Maze Demon: Russian Witches of California, #1

By Charlotte Munich

All she wanted was a new start.

 

Lured to a scenic Northern California town by a fantastic job opportunity, Harper is ready to put down new roots. Soon she's meeting the friendly local witches and falling in love with a mind reader.

 

But when she finds herself the only clue to solve a series of weird disappearances among the supernatural, her brand-new life quickly degenerates into a witch hunt.

 

Suddenly she's the only one who can stop history from repeating itself.

 

This standalone, first-in-universe action-packed contemporary fantasy will keep you enthralled with its twists and turns.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Charlotte Munich
• Release date: Dec 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9791096438877

Book preview

1

Yana lives in a one-story cottage tucked away behind a high fence and in the middle of a garden so luxuriant it might just be enchanted. You can’t see much from the street because of that fence but I’m tall, so I’ve been getting up on my toes and even jumping, and now I’m really curious. A triumphant, delicious smelling wisteria, humming with bees, hugs the wrought iron tightly, almost to the point of stifling it. Someone’s laughing somewhere behind the very thick boxwood bush.

Just ringing the bell, I get that weird feeling. Like something soft is purring up my arm. Yes. Exactly. It’s like being love-attacked by the ghost of a favorite cat. It’s not creepy really, just enough to raise the fine hair on my neck that couldn’t be pulled into my ponytail. It’s just weird and it reminds me I haven’t touched another human’s skin in quite some time.

As Yana buzzes me in, I wonder if I’m going to regret this. I said yes at work during lunch break because she cornered me into accepting her invitation, because it’s Friday night and I had nothing better to do. It’s been a gorgeous week, the sun has been getting warmer and the air is full of flowery perfumes. I had a momentary lapse in judgment, I got worried that I was going to feel lonely. Breakups, even the ones you should really be over with by now, make you feel like that, lonely and brittle and unsure of yourself. And all of a sudden you find yourself going to an evening of cartomancy, drinks and future reading at someone’s house that you barely know.

To be fair, Yana and I do work together. She’s a botanist at this environmental firm, Vega, where I’ve been working as a junior project manager for the past two months, since I’ve arrived in this small town in Northern California. Yana is wonderfully competent. She knows everything about plants, to the point where some of our colleagues seem to think she communicates with them. I mean, she has opinions about plants. She gets passionate. It’s fascinating, awe-inspiring.

After a meeting today, Tim, a mutual colleague at Vega, walked me back to my cubicle and said in hushed tones, "If you want, I can get you out of this. You know Yana Star is a witch, right?"

And I laughed, because he seemed a little afraid of her, and yes, I get it. She most probably is a witch, although I’m not so sure now I understand exactly what a witch is.

Tim seemed shocked by the way I treated that piece of information. He blinked at me and dove for my stack of Post-its. I have a very large collection of Post-its, love them to bits. They’re the friends that will never let me down.

Here, he said, while scrawling something on the small, pink square, this is my cell phone number. If you need to be rescued, just call me, and say you forgot to feed your cat Bianca, and would I please do it for you?

I looked at him, puzzled. Of course, I don’t have a cat named Bianca.

And then, what would you do? I asked him.

He frowned and muttered, Come to your rescue, of course.

I laughed and we left it at that. Tim is a, in a non-threatening way. He’s the kind of guy who likes women like me because we keep them organized. But what he thinks is that I need to be protected, which I don’t. So if I let him, he’s going to keep playing white knight on every occasion until I let myself rely on him. I am not falling into that trap again. My ex, Julius, has exploited me so badly that I’d become his secretary. Because I’m put together and I know how to manage my own life and I’m polite and well-mannered does not mean I do actually want to sort out your life for you. And anyway, we split up when I realized Julius was starting to talk to me as if he were my boss and he knew better than me what I wanted.

I’m my own boss, thank you very much. End of story.

And back to Yana’s place, where I’m now inside the gates. This garden is, indeed, the stuff of dreams. We’re talking Eden levels of beauty here. The cherry trees are still in full bloom and the flowerbeds look like every species on the planet is represented, but it’s not chaos—it’s rich harmony. And despite the still early spring, the vegetables and herbs garden looks like it can actually feed people.

