Read Online CnC 4 A Harvest of Bones by Yasmine Galenorn - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Yasmine Galenorn
Tags: Fiction, General, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Mystery Fiction, Occult fiction, Ghost Stories, Washington (State), Single mothers, Women Mediums, Tearooms
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tea, I escorted her back to her bed and tucked her in. I tuned in, but couldn’t sense anybody or anything in the room. Randa caught my hand before I could leave.
“Mom, would you plug in a night-light in my room tonight?”
I smiled. “Sure thing. There’s one in the hall bathroom, I’ll get it now.” When I returned with the tabby-cat night-light and plugged it in, she was sitting up in bed.
“When’s the last time you checked the smoke detectors?” she asked.
“Joe checked them two weeks ago. They’re working fine.” I ruffled her hair and she didn’t protest. “Anything else?”
She shrugged and slid back under the covers. Nebula crawled up onto Randa and mewed. Randa snuggled her in her arms and rubbed her nose in the cat’s belly. “She misses her mom. So do I. Is Samantha okay?”
As I closed the door, I said, “I’m sure she’s fine, hon. She’ll be home before we know it.” I wished I didn’t feel like a liar.
On my way back to my bedroom, I stopped on a whim and turned to look over my shoulder. There, in front of Randa’s door, stood a woman. Around twenty years old, she was lovely, with long red hair cascading down her back. A tucked-waist dress fell to her calves, and she wore sturdy shoes. As I gazed at her, wondering what she wanted, the spirit’s eyes grew wide with surprise and she threw up her hands, as if warding off a blow, and screamed.
Even though I covered my ears, I knew that her voice had echoed only within my mind. As the scream reverberated, she vanished from the hall. I raced over to where she’d stood but felt only a cool shaft of air that vanished as I touched it. Closing my eyes, I reached out. No presence, no animosity, no real energy save for the hairs bristling on my arms.
Confused and tired, I crawled back into bed, resting against the headboard. If things kept up this way, maybe I’d skip my birthday this year.
Four
From Brigit’s Journal:
I know my choices haven’t been the wisest. I also know that sometimes people think I’m naive, and that I trust too much. My friend Margaret tells me so. I haven’t confided to Maggie everything that’s happened, but she knows about William and thinks this is all about my missing him. So I let her think what she will. I don’t even dare write the truth in this journal—what if the Missus found it? Or worse, Mr. Edward or Miss Irena? I’d be in so much trouble. So I stick to half-truths and shadows. I am so sick of shadows.
If only I could put my heart away—lock up my feelings and go through life like some of the other girls do. Angela, for example. She was due to get married last year and then her beau ran off with someone else. She never cried, not once. And she seems fine—she has her work, and she’s saving a nest egg for a little house, someday. But I wonder, when she’s alone, does she cry? I never ask. There are some moments into which you do not pry. It seems like so long ago I lost my heart. I wonder if I’ll ever find it again. And will it be whole, or broken forever?
I WOKE TO see Samantha dart across the bottom of the bed and off. “Sammy! Where have you been?” Pushing back the covers, I leapt out of bed but when I looked around for the cat, she was nowhere to be seen. Puzzled, I knelt down and peeked beneath the heavy frame. Nothing.
A thorough search of my bedroom yielded no sign of her, and the door to the hall was closed. A dream? I shivered, hoping it was nothing more ominous. I’d seen plenty of animal spirits over the years, and I prayed that Samantha hadn’t crossed over the Bridge to the other side.
As I stared at myself in the mirror, I began to acknowledge to myself just how worried I was about her. I had to keep up appearances for the kids’ sake, but in the privacy of my room, images of cars and big dogs and miserable pathetic humans who preyed on the innocent—both two- and four-legged—ran through my mind. Samantha relied on us, trusted us to take care of her.
“Mom, would you plug in a night-light in my room tonight?”
I smiled. “Sure thing. There’s one in the hall bathroom, I’ll get it now.” When I returned with the tabby-cat night-light and plugged it in, she was sitting up in bed.
“When’s the last time you checked the smoke detectors?” she asked.
“Joe checked them two weeks ago. They’re working fine.” I ruffled her hair and she didn’t protest. “Anything else?”
She shrugged and slid back under the covers. Nebula crawled up onto Randa and mewed. Randa snuggled her in her arms and rubbed her nose in the cat’s belly. “She misses her mom. So do I. Is Samantha okay?”
As I closed the door, I said, “I’m sure she’s fine, hon. She’ll be home before we know it.” I wished I didn’t feel like a liar.
On my way back to my bedroom, I stopped on a whim and turned to look over my shoulder. There, in front of Randa’s door, stood a woman. Around twenty years old, she was lovely, with long red hair cascading down her back. A tucked-waist dress fell to her calves, and she wore sturdy shoes. As I gazed at her, wondering what she wanted, the spirit’s eyes grew wide with surprise and she threw up her hands, as if warding off a blow, and screamed.
Even though I covered my ears, I knew that her voice had echoed only within my mind. As the scream reverberated, she vanished from the hall. I raced over to where she’d stood but felt only a cool shaft of air that vanished as I touched it. Closing my eyes, I reached out. No presence, no animosity, no real energy save for the hairs bristling on my arms.
Confused and tired, I crawled back into bed, resting against the headboard. If things kept up this way, maybe I’d skip my birthday this year.
Four
From Brigit’s Journal:
I know my choices haven’t been the wisest. I also know that sometimes people think I’m naive, and that I trust too much. My friend Margaret tells me so. I haven’t confided to Maggie everything that’s happened, but she knows about William and thinks this is all about my missing him. So I let her think what she will. I don’t even dare write the truth in this journal—what if the Missus found it? Or worse, Mr. Edward or Miss Irena? I’d be in so much trouble. So I stick to half-truths and shadows. I am so sick of shadows.
If only I could put my heart away—lock up my feelings and go through life like some of the other girls do. Angela, for example. She was due to get married last year and then her beau ran off with someone else. She never cried, not once. And she seems fine—she has her work, and she’s saving a nest egg for a little house, someday. But I wonder, when she’s alone, does she cry? I never ask. There are some moments into which you do not pry. It seems like so long ago I lost my heart. I wonder if I’ll ever find it again. And will it be whole, or broken forever?
I WOKE TO see Samantha dart across the bottom of the bed and off. “Sammy! Where have you been?” Pushing back the covers, I leapt out of bed but when I looked around for the cat, she was nowhere to be seen. Puzzled, I knelt down and peeked beneath the heavy frame. Nothing.
A thorough search of my bedroom yielded no sign of her, and the door to the hall was closed. A dream? I shivered, hoping it was nothing more ominous. I’d seen plenty of animal spirits over the years, and I prayed that Samantha hadn’t crossed over the Bridge to the other side.
As I stared at myself in the mirror, I began to acknowledge to myself just how worried I was about her. I had to keep up appearances for the kids’ sake, but in the privacy of my room, images of cars and big dogs and miserable pathetic humans who preyed on the innocent—both two- and four-legged—ran through my mind. Samantha relied on us, trusted us to take care of her.
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