Focus

By Sarah Doughty

Earthen witch Aisling Green wakes to find herself in the Kramer Scholar’s torture dungeon. She needs to escape and rescue her fiancé, Connor before they’re both killed.
But they can’t just escape the dungeon. They need to escape Germany. Not just to find their way home, but to fight a demon that was summoned to destroy the world. He’s tearing his way from the West Coast, collecting corrupted souls along the way. Aisling needs more strength than ever but finds herself in danger at every turn. Can they escape and save the world before it’s destroyed?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sarah Doughty
• Release date: Jul 26, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311083319

Sarah Doughty

The night calls to me in moonlit whispers and my daydreams answer.Conjuring words from the ether is like breathing — my weapon — my therapy. It allows me to weed through all the pain, in an effort to find myself again.My name is Sarah Doughty and I suffer from complex PTSD, depression, and debilitating anxiety. And if I don’t have a migraine, I have a headache. Every. Single. Day. Though I am terrified of the night, crowds, and much more, this darkness has become my home.If writing is my breath, then my books are my life. While my poetry focuses on singular events meant to evoke feeling or spur memories, fiction is where my heart lies. Though my books are a way for me to escape my mind and experience a magical world, deep down the problems are very real. And in many ways, my characters are vivid and alive, which in turn helps me see the world in a better light.I've shared them online for anyone who wants to read them — for free, to offer someone else hope, or the same, temporary escape as they did for me.

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Warnings

Triggers: Please note this book is meant for adult audiences. It contains sexual content, kidnapping, attempted murder, graphic violence, brief accounts of torture and references to child abuse.

Spoilers: This is the second novel in a larger series universe, following one overarching timeline. I’ve done my best to include appropriate backstory when necessary, but it is advised to follow the reading order as indicated below.

The Earthen Witch Chronicles

by Sarah Doughty

Just Breathe

Focus

Home

Listen

Safe

Stronger Than Blood

Enduring The Flames

Zoe*

Dream Spell**

*a prequel novella

**a standalone novella

For my husband, Jeff. For always staying by my side and your willingness to fight my battles for me.

It is during our darkest moments that we must focus to see the light.

- Aristotle Onassis

Planets move in ellipses with the Sun at one focus.

- Johannes Kepler

fire against ice

hope in the darkness

strength to overcome fear

focus amidst chaos

he is my sun

- Aisling Green

Prologue

The Imprisoned One

I grumbled again. That was all I was doing those days. No matter how hard I tried, I could not penetrate through. A few people heard me, but not well enough, not enough to make any difference.

Destruction was my specialty, but centuries passed since I managed to wreak havoc on the world and I was getting bored. Angry.

Humans were feeble creatures. They did not listen to us like before. And it was getting very, very irritating. Over time, the lore about demons changed into something they called religion, but we were far, far older than that. We walked on Earth before man, and then man trapped us. We were not forgiving.

A few others like me were called out of the prison beneath the earth. Those lesser demons barely started before witches got in the way, destroying them before they could cause much damage.

If I ever escaped, I would do it right. Because those witches — the ones powerful enough to kill me — were all dead. Too bad, because it also meant that witches were no longer powerful enough to pull me through, either. It was a catch-twenty-two, as humans called it.

Fucking humans.

My fingers itched as my talons clawed at the metaphysical walls of the dark place, and I daydreamed of all the things I wanted to do.

Give me the opportunity to let my knowledge of the human race be used to my advantage, instead of sitting imprisoned, sucking up their knowledge like a sponge.

So many ways to bring them down.

I chomped at the bit to get out there.

Billions of souls were all waiting to be plucked out of the ether, coaxed into becoming more. The corrupted. The thought made me drool. I had so many, but I needed more.

Roaring into the empty expanse that surrounded me, the souls — my souls, the ones I corrupted over the millennia — cried out in response. My progeny. The children of the true night. The blackest of nights.

One day, they would help me with my quest. With their strength and talons, they'd be a formidable foe against my enemies. They were waiting for their opportunity.

