Page 1 of Voyage of Magic and Malice (The Vampires of Charleston #3)

ONE

a witch, a vampire, and a book

Walking downtown in Charleston, South Carolina, is one of my favorite ways to pass the time. It amuses me to watch the humans and their response to the energy they feel to the vampire in their vicinity. Most don’t notice, and the few who do aren’t sure what they feel. Some take a wider berth as they near me, while others stare in confusion. Today, I don’t pay much attention to them. It’s not a leisure stroll. Today, we’re going to the city library to recover the grimoire of my long-deceased baby brother, Aaron Abernathy.

The man who I’ve loved for over three hundred years and who sacrificed his humanity to be with me walks by my side. Double the vampires mean double the stares and confusion. Captain Hawthorne Rex opens the door to the city library, following me inside. The smell of old books smacks me in the face, making me smile.

Growing up in Scotland in the 1700s, my family was poor, which meant I wasn’t afforded the luxury of books or even a formal education. My mother was my tutor, and although she did the best she could while also caring for my eight brothers and sisters, most of my time was spent helping my father on the farm or taking care of my younger siblings.

“I hate the smell of moldy books,” Thorne says, covering his nose slightly.

“You’re a heathen.” I smile teasingly with my words. “Old book smell is one of my favorites. That and O negative.”

We work our way to the large desk centered in the middle of the room. The elderly woman behind the counter is busy scanning a pile of books into a computer that looks nearly as old as she is. Where most humans stare at the vampires in front of them, this woman is oblivious.

I clear my throat loudly. “Excuse me.”

“I’ll be with you shortly,” she answers, never looking away from her stack.

As she continues to work, the bundle of white hair piled on top of her head shakes with her movements. A pair of wire-rimmed glasses hangs precariously from her neck, the obvious victim of years of abuse and victimization of books slamming on top of them, and the knit cardigan she’s wearing is the casualty of more than a few moth attacks.

She scans the last book before turning toward the two of us. “Well, aren’t you a handsome thing?” She smiles, ignoring me and zooming in on the tall dark-haired captain next to me.

Thorne turns on the charm, along with a thick Southern accent. “Why, thank you, ma’am. You’re quite lovely yourself.”

Pink covers her fair cheeks, and the smile that follows is mesmerizing. “Oh, stop it some more.” She steps closer to the vampire. “What can I help you with, handsome?”

“We were hoping to gain access to the files in the basement,” I answer.

The librarian turns toward me as if she’s noticed my presence for the first time. Her disapproving eyes take in every detail of my face, no doubt sizing up her competition. “What’s in the basement that interests you?” she directs her question toward the Southern gentleman at my side.

“I believe there is a book that was left in the care of the library by one of my ancestors,” I answer, throwing the woman off her ancient game once more.

“I can’t help you.” She turns, heading toward another stack of books.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Thorne says. “The book was left in the library's care in hopes that an ancestor would be found. Elsbeth is that ancestor.”

“Is that a hint of an accent other than Charleston I hear sneaking through?” she asks, turning her eyes back to Thorne, a smile once again covering her face.

“Yes, ma’am, it is. My family came from Scotland.”

“Scotland.” She closes her eyes. “I’ve always dreamed of visiting the UK. Scotland, Ireland, all the lands .”

“It’s beautiful country,” I interrupt.

She sighs, clearly annoyed by the sound of my voice. “Who told you about the book?”

Pulling the letter sent from the law office intern, informing me about my brother’s grimoire, from my pocket, I read the name aloud. “Abigail Orcutt.”

Her face changes in an instant. “Abbi sent you?”

“Yes, ma’am.” I copy Thorne’s Southern style, hoping to gain her trust.

“What’s your name, girl?”

“Elsbeth Abernathy. Aaron Abernathy was my…my ancestor.”

It’s clear from the look on her face that she knows exactly who and what I’m talking about. “I can’t help you.”

“Miss?”

“Allen,” she answers. “Phyllis Allen.”

“Ms. Allen, I need to get my hands on that book.”

