Memory Magic

By C.V Leigh

The Kincaid family is still recovering. Betrayal and secrets have ripped them apart.

Alistair Kincaid sends his lycanthrope brother, Jacob, to America to track down the witches who can help save his sister-in-law, Megan. On his flight, he meets Lauren Summers, who he learns is a witch, and might be the key to undoing Megan’s curse, as well as his way back into the family fold.

When Lauren takes Jacob to Salem, it becomes apparent that she has her own reasons for helping him. She introduces him to the strange world of magic, revealing the truths behind myths and legend.

However, not all secrets have been revealed, and when someone from Jacob’s past makes an appearance, he’s left with difficult decisions to make.

Can Jacob control his growing feelings for Lauren, and keep his mind on saving his family? The battle has been won, but a war is brewing...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tirgearr Publishing
• Release date: Feb 19, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463789452

Book preview

Chapter One

Lauren Summers sucked the lemon juice from the jet-black polish on her nails, never once letting her green gaze stray from the foreboding figure of Jacob Kincaid. He sat on the other side of the aisle, his blue eyes closed. She grazed her teeth over her thumb, before licking it clean, and savoured the acidic citrus sliding down her throat. Picking up the little plastic cup, she then drained what was left of the gin and tonic and dropped the naked peel onto the remaining ice cubes yet to melt.

Can I get another? she asked when an air hostess passed by, picking up empty cups and cans, and dropping them into a black bag hanging off the end of her trolley.

Of course, the hostess replied with a fake smile. She took tins from the cart, snapped them open, then placed them on the cream tray in front of Lauren, along with a clean cup. Ice and lemon?

Thanks, Lauren said, peering at the man opposite. He fascinated her. He had since the first moment she’d laid eyes on him.

She’d been following the Kincaid family for weeks. Well… Nathan Trevell, actually. When he left the safety of the pack assigned to him, the Council of American Paranormal Activity had sent her to track him down. It didn’t take him long to find the youngest Kincaid boys, then follow them up to Faol Hall, hidden away in the Cairngorms of Scotland. Lauren had kept on his tail, but not closely enough. And now he was dead—killed by Tess Lowry, girlfriend of Zane Kincaid.

Unable to retrieve the magic Nathan had stolen from the witches, Lauren had thought she might be able to return to Boston, but CAPA, and her mother, had other ideas.

Mr. Kincaid? The air hostess gave him a genuine smile.

Lauren thought most women must smile at Jacob. He was one of those men who was perpetually brooding, with an air of mystery worn around him like a superhero’s cape. He was also incredibly attractive, with piercing blue eyes she could have drowned in, and wavy red-brown hair that fell to just above his shoulders, she wanted to run her fingers through.

Lauren caught her breath and put her hormones in check. He was just another job—nothing more. He was also a werewolf; a huge no-no. Witches and werewolves were forbidden to be friends, let alone have an intimate relationship. They were incompatible, genetically.

Whisky, Jacob grunted, and the woman poured another drink into a clean cup before handing it to him.

Despite their spacious business class seats, Jacob still managed to fill his with his broad frame; his body rippled with muscle a weightlifter would have envied, threatening to tear his shirt if he moved awkwardly. His strong jaw was covered in a short brown beard, a shade darker than his hair, which he had a habit of raking his fingers through when he thought.

Would either of you like a final snack before we land? the air hostess asked.

No thanks, Lauren said graciously. Jacob shook his head, and the air hostess continued down the aisle, asking the same question to other passengers.

You’re making me uncomfortable, Jacob grumbled, not looking at her. He picked up his drink and took a swig, hissing when the golden liquid hit the back of his throat. She’d been listening to him speak with that delicious accent for several hours now. The soft Scottish lilt of his deep tone was soothing, and she hadn’t grown bored of it. She didn’t think she ever would.

His elbow hung over the armrest, vibrating in time with the plane’s engines. They’d entered American airspace and had begun their descent.

Tell me more about yourself. She relaxed into her seat and adjusted the seatbelt’s buckle. Quickly, she glanced around the rest of the compartment. Were there were any other members of the paranormal community onboard—anyone she needed to be concerned about? It was part of her training to always be alert, although she figured Jacob’s heightened senses would probably identify a possible threat before she could.

You seem to know enough already. He pressed back into the headrest. The muscle that lined his cheekbone ticced.

Yeah, about your company and family, but not about you. Not anything personal, anyway. We’ve been sat on each other’s laps for almost half a day, and I still don’t know anything about you.

There’s not much to tell.

She twisted in her seat to face him. Oh, come on… no Mrs. Werewolf waiting for you back home?

You should know. You’re the one who’s been following us.

Sitting back, she said, That’s fair. She took a sip of her drink, letting the bitter tonic wash over her tongue. But where is home, exactly? I mean, I know you’ve spent the last month hiding out in… She tried to remember how to pronounce the name of the Scottish town close to Faol Hall. Tad… Tad… She tested it out, but it didn’t feel right, rolling around in her mouth.

Taedmorden.

