Book of Souls (Haunted Series 24)
Book of Souls
A Haunted Series novel
By Alexie Aaron
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
~
Copyright 2018 – Diane L. Fitch writing as Alexie Aaron
ALSO BY ALEXIE AARON
HAUNTED SERIES
in order
The Hauntings of Cold Creek Hollow
Ghostly Attachments
Sand Trap
PEEPs Lite: Eternal Maze 3.1
PEEPs Lite: Homecoming 3.2
Darker than Dark
The Garden
Puzzle
Old Bones
Things that Go Bump in the Night
Something Old
PEEPs Lite: Checking Out 9.1
PEEPs Lite: Ice and Steel 9.2
The Middle House: Return to Cold Creek Hollow
Renovation
Mind Fray
The Siege
NOLA
Never Forget
The Old House
Restitution
A Rose by Any Other Name
The Long Game
Given Enough Rope
The Return
Risen
The Candle
Book of Souls
Coming soon: A Daughter of Nyx
CID GARRETT P.I. SERIES
Cid
High Court
Tiny Houses
CIN FIN-LATHEN MYSTERIES
Decomposing
Death by Saxophone
Discord
The Wages of Cin
Unforgivable Cin: An Opera in Three Acts
I dedicate this book to all the souls who have encourage me along the way.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Glossary
Alexie Aaron
Chapter One
Bev walked in slow deliberate steps down the passageway of the old stone château. The damp from the rising water table cast an even sheen of moisture on the stone walls, reflecting her as she passed. The beam from her high-powered flashlight threw a circle of light ten feet in front of the professional sensitive.
This château was one of three being considered by the Pyrite Hotels group for restoration, though it was further from the Loire River Valley than was fashionable. Most sixteenth-century French châteaux were built along that valley. There, they could be seen from the river which moved freely across the northern part of France. The Loire was a wild, wide, and beautiful river. Nothing deeper hulled than a flat-bottomed barge could navigate those waters.
Château Nocturne was deep in the forest. It abutted a small lake on one side, which Bev suspected was the source for the dampness on the lower floors. But she wasn’t an engineer; let them deal with that. She was employed to see if the rumors were true that the château was haunted.
“Why even consider such an ugly palace?” she had asked. “Surely there are better examples located nearer to quaint villages that would draw guests to its doors.”
“We are looking to offer a more secluded place for select clients,” the manager said.
Bev wanted to elaborate on the risks of being too far away from civilization but sensed that the select clients weren’t looking for a wholesome adventure. She had been lured to places like this before - escaping once by bribing a barman to hide her in the trunk of his vehicle and secret her away from an adventure she didn’t cherish.
This time, she wasn’t a guest. She was an employee. After frittering away her allowance from Gerald, Beverly Cooper had taken on a job to which she was much suited, Madam Cooper: ghost whisperer. The petite curvy blonde, who was actively fighting everything midlife was throwing at her, was one of the strongest sensitives money could buy. She made no excuses for exploiting her gifts. Bev felt it was God’s way of taking care of her when no one else was.
Bev had already investigated the two other châteaux offered. She found a few instances of residual haunt activity but nothing that would do more than keep a light-sleeping guest up. At Château de Monet, she reported, “Evidently, the marquis was looking for the bedchambers of his wife’s new personal maid when he turned the wrong way and fell over the banister, falling two stories to his death. Fortunately, the copious amount of blood that soaked into the grout of the flooring has given it its present rusty hue.” To explain the hullabaloo in the carriage house at the Château de Étalon, she said, “One night, two young lovers were looking for a place to consummate their relationship. Unfortunately, they chose the stall of the Arabian, enough said. They were stomped to death. You can still hear their passionate embrace when the moon is full. I do suggest leaving before the second snort of the irritated steed,” she cautioned.
Bev stumbled and stopped to examine the heel of her boot. The leather adorning the stiletto heal was ripped back to the composite material. “Damn, I’m going to have to have this repaired. I wonder if this falls under expenses?”
The boot heel blurred slightly. This was happening more and more. Bev suspected that Sabine’s daughter Maisha Violet was sharing her sight again. “Maisha, get out of my head. I’m going to tell your mother you’re at it again,” she warned.
Maisha Violet Norwood had inherited a gene that enabled shared sight with anyone with the same gene. In this case, Beverly, who was Maisha’s grandmother - although, Bev had banned the phrase grand-anything from the young girl’s vocabulary. Beverly’s natural daughter Sabine had three daughters who “technically” were Bev’s granddaughters. Still, Bev was not maternal and certainly looked too young to be a grandmother, nana, or whatever they were calling them these days.
