Chapter 1
ONE
SALEM, PRESENT DAY
Morana Williams loved cemeteries, she always had.
When the sun was at its lowest and the darkness of the inky sky was creeping in to blot out the light, she found her peace wandering through them alone.
Truth was she was always alone and had been most of her life, since her mom had walked out on her at twelve years old and died in a car wreck, but she tried not to dwell on her childhood, as it was far too painful for her.
Morana would find herself staring into the upper floor windows expecting to see one of the Peabody sisters who’d once owned it, still dressed in Victorian clothing, to be staring back at her.
The black crow that seemed to follow her most days was sitting preening itself on the lowest hanging branch of the ancient, sprawling oak tree the locals called the Mother Tree.
Its black eyes stared at her, and she nodded to it and whispered, ‘Good morning.’ It nodded back and she caught herself. Wild birds didn’t nod hello, did they?
Continuing the short walk to Front Street and Nocturne, the beautiful store she worked in, she unlocked the door and hurried inside.
It smelled divine in here with all the handcrafted scented candles.
But Morana felt a little out of sorts. She stared at her reflection in the huge vintage gilt mirror.
‘Nocturne’ was written in gold lettering across the middle of it surrounded by gold stars and a crescent moon directly above.
Dressed in a long black dress with vintage lace sleeves that reached to her fingers, Morana felt like the queen of the night.
Her jet-black hair was loosely waved and her signature pale make-up and deep red lips made her look as if she was either Morticia Addams’s younger sister or Elvira’s.
Turning her neck slightly she looked at her reflection. She knew that something wasn’t right.
A few days ago, she had felt a whole shift in her energy and could not explain the sense of something heavy that had settled over her like the velvet cloak she sometimes wore to stroll through the streets of Salem.
The vintage emporium sold all manner of beautiful, handcrafted items that she would marvel over daily and more often than not spend a good portion of her own wages on.
There was a pewter planchette with a vibrant green peridot crystal in the centre of it that Morana had noticed as soon as she’d walked into the shop today.
Nestled between the usual crystal necklaces in the jewellery cabinet she had paused to stare at it.
It had called her name as clear as day. She’d heard it whisper in her ear, in a sing-song voice – Morana – and she’d had to step away from it.
Sure, Kim who owned the shop had been the one to whisper to her, but Kim wasn’t in work today.
She was over at the office across the street that just happened to be housed in the old Salem police station, where it was rumoured that Harry Houdini made an escape from back in the day.
So, Morana ignored the voice calling to her and began her daily routine of making sure the shop was ready for the steady flow of customers that would descend upon it.
October was a busy time, the crowds were unbelievable, but it was fun if not also a little tiring.
Flicking a feather duster around the stunning vintage lamps that Kim picked up from estate sales, she could not stop thinking about the necklace, wondering who had brought it in.
The shop sold lots of vintage items, stuff that had been preloved, and sometimes she picked up on the previous owner’s vibes.
She was more than a little bit psychic when it came to speaking to the dead.
A fact that she’d tried desperately to hide.
There was already so much about her that set her apart.
Besides, speaking to the dead could become a full-time position and take over her life if she let it.
On the days she felt a little lost she wondered if she should give in to her gift and open her own little magic shop in the heart of downtown Salem.
Her love of tarot was stronger than her love of vintage jewellery.
She knew there was not a cat in hell’s chance she would be leaving the shop without the planchette around her neck.
She felt herself pulled towards it and could already feel her purse lighten – she just hoped it wouldn’t cost her too much.
It had called her name, and it wanted her as much as she wanted it.
Morana wasn’t sure why she was putting off the inevitable.
She should just get it over with and leave a note for Kim to take the money out of her wages.
Peering through the window, she saw the crowds were building.
Salem was in the full throes of October madness.
Another hour and there would be a line outside the shop extending past the end of the block.
Everybody loved Salem in October. The shops were buzzing and the crowds made it impossible to shop in peace, but it was fun, there was no doubt about it.
A sharp knock on the window made her start a little – that was rude even for the tourists, and they weren’t open for another fifteen minutes.
There was a woman standing there, hands cupped across her eyes as she peered inside.
She knocked again, more insistent this time, and Morana sighed but opened the door to her in case it was a delivery.
The woman was wild-eyed, and clutching a paper bag to her chest, she rushed inside.
‘Can I help you? We’re not open yet.’
‘I need to give you this.’
Morana looked at the paper bag she’d slammed onto the glass counter.
‘You do, what is it?’
The woman shrugged, her eyes darting around the shop as if to make sure there was nobody listening. ‘It’s a book.’
Morana wasn’t the most patient of people and she sighed a little louder than she meant to.
‘Why do you need to give it to me?’
‘Well, I want to sell it to you. I can’t afford to just give it away.’
‘I’m sorry, you’ll have to speak to Kim, the owner, she decides what to buy for the store. It’s out of my control.’
The woman’s red hair was scraped back into a tight bun. She was shaking her head so hard the bun was starting to wobble. ‘It has to be you.’
‘I don’t know you, why do you have to sell me a book?’
She shrugged. ‘Are you Morana?’
The woman’s wild look of desperation made her a little bit wary, and Morana wasn’t sure if she should say yes or deny it. Her own inquisitiveness won the battle.
Her voice hesitant, she said, ‘Yes.’
‘Then this book is yours. It told me so and your name is written on the inside cover. Morana Williams. You must take it; I don’t want it in my house another minute.
It’s far too dangerous. I never knew stuff like this was for real.
I thought it was all just a bunch of hocus pocus to draw the tourists in and make shops like this money, but since I found it…
’ The woman’s voice trembled; her hands were shaking a little too.
Morana stared down at the brown paper bag, her interest piqued, her confusion apparent. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Trust me, neither do I, but some things are not meant to be dabbled with, and this is one of them. I have been fretting about what to do with it for days. I thought I could burn it, but I was too damn scared to even try. Then last night I had a dream that I had to return it to the rightful owner who happens to be you, and the god damn thing even showed me where to find you. I would appreciate a little contribution for my honesty in returning this to you.’
Morana was intrigued, as far as she knew she hadn’t lost a book with her name in it. She hadn’t written her name in a book since high school. ‘How much do you want for it?’
‘Five hundred dollars.’
Morana coughed. ‘I haven’t got five hundred dollars to my name.’
‘I think you’ll find you have, the book told me you did.’
‘And I think you need to leave,’ Morana replied.
She didn’t know what dose of meds the lady was on but they clearly weren’t working.
‘I don’t know you and I haven’t lost a book with my name written inside of it that’s worth five hundred dollars.
This is crazy, please leave and take the book with you.
’ Morana was annoyed now; sometimes being alone wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
The woman tried to pick the book up off the counter and Morana saw a red pop of something zap her fingers through the brown paper bag.
The woman screeched and let go of it. The faint smell of singed skin assaulted Morana’s nostrils, and she looked at the woman now blowing her fingertips that were burning brightly.
‘It’s yours whether you want to buy it or not.
I can’t take it back now it’s found you.
Inside it are unwritten stories and spells that I don’t understand, but you must if it belongs to you.
I’ll come back for the money in seven days; you can leave the cash in an envelope behind the counter.
I don’t need to see you again. I don’t want the book back so don’t try and get someone to force it on me.
I just want the cash for the inconvenience that your god damn book has brought into my already difficult life. ’
The woman turned and ran towards the door, leaving Morana staring after her, wondering what the hell had just happened. It wasn’t even eleven a.m.