The Whispered Words

By Marie F. Crow

Since discovering the unseen world around her, Harper has faced powers she never thought she'd encounter, but this time she may have stumbled into a war she can't win.

When a seemingly simple Spirit Board is passed around among the local teens, it's Bella who becomes the bartering chip in a war with Heaven and Hell as Harper ru

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kingston Publishing Company
• Release date: Dec 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9781645334743

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Copyright

Whispered Words is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

THE WHISPERED WORDS: A NOVEL

Copyright © 2023 by Marie F. Crow

All rights reserved.

Cover Design & Formatting by KP Designs

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Published by Kingston Publishing Company

- www.kingstonpublishing.com

The uploading, scanning, and distribution of this book in any form or by any means—including but not limited to electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the permission of the copyright holder is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized editions of this work, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

Table of Contents

Copyright

Table of Contents

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Extras

About the Author

Podcast

Also by the Author

About the Publisher

Are you decent?

Cassandra’s voice travels through my basement living quarters with as much caution as an elephant roaming through a crystal shop. It bounces off every wall, echoing her presence without an apology or any shame. I suppose I was stupid of me to think this area would stay off limits forever.

I’m wearing pants if that is what you are asking. Beyond that, I can’t promise anything, I shout, hoping she will keep her distance as long as she can hear me.

A shirt? she asks, moving closer through my space.

Debatable, I warn her, pulling my zippered hoodie a little tighter around me.

Well, she says, stepping into my bedroom. I suggest you put one on. You have company.

Pass, I answer, pulling the hood over my head in a complete moment of toddler-like indulgence. Turning the television show louder, I pretend she’s not standing in the doorway watching me. Perhaps I am being more of a teen than a toddler.

This your plan? Cassandra asks. You’re just going to stay down here in this cave ignoring life?

I remain quiet and let the blaring commercial stand in as my answer to her question. Seems a pretty obvious answer to me.

Cassandra moved in shortly before the funeral. At the time, it made sense. It was easier for her to help with the arrangements this way instead of her driving back and forth every night, lamenting over the many miles she was putting on her vehicle. I’m not sure how, or when, it became permanent, though. Now I can’t seem to get rid of her. Trust me. I’ve tried.

You can’t keep staying down here avoiding everything, she states bluntly, beginning her almost daily lecture as she starts randomly picking up discarded clothing from the floor and the odd places they have landed with my careless undressing as of late. You don’t even go to the shop anymore. Poor Bella is basically running it all by herself and that’s not fair.

Take it up with management, I reply, flipping through the channels.

Bella is not old enough to handle such a challenge and it’s not going to manage itself!

What good is a magic shop if it can’t magically run itself? I ask, scoffing with false shock at her suggestion.

Your grandmother would be livid if she could see this.

I roll my eyes towards Cassandra, letting more of my anger peek through than I thought it would by adding, I thought you were my grandmother?

As if upon hearing my remark Cassandra’s spine grew extra vertebrae, allowing her to somehow appear taller. My sister raised you as her own. You will not let your immaturity take that from her, or that fact from you!

I roll my eyes again, proving how very deep my well of immaturity can sometimes be. If she wanted to see this, we both know there isn’t a damn thing I could do to stop her, but since she hasn’t been around, I think I’m safe from her spiritual wrath.

Is that what this little pouty thing is about? The Mistress of the Dead can’t see her grandmother? You know, she says, rolling right along as if her words are tipped with acid. If you want to speak with her so bad just call out to her. Acting out like this only pisses off the living. You have responsibilities you’re letting go unattended.

How’s that witchy homestead of yours going, as of late? I ask her. Must be hard to manage all of them with your head so far up my ass. Or is it your heart keeping you here? Perhaps guilty conscience? Is this your love and concern for a child you discarded to another family member? Maybe I should ask Mom what she thinks of your antics? You know, since we are using the dead as guilt trips, and all.

I watch as her face contorts through several different emotions before settling on acceptance. She is still angry with me. She’s just picking a different emotional road to travel. Whereas I can’t boast of my handling of my daughter’s passing, she tells the wall in front of her as she tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. I can attest to the pain of grief. As you are aware, it never goes away, and unfortunately life doesn’t stop. You have obligations, Harper.

Worst pep talk, ever. Two stars. Do not recommend, I sigh, knowing she isn’t going to go away. Who is here?

Cassandra pretends to sort my laundry as if the task is taking all of her focus. I’ve seen this woman delegate a whole room while moving from chore to chore without even pausing in her verbal train of threats. The fact her train has halted catches my attention with worry and trepidation. She isn’t one who is normally afraid to split flesh with her opinions. She will gladly shred you with her thoughts. This is her protecting herself.

Who is here? I ask again, slowly peeking with curiosity from my hood.

Roman, she answers without any emotion as she examines an unnamed stain on one of my shirts.