Oh, Harper, I’m so glad you came! a sing-song-y voice calls from my left, as Yana emerges from the house through a glass door, carrying drinks.

Yana’s a slender ball of energy with huge, smoky green eyes and curly hair that comes down almost to her tiny waist. She’s wearing pink workout shorts tonight, and an oversize white T-shirt smeared with mud and chlorophyll, and she looks curiously sophisticated like that, in her bouncy way. She sets her tray on a small wrought iron table on the deck and pounces on me. She hugs me like there’s no tomorrow, and she’s so full of joy that she manages to alleviate some of my old, fossilized sorrow. The deep-seated, heavy loneliness is still there, and will likely never go away. But superficially, she’s helped, and for this, I can’t help but feel grateful.

Thanks for having me, I grin, a little dizzy, my eyelashes fluttering.

She’s already dragging me away to a round stone table in the middle of the lawn. Three people are seated there and already in animated conversation. From their body language, I get that they’re old friends, very comfortable with each other. I’m just the odd person here, and suddenly I’m reevaluating the sincerity of the last-minute invitation.

But Yana’s oblivious. She even grabs my hand and shakes it with a goofy energy that’s quite impossible to resist.

This is Liv, Emma, and this here is my very annoying twin, Quinn. Thank the goddess we’re not identical, imagine how awkward that would be! Folks, this is Harper. I told you about her. She’s the one who makes things happen.

This gets me a warm welcome from the little group. Liv is a very pretty blonde. I instantly envy her unconventional beauty—everything on her is round. Her huge blue eyes, her button nose, her plump lips, the gold loops dangling from her ears, her shiny curls, her body under her simple blue wrap dress. She irradiates serene happiness and she smiles at me as if she truly wants to share it all with me.

Emma looks like a pixy with spiky red hair, freckles everywhere, a lot of silver jewelry covering long limbs that seem wiry, until she flexes and her muscles show. She’s nursing a mug of homemade infusion, full of leaves and herbs, presumably from the garden. She peruses me with cold and vividly green eyes, from my unmade-up face and messy hairdo to my comics T-shirt, short gray skirt, and my favorite strawberry wedges, as if my nail polish was going to tell her what I’m really worth in this world. I smile back, because my worth isn’t written on my skin.

As for Quinn . . . annoying isn’t the word I’d use to describe him. My first impression of him is that some deity found a statue in a moonlit garden, fell in love, and kissed it to life. He has these cat’s eyes that fit perfectly with his straight nose, as if following an ancient, secret magical number. He has the same coloring as his sister, cloudy green eyes and coppery chestnut hair. His lips are full but not too plump. He’s half sprawled in his chair, long legs extending on the side of the little table, his arms crossed on his chest. He looks like he might smell heavenly, and I’m not drooling. Much. Yet. And this definitely isn’t gym-made muscle. It’s all natural, and I would so love to see the rest of his body. As Yana talks about him, a twisted smile breaks the perfect symmetry of his face, detonating his beauty.

Emma’s on future duty tonight, Yana explains, bringing my attention back to her. We’re very excited, because she’s been on a roll this year, and her statistics keep going up. Her predictions have been at least seventy-eight percent accurate in April.

If I was gawking at her brother, her words quickly make me snap out of it.

Huh?

Oh, come on, Yan, Emma exclaims, laughing, "you didn’t bring us an unsuspecting victim again?"

I gulp and blush, and Liv comes to the rescue.

Stop that, Emma, you’re making Harper very uncomfortable.

She takes it upon herself to explain things a little more clearly.

We’re witches, and we’ve been experimenting on the future for some time. Emma here is training to become the next seer in the county, and she’s been using us as guinea pigs. But don’t worry. It’s pretty harmless.

I look at them, my mouth agape. Quinn chuckles and stands up to stretch. Now my jaw hits the floor. It’s as if his beauty can’t stop unraveling before the eye. His T-shirt hikes up as his arms go up, revealing a sliver of golden skin and a hint of six-pack. And golden hair below his navel where a huge silver buckle with an intricate design kisses his belly. The way his jeans hang on his hips displays the defined muscles in his legs, and I’m having trouble not to look at his crotch. I do have enough manners in me, though, to know this is not the attitude expected of a polite or even a decent guest, so I jump on to the next subject.

