Page 32 of A Match Made in Coven (Paranormal Romance #2)

Chapter Thirty-one

Dead Men Do Tell Tales

LORCAN

Lorcan swiped a strand of hair from Sarah Michelle’s flushed face. Moonlight danced across their bare skin, moved by the wind catching in the barren tree branches outside.

She looked up at him, eyes shining with wonderment. “I’m sorry for doubting us. I’ll make my coven see reason, even if it means standing against every single one of them.” Sarah Michelle ran her fingers through his hair. “If they love me, they’ll—”

Lorcan placed a finger on her soft lips, silencing her. “Maybe you won’t have to fight them, Shelly. This feud that has kept our covens apart might’ve been a set-up from the start.”

Sarah Michelle frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Your ancestor, Mary Callidora, has been visiting me. She nagged me until I started throwing things at her and accidentally recovered some hidden letters.” Lorcan smiled at the ghost’s persistence.

“Where are these letters?” Sarah Michelle asked, ever the detective.

Lorcan chuckled. “Scattered on the foyer floor. I forgot about them when you started kissing me.”

In a flash, Sarah Michelle leaped out of bed. “Let’s go, show me.”

“Hey,” Lorcan called back. “Shouldn’t we at least shower before we start on detective work?”

She peeked at him over her shoulder with a wicked grin. “That’s a good idea.” Before he could blink, a cyclone of magic whirled around them, leaving them both smelling like roses.

He should’ve seen that one coming.

Lorcan’s hair stood up in all directions—hers fared no better. They took one look at each other and burst out laughing.

His idea of a shared shower was a much sexier one, but okay.

As her naked form disappeared through the doorway, Lorcan slipped on a pair of clean boxer briefs and sweatpants and stepped over his two-day-old tuxedo to follow her.

Downstairs, Sarah Michelle was tugging on a cute black pajama set adorned with white cat faces.

The adorable sight made him pause. He hadn’t even noticed her clothes when she’d first arrived, too caught up in their passionate reunion.

Now, the combination of her fierce detective determination and the cute sleepwear made him fall stupidly in love all over again.

Had she been lounging in these pajamas when she realized her love for him?

The idea that she might have been so overwhelmed by her feelings, so eager to tell him or miserable without him, that she flew to his house without changing, left him grinning from ear to ear.

But he pushed the consideration aside, focusing on their newest quest. They had a centuries-old mystery to unravel.

Approaching Sarah Michelle, Lorcan gestured to the scattered letters. “Check the dates. You should read them in order.”

She nodded, features set as she gathered the letters. Together, they settled on the floor, eager to delve into the secrets of the past and uncover a truth that could change everything.

Once Sarah Michelle had arranged the letters in chronological order, she began to read, her brow furrowed in concentration. As she progressed through the correspondence, her expression opened in surprise and understanding.

“Lorcan,” she breathed, looking up at him with wide eyes. “They were in love. Genuinely, deeply in love. Lysander wouldn’t have killed her.”

Lorcan nodded, a surge of validation coursing through him. “I had the same thought. But how do we prove it?”

Sarah Michelle sighed, running a hand through her sex-tousled hair. “It’ll be hard. Every lead has gone cold centuries ago.”

“Do you think Mary knew her killer?”

“Most probably.” Sarah picked up one of the scattered letters, her fingers tracing the worn edges. “But I’m not sure her ghost could tell us.”

“She was pretty persistent, though, and led me to this.” His finger absently traced a seam in the hardwood floor. “She could help us.”

“But she’s never done anything other than screaming and wailing. She doesn’t talk.”

“Maybe she can’t.”

“How do you mean?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, her throat has been slit. But what if we used a Ouija board and asked her to name the killer?”

“Do you have one?” Sarah Michelle quirked an eyebrow.

“No, but we could buy one.” He stood up. “Let’s go right now.”

A grin spread across Sarah Michelle’s face as she regarded him from her position on the floor. “As much as I’m fond of the view, you might want to cover up a bit more.”

Glancing down at his bare chest, Lorcan chuckled. “Right. What about you? Are you going shopping in your pajamas?”

