Forever At Midnight: The Blood Keepers Series (The Blood Keepers Series, Vampire Novella Book 2)
Page 8
Emma’s breath swirled in a misty cloud as she focused on her surroundings. Cold, damp air patted her cheeks. The massive oak before her released a sad moan. Or was that just her active imagination at work? Whatever it was triggered a familiar warmth that spread into her limbs, and reminded her she possessed . . . talents beyond her visions. Heat radiated through her right arm, and she glanced down, opening her blazing hot fist to discover she’d inadvertently melted her grandmother’s butterfly key fob beyond recognition.
Some talents. More like she’d been cursed.
With an unsteady sigh, she pushed her hair away from her face. Geez, her life hadn’t changed one iota. Since she was a toddler, she’d been molding metal with her bare hands as if it were clay, both intentionally and accidentally. It was the latter that caused her grief. The episode with a neighborhood boy and his squished red Hot Wheels car came to mind. It always did. Her dad had been so angry with her.
“Are you okay?”
Her grandmother’s question snapped her back to the present. Would Grams know if she lied? She’d discovered when she’d moved to New York that the visions and dreams had lessened with the distance. She’d run all the way to Paris to avoid them. And they must have let go, too, because she hadn’t thought of them for a long, long while.
“Sure. But I can’t say the same for this.” She dangled the key chain in the air.
Her grandmother gave a chuckle. “I should have nicknamed you Hot Hands.”
Emma managed to summon a smile, but it faltered as her gaze shifted back to that tree. Its spindly canopy of branches seemed to reach out. The hair on her arms prickled. Something in the fractures of time yanked free and another ripple of unease washed over her.
Good and evil used this place as a playground. At the moment, evil acted the bully. She felt a bizarre tug-of-war for dominance, the power of it making her sway.
Leave. Me. Alone.
This evening’s vision was beyond vivid—a seven-point-five on the Richter scale, and it wasn’t passing as it normally did. She flailed her arms, trying to shake off her frustration. She usually had an easier time coming out of it. An erratic pulse thumped in her neck, bringing her circulation back. Her temples ached with the awakening.
She shook her head. Ignore. Regroup. Move on.
Thank goodness her grandmother, who tarried a few steps behind, wouldn’t know the depth of Emma’s latest episode, since time distorted or elongated only within her mind. What she needed was an anchor, physically and mentally. There was no way she’d allow her father to be right about her differences making her crazy. She didn’t have a psychotic disorder as he’d suggested when she was young. No, she would control the lapse, but, darn, this bout threatened her common sense. She’d never seen herself die before.
Besides, wasn’t that supposed to kill you or something?
Or was that just in dreams, not visions? She gave a mental shrug, figuring it didn’t matter because she had both.
Focus. She was here on a job. The park.
It was spring in Tyler, Georgia, yet the late-season snow masked the evidence. Weeds and yellow wildflowers nudged aside a layer of snow, and fresh green growth attempted to unfurl on branches. The square must have been lovely at one time, especially when everything began to bloom, but not now. A battered, rotten wood bench lay on the ground sideways, collapsed. The sidewalk that wound through the center of the park resembled a war zone, with chunks of concrete broken and upended. The branches of the old oak swept the earth. Clearly ignored for many, many years, the mammoth tree looked as if it had never been pruned or shaped.
The untamed tree was so out-of-character for prim-and-proper Georgia. Just like her. Her dad had always proclaimed that her overactive imagination would lead to trouble. If he only knew the whole truth.
A hand slid across Emma’s back and bony fingers grasped her shoulder. She almost jumped out of her grandmother’s hug.
“Just think, a Grant getting the honor of creating a statue for the old town square. I can hardly believe it.” Grams heaved one of her exaggerated, bursting-with-pride sighs, the way she did when the family dinner table was landscaped to perfection.
“You drive a hard bargain, Grams. The committee couldn’t say no.” And neither could Emma. Her grandmother had requested a sculpture of a confederate soldier on a rearing horse. Not very original, but Emma obliged, thankful for both the much-needed income and the chance to build her portfolio. She gradually relaxed into the woman’s solid embrace, somewhat grounded again.
She touched her head to her grandmother’s salon-teased auburn one, in the same let’s-stick-together way she’d done since she was six, when she’d spent every summer vacation here after her family had moved to New York.
“Thanks for your help,” Emma said. Nothing like getting paid to visit her favorite relative. Since the city had commissioned her sculpture for the park renovation project, she’d be hanging out for the next few weeks to supervise its placement and participate in the dedication ceremony.
Grams nodded. “Anytime. Paris is too darn far away, if you ask me.” She picked Izzy up and tucked him beneath her arm.
Actually, the greater distance meant fewer visions, so it wasn’t even far enough. Emma wasn’t sure why, but they seemed to be worse, more frequent, when she returned to her Georgia birthplace. Bonus points for Paris.
“We talk and Skype all the time,” Emma pointed out.
“That’s not the same as seeing your smiling face.” Her grandmother slid a hand down Emma’s arm and back up over her shoulder. “Look at you. You’re shivering.”
Ominous gray clouds were moving in, and the sky was growing darker. Emma felt more than saw the clump of wet red clay that oozed into her Sam Edelman sandals. She tamped her foot against a rock to clear it. “What an awful spring. Can’t believe it snowed on Easter.”
“Yes. The pecan blooms froze. The crop’ll be ruined.” A smile lit Grams’s eyes, and she tsked, seeming to dismiss the unfortunate prediction that might steal her pocket money. “But give it a few days. It’ll warm up.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
Tree branches whipped one way, then the other, generating an eerie whistling. Emma shuddered, then tugged the neckline of her suddenly constricting turtleneck sweater as she turned to explore a staked-out plot of ground. “It looks like this is where they plan to put the statue.”
Her gaze swept along the snow-patched ground, up the broken walkway, to the side of the park where fluorescent-orange construction fencing sectioned off individual trees, marking them for protection. Landscaping equipment near the road formed a neat line, ready to be put to use.
A tiny ping caught in her gut, and her internal compass gravitated to the old oak standing center stage. Its trunk stretched out to the size of a small house, as if several trees had grown together. She frowned as intense golden eyes seemed to peer at her from the grained bark. A figment of her imagination? With her history, it had to be.
When the eyes vanished, she angled her head, unable to shake the weird drag on her heart. As if she should know something important, yet couldn’t bring it forth. The feeling didn’t seem like a remnant of her vision but felt like it originated from an entirely different source. More like an unfathomable power or presence. She scanned the park and rubbed her chilled arms, but she didn’t see a single soul.
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Acknowledgments
Many thanks to my fabulous team of professionals:
Cover design: Robin Ludwig Design Inc.
Copyedits: Daniel Poiesz, Double Vision Editorial
About
the Author
Larissa Emerald has always had a powerful creative streak whether it’s altering sewing patterns, or the need to make some minor change in recipes, or frequently rearranging her home furnishings, she relishes those little walks on the wild side to offset her otherwise quite ordinary life. Her eclectic taste in books cover numerous genres, and she writes sexy contemporary romance, paranormal romance, and futuristic romantic thrillers. But no matter the genre or time period, she likes strong women in dire situations who find the one man who will adore her beyond reason and give up everything for true love.
Larissa is happy to connect with her readers. Stop by and say hello: Website, Facebook, Twitter, or send her an email: larissaemerald@gmail.com