Andromeda Rising

By James Ramsey

I should have been paying attention. Growing up on the run from religious fanatics gave me more than a few good reasons to be careful, but I was just too tired to be as vigilant as I should have been. My mind was occupied with my latest case—a missing nine year old girl. I was usually good at my job, but sometimes I needed a little extra help from magick. I always managed to track down a cheating spouse or the occasional runaway, but now it seemed more children were missing from the streets of Seattle and nothing I did worked.
A cat jumped on my shoulder and jerked me from my exhaustion induced stupor. I spun into a defensive crouch only to see the cat had landed on the sidewalk behind me.
Time seemed to stop for a moment when the cat spoke.

“RUN!”

My name is Jocelyn Matthews and if I live through tonight, I’ll tell you all about my life as a witch.

For the past ten years, Jocelyn has been living as a closet witch in Seattle. When the Inquisitors that have been after her from the time she was nine finally manage to find her, Jocelyn is thrust into a world she never guessed existed. From talking cats to Dark Elves, she'll have to do something she's never done before: trust someone other than herself. If she wants to find the children that have been going missing all over the city, she'll have to open her eyes to the bigger picture and find her place, not only for her safety but for the city as well.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Ramsey
• Release date: May 28, 2013
• ISBN: 9780992005801

James Ramsey

Often accused of being lost in her own world, James spends most of her time at home with her husband and a menagerie of animals. She blames her love of the written word entirely on her Grandfather who owned a bookstore, feeding her addiction regularly. Cutting her teeth on illustrated fairy tales she quickly moved on to Farley Mowatt and Lucy Maude Montgomery. Proudly standing in line till after midnight for five of the seven Harry Potter books she was the only one there without a child. Kim Harrison, Charlaine Harris, Anne Rice, Keri Arthur, Jean M. Auel, Dan Brown, Stephanie Laurens, Christopher Paolini, Stephenie Meyer, and Jane Austen represent just a fraction of the titles found in her personal library. She is rarely found without a bag full of notebooks, iPods, and her Kindle.

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Copyright © 2013 by James Ramsey

Smashwords Edition 2013

***

This book is an original work of fiction. Names, sponsors, characters, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, dead or living, is coincidental.

The opinions expressed in this book are solely those of the author.

Andromeda Rising

Copyright © 2013 by James Ramsey

Smashwords Edition 2013

Published in the United States of America

EBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared, or given away. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is a crime punishable by law. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded to or downloaded from file sharing sites, or distributed in any other way via the internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher's permission. Criminal copyright infringement including infringement without monetary gain is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of James Ramsey.

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Editing: Maxann Dobson—The Polished Pen www.polished-pen.com

Proofreading: Christina S

Cover Art: Lindsay—CoverLure www.coverlure.com

Interior Design and Formatting: Angela McLaurin—Fictional Formats www.facebook.com/pages/Fictional-formats/578230928856597

Blog tour: Jena Gregoire—Pure Textuality PR www.puretextualitypr.com

***

The Wiccan Rede

The Charge of the Goddess

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

About the Author

With much love to my Grampy, who started and fed my book addiction.

And Mom, who always encouraged my imagination.

For my loving husband, Cary, who said I could. And Max, who said I should.

***

Bide within the Law you must, in perfect love and perfect trust.

Live you must and let to live, fairly take and fairly give.

For tread the circle thrice about to keep unwelcome spirits out.

To bind the spell well every time, let the spell be said in rhyme.

Light of eye and soft of touch, speak you little, listen much.

Honor the old ones in deed and name, let love and light be our guides again.

Deosil go by the waxing moon, chanting out the joyful tune.

Widdershins go when the moon doth wane, and the werewolf howls by the dread wolfsbane.

When the Lady's moon is new, kiss the hand to Her times two.

When the moon rides at Her peak then your heart's desire seek.

Heed the north wind's mighty gale, lock the door and trim the sail.

When the wind blows from the east, expect the new and set the feast.

When the wind comes from the south, love will kiss you on the mouth.

When the wind whispers from the west, all hearts will find peace and rest.

Nine woods in the cauldron go, burn them fast and burn them slow.

Birch in the fire goes to represent what the Lady knows.

Oak in the forest towers with might, in the fire it brings the God's insight.

Rowan is a tree of power causing life and magick to flower.

Willows at the waterside stand ready to help us to the Summerland.

Hawthorn is burned to purify and to draw faerie to your eye.

Hazel-the tree of wisdom and learning adds its strength to the bright fire burning.

