Reaping Havoc
A Kiara Blake Novel - Book One
Kinsley Burke
quirkyMuse Publications LLC
Contents
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
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Mailing List
About the Author
Also by Kinsley Burke
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblances to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons-living or dead-is entirely coincidental.
* * *
Reaping Havoc
Copyright © 2017 by Kinsley Burke
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
ISBN: 978-0-9985493-0-9
Created with Vellum
To the person who is my biggest champion:
my mother
Chapter One
My mother had always said I was difficult. In second grade, we performed Little Red Riding Hood for the school play. I showed up dressed as Snow White. The stage was decked out in the same cottage and forest setting used in the Snow White play from the year before, so I didn’t understand why lots of shouting ensued five minutes before curtain call.
“The seven dwarfs live there. There has to be a Snow White.” My right foot stomped in righteous indignation.
“This is grandma’s house, and you’re a rabbit.” Mrs. Beasley’s very un-music teacher-like hard gaze glared down.
Even on stage, while Red Riding Hood was skipping through the forest, I couldn’t understand why anyone would say the dwarf house was Grandma’s when clearly it wasn’t. The hole in the wall on the left side of the front door remained from when Prince Charming and Bashful had added an impromptu brawl scene during the prior year’s opening night. Since neither Prince Charming nor Bashful were in Little Red Riding Hood, the house clearly belonged to the seven dwarfs. So on the night of the Little Red Riding Hood play, I was a princess wearing rabbit ears while trying to start a chorus of “Heigh-Ho” while Mandy Chestnut got eaten by a wolf—okay, okay, so she didn’t get eaten. It would have been cool if she had because she was mean and her getting the lead role had been rigged. But Snow White was way cooler than Red Riding Hood since Snow White was a princess, and I received praise all night for my individualism.
At least my seven-year-old mind assumed when my mother—who had not paid attention to the play’s title before arrival—said, “I can’t believe you came dressed like this…” and classmate, Sally Mull’s, comment, “Rabbits wear tiaras?” were words of commendation.
But individualism came with a price, and now Karma had caught up with me. She was dressed like a five-foot-four dead woman and was out to kick my butt. Since I was rather fond of that butt, I quickened my pace while wishing I hadn’t just downed three tacos and two margaritas. The lethargic feeling inside me yelled, nap time, contradicting my butt that screamed, run. A ninety-year old navigating a walker put a screeching halt to my butt’s flight for survival. The old woman was moving at one mile per hour on a three mile per hour sidewalk, and there wasn’t time in my schedule for an accident.
It was nine o’clock at night, and I could see the heat bouncing off the concrete sidewalk in waves. The air was humid and sticky, and I felt the breeze of northern Michigan during Christmas time—and this wasn’t northern Michigan. It wasn’t even Michigan. But that’s what happened when you had your own personal air conditioner stalking you, except this air conditioner kept stumbling into my heels. She didn’t come with an off switch, and her never-ending chatter was relentless. Arctic blasts of cold pounded against my neck while a block of ice resembling a human arm brushed against my bare shoulder. Gritting my teeth barely contained my screams, and silence was my savior because one look, one sound… hell, even the minutest acknowledgment to Dead Woman that I could hear her was it. Game Over.
“But she’s supposed to be the best.” Ding. Dead Woman said. “She’s supposed to find my”—ding—“soulmate!”
Okay, a ghost making dinging sounds was weird.
Ding.
Oh. Cellphone. Mine.
Coffee. Now
It was text number two, and that churning inside the pit of my stomach was no longer due to the overabundance of food. Because that now translated into five minutes ago in Maude-speak. I shoved my phone into the pocket of my jeans and huffed. So much for labor laws. They were invented because of Maude Taggart, not that she cared.
The street was jammed with human obstacles blocking a clear path to my destination, and I realized cutting through the alley on the other side of Ninth Street might get me there within four minutes. Emphasis on might.
“It’s been two days, and Ms. Taggart hasn’t spoken to me.” My stalker whined as cold blasted my neck. “She’s rude and unprofessional.”
I ignored Dead Woman’s rants. The lonely departed doped up on too many Rom-Com movies were the worst, and I sidestepped the old woman with the walker. I got a quick finger for my efforts. Too bad the woman’s feet didn’t move as fast as her hand. I dodged another slow-moving body. Unfortunately, Dead Woman kept pace. She was pretty hard to ditch when the pedestrian traffic moved at a speed of shuffle. She’d been a burden for thirty-two of the last sixty hours of my life, and I wasn’t certain how much longer she could be ignored. The lack of communication thing we had going on didn’t faze her. She wore a swing skirt and coifed hair that placed her at least three decades before my time, so I guessed she’d been dead long enough to enjoy one-sided conversations. However, I had a serious problem with her assumption that we were BFFs. I don’t deal well with the dead. A red-eyed ghost who once dangled me off the side of a wooden bridge, leaving my premature death to be left determined by the forgiveness of the sharp rocks below, killed any fuzzy feelings I’d ever had for the dearly departed. There was only one thing I wanted from the dead: Him. He had something of mine, and I wanted it back.
