The Devil Has A British Accent Book 1: Jackson
The Devil has a British Accent Series is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events or locales is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 by Z.N. Willett
All rights reserved.
Cover design by Jada D’Lee Designs
Cover Images by: iStockphoto / Alphavisions ©
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Book design by Integrity Formatting
Editing by Connie Anderson / D. Beck
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No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author. Except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Z. N. Willett
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Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Also by Z.N. Willett
Acknowledgments
About the Author
To my best friend Erica for always encouraging me to find my voice.
Thank you for staying up late—sick at times—reading over chapters and pushing me to keep going. So honored to call you my friend and sister.
At first, I thought returning back home was a mistake, but something drew me back . . . not something but someone. With my eyes now open, I wonder if he finally realizes that withholding the truth will only hurt us in the end.
Everything I saw was unreal, until a disturbing question came to mind. “Was I dead?”
Suddenly, the flapping of wings and clashing of swords became louder as the ground shook. The sky lit up again, and I gasped at what looked to be hundreds of those things fighting in the distance.
A strong gust of wind blew by, and one painfully knocked me forward. I pushed myself up again, but was singed by red and yellow glowing rocks that surrounded me and hissed like lava.
As I glanced down, I saw blood dripping from my head as it flowed down my arm, making me aware of the pain that throbbed through my skull. I struggled to keep my eyes open, while the sound of battle grew riotous in the distance.
I blinked out the tears, my eyes fixated on two magnificent, human forms glowing close by. Something about them seemed real, but as the pain in my head grew more intense, I began to struggle for consciousness. When I called out for help, one heard me and turned its head.
My addled brain thought, “It couldn’t be?”
It looked like him from a distance, but his skin was different, brighter, and eerie in a way.
He swiftly appeared in front of me, and I panicked. But, when his hands cupped my face and his fingers gently wiped my forehead, I knew.
What the hell was that supposed to mean? I couldn’t help rolling my eyes the first time I read that. The gift arrived the night before, and during the flight, I glanced at his card frequently. A small, white gift card that had nothing written on it except those five words. Usually, he signed, “Love you, Sis,” but not that time.
And what was with that cryptic message?
I promised myself I would stop reading something into everything he did, yet, there I sat, hopeful.
I simply needed to stop obsessing over that damn note.
Thankfully, the captain interrupted my train of thought and announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ll be arriving in New Orleans shortly. The time is now 11:15 a.m., with an unseasonably warm temperature of eighty-two degrees. Have a happy and safe New Year. Flight attendants, prepare for landing.”
The plane was full of Northern travelers happy to be where it was warm, and the group of college guys who sat next to me cheered. They’d been eager to get off the plane to start their partying.
As for me, I felt a chill race up my spine the moment doubt crept in.
What if I made a mistake coming back?
As I looked out my window and saw the distant cemetery with its large, aboveground tombs come into focus, knowing my father and maternal grandfather were buried there, it was confirmation. I had returned home to Louisiana—regardless if my heart was ready or not.
As the earth rose up to meet the plane, I could see steam rise off the bayou. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until the tires hit the runway.
My brother Blake was supposed to pick me up, but he was unable to make it, due to one of his “emergencies.” That typically meant a girl he’d picked up the previous night. At least he was thoughtful enough to leave me the car. I walked to the parking ramp, and in spot 125A was the blue convertible; it was the perfect way to make the long drive to Mamaw’s house in Venice bearable.
I had less than three hours to drop my bags at the house and meet my brother at Alligators. It was a two-hour drive to reach Main Street. That could have been a shorter ride; however, I wanted to take in the warm air. All worth it, even though I needed a cool shower and to wash my unruly brown curly hair that the humidity destroyed.
The town looked much the same since my last visit during spring break. A few of the merchants had closed shop early with the poor economy, and there were more rundown vacant buildings, but it still looked, and felt, like home.
The Alligator Club hadn’t changed in decades. It was a dive and local hangout, though there had been recent updates to the attached inn. The club was dark, musty, and dank with drunken patrons sprawled over the bar next to me.
“Hey, baby girl. How you been?” Leroy had been the bartender since I was born. He was a friend of Dad’s, and we would stop by to visit when we were in the area. Leroy never seemed to age in appearance, but each time I saw him, he’d lost more teeth.
I squinted at his tired, brown eyes. “I’m good, Leroy. How are you doing? I hope you’re taking care of yourself.”
“Well, it’s been so-so. Still recovering from these hurricanes and that oil spill, but look atcha. Girl, you look good. All slim and curvy, you fine thing. Looking like your momma.”
Everyone said we were twins. Same long, curly hair, facial features, and mannerisms, however she was taller and fairer.
