Ravaged

By Jennifer Sights

Private Investigator – and fledgling witch – Elena Ronen is dealing with major fallout in the aftermath of her most recent case. She wishes being a witness in a murder trial was the least of it. But other covens of witches have become hostile towards her and her lover Vittorio, leaders of the St. Louis coven. In the midst of this animosity, Elena and Vittorio must put their own differences aside when their coven comes under attack. Will they be able to unravel their rival’s mysteries before their lives and the lives of those they love are irreparably damaged? Ravaged continues Elena’s story, which begins in Divided.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jennifer Sights
• Release date: May 29, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311430588

Jennifer Sights

Jennifer Sights has been writing since she was a kid, but veered off track for college and a more traditional office job. She has worked in a predominantly male field for thirteen years, and now enjoys writing strong, female characters who aren't afraid to stand up to the men with whom they are associated.Jennifer lives in St. Louis, MO, with her black lab mix, Tiberius. When she isn't writing or reading she loves hiking, riding her motorcycle, and traveling. She loves to hear from readers. You can find her at www.jennifersights.com.

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Acknowledgements

I want to thank everyone who helped make this book possible. Jeremiah Koczan for beta reading, Chase Night for story consultation, Shawn Mihalik for editing, and everyone in the Asymmetrical Community. Thanks so much to everyone who bought my first book. I’m overwhelmed by the positive response, and really appreciate you letting me know I’m doing something right. Thanks again to my parents for all their support.

Thanks to Denise Wy for the gorgeous cover design. www.coveratelier.com

Thanks to Casey Carrington of Chalk & Soot for author photograph. chalkandsoot.com/index.html

Cover photo by chaoss / shutterstock.com

PROLOGUE

You must be Vittorio Santini. You’re even more handsome in person than you are on TV and in magazines. A tall, slender black woman with straight hair and heavy makeup walked toward us. She wore a black pencil skirt and shiny red sleeveless shirt, trying to blend in with the Gothic crowd at The Chapel, but failing miserably.

I glared at the woman who was obviously a reporter. I was surprised to see from the corner of my eye a small smile on Vittorio’s lips. He hated reporters and never gave interviews, so why wasn’t he already fending this one off? And how had she gotten into the VIP area?

He stood and took her extended hand, kissing the back of it. This was the way he greeted all women, and it never bothered me. Not until now.

Owner of the hottest Gothic nightclub in St. Louis and head of the local coven of witches. It is quite a pleasure to meet you, the woman gushed. I’m Amanda Parsons. Could I ask you a few questions?

We don’t speak to— I started, but Vittorio interrupted me.

Of course. Shall we go into my office where it’s a little quieter? Without a backward glance at me or so much as a whisper of explanation in my mind, he led Amanda Parsons to the little room that acted as an office at the back of the balcony.

What the hell is wrong with him? I demanded of Emmett and Courtney, who sat in chairs facing the love seat on which I sat.

He must have a reason for granting this interview. Perhaps he knows who the reporter is, Emmett said.

He could have given me a little warning before ignoring me for some leggy bitch.

Elena! Courtney said.

Well he could have. I crossed my arms.

You’re never jealous of other women, Courtney said.

I don’t like this one. I get a really bad vibe from her. I slouched down, which wasn’t easy in a corset.

Twenty minutes later Vittorio emerged from the office with the bimbo reporter, laughing. It’s alright. I understand. He smoothed his collar, and only then noticed me glaring at him. He paused, and then walked the reporter to the stairs before sitting down next to me again.

You missed a spot, I snarled.

What do you mean? Vittorio asked.

Lipstick. You missed a spot. If you’re going to fool around practically in front of me, you might want to be a little more careful.

Vittorio looked unshaken. She tried to kiss me just now. I stopped her, of course, but obviously not soon enough.

I glared at him.

I am sorry, mio amore, you know there is no one for me other than you. I love you. He took my hands in his.

I continued to glare.

Please let me show you, he said softly.

