Blood of the Fae paperback bundle

Whispers in the Waters

Ladies don’t shame their families.  

Ladies don’t confront Otherworldly threats.

Ladies certainly don’t admit some taint of the fae has touched their souls—unless they wish to find themselves confined to an Institution.

Gently-bred herbalist Jessa Caldwell is trying to be a lady. She conceals her true nature amongst her plants and her sketches—where she can almost shut out the whispers she alone hears. But a threat to her beloved aunt forces her from the comfort of home to a town perilously near an Otherworldly Crossing, with its ever-present risk of fae incursions.

To protect her aunt and the townsfolk she comes to care for, she must uncover the individual responsible for a series of increasingly dangerous attacks—but to find this saboteur will require embracing the part of herself she fears most, an act that could cost her dearly. In a world where Vigilists lock up fae-touched mortals, Jessa must decide if she’s willing to risk exposing her true nature to obtain the truth and protect those she loves.

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Tattoo of Crimson

Society, suitors, and…serial murders?

As much as she desires to please her family, herbalist Jessa Caldwell has no intention of making a suitable match—not when she’s seeking the truth about the taint of the fae that lies within her. If she’s to escape the madness brought on by fae-touch, she must devote her energies to seeking a cure.

But then mysterious tattoos begin to appear on the citizens of Avons. None recall receiving these harbingers of death, but all die at the hand of an untraceable killer days or weeks after being marked.

When the tattoo appears on her beloved mentor, Jessa seeks the Magistry with information on the case—yet they refuse to consider her findings, so she must risk both social censure and her own safety to hunt for the killer herself.

Her one possible ally represents her greatest fear—the encroaching Otherworld consuming her mind—and may well undo all her efforts to control her fae-touch. Yet if she forsakes the offered aid, the killer will go free.

Something sinister stalks the streets of her city, and she must decide…how far will she go to stop the killing?

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Ruins of Bone

Admirers, antiquities, and . . . ancient curses?

A curse taints the ruins of Kilmere—or so the locals say—which makes it an unchancy inheritance for herbalist Jessa Caldwell. Worse still, a cruel fae lord in the guise of a gentleman seeks to wrest the crumbling cliffside fortress from her and use its powers for his own ends.

But Jessa isn’t one to surrender easily. She’s determined to resist the lord’s machinations and protect the legacy left by her mentor, even if that means involving the fae arbiter Riven, an act that could see her permanently locked away—all while evading her family’s expectation that she make a match from their list of favored suitors.

Yet she’s not prepared for the depths of fae deceit and cruelty she discovers—nor the reality behind the curse. When the nearby townsfolk begin to succumb to it, suffering slow, excruciating deaths, the authorities seek a mortal poisoner, refusing to consider that these murders could have an Otherworldly origin.

To uncover the true killer, Jessa must make forbidden alliances and explore the extent of her own fae-influenced nature. If she fails, countless innocents will die, including those closest to her . . . but if she succeeds, it may cost her everything.

 

Are there content considerations for the Blood of the Fae series?

You won’t find cursing, on-page sexual content, or gratuitous violence in any of the books.

Tattoo of Crimson – Chapter 1

Never bargain with the fae, lest you condemn yourself to an unpleasant death—or a fate far worse. Mothers and fathers repeated this and similar cautions to their children; nannies, governesses, and tutors echoed the refrain until these warnings imprinted themselves on the souls of every child in the kingdom of Byren.

Even the smallest lisping infant knew the threat posed by the Otherworld. Yet some foolhardy individuals still ventured beyond its borders, either driven by a desire for wealth and conquest, compelled by desperate circumstances, or snared by some Otherworldly lure. Regardless of the cause, the outcome was always the same—disaster.

A disaster I’d no desire to invite into my life, yet one determined to find me, wherever I went. Enderly Park should have been safe, a stroll through its meandering paths an excursion suitable for ladies and gentlemen alike.

