Date: 2021-06-10 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Romance; Paranormal; Fantasy
Description: Please Note: Bone Voyage is a novella, thus the length is shorter than the other books in the Midlife Spirits Series. Paranormal Women's Fiction from NY Times Bestseller, HP Mallory, co-author of the Haven Hollow Series! What a tangled web we weave when first we practice… to be possessed… It’s my first Christmas in New Orleans, so you’d think I’d be in festive spirits… Well, I might have been if not for the appearance of Peter MacGregor. Peter, having heard of my success in stopping the axeman by going back to 1919, now wants me to solve the murder of his wife, by going back to 1959. And, you

BONE VOYAGE

Midlife Spirits Series #5

by

H.P. Mallory

Other Books by H.P. Mallory

Paranormal Series: (Writing as H.P. Mallory)

Chasing Demons Series

Poppy’s Potions Series

Wanda’s Witchery Series

Lucy Westenra Series

Dungeon Raider Series

Lily Harper Series

Dulcie O’Neil Series (over 1 million downloads of the series!)

Underworld Series (New York Times bestselling series!)

NuLife Series

Midlife Spirits Series

Reverse Harem Series: (Writing as Plum Pascal)

Happily Never After Series

Sacred Oath Series

Virtual Escapes Series

Bone Voyage

Published by Rain Press

Copyright © 2021 by H.P Mallory

All rights reserved.

Ebook Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Foreword

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Reading Sample: Better Off Dead

About Author

Foreword
by J.R. Rain

Hi there and welcome to the Midlife Spirits Series!

J.R. Rain here, and I’m so excited to introduce you to the world of Peyton Clark and all her ghostly happenings!

The Midlife Spirits Series is written by my friend and co-author, H.P. Mallory. If you love paranormal women’s fiction and our series taking place in Haven Hollow (Poppy’s Potions and Wanda’s Witchery with more coming), I know you’ll love this one!

Get ready for lots of New Orleans history, twists and turns that will keep you guessing, action, adventure, and romance that will stay with you long after you’ve put the books down.

I’m so thrilled for you to start this series and lose yourself in the world H.P.’s created for Peyton and the gang.

Happy Reading!

—J.R.

Bone Voyage

Chapter One

It was my first Christmas in New Orleans and, more specifically, my first one in my new house on Prytania Street. After deciding to quit an unhappy marriage, I’d packed my things, left Minnesota, and headed here. And now I was the proud owner of a nineteenth-century, three-story, five-thousand-square-foot mansion. So what if it were in dire need of a facelift? Actually, it needed a lot more than that—it was in dire need of a whole body lift.

I was still in the process of completing that full body lift. So far, only the kitchen, the downstairs bedroom, and the bathroom were fully remodeled. But that didn’t stop me from busting out my Christmas guns! And those guns? Boy, were they big ones! Yes, I’d gone a little bit overboard when it came to my holiday decorations. Now the furniture-free, as well as drywall-free, living room boasted faux pine garlands winding up the balustrades on either side of the staircase, as well as fluffy wreaths in every window. Life-size figures of Santa and Mrs. Claus stood off to one side of the double front doors, with eight elves standing on the other side. And let’s not forget the Christmas village! I set that up underneath the bay windows on the far side of the room. At this particular moment, I was tackling a behemoth known as my fourteen-foot Christmas tree! It fully occupied the center of the room, intoning a festive air, completely adorned in white, silver and gold. And its crowning glory? Nothing less than a diamond-studded (fake, of course) star to top off the whole thing.

And that, right there, was the problem.

The tree was fourteen feet tall and I wasn’t. Even at the top of my trusty ladder, I was still a few feet too short.

“Hmm,” I grumbled from the fifth step of the ladder. I glanced down at the star in my hand and then back up to the top of the tree.

Do not contemplate it, ma minette,
Drake’s voice sounded inside my head.
You will most assuredly fall and injure yourself. May I remind you, I am still in the unenviable position of also feeling your physical pain?

Hearing someone’s disembodied voice inside your head might seem like reason enough to fall off your ladder, but I didn’t. Why? Because that inner voice didn’t surprise me. I’ve been hosting the ghost of Drake Montague, a twentieth-century French Creole policeman, for some time now; so let’s just say I was used to it.

What if I wedged the ladder a little bit closer to the tree? And then stood on the top step? I bet I could reach the treetop,
I responded to Drake’s comment in thought. Eyeing the top of the tree with even more determination, I added:
And I can brace myself against the fireplace to keep my balance.
Sure, it was a great plan.

Mon Dieu!
That sounds like no more than a fool’s errand which will only result in our being admitted to Charity Hospital!
Drake protested in his usual, histrionic falsetto voice that normally amused me. Right now, however, he was sounding more like the voice of doom. Given how determined I was to see my Christmas preparations completed, the voice of doom most certainly DID NOT fit into my plans.

Just watch,
I thought as I started coming back down the ladder. Once I had both of my feet on the floor, I grabbed the ladder and forcibly shoved it as far against the tree as I could, causing a few ornaments to swing radically. They briefly swayed back and forth, but I didn’t think they were going to fall off, so I breathed a sweet sigh of relief. As I faced the ladder again, I rocked it back and forth, trying to determine how safe it was to climb. It wasn’t exactly stable. One of the legs was on top of the rug while the other three were in contact with the hardwood floor. Well, make that two legs that were resting on the floor … the third was helplessly airborne.

Mon chaton,
Drake continued in his worried-mom tone, his French accent even thicker.

If you don’t take risks, you don’t see rewards,
I fired back smartly. Starting back up the ladder, I was a bit more tentative as I ascended to the top. Once I reached the second to the last step, I stabilized myself by leaning against the marble fireplace. Then taking a deep breath, I stepped onto the top rung of the ladder, ignoring the warning label that said not to use it as a step. I figured the warning was more of a suggestion than a hard-and-fast rule. It didn’t matter anyway; I was still too short to reach the top of the tree.

“Dammit!” I cried out loud, letting my exasperation get the best of me.

You made a valiant effort,
Drake tried to console me.

Eyeing the treetop one more time, I wondered if maybe I could just pull the tree closer by bending the top of it down, and plopping the star on top?

Non,
Drake responded as soon as that thought crossed my mind.
You must accept defeat, ma minette, he declared, using his pet name for me, which means, “my pussycat.”

Even though I hated to admit it, Drake was right. There was no way, short of sprouting a set of wings and flying, that I could reach the top of the tree.

You could always invest in another taller ladder,
Drake suggested.

Yes, but that would mean a trip to the DIY store and yadda-yadda-yadda,
I replied with a hefty shake of my head.
All I want right now is immediate gratification.

Drake didn’t answer, probably because he wanted me to pay stricter attention as I worked my way down the ladder and still clutched the glittery star in my left hand. Once my feet touched the ground again, I closed my eyes. I wanted to have this conversation with Drake in as close to real time as our bizarre situation allowed.

By closing my eyes and allowing him, I handed Drake the proverbial reins of my body, and he assumed control. The dreamscape that existed behind my eyelids was purely Drake’s doing. He controlled whatever visuals unfolded before me. Now with my eyes closed, I was still in my living room, only as it appeared back in the year 1919. That was when Drake was still alive and he owned the house.

“Given your penchant for recklessness, I am surprised you have survived this long,” he told me. He was standing before the bank of floor-to-ceiling picture windows, which flanked both sides of the fireplace, dressed in lounge pants and nothing else, which I found slightly obnoxious. It meant I had to make one hell of an attempt to keep my eyes from wandering over his exquisitely sculpted upper body. Yes, Drake was very handsome. Well, probably more fitting to say he was droolworthy. But he was also very much dead.

“Oh, puleeze,” I said as I waved him away with a dismissive hand. “You used to be a police officer! You must have dealt with way more dangerous situations than a silly girl on a stepladder.”

Cocking his head to the side, he nodded as if agreeing with that point, but remained silent. He fixed his pervasive, chocolate gaze on me. Drake still looked as if he were right around my age, which would be in his early thirties. He was tall too, maybe six-one or six-two. His thick, dark hair was long on top and short on the sides, as was the fashion in the 1920s. Actually, it was still pretty fashionable, even by today’s standards. His strong, square jaw was covered in a five-o’clock shadow that nicely complemented his tan complexion.

“I do believe your overabundance of Christmas novelties are swallowing the entirety of my living room,” he complained as he sipped from a tumbler of whiskey. I hadn’t realized he’d been holding it until he put it to his lips and took a very lengthy and purposeful gulp.

“Are you referring to my house?” I inquired from where I sat in one of his Bergere oak chairs that were remarkably comfortable. Finely upholstered in a cornflower blue, they matched the shade of the curtains exactly. Even though Drake’s career was as a police officer, he came from old money. That was what enabled him to afford such a lavish home, which would have, otherwise, been impossible to finance on a lawman’s salary.

“Shall we compromise and say our house?” he asked with a boyish smirk. I just nodded as I feigned interest in the loophole of my jeans. I hated to admit, even to myself, that looking at him was really turning me on.

Sure, this was once Drake’s house, but that was a long time ago. Shortly after I became the owner of it, I discovered I wasn’t alone. Drake had been haunting the house for nearly one hundred years. The only reason he now possessed me, for lack of a better description, was because I allowed him the temporary use of my body.

Yes, I know that sounds totally, insanely odd. Few people would jump at the opportunity to become possessed; and it certainly does have its drawbacks. But at the time, it seemed like a good idea, because Drake wasn’t the only entity still lingering in my house. Unfortunately for me, however, this other entity wasn’t quite as harmless, or innocuous, as Drake. The other one was a demon that adamantly intended to possess my soul. Drake, in his attempts to protect me, nearly got swallowed up by the demonic force. The only way I could save him was by offering him the safe haven of my corporeal body. After summoning the aid of a voodoo priestess and a warlock, I managed to shelter Drake’s spirit inside my body.

At the sound of a rapid knock on my door, I opened my eyes. The dreamscape of my living room immediately shattered, no longer appearing as it did so long ago. Feeling the weight of something in my hand, I glanced down. I was still holding the star that was supposed to go on the treetop. Not bothering to put it down, since I didn’t know who was at the door and the points on the star were sharp enough that it seemed an adequate way of defending myself, should the need arise, I cautiously approached the front door.

Who do you suppose is calling?
Drake demanded from inside my head.

No clue,
I responded as I held the Christmas star up like it was a ninja star. I peered through the peephole and immediately recognized the incredibly tall, barrel-chested, golden-haired Adonis that was standing out front. An Adonis who currently went by the label of “Peyton Clark’s boyfriend.”

Oh, by the way, I’m Peyton Clark. Ha! A potentially uncomfortable moment diverted …

Ah, le barbare,
Drake sighed. It was no surprise that Ryan Kelly, a.k.a. “the barbarian,” was no favorite of Drake’s. Drake had admitted having amorous feelings toward me, and Ryan was my current beau. Ryan’s feelings towards Drake were quite comparable. It seemed there wasn’t enough room on Prytania Street for two men with huge egos, even if one of them were deceased.

I pulled open the door and my lips parted open into a wide smile as soon as Ryan’s lopsided, dimpled grin beamed at me. Without wasting any time, he threw his bear arms around me and lifted me off my feet. That wasn’t easy either! At five-ten, I’m not exactly petite. Before I could greet him, his lips were planted on mine, causing my heart to immediately start fluttering as I kissed him back.

Ma minette!
Drake fired up from inside of me, sounding outraged.
How often must I remind you? S’il vous plait! Please shield me from these homosexual encounters!

Oh, sorry,
I answered, feeling slightly embarrassed. I complied immediately by shutting Drake out. All I had to do was simply forbid him from experiencing what I did in my mind. That was the best part of our odd arrangement—I was still ultimately in charge of my own body. If I didn’t want Drake to experience everything
I did, I could always exclude him.

So, back to Mr. Kelly. Ryan is in a word: scrumptious. He’s six foot six and built like a football player, or a water buffalo. His vast, broad shoulders taper down to a very defined, narrow waist. And his strong, well-shaped legs seem to go on for miles. His hair is the color of honey, almost the same shade as his amber eyes. But his crooked smile always gets me the most. Or maybe it’s his deep, Southern accent.

“Peyton, Peyton, Peyton,” he whispered in quick succession. Pulling away, he smiled down at me, and his dimples sank in full effect.

“McDreamy, McDreamy, McDreamy,” I answered with a little giggle that immediately embarrassed me because I was sure I was about as corny as a sixteen-year-old girl with her first crush.

“McDreamy?” Ryan asked as he shook his head and frowned, apparently not too fond of the appellation. “Sounds like something you order at McDonald’s.”

“I think that’s the point,” I said with a quick smile while opening the door and welcoming him inside.