Sarah Michelle stood up and stretched. “Why not? It’s Salem. People won’t bat an eye at witchy pajamas. They’ll assume I’m still riding the Halloween high.”

Lorcan’s gaze traveled over her adorable cat-printed ensemble. “No, you’re right. You look purr-fect.”

Her eyes widened. “Hex, that was awful.”

“Awfully charming, you mean,” Lorcan quipped, standing up and stretching. “The shop on Main closes at midnight.”

“How delightfully useful to live in a witchy town.”

Lorcan pulled Sarah Michelle close, planting a quick kiss on her forehead.

Sarah Michelle dragged her nails down his chest. “Are you getting dressed, or what?”

He bit her earlobe. “Not if you keep acting naughty, detective.”

She pulled back and lifted her hands. “Go.”

Lorcan bounded up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time to get dressed. Moments later, they walked out holding hands as they headed toward the only witchy shop open until midnight.

Even two days after Halloween, the streets still pulsed with life as the last diehard costumed revelers prolonged their celebrations into the weekend.

They entered the esoteric shop—ironically, one run by an unaware human and that didn’t sell anything even remotely magical—greeted by a plastic ghost wailing above the door.

How fitting. The owner had done a stellar job of decorating the interior to look like a witch’s Pinterest dream come true.

The pungent aroma of incense enveloped them as they walked into the space. Shelves lined with crystals, tarot cards, and various “magical” trinkets.

“Welcome to Hex & Hoot,” a voice called out from behind the register. “How may I assist you tonight?”

Sarah Michelle and Lorcan approached the counter, where a young woman in her early twenties leaned against the glass display.

Her dark lips, curled in a welcoming smile, contrasted with her pale complexion framed by inky black hair.

Dressed in a corset-style top, a flowing black skirt, and a choker adorned with an obsidian pendant, she could’ve escaped a gothic fashion catalog.

“Good evening.” Lorcan flashed his most charming grin. “We’re looking for a Ouija board.”

The woman’s eyes lit up. “Oh, dope! Planning a séance? Follow me.”

As they trailed behind her through the cramped aisles, Lorcan leaned close to Sarah Michelle, whispering, “If only the humans realized how many spells happen right under their noses.”

“Let’s keep them unaware. We don’t need the Intermixing Department on our case again.”

The shopkeeper led them to a display of Ouija boards, each more ornate than the last.

Sarah reached for a simple wooden board with an elegant script.

The shopkeeper cooed. “That one is calling to you. I can tell.”

Lorcan grinned goofily at Sarah. “If it’s calling to you, darling, we should take it.”

Sarah handed the board to the shopkeeper and then discretely elbowed Lorcan in the ribs.

As they left the shop, Ouija board tucked under Lorcan’s arm, they walked faster, eager to return home and uncover the truth.

Back in Lorcan’s study, they set up the board in front of the fireplace to get warm after their stroll in the chilly November air and called upon Mary’s ghost. But the lady was a no-show.

Lorcan yelled at thin air. After two nights of tormenting him, where had she gone?

But the minutes ticked by with no response.

Sarah Michelle sighed, leaning back on her hands. “She could be shy now that I’m here?”

“Shy isn’t the word I’d use for her. And she’s your ancestor. She should be more comfortable around you.”

“Unless it was a Callidora who killed her. If Lysander loved her and the Blacks were happy getting our wings…”

“Could it have been one of your elders?”

Sarah Michelle nodded. “The more I think about it, the more it seems the only logical explanation. Unless she had another admirer.”

“She looked a lot like you.” Lorcan pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “So, that’s entirely possible.”

Her lids became heavy as he let his hand linger on the curve of her shoulder, then lower.

As Lorcan’s fingers trailed along her collarbone, she audibly stuttered over her next breath.

Her body swayed toward him, eyes falling shut.

The Ouija board lay forgotten between them as the crackling fire cast flickering shadows across their faces.

“We should focus,” she murmured, even as she tilted her head to give him better access to her neck.

Lorcan chuckled, his lips following his fingers as they brushed against her skin. “I am focused. Very focused.” He kissed her pulse point, then trailed his way up to trap her earlobe between his teeth. “Plus, if we have a bit of time to kill.”

