Isabelle has life right where she wants it after recovering from heartbreak and deceit. She has the perfect apartment, amazing friends, a flourishing career, and financial security.
But one fateful night, the night of her birthday bash, events take place which alter that life beyond her wildest imaginings…and she is no longer Isabella.
She’s thrust quickly into the most secretive inner-workings of Death itself, as well as an otherworldly dominion of ancient Celtic magic, and beings that we were taught as children were only fictional creations of wildly whimsical minds.
She yearns for the now unmistakable simplicity of her old life; this one is full of dangers, unanswered questions and cryptic dreams. And whispers, haunting whispers in her mind that send shivers through her…but in the most agreeable way.
After one particularly anomalous dream in which she learns of the Nine While Nine Legacy, things get truly precarious.
Now someone sees her as a risk …and wants to eliminate her.
But she falls under the protection of her guardian—unless she leaves his territory—which is the one thing wants the most…and wants the least.
No Time to Cry is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.
All rights reserved
Copyright © 2014 by Stasia Morineaux
ISBN-13: 978-0692295014
First Printing October 2014
Published in the United States by Apocrypha Athenaeum
First Edition
No Time to Cry
by Stasia Morineaux
Apocrypha Athenaeum
This book is for Magic & Sorscha Muse, the loves of my life.
Thank you for your endless love, patience, support, understanding, and all those many phone calls for pizza. Thank you for coming along on this journey with me.
My love is yours forever and for always…
XOXOX
Special love and my deepest thanks to…
Mom, for passing on to me her fondness of books, and
Dad, for gifting me with vision and perseverance.
Thank you for your love and support throughout the years.
I love you both so very much.
Warmest thanks to Anne Rice for the inspiration that lead me to writing and dreaming.
Deep, heartfelt thanks to all of those that helped in the creation of this novel by contributing to its Indigogo fund. It will not be forgotten and means so very much to me to have your support and belief. Thank you again!
Vernon Adams, Sue Quiroz, Magic & Sorscha Moreno,
Tara Price, Richard King, Deidre Austin, Darla McNiel,
Joe Selway, Christi Wood, Shane Brophy, Nina Gsell,
Shane Beall, Krista Bobo, Jamie Radley, Dan Bodon,
William Thomas, Sarah Jappe, Ginny Young, Carol Fuller
Tabatha Westerbeck, Quentin Hidalgo, Mitzi Thomas,
Dorothee Buettgen, Dana Kinderman, Donna Smith,
Torin Monahan, Christopher White, Lauren Chroman,
Tania D’ablaing, Brittain Alexander, Abigaile, Lisa Armano,
Art Mendelsohn, Brady Goldsmith, Deidra Turner,
Brandy Gaunt, Emily & Steve Bellefleur, Michelle Wilbur,
Justine Maxwell, Elizabeth Towery, Steve Davis, John Mulhall, Jennifer Morland, Sue Burns, Dawn Conover, Susan Grecian, Kristin Burns, Carla Way, Sandra Grecki, Cathy Jeang Agliardi, Richard Acuna, Julian & Quentin Agliardi, Tracy Doering,
Liam Harrison, Caren Carpenter, George & Corina Dinulescu, Angie Wood, Denise Richard
No Time to Cry
The Nine While Nine Legacy
Book One
Nine will Rise
Nine will Fall
the Old shall replace the New
the New shall become the Old
~ Chapter One ~
At first I thought someone had stole a dose of acid into my Aviation cocktail.
There was this weird, trippy, muddy-headed dizziness, a warping in my mind that made me close my eyes tightly against it, and when I opened them, I was seated on the huge area rug that Giselle had helped me drag up from my apartment to the roof, just for the party.
It was only my second drink, so there was no way I was anywhere near drunk, and we hadn't opened the Absinthe yet, so I couldn't exactly blame it on that either. So what else could it have been?
"Asshole!" I stood up and yelled across the roof of my three story building. Not my usual language, but really, who drugs you at your own birthday party? "Who slipped me the acid?"
The party was in full force. Moira had done a bang-up job with the decorations. Streamers and twinkly lights swayed in the ocean breeze, music and mirth tangled in with them.
To our left we had a great view of the lights of Ocean Blvd, Queensway Bay, and the ‘island’ that was just a quarter mile or so off shore, which was also brightly illuminated, as if for my celebration tonight, complete with colorful waterfalls flowing.
The Villa Riviera sat across the street and to the right. A gorgeous, sixteen stories high, historic French Tudor Gothic structure built in 1929. I had to agree with an article I’d read recently calling it the city's ‘most elegant landmark’. It was a wonderful sight to be greeted by every morning when I opened my French doors to let in the early morning, salted breeze. The building is topped with a steeply pitched copper roof with a green patina, that not only has a lit bell tower in the center, but the entire roof was now aglow in lights. The fierce-looking gargoyles that perched along the ridges of the higher floors…well, thanks to whomever had gifted my drink with the heavy dose of drugs…were moving about up there in front of the bay windows; as if patrolling their home.
Great bash! My heart soared, even through the haze.
