by C. J. Archer
Charity shuddered, and Samuel hugged her tighter. "It's all over now," he said quietly. "The Myers are gone. All the souls we've encountered along the way are back where they belong."
Cara and Quin exchanged a glance and her heart filled. Yes, Quin was exactly where he belonged: in her arms.
"Is it wrong that I feel no sympathy for the Myers?" Sylvia asked, her pretty brow wrinkled.
"No," Tommy told her. "They deserve no such kindness."
"What will happen now, with the portal?"
Everyone looked to Quin, as if he possessed the answer. Once, he could have asked the Purgatory administrators what they wanted him to do about the portal, but not anymore. Any link to them, to the otherworld, was severed. He couldn't be happier about that. The only supernatural phenomenon he wanted to be near was his wife, in her capacity as a spirit medium. If a paranormal problem came their way via their inquiry agency, then so be it. He would do his best to help others, but not if it required putting himself or his family in danger.
He smiled down at Cara. She was his family, and any children they may one day be granted. He still wasn't sure how—or why—he'd been so lucky to win such a remarkable woman, and be given the opportunity to live again, but he wasn't going to question it. Nor was he going to leave her side if he could help it. Why, indeed, would he want to?
"We'll be the custodians of the portal," Jack told his cousin. "You and Tommy, Hannah and me."
"And our uncles." Sylvia giggled. "I still can't get used to thinking of Bollard as an uncle. I mean Livingston."
"I think August is having trouble coming to terms with it too. It'll take time for him to stop treating Bollard—Livingstone—as a servant. At least he has decided to do so. It's a big step for him, but a good one at that."
"I can't get used to calling him Livingston." Hannah smirked. "It doesn't suit him at all."
Cara snorted. "I always thought Bollard was his first name." She settled back in Quin's arms and breathed in the scent of late summer roses hanging on the dusk air.
"This is Heaven," Charity said, also settling into her new husband's arms. He kissed her and tightened his arms around her.
"Aye," Quin murmured, his gaze on Cara and not the pretty, peaceful landscape. His fiancée was far more beautiful to look at anyway, her features never failing to intrigue him, or amuse him, depending on her expression. She was, quite simply, a marvel. And she was all his.
The group fell into silence, although the distant sounds of the children's laughter came from somewhere in the house. They were probably tormenting August Langley, who'd promised to supervise while their parents enjoyed some peace and quiet on the terrace. Actually, he hadn't volunteered for the job, Bollard—Livingston—had volunteered them both, suggesting they needed experience with children now that Hannah was expecting. Emily did wonder if Mrs. Moore was helping them, since she couldn't imagine those two men knew how to get children to laugh like that.
The five couples watched as the sun whispered its final goodbye then sank below the horizon. No, not goodbye; merely farewell for now. Goodbyes were painful, as the ten people lounging on the terrace knew all too well, though not necessarily permanent, thank goodness. Sometimes the unexpected happened. Lovers and friends reunited, and life went on, better and richer than it had been before.
THE END
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The Last Necromancer
The first book in the Ministry Of Curiosities series by C.J. Archer.
Disguised as a boy and living on the streets, Charlie must hide her secret from the world or risk losing everything. But what will she do when the mysterious leader of a secret organization offers her refuge - but only if she gives up her secrets. Download now or read on for an excerpt.
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A MESSAGE FROM THE AUTHOR
I hope you enjoyed reading MY SOUL TO TAKE as much as I enjoyed writing it. As an independent author, getting the word out about my book is vital to its success, so if you liked this book please consider telling your friends and writing a review at the store where you purchased it. If you would like to be contacted when I release a new book, subscribe to my newsletter at http://cjarcher.com/contact-cj/newsletter/. You will only be contacted when I have a new book out.
BOOKS BY C.J. ARCHER
The Medium (Emily Chambers Spirit Medium #1)
Possession (Emily Chambers Spirit Medium #2)
Evermore (Emily Chambers Spirit Medium #3)
The Wrong Girl (1st Freak House #1)
Playing With Fire (1st Freak House #2)
Heart Burn (1st Freak House #3)
The Memory Keeper (2nd Freak House #1)
Seared With Scars (2nd Freak House #2)
Edge Of Darkness (2nd Freak House #3)
Ghost Girl (3rd Freak House #1)
Banished (3rd Freak House #2)
My Soul To Take (3rd Freak House #3)
The Last Necromancer (Ministry of Curiosities #1)
Her Majesty's Necromancer (Ministry of Curiosities #2)
The Charmer (Assassins Guild #1)
The Rebel (Assassins Guild #2)
The Saint (Assassins Guild #3)
The Sinner (Assassins Guild #4)
Her Secret Desire (Lord Hawkesbury's Players #1)
Scandal's Mistress (Lord Hawkesbury's Players #2)
To Tempt The Devil (Lord Hawkesbury's Players #3)
Honor Bound (The Witchblade Chronicles Book #1)
Kiss Of Ash (The Witchblade Chronicles #2)
Courting His Countess
Surrender
Redemption
The Mercenary's Price
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
C.J. Archer has loved history and books for as long as she can remember. She worked as a librarian and technical writer until she was able to channel her twin loves by writing historical fiction. She has won and placed in numerous romance writing contests, including taking home RWAustralia’s Emerald Award in 2008 for the manuscript that would become her novel Honor Bound. Under the name Carolyn Scott, she has published contemporary romantic mysteries, including Finders Keepers Losers Die, and The Diamond Affair. After spending her childhood surrounded by the dramatic beauty of outback Queensland, she lives today in suburban Melbourne, Australia, with her husband and their two children.
