by L. L. Muir
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
A short Somerled woman looked him up and down, then handed him a set of white clothes. The grin on her face told him she’d seen him without them. It wasn’t going to happen again, he promised her, as he edged around her into the bathroom.
He didn’t know why they all couldn’t sit around the kitchen table and talk things over. Then he remembered that the rest of the Somerleds here had no idea about the loophole. Yet. Surely they’d all get their chance, especially living alongside Lanny, the keeper of the keys, so to speak. The old woman probably had to wait until each of them was ready, though.
“Who are you calling an old woman?” Lanny stood at the end of the hallway waiting for him.
“Sorry.”
“You are not.” She reached up and ruffled his hair as he walked past her into the room. What was with that? Affection? From the non-mortals?
There were three chairs in front of her desk. Lucas and Jonathan stood as Lanny entered, then gawked at the details of the room as they lowered themselves back onto their seats.
“Skye seemed to think yours lacks a woman’s touch, Lucas.” Lanny’s tone was suddenly reverent.
“I believe she was right.”
“Can you bear the light this time, Jamie?”
Tentatively, Jamison raised his gaze until he was looking at the incredible chandelier. The finely focused prisms were painfully intense, but he was able to look at it for nearly a minute before his eyeballs cried uncle.
“Interesting.” Lanny relaxed against the back of her chair. “You lied, when you were here last time. You told her you would have your memory of her erased so she wouldn’t have to carry the burden of your heartache.”
“Yes, but I couldn’t do that.”
“You knew you were lying when you made the promise.”
“Yes.”
“That has consequences, but we’ll talk about that later. You have a question to ask.”
“You already know what I want.”
Lanny folded her hands in her lap and leaned back against the leather winged chair.
“I want Skye, back in my life, in my arms. I want her to know me, love me, remember me. I want her to be happy. Is that too many wishes? How many do I get?”
Lanny smiled. “You don’t want all those things. Not all at once, in any case. What point would there be to go on, if you had everything you wanted?”
“I’d deal with it.”
“I’m sure you’d like to try. But maybe Skye is happy where she is and doesn’t want to change her life, or learn about a past existence. Are you willing to walk away, if she doesn’t need you?”
“I am.”
Lucas frowned. “May I ask a question?”
“You may.” Lanny stood and wandered over to one of the mirrors.
“How is it you are able to know of Skye’s location?”
Lanny grinned over her shoulder. “Let’s just say, I anticipated Jamison’s choice not to forget, and I’ve decided to call in a favor, from someone that may know.” She smiled into the mirror and bent at the waste as she stepped back from it.
A bare foot extended from the glass toward the carpet, a glowing, white-robed figure emerged, carefully, into the room. It certainly looked like a man, if it weren’t giving off so much painfully white light.
Please don’t be God. Please don’t be God.
When the figure’s head snapped up, glaring at him, Jamison had to cover his eyes with his arm to shield them from razors of light tearing at them, digging into his brain. If that was God, he was in trouble.
No way would there not be blood on his sleeve. If he was about to die there, however, he took comfort knowing he’d ruin Lanny’s carpet.
“How dare you, woman!” the white being screeched.
The words were barely discernable beneath all the un-Earthly noises coming from its mouth. At least he assumed they were coming from its mouth. Maybe it was doing the Lanny thing and screaming in their heads.
“How dare you force me to kill a mortal?!”
Jamison looked up then, but he looked at Lanny and kept a hand between his eyes and the light.
She lifted her head and smiled at it. “You did not kill it, Adrien. Look.” She gestured in his direction.
Jamison could feel the thing moving closer, could see the brightness of it in the mirror behind Lanny. It was just a man, with white hair, white clothes, surrounded by shards of light, as if he was wearing the mirror he came from.
“Don’t be a fool, Jamison. Don’t look in his eyes.”
Lanny said it just in time. He’d been preparing to do just that.
“It was a mistake to bring me here, woman. You should have never been given such...freedoms.”