Great, I exhale. Hand me that shirt, I tell her, holding my hand out for it.

You’re going to meet a ruler of another house in a stained shirt? she asks with shock and unhidden disgust.

Yeah, I tell her, stretching my hand out further for it.

Cassandra rolls her eyes before placing the shirt into my extended hand with obvious annoyance over her surrender. I really think you should at least put on clean clothes, she sighs.

Maybe, I answer her, ignoring the fact she is still in the room as I begin to dress. I mean, I would hate to start a war with some unspoken insult.

She makes a huffing sound, calling out my sarcasm.

Besides, I tell her, fluffing my red curls into something resembling style and less of a bird’s nest of depression, he can hear everything we’ve said, anyway.

Cassandra pauses in her exit, glancing over her shoulder and whispering more with her mouth than words, Really?

He’s a fucking wolf, I tell her with arched eyebrows. Yeah, really.

Well, then I feel sorry for him when it comes to your smell, she shoots back, trying to recover her lost vertebrae.

I don’t, I respond putting my sweetest smile on my face.

Do you even know what that stain is? she asks as I walk pass her.

I glance down at the grey shirt, tugging it down to stare at the irregular shape. Yes. It’s GiGi’s blood.

Roman Ripple is sitting on the old couch with his head bowed. His hands are clasped over his crossed knee, and if I didn’t know better, I would almost think he was praying. When he lifts those blue eyes all the original bloodline of his family he has been blessed with are trying to read me and judge me. I know if he was praying, it wasn’t for his sins. At least, not for sins of his past. That anger displayed is all about the sins he may commit. And mine.

You’re looking well, I tell him, leaning on the doorway of the stairs I just stormed up.

He’s chewing the inside of his cheek, debating which words to let escape and which words to keep hidden. I’ll be brief, he finally says.

You always were, I answer thinking maybe I should learn the chewing the cheek trick.

Roman ignores the jab, carrying on with his intended goal. The council wants to talk with you. They feel this stale mate of yours is going to leave us vulnerable since we now have rather powerful vampires in our backyard.

You mean the ones you and your council teamed up with behind my back? I tilt my head with my question. Isn’t it a little late to be worried about them now?

You’re right, he admits, taking me from angry to suspicious. We teamed with those who we should have known better, and we paid the price.

You paid a price? I ask. We all paid a price because of you and yours.

And if you had just listened to your betters and not take the magic, none of this would have happened, he counters. You and yours, he quotes with vengeance, aren’t the only ones at blame.

My betters? Propelled by my anger, I am walking towards him before I realize I am. You mean you, right? You, the Ripples?

Roman stands to meet me when I reach him. I mean everyone. From the moment you waltzed in, you broke all the rules, rules we have built upon because of wars and blood we spilled for centuries. You have no understanding of any of this! When we try to help you, you do the exact opposite, bringing the consequences to all of us, leaving those of us who know the rules to try and appease those you have angered.

Or you could come to me and work with me instead of plotting behind my back while I’m in your damn bed! I shout, not sure where I am even going with my logic fueled by anger and submerged emotions. But understand, you are not my better. From the moment I met your family, you have been plotting either my death or my slavery, like you do with all the witches in your area.

Whereas you just get them killed? he counters, dropping his voice to an almost scathing tone. You managed to remove a whole coven from our area.

The wind and heat are stolen from my lungs with his accusation.

Your grandmother was a pillar of our world. She held her area in her own way, but have no doubt this area was hers before you ruined everything. The witches who needed her could always find her and she kept them safe. She kept Jedrek away. She kept his side in line and out of our business. You come at me about working with enemies, what about you? he asks. GiGi knew what would happen the moment you stepped into what you were destined to become. She spent your whole life protecting you and in a matter of months of you get her killed as soon as you opened your legs

Enough! Cassandra shouts, wedging her way in between Roman and I. Harper put it away! she shouts causing me to really look around me and not just at Roman’s face.

Unbeknownst to me, his words were digging deep, deeper than even I was aware. The room is swirling with my green magic waiting for a command or even the slightest whisper of a word to move towards the target, that target being Roman. Closing my eyes, I exhale, letting the tension go and send the magic away as if it was nothing but a fog which once filled the room.

This is going nowhere, Cassandra tells us both as if we are children she is scolding over chores. Everyone is upset, and we all need to get back to our responsibilities. If you two think those twins aren’t watching and waiting for their revenge, too, you are both stupid and don’t deserve your titles.

I thought the twins were behaving? I ask, slowly walking to sit in the overstuffed recliner. Bella said they even stop by the shop to check in.

Cassandra and Roman stare at me with matching expressions over my question.

Yeah, Roman mocks, They have been stopping in.

Oh, I answer. They are not being good is what you’re hinting at?

They have been sending us ‘gifts’, as well, Roman says, relaxing back to his original seat upon the couch.

Gifts? I ask when hearing how he said the word.