She loves to hear from readers. You can contact her in one of these ways:
Website: http://cjarcher.com
Email: [email protected]
Twitter: @cj_archer
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/CJArcherAuthorPage
Tumblr: http://freakhouseresidents.tumblr.com
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Excerpt of THE LAST NECROMANCER by C.J. Archer
(c) 2015
CHAPTER 1
London, summer 1889
The other prisoners eyed me as if I were a piece of tender meat. I was someone new to distract them from their boredom, and small enough that I couldn't stop one—let alone four—from doing what they wanted. It was only a matter of who would be the first to enjoy me.
"He's mine." The prisoner's tongue darted out through his tangled beard and licked what I supposed were lips, hidden beneath all that wiry black hair. "Come here, boy."
I shuffled away fr
om him but instead of the brick wall of the cell, I smacked into a soft body. "Looks like he wants me, Dobby. Don't ye, lad?" Large hands clamped around my arms, and thick fingers dug into my flesh through my jacket and shirt. The man spun me round and I gaped up at the brute grinning toothlessly at me. My heart rose and dove, rose and dove, and cold sweat trickled down my spine. He was massive. He wore no jacket or waistcoat, only a shirt stained with blood, sweat and grime. The top buttons had popped open, most likely from the strain of containing his enormous chest, and a thatch of gray hair sprouted through the gap and crept up to his neck rolls. Hot, foul breath assaulted my nostrils.
I tried to turn my face away but he grasped my jaw. The wrenching motion caused my hair to slide off my forehead and eyes, revealing more of my face than I had in a long time. A new fear spread through me, as sickening as the man I faced. Only two prisoners seemed interested in a boy, but if they realized I was a girl, the others would likely want me too.
"Anyone ever tell you you're too pretty for a boy?" My tormentor chuckled, but he didn't seem like he'd discovered my secret. "Pretty boys can get themselves into trouble."
Girls even more so. It was just my ill luck to get caught stealing an apple from the costermonger's cart outside the cemetery and wind up in the overcrowded holding cell at Highgate Police Station. The irony wasn't lost on me, but it wasn't in the least amusing. As an eighteen year-old girl, I should be separated from the men, but I'd been passing myself off as a thirteen year-old boy for so long it hadn't even occurred to me to tell the policemen. With my half-starved body, and mop of hair covering most of my face, nobody had questioned my gender or age.
The big brute jerked me forward, slamming me against his body. My nose smacked into a particularly filthy patch of his shirt and I gagged at the combined stenches of sweat, vomit, excrement and gin. I wasn't too clean myself, but this fellow's odor was overpowering. Bile burned my throat but I swallowed it quickly. Showing weakness would only make it worse for me. I knew that from experience.
"Come here and keep old Badger warm."
Warm? It was summer, and the cell was hotter than a furnace with four adult men and myself crammed into a space designed for one.
"I'm next," said the bearded Dobby, closing in to get a better look at me.
"If there's anything left of him after old Badger's broken him in." Badger chuckled again and fumbled with the front of his trousers.
I closed my hands into fists and clamped down on my fear. Shouting for the constable wouldn't help. He'd told the other prisoners to "Enjoy," when he'd tossed me into the cell. It had only been a few minutes since he'd walked off, whistling. It felt like hours. I had to fight now. It was the only way left. Not that I stood a chance against the men, but they might beat me unconscious, with any luck. It was best not to be awake while they took their liberties.
I swung my fist, but Badger was faster than he looked. He caught my wrist and sneered. "That ain't going to help you." The sneer vanished and he shoved me into the wall.
I put my hands up and managed to stop myself smashing into the whitewashed bricks, but my wrists and arms jarred from the force. I gasped in pain, but smothered the cry that welled up my throat.
"Leave the boy alone." The voice wasn't one I'd heard yet. It didn't come from outside the cell but from another prisoner to my right.
"What'd you say?" Badger snarled.
"I said leave the boy alone. He's just a child."
I turned and pressed my back into the wall. My rescuer stood in a similar position, his arms crossed over his chest. He was perhaps late twenties, with fair hair and cloudy gray eyes circled by red-rimmed lids. He wasn't nearly as tall as Badger, nor as solid, and I doubted he could defeat either Badger or Dobby in a fight. My heart sank.
"You going to make us?" Dobby asked.
The man shrugged then winced, as if the movement hurt. He sported a bruise on his cheek, and his blond hair was matted with blood. "One must try. It's the decent thing to do."
"'One must try.'" Badger mimicked the other man's toff accent to perfection. Dobby and the fourth prisoner, lounging on the cot bed, laughed.