Everyone had shown up, and quite a few extras that I didn't know. I looked down at a sleeping figure on the sofa—one of the many pieces of furniture that belonged to Giselle, Sweet Gigi, my best friend. It had been dragged up there just for the occasion by Daniel and Lucas.
The party was Gigi’s and Moira’s doing, all their planning and plotting for a big ‘Welcome to 30’. At least forty-five people milled about on the transformed rooftop; loud music, dancing, drunkenness, noshing, laughing, someone had even strung up a huge bat piñata and it was currently being—very drunkenly—bashed in. There was absolute revelry taking place!
Life was good. I grinned.
I had an ongoing book deal. I was finally really over my ex. I had money in the bank. Not the usual just enough to cover the rent and bills, but money in the bank. I was no millionaire by any means, but I certainly wasn't hurting, and wouldn't be for quite some time. I even had a nice tidy cash-stash tucked away downstairs in my apartment. I looked good. I felt good. I had a handful of close friends. I was very happy. I beamed. Life was very good.
A frown creased my brow and my contented grin wilted. I was very confused with what I was seeing. The rooftop became a vacuum, all the air was slowly being sucked away from around me. I felt even more disoriented than before. How could I be looking down at myself—my own body—lying there curled up oh-so-pretty and cozy in the softness of the deep, plush purple couch? This was just so wrong. Like seven ways till Sunday wrong. Could I reach out and wake myself up? I kneeled down, stood right back up. Just too weird. So far beyond bizarre.
“At my own party?" I yelled out again. Because someone must have deposited something pretty damn crazy in my drink to be seeing this. I mean, I've dropped acid a couple of times, but I've never experienced anything even remotely close to this. The fanciful brocade wallpaper of the Villa waving and creeping? Uh huh! The Persian carpet undulating underfoot in the historic building’s hallway? Yep, you betcha! The crouching gargoyle's moving on Katie's tenth floor balcony…okay, that had happened before tonight? So, absolutely!
But this? This was completely fresh. I looked around for the guy that had delivered the tainted violet drink to me. He must have been one of the many friend-of-a-friends that had shown up, I hadn't known him. He looked familiar, had seemed familiar, like maybe I knew him slightly from a previous party or in passing from one of the clubs. I didn't see him anywhere now.
"Wake up!" I yelled at myself. "You're missing your own party!"
The me on the sofa didn't stir or respond in any way. I sat down on the pretty Persian rug, another ‘Gigi item’, which was laid out in front of the couch.
My hands cradled my face, my elbows rested on my knees, as I stared dismally at myself.
"Unbelievable," I murmured, shaking my head faintly. "This isn't really happening." I reasoned with myself, trying to talk myself down. "I want this to be over. I need this to be over now. It's my party. I don't want to be doing this. I want to be over there, with Gigi and Hannah. Dancing. I want to be dancing."
Then a thought, a very simple thought dawned on me, just popped into my head; suddenly, and sickeningly, it wafted through my mind like a whisper on the cool ocean breeze.
"Oh. Oh. No. no no no no way." My stomach twisted, dived, I choked on my breath. "That couldn't happen." I shook my head distractedly, whispered out, "I'm not dead."
"Um, sorry. It really has happened." A voice off to my right interrupted my lament. I shifted my gaze from where my eyes were fixated, to the opposite end of the sofa. "I was wondering how long it would take you to come to that conclusion." He looked down at his watch, then back to my face. "Not bad."
"Excuse me?" I couldn't have really heard him right. It was just the drug in my head.
"That's you." He nodded in my direction. Well, at the other me at the other end of the couch. He shook his head indifferently. "Not acid. An overdose unfortunately, but nothing hallucinogenic."
I looked at him sideways, not quite ready to take my eyes off myself, not quite buying into what he was saying, in fact, far from it. What was he on and why was he messing with me? But I'd play along.
"I don't do drugs," I insisted, offended. I looked him over. I didn't know him. Another party crasher?
If I wasn't right smack in the middle of a crisis, I might think he was cute. In fact…wait…I had seen him a little while ago, before this had all begun. I vaguely remembered seeing him arrive. As he had exited the roof door, he’d paused in the doorway, looking all over, as if he had misplaced his date, or friend, or was meeting up with them. You know? That searching look. I recalled then thinking he was really good looking and had hoped he was alone. He could make a nice birthday gift. Rachel had come along and pulled me away before I could walk over to him and introduce myself or offer him a drink.
He had that easy-going manner about him, evident in the way he lounged so casually slouched there, arms spread out from either side of him across the back of the couch. He had a warm, wide smile, but under the circumstances.
"Didn't say you did, darlin’," he said indifferently as he popped a Malvarosa topped cracker into his mouth, chewing it with an almost smug smile.
I frowned. I didn't want to look at myself sleeping there anymore, so I focused my complete attention on him. That cheese was a gift from Katie, how’d he get some when I hadn’t had a chance at it yet? She had special-ordered that just for me from Dean & Deluca. And what was that accent anyway? Scottish? Irish? Do I know anyone within my social circle that’s from Scotland or Ireland? I shook my head to clear out the fuzzy, sticky cobwebs that kept reforming there against my will.
