Grave Reach: Coventina Circle Paranormal Romance, #4

By Devon Ellington

Lesley Chase fought her way free from an abusive marriage, thanks to Coventina Circle. After her ex-husband's murder, she took a sabbatical to study yoga, meditation, and dreamwalking in Costa Rica. A passionate affair with Sam Pierce helped her self-confidence and healing, but she insisted they break all contact when she returned to New York. She's stunned when she runs into Sam, who has an office in the same building as her therapist. He convinces her it's just a weird coincidence, and he won't try to rekindle their passion. But when Lesley's dreamwalking crosses into dangerous territory, and her ex-husband starts stalking her from beyond the grave, Sam is determined to set her free, once and for all. Of course, Sam has a few dark secrets of his own, on both sides of the veil . . .

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bluestockings and Gentlemen Press
• Release date: Dec 5, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393595649

Devon Ellington

Devon Ellington publishes under half a dozen names in fiction and nonfiction. She is also an internationally-produced playwright and radio writer. She has published six novels, dozens of short stories, and hundreds of articles under the various names. She spent over 25 years working backstage in theatre, including Broadway, and in film and television production. 

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

HOW'S YOUR FIRST DAY back?

Lesley Chase made sure she had a smile on her face before she turned away from the filing cabinet and to face the speaker. She'd answered the question a dozen times today. She reminded herself that her co-workers were well-intentioned. Most of them, anyway. It went well, Penelope, thank you.

Be glad you stayed in the tropics during February, Penelope Calligaris grinned at her. We had nasty weather. Every time I got down in the mouth about it, I thought of you down there, rolling around in the white sand with some gorgeous Latin lover in between asanas.

Lesley laughed. It was a good break. I feel more, well, more good stuff anyway.

Penelope nodded. I can't help feeling like we failed you. We should have seen the signs that you were in a bad situation.

Lesley shook her head. I got good at hiding. The important thing is that you were here for me when I got away from Carl, when he attacked me, and supported me through the recovery.

Hopefully, we all learned awareness, said Penelope. How to look for signs.

Lesley moved back to her desk and gathered her purse, her coat, and the mat bag holding her yoga gear. I'll be able to wear short sleeves this summer. Or even go sleeveless. I can't even remember how long that's been.

Penelope blinked back tears. Let's go do something fun one night, okay? Maybe go to a show or something?

Lesley smiled, as she shut down her computer. I'd like that.

She turned off the light in her office and headed down the corridor into the reception area of the Dousmanis Art Foundation. Reception was decorated in a palette of soothing blue-grays and silvers. The walls highlighted a rotating collection of the figure drawings and paintings for which Arkadina Dousmanis was famous. There was a small abstract by her daughter Liliana on one wall, and a sculpture by her son, Theosopholis, spot lit in one corner of the room.

Claudine, the receptionist, who looked more like a fashion model than a desk jockey, smiled at her. Done for the day, Ms. Chase? Her slight French accent made everything sound better.

Yes. I have an appointment. That dress looks beautiful on you.

The textured white fabric shimmered against Claudine's dark skin, and set off her black hair. Claudine smiled. Part of Regina Tallow's spring collection. She opened a boutique here in New York.

A friend of mine is setting up a private shopping party with her, Lesley said. Morag, the circle sister setting up the party, told Lesley that Regina was a fellow witch. Who also designed sublime ritual wear. Did that mean Claudine . . .

Taking off early on your first day? Brita Gustav stomped in on lime green spike heels that matched her micro-mini dress, and slammed a folder onto Claudine's desk. I need this by five, Claudie.

Claudine lifted the file by a corner as though it smelled bad and held it out to Brita. Then I suggest you start typing.

Brita snarled and snatched it back. She turned her fury onto Lesley. Still nutty enough to see the shrink, Lesley? On company time, no less?

Six months ago, I would have let that remark slide, said Lesley. She was proud of herself for staying calm. But I won't now. That's inappropriate.

