The Coven History, Lily Luchesi - Book Release
The dead hold the key to saving the King.
When the Coven King falls deathly ill, Harley must search through his history, and the history of everyone she once knew, in order to find the cure.
As a child, Salem Sinclair was never meant to amount to much, until he met a girl named Daphne Fraser. As Light as he was Dark, he fell in love at first sight and would do anything to please her, even if his love makes him a target.
But there is a Darkness growing, and Daphne is at the centre of the conflict. Salem must pick a side and do what is right to save the girl he loves.
Meanwhile, will Harley find out how to cure her father or will the Coven once again lose its leader?
“Murder?” Caelum asked.
“What do you mean, murder?” Draven demanded, face pasty white.
“I believe he is trying to say that someone has died by nefarious means,” Salem said sarcastically.
“Where? What happened?” Daphne asked, ignoring the boys.
“In a house just up that way,” the man said, still unblinking. “We have to alert the PID!” And he dashed off without another word.
“What do we do?” Draven wondered.
“We go see what happened. I can feel the Darkness,” Daphne said. “It’s getting stronger and stronger with each step we take in this direction.”
That was the deciding vote and the five of them kept walking, guided by Daphne’s Fraser senses. With each step, it was Salem who was now filled with foreboding, however. Because they were closing in on the house he and Robert lived in.
His fears were confirmed when they reached the end of the road and found a group of magicians gathered around his house, 109 Dahlia Lane. Voices were murmuring and people seemed generally spooked.
“What happened here?” Salem asked the first person to meet his eyes. She merely shuddered and left.
He grabbed someone else by the collar of the cloak, a fellow student whose name he couldn’t place. “Hey, you. I live here. Tell me what happened this instance!”
The poor boy stuttered and couldn’t say a thing.
Salem turned to see Robert near the doorway of their house, his face somber. “It’s Ms. Stanton. It’s bad. Really bad.”
Daphne clutched her head and said, “My body can already tell that much.” She began to walk toward the house and Salem grabbed her by the sleeve.
“Is it wise for you to go inside? With the way your head is already?”
“Yeah, I have to agree with Sinclair. Don’t go inside,” Michael said, arms crossed.
Daphne whirled around. “You, Mike, don’t ever tell me what to do. Sal, I appreciate the concern, but I have to know what’s happening.”
Salem nodded and let her sleeve go. “All right. Come on, then. Robert, did you call the PID? Or go to the castle?”
Robert said, “That bloke who ran off was going to call. Figured someone who lived here should stick around. Come on, if you guys really want to see. I wouldn’t.” He turned around and the five teens followed him into the house.
“Something smells awful,” Draven said almost immediately after he crossed the threshold.
Salem didn’t smell anything at first, until they got past the foyer. Then it hit him. When he was a boy, a few older boys had killed a small deer and left it to rot in some underbrush near a stream. During the summer, the heat had risen and cooked the rotting carcass. This sickly sweet, gaseous smell was similar to that.
Ms. Stanton was in the living room, on the sofa. She had been knitting when she’d been murdered. But the only reason Salem knew it was Stanton was because he recognised her grey and pink ombre robe, which she wore constantly. The body was decayed to the point where only a magician with the PID could have identified her with magic.
Her skin was wet and greenish, broken open in parts where old blood and Gaia knew what else was leaking out. Her mouth was open, lips blue, tongue black and lolling out the side. One of her eyes was normal, the other hanging from its socket on a long, sticky string of sinew.
“I’m gonna be sick,” Michael said, dashing from the house.
“Me too. The smell,” Draven groaned, following Michael.
Daphne whimpered. “It’s not the corpse making me sick. It’s the Dark magic.”
“The Decaying Curse,” Salem said softly. “The Darkest spell ever created. No wonder everyone in Clan Fraser was sick. That curse hasn’t been used in the Coven in over a century.”