That’s it. She wagged a finger in the air. Taedmorden. It still didn’t fit properly, and she was sure she was saying it wrong. I know Sanguis Luna have offices all over the world, she said, referring to the law firm owned by the Kincaid family. "And I know you spend most of your time in Edinburgh. But where do you live? Where’s home?"

He glanced across at her with one eyebrow raised. You’re not very good at your job, are you? I thought CAPA had sent you to keep an eye on us big, bad wolves. Surely you did your homework before flying across the pond?

She grinned awkwardly, and heat crawled up her throat and into her cheeks. The truth was, she was on a need-to-know basis. She’d read their files. She’d scoped out their ancestral home, hidden away behind a forest of fir trees, protecting the pack like resolute soldiers. But she’d hoped he might open up a bit more once he’d relaxed and had a few drinks. She’d hoped he might be more amenable to meeting the coven, the Council, and her mother.

Fine, he said after a while. I live in Edinburgh. But Faol Hall is my family home. He closed his eyes. We go back for Christmas, or when Alistair calls us home.

And what was it this time?

He didn’t respond, shifting in his seat.

Did you go back for the holidays, or did your brother call you home? she pressed, clenching her jaw tight.

Still no answer.

Lauren sighed. I can see you’re going to be hard work, Jake. Can I call you Jake?

No.

Definitely hard work, she acknowledged. It doesn’t matter. I know Alistair pulled his sons out of school. She glanced over the empty seat beside her and out of the window into the blackness that spanned the ocean. In the distance, lights twinkled across the ground like fallen stars. We’re coming into New York. Her heart lifted as her homeland came into view.

It had been a long flight, and an even longer few months. Lauren was desperate to get back to Boston and the sanctity of her coven. Tracking Nathan Trevell had been the hardest job they’d ever given her. She still had to figure out how to explain that not only was he dead, but his remains had been burned to cinders by the Kincaid brothers. And then there was the fact that Jacob Kincaid was now travelling to the States to try to make a pact with CAPA. Thankfully, she’d managed to get a seat on the same flight as him, even if it did mean heading to New York instead of going home.

She dug her hand into the pocket of her black brocade jacket and fingered the small sliver of bone she’d managed to rescue from the pyre, before Alistair had buried the ashes—proof of Nathan’s death. It was a pity she hadn’t been able to retrieve the vial of oils Nathan had stolen. Her mother, Reena, would not be pleased. But at least she wasn’t going back with nothing. And technically, she had Jacob, Alistair’s younger brother. Whether he talked or not would be another matter entirely. He was incredibly difficult to read and hadn’t been willing to divulge anything she couldn’t have found out by hacking into the computer systems of the British Paranormal Council.

She turned to watch him when a voice came over the loudspeaker, describing the weather as unusually warm with a temperature of a balmy sixty degrees. It was good to hear an American accent again. She didn’t dislike the United Kingdom, but she was more comfortable on US soil. Her powers seemed to weaken the further away from home she was.

Lauren tapped her long nails on the front of her teeth. Her fingers were heavy with jewelled rings, her favourite being the one she wore on the ring finger of her left hand. She studied it for a moment; a pure gold band with a large sapphire in the centre, surrounded by tiny emeralds. It had been left to her after her grandmother, Lillian’s, death.

She blew out a thick breath and watched the ground grow a little closer. Lillian’s death had preceded the Council’s insistence she travelled to the UK. It was a fresh wound, yet to scab over. Which was why she understood Jacob’s stiffness—his uncle had died only a few days earlier, killed by Nathan. He hadn’t had time to grieve, either.

There was a gentle ping and the seatbelt light illuminated. The flight attendants walked down the aisles, checking each passenger had their seatbelt fastened nice and tight, before returning to their own seats and strapping themselves in.

Lauren tilted her head to look toward Jacob—the big, bad werewolf she was now accompanying to New York. He was a stereotype, but without the monobrow. Not that she was any better, with her long black hair and dark green eyes. He’d spotted she was a witch the moment they officially met after boarding the flight.

Where are you staying? she asked. Her voice sounded as though she was behind a pane of glass, muffled as it was by the plane’s descent, the change in pressure, and the roar of the slowing engines.

He frowned, but she thought that might just be an expression he wore like a favourite and comfortable old T-shirt. He shrugged. Some crappy hotel.

Keeping a low profile, huh? She smiled. You can stay at my place if you like. Well, it’s not mine per se, but it’s owned by the coven for witches visiting the city.

The lines above his nose deepened. Do you have a habit of inviting strangers back to where you live?

Lauren laughed. Oh, I’m quite capable of looking after myself. And I think there’s a spark between us. Anyway, I was only offering the couch. But, hey… She held her hands up in defence. If you’d rather stay in some roach-infested shithole, be my guest. You go for it. I’m sure it’ll be an absolute riot. A complete blast. I’ll think of you while I’m lying in my nice, warm, cosy bed… She let the sentence trail. I mean… hell, you know what I mean.

Jacob stared at her as though trying to read her thoughts. She smirked. Not even the Council’s empath had managed to break into her mind. Having empathic powers of her own, she was able to block even the most intrusive of people.

Okay, he conceded. But only because you’ll be a useful contact to have.

