Shine: Season One (Shine Season Book 1)

by William Bernhardt

  Naomi shifted away from him. “You’re scaring me.”

  “Memphis,” I said. “Are you certain he can be killed? I know you two both think I’m crazy, but he didn’t have a heartbeat. There’s something really strange about him, and not just because he kills Shines.”

  “There are too many unknowns,” Naomi admitted. “We need to find out more about him, that’s for sure. We need to know his weaknesses, if he has any. We need to know what he intends to do with June once he finds her. And Memphis, you can’t go after him while you’re toxic with hate. You’re no help to us. Get your head in the right place.”

  He glared.

  “I mean it,” she said.

  He turned away, the muscles in his jaw flexed. Maybe he knew Naomi was right, but he remained silent.

  CHAPTER THREE

  When the sun sank below the horizon, Memphis cranked the engine. The sky had turned dark purple. A few stars shone from the twilight. Along the horizon, thunderheads loomed, illuminating the sky with quick lightning bursts.

  We drove away from the bridge. I couldn’t wait to be out of this truck. Being exposed out on the road seemed like a great way to get killed. Was Memphis’s home any safer? What kind of home did Memphis live in? Would it be anything like his truck?

  My stomach knotted at the prospect of showering, sleeping, being in Memphis’s home.

  Street lamps lit Bourbon Street as we drove through town. Through the cracked windows, I listened to the sounds of the Big Easy. The jazz music from the saxophone street performers, the sound of laughing and raucous conversations, and the heartbeats. Every city had its own heartbeat, the patter of thousands of hearts all blended together to make one uniform sound.

  In New York, I’d grown accustomed to the sounds of the city. The car engines, the horns, the ebb and flow of voices. The heartbeats.

  It was different here. And somehow, the same.

  We pulled into an alley and stopped under a carport. Historic two-and three-story buildings loomed overhead as we stepped out. A breeze blew past, carrying with it the scent of jasmine flowers that hung from trellises along the building’s back wall.

  Memphis led us through a courtyard to the back door.

  The sound of trickling water came from a fountain overshadowed with ornamental shrub trees. White Christmas lights had been strung around the trees, giving the place an otherworldly, fairy tale feel. I listened to the water, letting it ease my tension.

  Memphis stopped at the back door and unlocked it. We followed him inside a small apartment with hardwood floors, fireplaces with elaborately scrolled mantels, and furniture that looked worn but functional.

  Memphis tossed his keys on the counter, and then made his way to the fridge. He pulled out a few containers and placed them on the counter.

  I wandered the house. Though it seemed comfortable, it didn’t feel much like an actual home. There were no pictures, no plants, nothing that made it homey. “How long have you lived here?” I asked him.

  “Not long. I rent it from the lady next door. She keeps it up while I’m gone, which is good, because we’ve got food. Would you like something to eat?”

  My stomach growled at the thought of food. I made my way into the kitchen and sat on a barstool. Memphis passed me a plate of leftover takeout. I picked at an eggroll, the car chase still fresh in my memory, the sound of the gunshots still ringing in my ears. Naomi took a seat beside me. She stared at her food without taking a bite.

  “We’re safe here, right?” she asked Memphis.

  “We’re safe as long as we aren’t tracked. But we’ll have to be careful. I’ve lived under the radar since I left the military, so we won’t be easy to find. But that doesn’t make it impossible.”

  “Razor,” I mumbled.

  “You’ll be okay,” he said, a half-smile on his face. My eyes met his, making my stomach twist in the familiar knot. I couldn’t look away, as if he held me under a spell. Naomi cleared her throat, bringing me back to reality. When had the room grown so hot?

  I focused on my eggroll, but didn’t feel hungry anymore. I felt an entirely different emotion, one that threatened to make me lose my head if I let it.

  “I think I’ll step outside for a minute.” I stood. I stumbled to the door. I felt their eyes following me, but acted casual as I cracked the door open and stepped onto the porch.

