Contents
Title
Copyright
Description
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Epilogue
Rings on Her Fingers
by Regina Welling
COPYRIGHT NOTICE
This book is a work of fiction. the names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writers imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental
© 2014 ReGina Welling.
All Rights Reserved, worldwide.
No part of this book or any of its contents may be reproduced, copied, modified or adapted, without the prior written consent of the author, unless otherwise indicated for stand-alone materials.
Synopsis
Julie Hayward is not a believer in the paranormal
Instead, she’s a fairly pragmatic woman with a mind centered on growing her photography business and earning enough money to repair her family home. Her new engagement falls neatly into her life, checking off a box that needed to be filled, barely distracting her from her worries about the upkeep of her historic home. When her best friend, Gustavia, decides that Julie needs some fun, she takes her to visit with a psychic, not knowing that Juile’s world would be upended.
In a matter of moments, Julie’s world is rocked as a ghostly encounter reveals a hidden family fortune and a warning that her fiancé is not what he seems. Launched into a wild adventure, Julie must learn to listen to her heart, her intuition, and the ghostly visitors that are suddenly popping by to provide their insight on her daily life.
Journalist Tyler Kingsley gets drawn into the search when he discovers old maps that contain information on Julie’s search. What red-blooded male could resist a treasure hunt? The idea gets his blood pumping and after one look at Julie, he’s all in. Even if that means protecting her at all costs when he discovers that Julie’s fiancé is nothing that he seems.
Chapter One
"Come in." A voice called through the curtain. "Enter and let us speak of the unknown."
Julie Hayward felt absolutely foolish. It was just like her outlandish best friend to think a visit to a psychic was a good engagement gift. Eloise Roman, who now called herself Gustavia, had a macabre sense of humor. Knowing Julie would be skeptical and embarrassed had done nothing to stop Gustavia dragging her in here. In fact, the more Julie protested, the more delighted her friend became.
"I promise you won't be disappointed," she whispered. "I've known her for years, and she's the real thing. She has incredible insight, and her readings are always helpful."
With a mental sigh indicating both dread and doubt, she followed Gustavia through the beaded curtain.
"Sit...please, sit." The smiling woman whose slightly round face was framed by dark hair simply pulled back in a ponytail and tied with a colorful silk scarf was not at all the type of person Julie had been expecting to meet. She wore no turban, no cape, and was bare of jewelry. No rings. No amulets. Nothing. Her voice was soft without any trace of the expected fake-sounding accent. She was just an attractive, normal-looking woman in her mid-twenties. Oddly, Julie felt both reassured and let down at the same time.
Gustavia, in her lacy white blouse, long batik skirt, and toe-ringed feet encased in chunky sandals came a lot closer to fulfilling Julie's expected vision of what a psychic medium might look like. Around Gustavia's neck, long strings of quartz crystals in a variety of colors with tiny bells and amulets hung nearly to her waist. When she walked, a musical tinkle arose from her person. Her soft brown eyes, outlined with Kohl, always seemed focused on a plane other than the earthly one. More crystals and beads were woven into the looping braids of her hair. She would have been completely disgusted to know Julie had bought into some media-driven stereotype, even for a moment.
She was not led into a dark room made atmospheric with suffocating clouds of incense; instead, there was only a faint smell of lavender in the air in the brightly lit dining room, where the sun streamed through a large bay window. Behind the table where the psychic sat was a large cabinet with elaborately carved doors; the door on the left hung open to reveal a nice tea set in a floral pattern. On the shelf below, within easy reaching distance, were two square bundles wrapped in velvet—Julie thought they probably held Tarot cards—and next to those was a small drawstring bag. It too was made of velvet.
On the way in, Julie had read the sign on the door outside Madame Zephyr, Psychic Readings. It hadn't inspired any confidence, what kind of name was Zephyr?
Gustavia said, "Julie, I would like you to meet my friend, Kathleen."
"Call me Kat." The woman smiled and held out a hand. "Welcome."
"Nice to meet you," Julie said automatically, then asked, "Kat? Who's Madame Zephyr, then?"
"Zephyr was my grandmother's professional name, and I thought it would be nice to carry on the tradition."
As she shrugged then sat down, Julie's eyes were drawn to Kat's. They were a deep, velvety blue, but the expression in them was completely vacant. She was puzzled until she realized Kat was blind. A blind psychic. How did she read Tarot cards? Did those things come in Braille? She hoped Gustavia had not paid too much for this visit. Immediately, Julie regretted the snarky thought; she was not normally prone to that type of rudeness, but the whole idea of psychics and Tarot cards and whatever else might happen had her a bit freaked out.
"What kind of reading would you like?" asked Kat.
"Any kind is fine," Julie replied, trepidation obvious in her voice.