Witches, huh? All three of you? I ask in a breathy voice, trying very hard to focus.

Now they’re all laughing. No, Yana says, and I can see her biting her lip to repress the gentle "You silly!" that would come out naturally. "We’re all witches, the four of us."

I stare at Quinn and my blush takes epic proportions. You’re a witch too? I’m really sorry if I’ve been rude. I didn’t know there were guy witches.

He shrugs. Not rude. Just prejudiced. He has a rich, melodious voice, a tenor that’s as sweet as honey.

Sorry, I say in a strangled voice.

It’s no fun being catalogued as a bigot almost literally at first sight. I wilt a little, or a lot, and Yana, seeing this, walks up to her brother to smack him on the head.

Annoying!

The other two laugh. Quinn gives his sister a meek smile. The ice is broken, even though I still feel like an asshole.

Please, Yana tells me, Have a seat. Now that you’ll basically be begging us to guilt you into being our test subject of the day, I vote we drink heavily and then proceed. Just a second.

She dashes away, probably to get the tray she abandoned earlier. I sit down uneasily while Emma eyes me down in silent judgment and Liv tries again to make everything smooth and breezy.

Don’t worry, Harper. If anyone should feel sorry, it’s us. Yana didn’t tell us she’d invited you. But I think it’s a great idea. You can absolutely ignore all the witchy talk. But please, stay. It’s nice to know Yana has made friends at work at last.

Why wouldn’t she? I blurt out. Yana’s been at the agency for two years now. I just arrived two months ago. People are reasonably friendly at Vega. Or did you guys invite all of them for magic sessions and maybe it scared them? I grin.

Liv smiles back, but Emma doesn’t. Quinn is just watching me. And Yana’s back already with cocktails.

So, it’s basically vodka with a touch of rose hip and a couple of other things from the garden to keep it socially acceptable.

When offered a glass, I take a sip.

It’s delicious, I groan. It’s also strong enough that I’m going to spill all my secrets within the next ten minutes.

Well, don’t, Emma orders. I need you to keep your secrets to yourself so that my reading has more value.

She shoots Quinn a glance that means something, although I can’t guess what. What I can tell, is that Emma is not my number one fan. Yana makes a face at her. Quinn just looks at me as though maybe he would like to listen to my secrets, but I’m not sure if it’s out of interest for said secrets, or so he has enough fuel to curse me.

"Then you folks need to tell me more about being a witch. I think it’s fascinating."

Emma rolls her eyes, but Liv offers a serene smile.

What do you want to know? Yana asks.

Quinn leans forward. You want to know what we do to the human girls who are stupid enough to come into our lair? He wiggles his eyebrows and earns himself another slap from his sister.

Eww. I, for one, absolutely don’t want to know what you do in your lair. She laughs, though.

Emma has taken a deck of cards out of the handbag that’s hanging from her chair. She’s now shuffling them.

Emma is using her own deck and tarot method, so this may not seem familiar, Liv explains. But it’s actually very accurate.

I nod, even though I have no idea what she’s talking about.

I’ll need blood, Emma says.

Oh, yes. Liv dives for her bag. I remembered this time.

Out of her powder blue leather tote bag, she takes a black leather pouch and unfolds it on the table. I gulp, I audibly gulp. It’s full of lancets and other surgical tools I absolutely don’t want to know about.

Liv looks at me and frowns, smiling. No, no, I’m just a doctor. This is for my day job. Don’t worry. I hate it when witches wreck their nerve endings, so I’ve perfected the art of drawing blood without actually doing too much damage. Gimme your hand?

I stare, because I’m not sure doctors are supposed to carry dissecting knives around. Yet I instinctively trust Liv and do as she asks. She jabs a tiny lancet into my thumb, and a drop of blood forms at my fingertip.

That’s all we need.

I glance up and freeze. All eyes are on my thumb. Everyone around this table seems absolutely fascinated with my blood.

Yana is the first to clear her throat.

