Promises of the Dead: Grim Alliance, #2
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About this ebook
When Gabe died, he didn’t go alone. A horrific car accident killed not only himself, but also his wife and daughter.
And he blames himself.
As a Reaper, Gabe has found new purpose in his afterlife. But the guilt and anger of what he believes he did weighs heavy on his soul. And after the Reapers marched into Helheim and stole a soul from under Empusa’s nose, they’ve all been target one on her hitlist—starting with Gabe. Soon, he’s haunted by more than his thoughts…he’s haunted by a Spectre.
Talia Riverbottom is a non-glittering faerie, employed by the Hall of Rest as a Spectre Hunter. When she first gets assigned to help Gabe with his problem, she sees a troubled man who will never be free of his ghosts, unless he forgives himself for something that was never his fault. But the secret she hides herself may be the key to unlocking happiness for both of them—but only if she can save him.
All of the Reapers must work together to fight back the evil that has penetrated their ranks, and stop Empusa from getting what she really wants, at any cost. The battle is only just beginning, and they will need every skill and strength they have to win.
And will Gabe ever be free of his ghosts?
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The Athol Trilogy
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Titles in the series (6)
Reaper's Deliverance: Grim Alliance, #1 Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsPromises of the Dead: Grim Alliance, #2 Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsA Cursed Life: Grim Alliance, #3 Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsTwice As Guilty: Grim Alliance, #4 Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsA Lesson in Wickedness: Grim Alliance, #5 Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsDeath in Kindness: Grim Alliance, #6 Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratings
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Promises of the Dead - Miranda Stork
Table of Contents
Promises of the Dead | Miranda Stork
Dedications
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
The Grim Alliance Series
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Also By Miranda Stork
Promises of the Dead
Miranda Stork
Published by Isara Press
Copyright © Miranda Stork 2014
The right of Miranda Stork to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely 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 permission of the publishers; Isara Press.
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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’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Dedications
As always, enormous hugs and kisses to the love of my life, Mark. I know half the time you have no idea what I’m ranting and raving about when I get writer’s block, and you’ve yet to read all my books, but it doesn’t matter. You always hug me anyway, make sure there’s enough snacks to keep a writer fuelled for a year, and encourage me in every way you can. Love you, gorgeous.
And huge hugs and kisses to the usual awesome suspects – Tara S. Wood, K. S. Haigwood, Trish Marie Dawson, Lindsay Avalon, Caroline F. Levy, Tyffani Clark Kemp, Jennifer Howell, Elle J. Rossi, and my newest awesome author friend, Cynthia Valero. You guys are like sisters to me, even we speak every day or not for a while, and I can’t imagine our little writing community without any of you in it. Also, Tara – the Argos rug is here. You know what I mean.
And finally, an enormous thank you to every single member of my street team, particularly Franki Fuller, who won a contest to have her own character placed in the Grim Alliance series. And Helena is such a fabulous character, she’s going to be in every other book of the series too instead of just this one, and I hope all the readers love her as much as I do.
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Chapter One
Gabe stared back at the mirror in cold dread, fear sliding its icy fingers along his spine. The image remained, mouthing silent words at him with panicked eyes. Green eyes. His eyes. His dead daughter’s eyes. She was exactly as she had been when they had drowned in the car together, with his wife. Long midnight-black hair tied back with an Alice band, her favourite yellow raincoat, and tiny red wellies. Her panicked face as she realised Daddy couldn’t save her.
The feeling slammed back into his limbs like he had been hit with them, and he leapt up from the dusty floor, racing for the bedroom door with a terror he hadn’t felt for over two years. His hands shook as he clutched the knob, yanking it wide with a blast of warm, fetid air from the aged house, never glancing over his shoulder at the mirror in the discarded girl’s bedroom. Pausing in the landing, he took in a few breaths, rubbing at his eyes as though he could wash away the memory of seeing his daughter trapped in the reflection.