Yet when our carriage crossed through the iron gate marking the entrance to Enderly, pressure built at my temples, and my skin prickled with the uncanny sensation of Other. Never mind the claims of a recent spectre sighting within its bounds, since Enderly Park belonged to the city of Avons, any encroachment of the Otherworld should have been an impossibility. The Vigil prided itself on keeping the seat of the king well-warded from any possible fae incursion. No denizen of the Otherworld would dare tread here, at least according to those who guarded Avons.

Yet this tingle, as discomfiting as the rush of blood through numbed limbs, matched the sudden surge I’d first experienced weeks before in Milburn. Perhaps I could have excused it then, in an edgetown situated near a fae Crossing, but not here, not now.

It should not be.

Nor should I be fae-touched, when I’d never ventured into the Otherworld, when neither my mother nor my father had engaged with its inhabitants. Though I possessed no explanation, the affliction had strengthened, a taint I could no longer deny, one which altered my senses and tugged me down a path toward madness. Unwilling to be constrained, it battered against the cage of thorned vines I’d constructed within my mind to contain it.

Unless I wished to betray myself to my sisters, who occupied the bench opposite, I must hide these sensations, at least until I gained the knowledge to master them—or they overpowered me and deprived me of reason . . .

No, I could not allow myself to envision such a fate.

I leaned into the leather seat behind me, solid and cool despite the warm morning, and rubbed my temples. The safeguards I’d devised early in life—the exercise of strict control over my emotions and the cultivation of the cage within—had proven sufficient to prevent the fae-touch from consuming my mind in years past. After my encounter with water sprites in Milburn, which strengthened it, I’d struggled to lock it away, and now Enderly exposed it once more.

More concerning, some part of me didn’t wish to make the attempt, but quickened with longing for the connection I sought to sever.

Jade, my enormous black cat, clambered into my lap, and her throaty purr distracted me from the turmoil within. I turned my attention to the cheerful chatter of my sisters before they could notice anything amiss.

Across from me, Ainslie moved to the edge of her seat to better peer out the window between us. “What do you think, Jessa? Is Enderly everything you hoped?”

Beyond the glass, tall lilacs waved blossoming branches, and columbine, sweet briar, and forget-me-nots clustered beneath their boughs. The lavish beds flourished and expanded with wild abandon, a sharp contrast to the well-ordered and rigidly maintained parks closer to the center of Avons. Beyond these cultivated areas along the road stretched rolling hills of tall, waving grasses and wildflowers of every hue, and in the distance, a dark tree line marked the boundary between the park proper and the forest beyond.

“It . . . exceeds my expectations.” In other circumstances, I’d linger to inspect and sketch as many of the blossoms as possible, seeking new additions for the herbalism guide that occupied much of my spare time. “It certainly deserves its reputation as the most magnificent park in Avons.”

“As long as that’s the only way it lives up to its reputation, all will be well.” Ada tugged Ainslie back into a more proper position. “You’ll tumble onto the floor if you don’t take a care.”

“It scarcely matters—there’s no one here to witness if I do make a spectacle of myself, and I can endure a few bruises.” Despite her protest, Ainslie folded her hands in a demure fashion and sat upright. Only the slight dimpling of her cheeks hinted that she humored Ada with her cooperation.

We continued toward the center of Enderly, lurching at intervals over ruts in the road. In search of further distraction, I sought my sketchbook, easing Jade to the bench beside me so I might have space to work. Though I’d captured my sisters’ features countless times before, they still inspired me: lively Ainslie, the queen’s glory rose, her striking beauty and vivid coloring attracting attention wherever she went; and sweet Ada, the soft ivory-and-pink ranunculus blooming alongside the rose, her lovely, engaging charm a perfect complement to her twin.

Sometimes I imagined I caught a glimpse of Mother in their faces. While living, she’d refused to have her portrait taken—she’d said only the vain indulged in the practice of placing their likenesses in prominent locations for all to admire—so I had to rely on my childhood memories to recreate her appearance. Had she shared the gentle curve of Ada’s cheek? Or the sparkling smile with which Ainslie beguiled the world? Perhaps her eyes had been the deep brown of the twins’ or maybe even the dark sapphire of my own . . . perhaps if she were here, she would understand what they did not.

