Dark Demon Rising: Whisperings Paranormal Mystery, #7

By Linda Welch

What would you think if you woke in an unfamiliar place, with no memory of how you got there?

Suppose it's a dream, and pinch yourself?

What if you can't pinch yourself?

I have to rely on my ghostly buddies and a fake clairvoyant to help me solve a personally harrowing mystery and just when we think we've found the guilty party, the game changes. The real culprit's convoluted plan is diabolical and shooting me was the first step. The next step could change the Gelpha world, and that would be just the start.

Poor Royal. He's tolerated my interaction with dead people but never been happy with it. Now he has to take a real leap of faith. Now, if he wants to save my life and protect the future of three worlds, he has to believe.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nordic Valley Books
• Release date: Aug 22, 2015
• ISBN: 9781516334537

Book preview

Prologue

It turned out to be one of those days.

One phone call would bring Royal here in a jiffy. No doubt he’d change my tire without getting a mark on his clothes. But I’m not a woman who summons her man for every little thing. I call it preserving my independence. He calls it stubbornness.

I am woman. Hear me roar. Though it sounded more like a whimper.

I grunted as I gave the tire iron a final push to tighten the lug nut. I would get a flat out in the hills and the Jeep had to end up in the mud when I took her off the road. Slush and mud coated my jeans from the knees down. Muck smeared my coat from maneuvering the flat off and putting the spare tire on. I didn’t have gloves with me, and my hands were mud-caked and freezing. Wrestling with the wheel, I banged my forehead on the car body and now an egg-shaped bump throbbed. The dazzling winter sun hitting my eyes didn’t help.

I climbed in the Jeep and started her. She whined before the engine kicked over. Don’t you give me any grief, I told her. Not today. Not here.

I put her in gear and off we went.

Except we didn’t. The wheels spun in the mud.

No, no, no! I thumped the steering wheel with my fist as mud and water fountained behind the Jeep.

Wrenching the gear into reverse, I tried to back up. The wheels got traction and moved half a foot before sticking again. I put her in drive and hit the accelerator.

The Jeep whipped on the road, hit the ice and snow and impersonated a whirling dervish.

When I got her under control, we sat in the middle of the road, happily pointing in the right direction.

Right! I drew in a long breath. Off we go.

Before we reached the next bend in the road, the engine made a god-awful grinding noise, followed by clunks, and died. The Jeep ungracefully slithered a few yards before stopping altogether.

I got out and slammed the door. Now what? I can change a tire, but engines are a mystery. I’d have to call a tow service to take us to a garage.

Channeled by snowy banks either side of the road, the wind screamed through the canyon. The crisp air promised another snowfall. I fumbled my cell phone from my coat pocket with numb fingers and thumbed on the screen.

No service.

Of course. I looked skyward, waving my hands in the air.

I turned on the Jeep and vented my anger by kicking the tire. Then I limped down the road until my toe stopped throbbing.

~*~

Snow fell thickly to blanket the buildings and sidewalks, wind whisked the white flakes in my eyes as I parked on Twenty-Second and slogged to Royal’s apartment and our office. Thankfully the Jeep was a quick fix. The mechanic tightened a doodad and replaced a gizmo there on the roadside and I was good to go. I didn’t need a tow but paying plenty for parts, labor and the guy coming out did not improve my mood.

After a quick change of clothes, I arrived half an hour late for an appointment with a new client. When I called Royal he said the client didn’t mind waiting but I knew keeping them hanging didn’t set a good precedent.

I paused at the bottom of the covered stairwell and wiped my wet face on my wet sleeve. The bump on my forehead had swollen to a hard, pounding knot. I touched my head. "It can’t be that big." Probing the lump with my fingers made my eyes water.

Which may be why, when I heard a crack and chips of brick exploded from the wall beside me, I only looked up through watery eyes, dazed. Another crack and a blow to my head, as if a nail punched in my skull, an instant before my head shattered.