Phyllis reaches under the counter, handing me a stack of papers. “Fill these out, get them approved by the city, and then we’ll talk.”

“I’m afraid we don’t have that much time,” Thorne answers for both of us.

The older woman shrugs. “I’m sorry. My hands are tied. You know…bureaucracy.”

“Phyllis?” She turns toward me. I focus on her eyes. “We need access to the basement now.”

“You need access to the basement now,” she repeats.

“You’re going to allow us inside to retrieve the book,” I continue the compulsion. Phyllis stares blankly into my eyes. “You’re going to allow us inside to retrieve the book,” I repeat.

“Like hell I am.”

Thorne and I share a look. For the first time since becoming a vampire, my compulsion doesn’t work. “Ms. Phyllis.” Thorne takes over, turning on the charm. She looks into his eyes. “Maybe you misunderstood. You’re going to allow us inside the basement to retrieve Elsbeth’s book.”

“Damn, your eyes are more convincing than hers, but again, no.” She glances between us. “You vampires think you can control everyone, don’t you?”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” Thorne answers.

“Don’t bullshit me, son. You’re a vampire.” She sniffs in my direction. “So are you.” Pursing her lips, she makes a disapproving noise. “I hoped you were different. Can’t say I’m not disappointed.”

“What do you know about vampires?” I ask the aging librarian.

“Other than they’re condescending assholes with a god complex who think they can get whatever they want by confusing a person’s mind—not much.” Thin arms cross in front of her chest. “Oh, they drink human blood, leaving their victims dead when they’re done.”

“Ms. Phyllis, I can assure you, neither of us drinks human blood.” At Thorn’s words, the aftertaste of goat’s blood fills my palate. I’d much prefer human blood, and Ms. Phyllis is correct. Over the three hundred years I’ve been a vampire, I’ve killed countless humans for nothing more than the sustenance they provide.

“Young man, do I look that dumb?”

“No, ma’am,” he answers without hesitation.

“How did it not work on you?” I ask the elderly woman.

Phyllis shrugs. “Skills.” She leans in closer. “What do you want with Aaron’s book?”

“Do you know what kind of book it is?”

Phyllis swipes her hand across a thick book on the desk. The cover lifts, opening to the first page. “I know quite a bit more than most would think.”

“You’re a witch.” Thorne’s words are more of a statement than a question.

“I knew you were more than just a pretty face.” Phyllis turns back to me. “I’ll ask again. What do you want with Aaron’s book?”

“Aaron wanted me to have it. It’s his grimoire,” I whisper the last part of my statement.

“Why would a powerful warlock leave his grimoire to a vampire? A grimoire like Aaron’s in the wrong hands could be deadly. Aaron Abernathy has been dead for over two centuries. I’m going to need more proof than your word that you are who you say you are.”

I drag my only picture ID from my back pocket, setting it on the countertop. “Elsbeth Abernathy.” I point to my name, typed neatly across the card.

Phyllis picks the ID up and slides the wire-rimmed glasses onto her nose. “Says here you were born in the year 2000.”

“Give or take a few centuries.”

She nods at the stack of papers in my hand. “Fill those out. You should hear something within six to eight weeks.” The woman turns, heading back to the stack of books.

“Aaron Abernathy was my youngest brother. I was taken from the ship hired to bring us from Scotland to Charles Town, South Carolina, in 1715. I was nineteen years old. The last time I saw him, Aaron was nothing more than an infant.”

Phyllis looks at me like a child at story time. “I’m listening.”

“The man who took me was a pirate but not just any pirate—a vampire pirate. He turned me into this.” I take a deep breath, willing the memories of that time to stay at bay. “I am asking nicely, Ms. Phyllis, for you to please give us access to what is rightfully mine.”

The librarian stares into my eyes longer than necessary. She moves slowly across the circulation desk, sliding a hidden door up and exiting in front of us. Thorne and I watch as she moves toward a solid wood wall before turning to face us. “Well…are you coming or not?”

