Lagniappes Collection II

by Cradit, Sarah M.

  Innocence flowed off her like a soft scent with each tentative step she took toward her home.

  She was nothing like me, but I couldn’t imagine a better match.

  I’m reminded of a story Adrienne wrote in junior high. The tale was boldly titled Banshee, and read like a fractured fairy tale, centering around an evil stepmother who wished not only to see her family destroyed, but to be the agent of their destruction. The stepmother, the banshee, would bend her head back in a yawning maw and emit a shrill screech, a sound that signaled not only the death of her next victim but her claiming of their very soul. It was, of course, a not-so-thinly veiled nod to our own step-monster, but we all knew that while Cordelia had the desire to see these things done, she lacked the courage to pull it off.

  Five years later, I’m still here. The true banshee of the Deschanel family. A ghost who haunts our brood from within, declaring my intention and staking my claim.

  So is Violet, a healthy eighteen-year-old on the eve of her high school graduation. She has two wonderful parents, and friends who cling to her, not for her money but her gentle disposition. She loves kittens and clean pop music, and occasionally reads books about ancient Greece. She has yet to meet a boy who will steal her heart, but she’s off to Tulane in a few months, where her whole world will evolve. Her life is only yet commencing. Our life.

  We begin again, at the age I was when I met my own ending.

  You might say I stole her future, or you could find within you the empathy to appreciate I’ve only taken back what was stolen from me. The universe often has a way of correcting its mistakes. Not fate. Just meant to be.

  I’d blundered through life as Janie Masters, knowing nothing, desiring everything. Taking more than I gave.

  Now, I was back where I belonged, in my own tribe.

  This time, I would do better.

  I hope you’ve enjoyed this collection of appetizer stories. If so, an honest review is always appreciated. And be on the lookout for additional lagniappe collections in the future.

  If this is your first introduction to The House of Crimson & Clover, might I suggest moving into either the series prequel, The Storm and the Darkness, or the first volume, The Illusions of Eventide.

  The series begins with The Illusions of Eventide. Ready to read on? Follow this link.

  Read further for excerpts from:

  The Storm and the Darkness (Series Prequel)

  The Illusions of Eventide (Volume I)

  Never miss a single moment in the lives of these ancient, powerful, cursed families…

  If you have trouble with the image above, CLICK HERE

  Follow the links below for more information on each title, as well as purchase links for all vendors.

  Crimson & Clover Series Prequels

  The Storm and the Darkness | Shattered (novella)

  The House of Crimson & Clover

  Volume I: The Illusions of Eventide | Volume II: Bound (novella) |Volume III: Midnight Dynasty | Volume IV: Asunder |

  Volume V: Empire of Shadows | Volume VI: Myths of Midwinter | Volume VII: The Hinterland Veil | Volume VIII: The Secrets Amongst the Cypress | Volume IX: Within the Garden of Twilight

  La Famille Lagniappes (Character Bonus Stories)

  Flourish: The Story of Anne Fontaine | Shame: The Story of Jonathan St. Andrews | Banshee: The Story of Giselle Deschanel

  Crimson & Clover Lagniappes (Bonus Stories)

  St. Charles at Dusk: The Story of Oz and Adrienne | Surrender: The Story of Oz and Anasofiya |

  Fire & Ice: Remy and Fleur Fontenot | Dark Blessing: The Landry Triplets | Pandora’s Box: Jasper and Pandora Broussard |

  The Menagerie: Cyler| A Band of Heather: Colleen and Noah | The Ephemeral: Autumn Sullivan

  Box Sets

  Lagniappes Collection I | The House of Crimson & Clover Boxed Set Volumes I-IV | The Prequels | Lagniappes Collection II

  And many more to come…

  Excerpt From The Storm and the Darkness

  Ana started up the gravel path leading to the Casco Bay Lighthouse. Every afternoon, she would take a walk. And every afternoon, when she reached the narrow hill leading up toward the lighthouse, she would keep walking, ending up instead near Edgewater's, and then back through downtown toward home. Today, something compelled her to climb the hill and investigate.