Ryan owned his own construction business and was in charge of all the renovations on my house. Renovations which had been quiet lately, owing to the stress and drama in my life over the last few weeks. Remember that demonic entity I mentioned earlier? Well, unfortunately, it wasn’t as simple as calling up the neighborhood ghost exterminators and asking them to remove the poltergeist from my house. Instead, the demon, which I later discovered was the infamous
Axeman of New Orleans
, had plans of its own.

The Axeman of New Orleans had been a serial killer who had terrified New Orleans just before the 1920s. He would bludgeon his victims to death with an axe, thus earning his moniker. The case became an annal of history when the Axeman sent a letter to the
Times-Picayune newspaper, purporting himself to be a demon “from the hottest hell.” Maybe owing to the fact that the Axeman was never caught, many of the people of New Orleans believe he was just that—a true demon. And judging by what I‘d personally experienced, I would have to agree with them.

“I came to check on you, Pey,” Ryan said. Studying me with concerned eyes, he explained, “I wanted to make sure you were still … you know, recoverin’ from everything you went through.”

I sighed because the “everything went through” was pretty big, to say the least. When the demonic Axeman returned in my time, I took it upon myself to protect New Orleans from another episode of his ceaseless wrath. In order to do that, I had to travel back in time, to the year 1919 (with the help of voodoo magic) to defeat the Axeman the first time he’d struck New Orleans. Luckily, I’d been successful.

The not-so-lucky part about the whole situation, however, was that I’d had to acquire the aid of a less-than-noble voodoo priestess named Guarda. She was a relative of the famed Marie Laveau and, as such, magic seemed to run in her veins. But deceit and treachery also tainted her blood. I was still waiting to see what implications would be involved from seeking Guarda’s counsel. It wasn’t a subject that caused me much comfort, so, consequently, I stopped thinking about it.

“I’m good,” I said as I nodded quickly and then offered Ryan what I hoped was a radiant smile.

He nodded in response, and his eyes lingered on me for another few seconds before he turned to face the living room. Sighing and shaking his head, I watched a smile curl his lips. “It looks like the Hallmark store just exploded in here.”

“Hey!” I replied as I playfully swatted his cut, rounded bicep. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just what I said,” he answered, taking a few more steps into the room before circling around as he glanced at all of my decorations. “Well, does all this crap mean we won’t be finishing your living room any time soon?”

“Yes! And all this crap is festive!” I railed back at him. Feigning offense, I dramatically crossed my arms against my chest. “And if you feel so inclined, you can go ahead and start working on the second floor,” I finished.

“I might just have to do that,” he answered with a smile before poking me in the belly with his index finger. “But first, I need to ask you a favor.”

“Oh, great,” I said as I rolled my eyes and shook my head, “here it comes!”

He chuckled, and that great, deep laugh of his brought another smile to my face. “I’m not sure this will be something you are even capable of doin’, but I thought I’d give it a try anyway.”

“Okay, my curiosity is piqued,” I said as I studied him for a few more seconds.

“Word is startin’ to spread about your ability,” he started.

“My ability?” I repeated, shaking my head to let him know I wasn’t following.

“Yeah … your ability to see and communicate with spirits,” he corrected himself. Then he cleared his throat and added, “And when I say word’s startin’ to spread, I mean, Trina’s been runnin’ her fat mouth off to anyone who’ll listen.”

Trina was Ryan’s sister. Although she fancied herself a voodoo practitioner, she wasn’t one, not by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, I’m pretty sure Trina had released the spirit of the Axeman into my house in the first place. After she’d talked me into using a Ouija board at my house, all hell broke loose … and I mean that literally. But Trina meant well and she was my friend, so I figured I’d just let bygones be bygones.

“Ah,” I said with a quick smile. “So who was listening?”

“An old family friend of ours,” Ryan started, “his name is Peter MacGregor.”

“And how does he think I can help him?” I asked, still grasping for clues.

“Well, back in 1959, his first wife was murdered. The case was never solved,” Ryan replied.

“Ah, so he wants me to solve it?” I asked. Ryan nodded and I proceeded to shake my head. “You realize, of course, there are no guarantees that I can contact her spirit,” I started.

“I think he’s expectin’ more than just contactin’ her, Pey,” he said. “Trina made the crucial mistake of tellin’ him how you went back in time to stop the Axeman in 1919.”

“He wants me to go back in time?” I asked, utterly shocked. “That would mean making another trip to Guarda! I’m definitely not signing up for that again,” I railed as Ryan shook his head.

“Even if you were willin’ to go back to that crazy, old broad, there’s no way I would allow you to. No, Guarda doesn’t enter into this equation.”

“Then how …?” I started, but Ryan interrupted me.

“Just talk to the old man, Pey, and tell him what your limitations are. I think he’s just overly excited that he might finally be able to shed some light on this mystery, even after all these years.”

“I’m happy to meet with him,” I started, I then sighed deeply. “But I’m not really sure what I can do for him.”

“I know,” Ryan admitted with a nod and a sweet smile. “Just say you’ll try.”

“You know I will.”

“Yep, I knew you would,” he answered before leaning down and kissing my all-too-eager lips once more.

Chapter Two

Mon chaton,
Drake started, calling me by my other French nickname. It meant “my kitten.”
Je ne sais pas, I do not understand what this man expects from us?

Neither do I, but I suppose we will find out in due time,
I answered mentally. I was trying to maintain the façade of a proper hostess paying strict attention to her houseguest. In this case, my houseguest was none other than Peter MacGregor, the man who wanted me to travel back in time to find out what happened to his first wife. It was something I was neither prepared for nor willing to do …

“My dear, your attempts at sweet tea are a bit too heavy on the tea and not heavy enough on the sweet,” Peter said. His wide smile, jovial personality, long, snow-white beard, and round, twinkling eyes made him look like Santa Claus.

I laughed along with him, eyeing my glass of tea with a frown. I briefly swirled the libation around and wondered if I’d ever get any Southern recipes right. “Well, the attempt was there,” I replied, returning my attention to him. “It’s not my fault that everyone refuses to divulge their family recipes!”

Peter chuckled and nodded as if he didn’t find that information surprising in the least. “Yes, folks around here cling to their recipes like family heirlooms.”

“You’re telling me!” I agreed as I shook my head and feigned offense.

“One of these days, Peyton’s gonna get the hang of what it means to be a true Southerner,” Ryan added as he smiled at me sweetly. “She’s learnin’ more and more every day.” He finished with a chuckle and gave me an encouraging little pat on my back. Seeing how Peter was his friend, Ryan decided to join us for our first meeting. That was fine by me, and even made the situation much more comfortable. It also didn’t hurt that, in general, I liked having Ryan around.

Peter laughed before growing silent as his eyes settled on me. I had a feeling the reason for his visit was about to be unveiled. “Perhaps we should get down to business, as it were,” he started with a brief nod of encouragement toward me.

“Sure,” I said. I swallowed a healthy sip of tea, which tasted plenty sweet to me. ’Course, I wasn’t a bona fide Southerner, so what did I really know? Not a lot, it seemed.

“Now, I’m not sayin’ that I put much stock in believin’ stories ’bout the other side, or things that go bump in the night,” Peter started, still bobbing his head up and down.

Then why is he here, speaking with us?
Drake interrupted, sounding almost bored. I didn’t bother to respond lest I encourage him.

“But I’m also not a disbeliever, I have to admit,” Peter continued with a sigh. He put his glass of sweet tea back on top of the table. We were all sitting at my square, wooden breakfast table, circa 1882. I’d found it at an antique store in town. The rosy fingers of the late morning sunshine streamed through the bay window in my breakfast nook that overlooked Prytania Street. Pretty soon, the soft light would throw itself right into our eyes. That reminded me I needed to add “kitchen curtains” to my ever-growing to-do list.

“It’s just that I’ve had to live with the mystery of what happened to Adele, my first wife, for so long now that I’m ready to pretty much believe in anything as long as it gets me somewhere,” Peter finished. His haunted eyes sought mine.

“I understand,” I said in a compassionate voice. I couldn’t imagine having to live with such a burden for so long. And based on how ancient Peter MacGregor looked, I imagined he must’ve lugged this anchor for more than a very long while.

“Now, of course, Ryan already enlightened me as to the nature of your … gifts, Ms. Clark,” Peter continued, despite me telling him to call me Peyton more than once. “But if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to hear more about your skills and abilities, you know, from the horse’s mouth, as it were.”

I laughed at his reference to me as “the horse’s mouth,” but wondered what he was inquiring about. “Well, what would you like to know?” I asked once it was clear he wasn’t going to say more.

Peter cleared his throat and eyed me narrowly, as if he were trying to see right through me. “Ryan said you underwent a possession through beneficent voodoo magic and white witchcraft in order to embed the spirit of a policeman from the turn of the twentieth century inside you. Is that accurate?”

I nodded. “Yes, it is.”

“And Ryan’s dear sister, Trina, told me you managed to travel back in time ninety-six years ago to fulfill a mission and defeat a sinister entity that otherwise would have wreaked havoc on modern-day N’Awlins?” Peter continued.

“Yes, that is so,” I confirmed.

“How is such a thing possible?” Peter asked. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back into his chair, ignoring its creaks and groans.

“That part I can’t answer,” I said honestly with a shrug. “All I can tell you is it involved a voodoo practitioner that I don’t trust and hope to never revisit … not ever again.” I clenched my jaw shut tightly to let him know, in no uncertain terms, that I would never deal with Guarda again voluntarily. Never. Not for him, not for anyone.

“Ah, yes, an’ I’m just goin’ out on a limb here, but is this voodoo priestess, by any chance, called Guarda?” Peter asked. I immediately nodded, surprised. At my reaction, Peter began to nod, too, as if he understood my misgivings and why I refused to have anything more to do with her.

“Yes, that’s right,” I said as I studied him suspiciously. It seemed like something passed through his eyes, a kind of awareness. “Do you know her?”

Peter took a long while before answering. He drummed his bony, wrinkly fingers against the dark oak tabletop and seemed to zone out. “Yes,” he said finally when he stopped piano-ing his fingers and brought his heavy gaze back to mine. “Though I wish that were not the case,” he finished. Now it was his turn to sigh. He didn’t offer any more information as to how he knew Guarda, but I didn’t want to push it, since it wasn’t any of my business. Instead, I wanted to clarify exactly what I was and wasn’t willing to do in order to help him.

“Then you understand why I don’t want to have anything more to do with her?” I asked. I had to make sure he wouldn’t try to talk me into the whole time travel bit.

He nodded. “Had I known Guarda was involved, I would never have spared a thought to request your assistance,” he said. He started to stand up as he clutched his hat in one of his hands, using the other to lean on the chair in order to sustain his balance. “I’m terribly sorry that I wasted your time.”

Confused, I immediately stood up and put my hand on his shoulder to keep him from walking away. “Well, that doesn’t mean I can’t help you,” I started.

Mon Dieu! We cannot help him!
Drake interrupted, sounding very perturbed.
And we were mere moments from getting rid of him! Ma minette!

Oh, Drake, stop it!
I yelled back at him in my mind. I was irritated at his balking because I did want to help Peter however I could. The old man was very endearing and deserved some peace of mind.

Drake made a
“humph”
sort of noise, but grew quiet all the same, which was a relief.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Peter said as he faced me. He hesitated, but didn’t make any motion to sit back down again.

“Well, even though I can’t travel back to 1959 to see what actually happened to your first wife,” I started.

“Adele,” he interrupted, almost anxious for me to call her by her name.

“Adele,” I repeated before taking a deep breath and continuing. “There are other things I can do,” I said while glancing down at his chair. Understanding my gist, he sat back down again.

“Such as?” he asked, his hat still clutched in his hand.

“I can interact with spirits,” I started and then paused for a few seconds. Sometimes, it still seemed hard for me to believe all the things that came out of my mouth. “Having Drake inside of me …” I began, but stopped once I caught a glimpse of Peter’s furrowed expression and obvious confusion.

“Drake’s, uh, he’s the spirit of the policeman from 1919,” I supplied as Peter started to nod.

“Carry on,” he said.

“Drake allows me to see and hear things and people that I otherwise wouldn’t be able to,” I continued. “I have direct access to the spirit world.”

“And what does that mean, exactly?”
Peter asked.

“It means that I can have a conversation, just like the one I’m having with you, only with someone who is deceased. As long as the spirit can communicate, I can communicate with them.”

“As long as the spirit can communicate?” Peter repeated. “Are there some spirits who aren’t able to speak to you?”

I nodded, realizing I’d have to explain a little bit about Ghosts 101. Since it would be a long conversation, I decided to take my seat again too. “There are four types of spirits,” I started, trying hard to remember the lessons I learned from Lovie, the voodoo priestess, and Christopher, the warlock. “The first type is just trapped energy. These spirits simply repeat actions, sounds, or words that occurred or were spoken when they were alive.”

“Those are the types of haunts that relive their deaths over and over again, but have no sentient abilities,” Ryan added, probably making more sense than I did.