The psychic reached for a deck of Tarot cards and began to shuffle them expertly. Then she handed the deck to Julie. "Shuffle until your intuition tells you to stop, then cut the cards with your left hand," she said. Julie did as she was told then handed the deck back to Kat who laid out ten cards in a pattern on the table. Six cards formed a cross with four cards stacked vertically beside it.
"This is the Celtic Cross spread. It will help define your current path and indicate where that path will lead if you continue on it."
Julie just nodded, forgetting Kat could not see her. She looked closely at the cards and saw, yes, they were indeed marked in Braille.
Instead of touching the cards to read them, Kat sat unmoving, and then her head fell forward onto her chest. Julie began to shift in her chair. Now, what? With no idea what to expect next, she cast an exasperated glance at Gustavia who shrugged; she also seemed surprised by this turn of events. Feeling more and more uncomfortable, Julie had just about decided to get up and leave when Kat raised her head. Something was different but Julie couldn't quite put her finger on it. Then a slow chill began to crawl up her spine. The eyes gazing into hers were no longer deeply blue and vacant. They were lighter, an icy gray colo
r, and it was obvious their owner could see her clearly. These eyes knew Julie, and she them as they began to drink in every detail of her appearance.
Slowly, Kat's features seemed to shift. The angles and planes melted then multiplied like a double exposure in a photograph so that overlying the medium's face was one Julie would have known anywhere.
Rooted to the spot, Julie just stared, then her heart skipped a beat before it began to pound in her chest. All the blood drained from her face, leaving her normally rosy skin a ghostly white beneath its liberal dusting of freckles. She slumped in the chair feeling slightly faint, her hand pressed to her forehead. After a long moment had passed, Kat spoke in voice Julie never expected to hear again in this world.
"Oh, my darling girl; it is so good to see you." Kat held out both of her hands. Only a second passed before Julie reached out her own trembling hands and allowed them to be held in a warm grasp. Tears slipped unheeded down her face.
"Grams... is that really you?" Julie whispered.
"Yes, lovely one. It is me."
"I've missed you so much, but how—what is happening?"
"I know; I have missed you as well," Kat replied in Gram's voice, "But I've been with you every day. Now listen closely: there is something you need to know, and a job for you to do. "
"What? A job; are you telling me you have unfinished business? What do you mean?" Julie asked.
As eerily as it had appeared, the image of Julie's grandmother faded, almost like melting wax, then reformed into another, less familiar face. It was one Julie recognized, but she couldn't quite remember from where.
"I'll tell you what it is," said a new voice, a man's voice. "This is your great-grandfather. Start with the magic garden. That's where it begins. The key will show you the first clue; it will lead you to the rest. You're not a fool like your grandfather was; remember my last words. Start with the magic garden." Now Julie knew where she had seen that face: in the painting above the fireplace in the home she had once shared with her grandmother, the home that was now her sole responsibility.
What did he just say? The air seemed thick as molasses as it took several moments for her thoughts to clear and allow the words to sink in.
Julie shook her head in amazement. This was not happening. Magic garden. Her great-grandfather. What did it all mean? She looked helplessly at Gustavia who, for once, had nothing to say.
Before she had time to ask, Kat's head fell forward again. It stayed that way for several minutes. When she lifted her chin, her eyes were once again deep blue and vacant; her face, if possible, had even less color in it than Julie's.
Looking from one friend to the other, Gustavia quickly realized this was not a usual experience for Kat and that Julie was now shaking violently. She switched into caretaker mode getting them all a soothing cup of tea and respecting the silence both women seemed to need in order to regain their composure.
After several minutes, the silence started feeling awkward so Gustavia tentatively spoke, "Well, that was ..." she trailed off as Julie quelled her with a look; clearly she was still too upset to discuss what had happened. She turned to Kat.
"Are you alright? Is there something I can do?" Kat shook her head, no.
Even more awkward minutes passed.
Kat continued to sit in contemplative silence until, not knowing what else to do, Gustavia guided her still-shaken friend out the door saying quietly to the psychic, "I'll call you later."
The car ride home was mostly silent with Julie ignoring her friend's frequent sidelong glances. Gustavia squirmed in the seat. Several times she opened her mouth to speak; but, for once, seemed reluctant to begin a conversation and finally subsided.
Once home, Julie gently, but firmly, closed the door in Gustavia's face and went inside. Over the living room fireplace hung the large, beautifully painted portrait of Julius Hayward, Julie's great-grandfather, the man she had been named after. She stood in front of it for a long time thinking about what had just happened, trying to make sense of it and worrying a little about what was to come.
