Raven Weathersby is not your typical teenager. When her
mom
died, and her step-dad Ben hit the bottle and started
gambling, Raven was forced to grow up fast, working all
the
hours she can and trying to keep Ben out of trouble. Life
seems to have hit rock bottom for her and the only light
in
the darkness are her friends, Dane and Maggie, and her
wonderful talent as a designer. But Raven soon discovers
that
things can always get worse. Because Ben has gotten in
over
his head with the wrong person and to wipe his debt clean,
this man wants one thing - Raven.
Gideon Maddox is willing to place Ben in rehab, and right
off
what he owes, in exchange for having Raven live in his
home
and design clothes for his company, for one year. Raven is
willing to do whatever it takes to help her dad but is
angry
and confused by her captor. Gideon is young and handsome
but
has obviously been seriously damaged by something in his
past.
The Maddox mansion is beyond creepy and when Raven begins
to
see visions and hear voices, she is terrified that she is
losing her mind.
As time passes, Raven and Gideon's
relationship deepens and develops into something much more
meaningful, which terrifies them both. But there is a much
more sinister presence at work in the household, and when
Raven's life is threatened, a history of secrets and magic
unfolds before her eyes. Will Raven and Gideon be able to
stop
the evil at work in the Maddox home before it is too late?
And
can two damaged souls find the comfort and strength that
they
need together?
THE ARTISANS by Julie Reece is a captivating tale of dark
magic, love and redemption. The main characters of Raven
and
Gideon were completely absorbing and I really enjoyed the
underlying tension between them. With plenty of haunting
action, friendship, bravery and love, THE ARTISANS by
Julie
Reece had me hooked from the beginning.
In this dark southern gothic novel, a young woman meets a
man who may
be more than he seems.
After the death of her mother, 17-
year-old Rave
Weathersby gives up her dream of becoming a fashion
designer, barely
surviving life in the South Carolina lowlands. To make
ends meet, Raven
works after school as a seamstress creating stunning
works
of fashion that
often rival the great names of the day. Instead of making
things easier on
the high school senior, her stepdad’s drinking leads to a
run in with the
highly reclusive heir to the Maddox family fortune,
Gideon
Maddox. But
Raven’s stepdad is drying out and in no condition to
attend the meeting
with Maddox. So Raven volunteers to take his place and
offers to repay the
debt in order to keep the only father she’s ever known
out
of jail.
Gideon
Maddox agrees, outlining an outrageous demand: Raven must
live in his
home for a year while she designs for Maddox Industries’
clothing line,
signing over her creative rights. Her handsome young
captor is arrogant
and infuriating to the nth degree, and Raven can’t
imagine
working for him,
let alone sharing the same space for more than five
minutes. But nothing is
ever as it seems.
Is Gideon Maddox the monster the world
believes him to
be? And can he stand to let the young seamstress see him
as he really is?
Excerpt
When I pull up to the curb at number seven Wormwood
Road, my insides curl up. Who knows why it’s numbered
seven; it’s the only house for miles around. Nothing
could
prepare me for the Victorian monstrosity that looms
beyond
a heavy wrought iron gate. Who are they hiding back
there,
King Kong?
I put my vintage red Beetle in park and step onto the
street.
The only reason I still own this car is that I hide the
title from
Ben. Dane keeps it for me at his house.
Built in brick and cream sandstone, more than a dozen
grouped chimneys rise like spires over a slate roof. I
know
because my ninth-grade history teacher had us build
scale models of European castles for midterm exams.
My preoccupation with Edgar Allen Poe doesn’t hurt my
knowledge of all things Goth, either. Mother knew what
she
was doing when she named me Raven.
The windows range in shape from pointy arches to
clovershaped,
the third story encasing colorful leaded glass with
decorative tracery. Battlements, parapets, and Oriel
balconies
set this joint off as your basic vampirism party house—
deluxe.