It was Harriet. Drowning, in the water, all over again. What the fuck is this place? Gabe steeled himself and glanced over his shoulder at the room through the open doorway. Everything was exactly as it had been when he first entered. A dusty child’s room in shades of pink, the cream wooden bed untouched in the centre, the porcelain dolls smiling demurely into space. And the mirror was once again blank, the sight of his daughter gone as though it had all been in his mind. Was it? Gabe gave a heavy breath, the sound travelling and echoing off the walls, prickling his nerves until sweat collected on his brow. Wiping it away with a trembling hand, he gripped his gun tighter, scanning the room with a practised eye.
Da-ddy...
The blood sank from his body as the words crept into his ears, lighting a desperate need within him to be away from the room, away from the house. He charged for the stairs, rounding them so fast that his foot slipped on the top stair, and he tumbled down the first flight with grunts. Childish, mocking laughter followed him, and he stumbled to his feet, jumping the last few steps as they creaked beneath his weight. His arms pumped as he flew towards the front door, forgetting he was able to glide through it like butter as a Reaper, and he flung it wide open. The embrace of the evening sun greeted him, yet it still wasn’t warm enough to thaw the chill that had settled deep in his bones. Harriet’s voice echoed down to him as he made for the pavement, spluttering as he struggled to catch his breath from the rapid descent. Roving his vivid green eyes over the upper windows, Gabe searched for any signs that the young girl was watching him.
You alright, Gabe?
The loud voice next to his ear made him jump, a friendly hand coming down onto his shoulder and grounding him. Closing his eyes as he blew out a calming breath, nerves crackling with bound tension, Gabe swung around to look into the collective gazes of Ryder and Drew. Drew was his usual calm self, but Ryder’s eyes had a steely edge to them, as though he had picked up on the vision that had rattled Gabe’s soul. Yeah, I’m...I’m fine.
Yeah, you look it. I always look like death passed through a blender when I’m fine,
Drew retorted dryly, cocking his head back so that the blond spikes of his hair bounced. His eyes floated up towards the old house, and narrowed as he cast his gaze across the empty windows. Why the hell were you led here for a collection? It looks like no one lives here, never mind a soul waiting to pass over.
You’d be right about that. No one does live here.
Gabe’s expression was grim as he stared back at his friend. But something drew me in here. I...look, I don’t want to talk about it, nothing happened.
Scowling to himself, he shoved his stun gun deep into his waistband, turning away from the pair of them as he made his way along the sidewalk to his ’74 Mustang. Gleaming in vivid red, it was his pride and joy, but at that moment he couldn’t appreciate the slick beauty of the car. Just as he popped the driver’s door open, a firm hand on his arm stopped him. Twisting around, he was faced with the ice-blue glare of Ryder. What now?
What now? What do you think? We come along to find you after you’ve been way longer than usual on a collection, and find you staring up at an old house like you’ve wet your knickers.
Ryder’s tone was tense, but it held a kindly note.
Gabe snorted at him. Yeah, well, I’m not the only one who takes longer than they should on collections, am I?
His satisfaction at the comeback was short-lived as Ryder flinched before him, his cheeks burning red.
That was entirely different,
Ryder snapped, pulling his hand back sharply and folding his arms over his chest, the leather of his jacket squeaking. Hey, if you’ve got a woman hidden in your haunted house you want to go back for, be my guest.
Gabe ran a hand over his shaved hair, blowing out a harsh breath. You really are a fucking idiot, sometimes. Reaching out towards Ryder, he muttered, Look, I’m sorry, mate. I didn’t mean it like that, really. I’m just...let’s just get back. Before I say anything else stupid.
Jerking his head towards the car, he added, Get in, guys.
Drew strode over with a heavy sigh, rolling his eyes. I guess I have to be ‘the kid’ again, huh?
The kid?
Ryder’s question was accompanied by an amused curl of his lips.
"Yeah. You know, the kid who has to sit in the back, because it’s too small for an adult. It’s always me. I’ve shrunk about six inches since I started getting cramped in there." Drew raised his eyebrows and squatted his knees as though to prove his point, sending a pointed look Gabe’s way.
Gabe groaned, but he couldn’t suppress the smile that ghosted over his lips before vanishing again, before jabbing his thumb to the backseat. Just stop moaning, and get in. If you behave, maybe we’ll stop for ice-cream.