“Yes!” I said with a grateful smile at him.

“Okay, I understand,” Peter said. After a brief nod, I was encouraged and swiftly moved to point number two.

“The second type of spirit is stuck on this plane and can never leave. These spirits usually died tragically or violently. The third type of haunt is one who stays on this plane purposely, either to protect someone, or because it’s attached to a person or a thing,” I continued.

“And the fourth type?” Peter asked.

“The fourth type of spirit is the most powerful. These can travel from the spirit plane to the earthly plane and can be good or bad. The good ones usually come to offer protection, or deliver messages to the living.”

“And the bad ones?” Peter asked, a trace of alarm tainting his tone.

“Those spirits come here with the single intention of harming us. We usually refer to them as demons.” I took a deep breath and slowly let it out again. “The spirit of the Axeman was one of those types of entities—a demon.”

“I see,” Peter replied, “but I fail to understand why we are discussing demons; Adele would hardly be considered one!” he finished rather gruffly.

“No; and no one is suggesting that,” I quickly interjected to ease his palpable irritation. “As long as Adele is one of the spirits who can travel to both planes, I can communicate with her.”

“What if she’s one of the other types of spirits? The ones who won’t leave this plane for whatever reason? Or what if she’s simply trapped and reliving her fate over and over again?” Peter asked, sounding more and more agitated.

“Well, how do you know that she’s even still a spirit?” I replied. That was probably a question I should have asked him a while ago, but better late than never …

Peter began to nod in earnest. “I am convinced she still haunts the house she died in.”

“Okay, so do you have access to this house?” I asked. That could pose its own problem if he didn’t.

“Well, I should hope so, considering I live there too!” he responded quickly before erupting into an impatient, little laugh.

I was slightly surprised to learn he was still living in the same house, but I tried not to show it. “Okay, well that makes things significantly easier then,” I answered. I didn’t bother asking why he thought she was haunting it. Chances were high, if he thought she was, she probably was.

“So, if we assume that she is a spirit,” Peter continued. He obviously wanted to stay on the topic at hand. “How would you go about contacting her if she’s just stuck on this plane and not one of those sentient spirits you mentioned earlier?”

I shrugged; I wasn’t sure of the answer to his question. When it came to summoning and communicating with the dead, I was a basic novice and then some. “I’m not exactly sure, but I imagine it could be a bit more difficult than reaching out to spirits who are sentient.”

“Then you haven’t interacted with any spirits? Even though you have one living inside you?” Peter asked. The frown he aimed at me suggested he wanted a refund.

“I wouldn’t say that,” I replied with a laugh that was devoid of humor. “I’ve communicated with the dead,” I said as I faced Peter and nodded while memories of the ordeal began to haunt me. “And it was something I will never forget, not as long as I live.”

“Then this spirit you communicated with was one who could speak?” Peter asked.

I nodded. “She was a slave from the LaLaurie House,” I said as my heart began to race. I forced the unpleasant memories back into the recesses of my mind.

“Good Lord,” Peter said as he crossed himself. That was the normal reaction whenever anyone discussed the LaLaurie House or the atrocities that happened inside it. As far as the legend went, Madame LaLaurie lived in the late eighteen hundreds. She was a very wealthy and elite member of New Orleans. She was also an absolute psychopath. She took great pleasure in the torture and murder of her slaves. She kept them confined to a room at the top floor of her stately home on Royal Street.

I’d unfortunately had to visit the LaLaurie House in order to make contact with the spirits who still resided there. And, even more unfortunately, I’d had to go inside that room where they were kept. The things I saw there will forever haunt me. Slaves were chained to the walls, some were dead, and those who weren’t certainly wished they were. Some were held in cages. All of them were being methodically starved. Many had broken limbs, and others were missing their limbs altogether. Body parts littered the room, crawling with maggots. Maybe the worst part was Madame LaLaurie’s penchant for performing experimentations on the slaves, even going so far as to force some of them to undergo sex changes.

“Let’s just say I know how to contact sentient spirits,” I said before shoving the unhappy memories right out of my mind.

I felt Ryan’s hand on my back and glanced over at him only to find him looking at me with deep concern in his eyes. I smiled at him to let him know I was okay, and he quickly nodded. I turned to face Peter again.

“But how will you make contact with Adele?” Peter asked.

I sighed. That was the part I hadn’t figured out. “Well, I don’t exactly know the answer to that yet,” I started as Peter released a pent-up breath of what I imagined was utter frustration. “But I do know a voodoo priestess and a warlock, and both are much more familiar with all of this stuff than I am. I’m sure they’d be willing to help me, er, us.”

Peter didn’t respond right away. He nodded for a few seconds, but seemed to be thinking it over. “And you think these two friends of yours could enable you to reach Adele as long as she isn’t one of the spirits who can’t readily communicate? What if she’s simply reliving her past?”

“Well, then, at least we’ll have some kind of an answer for what happened to her,” I replied, even though I doubted that was enough for him.

He nodded and again appeared to think it over. “That’s true, I suppose.” Then he stood up and nodded at me again. “I am content with my visit today, Ms. Clark,” he announced as he got to his feet and stepped away from my table. “I would like to hire you in that capacity.”

“Hire me?” I repeated with a frown, turning to face Ryan who just shrugged.

“Well, of course,” Peter replied. “I didn’t expect you to do me this great service for free!” The laugh that emerged from him was a deep, hearty sound that seemed to vibrate his whole being. “Let me give you some advice, my dear. In general, when people offer you money for your services, don’t question them, just accept it!”

“Advice gratefully accepted,” I grumbled, but I couldn’t conceal my smile.

Chapter Three

The very next day, I found myself sitting on a three-person sofa inside Peter MacGregor’s homey living room. Ryan was on my left side, and Lovie, the voodoo priestess who was kind enough to come to my aid yet again, sat on my right. Peter occupied the chair in front of me while Christopher, the warlock, stood awkwardly in the corner of the ornately wallpapered room, scowling at everyone, as was customary for the less-than-friendly man.

Although Christopher wasn’t much older than thirty-one, the way he dressed and carried himself made him seem almost ancient. At barely over six feet, he had white, pasty skin, which appeared all the more ghastly when paired with the contrasting black clothing he always insisted on wearing. I wasn’t sure if it was stress from dealing with the spirit world, but his hair was completely gray and now matched the same ashen hue as his wide but lifeless eyes.

Just like every other time I’d had the fortune (or misfortune, given his less than cheery personality) to encounter him, he was wearing a floor-length, black, satin cape. His signature black lipstick, black nail polish and heavy dark eyeliner were all in attendance as well. He looked like the ringleader for a nefarious, traveling circus.

For as dark as Christopher appeared, Lovie was quite the opposite, not only in personality but in her choice of clothing as well. Being on the smallish side, she stood barely five feet tall. Although slightly overweight, she was still beautiful and had the most flawless, chocolate skin I’d ever seen. Even though she didn’t really have very many wrinkles, judging from the scant crow’s-feet around her eyes, I guessed she was probably in her late forties or early fifties. Every time I saw her, she had on a colorful scarf, which she wrapped around her head like a turban. Today, the scarf was bright red. She also always wore a floor-length skirt accessorized by a sort of jingly, hippie belt. Today was no different.

I crossed my feet at the ankles, being careful not to shift the gris-gris sitting in my lap. Now, before you mistakenly think I was covered in grease, or something along the same lines, the “s” in gris-gris is silent (think gree-gree). And as to the definition? It’s a little fabric bag filled with various bits and bobs, designed to protect whoever wears or carries it from evil spirits. I’d already activated the little talisman by holding it up to my mouth and gently blowing into it, thereby imbuing it with life. That is, of course, according to voodoo lore.

“Do you feel Adele’s spirit yet, honey?” Lovie asked with a wide and patient smile.

Gris-gris or not, so far, I had yet to sense Adele’s presence, leaving me without much hope. I was fairly certain I should have picked up some kind of trace of her by now. Seeing as how I was able to interact with the spirit world, I could see and hear the spirits as if they were still corporeal. But I had yet to see or hear anything that might even hint to Adele’s presence. Maybe our little errand would wind up being much shorter than I’d previously imagined …

“Not yet,” I answered before glancing at Peter quickly. I was hoping he wouldn’t appear concerned or disappointed over that fact. If he were either, he didn’t show it. Instead, he seemed entirely uncomfortable, sitting straight as a board while observing us with an expression of puzzled bewilderment on his face. I figured all this voodoo business must have been alien to him. Of course, since he admitted knowing Guarda, maybe I was completely wrong?

“Hmm,” Lovie started with a frown as she studied me intently, holding her palms up to my face as if she were trying to touch my aura. “Maybe we need to put a little more work inta openin’ you up to the spirit world.” She placed one of her hands on my knee, offering me some encouragement.

“I’m game for whatever you think would help,” I replied as I nodded. I deeply inhaled another whiff of incense that Lovie ignited to clear the space of evil spirits. The incense included aloeswood, sandalwood, myrrh and dragon’s blood resin. She placed it on a piece of charcoal on the coffee table in order to fumigate the living room of anything that might do us harm. I couldn’t help wondering what might happen if we didn’t go through all the rigmarole of ensuring our spiritual safety, but concluded it was probably better not to find out.

Drake, are you still there?
I asked in thought; he was unusually quiet.

Oui, ma minette, he answered immediately, and his deep voice in my head instantly brought me a sense of calm that wasn’t there before.
I can sense your anxiety, which makes me feel quite anxious, also.

I’m sorry,
I said, knowing there really wasn’t much I could do to slow the throbbing of my pulse, or reduce my escalated heartrate. When dealing with the spiritual world, I always got nervous. And for good reason; I’d nearly lost my life when I confronted the Axeman. Granted, this situation was far different from that one, but it still failed to inspire me with much confidence.

“Now it’s time for the Creole water,” Lovie announced. She reached inside her satchel from where it sat on the carpet, near her feet. She carried the fabric bag with her everywhere, along with various vials, tinctures, oils and candles for her voodoo spells. She pulled out a vial of what looked like water and popped off the cork before dipping her pinky finger into the liquid and anointing my face with it. She drew a wet line down the center of my forehead and then another down each of my cheeks. This ceremony wasn’t new to me. Lovie had often used Creole water on me in the past. It aided me in establishing my intentions to communicate with the spirit world.

“Keep on rubbin’ that amethyst, honey,” Lovie said in her singsong voice as she continued to baste my face in oil that smelled like wet earth.

I’d momentarily forgotten about the chunk of amethyst which I was holding in my palm for the last, oh, twenty minutes, since I first sat down. Lovie advised me that rubbing it would also ward away any lingering spirits who might harm us. Meanwhile, a white candle burned from the top of a side table just beside Lovie. In voodoo, white candles were used when contacting departed souls. They were also used to purify and cleanse any ritual. Beside the white candle was a candle in the shape of a skull, also supposedly helpful when consulting the deceased.

“Now close your eyes, honey,” Lovie said. Her voice sounded so soothing, I suddenly felt tired. I closed my eyes as she placed her hand on top of my head. I wasn’t sure if it was merely the feel of her hand, or the magic emanating from her, but I instantly felt less afraid. A refreshing splash of calmness washed over me and my heartrate even slowed down and began to regulate. Yep, Lovie was definitely a powerful priestess.

But unfortunately, nowhere near as powerful as Guarda!
my internal voice suddenly piped up. At the thought of Guarda, my stomach dropped and a sense of dread overcame me.

“Now envision openin’ the door to the other side,” Lovie instructed. “Allow yourself to communicate with the spirits, Peyton,” she continued.

This was the second time I’d experienced this form of visualization, and this time, it was much easier to do. I immediately pictured a door in front of me, with no walls holding it in place. It was just floating. I imagined it opening wide and beckoning me toward a vast stretch of darkness and space. In my imagination, I gripped both sides of the doorjamb before stepping through it. I instantly was surrounded by cold air—and I could feel goose bumps rising all over my skin.

“Are you in the spirit world, babydoll?” Lovie asked. I just nodded, shivering in spite of my efforts to remain calm.

“Very good, Peyton,” she said, and I sensed the smile in her voice. “Welcome the spirits, and let them know you want to invite them closer. Tell them you wish them no harm; an’, in turn, you will refuse to allow any deceitful spirits to contact you.”

I nodded and repeated her words to myself as I faced the black stretch of nothingness I saw beyond the open door in my mind.

“Once you’ve said all you need to, you may open your eyes,” Lovie finished.

I repeated the words in my head one more time, just in case some of the spirits might have missed them the first time around. Then I opened my eyes.

I instantly closed them and opened them again. I had to make sure the sight before me was really there and not just some odd fabrication of my mind. I was still in Peter’s house, but Peter and Christopher, who had been in front of me only seconds before, were now gone. They simply popped right out of existence. I glanced to my left, but didn’t see Ryan and, just as I began to suspect, Lovie was no longer sitting on my right side either.