The power in one of the living corrupted was growing. A dark one. A massive amount of energy, all at once, was siphoned. I could feel it. My time was nearing and I started whispering to the ones outside who would help me.

By the time the light turned on above me, calling me to the body of my host, I was vibrating with anticipation.

Instructions flashed across my mind, the voice invading my head as it told me what to do. If I had teeth, I would have ground them together as I listened. A name, an essence, was given to me. Find her, the voice said. Kill her.

Consider it done, I responded and opened the eyes of my host.

I was laying down on something soft, yet lumpy — a bed, I realized — while a woman with big tits moved above me, grinding against me and I groaned, having never felt such a thing before.

Arching my body, I grabbed her hips and pulled her down, impaling myself deeper inside her.

She came, twice, before she milked me dry, wrenching a call from my lips as I grabbed her tits and squeezed them roughly in my hands. Breathing hard, she collapsed over me, her hot breath hit my ear and I pushed her off me. Hey! she cried as she hit the dirty floor, but I ignored her.

I stretched, getting used to the body I inhabited, and then looked down at her, scowling at me. I grinned, turning on the Bannerst charm. At least, that was what he called himself before I took his body, claiming his corrupted soul. The first on this journey.

Her gaze grew wicked and softened.

Come here, baby, I growled, I'm going to lick every part of your body until you come for me again.

All too quickly, she jumped back on the bed next to me.

I took my time with her, learning how to move my body over hers, all the different ways I could possess her. True to my word, I made her come.

Then, after she collapsed for the last time, barely clinging to life as her broken and bleeding body refused to operate, I ripped the shade from the window and the sunlight streamed in. I could see palm trees and the ocean beyond them through the smudged panes. I turned to see the woman bathed in light.

My hand touched her forehead, and then I sucked her soul out of her body and devoured it. As she took her final breath, her soul exited her body and flew into mine, allowing me to take her essence within me. I felt my power increase a fraction with her corruption. But I was going to need many more before my journey would be complete and I would be powerful enough to destroy the world.

With a grin, I embraced Bannerst, my host, and pulled on his trademark faded jeans and flannel shirt. Slipping on his cowboy boots, I walked out the door, leaving the body of the corrupted woman to rot in the sunlight.

I did not take orders. Did not like that the dark one was forcing me into that position. But, I would kill that bitch, just like I was ordered to. I would take my time doing it. I would make her beg for death.

And I knew exactly how to start.

Chapter 1

Aisling

The first thing I noticed, through the fog in my head as I woke up, was the voices. Then water. Two men were talking, sounding as if they were speaking from the other side of it. Like I was listening to them through the faraway sounds of a conch shell. I was lying on something cold and hard, but I couldn't open my eyes yet.

I tried to remember what happened and memories replayed in my mind.

The sound of Connor's laughter hit me as I looked at my phone and saw Angela was calling. Her new ringtone, courtesy of Connor, was The Imperial March, playing at full volume. Then the sound of my best friend's alarmed voice hit me.

A few moments later, I discovered Connor, unconscious. I couldn't sense anyone but the store owner who was also knocked out. Then I was hit on the back of the head and collapsed on top of my fiancé before I went under.

Fear washed over me.

We were kidnapped.

The words of the men were muddled and I couldn't make them out, but their baritone voices were moving closer. With the sound of metal grinding against metal and a loud click that echoed across the room, the deafening squeal of a door swinging open came next.

Staying still, I listened to them move with heavy footsteps that bounced off the walls and echoed in quick succession.

Shit, she's still out. Let's just come back later. One man said in a deep European accent.

Ach! She should be awake. How much did ye give her? The second man asked in a deeper accent.

Exactly what you told me.

My sense of time was off, and I wasn't sure how much passed since Connor and I were knocked out. But the bump on the back of my head that throbbed from the impact told me it hadn't been very long.

The percussive drumming from the bump increased and I knew I was going to have to move soon or I would develop a headache of massive proportions. Probably a migraine by the feel of it.