“Powers, Adrien. Not freedoms. Get over it. I wish to know where a soul has been sent.”
“The female we discussed before? One of the Final Host?” Even with all the screeching, Jamison could hear the distaste.
“Yes.”
“What do you offer in return?”
“Nothing.”
“Are you sure? You would not offer me worship?”
“No.”
“Give me her name.”
Lanny screeched at Adrien. There were no words beneath the distortion. If that what was spoken in Heaven, Granddad was seriously pissed.
“She is there.” Adrien backed away from Lanny, as if he didn’t trust her, leaving the way he’d come, stepping backward into the mirror.
Jamison felt like he was watching a video clip, in reverse.
Lanny stood stock still, staring at the mirror, a look on her face of incredible...longing. Had she wanted to follow the creature? Was she antsy to go Home too? Or did she feel something for Adrien?
“Tend your own business, Jamie.” She turned away from the mirror, none too pleased to have been interrupted, he thought.
He looked around, but Lucas and Jonathan weren’t in their seats; they were on the floor with their foreheads to the carpet.
“He’s gone.” Lanny turned toward the mirror behind her. “He just couldn’t stand to leave my Place of Perfection perfect, could he?” She reached up and ran her fingers over lines etched in the silver surface.
“How is it Jamison survived?” Jonathan’s voice was hushed.
“I’m not sure.” She didn’t sound like she wanted to waste time caring.
“You risked his life.” Lucas stood and put his hand on Jamison’s shoulder.
“I didn’t. I knew if he could bare the chandelier, I wouldn’t need to send him from the room. Who do you suppose made the chandelier?”
“Adrien?” Lucas and Jonathan looked up. Jamison’s eyes had had enough for one day, so he didn’t.
“Yes. Adrien.” She looked at Jonathan. “Help me read this.”
Lucas slapped him on the shoulder and joined the other two. Jamison decided to stay as far away from Adrien’s mirror as possible, just in case the guy decided to reach out and surprise someone. He backed against the wall—the wall right next to the door.
“That can’t be right.” Lucas pointed to a mark. “What are the chances of her being given the name Skye?”
“Zero.” Lanny looked for Jamison, found him, then looked back at the mirror.
“And she’s seventeen. That’s a little convenient, for Jamison.” Jonathan glanced at him and frowned.
“Jamison? Tell me. Why did you come looking for Skye, when you’d been told Lanny wouldn’t be able to help you?” Lucas was probing his mind. No apologies, no warning. And Jamison couldn’t think of a thing to stop him. “Why now, son?”
“My granddad came to see me, to tell me that she was out there, needing me. That’s why I’m not worried about her being happy without me. She’s waiting. Somehow, she’s waiting.”
Lanny grabbed the mirror on both sides and scanned the markings.
“Lucas, is it true? Is her name really Skye?”
“It seems so. And she’s seventeen.” Lucas frowned.
Jamiso
n leapt from his seat and hopped around the room like a little boy who’s just been told Santa was on his way. Forgetting his paranoia, he looked in the mirror, tried to see a little bit of Eternity in spite of the three angels blocking the other mirror. He imagined Skye standing there, next to him. He had no guess what she’d look like, but he imagined kind of a blurred version of the photo in his wallet.
She could have warts and a gap in her teeth and half her hair falling out and she’d be beautiful.
“Sit down, Jamie. I’ve got some bad news for you, too.”
He held up his hands. “Wait. Don’t spoil it. Give me just another minute to be happy. It’s been so long. And just think how much longer it might have been if Granddad hadn’t told me.”
“Tell me about this grandfather. Who is he?” Lanny tapped her finger on one mark. Jonathan looked closer.
“He was Skye’s assignment.”
“Your deceased grandfather?”
“Yeah. I guess he’s been trying to tell me for a while, but I didn’t figure it out until last night. I had to catch him, see—”
“Your grandfather has intervened from the other side?”
“Yeah, I guess. Kind of. Why? What does it matter?”