“You sound like those Yankees now, too. Whatcha havin,’ Lauren?”
“I’ll take a mug of your homemade root beer.” I looked around as I heard laughter from a crowd of people. “Ah, Leroy.” I jerked my head to the side. “Those people over there aren’t locals.”
That was an understatement. In the back of the bar, a rope sectioned off an area filled with an unusual group. Everyone looked as though they had stepped out of a
fashion magazine—the girls looked like models, and the guys, well, they were seriously hot.
A couple of them had odd though similar features. Nothing too abnormal, yet I couldn’t explain it, or why my hands began to tingle as I started to feel uneasy.
“Those the Hollywood folks, from that movie using the Woodlan’ Oaks Plantation,” Leroy answered. “You know about those Hollywood types, don’t you girl?”
“Yeah, I do.”
My mom’s best friend Ashley told me I would be helping with a long-term catering job at the same plantation, but she never mentioned a movie.
“Why are they here? Um, no offense.”
Leroy gave me an odd look. “They’re here for Blake. You don’t know?”
Blake recently graduated from LSU. However, he decided to commit full-time to his band, Black Sun, instead of a career in accounting. “Blake didn’t mention anything special.”
“Somethin’ about music for the movie.”
“He didn’t tell me.”
“Well, don’t tell him I told ya. Maybe it was supposed to be a surprise.”
I quickly got up to find Blake. “I won’t tell. It’s good to see ya, Leroy, and take care of yourself.” I turned to pay, but he waved his hand, signaling me to go. “Thanks.”
As I headed backstage to find my brother, I collided with Al, Blake’s base player. He had a miniature linebacker’s build, and his messy, red hair was longer than I’d ever seen it. “Lauren! Look at you.” His eyes swept over my body.
Why were guys so blatant sometimes?
Al was not alone. The band’s drummer, K.B., was behind him. K.B. fit the image of a rock band’s drummer. He was lanky with unkempt sandy blond hair, but not bad looking. The man worked the prerequisite sunglasses, chewing gum like a horse, while he twirled one drumstick and said, “Have a boyfriend yet, Lauren? ’Cause I’ll be looking for a kiss at midnight.” His smile grew wide.
“I don’t think Blake would approve of that.” My brother was not big on me dating his friends. Honestly, he wasn’t thrilled about me dating, period.
“I can handle him.” K.B. smirked, adding, “Baby, your body is tight. I see you didn’t lose that asset in the back—”
“Cut it out, man. Blake will kill you!” Al scolded. “By the way, congratulations high-school graduate. You’re officially an adult.”
“Funny and thanks, but have either of you losers seen my brother? He didn’t tell me you were being scouted tonight.”
“Some movie people are looking for a local sound,” Al answered.
I would classify the band as Indie rock.
“You’re from Boston, and K.B. is from Florida. How is that local?”
“We live here. That’s local enough for them.”
Blake staggered up to us and gave me a bear hug. “Hey, Sis! Sorry I wasn’t there to meet you at the airport.”
Great, he was drunk again.
“Celebrating early, I smell.”
“Come on, it’s New Year’s Eve. Everyone is celebrating early.”
“Lately, you seem to celebrate a lot.” I raised my hands to touch his light-brown hair. “Dreads?”
“Cool, huh?”
“Not really.” I smiled, indulgent. “Does it matter what I think?”
“I can’t help that the ladies love them. Enjoy them tonight, though, ’cause they’re gone tomorrow.”
It didn’t matter what Blake’s hair looked like. Women liked him no matter what. His tall, medium-framed, cut body, and his smoothly sculptured oval bronzed face, that he’d perfectly inherited from our dad, seemed to draw them in. Yes, I was jealous, because he could eat anything, like Dad, and not gain a pound—but I was more envious of his eyes. They were stunning and rare. Blake had two different-colored eyes. One was translucent gray that you could see through, if you looked hard enough. The other was a darker gray, and the girls loved their uniqueness.
“I’m glad you came.” He wrapped one arm around me.
“Of course, I came. Why didn’t you tell me about the movie thingy?”
“It’s not a sure thing, and I’m nervous enough.” That was obvious; sweat stains showed through his purple shirt.
“There’s no need to be nervous. You’re a great singer.”
“You have to say that. Did you see Mom?”
“I went during her evening meal and fed her. Why didn’t you mention she’s getting worse?”
“How was I supposed to know for sure? She doesn’t talk, and sometimes, she doesn’t even blink. Mom stares at those things she’s been drawing on the wall. The doctors say she goes through stages, but it all seems the same to me.”
“This is something new, Blake, and you don’t think it’s odd she’s suddenly drawing strange-looking shadows on a wall? I was hoping for some improvement, but this is beyond weird.”