But that was the least of my worries.

Judging by the distinct European accent, I was guessing the men were Kramer Scholars — the first and most brutal sect of the Malleus Dei Maleficarum, or MDM, the Hammer of God Against Witches — that operated out of Germany.

The MDM were the world's most powerful supernatural killers. They were the ones that fueled the craze of the inquisition. The witch hunts, like Salem.

Heinrich Kramer wrote two books in the fifteenth century. One he published, one he didn't. They both had the same title, Malleus Maleficarum, but it was the unpublished version the MDM used as their bible.

Other sects of the MDM investigated supernatural creatures, or others before they took any action. But the Kramer Scholars were the most devout group. They preferred to kill. Or torture. Using some of the most depraved methods known to the inquisition.

Without opening my eyes, I could guess I was in some kind of dungeon, deep underground, with a river flowing over our heads. Combining that with the fact I was still alive meant they wanted me to talk. And scream. And bleed.

If I risked moving while the men were in the room, whatever they planned for me would begin. But I needed to know something first.

Careful to remain still, I sent magic outward, searching for that familiar pull of my fiancé.

Connor Jennings was a witch. But he was much more than that. He was my mate, a supernatural equivalent to a soul mate. Because of that, I could feel him, like a magnet. True North to my compass. If they took me, they probably took him as well.

It felt like pushing my power through thick mud, but I could feel him, his pull was faint, but there. He was nearby, but I couldn't pinpoint him. Wherever he was, he was in the dungeon with me. And he was still alive.

I think I might know how to wake her up, the first man said, stepping toward me, boots smacking against wet stone with each step. I steeled myself and willed my body to remain limp.

A rough hand snaked inside the neck of my shirt and gripped my breast, squeezing it, hard. Pain shot through me, but I didn't move.

Josef, stop. Ye can't wake her—

The man's voice cut off as Josef punched me in the face with his free hand.

Lights exploded across my eyes and my cheek felt like it was on fire, shooting all the way down past my sinuses and into my brain. The pain in the back of my head increased from the sudden pressure.

Despite my best efforts, the combination of his hand, the punch, and the added pain at the back of my head from the impact forced me to grunt in pain.

With one final, agonizing squeeze, Josef released me. Told you I knew how to wake her up. The bitch was faking.

First of all, my life was never easy. I was abused when I was little. Not just emotionally, but physically as well. All by the hands of a man who hoped I'd become his lover when I hit my teenage years.

I didn't. Only because he discovered my mother was a witch and killed her when I was eleven. My grandmother cast a protection spell that made him forget me. But, since she didn't intend for the spell to last beyond the grave, he remembered and came back for me. And discovered what I was.

As the leader of an MDM group that monitored the Eastern half of the Midwest, my step-father, Martin, was a special kind of sociopath. He took his position with the MDM to his advantage and bastardized their creed to suit him. He wanted power from the very things he wanted to destroy. And I was the most powerful creature in existence.

In the end, he failed. I was forced to kill him to protect Connor and everyone else I cared about. Because a man like him would never give up trying to gain power. He made me miserable as a child, and he was determined to keep doing it until one of us was dead. I had no other choice. But the memories would never go away. I was haunted by them every day.

Despite my best attempts, both with magic and my body, I was too weak to put up any kind of fight against the men in my cell. I could barely lift my head.

The room was pulled straight from a nightmare. Dark cavernous stone walls, floors, and ceilings surrounded us, and the only light was a torch that sat in an anchor on the wall to my left. The ceiling was dripping in a few places and left little puddles on the stone floor. I was lying on a cold metal table in the middle of the room and there was a small table next to me.

For men that wanted to torture me, they looked like normal people. They were both dressed in black, which I guessed was both a Kramer Scholar uniform and practical for torture. After all, it would be difficult to clean blood from anything that wasn't black.

Their builds were at odds with each other, and they reminded me of Rocky and Bullwinkle. One was tall and skinny, the other short and round. But with the dim light, it was hard for me to really make out their features.

