New Moon Rising: Moon Rising, #1

By L.M. Pruitt

Nothing ever happens in Selene, Georgia. The biggest events in the past ten years have been a wedding, a funeral and a bar fight. It's slow, sleepy, a little narrow-minded--but for Cari Gravier, it's home.

Now things are starting to happen that nobody's seen before. Strange things in the woods, dead animals--and dead people. Cari's about to discover a whole new side to Selene. And a past that may come back to bite her....

• Language: English
• Publisher: SP Press
• Release date: Nov 28, 2013
• ISBN: 9781507021484

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

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Saying this was a dark and stormy night wasn’t a cliché. It was an understatement. I’d been through tornados with less ferocity than the maelstrom I was currently driving through.

And why was I driving through it? Pride. No other reason and not even a good one. I’d been in more scrapes and disasters because of my pride than I cared to think about. Especially since I was in the middle of one of my biggest ones to date.

I rubbed at my eyes, thankful nobody was around to comment on how they looked more red than brown. I’d been awake for close to thirty hours and driving for at least twelve of them. Any sane person would have found some fleabag motel to check into and crash for a couple of hours.

Not me. I’d seen Vacancy. I had no desire to wind up as part of some crazy’s video collection.

I ran my fingers through the ends of my hair, daring to take my eyes off the road long enough to look at the tips. The red was almost completely gone, a color choice I’d never make again. My hairdresser friend had convinced me my naturally dark blonde hair was entirely too boring. Red was in. Red was hot. Red was me.

Maybe, but the upkeep wasn’t. Some girls might think nothing of dropping a couple hundred every six weeks on their hair. I could afford it, I just didn’t want to. So out went most of the red. It’d taken another eighteen months to get enough length on it so lopping off a couple of inches of hair would close that chapter.

I was thinking about that haircut and my warm, amazing bed and a hot shower—not necessarily in that order—when a figure darted out from the right hand side of the road. I slammed on the brakes out of instinct, squealing when the car hydroplaned for the briefest of seconds. Easing up on the brake, I brought the trusty Civic back under control, coasting to a stop.

My heart was pounding as if the entire Grady County Marching Band was doing the Homecoming routine in my chest. I’d just about managed to get myself under control when there was a frantic beating on my window.

I didn’t scream. I bit my tongue so hard I tasted blood. And then I cursed myself for being a girl and not owning a gun like my daddy had said I should. He’d always said, Cari, you spend too much time out and about in entirely too dangerous of places. You need protection. And then my mama would say, You should listen to your daddy, Cari.

That’s what my tombstone would say. You should have listened to your daddy, Cari.

There was a voice to go with the beating on my window although how I heard it I have no earthly idea. Shifting my feet so my left was on the brake and my right on the gas just in case I had to try and speed off quickly, I risked a glance at my window. And promptly threw the car into park, rolling the window down. I was wet to the skin before I opened my mouth to yell over the roar of the wind.

What the hell are you doing out here, Will?

I don’t think he heard me. He was fumbling for the universal door lock, mumbling to himself. I sat in shock while he slid over the hood of the car, wrenching the passenger door open, hurling himself into the seat.

I stared at him, his blue eyes wild and rolling, his face pale under his late summer tan.

Will. What the hell!

Drive, Cari. Drive fast. They’re coming.

I shook my head, belatedly rolling up the window. Not that it mattered. There wasn’t a single dry inch of me. Who? Will, you need to calm down.

Instead, he shrieked, much as I had when I lost control of the car. The Grady County All-Star Football Player of 1999 shrieked like, well, a girl. I automatically looked in the direction his shaking finger pointed to.

And saw at least a dozen sets of blazing red eyes.

I didn’t ask any more questions. I slammed the car back into drive and floored it. The back wheels threatened to spin out but I gritted my teeth and muscled the car into the center of the road. Next to me, Will rocked back and forth, muttering to himself. It took me a moment to figure out what he was saying. And then I wished I hadn’t.