“Yes, Sis, and I thought it was creepy when she saw Dad’s ghost everywhere. What can I say? Come on. I have a table waiting for you, front row,” he stated with pride, and started walking us toward the table.
“It’s time, bro,” Al announced, running over. His face showed his nerves.
“I can find the table. Blake, you’ll do great.”
He smiled, looking a bit ill.
I watched as his long, curly dreads swung away—he really needed to cut those. As I walked to the table, all I could do was laugh; even though, I wanted to strangle him for not telling me about Mom.
Ashley and her friends were meeting me and already seated. Ashley grew up in Venice, but you would think she was from New York by her posh demeanor. Her parents made a ton of money in oil, and died when she was sixteen, leaving her a fortune. She traveled around the world and studied abroad. I never understood why she came back to Louisiana, but she said it was home.
She and my mom met in grade school, and had been best friends since. She tried to fill in the gaps in Mom’s forced absence. She gave me love and fashion advice, and she funded my passion for art and painting. But, Ashley was more like a close girlfriend than a substitute mother.
And, at that moment, I wanted to ask her why she failed to mention that my new catering job was for a Hollywood movie being filmed at the plantation.
It had been four years, and I’d returned to start a new job. It was nice to be home, even though my homecoming might not have been a completely pleasant one. My grandmother, Mamaw, and I never saw things eye to eye, and she was upset when I decided not to enroll in college right after graduation. She said I was wasting my life like my brother.
Mamaw made me feel guilty for days regarding my decision. “Someone is going to become somethin’ in this family!” she had said. What was that supposed to mean exactly? And how did one become something?
The guilt was one of the reasons why I accepted Ashley’s offer to assist her with her catering business. Ashley’s intentions were clear. She sided with Mamaw and wanted time to persuade me to go to college.
As I approached the table, Ashley’s big green eyes flashed in my direction, as she dictated where I was to sit. She had on the cutest silver sequined dress that seemed to highlight her vibrant red hair. It was topped by a denim jacket and nude leggings. Stylish, as always, she began to do the introductions.
“Lauren, this is Doris and Gloria. They’re in my Pilates class. You remember Jocelyn,” Ashley said, applying red lipstick that brightened up her fair complexion. It also made her lips look like they were botoxed; but it was naturally Ashley, the red hair bombshell in every way.
The lights went down, and Black Sun introduced. Blake started with one of my favorites, singing with only an acoustic guitar. The second song was a big crowd pleaser. Blake’s electric guitar solo had people on their feet. I never noticed how much of an “it factor” Blake had. He had been playing, singing, and writing music since forever.
Doris leaned over and said, “Dang, the lead singer is fine, gorgeous caramel specimen. Look at those muscles bulging through that tight-ass purple shirt, and that smile—dimples are hot. I would lov
e to run my hands through those brown dreads, and oh my, his butt is tight—”
“Hey, Doris. That’s my brother you’re lusting over!”
Her eyes grew wide before she burst out laughing. “My bad.”
Then Leroy placed another mug of root beer in front of me. “Here you go, baby girl.”
“Leroy, what’s this for?”
“For nothing. It’s from the guy over there.”
“Where?” my tablemates asked in unison.
“The one wearin’ the blue-striped shirt, next to the girl in the red dress.”
It wasn’t difficult to find whom Leroy was referring to once I saw him. He looked directly at me from the crowd of Hollywood people. Even though the lighting was dim, he looked like a Greek God with his wavy, dark hair. He was beyond “outstanding.” His intense stare made my toes curl and my heart beat faster.
The stranger looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him. I also couldn’t help notice the girl next to him. She flipped her long black hair, and looked back at him, annoyed.
“Please, tell him thank you, Leroy, from me.”
I didn’t get it. He had to be partially blind. I was wearing green terry cloth sweats, my hair was in a simple bun, and I wasn’t wearing make-up. It wasn’t as if Alligators was a high-class club. Wearing jeans was dressed up for that place.
Yet, he continued to smile at me. In that sly kind of way. When I looked away, I could still feel his eyes on me. I would nonchalantly look over, but each time he glanced in my direction, my breath increased at the intensity of his gaze. I watched him watching me as he lifted his glass, wetting his bottom lip, before he took a drink. All while our eyes stayed locked.
When he set down the drink and mouthed out, “Hello,” I could feel the blush through my entire body.
Ashley caught my eyes as I turned away from his stare, and she looked over to see exactly whom I was grinning at.
“Lauren, that looks a lot like . . . yes. Do you know who that is?” Ashley sounded excited.
The Devil has a British Accent: Book One: Jackson (White Carpet #1) Page 1