Gee whiz, I can’t wait,
Drew monotoned, grunting as he doubled his tall frame to stoop into the cramped space behind Gabe’s seat as it was held back. There was a clunk of the passenger door as Ryder got into the car, and Gabe took a final look back at the Victorian mansion. It was silent as death itself, solemn black windows and cracked, peeling paint. No small girls, no ghosts, no sound. A shiver ran along his spine and settled under his skin, a burrowing worm of fear that wouldn’t leave him.
Pushing thoughts of what he had seen and heard to the back of his mind, Gabe slid into the driver’s seat, cracking his neck as he eased himself into the curved leather. As the door slammed shut with his pulled hand, he breathed out a sigh of relief, clutching the steering wheel tightly with white knuckles. Just for a moment, everything felt okay. Normal. Normal. Funny. He turned the ignition, lighting the car with its customary snarl, and pushed forwards on the gearstick, pulling away from the pavement. Streetlights and music passed the open windows as he sailed through the centre of the city, the early evening warming up for the usual crowds as he turned for the west side towards home—such as it was.
The broken old pool-club had been fixed up somewhat since Elizabeth and Thomas had turned up—now Ryder’s significant other, and half-adopted son respectively. She and the other girls had scrubbed and dusted the place until it was, in her words, liveable. Gabe smiled to himself at the thought. It’s not all that bad, really. They’ve made it look quite nice. It’s good to have a place to call home. The smile fell as he remembered the happy home he had once shared with his wife and daughter, and his daughter’s soundless words in the mirror came back to him, sending a cold thrill through his veins.
Ryder gave him a sideways glance as the shiver ran through him, and he cleared his throat. Gabe, are you sure—
For the love of all the gods—yes! I’m sure nothing is wrong. Can you stop asking now?
Gabe snapped, the apology this time nowhere in his mind. Why can’t he just drop it? Giving an exasperated growl, leaving one hand on the wheel and rummaging in his jeans pocket for something, he added, I need a fucking cigarette.
Popping the carton free, he flipped the flimsy cardboard lid back and knocked a stick out and into the corner of his mouth. Flinging the pack onto his dashboard, he felt around for his lighter.
Those things’ll kill you, you know,
Drew remarked dryly from the back with a smirk.
Gave flicked his emerald gaze up to meet Drew’s solid stare in the rearview mirror, shaking his head. Cheers, mate. I’ll bear that in mind over my next hundred years of looking thirty.
His response was met by an amused snort from both men as he sparked the lighter into life, touching it to the paper. Thick smoke filled his lungs, and he took a relaxing breath, streaming it back out through the window. I know he’s right, though. I shouldn’t really smoke them. Just on principle. But fuck it, I need one right now. It’s not every day you see your dead daughter floating in a mirror.
There was a bump as the car mounted the curb, coming to a stop outside the dark pool-club. A single, flickering streetlight lit the large tarmac carpark as though it was on its last legs, the surrounding buildings empty and quiet. The sun had lowered beneath the crooked roofs, and the only light from above came from a weak crescent moon and the glowing pink clouds of sunset. Gabe slowly pushed his door open, taking another drag of his cigarette as he gracefully rose from the seat into the cool evening air. The earlier warmth of the hot day was gone, and he shivered against the thin cotton of his white tank top, rubbing at his arms. Ryder was already making a beeline for the pool-club, Drew not far behind him. Well, they’ve both got something to go back for. Ryder has Elizabeth and Thomas, and Drew has his brother. Who do I have? Everyone I had is gone.
Gabe shook off the bitter thought. With a grunt, he sucked the last of the polluted smoke from his cigarette and threw it to the ground, stamping it out with one booted foot. If I hadn’t seen that image in the mirror, I’d be fine. I’ve locked this away for so long. It’s better that way. When it’s floating around my head...I’m not myself. He rubbed against his temples, feeling the onset of a headache coming, and made his way over to the battered door of the club, its cracked glass in the small window comfortingly familiar. A sense of being home washed over him at last, and he shoved himself through into the laughter and light of the Grim Alliance’s base.
Chapter Two
"I’m off to bed.