Ghosts of Fire

By Angela Brown, Jeff Chapman, River Fairchild and 5 more

From USA Today, Amazon bestselling, and popular science fiction and fantasy authors comes Ghosts of Fire, a supernatural anthology of ten thrilling tales. Meet paranormal detectives, imprisoned dragons, dark demons, cursed jewels, and handsome prophets. Explore shifting realms trapped in mirrors and a disturbing future where a president aims to rid the world of Otherkind. Ghosts of Fire is the third, long-awaited Elements story collection from the dynamic and inventive Untethered Realms group.

“The Flaming Emerald” by Jeff Chapman: When Orville finds an emerald in a pawnshop, Jimmy suspects there’s trouble ahead, which is precisely what they encounter, trouble of a very weird and supernatural kind. Will they rid themselves of the cursed jewel before the flames scorch them? This is another story in Chapman’s Huckster Tales series.

“The Cost of Greatness” by Meradeth Houston: The newly elected President swears that he will rid the country of Otherkind, no matter the cost. When violence breaks out, one question must be answered: what is the cost of peace?

“On Day 168” by Cherie Reich: For 168 days, a dragon imprisoned Astryd in his cave, but the chieftain’s daughter has escaped to discover the dragon may not be her only enemy.

“The Vagaries of Eloise Stanton” by M. Pax: Lucy’s family disappeared when she was a child, lost in a world of mirror. No one believed her, yet the reflections of her family’s faces haunt her, plead with her for rescue. On the verge of at last being reunited, Lucy must battle the cruel woman, who isn’t quite human, standing as a barrier between the two realms.

“Mind the Gap” by Gwen Gardner: Carl James wants to impress the lovely Detective Inspector Madison Perry by helping her catch an international art thief. Little does he know how his world will change when he steps through the ancient standing stones and finds himself an unintentional Gap Walker.

“Ryan” by Misha Gerrick: As the oldest griffon in existence, nothing thrills Ryan more than hunting down Aleria, the most powerful phoenix alive. But when the blitz traps both immortals in a struggle for life and death, he discovers she might be more than his prey. She might be his salvation. Ryan and Aleria’s stories continue in Endless.

“Rollerskate Boys” by Catherine Stine: An old shoe warehouse seems like the perfect place for artist Lily to set up a studio. But after moving in, she is tormented by startling clatters in the hall and the ghostly trails of boys on roller skates. When a deadly fire erupts, she’s no longer sure of what is real and what’s a figment of her nightmares.

“The Torchbearer” by Christine Rains: Sent to a dark crossroads by Hekate’s command, Desma must listen to the words of a handsome prophet whose ominous message mystifies her as much as he captivates her.

“In Plain Sight” by Angela Brown: Kazel and Amandine are best friends with their own little secrets to hide. When a boring study session at the library comes to a screeching halt, it forces them to put all their cards on the table and into plain sight. Readers of Neverlove and Frailties of the Bond will enjoy the return to the Shadow Jumpers and NEO worlds.

“Demon in the Basement” by River Fairchild: A man returns to his childhood home, determined to destroy the evil residing within it... or die trying.

Elements of Untethered Realms series
Twisted Earths - October 2014
Mayhem in the Air - October 2015
Ghosts of Fire - October 2016
Spirits in the Water - October 2017

• Language: English
• Publisher: Angela Brown
• Release date: Oct 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370609260

Angela Brown

Angela D. Brown is the founder of Vertical Worship Creative Arts Ministries. She has been dancing for the Lord since 1991. She currently resides in South Carolina. Originally from Brooklyn, New York, where she developed her creative arts craft while serving in a large church, she relocated to Austin, Texas in 1996 where she led dance ministry for 15 years after she was ordained as Minister. She mentored others in dance while challenging them to surrender their all to the Lord. She hosted annual conferences, leadership and prayer summits, and creative arts concerts drawing people from across the country. In 2010, Angela established an organization called "Vertical Worship Creative Arts Ministries" (VWCAM), of which she was ordained as Pastor in 2012. VWCAM helps believers effectively minister to the world horizontally by aligning themselves with the Lord vertically.