White are the flowers of apple tree that brings us fruits of fertility.

Grapes grow upon the vine giving us both joy and wine.

Fir does mark the evergreen to represent immortality seen.

Elder is the Lady's tree burn it not or cursed you'll be.

Four times the major sabbats mark in the light and in the dark.

As the old year starts to wane the new begins, it's now Samhain.

When the time for Imbolc shows watch for flowers through the snows.

When the wheel begins to turn soon the Beltane fires will burn.

As the wheel turns to Lammas night power is brought to magick rite.

Four times the minor sabbats fall use the sun to mark them all.

When the wheel has turned to Yule light the log the Horned One rules.

In the spring, when night equals day time for Ostara to come our way.

When the sun has reached its height time for oak and holly to fight.

Harvesting comes to one and all when the autumn equinox does fall.

Heed the flower, bush, and tree by the Lady blessed you'll be.

Where the rippling waters go cast a stone, the truth you'll know.

When you have and hold a need, harken not to others greed.

With a fool no season spend or be counted as his friend.

Merry meet and merry part bright the cheeks and warm the heart.

Mind the Three-fold Laws you should three times bad and three times good.

When misfortune is now wear the star upon your brow.

Be true in love this you must do unless your love is false to you.

These Eight words the Rede fulfill:

An Ye Harm None, Do What Ye Will!

Copyright Doreen Valiente Foundation

***

Listen to the words of the Great Mother, who was of old also called Artemis; Astarte; Diana; Melusine; Aphrodite; Cerridwen; Dana; Arianrhod; Isis; Bride; and by many other names.

Whenever ye have need of anything, once in a month, and better it be when the Moon be full, then ye shall assemble in some secret place and adore the spirit of me, who am Queen of all Witcheries.

There shall ye assemble, ye who are fain to learn all sorcery, yet have not yet won its deepest secrets: to these will I teach things that are yet unknown.

And ye shall be free from slavery; and as a sign that ye are really free, ye shall be naked in your rites; and ye shall dance, sing, feast, make music and love, all in my praise.

For mine is the ecstasy of the spirit and mine also is joy on earth; for my Law is Love unto all Beings.

Keep pure your highest ideal; strive ever toward it; let naught stop you or turn you aside.

For mine is the secret door which opens upon the Land of Youth; and mine is the Cup of the Wine of Life, and the Cauldron of Cerridwen, which is the Holy Grail of Immortality.

I am the Gracious Goddess, who gives the gift of joy unto the heart. Upon earth, I give the knowledge of the spirit eternal; and beyond death, I give peace, and freedom, and reunion with those who have gone before. Nor do I demand sacrifice, for behold I am the Mother of All Living, and my love is poured out upon the earth.

Hear ye the words of the Star Goddess, she in the dust of whose feet are the hosts of heaven; whose body encircleth the Universe; I, who am the beauty of the green earth, and the white Moon among the stars, and the mystery of the waters, and the heart's desire, call unto thy soul. Arise and come unto me.

For I am the Soul of Nature, who giveth life to the universe; from me all things proceed, and unto me must all things return; and before my face, beloved of gods and mortals, thine inmost divine self shall be unfolded in the rapture of infinite joy.

Let my worship be within the heart that rejoiceth, for behold: all acts of love and pleasure are my rituals. And therefore let there be beauty and strength, power and compassion, honor and humility, mirth and reverence within you.

And thou who thinkest to seek for me, know thy seeking and yearning shall avail thee not, unless thou know this mystery: that if that which thou seekest thou findest not within thee, thou wilt never find it without thee.

For behold, I have been with thee from the beginning; and I am that which is attained at the end of desire.

Copyright the Doreen Valiente Foundation

***

The quartz pendulum swung back and forth across the map in a never ending routine of futility. I had been at it for hours. Looking at the clock, I realized it had been more than a few hours; it had been almost a full day. Each time I concentrated with everything I had, hoping the crystal would start to swing in a circle, hoping that this time I would get a positive response.

It was always the same answer. No.

I threaded my fingers through my hair and pulled in frustration. I couldn't understand it. The spell had always worked before. I had found dozens of people this way. But this time, try after try, map after map―Seattle, the northwestern states, USA, Canada, Mexico―farther and farther out, I expanded my search until now I was looking at a world map. Nothing. It was like Tonesha Johnson had vanished. I started to feel desperate.

Angrily, I swiped my arm across the coffee table, scattering the piles of maps and my atlas all over the floor. Damn it! If magick wouldn't work, I would do it the old fashioned way. Grabbing my bag and favorite hat, I headed for the bus stop. I would find that little girl. Her parents would know what happened to her.

