The Tenth House

by Ashley R Scott

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Zodiac

  Welcome to The Tenth House

  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

  Dedication

  About the Author

  Complete Book List-epub

  THE TENTH HOUSE

  -A Turn of the Zodiac Novel-

  Book 1

  ASHLEY R SCOTT

  An Ashley R Scott publication

  Published by Ashley R Scott

  THE TENTH HOUSE

  A Turn of the Zodiac Novel

  Copyright © 2018 by Ashley R Scott

  First Electronic Printing: 2018 Ashley R Scott

  First Print Edition: 2018 Ashley R Scott

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any format, be it print or electronic or audio, without the written permission of the author. Please prevent piracy by purchasing only authorized versions of this book.

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, or places are entirely coincidental and not to be construed as representative or an endorsement of any living/existing group, person, place, or business.

  Published in the United States of America

  ISBN-13:978-0692096062

  WELCOME TO THE TENTH HOUSE

  “You can’t go back and change the beginning, but you can start where you are and change the ending.”

  ~CS Lewis~

  “It is a mistake to look too far ahead. Only one link of the chain of destiny can be handled at a time.”

  ~Winston Churchill~

  Each house corresponds to one of the Zodiacs. The Tenth House is ruled by Capricorn and the planet Saturn.

  Translating into the kingdom, it is commonly known as the House of Social Status and is fueled by ambitions, motivations, and authority.

  This is the house in which we manifest ourselves.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The moving box rattles with the force of the thrown book, almost tipping it over. I catch my breath. The jewelry box is inside. Holding the air for a long moment, I let it out in a deep sigh. The exhaustion in my chest remains. Nothing about moving makes me excited. I’m completely numb.

  I reach into the box, shifting the book against the cardboard wall. My hair spills over my shoulders, a black curtain blocking out the rest of my bedroom.

  The small wooden jewelry box fits perfectly in my palm and outstretched fingers, stained dark and polished to shine. Carefully, I turn the box over, checking for any damage from the book, and stop over the smooth etching of a goat with a small piece of turquoise in place of a heart. It calls to me; whispers only I can hear. Both foreign and familiar, as if it’s a missing piece of myself.

  I gingerly place it back inside the box, flipping the cardboard flaps closed, and shove the box into one of the piles stacked against the wall. Flopping onto the edge of my cream comforter, the mattress bouncing lightly beneath me, I wince at the moving carnage littering my bedroom. I love this house and hate the thought of leaving. It needs a little bit of care and has far more space than I use, but it’s my house.

  A lump forms in my throat, tears stinging my eyes as I pick up the small silver frame showing mom and me playing in the snow on Mt. Rose when I was young. Life was happier then. Dropping the picture onto the bed, I stare out the window at the same mountain; the snow-covered peak shimmers gold in the setting sun. It calms my nerves, knowing she’s watching over me.

  A gentle knock on the front door shakes me from my thoughts. I push myself off the bed, pausing at the mirror to straighten my emerald-green sweater and run my fingers through my hair. I look a little tired, but otherwise intact.

  I work my way down the stairs as they creak softly beneath my feet. There are so many boxes and piles of things still needing to be packed, that my furniture is barely visible even from the height of the stairs. The mounds of cardboard do nothing to brighten my mood. A gust of freezing wind blasts through the front door as I open it.

  Standing on my front porch is a man, wiry thin like he might blow over in a stiff breeze. His platinum-blond ponytail hangs stark against his black leather duster. He studies me with beady gray eyes, so light they’re almost white. My skin crawls just looking at him.

  “Can I help you?” My inner alarm bells ringing, I keep my foot and hand on the door in case he tries to push his way inside.

  “My name is Kyrell. I am looking for the Guardian of the house.” Kyrell nods his head in greeting, his voice raspy and light.

  “This is my place.” I lean forward, blocking his view, as Kyrell tries to peek inside my house.

  Kyrell pulls a hand out of his pocket, slipping off a black leather glove, and offers it to me.

  “Pleasure to meet you.” A greasy smile slowly stains his lips.

  I hesitate, staring at his hand, finally reaching out to shake it. Cold and clammy, it sends tingling energy up my arm like an army of ants. I yank my hand from his grasp, wiping it on the front of my sweater.

  Kyrell narrows his eyes.

  “I believe I’ve made a mistake. The wrong house, I think.” He backs slowly from my porch, nearly bumping into Jocelyn, my best friend, as she walks up the slope of my driveway.

  “So, that guy was creepy,” Jocelyn says as she reaches the door. Glancing over her shoulder at Kyrell’s receding form, she stomps the snow off her fashionably fuzzy boots. Her dark gray coat buttoned up to her chin accents her fiery red hair tucked neatly beneath a matching gray beanie.

  “Tell me about it.” As I lean out to make sure he’s gone, Jocelyn squeezes through the door, winking with a glint of mischief sparkling in her hazel eyes.

  I’m always happy to see Jocelyn. She makes me feel better just from having her around, and she never fails to brighten the mood. She’s mouthy, unafraid to speak her mind, and as flashy as I am reserved.

