Whispers on the Wind (Death's Legacy, Book One)

By Becca Andre

A Final Formula Spinoff Series...

Era Brant couldn’t have asked for a more perfect project to launch her interior design business. The Nelson mansion has many hidden wonders: cherry support posts, natural stone floors, and an abundance of paranormal activity. As an avid ghost hunter, Era is drawn to the house for more than just its nineteenth-century charm—especially when she gets a little ghostly help with the proposed architectural plans.

As the new Deacon, the leader of the Old Magic community, Doug Nelson is catching a lot of heat about letting Era and her New Magic contractor renovate the home of their Community’s founder. But Doug’s troubles don’t stop there. His brother Declan has returned home after a messy divorce and befriends Era. Doug was hoping the renovation project would be a chance to get to know Era better. He doesn’t need his brother butting in.

Era doesn’t know what to make of Declan, but when he admits that he’s been communicating with the mansion’s ghost since childhood, she finds a new ally. With his help, she might be able to figure out what this ghost wants. But giving a ghost what it desires can be a risky venture, and as Era knows, dealing with the Nelson dead takes that risk to a whole new level.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Becca Andre
• Release date: Aug 10, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370490356

Becca Andre

Becca Andre lives in southern Ohio with her husband, two children, and an elderly Jack Russell Terrier. A love of science and math (yes, she’s weird like that), led to a career as a chemist where she blows things up far more infrequently than you’d expect. Other interests include: chocolate, hard rock, and slaying things on the Xbox. She also finds writing about herself in third person a bit strange.

Book preview

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Table Of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Epilogue

Afterword

Acknowledgements

About the Author

DEATH’S LEGACY, BOOK ONE

WHISPERS ON THE WIND

BECCA ANDRE

Whispers On The Wind

Copyright © 2017 by Becca Andre All rights reserved.

First Smashwords Edition: August 2017

Editor: Shelley Holloway

Cover and Formatting: Streetlight Graphics

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

Chapter 1

Era walked deeper into the vaulted room in the back of the Nelson mansion and eyed the exposed support post her contractor had uncovered. The beautiful old wood glowed in the natural light pouring through the multitude of windows that made up the back wall of the great room.

What do you think? Jason asked, gesturing at the area where he’d pulled down the dark paneling that covered the walls in most of this nineteenth-century home.

Who the hell puts paneling over something like that? She stared at the huge—was that cherry?—support post.

Jason reached out and laid a hand on the thick post, then closed his eyes. There are forks near the ceiling. It once held matching beams that ran across the room.

Era eyed the sheetrock ceiling with its modern track lighting. And that’s gone now?

The roof has been replaced. He took his hand from the post and opened his eyes.

Damn.

However, I have another surprise for you.

She smiled. Is it a good one?

I believe you’ll approve. He stepped away from the wall. The floor we’re standing on isn’t vintage. The original floor is stone.

Are you serious?

He grinned, crinkling the laugh lines in the corners of eyes.

Era looked down at the glossy black tile beneath her feet. May I?

Please. He waved for her to proceed.

She selected an area a few feet from them and reached down to the pocket of air beneath the tiled floor. Oxygen, nitrogen, and traces of several other gases. No radon, she said.

That’s good, Jason answered, sounding faintly amused though she didn’t look over to see.

Concentrating the gases into a dense ball over two feet in diameter, she slammed it into the underside of the false floor. With a crack, the floor exploded upward. Chunks of tile, plywood, and two-by-fours flew up before clattering down onto the tile around the jagged hole in the floor.

Jason wordlessly handed her a flashlight.

Era walked over to the hole she had created and shined the light inside. Dusty gray stone was visible in the light of the beam. Limestone? she asked him.

That would be my guess. It is local to the area, just like the cherry. He nodded toward the support post. Ironically, the high-end materials we pay so much for now were everyday building materials then.

Perhaps, but I still think the necromancer who built this place had good taste.

Are you suggesting that we no longer do? a familiar voice asked.

Era’s pulse leaped, but it wasn’t because he had startled her. Chiding herself for her foolish reaction, she turned to face Doug Nelson.