Whatever. Determination (and maybe a solid dose of
desperation) spurs me on toward the sidewalk. My three-
inch
heels click across the concrete. A knife is tucked just
inside the
knee-high laces of my right boot, just in case.
My fingers run over the ornate leaves, gargoyles, and
iron
scrollwork that make up the front gate. The entrance
seems
more suited to a creepy old graveyard than bayside
southern
mansion, but I think the artwork is beautiful in a
disturbing,
retro sort of way. The scene calls to the dark poet in
me.
Warm winds blow off the salt water, filling my nose with
the scent of brine, and marsh, and forest. The breeze
sends my
long, razor-cut hair across my eyes. I shake the dark
strands
back, pulling the gate open with a clank. Above me, the
word
Maddox stands out in arched relief over the door—the name
of my nemesis.
My vision clouds as I stare. Eyes watering, I rub them as
the letters on the gate appear to stretch and bend in
front of
me. The font drips iron like black wax melting off a
candle.
I shudder as the metal morphs into something cryptic and
sinister. Unsure of what I’m seeing, I squint at the
newly
forming word Vigilis. I stumble back. When I blink, the
odd
lettering is gone. Everything is as it was.
Vigilis. What the hell?
Body racing with adrenaline, I draw a deep breath. I
can’t
afford to freak out. Ben has no one else, so I slough off
the
strange vision as nerves, square my shoulders, and march
toward the double-arched front door. If the bell chimes
the
beginning of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, I’m coming back
with a cross and some Holy water.
I don’t find out what the doorbell sounds like because
some
old guy in a black coat opens the door. “May I help you?”
Plastering a big smile on my face, there’s little need to
fake
my out-of-breath speech. “Hi! Oh, am I late? I’m so
sorry.
Half the time those GPS instructions are wrong, you
know?”
I hold my breath, hoping he’ll fall for my act as I blow
past
Maddox’s gatekeeper into the foyer.
Mr. Butler Guy, or whoever he is, spins to follow me.
“Excuse me … just a moment … Miss!”
Okay, so he’s no dummy. Too bad, but no one is stopping
this meeting. “I apologize again,” I say with my best,
faux
perky voice. I’m making myself gag here with my imitation
of a ditzy schoolgirl, but oh well. “I’m aware Mr. Maddox
doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” I glance at my wrist
for the
time. “Oops. Watch stopped. Silly me, no wonder I’m late.
Ha, ha, ha. Could you tell the gentleman his eleven
o’clock
appointment is here? I’d be so grateful, thanks bunches.”
Apparently, batting your eyelashes only works in the
movies, because Mr. Butler Guy straightens himself to his
full
height—which is shorter than my five-foot-seven. He’s got
to
be seventy. Thin, frail, the man is nearly bald, and his
scalp
is covered in dark liver spots. Black spectacles slide
down
an impressive nose stuffed with white hairs. They match
his
eyebrows, as though all the hair on this guy’s body
migrated
to those two areas. Attractive.
He glares at me, but I pretend not to notice.
“Nice place. Very …” Ominous, spooky, chilling.
“Imposing,” I finally manage. The interior of the house
matches every expectation based on its shell.
Asymmetrical
floor plan, the massive mahogany staircase curves left
with a
thinner stair breaking off and winding right to what must
be
the third floor. Everything is dark wood, red carpeting,
crusty,
dusty, and haunted looking. You gotta be kidding me. All
the
place lacks is a suit of armor and The Addams Family.
“Young woman, you are not expected. Now if you will be
so kind as to leave the prem—”
“Jamis? It’s all right. I will see her.” A disembodied
voice
floats down the hall. It’s a nice voice, young, low, and
well, hot.
A muscle in the old man’s jaw flexes as he glances from
me to the long hallway on our right.
I drop the sugar-and-spice routine now that I’ve been
admitted. I am many things but sweet isn’t one of them.
