Spectris: Veritas Book Two

by Quinn Coleridge

  Thank you, Exitus. How are you?

  Sir Death enjoys the name so I’ve started using it. He shrugs His shoulders. It’s difficult to leave life behind, once one has a taste of it.

  I imagine it would be.

  Perhaps that is why holidays are forbidden to my kind. One is changed afterward.

  Changed, Sir?

  He gazes at the wedding party, the late summer garden. How can they bear it? The color and motion, the warmth of the sun. How can they close their eyes and shut it out for a moment? Life is so beautiful.

  Stepping closer to the Reaper, I stifle an impulse to hug Him. My arms would go right through His incorporeal form. Yes, it is. That’s why mortals wish to stay, I suppose.

  Blue eyes scan the celebration with regret. I didn’t dance when I was human, I wish I had. There’s never enough time, is there?

  No. But that sometimes makes life sweeter.

  Tearing His gaze away from the party, He sobers and looks down at me, as though choosing His words with care. I came to warn you, Hester.

  My brow puckers with worry. Warn me of what?

  Sir Death hunches closer, as though we’re in cahoots. Some laws I cannot break, but this I will say. One that you love will cross over with me before long.

  I clutch at His robe but grasp only air. Who? Tell me, Sir.

  Death shakes his head. You know I cannot go that far. I have already stretched the limits by coming here to warn you.

  Miserare mei, deus. Not Kelly, not him. Not Cordelia or Willard or Gabriel . . .

  Pearl’s face flashes through my mind. Gabriel delivered the letter I had him write to her, and she read it as he stood in the foyer at Griffin House. She was quiet at first and then smiled at Gabriel, saying, “Tell her thank you. I’ll think about it.”

  I care about Pearl’s future, but she isn’t what I would call a loved one. Pearl can’t be the person Death speaks of. Palms up, I beg the Reaper. A hint at least.

  The Reaper grows translucent. Trust in two things, Hester. You will know sorrow and you will be unexpectedly blessed. Remember this when you find yourself at wit’s end.

  Please—

  In an instant, I am alone, and my psyche grows dark and still. Sir Death has departed once more.

  Women cheer as Cordelia throws her bouquet.

  “It’s mine!” her sister Beatrix cries.

  And then I feel a familiar hand at my elbow, followed by the dry laugh I love. “Why do the prettiest girls at the dance always hide in the shrubbery? I’ve never been able to answer that riddle. Perhaps I should get Craddock to look into it for me.”

  Heat spreads up my neck to my face. “And they say I’m blind,” I rasp.

  “You are, darling love, but I’m not.”

  I can only imagine the smolder in Kelly’s eyes. Such a line must be accompanied by smolder. It’s evident in his voice, at least.

  He turns me toward him, until we are boot to slipper. “You know, Hester. I’ve been meaning to give you something for a while. I’ve carried it around in my pocket, but the moment has never seemed right.”

  I tilt my head quizzically as Kelly places something in my hand: small, square, and covered in velvet.

  My heart begins to thud. “Now is the right moment?”

  The tough as nails coroner clears his throat, nervously. His emotions are all over the place, but passion and love rule them all. He laughs quietly, for just the two of us to hear. “I doubt anyone else would call it so. We’re behind some trees at a friend’s nuptial celebration. No. I’m certain this is rather bad form in all the etiquette books, but I couldn’t wait another second. Open the box, Hester.”

  The top snaps up easily. I move my trembling fingers over a swath of more velvet, finding a thin band in the center. My eyes grow hot and wet, and I touch Kelly’s face, feel his mouth turn up in a smile. “It’s a wedding ring, minx. I hope you like gold.”

  I smile at him as he describes the ring. “It has three brightly colored stones because something without fire wouldn’t suit you. A ruby, sapphire, and an emerald. I thought you could see how it feels on your hand, just try it out . . .”

  The doctor can say no more because I’ve practically attacked him, like Cordelia’s sister Beatrix did the bouquet. Mine!

