Secret Hex

by Lenora Lane

Genres: Mystery; Paranormal; Occult & Supernatural; Cozy Mystery; Paranormal Romance

Synopsis

Some curses can't be outrun...

Eve Grimsbane thought she was done with disaster. After climbing to the top only to lose everything in a catastrophic fall from grace that destroyed lives, she's spent nearly a year adrift, searching for a fresh start.

Harmon Hill seemed perfect: a tucked-away city with cozy charm, far from her past and dwindling bank account. All Eve wanted was a quiet place to get her bearings, earn a little money, and disappear. But after intervening in a brutal assault one night, something awakens within her—a disturbing awareness that her new home harbors dark secrets.

As a sinister force gradually consumes Harmon Hill, Eve finds herself at its center, surrounded by cursed objects that pulse with malevolent energy.

Before Harmon Hill, Eve never believed in magic or the supernatural. Now, she can't deny the evidence as disturbing events escalate throughout the city—events the local police somehow connect back to her.

When a slow-burn romance kindles with someone she never expected to trust, the stakes rise even higher. The only path forward is to confront whatever malevolent force has taken root in Harmon Hill—before she becomes its next victim.

In a world where ordinary objects harbor extraordinary dangers, Eve's second chance at life has become a supernatural mystery that she never asked to solve.

Secret Hex is the captivating first novel in the Harmon Hill Mystery series, perfect for readers who love urban fantasy, slow-burn romance, and heroines who discover that sometimes the best way forward is to stop running.

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Release date: June 11, 2025

Publisher: Independently published

Print pages: 288

Sample

Chapter 1

The address on my phone was correct, but I couldn’t believe this was right.
Harmon Hill’s charming, tree-lined streets that were typically filled with striped awnings
and colorful displays in storefront windows were nowhere to be found. The barista told
me the temp agency was in an older section of the city, but this was way off the beaten
path. I clutched my purse closer to my body and scanned the empty street, my fingers
hovering near the pepper spray on my keychain.
The buildings were cramped and tired looking. I thought they might’ve been built
at the turn of the century—the previous century. All the Victorian charm had gone out of
them, revealing crusty, faded black paint, peeled and cracked near the windows in layer
upon layer like an aged timeline. There had to be lead in the paint. Wasn’t there some
kind of city ordinance that should’ve forced the owners to change it?
I blew out a breath, knowing I had very little choice. Staring down the road to
desperation wasn’t as long as I’d thought it would be, but it wasn’t as short as it could’ve
been either.
I checked the address on my phone again and looked at the sign on the frosted glass
door: The Prospect—Staffing Solutions.
The faded, mustard-yellow bubble letters were chipped on some of the edges, but
not enough that I couldn’t read them. The sign must’ve really popped a long time ago, but
now it was a sad and lonely testament to a street that time had forgotten.
The warnings I’d gotten about this place hadn’t been exaggerated in the least. It
was the kind of place I’d never thought I’d have to go to, but since my previous ten years
of work experience held the darkest of clouds over it, I couldn’t afford to be choosy. 
No one had ever said that second chances were easy. I needed a job, and I had to
start today. Harmon Hill was where the road ended for me, because what little money I
had was running low, and I was getting tired of traveling. I looked down the street,
wondering if I’d missed another place I could go. The city wasn’t that large, but going

