The Clockwork House
Wendy Saunders
Copyright © 2019 by Wendy Saunders
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
For my dear friend Elisha
Who loves a good ghost story.
Also by Wendy Saunders
The Guardians Series 1
Book 1 Mercy
Book 2 The Ferryman
Book 3 Crossroads
Book 4 Witchfinder
Book 5 Infernum
Book 6 A Little Town Called Mercy
The Guardians Series 2
Book 1 Scarlett
Book 2 The Veritas
The Carter Trilogy
Book 1 Tangled Web
Book 2 Twisted lies
Book 3 Blood Ties
Contents
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
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
FREE TO DOWNLOAD FROM AMAZON!
Mercy Sample chapter
About the Author
1
It was strange, Ava thought to herself as she watched the plain pine box containing her mother lowered into the dusty ground, she was technically an orphan now.
Her t-shirt stuck uncomfortably to her back as ponderous beads of sweat rolled lazily down her spine, collecting at the waistband of her threadbare jeans. The dark tendrils of hair which had escaped her messy bun, were plastered to her neck as the raging inferno of the midday sun beat down on her unprotected head.
Who the hell thought getting buried at midday was a good idea?
She squinted and tried to focus on the monotonous monotone of the preacher. Even with her sunglasses protecting her eyes from the harsh glare of the sun, she was still seeing spots and weird reflections of light.
The coffin hit the hard, compacted ground with a thud and Ava shifted uneasily. This time it had nothing to do with the heat. Her mother was really dead, this was it, her eternal resting place. She reached down inside herself for something, anything, that felt different.
Nothing.
Well no, not exactly nothing. She felt sad, of course she did, but the bald-faced truth of it was that although her mom was dead, nothing had really changed. She didn’t feel any different which only served to confirm one uncomfortable fact. That even when her mom had been alive, Ava had always been alone.
Caroline Annabeth Wallace, or rather ’Serenity’ as she’d always been known to her friends, had lived life very unapologetically on her own terms. She’d blown from town to town, commune to commune, with all the turbulent grace and unrelenting ferocity of a summer storm, on a whim, and with no regard for the daughter she dragged along in her wake.
Her mother had loved her, Ava had never doubted it, she’d simultaneously both baffled and annoyed her and she may not have always understood her, but she’d loved her none the less.
Ava rolled her shoulders uncomfortably; her skin felt like it was melting off her body in the relentless Arizona heat. She glanced down at the small plaintive whine of her dog Bailey, who sat at her side, pressing her heavy body against her legs.
‘Alright girl,’ she murmured under her breath as she stroked her head, ‘not long now.’
The droning sermon ran on and on. Like the opening credits of Star Wars, it felt like it was never going to end, and no one was really paying attention. Bailey gave a dissatisfied sniff and trotted off, stretching out under the scant shade of the nearest tree, her long pink tongue lolling out of her mouth as she panted heavily.
Knowing she wouldn’t go far Ava once again turned her attention back to the mismatched assembly of characters pretending to listen to the eulogy, as if it were the most riveting thing in the world and they weren’t all stoned out of their minds. A riot of tie dye assaulted the eye, along with beads, bare feet and Birkenstocks. Everywhere Ava looked was long hair and sweating bodies, overlaid with the unmistakable scent of weed, which hung over the proceedings like a miasma.
Well, Ava thought absently, at least her mom had gone out the same way she lived; high, at one with nature and the very center of attention.
She let out a slow breath and blinked the sweat from her eyes. It was typical that her mother had managed to die during one of the hottest months on record, thank you climate change, but then again, her mom had always loved the bright blazing sunshine. The hotter the better as far as she’d been concerned, unlike her daughter who’d always preferred cooler, overcast, moodier weather.
Ava supposed it reflected their personalities perfectly. Her mother had always been a glass half full kind of girl, whereas Ava didn’t have a glass, or if she did, hers would not only have been very definitely empty but also possibly smashed on the ground with someone stealing the pieces.
The reading finally concluded, and the mourners shuffled forward to toss brightly colored, wilted flowers onto the coffin. Ava waited until they slowly began to drift away one by one, in pairs and small groups. Stepping forward she stared down into the open grave, scuffing the toe of her frayed sneakers in the dusty ground as she frowned, at a loss as to what to say.
‘Bye mom,’ she murmured finally, ‘say hi to dad for me.’
Her fist tightened around a limp bunch of wildflowers she’d stopped at the side of the road and picked on her way to the funeral. Half of them were probably weeds she thought to herself in amusement, but they looked pretty, so she figured what the hell. Her mom probably would have liked them anyway; she’d never really liked hot house flowers cut at the peak of perfection.
Perfection, she’d told her, was overrated. Freedom was everything.