Dobby straightened his back, threw out his chest, and affected a feminine walk to where the man stood. The prisoner on the bed laughed even harder at the hairy beast's acting. "Oh, protect me from these brutes, sir," whimpered Dobby in a high voice. "You're my hero."
The blond man lowered his hands to his sides and curled them into fists. I held my breath and waited for the first punch to be thrown. The man smiled instead. It held no humor.
Dobby tugged on the lapels of the blond man's jacket, pretending to straighten it, then fidgeted with the high, stiff shirt collar. The gentleman wore no tie, and his hat and gloves were also missing. The fine cut of his clothes reminded me of my father, always so perfectly groomed. Even the fellow's aristocratic bearing was very much like my father's. Whether it was also an affectation this gentleman had developed, it was difficult to tell. I wasn't as experienced with the upper members of society and their ways as I used to be.
"Finished?" the blond man drawled. I wondered why the gentleman had landed in jail and why he was defending me, a stranger. He'd get himself killed if he didn't keep quiet.
His fun spoiled by the gentleman's lack of fear, Dobby snorted and moved away. He turned back to me and licked his lips. Badger wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and eyed me with renewed interest. He reached for me, but the blond man smacked his hand away. Neither Badger nor I had noticed him approach.
Badger bared his teeth in a snarl. "You don't get to ruin Badger's fun!" He smashed his fist into the blond man's face, sending him reeling back into the bed.
The prisoner lounging there had to quickly pull up his legs or be sat on. The blond man recovered, and with a growl of rage, lunged at Badger. But he swung his fists wildly and his blows merely glanced off the bigger, meaner prisoner. Badger responded with another punch to the gentleman's jaw. Blood splattered from the blond man's mouth as he careened backward and slammed into the wall. His head smacked into the bricks, and the crack of his skull turned my stomach.
Dobby laughed, sending spittle flying from the slit in his beard. Badger dusted off his hands and watched as the gentleman folded in on himself and crumpled to the floor like a ragdoll. My heart sank, and it was only then that I realized I'd let it rise in hope.
My rescuer was dead.
A sickening fear assaulted me along with the memories of that terrible night five years ago when my mother had died. I could still hear my father's accusation, still feel the sting of his belt across my back, and the icy rain he'd sent me into with the order never to return home.
Yet those awful memories could help me now. If the prisoners reacted to my strange ability as my father had… It was my only hope.
I knelt alongside the gentleman's lifeless form and placed my hands on either side of his face, as I had done to my mother after she'd breathed her last. While I'd been overset by tears then, I wasn't now, and I could see the gray pallor of death consuming his youthful face. I stroked his jaw. It was still warm and his short whiskers felt rough on my palms.
Someone behind me snickered. "You can't do nothing for him now, boy. Let old Badger comfort you, eh?"
I didn't move and he didn't rip me away from the body, thank goodness. I needed to touch it. At least, I think I did. I'd only ever done this once before. What if I couldn't repeat it? What if my connection to my mother had been the key that time, and it wouldn't work on a stranger?
I caressed his face as if we'd been the most intimate of lovers, and willed his spirit to rise. Please speak to me. Do this for me and help me to live. I don't want to die here like this.
I didn't want to die at all. That in itself was something of a revelation, but I had no chance to think about it further. A pale wisp rose from the body. At first it looked like a slender ribbon of smoke, then it grew larger and took on the shape of the dead man. It was still as thin as a veil of silk chiffon, but it mo
ved as if it held solid form.
The spirit frowned at me from his floating position then settled his gaze on his own lifeless figure. He sighed. "And so it ends."
My heart ground to a halt. "I'm sorry," I whispered.
The spirit blinked at me, as if surprised that we were communicating. "Not your fault. I brought it on myself. I'd had enough of living, you see." He sighed again. "My parents said I would amount to nothing and they were right. Couldn't even get in a good punch." He nodded at Badger, who was standing behind me.
"What's he saying?" Dobby asked.
"He's talking to the dead," Badger said. "Boy's mad." He snorted and spat a glob of green mucus on the floor near my feet. "Get up, lad. It won't go well for you if I have to drag you over here."
The spirit's face twisted with disgust. "Wish I could have done something to help you, child. I haven't accomplished much in my life, but my hatred of bullies is well known. Just ask my father." He laughed at a joke I wasn't privy to. "That's something, eh? A legacy I can leave behind?"
I didn't think it was much of a legacy, but I didn't say so. He was my only friend in that cell, and I needed him. "There is one thing you can do for me before you go," I whispered.
"What's he saying?" Dobby repeated.
"I don't bloody care." Badger's hand closed around my shoulder and he wrenched me away from the body. He fumbled with the front of his trousers again. I had only seconds.
"Get back into your body," I told the spirit. I no longer kept my voice low. He needed to hear me, and it didn't matter who else did now. The die was already cast.
The spirit didn't move. "How?"
I wasn't entirely sure. When my mother had done it, she'd simply floated back down into her body when I'd asked her to. "Lie on your…self," I told him.
Badger's fingers gripped my jaw, smashing the inside of my mouth into my teeth. "Shut it," he snapped. "I don't want to hear no lunatic talk. Do ye hear me?"