His face is the plastic mask of control, but his eyes can’t hold the anger inside their cold shade. Dead animals so we don’t have to go out and hunt. They are hinting behind their gifts that they don’t think we are brave enough to be what we are.

Have they been leaving me gifts? I ask, turning towards Cassandra.

Cassandra busies herself with invisible lint upon her slacks. She ignores the question hanging in the air as if it simply was never asked.

Cassandra? I ask, using her name as the question this time.

Roman is watching her with his inner demons slipping through. Tell her, he demands with the beast sneaking into the pitch of his voice.

Bella mentioned they have been leaving things, she says, slowly.

What things? I ask, leaning forward towards the woman who is doing her best to not be present. She never mentioned anything about gifts when I talked to her.

Cassandra shrugs, I told her it might be best if she left that out. To be fair, I didn’t know at the time they were leaving little ‘hellos’ all over. Just with the witches.

Roman and I both are sitting in silence, waiting.

They have been leaving gifts at the abandoned coven house claiming it is in penance for that they did, she explains as she arranges objects on one of the many bookcases in the room. I didn’t know she was leaving things with you as well, but this is the perfect example of why you two need to get back to ruling and not hiding from the other.

Don’t turn this around, I tell her. What have they been leaving, Cassandra?

Flowers, she answers, dusting off spines of books.

What’s wrong with flowers? Roman asks, honestly perplexed.

Yellow flowers? I ask, already knowing.

Cassandra finally turns to face the two of us and nods.

I still don’t understand. Roman is watching the both of us and trying to read our unsaid words hidden in our exchange of expressions.

I was given a yellow flower once, I tell him, melting back into the chair to stare at the ceiling.

Okay? he asks.

To remind me someone is always watching what we do, I explain.

Someone we need to worry about? Roman asks.

I shake my head. No. Just witches.

The twins want to remind Harper that striking back at them may bring extra attention we don’t want, Cassandra attempts to clarify without explaining any particulars.

They are reminding me to stay in my lane or else, I whisper with exhaustion. If I try to strike back, the consequences, I mock the word tossed at me earlier, may be more than I can handle. Just as your gifts are; it’s a threat.

What are we going to do? Roman asks, returning to his natural demeanor.

I don’t know, I tell him honestly. I really don’t know.

The little copper bell above the shop’s door does more than just rattle its little heart out to announce my arrival. It all but seems to scream it. The ghosts of the place cautiously poke their heads out from around display units and various bookshelves around me to watch my entrance. They attempt to discreetly follow behind me with perked interest.

You know I can see you all, right? I ask the room, sending them back to their hiding places with the tone of my question.

See who? Bella asks, emerging from the back room upon hearing the bell. Did I miss someone coming in?

Nope, I tell her as I walk behind the counter as if I haven’t been hiding in a dark basement for weeks. They were here before you arrived.

Oh, Bella answers, glancing around the shop with suspicion. I forgot you do that.

Wish I could, I mutter.

Bella is shuffling the mail, sorting it without even looking at any of it. She’s just making noise to make noise, filling the awkward space between us.

What? I ask her when it drags on. Just say it.

Are you back for good or just checking on me? Bella finally asks, tossing the mail down as if she is offended by my presence.

Why would I need to check on you? I genuinely ask her. You love this place more than GiGi did.

Do you still love it?

I sigh, exhaling both my exhaustion and emotions. Looking around the shop, I can see every moment GiGi and I had here. I can see us stocking the shelves. I can hear her lessons on the herbs held in their clearly marked containers. It’s as if the walls themselves hold her energy, allowing it to ebb and flow into the space around me with the sounds of her laughter. It was never about the shop for me. It was always about her.

I don’t know, I tell her with a sigh, feeling like I have been using that too often to answer the questions put towards me.

There’s no rush, you know, she whispers. I can do this.

Leaning on the glass display counter, I turn towards her. She’s wearing her normal upbeat colors and classic high messy bun. Expect her messy bun looks polished whereas mine always look like what they are called, messy. Her expensive jeans are trying their best to look vintage with a well thought out pattern of shredding. Mine are just shredded.

Don’t you have school? I ask her, trying to hide my inner negative voice as it compares her and I.

She shrugs, returning to filing papers. The joys of distance learning. As long as I turn in the assignments on time, they are cool. I watch the lessons when we are slow. It’s really no big deal. I sit in the shop or sit at home with my parents and their silent stares. I prefer here.

Your parents are healing, I tell her, offering advice without dipping my toes too deep into the emotional pool. Give them time.

You’re not sitting around staring at walls, she replies, unable to cover the hurt in her voice with her normal perky vibe. You don’t see me sitting around and we don’t need to go over everything I went through.

I don’t answer and at this moment I am glad our link is cut so she can’t feel how close to my many truths she’s hitting.

If you need to talk about all that…, I offer, letting the