It was just as well, Ava mused ruefully. She couldn’t have afforded to buy flowers anyway, not even from the local gas station. With one final lament she tossed the flowers down onto the coffin and watched as they landed with a faint thud and parted in the middle, sliding slowly off either side of the curved lid to be crushed along the edges of the grave.
Figures.
She shook her head and turned around to find a familiar face standing right behind her.
‘I’m gonna miss her,’ he murmured, his eyes flickering over Ava’s shoulder and lingering on the gaping hole in the ground.
‘Baz,’ she nodded in greeting, she’d known him since she was a kid. He’d been one of her mom’s oldest friends and also, unbelievably, her lawyer.
His hair was steel gray shoulder length and his eyes a vivid cornflower blue. His weather-beaten face was tanned and etched with deep lines. He wore loose fitting harem pants decorated garishly, patterned in primary colors and on his feet were battered leather sandals. His only concession to the formality of the occasion was a rather boring gray pin-striped tie, which knotted tightly around his neck and lay against his rainbow tie dyed t-shirt.
‘I like your tie,’ her mouth twitched in amusement.
‘Thanks,’ he nodded seriously. ‘Ava…I’m sorry about your mom, she was one of a kind.’
‘That’s one way
of describing her I suppose,’ Ava murmured.
‘If you’re feeling up to it,’ he continued, ‘I need to read you her will.’
‘Mom didn’t have a will.’
‘Yes, she did,’ Baz corrected her.
‘But mom didn’t have anything worth putting in a will,’ Ava shook her head. ‘What’d she do? Leave me her stash of weed and the last couple of kegs of her homemade daisy wine?’
‘Ah her daisy wine,’ Baz smiled in remembrance, ‘the first time I had your mom’s wine I lost six days.’
‘You’re lucky you didn’t lose your internal organs,’ Ava muttered.
‘Good times,’ he chuckled.
‘If you say so,’ Ava shrugged.
‘Anyway,’ Baz shook his head, ‘the will. Can you stop by the cottage?’
‘Is that really necessary?’ she replied in annoyance.
She was down to her last thirty bucks and had been sleeping in her truck for the past week. She was almost out of gas too, the trip to Arizona had pretty much cleaned her out. There was a diner just down the street advertising for a temporary waitress. She really should try sweet talking the owner into giving her a job for a couple of days until she had enough money to blow town again, not spending the day reminiscing with Baz about her mom.
‘It really is important Ava,’ he told her bluntly, sensing her reluctance. ‘There was a lot about your mom you didn’t know.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Just stop by the cottage and we’ll talk,’ he patted her arm comfortingly.
‘Fine,’ she blew out a breath.
She watched him walk back across the cemetery as she reached into her bag and pulled out a bottle. Taking a deep gulp of the lukewarm water she headed toward her dog who watched her approach with a thumping tail. Kneeling down next to her Ava slowly poured the water into her hand and watched as Bailey lapped it up enthusiastically.
‘Is that better girl?’ She stroked her head gently, ‘wanna go for a ride? Huh?’ She rubbed her fur soothingly, ‘looks like we’ve got somewhere to be.’
Bailey jumped to her feet as Ava stood and slipped the half empty bottle back into her bag, dusting off her jeans. She turned and took one last look at her mother’s grave as it was being filled in. Her heart suddenly thudded dully in her chest and her mouth turned down. Everything suddenly felt so final.
Bailey nudged her legs with her blunt nose as if sensing her hesitation.
‘Come on then,’ Ava sighed and headed back toward her truck.
Opening the door Bailey jumped up into the cab and curled up on the bench next to her. Pulling away she flicked the radio on and idly flipped through the stations for a few minutes before finally switching it back off.
She drove through town slowly, barely registering the bustling farmers’ market. Turning onto one of the main streets her eyes were once again assaulted with a cacophony of bright colors. It was Bisbee pride and everywhere she looked were rainbow flags, brightly dressed people in elaborate costumes and rainbow beads.
She smiled; she couldn’t help it. She could feel it in the air, the sense of community. It was a celebration, filled with music and laughter, but despite the flamboyantly dressed patrons her heart still ached, and one thought pounded in her aching head like a relentless bass drum. Mom is dead… mom is dead…
She wound her way through the streets leaving the sounds of celebration behind her. Bisbee, Arizona wasn’t such a bad place to live considering some of the shit holes her mom had dragged her through over the years. Although Bisbee had been one of her mother’s favorites, probably because Baz was there, it hadn’t called to Ava, she didn’t feel it in her soul.
She’d always thought she’d know it, the place she would call home. She’d traveled far and wide, both with her mom and on her own as soon as she was old enough, but she’d never found it, her place in the world, the sense of belonging she craved. Lately she’d begun to wonder if her soul was just as restless as her mom’s had been.
Before long she pulled up outside Baz’s place. What he’d affectionately referred to as ‘the cottage’ was in reality a rather squat, single storey building with chipped clapboards and peeling yellow paint.