My arms fold over my chest. I’m enjoying my victory over
the snotty butler just a little too much, but I’m
building my
confidence for what’s ahead. “He’ll see me now, Jamis.”
The butler ignores me and faces the empty hall. “Very
good, sir.”
I follow as he heads in the direction of the mysterious
voice. My fingers twine together. I glance at the oil
paintings
on the walls, exotic vases on the credenzas lining the
wide
hallway. Despite my bold plan, I’m full of crap, so full
my
eyes should be brown and not gray. I’m scared to death of
what might happen if I fail to convince this guy to leave
my
stepfather alone.
“Madam.” The old man bows at the entrance to the last
door at the hall’s end.
From miss to madam, huh? I wink and he rewards me with
a look of shocked disdain. Maybe I shouldn’t be so hard
on
the poor old guy. How nice could he be, though, working
for a
skeeze like Maddox? Ladies respect their elders, the
position
of age, no matter their behavior. My mother’s prim voice
echoes in my mind. Fine. “Thank you,” I mumble. That’s
all
he’s getting.
His eyes widen ever so slightly as I breeze past him.
Floor
to ceiling bookshelves cover the walls between rich, dark
paneling inside. I breathe in dust, and age, and
something
sweet. A bowl of red cherries sits on a green blotter
atop the
desk, an open deck of playing cards scattered beside
them.
There’s an ancient looking camera resting on a wooden
tripod
that takes center stage in the middle of the floor. It’s
oddly
placed, the lens aimed directly at the doorway I stand
in.
“Why have you come?”
I don’t see anyone at first as I shuffle forward. Heavy
brocade curtains block the windows, keeping the room
dark.
One lamp burns on the desktop flooding the surface with
light
but leaving the rest of the space dim. My gaze darts
around
the room until movement pulls my attention to a
silhouette
behind the desk. I swallow hard, my heart hammering. “I’m
Raven Weathersby, here on behalf of my stepfather
Benjamin
Weathersby. He’s too sick to meet with you today.”
“Raven?” I still can’t see him. My name rolls off his
tongue slowly. His pronunciation is deliberate, as if he
tastes
the sound it makes. “Will you sit?”
“I’ll stand.” My refusal is meant to appear tough, but I
immediately regret my words. Nerves are multiplying and
my
knees rattle beneath me. I guess he keeps to the shadows
to
intimidate me and it’s working. Why won’t he show
himself?
It’s pissing me off.
“Then let’s get to it, shall we? Your stepfather’s
gambling
debts are extreme, not to mention his drunk stumbling
into a
display of candles in the foyer set my club on fire.
Regardless
of his health, your stepfather will have to keep his
appointment.
He’s caused me more than enough trouble.”
The shadow sounds too young to own a club, or anything
else, for that matter. Not yet a man’s voice, but not a
boy’s
either, his speech is prep-school snark or tutored, home-
school
formal. “I understand your frustration, sir,” I say. “But
it was
an accident. That ‘club’ was a hundred-year-old
warehouse. A
pile of kindling used for illegal gambling. Insurance
will pay
for physical losses, anyway. I know you’re covered.”
I did, too. I spent the hours before my meeting in
Jacob’s
shop on his laptop. Google helped me check up on the
illustrious
Maddox Enterprises, their textiles and manufacturing …
Between Jacob, Ben’s bookie, Michael Botts, and a few
others,
I’d gotten quite an education this morning.
Maddox didn’t corner the market on connections. Sure,
some of mine were less than reputable, but Ben grew up in
this town. Everyone knew my mother and the story of her …
unearthing. I wasn’t above using their pity to save the
only
father I’d ever known. When you’re down and out, you do
what you must to survive. It might not be pretty, but I
couldn’t
afford the luxury of pride. “I will pay what he owes.
There
must be something we can …”
It’s too quiet. All I hear is the sound of faint
breathing.
Footsteps brush the red, Persian rug beneath us. The
light
from the desk lamp illuminates handsome male features as
the
figure steps closer.