They’re coming. They’re coming. They’re coming.

"Carolyn Gravier, you know better than to be picking people up on the side of the road. Especially at night. Although you should have known better than to be driving in this weather anyway, you foolish girl." My mama had been saying a variation of the same thing for the past forty-five minutes while she fussed over Will. Instead of trying to haul Will up my front porch stairs and then call Doc Morris for help, I’d done the slightly more reasonable thing. And gone to my parents.

Neither one of them were doctors but my mama had been called to more sickbeds than the Doc, and the people in town still whispered about my daddy’s hands. How if you went and asked Jackson Gravier to lay hands on you, whatever ailed you would be gone in a fortnight. And Sarah Gravier had never lost a child at any birth or a mother, no matter how long and hard that birth might be.

My parents were the closest thing to local legend Selene, Georgia had. I was more of the cautionary tale mothers told their daughters.

Sarah, I’m sure Cari knows what she did wasn’t the smartest thing. I couldn’t remember the last time my daddy had raised his voice at me. He didn’t need to. He was one of those people who could cut you off at the knees without increasing his own pulse by even one beat. I didn’t cringe outwardly, but inside I could feel my stomach start to turn in a way brought on only by parental disappointment. But neither you nor I would have left Marshall and Bethanne Tradell’s youngest boy out there on the side of the road, scared out of his mind.

It wasn’t a rousing commendation, but since I’d been expecting a lecture, I’d take it. My mother looked like she was biting her tongue to keep her opinion of my actions behind her teeth. It took her a moment, but she managed to smooth the irritation out of her face. Be that as it may, I would appreciate it if you make sure she gets into town in one piece. You know how Cari has a tendency to attract trouble.

I’m still in the room. They’d made a habit of talking over or around me all my life. It wasn’t that they couldn’t see me. My parents just thought it was more expedient to deal with my problems themselves and then inform me about the process afterward. There’s no point in Daddy driving into town, then just turn around and drive right back out.

Carolyn Brigid. The only way you’re leaving our house tonight is with an escort. Since your father is the only male available, he will be following you home. Do you understand me, young lady? Not only had she pulled out the middle name, she’d gone with young lady. And escort. There was absolutely no changing her mind. I sighed and rolled my eyes, catching my daddy twitch his lips out of the corner of my eye. Yes, I was a trial. But at least I was somewhat funny.

Well, is anyone going to tell me what’s wrong with Will before I’m shipped back off to the playpen? Mama’s eyes narrowed just a little at the sarcasm and Daddy’s mouth thinned out enough to let me know that I might go from being amusing to annoying real quick if I didn’t watch my tone. Or is it something else I don’t need to worry about?

Seeing as how the boy hasn’t strung more than three words together to form a sentence since he got here, it’s a little hard to ask him what happened, Cari. I never understood why Mama had such a problem with my sarcasm. She didn’t lack for any herself. If it should end up being something that pertains to you, rest assured, your daddy and I will let you know.

Which will be right about the time pigs fly. I collapsed onto the sofa, the same one that had been in the living room since the summer I turned sixteen. Mama would no doubt complain about the wet mark I was leaving the next time she talked to me. The couch frame was still sturdy and the fabric just as bright and vivid a red as that hot July day they’d brought it home. That day was one of the best preserved in my memory, for a variety of reasons.

Cari. Mike was out here today, picking up some firewood. Mama had managed to calm Will down enough he was resting on the rollaway cot. It wasn’t an easy rest, but it was better than the teeth chattering terror he’d been in an hour and some change ago. She looked up at me, strands of gray hair slipping from her topknot. He asked about you. Like he always does.

And I’ll assume you told him the same thing I’ve asked you to every other time he inquires after me. How I am is no longer any of his concern. My snooty Southern lady wasn’t nearly as good as Mama’s but it was good enough to get the point across. Mama just shook her head and turned her attention back to Will.