"Come on, be serious please. Can you bring me some coffee or something? Or just go get Gigi? Maybe she'll know how to get me down from this. She's always clever like that. She can solve any problem. I'm not having any fun. It's my party and I'm not having any fun."
He just kept looking at me with this annoying, almost superior look plastered on his face. Don't care how cute he is, he's pissing me off. He didn't make any motion to move and either help me or get help for me. He just gestured with a nod of his head back over to the sleeping form at the end of the couch.
"Why don't you go to your friend? Why haven't you gone over to her yet Lissa?" He asked me, simply.
Good question.
“My name’s not Lissa.”
I started to rise to do just that. I couldn't make myself budge. A pounding fear was beating inside of me. That thought, teasing just at the edge of my consciousness, what was it? I tried to wrap my brain around it, but it kept slinking away. I felt abruptly more panic stricken.
I looked back to him. As he studied me I saw something in his demeanor shift, he must have seen on my face exactly what I was feeling or thinking, or maybe he even knew what that thought was that I couldn't seize hold of, because something in his face softened, became much more gentle and less self satisfied. That might even be a trace of concern that creased his brow. Oh, relief. Maybe this game was over and he realized he'd gone too far and he was going to fix it.
But he didn’t move. He just sat there. We stared at each other. I looked back over at me, shook my head. This had to be a joke, a very, very bad and gone awry birthday hoax.
“Come on…” I pleaded softly, nearly whispered. I begged him with my eyes, with every ounce of earnestness I could muster. “What’s really going on? This is some sort of really bad prank, right?”
He shook his head gently, tried to reach for my hand. I jerked away from him. Why would I want him to touch me? This cruelty had to end. Game time was up. I’d had far too much.
“Well?” I waited for him to respond, with a more acceptable response, one I wanted to hear. The proverbial light bulb winked on in my head. Stewart, my ex, could have planned this! He may have heard about the party. He’d broken things off, not me…but he still hated that I was over him. He was just spiteful enough to do this.
“Did Stewart put you up to this? Come on tell me. Was it Stewart? Do you know Stewart?” He shook his head. “You can’t be serious?” He just nodded. My breathing was becoming unsteady.
I heard light, heartening laughter coming towards us. It belonged to Gigi. I stood up, smiling. She was coming up to us, carrying a slice of cake on a plate.
“Ha! See!” I cried out at him, directing his attention to Gigi. “That was a really messed up joke—” I broke off, my sentence incomplete…as she passed through me.
She. Passed. Through. Me.
I trembled, felt ill, strangling on my own breath. I fell to the carpet, to my knees. My throat was garroted; my eyes were beginning to sting with the filling up of tears. I raised my face to him, feeling the tears begin their descent down my face. “So, that’s it?” I managed after a moment of just looking at him. “You are telling me the truth, aren’t you? You’re telling me that I am dead?”
He nodded, solemnly.
“This is no joke, no bad, bad, stupid, idiotic joke?”
“Sorry darlin’, wish I could say it was. You seem like a sweet, a real duck, but…” he motioned around at the party, then towards the other end of the couch, “this party’s over for you.”
I managed to glare at him, a weak glare through the tears, but still. What was that remark supposed to be? Witty?
“Well, that’s just fucked up. Majorly fucked up. Why now? I just got my life back. Everything was finally right.” I squeezed my eyes closed tight, willing this all to go away, be a dream, a nightmare. I felt more tears welling up. Vicious wet droplets of anger, rage, fear, and despair, burning behind my eyelids. “No. I’
m not doing this?” I turned my tear streaked face to him. If I was dead why was it so damn hard to breathe? How could I feel so sick? “And who are you anyway? Why are you here? I didn’t invite you. And why do you know what’s happening? Why can you see me and Gigi couldn’t? She walked right through me…” I fired off the questions and statements in rapid succession, not giving him a chance to answer.
“Lissa, we should go now,” he said it so simply, after checking the time on his watch again. He leaned forward, as if to take hold of my hand.
I didn’t care how good the words sounded coming from him, with his nifty-sexy accent. “Oh hell no. No way.” I scrambled back from him and stood back up, unsteadily, but I held my ground. “I don’t know you and you’re not answering any of my questions.” I stabbed an accusatory finger at him. My eyes widened in conviction and then in speculation. “Did you do this to me?” I breathed out in loathing, enragement.
“No,” he protested, a look of aversion on his face. “I’m a Coimhdeacht, not a Lanmhuchadh.”
“What?” I asked with exasperation and increasing anger.
“The fellow who gave you the drink…” He strode closer to me and I edged backwards further still, towards the roof door, my mind spiraling a million miles a second. “He was a Lanmhuchadh, your Lanmhuchadh tonight.”
I stared at him like he was insane. I didn’t understand those words. And the look on his face said he was unwavering. And with everything I’d seen, experienced this night, who was I to dispute his statement? Who was I to say anything at all right now? I felt breathless and unnerved. My emotions were all over the place and switching over back and forth like crazy, so quickly it was hard to keep up with them or correctly identify them. But one stood out above all the others at this precise moment, hot anger, absolute fury.
No Time to Cry (Nine While Nine Legacy Book 1) Page 1