Since I'm the one who has to pick up the slack when everyone else sails in and out of here on their own schedule—

Stuff a sock in it Brita, and stop acting such a wanker. Timothy Clapham strode in, his gray-blue bespoke suit and crisp white shirt making him look handsomer than ever, enhanced by his Cambridge-educated British accent. You're not overworked and under-appreciated. Ride down with me, Les? Claudine, you look spectacular. I bet that's original Regina Tallow. I need to commission a design from her for Liliana for the next opening. I'm out for the night; I'll be running interference for Liliana at the downtown Guggenheim event tonight. I'll be in by elevenish tomorrow. Heavy on the ish. I have a breakfast with Hans Hoffenstratter. He rolled the name around his tongue, with a perfect German accent on the name. "He wants to open that palace he's renovated in the Black Forest as an artist colony and wants to commission work from Theo. And have us fund some of the residencies, of course. Rather like paying ourselves. Then, I'm meeting the team from Sunrise New York to shoot B roll in the gallery ahead of Liliana's segment day after. Come on, Les, elevator's here."

With that, she was swept out of the office.

Timothy Clapham waited until the elevator doors closed and then grinned at her. Welcome back, darling. Sorry I wasn't here this morning.

Plenty to do, and the flowers you left me are beautiful.

"Don't mind Brita. Theo will tire of her, and she'll disappear, like they always do.

I don't know. Lesley shook her head. Brita's pretty persistent. 

I'll fire her if I have to. Between making rude comments to you and treating Claudine like her secretary. Timothy shook his head. But she gets the job done.

You don't have to fire her on my account, said Lesley. I can stand up for myself. Finally.

You truly feel up to being back full-time, out of the gate?

I'm happy, Lesley said. On many levels.

Good, darling, because there's so much going on and we missed you. Did you get highlights in your hair, or is that natural?

Spent lots of time on the beach.

The elevator doors opened and Timothy indicated she should exit first. Rolling around in the sand with a handsome guy? Or girl?

Lesley laughed. I haven't switched teams.

A man, then? Good for you, darling. After the hell you went through, you deserve someone who treasures you.

Lesley shook her head. It was just a retreat fling. It was great, it did a lot for my self-esteem, but that was it. Enough about me. Archie said you and Jacob are getting married? How's your family taking it?

They were on the sidewalk, with Madison Square Park before them. How do you think? My dad's a pale Church of England Brit, my mother's a dark Hindu from Mumbai, and I'm marrying an African-American Jewish boy. I have a contingent of aunts flying in from India next week. My mother's coming in from London. Since I'm not going to agree to a spectacle of an arranged marriage and keep Jacob on the side to save face, they’re coming here to help plan the wedding. He grinned. I'm not sure if they think I'm the bride or the groom.

But you and Jacob are happy?

Over the moon, as they say. He sobered. If it's not too difficult for you, though, I may need your help. Or at least advice. On a completely different matter.

Anything I can do, said Lesley.

We have to convince Liliana to dump the parasite she's been seeing. He sponges off her mercilessly, spending her money. We've been down that road with her boyfriends before, but this one is getting in the way of her art.

Lesley frowned. Is he abusing her?

Puts her down in front of other people. Emotional abuse, at the very least. I don't know what's happening behind closed doors.

I'll do what I can, but until she wants help, Lesley shrugged. Been down that road.

That's why, if anyone can get through to her, it's you. Oh, there's a cab. He leaned forward to kiss her cheek. I'm so glad you're back. He jumped into the cab and sped off.

It was a lovely March afternoon. She headed downtown on Park Avenue South. Her therapist's office was on E. 18th Street. Still a little cool, but it smelled good, even for New York, and Lesley could feel the hint of spring. She'd been lucky enough to miss winter by taking her leave of absence at a yoga retreat in Costa Rica. But she was ready to be back, and start this new phase of her life.

An abused wife who escaped and divorced her husband. Now widowed, shortly after he attacked and stabbed her five times. In a new apartment. Ready to stop blaming herself for everything, learn from the past and build a new future.

Her months in Costa Rica had been well spent. Yoga teacher training, intensive meditation. She even worked on some aspects of her circle practice, like dreamwalking and astral projection. She'd been able to help the detective who'd helped her when Carl attacked her. He astral-projected after he'd been shot, and she helped him solve a murder. And save her circle sister, Amanda.