“Guys?” I asked in a small voice. I focused on the couch beneath the window in front of me. It hadn’t been there a few minutes ago … Glancing down, I found myself still sitting on a sofa; however, it wasn’t the same one I was originally sitting on. Instead, it was upholstered in a dark green, scratchy fabric with loud, bright, white flowers that looked like magnolias. The couch was rectangular, like something straight out of the 1950s. A square coffee table sandwiched between the two couches also reiterated the 1950s’ theme.

This is normal, Peyton,
I thought to myself while attempting to calm my frantic heart.
Remember the LaLaurie House? When you made contact with the spirits there, you seemed to go back in time; remember? Everything around you appeared the way it would have when the spirits were still alive. Do you remember that?

I nodded to myself.

Well, this is no different!
My internal voice of reason and logic continued to explain everything I was currently experiencing.
You must have made contact with the spirit world. Now, you’re in Peter’s house, somewhere during the late 1950s.

Okay,
I replied hastily. I had to figure out what to do next. Taking a deep breath, I stood up. The only difference between this vision and the one I experienced at the LaLaurie House was the lack of any spirits to tell me what the hell was going on.

Glancing around myself to make sure I was, in fact, alone, I eventually decided I was probably as alone as I could be. I took a few steps forward, and my legs felt wobbly. Glancing down, I noticed I was still dressed in the same outfit I was wearing a few minutes ago, which was oddly reassuring. I assumed that meant I was definitely caught up in a vision. I really hoped I hadn’t managed to inadvertently send myself back in time. The only other time in which I’d time-traveled, I’d arrived wearing a fashionable outfit for the time. Since I was still dressed in the same clothing I had on previously, that had to mean I hadn’t traveled back in time … right?

It still didn’t help that there were no spirits to be seen anywhere. That meant I was nowhere near figuring out what had happened to Adele. And, from what I could tell, this vacant house wasn’t going to offer me many clues.

Hmm, maybe Adele’s spirit is a little shyer than the ones I experienced at the LaLaurie House?
I thought to myself, hoping that was the case.
Maybe I need to seek her out; rather than vice versa?

As soon as I realized the only voice I could hear in my head was mine, I started to worry.
Drake?
I thought.
Are you still around? Are you seeing any of this?

Getting no response, I figured the answer was negative. That morsel of information left me with a sense of abject loneliness that I couldn’t shake. Even though Drake was just a voice in my head, having his companionship for these sorts of things made me more comfortable. I didn’t feel as if I were ever truly alone.

What sounded like a whimper came from the rear of the house. Almost instantly, the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. Part of me demanded I follow the sound and investigate. Yet, another part of me insisted I stay firmly rooted exactly where I was.

You have to find out what the sound was, Peyton,
I scolded my cowardly self.
That’s the whole reason you came here in the first place!

Despite the blatant truth in my words, I didn’t feel any more eager to get on with the task at hand. The idea of walking in on the scene of a murder was daunting, to say the least. But I managed to muster up some residual willpower, and after taking a long, deep, reinforcing breath, I forced myself to step forward into the hallway off the living room, with no idea what awaited me.

It felt like ages before I finally managed to cross the living room and reach the hallway. When I eventually got there, I leaned heavily against the wall and took a series of deep breaths, if only to calm my sporadic heartbeat. I felt light-headed and dizzy. Pressing my hand on my forehead, the beads of perspiration made my palms clammy.

You can do this, Pey,
I encouraged my lesser self before standing straight up and starting down the hallway. I didn’t fail to notice, or feel somewhat concerned, when the whimpering sound didn’t repeat itself. Now, it was eerily quiet in the house, and only the crunching of my feet on the carpet announced anyone’s presence.

Why can I hear my feet on the carpet if I’m in a trance state?
I suddenly wondered, becoming slightly alarmed. Of course, I didn’t have the answer. The last time I entered a visionary state, back in the LaLaurie House, I merely existed like a ghost, visiting a time long past. I couldn’t interact with the scenery, much like it couldn’t interact with me. It was more like a movie playing around me.

Ignoring my thoughts, since they didn’t have any bearing on my current situation, I aimed for the end of the hallway, heading to where it T-boned into a bedroom, the door of which was closed. I fully intended to open the door, get the information I needed regarding Adele’s murder, and then break free of the trance. Easy-peasy. In and out.

When I got to the end of the hallway, I reached for the doorknob, but paused once I wrapped my palm around it. I recoiled at the icy coldness of the metal. I took that as another sign I was somehow interacting with my dream state, another uneasy omen.

Just turn the knob, Peyton,
I ordered myself briskly.

But I remained frozen in place, my undeniable fear restraining me, holding me hopelessly captive.

Chapter Four

Open the door, Peyton!
I frantically yelled at myself, my attention riveted on the doorknob which I still clutched in my palm. Maybe my internal voice was more forceful this time, or maybe my body suddenly got the program. Either way, I began rotating the doorknob before pushing the door open.

It felt like time stood still as I watched the door swinging slowly inward, revealing part of a bedroom. From where I was standing, I could make out the mint-green striped wallpaper, which matched the green carpeting and, somehow, coordinated with the peach ceiling. My vantage point did not allow me to see the entire room, only a yellow, square bedside table with thick, rectangular legs. There was a white and pink lamp atop it and a fake fichus tree on the side closest to me. To the right of the table was a queen-sized bed. I could only see the edge of the bed, but managed to detect a pink, green and yellow floral coverlet. The print matched the enormous bed skirt, which appeared to start from underneath the mattress before it cascaded in an array of ruffles all the way to the floor.

Remember what you’re here for,
I curtly reminded myself as I instinctively began searching for blood splatters on the walls or any other clue that might hint to a murder most foul. Aside from the awful wallpaper, I didn’t see anything on the walls to indicate a struggle took place. I turned my gaze to the floor, where I imagined finding a pool of blood, ultimately leading to a lifeless body. But, nothing. Of course, from my current position, I couldn’t see the whole room, which meant it was quite possible that whatever I was looking for was still waiting to be found.

You have to walk into the room, Peyton!
I yelled mentally at myself, growing angry that I was stalling so long. I was only making my job much harder. It was a far better plan to just get in and get out.

So get on with it!
I gulped down my fear, suddenly wishing I had Drake’s calming voice inside my head to help me face my fears. Realizing I had no one to rely on but myself, I forced myself onward, beyond the entryway leading into the bedroom and straight into the room itself.

That was when I saw them.

There were two people on the bed, a man and a woman. Both of them were naked, and fully engaged in a serious session of lovemaking. My mouth dropped open in shock because it wasn’t every day that I casually strolled onto a scene of two people obviously engaged in what appeared to be a very fulfilling sexual tryst. The man was on top of the woman, and his stark white derriere greeted me as I faced them. The whiteness of his skin was made all the more evident by the darkness of the woman’s.

Suffice to say, I had a sneaking suspicion that whatever happened to Adele must have had something to do with jealousy and hurt feelings over what I imagined was an affair. The more I thought about it, the more I wondered if this naked man could be Peter?

I wasn’t really sure what to do, so I just continued to stand there, awkwardly gaping at the vision. Now, the woman’s arms and legs were wrapped around the man’s middle. I felt completely embarrassed for standing here and watching something so private. I tried reminding myself that I was just a spectator in this situation and no one could see me. Nope. Still awkward.
Something has to happen soon,
I consoled myself as I wondered what exactly I was waiting for. And that being the case, it was simply a matter of waiting for that crucial moment to arrive. Then I could go back to Peter and explain what happened to his first wife. But speaking of Adele, I had no clue where she was. And then it dawned on me … maybe the woman on the bed was
Adele? I wasn’t sure why, but I always assumed Adele was a white woman. I had no clue why I expected that, maybe because Peter was white, and from what I could remember, the fifties weren’t exactly as forward-thinking or as tolerant as the world currently was.

Ashamed for my stereotypical assumptions, I focused my attention back on the eager couple in front of me, waiting for the moment that I was here for—the murder. As the seconds turned to minutes and the minutes ticked by, I grew more concerned that the moment I anticipated wasn’t coming.

Maybe I should check out the rest of the house?
I thought.
Maybe whatever is supposed to happen won’t take place in the bedroom?
Then I shook my head as I thought better of it.
Of course it’s going to happen in the bedroom! It’s just a matter of someone walking in here and discovering what’s going on. So you’re just going to have to wait patiently until that happens …

I wasn’t prepared for the moment that the woman on the bed suddenly craned her neck to the side and looked right at me! I felt my mouth drop open as my heart stopped and my breath caught in my throat, my entire body going into shock. And the shock wasn’t due to the woman being able to see me, either. No, my shock was completely reserved for the fact that I recognized her.

Guarda?

As soon as that stunning revelation dawned on me, my heartbeat kicked into overdrive. My breathing was instantly reduced to short gasps and I felt like I could pass out. I opened my mouth as I took in frantic gulps of air, which only made me more light-headed. Still, Guarda continued to stare at me, making it feel like I really were standing right there in Peter’s bedroom, only sixty years earlier.

Guarda appeared much younger, and her flawless skin had yet to see a single wrinkle, while her dark brown hair lacked even a trace of grey. Her deep chocolate eyes would eventually be clouded by cataracts, but I had no doubt that this could be anyone else except Guarda.

I felt rooted in place as I watched Guarda studying me with her penetrating yet cold and soulless gaze. If her facial features hadn’t revealed her identity, the expression in her eyes would have. Her eyes really hadn’t changed; they were every bit as calculating as they always had been.

When she released her arms from around the man’s body, he didn’t seem to notice, and continued thrusting inside her, as if oblivious to anything else. She, meanwhile, didn’t seem to pay him any attention. No, her focus was exclusively fastened on me.

Her hands briefly disappeared from sight, but moments later, she brought them forward again, this time, clutching a candle in each palm. She held a red candle in the shape of a coiled snake in her left hand. I knew enough about voodoo by now to know that a snake candle was regularly used in spells for binding or controlling someone else. And the fact that the candle was red was not by chance either. Red candles were used to promote victory. Together, the color and shape of the candle suggested a clear attempt to control someone and be victorious.

In her other hand, Guarda held a silver candle shaped like the devil. This candle was meant to command someone’s lust. If the situation in front of me were any indication, the spell was obviously working. The silver color meant that Guarda was calling on the power of the moon for aid in her attempts to control this man’s body.

Neither candle was lit. I watched in awe as Guarda focused on each one, narrowing her eyes in obvious concentration. Suddenly, the wicks of both candles lit up in flames as if she’d just used an invisible match or lighter. I gasped as I half wondered if she might accidentally light the man’s hair on fire, given how close the candles were to his head.

Speaking of the man, whom I still had a sneaking suspicion was Peter, he didn’t seem to notice what Guarda was doing. Dutifully, he continued to drill her, looking forward so I couldn’t see his face. From the way he kept holding his head up, he seemed to be staring at the wall right above the square, yellow headboard. He didn’t move his neck or head even once, just continued his repetitive ministrations as if in a trance, which he very well might have been in.

My attention returned to Guarda as soon as she started chanting something. I couldn’t make out the words, and the longer I listened, the more I assumed she was speaking another language. Meanwhile, the candles continued to burn, and the wax started to drip down the sides of each candle until it pooled in the palms of her hands. The wax must have been scalding hot, but Guarda didn’t seem to notice the pain; or if she did, you couldn’t tell by her reaction, or lack thereof. Instead, she continued chanting while the candles burned. All the while, she stared at me as if she couldn’t break our eye contact.

As I looked on, she lifted the candles over the man’s back, tipping them slightly forward so all the molten wax dripped down onto his back. His skin immediately turned bright red as soon as the wax made contact with it. But he didn’t even flinch. He just continued having sex with Guarda as if he could do nothing else. Even as the wax dripped down his back, leaving inflamed, red skin in its wake, the man simply kept thrusting in and out of Guarda as if he served no other purpose.

Guarda continued to chant, her voice growing louder as the man’s thrusting grew stronger, then faster. When she began to scream her words, the man shoved himself deep inside her in repetitive, short spurts before going suddenly still. He was obviously having an orgasm. Seconds later, he released a pent-up sigh before pulling out of her and standing up. Once he was successfully disengaged from her, he continued to face her, standing rigidly still. She was no longer screaming the foreign, odd words she was previously, thank God.

She eyed the man for a split second, offering him a strange, little smile. Then the smile left her mouth as she faced me and her eyes narrowed. She released both of the still-burning candles. The devil candle dropped on the floor, and the wick immediately extinguished itself. The serpent candle fell on the bed, and I instantly feared it would light the linens on fire, but it, too, put itself out.

When I returned my attention to Guarda, I noticed she was still staring at me from the void of her eyes. She lifted her right hand and pointed at me without saying anything, but she didn’t have to. I understood her gist. Whatever power she possessed over this man, she now intended to use it against me.