  “What the hell? Ciara?” Jocelyn squeals.

  Groaning, I turn back inside, closing the door quietly behind me. Slowly, I twist the lock into place with a light click, double-checking it because of the creepy stranger as well as stalling for time. I hadn’t told Jocelyn I was packing up, and my very loud and very fiery best friend sounds pissed.

  “What’s all this?” Jocelyn’s voice rises an octave, making me cringe.

  I square my shoulders and plaster my best innocent smile across my face. “It’s nothing.”

  Jocelyn stands with her hands on her hips, anger bright in her eyes. “Don’t give me that crap. What’re you doing?”

  She waits just inside the living room with her arms folded across her chest, glaring at the scattered boxes. “It kinda looks like you’re packing your stuff.”

  I take a deep breath. “I was going to tell you, I swear.” I lean against the door, letting my head bang softly against the wood.

  “Before or after you left?” Jocelyn turns to face me, making me regret locking the door instead of running through it when I had the chance.

  “Before. I just didn’t know how.” I could tell Joce
lyn anything, normally, but the fact that I was planning on leaving again was too hard. She wasn’t exactly thrilled with me the last time.

  Jocelyn steps forward and grabs my arm, dragging me into the kitchen. “You’re not going anywhere, but we’ll talk about that later. You didn’t pack up your mugs yet, did you?”

  Allowing Jocelyn to pull me along, I shake my head in bemusement. “I haven’t started on the kitchen yet.”

  “Small favors.” Jocelyn moves around the kitchen, grabbing two mugs and plunking them down on the wooden table. She points at a chair. “Sit.”

  The kitchen makes me feel warm and cozy. The walls painted a deep maroon make the white curtains shine. The only thing on the counter is the coffee pot that never gets empty or cold.

  I sit down on the heavy wooden chair with burning cheeks, not wanting to look at her but unable to look anywhere else. Shame weighs heavily on my shoulders for not telling her about my plans. I watch Jocelyn move freely about, as comfortable as she is in her own place. She plops down on the chair across from me, adding creamer to both cups and filling them with coffee.

  “You’re seriously trying to run away again? Because that worked out so well the last time.”

  Breathing deep, I relish the smell of the peppermint mocha creamer and relax into my chair. I shrug my shoulders. “Vegas wasn’t for me, so I came back to Reno. And I’m not running away.”

  Jocelyn arches a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “First thing tomorrow we’re unpacking those boxes. Let’s get this house back in order.”

  “I’m not unpacking.” I frown at Jocelyn.

  “Come on, Ciara. You can’t leave. So, you just had a bad breakup a couple of weeks ago and who knows where that jerk went. You don’t like your work, and you don't like this city anymore. It’s not that big of a deal.” Jocelyn rolls her eyes and takes a sip.

  I take a long drink from my mug, closing my eyes and enjoying the deliciousness of warm, sweet caffeine, before slowly opening my eyes to stare at Jocelyn. “Thank you for that.”

  Jocelyn winks. “You betcha.”

  I give her my best glare to no avail, and we burst into laughter. Finally, catching our breath, Jocelyn takes another drink.

  “So, my real mission in coming over was to find out what you want to do for your birthday.”

  Fidgeting with my spoon, I sigh. “You know how I feel about birthdays.”

  “But I love birthdays! Yours is in four days, and we’re celebrating,” Jocelyn says, leaning back in her chair.

  “I don’t want anything to do with celebrating my birthday. Get it out of your head. I have too much to do anyway.”

  “We're going to have a party. Like it or not. And you’re not leaving.” Jocelyn huffs. Suddenly she brightens.

  “You know what we need?” Jocelyn jumps up from her chair, bumping the table and sloshing liquid from both cups.

  I groan, pulling a napkin from the flowered holder at the center of the table. “I don’t think I’m up for one of your bright ideas tonight.”

  “Yes, you are. Let’s go to a casino. I think it’s karaoke night!” Jocelyn grabs the napkins from my hand and hastily mops up the mess. She rushes the still half-full mugs to the sink.

  “I wasn’t done with that.” I fold my arms and cross my legs. “And, no. I hate casinos.”

  Jocelyn snorts. “You work in one.”

  “The number-one reason I don’t want to spend my free time there.” I frown at Jocelyn, silently convincing myself that she wouldn’t get her way. “And only because I have to.”

  “Don’t think I won’t beg. Let’s check out that Bullion Casino downtown. It’s under new ownership, and I hear it's better than the others.” Jocelyn grabs my hands, pulling me from my chair.

  So much for standing my ground. I roll my eyes. “I’m not staying long.”

  “Yay!” Jocelyn bounces on the toes of her boots. “I’ll drive!”

  Grudgingly, I follow Jocelyn out of the kitchen and into the entry, stopping just long enough to grab a thick coat out of the closet. Opening the front door, we’re greeted by a swirl of snowflakes that dance inside on a blast of frigid air. I take a deep breath, pull my coat tighter and lock the door behind me. We duck our heads against the blowing snow and run, our boots crunching all the way to Jocelyn’s car.

