Authors: Celia Breslin
Haven
Champagne Books Presents
Haven
By
Celia Breslin
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Champagne Books
Copyright 2013 by Celia Breslin
ISBN 9781927454473
July 2013
Cover Art by Amanda Kelsey
Produced in Canada
Champagne Book Group
High River, AB T1V 1G3
Canada
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Champagnebooks.com (or a retailer of your choice) and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
To my husband Jon and daughter Mika, for believing in me.
Special thanks to Giamma, my writer’s group Scrawl, my beta readers, Champagne Book Group, my editor Virginia Nelson and critique partner Amber Belldene. To J and Justin: thank you for the art and music inspiration. And to my fitness trainer Adam: thanks for teaching me how to fight so my characters could kick butt, too.
One
If there’s one thing I hate more than a sake-induced hangover, it’s getting attacked by a witch in my own home while nursing a sake-induced hangover.
Fortunately, I was battle-ready when she broke into my house. I was pummeling the stuffing out of my home gym’s punching bag in an attempt to sweat out my headache when I heard the none-too-subtle click of heels on hardwood in the stairwell.
What kind of self-respecting witch wears high heels when she sneaks up on someone? Apparently, this one possessed less brains than a snail.
No hiding the pulse of her magic, either. The stench of patchouli, sage, a hint of rotten egg and lemon preceded her.
Airhead.
Stinky potion does not equal stealth. Nor does chanting a spell
sotto voce
. Like I wouldn’t notice? Then she had the audacity to throw the potion at me. Big mistake. Nothing makes me crankier than having a potion hurled at me. Well, except maybe a potion thrown at me by an incompetent witch in my very own house while I’m nursing a sake-induced hangover.
And on my birthday, no less.
Two right jabs and a haymaker to the skull later, little miss dumber-than-a-snail lay flat on her back on my first floor landing. I rested my sneakered foot on her gut, pulled off my boxing gloves and shouted up the stairs to the second floor. “Wakey, wakey, boys and girls!”
No response from my housemates.
“Fire,” I yelled, loud enough to wake the dead.
Again, silence. I wasn’t the only member of the household who drank one too many rounds of sake last night. Good thing the house wasn’t really on fire.
My shouting didn’t stir the witch. I crouched and gave her a good shake. Her head lolled and her body wiggled then nothing. She wouldn’t wake anytime soon. I was stronger than your average girl-next-door with a wicked knockout punch.
I called my friends again. “Helloooooo! Wicked witch in the house. Unconscious witch. First floor.”
Finally, doors slammed, muffled curses littered the air, and the pitter-patter of large muscled feet resounded. Mark and Ren, my two beefy friends and bodyguards, bounded down the stairs to join me. Six-one and pure muscle wrapped in perfect tawny skin hidden by nothing other than black boxers, they appeared ready for action, guns aimed at the unconscious target. Their German dad provided their height while everything else—honey skin, black eyes, and hair—came from their tiny Asian mother.
Ren ran his free hand through his hair, spiking it more than usual. “What’cha doin’ down here, Rina?” He rubbed his jaw and yawned.
“Couldn’t sleep so I was beating my hangover into submission. Oh, and a witch.”
He cocked a brow. “A witch? Looks more like a broken Barbie doll.”
I grinned. “I know, right?”
Blonde, tall, and tan, heavy on boobs and light on hips—her pitiful attack hinted at intelligence to match her plastic counterpart. In her tight pink shirt, skinny jeans, and strappy high heels, Witch Barbie dressed for clubbing rather than breaking and entering and assault with a deadly potion.
Ren’s nose wrinkled in distaste. “What’s up with the lemony mulch smell?”
I gestured to the wet wall behind me. “Potion.”
Mark handed his gun to Ren and knelt by the witch, securing her wrists with plasticuffs. “Nice work, Rina.”
I shrugged. “Thanks.”
“Not a great way to start your birthday, though,” he added.
“Well, we started my birthday just right last night.” With sushi, karaoke, and sake. “We can make up for this pothole in Party Road when we go dancing tonight.” Lucky me, I owned Haven, one of the hottest dance clubs in San Francisco.
Mark glanced up. “What about the museum?”
Crap.
I’d forgotten the pesky social obligation du jour. Ribbon-cutting at the Ward-Tranquilli museum, W-T for short. I liked having Tranquilli, my family name, attached to such a great art museum, but it occasionally required PR moments I could live without, like tonight’s grand opening of the permanent Italian art collection.
“
Merda
,” I cursed in Italian to get into the spirit of things. “What time is it?”
Both men shrugged.