My pencil had stilled, and I forced it into motion again. There was no sense reflecting on what was past, not with so many troubles in the present.

Ada and Ainslie fell silent, leaving only the clatter of carriage wheels over cobbled stone and the sweep of pencil over parchment to fill the void. I attended fully to my sketch, rather than the glorious view outside our windows, since the attempt restrained the pervasive sense of Other seeking to influence my thoughts.

After our driver halted the carriage, our footman, Ives opened the door and offered his assistance down the steps. I waited with Jade, allowing Ada and Ainslie to disembark first.

Aunt Caris had insisted we needed Ives’s accompaniment for protection against the recent threat of the Crimson Tattoo Killer. Though the Magistry assured all of Avons that the killer wouldn’t strike in daylight nor in public view, Aunt Caris still maintained we must exercise every caution.

I couldn’t fault her fears, not when most of Avons shared them. Never before had the city faced a series of murders, and certainly not any so unnerving, with the victims marked by a crimson tattoo they could not recall receiving shortly before their deaths. More than once I’d caught myself speculating on the unpleasant ways such a mark could be left—perhaps with the use of sedative herbs, or worse, alchemical devices. Regardless, the Magistry proclaimed their increased presence on the streets would keep us safe, and the king himself insisted we must live our lives with as much normalcy as possible, despite the looming threat. Aunt Caris would never gainsay the dictates of society, despite her own concerns, so here we were.

When Ives helped me down from the carriage, Jade rumbled low in her chest and glared at him. Through no fault of his own, he did not meet with her approval—very few did, and she shared her affections with none besides me.

Once I’d emerged from the confines of the carriage, the shock of life within Enderly rushed over me—the exuberant riot of creamy hawthorn blossoms, come early this spring; the shy carpet of violets beneath, murmuring their intent to ease hearts and calm minds; and the graceful sweep of beech branches above, celebrating the arrival of spring with a sap-quickening song . . . no.

I must not attend to their voices. The fae-touch sought to bend my senses and make me hear what I should not, but I refused to surrender. I wrapped my fingers around my ward-pendant, its etched stone cool to the touch, and concentrated on weaving the cage of thorns tight enough to choke out every aberration.

I could maintain control; I must.

After all, I was here for Ibbie. Given the many kindnesses my mentor had extended, including her support for my unladylike pursuit of publishing my herbalism guide, I’d take more than this slight risk on her behalf. I forced myself to move away from the haven of the carriage toward the fountain that rested at the heart of Enderly.

Numerous smaller paths wended away from the stone-cobbled center and the rushing fountain, time-worn trails etched into the earth. Unaware of my fears, Ada and Ainslie strolled down the nearest path, arm in arm, the dark curls Mother had bequeathed to all of us peeping from beneath their hats.

Something twisted within my chest. They always appeared to understand one another without words. If I shared whatever connected them as twins, might they perceive my struggle and extend that understanding to me?

As if she sensed the ache within, Jade nudged my ankle. I lifted her, and she scrambled into her favorite position, draped like a stole around my neck. Comforting warmth radiated through her thick fur. In both size and constancy of nature, she resembled a dog more than a cat. Since the day I’d found her grievously injured in our glasshouse and offered her a home, she’d become the companion I didn’t know I’d longed for.

Despite her added weight, I hurried after my sisters, and Ives fell in behind me, while our driver remained at his post with the carriage. However indecorous, my pace allowed me to swiftly overtake Ada and Ainslie.

“I simply cannot believe spectres haunt Enderly. It’s far too quiet and lovely,” Ainslie said.

“Yet Lord Hemston gave a creditable account of his experience, and he’s not known as a sensationalist, though I suppose he could have been mistaken or taken in by a prank.” Ada glided down the uneven path with her usual grace, as though the irregular terrain were a well-polished ballroom floor. “I’ll grant it’s beautiful, though it’s not as if beauty repels spectres.”

Ainslie’s dark brown eyes sparkled, and her lips curved upward. “More’s the pity. If that were true, we’d all be safe for certain, according to Lord Fielding.”