Chapter One

Tiff. Sweetheart. I’m here.

I know, babe, I replied absentmindedly, distracted by my surroundings. Where was I and how did I get here?

A hospital room? I didn’t know they made them this big or this fancy. If not for the bed and medical paraphernalia on one side, as if to distance them from the comfortable, artfully arranged furnishings, I’d think I stood in a cozy living room. Chocolate-colored, butter-soft leather couch and armchairs grouped near an oak desk with padded chair. Vases of flowers, plants with silk ribbons and bows on the pots and multicolored cards smothered a coffee table and end tables. Light streamed through blinds on a floor-to-ceiling window.

Leaning toward the bed and whoever lay there, Royal sat on another padded chair, his back to a large oak armoire. His black leather coat lay over the chair back, his broad shoulders stretched a pale tan button-up shirt. From the angle, I thought he held the patient’s hand. A kind of glow surrounded him. I’m used to the shimmer of his copper and gold hair, but this was different and startling. Colors feathered out from his head and shoulders and wisped away to nothing: red, silver, gold, green, blue, pink, predominantly purple; a rainbow enveloped him.

How odd.

Monitors beeped and hummed, soft background noises. Royal bent his head.

I felt . . . weird. I couldn’t remember coming to this room, or why, or who lay in the bed.

Wait a minute, though. A blow to the head. I did recall that. I stood outside the covered stairwell to the office and. . . .

I must have been knocked unconscious, but what happened afterward? Who were Royal and I visiting? And why did he sound so miserable when he said, Tiff. Sweetheart. I’m here.

Royal, who is it?

He didn’t answer or look at me. I got a horrible sinking feeling. He must be so grief stricken he couldn’t bring himself to speak to me.

But he did a moment ago. Tiff. Sweetheart. I’m here. Why tell me when we were feet apart in the same room?

I skirted the couch, crossed to the bed and looked over his shoulder. He indeed held the patient’s hand in both of his and his lips pressed on her knuckles.

Bandages covered her head. She looked pale, but so does anyone with so many tubes attached to them. Her long arms and slender hands lay outside the thin cover.

Royal, I’m so sorry. Who is she?

No response. Irritated, I edged between him and the bed. A tiny muscle in his jaw ticked and red rimmed his beautiful copper eyes. Eyes that didn’t react to me blocking his view of the woman he seemed so concerned for.

What was I, invisible? I waved my hand in front of his face. Hey, anyone in there? Royal! Now more than aggravated, I shoved at his shoulder.

And landed on my knees inside the armoire.

Ack! I swore the door was shut but it must have been unlatched and my staggering around juddered it open. Then it closed behind me. How embarrassing. Thankful I had room to move, I pushed up with my hands and shuffled in a hunch. No handle on the inside. Obviously not; you don’t need a handle on the inside of a closet, unless you’re a klutz who falls in one. Royal, I hissed, mortified, come get me out!

Although I pressed my ear to the door, I heard nothing. Royal! I slapped my hands on the door.

I stumbled past Royal, missed him by inches and landed on my knees again.

I looked at the armoire over my shoulder. The door was shut. Fine, so I shoved it open and fell out. But why didn’t I remember any sense of movement, or hear the door opening and closing either time? Oh man, my mind is scrambled.

Figuring I had a doozy of a concussion, I probed the lump on my forehead. It felt like a regular old bump to me, but who was I to judge my condition? I should be in a hospital bed somewhere in this place. I expected a nurse to arrive soon and chivvy me back to it.

I looked at Royal. He gently laid the woman’s hand on the cover, stroked it and got to his feet. The doctors want to speak to me. I’ll be back soon. He spoke low and harsh as if with the pain of loss and a sad little smile tweaked one corner of his mouth. Don’t go anywhere.

Hey, Royal! I yelled as he walked past me.

He kept going, pausing to look back once before he opened the door and went through. It shut behind him.

Now just one cotton-picking minute! I strode after him.

I got to the door and tried to push it open. It didn’t move.

