Other witch complete s.., p.1
other witch - complete series, page 1
Copyright © 2025 by Heather G. Harris
Kindle Edition
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No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
Published by Hellhound Press Limited.
Cover Design by Christian Bentulan.
AI: Heather will never use generative AI to write her books. Her books are written by a beautifully flawed human who loves living in magical lands. If you accuse Heather of writing her books with AI, do know that Heather is a former lawyer and she is litigious as fuck. Defamation is a thing, kids. You’d better believe she’ll come for you harder than an innocent human woman who was cruelly kidnapped by a sexy dark fae ruler. Wait … plot bunny!
Omnibus Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Foreword
Content Warnings
Rune of the Witch
Hex of the Witch
Coven of the Witch
Familiar of the Witch
Destiny of the Witch
About The Author
Heather’s Patreon
Heather’s Shop and YouTube Channel
Stay in Touch
Social Media
Reviews
Other Works by the Author
Foreword
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Content Warnings
Please see the full content warnings on Heather’s website if you are concerned about triggers.
All of Heather’s books have occasional poor language and scenes of violence. The Other Witch Series has scenes which depict dementia.
Please note that all of Heather’s works are written in British English with British phrases, spellings and grammar being utilised throughout. There are extra u’s and less z’s, and speech is denoted with a single quotation mark, oh the horror!
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Rune of the Witch
Prequel
The Other Witch Series
Heather G. Harris
Chapter 1
If I were the sort of person who swore aloud, then this would be the man who would drag expletives from me. ‘No,’ I said firmly, turning back to my paperwork. ‘Go away.’
Out of the corner of my eye I saw that the griffin stayed completely motionless and ignored my imperious command. His lion’s body filled my office, the white feathers around his face and neck shone, but it was the eyes – and the claws – that were most dangerous. The eyes, because they missed nothing, and the claws because they could kill you before you blinked. There was a shimmer, and standing in front of me was a man who looked no less dangerous than he had in his griffin form moments before.
He had dark hair, olive skin and dark eyes. He was dressed in black combat trousers, black boots and a black T-shirt that might as well have been painted on. The shirt showed off hard, corded muscle. Human or not, he was still more deadly than your average viper – and I hate reptiles.
Bastion studied me like I was a puzzle he couldn’t quite work out and then, in blatant contravention of my order, took the seat opposite me. He stretched out his legs, crossed his ankles and lounged back. Indolently. Bastard.
‘I need your help,’ he said calmly.
I looked up again. ‘You need to go away,’ I replied evenly. ‘I don’t have anything to say to you. Not now, not ever.’
He studied me. ‘There are lives at stake, witch.’
‘Not mine. Leave.’
His eyes narrowed; they were now so dark as to be almost black – as black as his soul.
‘I want nothing to do with you.’ There, that was clear enough. He still didn’t move. ‘Get out!’
He continued to ignore me as if I hadn’t spoken. My blood started to simmer.
‘Let me tell you a little about why I want your help. Then, if you still don’t want to assist me, I’ll leave willingly,’ he offered.
‘You’ll leave unwillingly,’ I threatened through gritted teeth, reaching for the potion bomb in my jacket pocket.
‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you,’ he said softly. The words carried on the air like the caress of a silk handkerchief with a sharp blade wrapped inside it. He was like a coiled spring. Suddenly violence was in the air. As quick as I am, one wrong move on my part and blood would be spilled…
I eased my hand away from the potion bomb. Suddenly my mouth was dry and, though I refused to admit it, fear had sent my heart careening. I glared up at him, hating this man who set my pulse racing like a rabbit being hunted. ‘Fine,’ I spat out. ‘Tell me what you want and then you will leave.’
His lips turned up the barest amount. On another man, his expression might have been described as a smile but I knew he wasn’t smiling because that would surely shatter his stony face. ‘A griffin is missing,’ he explained. ‘She’s been out of contact for two days.’
‘So? Maybe she just doesn’t want to talk to you,’ I suggested snidely. I steadfastly ignored the tendril of concern for the missing woman which was worming its way into my thoughts. She wasn’t my problem, dammit. I had a whole coven to look after.
My comment struck a chord. He stilled for a heartbeat, but it was long enough for me to note that I had scored a direct hit. He had also wondered if she simply didn’t want to talk to him. There was a history there. Whoever she was, she was someone special to him. And I didn’t care about that, not at all.
‘You’re not my first choice of investigative partner,’ he admitted finally.
‘No?’ I said sarcastically. ‘My heart is broken.’
He shrugged. ‘Jessica Sharp wasn’t available.’
Jessica Sharp, also known as Jinx, is a PI. She’s probably one of my best – and only – friends, which shows the dire state of my life because I’ve known her only a handful of months. Jinx was unavailable because she was off somewhere on her honeymoon. At this moment, a tropical holiday sounded like a really good idea.
‘I need you to scry for the griffin,’ he continued.