That depends on where you go with this renovation, she answered. She couldn’t criticize his taste in regard to his attire. His light gray suit fit him perfectly, and the powder-blue tie was a hue just different enough to set off his vibrant blue eyes.

But that’s why I hired you. His cheeks dimpled as he smiled. That shows good taste, right?

Obviously, she answered, keeping her tone cool. She was here to renovate his home, not to swoon every time he grinned at her.

His smile faded. So why are you blowing holes in my floor?

Jason noticed that it was originally stone.

Doug looked around the room. Noticed? The hole Era had created was the only place where the original floor was exposed. Doug’s gaze shifted to the older man standing beside her. New Magic?

Jason glanced at her before giving Doug an affirmative answer.

And what is your talent? Doug walked over to join them.

He can see what a structure looked like originally, Era answered for him.

I assume the contractor van out front is yours, Doug continued to Jason. Do you get a lot of renovation work?

A fair amount. I specialize in damage repair and renovations, rather than new construction, Jason answered, his tone a little hesitant. Era had told him up front whose home they would be renovating, but this was the first time he had come face to face with the Deacon, the leader of the Old Magic community. It might even be the first time he’d come face to face with a necromancer. Their respective magics didn’t mix much.

Huh. Doug rubbed his chin. What else do you see about this old place?

It used to have slate roofs and a turret on the east wing.

I seem to recall that. Doug smiled. I’m impressed.

Those changes were made while you lived here? Era asked.

No. There are old photos. Would you like to see them? Well, you. Obviously Jason here doesn’t need to.

I wouldn’t mind seeing them. Jason smiled, clearly at ease now. Era had noticed that Doug was good at that, or at least making people like him.

They’re upstairs in the library, Doug said. If you’ll follow me?

Jason readily agreed, and they followed Doug to the front of the house. After climbing the wide staircase to the second floor, they turned left. Era eyed the decor as they walked along. Even up here, an effort had been made to keep everything dark and foreboding.

You lived here as a child? she asked Doug as they walked.

Yes. He glanced back. Why do you ask?

I’m just hoping your room was more cheerfully decorated.

The walls were painted black, and I had a Satanic altar in one corner.

Jason stumbled.

He’s kidding, she told Jason.

Doug glanced back with a grin. Hey, I’ve got an image to maintain. He stopped before a beautifully carved oak door and pushed it open. The walls of my room were off-white and tastefully decorated with Cincinnati Reds memorabilia and my high school chess championship plaques.

Era stopped just inside the room and looked up at him. You played chess in high school?

Yes. You look surprised.

I expected you to a be jock. He certainly had the physique to be a successful athlete.

Father frowned on sports. He saw them as barbaric. I was expected to outthink my opponent.

Or charm them, Era thought.

I never told my father that I boxed while in college.

Jason chucked. I’m guessing you didn’t come home much. Black eyes would be hard to explain.

I was required to be home often. So I made it a point to hit the other guy first. You don’t get punched much when your opponent is lying on the mat.

Era rolled her eyes and walked past him into the room. Addie was right. Doug’s arrogance was stunning.

What? Doug asked, catching the gesture. It’s just physics.

Era didn’t answer. She had stopped inside the door and stared at the vaulted room before them. A large fireplace dominated one corner with a pair of comfortable-looking leather chairs set in front of it. The other walls held floor-to-ceiling shelves loaded with books. Offset windows created a pair of window seats and made a cozy place to curl up with a good book. How often had young Doug done just that?

But the most amazing aspect of the room was that it lacked the ubiquitous black tile and dark paneling in the rest of the house. Here, the age of the house shined through with the naturally darkened hardwood and the ornately carved crown moldings that matched the door.

Era? Doug prompted.

Now this is what I’m talking about, she answered. This is what the rest of the house should look like instead of that pseudo-gothic crap.

A corner of Doug’s mouth twitched. Pseudo-gothic crap. Is that an official decorating style?

Era met his amused gaze with a flat stare.

Am I about to be tossed against the wall? he asked.

No. She continued to hold his gaze, refusing to let his charm influence her. I would hate to damage the decor in this room.

The dimples in his cheeks deepened as his smirk became a full-blown grin. One of these times, she needed to toss him against the wall. That would knock the smile off his handsome face.

