The Fourth Power
Page 1
The Fourth Power
A Paranormal Women's Fiction Romance Novel
Michelle M. Pillow
MichellePillow.com
The Fourth Power © Copyright 2020 by Michelle M. Pillow
First Electronic Printing April 28, 2020
Published by The Raven Books LLC
ISBN 9781625012449
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
All books copyrighted to the author and may not be resold or given away without written permission from the author, Michelle M. Pillow.
This novel is a work of fiction. Any and all characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or events or places is merely coincidence.
Michelle M. Pillow® is a registered trademark of The Raven Books LLC
Contents
About the Book
Order of Magic Series
Author Updates
Author Note
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
The Fifth Sense
Second Chance Magic
Third Time’s A Charm
About Michelle M. Pillow
Newsletter
Free Reading Guides
Please Leave a Review
About the Book
Heather Harrison sees ghosts. It's not something she brags about. In fact, she wished she didn't. Communicating (or not communicating) with the dead only leads to heartache, and for her it led to a divorce. For the most part, she's happy being single. She's got a good business, close friends, and a slightly overprotective brother. What more does a forty-something woman need?
When her two best friends beg her for help in contacting loved ones, against her better judgment she can't say no to the séance. But some gateways shouldn't be opened, and some meddling spirits shouldn’t be stirred…like that of her Grandma who insists she's "found her a nice man".
The supernaturals have come out to play and it's up to this amateur medium to protect herself and her friends before the danger they summoned comes to bite them in the backside.
Order of Magic Series
Second Chance Magic
Third Time's A Charm
The Fourth Power
The Fifth Sense
The Sixth Spell
Visit MichellePillow.com for details!
Author Updates
Join the Reader Club Mailing List to stay informed about new books, sales, contests and preorders!
http://michellepillow.com/author-updates/
First, thank you to everyone who helped to get this book out by its scheduled release date during a challenging time in the current global landscape. I know it has been difficult to concentrate on work with so many worries. You all rock!
* * *
To my readers and their families, my heart is with all of you. I hope you are all staying safe and healthy during this global pandemic. I know it’s been hard, and I thank you for your support of my books and me during this time. Your friendships do not go unnoticed.
Author Note
Being an author in my 40s, I am thrilled to be a part of this Paranormal Women’s Fiction #PWF project. Older women kick ass. We know things. We’ve been there. We are worthy of our own literature category. We also have our own set of issues that we face—empty nests, widows, divorces, menopause, health concerns, etc—and these issues deserve to be addressed and embraced in fiction.
Growing older is a real part of life. Women friendships matter. Women matter. Our thoughts and feelings matter.
If you love this project as much as I do, be sure to spread the word to all your reader friends and let the vendors where you buy your books know you want to see a special category listing on their sites for 40+ heroines in Paranormal Women’s Fiction and Romance.
Happy Reading!
Michelle M. Pillow
Chapter One
Freewild Cove, North Carolina
Today was not a good day.
Yesterday had not been good, nor the day before, nor the year before.
Heather Harrison’s eyes had opened to a world that felt dark. People sometimes talked about having a moment when everything felt normal in the seconds between sleep and wake. She never had that. The truth was always with her. Even when she wasn’t thinking about it, she felt the weight of it on her heart. It lingered in her dreams and was never more pronounced than when she was alone in her house, so she avoided going home.
Keeping busy helped.
Keeping busy was easier said than done.
“I still love you.” Ben struggled with his words, and Heather struggled to look at him.
She didn’t want to be here.
She didn’t want to be anywhere.
The sound of silverware clinked against ceramic plates and punctuated the murmured conversation from other tables in the diner. Freewild Cove was a small town, and she felt like everyone watched their booth for the next chapter of the Harrison family story.
Heather held the coffee cup between her hands, barely feeling the heat against her fingers as she stared into the depths. Ben had insisted on ordering food, but the plates sat untouched next to them.
“Heather, I still love you, but…”
Her eyes lifted from the dark liquid. Ben looked as exhausted as she felt. Whenever she saw his face, she was reminded of all they had lost. At first, his eyes had been bloodshot all the time from crying, but the red faded until all that was left was the hollow echo of the man he’d been. There was no bringing that piece of his soul back.
She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. The warmth of human contact felt strange. His thumb slipped over her fingers to hold her hand in his.
“I still love you, but…” he whispered.
“I know.” Heather pulled away. A lack of love had never been their problem. In fact, the opposite could be argued.
Ben reached beside him on the booth to lift a folder toward her. When she took it, he offered a pen from his front pocket. For them, there was no other choice. She opened the folder and signed her name beside the indicator tab, not bothering to read the papers. With that flow of ink, her marriage was over.