I raised an eyebrow. ‘You can’t track her with all of your exceptional skills?’ There was only a hint of sarcasm in my tone. As much as I hated him, I knew he was an excellent tracker and it was rare for him not to be able to find someone.
‘No,’ he said simply. ‘I can’t. And I have a tracking rune on her, so I should be able to find her anywhere in the world.’
I realised then that something else was riding him: anxiety. Well, well, well … Bastion, the deadliest assassin in living memory, had a heart. Somewhere. ‘Why would you track another griffin?’ I asked, curiosity pulling me into the conversation despite myself.
I could see that he didn’t want to answer me but he admitted grudgingly, ‘She’s my daughter, Charlize.’
‘Poor girl.’
He glared. ‘You can chuck many accusations my way – and many of them would be true – but being a shit father isn’t one of them. I raised my daughter. I was there for every punch and kick, every martial arts grading and every knife-throwing competition. She knows I’m proud of her, despite the fact that she’s made a few poor decisions recently. She’s young. She’ll learn.’
A hard shard of jealousy lanced through me. Ugh. Even Bastion had been a better father than mine.
My dad left mum and me when I was six, strolling out without so much as a ‘ta-ta’. Mum was convinced he’d been kidnapped. She had tried to scry him without success, so she called in the big guns – the Connection. The Connection detectives did nothing; they confirmed he was alive and well and that he had left of his own volition. Case closed.
So Mum had hired a PI who found Dad within a week. Apparently, my dear father was living with another woman and three kids in a house runed up to the hilt so Mum and I couldn’t find him. We were the extra family; Mum had been his bit on the side. I guess his other wife found out about us and gave him an ultimatum so he walked out on us and didn’t look back. Neither did we. Screw him.
I met Bastion’s eyes. ‘I’ll think about it. Now leave.’ Much as I despised Bastion, I wanted to help his daughter. She couldn’t help who her father was. I wanted to help her but I didn’t want to help him. Unfortunately, if I did one then I did the other. Another witch could help him. Anyone that wasn’t me.
Bastion’s jaw tightened. ‘She’s in danger. I need your help now, not in three weeks. You’ve refused to help me and that’s your prerogative, but she doesn’t deserve to die for my sins.’
I noticed he didn’t deny that he deserved to die for his sins.
I studied him for the first time since he’d sauntered into my office. Looking at him properly, I could see that the black witch’s curse was taking its toll on him. His eyes were tired and underscored with bags, and I wondered if his strength was starting to fade.
I’m a lot of things. I’m a witch, I’m a bitch and yes, I’m petty as heck. But my grudge with Bastion wasn’t petty; it was justified. And I was determined to see that he died for it.
Chapter 2
Bastion’s visit had unsettled me more than I cared to admit and after half an hour I gave up on the paperwork as a bad job. Being coven mother gives you too much paperwork; I dreaded to think how much I would have to deal with if I mana
There had been a power vacuum ever since the last Symposium member, Sky, was killed. The coven council was moving excruciatingly slowly in appointing the new member; in the meantime, members of the council took turns attending the Symposium meetings. I suspected that they liked the taste of extra power and weren’t in a hurry to relinquish it.
The Symposium runs the Connection – the governing body for all supernatural beings that exist in the Other realm. I wanted to be on it – heck, I wanted to rule it – but one thing at a time. I wanted to craft the change that the Connection so desperately needed, and I wanted to do it from within. It was generally accepted that the next witch member would either be me or my rival, Kassandra Scholes. Kassandra was the mother to the Liverpool coven, which gave her the edge because Liverpool is where the coven council sits. She could schmooze them all whilst I was stuck heading the Home Counties coven.
I forced my hands to relax. I possessed skills that Kassandra didn’t have, and I was still a strong contender despite the fact that I lacked my own familiar. I just needed to do something extraordinary to convince the council of my fitness to rule. And I’d be good at it, dammit. I’d be the best witch leader in history. If they gave me the chance, I wouldn’t squander it.
Bastion’s scent lingered in the air, spicy, with sandalwood and a distinctive maleness. His energy bothered me; it was dark and enticing. Something else lingered that I refused to admit, even to myself.
I pulled out a pre-rolled bundle of sage and lit it at one end before gently blowing out the flame and letting the embers linger. The tendrils of smoke drifted through my office, cleansing it of the day’s traffic and the scent of him. Celts had been burning sage for centuries, and something about the smell always settled me.
I took in a steadying breath and tried to consider his request logically. Should I help him? It went against almost every instinct I had. I wanted to destroy Bastion like he had destroyed me, but I didn’t believe in letting a child suffer for the sins of their parent – even though Charlize was hardly a child. I chewed the inside of my lip; I was conflicted and I knew that the wrong choice either way would have consequences which I’d have to live with. It would be so much easier if I didn’t have a conscience – damn you, Jiminy Cricket.
