Souls Entwined Read online

  Table of Contents

  SOULS ENTWINED

  Acknowledgements

  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

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  SOULS ENTWINED

  ANNE B. COLE

  SOUL MATE PUBLISHING

  New York

  SOULS ENTWINED

  Copyright©2014

  ANNE B. COLE

  Cover Design by Fiona Jayde.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Published in the United States of America by

  Soul Mate Publishing

  P.O. Box 24

  Macedon, New York, 14502

  ISBN-13: 978-1-61935-450-0

  www.SoulMatePublishing.com

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  For all grandmothers.

  Especially my grandmas,

  great-grandmas,

  and my mom

  (grandmother of 17)

  And

  For Wina,

  who gave me a sack full of paperbacks

  to get my mind off my troubles.

  Acknowledgements

  Souls Entwined is my very first novel. I cannot begin to thank the countless number of people who have supported and helped me along the way.

  My love and appreciation go out to the following who made it possible for me to share my story with the world.

  • My parents who gave me my first diary when I was nine, inspiring my love of writing.

  • My husband and three teenage children who continually support and encourage me.

  • My critique partner, Deborah, who read, critiqued and entered a pitch of my novel in a contest. Without her pitch, I would not be published.

  • My publisher, Debby, who requested to read my story from that contest and offered me a contract. She also edited Souls Entwined.

  • My critique partner, Joan, who was the very first person to read through my story. She gave me the confidence to turn my hobby into something more.

  • My sister-in-law, Kallie, whose keen eyes checked my final copy.

  • My writing friend, Peter, who answers my countless questions and keeps me calm from thousands of miles away.

  • My preschool co-workers and friends who have supported and encouraged me to write the next book in the Souls Series.

  Thanks and hugs to all,

  Anne

  Prologue

  The Release

  Each time Roxana returned to Purgatory-in-Tartarus, anxiety and fear rose within her. Today was no exception. Knowing the risks, she focused on what needed to be done and descended the narrow stairs. As the area around her darkened, she coached herself to gather information then leave as quickly as possible. Despite her fear, she continued, deeper into the PIT.

  Several souls huddled at the foot of the dreary staircase, talking in hushed whispers. They silenced as Roxana’s shoes tapped the final stone stair. The scent of death slapped her cheeks. A crooked finger shoved to her nose stopped her progress. Its owner stared hard into her eyes.

  “You chose not to move on. You must be evil because you come back.” His accusation stung.

  Knowing she had neither the time nor the desire to explain her actions, she pushed his finger aside and brushed against his tattered silk shirt. He pushed back.

  “Roxana,” a raspy, impatient voice blared.

  “Excuse me, I must see Katarina.” The soul noted her urgency and stood aside.

  Roxana hurried to two women seated in a small, secluded alcove. “Hello, Katarina. Has Minnie—?”

  “Not yet,” Katarina growled. Her aged, wrinkled face tensed with speculation.

  “It’s time,” Minnie whispered in a frightened tone. Roxana and Katarina exchanged nervous glances. “Seven generations. Lucy will give the ring to her granddaughter.”

  “No,” Katarina grimaced through clenched teeth.

  Abruptly, Minnie’s chin dropped to her chest, then slowly began to rise. Her unfocused eyes opened, changing from gray green to ice blue.

  “Evil can be overcome. Sacrifices must be made. The ring’s curse is tightly bound, fueled by anger, revenge, and the blood from two. One to kill, one to bring back. The time to attempt is now.” Minnie’s chin fell again. The prophecy was over. “Lucy will give the ring to her granddaughter. Her time to join us is near,” Minnie whispered and then snapped her head up. She desperately searched Roxana’s face. “You must stop Lucy from passing the ring.”

  Katarina snorted. “Impossible. The girl is destined to be next.”

  Roxana turned away, gazing into the endless darkness. Tilting her head, she thought out loud, “What if we spoke to her?”

  “Too dangerous. Lucy is old, weak. No need to speed up her death,” Katarina spouted.

  “Not Lucy.” Roxana paused. “The girl. I could bring her here . . . alive. It’s been done before.”

  Katarina’s eyes narrowed. “Gaining her trust will not be easy. If she is unwilling, there will be nothing you can do.”

  Roxana nodded. “You can connect her to those with knowledge of the curse, to those who have moved on. Perhaps she can find the answers we seek.”

  A resonating boom sounded. Minnie’s head snapped up. “Go, Roxana.”

  Icy chills swept through Roxana as Katarina’s hand gripped her arm and propelled her forward. Roxana slipped to her knees. The air throughout the PIT crackled and froze. A soft wind began, slowly at first, then growing rapidly until it blasted uncontrollably throughout the PIT. Roxana could have avoided this if she hadn’t stayed so long. Evil embraced all.