No, that wasn’t true. Their marriage had ended over a year ago, on the day they lost their son. This was merely a formality.
“I still love you…” He tried to finish the thought, but the words kept sticking in his throat.
“But every time you look at me you see him,” she answered, sliding out of the booth. “I know.”
Ben nodded. She knew everything he wanted to say. They were the same words circling through her mind. Their eyes met in silence as she stood.
I’m sorry.
I miss him.
It’s too painful to be here.
I will always love you.
I can’t look at you.
Goodbye.
Heather nodded once, leaving the papers on the table for him to mail to the lawyers. Neither of them cared how fast the paperwork was processed, only that their part in the dealings was finished. As far as they were concerned, they were over. Together they were drowning. Maybe apart they could catch a breath.
Maybe.
Probably not.
“Oh, hey, Heather, hi.” Leslie Pearson rented one of their properties. No, wait, one of her properties. She was no longer married.
Heather nodded on
ce and tried to slip past the woman.
“I’ve been meaning to call you,” Leslie continued, blocking her from leaving. “There’s something up with the heater. It’s making a clunk-clunk-clang-clunk type noise and—”
“Okay.” Heather reached into her back pocket, pulled out a small notebook, and then grabbed a pen off the hostess stand. She jotted down the complaint. “I can be by tomorrow at around ten in the morning to look at it.”
“Oh, great, thanks, perfect,” Leslie said. “Well, wait. What time? I mean, I might have an appointment tomorrow—”
The bells over the door rang, and the diner door bumped Leslie in the shoulder as it opened.
“Sorry, excuse me.” Vivien Stone had been Heather’s best friend since middle school. She was everything Heather was not—bold and unflinching. She didn’t wait for Leslie to answer before tugging at Heather’s arm. “We’re going to be late. Come on.”
Heather allowed herself to be pulled out of the diner as Leslie said something about making ten work. Vivien escorted her down the sidewalk of downtown Freewild Cove at a brisk pace pausing only to avoid being hit by a car as they crossed the street.
“Where are we going?” Heather asked, confused.
Vivien led her to the front of the Warrick Theater, a building Heather had inherited from her grandmother. She stopped at the door and said, “key,” before digging into Heather’s front pocket to retrieve the keyring for herself. She unlocked the theater and stepped aside to let Heather go in first.
The theater was only open on weekends, and so the lights were off, and the concession stand was empty. Except for the ghost of a woman in a 1940s dress standing near the curtain leading to the theater seats, they were alone. Heather ignored the spirit. She had nothing left to give the dead. The one spirit she wanted to see had not come to her.
When the front door closed and they were alone in the dark lobby, Vivien dropped the keys on the floor and wrapped her arms around Heather, pulling her close.
“Did your dumbass actually think I wouldn’t know what you were doing today?” Vivien whispered.
Vivien had been born with psychic gifts. Not many people believed her, but Heather knew it was true. Just as Vivien believed that Heather had inherited the ability to see ghosts from her grandmother, Julia Warrick.
Her friend held her tighter. A tear slipped down Heather’s cheek, and her shoulders gave an involuntary jerk as she tried to hold back a sob.
“You’re not alone,” Vivien said, keeping a firm grip around her. “I’m here, and I’m not leaving you. I won’t let go. Ever.”
Heather’s legs gave out, and she felt herself lowering to the hard lobby floor. Vivien went to the ground with her, not letting go as sorrow racked Heather’s body.
Chapter Two
Old Anderson House, Freewild Cove
Ten Years Later…
“Why won’t you look at me? Like, I know you see me. I hate that. He never looked at me. All these hours spent working out, and he never looked…”
Heather tried to focus on what Martin Edwards was telling her about the property’s old wiring and fire hazards, but it was difficult with an erratic ghost shouting in her ear for attention. The spirit’s words sounded garbled like she was underwater, but even with the distortion, Heather could detect a valley girl inflection in her voice. The ghost’s feathered hair and very distinct style revealed she’d most likely died in the 1980s. Heather couldn’t make out everything the dead woman said, and the spirit’s inclination to turn up the volume didn’t do Heather’s headache any favors.
Usually, if Heather concentrated hard enough, she could block them out, but this woman was persistent. All of the undead Heather had come across lately had been that way. Ever since she found her grandmother’s old ring in a tax receipt box, Heather’s gifts as a medium had gone into overdrive.
“Look! Just look at my perfect ass…”
The only reason she didn’t throw the ring into a firepit was that her two best friends, Lorna and Vivien, had also received rings. The three of them were joined by magic. Though she’d known Vivien nearly their entire lives, Lorna was a new friend. The three of them had been brought together for a reason—to help each other heal from past pains.