Amanda married that detective, Phineas Regan. They were still on their honeymoon in Bermuda. It surprised Lesley. She thought Amanda would be perpetually single. Not alone, but single.

She expected she would be alone, too. She couldn't imagine, after her experience with Carl, taking a chance on a long-term relationship anytime soon. But the last six weeks in Costa Rica, she wanted, needed to feel desirable, and to prove to herself that she could stand to be touched again.

Sam provided that. Gorgeous, sun-kissed, gentle, funny, smart Sam.

They'd been attracted from the first minute he walked into the meditation room, six weeks before she was scheduled to come home. But he'd never pressured her. Although it took less than a week to move from fellow retreat participants to friends to lovers, he let her initiate everything.

No strings, no expectations, Lesley warned, the first night they had sex. Once we leave here, we won't be in contact. We'll never see each other again. I can't give anything beyond what we have here.

I accept that, said Sam. I'll give you body and heart here. We'll part with fond memories. I'd rather have a few weeks of being together than wondering why we didn't.

So they had five weeks at a level of passion and intimacy Lesley hadn't known could exist. She hadn't known she was capable of giving and receiving such pleasure, or that sex could be so wild and so freeing.

He didn't argue with her the night before she left. He didn't make demands when he drove her to the airport. I wish you happiness, he said, giving her a final kiss. Wherever that may be. I have no regrets about our time together. It was perfect.

He watched her until she boarded the plane, and then turned and walked away without looking back.

She wondered if he ever thought of her.

She thought of him every day. She caught herself wishing she could tell him about some daily detail. See his smile. Hear his laugh. Touch him again, and feel his touch. That surprised her. It was something she needed to talk through with her therapist. Natalie Granger.

Yet she hesitated. When she ran through, in her mind, what she wanted to discuss today, part of her wanted to keep all knowledge of Sam to herself. At least for a few more days. Hold the memories, the feelings of love, the sensation of peace she felt with him as just hers.

She felt beautiful with him. Smart, desirable, funny. She embodied the fantasy of the best self she'd always wanted to be.

Had she been a fool to cut off contact?

No. Nothing could sustain the fantasy once she returned to real life. It was better this way.

This way, returning to New York was a complete fresh start.

She walked up the graceful stone steps to the grayish-blue stone building on 18th Street and buzzed Dr. Granger's unit. She got the unlocking buzz, and pushed the door open.

This had once been a mansion, housing one family. The graceful marble staircase still led to the second floor, and a chandelier lit the hall. Dr. Granger's office was in the back of the ground floor, where it was quieter.

She didn't check her reflection in the hall mirror, but she turned, trying not to flinch, as a man used a key to open the front door. The frosted glass, covered on both sides with wrought iron, hid his features.

Used a key. Nothing to be afraid of, she reassured herself.

She turned to the back of the building, wondering what she should talk about in today's session. Dr. Granger also wanted her to participate in a group session as part of her recovery. Lesley preferred Coventina Circle as her group.

She hesitated. The person who'd entered was male, which made her wary. She was back in New York, after all. But the energy felt familiar. Comforting.

She hesitated, just past the bottom of the staircase, near the mirror. She glanced at her reflection, and saw her own worried face stare back.

The man who'd entered had his head down, looking through his mail, as he started up the stairs to the second floor.

She'd know the tread of those footsteps anywhere.

It couldn't be.

He promised her.

Sam? she croaked.

He was part of the way up the stairs. He lifted his head, looking first up for the voice, then glanced over the rail to meet her eyes. He paled, and his own hazel eyes widened in shock. Lesley?

You lied to me! Lesley burst out. How could you lie to me like that?

Lesley, I had no idea, I didn't, I—

You can't tell me this is a coincidence! She fled down the hall into Natalie Granger's waiting area, where she burst into tears.

CHAPTER TWO

SAM UNLOCKED THE DOOR to his second-floor office, flipped on the lights, and sighed. Lesley Chase. The last person he expected to run into again, as much as he wanted to.