  Since the day Ana arrived, her interest was piqued by the old, crumbling structure. Despite its necessity, it seemed so out of place, jutting up awkwardly from the raised earth like it didn't belong. Moreover, it didn’t look anything like she expected. Disparate from the tall, graceful white structures on scenic postcards, the Casco Bay Lighthouse was a shorter, squatter building painted with loud, peeling stripes of red and white. It reminded her of a clownish barber pole, forgotten and left to rot.

  The dilapidated structure sat atop the highest point on the island, Edgewater Point, and the only hill on Summer Island. In addition to the hill, a man-made rock base raised the diminutive monolith even higher. It has to be high enough for mariners to see the light, Alex informed her. Ana wondered if the forlorn cylinder looked less pitiful from the sea.

  Even from the bottom of the long, gravel hill, Ana could see the curling paint and broken railings at the top; the latter sent unexpected chills down her spine as she conjectured what caused the serrated, rusted bars to hang in the wind like that. They were dangling by what seemed like little more than a thread and did not have the look of something that had been broken gently.

  The cool breeze lapped at her face as she climbed higher. Meandering only slightly, the path took her far above the shoreline, and she could see the Atlantic and her many ships. I bet one of those is Finn St. Andrews’.

  When Ana reached the top, the wind slowly died, and the base of the lighthouse came into full view. Up close, it looked even more derelict than it had from afar, the white stripes having faded to a dull gray. The red, in contrast, was bright as fresh blood. Around the base was a sloppily placed cyclone fence with barbed wire at the top, and signs posted stating: KEEP OUT and PRIVATE PROPERTY. The weeds and vines, twisting up and around the bottom few feet of the lighthouse base, left her with the distinct impression the building was not only private, but abandoned.

  Graffiti, angled along the graying stripes, shouted: DESTROY HERON HALLOWS and JESUS LOVES CARLA. Neither of those messages meant anything to Ana, but she made a mental note to ask Alex later. He would know.

  Ana caught a glimpse, in her peripheral vision, of what looked like grave markers. Upon closer inspection, they were the simple white crosses common along highways, marking the death of a beloved family member. Yet... there were four of them, like a small, private cemetery. She knelt down in the gravel and read their names: Carla Edgewater. Lionel Shepherd. Sandra Finnerty. Emily Caldwell.

  “What the hell?” she whispered. That explained who Carla was, sort of. Did they all die here?

  Ana stepped back, and her foot slipped in the gravel, nearly sending her over the sea cliff. Heart racing, she righted herself, wondering how she hadn't noticed her proximity to the edge. She could see jagged cuts into the rock, indicating there had once been more land between the lighthouse and the serrated merger of water and land below. Looking down at the outcropping of rocks amongst the waves, she realized for the first time how high she had climbed.

  Backing away, Ana looked out at the ocean again, noticing the ships were all making their way back toward their respective ports. Goose bumps rose on her arms, as the wind picked back up. Moments later, the rain started, quickly increasing in intensity. Within minutes, she was drenched.

  Reluctant, having been completely mesmerized by the sudden storm’s rage, Ana pulled her heavy coat tight around her. She turned to make her way home when she was startled to back into something firm. Strong arms quickly righted her. She gasped, jumping.

  "Tis just me," Alex's comforting voice sang behind her. "Poor dear, let's get ya out of this rain!" Before she could say anything, he motioned for her
to follow, and jogged toward the rear of the lighthouse.

  As he entered through a hole in the fence, Ana wondered, Are we actually going inside? He can't be serious. Then Alex did enter, and Ana, soaked to the bone and shivering, could do nothing but follow.

  Alex flipped a large switch on the wall and the room lit up in a dull light courtesy of a bare, oversized bulb, hanging from a dingy white wire, which looked crude enough to have possibly been made by Edison himself. The lighthouse was much smaller inside than out, and the only sign of ongoing activity was the plain wooden desk in the corner strewn with paperwork. Next to the desk was a wooden chair and a space heater, sitting on the exposed cement floor. Aside from those few objects, the circular room was completely bare.

  As Alex turned on the heater, Ana rushed over and knelt before it, soaking up the heat.