Bev’s sight cleared up slightly as she slid her boot back on. “Honestly, I’m going to have a talk with Sabine when I get a chance. You should be out playing, not sitting inside watching the world from my eyes. You’re going to see something Sabine is not going to be happy you saw. Kid, take it from me, I’m not the person to be following around. Go and attach yourself to someone else. Go on, get out of my head!”
Her sight snapped back.
“Thank you,” Bev said.
In Chicago, the five-year-old sat with her eyes closed in the big worn chair in the Nortons’ living room. Her sisters were p
racticing their ballet steps in the kitchen much to the disgust of Tauni Cerise, the triplets’ minder and nurse. Tauni’s beautiful black braids where tied back as she was hovering over the stove trying to perfect a Béarnaise sauce, a recipe she had promised to share with Cid Garrett. After sampling her cooking at a family gathering, Cid had asked where she had gotten her training, explaining that he wanted to take sauce-making classes this summer. She shook her head and bragged, “Cid, I can show you all you need to know.” Her hubris jinxed every sauce she tried to make after that. They curdled, burned, separated, and lumped. “Come on, Tauni, you can do this,” she coaxed.
Leta Ann and Nura Louise giggled.
“Girls, take your plies and sauntés out of the kitchen before you upset my saucepan,” she warned. “Go, sit, and be good like Maisha. She never bothers anybody.”
Leta and Nura, who knew better, broke out in giggles. They didn’t rat out their sister. Each girl understood the triplet code and abided by it. As long as the sister was not venturing into a physically harmful situation, the other two would not alert an adult, especially not their mother, Sabine.
Sabine was born with extraordinary nonverbal-communication skills. She was a natural clairvoyant, a dual-vessel sensitive, and an experienced bilocator. When she sensed one of the girls was in danger, she could either enter their minds with instructions, snatch their souls and hide them within herself, or be standing beside them without them knowing. She had already magically stunted the abilities of Leta and Nura when she found out, the hard way, that she could not get them to understand there was a time and place for their gifts and in a preschool classroom was not one of them.
Maisha tried to get the other two to understand that Sabine was frail and needed them to behave like normal children whenever possible and to obey Tauni, who was there more to take care of Sabine than the girls. The five of them lived in a high-rise condo in Chicago, not far from their deceased father’s family, who were often there to lend a hand when needed. The Norwoods were normal everyday people who supported Brian, the father of the triplets, through his wasting illness with courage and strength. They were surprised when Sabine agreed to marry the ailing man, and they grew to love her as their own. Brian’s sister, Holly, managed Brian’s estate for Sabine and took on the girls with the gusto of a tiger.
“Maisha, where are you?” Leta whispered as she approached the still girl.
“I think somewhere in France. Grandma Beverly is exploring a castle.”
“What do you see?” Nura asked, crawling into the big chair to sit beside her sister.
“It’s pretty dark. She’s below the main floor, walking down a hallway made of stone. I wish she’d go back upstairs where the light is better.”
“If I were in her head, I could make her,” Leta bragged.
“And you doing that to the mailman got us in big trouble,” Nura said. “Uncle Angelo was not pleased and put a halt to our explorations.”
“He needs to stay out of our business,” Leta complained. “I’m glad he’s not our father.”
“Our father’s dead,” Nura said.
“But we need a father,” Maisha said, opening her eyes. “Mommy needs to laugh more.”
“So you’re in favor of Patrick,” Leta said. “I like Mike.”
“You only like him because he treats all of us like princesses.” Maisha cautioned, “I don’t think Mike is interested in becoming our daddy.”
“Mommy likes Cid,” Nura said. “I like Cid. He’s strong and handsome like a knight in a picture book.”
“He’s not interested in Mommy,” Maisha said. “I think we should throw our support to Patrick. He loves Mommy.”
“Tauni doesn’t like him. She says, beware of a charming man because when they turn out their pockets, all they have is lint,” Leta said.
“You’re very jaded for a five-year-old,” Nura observed.
“I don’t know what you mean, but I have a feeling when I look that up, I’m going to be mad at you,” Leta warned.
“Go away or be quiet, time to check in on Grandma,” Maisha said and closed her eyes.
Bev wasn’t sure if it was her sensitivity to the paranormal she was feeling, bad air in the passageway, or that it had been several hours since she had last dined. Her head felt light, and there was a strange pulling sensation as if she were a piece of metal being drawn to a magnet. She moved in the direction of the pull, stopping to draw a chalk arrow to mark her position. She sketched a few letters over the arrow. Frequently, she got turned around in the dark corridors of these old passages. The arrows, combined with a code known only to herself, would help her to find her way back. The reason for the code had to do with an incident involving a maze with moving walls that ended in an oubliette. Arrows could be redrawn, but her code was her own.
