Book One
By
Candace Osmond
Copyright © 2018 Candace Osmond
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13: 978-1-988159-50-8
First Edition
Digital Version
Cover Design by Majeau Designs
The characters, places, and events portrayed in this book are completely fiction and are in no way meant to represent real people or places. Although the province of Newfoundland is an existing location, the use of it in the book is for fictional purposes and not meant to depict true historical accuracy.
Table of Contents
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
About the Author
Chapter One
Inever gave much thought to whether magic actually exists. But sometimes you just can't ignore the weird occurrences that weave their way into our lives. Like Deja vu or unexplainable coincidences.
Or the cold, stark feeling you get when you know something bad is going to happen. The goosebumps that scrape across your skin and the heavy pit that touches the bottom of your stomach like a bag of ice.
The same feeling that currently inhabited my body. I felt the insistent vibrations of my cellphone pressing against my thigh. Nothing marked the day different from any other. But that first initial vibration, that first ring letting me know a call was coming through... it shook something inside me.
Only darkness awaited me on the other end.
I slipped a hand into my jeans pocket and pulled out my phone. The area code number on the screen verified my otherworldly hunch. With a deep breath, I tapped the green button.
“Uh, hello?”
“Dianna, m’dear!” The old raspy voice on the other end sounded familiar, and my mind scrambled to place it. “You’re a hard girl to track down.”
That ice-cold pit in my stomach felt like a frozen anvil as the cogs finally clicked in my brain. “Oh, hey, Aunt Mary. How’s it going?”
“Oh, m’love, not good.” My great aunt let an empty pause hold the line. Finally, I heard her inhale. “I imagine you know why I’m calling?”
I closed my eyes and tried to focus on breathing. “It’s Dad, isn’t it?”
“Yes, dear, he passed away yesterday afternoon. Poor soul.”
I pressed my back against the bedroom wall and let the weight of my body slide its way down to the floor where I curled into a crouching ball, still holding the phone to my ear. I tried not to let the sounds of crying or the sudden dry tightness in my throat come through in my words. I didn’t want to show weakness during the moment I’d been expecting for years.
My relationship with my father wasn’t exactly warm and loving. He was a cold and distant man, drifting further and further away from me as the years went on. He called once a year, at Christmas, just to check in. Three years ago, however, he told me that he was dying. Cancer had found its way into his body and the doctors said it was only a matter of time. I was honestly surprised he hung on that long.
“Cool, okay.” I fought for words. “Thanks for letting me know, Aunt Mary.” Shakily, I stood up, cleared my throat and wiped my eyes, determined to keep it together. I would not cry for that man.
“Are you comin’ home for the funeral? It’s on Friday.”
Just barely two days from now. I cringed when my brain immediately thought of how much work I had to do. Not exactly what someone should worry about when a parent dies. “Well -”
“Now you listen here,” my aunt began to scold, her thick Newfoundland accent coming through in the hardest way, something that usually happened when we were either angry or drunk. I strained to make out all the words. “I know you and your father had a rough time since your mom died. But that’s no excuse.”
“I know, but Aunt Mar -”
“No buts!” She cut me off, making me feel like a child again. But I could hear her relax with the heavy exhale that came through the phone. “Dianna, he’s your father. He was devastated when your mother died. He lost the love of his life.”
My free hand clenched into a tight fist and strained against the denim on my thigh. “I was a child, Mary. He shut me out. Yeah, he lost her… but so did I.” I let that stew. “I loved dad, you know that. But I’m here in Alberta now, and I have a life. A real life. The restaurant just promoted me to sous chef and-”
“Dianna, you can cook in any bloody restaurant in the country. There will always be time for that. Besides, I need help going through their stuff. You’re the last living heir to it all, you know that, right?”
I choked down the bubble that suddenly formed in my throat. “You mean… he left it all to me?” I hadn’t even considered that possibility. My parents weren’t rich, by any means. They owned a quaint little bakery that barely got by during the Winter months but thrived in the Summer, during tourist season.
But I wasn’t thinking of that.
We have a strong Newfoundland bloodline that came over from England and Scotland, one that dated back to the 1600s. We had numerous properties; some old, some new, some so old they should have been torn down decades ago. But I remembered my mother collecting dozens of old trunks and antiques that had been passed down through generations.
Stuff from my dad’s side and hers. Stuff that I was obsessed with as a kid. Swords, books, jewelry, and even pirates’ chests. Well, what I thought were pirates’ chests at five years old. Regardless, there were definitely things I wanted before the vultures of my distant family came and picked over the flesh. If Dad had left it all to me, that at least bought some time before things began to go missing.
“Fine, I’ll make arrangements and come home for a few days.” I regretted the words before I finished saying them. But it was my weekend off, so all I had to do was find someone to cover a couple of shifts until then. “But that’s all I can do.”
“Wonderful,” Mary replied, “Call me when you get your flight booked. I’ll come pick you up.”
I let out a deep sigh. “Thanks, Aunt Mary. Bye.”