Ada laughed softly. “You can only give so much credence to a gentleman determined to claim one more dance than is proper.”

Which was to say, none at all. I couldn’t restrain a smile, despite my growing disquiet. Enderly should have offered a welcome haven, a respite from the bustle of Avons. Yet who could find refuge in a habitat that pulsed with life not altogether of this world? I shifted my collecting basket from one arm to the other. “It may be peaceful now, but I’m inclined to think if there were any place in Avons a spectre could strengthen enough to appear, it would be here.”

Spectres didn’t follow the normal pattern of Otherworldly beings, who were constrained to enter our world at Crossings. Instead, they could force a shadow of their form to move between worlds. Then they fed on the fear their uncanny appearance sparked, drawing strength from the terror they inflicted until they could appear as corporeal entities in our world.

“Well, I can’t imagine the Vigil would allow anyone to venture into Enderly if they believed the rumors true.” Ainslie nudged the brim of her hat back slightly and surveyed our surroundings as we trudged up a small hill. “Regardless, we must steel ourselves not to fear, no matter what we see, and sally forth—or admit ourselves bested by gossipmongers and sensationalists.”

“There’s no reason to—oh.” At the top of the hill, I halted. To our right stretched a bedewed field shrouded with hundreds of spiderwebs, their gossamer threads shimmering in the early morning light. They even draped across the lower limbs of the nearest trees.

Ada tilted her head. “Perhaps you spoke too soon, Ainslie. That display rather mars the scenery.”

It more than marred the view—the meadow appeared swathed in winding sheets and ready for burial. I gripped my collecting basket tighter. “Spiders, of all things. What would make them cluster so?”

“I’m not sure, but perhaps their presence—and this unnatural display—gave rise to the rumors of spectres,” Ada said.

I lowered my gaze to the earthen path. Though it was illogical for one who favored time spent out-of-doors, I loathed spiders: their dark clustered eyes, their bulbous bellies filled with the blood of the living, their wisp-wire legs weaving nets to ensnare helpless prey.

If needs must, I could dispatch a venomous snake or snare a mouse and remove it from my bedchamber, but spiders . . . my toes curled within my leather walking boots.

Before I could propose taking an alternate, spider-free path, a jubilant melody impressed itself upon my soul, a call so insistent that it compelled me onward. I looked beyond the crystalline webs to where the meadow joined the forest. On this border, brilliant blossoms swayed in the breeze. Their fragrance, sweet as summer honey, drifted toward us, carrying a gentle offer to lighten the heart and lift the spirits—just what I sought for Ibbie. One of her periodic melancholies had fallen upon her, but this time it ran darker and deeper than usual, a megrim that refused to release its hold, one tinged with uncommon fear.

Not that the whole of Avons wasn’t beset with fear, given the recent murders, but something more appeared to be at work within Ibbie. No matter the cause of her distress, I must find a way to lift her spirits . . . and after all she’d done to support my endeavors, I would venture into terrain far more unpleasant than this on her behalf. So, with a slight shudder, I approached the edge of the path and lifted the hem of my gown.

“Wait, Jessa. Surely you don’t mean to cross that?” Ainslie wrinkled her nose.

“I see no other way to reach the tree line.”

Ada reached out and caught my wrist. “Oh, Jessa. Your dress will be all over mud and damp. And who knows what creatures lurk in the undergrowth?”

“Spiders for a fact, and there may well be snakes, besides the rumored spectre.” Ainslie brushed a curl away from her face, and the sun glimmered on the silvery-gray scar marking her upper arm. “Why must you reach the woods? There’s ample opportunity to explore without venturing from the path.”

“For that matter, you never explained why this expedition to Enderly is so important to you.” Ada fixed me with a steady gaze, as though in so doing, she might compel me to speak truth. “I cannot believe you wish to add your name to the list of sensation seekers who have come here in recent weeks. We could have gone to any of the other charming parks Avons has to offer and not risked an Otherworldly encounter.”

