The Devil's Dregs (The Seattle Coven Tales Book 3)

Evil Stalks the Shadows of Seattle

When Steven Metcalf’s newborn son is taken by a witch bent on offering the child to her dark master, his world is torn apart. Driven by desperation, Steven and his companions descend into the hidden supernatural heart of Seattle—a city now overrun by witches and the creatures that serve them.

As they confront a darkness deeper than they ever imagined, the stakes grow higher. Every choice could be their last, and the line between hunter and hunted begins to blur. To save his son, Steven must uncover a strength he didn’t know he possessed—before the city devours them all.

Read The Devil’s Dregs and step into the gripping first installment of a supernatural thriller series hailed as “The must-read supernatural series of the year.”

Excerpt from the book

Monday, November 16th, 2015. 3:23 AM.

I stood in the open doorway, still breathing hard after chasing Maara through Interlaken, a hilly Seattle neighborhood. I failed to catch her.

She had escaped with my newborn son. Our son, really, but if Maara had her way, the child would be targeted for ritual sacrifice when he reached twenty-five years old—just like me. I’d been manipulated into having a child with a witch.

Nine months ago, I was being threatened by a rival coven from Baalberith, a Seattle suburb, and Maara befriended me. We took shelter here in her aunt’s house to wait out the period when I was at risk—from one Friday the 13th until the next. She was beautiful, and one thing led to another. She became pregnant.

When the next Friday the 13th arrived, Maara’s coven claimed me, and she nearly killed me with a throng of other Seattle witches looking on. A brave detective infiltrated the group and saved me, but my life had been threatened many times since. Joining forces with Hu and Mike I hoped to end this scourge. I couldn’t let it continue—each victim siring a future victim before his demise. Especially since the next in line was my son.

My breathing came out in frosty clouds as I stood in the entryway to Maara’s aunt’s abandoned house, staring at my witch-hunter friends. Hu Li (or Li Hu, as she calls herself, putting the Chinese surname first) had a black watchman’s hat pulled over her bright green hair. She was wearing a dark blue jacket, jeans, and sneakers. In her hands, she held a notebook compiled by Horace Cuttlefish, a strange but likable man who had collected data on local witches before they killed him in a fire. Mike Henderson, a homeless former nurse and former addict, wore a matching camouflage jacket and pants, plus heavy black shoes.

Hu held up Cuttlefish’s notebook higher and waggled it to get my attention. “Earth to Steven,” she said. “We start by going through this notebook.”

I nodded and walked into the house. Before I could comment, police sirens wailed through the open doorway. Maara must have summoned the police after all—many of whom were witches or under their influence.

“Let’s get outta here,” Mike muttered in his gravelly voice and bolted toward the door. We weren’t following, so he turned back with a look of confusion. “Come on, Steve, Hu. They’re almost here!”

I shook my head. “We should leave from downstairs. We’d likely be trapped on the road.”

Hu and Mike agreed, so I led them to the basement and out the sliding glass door into the chilly, drizzly November night. The house was built on the side of a steep, wooded slope, and it was difficult not to fall as we made our escape.

We were about fifty yards down the hill, stumbling through the ferns and salal bushes, when a bright flashlight illuminated us. A woman shouted, “This is the police! Stop where you are!”