Let it go, Sarah. Everything works out in the end. Daddy stepped back into the living room and I stifled a sigh at the twelve-gauge in his hands. I’ve checked all the windows and doors. You make sure to lock up after me. I’ll only be forty-five minutes or so.

Cari, you call me when you get home. I’ll spend the rest of the night worrying about you otherwise. Normally I would have argued, if for no other reason than it was expected. But there was something about the set of her mouth and the tension around her eyes that made me mutter a yes, ma’am, before following Daddy out the door.

The drive into town was nowhere near as adrenaline filled and nerve-wracking as the drive to my parents had been. The storm had finally passed on and the roads were infinitely more manageable. The small farms gradually gave way to old, established neighborhoods and then to the tiny heart of Selene. We may not have had a Walmart or a Publix, but the Jensons had ran the local grocery for three generations and Ma and Pa Gareth kept the drugstore open every day, even Christmas.

It wasn’t Atlanta, but it was home.

I drove past the courthouse and the town square, barely paying attention to the statue at its center. If anybody knew the reason why a staunchly conservative small Southern town had a scantily clad young woman holding up the moon as their biggest art piece, nobody was telling. It was pretty, even if it was weird. Well, I thought it was weird.

But then most people thought I was weird.

I rolled through the stop sign next to the First Baptist Church, mostly out of habit, partly to annoy Daddy. There wasn’t a cop in town who didn’t recognize my car and the only reason they’d stop me would be to harass me for old time’s sake. I glanced in the rearview mirror in time to watch Daddy shake his head, making me smile in spite of the escort.

I turned left at the next stop sign, not surprised to find the street sign was missing. Again. I’m sure Mary Jane, whoever she had been, was in a constant snit about teenagers thinking Mary Jane Way was ridiculously funny. If Sheriff Jameson spent all his time trying to hunt down who was stealing street signs, he’d never get anything done. Not that anything big ever happened.

The newspapers on my porch were waterlogged and probably weighed a ton. I distinctly remembered telling Benny Alberts I’d be out of town for a week and still he delivered them. Of course, Benny hadn’t really been all the same since that hit to the head with a baseball in ’97. There was a good possibility he’d waited until this morning to deliver all of them, thinking I’d want to know what had happened while I’d been gone.

If I wanted that much gossip, I’d just call my best friend. Michele would have me filled in within a half hour.

I was so focused on the damn papers, I didn’t realize anything else was on the porch until I went to open my car door and Daddy pushed it shut. My jaw dropped when he pumped the shotgun, striding toward the porch. Whatever was there had him shaking his head. Climbing back down the stairs, he did a quick walk around the house. When he came back around the front, he nodded his head and I finally got out of the car.

What, Daddy? Now that I was home, I wanted to actually get in my home. I was cold and wet and tired and somewhere between annoyed and worried. I wanted a shower, a shot of whiskey, and bed.

It’s nothing, Cari. Go inside and call your mama. Opening the car’s back door, he pulled out both suitcases, managing to juggle them and the shotgun with hardly any effort. Tell her I have to take care of something and then I’ll be on my way home.

I stopped on the second step, bobbling my keys. Daddy, that’s a rabbit. A dead rabbit. I’d grown up on a farm, so I’d seen more than my share of dead animals. But I hadn’t seen any since I’d moved into town nearly ten years ago.

Wild dogs probably brought it up. Inside, Cari. He’d taken the keys from my limp hand and opened the door, turning on the lights and setting my suitcases down. The light was enough to show what was really on the porch.

Wild dogs don’t break a rabbit’s neck without leaving a mark. And there weren’t any marks. There wasn’t any blood, either. Wild dogs would have left blood, definitely.

Daddy picked me up by my elbows, swinging me over the rabbit and the pile of papers. I blinked when he set me down just inside the door, stumbling a little at the sudden movement. And then I sputtered gibberish when he handed me the shotgun.

