Maya's Aura: The Redemptioner

By Skye Smith

NOTE: This is the seventh novel in the “Maya’s Aura” series.

This naughty novel of magic and mayhem begins with Maya visiting Nana, her great grandmother, who lives alone on an island in Boston Bay. Nana, a historian, is using Maya’s psychic aura to visualize the memories of their long dead foremother, Britta. The psychic memories are so vibrant, so real, that Maya looses herself to them.

Britta is a new immigrant to America who’s forced labor is auctioned on the dock to repay the cost of the ship’s fare from England. Thus she becomes a redemptioner, an indentured servant, a debt slave. Worse, because she is a comely young debt slave, everyone assumes that her body is for hire.

Welcome to the adventures of a teen who is forced to work as an ale wench in a tavern in Rhode Island, where she runs afoul of a local smuggling boss. When she flees from the smuggler, her bond is sold to a slaver, supposedly to be a maid. When adultery turns into murder, she flees to Boston with the slaver’s wife.

All the while Britta is hoping a praying to find a kind man to marry her and save her from bondage. All the while she must fend off the many men who want to ruin her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Skye Smith
• Release date: Dec 16, 2012
• ISBN: 9780988131477

Book preview

MAYA'S AURA

The Redemptioner

(Book Seven in the Series)

By Skye Smith

Copyright (C) 2012 Skye Smith

All rights reserved including all rights of authorship.

Cover Illustration is a part of The Moon by Alphonse Mucha (1902)

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Than you for respecting the hard work of this author

Revision 0 ISBN: 978-0-9881314-7-7

MAYA’S AURA - The Redemptioner by Skye Smith

Cover Flap

NOTE: This is the seventh novel in the Maya’s Aura series.

This naughty novel of magic and mayhem begins with Maya visiting Nana, her great grandmother, who lives alone on an island in Boston Bay. Nana, a historian, is using Maya’s psychic aura to visualize the memories of their long dead foremother, Britta. The psychic memories are so vibrant, so real, that Maya looses herself to them.

Britta is a new immigrant to America who’s forced labor is auctioned on the dock to repay the cost of the ship’s fare from England. Thus she becomes a redemptioner, an indentured servant, a debt slave. Worse, because she is a comely young debt slave, everyone assumes that her body is for hire.

Welcome to the adventures of a teen who is forced to work as an ale wench in a tavern in Rhode Island, where she runs afoul of a local smuggling boss. When she flees from the smuggler, her bond is sold to a slaver, supposedly to be a maid. When adultery turns into murder, she flees to Boston with the slaver’s wife.

All the while Britta is hoping a praying to find a kind man to marry her and save her from bondage. All the while she must fend off the many men who want to ruin her.

MAYA’S AURA - The Redemptioner by Skye Smith

About The Author

Skye Smith is my pen name. My family convinced me not to use my real name because my stories are so critical of predator males. You'll understand and forgive me this as you fall in love with sweet Maya, my main character.

For those of you who like stories about vampires, witches, and magic, you won’t be disappointed by my very different, more realistic take on it all. My vampires are parasites wearing business suits. My witches are healers ignored by the modern world. My magic is based on aura’s, and everyone has felt or seen an aura at least once in their lives.

The novels so far in the Maya's Aura series are:

1. The Awakening …… - published - She discovers her strange aura.

2. The Refining ………. - published - She learns how to use her aura.

3. The Ashram ……….. - published - She searches for answers in India

4. Goa to Nepal ………. - published - She follows a quest into the Himalayas

5. The Charred Coven ... - published - She fights black craft in England.

6. The Crystal Witch …. - published - She learns psychic craft in England

7. The Redemptioner … - published - Psychic dreams of her ancestor Britta.

8. Destroy the Tea Party - published - Britta’s adventures in Boston in 1773.

MAYA’S AURA - The Redemptioner by Skye Smith

Forward

This is the seventh book in the Maya series, but you can read any of these books out of sequence and still enjoy them, so long as you know the premise that they are based upon. In other words, read this forward before you read chapter one.

