Ravens Cove, An Iconoclast Thriller (Book 1)
The Spiritual Battle for a Small Alaska Town
By Mary Ann Poll
America’s Lady of Supernatural Thrillers
A SECRET LIFE
A troubled and frightened Miggie busied himself unpacking and inventorying his latest books, potions, crystals, and adult play paraphernalia. Terror toyed with his mind until it became like a guitar string tightened to the breaking point.
The back door to Miggie’s shop popped open, sounding like a gunshot. Miggie jumped up from his kneeling position and stumbled backward, tripping over a box. He plopped like a sack of flour to the floor, legs in an upside-down V, arms outstretched behind him.
He strained his neck upward, squinting into the blinding light. Shifting all of his weight to his right arm, Miggie threw the left one over his eyes as a shield. He recognized the familiar form of one of his best customers, the alluring and demure Anita Conner.
Miggie distributed keys for the alley entrance to his top customers, including Anita. His patrons appreciated the thoughtfulness. Miggie made much more money from this good business policy. A true win/win, he thought.
“A little jumpy today, Miggie?”
“Got to get the door fixed; sounds like a bomb exploding every time it opens.”
He pushed himself vertical in one motion.
Anita studied him for a while, noticing the redness of his eyes and a nasty purple bruise rising on his right cheek. “If you say so.”
“Looking for something in particular?”
“Well, needing a potion, I think, maybe a spell book or two …” Anita’s voice trailed off as she headed for the occult section across the room. She touched each book with her right index finger, reading as she went.
“You’d think working in a library you could have all this at your disposal,” he swept his arm from right to left, “cheaper, too.”
“Indeed; if I want all of Ravens Cove to question my bringing in those kinds of books. There are some big eyes watching the library and me!” Anita said with disgust.
Miggie stared, taking a moment to admire her backside, and then shrugged. Whatever, he thought, to each his or her own. We are encouraged to be tolerant.
“Here we go.” She hefted two large volumes of chants, spells, and curses in her arms.
“Now the makings of a potion or two.” Anita thumbed through the books to find what she wanted, placed the massive volumes on the counter, and walked off to Miggie’s version of a grocery store, grabbing the items needed for her purposes. She paid Miggie and
headed toward the back entrance.
“I’ll go first. Just in case there are prying eyes,” Miggie said.
Miggie pulled open the gunshot contraption of a door, stepped out into the alley and looked both ways. No one in sight.
A garbage lid fell to the ground. Miggie swung his hands up over his ears to muffle the deafening rattle and scrutinized the garbage cans and immediate area. “Stupid alley cats.”
After another quick inspection of the alley, Miggie said, “It’s safe.”
Anita tipped her head to Miggie and stepped into the alley, humming under her breath, pleased with her new acquisitions. Now her love interest would not escape!
She glanced at her watch. The potions would have to wait until the library closed. Then, she could pursue her true passion—Martin Plotno.
Josiah Williams headed into the alley behind the Trash Bin. He heard as clear as day, “Stop and watch!” He did.
He observed a young, dark-haired woman exit the Trash Bin’s back door and proceed to the opposite end of the alley.
Josiah turned and walked back to Main Street. This part of the puzzle dropped into his mental box, and joined the other unexplained pieces.
The October sun, although just two o’clock, stretched the building’s shadows like rubber bands at the breaking point, heralding the coming night.
Exhaustion overtook Josiah and weakened his spirit, mind and body. In this state, I’ll be in grave danger if I stay out past nightfall. Even though the evil is not yet at full strength, or even quarter strength, I cannot chance crossing its path.
“Time to find a room, some food, and get cleaned up.”
Caitiff, Iconoclast’s star spy, watched the old man leave the alley. He smiled, wicked yellow-black razors jutting from the gaping hole of a mouth. “The old man! What a great prize for Iconoclast.”
He raced into the sky, small, black wings carrying him to the ravine.