  Sparks began to swirl within the winds. Flickering, flashing, joining one another until tongues of fire slashed throughout the PIT. Cries of pain s
ounded as the flames pierced through every trapped soul. Roxana was not spared. Evil became empowered by the members’ suffering and pain. Relentlessly surging throughout the PIT, the flames towered, filling every available space.

  A monstrous crackle of lightning reverberated throughout as flames gathered and encircled one spirit in a cyclonic frenzy. Fire pulsated toward the singled-out member until all of the burning resided around one, the chosen one.

  Roxana mustered her strength. Her eyes darted throughout the PIT. The selected member remained engulfed in the spinning fire. In the distance, Minnie pushed herself up to her knees. Katarina was nowhere to be seen. A shudder of fear ran through Roxana.

  This was not an entry. Katarina’s spirit would be released. The fires ceased. Roxana ran to Minnie and sank to her knees, knowing they would all experience the fear and pain felt by both Katarina and her soon-to-be sacrificed descendant.

  Minnie gripped Roxana’s arm as pain sliced through their bodies. There was no escape. Katarina’s spirit emerged from the flames and thrashed wildly. The seizure was brief, yet violent. Time dragged on before a voice said, “Time of death, 3:23 am.”

  The pain lingered. Spirits scattered in nervous anticipation. Roxana gazed at Katarina lying lifeless in the center of the PIT. A blinding light penetrated a wall. Members cowered. Roxana forced herself to look. Katarina would be escorted by her descendant’s soul out of the PIT to an eternity of either good or evil. Where she would go depended on the destination of her descendant.

  A silvery mist entered, swirling around Katarina’s body, forcing her to her feet. Roxana held her breath as the mist became a female figure that held Katarina by the shoulders.

  “Seventh Great-Grandmother, it is a pleasure.” The words came out in a light song. Roxana relaxed. “My name is Sarah. I’m a descendant of John.” Tears welled in Katarina’s eyes upon hearing her great-grandson’s name. “I apologize for the long wait.” Sarah took Katarina’s hand. Her touch transformed the old woman’s body, melting away years of age.

  Katarina embraced Sarah, walked with her to the opening, and then abruptly stopped. She talked quietly to her, then scanned the PIT. Finding whom she sought, she stepped straight up to the man in the tattered silk shirt and waltzed him over to Sarah. “Here, take him. He may be annoying, but his intentions are good.”

  The man stared at Katarina in disbelief, then took her hand. “Kat, the rings. I must return them to Delos—” His voice faltered.

  “Never mind your sins of the past. You’re free,” Katarina soothed.

  He graciously bowed his head and kissed her fingertips. Sarah guided him toward the light. Instantly, his face became radiant. The power of good swirled within him. Escorted by Sarah, the man departed.

  The PIT darkened, turning cold and silent. Emptiness and despair returned, filling the members. Katarina grinned at Roxana, “We have much to do.”

  “Why did you pick him to take your place?” Roxana questioned. “He was—”

  “Grouchy,” Minnie interrupted.

  Katarina shrugged her shoulders. “He doesn’t have any living descendants.” She paused as if she regretted not going herself.

  Roxana squeezed Katarina’s hand. “We can go upstairs now.”

  Katarina’s eyes lit with excitement, “I have an idea. We’ll be back, Minnie.”

  The two women ascended the staircase, both able to exit the PIT, but unable to leave the purgatories. Roxana smiled with hope as she listened to Katarina’s plan. The dull thud of a closing door sounded, sealing away the gloomy despair of the PIT.

  Chapter 1

  Sam

  Darkness surrounded Sam Daggett. The comfort of sleep escaped him because of the intense pounding inside his head, yet he refused to open his eyes. Anything was more desirable than facing the first anniversary of his mother’s death. Painful, vivid memories haunted him.

  Sam remembered walking out of his chemistry class at NYU and seeing his mom on campus. He felt it odd that she wasn’t at work, but it was the noon hour. She took him to a diner where she knew the owner and, to his surprise, ordered two bottles of beer. Mom rarely drank, and since he was only nineteen, he was in shock. Handing him the Corona, she clinked her bottle to his before taking a long drink.

  Together they talked about his classes, his upcoming summer internship, and his dreams of becoming a doctor in sports medicine. During the second round, they even chatted about the girl he had his eye on in history class. She waited until he finished his third beer before pressing a bottle cap in his hand.

  “Never let go of your dreams, Sam.” Her smile faded, and she proceeded to tell him that she had inoperable cancer.

