by Vered Ehsani
Table of Contents
Title Page
Free Books
Character List
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Fact & Fiction
Read More
About the Author
Copyright
Stones of Nairobi
Society for Paranormals: Case 7
By Vered Ehsani
from Africa… with a Bite
Get 2 Books for Free
That Night in Lagos ~ the prequel to the Society series, in which we learn how Miss Knight first met the Mantis, her arch-nemesis.
From Africa, with a Bite ~ a beginner’s guide to African supernatural beings and things that go bump in the night
These books aren’t available in any store. For more information, go to http://veredehsani.co.za/free-books/
Character List
Beatrice Timmons ~ more commonly referred to as Miss Knight; a paranormal investigator, and part witch, part werewolf
Drew Anderson ~ Miss Knight’s half-brother, and a werewolf
Dr. Ribeiro ~ the zebra-riding doctor of Nairobi
Gideon Knight ~ Miss Knight’s deceased first husband, and a ghost
James Elkhart ~ Miss Knight’s and Tiberius’ biological father, and a Mediterranean vampire
Jonas ~ the gardener, cook and driver for the Timmons household
Kam ~ the African God of Lightning
Koki ~ the Praying Mantis, and a West African she-demon
Lilly Elkhart ~ Miss Knight’s cousin with whom she grew up in the Steward household
Pricilla (Cilla) White ~ Mr. Timmons’ niece and goddaughter, and Miss Knight’s best friend
Prof Runal ~ Director of the Society for Paranormals, and a werewolf
Simon Timmons ~ Miss Knight’s husband, and an energy / identity thief
Tiberius Elkhart ~ Miss Knight’s half-brother, Lilly’s husband, and a Popobawa
Wanjiru ~ Jonas’ daughter
Yao ~ an Adze (an African vampire that shape shifts into a firefly)
Chapter One
HE HEARD DEATH approach and welcomed him.
“You have taken long to arrive,” Koitalel told the God of Death, his tone calm, his wrinkled hands resting in his lap.
“My apologies. May I?” Death asked, indicating a space next to the old prophet.
“Of course.”
Comfortable with silence, Koitalel said nothing more as Death sat beside him on the zebra pelt. The god’s golden glow lit the dark, pre-dawn air around them, but Koitalel knew that only the two of them could see it.
In the camp nearby, the Nandi warriors sleeping in their furs hadn’t heard Death’s arrival. If they should wake, they would only see a revered old man staring into the starry sky, contemplating destiny with eyes as deep and old as the Rift Valley.
“Are you ready?” asked Death as he pushed back the lion’s head that was a part of the god’s cape. Long braids hung past his shoulders.
“Always,” Koitalel replied with a smile. Deep lines creased around his eyes and mouth. Rubbing his smooth scalp, he asked, “Who will it be? Who amongst my warriors will perform the deed?”
“Does it matter?”
“No. Betrayal is betrayal.” Koitalel sighed and felt the weight of years settling around his shoulders. Shivering under the red-stained leather cape, he prodded the small fire before him, hoping to draw some warmth from its subdued flames. Wood snapped and sparked in response.
“These People of the Fog are tricky creatures,” Death mused.
Koitalel chuckled upon hearing this phrase being used by Death. It had been his own description of the pale-faced invaders; now, even the gods preferred it to other names. “You’ve had some experience with them?”
Death snorted and nodded, the ochre-stained braids twitching around his broad shoulders. “Yes, I have. And with one in particular, a female known to us as Miss Knight.” He clucked in disgust. “As you’ve said before, they are devious. And their language truly does sound like the incessant chattering of birds.”
“Hm. Yes, I know of Miss Knight,” Koitalel said. “To her credit, she tried to forewarn me. But it was already too late, even then.” Pausing to prod the fire, he added, “There is, however, one matter of importance that I’ve left unfinished: the child.”
“The unborn girl?” Death asked.
“The very one,” Koitalel replied. “If all goes well, perhaps we shall see her sooner than later.”
“Perhaps.” Death glanced around.
The land was silent as the creatures of the night retreated; the day creatures remained hidden as they waited for the dawn to summon them. No wind stirred the long, rain-soaked grass or the tree branches thick with clusters of flowers. The only movement was the shimmering of stars above them.
“It is soon,” he warned.
“I am honored that you have come to personally claim me,” Koitalel said.
“This is the reward granted to all brave warriors,” Death said and lowered his gaze. “Besides, it’s my fault that humans die and never return. When I prayed for my beloved moon, rather than for man, to be reborn, I condemned you all. The moon never truly dies but you do. This is the least I can do for having denied you a return to this world.”
The old man shook his head. “Why would any sane person wish to return to this place of suffering and strife? I shall happily stay with you and let the moon return in my place.”
Death smiled, his entire countenance brightening. “It pleases me to hear you speak in this way. It is time. I shall be here, waiting for you. I will not leave your side.” So saying, he stood up, a tall metal spear appearing in his grasp, its tip fiercely golden.