  I found the porch swing and sat on it. The muted glow from the Christmas lights gave me a limited view of the courtyard. Sounds of trickling water came from the fountain. I tried to make sense of my emotions. Oddly enough, I thought of my once-almost-boyfriend, Blake Hawthorne. He’d admitted his love to me and I turned him down. I’d seen the hurt in his eyes after I did it. Is that how I would feel when Memphis denied me?

  I hugged my arms around my chest, feeling chilled despite the humidity.

  I tried to think of anything but Memphis, but found that he’d overtaken my mind. I studied the fountain with its glassy water reflecting in the lights. Finally, after what might have been an hour, I found my feet and went back inside, hoping the fresh air had cleared my head.

  The kitchen and living area were lit only by a lamp in the living room. I made my way quietly to the staircase. After climbing up, I made it to the second floor hallway. It was also dark, lit only by the muted yellow light that came from downstairs. A sound came from the bottom floor. I tensed, listening with my Shine to hear heartbeats.

  The whisper-patter of Memphis’s heart came from the living room. I let out my pent-up breath. Peeking around the wall, I searched the living room, following the source of Memphis’s heart when I spotted him.

  Memphis sat near the fireplace. He lifted something from his black duffel and carried it to the fireplace mantel. As he lifted it, I saw what it was.

  Alexa’s urn.

  My heart quickened. He placed it with careful hands atop the mantel. Transporting her body from Arizona to New Orleans hadn’t been feasible, so he’d brought her home in that vase.

  Even from up here I saw his hands shaking.

  He collapsed onto the couch with his eyes closed. I wished I could say something to him, comfort him somehow. But what could I say?

  I turned away, trying to block out the sound of his broken heart as I found my room and shut the door behind me.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I woke too early. In truth, I’d barely slept. The image of Alexa’s urn wouldn’t leave my head. How many more Shines would die because of James Lavalle?

  Those thoughts stayed with me through breakfast and then as we drove down the oak-shaded roads toward the plantation. Naomi tried to start a conversation once or twice, but I cut her off short, not in the mood for chit-chat.

  Memphis didn’t speak either. Perhaps his thoughts were in the same place as mine. As we drove closer to the plantation, nerves knotted my stomach. What if we found James Lavalle there? What would we do? How could we defeat a man with no heartbeat?

  Memphis parked the truck under a cluster of oak trees, away from the dozen or so other parked cars. We left the truck and traded it for a gravel-strewn path that led to the house.

  The brochure didn’t do Magnolia Acres Plantation justice. The place was majestic with its moss-covered oak trees, shaded gravel paths, the well-kept house and buildings.

  “How much do you know about this place?” Naomi asked.

  Memphis read the brochure. “It was infamous for being the most brutal slave plantation in the South. I don’t know much else about it, but I’d like to stop at the main house. They supposedly keep the family history records in there that I’d like to check out. If James Lavalle is a descendent of the original family, I’d like to know.”

  Naomi scanned the grounds. “How big is this place?”

  “The plantation has over twenty buildings, including slave quarters, barns, the plantation home, and the guest house,” he said.

  “That’s a lot of ground to cover,” Naomi said. “This could take all day.”

  “Do you have any
ideas?” Memphis asked.

  “We split up. We’ll cover more ground, plus it may give us an advantage. If the Revenants do happen to find us, at least there will be one person left who won’t be captured with the rest of us.”

  “All right,” he agreed. “But we meet back here in one hour.”

  “No,” I cut in. “I don’t like it. What if Lavalle finds us?”

  “Then you stay with Memphis.” Naomi winked.

  “Naomi—”

  “I’ll be fine, love. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.” She gave me a quick hug and then wandered away, her form melting under the shadows. I watched her go, wishing for once that she wasn’t so independent. I looked up to Naomi. Whether she knew it or not, she was like a big sister. What would I do if something happened to her?

  “You coming?” Memphis asked, interrupting my thoughts.

