SHIVER AND SPICE
Kelley St. John
To Gayle Wilson, talented author, respected
mentor and treasured friend.
Contents
Introduction
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Introduction
SPICY COOKING, hot weather and sizzling sex—three of the most notable staples of life in Louisiana. Add a little voodoo, vampires and ghosts, and you’ve got enough to keep life interesting for several generations of Vicknairs.
Every member of this unique family can cook a mean gumbo, stay cool in thick humidity and sure enough knows how to burn up the sheets. And while they may not have had firsthand experience with voodoo and vampires—yet—they make up for it in spades with ghosts.
Currently, six Vicknair cousins are doing their part to follow family tradition, guiding lost spirits who need a little help finding the light. Obtaining their spectral assignments from grandmother Adeline, the family matriarch, even in death, the cousins generally don’t have much trouble fulfilling a spirit’s requirement for crossing. However, every now and then, things tend to go awry. A medium might fall in love with a spirit, the way Monique Vicknair did, or a medium’s assignment may help a ghost to save a friend from a killer, which recently happened to Gage Vicknair. But what happened to Monique and Gage isn’t anything compared to what has happened to their brother, Dax.
Dax Vicknair fell in love with a spirit that was helping another to cross over. Unlike Monique’s husband, who was on his way to the light when Dax’s feisty sister sidetracked him, Celeste did cross over, the whole way. And now Dax is stuck over here, helping other ghosts, while the one he wants is an eternity away. Based on this assessment, Dax has determined that life, quite simply, sucks.
But everything isn’t always as it seems, especially when the powers that be, and Grandma Adeline, have anything to say about it.
Prologue
CELESTE BEAUCHAMP was in the middle again. Where was this place, this dark room that had become her existence? And which way should she go to get out?
She stood in the center and surveyed her surroundings. A door on her left led to a pathway that she’d traveled before and that she wanted to travel again. A pathway to him. But that door was closed. Another door on her right was open, as it usually was, but she couldn’t remember where it led. And in the center, straight ahead of her, the entire wall looked smooth and complete, but Celeste knew that the middle held a doorway too.
That door was only visible when the light came.
She held up her hand and surveyed it, glowing faintly. Her hair also shimmered, as did the rest of her body. With that center door closed tight, she provided the only source of light in this place.
Was she dead? Yes, she supposed she was, because a dream wouldn’t be this vivid. But if she were dead, then why didn’t she head on to her final destination?
Faint voices, calling her name, caused her to step toward the path to her right. Open and ready, that path would be easy to access. She’d gone there before; she remembered that much. But she never stayed there very long. She always came back here, to this middle place, because this was the way to him.
A soft pop sounded, and a pinprick of light, like a star pushing its way through a stormy cloud, pierced the middle wall and caused Celeste to turn back. It grew a bit, then a little more, until the opening was the size of a dime. Compared to the darkness around it, the radiance was exquisite, and Celeste suddenly longed to touch it. She stepped toward it, then the voices to her right screamed, and she stopped.
Rapid footsteps suddenly echoed in the confines of the room, and then a little girl bolted out of thin air and ran toward the light. Most certainly a ghost, she glowed faintly at first, but then her dress—no, her entire body—absorbed the light, until Celeste had to shield her eyes from the child’s brilliance. Two pigtails of straight brown hair were capped in hot-pink bows that matched the trim on her yellow dress.
“That’s it!” She clapped her hands together until the light grew into a door-size opening that illuminated the entire span of the room. “I’m going on in. Tell Prissy, my sister, to follow me. She’s coming. Tell her where I am, okay?”
“Prissy?” Celeste asked, but the girl was too focused on the light to hear.
“Granny’s in there. She’s waiting for me. Granny, I’m coming! Oh wow, I smell cookies. Chocolate oatmeal, my favorite!” She took another step, then merged with the gleaming light.
“Wait!” Celeste shouted at the same moment that the wall absorbed the light and the girl.
She stepped forward and placed her palm where the light had been. Cold, smooth stone met her touch. She’d seen the lighted doorway before, right after the accident, but she hadn’t entered it that time either. That time, another young ghost had stopped her from passing through. The girl, Chloe, needed help crossing over, and Celeste hadn’t wanted to leave her behind, so she’d ignored the beckoning light and helped Chloe find her way.
That was the only time that the pathway to the left had opened, and Celeste had met Dax.
Dax. As long as she was here, in this strange middle place, she could remember him, think of him, want him. She could see the hazel eyes that had touched her soul, the sexy mouth that seemed always on the verge of a smile, those dark brown waves that framed a face full of sincerity, of kindness, and a touch of mischievousness that had made Celeste’s entire body tingle.
They hadn’t spoken of it before, that amazing chemistry that zinged between them, because they’d both expected her to cross over with Chloe. Plus, he was in the land of the living…and she…wasn’t.
