Read Online Rocks & Gravel (Peri Jean Mace Ghost Thrillers Book 3) by Catie Rhodes - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Catie Rhodes
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vision. Why did we have the same tattoo? Before I could ask, the tattooed lady grabbed my hand, and the room we were in faded, leaving us to float in darkness so black and complete and soundless, I wondered if I had died.
Fear closed my throat, choking me. Coughing, gasping, and gagging, I twisted in the darkness, hoping to break free of it but found I couldn’t move. This wasn’t so bad, even if I was dying. It was sort of soothing.
Whispers of a million voices saying no words arose around me. I forgot about returning to where I came from focused on where I was. This place felt wrong, heavy and suffocating, as though if I spent too much time here I could get lost. I needed to hurry. I searched my senses, trying to find something I could focus on, something I could use to ground myself. I smelled the faintest scent of spearmint and clung to it. The sound of wind whispering through pine trees filled my ears, and the blackness faded.
The woman who’d shanghaied me was no longer young. She’d thickened with age and wore a frumpy calico dress which covered all her wonderful tattoos. Her hair had grayed and was pulled into a plain bun. The image before me faded in and out like a radio station does on a long drive. Black holes where her eyes should have been made me want to scream and recoil. Teeth clenched, I held in my emotions and focused instead on my hostess. “What do you want?” The words wouldn’t come out of my mouth. It was as though I’d lost the ability to speak, but I could hear my thoughts clearly.
A rush of arctic wind blew back my hair and cooled my face. My heart couldn’t beat fast enough to keep up with the adrenaline coursing through my veins. The black opal sent painful shocks into my skin, maybe magnifying my power so I could see more of this vision, maybe protecting me. I regretted my shamefully limited knowledge of it.
“Why am I here?” Again the words formed perfectly in my head, but my hostess said nothing.
Anger and hurt rolled off her with violence, whipping at me, throbbing in the deepest parts of my soul. In addition to the spirit’s emotions, I picked up her intent. She wanted something from me.
My body experienced the same weightless feeling going downhill on a roller coaster gave me. Doing favors for ghosts never ended well. I had to get out of here. I concentrated on my moving my hand. It was like lifting an anvil, but I managed to pull the black opal from my shirt and squeeze it in one fist. Back in Louisiana, when I first became acquainted with the black opal, it enabled me to hear snatches of words from the ghosts. Maybe it would open my senses further this time as well.
Instead of speaking, the ghost floated toward me. I became aware of a clacking sound in the room and realized it was my teeth chattering. She closed one hand over mine, the cold burning my skin. The room came into stark, painful focus.
“You can’t leave yet.” Her voice, soft and clear as the song of angels, was not what I expected. Her grip on me tightened. “Pay careful attention. I did a great evil in cursing the treasure. For my sins, I’ve been unable to find rest in the spirit realm. The one who stole my book will unleash destruction on Gaslight City. Watch and learn because only you can help me stop this evil and find peace.”
Time jumped again, and it was late afternoon, heading toward dusk. I was in a cabin surrounded by pine trees. The whisper of wind caressing the pine needles came through the windows along with the croak of ravens. One of the huge, dark birds lighted on the windowsill, cocking its head at me and staring at me with one black eye. It let out another deep call. Sharp smoke from the open fireplace burned my eyes and dried out my throat, but the chilly wind coming through the open windows made me want to move closer.
Priscilla Herrera knelt before a long bench, her hands working at something. She hummed words to a song I didn’t recognize in a language unfamiliar to my ears.
Fear closed my throat, choking me. Coughing, gasping, and gagging, I twisted in the darkness, hoping to break free of it but found I couldn’t move. This wasn’t so bad, even if I was dying. It was sort of soothing.
Whispers of a million voices saying no words arose around me. I forgot about returning to where I came from focused on where I was. This place felt wrong, heavy and suffocating, as though if I spent too much time here I could get lost. I needed to hurry. I searched my senses, trying to find something I could focus on, something I could use to ground myself. I smelled the faintest scent of spearmint and clung to it. The sound of wind whispering through pine trees filled my ears, and the blackness faded.
The woman who’d shanghaied me was no longer young. She’d thickened with age and wore a frumpy calico dress which covered all her wonderful tattoos. Her hair had grayed and was pulled into a plain bun. The image before me faded in and out like a radio station does on a long drive. Black holes where her eyes should have been made me want to scream and recoil. Teeth clenched, I held in my emotions and focused instead on my hostess. “What do you want?” The words wouldn’t come out of my mouth. It was as though I’d lost the ability to speak, but I could hear my thoughts clearly.
A rush of arctic wind blew back my hair and cooled my face. My heart couldn’t beat fast enough to keep up with the adrenaline coursing through my veins. The black opal sent painful shocks into my skin, maybe magnifying my power so I could see more of this vision, maybe protecting me. I regretted my shamefully limited knowledge of it.
“Why am I here?” Again the words formed perfectly in my head, but my hostess said nothing.
Anger and hurt rolled off her with violence, whipping at me, throbbing in the deepest parts of my soul. In addition to the spirit’s emotions, I picked up her intent. She wanted something from me.
My body experienced the same weightless feeling going downhill on a roller coaster gave me. Doing favors for ghosts never ended well. I had to get out of here. I concentrated on my moving my hand. It was like lifting an anvil, but I managed to pull the black opal from my shirt and squeeze it in one fist. Back in Louisiana, when I first became acquainted with the black opal, it enabled me to hear snatches of words from the ghosts. Maybe it would open my senses further this time as well.
Instead of speaking, the ghost floated toward me. I became aware of a clacking sound in the room and realized it was my teeth chattering. She closed one hand over mine, the cold burning my skin. The room came into stark, painful focus.
“You can’t leave yet.” Her voice, soft and clear as the song of angels, was not what I expected. Her grip on me tightened. “Pay careful attention. I did a great evil in cursing the treasure. For my sins, I’ve been unable to find rest in the spirit realm. The one who stole my book will unleash destruction on Gaslight City. Watch and learn because only you can help me stop this evil and find peace.”
Time jumped again, and it was late afternoon, heading toward dusk. I was in a cabin surrounded by pine trees. The whisper of wind caressing the pine needles came through the windows along with the croak of ravens. One of the huge, dark birds lighted on the windowsill, cocking its head at me and staring at me with one black eye. It let out another deep call. Sharp smoke from the open fireplace burned my eyes and dried out my throat, but the chilly wind coming through the open windows made me want to move closer.
Priscilla Herrera knelt before a long bench, her hands working at something. She hummed words to a song I didn’t recognize in a language unfamiliar to my ears.
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