Lorna was a widow. At the funeral, she’d learned her husband had another wife. The bastard had married Lorna second, and the first wife (being a spiteful bitch) had taken everything she could get her hands on. They’d séanced Glenn back so Lorna could give him a piece of her mind and find closure. She was now dating Heather’s brother, William.
Vivien’s case had been harder. The love of her life had died from cancer when she was in her twenties, and until recently, she’d been carrying a torch for him. Sam would not have wanted Vivien to live without love. Thankfully, with a little nudge from the afterlife, Sam was able to say a proper goodbye, and Vivien was able to give love a second chance with her new neighbor, Troy.
Heather wasn’t looking for love. Her ex-husband was a good man. He’d treated her well. She had no relationship hurt to get over. Her pain ran deeper. There was no getting over the loss of a child. And even if there was some way to get over it, Heather didn’t want to.
“He, like, shoved me overboard so he could be with his grody mistress…”
“So? What do you want me to do?” Martin asked, sounding a little exasperated. He was new in town, but she’d already used him on a couple of jobs. His dark hair was long enough to pull out of his face without creating a ponytail down his back. He seemed guarded but had a kindness in him. His work wasn’t cheap, but it was fair.
Vivien liked to point out that he was easy on the eyes, but all Heather cared about was that his work was solid. She had a three-story Victorian to renovate, and she needed a man with solid work. Period.
“Fine, I might have fallen off the boat, but he didn’t, like, try very hard to…”
Heather swatted her hand by her ear like she shooed an insect while trying to get the ghost to back away. “I’m sorry. What were my options again?”
“Hey, that’s rude!”
“Patch or replace all of the wiring,” Martin said.
Heather leaned against the wall to look into an opening cut in the lath and plaster. The whoosh-pop of a nail gun sounded in a steady rhythm, overshadowing the undertones of a radio as a couple of guys worked in the next room. She found comfort in the sounds of work. The thud of a bucket sliding across a bare floor, the thump of work boots, and even the crash of a sledgehammer felt like forward movement. It symbolized progress, momentum, the satisfaction of seeing change happen. Refurbishing houses gave her a sense of control. She could make things better.
Isn’t that what mattered in life? Making things better when you could?
The ghost leaned toward the hole with her and continued talking, “So are you going to, like, help me or what? I know you can see me.”
Heather glanced to the side.
“Ah, see, you just looked. I knew it!”
The electrical wires were old and covered in varnished cloth. They had frayed in some places. “We can’t leave that in there.”
“That’s what I was just saying,” Martin said, sounding a little annoyed.
“Look at me!”
“So you agree,” Martin continued, having no clue someone else interrupted them. “We completely rewire—”
“Omigod, shut up,” Heather cried, shaking her hands by her ears.
The ghost gasped but remained where she stood.
“I’m… sorry?” Martin looked stunned.
“I mean, sure.” Heather rubbed her temples. She waved her hand in dismissal, needing to get away from the living so she could deal with her pest. “Do whatever you think.”
“Are you pissed at me for something?” Martin asked, starting to follow her through the construction debris toward the stairs. “If you’re not happy with my work—”
“Dude, stop. No, it’s not you,” one of the workers said in a hushed tone as he rushed to stop Mar
tin. Thomas had worked with her many times and was one of the best drywall guys in town.
“But—” Martin tried to say.
“Leave it alone,” Thomas said.
Heather pretended not to hear the conversation as she reached the stairwell that would take her down to the second story.
“But…” Martin insisted.
“You know what today is, right?” Thomas continued.
Heather hurried down the steps and whipped around the corner so she wouldn’t have to hear more. It was no surprise that everyone knew her business, but she didn’t have to listen to them talk about it.
The stairs leading to the first floor were wider and led to a small landing next to a wall with a stained-glass window. From there, it split into two directions. Left would take her straight into the kitchen, and right would take her around to the front room.
In the front room, the original wood banisters were beautiful, as if they had somehow survived against the onslaught of time and people. She had always thought of their permanence compared to those who touched them.
Drop cloths covered the floors, and she glanced up from habit to check the progress of the ceiling. Someone had sprayed it with popcorn texture in the 1970s, and Heather had it removed.
Hearing someone coming down the stairs, she rushed toward the front door and down the porch steps. She’d parked in front of the house next to the curb so that she could leave whenever she wanted. Martin’s truck was in the drive blocking in a car. Movement caught her eye on her way past as she stumbled to see a young face looking at her through the sun-reflected glass. Her heart nearly stopped beating. Time held still and silent in those brief seconds.