But she didn’t cross with Chloe, and she still wasn’t sure why not. Instead of entering the light, she’d gone down that path toward the voices, but that was all she recalled. And on several occasions, she’d returned here, to this middle room, in the hopes of seeing Dax again, or of finally entering the light.
Neither had happened.
Before, she didn’t try to start a relationship with Dax, didn’t even tell him how she felt. Why start something that they couldn’t finish? But now she realized that that may have been her last chance to really be with a man, to be with Dax. And she’d blown it.
She wanted another shot.
Celeste hadn’t had a lot of experience with men when she was living, only one relationship, and that had basically been two inexperienced teens fumbling their way through the motions. She’d always looked forward to the day when she would experience the kind of intimacy that she’d heard about, where “the earth moved.” She’d certainly never had that, but she sure thought about it a lot when she was in this place. And every time she thought about it, she thought about it with one man…Dax.
She wanted to forget those voices to the right, forget that light in the middle, and head left—to Dax. She stared at the crack in the wall that identified the closed door to his world, where he could show her everything she’d never known about the desire between a man and a woman. She wanted to have that, to taste that pleasure, if only once. Was that too much to ask before she headed to the light?
“I want him,” she whispered.
A loud creaking penetrated the silence, and the blocked entry to her left eased open. An elderly woman, her silver hair glow
ing around her shoulders, leaned out from the darkness and crooked an elegant finger toward Celeste.
“Come, chère. You can’t stay as long as before. You’re weaker now.” She peered down that other path, the one with the voices, and shook her head. “Why didn’t you go to them more, chère? You’re weak because you didn’t go.”
Celeste looked down that darkened hall. Why would she have stayed down that path? It didn’t have what she wanted. That path didn’t lead to Dax.
“I wish you were stronger, chère, but there’s nothing I can do about that now.” She paused, frowned. “Still, I can let you through, but you must take care. You have to pay attention to your weakened state.”
“You can take me to Dax?” Celeste asked, hurriedly moving toward the woman with the jet-black eyes and silver-white hair.
“Not me. Prissy needs your help. She’s scared. And the powers that be are allowing you to help her, the way you helped Chloe, so she isn’t afraid. She’ll take you to Dax.”
“How long?” Celeste asked, eager to see him but wanting to know the limitations. “How long can I stay?”
“It all depends, chère. You’ll grow weaker the longer you’re on that side, and with each interaction with one who’s living, you’ll grow weaker still. You could have been so much stronger. You’ve been here two months, but you didn’t rest enough. You should have let them help you get stronger, instead of fighting them and staying here, in the middle.” She glanced down that path with the voices again, then she quirked her mouth to the side. “My guess, chère, is twelve hours at best, but more likely six. It all depends on how much strength your trip takes from your spirit, and how much you interact with the living.”
“Interact,” Celeste repeated, then she remembered the main rule for mediums and spirits. “But we can’t touch.”
“A medium may not touch a spirit,” the other woman said at a whisper, as though she feared someone was listening. “But there is no rule saying you cannot touch, chère.”
Celeste swallowed as the impact of the woman’s statement sank in. “I can touch him.”
“Come, chère. Prissy needs you, and my grandson needs you too.”
“Your grandson?”
“Dax. He needs you.”
And that was enough for Celeste to follow, no further questions asked.
1
DAX VICKNAIR carried another heavy box out of the plantation and placed it against the others already lining the majority of his brother-in-law’s truck. Ryan Chappelle, the brother-in-law in question, merely shook his head and grinned.
“How much more does she have in—” He stopped speaking and hustled toward the porch, where Monique was attempting to carry a box twice her size down the stairs.
“Woman, you’re going to be the death of me,” Ryan groaned, taking the heavy box.
“You already died once,” Dax reminded him, smirking, then turned to Monique. “You better go easy on him this time, sis. He’s not ready for the light again yet.”
Monique gladly let go of her end of the box and let her husband take over. She wiped her damp forehead with her palm, pushing thick blond curls away from her face. “He doesn’t want me going easy on him, regarding anything,” she said. “Isn’t that right, dear? He likes things hard, and so do I.”
Ryan’s smile said way more than any words could have managed, and Dax didn’t really want to hear about it anyway.
“Too much information,” Dax grumbled, heading back in for another load. He paused momentarily when an echo of laughter invaded his thoughts, a little girl’s laughter. He’d heard it a few times today and knew what it meant: a ghost was on the way. Probably before the day ended, he’d have a young spirit to help. Another one to help, but no one on the other side was willing to help him.
He frowned. Sure, he was mad at the powers that be for not seeming to care that he’d lost his heart to a ghost that was gone, but the little girl who’d be visiting him soon wasn’t to blame. He’d have to suck it up and put on a smile, for her sake. She’d already died young; she didn’t need to be faced with a pissed-off medium, too. So Dax would cheer up before she got here. Right now, however, he was going to wallow in being jealous of all the love currently surrounding him, courtesy of Monique and Ryan.
