The Beginning
And she arose from her deathbed in a gossamer gown, with eyes the color of starlight and hair as black as the night. And those who were her captors trembled, for the
scent of death and madness emanated from her soul, and yet—she was not dead. She moved like the spiders that creep in the treetops, and none could look away. Taking
her fi rst captor in hand, she fed deep and ravenous. And so it was that Myst, Queen of the Indigo Court, was born from the blood of the dead.
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Chapter 1
The women in my family have always been witches, which is why when Ulean, my wind Elemental, tossed my hair early on a balmy, breezy December morning and whispered in my ear to listen to the wind, there was a message for me riding the currents—I did. Pausing to close my eyes and lower myself into the slipstream, I heard a faint, feminine voice calling my name. When it told me that my aunt Heather and cousin Rhiannon were
in trouble, I didn’t wait for a second warning. I called them to tell them I was on my way and got my second surprise of the day.
“Marta’s dead.” Heather’s voice was strained.
I stared at the phone. Marta, dead? The woman had been ancient the last time I was home, but we all expected her to outlive the entire town. That she was dead seemed incomprehensible. “She’s dead? What happened?”

“I don’t know, Cicely. We found her in her garden. She was drained of blood and her throat had been . . . ripped apart. And I do mean ripped.”

The obvious answer was a rogue vampire, except for one thing: the ripped part. Most vampires were fairly tidy with their work. The Northwest Regent for the Vampire Nation lived in New Forest and kept order in the area. Geoffrey was a good sort—if you can call a vampire a good sort—and it was hard for me to believe that any one of the vamps under his control would be so stupid as to kill Marta. She had charms aplenty for warding them off and the repercussions would be harsh, even for the vamps.
“You think one of Geoffrey’s people killed her? What do the police say?”
My aunt paused. “I’m not sure of anything, to be honest. There are some strange things going on and the town is . . . changing. The cops didn’t seem too interested in investigating Marta’s death.”
A chill ran up my spine.

Strange is not the word for it, Ulean whispered. There are so many traps in New Forest now. The entire town is in danger.
“Are you sure you’re okay? A voice on the wind told me that you and Rhiannon are in danger. I was about to pack.”
A pause. Then, “Please come home. I’d love to have you come home for good. It’s time, Cicely. Krystal’s gone, and we need you. Right now, I’m not sure what that danger is, but yes, it’s lurking on the edges and in truth, it has me afraid.”
My aunt never admitted fear. That she would do so now sealed my decision to return to New Forest.

Heather paused, then added, “I think at this point, everyone’s fair game, but the magic-born seem to be getting hit the hardest. I’ll explain when you get here. And there’s another reason you should return.”

“What?” Family duty, I had no problem with, unlike my mother. But Heather’s voice sounded odd and a tingling at the back of my neck told me that something else was in
play.
“Marta passed the torch to you. She left you her practice. The town can’t do without her, and apparently she’s chosen you to take her place. You’ll have to move the business over here to Veil House. It will take a little while for you to get everything set up again, but she left you all her supplies.”

Stunned, I blinked. Marta was the town witch. People went to her for help. She was also the elder of the secret Thirteen Moons Society—the coterie my aunt belonged to. No one but family members knew about the Society and it was kept that way on purpose. Hell, even I didn’t know what they did—only when you were inducted into the Society were you told what went on.

“Marta left me her business? Are you sure of that?” I had been home once a year from the time I was thirteen until I turned seventeen, and that had been the last time I’d set foot in New Forest. And my mother had been persona non grata with the elder witch. “Why would Marta do that?”

Heather laughed. “Oh, Cicely, you may be twenty-six now and on your own, but you’re still one of us. You’ve always been one of us, even though your mother tried to distance the both of you. It’s time to come home to New Forest.” Her voice turned serious. “Krystal’s dead. You don’t have to run anymore. Come back. We need you. I need you. And you . . . you need us.”
She was right. In my heart, I knew it was time to go home. I’d been running for years, but now there was no more reason. There hadn’t been a reason for me to stay on the road for two years, since Krystal had died. Except that sometimes running felt like all I knew how to do. But now . . . Marta left me her business. I had something to go home to—something to focus my life on other than keeping my mother and me alive.

“Be there in three days tops,” I told Heather. “Can I have my mother’s room?” Memories of the violet-and ivory trimmed room loomed in my mind.
“Of course you can, and you can use the back parlor for your business and one of the spare rooms on the third floor for your supplies and workroom.” Heather laughed again. “Oh Cicely, I’ve missed you so much. I’m so glad you’re coming home again for more than a visit. We’ve missed you.”

And with that, I tossed the few boxes containing my possessions and my backpack in Favonis—my 1966 navy blue Pontiac GTO that I’d won in a game of street craps—and headed out of California without a single look over my shoulder.

LA was like every other city I’d lived in since I was six: a pit stop in the rambling journey that had been my life. But now, after twenty years, my past was about to become my future. As I pressed my foot against the accelerator, Favonis sped along the I-5 corridor.
I was wearing a pair of black jeans, a black tank top, and my best boots—a kickass pair of Icon’s Bombshell motorcycle boots. I had no job to give notice to—I’d picked up odd jobs here and there since I was twelve but never anything permanent. All through the years, I knew there was something I was supposed to do—supposed to accomplish—but I’d never known what. Maybe this was it. Maybe taking Marta’s place would fill the void.

“Come on, baby,” I coaxed. “Don’t let me down.”
And Favonis didn’t. She purred like a kitten, all the way up the coast.
Speeding along the freeway, fueled by numerous stops at Starbucks and espresso stands along the way, I kept my eyes peeled for the exit that would take me to I-90. New Forest was snuggled against the northwestern foothills of the Washington Cascades and the promise of going home for real this time dangled in front of me like a vial of crack in front of a junkie.

Twenty years ago, I’d kicked and screamed my way down the front steps of Veil House, begging Krystal to leave me with Heather, but my mother had just dragged me to the taxi, bitching at me to shut up. Now, after a thousand miles on the road, and a thousand years in my heart, I was heading back to live in the only house I’d ever thought of as home. And this time I planned on staying.
Only now, I’m twenty-six and my mother’s dead. Something is terribly wrong in New Forest. And my wolf has woken up again.

Excerpted with permission from Berkley. Copyright 2010.