New England Witch Chronicles
Book One
New England Witch Chronicles Series
by
Chelsea Luna
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Acknowledgments
About the Author
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without the express written permission of the author.
Copyright © 2011 by Chelsea Luna (Bellingeri)
Third Edition - 2014
Cover art created by Brandi Doane McCann
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
For more information, please visit: http://www.chelsealunaauthor.com
http://www.facebook.com/ChelseaLuna.Author
Follow me on Twitter: @Chelsea_Luna_
New England Witch Chronicles – Book 1
To my parents, who support me in everything I do.
Thou shalt not suffer
a witch to live.
Exodus 22:18
Chapter One
Nothing interesting ever happened in Hazel Cove. That’s why the news about the missing girl had the town in an uproar.
The pretty blonde news anchor positioned herself in front of the girl’s house, waiting for the family to emerge from their self-induced hiding. TV news vans lined the narrow street. “This is Cynthia Scott reporting live from Hazel Cove, Massachusetts. Shock and outrage have overtaken this quaint fishing community. Ten days have passed since local high school senior Megan Lackey was reported missing. Investigators have been tight-lipped regarding the circumstances of her disappearance. There has been—”
“Are you finished?”
I tore my eyes from the television. “Do you think they’ll find her?”
Mya cleaned a nonexistent mess on the other side of the counter. She glanced up at the news anchor smiling into the camera. “I pray they do.”
“Are Victor and Emma home?”
“They came in late last night.”
Heavy footsteps thumped across the hardwood floor in the hallway. Speak of the Devil and he shall appear.
We both fell silent as my father bulldozed into the kitchen. His eyes roamed over the scene, landing first on Mya and then on me.
“Alexandria, why are you watching this rubbish?” Victor gestured violently at the small TV mounted above the microwave. He snatched the remote from the counter and punched the button, silencing the anchorwoman mid-sentence.
“It’s the news,” I said.
“It’s nonsense.”
“A girl is missing. In Hazel Cove. That’s big news.” I handed my empty cereal bowl to Mya. She continued to clean, but was careful to keep her eyes averted from Victor.
“You and this entire backward town are jumping to conclusions. I’d bet my bank account that she ran off with some boy. It happens all the time,” Victor said.
I opened my mouth to counter, but thought better of it. It wasn’t worth the time or energy. You had to pick and choose your battles with my father.
Victor ran a hand through his graying hair. “We’re having people over for dinner at seven,” he said to Mya without looking at her. “Have everything ready and don’t even think about serving that horrible roasted chicken again. It was disgusting.”
Mya nodded. She’d worked for our family long enough to know when to keep quiet around my father.
“And you….” Victor turned to me. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” He grabbed his briefcase and stormed out of the kitchen.
I leaned over the counter and squeezed Mya’s hand. “Wasn’t that pleasant first thing in the morning? I have to go. I’m going to be late for school.”
I felt my mood lift as soon as I stepped out into the crisp October air. I walked down the sidewalk and out to the driveway, intent on not letting Victor ruin my day. I stopped in my tracks. My car was gone. In its place was Victor’s black Rolls Royce humming silently. Bradley, my father’s chauffeur, was in the driver’s seat bouncing his red shaggy hair to the beat of heavy metal music blaring from the radio.
“Morning, Bradley.”
Bradley’s face flushed red, but lightened to a bright pink when he realized it was only me. He discreetly turned off the music. “Good morning, Alex.”
“Do you know where my car is?”
“Mr. Ramsey took it,” Bradley said in his heavy British accent. “And I was instructed to drive you to school today.”
That got my attention.
“Wait. Why?” There was no way Bradley was driving me to school in that car. I crossed my arms.
Bradley sighed. “He saw the bumper.”
“Oh.”
“Mr. Ramsey said, and I’m quoting so don’t get angry with me, ‘Since Alexandria doesn’t know how to drive, maybe she’ll learn by watching you.’”
“You know he’s overreacting. The dent wasn’t that bad. I only hit the garbage cans.”
Bradley looked at his watch. “Hop in. You’re going to be late.”
“I’ll just take Emma’s car. Please? They’ll never know. Victor’s gone for the day.” I glanced up at my mother’s bedroom window. “And Emma won’t be up before three o’clock. When she finally does crawl out of bed, you and I both know she won’t be worrying about how I got to school.”
It was one notch below strumming the violin.
Bradley’s violet eyes flickered to my mother’s window. “I’m sorry, Alex, I can’t. He’ll kill me and I don’t need bloody Victor on my arse. Come on, get in. Please?”
“Fine, but I’m sitting up front with you.” I walked around the car and slid into the passenger seat.
Hazel Cove was a small town on the northern coast of Massachusetts, a few miles south of the New Hampshire border. I lived in the Hallows, a gated community on the west side of town. Black street lanterns and two-hundred-year-old oaks lined the street. Thousands of orange, red and yellow leaves littered the lawns of the large colonial houses.