I started to back up as the man turned around to face me. He was standing completely naked. I recognized him as Peter almost immediately. Yes, he was significantly younger, as in, sixty years at least, but he still possessed the same features. Although I readily identified him as Peter, he definitely wasn’t himself. He looked at me, but seemed to see right through me. There was no recognition in his eyes. Not that I expected him to know me, but I at least thought he would see me as a person; and in doing so, realize that whatever Guarda was commanding him to do wasn’t right. But there was no understanding in his eyes at all.

He immediately started coming for me as I took a few steps backwards until I was up against the wall.

“Peter!” I screamed in an attempt to jolt him out of the trance he was in. But he didn’t even act as though he could hear my voice. He threw himself on me, knocking us both to the ground. When I looked down, I was shocked to find I was no longer dressed as before. Instead, I was wearing a white dress that ended at my knees with a broad skirt and petticoats beneath it.

I nearly had to shake the image out of my head while reminding myself to focus on the here and now and, more pointedly, on my protection and safety. I tried to push Peter away from me, but he was relentless. I no sooner separated us, and he was right back on me again, his hands clearly aiming for my throat. I kicked him in between his legs, which barely fazed him for a few seconds before he launched himself back on me with added gusto.

When he managed to get his hands around my throat, I kicked him with all of my strength, but merely flailed beneath him. He tightened his hands around my throat and started to squeeze.

I threw my hands over his, using all my strength while trying to pry them away from my throat, but his grip was like a vise. He just kept pushing down on my windpipe, and I feared he would collapse it. I dug my fingernails into his hands, and could already feel myself growing dizzy as I rasped for air. There were stars dancing in front of my eyes, and my face grew increasingly hotter.

My vision went blurry as I saw a woman’s leg. Glancing up, I found Guarda smiling down at me, and one of her hands was resting on Peter’s shoulder. As soon as our eyes met, images I had never seen before began exploding behind my eyelids. I could see Guarda in the darkness, surrounded by burning candles as she chanted while mixing up the concoctions for her voodoo magic. That image was replaced by glimpses of Peter and her having sex before the images cleared themselves from my eyes all at once. I found myself staring into the bottomless pits of her dilated pupils. “We will meet again,” she said, the edges of her mouth curving into a knowing smile.

That awful smile was the last thing I saw as my world faded to black.

Chapter Five

“Peyton!” Hearing Ryan’s voice, my eyes snapped open as I sat up straight and inhaled a huge breath of air. I immediately examined my surroundings and felt confused. Last I remembered, the younger version of Peter was trying to kill me. Now I found myself sitting on the floor in front of a couch? I glanced up and realized I was surrounded by Ryan, Lovie and Peter. All of them had expressions of grave concern on their faces.

I nearly jumped out of my shoes when I spotted the creature standing beside Lovie. But after another second or so, I recognized it as Samuel, Lovie’s familiar. Similar to a witch’s familiar, Samuel was a spirit who guided Lovie in her interactions with the spirit world. He looked almost like a tarsier with enormous, circular eyes, but he was much larger, standing a good two feet tall and with orange fur. Samuel’s arms and legs were almost humanlike, but much longer. I considered Samuel Lovie’s pet, of sorts.

I could only see Samuel when my sixth sense was unblocked, thereby leaving me open to receive and interact with the spirit world.

So that means, what you just walked in on between Guarda and Peter really happened!
I said to myself. Part of me still thought maybe I’d just imagined the whole thing. In all my interactions with the spirit world, I’d never experienced a situation through someone else’s eyes, such as Adele’s. Usually, I was just myself and they were themselves when they told me what I needed to know. End of story. Well, now it seemed like I’d just opened up a whole new book …

“What?” I asked as I shook my head. I immediately brought my hands to my throat as I remembered what I was experiencing before I woke up.

Mon chaton!
Drake yelled inside my head and I dropped my hands back onto the floor beside me to help maintain my equilibrium. I felt strangely dizzy. But dizzy or not, I couldn’t help the relief that washed over me in knowing that Drake was back in his rightful place, inside my head.

I do not understand what just happened! Everything went black and I could not reach you, nor could I see or hear anything!

I know, Drake,
I responded in thought, but he interrupted me.

Are you well? Are you injured?

I think I’m fine, Drake,
I responded, pausing for a second or so to get my thoughts in order. The truth was that I was still pretty shocked and confused.
From what I can gather now, I think I must have entered the visionary state and for some reason, you weren’t along for the ride.

Ah, je comprends. I understand, he answered before pausing for the space of a few seconds.
Are you certain you are well, mon amour?

I don’t know,
I replied truthfully, shaking my head.

“What did you see, Peyton?” Ryan asked, diverting my attention from my conversation with Drake.

As soon as I recounted everything I remembered, especially the part about Peter attacking me, my heartbeat started racing again. I immediately shook my head while bringing my attention back to the present, and Ryan’s face. I was in no frame of mind to relive the harrowing ordeal I’d just been through. “I can’t talk about it right now,” I managed to reply as I swallowed hard, my throat burning in response. I brought my hands back up to my neck as I faced Ryan again. “What happened while I was under?”

His eyes reached for the ceiling and he sighed, seemingly at a loss for words. “I don’t know. You started actin’ like you were chokin’ or something and then you stopped breathin’ altogether.”

“I was choking,” I confirmed as I took in a deep breath and turned to face Peter. Even though I knew the current situation was real and whatever I just experienced was merely a former vision of a time now long past, I couldn’t shake the shock of his attack. As I looked into Peter’s grey eyes, I could only see the younger version of him, the one under Guarda’s influence, the one that was trying to kill me.

“I’ve got to get out of here,” I blurted out as I started to stand up, but Ryan put his heavy hand on my shoulder and kept me in place.

“Pey, you need to sit ah spell,” he retorted as he shook his head. Then he faced Lovie. “I’m wonderin’ if maybe we should call an ambulance?”

“An ambulance?” I repeated while shaking my head and frowning up at him. Now I was worried for a whole other reason. There was no way I could allow anyone to call an ambulance. That was just ridiculous. “I’m fine!”

“Well, you weren’t fine a few seconds ago,” Ryan argued with that stern expression of his which meant I shouldn’t try to argue with him. “You weren’t even breathin’.”

“Well, I’m obviously breathing now,” I replied, taking a huge breath in before expelling it just to prove my point. “Whatever I was going through is over now and I’m good. There’s absolutely no reason for anyone to call an ambulance. You’ll simply be taking the paramedics away from someone who truly needs them,” I finished before taking another showy breath. “See? I’m fine. In fact, I’ve never felt better!” Yes, that was definitely a stretch, but in truth, I wanted to get as far away from Peter’s house as possible.

“Peyton,” Lovie started, no doubt seeing Ryan’s point.

“No, I’m not going to listen to another second of this ambulance nonsense!” I railed. “I’m completely and totally fine!” I eyed the front door longingly. “The only thing I need right now is to get out of this house and breathe some fresh air!” I turned my gaze from Lovie’s sweet face to Ryan’s. “And I mean that as in now.
Pronto! I can’t stay here another second!”

Ryan frowned at me, but nodded as he helped me to my feet. My heart continued to thud in my chest. My breathing was more like short, ragged gasps as soon as I recalled the expression in Guarda’s eyes … and, at that same moment, I heard the words Guarda uttered just before I lost consciousness.

We will meet again …

Was it possible that Guarda knew who I was? Or was she merely addressing Adele? Was she telling Adele they would meet again once Guarda, too, arrived at the valley of death? I couldn’t explain why, but I believed Guarda was addressing me, Peyton.

But, that’s impossible!
I told myself.
You were merely experiencing a time long past! There’s no way Guarda could have recognized you! She had never even met you at that point! You weren’t even a twinkle in your grandparents’ eyes!

Ma minette, you must calm down,
Drake reprimanded me.
You must not allow this hysteria to overcome you. It is best to proceed with a level head. We will thoroughly weigh the facts once you feel competent enough to do so. And might I remind you that I, too, feel your agitation and find it very unsettling!

Sorry, Drake,
I said with a sigh as I nodded, seeing his point.

“What did you see?” Peter asked from where he stood behind me. But I wasn’t in any shape to discuss what I’d seen. All I knew was I wanted to get as far away from his house and him as I could. “What did she see?” he asked Lovie in a softer voice, when it became pretty obvious that I refused to talk about it.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Lovie shrugging as she offered Peter a little frown as if to say she didn’t have an answer for him. Then she walked up next to me and took my arm, helping Ryan lead me from the house. I had no idea where Christopher was, but I also didn’t care. All I knew was I needed to catch my breath and gather my thoughts in the peace and tranquility of my own home.

***

“Peter killed his wife,” I announced flatly. Ryan, Lovie and I were back at my house and sitting in the kitchen. The sun had abandoned the sky over an hour ago and now the moonlight shone through the windows, bathing us all in a milky white hue. Christopher, as it turned out, had to leave Peter’s house while I was still in my visionary state. Lovie said he was called away on an “emergency exorcism.”

“Peter … wait, what?” Ryan asked, his eyes going wide while his eyebrows furrowed.

“Peter?” Lovie asked at the same time.

The old man killed his wife?
Drake observed from inside my head. I was a bit surprised that Drake hadn’t figured out as much already. I assumed he could just access my memory bank, seeing how he shared the domicile of my mind, but apparently, such was not the case.

I simply nodded while taking another sip of the sweet tea Ryan was kind enough to make for me. I stirred the ice cubes around the glass while the two, er, three of them, tried to digest my most recent announcement.

“You must be confused, Pey.” Ryan was the first to speak. He placed a concerned hand on my shoulder, but I shrugged it off.

Looking up at him, I couldn’t hide my irritation. “I’m not confused.”

“But how is what you’re saying even possible?” Ryan continued, shaking his head just as fiercely as I had. He looked, for all intents and purposes, baffled. “Why would Peter ask you to solve the mystery of Adele’s death if he were the one who did it?”

“He doesn’t know he did,” I answered brusquely. I returned my eyes to my sweet tea and the mound of sugar at the bottom of the glass, which still hadn’t dissolved.

“Pey, I know you just went through a harrowing ordeal,” Ryan started as he eyed me with pity, irritating me all the more, “but you still haven’t told us exactly what you did go through. I’m betting it wasn’t good.”

“No, it wasn’t good!” I scoffed at him before catching my breath. “I can see where you’re going with this, and I’m telling you very seriously: I’m not imagining any of it and I’m not confused.” I withdrew my attention from Ryan’s disbelieving face and looked at Lovie. “Peter doesn’t remember any of the particulars because he was under Guarda’s spell.”

“Guarda?” they both said in unison.

Guarda?
Drake echoed.
The voodoo witch we had the misfortune of dealing with when you had to return to my time in order to defeat the Axeman?

“Yes, Guarda,” I answered all three of them before taking a deep breath. I fought to forget the memory of seeing her lying underneath Peter and staring at me.

“What does Guarda have to do with Peter, babydoll?” Lovie asked. She reached forward and took my hand in hers, squeezing it as if to tell me she believed me.

“I don’t know exactly,” I started as a shudder traveled down my spine once I started to relive the particulars. “All I can say is that when I entered the dream state, I believe I actually inhabited Adele’s body.” I cleared my throat as I remembered the white dress with huge petticoats, something I didn’t own and which looked like it belonged in the 1950s. “I saw and experienced everything I did through her eyes,” I continued. “At least, that’s what I’m fairly convinced of.”

“Go on,” Lovie encouraged me with one of her compassionate smiles. “Tell us what you saw. Take your time, honey.”

“Peter and Guarda were in the bedroom having sex,” I started.

“Disgusting,” Ryan responded with a frown as he shook his head. The look of revulsion was all over his face. “How could anyone willingly engage in … anything with that old goat?”

“Well, she wasn’t an old goat sixty years ago,” I retorted, shaking my head because I was irritated he’d interrupted me, and also because he wasn’t following along.

“No, she wasn’t,” Lovie agreed. “And from what I’ve heard, Guarda was quite beautiful in her day.”

“Yes, she was,” I answered, the memory of her perfect skin and features returning to me. “But getting back to the point, Guarda was somehow controlling Peter.” I paused and remembered how Peter appeared to be on autopilot. “Once I walked into the room, she saw me. She looked right at me.”

“Is that why you thought you were in Adele’s body?” Ryan asked.

I nodded as I turned to face him. “Part of the reason. I was also wearing something that would have been fashionable in the 1950s.” I took another stabilizing breath and continued. “Guarda ordered Peter to attack me. I could tell by the vacant expression on his face that he didn’t realize what he was doing. She was mind-steering him somehow.” My heart started racing so I took a few deep breaths to calm down again.

“When you say he attacked you …” Ryan started.