Josef, the tall one, kept eyeing my chest with a gaze I could only describe as lust as his unnamed partner strapped me to the table. When he finished, Josef handed him a deceptive carry-on suitcase. But I knew what really waited for me.

The short man placed it on the table next to me, angling it so I could see it, and released the latch. Then, he opened it.

Ice slid down my spine as I saw what was inside.

None of its contents would ever be allowed on an airplane.

Some were sharp. Some rusted and dull. There were many I didn't recognize at all, but I noticed several items that looked like medieval sexual objects. I didn't need to see them in action to know just how awful it would be to have them used on me. There were some so terrible I wished I never saw them at all.

Knowing what kinds of tortures they employed in the past was one thing. It was an entirely different story to be the one strapped to a table, waiting for it to begin. Terror coursed through my veins as I watched the man consider me and his tools in the dim, flickering torchlight.

Cold sweat beaded on my forehead and my heart hammered in my chest so loud, I was certain they could hear it. My eyes were wide and the way the man's nostrils flared made me think he could smell my fear. I couldn't be sure, considering how my magic was so depleted and useless, but neither one of them emitted an aura.

Auras surrounded and were seen by supernatural creatures. The colors of the auras represented the emotional state of the creature it surrounded. Magical objects emitted auras, too, but only as a reflection of the type of magic used on them, light or dark.

Also, Kramer Scholars didn't employ others. At least I had that much to go on for certain.

The round man standing next to me nodded as he assessed my face one last time. "Do ye know where ye are, Aisling Green?" his heavily accented voice spat my name like it was dirty.

Hell, I rasped.

Ah, he chuckled. Not yet. But ye will be soon enough. Ye've met my associate, Josef. I am Bernard. His hand covered his chest and he bent his head forward in a formal bow.

That asshole was fucking with me. Lovely to meet you, I said dryly, trying to focus on anger and not fear.

Let's get started, shall we? he asked. Bernard was all business, as if he was calling a board meeting to order. He cracked his knuckles and turned back to his suitcase of pain.

So much for anger.

It was no wonder post-traumatic stress disorder plagued me. And it was also no surprise that the things my torturer planned to do sent me spiraling against waves of fear. Both of the present, and the past. I closed my eyes, not wanting to know what item he was going to use first.

Pain in my cheek exploded, stinging from the force of a slap. Nuh-uh, girl. Ye pay attention to me now, Bernard grabbed my chin and his fingers bit into my flesh. Whatever ye are doing, ye stop and focus on me. His hand dropped away and he leaned down, the smell of rotten onions hit me with the force of his hot breath. How did ye become Earthen?

I wasn't surprised their line of questions would begin with my status as an Earthen. Witches derived their power from the moon and were defined as light or dark, depending on the types of magic they used. But Earthen witches were none of those.

Earthens derived their power from both the moon and the Earth. Which meant different rules, and more power. An awful lot of it. And that made them the most powerful creatures in existence. It even made them royalty in the supernatural world.

But for three hundred years, they were thought to be extinct. Then I came along. And suddenly everyone was interested in me. For different reasons.

His eyes sparkled with excitement, and I could tell in that moment, he didn't want me to talk. He wanted me silent so he could use all the goodies inside his suitcase.

I didn't want that to happen and questions like that I could answer. It wasn't as though they didn't already know most of it anyway.

I didn't, I ground out before my torturer punched me in the same cheek that was already pounding. Tasting blood on my tongue as my inner cheek cut against my teeth, I moaned from the growing pressure inside my head.

If I have to ask ye one more time, I'm going to start slicing into ye pretty face. For emphasis, he pulled a rusted blade from the suitcase. One side jutted out, curving into a nasty and painful-looking point. It looked like a blade meant for carving deep lines in flesh.

I shivered. I'm telling you the truth. I turned twenty-one and it just started happening. It was small at first, and then slowly developed.

How's that for truth?