Book preview

Ghosts of Fire

Elements of Untethered Realms #3

Edited by Cherie Reich and Catherine Stine

Featuring stories from Angela Brown, Jeff Chapman, River Fairchild, Gwen Gardner, Misha Gerrick, Meradeth Houston, M. Pax, Christine Rains, Cherie Reich and Catherine Stine.

Copyright 2016

First Edition

All rights reserved. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events, or occurrences is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously.

Summary: From USA Today, Amazon bestselling, and popular science fiction and fantasy authors comes Ghosts of Fire, a supernatural anthology of ten thrilling tales. Meet paranormal detectives, imprisoned dragons, dark demons, cursed jewels, and handsome prophets. Explore shifting realms trapped in mirrors and a disturbing future where a president aims to rid the world of Otherkind. Ghosts of Fire is the third, long-awaited Elements story collection from the dynamic and inventive Untethered Realms group.

Cover Designed by Najla Qamber Designs | www.najlaqamberdesigns.com

An Untethered Realms Anthology | untetheredrealms.com

Table of Contents

The Flaming Emerald by Jeff Chapman

The Cost of Greatness by Meradeth Houston

On Day 168 by Cherie Reich

The Vagaries of Eloise Stanton by M. Pax

Mind the Gap by Gwen Gardner

Ryan by Misha Gerrick

Rollerskate Boys by Catherine Stine

The Torchbearer by Christine Rains

In Plain Sight by Angela Brown

Demon in the Basement by River Fairchild

Elements of Untethered Realms

Authors of Ghosts of Fire

About Untethered Realms

A Huckster Tale

Chapter One

Will you look at that? said Orville.

I left behind a pile of secondhand leather coin purses in the sales bin to ogle Orville’s find.

A pendant dangled from his thick fingers and twirled back and forth in the yellow light from a dirt-crusted window. Certainly caught my gaze and held it too. The green stone glittered like a polished mirror, catching and throwing the light in its facets. I figured Orville had found something to use in his hypnotism act.

Real pretty, I said.

Pretty? Orville hissed, lowering his voice. This is a real emerald, boy, or I can’t tell the difference between a thoroughbred and a mule.

He gestured at the bin of cheap trinkets he’d been digging in. A lot of paste and tin if you knew your business.

This here’s the veritable diamond in the rough. He shook his head on his thick neck, jiggling his jowls. You still got a lot to learn, boy.

Orville was real keen on saying I had a lot to learn, but I didn’t begrudge him his opinion. Like my grandma always said, A wise man ain’t got a head too big for his hat.

She’ll be askin’ a pretty penny for it, I said.

That half-blind crone? She ain’t got no idea what she’s got. Watch me, boy. You might learn somethin’.

Orville picked out some gaudy-looking trinkets and dropped them into his palm with the pendant. Pick out one of them coin purses too, he said. Preferably one that ain’t got holes in it. He sniffed, shaking his head. Sorriest lookin’ pawn shop I ever seen.

The sign above the purses read secondhand. Fourth- or fifth-hand would have been a generous label, but beggars couldn’t be choosers in a backwater like Busted Axle. Orville watched me sift through a good two dozen, tapping his foot and sighing the whole time, before I found one without a hole the size of a five penny piece. I suspected the former owners had to pawn ’em ’cause all their coins dribbled out.

I followed Orville toward the front of the shop where a shriveled old woman stood behind the counter. Her dress hung loose off her shoulders and billowed out over her waist where she’d cinched it. The fabric was dull and worn, patched at the elbows, like she’d been wearing it for years and had shrunk inside it. I knew what Orville was aiming to do, and I didn’t much care for it, but I owed Orville. He gave me work when no one else would give me vittles for shoveling horse manure. Times were tough out here in the west country, and when you found yourself a regular meal, you had to stick to it like pine sap.

The old shopkeeper kept her hands on the counter, rubbing beads on a string as she passed ’em between her fingers. Bead after bead clacked against the wooden counter. She might’ve been saying her prayers, which only made me feel worse. The thickest spectacles I’d ever seen magnified her eyes, which stared right past us at the front windows, as grimy as the back ones, like they’d been smeared with yellow mud and left to bake. A big pinch of snuff puffed out her lower lip.

