Club 669: House of Witches, #1

By Amy Spector

Club 669 (House of Witches Book 1)

 

Witch's corpse. Witch's ticket. Witch's party.

 

As a counter-boy at a high-end men's boutique, Charlie Jessup's life consists of little more than work and sleep. That, and enough flirting to help guarantee his commission on sales will pay his rent. So when a twist of fate, and some behavior unbecoming that of a Ganymede employee, leaves him in possession of a dead man's pass to a mysterious Club 669, Charlie has no desire to waste it.

 

Every seventeen years, the House of Witches throws a party like no other. It's invitation-only, and for centuries it has helped ensure peace between the covens. It's the last place Caspian wants to be, but with the death of Queen Avel, and his own imminent rise to the throne, it's more important than ever that he attends. The stability of the House depends on it.

 

In four days a new king will be crowned, but when Charlie unintentionally crashes a gathering of the most secretive of all the Great Houses, he sets in motion a series of events that could disrupt the transition of power, and threaten the future of the House of Witches forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amy Spector
• Release date: Mar 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393072393

Amy Spector

Amy Spector grew up in the United States surviving on a steady diet of old horror movies, television reruns, and mystery novels.After years of blogging about comic books, vintage Gothic romance book cover illustrations, and a shameful amount about herself, she decided to try her hand at writing stories. She found it more than a little like talking about herself in third person, and that suited her just fine.She blames Universal for her love of horror, Edward Gorey for her love of British drama, and writing for awakening the romantic that was probably there all along.Amy lives in the Midwest with her husband and children, and her cats Poe, Goji and Nekō.

Book preview

Witch’s corpse. Witch’s ticket. Witch’s party.

As a counter-boy at a high-end men’s boutique, Charlie Jessup’s life consists of little more than work and sleep. That, and enough flirting to help guarantee his commission on sales will pay his rent. So when a twist of fate, and some behavior unbecoming that of a Ganymede employee, leaves him in possession of a dead man’s pass to a mysterious Club 669, Charlie has no desire to waste it.

Every seventeen years, the House of Witches throws a party like no other. It’s invitation-only, and for centuries it has helped ensure peace between the covens. It’s the last place Caspian wants to be, but with the death of Queen Avel, and his own imminent rise to the throne, it’s more important than ever that he attends. The stability of the House depends on it.

In four days a new king will be crowned, but when Charlie unintentionally crashes a gathering of the most secretive of all the Great Houses, he sets in motion a series of events that could disrupt the transition of power, and threaten the future of the House of Witches forever.

I think there is a little magic in the fact that I'm so totally real but look so artificial at the same time.

––––––––

Dolly Parton

Chapter 1

I don’t know how long the dead guy had been there. I hadn’t seen him the night before, but I’d been tired and snow had been falling. By the time I’d discovered him laying in the alley on my walk to work, his shoes had been stolen.

From the look of the rest of him, they had probably been expensive.

Let me guess. Good-looking, right? Tattoo? Alley off Pearl, north of Long?

That’s the one. Yeah, even dead, I’d noticed the guy had been hot, and I’d peeked at the unusual tangle of snakes inked on his forearm as I rummaged through his pockets looking for identification. But if he’d had a wallet, it was long gone, like the shoes.

That tattoo, is that a gang thing?

Nah. Probably one of the eastern covens. The cop didn’t sound as if he found it particularly interesting, like he couldn’t fetch a coffee without tripping over a dead witch. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen one. We’ve got a call out to his people. They’ll retrieve the body if he’s important enough.

And if he isn’t? I wasn’t sure why I bothered to ask. The officer didn’t care, and it was brass-balls cold out. It’d be weeks before the weather warmed up enough for it to matter.

Not your concern. Just stay away from it. Who the fuck knows what those things carry.

By those things, he wasn’t talking about dead bodies. That was clear enough.

Dropping the phone back on its cradle, I forced the old, rusted booth open again and walked back to look the man over one last time. I had no desire to stick around, yet I was hesitant to leave. But he was way past needing someone to stand guard.

The sun was just peeking through the clouds, and I saw a flash of something in his jacket pocket when it caught the light. I bent down and fished out a thin silver card. A ticket to a concert? Maybe a pass into a club?

Everyday necessities were hard enough to come by. Something so frivolous? I was surprised it hadn’t been swiped along with the shoes. I stared at it a moment, fighting the impulse to pocket it myself, as if Mr. Aki was watching me from behind the dumpster. Employees must strive for perfection in every aspect of their lives. I moved to put it back.

The wail of a siren caused me to jump, and after another moment’s hesitation, I slipped the ticket into my coat.

I stood, checked my watch, and cursed. I was late. Very. I’d spent far too long waiting to speak to an officer. I should never have bothered to make the call.

It seemed no good deed ever went unpunished.

***

I pushed through the doors of Ganymede twenty minutes late and found Adam behind the makeup counter bagging a sale that should’ve been mine. He gave me an apologetic look over the customer’s head.

While we were supplied with a generous clothing allowance, the meager salary meant that if not for the commission on sales, I would be hard-pressed to pay my rent, let alone buy food.

I waved his apology away and busied myself cleaning the salt from the streets off my boots and checking my makeup. It was Friday, and we’d have plenty of sales for both of us before the day was out.

Ganymede was a high-end men’s boutique that catered to all the Houses, though admittedly its location meant our clientele were more often shifter than anything else.

I heard the chime of the door and a moment later felt Adam’s arm slip around me.

Everything okay, Charlie? He was wearing an unfamiliar scent, subtle and citrussy, a hint of lemon but with a spicy undertone. I made a mental note to check out the new stock.

Yeah, fine. Just one of those mornings. I almost told him about the body. Almost.

I’ll let you take my next textile client.

No, that’s alright. But then I reconsidered. Unless Dreamboat comes in. I’ll take him.

Adam rolled his eyes, and I laughed. Just promise me you won’t do something stupid?

As if I didn’t know. I’d only secured a spot as a Ganymede counter boy after the last guy was fired for selling a client more than what was offered in the cases and on the racks. Our job was to create fantasy, not fulfill them. Pretty young men in makeup and the finest clothing, all just out of reach. But maybe if you bought the right item, the perfect fragrance, the newest accessory, that thing that clung to your chest just so.

Adam had started after me, but I was pretty sure he made more than I did. He was younger and taller, with a natural gaunt look and blue eyes. I was twenty-six with a youthful face, but I knew as soon as I truly started looking my age, I’d be out on the street and the next young thing would take my place.

At half past ten, the crowd started to pick up. The bell chimed the arrival and departure of well-dressed men in suits and cashmere, and the occasional curious kid in jeans. All of them were a blur of quickly forgotten faces until my dream man walked in just after the noonday rush.

True to his word, Adam slipped away with some vague excuse for disappearing into the back and I stepped around the counter and started straightening the table displays.

Since the first time he’d walked into our little shop, the man had been front-and-center of all my fantasies. He was tall, with fair skin and dark hair, and impossibly beautiful eyes. On occasion I’d heard him making friendly small talk with Adam as his purchases were rung up, but other than the few times I’d found him watching me, he wouldn’t so much as make eye contact, let alone speak more than a quick goodbye when etiquette left him no other option.

There was something in that quiet