  “Yeah, I’m coming.” I followed Memphis toward the mansion. Although it was early, the sun beat down on my back, making me too warm for comfort. As we drew nearer to the house, I studied the tall white pillars, the uniformly spaced windows, the balcony wrapping both stories, hoping that Lavalle wasn’t waiting for us inside.

  We stepped onto the wide front porch and entered the mansion. The cool air brushed my skin. The home had the smell of old wood and floor polish. The dark wood covered the floors and staircase banister. Red rugs and antique furniture took up the rooms to the right and left of the entryway. The home looked smaller than I’d imagined, though it was no less impressive.

  A twinge of fear made my spine tingle. I got the distinct impression that we were being watched.

  A dark-skinned woman entered the room. Her name badge had the name Georgia Ann printed across the front. She smiled as we approached her.

  “I’m afraid the next tour doesn’t start for another half hour. Would it trouble you to wait?” She spoke with a deep Southern drawl.

  “No, thank you,” Memphis answered. He showed her his map. “We’re actually looking for this room.”

  She studied the map. “Miss Bertha’s sitting room. Yes, I know right where that is. I’ll show you to it if you’d like.”

  “Is that where the family records are kept?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir. The majority. Now if you’d follow me this way.” She turned and led us upstairs and into a small Victorian bedroom with a canopied bed and high backed chairs. A desk sat near the room’s only window. We stopped by the desk. A large leather-bound book rested beneath a glass pane.

  Georgia Ann pointed to the book. “The records in this volume date back to 1892, after the Lavalle family sold off the plantation.”

  Memphis knitted his brows. “These are the only records?”

  “The only ones available for display. You’re welcome to take a look as long as you don’t remove it.” She pulled a set of keys from her pocket and opened the case. She gave us a polite smile before she left the room.

  We scanned the book. Memphis flipped to page one. The paper had yellowed, and brown spots lined the edges, but the fancy calligraphy print in the center of the page was easy enough to read.

  John Calvin Theriot

  Proprietor—Magnolia Acres Plantation

  Bought in this year of our Lord, 1892, the 30th day of March

  from Mr. Arthur Allen Lavalle.

  Memphis flipped through the next pages, though the history seemed solely a record of the Theriot family. After a dozen more pages, the names switched again as the plantation gained a new owner. By the end of the book, we’d seen the plantation go through two more owners, though there was no mention of the Lavalles.

  I leaned against the desk, resting my chin in my hands as Memphis flipped through the book, scrutinizing every page.

  “What are you looking for?” I asked.

  He pointed to a list of names. “This is a record of the employees that worked here two decades ago, when my father should’ve bought the place.” I helped him scan the names. My stomach sank. Even if we did find him, he could’ve changed his identity since then, moved to another country. We had no way of tracking him.

  “Found it,” Memphis said as he stopped on number 42. I stared at the name, at the style of the calligraphy, the pen strokes, the height of each letter, feeling shocked and confused.

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “Go back to that first page.”

  “Why?”

  “Just do it.”

  Memphis didn’t argue as he flipped to the cover page. He cocked an eyebrow, and then flipped to the page with the names. “It’s just a coincidence, right? I mean—this first page is dated 1892. Unless this whole thing is forged.”

  He continued flipping the pages, staring at each letter, but I knew he saw it. James Lavalle, his father, had written the title page. He had written the words that were more than a century old. The name stared at us, as if challenging us to believe. Fear made my skin tingle. I couldn’t seem to pull my eyes away from the name that haunted me. The man that haunted me.

  James Henry Lavalle.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Did you find everything all right?”

  I jumped as Georgia Ann entered the room. Memphis closed the book with a loud thud. I was grateful to get Mr. Lavalle’s name out of my sight.

  “Yes,” Memphis answered. “We’re done.”

  “I hope you found what you needed. If you don’t mind, I’ll just lock it up.” She slid the glass panel into place and locked the cover shut. Fear made my heart flutter.

  How could James Lavalle’s handwriting be on that first page? It must have been a coincidence, a very strange, inexplicable coincidence.

  “Do you have any other records of the Lavalle family?” Memphis asked.