The pocket of my jeans chimed, and I palmed my phone.
Ten minutes.
Or else was implied. Maude’s impatience grated my nerves as much as Dead Woman’s voice. The congregated crosswalk crowd, who had piled on the street corner, left the finish line to my destination firmly out of my grasp. Bouncing on the balls of my feet, I stared at the intersection’s red light and willed the little stick man to grant his permission to walk.
“I only want love.”
Her soft words punched me in the gut. A sneaked sideways peek revealed Dead Woman’s head bowed and a lock of brown hair tumbling into downcast eyes. She was young, appeared no more than twenty. A pain stabbed my heart, which I liked to pretend was hardened. But I couldn’t help her, and honestly, I didn’t trust the dead. Because of that, I didn’t want to help her.
Dead Woman wasn’t the first ghost to walk through the front doors of Fated Match, the exclusive matchmaking company Maude Taggart owned. I knew Dead Woman wouldn’t be the last. The combination of psychic plus matchmaker was like catnip to ghosts, a fact I hadn’t realized until my head lifted up from my receptionist desk the second day on the job. I’d concluded the afterlife to be one lonely place. Twenty ghosts fighting for couch space to watch Sleepless in Seattle at an electronics store once put it into perspective. Unfortunately, Maude wasn’t their savior. She was about as psychic as a Chihuahua, and she couldn’t see a ghost even if it tap danced in front of her while wearing a feather boa and tutu. It’s been tried.
My cell phone rang, and the first smile of the day tugged at my lips.
“House of insanity,” I answered.
“Yeah?” my best friend, Hadley Adams, asked. “Well, Houston, return to the land of the sane. We’ve got a problem.”
“What?”
“Trust me, you’ll want to sit for this. How fast can you get here?”
“Your place? No can do. Maude’s got me on some crazy coffee run.”
“It’s after nine o’clock.”
“You tell her that.” Actually, knowing Hadley, she would tell Maude. In very choice words. “Take that back. I like paychecks. Don’t say a word.”
“Is she paying you overtime?”
“What do you think?”
“Demand overtime!” Hadley sighed. “You know, there are laws about this sort of thing. I don’t get it. Why won’t you quit?”
I shoved my dark hair out of my eyes and stared at the white t-shirt plastered to the back of the guy standing in front of me. I had my reasons for continued employment with Maude, but they weren’t up for discussion, so I did what any normal person put on the spot would do: changed the subject. “So, you decided on employment law?”
A large man squeezed in front of me, and I gagged. He’d apparently let sweat battle it out with a bottle of cologne. My nose declared itself the loser. A meaty arm from behind me shoved into my shoulder, and I stumbled.
“Hey, can I call you back?” I asked Hadley.
“Yes, but you’re not going to like this. Your brother is—”
A blaring car horn drowned out Hadley’s voice. It was followed by the screech of brakes and skidding tires.
“Wait—what did you say?” My right arm was shoved, and the phone pressed hard into my cheek. “Hadley?”
Silence. The Home screen greeted me when I checked my phone. I guessed my cheek had become besties with the disconnect button. Damn. The phone dinged. I cringed.
Bring the Adler folder. WHERE’S MY COFFEE????
The Adler folder? Seriously? Requests were to be made before I’d left the office. Certainly, that was written in my contract. Somewhere. The crosswalk stickman lit bright, and the sweaty mass of people surged forward. I ducked and dodged bodies, clueless at the draw for this many people out on a Tuesday night. Not even my chosen alley to cut through remained unscathed. I squeezed between various body types and broke through the mass to spot the large green sign I’d fought the crowd to see. My phone informed me that I had two minutes left until my allotted ten minutes were up. I was screwed.
“Hey! Slow down.” Dead Woman huffed. “You went flat out.”
I turned my back at her words. Yet her relentless voice still clung close to me despite my continuous brush-off. But I did not ignore her. Feet quickened their pace as I walked underneath the green sign with JAVA ADDICTION spelled out in large block letters. Contrary to popular belief, humans can’t see or hear ghosts, and ghosts don’t expect to be heard. Therefore, my total disregard to Dead Woman’s words did not qualify as being ignored. It was simply my stellar lack of luck for why I could hear her. I was cursed, but that was on a need to know basis. Dead Woman didn’t need to know.
The coffee shop was packed when I entered. Maude wasn’t the only person craving a late night pick me up. In a city with a Starbucks located on every street corner, she demanded her coffee from only this little shop. Apparently, they used a special bean from Jamaica, and only the best would do for Maude.
A buzz of voices surrounded me, and the vibe in the small box-shaped room was as warm as its red painted walls. I rubbed at the goosebumps prickling along my arms and stepped into the long line. The wait caused a string of curse words to form in my thoughts, then die before crossing my lips.