He crossed the room and opened the blinds, looking out onto 18th Street. He'd thought about Lesley non-stop since they parted. He knew she was recovering from an abusive marriage, and the death of her husband. When she gave him the ultimatum, before they moved from friends to lovers, he gave his word not to ask for more than she could give.

No matter how much he wanted it.

He wanted more.

He'd thought about it since he drove her to the airport. It took more self-control than he believed he had to say goodbye without asking for more. To walk away without looking back.

But keeping his promise to Lesley meant the most.

Had he manipulated energy so she'd show up here?

He frowned, watching students hurry along the block, back and forth from their NYU internships. That was ego. He wasn't that powerful.

Besides, Lesley's reason for being in this building must have started before today. They'd never run into each other before, that was all. It was a building full of therapists and other psychology professionals.

He'd caused her pain, and that hurt him more than believing he'd never see her again.

How to fix it?

He went through the motions of getting the coffeemaker going, hoping the simple tasks would help him organize his thoughts.

Tracking her down in order to apologize would do the opposite of what he intended. It would make her feel threatened, rather than safe. Threat was her fall-back, after years of abuse.

He couldn't do that to her.

But he knew she was here in New York.

Which meant he could figure out a way to cross paths with her again, after giving her time and space, so that it wouldn't be threatening.

Did she ever think of him? Or had she closed the door on him and moved on when she got on the plane?

He poured himself a cup of coffee, and sat down to work through his mail and his messages. If he left the thought simmering in the back of his brain, ideas would start forming. Solutions.

He'd been gone a little over six weeks. He'd cleaned up his caseload before he left. But things stacked up in his absence. He toyed with the idea of hiring an administrative assistant. No. He liked being a one-man operation.

What if Lesley needed a job?

Bad idea. If she burst into tears at the sight of him, she certainly wouldn't want to come into work every day.

He'd figure it out.

A GENTLE KNOCK ON HIS door about an hour later pulled his attention back from the computer research. Yeah? he called.

The door opened. Lesley hovered. She looked pale and exhausted.

Sam resisted the impulse to take her into his arms.

Sam? It was barely above a whisper.

Lesley. He kept his tone neutral.

I owe you an apology.

Would you like to come in? Have some coffee?

Yes. No. She took a deep breath and exhaled. Yes. Thank you. She entered and shut the door behind her.

Sam rose from behind the desk, poured her a cup of coffee, and added a splash of milk.

She accepted the offered mug. Thank you.

He sat back down behind his chair and waited.

What kind of work do you do? She asked. We never—I never asked you, in Costa Rica.

Forensic psychology, Sam replied. I consult. With social workers or on court cases. With the police or the Feds sometimes.

You like it?

Yes. It's interesting.

She took another deep breath and exhaled. It was difficult not to mirror her, as though they were back in yoga class together. I apologize for my outburst.

Nothing for which to apologize.

Yes. Her chin lifted. There is.

It was nice to see a bit of her spark again. Then I accept, he said.

I was shocked. I didn't think I'd ever see you again.

I'm sorry it was such a negative experience.

No! Those beautiful eyes widened. That's not it at all.

I've had this office for three years, said Sam. I didn't stalk you after Costa Rica and move in here to manipulate a meeting.

Lesley stared into her mug. I wonder if I'll ever stop being afraid.

It will take a long time, said Sam. Some of it will never go away.

That surprised a smile out of her. At least you don't lie to me.

I didn't in Costa Rica. I'm not now.

Thank you.

I think of you, he blurted. Often.

She looked up, into his eyes. I think of you, too.

He waited.

I'm just not sure I can—

I understand. He didn't want to, he wanted to argue, but he knew it wouldn't work. He gestured to the mat bag, holding her yoga mat. On your way to class?

I just started taking Raina Hollis's class on 13th Street.

Sam nodded. I go to some of her classes. I like the way she teaches. He watched her. If it makes you uncomfortable, I'll go to a different studio.

No! She protested.

That pleased him.

I need to stop behaving like a spoiled child, she said. I'm a thirty-two year-old woman. This is a big city, but you keep running into the same people over and over. Neither one of us should feel like we're walking on eggshells.

I agree.