Dammit! The door lock must be faulty, the mechanism frozen. A frown creased my brow. Since when did hospital rooms have locks?

I looked closely at the door. Locks you couldn’t see? The door didn’t have a lock. So, the whole damn thing must be jammed in the frame.

Locks. A lightbulb pinged on in my brain. Lock down.

I looked through the window to see Royal walk around a corner and out of sight. Sure enough, a uniformed officer sat on a chair beside the door. Like Royal, colors shimmered around the man.

The room was in lock down. The patient must be important, or in danger.

My breath coming hard and fast from frustration, I yelled through the door. Hey! Officer! Let me outta here, will you?

He didn’t move a muscle.

I winced and looked at the patient, worried I’d disturbed her, but her eyes were still closed.

The officer must have heard me. Cops with hearing problems don’t pass the medical.

Colors fanned from the few people who moved along the corridor outside. This was getting crazy.

Putting my back to the door, I eyed the patient. Attached by tape, a tube led from her mouth to two bigger tubes from a respirator. IV drips snaked from catheters in the inner side of her elbow and back of one hand and more coiled and wormed from under the cover. Another thin tube went in her nose. She looked as if she lay in a nest of plastic spaghetti. I recognized the respirator, and one of the other machines must be feeding her artificial nutrition and hydration. Couldn’t guess what the other machines did for her. And the line on one monitor, tripping up and down, sketching a mountain range, must be her heartbeat.

She looked familiar. Maybe I’d seen her in town.

Sighing, I sat on the sofa. If only I had my phone. In a rush, instead of bringing it and plugging it in the car charger, I left it at home still plugged in the charger there. I searched my pockets but they held nothing useful.

Clothes. I wore my clothes and had my possessions, so I wasn’t a patient here. Or maybe they recently discharged me.

But it didn’t explain why I abruptly found myself in this room, couldn’t recollect anything beforehand, or why Royal ignored me. I kept seeing him in my mind’s eye, striding out without a word or a wave of his hand. As if I didn’t exist. Did I do something really, really awful and made him so mad, he refused to acknowledge me?

Oh god, why can’t I remember? Tears welled, blurring my vision. I am not given to tears but felt uncomfortably emotional. I wiped my eyes with my fingers until I could see.

What the heck? I inspected my fingers, my dry fingers, and delicately touched around my dry eyes. Did I feel moisture when I wiped? No. But I did feel it in my eyes.

You’re losing it, Tiff. I compressed my lips and pulled myself together.

A knock on the door and a nurse came in. Why do hospital staffers knock when coming to see an unconscious patient? It’s not as if they are going to say, "come in, or just one second."

Mostly pink, a halo of color surrounded the nurse. He breezed to the bed and . . . I didn’t notice what else he did because he brought company.

Tiff! Mel zipped toward me. Sorry we took so long, but you know how it is.

"When we saw the news, we were frightened to death," Jack said.

Both watched me expectantly.

"Oh, I see, you’re waiting for a laugh. Okay. Ha ha, very funny, dead people frightened to death. Your drollery slays me."

Drollery? I know you’re okay when you use big words, Jack said snidely.

Mel squinted to peer at me. Yeah, you look fine.

They looked normal, no colors surrounded them. What news? Why are you here?

The papers said you were shot in the head and. . . . Jack’s voice trailed away.

Oh my god! from Mel.

Jack’s eyes went wide, and his fisted hand went to his mouth. He moaned through his clenched fingers. She’s dead.

She can’t be. Mel joined the nurse at the bed and looked at the patient. See, the machines are still bleeping.

If you can call being in a vegetative state alive. I said.

Then how come she’s here? Mel asked.

Huh? Isn’t this the best place for her?

Jack’s gaze whipped between me and the patient. The machines keep everything going but she’s not in there.

Mel’s face crunched up. You’re right, she wailed.

I decided we spoke at crossed purposes. Care to let me in on what you’re talking about?