I hung up the phone and slipped it back into my jeans pocket. The warm morning sun seeped in through the partially closed window blinds, casting an eerie yellow and grey striped pattern across my dark bedroom. I forced a smile on my lips as the man-shaped lump in my bed rolled over to face me.
“Hey, babe,” he said in a creaky morning voice that was low and sexy. I watched his lean muscles flex with slight movements as he rubbed his tired face. I’d been dating John for a year now and things were finally starting to get serious. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. I mean… no, not really.” I paused to push those tears back in once again. “My dad died yesterday. That was my aunt calling.”
He immediately sat up in bed, the thin grey sheet pooling around his waist. “Jesus, Dianna, are you alright?”
A slightly shaky nod was all I could afford. John outstretched his arms, inviting me back to bed. I had been on my way to work when Aunt Mary called. But, given the circumstances, I should take today off, too. Using my father’s death as an excuse to get out of work seemed wrong to me, but it’s what normal people would do, isn’t it? Normal daughters, who knew how to sort through their feelings when a parent dies? I worked my ass off for that sous chef position at the restaurant, but they couldn’t deny me a couple of days leave for this.
I crawled up
the side of the bed and into John’s warm embrace. The heat from his sleeping body still held within the blankets. I let it soak into my skin and inhaled the scent of him.
“I should call work and let them know. I’m going to try to get a flight for tomorrow.” I stretched my neck, so my lips touched his soft mouth as I pulled my cell phone from my pocket one more time. But John snatched it from me.
“I’ll call. Judy loves me.”
It was true. My boss adored John. And, to be honest, who didn’t? He’s gorgeous, friendly, smart, and butters her up every chance he gets. I hate to think it had anything to do with me getting the promotion, but it probably did. Regardless of how hard I worked to get there.
I rested my head on his chest, in the crook his shoulder made for me when his one arm held me tightly. He quickly found the restaurant number in my contacts and then placed the phone to his other ear. In the silence of my bedroom, I could hear a few rings go in before someone picked up.
“Hardware Grill, Emily speaking. How may I help you?”
“Hey Em’, it’s John. Can I speak to Judy, if she’s free?”
“Oh, hey John!” Emily’s annoying voice reached the same squealy octave most girls’ did around my boyfriend. “Sure, she’s right here.” I listened as my co-worker passed the phone over, light muffled sounds coming through.
“Hello?”
“Good morning, Judy, sweetheart,” John schmoozed. “How’s it going?”
“Oh, you know. Same ol’, same ol’,” my boss replied. “How are you, dear?”
“I’m good, sweets. But I’m calling on behalf of Dianna.”
“Oh? Is she sick?”
“No, there’s been a death in her family, so she needs three days bereavement plus her usual weekend. Is that okay? I’m sure you ladies can manage without her for a bit, right?” That’s why I adored him. He had a way with words. Somehow, already getting the answer he wanted before the other person could even formulate one.
“Oh, well, um,” Judy stammered over her thoughts out loud. “I suppose we can manage. I’ll cover where I can. You tell Dianna not to worry. Go, be with her family. We’ll see her next week, dear.”
“You’re the best, Judy. Bye.” He pressed end and handed the phone back to me. “There, all done. Easy as that.” John’s long arms wrapped around my frame and pulled me closer. And, for a moment, I let him make me forget about everything. The next few days were going to be hard on me. I was about to do something I hadn’t done since I graduated high school ten years ago.
I was going home.
***
Thanks to the stupid tourist season, the only flight available was that same day, the red-eye. As the car rolled to a stop in front of the departures entrance at the Edmonton Airport, I inhaled deeply before looking to John. “Are you sure I can’t just turn back and ignore my family for the rest of my life?”
He tipped his head and gave me that look, the one that said, grow up, Dianna. But he could see the nerves coming to the surface and quickly softened. He reached over and cupped my face in one of his massive palms and I let the warmth of his skin calm me.
“Babe, you’ll be fine. You don’t owe anyone anything. Just go, help with the funeral, and sort out the stuff in the house. You’ll be home before you know it.”
I pulled away and gave a slight nod. I wanted him to be right. I really did. But I knew my family, and this trip was going to be the furthest thing from pleasant. When I finished high school, I was expected to stay behind and help run the family business. When I immediately left the island for college, I created quite the stir.
I was treated like an outcast. As if everyone assumed I thought I was too good to stay behind in small-town Newfoundland and settle. Then, when I finished college and still didn’t return… well, let’s just say I became a traitor. The people of my tiny community are a proud bunch, and once I became a mainlander, I was no longer part of it. Sure, they put on a super happy, but equally fake, smiles when they spoke to me.
But that was just for show.
“Okay,” I sucked in one more deep breath, “here I go. Wish me luck.”
John smiled; the kind that reaches the eyes and creates little crinkles. “You don’t need it. You’re overthinking it all.”
I leaned in and planted a kiss on his lips and then exited the car. I grabbed my carry on from the back seat and waved to him as he pulled away from the curb. After I entered the sliding doors of the departures section, I made my way over to the WestJet counter to check in.