door-to-door in search of employment was my next best option at this point. I couldn’t
help but wonder if, maybe, there was something I hadn’t thought of yet. 
The Prospect temp agency was in a very old, converted row home. It stood three
stories tall, attached to three others. One of the red-brick houses had boarded-up windows
but near the rooftops was a Victorian-style flare of dentil crown molding. Several homes
had large bay windows with faded metal roofs that were painted black, but not The
Prospect. A faded plaque near the door showed the year 1911, Harmon Hill Historical
Preservation Society. 
Next to the stairs that led to the front door was a large window, though I could
barely see inside. There were dark curtains along the edges, and the shades were pulled
down about halfway. I spotted an overhead light on inside. As I walked to the steps, I was
almost hoping the door would be locked. Then I could at least tell myself that I’d tried
before I left. 
I placed my hand on the wrought-iron railing and glanced down the street where I’d
parked my car. I hadn’t parallel parked since I’d gotten my driver’s license, and the front
driver-side bumper stuck out a little. Then I glanced at the meter. It was in perfect
working order—big surprise there—and it greedily swallowed up the loose quarters I’d
scrounged from the glove compartment. The thirty-minute timer counted downward, and
I sighed. I’d paid to park, so I might as well go inside, right?
The street was very quiet at nearly nine o’clock in the morning. Were these other
houses empty? Was that some kind of sign that this was a bad idea? Maybe I should
leave. I could just hop back into my old Saab and drive around the city, looking for
places to work. Going door-to-door to look for work couldn’t be that bad.
A sharp rap on the window startled me, and I spun toward it. An older woman with
horn-rimmed glasses peered down at me and gestured toward the door with a jabbing
motion. I hastened up the narrow staircase, feeling like I was being summoned for a
severe scolding. 
I exhaled forcefully through my nose and opened the door. Its hinges squeaked like
the cries of wounded souls. Who would ever come here if they weren’t desperate? I
should fit right in. 

I walked inside and tried to push the solid wood door closed behind me. It wouldn’t
budge because it was wedged between the uneven floor and the door frame, as if I’d
passed the point of no return.
“Just push it hard,” said the old woman irritably. She had a voice like a toad.
A slight flush of embarrassment warmed my cheeks. Then I gritted my teeth and
threw the door shut. The hinges squeaked in protest as they finally gave way. My
ponytail bounced wildly for a second as the door slammed shut, and I wondered if I’d be
able to open it again.
The frumpy older woman scowled up at me from behind thick glasses while a
cigarette burned in a yellow ashtray. Next to it was a cup of black coffee. The air had a
dingy smell to it, and I tried not to breathe through my nose. 
“Name?” she asked.
I glanced down at her nameplate: Roz Snow.
“I have an appointment,” I replied, and her gaze narrowed impatiently. “Eve
Grimsbane.”
Roz looked at a computer that might’ve been brand new a decade and a half ago
and frowned. 
“Do you go by Evelyn?” she asked.
“Eve.”
Roz gave me an expectant look that became accusatory as the silence dragged
between us. “Where’s your resumé?”
“I don’t have one,” I said, glancing around the room. 
An old leather couch sat by the wall that sagged in the middle. It had dark stains on
it. A pair of vintage green wingback chairs rounded out the waiting area, and a round
coffee table covered with glossy magazines attempted to anchor the space. The
magazines were old, and the worn pages looked as if they’d been flipped through many
times during their tenure there. 
Roz sighed heavily and yanked open a desk drawer. She grunted as she heaved her
bulk down and pulled out several forms. Twisting around in her chair, she grabbed a
clipboard. The movement appeared well practiced, as if she’d had to do it many times,
and I bet it annoyed her every single time.

She thrust the clipboard and papers toward me. “Fill those out and bring them back
to me,” she said, and lowered her gaze toward the computer. Then as an afterthought, she
took a drag from her cigarette. 
I looked at the questionnaire for a second, then glanced at the desk. Roz hadn’t
given me a pen. This was probably some kind of test to see how well prepared I was, and
it wasn’t going well.
“Uh, do you have a—”
“Over by the coffeepot by the wall,” Roz said dismissively. “No, there isn’t any
coffee.”
I was tempted to ask where she’d gotten her coffee from but kept my mouth shut. I
wasn’t there for coffee. 
I snatched a pen and sat on one of the wingback chairs—the one with the fewest
stains. I kept looking at the floor and under the coffee table, half expecting a few rodents
to be scurrying about, but it seemed that not even they wanted to be there.
“Don’t take too long with that. I have other appointments this morning,” Roz
scolded.
I frowned, not believing her. I though she just wanted me out of there. Well, that
made two of us. 
I filled out the questionnaire, which contained the basics for job applicants, but I
left the work history blank. Instead, I listed skills that I thought were appropriate for
entry-level jobs. 
Roz wore a bored expression as I handed the papers back to her. She scanned them
and scowled. “No work history?”
“I’m just looking for something entry-level.”
Roz heaved a sigh, making it sound like a monumental effort on her part. “I
wouldn’t get my hopes up, then. The job market is tight here.”
If I’d had any other option, I wouldn’t have come there. “Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
Roz shook her head and typed on the keyboard, punching the keys like they’d
offended her, and it nearly made me wince. If she broke it, she might not be able to give
me any leads.