Ava glanced over at Bailey, who’d lifted her head and pricked her ears.
‘What do you think?’ Ava asked her.
Bailey cocked her head, blinking her large dark eyes as her tail thumped rhythmically against the torn seat.
‘That’s what I thought,’ Ava sighed. ‘Come on, let’s get this over with.’
Opening the door and stepping down onto the sidewalk she felt Bailey jump down behind her. They crossed the dry, sparse patches of brown grass and headed for the house which had a beaded curtain instead of a screen door.
Shaking her head, Ava reached out, parting the strands of shell colored beads to reveal an open door.
‘Baz?’ she called out.
‘Come in,’ his disembodied voice echoed back, ‘something to drink?’
Stepping through the curtain with her dog she followed the voice through to the back and found Baz in the kitchen.
‘No thanks,’ she shook her head, ‘I’m good but can I have a bowl of water for Bailey?’
‘Of course, of course,’ he nodded bustling around the kitchen as he filled a brightly colored clay bowl and set it down on the tiled floor before reaching into the refrigerator and pulling out a beer for himself. He popped the top and took a deep swig, swallowing with an audible gulp as his eyes locked on hers.
‘Come,’ he nodded toward the doorway and pushed away from the counter with Ava following behind him, leaving Bailey contentedly lying on the cool tiles lapping at her water.
The room he led her into was a warm inviting living room. The walls were covered with bright hand painted murals of forests and sunsets. Sun catchers hung from the ceiling, rotating slowly with the displacement of air as they passed beneath them. Along one wall was a sagging couch and beside it stood a roughhewn bookcase covered in photos, some framed, others simply propped against each other, their edges curling with age.
Ava froze as her gaze fell on one in particular. She reached out with trembling fingers and lifted the dusty frame from the back of the shelf. Her dark eyes studied the image even as her fingertips traced the lines and curves of the picture.
A young man stared back at her through the lens of the camera. His long dark curly hair reached the base of his neck and hung forward into his laughing eyes. Bare chested and barefoot, and wearing nothing but cutoff jeans he sat astride a gorgeous black 1944 Indian Scout. Incidentally, the same motorcycle which she knew would claim his life only months after this photo was taken. She glanced down to see the smiling five-year-old girl in front of him wearing pigtails and aviator sunglasses, her grin almost identical to his.
She looked across to Baz who’d settled himself comfortably on the worn out old blue couch with a huge glass bong planted between his legs.
‘You still have this picture of me and my dad?’
Baz wrapped his lips around the end of the pipe and inhaled deeply, the water in the bulb of the glass bubbling slightly as he pulled away and leaned back against the cushions, his head falling back as he released a long slow stream of smoke.
After a moment he blinked and spoke.
‘Yeah.’
Ava moved over to the seat opposite him and sank down slowly onto the tasseled afghan cover and waited. She’d spent enough time with her mother over the years to know how to deal with a stoner.
She waited patiently.
‘He was a good man,’ Baz spoke again after a few more moments, his voice low and raspy, his gaze pensive. ‘He loved you and your mama.’
‘Yes, he did,’ Ava replied quietly as her gaze was once again drawn to the photograph in her hands.
‘He was my best friend,’ Baz murmured, ‘nearly broke your mama when he died… guess they’re together again at last.’
He leaned forward over the bong and sparked up his lighter, taking an
other deep pull.
Ava placed the photo frame down on the untidy coffee table in front of her and glanced up at the wall above Baz’s head. It was almost impossible to believe that the guy sitting in front of her lugging a bong was a bona fide lawyer, but it was true according to the framed certificates and credentials on the wall.
‘Baz,’ she sighed in frustration, ‘what did you want to talk to me about? I don’t mean to be rude but everything’s still a little raw. I’m not really ready to sit here and reminisce about my dead parents.’
‘No,’ he agreed as he exhaled another thick cloud of smoke, ‘you’re here for the reading of her will.’
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a rumpled piece of paper. Smoothing out the creases he laid it on the couch next to him and began patting down his torso as if he couldn’t quite recall what he was looking for.
Spying a pair of tortoise shell glasses on the table, peeking out from under a TV guide, Ava retrieved them and handed them to him wordlessly.
‘Ah,’ he nodded in approval, unfolding them and sliding them onto his face before picking up the paper.
‘As it’s just the two of us,’ he began, ‘we’ll skip some of the formalities. They put me to sleep anyway…’ He scanned down the document and cleared his throat.
‘I, Serenity Cortez, formerly known as Caroline Annabeth Wallace, being of sound mind and body… yadda yadda yadda… and hereto do leave all my worldly possessions to my daughter and only child…’
‘But mom didn’t have any possessions,’ Ava replied mildly, ‘so isn’t this all a bit unnecessary?’
The Clockwork House Page 1