Lucas started laughing.
“I think I know how she got named Skye. He always told her it was a fine Scottish name.” Jonathan laughed too, but Lanny was vigorously shaking her head.
“If your grandfather broke the barrier, interrupted the flow, others will know about it. They can trace what he’s done!”
She tapped the mirror again. “Tell me that’s not what I think it is.”
Jonathan straightened. “Henderson.”
“Her last name?” Jamison tried to stay seated, but he couldn’t.
“Henderson, Nevada.” Lucas looked at Jonathan.
The pair looked at Lanny, and Jamison wished he, too, could read minds.
“Lucas, Jonathan, listen to me carefully. You may not intervene. No matter who asks it of you, you may not intervene on Skye’s behalf. Only Jamison can do that. You can, however, get his mother out of Flat Springs. Arrange it.”
She turned to Jamison, pity all over her face.
“Jamie, honey. You’re going to be on your own. You’re all she’s got, and she won’t know you, won’t trust you, and won’t believe a word you say. If you get separated, we’ll never find her again. Do you understand?”
“Of course I don’t understand. Who the hell are ‘they’?” Bullshit was bullshit, even if you were standing on sacred ground.
“Gabriella and her followers. The only real danger to Somerleds on Earth.”
Lucas and Jonathan headed for the door. Jamison threw his body in front of it. No one was leaving until he understood what the freak was going on.
“Gabriella who?” he demanded.
Lanny looked longingly into Adrien’s mirror. “Gabriella,” she whispered. “Gabriella...Somerled.”
THE END
Excerpt from Freaking Off the Grid
Book Two of The Angels of Somerled
~ CHAPTER ONE ~
Damn! Her stalker-ghost was back.
Skye swallowed her surprise, but she couldn’t get her heart to act like it was no big deal. She glanced around. Her other customers didn’t seem to notice a thing.
He sat humming in a booth, eating a ghostly meal that was as gray as he was. She could almost smell it. Disgusting.
The see-through Scotsman absentmindedly held out his cup to be topped off and she turned toward him with the coffee. He laughed and pulled the cup away before she made a fool of herself.
Very funny. She’d nearly said it aloud. Now that he knows where I work, I’ll be pouring coffee on the floor every day...until I’m fired.
She replaced the steaming pot on its burner, gestured for her ghost to follow, then made her way through the kitchens, toward the back door.
“Where do you think you’re going?” The owner’s daughter, Jessica Garza, stood with the new dish washer, her fingers pausing in their slide down the guy’s chest. She must have realized no one was left in the dining room to wait on her stupid tables.
“Cigarette break.” Skye wiggled the door handle. Locking the back door at Fernando’s was hardly necessary; it was a bugger to open.
“You don’t smoke.”
“I’m starting today. I’ll be five minutes.” The door popped and Skye was outside and pushing it shut before Jessica could stop her. Her Royal Laziness would never risk a nail or a bead of sweat to work it open again, and she didn’t have a ghost of her own to do it for her.
Skye turned. The old fellow was waiting for her, sitting on a box that wouldn’t hold her own weight, let alone his, if he were real. It was hard to look him in the eye. She kept waiting for the cardboard to collapse and drop him on his butt. Though she didn’t want to see that kilt go flying. He had enough of a problem keeping his knees together.
She pushed her fists down into the deep pockets of her apron. “What do you want?”
“Nary a kind word, Skye, my love?”
“No. Nary a one. You never bring good news, old man.” That was an understatement; every bad day of her life had started with a visit from her ghost. It had been such a pissy morning, she should have been expecting him.
“I’ll have you know they took a score off my age. I’m no’ auld anymore.”
Not old then, but he still looked fifty.
“Fine. What do you want young man?”
“Auch. Dinna flatter me so.” The old fart grinned and batted his eyes.
She couldn’t help but smile, but the smile didn’t last long.
“Mr. Jamison, I haven’t got time for this. Really. Can’t you come visit me later? After work? When I’m alone in my car, maybe?”