I rubbed my wrist, adjusting the sapphire bracelet I'd worn for luck. The familiar
weight was comforting, though the metal seemed unusually warm against my skin. I
traced my finger along the stones, feeling that same electric tingle I'd grown so
accustomed to over the years I barely noticed it anymore. I’d been lucky when it had
been given to me, but that had been before—
“I’m going to level with you, honey. I don’t think we have anything for you,” Roz
said, regarding me for a long moment. “This doesn’t look like your kind of place.”
It wasn’t, but admitting that would help Roz shove me out the door so she could
continue on with her “busy” day.
My brow furrowed, and I stared at her. “But I’m here, so do you have anything? I
can do anything. There has to be something.”
Roz drew herself up and shook her head, face reddening. “I have nothing for you.
Your skills and work experience aren’t a match for anything I’ve got. That’s just the way
it is.”
“That’s not good enough,” I snapped.
Roz blinked, as if I’d gone off script from what she expected.
“I’ve been all over. I need something, even if it’s just for the day.”
Roz huffed out a bitter laugh. “You needing something doesn’t change the facts. I
have your contact information. If something comes up, I’ll call you. Have a nice day.”
Roz looked away, peering at the computer. 
I stared at her for a long moment. I didn’t want to be there, but Roz’s attitude was
getting under my skin.
She eventually lifted her gaze toward me. “Why are you still here?”
She sneered as if I were the one irritating her. I didn’t like the way she spoke to me
or her overall demeanor. The temptation to give her a piece of my mind nearly had its
way, but I swallowed it away.
“Is there someone else I can talk to?”
Roz blinked again. “Do you see anyone else here?”
I shook my head in irritation. “It says there that you’re a secretary. That means
you’ve got a boss. Are they here? Can I speak to them?”
Roz grinned, shifting her bulk as if she were about to devour another frosted donut. 

“Can you call them?” I pressed. 
Her thin lips pursed for a moment, and she picked up the phone. “Mr. Hawthorne, I
have someone insisting that they see you.” She paused for a moment. “No, I conducted
the interview, and she’s not suited for anything in our listings.”
“So you say.” I lifted my gaze toward the camera near the ceiling behind Roz’s
desk. “I want to speak to you.”
“That’s right,” Roz said. “She’s one of those entitled brats who wander in here.”
“I’m not entitled, you old hag. I just think you get paid whether you have any jobs
for me or not, and I’d rather deal with someone who has a vested interest in helping me
find a job. Someone who stands to benefit financially if I get work.”
Roz stared at me, her mouth partially agape. I heard someone speaking through the
phone but couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. 
“I understand, Mr. Hawthorne. I’ll send her back,” Roz said.
The edges of my lips lifted a little, and Roz rolled her eyes. 
“You should be careful what you wish for, honey.”
She was trying to get into my head, but she had no idea who she was dealing with. 
“Where am I going?”
She chuckled and put out her cigarette. “That’s the real question, isn’t it?”
“Never mind, I’ll find it on my own,” I said with a scowl.

Chapter 2

I bypassed the stairs that led to the second floor and headed down a long, dimly-lit
hallway. Roz huffed out a loud breath and muttered to herself as I left. I probably
shouldn’t have insulted her, but a bully would never relent unless you pushed them back
harder. 
The floor creaked as I went down the hall, and the sounds of someone speaking
came through a pair of nearby pocket doors. I knocked tentatively at first, then more
firmly.
“Yeah, come in,” Hawthorne barked. 
As I opened the doors, they slid easily into the wall. The office had clearly once
served as a dining room, and the dingy hardwood looked swept, if not cleaned in years.
To my right, long navy curtains were opened halfway, letting the light in that revealed the
rear facades of the next set of row homes a short distance away. The air smelled of musky
staleness and the woody floral fragrance of cologne.
Hawthorne had his back to me. He’d been setting a box down on the floor next to a
stack of other boxes. Something thumped inside it. 
He turned and regarded me for a moment. He was tall and lean, with a weathered
face and deep-set wrinkles. Piercing blue eyes studied me with a stern expression. He had
short, salt-and-pepper hair and a neatly trimmed beard. 
I cleared my throat. “Thank you for meeting with me, Mr. Hawthorne.” No harm in
being polite. 
He arched a grayish eyebrow and gestured toward the wooden chair on the other
side of his desk. He sat. “Roz takes some getting used to,” he said. His voice sounded like
aged whiskey with a bit of gravel to it. 
“Yes, but that’s not why I’m here.”
He gave me an appraising look and pursed his lips, considering. I knew I needed to
start talking; otherwise, he would get rid of me like Roz had tried to do. 

