Shadow Hunted: an Urban Fantasy Novel (Shadows of Salem Book 3) Read online

  Shadow Hunted

  Jasmine Walt

  Rebecca Hamilton

  Shadows of Salem

  Contents

  Copyright

  Shadow Hunted

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  About the Authors

  Copyright

  Shadow Hunted © 2017 Jasmine Walt & Rebecca Hamilton

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. 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.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Shadow Hunted

  The third book in the instant New York Times Bestselling Series by Jasmine Walt and Rebecca Hamilton!

  Once a whip-smart detective and a powerful Shadow, Brooke Chandler has been stripped of both memories and identity. She now spends her days scrubbing floors, reduced to nothing more than a servant girl.

  But even with no memory of her previous life or how she ended up a slave, Brooke won’t remain trapped for long—not with friends and enemies alike vying to find her.

  Her escape attempt lands her in the deadly, beautiful land of Faerie, where nothing is as it seems—possibly including her father, The Winter King. Here, she rediscovers her past life, full of allies and foes all waiting for her return.

  Faced with the opportunity to flee, Brooke must decide which fate terrifies her more: staying where her enemies wants her dead, or returning to confront the ones who want her jailed for murder.

  Chapter 1

  The housekeeper’s foot jerked forward from her skirts, kicking my bucket of water sideways. The dirty, icy suds splashed all over the hem of my rough, homespun dress—one of only two outfits I owned—and spilled across the stone floor I’d just finished cleaning.

  “I’ve warned you about leaving your things in the middle of the hall where others can run into them,” the housekeeper said coldly, looking down at me from her long nose. Her pale skin had a bluish tint to it, and her grey hair was pulled back into a severe bun. Black eyes glittered with contempt and just a hint of smugness. “Now hurry and clean up this mess, girl, or you’ll get no dinner.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, forcing down the anger that rose in my throat, even as my knuckles whitened around the scrub brush in my hand. I wanted to smash it into her face, but even the slightest bit of insolence would result in being locked in my room with no food for two days. And I couldn’t afford to have that happen, not when they barely fed me enough as it was.

  The housekeeper swept down the narrow staircase, the hem of her much thicker and warmer dress swishing as she went. I watched her through the curtain of silver-white hair that hung over my face, wondering if it would be worth it to push her down the long, winding flight.

  But even if the tumble killed her, I would have the mistress to contend with when she finally came back to this forsaken place. I trembled a little at the thought of that old crone, with her cloak of feathers and her fathomless black gaze that held all sorts of cruelty in its depths.

  No, it wasn’t worth it. Better to just keep my head down, do the work, and stay alive. My life was all I had, and I wouldn’t let these people take it from me.

  Sighing, I squeezed as much liquid from the skirt of my dress as I could, then went to work mopping up the dirty water. I didn’t have time to run back to my room for a change of clothes—dinner was in less than an hour, and if I didn’t finish my duties on time, I wouldn’t get any.

  I finished cleaning the floor, then put the bucket away and rushed outside so I could bring the hall rug back in. It hung on the clothesline where I’d put it up to beat out the dust, behind the ugly stone castle I called home. The clothesline swayed in the breeze as I approached it, and that same draft caused my damp clothes to slap against my flesh, chilling the fabric even more. Thankfully, cold didn’t really affect me, but I didn’t like the way the wet fabric chaffed against my pale skin.

  The sound of the waves crashing against the rocks down below seemed to match the tumult roiling in my chest, and though I knew I shouldn’t, I stepped past the clothesline and approached the edge of the cliff on which the castle sat.

  I stood there for a moment, watching the dark blue waves beat relentlessly against the bottom. The weather here was always some shade of miserable—cold, cloudy, and windy. The waters were choppy, and I was convinced the sun didn’t show her face here because she was afraid she might catch some of the misery that seemed to coat this place like a sickness.

  Not for the first time, I squinted my eyes at the horizon, trying to imagine what might lie on the other side of those waters. I’d never seen a ship pass by, nor anyone else on this island aside from the housekeeper and myself. And, of course, the mistress, who sometimes visited with her pet raven.

  I hefted the long, black rug into my arms, doing my best not to let it trail in the dirt as I brought it back inside and up to the second-floor hallway where it belonged. Unlike the island, the castle was far from barren. Grim, war-like paintings and tapestries abounded, as well as various statues. I tried to avoid touching these as much as possible, as they gave me strange visions of the past. Sometimes they were innocuous, but too often they were violent. I still woke up in sweats from the visions I’d seen in the basement—humanoid creatures being tortured, their screams echoing off blood-spattered stone walls.