At least she credited me with more sense than those who sought spectres, goblins, or other low fae, in order to pass on lurid stories of their encounters, most likely figments of imagination, since the adventurers returned unscathed. While I weighed my words, Jade launched herself from my shoulders to stick her nose into the damp grass. She promptly sneezed and shook droplets of dew from her whiskers.

I gently pulled free from Ada’s grasp. “When I mentioned to a local herbalist that I sought something to lift Ibbie’s spirits, she told me Enderly is known for its rare plants.” She’d added a caution about the peculiarity of the place, but I saw no need to share that. “I also thought I might find something I could use to formulate a new balm for Ainslie’s scar.”

Though Ainslie didn’t possess a scrap of vanity, the peculiar scar on her upper arm troubled her more than she’d confess. She often rubbed at it or attempted to artfully arrange her sleeves or shawl to conceal the pattern of fine lines. Over the past several months, I’d crafted countless healing balms and salves, combining and recombining herbs and oils in an attempt to smooth the lines and soothe the residual discomfort. Yet nothing faded the symmetrical mark in the slightest, not even the salve that had healed our cook of a severe burn, crafted from the amelior I’d brought home from my travels.

It defied reason. But I delighted in a good puzzle, and I’d not yet given up.

“I’ve begun to think it’s here to stay.” A furrow creased Ainslie’s brow, but she attempted a casual lift of her slim shoulders. “Perhaps if anyone takes note, I shall simply claim it came from an attack by highwaymen from which I scarcely escaped with my life. It would keep them so busy discussing my harrowing tale that they’d soon forget the scar altogether.”

Yet Ainslie herself could not, though she claimed she couldn’t remember how she’d come by the injury that caused it, a peculiarity I found troubling. But if she wished to keep her own counsel, I was in no position to cast blame, not when my own secrets wove an ever-tightening web about me.

Ada unfurled her lace-edged parasol to block the strengthening sun. “As for Lady Dromley, I’m sure she’d be pleased to receive any of the lovely blooms you’ve grown in our gardens. Or if you mean to make her a decoction, why not the one you gave Aunt Caris?”

“They don’t share the same ills.” It was true enough. The simple myrobalan syrup that brought Aunt Caris relief from nightmares of the killer and eased her daytime fears would never suit the deeper melancholy that rested on Ibbie, yet I left out the more dangerous explanation—that I came to Enderly because none of the plants growing within our gardens or among the other Avons parks and lanes whispered assurance of bringing Ibbie relief.

If my sisters knew the way plants called to me, how they revealed their natures with such vigor that I was hard-pressed to block them out, it would endanger them as much as me. Unless they chose to turn me over to the Vigil for confinement in an Institution, they could receive accusation themselves—and would certainly bear the shame of my taint, should the truth become known. Even if it were not revealed in public, could I bear the look in their eyes if they understood my disgrace?

My throat tightened, but I forced a smile. “Besides, you know Ibbie appreciates the rare and unusual.”

Ada adjusted the angle of her parasol. “Perhaps you could choose something closer to the path?”

“Nothing that would compare to those.” I gestured to the profusion of white-gold blooms skirting the forest, a stark contrast to the deep greens and browns beyond. “They’re just what she needs.”

“I don’t know how you can tell from this distance—”

Before Ada could seek to sway me further, I plunged into the field, a large stick held before me to clear away the webs. The tall grasses and wildflowers brushed my skirt, and I endeavored to block visions of spindly limbs crawling upward and scrabbling against my skin.

I quickened my pace, and Jade kept stride, gingerly picking her way across the wet grass. Together we forged a dark trail across the dewy meadow, though when I glanced back some trick of light made it appear as if fog swirled through our footsteps.

The sensation of crawling legs crept over my skin once more, but I ignored it, attending instead to the flowers lining the woods. They swayed gently, bobbing in the breeze, their unfamiliar forms beckoning me onward.

The glorious white blossoms waved above glossy black-green leaves, their pale petals forming a star around centers of darkest gold. From the central star, tiny tendrils feathered out around each petal, giving the bloom an ethereal appearance. I knelt in the grass before them and skimmed the silken blooms with my fingertips. The tension ebbed from my shoulders, and the spider-scratching sensation vanished. I inhaled their sweet-spice scent, and peace seeped into my soul.

