Witching Fire: A Wild Hunt Novel, Book 16 Read online

  Witching Fire

  A Wild Hunt Novel, Book 16

  Yasmine Galenorn

  A Nightqueen Enterprises LLC Publication

  Published by Yasmine Galenorn

  PO Box 2037, Kirkland WA 98083-2037

  WITCHING FIRE

  A Wild Hunt Novel

  Copyright © 2021 by Yasmine Galenorn

  First Electronic Printing: 2021 Nightqueen Enterprises LLC

  First Print Edition: 2021 Nightqueen Enterprises

  Cover Art & Design: Ravven

  Art Copyright: Yasmine Galenorn

  Editor: Elizabeth Flynn

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED No part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any format, be it print or electronic or audio, without permission. Please prevent piracy by purchasing only authorized versions of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, or places is entirely coincidental and not to be construed as representative or an endorsement of any living/ existing group, person, place, or business.

  A Nightqueen Enterprises LLC Publication

  Published in the United States of America

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Welcome to Witching Fire

  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

  Cast of Characters

  Timeline of Series

  Playlist

  Biography

  Acknowledgments

  Welcome back to the world of the Wild Hunt!

  Thanks to my usual crew: Samwise, my husband, Andria and Jennifer—without their help, I’d be swamped. To the women who have helped me find my way in indie, you’re all great, and thank you to everyone. To Kate Danley in particular, for running our author sprints that have helped me regain my focus in this current pandemic. To my wonderful cover artist, Ravven, for the beautiful work she’s done.

  Also, my love to my furbles, who keep me happy. My most reverent devotion to Mielikki, Tapio, Ukko, Rauni, and Brighid, my spiritual guardians and guides. My love and reverence to Herne, and Cernunnos, and to the Fae, who still rule the wild places of this world. And a nod to the Wild Hunt, which runs deep in my magick, as well as in my fiction.

  You can find me through my website at Galenorn.com and be sure to sign up for my newsletter to keep updated on all my latest releases! You can find my advice on writing, discussions about the books, and general ramblings on my YouTube channel. If you liked this book, I’d be grateful if you’d leave a review—it helps more than you can think.

  Brightest Blessings,

  ~The Painted Panther~

  ~Yasmine Galenorn~

  Welcome to Witching Fire

  As the Winter Solstice approaches, Raven faces a difficult choice. She’s dragged before the Queen of the Ante-Fae in a no-win situation, forced to choose between her people and her friends. On top of that, her grandfather presents her with an ultimatum that drives a wedge between Raven and her father. And the problems keep coming. Vixen, the gender-fluid owner of the Burlesque A Go-Go, asks for her help. An astral entity is draining the life from Vixen’s web designer and Raven may be the only one who can help. As she searches for answers, Raven’s investigation leads her to Kipa’s homeland to meet with one of the Force Majeure—Väinämöinen. And there, the ancient bard offers her another choice. He offers her an opportunity that—if she accepts—will change her life forever.

  Reading Order for the Wild Hunt Series:

  Book 1: The Silver Stag

  Book 2: Oak & Thorns

  Book 3: Iron Bones

  Book 4: A Shadow of Crows

  Book 5: The Hallowed Hunt

  Book 6: The Silver Mist

  Book 7: Witching Hour

  Book 8: Witching Bones

  Book 9: A Sacred Magic

  Book 10: The Eternal Return

  Book 11: Sun Broken

  Book 12: Witching Moon

  Book 13: Autumn’s Bane

  Book 14: Witching Time

  Book 15: Hunter’s Moon

  Book 16: Witching Fire

  Book 17: Veil of Stars (Forthcoming)

  Book 18: Antlered Crown (Forthcoming)

  Chapter One

  When I walked into the living room, I saw both Kipa and Raj sprawled on the sofa, snoring up a storm. Dishes sticky with maple syrup cluttered the coffee table, and the TV blared away with a reality show. Contestants had to make their way through an obstacle course that looked like a drunken engineer had designed it. Most of them ended up in the water or mud, struggling to return to the course before they were disqualified.

  Raj snuggled under a throw—a Hello Kitty throw, at that. He had recently discovered the world of Hello Kitty and now my otherwise sleek, minimalist house was littered with Hello Kitty plushies and Hello Kitty comic books. Much to my dismay, Raj had begged for a Hello Kitty collar as well, and I’d had to fashion one to fit him because nobody made Hello Kitty collars that would fit a gargoyle. But I loved him, and if wearing a pink cartoon collar made him happy, so be it.

  I glanced around the living room. Beyond the dirty dishes and the Hello Kitty toys, the place was a mess. The floors needed sweeping, the sofa cushions were scattered everywhere, and generally, chaos ruled. Kipa had stayed at my house all week and his things were everywhere. He tended to leave his things lying around. Raj had slacked off, too. They both seemed under the misconception that I was going to happily skip around in a French maid’s apron, cleaning up after them. Kipa was getting better about his sloppiness, but the Lord of Wolves was an alpha at heart and he was still coming to grips with being in an equal partnership.

