Sorcia’s Heart (East Coast Territory #3)

Chapter 1

The house doesn’t want them , Sorcia suddenly realized, the thought arriving unbidden, sharp as a dagger.

The words startled her, their clarity cutting through the practiced pitch she was delivering to her clients.

She stopped mid-sentence, her voice trailing into the oppressive silence of the room.

“And if you look up here—” she had begun, gesturing toward the vaulted ceiling, but the words faltered as the air shifted. A chill skittered down her spine, and she froze, her senses on high alert. Something was… wrong.

Not visibly, not tangibly. But Sorcia felt it—an ancient, malevolent pulse thrumming beneath the surface of the house, subtle yet insistent, like a predator waiting to pounce.

The young couple—Missy Everly and her fiancé, Tom—exchanged puzzled glances. “Sorcia?” Missy prompted, her soft voice cutting through the stillness.

Sorcia blinked, wrenching her focus back to the present, but the sensation of evil clung to her like cobwebs.

She offered a tight smile, even as her gut twisted.

"Sorry," she murmured, her gaze darting toward the corners of the room, the edges of the walls, the cracks in the foundation she had once dismissed as cosmetic.

Now, they seemed like open wounds, leaking something dark and unseen into the space.

“The… uh… crack here in the mortar,” she tried again, her voice steadier this time, though her fingers trembled against the paper-thin layer of dust on the mantle. “Horizontal cracks are a structural issue. They can mean serious problems beneath the surface.”

Beneath the surface. The phrase echoed ominously in her mind, feeding the gnawing unease that had planted itself firmly in her chest. She glanced back at Missy and Tom, their hopeful faces brimming with dreams of the blissful life they would build in this house.

A pang of guilt struck her; but Sorcia knew that she had to protect them from the unseen menace she now felt certain was rooted in this house.

This was why Sorcia’s business thrived. It wasn’t just her keen eye for design or her ability to match people to homes that aligned with their personalities.

It was her gift—her ability to feel the soul of a house, to sense the way it would shape the lives of those who lived within its walls.

Most houses were neutral, blank canvases waiting for their new owners to paint their stories across them.

But some, like this one, carried weight—energies, histories, and shadows that lingered long after their previous occupants had gone.

Sorcia’s ability to tune into these energies had propelled her real estate business to dizzying heights.

Her reputation for “finding homes that find people” had earned her trust and accolades, even if her clients didn’t fully understand how she did it.

She rarely spoke of her gift, brushing off questions with a smile and a vague comment about intuition.

But today, her intuition was screaming at her. The house wanted to hurt this young couple.

She knew she couldn’t sell this house to Missy and Tom. But how could she explain to them that what she sensed wasn’t a cracked foundation or faulty wiring—it was something alive, something vile and waiting, woven into the very bones of the structure?

“Sorcia?” Missy’s voice snapped her back to the moment. The young woman tilted her head, her bright eyes wide with concern. “Is something wrong?”

The answer lodged in Sorcia’s throat like a stone. “No,” she lied, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Just thinking about what to recommend for the repairs.” Her words felt hollow, but she needed time to figure out how to handle this—how to save them without sounding completely unhinged.

The house watched her, and though it had no eyes, she swore it saw everything.

“Missy, Gary,” she started to say, then hesitated, their young, hopeful eyes staring back at her. But she couldn’t let them buy this house. “We should look at other homes.”

“But…!” Gary Everly started, his eyes widening. “It’s in our price range.”

Sorcia nodded, acknowledging the truth of his words.

This house, small and flawed, was probably priced so low because of the crack in the foundation.

But the price wasn’t the issue. Sorcia’s reason for discouraging the couple had nothing to do with the structural integrity of the house and everything to do with something far more difficult to explain. She just knew.

Every house—more specifically, the lingering spirits within a house—evaluated potential owners.

Sorcia, as a very old and experienced witch, could sense the spirits’ verdict.

Some spirits would signal acceptance, harmonizing with the energy of prospective buyers.

Others would warn her, practically screaming for her to intervene.

This house had made its judgment clear: This couple did not belong here.

“Can’t we fix the crack?” Missy asked, her voice tinged with hope and desperation, her eyes wide and pleading.

Sorcia’s heart ached for them. She could feel the weight of their struggles—the abusive landlord they wanted to escape, the nightmare of a neighbor whose late-night television echoed through thin walls. They deserved peace, a place where they could build a future. But not here. Not in this house.

“Yes,” Sorcia said softly, forcing a smile to her lips. “You can fix the crack. I can arrange for a structural engineer to take a look and give you an estimate. Tim’s the best, and he’s fair. He’ll even do the inspection for free.”