A boy stands in the center of the room. Boy? Guy. He’s
six
feet, at least. Messy, blond hair falls in an appealing
way over
his brow. He casually rests a hip against the giant
walnut desk.
He’s wearing tan leather pants, a white cotton tunic, and
a
green, duck canvas overcoat that hangs to his knees,
complete
with faux fur collar. His clothes are good. Not as good
as mine,
but custom, and quite nice. I make my observations in
seconds,
ticking off the particulars. This guy oozes more
electrical sex
appeal than the Las Vegas Strip.
When he shifts his weight, I notice his cane for the
first
time. The dark wood and gold, lion-head grip makes it the
most beautiful walking stick I have ever seen. I’d kill
to own
one like it. Well, maybe not kill, but maim? Definitely.
I feel
my brow creasing. This isn’t the infamous Nathan Maddox.
He’s too young. “Who are you?”
He leans over, twisting the lamp switch from low to high.
Light brightens the entire room. “Gideon Maddox, at your
service,” he replies.
Maddox has a son? I guess I’d heard that, but few have
ever seen him. Always away at boarding school or
something.
I wonder if the square-jawed, GQ model standing in front
of
me knows his father’s plan. “What do you want with Ben?
“Restitution. Isn’t it obvious?” He stares like I’m a
puzzle
that needs solving. “Only, I wasn’t expecting you …” He
shifts
and glances at the camera in the center of the room.
“This
is quite a surprise.” A line forms between his eyebrows.
“So,
what do I do with you? What to do …”
My feet tingle. Before I know what’s happening, I pace.
If
I stand in one spot any longer, I’ll crack. “Let me speak
with
your father. I’m sure we can work something out.”
His expression hardens to granite, eyes flashing dark and
dangerous. “The correspondence was from me. I handle
these
matters now, not my father.” His voice is careful,
calculating.
Plotting against Ben as if he’s planning his next move on
a
chessboard.
He shifts, leaning on his cane. The guy is stunning from
a
physical standpoint. I hate myself for noticing, but it’s
actually
hard not to stare. He said he’s taken over. Does that
mean
the son continues his father’s ruthless practices? I
detect no
compassion in his stony expression.
“Let him go,” I say, trying to keep the pleading to a
minimum. “Talk to your dad or whoever. Ban Ben from your
clubs, your game tables. He’s been through a lot, more
than you
could possibly understand. He’s old and sick, not that
you care.
I’ll pay whatever he owes if you’ll just give me some
time.”
His chin lifts ever so slightly, giving the impression
he’s
unused to being questioned. “That’s not how things work
with
our family. Rules must be followed; justice served.”
What ‘things’ is he talking about? Is he with some sort
of gang, the mob? “I’m talking about a payment plan, not
a
pardon. Can’t you change the rules?”
His jaw stiffens as he shakes his head. “No.” He watches
me carefully before continuing. “You’re on dangerous
ground
here, Raven. We are very powerful people. You have no
idea
who you’re dealing with.”
There are two kinds of arrogance in boys. The first is
when a kid is all bluff and brag without the skill to
back it
up. The second is a guy who knows he can deliver, there’s
a
quiet confidence in his eyes, a deadly grace to his
movements.
Gideon belongs in group two. I’m not sure it’s wise to
argue,
but I don’t want him thinking I’m afraid.
“Why, because you have money? That doesn’t make
anyone noble, or worthy, or good …” Gideon’s eyes narrow.
I know I should shut up, but I can’t. Anger builds in me
as I
speak, years of pain and loss, boiling up my throat like
acid.
“Parasites, that’s all you are. Cruel and manipulative,
preying
on—”
“Enough!” Gideon growls. “How dare you talk about my
family like that, challenge our reputation?”
“Your reputation is nothing compared with Ben’s life.