Fine. I opened my mind to him and he showed me Amanda’s advance. Seeing it for myself that way, and feeling from his mind that it was, in fact, unwanted, I had no choice but to believe him. "But why couldn’t I feel your mind while you were in there? Why did you shut me out? And why did you choose her to give your first interview to?’

I am sorry, mio amore, but I wanted to be sure I was as guarded as I could be, so I put my shields up completely. I should have let you know.

But why her? I still didn’t like that he had granted the interview so easily.

I sensed latent power in her and that she would be fair and accurate in her reporting. He stared into my eyes.

I sensed it was the truth, so I gave up arguing. How did she get up here? Did you know she was coming?

I did not. You know Anthony is on vacation this week. I shall have to have a talk with the bouncer covering for him. Anthony was the bouncer who usually policed the stairs to the VIP area.

Well she certainly did her homework well to know when it would be easiest to get to you. When can we expect the story to run? I asked.

She said she would leave a message here to let me know.

I hope it helps. Goddess knows we can use all the positive press we can get, as much as people hate witches now.

CHAPTER ONE

2 months later

It was another night out at The Chapel. The club had become a second home to me. Vittorio and I sat on the red velvet love seat in the private balcony area while Emmett and Courtney sat on a couch across from us. Only members of the coven and their special guests were allowed in what had once been the choir loft of the remodeled church. We are going to need a central body of sorts to set guidelines now that our power is public knowledge. It is more important than ever to ensure that no strega or stregone abuses their power, Vittorio was saying.

The warm, slightly rough timbre of his voice still sent tiny shivers down my spine. I doubted I would ever tire of that sound. I agree, but not many covens are very friendly toward us anymore, I said.

We must try. I do not like being so alone. Even though we have been made Sacerdotessa and Sacerdote, other covens do not show us the respect we deserve from our positions, Vittorio said.

In the meantime, we need to figure out how to strengthen ourselves, Emmett said. He wore his typical old fashioned suit, fedora, and Chuck Taylor high-tops, looking like a Gothic Jimmy Stewart. In any other circumstance, he would be extremely handsome. Next to Vittorio, however, every man paled in my eyes. I can hardly even visit my own mother in the nursing home. She’s had death threats because of me. If only those ignorant plebeians understood how ironic that was. She’s already dying of cancer; now she can’t even see her own son because of their hate. Emmett’s fists clenched at his sides.

Courtney rubbed his shoulders in an effort to calm him. She had shown signs being able to control others’ emotions, but she didn’t yet have full control of that aspect of her power. Unfortunately for Emmett, tonight was not a good night for it to be unstable; tension strained his neck.

I’m so sorry, Emmett. I wish I could do something to help. Tears pricked the corner of my eyes at the sight of his pain-filled face. It was indirectly my fault that knowledge of our magical powers was made public. A case I took as a private investigator several months ago got a lot more violent than it should have, and several members of our coven will be on trial for murder, among other charges. Elizabeth would not, however; she would spend the rest of her life in a mental institution after Samuel had broken her mind with his power.

I don’t blame you, Elena. In today’s world it was inevitable that our power would become public eventually. If it hadn’t been this, something else would have happened. Someone would have gotten stupid or careless or arrogant, and we’d be in the same situation. His fists relaxed slightly but did not unclench entirely.

Yes, but if stregas weren’t at the center of murder and kidnapping trials, people might view us a little more kindly. If a stregone hadn’t broken someone’s mind using nothing more than his power, people might not be as scared of us, I said.

People will always be scared of what they do not understand, mio amore, Vittorio said while rubbing my shoulders.

Lucky for me Vittorio had much better control over his ability to soothe emotions, and he used it for my benefit just then. I often fought it, feeling it was healthier to feel my emotions. My therapist agreed, especially now that I was no longer taking Zoloft. Vittorio had been right; I was more in tune with my power after my body had rid itself of the antidepressant. I was also more in tune with my emotions, which I didn’t always enjoy. I had more good days than bad, but I still had days where I couldn’t do anything but curl up in bed and cry. I just keep wondering what will be next. At first I thought I’d be able to relax once Samuel and his crew were behind bars. But now we’re waiting for their trial. And then maybe we’ll be able to relax. But what will come after that? I fear it will never end.