They were perfect for Ibbie.

Most herbalists and scholars agreed that the strongest herbs in our world grew near Crossings, though of course, those failed to compare to the strength of Otherworldly materials, used by alchemists to create powerful devices and compounds. The potency of these blossoms lent credence to my sense of Other within Enderly. But no Crossing intersected Enderly, nor anywhere near Avons, so what influence held sway here?

It was a conundrum for another day, perhaps one that might be solved by time within the library stacks, but only after I’d dealt with the more pressing problem—unearthing whatever I could about how fae-touch might be constrained, were such a thing possible.

For now, I loosened three of the plants—which I dubbed goldhearts—from the soil, preserving their roots. They freed themselves willingly, and I tucked them into the nest of my earth-filled basket, their spiced-honey fragrance permeating my surroundings.

As I worked, a low keening sound emanated from the forest. A prickle started at the base of my spine and tingled up toward my neck. When I lifted my head to seek the source of the moan, a fluttering of palest gray caught my eye, shimmering between the evergreen hemlock boughs deeper in the forest. A bird, perhaps?

Jade stalked forward, her green eyes glinting in the sunlight, her pupils narrowed.

The flutter of gray broke through the branches again, still nebulous, but far too large to be a bird of any sort. The prickle strengthened. I fumbled in my reticule for the small penknife I used to sharpen my sketching pencils, though it would do little against an Otherworldly intruder. Then I edged closer to the forest.

Ada called out, “Where are you going, Jessa?”

“I think I see something in the woods.” And I wasn’t about to allow it near my sisters.

“Whatever it is, you should stay out of the forest—it’s beyond the bounds of Enderly.” A note of urgency threaded Ainslie’s voice. “Oh, Ives, fetch her back.”

“There’s no need,” I called over my shoulder. If this were a spectre, and I displayed fear by turning and fleeing toward safety, it might well materialize in full and take up the pursuit, endangering my sisters. I’d driven away the sprites in Milburn; surely I could find a way to keep a spectre from my sisters within the far-more-civilized bounds of Avons. I must show it I did not fear, then perhaps it would leave us alone.

I unfolded the penknife to expose the blade and strained to perceive what lurked within the depths of the forest without freeing the sensations born of my fae-touch. It might allow me to discern more, but at what cost? I’d scarcely maintained control after I allowed it liberty in Milburn.

I couldn’t risk it again.

So I must rely on whatever information my mortal senses could provide. I stepped nearer once more. The mists swirling around the trees—mists which had not existed moments before—obscured my vision. Through the wafting white, a shape of darkening gray coalesced, closer now.

The form moved with a peculiar gait, flicking between trees, in and out of view, growing darker as it approached. Like the mournful call of a dusk-owl, a desolate, aching cry ripped from its throat.

I closed my eyes and inhaled the fragrance of the goldhearts. Their white-and-gold joy blazed through me, strengthening my resolve. If I truly witnessed a spectre, and not merely a young blade intending to play a prank on those who sought a thrill, I’d not permit it the chance to prey on my sisters.

When I allowed my eyes to open, the mist-shrouded form appeared between the boles of two tremendous elms, only a few ells away, close enough to reveal a splash of crimson amid the shades of smoke and ash—and to intensify the sensation of Other prickling down my spine.

No doubt remained.

A bitter chill stole through my limbs, and I wrapped my arms around myself. I’d spent my entire life working to exert control over my emotions, and I refused to fail now. I would not fear, would not strengthen this apparition. But how might I repel it? Could it be as simple as rejecting any claim it might have over my emotions? Fae often sought to entertain themselves at mortal expense, and if I offered no such promise . . .

“I’m not afraid of you.” I lifted my blade, and the wind carried my words into the woods. “It’s time you were gone.”

The misty form wavered, then vanished behind the trunk of an elm—and I could breathe once more.

“What do you see, Jessa?” Ada asked.

I lifted my basket but did not release my hold on the penknife. “It’s nothing. I was mistaken.”

I turned my back on the forest.