Witch out of Water Read online

  Acclaim for Aiden James:

  “Aiden James has written a deeply psychological, gripping tale that keeps the readers hooked from page one.” Bookfinds review for “The Forgotten Eden”

  “A variety of twists, surprises, and subplots keep the story moving forward at a good pace. My interest was piqued almost immediately and my attention never wavered as I forced my eyes to stay open well into the night. (Sleep is overrated.) Aiden James is a Master Storyteller, whose career is on the rise! Out-freaking-standing-excellent!” Detra Fitch of Huntress Reviews, for “Immortal Plague”

  “Aiden James’ writing style flows very easily and I found that Cades Cove snowballed into a very gripping tale. Clearly the strengths in the piece were as the spirit's interaction became prevalent with the family…. The Indian lore and ceremonies and the flashbacks to Allie Mae's (earthly) demise were very powerful. I think those aspects separated the work from what we've seen before in horror and ghost tales.” Evelyn Klebert, Author of “A Ghost of a Chance”, “Dragonflies”, and “An Uneasy Traveler” for “Cades Cove”

  “The intense writing style of Aiden James kept my eyes glued to the story and the pages seemed to fly by at warp speed…. Twists, turns, and surprises pop up at random times to keep the reader off balance. It all blends together to create one of the best stories I have read all year.” Detra Fitch, Huntress Reviews, for “The Devil’s Paradise”

  “Aiden James is insanely talented! We are watching a master at work…. Ghost stories don’t get any better than this.” J.R. Rain, Author of “Moon Dance’ and “Vampire Moon” for “The Raven Mocker”

  BOOKS BY AIDEN JAMES

  CADES COVE SERIES

  Cades Cove

  The Raven Mocker

  Devil Mountain

  DYING OF THE DARK VAMPIRES

  With Patrick Burdine

  The Vampires’ Last Lover

  The Vampires’ Birthright

  Blood Princesses of the Vampires

  THE JUDAS CHRONICLES

  Immortal Plague

  Immortal Reign

  Immortal Destiny

  Immortal Dragon

  Immortal Tyranny

  Immortal Pyramid

  Immortal Victory

  Immortal Supremacy

  Immortal Storm

  NICK CAINE ADVENTURES

  With J.R. Rain

  Temple of the Jaguar

  Treasure of the Deep

  Pyramid of the Gods

  Aiden James only

  Curse of the Druids

  Secret of the Loch

  River of the Damned

  CLASH OF COVENS

  With J.R. Rain

  The Witches of Denmark

  Witch Out of Water

  THE JUDAS REFLECTIONS

  With Michelle Wright

  Murder in Whitechapel

  Curse of Stigmata

  Maid of Heaven

  THE SERENDIPITOUS CURSE

  With Lisa Collicutt

  Reborn

  Reviled

  Redeemed

  **STAND ALONE NOVELS

  With Fiona Fraser

  Toxicity

  They Fought Like Men

  NASHVEGAS PARANORMAL

  Deadly Night (with Patrick Burdine)

  The Ungrateful Dead

  THE TALISMAN CHRONICLES

  The Forgotten Eden

  The Devil’s Paradise

  With Mike Robinson

  Hurakan’s Chalice

  Published 2021 by Aiden James

  Manor House Books

  Copyright © 2021 by Aiden James

  Cover concept and artwork: Michele Lee

  All rights reserved.

  The greatest magic of all is true love.

  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

  Witch out of Water

  Chapter One

  Hello, again.

  Sebastian Radu here.... Yes, I know it’s been awhile.

  Surely, you were expecting an update much sooner—which, believe it or not, was my intent. Still is, and I will begin trying to make amends for my long absence in a moment.

  But, first, let me say that my incarceration in Purgatory wasn’t my fault... at least not entirely. Even though the sentence imposed by the EEC (European Elders Council, for those unfamiliar) was largely due to my stubborn refusal to betray my heart, I can honestly state that I have been treated unjustly. In light of where things stand at the moment, I can also unequivocally assert that the punishment meted out to me was far more severe than warranted.

  After all, such a thing as love shouldn’t be treated as a high crime, should it? And, I shall forever maintain that it wasn’t—and isn’t—an obstinate or pigheaded thing for me to remain devoted to Daciana Matei.

  In truth, I love her still. Completely. I am hopelessly lost.

  There, I’ve said it. Just in case Uncle Adrian or the EEC’s reps sent to our little town of Denmark, Tennessee to keep peace during my absence are listening in. ‘Constables’ is how these so-called peacekeepers refer to themselves.

  They were part of the numerous surprises awaiting me upon my return from what I had believed was a mere month or two in solitary confinement, in a place affectionately known as Bajenie.

  I am being facetious about the ‘affectionate’ reference to my purgatorial ‘home away from home’—despite the soft ocean breezes and breathtaking sunsets, or sunrises, while residing in a grass hut on a deserted white sand beach. Sounds dreamily divine, you say? Only if you’re okay with a perpetual vacation snapshot that would remain unchanged for days and then weeks on end.