Maya is a good looking twenty year old woman from Mendocino County, California who was born with an aura. She first found out about her aura while on a gay nude beach in Vancouver, Canada, where she met Erik who also has an aura.

After living with Erik and his partner Karl for a few weeks, her aura became noticeably stronger, to the point where it would put Erik into a trance. With Erik’s help she explored her ‘gift’ and Erik tried to explain it scientifically.

Her aura can be felt by others. Sometimes it feels like a delicious inner feeling of wellbeing. Sometimes it feels like a sensual massage. Some mistake it for the feeling of love. Some sense a white light, although not with their eyes. Some sense the perfume of Lily of the Valley, although not with their noses. It is like a super sensitive sense of touch, but without touching. It is a proximity sense that can reach out to another person, and even into another person.

A Buddhist monk has taught her how to better control it. How to raise its strength and how to lower it. How to focus it through her left palm for far range. How to focus it through her right palm for close range, and how to cup her hands and focus it into things like crystals.

A epiphony happened when she realized that her aura can heal sickness and cure dis-ease in body and mind. Is this what her aura is then, a healing touch?

A good theory, until one day she killed a man who was trying to rape her. Officially he died of a heart attack, but she suspects that it was caused by her aura. Later she found out that the man had been a psychopathic sexual predator.

Meanwhile, Maya has been recruited as an extra in a B-gradeVampire Slasher movie. The director used her as Vampire bait because she looks so much like an innocent school girl when dressed in a tight white blouse and a mini kilt. Karen, the star, befriended her.

Through fearful experience, Maya has learned that the very touch of a psycho makes her see and smell and feel a horrible darkness that make her swoon. Simultaneously she learned that her aura has a major hate on for psychos. If she cups her hands under a psycho’s throat, her aura goes apeshit and they die instantly, as if from sudden death syndrome or from a massive coronary.

When an Asian mystic learns of this ‘gift’ that not only identifies psychos, but also kills them, she scolds Maya for putting herself in such danger from such violent men. Publically violent psychos are not worthy of her ‘gift’, because they will all eventually be caught by the police. There are much more destructive psychos lurking in politics and big business who cause widespread evil and get away with it.

Partially because Maya was wanted for questioning by New York police about the suspicious deaths of some Wall Street bankers, and partially because she must find out more about her aura, Maya had journeyed to holy places in India. In Nepal she found a treasure. An ancient Tibetan book that is like an Idiot’s Guide to Aura’s.

From the Tibetan book she has learned many things. For instance, how to cure psychos rather than kill them. For instance, there is a connection between auras and quartz crystals. Quartz crystals not only store and reflect auras, but also store the thoughts of the people who have worn the crystals around their necks.

Maya experimented with an heirloom crystal pendant that was passed down to her through the generations from her foremother Britta, who was the first of her ancestors to step foot in New England. The experiment resulted in vivid dreams about Britta’s life in the 1770’s.

Is she psychic or is her aura copying Britta’s memories from the crystal pendant into her own dreams? Okay, that’s enough, now enjoy this book

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MAYA’S AURA - the Redemptioner by Skye Smith

Table of Contents

Title Page

Cover Flap

About the Author

Forward

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 - Autumn in Boston Harbor, Massachusetts

Chapter 2 - May 1772 off Newport, Rhode Island

Chapter 3 - May 1772 in Providence, Rhode Island

Chapter 4 - Sabin's Tavern, Providence

Chapter 5 - June 9, 1772, the Gaspee runs aground

Chapter 6 - June 10, 1772, the Gaspee Burns

Chapter 7 - Along the post road to Boston

Chapter 8 - The wealthy Caldwells

Chapter 9 - The Dairy Plantation

Chapter 10 - At the Church

Chapter 11 - Trip to Providence

Chapter 12 - Touching the Goddess

Chapter 13 - The Breach

Chapter 14 - Sex and Murder

Chapter 15 - October 1772 The Anchor Coffee Shoppe, Boston

Chapter 16 - Meet Sam Adams

Chapter 17 - Warming the Pie Ladies

Chapter 18 - Jim to the Rescue

Chapter 19 - Mercy and Jemmy Otis

Chapter 20 - The Adulateur

Chapter 21 - At Jim's Church

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MAYA’S AURA - the Redemptioner by Skye Smith