They were on me in a second. You don’t know, Jack stated.

Know what?

Tiff, honey, Mel’s brows drew together. You’re dead.

I am not. Of all the crazy things. I put my hands on my hips.

Don’t worry, sweetie, Mel said. Everyone goes through the same conflict when we die. One second we’re convinced we’re dead, the next we’re positive we’re not.

"I am not conflicted. I am alive, I’m positive I’m not dead. Okay? And what’s wrong with your faces?"

You are dead. You are so dead, Mel jabbered. I’m not sure if I’m sad, or glad we can be together.

Snap out of it, Tiff. You are dead and you’d better come to terms with it. Jack felt his cheek. And what’s wrong with our faces?

Expressions. You have expressions.

Jack rolled his eyes at the ceiling. "Sure, we do. We always have. You’re the one who couldn’t see them."

And you’re not whispering, I continued, enthralled.

"Again, that was you! As a living person, you lacked perception. You didn’t see us as we actually are."

The nurse patted the patient’s shoulder and headed for the door. My chance to escape the room; I’d sort out Jack and Mel later. I darted after him and grabbed the edge of the door as it swung shut.

I missed again. Man, what shitty equilibrium! I couldn’t set my hands on anything.

Tiff, Jack said from behind me. Pay attention now. You are dead.

I swung to face them. I am not dead. I swept one hand up in front of my body. See? Me. Alive and ready to kick butt. Your butt.

You were shot in the head, Tiff, he pointed out without a shred of sympathy. In the head. Check it out.

I backed away from Jack, who stood way too close. "I was hit on the head." My hand went to the side of my head.

Something sticky matted my hair. I felt it, but when I checked my fingers they were clean. What the merry hells?

You were shot, Jack said. There isn’t much blood.

Mel wrung her hands and spoke in a small voice. I didn’t want to say.

My fingers tentatively probed my scalp and encounter a ridge. I jerked my hand away, I didn’t want to explore further. I have a hole in my head! I laughed uneasily. I can’t have a hole.

It’s where the bullet went in, said Mel, her voice firmer.

Bull! I strode to the open bathroom door and inside. The mirror above the sink showed me. . ..

Nothing.

I cocked my head one way then the other. I stepped to the side and slanted my body to peer at the mirror on an angle. Then I shuffled to the other side and suddenly darted in, trying to surprise my reflection.

I didn’t have a reflection.

I fingered my head again. According to the mirror I didn’t exist, yet I felt a humongous crater above my ear.

Mel looked over my shoulder. So, you died in the hospital?

A natural presumption if I really were dead, as shades remain at the location of their death. Generally, remain, either in place or able to move inside specific boundaries, for they don’t understand they can breach those limits. A bouncy little shade from England taught Jack and Mel they could.

I curled my hands to fists. "I didn’t die here or anywhere, Mel. I am not dead."

Then whose body is on life support? She gestured at the bed.

It sure as hell ain’t me!

It is. Look at her.

Aha! I wagged a finger at her. If she’s me and she’s alive, I can’t be dead. I frowned as what I’d said sank in. Now wait a minute. I mean. . .. My voice failed as I realized I didn’t know what I meant.

Yes, the body is alive, but it can’t function on its own. The organs won’t work without artificial stimuli. So, for all intents and purposes, it’s a lump of dead flesh, Jack said unforgivingly. When the body’s dead, the occupant leaves it. If a person is no longer in a dead body, what are they? Anyone?

Mel performed a hop and waved her hand in the air. Me!

Jack clasped his hands behind his back and nodded at Mel. Yes Miss Trent?

They’re a shade!

Well done!

My voice came with a heavy dose of sarcasm. Okay, Professor Jack, if a body’s dead, why keep it on life support?

Because life support systems can be used to maintain a body declared dead until critical organs can be recovered in the operating room.

Maybe so, Jack, but they don’t keep it in a fancy hospital room and allow it visitors. I’d had enough of Jack in medical information mode. Hell, I’m getting out of here.

