Arcane Rising: The Amaranthine, #1

By Phaedra Weldon

In the enchanting heart of New Orleans, amidst the sultry humidity and the secrets that dance like shadows on the bayou,

-- Ugh. Enough of that. Don't know why I thought I needed to make this so flowery. So, it's like this, I'm Janet Harper, Arden Vervain's niece. Who's that? The self proclaimed Witch Queen of New Orleans and the holder of a vast magical legacy.

And for some reason--she made me her heir. Me. An Earth Witch (and Nature) from small town Georgia. I'm not interested in this legacy. What I am interested in is meeting a lot of Witches who might know how to kill The Reaper. Yes. I want to kill Death.

Now don't look at me like that. The Reaper killed my best friend when I was twelve and I want her back. Her death was unjust, and her life wasn't his to take. No one believes me because everyone is stressed about this grand gathering of dignitaries from the Southern Parliament, all descending on New Orleans to celebrate...me.

Something is leaving lifeless bodies with imprisoned souls in its wake. With every victim, the Reaper's presence grows stronger, and the city's enchantment wanes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Caldwell Press
• Release date: Dec 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215973615

Book preview

Arcane Rising

The Amaranthine Book 1

Phaedra Weldon

Copyright © 2023 by Phaedra Weldon

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Summary

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Summary

Arcane Rising is a thrilling story of magic, retribution, and the enduring strength of friendship set against the backdrop of a city brimming with mysticism and peril. Join Janet Harper as she battles the bayou's darkest powers and seeks answers to her past's mysteries in a journey for justice that will shape her fate and the future of the supernatural realm.

Author Note

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Author's Note

This book marks the beginning of a new chapter for the little Coven of Bell, Book, and Candle in New Orleans. The first chapter of this coven's story began in The Grimoire Chronicles, Book One when Sam Hawthorne, a feisty Elemental Witch, showed up in the first chapter of Dags' trilogy.

I have tried my best to write this new series in a way that readers who haven't read The Eldritch Files series (which you should totally read!) can start with this book. However, I don't recommend it. After going through three rewrites, I realized that there was no way for me to do this without referring back to the preceding series. There's a lot of history to unpack from the first one, with many establishing facts.

We're back with new and old faces, and we mourn the loss of familiar ones. To keep myself steady in this new story arc, I've also brought along my first love, Jason Lawrence, from the Zoe Martinique Investigation Series. I hope everyone enjoys this next adventure in these characters' lives as much as they enjoyed the first one.

I would like to express a huge thank you to my Kickstarter Backers. Without you, your funding, and your patience, I wouldn't have been able to afford the time and editorial help I needed to get through 2023.

Phaedra

Dedication

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Dedication

Dedication

This first step back to New Orleans is dedicated to a multitude of characters in my life.

The first is to my Kickstarter Backers, who have shown me patience, kindness, and the best side of humanity as I struggled through the first part of 2023. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

The second is to my mom and dad, and the light of my life, my daughter. She's grown into a beautiful young woman and I couldn't be more proud of her!

And third, to my readers. Those who love my wacky-ass ideas and my crazy character mash-ups. You are the coolest and I hope you enjoy Janet Harper and The Amaranthine journey as much as The Eldritch Files.

One

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The Lie

Ten years ago, Milledgeville, Georgia

Dark moon.

Harold Harper! You turn this durn truck around right now, or I'm gonna jump out!

Grandpa Harold didn't want to go to the mysterious meeting, and he sure as hell didn't want his 12-year-old granddaughter dragged into the middle of stupid Witchy Politics.

Alice, you give me one good reason why we have to obey everything the High Witch says? Even when we know it's no good? Harold asked.

Alice looked down at their granddaughter Janet, sandwiched between the two of them in the cab of Harold's 1954 Ford F-100. Her green eyes were wide and she held onto her Earth Elemental, a sweet little Gnome in fighting armor. Janet hated it when he and Alice fought. Fighting was all she'd known with her biological parents, two people not gifted with Diana's blood, who knew or understood even less about the precious child they'd produced.

We go because we swore an oath, Harold. To the community, to the Coven, and our Granddaughter. We bring her up in our way. We obey the High Witch, Alice replied, looking directly at him, her face full of shadows in the dashboard lights. That is our way.