  "There ya go," Alex said, soothingly, patting her on the head. "You'll be right as rain in no time." He chuckled at his joke.

  "What are you doing up here?" Ana asked, through clattering teeth. "I suppose that sounded ungrateful. Thank you for rescuing me." She was shocked at how quickly she could get cold here, compared with how long it took to warm up. This is definitely not New Orleans.

  "Why, I work here," Alex replied, with a note of pride in his voice. "Did I not tell ya?"

  Ana shook her head.

  "Ya. Took over the care on this place about, oh, two years ago now. 'Fore that, it was closed fer about ten years." Ana noted he made no move toward the heater. His jacket was only damp compared to hers, which looked as if she had taken a dip in the Atlantic. She deduced there must be a road leading up the hill, for she hadn't spotted anyone on the path when she arrived.

  "Does it work?" Ana asked.

  "Most certainly," Alex said. "It never stopped workin’.”

  "Then why was it closed?"

  "I don't s'pose ya noticed the crosses out front?" he asked. He was looking out the sole, round window, gazing in the direction of the angry sea.

  "Sort of hard to miss four of them," Ana responded, feeling the overwhelming urge to cross herself. "Did they die here? At the lighthouse?"

  Alex walked over and pulled the chair out, settling it in front of the heater. He motioned for Ana to sit down. From his sad look of resignation, she could see he was going to answer her question with a story. She had come to enjoy, and even welcome, Alex's stories, though this one was unlikely to have a happy ending.

  "Tis a sad tale,” Alex started, dropping his voice. He continued looking out the window, arms crossed. "This place used to belong to the Edgewaters. Ya know, the family that owns Edgewaters, that fancy dinin' on the northern coast? You might’ve seen their names elsewhere, too, being as they once owned half the island." When she nodded, he went on. "T'was a sad thing, what happened to them. Good people, ya know. Anderson Edgewater was a right honest businessman, and his wife, Camille, a real lady. The kind of folks who would stop to help ya load your groceries even if they were in a hurry.”

  He went on, “They had this lovely daughter by the name of Carla. She was eighteen, and had the most beautiful mahogany hair ya ever saw. Smart, too. Kind, like her parents. A girl any parent would be proud of."

  Alex paced from the window to the door, deep in thought. Ana watched him, shivering but attentive.

  "'Course, even good girls meet bad guys.” Alex shook his head, sadly. "Lionel Shepherd." Ana recognized another name from the crosses. “No'ne really knows what happened 'tween the two of 'em, I s'pose. Lionel ran with the fast and loose crowd, and e'eryone worried he would take Carla down the same road. We all knew about the downright awful fights she had with her folks nearly e'ery night. Breaks my heart even to think about it.”

  Alex shifted his attention to Ana, and suddenly, his eyes widened. As if realizing something important had been forgotten, he excused himself and ran out the door. He returned moments later with an old-fashioned metal thermos. Removing the dual-purpose lid, he poured a hot dark liquid that smelled delicious to Ana in her chilled state. Her eyes widened with gratitude as he handed the modest cup to her.

  "Sorry to have forgotten my manners like that!" he declared, with an embarrassed flush in his cheeks. Ana savored the warm cocoa, cupping the lid with both hands.

  "Alex, you're my hero," Ana praised, smiling gratefully. When he gave her a dismissive wave, she continued, "No, really. You've been a godsend to me since the day I arrived."

  "Aw, it’s nothin’,” Alex replied, blushing deeper now. "'Let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven.' Matthew 5:16. You a churchgoer, Ana?"

  Although Ana was raised Catholic, her father had never taken them to church. Amidst Alex's warmth and kindness, for the first time in her life she felt ashamed to say, “No, I am not."

  Instead of shaking his head, or some other gesture of disapproval, Alex smiled at her. "No, I don't s'pose as many of you youngins are nowadays. And that was the case with Miss Carla, too, though it was more than just a lack of faith wha’ ruined that girl."

  "So what happened to her?" Ana pressed, leaning forward with her hot cocoa cupped protectively.