  Frustrated, I debated on whether to squirt them with the plant mister, or to be nice and just yell them awake. Before I could make up my mind, my phone blared out “Flight of the Valkyries.” That meant one thing: my mother was calling me.

  “Hey,” I said, answering. “What’s up? Please don’t tell me you can’t make my party.”

  Kipa and I were throwing an open house for Yule that night, which was one reason I was so pissed off about the dirty house. I wasn’t about to clean it and do all the cooking myself.

  As usual, my mother—Phasmoria, Queen of the Bean Sidhe—wasted no time with small talk. “I’m coming in early. I’ll be there at three o’clock. We have important things to discuss. And don’t worry, I’ll help with the party tonight.”

  I barely managed an “Oh” before she hung up. Staring at the phone, I mulled over the news. I loved my mother but she could be abrupt, bordering on brusque. Turning back to Kipa and Raj, I decided to go with the most expedient route, even though it would be fun to blast them with a shower of water.

  “Wake up!” I shifted into high gear, yelling so loud that neither Raj nor Kipa could sleep through my command.

  “Wha— What’s wrong?” Kipa asked, jerking awake as he bolted to his feet.

  Raj, on the other hand, gave me a lazy blink, staring at me with bleary eyes as he barely moved his head off the sofa. “Is Raven okay?”

  “Raven is fine, but the house is not. Not only do I need to cook for the party tonight, but this place is a pigsty and I’m not about to be stuck
with the cleaning. Add to that, my mother’s coming in early. She’ll be here at three and I will not have her walking into this mess, so both of you get off your asses and clean up this mess, now!”

  Kipa ducked his head. He knew I meant business. “Raj needs to help Kipa,” he said, stretching and yawning. “Raven will tan Raj’s and Kipa’s hides if they don’t do what she says.”

  “Very observant,” I said. “Raven wants Raj to put his toys away and turn off that television. Then he’s to sit and watch TV, and not make any more messes. And you,” I turned to Kipa, “for fuck’s sake, please clean the kitchen, the hall bath, and straighten up this living room. You promised you would be responsible for cleaning them when you stay here and newsflash: they’re all filthy. You and Raj made most of the mess in this room. There’s an entire day’s worth of dishes in the sink. Don’t dawdle—get moving!”

  Kipa saluted. “Yes, ma’am.” He was grinning, but he had gotten the message. “Sorry I’ve been slacking. You said Phasmoria’s coming early?” He knew better than vex my mother. Even though he was a god, she was Queen of the Bean Sidhe and she scared the hell out of him.

  “She’ll be here at three. It’s noon and I still have to do the shopping. You have three hours to clean this place until it’s spotless. And I might add, I expect this to stick. I hate micromanaging people. You’ve been teaching Raj bad habits.”

  He sighed. “I’m sorry.”

  “I should hope so. You know I hate clutter. I don’t keep a messy house, and I expect both of you to do your chores without complaint. Got it?” Hands on my hips, I stared them down. That was one thing about man-boys and gargoyles. Give them an inch and they’d take a mile.

  Both gargoyle and god lowered their eyes and whispered another “Yes ma’am” before kicking it into high gear. As I headed into the bedroom—which, I might add, was clean since I had made the bed when we got up, and dusted—they attacked the mess like industrious worker bees. Sometimes you had to give people a kick in the ass, lovingly so.

  * * *

  Half an hour later, after cleaning the bedroom bathroom and tending to the ferrets, I grabbed my purse and keys. “I’m going shopping. Keep working while I’m gone.” I turned to see that Raj had already dragged out several of his toys again and left them on the floor. I knelt, holding them up. “Did Raj forget what Raven asked him to do?”

  Raj hung his head. “Raj is sorry. Raj doesn’t mean to make a mess.”

  “Raven knows that,” I said, giving him a hug. He was about the size of a rottweiler and as heavy as one, but he was a sweetheart. Most of the time, if he hurt someone, it was an accident. “It’s usually okay for Raj to make a mess, as long as he cleans it up without being reminded. But Raven and Kipa are having a party tonight, so the house needs to stay clean today. Does Raj understand?”

  “Raj understands,” he said, his gloom lifting. He gave me a smile that was as innocent as a child’s. “Raj will do better for Raven. Raj loves Raven.”

  “And Raven loves Raj,” I said. That was our pattern. Whenever I left, Raj always told me he loved me and I reaffirmed it back to him.

  In some ways, he was very much like a child. In gargoyle years, he was still young. I doubted that Raj could ever fend for himself—not fully. He was in his formative years and growing up away from his own kind. He had had his wings cut off by a demon, and so he was unlike his brethren. And one thing I did know about the gargoyle world was that physical imperfection was considered unacceptable. They’d never take him back, given what the demon had done to him. Gargoyles weren’t kind to their disabled. So I made myself a promise that I would always take care of him, and we had been together for over fifty years.

  Next, I kissed Kipa, who wrapped his arms around me. He was so gorgeous and charming it was hard to stay irritated at him.