Harold muttered as he slowed the truck and carefully turned it around on the bisecting road between their property and the Callaway's twenty-acre cotton farm. It was after midnight in Milledgeville, Georgia, in the middle of the coldest and wettest Winter on record. The truck's heat didn't work half of the time, but he'd already told Alice he wasn't driving his Oldsmobile out in the mud, even though the instrumentation—lauded back in the car's heyday—still worked. Mostly.

The truck looked black on the moonless night, where the missing paint and rust spots weren't noticeable. The round headlights cut the fog as it blanketed the overgrown fields and moved with eerie if not controlled purpose to hide any light from prying Cowen eyes.

Alice smiled and squeezed her granddaughter. Janet, don't you fret. Me and your Grampa will be right there with you.

I'm scared, Janet said and suddenly looked eight. He saw the glint of tears rolling down her cheeks. Nobody likes my talk'n powers. And why are we going to Molly's house? She wasn't at school today. Is she sick?

His wife pulled their granddaughter close and smiled at her, the child's frightened expression visible in the dim light. Don't be scared, dear. Being called by the High Witch for services is an honor. It means great things for you in your future.

Harold pursed his lips and looked back at the road. They were nearly there as the truck jostled up and down, back and forth in the ruts of the dirt road. He didn't bother keeping the scowl off of his face. He didn't think much of this new High Witch—some unknown out of Atlanta. Harold sensed something off about him. Something...well...selfish. Not that being that way was a crime, but this whole being suddenly called out in the night was just...wrong.

Ow... Janet grabbed her head. What...what's happening? I suddenly feel wrong—Grampa! I can't feel my Gnome!

Harold glanced at Janet and sure enough, her Gnome was gone. Alice sought out the black and yellow afghan over her knees and arranged it over Janet. Your Gnome is fine. Remember I told you about how the Clerics use anti-magic barriers to prevent arguments and fights? We just drove into one—but it's okay.

No… Janet put her hand to her face. "Ohmygoddesss I don't like this. Make it stop—"

Hesh, child, Alice scolded in the tone that even Harold obeyed, on occasion. We're here.

Harold didn't want Janet to see this. It was callous and asinine of High Witch Carson to request the presence of any of the young ones to witness, as well as participate in a Gleaning. Not that Harold was sure that's what would happen, but given what he and Alice had been told—

He rounded the corner of a copse of trees and bush and the wreckage of the Callaway farm—what there was of it—became visible, illuminated by twenty cars, a variety of makes, models, and years, all arranged in a circle around what had once been a beautiful two-story farmhouse. It had been the pride and joy of Mickie and Spike Callaway, and home to their three children, two sons, Mitchell and Terrence, and their daughter, Molly.

Wait...what... Janet grabbed the dashboard. Where's Molly's house? She put her hands on the interior of the windshield and Alice pulled them back. What...what happened? Janet's voice cracked. She looked so young.

Several dark-robed figures approached the truck. Harold could see their breath in the plethora of car lights.

Clerics.

Harold was concerned about the fear in his granddaughter's voice. Alice had braided Janet’s long auburn hair. Janet wore a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, and Harold's old bomber jacket, which she adored. The jacket was several sizes too big for her, but she looked adorable in it, along with a blue and white scarf.

As they stepped out of the car, a gust of cold air hit Harold, reminding him that he had no Elemental Power as a Dianic and may not be allowed to participate in the upcoming event. He worried that he would have to watch from a distance.

But when he hung back as the black robes encircled Alice and Janet, one of them beckoned him to come as well.

Janet sobbed and held onto Alice as they were escorted to the destroyed house. The smell of brimstone, of ash, of charred wood, and something else. Something rotten. Foul.

Ancient.

Ugh… Janet stopped and put her hands to her face. She turned and bent over as the robed Clerics stepped away and his granddaughter threw up on the edge of the property. Alice, ever magical with her bag of practical things, retrieved a towel in a plastic bag. It was damp and she wiped her granddaughter’s face.

Gran…something’s rotting somewhere. The whole place smells like rotting chicken.

Harold sighed. That was the smell. The odor of Arcane.