“Yeah?” The question came out breathy.

Just as Sarah Michelle turned her face to kiss him, a sudden chill swept through the room. The fire dimmed, and the temperature plummeted. They sprang apart, instantly alert.

The familiar ghostly figure of Mary materialized before them, her form shimmering in the firelight.

Lorcan sighed. “Ever the buzzkill, Miss Callidora.”

The ghost crossed her arms over her chest, evidently none too pleased with him. And earning him a second elbow to the ribs from Sarah Michelle. “What he meant to say is: good evening and would you please help us?” She gestured to the Ouija board. “Can you tell us who killed you?”

The ghost nodded, the sass gone from her expression. They set the board, Sarah’s fingers poised lightly on the planchette. Mary Callidora’s spectral form hovered above, her eyes fixed on the letters.

Sarah started at the letter A and moved it along the alphabet arch. When she reached the G, the ghost wailed. They restarted the process for the second letter, moving from letter to letter until they had a name: G-I-D-E-O-N.

Lorcan frowned as he consulted again the history tome on Salem’s covens. He scrolled back to the late sixteen hundreds until he found a match. “Gideon Callidora… your uncle?”

The ghost nodded.

“Was it because he didn’t want our wings to go to the Blacks?”

Another nod.

They were about to put the board away when Mary’s ghost howled. Lorcan and Sarah Michelle exchanged a startled glance.

“Do you have another message for us?” Lorcan guessed.

The ghost nodded, and once again, Sarah Michelle placed her fingers on the planchette, spelling out a new message: F-R-E-E-L-Y-S.

“Free Lys?” Sarah Michelle repeated, her eyes widening.

“Where is he trapped?” Lorcan asked.

Before the spectral figure could respond, Sarah Michelle interjected, “According to Callidora’s legends, his ghost haunts the old cemetery on the outskirts of town in the Black family lot.

We’re all warned from a young age never to set foot near it or something terrible will happen.

That the place has been cursed against all Callidoras. ”

At her words, the ghost let out an angry wail, her form shimmering more intensely in the flickering firelight. The sound reverberated through the room, causing the hair on the back of Lorcan’s neck to stand on end. Sarah Michelle’s expression shifted from surprise to understanding.

“Is that where he’s trapped?”

Mary nodded.

Sarah Michelle was deep in thought, her detective’s mind working through her family lore. “Was it our coven that trapped him?”

Again, the spectral figure nodded, her translucent features sunken with sorrow.

“And the reason we’re forbidden to go there is because only a Callidora can free him.” Sarah Michelle connected the last dots.

Her eyes met Lorcan’s, a silent understanding that they needed to right this wrong passing between them. She turned back to the ghost. “Can you come to the cemetery to help free him?”

To Lorcan’s surprise, Mary Callidora’s ghost shook her head, her form quivering with agitation. She pointed a ghostly finger at Lorcan, making him shiver.

Lorcan sighed, running a hand through his tousled hair. “Let me guess, and that’s because of my ancestors?” The words tasted bitter on his tongue, the weight of generational injustices settling in his chest. “Can any of the Callidoras go, or did we curse the cemetery against the entire coven?”

Mary nodded.

Lorcan scoffed, shaking his head. “So, let me get this straight. A Callidora kills you and frames a Black, so that the two covens will never seek a union again. Then your coven, in what they thought was a rightful revenge for your murder, curses Lysander’s soul so he remains trapped in his tomb as a ghost, too, but you two can never see each other because my coven puts another revenge curse on the cemetery to keep all Callidoras out, dead or alive? ”

Mary’s ghost didn’t need to respond this time. Pearly tears were streaming down her face.

“I’m sorry they did this to you,” Lorcan gritted out, his rage barely contained.

Sarah Michelle gave him a look—admiration, love, respect, he couldn’t tell—she came to stand next to him and interlaced her fingers with his, before looking up at the ghost of her ancestor.

“We’re going to make it right, Mary. I promise.

” She turned to Lorcan next, determination blazing in her gaze.

“We have a coven intervention to stage.”