“Good morning!” the chipper lady with a teal neck scarf greeted. “Do you have anything to check?”
I handed her my ID with a meek smile. “Nope, just a carry on.” I watched as she punched in my info on the computer.
“Oh, heading to Newfoundland, are we?”
I pretended to fiddle with something in my purse. “Yep.”
“I hear it’s really great this time of year. Are you going for business or pleasure?” she asked. The poor woman, she was just trying to be friendly, do her job. But, honestly, I hardly ever spoke or even thought about Newfoundland. I had wiped my hands of my roots a long time ago. It was just too hard to think of my beloved home and the painful memories that went with it.
“Neither. Death in the family.” That should shut the conversation down pretty fast.
Her face paled and she tipped her head with remorse. “Oh, dear, I’m so sorry to hear.” She printed off my ticket and handed it back to me with my ID. “Well, Hopefully, next time will be under better circumstances.”
“Hopefully, there won’t be a next time,” I replied flatly, then headed off to security.
***
Airplanes weren’t my thing. I was hastily reminded why when I was jostled from my coma-like sleep, the hard metal arm of my chair drove into my side. I attempted to blink away the cloudy film that filled my eyes, still drowsy from the high dose of Dramamine I tossed back just a couple of hours earlier. The plane’s cabin was shrouded in the dim light of the midnight flight, but its occupants were alert with panic as we battled some rough turbulence. A bing from the intercom shot through the space like a sharp echo.
“This is your captain speaking. We’re just approaching the coast of Newfoundland and have encountered some turbulence. Rest assured that everything will be fine once we drop out of this altitude. Bear with us as we enter a quick decline. Thank you.”
My stomach scrambled to the base of my throat as the plane suddenly dropped, my ears buckling from the pressure of the elevation change. The beds of my fingernails protested as my fingertips dug into the underside of the armrests and I attempted to breathe through the chaos. But we, thankfully, leveled out and the plane soon coasted back into a steady pace. I let out a heavy breath and pried my hands from their grip, the adrenaline subsiding and dissipating in my chest.
I hated flying. Give me the sea any day.
There was no way I’d get back to sleep at that point, so I pushed up my window blind and gazed down at the vast blackness of the cold ocean below. But, within moments, the stunning rocky coast of my homeland came into view, the landscape aglow in the barely rising sun, and my heart fluttered. From this height, the scattered lights across the coast looked like little fireflies, stationary, but still beautiful nonetheless.
I watched as we descended, the details of the landscape sharpening the closer we got. My only regret was not being able to get a daytime flight, so I could appreciate the raw beauty in a better light. Still, the flood of the night sky didn’t diminish anything, only created a different version of it when mixed with the glow of the coming sun. The thick green forests were dense and dark and wrapped themselves around the tiny communities of firefly lights like lazy, black snakes.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
I nearly jumped out of my skin as a quiet shriek escaped my throat and looked to the passenger next to me. An elderly man. He grinned at me. “Sorry, dear, didn’t mean to startle you.”
I returned the smile. “No, i
t’s okay,” I chuckled, “I was just… daydreaming.”
“Hard not to when you’re faced with somethin’ like that, ‘eh?” He lifted his chin and motioned at my window. The old man then leaned in closer, to get a better look, and I shifted so he could. “I’ll never get tired of this view. I fly out to Alberta half a dozen times a year to see the grandkids, and I love every second of it.” He paused to heave a thoughtful sigh. “But there’s nothing quite like the trip home.”
“I would have to disagree with you there. I despise flying.”
“Oh, yes, the flight is dreadful. Too long.” The man looked back at the window. “But that right there is worth it. To see my home from up here. The majesty of it all. It’s absolutely magical.”
Oh, he was one of those people. The old-timers who still believed in the fables of my home province. We have a heavy history of British ancestors, but with a sprinkle of Irish and Scottish mixed in. My Aunt Mary was one. So was my mother. Dad hated every bit of it, so she only ever told me stories when he was absent; fairies, mermaids, and witches. I used to love it.
“Are you coming home or just visiting?”
“Um, coming home. Funeral.” My gaze then dropped to my lap where my fingers fussed with the bottom button on my jacket. Being that close to home made the reality of it hit sharper. Harder. A woolly lump formed in my throat and I swallowed hard to force it down.
The old man placed his hand over one of mine on the armrest and gave it a squeeze. “Oh, m’dear, I’m so sorry for your loss.” Silence filled the tiny space between us as he waited for me to reply, but I couldn’t. “Someone close?”
I nodded and was startled at the sudden sensation of wetness in my eyes. I had been so strong. Aside from the initial phone call from my aunt, I never really fought with tears over my father’s death and I realized what the trigger was. The old man. He reminded me too much of Dad. The Dad I knew before my mother passed away. The loving sweetness, the alertness in his eyes… before it all faded away with the agony of her death. But it seemed the old man could sense my pain.
The Devil's Heart Page 1
