The Sugar Hill Collection

by M. L. Bullock

  This contains the entire supernatural suspense series.

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  From The Ghosts of Idlewood

  I arrived at Idlewood at seven o’clock thinking I’d have plenty of time to mark the doors with taped signs before the various contractors arrived. There was no electricity, so I wasn’t sure what the workmen would actually accomplish today. I’d dressed down this morning in worn blue jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt. It just felt like that kind of day. The house smelled stale, and it was cool but not freezing. We’d enjoyed a mild February this year, but like they say, “If you don’t like the weather in Mobile, just wait a few minutes.”

  I really hated February. It was “the month of love,” and this year I wasn’t feeling much like celebrating. I’d given Chip the heave-ho for good right after Christmas, and our friendship hadn’t survived the breakup. I hated that because I really did like him as a person, even if he could be narrow-minded about spiritual subjects. I hadn’t been seeing anyone, but I was almost ready to get back into the dating game. Almost.

  I changed out the batteries in my camera before beginning to document the house. Carrie Jo liked having before, during and after shots of every room.

  According to the planning sheet Carrie Jo and I developed last month, all the stage one doors were marked. On her jobs, CJ orchestrated everything: what rooms got painted first, where the computers would go, which room we would store supplies in, that sort of thing. I also put no-entry signs on rooms that weren’t safe or were off-limits to curious workers. The home was mostly empty, but there were some pricy mantelpieces and other components that would fetch a fair price if you knew where to unload stolen items such as high-end antiques. Surprisingly, many people did.

  I’d start the pictures on the top floor and work my way down. I peeked out the front door quickly to see if CJ was here. No sign of her yet, which wasn’t like her at all. She was usually the early bird. I smiled, feeling good that Carrie Jo trusted me enough to give me the keys to this grand old place. There were three floors, although the attic space wasn’t a real priority for our project. The windows would be changed, the floors and roof inspected, but not a lot of cosmetic changes were planned for up there beyond that. We’d prepare it for future storage of seasonal decorations and miscellaneous supplies. Seemed a waste to me. I liked the attic; it was roomy, like an amazing loft apartment. But it was no surprise I was drawn to it—when I was a kid, I practically lived in my tree house.

  I stuffed my cell phone in my pocket and jogged up the wide staircase in the foyer. I could hear birds chirping upstairs; they probably flew in through a broken window. There were quite a few of them from the sound of it. Since I hadn’t labeled any doors upstairs or in the attic, I hadn’t had the opportunity to explore much up there. It felt strangely exhilarating to do so all by myself. The first flight of stairs appeared safe, but I took my time on the next two. Water damage wasn’t always easy to spot, and I had no desire to fall through a weak floor. When I reached the top of the stairs to the attic, I turned the knob and was surprised to find it locked.

  “What?” I twisted it again and leaned against the door this time, but it wouldn’t move. I didn’t see a keyhole, so that meant it wasn’t locked after all. I supposed it was merely stuck, the wood probably swollen from moisture. “Rats,” I said. I set my jaw and tried one last time. The third time must have been the charm because it opened freely, as if it hadn’t given me a world of problems before. I nearly fell as it gave way, laughing at myself as I regained my balance quickly. I reached for my camera and flipped it to the video setting. I panned the room to record the contents. There were quite a few old trunks, boxes and even the obligatory dressmaker’s dummy. It was a nerd girl historian’s dream come true.

  Like an amateur documentarian, I spoke to the camera: “Maiden voyage into the attic at Idlewood. Today is February 4th. This is Rachel Kowalski recording.”

  Rachel Kowalski recording, something whispered back. My back straightened, and the fine hairs on my arms lifted as if to alert me to the presence of someone or something unseen.

  I froze and said, “Hello?” I was happy to hear my voice and my voice alone echo back to me.

  Hello?

  About The Ghosts of Idlewood

  When a team of historians takes on the task of restoring the Idlewood plantation to its former glory, they discover there’s more to the moldering old home than meets the eye. The long-dead Ferguson children don’t seem to know they’re dead. A mysterious clock, a devilish fog and the Shadow Man add to the supernatural tension that begins to build in the house. Lead historian Carrie Jo Stuart and her assistant Rachel must use their special abilities to get to the bottom of the many mysteries that the house holds.

  Detra Ann and Henri get a reality check, of the supernatural kind, and Deidre Jardine finally comes face to face with the past.

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  From The Tale of Nefret

  Clapping my hands three times, I smiled, amused at the half-dozen pairs of dark eyes that watched me entranced with every word and movement I made. “And then she crept up to the rock door and clapped her hands again…” Clap, clap, clap. The children squealed with delight as I weaved my story. This was one of their favorites, The Story of Mahara, about an adventurous queen who constantly fought magical creatures to win back her clan’s stolen treasures.

  “Mahara crouched down as low as she could.” I demonstrated, squatting as low as I could in the tent. “She knew that the serpent could only see her if she stood up tall, for he had very poor eyesight. If she was going to steal back the jewel, she would have to crawl her way into the den, just as the serpent opened the door. She was terrified, but the words of her mother rang in her ears: ‘Please, Mahara! Bring back our treasures and restore our honor!’”