Orville elbowed my shoulder and grinned. A fox who’d found the chicken coop door plumb off its hinges couldn’t have shown more teeth. Excuse me, ma’am.

Eh? she croaked, snapping her head from side to side. Who’s there?

A customer.

Buyin’ or sellin’?

Buying.

Her gray eyes twinkled, and a row of yellowed teeth appeared through her smile. Snuff-stained drool collected at the corner of her mouth. Found something you can’t do without, did you?

A few trinkets and a purse to put ’em in. Orville dropped the lot on the counter. I might part with some coin if the price is fair.

The woman bent over to squint at the trinkets, her nose a half-inch from grazing them. The drool formed a dangling drop. Orville grimaced. I hoped she didn’t sneeze or start dripping. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she was sniffing the jewelry. How Orville managed it, I didn’t know, but the emerald was buried at the bottom of the pile.

One dollar.

Orville scratched his chin. A bit short today. A half?

Add five pennies.

Done. Orville thumped the counter with his fist.

Hee hee hee. If she only knew what she’d just sold. She bit each of the coins Orville gave her, all eleven of ’em.

Greedy old hag, said Orville when we stepped onto the boardwalk. Whole lot ain’t worth more than five pennies on a hot day in February, excepting the emerald.

I’d have given her the dollar.

Jimmy! You never take the first offer. How many times I got to tell you?

"I don’t feel right about this. It’s dishonest. Like my grandma said, If you can’t respect the face in the mirror, you ought not to show it outside."

It’s business, boy. Buy low, sell high. If I wasn’t around, you’d starve. Now hold that purse open. Orville held the emerald pendant up to the sunlight. Hmm. See that dark spot? Looks to be a flaw in the middle.

That make a difference?

Orville dropped the pendant into the purse. Might give it some character. Frank’ll tell us.

I figured he was talking about Frank Norrick, a bald-headed weedy fella who owned a jewelry business in Silver City and, as Orville remarked fondly, didn’t ask questions beyond his business. How would we know Frank was honest? Wouldn’t he buy low and sell high? I didn’t bother asking.

Orville’s face lit up with a canyon-sized grin. Hey there, little miss. Orville tipped his derby to a girl approaching us on the boardwalk. I tipped my straw hat in turn. When’s your birthday?

Been and gone. The barefoot little girl wore a clean, homespun dress and held her head as high and proud as a princess. More than a month of Sundays, it has. What’s you askin’ for, mister?

Got a late present for you. He held out his hands with the trinkets spread across his palms. The girl’s eyes about popped out of her head. You take some and spread the others round to your sisters.

Ain’t got none but brothers.

Give ’em to your mama. Orville dumped the lot in the girl’s hands. Chains dripped over her thumbs and fingers like honey. I figured she thought herself the finest girl in the county, a west country Queen of Sheba.

Orville turned his broad back on the stunned girl. I followed him across the street of mud and ruts, his yellow tweed jacket glowing in the bright sun, reflecting his mood.

Thank you, mister, called the girl after him.

Orville waved without looking back. Now don’t ever tell me I ain’t generous. Orville commenced to whistle.

That whistling would screech into something else if Frank didn’t have good things to say. Pawn shops hadn’t always been kind to me and Orville, and I had niggling aches in the pit of my stomach. Orville once bought a wand in a pawnshop and that stick was nearly the end of him. The memory still gave me nightmares.

Chapter Two

Three hours later after rattling up and down steep hills over rough roads, we lurched into Silver City. Maggie, our trusty gray Percheron, had been walking slower and slower, and once we stopped behind the livery stable, I didn’t expect I’d get her to move again until she’d had a good long rest. The jarring hadn’t rattled Orville’s spirits one bit. We made arrangements with the ostler, a squat man of muscle and grizzled beard who smelled more like a horse than Maggie, and then made our way along the boardwalk of Main Street for Frank’s shop. Orville was still whistling.