MURDER! shouted a surviving piece of wood.

Harold chewed on his lower lip.

Janet made a frightened noise. Gran, how come the voices aren’t stopped by the cap?

Dianic Gifts are unaffected by the cap. Now come along.

Here, here! Alice bring her here!

Cleric robes and local Coven members converged on the house, stepping carefully over what was left, to the center of the home, in what had once been the living room. There Harold saw several more black-robed people, but their heads weren’t cowled as the Clerics were. Their faces were visible, their pendants bearing their rank of office. Here stood the three highest-ranked Witches in the state. One of them lived in Milledgeville, one from Savannah, and one from Dunwoody, just above Atlanta.

High Witch Carson, the Dunwoody representative, a pale, elderly man with a receding hairline and broad shoulders, stepped forward as Alice practically pulled Janet to face Carson. The man held out his hand and with some prompting Janet leaned forward and kissed the man’s onyx ring.

The only thing going through Harold’s mind at that moment was a line from his favorite movie, One Ring to Rule Them All.

He wasn't a supporter of Carson's. The man embodied every adjective Harold could think of that referred to a self-centered jerk, including arrogant, narcissistic, and suffering from a serious case of hubris.

Carson whispered, Janet Harper, and then stillness engulfed the rubble. The only sounds were the buzz of the headlights. Has your family conveyed what happened and what I need from you?

Alice responded. Sir, we have not. Time has not permitted it.

Harold detested seeing his wife bow down to this conceited jerk.

I see. I'll be brief, then, he said, waving his hand.

The Clerics and some of the crowd parted as two robed people dragged a young girl into the center in front of Janet. This girl had long blonde hair that kept her face hidden. Her clothing, bare arms, and feet were covered in ash, mud, and dirt. The Clerics pushed her down by her upper arms and arranged her in a kneeling position.

Molly kept her head down and never moved on her own.

Molly! Janet tried to run to her but she was stopped by the Clerics. Answer me!

Molly's head remained bowed. She gave no sign of having heard Molly.

Harold watched the little girl and was pretty sure justice had already been served.

Silence, Janet, High Witch Carson said. To all present, Molly Callaway is accused of using the magic of Arcane to destroy her family, as well as her home which she set on fire using this Arcane power and trapped everyone inside but herself. The bodies of her mother and father were pulled from the basement, her two brothers were pulled from the kitchen.

Mutterings, and murmurs, started and then grew into a slight shouting match.

That’s not possible! Molly’s always been a good girl! Someone shouted.

This isn’t Arcane, this is just a fire! Another shout.

What evidence do you have of this alleged Arcane?

Carson held up his hand. It is true, not all of you can smell or see Arcane. But those of you who smell something rotting, and those of you who can see the writhing, chewing red maggots of forbidden magic know I am right.

Harold was happy he didn’t see it, but he could smell it. From Janet’s reaction, he was pretty sure she experienced it with both senses. She was shaking in her Gran’s arms.

For those of you who cannot, I have called upon Janet Harper to use her Dianic Gift as testimony.

Everyone gathered and nodded. It made sense to Harold they would all agree to this. He couldn’t pick out a single Witch present who hadn’t been embarrassed by Janet’s Gift at one time or another. Psychometry had been recorded through their Coven’s scribes to be a rare gift among Diana’s Children, as they called themselves. Janet’s form of the Gift was something—unique.

Psychometry affects the Witch, giving them insight into an object’s past, as to who touched it, and what they were thinking or doing. But Janet’s magic gave voice to the past, personality to the present, as Harold had heard Alice say on occasion.

High Witch Carson held out his hand. Janet, please. We need the house to tell the story.

Gasps sprinkled around the crowd. Alice held out her hand. Sir, I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. What you’re asking her to do—

I am the Elder here, Alice, Carson snapped. Janet, do as you are told. Arcane infects the wicked and possesses them, it is the part of the devil that takes over and turns them evil. We must hear the only remaining witness’ tale.

Harold’s heart went out to his granddaughter. She looked terrified, her green eyes wide and dark in the shadows made by the many headlights surrounding them. Janet hugged her Gram, let go of her, and took in a deep breath, her exhale visible in the lights.