  I crawled around, pretending to be Mahara. The children giggled. “Now Mahara had to be very quiet. The bones of a hundred warriors lay in the serpent’s cave. One wrong move and that old snake would see her and…catch her!” I grabbed at a nearby child, who screamed in surprise. Before I could finish my tale, Pah entered our tent, a look of disgust on her face.

  “What is this? Must our tent now become a playground? Out! All of you, out! Today is a special day, and we have to get ready.”

  The children complained loudly, “We want to hear Nefret’s story! Can’t we stay a little longer?”

  Pah shook her head, and her long, straight hair shimmered. “Out! Now!” she scolded the spokesman for the group.

  “Run along. There will be time for stories later,” I promised them.

  As the heavy curtain fell behind them, I gave Pah an unhappy look. She simply shook her head. “You shouldn’t make promises that you may not be able to keep, Nefret. You do not know what the future holds.”

  “Why must you treat them so? They are only children!” I set about dressing for the day. Today we were to dress simply with an aba—a sleeveless coat and trousers. I chose green as my color, and Pah wore blue. I cinched the aba at the waist with a thick leather belt. I wore my hair in a long braid. My fingers trembled as I cinched it with a small bit of cloth.

  “Well, if nothing else, you’ll be queen of the children, Nefret.”

  About The Tale of Nefret

  Twin daughters of an ancient Bedouin king struggle under the weight of an ominous prophecy that threatens to divide them forever. Royal sibling rivalry explodes as the young women realize that they must fight for their future and for the love of Alexio, the man they both love. The Tale of Nefret chronicles their lives as they travel in two different directions. One sister becomes the leader of the Meshwesh while the other travels to Egypt as an unwilling gift to Pharaoh.

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  From The Belles of Desire, Mississippi

  The black and white photo had crumpled, brittle edges, but the faces were clear. Four girls looked back at me, three with smiles and one with a faraway look as if she were seeing past the moment—as if
she could see me. I shivered at the silliness of that thought.

  “Can you guess which one is me?” She smiled like the Cheshire cat, and I stared at her and then at the photo. Picking out Harper was easy. You could tell the girls were related, but none of them looked exactly alike. Unwilling to wait for my answer, she said, “That’s me, on the end.”

  I smiled at her. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

  “Oh, you’re such a liar, Jerica Poole, but thank you.” Thank goodness she didn’t call me Jeopardy again. But I wasn’t lying. Of course, she looked much older than this photo, but it was Harper nonetheless. She had a wide forehead and neat eyebrows that had a natural arch to them. In the photo, she wore a Peter Pan blouse, and her soft blond hair was bobbed and curled.

  “And which sister is which?”

  “Now, this pouty thing with the bee-stung lips is my sister Addison. She’s the only one of us who had brown eyes. She looked a lot like my father’s family. Addison was a sickly girl but sweet.” Addison had a cleft chin to go along with those full lips. She was certainly a pretty girl. “This ball of sunshine was my youngest sister, Loxley. Momma always braided her hair into two braids. She used to see ghosts all the time, right up until the day she moved away and married that boy from Mobile. Why can’t I think of his name?”

  “What?” I laughed at that. “Loxley must have had an imaginary friend or two, I gather?”

  “No, they weren’t imaginary friends; she saw ghosts just like you and I see cats or dogs. And this girl here, the one beside me, that’s my sister Jeopardy. She disappeared in 1942.” I was mesmerized by the girl with the wild blond hair. She looked so out of place, like a girl from another time had stepped into the frame. She wore a white sundress and had vulnerable-looking bare arms and that sad, faraway look in her eyes.

  “She looks so tiny. She was the oldest, right?”

  “Yeah, she was the oldest, but I was the tallest. I was the Ugly Duckling of the Belle family, taller than even Momma when I got older. Jeopardy was always a petite thing, with a wild streak a mile wide. Oh, how I wanted to be like Jeopardy.” Harper clutched the photo in her hand and closed her eyes as if she were remembering some half-forgotten moment. I didn’t want to interrupt her, but I was captivated by the photograph.

  “Hardly an Ugly Duckling, Harper. And I’m taller than you. Tell me about your sisters. You said Jeopardy disappeared?”

  “They are all gone now. I am the last Belle.” She opened her eyes and tucked the crocheted blanket around her legs. “Chilly this morning. I wanted to see you, Jerica, because I am going to die soon, and I’m afraid I have failed to bring my sister home. I made a promise a long time ago. I promised Jeopardy I would bring her home, but I couldn’t. I need your help. Please tell me you’ll help me. I can’t die knowing she’ll never make it home.”

  Alarmed at her confession, I put my hand on her wrist to comfort her. “Hey, you aren’t going to die on my watch. Let me call your doctor. If you feel off in any kind of way, we need to get him here.”

  “Don’t do that. I need you to believe me. I can’t explain how I know it, but I do—I am going to die soon, and I need your help. I can’t find Jeopardy, and she’s been gone so long. She can’t rest until we find her. Please help me.” For the first time in all the years I’d known her, Harper Hayes cried. I was so surprised that I couldn’t imagine refusing her. I couldn’t say no to her after she’d been so good to Marisol and me. She’d been there for me when I needed her most. I would have to return the favor.