  Jocelyn carefully guides the car over the frozen streets, tiny snowflakes dancing a whirling ballet on the wind as the tires of her SUV crackle over the layers of ice. Some years the winters were harsh in Reno, and this one threatens to be one of the worst on record. We already have several inches of snow piled on the ground, and several feet in the mountains. Another atmospheric river is on the way, adding to the flood risk in the spring.

  I watch the city as we pass. Reno is a ghost of the town I grew up in. Faded buildings with broken windows line the streets, and homeless people huddle in dark alleys littered with trash.

  We turn onto South Virginia Street, the neon lights of the casinos dancing across my face. Downtown always looks bright, especially in the darkness, which is ironic. Small groups of people wander down the street, taking care of last-minute holiday shopping or heading to the next casino to change their luck. The casinos rule everything, with the city content to let it stay that way.

  Jocelyn guides the car into the seven-level parking garage attached to the Bullion Casino. She circles the brightly lit structure, passing row after row filled with vehicles and driving faster the higher she climbs. She cuts a corner short, and I grip the door handle, my knuckles turning white. “Slow down, Jocelyn.”

  “I have the reflexes of a cat.” She giggles, whipping into the first spot she finds.

  I sigh as we climb out of the SUV and shut the doors, knocking off some of the snow that had collected on the car during our short drive.

  We step into the elevator, and as the doors close, a strange perfume filters through the air, an earthy mixture of cedar and sage. A soft smile slides across Jocelyn’s face as she relaxes against the elevator wall, a dreamy, faraway look in her stare.

  Rolling my eyes, I lean around her and hit the casino button on the elevator panel.

  After a quick ride, we step out into flashing neon lights, way too bright in the dim casino, and a barrage of bells and slot machine jingles. The earthy scent from the elevator is still in the air, but is now largely masked by cigarette smoke and spilled beer. I squint through the lights and haze, already regretting leaving home.

  We walk through the maze of slot machines packed as tight as space allows, watching people play all types of games. Every kind imaginable, from old one-armed bandits to poker, to games inspired by popular television shows. The glazed eyes of the gamblers stare at the spinning colors, their hands mindlessly pushing buttons.

  They might as well be zombies.

  “Come on! Let's sit there.” Jocelyn winds through the crowd, and I shake my head to clear my thoughts. We walk up to a small round table, still sticky from the spilled drinks of previous partygoers, on the edge of a wooden dance floor. We slide into our seats as a young girl takes the nearby karaoke stage, lined with clear lights.

  She’s thin and wears jeans so tight, that I’m not sure how she can breathe. She holds the microphone to her mouth with the steady hand of a karaoke queen.

  “She’s terrible.” Jocelyn motions to a barmaid to wipe off the table.

  The woman, wearing a tiny black dress at least two sizes too small, walks over and wipes the table with a rag, missing more than half the mess.

  “I thought this place was supposed to be better?” At Jocelyn’s silence, I look back from the stage to find her staring over my shoulder. I twist around to see what’s so interesting. Standing directly behind me is a handsome man dressed in a flawless black suit.

  “You don’t like my casino?” He extends a hand for me to shake. “You may call me Bos.”

  I choke back a snicker. “That’s interesting. What does it mean?”

  I pull my arm closer as Jocelyn lightly pinches me, th
en hesitate before finally reaching out to take his hand. A strange jolt, as if I grabbed a live wire, races through my arm, leaving my fingers tingling. I yank my hand away, rubbing it carefully. What is with everyone shocking me today?

  A ghost of a smile flashes across Bos’s face before turning his attention to Jocelyn. “I’m sure you have a name, as lovely as you are.”

  “Jocelyn. I’m Jocelyn, and this is Ciara.” Jocelyn bounces out of her chair, smoothing her coat.

  “Pleasure, ladies. Perhaps you’d like it better at my table.” Bos gestures up to a balcony overlooking the karaoke stage.

  “Lead the way!” Jocelyn grabs my arm and squeezes tightly, a toothy grin stretching broadly across her face.

  I lean over to whisper in her ear. “I don’t like this. I got a weird feeling when I shook his hand.”

  “It’ll be fun.” Jocelyn pulls me behind her.

  Fun isn’t the word running through my mind. It’s much closer to regret, but I still reluctantly follow my bouncy friend and Bos up the winding staircase.

  The balcony is empty except for a large round table covered with a crisp white cloth, surrounded by chairs that resemble silver vines woven together. Ivy snakes along the edge of the iron railing. Two hulking men in dark suits loom near the entrance.

  Bos pulls out two chairs, and I quickly sit down, careful to avoid touching his hand. Jocelyn glares at me as he pushes her gently up to the table. He seats himself in a chair on the other side of Jocelyn, gesturing to the two men in the corner.

  “Allow me to introduce my security. Wesley Hampton and Slade Dalton.” Each man nods in turn.

  “So, you own this place?” Jocelyn leans a little closer to Bos, batting her eyelashes.

  “Recently acquired.” His voice is silk dipped in slime. I cringe inwardly, concentrating on keeping a straight face.

  I stare at Bos, trying to figure out why he seems familiar and yet makes me want to run away. “Why do you want to be in the casino business?”