“He jumped on me and pushed me onto the floor. Then he wrapped his hands around my throat and started to choke me and … and then I woke up, or came to, or whatever you want to call it.” At that moment, I made a decision. I chose not to mention that Guarda might have recognized me, or might have seen the real me right through Adele. I still wasn’t convinced it was possible, so I decided Guarda’s words should stay with me until their meaning was clearer.

Ryan started to shake his head and his jaw tightened. “That explains why you were sputtering and couldn’t breathe,” he said with a sigh as he looked away, appearing lost in his thoughts. When he faced me again, I could tell by his expression that he wasn’t happy. “I don’t want you involvin’ yourself in any more of this voodoo stuff. I didn’t trust Guarda before, an’ now I trust her even less. An’ who knows what could have happened to you if you hadn’t woken up?”

I took a deep breath but didn’t respond because I didn’t know the answer either.

“I can’t even begin to understand this voodoo ghostly stuff, an’ I’m man enough to admit that it scares me,” Ryan continued. He fell quiet for a few seconds as his eyes searched mine. “I don’t want you puttin’ yourself in any situations where you can get hurt, Pey.” He continued looking at me, his large amber eyes filled with compassion and pain. “I’m sorry I got you involved in all of this.”

“It’s okay, Ryan,” I said in a soft voice. “You didn’t know what would happen.”

“So the big question now becomes,” Lovie interrupted, reminding me that she was still there, “what do we tell Peter?”

And on that subject, I had no answer.

Chapter Six

After deliberating for nearly three days, we still couldn’t reach a decision regarding whether or not to tell Peter that he was Adele’s killer. It didn’t seem right not to tell him, but at the same time, I couldn’t help considering how old Peter was; the news might wreck him for the remainder of whatever years he had left. I was also afraid that if Peter knew the truth, he’d seek Guarda out, and we all knew what that could mean … Guarda was powerful, far more powerful than Peter. There was no telling what she’d do if Peter confronted her. I preferred not to find out …

With regards to Guarda and Peter, I decided to find out why Guarda ordered Peter to kill Adele. Of course, on the surface, it merely seemed like the makings of a very ugly affair. I had a feeling though, there was more to it than that. Much, much more. Knowing how manipulative and conniving Guarda could be, I highly doubted her interest in Peter was simply about love or sex. Yes, I could have been wrong, but I was willing to bet my house that I wasn’t.

“What business was Peter in before he retired?” I asked Ryan as I turned on my side to face him. We were lying on his bed. The early morning sunlight was already peeking through the slats of his white plantation shutters, at times glaring directly into my right pupil. I had to change the direction of my head in order to avoid its harsh brightness.

Ryan took a few seconds to catch his breath, owing to the lengthy and intense lovemaking session we’d just engaged in. I giggled as I ran my fingers down the side of his face. “Your cheeks are all red,” I said with another laugh.

“I imagine they are!” he responded and his hearty chuckle seemed to resonate through his entire being. “Considerin’ I was in the process of pleasin’ you for the past hour, plus!”

“Ahem! I’d say you weren’t just pleasing me.”

He nodded and his smile deepened. “I’d have to agree with you.”

“And even if you were completely focused on just pleasing me, what’s to complain about?” I asked, my eyebrows reaching toward the high ceilings.

He pushed me onto my back and boxed me in with his large, muscular arms. We just looked at one another for a few seconds while I mentally double-checked myself. I wanted to make sure I shut Drake out from all of this merrymaking. Drake and I had an established agreement: whenever I did anything of an intimate nature with Ryan, I first mentally shut Drake out of my mind. That way, he would be spared a “homosexual encounter” as he called it. Since Drake hadn’t made any stink about witnessing Ryan and me thus far, I was pretty sure he was safely on hiatus.

Ryan brought his face down to mine until barely an inch of air separated us. “I never complain where makin’ love to you is concerned, Peyton Clark.” He slowly enunciated every word, his eyes burning and hungry. A shiver raced down my spine as I started to sting again, from deep down inside me.

“I never do either,” I whispered back. With a large gulp, I wondered if he would take me again. We’d been resting for maybe, oh, five minutes. Of course, Ryan was Superman when multiple sessions of sex were involved. I wouldn’t have been too surprised to learn he was ready for round two. I actually expected it.

He didn’t respond, but that smoldering look in his eyes increased and he brought his lips to my mouth. Seconds later, I felt his tongue lapping around mine. Although I wanted nothing more than another round of multiple orgasms, that little, nagging voice in the back of my head insisted that I focus elsewhere. In particular, on the mystery that was coming to be known as the relationship between Guarda and Peter.

I pulled away from Ryan and smiled up at him, since what I was about to say was really poorly timed. “You know that I think you’re the sexiest man on earth, right?” I started.

“Um, I guess so,” Ryan answered. His quizzical frown told me he wasn’t sure where I was going with this.

“And you know there’s nothing I love more than feeling you inside me, right?”

“Um, yes?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowing deeper.

“Okay, good, then you won’t take this the wrong way when I say that my mind is currently consumed by Peter and Guarda?”

He stopped frowning and a small smile stole across his lips. “Ordinarily, I would be pretty ticked off when my girlfriend starts talkin’ ’bout another man while I’m tryin’ to make love to her,” he started.

“But this situation is anything but ordinary, right, you big … love tiger!” I said with a huge smile as I pretended to rake him with my tigress claws. “Grrr!”

“Okay, you don’t have to go that far to prove you’re still attracted to me and want me,” he said with a chuckle. Pulling away, he sat beside me, looking at me with one eyebrow cocked. “Love tiger? Really, Pey?”

The smile on my face widened. “Or maybe I should call you a love lion? Or is that too many l’s? I think the powers that be call that assonance or alliteration or something that starts with an a.”

“How about you just call me,” he started.

“I know!” I interrupted him with anxious zest. I raked his chiseled pecs and muscular abdomen with my eyes. “You hunk of burning man flesh?”

“This is rapidly going from bad to worse,” he said, shaking his head.

“You studly …” I started, but he lurched forward and placed his enormous palm over my mouth. All I could do was garble the rest of my words.

“I will release you if you promise not to continue attempt to make the situation better,” he said, all the while trying to maintain an expression of austere sincerity although the smile on his mouth was a few seconds away from total victory.

I held up two fingers on my right hand to gesture “scout’s honor” as I nodded. He studied me for a few seconds before releasing my mouth and pulling back. He kept watching me as if worried that another awkward sexual phrase was merely seconds from rearing its ugly head.

“So what were we talking about?” I asked with a big smile.

Ryan smiled back at me in that boyish, lopsided way. Naturally, it drove me absolutely crazy. I had to restrain myself from jumping on him and throwing my arms around his neck before kissing him with all the passion that was steadily boiling up inside me.

“You just asked me what business Peter was in before he retired,” Ryan supplied. His eyes were still dancing with the hungry need they exhibited earlier. I had to admit that I loved the intense desire we both harbored for one another. It was something I’d never experienced in a relationship before. I found it completely, utterly delicious in its addictiveness.

“Oh, that’s right,” I said, bringing my index finger to my mouth and trying to look like I was lost in thought. “So, do you have an answer for me?” I asked when it seemed like he wasn’t going to respond.

He chuckled before replying, “Peter made his fortune in real estate.” His gaze started to drift from my face and landed on my breasts, where it remained for the next few seconds. “Buyin’ an’ sellin’ homes mostly, but he also rented out several properties.”

“I see,” I said, chewing on my lower lip. I wondered if any of his real estate investments might have interested Guarda. “Hey, I’m up here!” I playfully reprimanded Ryan. It was fairly obvious he had no intention of shifting his attention from my breasts.

“You are all over,” he answered seductively. His eyes dropped to the “V” of my thighs and then he looked down at my legs before returning to my eyes again. His jaw was clenched tight and his cheeks were flushed. My gaze traveled from his chest, further south, and I noticed he was also flushed and stirring in other places.

“Patience,” I started.

“Is not one of the virtues I possess,” he interrupted. Diving for my arms, he pinned them beside my head, planting his lips instantly on mine again.

***

The next day, I found myself visiting the Louisiana Division of the New Orleans Public Library. It housed all the city records going back to 1927. My hope was to find some connection between Guarda and Peter, possibly having to do with a real estate transaction. Of course, I could have just approached Peter and asked him about the nature of his relationship with her, but I was leery to do so for a few reasons. First, I still couldn’t make up my mind about whether or not to be fully honest with Peter about the nature of Adele’s murder, and so I wanted to wait and reach out to him after I made a decision. Second, I figured if he were aware of an affair between Guarda and him, (or at least that one-nighter), he might not exactly be thrilled to tell me about it. And third, I didn’t want to mention Guarda’s name if I didn’t have to. I readily recalled how he’d bristled at Guarda’s name when I’d first made his acquaintance. Something which now took on new meaning … maybe he was aware of their affair?

Either way, in this case, I decided it was just better to do the research all by myself.

The Louisiana Division of the public library boasted incredibly shiny floors, overhead fluorescent lights and row upon row of bookshelves and book stacks.

I must confess having not visited the library much in my time; therefore, I have no comment as to whether it changed much over the ensuing years,
Drake announced. Whenever we ventured out of the house, he made it his business to inform me about how our destinations formerly appeared when he was still alive. He was better than a walking history tour, and no earbud necessary!

Maybe this library isn’t that old?
I asked. Heading down one of the aisles of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, I prayed the paranormal librarian from
Ghostbusters wouldn’t be waiting for me at the other end. Luckily, having blocked my sixth sense after the harrowing situation in Peter’s house, I couldn’t see or interact with the spirit world at the moment. Which was just as well. I really didn’t need any more frightening distractions at the moment.

Come, now, ma minette,
Drake scoffed at me
, this library has been in operation since the late eighteen hundreds!

Imagine that!
I responded absentmindedly as I decided I had no idea where to find the information I was after. I turned around and strolled back toward the front desk to ask for help. As soon as I approached the elderly woman sitting behind the desk, who looked remarkably like the librarian ghost, she peered up through the overly thick spectacles that rested on the bony ridge of her nose.

“May I help you?” she asked in a nasal tone.

“I hope so,” I answered, pasting on a pleasant smile. “I’m trying to find some real estate transactions from the late 1950s recording the sales of both houses and land.”

She nodded immediately, as if my request weren’t an unusual one. Then she craned her head to the right and motioned to a line of computers that were set up as independent study stations, all in a row. “You’ll have to access the vertical file for that information. Click on the ‘Homes and Land’ tab and you’ll see lists of dates on the next screen. Click on the date you wish to review, and that will lead you to a list of the home sales.”

“Great, thanks,” I said eagerly. Without responding, she dropped her nose back into the book she was reading. It looked suspiciously like a romance novel, at least judging by the glimpse I caught, and the words “the apex of her thighs.”

Smiling, I ventured over to one of the computers and pulled out the chair. I sat down and reached for the mouse.

What does “the apex of her thighs” even mean?
Drake inquired from inside my head.

Ah, you caught it too?

Of course, mon chaton, I see everything you see, he reminded me.

Right! How could I forget?
I asked. Shaking my head, I searched for the “Homes and Land” tab. As soon as I found it and clicked on it, I was presented with a list of dates. I wasn’t sure what year I should look for, so I started with the year of Adele’s death, 1959. A long list of names and addresses instantly appeared, but they were not in any sort of chronological or alphabetical order.
Great, just great!

Ma minette, you have not responded to my question,
Drake persisted.

Ugh, I’m sort of busy here, Drake,
I replied while trying to ignore the irritation edging up my spine.

Oui, I apologize, mon amour.
He sounded disappointed and a few seconds later even added a sigh. Yes, it was absolutely histrionic in nature, but nonetheless, I started to feel guilty for not being in a talkative mood.

What was your question?
I asked begrudgingly.

Je ne sais pas, I do not understand the nature of the passage the elderly woman was reading, he reminded me.
What is this “apex of her thighs”?

Ha!
I laughed as I shook my head. I wondered if this man possessed even the slightest bit of humility.
You must think I’m really naive if you expect me to answer such a ridiculous question! You, Drake Montague, are the foremost authority on the apex of a woman’s thighs!

I am not amused, he responded in a tone of voice that suggested his ennui.

And I’m not going to play your silly game! You have had more than your fair share of dalliances with the fairer sex!
I continued, actually enjoying putting him in his place.
So, I’m sorry, Casanova, but I refuse to fall for your silly flirtations.

Very well, he grumbled.
I will defend myself by admitting despite my fair share of “dalliances” as you affectionately termed them, and the pleasure of discovering the apex of the thighs of more than one nice lady, I have yet to enjoy the pleasure of yours! That was the only point I intended to make.

Well, now that you’ve made it, let’s both focus on this never ending list of home sales, shall we?
I replied as I started scanning the long list.

Drake didn’t reply except to make a
“hmph!”
noise before falling silent. I, meanwhile, was busily engaged in scanning the numerous entries of home sales. When I reached the bottom of the page, I clicked over to the next one and saw Peter’s name. The entry, however, wasn’t the one I was looking for. The one I saw claimed Peter sold a property to a man named David Lawson for $50,000.