We’re behind her seconds later as she pushes an invisible space on the wall, releasing a door that sits flush. Phyllis leads us through several small rooms full of wooden filing cabinets to a spiral staircase. “Watch your step,” she commands, descending the metal stairs slowly. “We’ve lost some good people to these stairs throughout the years.”

Twenty-three steps later, we’re greeted with black-and-white checkerboard tiles. Phyllis pushes an old switch on the wall, filling the room with ambient light. “This is it. The archives.”

Lining the walls and every four feet inside are bookshelves covered with everything from books to boxes to papers. “This is overwhelming,” I say, not realizing I spoke my words aloud.

“Yeah. That’s why Abigail was here.” She works her way through the room to the table in the far corner. Phyllis takes a deep breath before placing her hand on top of an antique wooden box. “By time and secret hand concealed, I call the lock to now be healed. Two hundred years, no more to bind, reveal the treasure, lost to time. Open now, by light and will, this ancient box, its secrets spill.” The box opens on cue, and Phyllis reaches in, pulling out a book that’s much larger than I expected.

Pushing a stack of newspapers to the side, she sets the book on the now clean table. The cloth covering the grimoire looks as if it were wrapped yesterday, not two centuries ago. “I was able to open the container, but only Aaron’s intended recipient will be able to open the book. I am just the guardian. The book will know the truth of who you are.”

I move toward the leather-bound relic. A large symbol covers the front, surrounded by scraps of fabric. “What does this mean?” I ask.

“It’s a rune. Aaron’s magic was widely based on them.”

“What does it mean?”

“Love,” Phyllis answers simply.

“How do I open it?”

“I don’t know. Each grimoire is different, and each craft is special.”

I step closer to the book, running my fingers over the imprint. The intricacy of the leatherwork is beautiful. Imagining my baby brother designing and making the cover sends chill bumps down my spine.

“Place your hand on it,” Thorne says through our silent connection.

Following instructions, I place my open palm on top of the rune. Energy rushes me as the bindings wrapped around the cover release and disappear before my eyes. “Did I do that?”

“Yes, you did,” Phyllis answers. “Holy shit. You are Elsbeth Abernathy, the long-lost sister of Aaron Abernathy.”

“Aye,” I answer, dropping the Southern charm.

“Take the book,” she says. “It’s rightfully yours.”

Lifting the book from the ancient box, the energy that’s inside fills me with a feeling that matches the rune on the front—love. Tears fill my eyes as emotions overwhelm me. “Thank you, Ms. Phyllis.” I fight to keep my emotions at bay.

“Of course. I hope you’ll forgive me for my skepticism. It’s been my job to protect the grimoire for fifty years, as it was for the women who came before me.”

“Thank you.”

Phyllis moves to the bottom of the stairs. “I believe you’ll find something meant for you inside. I’ll leave you to it.”

Her heels click on the metal stairs as she works her way back to the main floor of the library, leaving Thorne and me alone with my baby brother’s grimoire.

“This is it. Aaron’s grimoire,” I speak the words out loud. Thorne lays a protective hand on my shoulder. “It’s the only physical tie I have to any of them.”

“Aye,” he answers. “I’m going to give you some privacy.” He places a warm kiss on my head before moving in the same direction Phyllis did moments earlier.

I take a deep breath before pulling the heavy cover open. Inside is a folded piece of parchment, sealed with a red stamp and my name written in perfect script. Breaking the seal, I open the letter.

To My Lost Sister,

In death, there is clarity. The years that once stood between us, veiled in shadow and silence, have unfolded before me. I see now what I could not have known in life—the fate you endured, the curse placed upon our family, and the unspeakable horrors you faced on that wretched ship.

You were taken when I was just an infant, snatched from our family by a monster that walked under the guise of a man—a pirate with fangs and a hunger for blood. I never had the chance to know you, yet I have spent my entire life chasing the memory of a sister I was too young to remember. Even now, from the land of the dead, I feel the echo of our shared bloodline vibrating across the centuries.