  "Well, ya know that wild rides always come to an end, one way or 'nother," Alex said with another sad shake of the head. Outside, the rain was coming down in relentless sheets. She could hardly hear Alex over the din, but she did not miss the sparkle of tears playing at the corners of his eyes.

  "One night, the two had an awful spat," he continued. His voice cracked slightly. “No one knows fer sure what it was about, but there were rumors Lionel was running around on her.”

  “Carla pushed him from the top of the lighthouse, and then jumped after him. They both died near immediately, the police said, though the coroner told me in confidence she hit the rocks on her way down, snapping her poor legs and arms like twigs.”

  "'Twas her father that found them, and he closed the lighthouse right quick; just boarded it up and left it to rot, though the town council snapped it back up for a short while. He died the followin' year, and Camille the year after. God rest their poor souls."

  “Goodness,” Ana said, processing his story. Though she had never met the teenagers, she couldn't help wondering what had transpired between them. She found it tragic to imagine the desperation or emotions that drove them to such a sad, final end. "How did they know she was the one who pushed him? Not the other way around?"

  "I 'spose no one knows fer sure," Alex conceded, "but days leading up to their deaths, Carla went around tellin' folks she was gonna end Lionel for what he done to her. Folks assumed she meant that Cartwright girl he was s’posedly runnin’ with. 'Course, no one expected they should take the words of an angry young girl so literal.”

  "So that's why the railing is broken?"

  "Nah," Alex replied. "That was later." Without asking, he poured more cocoa in her empty cup. She smiled gratefully, again, thanking him.

  "Sandra Finnerty was an island girl who moved to Portland hopin' to do big things with her life." Alex was pacing again, and his eyes had a dreamy quality. "When her parents’ money ran out, she resorted to...well, less than savory activities." With that last, he twisted his mouth. Ana could see he did not think it was appropriate to talk about prostitution with her. She smiled inwardly at his properness.

  "She was the next one to come up to Edgewater Point to end her life. After that was the sweet Ms. Emily Caldwell, a young woman who had lost her husband in a boating accident. The poor dear walked around the island like a ghost long before she made herself one.

  "That's when the town council finally put them signs up, and closed this cursed place down. ‘Course, people were calling for the lighthouse closure the very morning after Carla and Lionel died, but back then Summer Island was still on the shipping routes and we couldn't just close the lighthouse, ya understand. But after the last two women died here, the council put their foot down and told the city of Portland that they had better take a look at adjusting the sh
ipping routes, because the Casco Bay Lighthouse was retired. Heron Hallows, e'eryone called it from then on."

  "How did you get involved?" Ana asked. The rain had started to die down outside, but she was so focused on Alex's story she hardly noticed, or cared.

  "Well, I s'pose I got tired of looking at the place. Ignoring history don't make it go away," Alex replied, wisely. "So I went to the council with a plan to get the lights turned back on, and offered to take the site on as part of my caretaker duties."

  She smiled sheepishly. "Don't take this the wrong way, but–“

  Alex interrupted her with a chuckle. "You noticed it ain't the most pretty, didn't ya?" He shook his head, smiling. "No offense taken. I'd like to get her all gussied up, but the council flat refused to fund any restoration, and they made me keep those awful signs up."

  Ana was reminded of the Preservation Project, a venture her father started at Deschanel Media Group that targeted old, historical fixtures and funded their restoration. After wondering briefly if he would be interested in taking this on, she resolved to find out. She especially wanted to do this for Alex, for it was clear how much the lighthouse meant to him.

  "Folks like to claim they see Miss Carla, and Ms. Emily, roaming around up here. The ghosts of Heron Hallows," Alex went on. When Ana raised a skeptical eyebrow, he clarified, “No one really believes in ghost stories, of course."

  "Of course," Ana said, slowly.

  Ana glanced up the winding, spiral staircase leading to the top, where the light was. She read somewhere that most lighthouses were now electric, and computer-driven automation meant someone didn't have to man them constantly. Still, she pictured Alex sitting up there, all day and night, staring out to sea, alone. The thought filled her with sadness. He deserved happiness, and companionship, with all he did for others.