Janet hesitantly took a step away from him and Alice, her eyes on Molly, who kept her head down. Harold could only think of the girl as the smiling friend who loved spending the night with Janet in their attic, staying up all night and sleeping into the weekends. Riding horses, playing in the fields of cotton and corn…

He sniffed then, feeling sad that Molly’s father, Spike, would no longer be there for fishing, hunting, or chumming at Ethel’s Pool Hall.

Janet cleared her throat. House, what happened—

No sooner had Janet spoken than voices in all sorts of tones and pitches, genders and accents, created a chaotic chorus that erupted all around them.

PAIN AND FIRE!

SHE CALLED UPON THE OLD MAGICS!

Several of the voices degenerated into painful screams and moans so loud that many of the Coven put their hands over their ears. Others took out their pentagrams and held them as they bowed their heads.

THE SCREAMS…

IT WAS AN ACT OF REVENGE. ANGER. RAGE.

PAIN!

IT BURNS!

They deserved it.

Harold, as well as many others, gasped at the last comment. It wasn’t spoken aloud but in their minds.

High Witch Carson stepped back and pointed at Molly. The house has spoken. The nails, the wood, the remnants of a charred life accuse Molly Callaway of murder!

Oh, Molly no… Janet sobbed.

High Witch Carson stood back, away from Molly. Gran pulled Janet back. Harold also moved away when he saw the High Witch’s Elders move to form a circle around Molly. Carson held up his hands and began chanting. The child remained motionless, sitting on her knees, her head bowed as if she’d been frozen in place.

The smell of rotting meat intensified as Harold put his hand over his face. One by one the car headlights snapped off, moving in a widdershin direction, as if the vehicles were dismissing a Circle, but in reverse.

He’s calling the Gleaning, Alice whispered beside him.

It was at that moment of darkness that Harold wondered if Carson had even bothered to consecrate the ground.

Ice snapped and cracked along the freezing wood as it covered the charred pieces of the farmhouse, moving to the center where the three Elders, Alice, Harold, and Janet stood. Harold couldn’t see it, as much as he could hear it, and feel it. He shivered as the others hurried to get away from the house.

The forming ice took hold of everyone but Harold, and he could see that Alice, Carson, his two Elders, and even the Clerics surrounding them, were frozen in place.

He was freezing, but not frozen.

Molly… Janet sobbed.

Harold, keeping himself still because he feared that whatever was there he couldn't see would kill him, watched as the darkness nearest the two girls thickened.

Abruptly a figure stepped through. The sight of it froze Harold’s heart and he stifled his cry of fear.

It was tall, broad-shouldered, a visage of a man wrapped from head to toe in black, dirty, dripping bandages. Upon his back rested a cloak of shadow and mist that covered him beneath a cowl. But it was the mask that looked out from beneath that hood that terrified Harold.

It was only half a skull and lacked a lower jaw. Red lights burned at the center of the two apertures like eyes that flickered on and off as if the creature were blinking.

The myth's double-bladed scythe, held between it and the girl almost caused Harold's heart to stop. It’s not possible, he thought. That thing doesn’t exist. It’s a myth!

M-Molly? Janet said just as the creature took a step back and spun his Scythe once before he sliced Molly in half.

NO! Janet screamed as she ran to her friend.

But Molly wasn’t there.

Harold moved, just a tad, but no one seemed to notice. He was terrified this Mythic Monster would take his granddaughter.

But Janet was looking around for her friend and faced the creature. He watched her but didn’t attack her.

WHERE IS SHE?! Janet screamed at him.

His Scythe vanished from his hand and appeared against his back. He reached into his ever-moving cloak and retrieved a blue, glowing orb.

Janet stared at it. Is…that Molly?

The creature nodded once and then placed the orb back in his cloak. He stared at Janet. She stared at him.

To Harold's surprise, the monster extended its hand to her, and when it appeared that Janet was about to take it, Harold lost his cool. He ventured forward and prepared to attack the monster, shouting, Get away from her!

It remained still as he retreated with Janet, but in its hand was her blue and white scarf.

A moment later, it was gone.