Truthfully, he wasn’t bothered that his sister was so blissfully happy in marriage, or even that she was moving out of the plantation and into a home in Ormond, near her beauty salon and Ryan’s new roofing job; he was bothered because he wanted a little bliss, too.
Then again, his foul mood didn’t seem to dampen spirits around here. Monique and Ryan were in full newlywed mode, only a month since they tied the knot in Vegas, and Gage, Dax’s older brother, had recently become engaged and was also perpetually smiling lately with his fiancée, Kayla, by his side. In short, they were all way too happy for someone who was currently in a don’t-piss-me-off mood. Misery truly loves company, and so far, Dax hadn’t found anyone else as…
“Listen, if you two are done with Dax, I could use his help, and I’m talking about his brain, not his brawn,” Nanette said from the front door. Her arms were crossed against her chest, one foot tapped the threshold impatiently and dark brows drew together in a scowl. Clothed in a black blouse and black skinny pants, she resembled a prison guard waiting for him to enter his cell.
Dax grinned. Leave it to Nan to bring the atmosphere back down to his level. Nanette was always in semi-bitch mode. She tried to act like that was just the way she was, but Dax knew better. She was scared to death that the Vicknair family was about to lose their beloved plantation and perhaps therefore lose their ability to help the spirits, something she deemed part of the “Vicknair legacy.” The home had taken a big hit from Hurricane Katrina, and the parish president, Charles Roussel, had been trying to put it on the top line of the demolition list ever since the storm. So far, they’d fought him every time, and won, every time.
Right now, however, the problem wasn’t with Charles Roussel and the locals. Oh, no—in an effort to bypass Roussel’s authority entirely, Nanette had decided to try to get the Vicknair plantation added to the National Register of Historic Places.
There were tons of steps involved, but Nanette thought the potential results would be worth the effort. Dax did too; he just wasn’t sure what kind of chance they stood.
Truthfully, he agreed with Nan that the two of them seemed to care more about saving the house than the other Vicknair cousins. Maybe it was because she was the oldest and he was the youngest male; she felt responsible for maintaining the Vicknair legacy, and he was the last with the Vicknair name. Or maybe it was because they were the only two cousins currently residing in the plantation. Even though Nanette had told all of them that she believed they’d have a better chance of saving the place if they were all living there, the others hadn’t thought it necessary and had moved on to their independence.
Jenee, the only cousin younger than Dax, actually cited the plantation as her permanent residence, but she rarely stayed there anymore. Helping to renovate the Seven Sisters Shelter in Chalmette, she tended to stay there full-time and only came back to the plantation for their traditional Saturday workdays. So basically, while the remainder of the cousins went about living their lives as usual, Nan and Dax were left to save their family home. Everyone else put in a hard day’s work once a week, but as far as pulling a rabbit out of the hat with the National Historic Register, that was up to Dax and Nanette.
If they did make the cut, Roussel couldn’t touch them with a ten-foot pole, which, naturally, was the goal. Problem was, Nanette had also learned that the home would stand a much better chance of making the list if it had been inhabited during the Civil War.
So far, neither Nanette, nor anyone who lived in St. Charles parish, had any proof whatsoever that the Vicknair plantation had been inhabited during the Civil War. In fact, all indications pointed to the entire family leaving to fight in the war. There weren’t even references to women and children at the place in the pap
ers on file at the parish courthouse.
But Nanette wouldn’t believe that the Vicknairs had all left—who would have tended to the visiting spirits if they had? Not that she could tell the folks in charge that that was the reason for her doubt—and she expected Dax, known for his fascination for figuring things out, to help her prove it.
Dax had always had a knack for putting pieces of a puzzle together. When he was younger, he’d used that skill at crossword puzzles and Sudoku. Now that he was older, his primary challenges involved figuring out which prescriptions worked best for the young patients on his pediatric-pharmaceuticals route. But regardless of his puzzle-solving talents, he hadn’t figured out the answer regarding the Vicknair plantation and where the family had gone during the Civil War…yet.
“I haven’t found a thing on the Internet about Vicknairs living here then. And we’ve already checked everything at the courthouse,” he said, following her through the swinging door that led to the kitchen. “The Vicknairs all headed out to support their country. Well, the Southern half of it, anyway. We’re going to have to look somewhere else to find the answers.”
“I know, but I have no idea where to look. There’s got to be something we’re missing,” she said, grabbing a tall green thermos from beneath the sink. Twisting the cap off, she took the full coffeepot and poured the entire contents in.
Dax frowned. “Going somewhere?” They typically searched for information together.
“I’ve got parent–teacher conferences tonight. Starting in an hour. No telling how long they’ll take, since we’ve got more ninth-graders this year than ever before, and since the majority of them feel that my first assigned essay is beyond the realm of ninth-grade history.”
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