  “This is what’s available for display. The older records are sealed.”

  “What’s in the older records?”

  “Quite a few journals. A pedigree. Fascinating genealogy, really. Most families didn’t keep records as meticulous as the Lavalles.”

  “Is there any way we could see them?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Why?”

  “For preservation, of course.” Her heart fluttered. She spoke in a conversational tone, but I got the impression that she kept something from us.

  “Isn’t there any chance you could let us see them?” I asked. “It’s very important.”

  The lock clicked as Georgia Ann twisted the key. Keys jangled as she stuffed them in her pocket. “No, ma’am. House rules and all. But we’ve got some lovely grounds you could tour. And the azaleas are so beautiful this time of year. If you’ll just follow me I can show you to them.” She turned and left the room, waving for us to follow her.

  “What should we do?” I whispered to Memphis as we slowly made our way out.

  He shook his head as I followed him. As we descended the stairs, I ran through all the possibilities. We had to find those family records. If James Lavalle was alive a century ago, we had to know. How had he managed to survive for so long? Why didn’t he have a heartbeat? What did he want with Shines?

  The answers to our questions could very well be in those journals. But as it was, we didn’t even know where to look. We stepped off the staircase and into the foyer. I had to get more information. Anything Georgia Ann could tell us would be useful.

  “Georgia Ann,” I said. “When was the house built?”

  “The main portion was built in 1827. Back then it was only the house, barn, and the guest house. Two decades later they added the other buildings.”

  “Which buildings did they add?”

  “The slave quarters, of course. They added to the house also, the front foyer here, the dining room in the back, and two more bedrooms. Oh—and they added to the guesthouse.”

  “What did they add to the guesthouse?”

  “The basement portion. Of course, nowadays we always keep it locked.”

  “Why?”

  Her heart gave a perceptible fearful flutter. “To be honest, most folks don’t feel comfortable in the
re.”

  “Why is that?” Memphis asked.

  “I’d rather not speak of it.”

  We stepped onto the porch and made our way onto the grounds. A crowd had gathered. I avoided their gazes as we made our way to the lawn. The humidity came at me, causing my clothes to stick to my skin.

  “Feel free to look around. I’ll be in the house should you need me.” She gave a polite smile and backed toward the porch when Memphis stopped her.

  “Miss Georgia, why did they build a basement under the guest house? Wouldn’t it just flood?” he asked.

  “It’s not my place to say. Most folks avoid that old basement.” She gave a careful smile as she backed away.

  “We need to know,” Memphis said. “Can’t you tell us anything about it? It’s very important.”

  She paused, her heart a loud thud in my ears. “This is all hearsay, understand? And it wasn’t me that told you.”

  “We understand.”

  She nodded, then took a step closer. Her voice became a whisper. “That guest house was never meant for guests. The Lavalles were smart. Cruel, but cunning, and darned smart. They engineered that basement just like a bathtub. It’ll keep water out. Right as rain. But it’ll fill up faster than you can blink. It backs right up to the river, you see.”

  “To the river?”

  “Yes, sweetheart. We’re right off the Mississippi.”

  “But that makes no sense. Why would the Lavalles want to build a basement next to the river?”

  Her eyes darted. She knew something but was too afraid to tell us. I decided it was time to put my Shine to use. I nudged at her heart, slowing the blood. She gave me a suspicious glance, but then blew out a breath of air.

  “You can tell us,” I said.

  Her tensed shoulders relaxed. Her heart rate slowed. I counted the beats. 75 bpm. Good. She was calming down. “We don’t speak of that basement for good reason. The Lavalle family still has a reputation to keep up, and the truth, no matter how old, isn’t spoken of. But some of us remember. Some of us grew up with the stories, with the knowledge of how our own ancestors died. Why do you think the Lavalles were able to kill so many slaves at one time? They chained them down there, you see. Locked the door and then pulled the drain. Just like opening a flood gate. Awful, awful way to go, if you ask me.” She shook her head. “Now you see why no one goes down there. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got another tour coming through.”