The blade cut across my cheek and I screamed. I felt warm, thick liquid spill down to my ear and into my hair. My scream faded to a shaky groan as he pulled the blade away from my face.

Impossible, he spat.

What did he want me to say?

His friend, Josef, looked like a flea as he bounced from foot to foot in excitement. He stared at the blood seeping from my cheek.

Fine. I bound myself to the moon while it was full, during a lunar eclipse. I think it helped that I was on my period.

Why not throw in a little flair?

I considered throwing in some more, like sacrificial bunny rabbits, but figured that might be too much.

"Better. Why did it work?" he asked, sounding out his Ws as Vs.

"That I don't know. I just wanted to be a witch so I could..., good lord, what could I say? So I could be pretty."

Realizing too late the cost of that statement, he dragged the blade down my other cheek. I bit my lip, hard, to keep from screaming again. Ye will never be pretty again, bitch, Bernard said with a predator's smile, all teeth.

I never believed I was pretty, let alone beautiful.

Standing at five and a half feet tall, I always thought my athletic body was at odds with my curves and ample chest. Long curly hair hung to the middle of my back and annoyed me more than I actually enjoyed it. I thought my blue eyes, peaches-and-cream skin, and full lips were my best features.

Then Connor came along and showed me how wrong I was.

I would like to say my time in the dungeon with Bernard and Josef was met with a bunch of bravado and snide remarks from me, but it would be a lie. I stopped responding after that. They were going to torture me whether I talked or not.

Sure enough, Bernard asked me questions about what I could do with my power. And he kept slicing and cutting for the sheer enjoyment of it.

Torture was not something anyone should ever go through. I thought the abuse from my step-father was bad, but torture took the grand prize.

By the time my torturer finally asked me about the demon that Martin planned to summon, I was lost in my head. I barely registered the question and wondered how he knew about the demon before the waves crashed into me and took me with them.

Flashback after flashback of memories hit me like tidal waves.

I was a child, shivering, praying, while I listened to the drunken footsteps of my step-father ascending the stairs.

Years later, frantic over a dog he poisoned with antifreeze. I was powerless to stop his death. To end his suffering. All I could do was cry, and say goodbye to my only friend.

Then I was a teenager, always looking over my shoulder, wondering if he was out there, coming for me. Always feeling unsafe in my own skin. Always withdrawn. Careful with my emotions.

I was everywhere.

Everywhere else but in that dark dungeon with the man torturing me.

I thought I beat the flashbacks. Overcame them. But they came flooding back with a vengeance that I, for once in my life, embraced. It was the one time I welcomed them.

The sounds of wailing off in the distance hit me, and I realized, too late, they were coming from me. My torturer burned, poked, prodded, sliced, and even broke bones. I was dimly aware of the expanding list of injuries as Bernard worked me over, but I was too lost to fully register them.

The reprieve from the pain sheltered me from the brunt of it, as Bernard no doubt grew angry at my lack of response to his questions. I screamed, but not from the torturer and what he did with my body that day. It was a natural reaction to the flashbacks, but I didn't think he realized the difference.

Or if he did, he didn't care.

After a while, the shouting of the questioning men faded and the onslaught of new injuries stopped and they left.

I was alone.

Howling in the darkness of my personal hell.

I didn't know how long I was on that cold metal table, but eventually, everything faded away. And for the first time, I welcomed the blackness that swept me away into nothingness.

Chapter 2

I woke up on the table with my muscles screaming in protest, the stickiness of dried blood clinging to me everywhere.

My torturers were gone and my cell was silent except for the constant sound of water flowing all around me. The straps holding me to the table were gone and I lifted my arms.

Several fingers on both hands were bent at odd angles and they shot pain up my arms when I tried to move them. When I noticed my engagement ring was gone, I looked down and saw my white shirt was dirty, bloodstained, and ripped in several places. Like the ring, the orb around my neck was gone. The one that warned me if Connor was in danger. Looking lower, my white-washed jeans didn't look much better. But at least they were still on.

That meant they didn't violate me with any of those sexual torture devices.