“Ugh,” I grumbled, settling my initial excitement down again.

Returning to my scan of the entries, I found another one for Peter, but it still wasn’t the transaction I was looking for. This time, he sold a property to a family with the last name of Kelton for $32,300.

“Double ugh,” I muttered as I continued with my search. When I reached the top of page three, I found what I was looking for. “Bam!” I said as a huge smile spread across my face. I read the sale out loud: “Transfer of property located at 12 Davis Landing Road in Slidell, Louisiana, to Guarda Josephine Sauveterre for an undisclosed dollar amount.”

Coincidentally, it was the same location where I’d had the misfortune of my first encounter with Guarda. For some reason, I found it quite interesting to know she’d lived in the same place for nearly sixty years. I was also more than convinced that the “undisclosed dollar amount” was merely covering the fact that Peter gave the property to Guarda, although I was convinced he hadn’t done so out of his abundant generosity.

Tres bien, very good, ma minette,
Drake congratulated me.

Even I felt like patting myself on the back.

Chapter Seven

It wasn’t an easy decision, but I eventually opted to come clean with Peter regarding Adele’s death. Well, at least, most of it. I didn’t think it was fair to keep the information to myself, but at the same time, I also didn’t want to burden him with the intimate details. I had no idea how he might handle the information.

“What do you remember about Adele’s … passing?” I asked him. We were sitting at the breakfast table in my kitchen and snacking on finger sandwiches while drinking mint juleps. When it came to Southern hospitality, I was still trying very hard, but not too sure how well I was doing. The mint julep tasted a little too heavy on the mint …

For this meeting with Peter, I requested that Ryan and Lovie not be in attendance. I imagined Peter would probably prefer to hear the difficult information alone, without a crowd. I know I would have. I’d even opted to shut Drake out of the conversation in deference to Peter.

“I’m not entirely sure if it’s due to the passing of so many years that my memory seems clouded, or perhaps it’s the body’s way of releasing painful memories; however, I must admit I cannot recall very much.” He shook his head with a heartfelt sigh before taking another bite from his half-eaten sandwich. I could tell by the vacant expression in his eyes that he wasn’t tasting it.

“Do you remember anything
?” I asked with another sip of my mint julep. I made a mental note to check the recipe again. Something just tasted off … Although Peter seemed to like it, so what did I know?

“There are several particulars that come to mind,” he started before looking off into the distance at something beyond my head. He was quiet for another few seconds, and when he finally spoke again, his low voice sounded oddly loud in the otherwise quiet room. “I remember wakin’ up in my bed an’ not feelin’ like myself,” he started. However, the words died on his tongue. He took another sip of his julep and continued. “It might seem strange to you, as it certainly does to me, but the memory that stands out the most is the intensity of the headache I felt upon wakin’. Thinkin’ back on it, I can almost feel the pain again, as if it never left me. It felt like my head got broken into pieces.”

I wasn’t sure if that was par for the course when being put under the spell of voodoo magic, but I guessed it could have been. “When you woke up, were you alone?” I asked.

He nodded at first, but seemed to think better of it and then shook his head. “I thought I was alone. Adele wasn’t in the bed beside me, but when I woke up …” He paused again and closed his eyes as if he were trying to extract the memories from the corners of his mind. “I stood up, and that was when I saw her,” he said. Opening his eyes, he focused on me. It was all I could do to hold his gaze because the pain I saw in his eyes was almost palpable. “She was in the fetal position, crumpled up in the corner of the room.”

“Do you remember what was she wearing?”

“I will never forget it,” he answered with a wistful sigh. “It was the same white dress she always wore to Sunday morning breakfast,” he finished, and a sweet, melancholic smile curved his lips. I nodded as I took a deep breath and remembered looking down at myself while I was in the visionary state. I could suddenly recall the eyelet fringe on the white dress I was wearing over myriad petticoats. It felt as if I still had it on. So I was inside Adele’s body in the vision! It was just as I’d suspected.

I shook the memory off and focused on collecting all of the facts again. Finally, it seemed they were starting to give me a more complete picture of the situation. “Is that all you can remember? Waking up and finding Adele crumpled in the corner? And was she already deceased at that point?”

“Yes, she was,” he answered in an audibly constricted tone. “And, yes, that’s all I can remember about the moment I woke up and found her.”

“Was there anyone else in the house with you?”

He shook his head. “That was my first thought too. As soon as I realized Adele was no longer with me, I immediately checked every room in the house. I was intent on finding the man who hurt my wife.”

“And did you ever call the police?” I asked.

He nodded immediately. “Yes, of course! After I checked the house, I called the police. Perhaps it was not the right order of events, but my mind at the time was a jumbled mess of thoughts. I doubt I could have tied my own shoes if you’d asked me.”

“I understand,” I replied with a heartfelt sigh. “And what happened then?”

He dropped his attention to the edges of the floor where the travertine stone met the wall. “The police were there instantly. They questioned me over and over again, trying to piece together my story, I suppose.” He glanced up at me with a sad smile. “It certainly doesn’t sound like a particularly convincing one, does it?” He sighed and shook his head, as if answering his own question. “I just couldn’t remember anything leading up to that point. I can’t now, and I couldn’t then. I couldn’t even recall getting into my bed. Or if Adele was with me the night before. The police asked if I were a drinkin’ man, and even though I do enjoy a libation or two in the evening, alcohol certainly couldn’t account for my clouded mind. I couldn’t remember a single thing.”

“So what did the police think happened?”

He placed the remainder of his sandwich back on the plate and cleared his throat before facing me. “Well, they thought I was the one who did it, of course,” he nodded as if he couldn’t blame them. “From the looks of it and all the circumstantial evidence, it made sense. I was the only one in the house and there was no forcible entry or exit.”

He had no idea how much it made sense, but I was starting to loathe my role as the one to tell him. Not when there was so much anguish in his eyes already.

“No one, includin’ myself, could understand how I couldn’t remember anything,” he continued. “It didn’t sound like I was tellin’ the truth.”

“The police didn’t believe you?”

He frowned and started stirring the ice cubes around in the glass. “I believe they did at first, because they could see how frazzled I was. They said perhaps I’d gotten hit over the head and the blow affected my memory.”

“That sounds plausible,” I offered.

But he shook his head. “I went in for testin’ and there were no signs of trauma to my head, or my body. So that explanation was promptly eliminated.”

“What happened next?”

He shook his head and suddenly looked baffled. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” I asked, unable to mask my surprise.

“It shocked me too,” he answered with a nod. “One minute, they were hot on the path of accusin’ me o’ the crime, an’ the next, they dropped it, just like that,” he said as he snapped his fingers together.

“They dropped the case against you?” I asked incredulously. I had to wonder if Guarda might have had something to do with that outcome. I wasn’t sure why she would have still needed Peter at that point, but maybe she had. Or maybe it was closer to the truth to say she had some sort of attachment to him? I guessed on that point, I would never know the truth.

“Yes,” he answered while nodding emphatically. “It surprised the hell out of me, that’s for sure. I thought I would spend the rest of my life in prison, but not so. They just dropped the case and never opened it up again. I presumed their leads went cold? I never knew what the reason was,” he finished. Taking the last sip of his mint julep, he faced me with a new glimmer of interest in his eyes. “But, Ms. Clark, why am I the one answerin’ all these questions? I thought you were gonna answer my questions an’ fill in all the holes in the story?”

“Well, it’s all part of the process, Peter,” I explained. “And, call me Peyton, please,” I reminded him before starting to explain my response. “The visions I experience are just that, visions.
They don’t explain the situation, or offer any of the particulars as to what really went on. They are more like a brief glimpse into history, a snapshot, if you will. Sometimes, they can be very confusing and fail to get us any closer to the truth.”

“I see,” he started, looking somewhat disappointed. “Then you weren’t able to see anything that could shed light on what really happened?”

I shook my head, still unsure of how much I should tell him. I couldn’t tell him the whole truth, I’d already decided that much. “I wouldn’t say that, but if you’d be so kind as to continue answering my questions, it might help me make sense of what I did see.”

“I understand,” he responded with an eager nod. “What more would you like to know?”

“How do you know Guarda?” I asked with some trepidation. I was very nervous about asking that question, but it needed to be asked, all the same.

“Guarda?” he said her name with a mixture of disdain and confusion. “What does that woman have to do with any of this?”

“Maybe more than you know,” I answered, shrugging. “I remember how uncomfortable you seemed when you first mentioned her.”

“Uncomfortable is a word that tends to accompany any encounter with Guarda.”

“I would agree,” I replied as I studied him. I wondered if he would tell me the truth about his association with Guarda; or, at the very least, what he considered the truth.

“Guarda was a former tenant on one of my properties,” Peter announced flatly, his jaw tightening as his eyes narrowed.

“The property on Davis Landing Road?” I asked. “In Slidell?” He nodded and I continued. “The one in which you transferred the title over to her?”

He chuckled as he glanced at me. “You certainly did your homework, didn’t you, Ms. Peyton?” I figured Ms. Peyton was better than Ms. Clark so I didn’t correct him.

“I guess you could say that,” I answered, taking a deep breath. I hoped he could shed some light on the topic. “Why did you give her that property, Peter?”

He was quiet for a few seconds, and his gaze settled on the floor again. “I don’t know,” he said at last in a low tone of voice. Lifting his hollow gaze to mine, I could see the confusion in his eyes. “I have no idea why I gave it to her.”

“Did Adele know that you granted Guarda title to the property?”

“Yes,” Peter answered with a brief nod. “I remember we had an argument about it. She kept asking me the same question you did—why would I give Guarda the property? I couldn’t answer her either, because I didn’t know. It became a big blank spot in my head for where that information should have been. Of course, Adele didn’t believe me. She thought I was just covering up something. She was convinced I was having an affair with Guarda.”

“Were you?” I asked immediately before thinking better of it. Clearing my throat, I instantly thought of a kinder way to ask the question without sounding so nosy. “May I ask, what was the nature of your relationship with Guarda?”

He laughed in a humorless way and shook his head again, as if he didn’t even know how to put the answer into words. “I don’t know, Ms. Peyton,” he replied as he looked up at me again. “I’m sure you’re sick an’ tired o’ hearin’ me say that, but it’s the unfortunate truth. I remember showin’ Guarda the property I was rentin’ on Davis Landing Road. And that was the last clear memory I have where Guarda is concerned. After that, everything gets foggy. There might be snippets of memories that occasionally flash by me, but I can’t differentiate between them and my dreams. In many ways, my dreams are more vivid than any of my memories.”

“Your dreams?” I asked as I eyed him with keener interest.

He nodded. “I’ve had the strangest dreams; some that I still remember as if I’d had ’em only yesterday.”

“Dreams of what?”

“Nightmares! O’ havin’ relations with that horrible woman,” he nearly spat the words out and traces of anger clouded his expression. “Dreams o’ her practicin’ her voodoo, lyin’ naked beneath me, an’ visions o’ me bein’ inside o’ her,” he said absentmindedly. When he returned his attention to me, his eyes grew wider and his cheeks were flushed. “I apologize fer bein’ so uncouth, Ms. Clark,” he started.

“Peyton,” I corrected him.

“Ms. Peyton.”

“And it’s okay. I don’t embarrass easily, and this is information that needs to come out,” I added, hoping my words might make him feel a little more comfortable.

He nodded as he inhaled and focused on the floor again for a few more seconds. “I know this sounds absurd, but I believe that woman did something to me.”

“Did something to you?” I repeated.

“Yes, I don’t know if she drugged me, or used voodoo magic, but she scrambled my head somehow. She made me grant her that property. I never would have given it to her on my own! Not in a million years! I was a strict businessman, an’ never believed in charity. An’ yet, apparently, I gave that property to Guarda, jist as pretty as you please.” He cleared his throat. “An’ you bet Adele had an earful to say about that! That little woman yelled at me from daybreak to dusk, insistin’ there was something goin’ on between Guarda and me.”

“Do you think you might have been having an affair with Guarda, even without your consent?”

He shrugged and breathed in deeply. “Perhaps I was. I can’t say for sure because I have no recollection. All the memories are clouded an’ fleeting, I can’t sort one out from the next. I remember my first meetin’ with Guarda, when I thought she was remarkably beautiful, but that’s all I can tell you on that subject.”

“How many days passed between the argument you had with Adele about the property transaction and Adele’s murder?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Not that much time went by. Not at all. Perhaps a few days? A week at the very most.”

I nodded and chewed on my bottom lip. I realized the time had come for me to provide Peter with the answers he so desperately needed to know.

Chapter Eight

One Week Later

It was raining, which seemed pretty fitting.

