Reign of Mist

Rowan might be the firstborn of the Whelan sisters, but her magic is far from first class. Outshone by her younger sisters’ rare and powerful gifts hasn’t been easy, but she has always taken her position as leader of their family seriously. Even more seriously, when her sisters are endangered and they lose—yet again—the Book of Sindal, a magical tome of evil spells and incantations their small coven of three has been tasked to protect.

When the Dark Set, a group of mages determined to take over the magical community, comes for Rowan, she turns to an unexpected and very human source. Local cop Logan Gillespie might not be a mage, but he’s not to be underestimated.

The question is, why Rowan? As the weakest witch, she shouldn’t be of interest to the Dark Set. Yet they’re sure she’s the secret to unlocking the power of the book.

Everyone hates their sisters, at least a little.
That’s what I’ve always told myself.
“Phoebe, can you please turn down the TV?” I asked for the third time as I stood at the kitchen counter. “I can’t concentrate.” I was tweaking my butternut squash and portabella mushroom hash recipe for my YouTube cooking show, making notes on the amount of apple cider vinegar for the next batch. The dialogue in the Hallmark movie my sister had on in the living room was making me nauseous.
“I already turned it down,” she grumbled from the other room. “If I turn it down any lower, I won’t be able to hear Quinton propose to Katrina at the square dance. He has the perfect proposal planned.” She practically sighed the last part. Phoebe was a sucker for a good romance.
I rolled my eyes so hard I gave myself a minor headache. “Oh please. All those movies are the same. Why do you waste your time watching them?”
Especially since you have the real thing, the tiny jealous monster inside me growled.
While Phoebe had only been with her mage boyfriend for two weeks, they were both head over heels in love. Sickeningly so. The man had practically moved into our small house, and I was beginning to choke on the testosterone overload. Brandon Cassidy was all man—tall, beefy muscles, and an ego large enough to suck all the oxygen from the room. We’d known him in high school. His reputation for going through girls like tissues had been legendary, which was why I’d threatened bodily harm when high school junior Brandon had expressed a sudden interest in my little sister. To my shock, he’d stayed away.
I’d had a few contemplative moments over the past couple of weeks, wondering if my interference had unfairly cost them ten years together, but Brandon’s news about the Book of Sindal had ended my short bout of self-recrimination. The Valerian Small Council—the governing authority for witches and mages—had decided to take the book from us and move it to a “secure” location while they decided its ultimate fate. But rather than defend our right to protect it at the farm, he’d agreed with their ruling.
Whelans had been guarding the Book of Sindal for literally hundreds of years, protecting the world from a tome containing deadly and evil spells. But two weeks ago, the book and Celeste had been taken from us by the Dark Set, a group of mages who planned to use the book to steal magic from witches. And while the Valerian Small Council had assured us that they didn’t blame the Whelan sisters for the theft, they claimed they needed to reevaluate the protections for the Book of Sindal to make sure everyone was protected, including us. It all sounded practical and logical, but I couldn’t help worrying that something sinister was afoot, despite Brandon’s assurances that the book was well guarded by the Protective Force, the magical world’s police force. In my heart of hearts, I felt I’d made the right decision about Brandon Cassidy all those years ago. He’d been an asshole then, and despite the way he was treating my sister now, I wasn’t convinced he was a changed man.
Phoebe had been upset too, but Brandon had convinced her that moving the book was the safest option for all of us. Celeste, already driven to the brink of insanity by her unique expression magic, had lost it, saying the book had chosen her and they couldn’t be parted. It was taken anyway, of course, and none of us knew where they were keeping it. Celeste hadn’t spoken to Brandon in over a week, which made things more than a little awkward when the four of us were together in the Whelan family seventeen-hundred-square-foot farmhouse.
Brandon had left a few days ago to attend an emergency Small Council meeting, and while he hadn’t been permitted to share any details, he’d called Phoebe afterward to tell her that he’d been given a special assignment and would be back soon. Part of me wondered if he was staying away because of Celeste’s cold shoulder. Not that I was eager for him to return. Watching my sister and her boyfriend together was a sharp reminder that I hadn’t been with a man in months. Multiple months. Like eighteen of them. But even if I had a boyfriend, I wouldn’t be draped all over him like a silk scarf. Phoebe was the touchy-feely Whelan sister. Our baby sister was the eccentric one. And I—Rowan Elizabeth Whelan—was the aloof, sarcastic sister.
I often wondered whether there was a correlation between a person’s magic and their temperament, because that certainly seemed to be the case in the Whelan family. I’d suggested the idea to my mother when I was a teenager, but she’d sworn it wasn’t possible. Still…I wondered. Most witches and mages took energy for their magic from something else. Phoebe’s gift of ancestral magic allowed her to borrow the magic of ancestors who were buried nearby. (One reason she’d have trouble living anywhere but our farmhouse, which was situated about a quarter mile from our family cemetery.) She had to play nice to get them to loan their magic. Perhaps that was why kindness was such an inherent part of her personality. Celeste’s expression magic, on the other hand, was wild and unharnessed—she literally pulled it from thin air. Surely that was why she only seemed half there most of the time.
My talent was glamour, something most witches and mages could do to some degree. True, my ability was deeper and more intricate, but even though my talent allowed me to make things seem shinier than they were, nothing could disguise the fact that I was the weakest of the Whelan witches. Which explained my personality, I suppose. When your younger sisters are considered special and gained attention because of their talents, you learn to make up for it with your mouth.
“For gods’ sake, Phoebe!” I shouted, good and irritated as I picked up a silicone spatula. “Will you turn it down?”
Her failure to answer would have annoyed me to bursting under normal circumstances, but my irritation vanished as I became distracted by the hum of an unfamiliar magic. An intruder was in our house. Again.
I crept toward the door into the living room, my heart slamming into my rib cage when I saw a wild-eyed young man restraining Phoebe in a choke hold with his left arm. A blue ball of light hovered over his outstretched right palm.
What the hell was that? It radiated power, but I didn’t have much experience with magical artifacts beyond the book—for all I knew, the thing in his hand could blow the house sky-high. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good news, especially given the way his hand was shaking.
“Just give me the book and no one gets hurt,” he grunted, his eyes darting around the room.
I knew most magical specialties—I’d spent the better part of my preteen years studying all the abilities I wished I had instead of glamour, and I definitely would have picked holding a ball of blue light, no matter what it did.
“What book?” I asked, trying my best not to look scared.
“Don’t be stupid,” he growled, squeezing Phoebe’s neck tighter. “The Book of Sin.”
He knew we’d had the Book of Sindal. And since most witches and mages thought the book was a myth, that meant our guest was with the Dark Set.
Phoebe, I shouted at my sister using our coven bond. Can’t you borrow someone’s power to take him out?
She flinched as though startled, which was fair. I’d sent the words with a little too much oomph. He’s blocking my magic. He’s…absorbing it.
He saw my fear and a snarky grin spread across his face. He thought I was afraid of him, which was true, but I needed to somehow gain the upper hand.
“We don’t have it,” I said, my voice shaking. “It’s not here.”
“Liar!” he shouted, squeezing Phoebe’s neck even tighter. Her face began to turn red. “You have it! It’s been here for generations. Right on this land! Give it to me now, or I’ll drain her of everything.”
Holy shit. Would the power drain be permanent? What if he got a hold of Celeste, who was currently sleeping upstairs?
We have to get him out of the house, Phoebe thought toward me. We have to get him away from Celeste.