To my surprise, the clock struck once more. What kind of clock struck thirteen? Immediately my room got cold, the kind of cold that would ice you down to your bones. Wrapping the down comforter around me, I turned on the lamp beside me and huddled in the bed, waiting…for something…
I sat waiting, wishing I were brave enough and warm enough to go relight a fire in my fireplace. It was so cold I could see my breath now. Thank God I hadn’t slept nude tonight. Jonah had hated when I wore pajamas to bed. Screw him! I willed myself to stop thinking about him. That was all in the past now. He’d made his choice, and I had made mine.
Then I heard the sound for the first time. It was soft at first, like a kitten crying pitifully. Was there a lost cat here? That would be totally possible in this big old house. As the mewing sound drew closer, I could hear much more clearly it was not a kitten but a child. A little girl crying as if her heart were broken. Sliding my feet in my fuzzy white slippers and wrapping the blanket around me tightly, I awkwardly tiptoed to the door to listen. Must be one of the housekeepers’ children. Probably cold and lost. I imagined if you wanted to, you could get lost here and never be found. Now her crying mixed with whispers as if she were saying something; she was pleading as if her life depended on it. My heart broke at the sound, but I couldn’t bring myself to open the door and actually take a look. Not yet. I scrambled for my iPhone and jogged back to the door to record the sounds. How else would anyone believe me? Too many unbelievable things had happened today. With my phone in one hand, the edge of my blanket in my teeth to keep it in place and my free hand on the doorknob, I readied myself to open the door. I had to see who—or what—was crying in the hallway. I tried to turn the icy cold silver-toned knob, but it wouldn’t budge. It was as if someone had locked me in. Who would do such a thing? Surely not Dinah or Edith or one of the other staff?
About Wife of the Left Hand
Avery Dufresne had the perfect life: a rock star boyfriend, a high-profile career in the anchor chair on a national news program. Until a serious threat brings her perfect world to a shattering stop. When Avery emerges from the darkness she finds she has a new ability—a supernatural one. Avery returns to Belle Fontaine, Alabama, to claim an inheritance: an old plantation called Sugar Hill. Little does she know that the danger has just begun.
More from M.L. Bullock
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.
More from M.L. Bullock
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?
Ghosted on the Gulf Coast (Gulf Coast Paranormal Trilogy Book 1) Page 35