  After I replaced the rug, I hurried to the last hallway so I could finish my tasks before dinner. I didn’t have much time, so I called on the strange power that sometimes sizzled along my skin, using it to coax the dirt from the floors as I scrubbed them.

  This power seemed to exist all over the island. When I concentrated, I found I could absorb it. At first, I tried not to do it, because the power would sizzle beneath my skin until I used it. Instinct told me that if the housekeeper or the mistress caught me using it, I would be in a world of trouble, though I wasn’t sure why. I’d seen them use it before. But maybe this kind of power wasn’t meant for the likes of me. Yet, it seemed as if I couldn’t help but absorb it—the instinct was as natural as breathing.

  I wished I knew more about this power, as I had a feeling it could be used for many things if one just knew how. Maybe even to escape this miserable excus
e for an island. But I didn’t even know my own name or where I’d come from. I’d simply woken up on this island one day, and had been put to work right after. I wasn’t even sure how long I’d been here at this point. The days seemed to blend into a never-ending, dreary existence.

  My stomach ached with hunger when I finally hurried down the stairs and into the kitchen. The smells of roasted meat, cheese, and bread made my mouth water, and I entered to see the housekeeper already taking her trencher of food up to her room, where she always ate.

  “Don’t forget to clean up the dishes when you’re done,” she said, waving her hand to the pot and pan on the stove that she’d used to heat our food.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  When I approached the bowl of boiled oats and onions that waited on the counter for me, I tried not to be disappointed. After all, I’d known the other food wasn’t for me. The dull spoon felt heavy in my hands as I shoveled the tasteless fare into my mouth, hoping it would fill my stomach enough to quiet its grumbles. But even after I’d scraped the bowl clean, there was still a hollowness in my gut.

  I brought my empty dish to the sink to wash it, the barest hint of cooked meat teasing my nostrils as I passed the stove. My stomach roared in response. Against my better judgment, I swiped my finger through the thin layer of grease in the pan and licked it off.

  Moaning a little at the explosion of flavor on my tongue, I barely restrained myself from grabbing the pan and licking it clean. If the housekeeper walked in and caught me doing so, she’d beat me until my back was raw. Occasionally, I got bits of milk and cheese at mealtimes, but I was never allowed to help myself to anything, not even when I milked the cows.

  Instead, I scrubbed the grease and grit from the dishes and longed silently for better things.

  On my way back to my room, I paused outside the library. Unlike the mistress’s rooms at the top of the castle, I’d never been barred from here, even though the books inside looked old and valuable. But they were all written in a language I couldn’t read, something I’d found when I’d been told to dust the space. Because of that, I’d never bothered coming back here during the little free time I had.

  What if you can read them now? a little voice whispered in the back of my mind just as I was about to continue down the hall. After all, when I’d first arrived here, I hadn’t been able to understand the strange language the housekeeper had spoken. But over a period of weeks, my mind had somehow adjusted, and I now understood her perfectly. If the books were written in the same language, perhaps I would be able to read it. And if not, maybe if I tried a little bit every night, my mind would eventually adjust. Although I still wasn’t sure how I’d been able to decipher the housekeeper’s language, it stood to reason that this strange ability would apply to the written language, too.

  Suddenly, I wanted more than anything to be able to read those books. Reading could be an escape from reality. One I desperately needed.

  Stepping into the library, I inhaled the musty scent of old pages and leather. The only light came from the dim moonlight that filtered through the windows, so I had to watch my step as I made my way past the study tables and toward the shelves.

  I didn’t dare light any of the candles in the wall sconces, lest I draw the housekeeper’s attention, or worse, the mistress herself. She tended to drop in unexpectedly for visits. I had a strange feeling it was just her checking in on me, though I couldn’t fathom why. After all, I was just a lowly servant.

  Lowly servants can’t light a candle with a thought.

  I straightened my back a little when that statement flitted through my head. No, I wasn’t just a lowly servant. The housekeeper and the mistress might call me that, but I was something more. And if I could just remember my past, I could figure out who I was and why the mistress had trapped me on this island. My desire to read stemmed from more than just the need to escape this miserable existence. I wanted to escape this entire place. Surely there was more to the world than this. The dull island we lived on couldn’t be all there was to existence. But what else was out there?

  One of these books has the answer, I told myself. I could feel it in my bones.

  I scanned the shelves briefly, then picked a book at random. When my fingers brushed against the gold leaf laid onto the leather spine, a vision hit me so hard I stumbled back into one of the tables.