Chapter 1 - Autumn in Boston Harbor, Massachusetts

He was watching her. She didn't even need to use her intuition to know that. He was 18 and a geek who spent long nights in the basement of his parents house playing video games and sneaking peaks at free porn sites on the web. Of course he was watching her.

Maya looked out over the roof of the cabin of the converted fishing boat and stared at the island they were making for. Since he was watching her anyway, she leaned on the woodwork, arched her back and straightened her legs. The little peach colored beach skirt that she wore over her black tights did its thing, and the hem flipped across her legs each time the boat crested a swell.

She looked over her shoulder at him and smiled sweetly. Why not. It had been sweet of his sister Mary to pick her up at Logan airport in their mom's minivan, and now he was sweet to run her out to her great grandmother's island cottage in his dad's boat. A stretch of leg and a sweet smile were little enough reward for such personal service.

Usually it was his dad that provided this kind of service to the small cottage community on the peninsula that faced her Nana's island. His dad was a handy man, a Jack of all trades, and therefore an all around useful phone number to keep handy. So Bret, when do your folks get back from Florida?

Two weeks, he grunted back, shyly, and then grimaced. My sister is in charge until then. Bossy boots Mary.

She's nice. We gossiped all the way through Boston. Maya felt a sudden wave of guilt that she hadn't phoned her Uncle Rob to pick her up. Rob lived nearby in Cambridge, but he was doing this tough love thing with Nana. He was refusing to help Nana to continue to live on the island, in hopes that she would see the light and move into an old folk's home nearer to him. His tough love plan was failing because Bret's family were so helpful. Like now.

She's a know it all, he replied.

That's what she says about you. Maya laughed and stood up and moved over to stand close to Bret at the old fashioned spoked steering wheel. It was warmer there behind the small wind screen. The boat wallowed and she pressed into him. They both looked at each other as they touched and they both smiled. He was 18 going on 14, in the way of teenage boys. She was 21 going on 40 in the way of 'no longer teenage' girls.

I saw your movie, said Bret. You were great.

Considering that most of her scenes as a supporting actress in the slasher vampire movie had contained a lot of school girl mini-kilts, blouse buttons stretched to the point of popping, full jiggle running, and full throated screams, she doubted that this was a complement about her skill as an actress. They have just put the sequel to bed. That's why I can take this holiday from Hollywood. It will be released in time for Christmas.

I bought the DVD when it came out, he said and then blushed and regretted saying that. Now she would guess that he played with himself while watching her scenes on slo mo. There was an embarrassing silence. He did what any New Englander did when embarrassed, and switched to talking about the weather. The fall weather has been warm so your gran's dock float is still in the water. Me and my dad 'll be beaching it once he gets back.

Thank you so much. She couldn't live on the island without your help. She's over 90 now. she said taking a deep breath and putting her face back into the chill of the wind to get rid of her flush and blush. In front of a camera she never blushed, but in front of real people it was a constant embarrassment. It was the curse of the fair eyes, to blush from embarrassment and then be embarrassed by the blush. It was a vicious circle that resulted in a lot of red faces.

Bret cut the throttle of the three banger diesel, and banger was an apt name. It was so noisy and smelly. In fact this boat always smelled, if not from diesel smoke then from the fish slime that had soaked into the hull over the decades when it had been a fishing boat. Bret's dad had done a wonderful job converting it to a very seaworthy cabin cruiser, but all his efforts had been defeated by the fishiness.