Still smiling, he turned and started across the room. This is the oldest photo we have.

Jason glanced at her as Doug walked away. He lifted his eyebrows, his expression uncertain.

Era winked, letting him know that she was only teasing about tossing Doug against the wall. Mostly.

She walked over to join Doug in front of the framed photo hanging on the wall beside one of the windows.

This was taken— Doug began.

In the 1860s or later, Era answered, moving closer to study the photo. It’s a tintype—or the original was. This is obviously a copy since it’s on paper.

Very good. Bartholomew Nelson had the carriage house built in 1874, and it’s absent here.

She leaned closer, studying the building. It was surprising how little it had changed since this photo was taken. The only major difference was the turret at the end of the east wing. Like all photographs of this age, the picture was fuzzy and faded, making it difficult to make out details, so she couldn’t clearly see the blurry form in the turret’s upper window. It had the shape of a person, but it could be a curtain.

The next photo was taken sometime after 1874—you can now see the carriage house—but prior to June of 1910. Doug stepped past the window to the wall on the other side. Lightning struck the large oak in front of the east parlor on June 12, 1910, so we know the photo predates that.

How do you know the exact date of the lightning strike?

The tree fell through the front parlor, killing Jacob Harris Nelson, my great-great-great grandfather.

Bad luck.

Or karma. They called him Heartless Harry. He wasn’t a good person, as legend has it—which, considering my family history, is saying something.

Era frowned but didn’t comment. She’d met one of his distant relatives and— She stopped herself, consciously pushing away the memories of the time Alexander Nelson had held her captive. It was only in the last week that the nightmares had stopped. She wasn’t going to give them a reason to start again.

Era stepped closer and looked at the photo. The house hadn’t changed. The turret was still there, and even the shape in the upper window was the same. Perhaps it was an interior door or something. Once again, the old photo was too faded to see the finer points of the house.

Over here is the last photo with the turret still present, Doug said, moving to the final photograph. This photo was taken in 1921. If you look closely in the upper left corner, you can see where the date written on the back bled through.

Era stepped closer and looked where he indicated. He was right. She could make out the date, written in an elegant cursive, though it was backward from this side of the black and white photo. This photo was much clearer. The tree Doug had pointed out was gone, but the turret was still there. Her gaze was once more drawn to the top window. This time, she could clearly see what it was. She pulled in a breath.

What is it? Doug asked.

She left his side to study the previous photos. Dear God, she whispered. The shape was exactly the same in each one, though fuzzy and out of focus in all but the last. She returned to the 1921 picture.

Have you never noticed that? She pointed at the man standing at the top window of the turret. The distance made it difficult to see him well, but he was clearly fair haired and tall. It might be her imagination, but it seemed his light-colored eyes were looking directly at the camera.

Doug leaned closer to the photo. Looks like someone was looking out the window when the picture was taken.

He’s in all the pictures, she said.

Really? Doug walked back to examine each of the older pictures as she’d just done. He chuckled. You’re right.

Era stared at him. You have photographic proof of an apparition and you’re laughing?

Yes. It’s funny.

This place is haunted? Jason cut in.

Of course, Doug answered.

Jason’s expression turned wry. Is this another image thing? A necromancer would live in a haunted house, right?

Not by choice, Doug answered. We attract ghosts. Era thinks it’s cool, but it’s more of an annoyance than anything.

Era ignored that, looking closer at the sheen of the black and white photo. Is this the original? she asked.

I don’t know.

May I? She reached up to take down the picture.

May you what?

I want to see how difficult it would be to remove the photo from the frame.

Why? Do you think someone doctored the photo—all the photos?

No. If this is the original, there are ways to validate that it hasn’t been doctored.

"You’re not using pictures of my home to validate anything. I’ll have every ghost hunter in the country wanting to spend the night here to investigate."

Era crossed her arms. He was very aware of her ghost-hunting hobby.

Don’t give me that, he said. You know it’s true.

Of course. This would be an amazing location. It has age, a dark past, and mystery. She gestured at the photo.

And don’t forget the pseudo-gothic decorating scheme.