“Time’s no’ on my side either, lassie. I need a promise.”
“A promise?” He’d asked for a promise before, but she couldn’t remember what it was. She’d been about ten at the time. “What kind of promise?”
“I need ye to stay put.” He nodded once, hard, then folded his arms like he was preparing for an argument.
“I get off at eight. Is that long enough?”
“Oh, I don’t know if that will do.” He started pulling on his chin, looking at the ground, then at the sun blazing down on his silly golf hat.
“Listen, Mr. Jamison. I’m not asking for extra hours. I’ve been here since six and I’m working a double shift as it is. I’m exhausted just thinking about it.” Standing there wasn’t helping, but she wasn’t about to ask what bad luck he saw in her future. Surely nothing could be worse than working a double. “Whatever you have going on, could you just leave me out this time?”
He was a nice old guy. Asking politely might just get him to go away and take his bad Karma with him.
“I’ve a bad feelin’. I need ye to stay put. Ye shouldna be out here even now.”
The only danger she could see would be losing her job for standing around talking to empty boxes. Against her better judgment, she asked, “Why?”
“I canna say.” He scratched his head as if he’d suddenly forgotten why he’d come.
She didn’t buy it. He’d never clammed up before.
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Canna. ‘Tis not for me to ken the future, but I ken well enough when the sky bodes ill.”
The Nevada sky was blue—perfect—except for a line of fluff left in the wake of a jet. He noticed it too.
She rolled her eyes.
“’Tis not this sky I speak of, lass, so you can keep those eyes in yer noggin’, aye?” He raised one brow. He did that a lot.
“You see a different sky?”
“I do. I do. Storm clouds are spinnin’ o’er yer head, lass. Hell will be breakin’ loose, it will.”
“Today?! Why today? Can’t I just have a little peace?” She hated whining, but he brought out the child in her.
“Peace is not mine to give, Skye, my love. I’m lucky I’ve escaped long enou
gh to warn ye.”
“Escaped?!” Great. The worst days of her life could all be laid at his feet, and he was a lunatic. But then again, so was she. Seeing ghosts was anything but sane.
“I dinna have a better word for it, sweetheart. And there’s no time to debate.” He looked at the brick wall behind him and winced. “I’m caught. Get inside. And bide as long as ye can. Hide in a bletherin’ box if ye must, but stay put! Help should be a-comin’.”
He jumped off the box and disappeared before his feet hit the asphalt.
It was typical, that paranoid thing he did, giving her the impression he was always being chased. She’d never thought about why, never imagined he might have broken out of some mental ward in Hell. His visits had always ended the same way, though, with that look over his shoulder, and the announcement, “I’m caught.” He seemed a little more upset than usual, however, and she wondered if she’d ever see him again. Or maybe there was never a sure way of catching a ghost, and he’d be back when she tucked herself into her car that night.
Maybe it was his wife doing the catching.
Skye wiggled and jiggled the door handle, laughing at the image of a large ugly woman with a rolling pin chasing Mr. Jamison through brick walls. She glanced back at the box he’d been sitting on.
Hide in a bletherin’ box if ye must, but stay put!
The old man was out of luck...no big boxes today.
For more on this book and series, please visit — www.llmuir.weebly.com.
Excerpt from BLOOD FOR INK
Book One of The Scarlet Plumiere Series
~ CHAPTER ONE ~
Capital Journal, Fiction Section, Friday, February the First
A rumor currently circulates among the gentry in The Grand City that the white/blond Viscount of F had a visitor one recent morning, or rather, visitors, as the woman who claimed to be his wife brought with her a pair of identical offspring closely resembling the earl himself. Piercing blue eyes and straight white hair adorned both cherubs whose mother was blessed with the dark hair of her pure Spanish ancestors.
Not believing the woman, or his own eyes it seems, The Viscount of F shooed the little family from his noble steps and into the halls of a certain hotel where they have taken up residence until a higher authority might be able to hear their tale.
