Witchcraft Read online

  WITCHCRAFT

  Book One of The Meadowsweet Chronicles

  KATIE M. JOHN

  Visit the official author website

  www.katiemjohn.com

  Also by the author

  The Knight Trilogy

  (1) The Forest of Adventures

  (2) Immortal Beloved

  (3) Star Fire

  The Meadowsweet Chronicles

  (1) Witchcraft

  (2) Vengeance

  (3) Devilry

  Beautiful Freaks

  I Defy You, Stars

  When Sorrows Come

  Little Bird Publishing House

  First published in Great Britain in 2014

  by

  Little Bird Publishing House

  Copyright © 2014 by Katie M John

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  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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  The right of Katie M John to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

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  1

  Jeremiah Chase looked in the mirror, smoothed his hand through his dark brown hair and straightened his tie. His cold, blue eyes flashed back at him and a wicked little smile danced over his lips. He ran his fingers down the length of his black trouser-braces and pulled them out in front of him with his thumb before snapping them back in place.

  He was to spend his evening as guest of honor at one of his great Aunt Penelope’s dreary dinner parties. Even though he’d only been in the country for a month, he was already tired of the stuffy English supper party custom. He shared a mock yawn with his reflection and cocked an eyebrow, admiring the way the shadows played over his strong jawbone. He knew he was handsome; there had been many girls who had told him so. He shrugged his shoulders dismissively. He would not apologise for having been given certain talents, even if they were the main reason his parents (well, his father to be more exact) had exiled him to England, believing a stint in English society would curb his “wild” and “scandalous” behaviour. They hoped Jeremiah would return home to New York a “gentleman.”

  The final straw had come when he’d been photographed by some Wall-Street-Paparazzi-Scum, kissing the face off a woman twice his age. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only scandal about the clinch; the woman also happened to be his college professor at his incredibly over-priced, private, red-brick college. Jeremiah allowed himself an indulgent smile at the memories of their afternoon extra-curricular sessions. She’d been a particularly good teacher – in all things. The young and impressionable Miss Scarlet, (yes, you can imagine how the journalists clapped their hands with sheer glee when they’d discovered her name) had been his philosophy teacher. The term’s topic had been, “The Question of Ethics.” You can see how it all inevitably unraveled. She wasn’t really to blame; Jeremiah was hardly an innocent under a predatory influence. In fact, the poor girl didn’t really ever stand a chance. Jeremiah knew he had a certain power.

  Jeremiah Chase: wealthy heir to his father’s company, just as he was heir to his father before him, and so on and so on until the history of America goes all native and therefore not considered worthy of note. He’d always found it best not to think too long on how their family wealth had germinated; grubbing around in the dirt, chasing after gold like a desperado, and shedding the blood of those who were born from the land they’d invaded. Time goes on, he thinks, the new generation can’t be held accountable for the sins of the fathers – they have their own to commit.

  As he stands, Chase Enterprise (a cutting-edge pharmaceutical company) is worth several billion dollars. Jeremiah’s father had sent his son to England with the threat that unless he sorted himself out, he would be disinherited and his father would leave it all to the ass-licking younger Chase brother, Uncle Jason. Jeremiah could not stand his Uncle Jason any more than he could stand his father.

  Aside from his mother and sister, Lucia, there was only one other family member Jeremiah felt any particular fondness for: his father’s eldest brother, Daniel. Daniel, the true blood-heir of the Chase Enterprise empire, who had given up his multi-billion-dollar birthright for one simple principle – good. Uncle Daniel had always sagely said, “It isn’t a man’s strengths that define him, but his weaknesses.” (Jeremiah suspected the proverb was not Daniel’s own invention.)

  “And if you’re going to have a weakness,” Jeremiah says to the reflection in the mirror, “then surely love is the best of them.”

  Jeremiah takes one last look in the mirror as he puts on his dinner jacket and offers up a silent prayer for something – someone – interesting to cross his path. He’s already been in England for almost a month with nothing to distract him apart from fields, trees, and visits from his great aunt’s elderly neighbours. Jeremiah feels like he might internally combust from boredom, which would at least be a slightly interesting event. At least college is due to start in less than a week, he thinks as he rummages around his piles of textbooks looking for his cell phone. (He still struggles to call it a mobile.)

  He is expecting a text from Lucia, as she has spent the day in New York trying out for the New York Ballet Corps. He is expecting good news because he can’t believe that there is any way they will turn her down; not only is she absurdly talented and beautiful, but it will also secure them the kind of patronage from their father that the arts can only dream about. Nevertheless, sweet Lucia has spent months worrying herself sick about it. No one can ever question the tenacity of a Chase.

  He is also desperate to hear from Daniel about his latest adventure and had hoped his e-mail notification would flag a message. Daniel left for Mexico just before Jeremiah’s exile to England. He’s in pursuit of a coven linked with the disappearance of several young girls from one of the mountain villages. Jeremiah hasn’t been overly concerned about his Uncle’s lack of contact, for he is a seasoned Witch Hunter.