Okay, then what? Emma, you have your pendant thingy?

Right. Emma takes off a silver chain she’s wearing around her neck. There’s a pendant, a huge heart hanging from it. Emma flicks it open. Inside, there’s a tiny geometrical figure, like interlaced chevrons, that reminds me of something I’ve seen somewhere else—oh, yeah, on Quinn’s belt buckle. The other facet is a mirror. But it’s smudged with brownish matter. I think it’s dried blood. And for the first time this evening, I seriously consider Tim’s suggestion, because the way they were looking at my bleeding finger? That’s not normal.

Before I have time to protest, Emma grabs my finger and smears my blood on the mirror, with a practical efficiency that tells me she’s done this before many times. She pulls that incredibly unsanitary gesture on me before I can react in any way.

And immediately, her eyes roll into her head. She literally has no more irises. Her eyes are white, as though she’s in a Hollywood movie trance.

Uh, guys, I say, registering how faint my own voice sounds, I would really like some explanation now, about how you’re looking at my blood like you crave it and I’m not going to walk out of here alive.

And nobody answers. Everybody looks at Emma whose eyes are completely empty and whose face has gone slack. And more silence.

Time to flee.

I stand up on very wobbly legs, but before I manage to get away from the table, my head starts swimming.

Wait a second, Yana warns.

But I’m not waiting. I turn around, take a step towards the gate, and collapse.

2

Iwake up on a bed. It’s soft, it’s fur. There’s something warm purring against my side. A cat—probably. But a very large cat. Gods, please let it be a cat. I feel groggy and tired and neither the drop of blood I’ve given up, nor the sip of vodka I’ve taken can really account for that.

Welcome back, a male voice says. It’s not a cat, no. It’s my pet hyena.

I startle up and the thing against me jumps up with a shriek and flees in a blur of rosetted and marble fur.

Holy shit! I’m in a big room and all the walls are painted different hues of blue and green with gold accents, and they’re covered in shelves full of books and plants.

Haha, Quinn says. Gotcha. It’s not actually a hyena. But did you know hyenas could purr?

I try to see the very large animal but it’s cowering behind him now.

Is... I gulp. Is that... Please tell me it’s not an actual cheetah.

Don’t worry. It’s just a savannah cat.

I’ve heard some of Julius’s fashionable friends talk about these.

But those cost a pretty buck. Something like ten thousand dollars, if memory serves.

My sister does not buy cats, Quinn almost spits. They’re living beings, you know.

I sigh. I know. Do you really insist on making me feel like an ignorant bigot?

He frowns. No. Sorry. Stratch was born here, in this house.

Stratch?

Stracciatello. The cat. Don’t ask.

To the extent of my knowledge, it takes a common cat and a freaking serval—a bona fide feral beast—to spawn a savannah. If this one was born in this house...

Yana had a serval?

No. She had a Siamese, for the longest time. Then a serval came here to stay, just for a while. They fucked and procreated.

Does he know how amazingly hot his mouth looks when he forms the word fuck? I should like him to do that again. As soon as this thought has formed into my head, I regret it, because of the standards it seems he’s been constantly holding me to. Good people don’t objectify other people any more than they genre-cast them or than they force animals into slavery. I don’t know this guy at all and need to stop drooling over him. Plus, what’s wrong with me today? This is all so unlike me. I literally never do this. I like to actually know men before I make them the unwitting heroes of my private fantasies. Not to mention the fact that he’s Yana’s brother.

You’re going to have to earn it, he says softly.

I stare. What are you talking about? The cat? He doesn’t actually hear me thinking, does he?

In fact, I do. I read your mind.

Get out.

How can I be so attracted to someone when I don’t actually like his sense of humor?

Ouch. He grins. Yep, I read minds. It’s a talent. And a curse.

You’re not serious.

I am. And I’ve had this conversation soooo many times already.

I keep playing along, even though he’s very hard to follow and I’ve never been one to like this kind of game before.

You tell everyone you can read their minds?

He winks at me.

Only to those who count.