We’ll sleep in some soft beds tonight, boy. And if I’m right about this stone, we’ll tuck into some juicy cuts of beef. None of that jaw killin’ jerky for us. Orville laughed and slapped my back, his infectious optimism raising my spirits.

A man’s stomach has a powerful hold on him. My mouth was watering and my nose twitching at the memory of a good roast beef, and it was a distant memory. Would’ve been mighty pleasant not to suffer an aching mouth after a meal. Chewing jerky forever and ever killed my appetite every time. Maybe Orville wasn’t so wrong about buying and selling the emerald. What did I know about business?

When the bell over the door of Frank’s Fine Jewelry clanged, Orville and I were both grinning. Frank appeared at the workshop door behind an oaken counter with built-in display cases. His white shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows. A loupe dangled from his starched shirt collar, attached through a buttonhole with a silver chain. The ends of his black necktie disappeared inside his crimson waistcoat. He dealt in anything metal or mineral. The display cases, fronted with glass and steel bars, held all manner of silver dinnerware as well as watch chains, rings, cufflinks, and necklaces wrought of gold and silver. There was even a pair of silver spurs. The best stuff he kept locked in the back or made special. Unlike the Broken Axle pawnshop’s windows, every bit of glass inside and outside Frank’s store had been scrubbed to brilliance. The silver pieces glittered in the sun. The walls looked freshly whitewashed. Even Frank’s baldpate shone.

Orville. A pleasant surprise, and…? He squinted at me. Sorry. Don’t recall your name, son.

Jimmy, I said.

Workin’ your apprentices hard? Orville asked him.

I was surprised not to see Luke or John tending the shop.

They’re at the dock.

Depending on your perspective, Silver City was the first or last navigable point on the Grand Falls River, so most any goods going to or from Silver City traveled by boat. Orville never liked to have underlings around when he talked business. I guessed he’d come to respect me as a partner. Saving someone’s life could win you a lot of respect.

Very good, said Orville. Got somethin’ I’d like you to see. In confidence of course.

Frank’s brows arched above his twinkling eyes. Do you now? Jimmy, pull the blind on the door and turn the lock.

The emerald pendant tumbled from Orville’s hand onto the counter. What do you make of this?

Interesting. Frank raised his eyebrows. Squinting to secure the loupe in his eye, he held the stone to the light streaming in the store window. That stone glittered like nothing I’d seen before or since. The way the light played in it, you’d think it was moving, alive. Frank hadn’t studied the stone for more than five ticks of a clock when he dropped it. The loupe fell out of his eye.

Where’d you get this? Hard to believe, but the man’s fingers were trembling.

Busted Axle, answered Orville. You tellin’ me it’s no good?

Oh it’s good, alright. Highest quality around. Take it back where you found it. He pushed the pendant toward Orville. You don’t want it.

I ain’t no thief, Frank. That there emerald is the best bit of luck I’ve had in years.

Frank sighed and shook his head. He drew breath to speak but shook his head in silence. Clearly, he had words to say but didn’t want to say ’em.

Nobody’s going to buy it. At least not around these parts.

Orville stared hard at him.

It’s cursed, said Frank. It’s the Flaming Emerald.

Orville snickered in preparation for a hearty, bellowing laugh. I joined in, enjoying the joke, but Frank wasn’t laughing.

You see that flaw in its center? Frank jabbed a finger at the emerald. That there is the soul of Martha Grimsey, captured inside the emerald as she burned to death. It’s said she ran back into a conflagration to retrieve this here stone, and the family had to pry it out of her charred fingers.

Orville slapped the counter. Where in the blazing sands of Damned Gulch did you dig that story up?

Blazing, indeed, said Frank.

And anyone holdin’ it in their possession comes to a horrible end? Hogwash, said Orville. You don’t believe that any more than I do. Now how much is it worth?

Minus the curse, maybe two thousand.

Orville glanced in my direction and grinned. You know how much I paid for this? he said to Frank. Five pennies over a half-dollar. Orville thumped the counter with a meaty fist. You believe that?

That’s fifty-five pennies more than you’ll get for it, said Frank.

Orville leaned on the counter. Are you tellin’ me that no one will buy this jewel because of some story about a curse?