  The thought of Daniel’s job title still makes Jeremiah smile wryly. In the world of Chase Enterprise, the thought of something so quirky and medieval as a Witch Hunter does not fit easily. However, Daniel is less your zealous nineteenth century Presbyterian minister and more your Indiana Jones turned Special Investigations FBI agent; and he is the best in the business – or so his incredibly wealthy employers believe. Not that Daniel can ever name exactly who his employers are. (But there is the not-so-secret secret that they live in a very big “house” in Rome, and have enough wealth to pay Daniel a very healthy seven-figure salary for his services without flinching.) Mind, there is no way you’d guess such a salary from the cockroach-infested apartment Daniel owns in Brooklyn.

  Jeremiah finds his phone just as the dinner-gong sounds. “For Christ’s sake, who still has a dinner gong?” he muses before heading down the stairs like a good little puppy in training. He has the hope that if can fool his crazy old aunt into believing he has been inst
antly reformed from the shock of everything, he might be allowed to go back home sooner rather than later.

  *

  Coldstone House was the kind of English Country House you see on the front of ghost story collections. There was absolutely nothing endearing about it. Hewn from grey, unwelcoming stone (hence its apt name) it squatted in a clearing of ancient English woodland, with a scar of park land, which sprawled down the hill towards a man-made lake, now pitch black apart from on the sunniest of English days, when it turned an unattractive shade of slime-green. His great aunt Penelope had inherited Coldstone House from her mother’s line. Unusual, as such things normally ran down the male lineage. However, due to the tragedy of the First World War, in which all the direct male lines of inheritance were killed in the trenches at Ypres, a special legal loophole had been “found.” The house still clung to the tragedy of the family loss and everyone who visited it had the uncomfortable feeling that the house was still mourning. Jeremiah had felt it, too; from the very moment he had arrived.

  On his first guest tour around the house, the discovery of the nursery (untouched since the last children had lived in the house over sixty years before) had given Jeremiah the creeps so badly that he swore for the first few nights he’d heard the sound of music boxes going off in the middle of the night and the giggling of children as they scampered past his door.

  As he’d been put in one of the furthest rooms away from his aunt’s living quarters, it meant he had to pass the weird little room several times a day. Thankfully, his imagination had calmed down a lot since he’d taken the key from the nursery door and shut it up nice and tight. The key now sat in a little cedar box on his dressing table, and that was where it was going to stay.

  Despite having been at Coldstone House for a month, Jeremiah had not properly explored the whole house and wasn’t in a rush to. Even his aunt, who had lived there for the last seventy years, acted more like a suffering custodian than mistress of the house. At least his aunt’s regular supper guests made the house appear a little warmer, if only for a few hours, and he was surprised to find himself almost letting out a sigh of relief when he entered the warmly-lit library, now full of the village’s wealthiest, and most ancient and eccentrically dressed, inhabitants.

  Aunt Penelope sat in her wingback chair, a glass of champagne in her ring-heavy hand. She flashed a smile at Jeremiah and nodded her approval at the effort he’d made over his dress. As manners dictated, he approached her and reached for her hand, which he kissed. She flushed with a momentary pride before introducing her, “handsome and talented American nephew” to Lord Faris-Jones, neighboring estate owner and Head of the local hunt.

  Jeremiah flashed his most charming smile and swallowed down his instant dislike of the man. He wasn’t sure if it was his yellow plaid trousers or the fact he was Head of the Hunt which disgusted him the most. Unfortunately, Jeremiah’s aunt appeared to have given Lord Faris-Jones an account of every aspect of her nephew’s education and upbringing (obviously with the exception of the most interesting parts) and now Faris, who was far too fat for the pretty Queen Anne dining chair, ensnared him in a web of ridiculously inane questions. Jeremiah managed five minutes of polite endurance before he found his eyes roaming around the room looking for rescue. Same old, same old, he thought heavily. His cell phone vibrated in his pocket.

  “Excuse me,” Jeremiah said, flashing the old man his most charming smile, “I’m expecting a very important business call and I’m afraid my cell is…”

  Lord Faris-Jones offered a tight smile and waved his hand as if suggesting it was no offence, when in reality, Jeremiah knew he had just committed the equivalent of a loud fart in polite society. He escaped through the open French windows and out onto the balcony, answering as he went. It was Lucia and she was very excited.

  “Jay, I bloody did it! I got in! I aced it!” Lucia’s voice lilted with breathless excitement.

  He smiled and breathed in deeply. Homesickness swept over him as he thought on how he’d like to take her in his arms and twirl her around like they always did when they shared good news.

  “That’s fantastic, Lucia.” He was grinning so wide his mouth hurt. “Totally freakin’ awesome!” He knew how much it meant to her, and even though the gruelling pressures of being a prima ballerina filled him with concern for her, he couldn’t help but be totally infected by the passion of her dream.

