Corvus: The Children of Corvus, #3

By L.E. Harrison

A witch and a son of Corvus must combine their powers to defeat the witch goddess and save the souls of the Merulas trapped in the Shadowlands.

As host of the newscast, The Scoop At Five: Live!, Catriona Remington prefers to show the world a brave face. Inside she's barely keeping it together, worrying over the fates of Sarina and Jonathan Lance, who are trapped in the dimension of Blackwater Hills. When she receives disturbing news from the senior Medicus of Blackwater castle, Catriona enlists J. Lance Sr.'s help to infiltrate the dimension of the children of Corvus and aid her friends. But an irresistible attraction to Samuel Singleton, the newly crowned leader of the tribe, awakens a power she's been suppressing since leaving the coven. When Catriona follows Samuel into the Shadowlands, she finds herself at the mercy of the witch goddess and her demons.

To save his father's spirit and protect his mate, Samuel must learn to embrace his power and his duty to his tribe as the Merula. He must also learn to accept Bestiae—the god-like part of himself he can't control.

Can Catriona be the bridge that ends the feud between the children of Corvus and the daughters of Venefica? Or will her presence in Blackwater Hills irreparably damage the Balance and provoke the wrath of the Raven of Otherworld?

Book three in the award-winning contemporary fantasy trilogy about a tribe of shapeshifters in northern Maine, USA.

 

An IHIBRP 5-Star Recommended Read.

• Language: English
• Publisher: L.E. Harrison
• Release date: Apr 21, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386523444

L.E. Harrison

L.E. Harrison is the author of the award-winning contemporary fantasy trilogy The Children of Corvus, From the Uncollected Thoughts of: L.E. Harrison a collection of previously published poems and short stories, and Kindle Vella serials Reyna (The New Order of Corvus), and Jarren (The New Order of Corvus). She lives in a one-hundred-and-sixty-year-old farmhouse in rural Pennsylvania, where she is working on the next chapter in the fictional universe of Soluna’s children. Sign up for L.E. Harrison’s Author Newsletter and get a free ebook copy of Cadie and Samuel: In the Interim (A Children of Corvus Short Story) - https://storyoriginapp.com/giveaways/5da0fd94-fe67-11e9-86d5-17b66e2d9bb6

Book preview

Part One

Prologue

A VISIT FROM NO ONE

Samuel Singleton

Blackwater Hills

Shadows floated in the air, through my body, and back into the night.

I sometimes forgot that I was not a specter, myself. I didn’t light the hour candle, for I knew what I would see: the eyes of the daemon staring me down, and the ghost of my sanity—detached from my consciousness, and mocking me with its fragile illusion.

Sleep eluded me, no matter how hard I tried. Though I didn’t really try, because I wasn’t sure which was worse—the dreams, or cowering under the covers like a terrified child.

Cadie blamed my nighttime terrors on the spell of Lucidity, and I knew it was true. She cast the spell upon me while acting as my Guardian during the Evaluation ritual. A powerful magical working, the spell of Lucidity dissolved the barriers between the dimensions of the mortal plane, the Otherworld, and the Shadowlands. Though to what extent, was not always apparent—nor was it consistent.

I sometimes heard the voices of the two Guardians of the Otherworld, Mack and Justin, but tonight they were silent. The patter of rain against the brittle window glass, the screeching of wind through the valley, the mournful cries of dead Merulas trapped inside the Shadowlands, and the glowing yellow eyes of the daemon are all that’s left to hurl me over the cliff into the abyss of madness.

As if I actually needed to be pushed. I felt as though I was merely tottering on the edge of it most days, anyway. Jackson Singleton’s wolfsbane potion was the only thing connecting me to a familiar reality. I had no illusions about that fact.

Despite the likelihood that I would soon become immune to the effects of the potion, I refused to stop taking the two doses per day needed to ward off the transformation. Fear of losing control of the human side of myself forced me to use it to keep Bestiae at bay.

I could feel the beast inside me—still restless, despite its drug-induced somnolence. But as long as I kept a steady level of the wolfsbane potion in my system, he was unable to emerge. How much longer that would prove to be true, however, no one—not even the senior Medicus—could foresee.

On nights like these, it took every ounce of self-control I possessed to refrain from consuming more than I needed to hold back the change. The insensibility that would result from intoxication would be far too dangerous.