Missy and Gary exchanged a brief, hopeful glance, but Sorcia’s heart sank.

Even a miraculous repair to the foundation wouldn’t change the truth she felt in her bones.

This house would drain them, crush their spirits, and amplify every stress in their lives.

Its malevolent energy would twist their hopes into regrets.

She turned her gaze to the nearest wall, its surface smooth and freshly painted.

Superficially, the wall gave no sign of trouble, but Sorcia knew better.

She whispered ancient words under her breath, her hand gesturing subtly toward the wall.

Her witch’s sight sharpened, peeling back the layers of illusion.

Beneath the paint, she saw the truth: mold, water stains, and decades of neglect hidden from view.

Sorcia straightened, her expression resolute. “Missy, Gary,” she said, her voice calm but firm, “this isn’t the house for you.”

“But why?” Gary asked, his voice brimming with confusion. “If the crack can be fixed, what’s the problem?”

Sorcia hesitated, searching for words that would convey the gravity of what she felt without terrifying them. It wasn’t just the mold and foundation issues. Missy was right--those issues could be fixed. The problem with this house was deeper. More dangerous for this particular couple.

“Sometimes,” she began slowly, “a house carries more than its walls and foundation. It carries energy—history—and that energy can shape the lives of the people who live in it.”

Missy frowned, tilting her head. “What do you mean?”

Sorcia sighed, her empathy wrapping around her words.

“This house has seen conflict, sadness, and fear. Those emotions linger, whether we see them or not. You’d feel it, too, if you lived here.

Little things would start to build—tension, arguments, a sense of unease.

I’ve seen it happen before.” She paused, meeting their eyes.

“You deserve a home that will nurture your happiness, not one that will drain it away.”

Missy bit her lip, her hopeful expression faltering. “But it’s so perfect for our budget…”

Sorcia stepped closer, lowering her voice to a gentle murmur.

“I know how much you want this to work. I know what you’ve been through and how long it’s taken both of you to save up for your own home.

But this isn’t the right place. Let me help you find a house that wants you to thrive.

Trust me—there are homes out there that will embrace you, protect you, and help you build the life you’re dreaming of. ”

Gary’s shoulders sagged, his disappointment palpable, but he nodded slowly. Missy reached for his hand, squeezing it tightly, her eyes brimming with unspoken gratitude.

“Okay,” Missy whispered. “We trust you.”

Sorcia’s chest loosened with relief. She smiled softly, the lingering shadows in the house seeming to withdraw, as if acknowledging their defeat. This battle was won—but there was always another lurking on the horizon.

Of course, Missy and Gary couldn’t see the stains lurking beneath the surface.

All they saw were the nicely painted walls, the fresh carpet, and the possibilities this space seemed to hold.

Sorcia could almost hear their unspoken dreams—the laughter of their future children echoing in the basement, toys scattered across the floor, pillow forts taking shape in cozy corners.

Perhaps they pictured teenagers someday lounging on worn sofas with their friends, turning this space into a hub of joy and memories.

But all of it would be a lie. The mold beneath the paint would silently seep into the air, the hidden water damage would erode their investment, and the house’s malevolent energy would unravel their dreams thread by fragile thread.

They couldn’t know, couldn’t feel it the way Sorcia could.

But she knew. This house was wrong for them, in every way that mattered.

She had to stop them. This wasn’t just about a house—it was about protecting two kind souls from the misery she could see waiting for them if they signed those papers.

Forcing herself to keep her tone light, Sorcia gave them a reassuring smile.

“Why don’t I get my guy out here—Tim, the structural engineer I mentioned?

Then we’ll have a better idea of what we’re dealing with, okay?

After that, you two can discuss your options and decide if you want to make an offer. ”

Gary and Missy exchanged glances, relief softening the tension in their features.

Gary wrapped an arm around Missy’s shoulders, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Yeah, that sounds great,” he said. His voice carried a mix of hope and gratitude, and for a moment, Sorcia felt the oppressive energy of the house retreat, its grip loosening just slightly.

But Sorcia knew this wasn’t over. She would need to do more than stall.

She had to guide them toward a better choice—a home that would nurture their happiness, not sap it away.

And if she had to confront the spiritual presence in this house to protect them, so be it.

Sorcia’s business was built on trust, and part of that trust meant doing what was right, even when it was hard to explain.

As Missy and Gary turned their attention to discussing the logistics of the inspection, Sorcia subtly reached out with her magic once more, her senses brushing against the house’s aura. The malevolence was still there, pulsing like a dark heartbeat. It hadn’t given up, and neither would she.

This wasn’t just about saving a sale—it was about saving them. And Sorcia knew better than anyone that houses, like people, could hide dangerous secrets.