  “Are you sure you need to go to the store?” He leaned down to nuzzle my ear. “Hmm? Do we have time for—”

  “No, we do not,” I said, even though the thought of running off to bed with him appealed to me far more than grocery shopping. “I’d love to, but there’s nothing in the cupboards and we promised people a buffet. Also, if I don’t go shopping, we’re not going to have anything to eat beyond a few cans of soup.”

  “Then go, wench! Rip your beautiful self away from me and leave me yearning for your touch,” Kipa said, throwing his hand across his forehead. He squinted at me from below the shade of his arm. “Is it working?”

  “Oh go on, fly.” I swatted him lightly. “You’re just being a drama queen now.”

  “Drama king, my love,” he said, laughing. “I’m your king, and you’re my queen. So is it working? Won’t you stay for a while?”

  “No, it’s not. Though that bulge pressing against my thigh is tempting. Now, get your handsome ass back to work. I’ll be home in a while.” I pressed against him for another long kiss, then broke out of his embrace and headed for the door. “And don’t give Raj any more sugar. You two gorged on waffles this morning and you used up the maple syrup. That’s enough sugar for now.”

  “We had sausages and eggs, too,” Kipa called behind me, but I shut the door, ignoring his protests.

  As I headed toward my car, my breath froze in puffs in front of my face. It was thirty-one degrees, and there was snow on the ground, as well as patches of black ice on the road. As I slid into my car, I was grateful that Kipa had put on snow tires a week ago when the snowstorm was first predicted. And one glance at the clouds overhead was enough to know that we weren’t done yet. The sky shimmered with that silver frozen look that whispered “incoming snow.” Not a big fan of heat, I welcomed the winter weather.

  As I pulled out of the cul-de-sac, I waved at Meadow O’Ceallaigh and her brother, Trefoil, who were building a snowman in their front yard. My neighbors—we lived on opposite sides of the end of the cul-de-sac—worked for LOCK, the Library of Cryptic Knowledge. They were in the paramilitary side of the organization, though I wasn’t entirely sure what they did. Their work was classified. Both were gay, and they were friendly, but they also maintained an aloofness…a certain air of “You’re better off not knowing about us.” They waved back, laughing.

  The trip to the store proved to be more hazardous than I anticipated.

  People were slip-sliding everywhere. Nobody in the Seattle area knew how to drive in snow. Beyond the fact that snow wasn’t a regular event here so there weren’t enough snow plows to effectively clear the city streets, the topography of western Washington didn’t lend itself to navigating snow and ice. A number of streets both in Seattle and here, on the opposite side of Lake Washington, on the Eastside, had anywhere from an 18 percent grade to a 21 percent grade. Basically, Seattle was built on a series of rolling hills, thanks to the fault lines in the area. So snow and ice meant conditions that were nearly impossible to navigate.

  At the store, I found a cart. We were out of most everything so I tossed whatever looked good in the cart, along with a variety of staples including pasta, breads, eggs, milk, and any number of canned goods and jarred sauces. I also added a number of delicacies and found what looked like an incredible fifteen-layer chocolate peppermint torte. I picked up five of them, given that everybody coming had hearty appetites. I was planning on making a huge vat of clam chowder for dinner, and decided that fish and chips would be a good addition, so I added several boxes of premium battered fish, a couple big bags of frozen fries, and French bread that I would smother with butter and parmesan.

  Because I felt guilty for yelling at Raj, I added a case of cat food to the cart. He loved it and I kept it for special occasions since he tended to eat more of it than was good for him. He usually ate what I was eating, unless it had onions or garlic or peppers in it—or pineapple. Pineapple made him sick. But I knew he didn’t care for fish, so cat food it was.

  After one last stop at the flower section to buy several bouquets of red roses with white carnations, baby’s breath, and fern fronds, I checked out. I glanced at my phone. 1:35 p.m. I had t
ime enough to run by A Taste of Latte to buy some pastries and a triple-shot mocha. I needed more caffeine like I needed a hole in my head, but with caffeine, want mattered as much as need.

  * * *

  By the time I got home it was almost two-thirty. I stepped out of the car, about to summon Kipa to help, when he came darting out of the house and motioned for me to go inside. The temperature had dipped again—it was now twenty-nine and a few flakes were starting to fall. I shivered, but Kipa, who was originally from Finland, had no problem in the cold. In fact, he loved it.

  “Go inside and warm up. It’s supposed to start snowing heavily this afternoon,” he said, motioning for me to head out.

  I entered the house and paused. Every surface of every table gleamed. The floors were freshly washed and mopped. There was no dust anywhere, and everything had been put away. The air smelled crisp and clean and it was obvious they had aired out the house. The soft sound of the washer running told me that Kipa had started a load of laundry.

  Raj was sitting politely on the sofa, watching TV, a bowl of popcorn by his side. He glanced up as I came in.

  “Raven’s home! Did Raven bring food?” He had such a plaintive note in his voice that it made me want to pinch his cheeks and indulge in baby-talk with him, but I restrained myself. His cadence might be odd, and while he liked TV shows targeted toward children, he was a deeply intelligent being who happened to have a gargoyle’s perspective on life.