I need some time to wrap my head around the fact that you're in New York, she said. I always associate you with California.

He nodded. Those stories of growing up in Santa Cruz. But my grad work was at NYU. I've lived in several places over the years—

London, Barcelona, Prague.

He smiled. You remembered.

Yes. Her voice was soft, almost a whisper.

I came back to New York three years ago.

When you rented this office.

About the same time. He smiled. He liked that she flushed a bit.

I just don't know. Lesley shrugged.

I understand. He didn't want to, but he did. Maybe we'll pass in the hallway here. Or at the yoga studio.

She nodded. The yoga studio. You going to tonight's class?

Not tonight. He didn't think either one of them could handle it. Tomorrow or day after, maybe.

Me, too. Maybe. She stood up and left the coffee mug on his desk. Thank you for understanding. I'll see you. . .somewhere.

See you, said Sam.

She closed the door gently.

He let out a sigh that was more of a groan.

I'M SURPRISED YOU DIDN't want to meet at the club, Sam said.

Sometimes I like to sneak out and have a burger. Lerrien Kinsella admitted. O'Grady's has good food, good liquor, and they don't mind us.

By us, Lerrien meant the pagan community. Lerrien and his wife Kayla ran The Dragon's Lair, a pagan club on the Bowery that got its business by word-of-mouth and changed its password nightly to avoid hassle and provide safe space for its patrons.

Sometimes you don't want to tell Kayla what's worrying you, Sam countered. He took another pull of his beer. He enjoyed the burger, but he knew it would sit like lead in his stomach later. Good thing he didn't need to do any ritual work tonight.

Yeah, there's that. Lerrien had the long, lean look of a Celtic warrior, with his shoulder-length red hair caught back in a tail, broad shoulders, and narrow hips. I've been hearing a few things around the club. So has my staff. We find them. . .worrisome.

What kind of things? Sam asked. He grabbed another onion ring. No one made onion rings, or fries, the way they did at Sean O'Grady's place. An Irish-American pub set in a Greenwich Village side street.

Trouble on the astral, said Lerrien. We're overhearing bits and pieces in conversation between the customers.

Sam shrugged. There's always trouble on the astral. Too many people poking around who aren't trained, and don't care to learn the protocols. Some of them are bound to get burned.

This is different. Lerrien took another bite of his burger and let the words hang in the air until he swallowed. I'm hearing it from people who know what they're doing. Not dilettantes or apprentices.

What kind of things? Sam asked.

When they astral project, there's a sense of menace. Even in spaces they've built on the astral as sanctuary. Asta Bright said the last time the Urban Fae Collective did a group projection to do an astral ritual, the space they've built over the last five years had been trashed.

Trashed? How?

Plantings torn, wards ripped open, ritual objects smashed. Lerrien took another swig of his beer. Urine and feces all over the ritual space.

In the astral? Sam frowned. That's odd. That's the type of vandalism one does on this plane.

Asta's not an alarmist, said Lerrien. She trains her people well. They know how to protect their ritual space, both on the astral and here.

Was it mirrored in their physical ritual space? Sam asked.

I don't know. But one of her people claimed to have been followed back onto this plane by something from the astral, and had a heck of a time banishing it. Like I said, Asta trains her people well.

Do you know who it was?

Lerrien shook his head. Asta didn't tell me. I know it was a woman, though.

Would you ask Asta if she and the member of this collective are willing to talk to me?

Lerrien grinned. I hoped you'd say that.

Is it just the Urban Fae Collective having trouble? Sam asked. Someone's got a grudge against them right now?

Lerrien shook his head. One of my bartenders heard a couple of women from the Alhambra Coven talking about astral ritual space being disrupted. Derrick is new to our staff. Zee had to take some time off and recommended him.

Sam frowned. What's going on with Zee?

Lerrien shook his head. I don't know. He was evasive.

That's not like Zee. He usually can't wait to share his business.

But never anyone else's, Lerrien agreed. I didn't pry. I gave him time off, and he recommended Derrick. Derrick passed both our cowan and magical checks. He's a good guy, reliable, patrons like him. Lerrien shrugged. Anyway, a couple of things he overheard bothered him, so he brought them to me. A meditation teacher from the studio up on 13th street told me that something entered their session last week, turning over the singing bowls and pounding on them, pushing people off their meditation cushions. Meditation classes don't usually cast circles.