Masochism was so not my thing, and suffering a ten-minute lecture from Dead Woman if the word shit ever escaped my mouth, would be a form of torture. She’d been Miss Prim and Proper from the moment she’d crossed Maude’s threshold. The harshest word I’d heard out of her was cranked, and I wasn’t even certain that was a bad word. My knowledge of fifties slang was at a serious lack. But with Dead Woman’s upturned nose, daily criticism of all things she deemed not proper, and the blouse that stayed buttoned up to her chin, it was no wonder she’d died alone.
My text notification chimed. A threat of unemployment followed the latest request for java, and there wasn’t a joking bone in Maude’s body. One minute left, and I still had the flagging of a cab to Maude’s condo to consider after the coffee was obtained. I was beyond screwed. New job applications were in my immediate future, and I didn’t need a fake psychic to inform me of that.
“So this is how it’s going to work,” Dead Woman said. “I’m going to fill out the client interview questionnaire and leave it on your desk. You can give it to Ms. Taggart in the morning.”
Then what? The question begged on my lips, and I looked away to keep from asking. My attention snagged on the woman standing in front of me. She wore a red coat. It was tailored. Expensive. Her posture was rigid, and her shoulders were thrown back. What was her excuse for wearing a coat in the steaming late August heat? I had an ice cold dead woman hovering at my back, yet my arms were bare.
“He needs to be tall—but not too tall—and blond,” Dead Woman said. “I don’t care if he’s human or spirit.”
I only half listened as the hairs on my arms stood. For once it wasn’t because of the two-legged icebox chasing me around while begging for romantic rendezvous with not-too-tall blonds. Something was wrong, really wrong, but I couldn’t put my finger on what.
“That hussy,” Dead Woman said. “Has she no shame?”
Hussy? That was a new word for Miss Prim, and it was one not so proper. Biting back a smile at the name I’d just christened Dead Woman, I snuck a peek. A couple sat on the corner couch with mouths fused and chests squished tight, and Miss Prim was in a tizzy at the sight. True, it wasn’t my ideal place for a make-out session. A lake view combined with a bottle of red wine would do nicely, thank you very much. But whatever rocked their boat wasn’t my concern. Dead Woman certainly was a Miss Prim. She’d taken up residence in Maude’s office, desperate for a man, yet flipping out over a PG-13 kiss. What did she think happened on dates?
“Johnny?” Miss Prim stiffened at my back. “But they got you. Wait—Johnny? Johnny!”
They? What? The shock in her voice turned my head. I froze and snapped it forward again. My eyes collided with cold blue ones. Red Coat had turned too. She flinched as our gazes briefly met, and she then made an abrupt pivot back to the barista standing behind the counter.
What the… Could she hear Miss Prim? Not possible.
The ghostly freak-out had been swift, and Miss Prim had gone silent. The urge to look back was strong, and I forced my head to remain forward as cold air inched along my side. I exhaled a long breath and stared hard at Red Coat’s back.
Green eyes attached to an ashen face materialized inches from my own. Miss Prim stared me hard in the eyes. I jumped and sucked in a scream.
Game Over.
“You see me.” Her bitter voice lashed out. “You’ve seen me this entire time.”
The energy from her anger generated enough cold to put a blizzard to shame, yet for the first time in two days, sweat trickled down the back of my spine. The stretchy tank top I wore felt to
o warm. Heat burned my cheeks, and I stared back, no longer pretending. Her eyes blazed, and they reminded me of his anger eleven years before. Miss Prim no longer acted like the proper prude I’d pegged her for. Instead, she was batshit crazy.
My phone chimed with another text message. I shoved it into my pocket and wiped sweaty hands down the side of my jeans. Tilting my chin up, I braced for the wrath I couldn’t respond to. Not here. Not in public. But when that wrath came, it wasn’t directed at me.
“You!” Miss Prim screamed. Red Coat had turned away from the counter and faced Miss Prim. “Praedator.”
Praedator? My eyes turned from Miss Prim’s fury to the cool composure of Red Coat’s face. It had sounded as if Miss Prim had said predator, but in a strange accent. The prey was drawn out, along with a hard da. Red Coat didn’t respond. Her face was blank but her blue eyes chilled. She pushed thick blond hair off her forehead and stared down Miss Prim as she walked past.
Miss Prim turned in frantic circles, her billowing skirt knocking over a display of coffee mugs. A guy standing nearby looked down in surprise as Miss Prim rushed past, the energy from her anger lashing out strong enough to leave him rubbing at apparent goosebumps racing his arms. It was never a good sign when the humans could feel the dead. It took a lot of energy out of a ghost for them to become tangible in this world, but the occurrence was rather common for them to do in anger.
“Where did he go?” Miss Prim screamed at Red Coat’s retreating back. “What did you do to him?”
“Miss? Can I help you?”
A voice shook me out of my stupor, and I stared up to the questioning eyes of the barista. A string of harsh curse words exploded from behind me, bringing a blush even to my cheeks. I had no more doubts or concerns about Miss Prim lecturing me over the word shit.
The phone in my pocket chimed, reminding me about the coffee I was already late providing. Shaken, I stepped forward. “I need a medium soy chi…”
Reaping Havoc: Kiara Blake Book 1 Page 1