They glided towards the float and Maya scrambled forward to leap onto it with the bow line. She had gown up in Mendocino county in Northern California and had actually worked on an old fishing boat very similar to this one, but just for a few weeks one summer. The float was slippery but she didn't slip, and was pleased that she still remembered the easy way to tie up on a cleat.

I'll bring your stuff up, Bret called out, you go give your Nana a big hug. The old woman was waiting at the top of the sloping path that led down to the dock. He watched the blonde girl dance up the path to hug her gran and sighed. She was so pretty, no, not pretty, she was, umm, comely. Like you wanted to do nice things for her just to win a smile. It took him three trips to haul luggage, groceries, and a case of wine up to the cottage.

Thank you, Bret, said Nana pleasantly. Tell your dad to just add this to my bill.

Bret looked at Maya, who was standing behind her great grandmother. She wagged her head at him not to mention that it had already been paid for in full.

Next time I am in town I am going to take you clothing shopping, and to the hair dressers, Maya called out to him as he started back towards the boat. You need a Hollywood style makeover. She waved and then whispered to her gran, Underneath that crew cut, blue jeans, black sweatshirt, and B.O. there is a handsome young man trying to find himself. With a little help he should be a hit with the local girls.

Oh, that is new, replied Nana, My Maya seeking the company of men, rather than fleeing from their attention and suspecting every offer.

Oh, he's nothing like the slimeballs that tend to stalk me, Maya said, he just needs someone to teach him what a girl wants. Nana was right though. Usually she gave a frigid response to any offer of friendship by men. Experience had jaded her to the smiles that hid leers, and to the generosity that hid lust.

Come on into the cottage. I put the kettle on and I can hear it whistling it's fool head off. The old woman turned and walked stiffly, but notably without her cane, into the hundred year old cottage. The tiny island had been in her family since the War of Independence.

* * * * *

Nana held up the ancient quartz crystal that Britta had brought back from England and stared at it. It is very interesting that the cage for hanging it is at the pointed end rather than the blunt end. And you say that this crystal was worn by the same man that wore this funny old ring? She held the ancient iron ring up beside the crystal so she could see both at once. The ring was a family heirloom.

Yes, didn't you read my emails from England? I even sent you a picture of how the ancient crystals were used as part of a wand, remember.

Oh yes, now I remember, the old woman said as she looked over her reading glasses at the girl. I'm a bit slow sometimes, but I get there eventually. Reaching forward she pulled at the silken chord around Maya's neck and drew out the quartz crystal it held from under the girls blouse. Oh, that's a surprise. I thought you would be wearing Britta's crystal.

I don't wear other women's crystals anymore, replied Maya. Just my own. This rose one is my new favorite. It was given to me in India at an ashram, like as a thank you present. It's very pure.

So you don't want some other woman’s mojo around your neck? Well I suppose that makes sense.

It's not that. In fact the 'mojo' actually feels good. I can, like, feel it inside me, you know. When I finally figured out that crystals can carry the memories of their owners, well, like I don't want to overwrite some other woman's memories with my own, so I stopped wearing theirs.

Ah yes, I remember that from your emails. You said that if you sleep close to another person's crystal, your dreams are entwined with the memories stored in the crystal.

Maya shot her greatgran a worried look. Was she getting the short-term-memory-loss-thingy that old people are supposed to get? You know, where they can remember the distant past as clear as a bell, but can't remember what they were doing last week. My aura reads the memories from the crystal and then displays them in my dreams. And not just a little. It's, like, in 3-D widescreen cinemascope Technicolor with stereophonic sound and smellorama. The dreams are sometimes so vivid that it is like I am living them myself, like as if it is for real. Especially, you know, like with the smells.

I can believe that. Certain smells trigger vivid memories of my own life. Like the smell of the London underground always triggers memories of my time there after the war. Nana meant the Second World War, but she figured that Maya would know that. So this thing you do where you seem to connect with the spirits of dead people, you are saying it's not the spirits at all?

