Eyes of the Grave (The Devereaux Witches #1) Read Online Chelsea Callahan

Categories Genre: Fantasy/Sci-fi, Paranormal, Romance Tags Authors: Series: The Devereaux Witches Series by Chelsea Callahan

Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 93652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)

With one touch Rebekah Devereaux can either solve a murder or prevent one. So, when one of her would-be clients turns up dead in the middle of Lafayette Cemetery, and all signs point to Rebekah being the killer, this private detective must employ her special abilities to discover the truth.
With the help of her intrepid cousin, and estranged husband; Rebekah sets off on the hunt for the killer, diving into the secrets of her past.
Killer or not, she has to find the answers, before someone else turns up dead.




Cemeteries shouldn’t be easy to sneak into, but they are. The stone walls aren’t exactly meant to keep things out after all. Layered with Wicca, witchcraft, Voodoo and every other kind of magic in existence, they were there to make sure the dead things stayed dead.

NOLA PD wasn’t paid to worry about any of that though. All they cared about when I came places like Lafayette Cemetery was how many kids were getting drunk and tagging the crypts. Their time was better spent monitoring the drunks on Bourbon Street.

For me, all it took to get inside was a glance to my right, a glance to my left, and one good hop to hoist myself up over the wall. Dropping down inside the city of the dead with a gentle thud, my boots sank into the dirt, and a cold wind whipped between the mausoleums.

It wasn’t the first time I’d made the jump. Life as a PI is never easy. In three years, it had led me to all sorts of strange places. A cemetery on the whole was pretty average. Though, smelling the copper tang of fresh blood in a place where people weren’t supposed to bleed was new, even for me.

Straightening in the shadows, I tugged my cellphone from my pocket and turned the flashlight on the mausoleums closest to me. I could see no source for the smell. Everything looked normal, or as normal as a cemetery in New Orleans could be. Every grave as far as the eye could see stood like a literal house for the dead. Stepping out of the shadows, I could feel them around me: thousands of bodies, all left on shelves to decompose, and a thousand more that had been reduced to ash and pushed into an undercroft to make room for the newly dead.

The further I walked, the stronger the scent of blood became. I could taste it on my tongue. Passing the line where the human crypts gave way to the supernatural community, I stopped for a second, inhaling another smell–marigolds. Not uncommon in a cemetery, but to give off that powerful a scent…

Marigolds were used by Spanish witches to draw the spirits back from the grave, and in the wrong hands a tool like that could be used in the darkest of magics.

Flexing my fingers instinctively, I called fresh magic up from the core of my soul, tugging and pulling until it buzzed like an electric current beneath my skin. My spellcasting abilities weren’t exactly stellar, but in a pinch I could still sling enough telekinetic energy to get myself out of almost anything.

Walking forward again, I slowed my breathing to as quiet an inhale and exhale as I could manage. My gut told me where I’d find the blood or whatever it was causing the stench. There was only one place the person I’d come to meet would’ve waited for me. Only one place that made sense. My family was infamous among the witches after all.

Turning down another aisle, I searched for names I recognized. I’d been in the cemetery many times. I’d memorized the layout of the supernatural section by the age of ten. All I needed was a name to orient myself. When I finally found one, it only took a few more steps to locate the one I was aiming for.

Rounding the corner, I came face to face with the largest crypt on the line. My family name burned bright with preternatural fire above the door: Devereaux. My name, my curse.

I turned away from the building, to face the meeting square that sat opposite, and there she was, laid out in the center of the ceremonial square, quiet and still as if she were only sleeping. The marigolds were spread around her head like a wreath on the ground, and every inch of the stone around her was covered in splashes of blood.

I sighed. “Dammit, Nadia. You weren’t supposed to go out like this. What did you do?”

Picking my way to Nadia's side, stepping only on the slivers of untouched stone between the blood stains, I tried not to disturb the scene. The cops would eventually have to go over everything with a fine-toothed comb. Leaving unnecessary fingerprints would only complicate things.

Two days had passed since Nadia Lenkova stepped into my office asking for help. She’d thought someone was trying to kill her, but I couldn’t see it. I touched her three times and it wasn’t there. I should know; death is my superpower. When I touch someone’s skin, I can see exactly what’s out to kill them. It usually changes with every decision they make, but when someone is planning to murder you, they’re all I can see until you’re dead or they change their mind.