On the exterior of Château Nocturne, the Caen limestone had been blackened by the environment, but down here, it displayed an ochre hue when her light hit it. The shadows around her were more red-brown than the deep black she was accustomed to in the lower recesses of the palaces and castles Bev had visited previously.
Bev pulled out her cell phone and took a selfie. The image revealed was absent of the blue color palette; everything was sepia. She liked the photo. Gone were the tiny lines the high-def normally brought out. She saved the picture to send when she could get any bars on her phone. Maybe she’d even send a copy to Gerald. “Ah, Gerald, why can’t I love you?” she said sadly.
Bev buttoned her cardigan and continued her inspection. “Come out, come out, wherever you are…”
Her words seemed to be absorbed into the walls, and her boots no longer made any clicks as she made her way down the narrowing passageway. Bev stopped and pulled out the map she was given. She traced the way she had come and saw that this narrow section was indicated on the map. It ran a few yards and opened into a hexagonal room. She inched her way along until it opened into a large space. She felt a presence.
“Finally, I thought all this mucking about was going to produce nothing. Come out and let me look at you,” she demanded. “I’m not here to do you any harm or boot you out. The new owners will have their say, I suppose, but all I’m here to do is document your presence. So, the sooner…”
There was movement in front of her just out of reach of the flashlight beam.
“I can’t quite see you, dear. Are you a walled-up nun perhaps? Come closer… rapproche tô,” she struggled in French.
“Vous n΄êtes pas seul,” a guttural male voice answered.
“Of course I’m alone.” Bev twirled around, lighting the area behind and beside her. “Je suis seul.”
The rhythmic sound of dry leather on rock moved towards her. Out of the brown shadows a stout man appeared. He was bald and wore the garments of a monk. His clothing was stained with mud, sweat, and time. Fearing he was a priest of some kind, she apologized for her comment about a sealed sister, “Pardonne moi, père… pas une nonne.”
“Nonne?”
“Nun… I spoke of a walled-up nun before. I meant no offense,” Bev babbled. “Sainte soeur.”
“Vous n΄êtes pas seul,” the man said and pointed to Bev’s head.
“You are not alone,” the man had said. Maisha pushed back into the cushions of the chair as if that could hide her. The man had looked through Bev’s eyes and seen Maisha. She pulled out of Bev’s head.
Bev felt her niece leaving as if she had slammed a door in her head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know she was there. She’s only a child. She meant no harm.”
“Enfant.” The man shook his head and the corners of his mouth lifted. “Une fille.”
“Do you understand English?”
“Some.”
“Good. Are you aware that you’re dead?” she asked.
“Je suis vivant, I am alive.”
“Impossible!” Bev exclaimed. “Just look at yourself, you’re dead.”
“Je suis vivant,” the man insisted.
“Je suis au regret de vous
informer…” Bev started
The man grabbed her hand and put it to his face and repeated, “Je suis vivant.”
Bev felt the life beneath the roughly shaven face. She dropped her flashlight, put her hand on the man’s chest, and felt not only the rise and fall of a man breathing but the faint beat of his heart. “You are alive. Why are you down here and in such… Are you imprisoned?”
“Imprisoned?”
“Le détenu?”
“Ah… Depends on your perspective, no?”
“Come with me, and I’ll get you out of here,” Bev offered. “I will save you.”
“Courageous. But if you save me, who will save you?” he asked.
Maisha was worried that she may have gotten her grandmother in trouble. She snuck back into her head. She looked out of Bev’s eyes in time to see the sepia world and the man who dominated Bev’s sight before everything turned black. Her connection with Bev was gone, and Maisha feared so was Bev.
She tried to open her eyes and could only see blackness. Maisha put her hands on her face and felt that her eyes were open, but she had no sight!
A guttural voice filled her head, “This is what happens to little girls who peek.”
Maisha screamed.
Chapter Two
“I think you’re attracting too much attention with those things,” Ted said, pulling the brim of his hat low over his eyes.
“It’s not like I can unlatch them. They’re part of me,” Mia said, brushing the sand off her stomach. “Besides, half the world has a set.”
“Not like those,” Ted said.
Mia lowered her sunglasses and looked over at her husband who was supervising Brian’s attempt at a sandcastle while she watched over a sleepy Varden. A morning at the beach had tired the boys, but they were not yet ready to head back to the farm.
Big Bear Lake’s public beach was family friendly. The shallow water and sandy bottom of the lake provided a pleasant place for toddlers to splash away the surprising early summer heat wave.