Enclosed in the chill of my chamber on the second floor of the castle’s north tower, familiar objects took on sinister proportions. Bathed in shadows, the long bureau against the wall served as the base for the cracked, dusty mirror. Reflected in the mirror, were the glowing yellow eyes of the daemon.

The eyes watched me. Patiently. Waiting.

I didn’t know what it wanted, but every night the daemon visited my chamber and stared me down with an intensity I’d never felt from any living being. Or rather, it would have stared me down, had I the courage to meet its gaze.

Every night. Unless Cadie was with me.

I didn’t want to think about the Honorable Guardian of the Dead Acadia Maxwell, either. Nor did I care to ruminate on the reason she wasn’t here. I thrust her image from my mind—tried to relax, breathe deep, and think of something else. But it was either Cadie or the daemon, and I wasn’t sure which was the lesser of two evils.

Despite my best efforts, my thoughts kept returning to the night, a week ago now, when everything changed between us.

Snuggled together against the chill of winter, it had felt as natural as breathing for our lips to meet in a lingering kiss. We’d caressed each other beneath the covers. When Cadie’s gentle touch passed over the scar on my chest, I had an unexpected flash of memory—Cadie looming over me as I was chained to the sacrificial altar, those same hands clutched around the hilt of a long, sharp knife.

I couldn’t help the shudder that rippled through me at the memory, and I jerked away from her. Awkward silence replaced the languid passion of mere moments before. Without a word, Cadie scooted to the edge of the mattress, burrowed under the covers, and fell asleep. I spent the rest of the night staring up at the ceiling, wondering if I’d ever get over what had happened during my Evaluation.

Before that night, it had seemed as though our relationship had been progressing steadily from the close friendship we’d shared since childhood, to something more romantic. My feelings for Cadie had grown since the council had appointed her my Guardian. Even finding out that her father and my mother were half-brother and sister, had done nothing to dampen my passion for her.

I’d thought she felt the same, but I knew nothing of relationships, of the love between mates. I must have misread the signals. Cadie ensconcing herself in my bedroom—and my bed—may not have been a prelude to our mating, as I’d thought.

Perhaps her reasons really were as innocent as she had claimed, and she’d wanted nothing more than companionship—preferring the comfort of my north tower chamber over the cold, sterile lodgings the previous Guardian of the Dead had occupied.

Either way, it didn’t matter. I ruined things between us that fateful night, and Cadie hasn’t spoken to me since.

I covered my face with my rough, calloused hands and felt the frantic beating of my heart inside my chest. A low moan of despair escaped me. My blood raced, hot and heavy, through my veins and seemed trapped inside my skin. I had the inexplicable urge to carve deep gouges in my arms, free the scalding liquid, and watch it pour over the cold stone floor of the tower. My life—reduced to a dark, molten puddle of incarnadine reality.

Time appeared to cease its forward march, leaving me frozen in a nightmare I feared might never end. Beneath the covers, I listened for the voices—not sure if I was relieved or disappointed when they didn’t come. At least, I told myself, hearing the voices made me feel less alone. I knew it made no sense, but rational thought seemed to have fled with my Guardian.

I could feel the daemon’s eyes upon me, even through the thick down comforter. I felt the beast begin to awaken. He stretched and stirred within me. Sweat bathed my skin, and the heat of my body made me tremble.

I breathed in deep, heavy, painful gasps, struggling to calm the raging fire of the blood madness. My mind was a wall of confusing images. They spiraled up to the ceiling, then fell slowly, slowly back down—traveling through my physical body like a strong wind passing through the forest.

I knew I was strong. Powerful. Everyone told me I was. But perhaps Bestiae and the daemon were stronger. My body was so tortured from days without sleep. My knotted muscles ached, and there was a constant burning behind my eyes. My blood felt thick, furious, savage.

The heat was unbearable…

Chapter 1

Catriona Speaks

Catriona Remington

Presque Isle / Ashland, Maine

It seemed to be that whenever Catriona felt confident, content, or—dare she think it?—happy, something bad would happen.

Since noticing the pattern, she’d begun to suspect that someone in the coven had cast a spell on her. She didn’t want to ponder it too much, however, because then she would have to admit the possibility that her mother had been the one to cast the spell. And if her own mother had turned on her, there was no one left in the world who would care about what happened to her.

The thought made her feel as though a portion of her soul had shriveled up like rotten fruit—exactly the way she had felt seven years ago, when her baby sister had died at the age of fourteen. But Catriona didn’t spend much time thinking of her sister’s death, either. The memories were just too painful.

Winter always found her melancholy. The cold was relentless. The perpetual blanket of snow and ice, the bleak gray skies, and the dormant splendor of nature were constant weights upon her soul. Working on her show, The Scoop at Five: Live! was her only refuge, for then she could be someone else—Catriona Remington, intrepid reporter. Not simply Cat, the daughter of the west coast Grand Coven Master, and sister of Millicent.

Since her return from Blackwater Hills almost three weeks ago, Catriona had felt uneasy, off-balance, and uncomfortable in her own skin. Her usual stubborn confidence had been replaced by an irritating habit of second-guessing every decision—even inconsequential ones, such as what to eat for lunch or which pajamas to wear to bed. There was a tightness in her chest she couldn’t seem to get rid of. Though part of that, she assumed, had to do with the weather.

Winter in Presque Isle was always difficult. Every Fall, Catriona tried to prepare herself for the onslaught, but the arctic Maine air always felt like an attack. It was a constant battle to keep her depression at bay. By the time February rolled around, Catriona was convinced she was fighting on the losing side.

That conviction was reinforced five days before Christmas, when she came home to find a letter from Jackson Singleton. The senior Medicus of Blackwater Castle must have delivered the missive while she had been at work. When she returned after dark—cursing not only the snow and ice, but Daylight Savings Time as well—Catriona found the sealed envelope stuffed inside her mailbox.

Worrying over the fates of Jonathan and Sarina Lance had kept her up most nights, even though she knew she was unable to do anything to help either one of them. Jonathan Lance Jr. was now a prisoner of the children of the beast god, but she was hoping against hope that his twin sister, Sarina was faring better.

Despite Catriona begging her to change her mind, Sarina had insisted on staying in Blackwater Hills until her brother was freed on the charge of murder—or Homicidium, as the children of Corvus called it—for the death of the Guardian of the Dead, Claudius Andrick.

She locked the front door, entered the kitchen, and perched on a stool by the center island. She stared at the envelope for a long time before opening it.

A missive from the senior Medicus could not be good news, she decided, and would surely interrupt the life she had so painstakingly crafted outside the world of Soluna’s children. After everything the daughters of Venefica had put her family through, Catriona was afraid to revisit that world. The human dimension—as insipid as it was—was safer.

With an effort, she pushed thoughts of the coven and her mother to the back of her mind and tore open the envelope. A folded sheet of yellow parchment paper fell upon the granite countertop. Catriona unfolded the letter, rested her forehead in her palm, and stared down at it.

Catriona Remington,

Forgive the intrusion upon your solitude, for I have sensed your aversion to the dimension of the children of Corvus. However, your friendship with Sarina Lance leads me to believe that you may have some interest in her and her brother’s welfare. Please know that I would not be contacting you at all unless I had exhausted all other options, but I fear you may be the only one who can help them.

J. Lance Sr. has not responded to my many missives, and has yet to return to Blackwater Hills, as he’d promised. The trial of Jonathan Lance Jr. is scheduled to begin in one week’s time, to be presided over by His Holiness the Merula and a special council made up of former members of the Sacred Order, including the Honorable Guardian of the Dead Acadia Maxwell.

I am confident that the outcome will result in a pardon by the Merula, at which time Jonathan will be free to return to the human dimension. Although incarceration has been difficult for him, Jonathan remains in good health—both mentally and physically.

Sarina, however, has not fared as well as her brother, and has been steadily deteriorating these past weeks. Although I have examined her to the extent of my expertise, I have been unable to definitively diagnose her condition. It is my opinion that she requires the help of a human physician, though all my efforts to convince her to return to the land of the advena have come to naught. She simply refuses to leave without her brother, but I am convinced that the delay of even a week will only cause her condition to worsen further.

I would prefer to leave the details unexplained until such a time as I can confide in you, face to face. I will wait for you at the edge of the Great Shield at sunset every day, up until the Feast Day of Brumalis 21 December, when Samuel Singleton will be crowned the Merula. I urge you to come with all haste, for it may be a matter of life and death.

Jackson Singleton

Catriona’s heart pounded inside her chest, as she folded the letter and shoved it back inside the ragged envelope. The twenty-first of December was tomorrow, she realized. Thoughts spun and spiraled in her head, as though caught up in a funnel cloud.

Was Jackson still in Presque Isle? Or had someone else delivered the letter? One week until Jonathan’s trial. Something was wrong with Sarina. What was it? Was she sick? Why had J. Lance Sr. not returned to Blackwater Hills? When they’d left, he had vowed to return within a day or two—with reinforcements—to free his son from the dungeon.

Catriona wasn’t sure what, exactly, constituted reinforcements in the novelist’s mind. Nor could she account for the delay and the lack of response to Jackson’s letters. Maybe something terrible had happened to J. Lance Sr.. The man had a knack for getting himself into trouble.

Catriona glanced at the clock above the stove. Five minutes till six, and the sun had already gone down. Tomorrow, she decided, she would attempt to reach the edge of the Great Shield by sunset. There was only one problem: she didn’t know the way. Then she remembered that J. Lance Sr. had found it once, on his own. If she showed him the letter and begged for his help, maybe he would agree to lead her to Blackwater Hills.

She stuffed the letter in her purse and grabbed her coat, then climbed back into her car and headed for Ashland.

Mister Jay is not receiving visitors, said Rosinda, with the exhausted air of someone who had repeated that exact phrase too many times. Leave your name and phone number, and I’ll make sure he gets the message.

Catriona smiled, extending her hand toward the Lance’s housekeeper.

My name is Catriona Remington. I’m a friend of Sarina and Jonathan. I must see him. It’s an emergency.

The woman ignored Catriona’s outstretched hand, but at the mention of the twins, her brown eyes softened. Then abruptly, they widened in alarm.

"You’re that reporter from The Scoop At Five. What’s the matter? Has something bad happened?"

Everything’s fine, she lied. I just need to deliver a message.

I told Mister Jay they shouldn’t have gone to Mexico, the housekeeper went on, shaking her head. I don’t care if the weather’s better there. Yes, they have sun. But also, drug lords and criminals.

If you would, please just let me in to deliver the mess—

I’ll take chilblains over getting my head lopped off by the cartels, she added, taking a step back and holding open the door. Come wait in the foyer. I’ll let him know you’re here.

Catriona followed Rosinda inside. The woman disappeared through a door to the left of the staircase, and was back within moments.

You can go in, she said, pointing to the door she had just exited. He says he’s been waiting for you.

Catriona hesitated. Was it her imagination, or did the housekeeper look distressed? She hoped she had not upset the woman by saying she was here on an emergency. On her way through the foyer, she gave Rosinda a reassuring smile.

Thank you. And please don’t worry about the twins. Everything is fine. They’re having a great time on vacation.

The housekeeper nodded, then took her leave.

Catriona opened the study door, a lump in her throat.

Mexico? Seriously? What was J. Lance Sr. thinking?

The spacious room was dominated by a mahogany desk that sat squarely in the center of the polished wood floor. Behind the desk was a huge bay window that overlooked the backyard garden—now dormant, and covered in snow. A flatscreen was mounted on the wall to her left. To her right was a section of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, nearly filled to bursting.

The man she had come to see stood behind the desk, facing the window. His back was to Catriona, and he didn’t turn when she entered. She noted the disheveled appearance of his clothing and hair—the former looking as though they’d been slept in for a week, and the latter as though it hadn’t seen a comb in at least that long.

What’s going on? She demanded, closing the door. Why did you tell your housekeeper the twins are in Mexico? And why haven’t you responded to any of Jackson’s messages?

She hadn’t meant to blurt it out all at once, but something about his body language made her uneasy. He finally turned to face her, and Catriona was struck by how pale and haggard he looked. His long-fingered hands trembled slightly, and his gaze darted around the room.

It’s better that way, so she won’t worry where they are and tell their uncle. I can’t have Andrew Simon suspecting there’s something amiss. He’ll ruin everything. The Merula needs time to learn to navigate the portals, and Michael says there’s nothing I can do without upsetting the Balance.

Catriona’s mouth dropped open in shock. She struggled to think of a coherent response, but it took a few moments for her mind to sort through each ridiculous statement. She snapped her jaw closed, and appraised him critically.

When she finally spoke, she tried as hard as she could to keep her tone from sounding condescending and judgmental.

You’re aware, are you not, that your son is being held prisoner in the dungeon of Blackwater castle? And that your daughter—

I know all about it! he shouted. I know what he says she will become!

"What the hell are you talking about? Have you even read Jackson’s letters?"

J.