He’s
the only family I have left.” I hate the weakness in my
voice,
but I can’t control it. “I’ll do anything to protect
him.”
He pauses, gaze darting again to the camera in the center
of the room. A frown pulls at his perfectly shaped lips
as he
exhales. “Anything is a big word, Raven.”
My swallow is more of a gulp. At first, this guy came off
wary but cool, a little mysterious. After listening to
him talk,
I’m suspecting the real story. The boy’s got some damage,
enough to make him a monster. No one reasons with this
level
of pride.
“Yes, fine, take it out on me instead. Whatever you want,
just leave Ben alone.” I’m offering myself up like a
lamb. God
help me, I’m really doing it. Gideon’s going to kill me,
or
someone is.
His eyebrows spike. “You’d do that? Give up your
freedom?”
My freedom? Wait a min—“What do you want?”
“You.” He clears his throat. “Your designs, rather. The
Maddox clothing lines are weak and suffering losses. You
create
for me unconditionally, give me production rights, and at
the
end of a year, I will stamp your stepfather’s debt paid
in full.”
“My designs … ? How do you know about my clothes?”
“Good strategists study their opponents, Raven. I know
more about you than you might think. Now, what do you
say?
You for your father.”
I step toward the old camera, stalling. His offer whirls
in
my brain. This morning, I discovered that Maddox
Enterprises
had changed their name from Maddox Textiles forty years
ago.
Once cotton moguls, the company diversified when
production
overseas killed their domestic markets.
They still manufacture a struggling fashion line that
supports half a dozen designers. Any one of them stands
to
make money if he or she hits the right clothing chord
with
America. The idea Gideon wants my work is flattering, or
would be, if I didn’t want to choke him to death with my
bare
hands.
A pretty, red velvet ball hangs from the side of the
camera
lens. Lost in my thoughts, I reach out a hand.
“Don’t!” Somehow, Gideon is beside me. He tugs me
against him, holding my wrist in his iron grip. I lift my
face
to his. Blond curls fall over his forehead, obscuring one
eye.
The other is brilliant blue. “Didn’t your father teach
you not to
touch what isn’t yours?”
I snatch my hand from his grasp. “Didn’t yours?” Ragged
breaths pump from my lungs as I back away. “What’s your
problem? Have you got a gun hiding in there?” I’m
halfjoking,
but he doesn’t look amused. In fact, his face pales. My
heart stutters in response, wondering if I was right
after all.
“Decide, Ms. Weathersby. You may remain here. Work in
my house—for a year—and your father goes free. Those are
my terms.”
“Stay here? You can’t be serious. That’s impossible.”
I’ve
got Ben to look after, school, the shop. Maybe dying is
better
than being tortured over a year. Who knows what this guy
might try? But then, who would care for Ben? “That’s
illegal.
It’s kidnapping, extortion, blackmail—”
“Don’t be ridiculous. As far as anyone else is concerned,
I’m simply a family friend offering to help with your
career,
providing you with a place to stay while your father gets
the
help he desperately needs.” He walks back to his desk,
the
hitch in his step barely noticeable. His tone takes on a
cheerful
note, as if he really sees himself as my benefactor.
“You’re still
a minor, aren’t you? One anonymous call to Child Services
informing them you live in a storage room with a drunk
ought
to do the trick. I think there are child endangerment
laws that
apply here. Which of us do you suppose they’ll believe?”
No. This cannot be happening.
“You will not get another offer.”
You were willing to die for Ben a minute ago. The voice
inside my head is barely a whisper, and I sound like a
hypocrite,
but this is falling on a different kind of sword. I’ve
learned
some things are worse than death. What did you think
would
happen coming here, I ask myself. Ruthless people don’t
say
‘Oh sure hon, my mistake. I forgive your father. Go have
a
nice life.’
“I can’t.”
“That was a quick turn-around. You said anything. Not as
committed to dear old dad as you thought?” The words stab
like barbs.
He’s right, but dying is different than selling your
soul.