And he’s the flirting kind. Hey, why shouldn’t he. He’s so beautiful, he can’t ignore the reactions he gets. Hell, he’s so beautiful I can’t even dislike him for the offhanded way he’s leading this conversation. It’s a little bewildering that I find him so attractive still. On what grounds? Pure physical perfection? Come on. I didn’t know I was that shallow.

And then, he changes the subject on me. So, you’re still at Yana’s. This is her guest room. You were out for two hours and her friends had to leave. Liv went back to her disgustingly cute family. Emma says she’s sorry, although she’s not. But she refused to tell us anything about your reading.

My mouth opens and closes while I process this.

What happened?

He shrugs. Emma’s theatricals.

I don’t know Emma, and I don’t know him. The only one I know is Yana and she’s not here right now.

Yana went to get some food for a late dinner. She’ll be back in a minute.

The sun is going down, which means it must be nearing nine o’clock. I try to sum things up.

So, I passed out, and you put me here, and no one thought to call a doctor or anything?

We had a doctor on hand, he reminds me. Liv examined you and declared you were going to live. You’ve just had a strong reaction to magic. It happens in sensitive people.

I’m not sensitive, I protest. I’m a normal person.

He smiles. Sensitive people are normal, you know. They’re just ... sensitive. Anyway, Stratch took it upon himself to purr you back to health and feistiness.

Did someone curse me or something?

He sneers. We don’t do that. None of us would ever do that. We’re not dark witches. We’re the good guys.

I feel my eyes widen. "There are bad guys?"

He rolls his eyes. I didn’t say that either.

All right. I don’t care. It’s none of my business.

Uhm. So. It’s been great fun. I push on my hands to sit up, slide to the side of the bed, then pause to pull on the hem of my short gray skirt. I’m still wearing my favorite strawberry wedges. I still feel a little dizzy, but I really think it’s time for me to go now.

Stay, he says. Yana’s not letting you go until you’ve eaten something.

I feel like I kinda overstayed my welcome already.

Well, I’m sorry if you feel that way, but it’s a wrong impression.

I sigh. The problem isn’t politeness. The problem is I’m lost, and I don’t feel safe.

You really should feel safe with us, you know, he insists, as though he really does hear my freaking thoughts.

Yeah, I know, you just told me, you’re the good guys.

He’s been reaching for the big cat under his chair and now the savannah is coming out of his hiding place to climb into his lap. Quinn strokes his fur, and the cat immediately starts purring loudly. He really is an enormous beast.

That’s not it, Quinn says in a calm voice. Yana likes you. It’s not often that she makes friends at work in the outside world. I think you should give her a chance. I really wish you would.

I like Yana too. I think we could really be friends. But my ability to cope with weirdness is quite limited. Even my body is convinced of it. My tolerance threshold is very low when dealing with the supernatural.

I think you’re wrong, Quinn says softly. I think it’s rather the opposite. Please stay. Don’t break my sister’s heart.

And so of course, I stay.

Quinn shows me the bathroom and the cat, Stratch, follows me around. He’s obviously over his fright. As I wash my hands, he jumps on the toilet seat and sets his front paws on the sink to take a closer look at me.

Hi, I whisper. Sorry for scaring you earlier. To be fair, you scared me too. I mean ... your magnificence did. I do know how life is for unusual people. They can be fragile and sometimes they hurt from our stupid reactions. I don’t want to hurt you.

The cat starts purring. I’ve finished washing my hands. I dry them and show him my open palm, for him to sniff. He purrs louder.

I’m taking that as an invitation, I warn him, before gently scratching him under the jaw and between the ears.

He really is a magnificent animal. Long but muscular, with big triangular ears like a feral feline. His fur is a mess of patterns, rosettes like a jaguar and uneven marble on his hind legs, like no cat ever outside of a beauty show. I touch his back and flanks. It’s heavenly soft.

You’re really beautiful, you know that?

More insanely loud purring. Then, somewhere across the house, we hear Yana’s clear voice. The cat turns his head in that direction. Shall we go and see what she’s brought back?

The cat jumps to the ground, and I follow him out of the bathroom.

Cats are simple. You tell them how glorious you think they are, and they just accept it. Then you can pet each other and bam, you’re friends for life.