  “I’ll help you, Harper, but we have to call Dr. Odom. I’ll help you if you allow me to call him.”

  She wiped her tears away and nodded in agreement. “That sounds like a fair trade. Hand me my handkerchief, please.”

  I walked to her bedside table and retrieved one of the embroidered handkerchiefs from her neat stack. Handing it to her, I couldn’t help but hug her even though I suspected she didn’t enjoy hugs too much.

  “I want you to have this picture, Jerica. I don’t want you to forget Jeopardy Belle, not like everyone else has. Even me—I forgot her for a while. I tried to find her, but then I got so busy with my own life. Find her, Jerica. Find her and bring her home.”

  “I can’t accept this picture, Harper. These are your sisters, not mine.”

  “No, I want you to have it. Just remember your promise. I’m going to hold you to it now, Jeopardy.”

  I didn’t correct her but squeezed her hand and slipped the picture into my pocket before I walked out to call Dr. Odom. The whole thing was weird, but I couldn’t refuse Harper. She’d been there for me, and how hard could it be to find her sister?

  She disappeared in 1942…

  About The Belles of Desire, Mississippi

  Jerica Poole had no idea how quickly life could change until hers is ripped apart at the seams. After a messy divorce and the tragic death of her daughter, she jumps at the chance to fulfill the last wish of her friend, Harper Belle Hayes. The troubled nurse makes the journey to Harper’s hometown of Desire, Mississippi, and immediately finds herself swept up in a 75-year-old mystery: what happened to Jeopardy Belle? When she begins exploring the Belles’ old homestead, Summerleigh, she discovers that some of the former tenants live on in ghostly form and would love nothing more than to add Jerica to their numbers. Small-town drama and a rich southern background add to the tension of this riveting, ghost-filled murder mystery.

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  From Guinevere Forever

  Where are you, Arthur?

  Oh yes, he was here—somewhere close by. The familiar rhythm, the essence of Arthur was here! I closed my eyes and felt around the room with my mind. I was sure this modern-day Arthur would not have the memories that I had. None of his previous incarnations remembered who they were save one. What would I see in him now? Would it be as Morgan said? Did he look much the same? Perhaps this had been a mistake…but then again, Morgan already knew he was here. There was no need to hide him away from her. Whatever her reasons, she had left him behind tonight.

  My vampire’s heart surged with hunger, and I dug my fingernails into the palms of my hands to keep myself under control while I searched for him. It had been a mistake to forego my feeding. By tomorrow night, I would be ravenous. There were only seven souls here, and two were outside. One would have thought I would know Arthur immediately, but I was cautious, careful. Uncertain.

  Sometime in the last century, Arthur had indeed returned and had known, fully known who he was. I watched him closely because he grew up so near to me, so near to where Camelot once stood. It was as if the Once and Future King had truly returned to drag the world back into the light. That Arthur had the same hazel eyes and the shock of blond hair that young Arthur used to have and that our children had. But that boy, my Arthur returned, unfortunately died from a sudden fever, never knowing who I was and never knowing that I was so nearby. But then again, how could a ten-year-old child ever understand what I wanted to tell him? And when he died I had pledged to never seek out my husband again. To never search. Perhaps it would be better even now that I should turn and look the other way. Even now I should leave and not come back…but then I found him. He sat at the bar, his back turned to me. He wore blue jeans and a dirty t-shirt. He was muscular and tall, and I could sense that his mind was full of worry.

  Arthur!

  The rest of these minds, the ones that weren’t soaked in alcohol or obsessed with some horrible secret, were easy to decipher. As he had been when we were alive together, Arthur was now a complex mess of emotions; he wore his character and his feelings on his shoulders just as he used to wear his armor. He was facing a dilemma, one that I did not fully understand, but just seeing him made me clutch my palms into fists in amazement. This was my Arthur—just as he had been, handsome and strong and intelligent. I would know him anywhere, and if I could have, I would have wept. But if I knew him, he would also know me and remember. A sudden fear came over me. My goal had been to come here, to seek him
and find him, to make contact with him, but I was not prepared to do so now. Oh, to be this old and still be such a coward. Yet, I could not leave Arthur untouched. I could not allow Morgan to have the last evil word whispered in his ear. With my eyes closed, I spoke his name softly.

  “Arthur…”

  About Guinevere Forever

  Guinevere thought that her life was over, that she would spend the rest of her days in a convent or hidden away in Avalon, but she was wrong. Cursed by Morgan LeFay, Queen Guinevere is banished from Avalon and must face the ages alone, hiding in the shadows as a vampire. Through the centuries, she’s watched Arthur return again and again, but her love and respect for her husband and king has kept her away.

  Until now.

  Morgan LeFay has returned with an ominous threat, and once again Guinevere is forced to make an impossible choice, but one she cannot avoid. Supernatural forces are arrayed against the once-powerful queen...can she overcome them and settle an ancient score?