I ground out the bundle of sage against the burning tray, extinguishing the delicate embers. Never leave a fire unattended. I wanted to ignore Bastion’s request, to dismiss it out of hand, but a part of me – a very vocal part – didn’t want to leave someone missing. I remembered the feeling of being lost and alone. I’d been kidnapped once and Lucy had come to find me. Lucy was the alpha werewolf of the local pack, and she was someone I could tentatively call my friend, though she was a very recent addition to the miniscule roster.
I needed counsel. That rarely happened, but it would have been foolish of me not to take advantage of the Crone’s rare visit. She was travelling with the Maiden and the Mother, giving advice to witches up and down the UK. The triune usually toured the covens once every five years, but Sky’s death had prompted this particular visit.
Sky had become a black witch. According to my sources, the coven council had commissioned the Crone to travel around the country to ferret out any other black witches who might be hiding amongst us. The triune’s usual visits were a smokescreen to allow the Crone to dig deep into the local covens whilst the Maiden and the Mother held court.
I was gratified that the Crone had found not a hint of malpractice in my coven because I pride myself on running a tight ship. The Crone is one of the few people I truly admire; for many years she was a friend to my mother, Luna. I had always looked up to her; having her secure the position of Crone – a position for life – had only cemented my admiration.
Both the coven council and the Symposium member positions are jobs for a four-year period; after that you have to be re-elected and the longest you can serve is eight years. Crone is the only position in witching society that you hold for life. Maiden and Mother aren’t similarly blessed because the Maiden has to be young and the Mother has to have recently birthed a child.
In the old days, covens lived together in villages, but now we have adapted our living practices to mimic modern life. The covens have their own apartment blocks. At the top of mine is a rarely used guest suite. I checked the time: 10pm. The Mother and the Maiden would be hosting an after-dinner gathering. My duties as coven mother made me waver for a moment. I should attend the circle now that I was free, but instead I jogged up the steps. I needed advice and I wasn’t a fan of socialising; besides, my presence would put a dampener on the proceedings.
I knocked once on the door of the guest suite. I didn’t want to disturb the Crone if she was sleeping, though if she’d kept the same habits she’d had when I was child I very much doubted she would be.
‘Come in,’ called a thin reedy voice.
I obeyed – rare for me. ‘Crone,’ I greeted her respectfully, one hand held to my heart.
‘Coven Mother, be welcome.’ She smiled warmly and my own lips turned up in response.
‘Thank you.’ Now that I was here, I wasn’t sure what to say. I cleared my throat. ‘I seek counsel, if I may. I’ve been approached by a griffin. He wishes to hire me to find his missing daughter.’
The Crone looked at me with her too-knowing eyes. ‘Bastion. The runes shook when he arrived – though he did at least use the front door.’ She sounded amused. ‘Bastion asked for your help and you despise him.’
I stifled a grimace; I didn’t realise our enmity was so widely known. ‘He killed my—’ lover? ‘—friend.’
There was so much meaning in that one word. Jake had been everything to me, my one true friend in the whole world, and I’d been forced to keep him hidden like a shameful secret. We believed that one day he would be free and we would be together properly, but Bastion had killed him before that day had come. Jake and I never got the future I’d dreamed of because of the griffin.
‘He is a griffin,’ she said gently. ‘They must kill to survive. It is foolish to be angry at the clouds for raining because we all need water. In the same way, death is a part of life. Deaths are necessary to control the populace. Deaths at the hands of griffins are even more necessary, lest the griffins lose their fragile grip on their urges and slaughter all of us.’
She wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know and I suspect my resting-witch face said as much. I folded my arms. ‘Regardless, I do not have to assist him,’ I said grumpily.
‘You do not.’ She studied me, her brown eyes looking at me with a sympathy that made me grimace. I needed no one’s pity.
Abigay had changed a lot in the last few years. Her dark afro had turned white in sharp contrast with her dark, lined skin, but her eyes were the same as was the warmth of her smile. Even at 10pm, her lips were painted with the same bright pink lipstick that I remembered from my childhood. It was enough to loosen my tongue.
‘Aunt Abigay,’ I started. She looked at me with a hint of censure; now that she was the Crone I wasn’t her family to be gifted the use of her name. I continued anyway; she was family to me, what little I had. Her, Mum, Oscar – that was it. ‘What should I do?’ I entreated.
‘You know the answer to that,’ she said firmly before changing the topic. ‘I visited your mother today. She was looking well.’
I refused to let the conversation digress. ‘I don’t want a moral compass; I want to know what the Goddess advises. What should I do? Please – will you consult the stars for me?’
The Crone shook her head to deny me and my stomach lurched. She pressed her lips together at my poorly hidden dismay and gave a soft sigh. ‘Very well. Come, child.’
‘I’m forty-one,’ I pointed out drily.
She smiled. ‘You’ll always be a child to me, with skinned knees and a guarded heart.’
That stung a little. If my heart is guarded, it is my father’s fault. Nevertheless, Aunt Abigay is certainly in that beating organ.
She pushed herself upwards. ‘Come then, princess, let’s consult the stars.’ The old nickname made me smile and let me know she’d forgiven me for using her name.