The car lights all came back on, horns blaring at once. Harold blinked as Carson placed his hand on Janet’s shoulder and led her away as the Coven dispersed, many of them running to their vehicles. Harold moved toward them but was blocked by the other two council members. The female, with pale skin, and ruby red lips, the rest of her face was shadowed by the hood of her robe, raised her hand to him. She frightened him in the core of his being, so he took a step back.

But he could hear what Carson said to his granddaughter. Whether that was by chance or because the bastard wanted him to, Harold didn’t care.

What did you see, my child?

Janet’s voice was full of sobs and sniffles. The Reaper…took Molly…to the Summerlands.

As he proceeded to stand in front of her, Carson shook his head. She gazed up at him as he put a finger under her chin and lifted her face to him. In the moonlight, Harold could see the tears shimmering on her cheeks. "That's a lie, my little one. Since Arcane is a blight that needs to be eradicated, the Reaper tore out her soul so that she would never be able to visit those lands.

Janet balled her hands into fists. "Molly wasn’t evil."

I’m afraid she murdered her family and destroyed her home. You heard the testimony of the house itself. Inanimate objects do not lie under your magic, child. You have helped us this night, purged evil from among our midst, and the Reaper heard your call for justice.

"I…I didn’t call that…thing—"

But Carson shook his head. What is done, is done, and Molly will never spread the disease to another, as it was spread to her.

When he lowered his hands, Janet took a step closer, her hands balled into fists. But where is she, if she can’t enter the Summerlands?

Carson looked at her as if looking at a simpleton. She goes nowhere, child. The Reaper will keep her in his cloak and feed on her essence until there is no more. And while she is with it, she will know the pain the Reaper inflicts on the wicked.

That was enough!

Harold moved around the two council members and stood between Carson and his granddaughter. That’s enough horse shit from you today. He turned and put his own hands on Janet’s shoulder. Let’s go home.

Janet had her head bowed, her arms straight at her side, and he could feel the anguish, the rage, and the helplessness coming off of her in waves. The magic cap was gone so her Gnome appeared at her side, holding on to her left leg, trying desperately to comfort her Witch.

Molly doesn’t have a home anymore—and I don’t believe the Goddess wouldn’t forgive those of the God Mother’s blood, Janet said in a low voice.

It was a tone that Carson had never heard before. She looked at him and her expression was blank. It looked wrong on a child of twelve. I blame Arcane, Granddaddy. I blame that Reaper. It’s not a creature of the Goddess, but a thing of darkness. Molly deserves to be judged by the Goddess, not by some rotten-smelling monster. I will find the Reaper one day. I will kill it, and I will free Molly’s soul.

Two

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Harper

Present Day

September, Thursday Mid Morning

You really should watch the road.

As I continued to navigate the unfamiliar streets of New Orleans, I couldn't help but be amused by my peculiar Familiar, Piper, the Silver Dasher. Piper continued to perch on my car's dashboard, his fluffy, egg-sized body bobbing slightly with the motion of the vehicle. His wings sported striking silver, black, and red markings that added a touch of elegance to his appearance.

However, Piper's charm was often overshadowed by his unmistakably nasal, Brooklyn-accented voice, a characteristic that had me wondering where he picked up such an unusual trait. But at this moment, Piper's vocal quirks were the least of my concerns. I was determined to successfully navigate the labyrinthine streets of the Big Easy.

Piper was acting kind of like an annoying, bossy, GPS. Only I had the map and he didn't.

My name's Janet Harper and I am a two Element Witch. My original Elemental affinity is Earth, but I discovered a while back I also have an affinity for Nature. Seems weird, doesn’t it? Given I have always thought there were four Elements—and Nature wasn't one of them.

But what’s got me driving around in New Orleans is the latest bombshell to be dropped on my head. I’ve been designated the heir to a vast Magical Legacy here in New Orleans. Did I want this designation? Not sure. Did I care about it? Still not sure. Did I have a choice?

My first answer was yes. I had no interest in moving to New Orleans to become part of a branch of my family I’d never met. I preferred being in control of my life, and not having family dictate things.

Unfortunately, Fate conspired to give my family what they wanted.

I was in Alfheim (that’s the Faerie Realm, btw) for maybe a few days, but on this side of the cairn, it was a month. I was dismissed from my job because of no call, no show. Then I was served with an eviction notice because of not