd. Hofter had disappeared and she knew though Calvin’s gaze followed the direction of her finger, he saw nothing.

  “Maybe you need to take a break. Go on. Mark can handle things for now.” He turned and shouted over his shoulder, “Mark?”

  The student assistant slinked into Caitlin’s spot at the counter as she tried to keep from running out the door.

  Hands shaking, she pulled her purse from her locker seeking her cell phone to call Beryl.

  “Sweetie,” Beryl said, “are you sure it was Hofter?”

/>   “I saw him, plain as day.” Her mouth was so dry and heart pounding so hard she could barely get the words out. “There’s no doubt in my mind he’s not as imprisoned as she promised.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  Yet, it seemed to take forever for Beryl to arrive. When she did, Caitlin stood back trying to do her work as she watched Beryl scrutinize the afternoon crowd of customers. She couldn’t stop shaking.

  Beryl finally sauntered up to the counter and shook her head. “I don’t see him, Cait. I don’t even feel any remnants of him.” She reached out and ran her hand down Caitlin’s arm. The touch calmed her—a little. Not as much as she would’ve liked it to. “Sweetie, why don’t you go home and get some rest?”

  Caitlin nodded to a watching, curious Calvin. “I would if I could, but I’m stuck here until closing.”

  Beryl waved him over and proceeded to flirt with him. Caitlin didn’t know how she did it, but she managed to talk him into letting her leave. Driving her to Dr. Austin’s office herself, Beryl waited until Caitlin reformed from the puddle of sobbing goo she turned into. How she didn’t tell Dr. Austin the true nature of the monster she dealt with, how she managed to stay out of the nuthouse, was beyond Caitlin’s power to discern.

  Even when she closed the door and the drapes that night, she could’ve sworn she saw Hofter hanging in the air outside her windows, grinning his evil, impish smile.

  “Are you okay, honey?” Trevor asked.

  “Yeah. I’m fine.” Liar. She slammed the drapes shut. Go to Hell, Hofter! And stay there!!!

  At least, she supposed, he didn’t invite himself to her party—yet.

  No, better not to think that.

  Christmas was coming. Things could only get better—right?

  ~2~

  Hofter had emerged again. How could that be? She couldn’t tell Trevor. She wanted to speak to Arianrhod, but then again, she didn’t. She couldn’t stand the woman. Nonetheless, when Trevor trekked off to the shower, she swiped his cell phone from the dresser and scrolled through his phone book looking for a phone number for the goddess.Do goddesses even have phone numbers?

  Abby.

  Amelia.

  Cait.

  Dad.

  Jillian.

  Michela.

  Noah.

  She flipped the phone shut. Where did he keep Arianrhod’s number? She frowned at the empty room and trekked to the bathroom. Sneaking in, she poked her head around the dark blue shower curtain to see Trevor with shampoo in his eyes. She sighed and left the room as quietly as she came. Dinner needed cooking and she mixed and tested, plopping the pork and potatoes into their plates with much more force than she’d meant to.

  Trevor’s footsteps drew her attention to the kitchen door. “Something wrong?” he asked.

  She scanned his open flannel shirt and the wet towel around his neck and smiled. “You know, Christmas is coming.” She waved a finger at him. “That’d make a perfect Christmas card.”

  “No, it wouldn’t.”

  “Yes it would.” She raised a brow mischievously. “Let me get the camera.”

  He grabbed her hand as she approached, pulling her into his warm arms. “No you don’t.”

  “Oh,” she laughed. “You’re right. I’ll keep them for my own. Or did I just spoil the secret of my Christmas gifts?”

  He nuzzled her nose. “Have you been peeking?”

  She laughed as she pushed him away. “Me? I didn’t even know you’d gone shopping. I know I have to.” Mental note: pick up more soda. No, that wasn’t what she wanted to say. She shook her head. “I wanted to invite Arianrhod to our Christmas party. Do you know how to get in touch with her?”

  He raised a brow, incredulous. “I thought you hated her.”

  “Hate? Me?” She shifted the bowl of potatoes in his direction, trying to distract him with a silent plea for help in dinner, and gave him her most innocent look. “No.”

  He ignored her request for assistance. “You’re always so annoyed when I leave with her.”

  She plunged the spoon into the potatoes. Hair slid over her cheeks. Good. He couldn’t see her scowl. “Not a bit.”

  “Then why are you trying to puree those potatoes?” He took the spoon from her hand. “What’s really going on?”

  Caitlin leaned against the counter, deflating. “I had to see my therapist this afternoon. I thought I saw Hofter.”

  Trevor’s spine went rigid. “Where? Here?”

  She told him everything and he disappeared up to the attic.

  Caitlin set their dinner in the refrigerator, intent on following. He emerged from the attic as she hit the middle of the stairs. Michela, in a white calf-length skirt patterned with mistletoe and sprigs of holly decorating her braided hair, trailed after him.

  How did he do that? she wondered. Caitlin exchanged a glance with Trevor and invited the guardian into their living room.