  Of course, I’m not thinking this about the ring, but the man who carried it about in his pocket for months. The one who offered it behind a cedar tree at someone else’s wedding because he couldn’t last another second. Damn right he’s mine.

  Our romantic overture behind those cedars in Cordelia’s aunt’s garden has made it a monument to lovers everywhere. A sacred place, suspended out of the world. Or if not to all lovers, then at least to us.

  Noah leads me out from behind the trees, and I lift up my ring hand. How I wish there was a spirit here with ghost-sight, so I could watch the fiery gems sparkle. Next time Carver comes around, I’ll have him gaze upon it to my satisfaction. I worry for a moment about the old ghost, and then I extinguish the idea as my love and I arrive at the edge of the merrymaking. He lowers his mouth to my ear, which is good since I dimmed my hearing a bit. The Welsh do not know half measures at parties.

  “Tom’s saved a table by the arbor for our group. The plates are stacked with savory delights, although Willard and Gabriel are sitting by them and the food might be in danger.” He turns his body toward the dance floor. “A bunch of tipsy Welsh are twirling around over there. It’s noisy, hot, and insane. We’ll risk life and limb on a waltz, but it might be fun to try.”

  Kelly touches my hand, waiting for an answer, and I flash upon Death’s warning. And His yearning for life after a brief taste of it.

  Wild, colorful, beautiful life . . .

  A smile breaks out on my face, because I have this moment to be alive. It’s absolute perfection, and I choose not to mar the day with thoughts of a future which I cannot control. Even if death lies ahead, I have now to be thankful for. With all the pain, fear and ugliness in the world, there are still summer gardens, dancing, and love.

  “Well, Hester?” Kelly asks. “Shall we feast or waltz?”

  He pulls me close and leans down to hear my answer, breath sweet with wedding punch. I kiss him on the mouth and grasp his outstretched hand. “Both, Noah,” I whisper. “Let’s do both.”

  He laughs. “Eat and waltz at the same time? It could get messy, but all right.”

  “I meant let’s do everything. All that life has to offer.”

  “Well, Mrs. Kelly,” my husband replies, the smolder back in his voice. “I am at your command.”

  I move his fingers to my waist. “Then stop talking and dance with me.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” And he whisks me out on the floor.

  Acknowledgements

  First, a word of appreciation to my family for their unwavering support and love. None of this would be possible without them. Hugs to one and all! I am especially grateful for my nephew Greg, one of the most intelligent people I know. Thank you for your writing advice, professor. It motivates me to improve my craft.

  As with most of my writing projects, I owe a great deal to my critique group: Ruth Craddock, Adrienne Monson, Jennifer Greyson, Rebecca Rode, Angela Brimhall, Karen Pellett, and Karyn Patterson. You ladies inspire me each time we meet.

  Kira Rubenthaler of Bookfly Design always saves my manuscripts with her insightful editing. Thank you so much for all you do.

  James Egan, also of Bookfly Design, creates such beautiful covers, and I am thrilled each time he shows me his vision for the next book. It’s an honor to work with you.

  And I could not overlook Bob Houston of Bob Houston eBook Formatting. Many thanks for taking a bunch of documents and turning them into a real book.

  Last of all, I pay tribute to Matilda, my muse. I love you, old girl.

  About the Author

  Quinn Coleridge grew up in the Pacific Northwest, where she learned to love rain storms, green, growing things, and reading books by a crackling fire. As a young adult, Q
uinn ventured across the pond to England, another green, rainy place. While there, she met a man with the prettiest eyes, and they later got married and had lots of kids. (She blames the eyes.)

  Now their family of eight lives in a place with little rain or greenery. They have two dogs and two cats which the man with the pretty eyes never even remotely wanted, although he’s a good sport about it. Crackling fires are a rarity at Quinn’s house these days, but it’s seldom boring. And she still loves books.

  Dear Readers,

  If you feel so inclined, please leave a review on Amazon and Goodreads. Cheers!

  And visit me at my website, www.authorquinncoleridge.com, for contests, prizes, and upcoming book release news.