  “I start rehearsals next week for Swan Lake. Swan Lake, Jay!” she said it with the excitement of her five-year-old-self, dressed in her ballet outfit.

  “That’s brilliant, Lucia. I’m so proud! I can’t wait to see you on opening night.”

  Her voice dropped at the realisation of the distance between them. “Do you think you’ll be able to come home to see me?”

  “No question,” he said, not entirely sure he wasn’t about to make a promise he couldn’t keep. “Wild horses couldn’t drag me from your opening night. You’re the very best of us, Lucia.”

  “Don’t be silly, Jay. You just haven’t found your way yet.”

  “Careful, you’re beginning to sound like dad.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

  “It’s alright, Lucia, it’s quite fun being an outcast. You really shouldn’t give me a second thought. Things are wild here. I’m having a total blast!”

  “Really? You always were a terrible liar. How is the old crow?”

  Jeremiah laughed, despite feeling a little disloyal. “Our dearest Aunt Penelope? Yes, she’s quite a charmer when you get past the cobwebs, the sourness, and the six-foot wall of snobbery.”

  Lucia snorted a laugh and he couldn’t help but grin. “So when does college start?” she asked.

  “Next week, thank God! Mind, I’ve got no idea where the hell I’m going or what I’m doing. They call it sixth form.”

  “Sounds all very Hogwarts,” she said, giggling.

  “Yeah, well I haven’t got a clue where I’m at. Dad’s signed me in for the start of A-level courses. Apparently, it means I’m going back a year but you can’t start the courses half-way through.”

  “Sounds complicated. What classes have you got?”

  “Lessons, you mean!” Jeremiah laughed. “Aunt Penelope has been tutoring me in speaking properly.”

  “Sounds fun!”

  “Yeah!” he said, lacking conviction. “Dad’s signed me up for, History, Literature, French, Physics, and Maths.”

  Lucia let out a low whistle. “The curse of being a boy genius, brother! Clearly, our dear father wants to keep you from having too much time on your hands.”

  “Yeah, something like that, I guess.”

  “So how many English girls’ hearts have you managed to break already?” Lucia gave him no time to respond. “Talking of which, I bumped into Ms. Scarlet at the bookstore the other day – she was very keen to know how you were getting on; she wanted to know if I’d heard from you.”

  “Lucia, I really don’t want to talk about Rachel.”

  She continued as if she hadn’t heard his protest. “She was looking rough! Aged about ten years, I’d say. I heard through Fabian’s sister that they’ve sacked her, and her boyfriend has dumped her – mind you, I guess he would, wouldn’t he? I mean, who would want to go out with a cradle snatcher? It’s all quite a scandal,” her voice glittered.

  Jeremiah’s mood was souring and he didn’t want to fall out with her. He knew she was playing; she had no real understanding of the connection he’d had with Rachel. She had meant more to him than some foolish afternoons of fun.

  “Lucia, I’ve got to go,” he said, cutting her off before she had a chance to say anything else stupid. “They’ve called us to dinner.”

  “Oh, okay, I’ll ring you later then. We’re going for dinner at Chi’s to celebrate.”

  The thought of them all out at Chi’s deepened his homesickness. Chi’s was the family’s favourite restaurant; a Chinese they’d gone to for all major family milestones since he could remember.

 
He forced his voice to sound cheery, “Well, have a good time. Talk to you later.”

  “Laters, bro!”

  Jeremiah switched off the phone and looked out across the dark grounds. Far in the distance, he could see the little yellow lights of the village; they looked like ship-lamps far out at sea.

  “Can I get you a drink, Sir?”

  The voice of a girl startled him and he turned, slightly flustered from being caught off guard. As soon as he’d heard her, hope ignited that she would match the attractiveness of her voice. He wasn’t disappointed. He greeted her with his most flirtatious smile. He saw immediately from her blush, he wasn’t the only one to have been caught off guard. She dipped her eyes from the intensity of his curious look.

  “Why, thank you,” he said, holding out a hand to receive a flute of champagne. She returned her eyes to his and he saw there was a sparkle of defiance in them; it was as if she was daring herself to look at him. Suddenly, he felt uncomfortable, and for a rare moment, he felt his usual rock-solid confidence crack. She was tall, tall enough to subconsciously stand with one knee bent behind her other leg in order to drop an inch from her height. Her blonde hair was scraped back into a utilitarian bun and secured with a large black velvet bow, which had the effect of lifting her eyes so their natural feline properties were accentuated. They were lined lightly with kohl. He examined her face and noted she wore very little make-up. She was very pretty, in a kind of wild way; her eyes were corn-flower blue. His eyes roamed freely over the rest of her. If she knew what he was doing, she didn’t show it, and he wondered if she were doing her own appraisal of him. It felt like she might be. In a strange and curious way, he felt like she might be rummaging around his soul.

  Her waist was nipped in by a large black belt, which joined the crisp white of her fitted blouse to the snug-fitting, black knee-length skirt. Her toned legs were sheathed in sheer stockings.