  “He’s here again. Arianrhod promised he’s locked up,” she said, watching the guardian take a cup of coffee from her husband’s hand.

  “I assure you that’s the case.”

  Arms crossed, she gripped her loose sleeves tight, crumpling the flannel in her anxiety. “Why did I see him in Kameko’s?”

  Michela shrugged. “You’ve been stressed. I suppose it’s normal for you to fixate that rage on him.”

  “With good reason,” Caitlin grumbled. She raised her voice. “So, I can go back to work tomorrow without fear of him bombing the place or something?”

  “If you put it that way, let’s be honest, anyone could perpetrate such a crime,” Michela mused. “To answer your question, I have no indication any evil’s about to befall you.”

  Surely, their definitions of evil didn’t match up.

  The guardian patted her hand. “Don’t worry, Caitlin. The solstice is upon us. Your new year is ahead of you. Put Hofter out of your mind and just be.”

  Caitlin glanced at her husband. “Do you believe her?” she murmured into his ear.

  “Dr. Austin—”

  “Doesn’t know the whole story.”

  Trevor grunted a non-committal answer. “She’s not let me down yet.”

  Caitlin opened her mouth to remind him of the last year, of everything his family had suffered due to their goddess’ version of support. Why can’t you believe her? she wondered. She let the argument go.

  ~3~

  The house smelled of sweet, toasted almonds and savory roast. Caitlin set a bowl of the warm almonds on the coffee table just as the doorbell rang. Were Beryl and the girls here already? Or the rest of their guests? She looked to the window, spying Michela’s car in the drive.

  Trevor smoothed down his black shirt and ran for the door. Michela’s voice filled the room. “Trevor, dear.”

  Caitlin crossed into the foyer in time to see him help Michela out of her thick, black coat. She wondered how much the accountant paid for it. Would she don fur in this day and age? Surely, the garment was an expensive synthetic. Or did it date much older than modern sensibilities? She didn’t feel like starting an argument tonight.

  “Thanks for coming,” she said and turned to Michela’s husband.

  He took a deep breath. “What smells so wonderful?”

  “Roast.”

  “Don’t eat too much,” Trevor warned.

  Michela looked from one to the other. “Whatever for? You always say Cait’s a divine cook.”

  Trevor wound his arms around her. “She is.”

  Caitlin smiled at the pure love in his voice. That made the day’s work worth every second. “So he says. I’m thinking we need leftovers in case the world ends at midnight.”

  Michela piffed and patted her cheek as she sauntered by. “Don’t worry about that, my dear.”

  “So, you’re saying we’re not about to be swallowed up in a ball of flame?”

  Michela eyed the buffet table. Around the plates of cookies and appetizers Caitlin set a selection of antique Christmas baubles she’d bribed Tre
vor into letting her bring home—gold, red, and sparkly. She nodded approval and selected a glass of cider punch. “I’m saying I’m Celtic, and so are you. We don’t believe in the end of the world, remember?”

  Caitlin chose a peppermint candy and set it on a napkin beside a few almonds. “Why not?”

  Michela winked and popped an almond into her mouth. “What fun is it to fight a losing battle?”

  Caitlin took her own glass of cider, supposing the guardian had a point.

  After the party, Trevor went off with her again. Caitlin tried not to let it bother her. She set votive candles out, and gathered with Beryl, Sealya and Heather around the coffee table. Their night’s makeshift altar glowed with warm light. The clock on the DVD player read 10:45PM.

  Beryl studied the new caroler pin Caitlin had given her, a dainty gold filigree woman, mouth open singing from the small psalm book in her hands, circa 1919 Trevor had guessed.

  Caitlin cleared her throat and related the rest of the Hofter incident to her friends.

  Heather tipped the last of the wine into an offering cup. “Put him out of your mind, Cait,” she said, handing over the cup.

  Caitlin scanned their living room, taking in the gap in the closed curtains, the entrance to the foyer. Anything could creep in through the myriad cracks and crevices in her home. “It’s not as easy as you know.”

  “Your guardian was just here. He can’t counteract that.”

  “They’ve occupied the same space on many occasions. How do we know imps aren’t lurking now?”

  Beryl smoothed her hand down her back. “Sweetie, don’t worry. I won’t let anything harm you.”

  Heather held out a hand. “Didn’t you have something you wanted us to bless?”

  “Oh!” Caitlin’s hand went to her chest and the new pin that waited there. Trevor paid a jeweler to turn the soldier’s button into a pin for her Christmas/Yule present. It was sweet of him, but she wished he’d’ve told her. She was frantic looking for the thing for two weeks! “I need to find a spell to make him tell me everything from here on out.”

  Sealya laughed. “That’s probably a bad idea,” she said. “A man who won’t shut up.”

  The jest set joyful mirth echoing through the room. “Are you going to decorate this year?” Heather asked. “Tick tock, you know.”

  Caitlin shrugged and leaned back in the couch. “Maybe we’ll pick up a tree on the way home tomorrow.”

  “Oh, you need more than that, dear.”