No, and it never was. It was always my aura reading the memories stored in the crystal. Maya rummaged in the zippered pocket, the valuables pocket, of her travel pouch and brought out Britta's crystal and held it up by the loop of silk cord attached to its cage. This crystal was also a family heirloom, and had been found with the old ring.

She thought for a second and then she fished around again and pulled out a USB memory stick, her backup stick from her netbook computer. Now she held up both the USB stick and Britta's crystal next to each other. They were about the same size.

Just like this computer gismo hold the memory files from my computer, so does this quartz crystal hold the memories of our ancestor Britta. Don't ask me how it works, but some nerds told me that it is probably because both of these memory devices are forms of silicon crystals. This one the computer can read, while this one my aura can read.

So you need an aura to read one? What about saving the memories. Do you need an aura for that, too? Nana confirmed. She also had an aura but hers was weak in comparison to her great grand daughter's. Maya's aura was scary strong. If you didn't know it was an aura, you would think it was black magic. No. White magic, because it was a healing power.

I think so. I mean, like, how could I know for sure. Britta, for instance, wore this crystal over two hundred years ago. I assume she had an aura. They seem to run in our family.

It would be nice if you could dream more with Britta's crystal, while you are here. My attempt to write a historical novel about her based on her diaries is sort of stuck in the mud. I mean, I have scanned, transcribed, and indexed her letters and her diaries, but her words are so, so, out of context. Some smellorama 3-D visions might explain a lot.

Maya pushed her chair closer to her gran so she could hug her. Her great grandmother had been a very literate-professor-type in her day, and had led a life filled with books and learning. Now she was trying not to be left behind by a world drowning in the urgent random information of the Web. She knew that Nana was working long hours on her laptop trying to put together an historical novel about Britta, the first of the family to immigrate to America.

If you think it will help, then of course I will do some dreaming with her crystal for you, but you have to be prepared to sit beside me while I sleep and make notes of anything I may say. You know how it is with dreams. You never seem to remember the best ones after you wake up. I will need your notes to help me to remember the dreams.

Nana looked down at the crystal while figuring out the underlying complexity of what Maya had just explained. Maya needed notes as triggers to remembered memories placed in her mind, by dreams projected by her aura, from memories stored in this crystal over two hundred years ago by someone else’s aura, from their memories in their mind. She was glad she was writing fiction, because no historians would accept such ethereal provenance.

Of course, dear. I don't sleep very much any more anyway. Perhaps I am too afraid of the day when I will fall asleep and not wake up. Nana picked up the English style tea pot, with cozy, and poured some more English style tea into very dainty and pretty English china cups. Nana was proud of her English heritage.

* * * * *

While Maya slept, Nana watched her. The heirloom quartz crystal was laying on the pillow not a half an inch from the girl's neck but not touching her skin. Maya was over that first half hour of must-put-my-head-down deep sleep and now her eyes were now moving quickly underneath her eyelids. She was in REM sleep. She was dreaming.

Nana, Maya and Britta had something more in common that just a bloodline. All three of them had this extra animal sense. It was like the sense of touch, but it was touchless. For simplicity sake they called this extra sense an aura, because everyone had heard of aura's. Religious folk called them halos.

This 'beyond touch' sense was so delicate that any sense of touch blocked out the sensation. Modern people didn't use or feel auras anymore because the constant touch of their clothing blocked them out. As with any other natural gift, if you didn't use your aura, you eventually lost it through atrophy.

Before falling asleep, Maya had told Nana that if she didn't dream about Britta, then it could be because of the touch of the sheets. If that happened she was supposed to wake her slightly and get her to sit in the lotus meditation pose and clip the crystal's silken chord to her hair so that the crystal draped down the back of her neck, but did not touch the neck.

Maya had also told Nana to use a light and happy voice, and to keep asking simple questions to keep Maya talking in her dreams. The first question was Who are you. She repeated it a dozen times, softly, until there was a response.

I am Britta, silly, it was more of a breath than a whisper.

Nana sucked in her breath. Bingo. Britta had been their foremother who came to America in 1772 from England, and had experienced first hand