She shrugged. Whatever, man. Lauren settled back into her seat as the plane came into New York. The powers beneath her skin sparked, igniting her nerve endings, sending tingles up her arms.

Lauren smiled.

It was good to be home.

Chapter Two

As they walked into the apartment building, Jacob couldn’t help but feel he should have opted for the roach-infested shithole. Mould crept up the stairwell—which they had no option but to use since the lift was out of order—mottling the once-cream walls with black and green veins. He was sure if he looked closer, he’d be able to see them pulse. Graffiti decorated the walls and lift doors, hiding some of the decaying growth. Indecipherable tags named the artists. The stale smell of urine and vomit burned the back of his throat.

You actually stay here? he asked, wrinkling his nose as they passed through a particularly vile patch of air. Jesus… CAPA’s standards are lower than the BPC’s.

Lauren stopped in front of a door with no handle or knob. She held her hand out in front of her and closed her eyes. "Unluce." A glow emanated from her palm, and the door clicked open. She turned to look at him, her green eyes widened and her mouth, painted black, stretched into a broad grin.

Witches, Jacob muttered.

I know how it looks, she said, pushing the door open and stepping over the threshold. But I don’t have much of a choice. The Brits might be stupid enough to overlook the fact the paranormal community is running the country, but over here… She sucked in a breath. It’s a whole different story.

We’ve always said the same about you guys. I thought America would be more accepting.

Ha! I wish. She walked forward, and he followed. Life would be so much more interesting if that was the case. But here? Witches and werewolves are creepy-scary and shit.

Lycanthrope. We prefer the term lycanthrope.

Whatever. She dragged her suitcase behind her, dumping it against a wall before shrugging out of her jacket and hanging it on a hook. Anyway, you should know better than anyone not to judge a book by its cover.

Jacob took back his initial thoughts when he looked around the flat. In complete contrast to the building, it was immaculate. Lauren walked down a deceptively long hallway. Jacob’s eyes were drawn to the Picasso-style painting hanging opposite an open archway. The walls were clean and painted magnolia, with light-coloured wooden skirting boards and doorframes.

He shifted his holdall onto his shoulder and went through the archway into the open-plan lounge. It was decorated in the same style as the entrance hall, with off-white walls and various reproductions of fine art dotted around. Off to the side was a kitchenette, decked out in stainless-steel and cream Formica, all sparkling clean and glinting in the ambient light.

A large window overlooked the city. Lauren came into the room, walked over, and opened the glass doors, allowing the sounds of the New York nightlife to fill the room. Sirens burst through the air, along with the stench of fumes and smoke. She stepped out onto the balcony and took a deep breath. Don’t you just love that smell? she asked, inhaling the city. She gripped the railings and leaned forward.

I may live in Edinburgh, but I’m not really a city kind of guy, he replied, dropping his bag to the floor. He glanced around the room, taking it all in. It was made up of modern, sleek lines, with furniture that looked as though it had been built for pure comfort, a far cry from the antiquities that filled Faol Hall.

I’ll grab you a pillow and blanket, she said, stepping back inside. She closed the doors and drew light silver and cream curtains across. Do you want two or three? Your shoulders… She gestured at her own. They’re kinda wide.

Jacob arched an eyebrow. Whatever you have is fine, thank you. He sat down on the sofa. The aesthetics of the flat didn’t match her gothic appearance any more than they did the grime covering the rest of the building. He’d had have felt more relaxed if it had been littered with skulls, dragons, and crystal balls, not copies of Rembrandt and Monet.

Lauren disappeared into the hall. Jacob sank back into the cushions and took out his mobile phone. He fired a quick text to his twin brother, Derek, listed under his family nickname of ‘Drake’, to let him know he’d arrived safely. He wasn’t sure how to approach the subject of staying with a witch he’d met on the plane, who also happened to be the person that had been following them for several weeks.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. It was going to be difficult to explain. The family had been through so much already, and now he was colluding with a witch, and someone Alistair would have considered to be a possible enemy.

Lauren reappeared, her arms laden with pillows and blankets. She looked different too. Her hair had been twisted into a braid falling over her shoulder, with her fringe hanging down to her eyes, which were now framed by a pair of thick-rimmed glasses. The lipstick and eyeshadow had been wiped away, along with the white face powder, replaced by her natural beauty and lightly tanned skin. Her clothes were no longer reminiscent of a Victorian funeral procession either. Instead, she wore baggy jeans and an oversized grey jumper, with loose threads and shredded cuffs.

It can get cold at night, she said, handing him the bed linen. I should probably explain… She sat down on the sofa and bit her bottom lip. The Salem witch trials might have been centuries ago, but the attitudes are still the same. People put on an accepting face, sure, but we’re still hunted down. In the past year, six witches from my coven have gone missing. More before that.

Jacob shook his head sadly. I’m sorry to hear that.

Me too. They were good friends. Many others have disappeared from all over the States. She pushed her back into the cushions and hauled her knees into her chest, tipping her head to the ceiling. "If anything strange happens, it’s reported on the news. Paranormal investigators, she mocked, come in and sweep through the cities and villages. She pulled a face, as if the words left a bad taste in her mouth. For some reason, they’re more attracted to anyone