Page 1 of Calling Quarters

Prologue

Deep in the heart of the pacific northwest, nestled into dense forest and tall, reaching mountains, lies a town most have never heard of. It doesn't follow the same set of rules as anywhere else. It only infiltrates the minds of those who have been blessed with the knowledge of it once a year, when they're invited in. One by one, their cars trail in through the singular winding road, unaware of the important role they play for this sacred time.

This town is packed with ancient magic and a powerful coven of witches. But it was built on a strong foundation of secrets and lies. Its inhabitants are fiercely protective over one another, though distrust spreads among them like wildfire. They don't take kindly to nosey outsiders, and they keep their skeletons hidden deep.

I was never meant to return. My own family gave their lives to ensure that was the case. They kept this place from me for nearly my entire life, raising me to believe I was just as painfully average as every other child I went to public school with in the city. But they weren't here anymore to discourage my instinctual need to dig into the past, and I owed it to them to find answers about their mysterious deaths.

To get back to my roots.

This town goes by the name of Beacon Grove, and it's the home I never knew existed—the family I desperately craved.

Chapter 1

Storie

Four years ago

Icould hear Aunt Ash arguing with someone downstairs. The soft rumble of a man's voice vibrated through my bedroom floor. Their hushed, aggressive whispers were clearly in disagreement over something. I opened the door and tiptoed to the top of the stairs, listening.

“It's time, Asher,” the man said, his tone icy and detached.

“But she's still in high school. She's not ready for this. She has a life here… one that shouldn't be disrupted. You haven't even let me warn her,” Aunt Ash replied in a desperate plea. I imagined the crease between her brows had deepened the way it always did when she was concerned.

With careful, calculated steps, I navigated down the stairs quietly, avoiding all the spots that groaned or squeaked. I'm not sure it would have mattered. They appeared to be too engrossed in their argument to notice anything else.

“Don't make this harder on yourself. You knew the terms when you took this on. You shouldn't have grown so attached. Haven't you learned that yet?”

“She's my family, Rayner. The last of it that I have left. You were once considered her family as well. Why do we have to uphold this silly agreement, anyway? She's unwanted there. They'll only come after her if she returns.”

“Because this is the way. They need her. You know The Movement won't allow anything to go too far. You have no right to question how things are done, especially when you've hardly done your part.” He turned his back to her then, black eyes scanning the mantle that was filled with pictures of me and Aunt Ash along with protective crystals littered in between with disinterest.

Until they landed on me.

His brow slightly twitched before he straightened his features again. Back to the mask of indifference. He continued to stare, though.

He was oddly dressed. Black dress shirt, black slacks, shiny black shoes, all covered by a black floor-length trench coat. It made no sense in the middle of June.

“Storie,” Aunt Ash breathed my name out in a panic. “I didn't realize you were home.” She quickly strode across the room to place herself between me and the strange visitor. “Rayner is an old friend of your father's. He was actually just leaving.”

He still hadn't released me from his intense stare but took the hint and placed the black fedora he'd been holding back onto his head. With a silent warning nod toward Aunt Ash, he walked himself out and slammed the door behind him.

“He was odd,” I finally said, breaking the tense silence. “What did he want?”

Clearly, it had something to do with me.

“We were just discussing some unfinished family business.” She made her way back into the kitchen, a strained smile stretching across her features. “How did your finals go?”

I stood back as she gathered random ingredients from the pantry, stacking them into her arms as if she were in too much of a rush to make multiple trips. Once she was satisfied and her arms were full, she dumped the pile onto the counter and pulled out a large pot from the cabinet.

“I think they went pretty well. Not that it matters, though.”

I'd already been accepted into State, despite some pushback from Aunt Ash for applying. She didn't want me to go away for college, but there was no way I was staying here. So long as I didn't bomb this final semester, I was basically done bothering with high school the moment I received that acceptance letter. I think I did well enough to fly under the radar and get by.

That's typically how I handled most of my high school career, anyway.

Aunt Ash was too distracted to respond. She'd grabbed her tattered grimoire from the shelf across the room while I spoke and was hunched over the counter, manically flipping through the handwritten pages in search of something. I hated when she was like this. It had been a while since she needed the book for a rite or spell. She'd memorized all the ones she used regularly.

I've never believed in the witchy voodoo she practiced, but it brought her comfort, so I didn't say anything against it. At least, until she tried to push it onto me. That had resulted in some nasty fights between us through my formative years. For some reason, she thought it was important that I knew this useless stuff. I just always had better things to do.

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