Before I could wonder what it was they did all day, I said, “I’m going to lay my
cards on the table. I need a job. I’ve been searching and applying, but I’m not able to get
anywhere. What little I have in savings is running out. Are you able to help me?”
He pressed his lips together. “There are a lot of people out of work. Not everyone
gets a job when they need it.”
There was a little condescension in his tone that I didn’t care for. “I know that, but
there has to be something. Even if it’s only for a few days. You run a temp agency in a
town this size. Don’t you know people here?”
The edges of his lips lifted a little. “Don’t you?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No, I’ve only been here a few days.”
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk and clasping his hands together
in front of his face. “You look like a nice enough girl. I’m sure it’s only a matter of time
before you get a call back.”
I clenched my jaw for a second. “First, I’m a woman—not a girl—a woman.
Second, it shouldn’t matter whether I’m nice. I work hard and don’t make trouble.”
Okay, that last bit might have stretched the truth a little. Sometimes trouble had a
way of not just showing up but leaving your life in shambles.
His eyebrows rose, and he leaned back.
I sighed. “Would I really come here if I was having luck somewhere else? The
person who referred me practically begged me not to come here, but I’m desperate.”
Much to my surprise, he wasn’t insulted. Roz would’ve been.
He bobbed his head slowly, and I crossed my arms in front of my chest, pushing up
the sleeves of my purple oversized sweater. My sapphire bracelet caught on my sleeve,
and I freed it.
His gaze darted to my bracelet for a moment and then flicked up to my face. “We
get all kinds of people coming here.”
“I bet.”
There was an edginess to my voice that I knew was borderline rude, but I was tired
of getting the runaround. If I didn’t find work quickly, I didn’t know what I was going to
do. I’d never been homeless before, and all that stood between me and that reality was a
pay-in-advance old hotel room just outside the city.

“Okay, let’s go through what I’ve got available and we’ll take it from there,” he
said and turned his computer on.
It was another ancient machine from the previous decade, and it made strange
spinning noises as it struggled to come alive.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Eve.”
“Alright, Eve. Let’s see what I’ve got.”
“What’s your name?”
He eyed me for a quick second. “Zeke,” he said and extended a weathered, age-
spotted hand. “Your generation does shake hands when meeting someone, right?”
“Yes,” I said. I shook his hand, giving him a firm grip like my father had taught
me. Apparently, a firm handshake was important to men, even the bad ones.
“Good. How old are you?”
One question no woman ever wants to answer. Zeke looked twice my age. “Old
enough,” I replied evenly. 
His shoulders quaked as he chuckled, and a hint of a smile tugged at the corners of
his mouth. “I see. Old enough to know better, but still too young to care.”
I frowned. “What does that even mean?”
He smiled, then his computer chirped. “Okay, this old thing is just about booted up.
Let’s see what we’ve got here.”
He made a show of entering some information and then looked at me. “What kind
of car do you drive?”
“A Saab.”
He frowned, looking slightly amused. “Didn’t they stop making those?”
Why was that the first question anyone asked me when I told them about my car?
“It runs. It got me here.” I paused for a second. “And it doesn’t look like all the other cars
out there.”
He chewed his bottom lip for a moment. “And where are you from?”
“Not Harmon Hill,” I replied.
He gave me a long look with a grave expression. “Are you running from
something?”