Yes, Frank answered. The family tried to sell it twice. Some people died, in fires, I believe. I figured the family had given up and buried the thing.

Will fifteen hundred tempt you?

Nope, said Frank. I wouldn’t take it for nothin’.

Orville frowned as he scooped up the stone. Appreciate your help. Don’t know what’s gotten into that head of yours, but you’re missin’ a real bargain here, Frank. I brought it to you first as a friend. What do you say to one thousand?

Frank shook his head, pressing his lips in a firm, straight line as unwavering as his answer.

Five hundred? persisted Orville.

Take it back. That stone will bring you nothing but trouble, warned Frank. You’ll rue the day you ever touched it.

Orville glowered. Good day, Frank.

I’m warning you, Frank hollered at our backs. As a friend. Get rid of that stone before it kills you.

I closed the door behind us. A lot of ore came through Silver City, so there was no shortage of brokers with money to spend. Following Orville’s lead, I gave the curse story short shrift. We’d seen some strange characters and suffered some odd events, Orville and I had, but a soul trapped in an emerald? It didn’t take us long to learn every smith, pawnbroker, and middle man in Silver City believed in the curse too, all the way to the marrow. The sorry scene repeated itself one place after another. As soon as dealers saw that flaw, they dropped the jewel and turned us down flat. No discussion. Orville stopped whistling. He even tried the banks.

Well, boy, said Orville as we stepped out of the last bank. I guess we’ll have to spread our net a bit farther. I ain’t never seen such a lily-livered pack of yeller dogs in all my life. Must be somethin’ bad in the water to inflict such mass idiocy. Maybe head down the valley to Lonesome Springs tomorrow. Go where they ain’t so familiar with that curse tale. Orville scratched the stubble on his chin. I suspect we’ll have better luck there. Yes, much better luck.

I consoled myself thinking Lonesome Springs was downhill and the path would be a tad smoother than what we’d seen of late. Orville booked us a room and asked for some stew and bread. So much for the roast beef I’d been dreaming of all day. We fell asleep thinking we’d follow the river the next morning after a good night of rest. We couldn’t have been more wrong.

Chapter Three

I awoke to sniffing, like to sneeze, as if my pillow had ripped and the ghost of the goose had come back to smother me, but goose feathers weren’t the scent irritating me. My grandma said I got the best sniffer in the family. Said I could not only sniff out a campfire but tell you what kind of wood was burning and what was cooking.

This was most definitely a smell of something burning, with a sickly sweet tang, something nearer to dripping pork fat, but it wasn’t no kind of meat I’d ever sniffed. I rolled onto my back. I always slept facing the wall with a blanket over my head to shut out the noise. Orville’s snores would put a bellowing bull to shame, though Orville’d deny it on a stack of Bibles. A wavering green glow filtered through the blanket. A green lantern?

I peeked over the edge of my blanket, and the sight swept every sleepy cobweb from my attic. I flung the sheets plumb off the mattress with one swing of my arm and jumped out of bed faster than a prairie dog with a rattler on his tail. The writing desk, or the top of it, was a writhing mass of fiery tendrils, but they were green, like I was looking at a fire through green glass. Flames licked the ceiling, turning it into a scorching black destruction. And that sickening smell stuffed my nostrils. My legs twitched to run, and my stomach twisted to wretch.

Orville! Fire!

What the hell? He was out of bed in the blink of an eye. He snatched up the wash basin and doused the desk. I grabbed the chamber pot and splashed piss across the fire. The water and piss erupted in a cloud of yellow steam. Boiled piss added a hint of ammonia to the stench. We couldn’t see nothing, and then the steam cleared, sucked back into the fire, which was burning as bright and strong as before.

Run! screamed Orville.

I bounded over the bed on his heels, but the instant we stepped toward the door, an arm of flames shot across the room, blocking our escape, roaring and crackling. Scathing heat clawed our faces. Sharp edged fingers of flame shot out, driving us back. This here was no ordinary fire, but a fist from hell.

At the fire’s base, I expected to see a spreading pit where it consumed the desk, but the desk wasn’t