  “How dare you borrow from my personal collection,” the mistress growled as I viewed her from the vantage point of where the book sat high on its shelf. Her face was youthful, her long, black hair free of silver streaks, but I knew it was her by those cold black eyes and the black feathered cloak that wrapped around her willowy form. She towered over a male servant dressed in a drab grey tunic as he trembled behind one of the desks. Next to a single lit candle, a book lay open on the table.

  “M-my apologies, Mistress,” the man stammered. “I was simply trying—”

  The mistress gave him no quarter. She struck fast, her talon-tipped fingers shooting out from beneath her cloak. The man barely had time to cry out before she ripped his heart straight from his chest. His body went crashing to the ground, an arc of blood spraying across the table and the book, guttering out the candle as the mistress bit into the bloody, still-pulsing flesh—

  A scream tried to claw its way out of my throat, and I barely managed to choke it back down. My heart pounding so hard that my chest hurt, I tore from the library and flew to the meager sanctuary that was my bedroom.

  I would never go back to that library again.

  Chapter 2

  The next morning, I sat beneath a tree and watched the power rise from the grass. It curled around the legs of the mistress’s four cows like a strange, sparkling mist. Closing my eyes, I breathed it in, allowing it to fill me up much like the cows were filling up on grass.

  Every morning after milking the cows, I brought them out to the pasture and sat with them for a bit before heading back to the castle to do the rest of my chores. There were no predators on the island, so there was no real need to sit with them. Which was too bad, because I would have much rather done so than be stuck inside the castle walls, sweeping, mopping, and scrubbing until my hands were raw.

  Absorbing the power helped take the edge off my hunger, so I took in as much as I could—until my veins were sizzling and a faint glow began to emanate from beneath my skin. That was my cue to let up, because I didn’t want anyone to actually see what I was doing. Stretching out a hand, I reached for the waves slapping against the shore, which was only a quarter mile from the meadow. I used my magic to play with the swells of water, making towering crests, then reducing them before they could damage the shoreline.

  The cows watched disapprovingly, their tails swishing with unease, but I had to release the overflow of energy somehow. The waves in the distance seemed my best bet since they weren’t visible from the castle itself, and it wasn’t completely obvious that it was my magic influencing them. In the beginning, the cows had been stubborn and recalcitrant, but I’d learned how to use the strange power to calm them, so they were accustomed to my antics now.

  Something rustled in the grass next to me, and I jumped, thinking the housekeeper had somehow snuck up behind me. What if she’d seen me using the power?

  My heart pounded as I whipped my head toward the sound. Instead of black skirts and a dark scowl, I found myself looking at a strange bird with a white body, grey wings, and a black-tipped tail. A spot of red marked the underside of its yellow beak as it tilted its head to regard me. I’d never seen a bird like it—there were only ravens here.

  “Hey, kid.” The rough, gravelly voice of a middle-aged man echoed in my head, and I jumped, startled. “Glad to see you’re still alive.”

  “W-who are you?” I looked around to see if anyone was nearby, but there were only the cows, and now the bird, which was still staring at me. Was the voice coming from him?

  “It’s me. Oscar. I’ve been your guardian since you were seven years old,” the voice said as the
bird ruffled its feathers. “You don’t recognize my voice?”

  “Sorry, but I think you have the wrong girl.” Maybe I should have balked at a talking bird, but given everything else I’d seen on this island, it didn’t seem so unusual. Even if the cows had never spoken to me. I paused, then added, “All I know about is this island.”

  “Fuck,” the voice said. The bird was silent for a long moment “She must have taken your memories.” The statement was harsh with anger. “She had no right.”

  “Who?” I asked, unable to keep the eagerness out of my voice. Were my silent prayers for help being answered by some unseen god? “You mean the mistress?”

  “Her name is the Morrigan,” the voice growled. “And your name is Brooke Chandler. You’re a detective from Chicago, Illinois, and you were in Salem investigating some murders. The Morrigan took you and trapped you here as payment for a bargain that you didn’t fulfill.”

  I leaned back against the tree and pressed the heel of my hand against my spinning head. A detective? Salem? Where was that? Pressure squeezed my temples, as though my mind was trying to remember, but whatever memories Oscar was trying to conjure were firmly out of my reach. All I could do was focus on his words.

  “I’m here to pay off a debt?” I asked, my heart rising a little with hope. Did that mean my servitude was finite and I’d eventually be allowed off this island?

  “Yes.” The bird swiveled its head, seeming to look around. “But the bitch is craftier than I’d anticipated. She brought you to this island, out of time, so that you’d remain her servant forever. Since time doesn’t pass in this place, there’s no way for you to mark when your years of servitude are over. She would have been able to keep you here for eternity if I hadn’t found you.”