In the calm of the moment, Koitalel heard the brush of a stealthy foot against the grass behind him. Unsure if he should speak, he remained with his gaze fixed upon the stars.
“Bwana Koitalel, your uji,” the traitor’s voice spoke at his side. A gourd filled with millet porridge appeared before him, held by a pair of trembling hands.
“So this is how it is to be,” Koitalel murmured and clucked in disgust. “Poison is the weapon of cowards.”
Unnerved, the man squatting by his side nearly dropped the gourd. The old man’s hands, however, were not afflicted by tremors, and he accepted the offering while dismissing the traitor.
“Forgive my sins and remember my victories,” Koitalel prayed before gulping down the entire contents of the gourd.
As dawn’s first light skimmed the land with its pale gold kiss, a pair of empty eyes gazed out to the horizon, and the prophet discarded his body. Nearby, the warriors began to awake to prepare for the next battle. Unseen, Death and Koitalel walked through their midst and departed.
Chapter Two
TO BE BLISSFULLY oblivious once again would be rapturous.
&nbs
p; This was my first inclination upon collecting the post one fine morning. At the time, I was bemusedly bewildered. What did the thought and the mail have to do with each other? It was beyond me. In hindsight however, it was pure genius. Perhaps I’d had a flash of intuition regarding the contents of one of those letters.
As I was in a hurry, I didn’t bother to glance through the assortment of envelopes. Instead, I thrust the post into a pocket of my knee-length leather trench coat, provided a hasty farewell to the postmaster, Mr. O’Harris, and exited the post office. Trotting down the stairs, I discovered Nelly demolishing the contents of a flower pot.
“What did that plant ever do to you, you horrid beast?” I demanded.
Nelly merely snorted, belched and whisked her tail.
“Come on then, we’d best make haste, for that wretched ghost Gideon will be sure to give us a verbal lashing,” I admonished my plump little horse. “Shelby hasn’t eaten her second breakfast yet.”
The reddish brown horse glanced at me with what could only be described as a sorrowful expression.
“And neither have you, I know. Although you could well afford to skip a meal or two.”
Nelly stomped a hoof and shook her head, the metal bits of her bridle tinkling with her agitation.
“Not to worry. I’ll feed you,” I reassured her. Once I’d settled myself in the saddle, I urged the nag out of town. “I do sometimes wonder who’s the master of the house. It’s certainly not human, whoever it is.”
Despite being overweight and prone to sleeping at the most inconvenient moments, Nelly was, in fact, a rather fast horse. Early on in our acquaintance, she’d been possessed by a nasty serpent spirit. Not in the least bit inconvenienced, she’d promptly ingested the invader, thus absorbing its speed and ability to fly.
The advantages of such abilities cannot be underestimated, even in the most civilized corners of the world. As we were not in such a corner, it was particularly useful given the sparsity of transport options available in the environs of the small town of Nairobi and the deplorable conditions of the roads, if I could even call them that.
Once clear of the town and hidden by a clump of trees, Nelly put her powers to good use. In a blur of color and wind, we hurtled across the land and arrived outside our dilapidated little barn a few minutes later. I spat out a fly and removed a twig that had been snagged by my hair. These were minor vexations of traveling thus, as long as I didn’t actually swallow the bugs that pummeled me on such speedy trips.
“Jonas, you’re here,” I said as I entered the barn.
My gardener / cook / driver didn’t bother to acknowledge my salutation and continued oiling the ox harness. All that greeted me were his tight black-and-gray curls atop his wrinkled head. Nelly began to snore beside me.
“And how’s Wanjiru?” I continued, determined not to let social niceties slip, even if they weren’t appreciated by my employee.
“Hm,” he grunted and finally deigned to look at me, a scowl further wrinkling his face, the gap caused by his missing front teeth clearly visible. “Yao, that filthy vampire, he’s visiting Wanjiru every morning and every evening. She’s my daughter, and he doesn’t have my blessing. If I see that vampire, that Adze, when he’s in his firefly form…” He clapped his gnarled hands together with sufficient force so as to wake Nelly.
“Delightful,” I said and made a mental note to tell Yao not to shape shift into a firefly when Jonas was around. Knowing Yao, he would most likely ignore the suggestion but I had to try. “Do keep in mind that Yao did assist us in rescuing Wanjiru from the God of Death.”
“Bah,” Jonas replied. “A lot of whining and complaining is what he did.”
Abandoning the effort to sway Jonas’ dismal opinion of Wanjiru’s new suitor, I switched subjects. “I’m delighted you continue to wear the new clothes we gave you.”
Ever since I’d known Jonas, he’d attired himself in what amounted to rags, insisting that he would only use the new clothes when he found his daughter. He’d been true to his word.
“Hm,” he said, displaying a profound disinclination for the new topic of conversation.
I considered launching into a discussion on the weather as any decent Englishwoman would, but Jonas would be even less interested in that. Therefore, I settled on the topic of work. “Have you managed to find some wood?” I asked. “You do remember I mentioned that I wanted to construct a picnic table?”