“It’s time to get ready, birthday girl,” a soft female voice replied.
Faith, my best friend and resident psychic, hovered on the landing above us with her boyfriend Kai. Her brown eyes sparkled. “We’ll take care of this mess. You go.”
“Why do you look so happy?” I eyed her, suspicious.
She glided down the stairs and hugged me. “A surprise awaits you at the W-T.”
I gave her props for touching me. I was a sweaty mess after kickboxing my headache to death. “Judging from your smile, it’s a good surprise, but that’s impossible. I’m hooking up with Lorenzo. You know I can’t be around Mister Bossy Pants for more than two seconds without fighting.”
Therefore, this ribbon-cutting experience posed a monumental challenge for us both. Big brother and I had a terrible track record for peace.
She waved a dismissive hand. “It’s not about your brother. There’s someone else. He’s special. Important. He’ll change everything.”
I laughed. “I’m going to meet a life-changing someone? My life is already all sorts of awesome. Besides, your psychic hit sounds way more like a fortune cookie than an actual prediction. Did you at least get a visual on my mystery man?”
“No visual with this one, just a feeling. And I know—” Her expression sobered, head swiveling toward the witch. “Something else.”
She knelt, touched the witch’s blonde head and frowned. “Her aura. It’s wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“Dark blue, muddy gray, the colors of fear. She’s afraid. Afraid of you, Rina.”
“Well, duh, I kicked her butt.”
“No. Not now, but later. She’s afraid of what you’ll do when you...when it...after they...cracks. I see cracks in the door. The power is coming—” Faith gasped and jerked her hand away from the witch, clutching it to her chest. “Black, it’s too black. I can’t—” Her eyes unfocused, pupils swallowing iris. She targeted me with her vacant stare. “The darkness consumes. It hates. It’s unforgiving. And it’s watching you.”
Faith swooned, the witch moaned and the rest of us jolted into motion.
Mark slung Witch Barbie over his shoulder and headed down the stairs to the front door with Ren hot on his heels. I hauled a trembling Faith to her feet. Kai bounded down the stairs and pulled her into his arms.
Goosebumps crawled over my skin and Faith’s bizarre words bounced around my skull. Doors cracking, darkness watching. Her spooky premonition made little sense and I’d need more info to parse her meaning. It would help to know who sent the witch and why.
Given her complete ineptitude at magical home invasion, Witch Barbie was clearly someone’s minion. But whose? And why the interest in me? Was it the usual rich-girl ransom scenario or something more?
I shook my head. “What was that all about?”
Faith rubbed her forehead. “I’m not sure, but we should be vigilant.”
“Aren’t we always?”
Her brow furrowed. “I’m serious, Rina.”
“I get that, so how about we let the police handle Witch Barbie and we stay home, figure out how she breached security and patch the hole in the system. Oh, and party. You know, because it’s my birthday.” I gave her a cheeky grin, hoping to coax an answering one out of her.
Faith pinned me with her too-wise stare. “No, you have to go. Destiny is in play here and it has many moving parts. And it all begins at the W-T.”
I threw up my hands in mock fear. “Oh no, Faith busted out the D-word. We’d better go and ooooooh, my head.” I closed my eyes and pressed my fingers to my forehead, swaying. “I see, I remember...I remember
everything
.” I let loose a false moan.
Faith’s eyes widened. “Ohmigod, you remember your childhood?”
I stilled and grinned. “Nope. No memory blips from the pre-teen years. Just remembering a certain someone—and that would be
you
—singing endless rounds of Cibo Matto’s “Birthday Cake” off-key while simultaneously keeping my sake glass full all night. Thanks for the rice wine hangover, by the way.”
I cleared my throat and belted out a tuneless chorus in my best Faith imitation.
She glowered. “Rina.”
I met her sober gaze and shelved the teasing. “Sorry.”
Silence reigned for a moment. I broke it. “It would’ve been nice to get a crystal ball hit
before
the witch broke into our house.”
“You know it doesn’t work that way.”
“Well, it would be handier if it did.”
“Agreed. Now, we’ll have to be vigilant, but please say you’ll go.”
She was right. I should go, try to play nice with Lorenzo, and warn him our family might be the new target of a band of kidnapping witches. I snorted. Even in my head, that sounded ludicrous. Still, I shrugged. “Okay, let’s go meet my life-changing someone.”
~ * ~
We made it to the ceremony with seconds to spare. Scissors in hand, Lorenzo stood in front of the new gallery, tall, bronzed and handsome, as usual, in a black, custom-fit, Italian suit. As I joined him, his mouth curved in an insincere smile, brown eyes flashing in anger.