Rubbing my eyes, I fought back the tiredness creeping over me. After spending hours combing the streets and talking to dozens of people, I wasn't any closer to finding that little girl than I had been, and now it was late and I still hadn't found my most reliable informant. The narrow back alleys around Occidental Park weren't the place to let fatigue dull my senses. Only a few blocks from the Union Gospel Mission, it was a good place for the homeless to panhandle during the day. Picturesque in the daytime, at night it was a very different story.

I re-adjusted my hat over my hair and swung my waist length mahogany brown braid to hang over my chest so the strap of my shoulder bag didn't pull it. My boss, Jimmy, always said I looked more like a college kid than a private investigator. My normal work wear consisted of worn jeans, a long sleeved white T-shirt with some kind of band T-shirt layered over top, beat-up Converse sneakers or boots, and a wool pea coat or jean jacket paired with my canvas messenger shoulder bag and a military cap to shade my brown eyes. It being summer, I had switched out the long sleeved shirt for a tank and jeans for cargo capris. I looked like any busy university student around town. I didn't like to stand out.

Keeping my head down but my instincts sharp, I kept an eye on the prostitutes and their hovering pimps, the johns and the dealers. I wasn't here for them. Miraculously, I wasn't hassled, most of them seeming to look right through me as I wound my way through the darkness.

Psst! Joss! Over here. A sharp whisper came out of the dark dank alley on my right.

I tilted my head to the side masking the startled darting of my eyes. You never wanted look like you had been scared. Seeing a grimy face peering from around a dumpster, I relaxed a bit. It wasn't the face I had been looking for, but it was just as good.

Stepping into the alley, I looked down at the small boy who had found me. Hey, Jacky. Whatcha got for me?

A gap-toothed grin gleamed out of the darkness and the dirt covering his olive skin. All the street kids in Seattle knew me. They were my network of informants, my lost tribe, and I was their friend, occasional meal ticket, and sometime savior. They trusted me.

Heard you was lookin' for Pete. His eyes held a mischievous glint.

Pulling a Jolly Rancher out of my pocket, I flipped it to him with a smile. You heard right. You know where he is?

He caught it but instead of a cocky grin, his mouth turned down and his eyes held a world of worry. He nodded. Not s'posed to tell you though.

My heart sped up a bit. The only time these kids didn't tell me things was when one of the others told them not to. It was a close-knit group of survivors who relied on each other when the mean streets would chew them up without a thought. The only reason I was included was because I had been one of them once. They looked to me as a role model, someone who had walked in their shoes and not only lived, but thrived. If Pete had told the younger ones not to find me, he was in real trouble. The kid had a chivalrous streak a mile wide, uncommon in a street kid.

Where is he, Jacky? How bad is it?

Chewing his chapped lip, the kid, who couldn't be more than seven, contemplated breaking a code stronger than the vows of the priests in the Catholic church not ten blocks away. He'll be mad.

Just tell me where to find him. I won't say who told me. Flipping him another Jolly Rancher, I hoped he'd cave.

The building at Washington and Third. In the back there's a wood path where you can see the train tunnel behind it. He's hiding under there. He mumbled out the location, and I knew he wouldn't be repeating himself.

Reaching into my bag, I pulled out a wrapped sub sandwich and a juice box, passing it to him with a smile. I didn't hear it from you.

He snatched it out of my hand in a blink, the hardened little waif clutching it to his chest. Thanks, Joss. His eyes darted back and forth for a second before he lunged forward and gave me a quick hug. You's good people.

Swallowing around the lump in my throat, I reached out and ruffled his greasy hair. You know how to find me if you need me. I knew better than to try to pressure him to get off the street.

He nodded and darted off into the darkness.

While there were lots of great foster homes out there, the risk of being sent to a bad one was sometimes too great for these kids to gamble on. Sometimes life on the streets was better, at least in the summertime when it was warm. If I tried to preach at them, tried to convince them that a life in the system was better, they'd stop talking to me―stop trusting me. I wouldn't be able to handle that, so I offered them my understanding and prepaid burner phones with my number taped to the back. I knew the phones often got traded for food or goods, but sometimes the kids would call me for help or to offer information in exchange for money or something to eat. Whatever they needed, as long as it wasn't drugs, I gave it to them. Some caseworkers hated me, called me a bad influence and an enabler. They could stuff it. Most of them hadn't lived in the system. The kids trusted me, and I helped them whenever they'd let me.