“No. Yes. I mean, what about school? It’s my senior year,
and
what about Ben, my cat, my clients? I can’t just move in
here
with you.”
A wicked half-smile escapes. “You can, and you will, or
no deal. Your clients are irrelevant. Tell them you found
an
investor and cancel their orders. I am your world now.”
My world.
I was a happy, carefree kid once but since mom died?
No dating, no sleepovers with friends, or school dances.
My
world has been part-time jobs, picking my stepfather up
from
whatever bar he’s passed out in, and dragging him home.
Five
years on that hamster wheel, the routine is automatic. I
can’t
save Ben, or fix all our problems, but I can’t stop
trying. God,
what do I do? The temptation to feel sorry for myself is
too
great. The room smears as my eyes fill with unshed tears.
Gideon won’t meet my gaze. Instead, he lifts his chin,
squinting at a spot above my head. “Move in. Bring the
damn
cat. Ben wins an all-expense paid trip to a rehab
facility.
Based on the sketches I’ve seen in your portfolio, by the
time
my people finish marketing your new line of clothing, the
profits will more than reimburse me. As for school,
you’re
not on house arrest. Continue to go, or I’ll hire a
tutor. I’ll
decide later.” His eyes narrow. “Don’t attempt to contact
the
authorities about our true arrangement. For those that
ask,
explain that I’m helping you launch a product line and
you’re
working for me. You figure out how best to convince your
friends this is a good thing, but remember, one slip and
Ben is
finished. Understand?”
He has my portfolio? Had one of his thugs steal it from
our storeroom, I’ll wager. I can’t believe this is
happening, or
how this jerk thinks he can get away with his proposal.
It’s like
something off one of those nighttime news shows where
girls
are found chained to sewing machines or computers in the
basement. Slave labor, child labor, I don’t know—
something.
Then I think of Ben. What wouldn’t I do to save his life?
My
answer is swift. Nothing.
“I’ll do it.”
“I know you will.” The guy exudes confidence, and I
realize
he never had a moment’s doubt I would agree. “Take a few
days and get your affairs in order. Terminate your lease,
and
if you have any problems with your landlord … Never mind,
you won’t have any trouble.” Gideon paces as he speaks.
He’s
focused, intense. “I will prepare your workspace. Make a
list of
the materials you’ll need to get started and give it to
Jenny, the
housekeeper. I will make your father’s travel
arrangements to
enter a rehab facility.” He stops, scowling at me as if I
insulted
him. “Don’t you have any questions?”
Only a hundred, but my mouth is as dry as sawdust. How
will I endure a year under the same roof with his
cruelty? I
won’t. The guy is dangerous. Like a golden lion that
enjoys
toying with his victims before he ends them. Then one of
his
statements jumps out and slaps me in the face.
“You said travel arrangements. For my stepfather …”
Is Gideon lying? Telling me what he thinks I want to
hear?
That my father is going to rehab when in truth he’ll wind
up
missing, dead in some ditch somewhere. Gideon will use me
until he gets what he wants and then put me down next to
Ben.
“Raven.” His voice is steady, quiet, a snake rearing
before
the strike.
A tear breaks free and rolls down my cheek. My gaze
locks on my adversary, wishing I could burn a hole
through
his forehead. How can I fight you, I wonder? Everything
about
him is relaxed, from his proud stance to his barely-there
smile.
My hands curl to fists at my sides. My teeth clench. How
can I
save my dad and save myself? There must be a way. “It
doesn’t
make any sense. Why do all this? Why trap me here?”
“You’re an investment. A valuable one that I intend to
keep
my eye on.”
Thoughts of planting the heel of my boot in his groin
keep
me busy. My wish must be obvious because Gideon smiles
wider. He stands there, staring me down. In fact, we eye
each
other like Cobra and Mongoose.
“Try not to struggle, Raven. I assure you, no one escapes
from me.”
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