  Within the world of my ethereal cell block, it was always either early morning or early evening, since the sun barely peered above the horizon at the end of whatever ocean or sea that lapped quietly along the beach’s edge. No one told me which direction the hut’s open doorway faced, at the outset of my sentence. Now that this portion of my ordeal is over, I doubt I’ll ever ask about it. Why bother?

  At least the water appeared pristine—unspoiled and cobalt as nature intended, and without mankind’s interference. In hindsight, I’d say the place was just enough of Paradise to calm the soul at the weariest of moments, and a virtual Hell whenever boredom set in.

  The perpetual unending days that turned into weeks finally ended this morning. I awoke in my very own bed, in the bedroom I had commandeered over the protests of my kid sister, Alisia, when we first arrived at Twin Magnolias in May of 2019.

  As I opened my eyes, it took a moment for me to grasp this wasn’t a cruel trick. Perhaps a dreamed mirage to taunt me in retaliation for a lesson that had failed to take hold?

  It seemed logical... until I heard the garbage truck pull up to the gate closest to our house, catty-corner from one of my bedroom windows on the mansion’s second floor.

  The braking ‘screech-stop-screech’ that repeated twice before the truck moved on to its next destination had always annoyed the hell out of me. But now? It was a frigging angelic serenade to my ears. I leapt out of bed and hurried
over to the window, pulling aside the curtains.

  I was in time to see the yellow and green backside of the vehicle disappear beneath the thick canopy provided by a row of immense walnuts that line our side of Chaffin’s Bend—the road my western window faces.

  A couple of things stood out to me. The first observation supported my initial belief that I had only been gone a couple of months. Our neighbor, Julien Mays, once told me that the walnuts would be among the first trees to lose their leaves in early fall, and I noticed now that they had turned yellow since the last time I had seen them in July.

  It disappointed me a little that I had missed most of summer. Although, with the air conditioner resting quietly, as opposed to working hard to keep the temperature inside our home tolerable this past July, I also realized that I had likely missed the worst of the heat—the ‘dog days of summer’ that the older folks in Denmark have openly lamented.

  The second thing that stood out, however, brought a double-take with me pressing my face against the window’s old wavy glass.

  “Holy shit!” I whispered.

  The original fence, resembling fancy chicken-wire held in place by rusted support posts, had been replaced by a spanking new wrought iron version. From what I could tell, it spanned the entire length of our property. Only the old gate leading out to Chaffin’s Bend, and which often brought to mind the syndicated “Tales from the Crypt” television series with its eerie screech, remained.

  In panic, I moved over to my bedroom’s other window that faced out into the backyard, where more surprises awaited.

  The old brick ‘servant’s quarters’ appeared to have undergone a full remodeling—something seemingly impossible for it to happen during my relatively short absence from this place. And, a bricked courtyard now dominated the space between that building and our house. Just beyond the pergola at the rear edge of the wrap-around porch appeared to be a new structure of some sort... but I couldn’t quite make out what it was. Still, there was no doubt that what led from this new building was a fully paved driveway which had replaced the old gravel version at some point during my incarceration—along with a security-controlled gate where the driveway met Chaffin’s Bend.

  I tried to tell myself that all of these things could’ve been done in just two months’ time, with the right work crews and plenty of cash to make it happen. My family had more than enough financial resources for that to be possible—even though getting the EEC to sign off on any extravagance was often harder and more time consuming than pushing something through Congress.

  I almost succeeded in convincing myself that my growing unease from within was unfounded. Almost, that is, until I noticed the barn just beyond the driveway. Dad and Grandpa had plans to completely gut it and turn it into a nice party room with an expanded façade that paid homage to the building’s creation in the late 1800s. It was something they planned to do next summer....

  “Oh, shit, no! No, no, no!”

  I recalled seeing the blueprints, as their fulfillment was something my grandfather especially mourned losing out on when we seriously considered fleeing Denmark to avoid an all-out war with the Mateis—our rival witch and warlock family—just a few days before my ill-fated meeting with Daciana in the woods behind the local art school.

  Grandpa’s cherished project appeared to be far beyond the ‘vision’ stage. Hell, it looked far too fabulous for an undertaking in its infancy.

  Bas, dear boy, it’s not a project any longer... the sucker’s done!

  “Oh. My. God.... How long have I been gone?”

  The muttered question seized my mind, freezing all other considerations as I threw open the bedroom door and bolted for the landing. I didn’t bother taking the stairs down to the foyer, instead leaping over the banister, and landing with a noticeable thud on the foyer’s marble floor.

  The kitchen’s occupants seemed oblivious nonetheless, their voices erupting into joyous laughter in response to one of Grandpa’s jokes... until I stepped inside. Twin blue lasers were ablaze from within my skull, as I had a serious bone to pick with my parents.

  I headed straight for them.

  “What in the hell have you done to my world... to my life?”

  Chapter Two

  “Well, good morning to you, too, son.”

  Dad eyed me impishly as he offered his greeting along with a smug smile, seemingly unfazed by my anger.