3

Yana’s living room isn’t very big, but it’s cozy, populated with modern and comfy furniture. There’s an inviting off-white sofa and two antique wing armchairs with very high backs and almond green upholstering. The pinewood and glass coffee table is covered with stacks of books about plants and gardening magazines. The sunset is streaming in through the wide bay windows and glass doors. From inside the house, the garden looks even more idyllic. And there are plants everywhere, even inside. In pots hanging from the ceiling, clustered in every corner, sitting in front of a glass door like rows of children at the movie theater.

Yana is making room on the coffee table. She’s thrown on a denim vest covered in patches representing plants—cacti, roses, palm trees, lilies, irises, Christmas trees, in all styles and designs. And it looks like she’s bought food for a whole army, when it’s just, to my knowledge, the three of us.

How do you feel, Harper? she asks anxiously when she glances up and sees me.

I’m fine, I answer, although I’m still feeling wobbly and unsettled.

She’s alright, but very hungry, Quinn says, even before I notice it myself when my stomach starts to rumble. I told her I can hear her think, but she doesn’t believe me yet.

Don’t be annoying, Yana chides him, and he sighs.

He goes out of the room and I hear cupboard doors clattering, plates being piled, cutlery noises.

Is it true? I ask Yana in a whisper. Your brother can really listen in on people’s thoughts?

She chuckles, and after a glance towards the kitchen, she says, "Mostly he likes to make everything about him. Yes, he can read minds, but please don’t freak out. He’s mostly a nice guy, albeit annoying," she concludes, raising her voice for that last statement.

I think it’s nice how they stick for one another. I don’t have brothers and sisters, although I would have loved to share that kind of intimacy with someone.

It’s mostly fart jokes, Quinn tells me on his way back from the kitchen.

He’s been ambivalent about his mind-reading abilities up till this moment. Maybe he was just waiting for his sister to come back. But now, he’s just showing off.

Not really, he says. Just want to be honest upfront.

So I don’t think rude thoughts? I ask, a bit perplex.

He laughs. You can’t control your thoughts.

And Yana intervenes again. "But you, Quinn, are a big boy who can control the way you listen, so please start doing so. Right. Now," she hisses.

Quinn raises his palms in surrender.

All right. I’m going to stop now. I wanted you to know what I can do, yes.

Oh. Has he been listening to me all the time, while I was gawking at him, and thinking nasty thoughts about his perfect anatomy while drooling like a madwoman?

I look at him and the falsely offended spark in his eyes tells me he has. I blush all over.

Quinn turns to his sister. I’m stopping now. Promise. I’m shutting it all off.

Good, she growls, because we like Harper. A lot. We don’t want her to run away.

Now even as I’m trying not to think, I wonder how many times this has happened to them already, being witches—if people do run away on them all the time.

But thank goodness, this thought seems to remain mine and mine alone. Yana shakes her hands around as if to clear the air and the mood changes again. She starts opening paper bags and amazing smells fill the air.

Food magic, for a change! she says happily. So, I didn’t know what you’d like, Harper, so I tried out several options. We have Thai, Indian, and French cheese from that shop around the corner, because, you know, cheese.

Marry me, I quip, and she smiles, relaxing a little more again.

Quinn grins too and hands me a plate. We sit down at last.

So, what would you like? Yana asks.

Everything, please.

We spend the next several minutes piling food onto our plates.

You don’t eat the vegetables from your garden? I ask. It looks really good.

Yeah, I do. I didn’t know if you were the vegetable kind of person.

Oh, I am very much the vegetable kind of gal.

I can make you a salad if you’d like.

I look at the amount of food already on the coffee table, and at the mound on my plate, and laugh.

Next time maybe? And I’ll bring meat? You like meat? Do you have a barbecue?

I don’t eat meat, but I eat fish.

Can be arranged.

The cat meows loudly and doubles up on the purring. Fish, it is. No one makes me feel as if I’m being too forward, inviting myself over again.

I can’t grill things at my place, I explain. I do have a balcony, and my neighbors are friendly, but I’m not sure they wouldn’t draw a line at mackerel barbecued in mustard. I’d love to buy a house one day.

Yana nods. It’s heaven. I got mine from our grandmother.