  More memories flashed—dropping out of school to care for his mom, searching the streets for his drunken father, moving away from the city to help Pop start over. Cancer. His entire life changed. Nothing mattered except for two promises he made. The first was to watch over Pop. The second was to remember his mother as she was before the cancer. The first promise was more challenging than he could have ever imagined.

  The air felt cold on Sam’s arm as he slipped his hand out from under the thin quilt and pulled it through his hair. The jackhammer in Sam’s head continued as his thoughts jumped to the previous night.

  His father, with a half full bottle of bourbon, had greeted him when he came home from work. Sinking into a chair, Sam poured a double into a coffee mug across from his glassy-eyed father. Pop cussed him out for underage drinking.

  Sam had taken a sip and calmly told him, “I’ll stop when you do.”

  Sam forced his eyes open. His head throbbed, but at least the room was in focus and remained still. Red numbers on the clock glowed 5:45. Morning already. He took a quick shower and dressed, shoving the worn bottle cap into the pocket of his jeans before descending the stairs. The aroma of fresh coffee struck him as he turned the corner to the kitchen. Pop stared out the window, mug in hand.

  Watching his father, he poured himself a cup. After a few swallows, he grabbed a dirty frying pan out of the sink and cracked four eggs into the pan.

  “Hey, Sam.” In the faint glow of a muted television, Pop drank his coffee. His hand remained remarkably steady. Sam breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Hey, Pop.”

  “When do you finish today?” Pop slurped black coffee.

  “Around four.” Two of the four yolks broke in his attempt to flip them, so Sam scrambled the entire contents of the pan then slid the mangled mess on two plates. He avoided his father’s stare by slathering toast with butter. Pop took the plates to the small table. They ate in awkward silence. Calling in sick crossed his mind. He truly had a gargantuan headache, but working kept his mind off his mother. Pop took his last bite, then added his plate and fork to the sink full of dishes.

  “Going to the hardware store. Gonna get some paint.” Pop pointed to the kitchen wall. Sam felt his face go from shocked disbelief to a slight grin. Pop wanting to do something around the house was huge.

  “I’ll help after work.” Sam glanced around, noticing for the first time in seven months that the walls were a sickly pea green and in desperate need of a fresh coat of paint.

  “How about blue?” Pop smoothed a callused hand over a crack in the wall.

  Sam’s heart thudded. Mom’s favorite color was blue. For a second, he wanted to paint every room in the house blue. The juvenile moment passed. He scrutinized his father. The man in front of him appeared strong, in control. Sam wondered how long it would last.

  A truck horn blared. Sam jumped out of his chair and grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge. “I’ll see you after work, Pop.” His father nodded, then gazed back out the window. Sam ran out the front door, tripping over the morning newspaper.

  Both windows of Tony’s blue pick-up truck were down, and Lynyrd Skynyrd was blasting over a rattling
muffler. Sam tossed his waters into Tony’s cooler alongside three root beers and a smashed sandwich. He could not imagine what the past months would have been like without Tony’s friendship.

  “Get in, Kid.” Tony cranked the music.

  Sam was grateful he didn’t have to talk.

  The forty-five-minute drive passed quickly. Tony pulled into the park, the first vehicle to arrive. The small Virginia town of Farmington contracted Lina Construction to update the park’s pathways and entrance.

  “Where the hell is Hank?” Tony demanded, kicking a dirt clod with his boot. “Who else is coming?”

  “Slappy, Dave, and Doug.” Sam winced when Tony kicked another. Anxiety filled him. He wanted to get home early to see if Pop had painted or resorted back to the bottle. The pounding inside his head returned with a vengeance. Grabbing a bottle of water, he opened it and chugged half. Sam had felt Tony’s dark eyes upon him before he spun around. “Want one?”

  “Nah, I’m good.” Tony’s admonishing stare softened to concern.

  Sam took another sip, looking away. Tony knew a hangover when he saw one.

  A scrawny, gray and white cat wandered over from the park trail. Tony kicked a rock toward it. Amazingly, the cat stopped and stared as the projectile narrowly missed its front paws.

  “Damn, thought I had it,” Tony muttered, kicking another. Missed again.

  The rattling diesel engine of Hank Lina’s truck filled the air. Sam watched as he parked alongside a group of trees marked to come down. Sam tossed the empty water bottle as Tony sauntered over to Hank.

  “Where the hell are those boys?” Hank jumped out, slamming the door. Tony leaned against the white bucket truck, rolling his eyes. Hank reached through the open window and grabbed the landscape architect’s plans. “We need to take these trees out so a ditch can be dug here.” The stump of Hank’s index finger tapped the print then pointed to a wooded stretch adjacent to the site of the new entrance. “We’ll fell them toward the park, chip the branches, and set the hardwood aside for Vince to pick up.”