Sounds almost like a poltergeist, Sam remarked.

Bianca Fleuvis was whining about something the other night, said Lerrien. My first response is to dismiss it, because Bianca never finishes any course of training, and likes attention. But this was different. She was scared.

I'd like to talk to all of them before I go exploring up on the astral, said Sam.

Even Bianca Fleuvis?

Sam sighed. Even Bianca Fleuvis. I don't like her much, but we can't risk it if there's an actual danger around. He drummed his fingers on the wooden table. I guess I should do some digging at the Société Sortileger, too.

Speaking of which, there are Delacourtes around, said Lerrien.

They're everywhere, Sam sighed. I'm beginning to wish I'd stayed in Costa Rica.

Harry's working at the Société, said Lerrien. He's a waiter.

Cecily, Cedric, and Tobias around, too? Sam asked.

They were in town a few weeks ago, said Lerrien. Don't know why, but when they were done they came by the club and tied one on but good. We let them sleep it off in the guest rooms at the apartment. I could have sworn I saw a couple of Hellhounds around, too. Sensed more than saw. Something went down.

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. Now I really wish I'd stayed in Costa Rica. But the Delacourtes will come in handy if there's a fight. There's nothing they like more than a good preternatural brawl. He looked at his friend. You're nuts if you think Kayla doesn't know something's up.

I'd like to keep her out of whatever it is.

Sam nearly snorted his beer out his nose. That won't happen.

Lerrien grinned. I know. But I have to try. He watched his friend. Costa Rica was good for you.

It was.

You fell in love.

Sam shrugged. I had a fling.

She live near or far?

Sam was tempted to lie, but lying didn't work with Lerrien. In town. I didn't think I'd run into her.

Within the pagan community? Lerrien shook his head. You deluded yourself, my friend. We all run into each other, eventually.

We hadn't, before. Or at least I didn't notice her. I'm pretty sure I would have noticed her. Sam sighed. I'm thirty-four, and she makes me feel as passionate and awkward as I did at fourteen. But I ran into her. Today. She was less than happy to see me.

Interesting. Lerrien watched him.

She's gone through a lot. She's not ready for a relationship.

All you have to do is be Sam, said Lerrien. If she's it, and you just go on being you, it'll happen. Not without a little work, but once you get the energy moving in the right direction, it'll happen.

I don't want her to feel crowded. Or unsafe. She's had enough of that in her life.

Like I said, said Lerrien. All you have to do is be Sam. She'll come around.

If only it was that simple.

CHAPTER THREE

I THINK YOU'LL BE HAPPY here. Sylvie Nicolson cleared away the empty Chinese food containers. A cloth printed with dark yellow sunflowers was on the second-hand table Lesley had painted a deep, glossy red the night before she went back to work.

It's the first apartment I've ever had on my own, said Lesley. She picked up the blue plates they'd used and put them in the sink. No dishwasher, but she didn't mind doing dishes. She put in the stopper, started the water, and squirted in some dish soap. I went from living at home to having roommates in college to living with my first boyfriend to marrying Carl.

You'll like it, said Sylvie. She dropped the cutlery in the sink and topped up their wine glasses. I mean, I lucked out with my roommates and the apartment in Chinatown. But someday, when I can afford it, I want to have my own little place. This is just right for you.

It was a large studio apartment in a pre-war building on East 38th Street. It had a bowed window looking out over the front of the building in the living area; a small, built-in sleeping alcove, a tiny bathroom, and a galley kitchen with a breakfast bar, and two small closets.

Diana, the High Priestess of Coventina Circle, had found it, while Lesley was in Costa Rica. She'd made the arrangements with the landlord. She'd gotten her husband, Greg, and various other members of the Circle and their partners to come in and paint, with the landlord's permission. The walls were a soft, cheerful, buttery yellow. The nicked wooden floors were painted a robin's egg blue, as were the moldings around the doors and windowsills. Diana