Jonas’ thin eyebrows rose up his dark, wrinkly forehead.
“We have a few outdoor chairs,” I persisted, “and it would be delightful to set up a table under one of the trees near the cottage.”
Thoroughly unimpressed by my vision, Jonas leaned his elbows on his knees and stared up at me with evident disinterest. “No wood.”
“Surely there’s some wood to be found,” I said, my exasperation mounting over his recalcitrance. “Will you at least ask around next time you’re in town?”
His thin shoulders rose in a noncommittal shrug before he said, “Koitalel is dead.”
The dramatic news caused me to pause. Koitalel, the prophet of the Nandi, was, or had been, an influential person. I pondered what his demise would mean for the tribe’s uprising. Without his leadership, they would surely be defeated by the British before long.
“Him, he was murdered,” Jonas continued with a slight lisp, his gnarled hands tightening around the harness. “Betrayed by a dog.” He spat onto the ground. “A traitor.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said with all sincerity. “He was a visionary and a powerful mystic.”
“It’s a bad omen,” Jonas muttered, returning his attention to the harness. “Bad for all of us.”
Recognizing that he’d ended the conversation, I left him to his dark ruminations. Once settled in my kitchen with a tea leaves brewing in my mother’s metal teapot, I fed Shelby her second breakfast of oats and banana. In between shoveling goop into the eager mouth of the baby Vervet monkey, I began sorting the mail.
Most of the letters were for Mr. Timmons and his import business. However, two were addressed to me. I recognized the handwriting on both envelopes, and my reactions were startling and contradictory: delight and disgust.
My attention was wholly taken up by the two letters before me, and I debated which one I should open first. Shelby squawked as I jabbed a spoon of mush at her ear. Immediately, Gideon rushed through the wall from another section of the cottage and floated before me.
“Beatrice Knight Timmons, why is it so difficult for you to feed a baby?” he demanded, the frown on his angelic face emphasizing his discontent with my maternal abilities. His light brown eyes, normally glittering with mischievous energy, were disapproving of my negligence.
“Gideon, you know how I deplore such poor manners,” I admonished him. “Walking through walls simply isn’t appropriate, even if you are dead. What will Shelby learn from such an example as yours?”
“Well, at least I don’t forget to bring her home from a party,” he rebuked me.
Flinging down the spoon, I delivered a firm stare at him. “That was once, Gideon. Once. I forgot her one time.”
The ghost sniffed. “Once is enough.”
“Indeed it is,” I muttered.
Shelby scratched her furry head, little ears twitching at the commotion, her brown eyes blinking at the two of us.
“Observe: she’s distressed by our fighting,” Gideon said, his eyes widening and his fists clenching.
“She’s a monkey, Gideon,” I said, shaking my head as I picked up the two letters. “Monkeys are constantly squabbling amongst themselves.”
I didn’t pay attention to Gideon’s response. Instead, I studied the two envelopes, debating which to open first.
“Just open both of them,” Gideon whispered beside me as he too studied the envelopes.
Taking advantage of my distraction, Shelby grabbed the spoon and began banging my teapot, screeching in time to the metal pinging. Her musical enthusiasm caused bits of banana to
be flung in all directions and to be smeared against the engraved sides of the teapot.
“Eventually,” I said, tugging the spoon away. “But with which one do I start? The choice will utterly impact my mood for the remainder of the day, possibly even the week.”
“In that case, select the one that’s most likely to bring you happiness,” Gideon said and grinned. “For all our sakes.”
I sighed. “Therein lies the dilemma. For I don’t suppose that either letter will be the cause of any joy.”
“Then it doesn’t matter which one you open first,” he said with a shrug.
“That’s a point and a shockingly logical one at that, for a dead man,” I admitted and opened Cilla’s letter. My most intimate friend’s neat script flowed across the page, filling every bit of space on both sides of two pages.
“Goodness, how ever does she find enough to write about?” I wondered.
“Without giant insects and orphaned monkeys, I imagine it would be very challenging,” Gideon said as he made faces at Shelby. The monkey squeaked and jumped up and down in response.
“Evidently, London isn’t as dreadfully boring as we remember it,” I said. “There’s an entire paragraph devoted to the inclement weather and another regarding the latest fashion. It seems those biking pants for women are quite the rage. I must admit they do make horse riding an easier task. Oh, and…” My voice faded away as I skimmed the next section.
“I’d like to see you wear those biking pants Lilly gave you,” Gideon mused. “I mean, without a skirt covering them. Just the pants, and a shirt. Nothing else. How exotic that would be.”
“Hm,” I replied. My lack of outrage at his scandalous suggestion alerted my deceased husband to the degree of my distraction.
“What next? What else does she say?”
“That her father has introduced her to the son of a close associate,” I said as I continued reading. “And they are now engaged to be married.”
“Her father and the associate?” Gideon asked, smirking.
“No, you buffoon,” I muttered. “Whatever will Drew make of this?”