Sighing, I headed east towards the hideout Jacky had pointed me to, worried about what I would find.

Peter Barrie was the last kid I had helped before I aged out of the system. It was a chance meeting at the Youth Crisis Center. He was in the secure wing of the Center, having just been rescued from his parents' highly abusive home, and I was attending some kind of life prep counseling course that was supposed to prepare me for adult life. Peter was an old soul in the body of a six year old. Cynical and jaded, he was angry at everyone. The mistake the social workers made was talking to him like he was a child. He wasn't. You couldn't be after everything he had seen.

We had bonded over our hatred of garbage bags. See, whenever they were in a hurry to move you from place to place, they'd give you a garbage bag to put your clothes in. It was easy, cheap, and held a lot. What they failed to realize was it made us feel like we were garbage. Disposable – something to be placed on a curb and picked up to be shuffled off to the next place where they most likely wouldn't keep you for long. The older you got, the less likely they would keep you.

At a few weeks short of my eighteenth birthday, my time was ending. His was just beginning.

I gave him my backpack full of essentials. A bar of soap, travel toothpaste and toothbrush, a towel, a warm hoodie, a couple of pocket books, and a flashlight with some spare batteries. I told him to never keep anything valuable in the bag because it was likely to get stolen, to make sure he got an education, to trust his instincts, and to give people a chance, but if something felt off―it most likely was. He was also the first kid I gave a burner phone to.

Ten years later, and I was dreading what I would find.

Easing up to the dark hole that was the underside of a wooden boardwalk, the gravel crunched under my feet as I skirted the fences separating the tracks from the parking lots of the buildings above. The rail lines ran underground here, and many of the city's homeless took shelter in the overpasses of the streets above. The darkness was an impenetrable wall in front of me, a menacing presence that promised unseen hazards lurking between me and my young friend. I gripped my unlit flashlight, nervous of the dangers hovering around me. Wetting my lips, I whistled the first seven notes of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and then waited.

For eight deafeningly long heartbeats, I was frozen, worried, and scared all at the same time. From the darkness came three flickers of light: one long, two short. I sighed in relief. Switching on my own light, I flickered the reverse pattern―two short and one long burst of light―before turning it back on and making my way around the wooden supports. Up, stuffed way in the farthest recesses of the dirt embankment, was a lump of motionless rags with dull pinpricks of light staring out of them.

Pete? I whispered.

Joss. The voice was gravelly and the effort was obvious.

When I got close enough, what I saw broke my heart. Peter, what happened?

His wheat blond hair was matted with dirt and blood, his face a painted mess of bruises and clotted with blood. His clothes were torn, and he clutched at his ribs enough that I thought they might be broken. Amazingly, all these years later, he still had the backpack I had given him.

Who told you I was here? he whispered hoarsely.

Pfft! I snorted. Please, like I need help to find you.

His head fell back, thunking against the concrete wall behind him with a wince. Jacky-boy.

I gave him a look of disbelief I didn't think he bought. "That kid skip out on another home?"

Peter rolled his eyes. Cut the crap, Joss.

Shrugging off my bag, I sat beside him. He's just worried about you. You look like hell.

He cracked open an eye at me. You paid him off with Jolly Ranchers, didn't you?

My braid caught on the button of my jean jacket as I shook my head. He would never sell you out so cheap! I smiled. It was the sub sandwich that got him.

Pete chuckled but let out a painful hiss.

So you gonna tell me what happened? I asked. I dug another juice box out of my bag and offered it to him. He really didn't look good. He was always pale, but his skin under the bruises looked like parchment.

Wincing as he shrugged, he took a measured breath. You shouldn't be here. The streets are too dangerous right now. He took a long draw of the juice and smiled his thanks.

My eyebrows rose. I know just how dangerous they are, kid. Don't lecture me.

Peter looked at me seriously in the dim light of the shielded flashlight. Not like this. He swallowed hard. We haven't ever seen stuff like this before.

At seventeen he was on the verge of adulthood, but now he looked decades older. Something weird is going on. Our lost tribe of young ones is disappearing.

Years ago, I told him the story of Peter Pan and the Lost Boys, the ones who lived in Neverland with no home, and the name had sort of stuck. Only we called it our lost tribe―a group of boys and girls alike who formed their own family when society failed them.

I sucked in a breath. What are you talking about?

I've been trying to get the youngest off the streets. There are people out there looking for our kids. The ones who are the youngest, the weakest. He looked at me with anguished eyes. "They tried to