I strode to the door, put my palms flat on it and pushed. Honestly, I thought this time it would open. My head injury muddled my coordination when I tried to open the door before. The cop outside didn’t hear me through a thick door made to mute noise. I could explain away everything.

It didn’t budge. I groaned, turned my back to the unresisting thing and faced my roommates.

Um, Tiff, Jack said. You’re not actually leaning on a door. What you feel is your boundary.

Touch anything else and you go right through it, Mel added.

Now you’re being ridiculous, I sputtered as my brain contrarily reminded me of landing in the armoire, which was right behind where Royal sat.

Did I fall through him?

Mel gave me a sad, pitying look. You’ll see.

They went to stand either side of the bed.

Look, I wearily said from across the room. You made an assumption based on my . . . accident, and our being in the same room as a patient on life support. My memory is a little fuzzy but obviously I was hurt and—

If she isn’t you, she’s your twin, Jack announced.

You are blind as well as. . .. I lost my voice again as I joined them, and my gaze fell on a delicate necklace on the bedside table. A silver crucifix inside an endless knot and an engagement ring hung on a silver chain. The diamond in the ring sparkled in the room’s artificial light.

My hand went to my neck where a tiny crucifix and a ring dangled on a silver chain between the points of my collar.

Chapter Two

The necklace Royal gave me, and my engagement ring.Worried I’d damage it, maybe knock the stone from the setting, I wore the ring there when on an assignment. The jewelry on the nightstand looked identical.

The door opened and Royal came in, distracting me from the enigma of the necklace and ring at the patient’s bedside. He looked terrible, not only his tortured eyes, he sagged as if he had aged thirty years. He lowered his big body to the chair and ground his eyes with his knuckles.

I stood at his side as close as I could get as he took the patient’s hand in both of his. Royal? Royal, honey? Look at me.

He picked up the crucifix and wound the chain through his fingers.

He can’t hear you, Tiff, Jack said. Give it up. You’re only torturing yourself.

A moment passed before I realized the overall wrongness. No demon heat emanated from Royal, no tantalizing sandalwood and amber scent. I drew in a deep breath through my nose and smelled nothing, not even the usual antiseptic smell found in hospitals.

Nausea churned in my stomach, rose in my chest and turned to bile at the back of my throat.

Royal! I heard the panic in my voice. Please! And I laid my hand on his shoulder.

My hand went through him.

I snatched my hand away and transferred it to my mouth. Backing away, I began to moan. I couldn’t stop the sounds coming from me and didn’t want to.

When I managed to quiet myself, I looked at the woman, her pale face, tip-tilted nose, the silvery brows and the lashes brushing the tops of her cheekbones and imagined silver-white hair framing her face.

An icy chill worse than anything I’d known gushed through me. My body lay in a hospital bed. I had no reflection, I couldn’t touch Royal or anything else. I had a hole in my head.

I have seen too many shades who bear death wounds.

Oh my freaking god! Another moan escaped me as the reality of what I saw, the whole picture, slammed into me. I’m usually not this slow but this blew my mind to new heights, so totally incomprehensible it took me till now to put the pieces together.

I wanted to pull my hair out but doubted I could. I wanted to scream, but no one would hear me. What I always dreaded had come to pass. I died, violently, cursed to remain here until my killer died.

A sob rose up my throat. Numb with misery I stood rooted to the spot, thinking of the shades I’d met one after the other and my sympathy for their plight. I was one of them, doomed to watch the world turning without me, never again a participant, only an observer.

Stop it! Pull yourself together.

But why should I not give in to grief for everything I lost? For a future with the man I loved. My life was over, too soon, with so many things left undone.

Because it won’t get you anywhere, stupid.

Something tickled the back of my mind and I felt it should be thumping at the front, telling me, you’re missing the obvious, Tiff.

My lips parted and my shoulders relaxed as the answer came to me. Jack’s wrong. I would not be on life support were I brain dead. Royal would not do that