  Mom, on the other hand, looked a little worried. But it could’ve just as easily been because of Grandpa being not quite done with hanging the final balloons and streamers above the kitchen island. The decorations flanked a sparkling sign that said “Welcome Home, Sebastian!”

  I honestly missed most of the island’s decorations and three-tiered cake until my mother’s reaction. Or, maybe it was because Grandpa floated near the top of the twelve-foot ceiling where he used a wand to adjust everything in perfect harmony—while everyone else didn’t seem to give a damn about his latest violation of The Code (the EEC’s behavioral guide I’ve talked about previously).

  “Well, we were trying to give you a ‘Welcome Home/Happy Birthday,’ surprise,” said Mom, stepping up to give me a hug. “We’re relieved the Elders let you come back to us in time to celebrate your birthday, Bas.”

  Her deep blue eyes were dark and misting. As I accepted her embrace, I could feel her trembling. Yeah, that was disturbing... I wasn’t sure what had brought her to the verge of tears. Was it because she missed me—despite the frequent times I could feel her and Dad checking in on me during my imprisonment? I sensed the rest of my family’s presence from time to time, too, but not a one ever announced themselves when observing me.

  Maybe it was some other reason she looked upset? At the same time, my heart was lifted at the thought my earlier assumption of being gone for a mere two months was correct after all. My actual birthday is in November, but we have always celebrated it a couple of months early, since Grandma says my ‘planets and moons’ make me more of a Virgo than a Scorpio. Since the date she and Mom chose long ago has always been the sixteenth of September, this surely meant my incarceration in Bajenie—which began on July 16th—would ironically end at exactly two months.

  I wanted to believe my misery would end right then... but there remained the ‘not-so-small’ matter of Daciana Matei. I had been warned that as long as I thought about her, I’d be stuck in prison.

  If obsessive infatuation was a crime, then yes, I’m as guilty as sin. Luther Ingram’s famous R&B ballad suddenly popped into my head:

  “If loving you is wrong, I don’t wanna be right...”

  Shit, Bas, do you wish for an immediate return to Purgatory?

  That answer being an obvious ‘no’, I quickly shifted my thoughts to other things... like my fascination with Denmark’s abundance of raccoons and their tiny hands so similar to humans.

  Little furry hob-goblins that look like bandits... so adorable, unless you piss ‘em off and they rare up to take a swipe. That’d hurt like a mother, if I was mortal.... Still might, if my healing powers are rusty after sixty days in—

  “Sorry, nephew... you’d better add three-hundred-sixty-five days to that sixty,” said Adrian, interrupting my private raccoon revelry. My uncle’s muscular frame had been hidden from view as he sat on a stool behind the cake. “Actually, make that three-hundred-sixty-six days, since this year was a leap year. But it could be worse... very much so.”

  “And, the cake is for this afternoon, Sebastian, when everyone arrives for the party,” added Grandpa, likely in response to my horrified expression as I eyed Adrian peering at me from beside the cake.

  My uncle rose from his chair, stepping past the creatively decorated dessert produced in my honor. There was even a pastry figurine that resembled me emerging from a grass hut. Meanwhile, Adrian’s pompous smirk eradicated the smidgen of goodwill his glib apology had carried a moment ago.

  “W-what?” I stammered, barely able to contain my anger. “Why so goddamned long?”

  It migh
t just as well have been a rhetorical question, since the answer was obvious. Uncle Adrian had warned me back in July that it could take at least a decade to be released if I didn’t let go of my longing for Daciana—the only woman for whom I’ve ever felt anything close to true love.

  “Sebastian, rather than let your emotions get the better of you, why not allow us to explain the terms of your release?” said Grandma, who had just emerged from the laundry room beyond the kitchen. “It’s so good to have you back, and I think you’ll see things in a much different light, once your realize how close you came to enduring a far lengthier sentence.... One that could’ve fulfilled the image in your head, back in July, of becoming a modern-day Rip Van Winkle.”

  “You probably should sit down, son,” Dad advised, pulling a chair out for me at the breakfast table near the kitchen fireplace. He then joined me at the table, along with Mom, Adrian, and my grandparents.

  I slid into the chair, shaking my head in disbelief. Too stunned to say anything, my thoughts and emotions were a swirling tornado within.

  Fourteen months? Are you kidding me? I lost an entire frigging year! Daciana might’ve found someone else by now.... Sure as shit, I’ll bet that has happened!

  “We’ll get to all of that in a moment, sweetheart,” said Mom, soothingly. I had forgotten how irritating it was to have my thoughts open to just about everyone. Only Dad and Grandpa were locked out of my head... the other three psychics present could pluck whatever thoughts they wanted to review from my mind at will. “There have been a number of significant changes taking place since last summer—largely to keep peace between us and the Mateis.”

  “Is that why we’ve got a new wrought iron fence enclosing the entire yard?” I asked. “And what about all the new stuff in the backyard?”

  “So, you noticed already?” Grandpa replied, sounding impressed. “I thought it was your footsteps moving across the floor above the office.”