For once, don’t argue, Cari-bee. My childhood nickname had the effect of shutting my mouth. Daddy looked grim in the porch light, in a way he seldom did. It was wild dogs. You keep this here until I say otherwise. He leaned forward and kissed my forehead, smoothing my hair back. Now, you call your mama. Tell her I’ll be home in a bit. And lock your doors.

Closing the front door, I turned the deadbolt and slid the chain into place. I leaned the shotgun against the wall, as careful as a virgin on her wedding night. I called Mama, relayed Daddy’s message. And then instead of going upstairs and taking a shower, I stood in my front hall, more than a little confused.

What the hell was going on in Selene?

CHAPTER TWO

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I didn’t want to get out of bed the next day. So when the sun tried to shine through the window, I hit the button on the remote that controlled the blackout shades and turned over, burrowing into the pillows. And when my cell phone started ringing, I reached over and turned it off. Then for good measure I turned off the ringer on the house phone.

I could not, however, ignore the pounding on my front door that started a little after one.

Kicking off the covers, I grabbed a robe, grumbling all the way downstairs. Everybody knew to leave me the hell alone the day after I came back from a shoot. It wasn’t a hard rule to follow. Don’t call me, I’ll call you. Later. Once I’ve rested.

I tripped over the larger of the two suitcases I’d left downstairs, the end result being my slamming into the front door. It made the pounding stop for a split second before starting up again. Peeking through the spy hole, I used a few words that would have made my mama reach for the soap bottle.

Of course it would be him. Of course.

I ran my fingers through my hair, popped in a piece of gum from the pack I kept on the hall table. Taking a deep breath, I unlocked the door and opened it wide enough to let him see I was unharmed, but not enough he’d mistake it for an invite inside.

Was there something you needed, Mike?

Michael Sullivan, the bane of my existence, took a step back, lowering his raised fist. His left eyebrow winged up, the scar he’d gotten in a bar fight somewhere in Louisiana—maybe Baton Rouge, maybe Shreveport, I couldn’t quite remember—arching up as well. His eyes were a dark green that only happened when he was annoyed, usually at me, and his hair was a deep golden blond thanks to all the time he spent out in the fields.

He still looked amazing. Damn him to hell and back.

Your parents wanted me to check up on you.

Well, as you can see, I’m perfectly fine. Annoyed and irritated, but fine. When you see them today, which I know you will, remind them we’ve been divorced for five years. You really don’t need to check up on me. Not now, not ever.

I would have shut the door, but he already had a foot in the way. I sighed as I watched his expression change to another that had become all too familiar. Cari. Can we just talk? Please.

Five years ago, I couldn’t get two sentences at the same time out of you. Now, every time I turn around you want to ‘talk’. I made air quotation marks although they were completely unnecessary. We’d had the same conversation at least once a week for the past five years. We should have had each other’s responses memorized by now.

Cari, talk isn’t always a euphemism for sex. It’d only taken him a year to figure out how necessary that line was.

And I’ve told you, whatever you want to say, you should have said years ago. Literally. We’re out of things to say to each other, Mike. Because there was no way in hell I’d ever tell him I’d done as shitty a job of moving on as he had. I’d cut my own tongue out first.

One hand reached out and before I realized it, was tugging at the lapel of my robe. I couldn’t help the flush that spread over my face when he closed the gap my posture and gesturing had opened. And if I let his hand linger for a moment longer than it should have before I slapped it away, well, I couldn’t help that either.

He’d been my whole world for seven years. It was going to take longer than five years to get over him. No matter how much I faked it.

He let me slap his hand away, even though we both knew if he wanted to he could have held tight. Mama wanted me to remind you it’s coming up on berry picking time. Just in case you change your mind.

The flush spread more fully across my face as I remembered the first time I’d been out to his mama’s farm. I still didn’t know just how much his mama knew about what had happened out in her fields that summer day, but I had my suspicions. Tell her thank you, but no. Maybe some other year. My answer was always the same. I didn’t want to be reminded of how young and naïve I’d been. Or how foolish I still was.