They told me stories of you, whispers in the night when they thought I couldn’t hear. Stories of your beauty, your laughter, and the promise of a life you might have led. But your fate was stolen from you, ripped away by the very creature who took you from us. I cannot imagine the torment you endured or the years spent as a slave to darkness.

Though my body has long since turned to dust, I have left behind more than just memories. In the grimoire of our ancestors, I carved a spell, a tether, so that my words may reach you, even from death. It is not too late, Elsbeth. We are bound by blood and to the power we carry. The vampire may have claimed your body, but he does not own your soul.

I am with you, always. Find me in the wind, in the flame, in the whispers of the moon. You are not lost. You were never lost to me.

In the shadows,

Aaron Abernathy

An undeniable hunger fills my body. Not a hunger for food, but for the love that was denied. A hunger for the family I never grew old with. Kragen is dead, but he took much more than my humanity while he walked the earth.

I spend more time than necessary running my fingers over the intricate design on the cover. “Thank you, Aaron. I regret I never had the chance to know you.”

Energy flows through me as I slowly ascend the stairs, hugging the grimoire to my chest. I can’t hide my smirk at seeing the look on Thorne’s face. Phyllis has him cornered and is telling him a story from her youth. On the outside, he looks interested. On the inside, he’s miserable.

“There she is,” Phyllis says, greeting me with a nod. “I hope you found what you were looking for.”

“I did. Thank you.”

Thorne takes my hand into his, and we turn toward the exit. “Elsbeth?” the librarian calls. “There’s a reason that grimoire has been protected for two hundred years, and it has nothing to do with you. There are people more powerful than either of us who would love to lay claim to the grimoire of Aaron Abernathy. Guard it with your life.”

……

Thorne reads through Aaron’s letter for the second time while I continue admiring the artistry on the cover. “This is a beautiful letter, acushla.”

“Aye. I wish I could’ve known him.” Thorne wipes a stray tear from my cheek. “I don’t know what to do with these spells.” I pull the grimoire to my chest, hugging it tightly. “I’m not a witch. I’m just a vampire with a bad attitude.”

“I think we all have a little magic in us.” Thorne folds Aaron’s letter, placing it gently inside the envelope. “Maybe some know how to access it better than others.”

My phone buzzes, drawing my attention away from the grimoire and to the text sent from Celeste.

Brayden woke up.

Sliding my phone back into my pocket, I don’t bother responding. The immortal children Eudora captured have been all I’ve thought about for the past month. Worrying about Alex, Autumn, and Everly, and what the Goddess of the Sea wants with them has been my priority since returning to Charleston. As a human, Brayden exhibited more power than any of the special immortal children. Now, as a vampire, there’s no limit to his abilities. Anger fills me, thinking about the boy not having a choice in his future. He can’t be older than seven or eight, and now he's a vampire. His life was stolen from him—the same as mine.

“Brayden’s awake,” I relay the text to Thorne.

“What’s next?” he asks.

“For him or everyone else?” Anger fills my words.

Thorne sits next to me on the overstuffed couch. “There wasn’t a choice, acushla.”

“There’s always a choice, Thorne. His life was stolen from him.”

“His life was over with his parent’s accident. He would’ve died.”

“But it would’ve been his choice.” My words are dumb. Brayden never had a choice. “What’s he going to do? Turn into a vampire that may or may not kill everyone he comes in contact with and magically help find Alex and the girls?”

“Yes.” Thorne’s words are straightforward.

“They may not even be alive.”

“Even if they’re not alive, Eudora and Marnie are. That’s something that needs to end. Even with our added abilities, we’re not strong enough to defeat a goddess and a demigod. Luna’s death is proof of that.” His words hit hard as the image of Luna flashes to mind.

“What are you suggesting?”

“I’m suggesting we put an end to this once and for all.”

“How?” I wipe a stray tear.

“Brayden’s awake. Let’s go see if he’s eating everyone or in control.” Thorne’s words mean going back to New Orleans.

“Okay.”