“The police still haven’t found Megan Lackey,” I said, unable to get the missing girl out of my mind.
“Channel 7 did a piece on her last night. It’s crazy to think something like that could happen here.”
“Victor thinks she ran off with a guy.”
“I guess it’s possible,” Bradley said. “Was she dating anyone? Didn’t she go to school with Peter?”
Peter LaViollette was my best friend. We went way back—like cribs and diapers back. He went to Hazel Cove High, the local public high school on the other side of town.
“Yeah, but Peter said she didn’t have any friends. That’s why it took so long for anyone to realize she was missing. Her parents were away for the weekend and no one knew she was gone until her mom and
dad came home.”
“Poor girl.”
“How many days do you think it would take before Emma and Victor realized I was missing?”
Bradley grinned. “Maybe a week, two weeks tops. But Peter would realize within the hour.”
I grabbed my cell phone to text Peter about dinner at my house. Reinforcements were always a good idea when Victor was involved.
We turned onto Pennington Drive. The road curved and the towering stone fence that encircled the Hazel Cove Cemetery appeared on the left. Barren tree branches sprouted over the stone wall like skeleton fingers. As soon as we passed the elaborate wrought iron gates, I said a silent prayer. It was a silly superstition that I habitually performed every time I drove by the cemetery. I wasn’t an overly religious person, but I always felt the need to pray for the souls of those that had passed. I said an extra prayer for Megan Lackey.
“I hope they find Megan soon,” Bradley said, as if reading my mind. “Missing girls in small towns never seem to end well.”
We drove down Pennington Drive and Hawthorne Prep emerged on the right. The massive stone building looked more like a seventeenth-century European castle than a co-ed private high school.
Bradley drove up the narrow winding road, where the two-hundred-year-old school sat perfectly on top of a hill. I hopped out of the car as soon as Bradley pulled to a stop. It was 8:11 A.M. and I was officially twenty-one minutes late for my first period calculus class.
“See you later, Bradley. I’ll grab a ride home after school.” I smoothed my wool skirt and tucked in my collared shirt. I didn’t want to get in trouble for being late and having a messy uniform.
The familiar smell of old books and Pine-Sol greeted me as I walked through the front doors. The hallway was eerily quiet and my heels clanked loudly on the linoleum floor. The door to my class was open, as if intentionally left that way, and I immediately calculated my chances of slipping into the classroom without anyone noticing my tardiness. The chances were low, but it was worth a shot.
I peered into the classroom. I couldn’t see the front of the room, which meant I couldn’t see Mr. Armen. I could, however, see my empty desk. Lucas Cooper, who sat next to me, must have realized that I was sneaking in because he shook his head a fraction of an inch.
I waited for the signal.
Lucas’s eyes darted back and forth between Mr. Armen and me, like he was watching a tennis match. I shifted my weight to the balls of my feet. I had to be quick when he gave the signal. Lucas’s head bobbed in an indiscreet nod and I dashed to my desk.
“Alexandria Ramsey, you’re late. Again.”
I froze mid-stride. Twenty-five pairs of eyes fell on me.
Mr. Armen still faced the dry-erase board. He turned and pointed to the door. “Office. Now.”
“Do you want me to get a tardy slip?”
“No, I want you to go see Mrs. Pratt. You’ve been late to my class half a dozen times in the past three weeks.”
“But—”
“I don’t want to hear it. Go.”
Lucas mouthed an apology and I mustered a weak smile in return. This wasn’t his fault. I sighed dramatically and headed for the door.
Hawthorne Prep’s office had dark walls and green carpet. The ominous Tardy Book (which already featured my signature multiple times this school year), a wire basket full of paper, a small silver bell and a smiling ceramic jack-o-lantern sat on top of a high counter in the middle of the room.
“Tardy slip?” a familiar voice asked from behind the counter.
“I wish,” I said. “Mr. Armen wants me to see Mrs. Pratt about being late to calculus.”
Mrs. Fagan adjusted her thick frames. “Oh. Well, Mrs. Pratt is with someone right now. Why don’t you sign the Tardy Book? She should be done soon.”
I signed my John Hancock in the book and placed an “11” under the grade column.
Mrs. Fagan leaned over the counter. “You know, I’m not a morning person either. I think—”
The door to the principal’s office opened. Mrs. Fagan stopped talking mid-sentence as a large woman walked out of the back room.
“I’m certain you will enjoy your time here at Hawthorne Prep and I’m equally confident that your transition will be an easy one. The faculty and I will be available whenever you need us.” It was Mrs. Pratt, the principal, and she was conveying a well-rehearsed orientation speech. I couldn’t see who she was speaking to because her body took up the entire door frame. Mrs. Pratt was as big as some offensive linemen.