Mike let me close the door this time, even though I knew he’d stand on the porch for another minute or two. He always did. I let my hand linger on the door knob for a moment before turning around and heading back upstairs. I’d get up and face the day—or rather the afternoon—in just a little bit. Right now, I wanted the warmth and solitude of my bed.

I always did, after I was reminded of how much I still loved him.

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"You know, some people would think drinking before five in the afternoon was a sign of alcohol abuse. Michele held the bottle of Merlot over my glass for a minute before pouring another inch. She sank into the patio chair opposite mine, squinting her eyes against the glare of the sun. Thank God we don’t associate with any of those people."

Do you think Mrs. DeClarency will ever forgive us for what happened at our coming out party? Or at least forget? I settled into my own chair more comfortably, scanning her backyard, or what I could see of it, under the mountain of toys. Kimber and Scott had more toys than a toy store, or at least I thought they did. It seemed like every time I came over, there were at least two or three new ones. It was one of the reasons I’d stopped bringing them things.

That and those toys got flippin’ expensive the older they got.

Mrs. DeClarency still talks about Pearl Harbor and her husband coming back from the war. The chances of her forgetting anything are non-existent. Michele pushed her jet-black hair back from her olive-skinned face, adjusting her sunglasses. I knew her dark brown eyes were scanning the backyard, noting exactly where each of the children was. And there were more than just her two in the backyard today.

Do you regret turning our dresses into minis? I’d been grounded for the better part of a month until Daddy had broken down and said it was the funniest damn thing he’d seen at a cotillion in a long time. Mama had cracked a smile, although she never said that she approved. Mrs. DeClarency had promptly thrown Michele and me out of the Selene Debutante Class of 1998. The Deb Class of ’99 was told specifically dresses had to be at least knee length.

Well, considering the fact it landed me Jake, it would be a stupid thing to regret, now wouldn’t it? Michele sighed as she lifted her feet to rest them on the table, crossing her ankles. Her toes were bright purple this week in keeping with the Day-Glo kick she’d been on for the past month. It was a better look than the neon green of last week—every time I’d looked at her feet I’d been struck with a sudden urge for zucchini.

Where is Officer Hottie? Out protecting the citizenry against all the violent crime? Jake Myles had joined the Selene Police force nearly ten years ago, but he was still one of the baby officers. There wasn’t a lot of turnover in Selene.

His parents needed some help out on the farm. He’ll probably come back burnt to a crisp. I might as well go ahead and start an oatmeal bath for him. Michele sat there for a moment then sighed, shaking her head. I’ll just wait. This is the first time I’ve been off my feet for more than five minutes all day. Remind me to never agree to watch all the neighborhood kids at one time again.

I thought there were more than just your two running around out here. But I just assumed you’d popped out a few more while I was away. I waited for her to laugh and remind me she was done procreating, but instead she took a long pull from her bottle of water. Well. That’s one bit of news that I wouldn’t have found out in the paper.

Doc just confirmed it yesterday. I’d been feeling, well, like I had with Kimber and Scott for a week or so, and I took an at-home test. When it came back positive, I went in to see the doc. She fiddled with her water, rubbing it back and forth over the arm of her chair. I was going to wait a bit before saying anything.

Don’t be silly, Chele. I felt like my smile was just a shade too bright, making my cheeks hurt a little. You know I’m always happy to watch you balloon up to the size of a small house. I’m betting it’ll only take you three months this time.

I looked across the yard at Kimber, hands on her little hips, doing her best imitation of her mother in a snit. I’d gotten better at ignoring the jerk and tug around my heart, but every now and then it would rear up and slap me in the face. I took a lengthy sip of Merlot even though it tasted like acid. Let’s see if you can actually get that blending thing down this time. If you don’t, I’m willing to bet this one looks like Jake. Since Scott looks like you, it’d be Jake’s turn, right?

Cari, I’m sorry. We really were going to stop after Scott, but... Michele trailed off, the corners of her mouth turning up in a wistful smile.