As I stood in Greenwood Cemetery, centrally located at City Park Avenue and Canal Boulevard, I took some comfort in the sound of the plump raindrops as they landed on my umbrella. I was the only one here. The funeral service for Peter MacGregor occurred much earlier in the day. Now the sun was low in the sky, and in another thirty minutes or so, it would disappear altogether.

The old man’s death was not your fault, ma minette,
Drake said, his tone of voice in my head very somber.

I know,
I responded, but the truth of his words did nothing to make me feel any better.

Peter’s death was caused by a faulty heart that finally ceased. At least, that was according to the coroner’s report. I didn’t believe it, even though I pretended I did. I knew Peter’s heart broke in two because he couldn’t face the truth about the reason for Adele’s demise.

Not that I’d told him the whole truth …

I hadn’t been able to bring myself to tell him everything. Instead, I’d said I believed Guarda had something to do with Adele’s murder. I explained that my visions had been cloudy so I couldn’t say for sure how much of a role she played. But as soon as I’d mentioned Guarda, Peter managed to solve the remainder of the puzzle for himself. I’d seen as much in the knowing expression on his face and the way he’d nodded as if he’d understood I didn’t have it within me to tell him the full truth.

Realizing the power Guarda possessed over him, it wasn’t much of a stretch for Peter to figure out she could have used her power to dispose of anyone standing between her and the property in Slidell; even Peter, himself.

I couldn’t stop replaying the last words Peter said to me before he left my house and I never saw him again.
Your heart is much too kind for this world, Ms. Peyton.

Mon chaton,
Drake started, no doubt suffering from the gravity of my guilt and gloominess.
You must not allow yourself to believe for one minute that you caused MacGregror’s death. You did not tell him anything! He figured it all out for himself!

Okay, but was that really any better than me just coming right out and telling him what happened? Either way, I’m the reason he learned the truth about Adele! The truth he obviously wasn’t prepared to handle!

Mon amour,
Drake continued while I riveted my eyes on the above-ground tomb that towered over me. The MacGregor family crypt had housed the MacGregor family for centuries, Adele included. And now Peter …

I’m okay, Drake,
I thought, even though I wasn’t.

Perhaps you are considering this from the wrong angle, he continued. One thing I liked about Drake was how he always assumed the role of protector; and he played it very well.
Perhaps the old man finally came to terms with the past and decided he already fulfilled his purpose and was no longer needed here? Perhaps by ending the mystery of his wife’s passing, he could finally pass on, himself?

I guess that’s one way to look at it.

I believe it is the only way you should look at it, ma minette.

I nodded, even though I wasn’t convinced of the truth in Drake’s words.
All I can say is that I’m finished with this medium stuff,
I thought as my lips tightened on their own.
I don’t want to get involved in anyone’s business anymore. Sometimes, it’s better to let some mysteries just remain as such. Not all of them need to be solved.

Come now, ma minette, you know as well as I that you do not believe that! Whether you care to admit it or not, you helped that old man. He came to you with a problem and you provided him with an answer,
Drake insisted.

Maybe,
I started, loath to admit he could be right, even though I knew he was deep down.

Maybe!? Maybe nothing!
Drake sounded irritated.
This is your calling, mon chaton! You feel it, I know that you do. You like to help people and this is the best way you can help them!

What?! By telling husbands that they killed their own wives?
I spat the words back at him even though I knew it wasn’t fair of me.

Non, he insisted.
You help people by solving the mysteries that they, themselves, cannot solve, he responded in a level tone.
You were blessed with a gift, ma minette, a gift that you should share. Use it wisely to help those who need it.

I sighed, long and hard. I couldn’t deny the truth in his words.
I’m just not ready to hear this yet, Drake,
I said after a few seconds.
I understand what you’re saying, but I just can’t handle it at the moment. Too much has happened and it’s still too fresh. The pain I feel is too much for me to deal with.

Very well, I understand, he said. I suddenly felt like I could breathe a little more easily.

“Another one bites the dust, eh?”

I wheeled around at the sound of a woman’s voice. When I saw the young woman who stood smiling at me, I gasped.

“Guarda?” I said aloud without meaning to do so.

It is the voodoo witch!
Drake chirped from inside me, his tone of voice on high alert.

The woman laughed and shook her head, but didn’t say anything. Of course, I realized there was no plausible way this young woman, barely in her thirties, could really be Guarda. But she looked exactly like the Guarda I’d seen in my visions … I almost felt like I was hallucinating.

“This day be a long time comin’ for him,” she said, motioning to the tomb in front of us. I noticed she wasn’t carrying an umbrella and the rain was doing a fine job of soaking her entirely.

“Did you know Peter MacGregor?” I asked suspiciously. Taking in her tight, black tank top and the dark blue jeans that clung to her shapely lower body, I found her choice of clothing strange for a rainy day. What was even more strange was that she wasn’t wearing shoes …

“Ah know everyone in this town,” she answered without removing her gaze from the tomb. She looked at it longingly almost, staring with a mix of wistfulness and what appeared to be melancholy.

“Who are you?” I asked bluntly before shaking my head as I revised my question. “Er, what’s your name?”

“Ah’m everyone an’ Ah’m no one,” she answered with a strange laugh. Shaking her head, she pulled her attention away from the tomb. She glanced over and almost studied me for a few seconds, but nothing in her face revealed whether or not she liked what she saw. It almost seemed like she could see right through me.

Just like that, she started walking past me.

I wanted to say something to her, and demand she identify herself, or tell me why she looked so much like the Guarda of the past. I also wanted to ask why she seemed to know Peter, but words escaped me. It was all I could do just to stand there and watch her retreating across the grass threshold that separated the walking path from the graveyard itself. She began weaving in and out of the tombstones and vaults, dragging her hands over each one almost languorously.

“Wait!” I called out to her when I finally found my voice again.

She stopped walking. Resting her hands on two tombstones that flanked either side of her, she turned around to face me.

“You never told me what your name is, or how you knew Peter,” I started.

“None o’ that matters,” she answered as she shook her head. With that same knowing smile, she added, “We will meet again.”

Then she turned on her heels and continued to walk deeper into the graveyard. The sun set behind her, consuming everything in darkness.

The End

To be continued in:

Deadly Intentions

Midlife Spirits Series #6

Coming Soon!

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Also available:

Better Off Dead

Lily Harper #1
by H.P. Mallory

(read on for a sample)

“Midway upon the journey of our life, I found myself within a forest dark, For the straight forward pathway had been lost.”

—
Dante’s
Inferno

ONE

The rain pelted the windshield relentlessly. Drops like little daggers assaulted the glass, only to be swept away by the frantic motion of the wipers. The scenery outside my window melted into dripping blobs of color through a screen of gray. I took my foot off the accelerator and slowed to forty miles an hour, focusing on the blurry yellow lines in the road.

Lightning stabbed the gray skies. A roar of thunder followed and the rain came down heavier, as if having been reprimanded for not falling hard enough.

“This rain is gonna keep on comin’, folks,” the radio meteorologist announced. Annoyed, I changed the station and resettled myself into my seat to the sound of Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons, Summer.”
Ha, Summer …

The rain morphed into hail. The visibility was slightly better, but now I was under a barrage of machine-gunned ice. I took a deep breath and tried to imagine myself on a sunny beach, sipping a strawberry margarita with a well-endowed man wearing nothing but a banana hammock and a smile.

In reality, I was as far from a cocktail on a sunny beach with Sven, the lust god, as possible. Nope, I was trapped in Colorado Springs in the middle of winter. If that weren’t bad enough, I was late to work. To make matters worse? Today was not only my yearly review but I also had to give a presentation to the CEO, defending my decision to move forward with a risky and expensive marketing campaign. So, yes, being late didn’t exactly figure into my plans.

With a sigh, I turned on my seat heater and tried to enact the presentation in my head, tried to remember the slides from my PowerPoint and each of the topics I needed to broach. I held my chin up high and cleared my throat, reminding myself to look the CEO and the board of directors in the eyes and not to say “um.”

“Choc-o-late cake,” I said out loud, opening my mouth wide and then bringing my teeth together again in an exaggerated way. “Choc-o-late cake.” It was a good way to warm up my voice and to remind myself to pronounce every syllable of every word. And, perhaps the most important point to keep in mind—not to rush.

This whole being late thing wasn’t exactly good timing, considering I was going to ask for a raise. With my heart rate increasing, I remembered the words of Jack Canfield, one of the many motivational speakers whose advice I followed like the Bible.

“῾When you’ve figured out what you want to ask for,’ Lily, ‘do it with certainty, boldness and confidence,’” I quoted, taking a deep breath and holding it for a count of three before I released it for another count of three. “Certainty, boldness and confidence,” I repeated to myself. “Choc-o-late cake.”

Feeling my heart rate decreasing, I focused on counting the stacks of chicken coops in the truck ahead of me—five up and four across. Each coop was maybe a foot by a foot, barely enough room for the chickens to breathe. White feathers decorated the wire and contrasted against the bright blue of a plastic tarp that covered the top layer of coops. The tarp was held in place by a brown rope that wove in and around the coops like spaghetti. I couldn’t help but feel guilty about the chicken salad sandwich currently residing in my lunch sack but then I remembered I had more important things to think about.

“Choc-o-late cake.”

The truck’s brake lights suddenly flashed red. The chicken coops rattled against one another as the truck lurched to a stop. A vindictive gust of wind caught the edge of the blue tarp and tore it halfway off the coops. As if heading for certain slaughter wasn’t bad enough, the chickens now had to freeze en route. My concern for the birds was suddenly interrupted by another flash of the truck’s brake lights.

Then I heard the sound of my cell phone ringing from my purse, which happened to be behind my seat. I reached behind myself, while still trying to pay attention to the road, and felt around for my purse. I only ended up ramming my hand into the cardboard box which held my velvet and brocade gown. The dress had taken me two months to make and was as historically accurate to the gothic period of the middle ages as was possible.

I finally reached my purse and then fingered my cell phone, pulling it out as I noticed Miranda’s name on the caller ID.

“Hi,” I said.

“I’m just calling to make sure you didn’t forget your dress,” Miranda said in her high pitch, nasally voice which sounded like a five-year-old with a cold.

“Forget it?” I scoffed, shaking my head at the very idea. “Are you kidding? This is only one of the most important evenings of our lives!” Yes, tonight would mark the night that, if successful, Miranda and I would be allowed to move up the hierarchical chain of our medieval reenactment club. We’d started as lowly peasants and had worked our way up to the merchant class and now we sought to be allowed entrance into the world of the knights.

“Can you imagine finally being able to enter the class of the knights?” Miranda continued. Even though I obviously couldn’t see her, I could just imagine her pushing her Coke-bottle glasses back up to the bridge of her nose as she gazed longingly at the empire-waisted, fur trimmed gown (also historically accurate!) that I’d made for her birthday present.

“Yeah, instead of burlap, we can wear silk!” I chirped as I nodded and thought about how expensive it was going to be to costume ourselves if we actually did get admitted into the class of the knights.

“And maybe Albert will finally want to talk to me,” Miranda continued, again in that dreamy voice.

I didn’t think becoming a knight’s lady would make Albert any more likely to talk to Miranda, but I didn’t say anything. If the truth be told, Albert was far more interested in the knights than he ever was in their ladies.

“Okay, Miranda, I gotta go. I’m almost at work,” I said and then heard the beep on the other line which meant someone else was trying to call me. I pulled the phone away from my ear and after quickly glancing at the road, I tried to answer my other call. That was when I heard the sound of brakes screeching.

I felt like I was swimming through the images that met me next—my phone landing on my lap as I dropped it, my hands gripping the wheel until my knuckles turned white, the pull of the car skidding on the slick asphalt, and the tail end of the truck in front of me, up close and personal. I braced myself for the inevitable impact.

Even though I had my seatbelt on, the jolt was immense. I was suddenly thrown forward only to be wrenched backwards again, as if by the invisible hands of some monstrous Titan. Tiny threads of anguish weaved up my spine until they became an aching symphony that spanned the back of my neck.

The sound of my windshield shattering pulled my thoughts from the pain. I opened my right eye—since the left appeared to be sealed shut—to find my face buried against the steering wheel.

I couldn’t feel anything. The searing pain in my neck was soon a fading memory and nothing but the void of numbness reigned over the rest of my body. As if someone had turned on a switch in my ears, a sudden screeching met me like an enemy. The more I listened, the louder it got—a high-pitched wailing. It took me a second to realize it was the horn of my car.

My vision grew cloudy as I focused on the white of the feathers that danced through the air like winter fairies, only to land against the shattered windshield and drown in a deluge of red. Sunlight suddenly filtered through the car until it was so bright, I had to close my good eye.

And then there was nothing at all.

Better Off Dead
is available at:

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About the Author:

H. P. Mallory is a New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author who started as a self-published author.

She lives in Southern California with her son and two cranky cats, where she’s at work on her next book.

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Table of Contents

- Foreword by J.R . Rain
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight