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  Death’s Ethereal Enemy

  January Chevalier Supernatural Mysteries

  Ruby Loren

  Copyright © 2017 by Ruby Loren

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  British Author

  Free Book!

  Books in the Series

  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

  Books in the Series

  Free Book!

  Also by Ruby Loren

  British Author

  Please note, this book is written in British English and contains British spellings.

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  Grab your FREE copy of Death’s Reckless Reaper, the exciting prequel!

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  Books in the Series

  Death’s Dark Horse

  Death’s Hexed Hobnobs

  Death’s Endless Enchanter

  Death’s Ethereal Enemy

  Death’s Last Laugh

  Prequel: Death’s Reckless Reaper

  1

  It was raining on the day of her parents’ funeral.

  January walked up to the pulpit in the little church and said a few words. If there’d been anyone at the funeral close enough to her family to have known about the kind of relationship she’d shared with her parents, they wouldn’t have nodded along appreciatively. Not the way the people in this congregation did.

  But there wasn’t anyone who’d been close enough to care at this funeral.

  Even January wasn’t sure why she’d come.

  She supposed it was because her parents had been murdered.

  They’d gone to Paris and had come back to England in a box.

  Before they’d left, they’d rung January to let her know they were going for good. She’d already exiled them from the pack of shifters she was the leader of. They’d conspired against her. As pack leader, she’d had to stick to pack law - in spite of their family ties. After everything they’d put her through whilst growing up, January hadn’t been very sorry to see them go.

  She had been sorry when her mother had let slip that her sister, Jo, was also in Paris.

  Shape-shifters had been sentenced to death for less than what Jo had done to January, in her quest for power over a sister she had somehow believed was above her. Instead of delivering a pack death penalty, she’d told Jo, and Luke - the pack leader she’d beaten - to run away and never come back.

  Finally seeing the last of the family she’d never fitted into had been a small ray of light in the midst of the dark storm clouds that hung over January’s life.

  But even that speck of light had been snuffed out.

  Her parents had been murdered just a few weeks after presumably being reunited with her sister in Paris. January wasn’t inclined to think that it was a coincidence.

  She frowned down at the Order of Service, while the vicar (who’d clearly never met the Chevaliers) waxed lyrical about the wonderful service the insurance firm her parents had owned provided for the community, and what charming, upstanding citizens they’d been. Good folk, he’d finished, smiling round, unknowingly, at a church full of shape-shifters.

  Her parents hadn’t been ‘good folk’. If she were being exceedingly generous, January might have conceded that they’d acted the way they thought was best. But the time for being understanding had passed. Her parents had kept her shut away from the rest of the community after she’d first gone through the change, and they’d discovered she was different. Their decision to hide her still affected January now. If they’d let her socialise with other shifters instead of keeping the truth a secret, she’d probably never have accepted the bounty hunting job, killing vampires - which had been the only way out of a life with her parents. That was what had led to Jo hating her. She’d had to leave her sister behind when she’d moved to Paris to work as a bounty hunter.

  She shook her head. It was strange how out of all the places in the world, Jo and her parents had chosen Paris to run to. Again, she wasn’t inclined to think that it was simply a coincidence, and not knowing the truth bothered her.

  That was the real reason she’d turned up to the funeral. It wasn’t to say goodbye to her parents. She’d already done that when they’d left for Paris and had severed all ties. The real reason she was here was to see if anyone interesting turned up.

  January snorted quietly to herself when the service drew to a close. She wasn’t sure who she’d been expecting to walk through the door of the church. Perhaps it was her sister she’d been waiting for, but deep down, she was glad that Jo had stayed away. The pack was present at the funeral in force, and they all knew what Jo had done. Nothing stayed secret for long in Hailfield and Witchwood.

  The person who murdered her parents was the only other visitor she was on the lookout for. One killer knows another. But there were no new faces at the funeral. Just a lot of old ones, that January mostly wished she could forget.

  “Good turn out today, wasn’t it?” A female owl shifter smiled and rested a hand on January’s shoulder for a moment, before walking past her out of the church.

  January mumbled her agreement and wished her goodbye. She would just have to hope that the members of the pack present, who’d come to see off her parents and to support her, would forgive her less than eloquent behaviour today.

  Her mind was on other dark matters.

  It was the second funeral January had attended in a single month. The one before her parents’ had been a funeral for Tor Bennett, her magical tutor. He’d died trying to buy her enough time to run from The Clan - a group of ancient vampires who January had once worked for as a bounty hunter.

  It had been a job you couldn’t walk away from. Once you’d accepted, you were in for life. And it wasn’t a life that anyone expected to be a particularly long one.

  January had been good at her job. She’d killed plenty of millennia old vampires without breaking a sweat. She’d been rich and successful. Perhaps not happy, but certainly happier than she’d have ever been if she’d stayed behind with her parents and Jo, and continued to live by their rules.

  It had all changed when she’d come back home. Her parents had demanded she return from her ‘gallivanting’ to look for her wayward sister. They’d heard rumours that she was hanging out with the local vampire population.

  That was how she’d met Gregory Drax.

  She’d never thought she would ever feel anything for a vampire until she met him. When they’d first met, she’d mostly felt annoyance. But now… now it was annoyance, and something else, too.

  She sighed a little when she thought of him. He was the reason she’d quit her job. His name had come up as a target, and she’d finally put her foot down and said no. She was certain that Gregory would love to give himself full credit for that decision, but it had been more than any confused feelings, she may or may not have, that had made her say no. Coming back home was what had pushed her away from her old job.

  January had never thought of Hailfie
ld as home when she’d lived there, growing up. It had only been when she’d returned from Paris, all these years later, that she’d realised it was. Maybe the place we come from - no matter how confining it once seemed - is the only place that’s really home. She could have gone anywhere in the world, but her heart would still be pining for Hailfield, without her even knowing it. And she’d have carried on working as a bounty hunter, without knowing that things could be different if she quit.

  They could be worse. So much worse.

  She shook her head to clear it of negative thoughts and tried to see through the sheet of rain that fell, just beyond the porch of the church. Instead, her mind transported her back to a funeral at the same venue, just a month before.

  It had been the last time that she’d seen Bella, Ryan, Simon, and Gregory, together in one place. Leah had left with the Old Ones, when they’d come knocking to finally put an end to January’s little rebellion.

  They’d all been made to suffer.

  She shook her head, wondering what Tor would say if he knew that his sacrifice had been in vain. She had a feeling he wouldn’t be too thrilled that she hadn’t used the magic he’d taught her to make a stand against the oppressive first vampires, who ruled in the shadows.

  “There’s still time. Patience is a virtue,” she said to the rain, and then shut her mouth.

  It wasn’t clever to dwell on thoughts like these. One of the ancient vampires could read minds, and she suspected he wasn’t the only one with special powers.

  January frowned and returned her thoughts to the present. The funeral may be over, but she still had unfinished business with her parents’ killer.

  It wasn’t because she was out for revenge.

  Perhaps it was ungrateful, but January’s relationship with her mum and dad had grown so sour, it was almost a relief to know they’d no longer be able to interfere with her life. The reason she needed to solve their murder was because she strongly suspected that her parents hadn’t been strolling along The Seine, hand in hand, when they were murdered.

  They’d been up to something.

  And it was something that had got them killed.

  January knew if she didn’t find out what they’d been doing in Paris, she could be the next one to end up six-feet under.

  “And I really don’t want to wake up down there,” she said aloud, with a little half-smile.

  She didn’t know why she was worrying. After all, it wouldn’t be her first death.

  2

  Leah was the only person who knew January had already died once.

  Another witch, ‘King Bob’, had also witnessed the event, but he’d met his own end not long after. January wasn’t sure if he’d ever realised what had happened, either. He might have just thought it was a publicity stunt. That was what the audience at Wembley Stadium all believed they’d seen.

  In reality, January had taken a bullet to the head and had died in front of an audience of thousands.

  She’d been just as surprised as anyone when she’d woken up backstage, just a few minutes later. Looking back, she supposed that was when she’d realised she was definitely an enchanter - a mythical magical being, with powers that could rattle the stars, and the immortality of the gods.

  Unfortunately, she didn’t live up to the hype.

  When King Bob had turned up at a pack, full moon meet, and initiated a magical duel, January’s protective shield of enchanter magic had been dissolved in a nanosecond. Bob had been a very powerful, but very human, witch. Even the self-styled ‘King of the Magicians’ shouldn’t have stood a chance against an enchanter. But for whatever reason, January lacked the raw power that obscure magical theorists claimed she should possess.

  If it hadn’t been for the girl with the amber eyes, January would be a handful of particles, scattered in the wind.

  January, and the rest of her pack, had been on the verge of obliteration, when someone with greater power than January, or Bob, had folded Bob’s spell back on itself. It hadn’t ended well for King Bob. She’d tried to go after the amber-eyed girl, but the teenager had vanished. All January had been left with, was a feeling of familiarity. She and this girl had something in common.

  She shook her head and turned on her coffee machine, suddenly feeling alone in the old, stone farmhouse she was renting. There were so many things she still didn’t understand, and she couldn’t help but feel that time was running out for her to learn them.

  It was as if a countdown had started the day that The Clan had turned up on her doorstep.

  January had waited, surrounded by people she’d realised had grown to become her friends, until there’d been a knock on the front door. She’d gone to meet the people who had shaped her life and now wished to end it.

  Or so she’d thought.

  Instead of putting the full stop at the end of her life’s story, the two ancient vampires had offered everyone in the room a choice. They could work for The Clan, doing a job that had been chosen for them, or they could die. January had been handed a USB stick with the title of her brand new job, scrawled on the side.

  She was a bounty hunter again.

  Saying no wasn’t really an option.

  They’d all been stunned to escape with their lives.

  They weren’t the only ones who hadn’t expected their survival. Right before Max had announced their fate, he’d revealed that the werewolf and fellow pack leader, January had been dating, was in fact an informant, working for them. January had sworn that he’d regret double-crossing her, but his smirk when he’d left the house had told her exactly what he’d thought her chances of seeing that threat through were.

  He’d been wrong.

  January took a sip of her black coffee. She was normally a latte fan, but the time for fluff and comfort was over. Joe Milan was going to get what was coming to him. She may work as a bounty hunter, but that didn’t mean she was adverse to the odd freebie. Especially when it was personal.

  She took another sip and grimaced. Perhaps some cream would not be amiss after all.

  It was hard to keep your mind on cold, hard vengeance when what you really wanted to do with your life was bake cakes for a living. The ghost of a smile crossed her lips when she thought about her little bakery. It was the one area of her life that she’d deem a success. Since she’d taken over the premises - after Simon had grown bored - the business had gone from strength to strength. Black Cat Bakery was an immensely popular choice for takeaway cake and great coffee. Those who liked to sit and enjoy their cake in a more relaxed setting went to Madame Rose’s Tearooms, the coffeeshop owned by January’s old employer, who January stocked with fresh cakes every day. It was a winning business arrangement. Every day, at the bakery, she baked as many cakes as she could, and every evening, she baked cakes for Madame Rose’s Tearooms to sell the next day.

  Her expression clouded.

  It had been going perfectly… until she’d had to start her new job.

  She’d assumed it would be just the same as when she’d lived in Paris - she’d be given a target, and she’d take them out. Pay hadn’t been discussed, but then, she was hardly in a position to negotiate.

  It turned out, her new role was very different from her old one.

  It was worse.

  She supposed The Clan had recognised that her newfound fame within the supernatural world meant that she could no longer work undercover. Instead of being given names and taking heads, January was to be a symbol - a warning to anyone who dared cross The Clan. More depressing than that, she suspected she was a sign of their power over every single thing in existence - even a rumoured enchanter. Her new job involved attending whatever meeting, or event, The Clan decided she should attend. Once there, she mostly stood around, looking threatening, whilst people gawped at her. Ironically, the way she was treated was exactly what her parents had predicted would happen to her. She was glad they weren’t around to see their prophecy come true.

  Even being trotted out as a marvel-slash-thinly v
eiled threat wasn’t the worst part of her job. The part she really struggled with was the person she’d been assigned to work with.

  Her colleague, and The Clan’s new envoy, was none other than Gregory Drax.

  January thought back to when they’d each been handed their USB sticks - a strange juxtaposition, given the age of the vampires who’d handed them out. When Max and Cadence had left, taking Leah with them, the rest of them had crowded around January’s laptop. It had been there that they’d each found out the exact details of their penance.

  Simon had surprised no one by being first into the USB slot. His initial moans of horror had only got more plaintive when he’d read through the brief file.

  Simon was now a magical researcher, working for The Clan. They’d been told that some of them would have to relocate, and Simon was one of them. He’d be living at an as yet undisclosed location, spending his days combing through ancient texts - presumably collected, or acquired, by The Clan. To January, it sounded like a peaceful existence. To Simon, it was hell on earth.

  “I hate books!” he’d noisily complained, before announcing that being a cat was a preferable existence. He’d begged January to turn him back into one, but she’d been fast catching on that you didn’t bend The Clan’s rules and get away with it for long. Simon was going to have to stick it out.

  Bella and Ryan had gone next. Their USB sticks had displayed the same job title as January’s had - but theirs had been a far more accurate job description. They were both tasked with hunting down whoever The Clan decided needed hunting down. To January’s surprise, the same fixed fee system applied, so they were getting paid.