A teenage boy and his father finally emerged. The boy looked about my age. He was already dressed in the school uniform—navy blue sports jacket with the red and yellow Hawthorne Crest on the chest, a white button-down shirt, red tie and khaki pants.
He was lean with a muscular build and chocolate brown hair. Actually, I think we had the same color hair. The boy was the spitting image of his father, except for the salt-and-pepper locks of the older man, of course. They both had deep tans and large brown eyes.
A new kid. At Hawthorne Prep. I amended this morning’s statement about nothing ever happening in Hazel Cove. Times were definitely changing.
“Once Mrs. Fagan is done assisting Miss Ramsey, she’ll give you your class schedule,” Mrs. Pratt said to the boy.
Three sets of eyes fell upon Mrs. Fagan and me.
“Actually, Miss Ramsey is here to see you,” Mrs. Fagan said to the principal.
“For what?”
“I was late to calculus again,” I whispered.
The boy grinned, but his smile faded as soon as he glanced at his father. The father glared at his son and the boy immediately lowered his eyes to the carpet.
“Some of my teachers are hypersensitive,” Mrs. Pratt explained to the father.
The father turned his glare to me. “It’s better to be overly cautious. You never know when a bad apple will spoil the whole barrel.”
“Indeed,” Mrs. Pratt said. “This one isn’t so bad. She’s Victor Ramsey’s daughter. Do you know him by chance?”
I loved how they were talking about me as if I wasn’t standing right next to them.
“Victor Ramsey’s daughter?” The man’s nostrils flared.
Obviously, he knew my father.
“That’s right,” Mrs. Pratt said with a fake smile. “Daughter of the great Victor Ramsey.”
I smiled as innocently as I could. I didn’t want Victor’s reputation to be pawned off on me.
“This will serve as your warning, Alexandria. Don’t be late to class again or you’ll have detention. In the meantime, I want you to show our new student around.”
No detention? That was a surprise. Mrs. Pratt hated me. It had nothing to do with anything I’d ever done, but more to do with me being a Ramsey. A few years ago, Victor won a big case against Mrs. Pratt’s brother and sent him to jail for embezzling money from his employer. Since then, Mrs. Pratt hated my family. It was only my good fortune that she happened to be my principal.
She placed a meaty hand on the boy’s shoulder. “James, this is Alexandria Ramsey. She’ll take you to your classes today. Perhaps even give you a tour of the campus.”
James nodded, but his eyes remained glued to the floor.
“Nice to meet you, James,” I said. A moment of awkward silence passed. “I’ll wait in the hallway.”
I leaned against the wall outside of the office and waited. First period had already ended and I was now missing second period World History. Fifteen minutes passed before James and his father appeared.
The father must have hated Victor because he wouldn’t even look at me. His jaw hardened and his lips pressed into a thin line. “I’ll see you at home,” the father said to James. “Remember what I told you.”
“Yes, sir,” James said.
James and I watched his father walk down the long hallway. As soon as the front door slammed behind him, James’s shoulders visibly relaxed. He blew out a breath of air and shook his head like a dog.
“Sorry abo
ut that. My dad’s intense. I’m James Van Curen. Alexandria, right?”
“You can call me Alex.”
“Okay, Alex. You’re my tour guide for the day?”
“It looks like it,” I said. “Can I see your schedule?”
He handed me the piece of paper. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched his gaze linger over me for a moment too long.
“We have third period together.” I tried to ignore that he was blatantly checking me out. “I’ll walk you to your second period class. We have a few minutes before the bell rings.”
James shrugged as if he could care less about second period.
“Where’d you move from?” I asked as we walked down the empty hallway.
“Boston,” James said. “We only have one class together?”
“Third period American Literature. You’ll like—”
James grabbed my elbow and pulled me into the stairwell.
I snatched my arm back. “Ow. What are you doing?”
“Sorry, didn’t mean to hurt you.” James patted my shoulder. He peeked out the window. “Let’s get out of here.”
“What?”
“I have a car in the parking lot. I didn’t see a security guard. We could make a run for it,” James said.
“You want to ditch on your first day of school?”
James flashed a bright smile, making the corners of his eyes crinkle. Twin dimples appeared in his cheeks.
He placed his hands on my shoulders like we were old friends. “I thought they assigned me the Homecoming Queen, not the Hall Monitor.”
“I’m neither.”
“Oh come on, you were definitely the Homecoming Queen. Look at those big green eyes.”
I glanced away.
“You were, weren’t you?” James laughed.
“I was on the Homecoming Court. Only a senior can be Queen.”
For some reason that made him laugh harder.
“Listen, I don’t know what your problem is,” I said. “But I’m supposed to show you to your class, so could we please go? I’ve already been in trouble once today.”