I shook my head. “No, I’m just trying to move on.” I took my driver’s license out
of my wallet and handed it to him.
“And you picked here?” he asked as he glanced at it before handing it back to me.
No, this was where the money was going to run out, and I wasn’t going back to
where I’d come from. “Does it really matter?”
“It helps me find the right employer.”
“Look, I don’t need anything special. I just want something simple.”
“Simple,” Zeke said and paused for a moment. “No plan then?”
“I had a plan. Now I don’t want one.”
“A do-over.”
I frowned. “What?”
He rolled his eyes, and they crinkled along the edges. “A do-over. A fresh start.
Another chance. A new beginning?”
I cleared my throat. “I’m not here for life lessons.”
“Looks like you could use some by virtue of the fact that you came to my door.”
I tried to think of a reply that didn’t sound foolish and came up short. 
“What kind of experience do you have?”
“It’s complicated.”
His eyes narrowed a little but he didn’t press the issue. “Okay, we do complicated
here. You could say it’s one of my specialties.” He glanced at his screen, and I wondered
what information was on the screen as he kept glancing between it and me.
“Can you lift a hundred pounds?”
I felt my eyes widen. “Excuse me?”
“A hundred pounds. Can you lift it?”
Who did he think I was? I didn’t weigh much more than that. “Does it look like I
can lift a hundred pounds?” Maybe if my life depended on it, I could lift that much.
Zeke shrugged. “You never know.”
I was curious. “What’s the job?”
“Coroner’s Transporter. You’d be assisting the coroner with moving the recently
deceased.”

I leaned back and grimaced. Dead bodies? My stomach knotted at the thought. “Uh,
that’s not going to work for me.”
“You said you were desperate.”
“Yeah, I am, but I can’t do that.”
Zeke sighed and mumbled something under his breath.
“What?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Never mind. You and I have a very different view of being
desperate.”
“You can’t be serious. That’s a job for someone a lot stronger than me. That’s why
they usually hire guys with actual muscle mass for that job,” I replied. 
“Yeah, you’re probably right about that,” Zeke replied. “I have something for the
end of next week, but it’ll probably get filled by then.”
Next week would be too late, but it was something. “What is it?”
“Scorekeeper for a youth league basketball annual tournament.”
A headache mushroomed in the back of my head as I imagined hundreds of
bouncing balls echoing through a gymnasium amid the incessant yelling and cheering of
the crowd. 
“Can you send my information over to them?” I asked, nearly wincing.
I couldn’t handle loud things or large crowds. I never liked them, but I needed the
money. I just hoped it paid enough so I could get some headache medicine. 
“Done. If they’re interested, they’ll contact you,” Zeke said.
An uncomfortable silence settled between us. 
Zeke glanced at my wrist. “That’s a nice bracelet. If you really need money, you
could pawn it.”
I blinked and covered my sapphire bracelet protectively. “Thank you for the
suggestion.”
Zeke scratched his beard. “Don’t you have someone who can loan you some
money? Parents. Siblings? Ex-husbands? Friends? Anyone?”
My gaze sank, and I shook my head. When your life blows up, sometimes it takes
those relationships out along with it. I couldn’t blame them, not after what I’d done.
“It’s not an option,” I said.

“Alright. Look, I don’t have a lot to offer you at the moment, but,” he said, holding
up his hand to stop the interjection about to burst from my mouth, “I’ll make a few calls
and see what I can turn up. If I find anything, I’ll call you.”
I swallowed hard and stared at Zeke for a moment. His gaze was stone-cold, but it
softened by a fraction. He looked as if he’d led a hard life. I knew the type. 
I nodded slowly. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” he said as he stood, “unless something pans out. Then wherever
you go, make sure you work your butt off. I get the sense you’re not a lazy person, even
if you want simple.”
He wasn’t wrong. I had never been lazy. I’d always been focused on the next
achievement, the next thing, and it had scarred me. 
“Think about the pawn shop. It’s called ‘Something to Exchange.’ I’ll have Roz
text you the address,” Zeke said.
I wasn’t convinced Roz would ever send that text, but I thanked him anyway. I
stood and left the office just as Zeke’s phone began to ring. 
Roz didn’t look up as I walked by. Some people were just rude. 
I paused at the door and stared at her. “Bye, Roz. Have a good day.”
She slowly lifted her eyes toward mine and grunted a reply.
I left The Prospect a little dejected, thinking it had likely been a big waste of time. I
glanced at my watch and stifled a gasp. The time on the meter was almost up. I didn’t
need a parking ticket on top of everything else. ...