Julius Hayward had considered himself a mechanical mastermind, inventing some indispensable component used by the military. Rumor had it he had made a small fortune. He used some of the money to remodel the house then built a large workshop. Over the following years, he conceived dozens of strange, unsellable inventions still found on display in the old workshop. Grams had turned it into a free museum that hardly anyone ever visited. She said he had been ahead of his time, a forward thinker, but eventually, these worthless contraptions had eaten his entire net worth.
His only other successful invention had been some small widget used in aircraft for which Grams, and now Julie still received the occasional royalty check. Julius had been an eccentric man. Secretive about his work and about his finances, when he died at the relatively young age of 52 it appeared that the balance of his fortune was gone, along with the family silver and all of the jewelry passed down to him by his mother. His will hinted at more—at there being plenty of money to take care of the house and his family, but other than a trust to pay the taxes, nothing more was ever found.
Unable to quiet her thoughts, the day's events replayed in Julie's mind spurring an internal argument over whether it had all been an elaborate hoax or if she'd truly spoken to her beloved grandmother. If it was a hoax, it was beyond cruel; if it was meant as a joke, it had failed miserably to be funny. If she'd been the one behind it, Gustavia couldn't help knowing this would be intensely painful to Julie who was still grieving her grandmother's loss.
Aside from the shock of hearing Grams voice again, there was this magic garden business. She vaguely remembered something about the phrase—but she couldn't quite pull it to the front of her mind—or maybe she had read it in a book. The phrase seemed familiar. Or was she thinking of The Secret Garden? Her thoughts continued to whirl and she could not get them to settle. This was ridiculous.
Yet, the idea there might actually be something of value hidden away somewhere, something valuable enough to cover the cost of repairing the old house, was intriguing. She couldn't help thinking how wonderful it would be if it were true. The house had an interesting history and great bones; it would be a wonderful place to raise a family.
Not long out of college, with a degree in Art History she'd barely had the chance to use, Julie was alone in the great big home she had inherited. She still had a little bit of the money from her parents’ insurance policy left in her savings account. The taxes were paid by her great-grandfather's trust; but when Grandpa James had fallen ill, it had wiped out the largest part of the nest egg Grams had managed to save. Her own illness had used most of the rest; and, when she died, she'd left her granddaughter a large house in need of some costly repairs. Thankfully there was no mortgage on the place; but, while Julie made a modest income selling her photographs through a local gallery, the needed repairs were well beyond her means. In recent months, she and Gustavia—who turned out to be handy with a hammer—had done some judicious patching, enough to buy her a few more months to come up with some funds.
She knew it wouldn't be long before she would have to make a decision to either sell the house or think of something to do with it to generate enough income to keep it. Maybe she could open a bed and breakfast and become a total cliché. Sometimes, she thought she might turn it into a sort of artist's retreat or even offer it to some film companies for location shooting. Most of the ideas she came up with, though, required a certain amount of capital be spent on fixing up the place before she could test the possibilities. It would be a gamble, and Julie was not much of a gambler. Life had taught her to be practical.
Logan Ellis, Julie's fiancé, had his own opinions and was not shy about airing them. He was constantly saying there was no need for them to own a house this big, her work would sell better in the city, his work was there, the house was too much for them, and she should let it go now while it still had some value. If they began doing the repairs it needed, they would never get
a good return on the investment. He thought the place was a money pit and didn't understand how Julie could be so attached to her home.
If any of this business about hidden wealth were true, Julie figured convincing Logan would be a hard sell. Confessing she had gotten her information from a pair of dead relatives by way of a psychic, well, that was information that seemed better left unsaid. Especially since she wasn't sure she believed any of this improbable story herself. As her fear and confusion began to fade, Julie became aware of anger hiding underneath all of those other emotions. More specifically, she was angry at her best friend.
Gustavia had dragged her into this situation, and there was no way this was going to end quickly or well. This was the type of thing that Gustavia lived. For once that woman committed herself to a thing, she followed through, no matter what. It was one of the traits Julie most loved about her, but also one that sometimes caused an unbelievable amount of annoyance. It was both a blessing and a curse.
The more she thought about her friend and this mess, the angrier Julie became. The whole thing was ridiculous. If there had been any hidden family treasure, surely someone would have found it by now. If this was Gustavia's idea of a prank, she had a twisted sense of humor. None of this was funny. How had the so-called psychic nailed Gram's voice so perfectly, though? This wasn't like Gustavia; she had never been a malicious person. Maybe that psychic had talked her into something. But why? Julie couldn't see where either of them had anything to gain in this situation.
Chapter Two
Taking a cup of tea out the back door and forcing herself to relax on the porch swing, Julie began to calm her chaotic thoughts with an effort of will. She needed to put her feelings of anger aside and look at this thing logically; even if the very idea of applying logical thought to this situation told her just how far down the rabbit hole she already was, and it looked like this might be just the beginning.
Rings On Her Fingers (The Psychic Seasons Series Book 1) Page 1