Almost every inch of exposed skin was either cut or burned. From what I remembered of the days of the inquisition, they were just getting started.

I sat up, biting my swollen lip, and drew fresh blood to keep from crying out. I realized my left eye was almost swollen shut. My long, curly hair was matted with blood, but at least it wasn't cut off.

Small wonders.

I stood up, using the table for balance. My ankle screamed in protest and I took my weight off it as a wave of dizziness washed over me, but I stayed upright.

Just like before, I sent out my magic, searching for Connor's magnetism. He was there, still faint. Like a thick sea of molasses hindered my magic as I attempted to push through it.

But why?

I never had so much difficulty using my power once it developed.

Since I was on my feet, I took a good look around my cell. Through the limited light in the room, I could see the walls were man-made. Stone. Not a cave as I thought. The space seemed ancient, like it was mortared centuries ago.

The cell door was an intricately woven iron masterpiece with religious symbols I recognized, but didn't understand welded to it. I hoped the iron explained the feeling of pushing my magic through a thick, gloopy ocean.

I stepped forward — well, limping would be more accurate — and assessed the door. Running an unbroken finger over it, I felt an unpleasant tingle. Yeah, it was solid iron. A lot of it.

Iron affected witches, dampened their powers, or in some cases, prevented it. But as an Earthen, it wasn't a problem for me. Then again, I only dealt with small amounts of it prior to that moment. And, once I knew how to use my power, I could manipulate it with ease.

Perhaps it was the massive door. Or perhaps there was more iron in the dungeon than I realized, but it still didn't make sense that it could affect me so much. Prevent me from using magic, even in a very limited capacity.

My good fingers gripped the door and pulled. I wasn’t surprised, it was locked, so I assessed my options and took another look around the room.

I could stay, and wait for my torturers to return. Lead me closer to death. Unable to escape because of the injuries. And leave Connor to the same fate.

As long as I was alive, I would never take that option. I would never stop trying. Never leave Connor like that. He was everything to me.

The tables were both bolted to the floor. Even if there was something usable in the cell around me, and I tried to break the door open, such a move would attract attention.

I had to escape my cell quietly. I needed to find Connor. And then we needed to find our way out.

That left one option. With the throbbing pain in my head combined with the weakness caused by the injuries and blood loss, I wasn't sure if I could do it.

If an Earthen needed will to use magic, then by god, I was going to will the whole damn dungeon to pieces to find Connor.

If I could make the magic work.

One of the perks of being an Earthen witch meant that in normal circumstances, magic would happen by will alone. The more I felt an emotion, the more potent the power. And I had a hell of a lot of emotion.

I didn't need to light any candles or chant to use magic, like other witches. I just needed to want it. There were two ways magic would work for me. By a defensive reflex or by knowing what I wanted. The first time I learned I could use magic on reflex was with a vampire.

Liam spent the last three centuries searching for new Earthens and he showed me what I could do. Not only did he move with a blur of speed, but he was inhumanly strong.

I matched his speed with ease, but when he feigned an attack on Connor, the only thought running through my mind was to get the vampire away from him. Magic peeled him away, like pulling the lid off a sardine can. Bones broke from Liam's fingers to his forearms, bending his arms back in the wrong direction.

It was brutal.

And it was effective.

That was the defensive magic.

It was all from a single-minded effort to protect Connor.

Everything I could do was because of him. He was the source of the greatest emotion. Love. Because my love for him overpowered everything else.

But that was only the beginning. I could tap into those emotions and bring them out.

When I unleashed, my power was limitless.

So, it was more than a little disturbing that I had so much trouble accessing it in that dungeon.

My torturers mentioned giving me something. Was it drugs? I didn't know of any that could affect a witch. Let alone one like me.

Others weren't susceptible to disease. And drugs were supposed to flow through our bodies. Without hitting the bloodstream.

I was no scientist, but according to Liam, drugs were meant for human metabolisms. The thresholds of energy in others were extreme and our metabolisms were far faster and beyond anything that humans