She sighed. It was pointless to argue this with him. He would never understand. She turned to Jason. Shall we get back to work?

Era— Doug began.

No, I get it, she cut him off. You’ve made it abundantly clear how you feel about my ghost-hunting hobby.

It’s dangerous.

So you’ve told me. Repeatedly.

Good advice bears repeating.

I don’t understand why you aren’t more curious about this. She waved at the photos.

You know what that did to the cat.

You’re exasperating.

It’s part of my charm. He grinned, a twinkle in those amazing eyes.

Era shook her head. We’re going to finish going over the house, then I’ll draw up a plan and cost estimate for the project.

Doug’s smile didn’t falter. Looking forward to it. But before you start spending my money, I wanted to give you a key and the code for the security system.

I thought you were moving back in.

I decided to wait until the renovations are complete, plus I’ll be flying to Baltimore to meet with the heads of house there. Relations with my East Coast cousins have been intermittent at best over the last century. I thought it time to change that.

Ah. Era knew that Doug was instituting a lot of changes in the Old Magic community. It was one of the reasons he was remodeling his family home.

Doug smiled, apparently catching the lack of enthusiasm in her response. I’ll go get that key and meet you downstairs. He left them to find their way back, and headed off toward the east wing where she knew the family rooms were.

It suddenly occurred to her that Doug was the only remaining member of his family. The only direct descendant of Ian Nelson. Though it was just a few months ago that Doug had learned that Ian was his ancestor and not Alexander—

Era stopped again and pushed the thought of Alexander from her mind. She really needed to get over that, especially if she was going to be working here.

Guess we’d better get back to it, she said to Jason, then led him from the room.

The Deacon is not what I imagined, Jason said as they walked along. He’s so… amiable.

Not what you expected from someone who plays with dead people?

Jason laughed. No, not at all. He glanced over, lowering his voice as he continued. Does he really play with the dead?

"I’m not sure play is the right word, but all necromancers must animate the dead from time to time, otherwise their magic builds up and causes them pain."

Really? Jason sounded surprised. Apparently, he’d been unaware of how a necromancer’s magic affected him.

It’s why so many of them find employment in the funeral industry. Doug is a forensic pathologist.

Huh. He glanced over again, a glint in his dark eyes. He seems especially amiable toward you.

That’s just Doug, she said quickly. He’s a good-looking guy and he knows it. More like smoking hot. I genuinely believe he’s a good person, but he’s a charmer. If he can smile and get his way, he will.

Jason seemed to consider that.

He comes by it honestly, she continued. Every member of his family that I’ve met was the same. His father, Ian, Alexander—

Damn it. Why did she keep going there today? It must be the house. Doug was right. The place was haunted—by the ghost of her past.

They reached the first floor, and Era turned toward the back of the house and the great room she and Jason had been examining before Doug’s arrival. It was time to get to work.

She pulled her small notebook from the pocket of her blazer. Let’s lay the renovation out in phases, she said to Jason. The first phase will be the public areas. Her heels clacked on the black tile as they walked into the great room.

Hang on. Jason stopped on the threshold. Let me grab my tape measure. He hurried away, heading for the foyer and presumably, his truck.

Era turned back to the room and pulled up short. A man stood with his back to her, examining the hole in the floor. It wasn’t Doug, though this man’s longer hair was the same golden shade. Unlike Doug, he wore a hoodie and a nice-fitting pair of jeans.

He must have heard her, because he turned. Renovations? he demanded. His vibrant blue eyes met hers.

Era pulled in a breath. Alexander’s name rose to her lips, but he spoke before she could.

Who’s renovating my family home?

Chapter 2

Era stared at the man before her. She knew it wasn’t Alexander—she had watched him die—but dear God, this guy could pass for him at a glance.

The renovations were my idea, Doug answered, entering the room from the hall to the kitchen.

The man faced him. You weren’t going to consult me?

You’re not talking to me. Remember?

The other man crossed his arms. I was grieving, Doug. Cut me some slack.

You didn’t come to Father’s memorial.

Come on. You know I would only have come if I’d been invited to dance on his grave.

Era tensed, knowing how much Doug cared for his father.

Doug studied the other man for one long moment, then abruptly smiled.