You can’t worry about the what-ifs, Elena. Just take each day as it comes, Courtney said as she gently rested her hand on my knee.

She never ceased to surprise me with the wisdom beyond her nineteen years.

You make it sound so simple.

It is. Just accept every day for what it is, the good and the bad. Everything will fall into place as it should whether you worry about it or not. She leaned back.

I let it drop. Courtney could be tenacious, and I was only recently learning when to accept what she said without argument. Maybe one day I’d learn to actually listen to her.

CHAPTER TWO

I sat in my office going through my notes for Neal’s court case. I wasn’t convinced I needed notes. Wasn’t living the horror enough? Jerry—Sergeant Gerald Lancaster, my one-time boss—had insisted it would help me prepare for being on the witness stand, and I eventually gave in.

My appointment book was empty for the week, so the knock at my door was unexpected. The lawyer is on the third floor. The sign in the lobby is wrong, I called out. No matter how many times I asked the landlord to fix the sign, he never did. With rent as cheap as mine, I couldn’t expect much.

Vittorio badgered me endlessly about moving into a nicer office now that I could afford it—rather, he could afford it for me—but my tiny run-down office was familiar. I needed the small comforts when everything else in my life had been turned inside out.

Ms. Ronen? If you’re busy I can come back, a nearly inaudible voice said through the door.

Smoothing my skirt, I opened the door to find a girl in her early twenties. Can I help you?

I’m sorry for not making an appointment, but…should I come later? the girl asked, staring at the floor.

No, now is good. Please, come in. I sensed if I turned her away now she’d never return. Can I get you some coffee? Free of drugs and binge drinking, and never a cigarette smoker, coffee was the one vice I had left.

No, thank you, she shook her head, standing just inside the doorway.

I pulled out a chair opposite mine at the desk. Please, sit down.

The girl sat, twirling the ends of her hair around her fingers.

What’s you name? I asked in my softest voice possible.

Susan. Susan Boyce.

Okay, Susan, what can I help you with? I still spoke softer than normal, hoping to put her at east.

My friend, Mia, she killed herself about two months ago. She stared into her lap.

I’m very sorry to hear that. I hoped she hadn’t heard about my experience bringing Vittorio back to life. Thankfully, that hadn’t gotten out to the media yet, but I couldn’t figure out why else she would be here about her dead friend.

Thanks. But I don’t think she killed herself. She finally looked at me, daring me to argue.

If you think she was murdered, you should go to the police. I took a sip of my coffee.

I did, but they won’t listen to me. There was a suicide note in her handwriting, and they said everything lines up with suicide. There’s no evidence of murder. They won’t do anything. But they don’t know Mia. She was so happy—she would never kill herself. Her words ran together.

Sometimes people are really good at hiding their emotions, I said, thinking of myself.

Please, Ms. Ronen, you have to help me. The emotional outpouring was over and Susan stared at her lap again.

What do you want me to do?

Find out who killed Mia, and why someone would do such an awful thing to such a good person. She looked into my eyes, pleading.

A pang of regret for Susan’s naivety clenched my gut, just for a moment. I need to ask you a few questions to help me determine if I can help you. First I want to get some general information. Where do you and Mia live?

Columbia, Missouri.

I raised my eyebrows. That’s not exactly down the street.

It’s only two hours.

Why me? Why not go to a PI closer to home?

Because you have power, Susan whispered.

Oh boy. I felt like printing up a flier to hand people who wanted me to use my power to track down lost pets and errant husbands. Susan, my power doesn’t work like that.

No, you don’t understand. Mia had power too. I know how it works. She told me. A tear escaped Susan’s eye. Is that why they killed her? Because she told me about her power?

So you think you know who did it? Maybe that’s why she was so nervous. If she thought she knew who killed her friend, she might fear for her