Souls in the Flame: Souls by the Sea, #2

By Cerine Talbot

(She's not saving the town for herself.) One fine day Burlie McLauren picks up a brick and tries to cave in the head of some guy that was annoying her. Whoa. Is she off her meds? No. Soon all of Souls by the Sea realizes what she already knows - a dark force is inciting riots and enraging hormones for the fun of it. No one, not even the strongest witch, can fight back. And who can fight the witches? The werewolves? The vampires?

Not Burlie. Weakened by blood loss, and lacking any magic at all, she's still the only one who can stop the wilding before the town BURNS.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cerine Talbot
• Release date: Dec 27, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386743651

Book preview

Souls in the Flame

Cerine Talbot

About This Book

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the permission of the author is illegal and punishable by law. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

SOULS IN THE FLAME

(Book Two of the SOULS BY THE SEA series)

Copyright © 2018 Cerine Talbot. All rights reserved.

Formerly published under the pen name of Jessie G. Talbot

Follow me on Twitter @author_talbot

Burlie McLauren is the first victim of a dark force that rips the self-control from her neighbors, her friends, her classmates, her family...everyone in the town of Souls by the Sea. No one, not even the most powerful witch, is safe. And who's safe from the witches? Or the vampires? Not Burlie.

Weakened by loss of blood and without magic she must still, somehow, save the town from itself.

Poetry by Emily Dickinson, Constantine P. Cavafy, Emily Bronte, Rainier Maria Rilke, Robert Frost, Gavin Ewart, Theodore Roethke, Thomas Hardy, Ivor Gurney, William Shakespeare, Dorothy Parker, Nixon Waterman, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, and the unknown author of the Whodunnit? song as featured on The Electric Company.  

Thank you to my front-line team, particularly Tam Winn and Sherry Soule. And a huge thanks to my friends and family for their constant encouragement and support.

Cover art elements courtesy of Freepik.

Table of Contents

Chapter One - Killer in the Park

Chapter Two- Gnomes and Dysfunction

Chapter Three - Tea With the Witch

Chapter Four - The Rockwell Riot

Chapter Five - On the Case

Chapter Six - The Accused

Chapter Seven - Flames Went Higher

Chapter Eight - Graveyard Blackberries

Chapter Nine - Well Exhausted

Chapter Ten - We Made the News

Chapter Eleven - The Butcher's Bill

Chapter Twelve - Nature Walk

Chapter Thirteen - Results

Chapter Fourteen - Situation Normal...

Author Info

Dedicated to my baby brother, Bill.

CHAPTER ONE

NEW CHILDREN PLAY UPON the green,

New weary sleep below;

And still the pensive Spring returns,

And still the punctual snow.

HUGE, WHIRLING WHITE flakes fell over the playground next to St. Barnabas as the Winter arrived by appointment. Her red lips quirked up as the children stopped playing on the enormous ship propellers half buried in the ground to ooh and aah.

Of course, they didn't see who brought the rare wonder. They didn't see the wind stir her long, black hair or hear the rustling of her white kimono. 

They didn't notice the Spring arriving either though she made enough noise. Heyyy, honey! She rushed forward, sidestepping congregants dressed in dull black as they filed into the large church. The bells in the tall tower slowly, sadly tolled.

What a contrast, the Spring's own dress was the vibrant green of a pea pod and her wide-brimmed church hat was trimmed with pink rosebuds. She carried a handbag the color of a sunny blue sky. Hey, hey, hey!

A blast from the horn of a speeding car startled her.  The two Seasons turned to see two girls leaping out of the crosswalk. The car zoomed on through the red light and around the corner, tires squealing. You idiot! the older girl shouted after it but she sounded more relieved than angry as she bent to hug her little sister.

The Winter's pretty face frowned. 

Every year it snows, the Spring snapped. "Every year we get ice storms. You'd think they'd know how to drive in it. This ain't Atlanta. It's North Carolina. North. North." She fanned her face with a white-gloved hand. You see that? she asked.

I saw. Careless. And callous. The Winter paused as she noticed something else. I think that little girl can hear you.

The Spring turned to look. No, she can't, she said automatically. The two girls made it across the street with their lives. The small blonde was concentrating in their direction. The Spring's eyebrows went up. Hello? she tried. The little girl blinked and looked again. Both seasons covered their mouths with their hands. Yes, she can, the lady in the magnificent hat whispered.

BURLIE, PEOPLE ARE talking again, the little girl said.

They sure are, her tall and dark opposite answered. She'd noticed a knot of  schoolmates hogging one of the smaller propellers. Sadly, they noticed her, too, and Burlie McLauren took a deep, strengthening breath. Ignore them, Lydia.

It began.

Hurrr, my name is Durrrly! Urrrr! one of the teens growled, her voice rasping like a chainsaw. She coughed wildly, her tongue lolling out.

Duran, shut up, her boyfriend complained. But he joined in, too. "Hack! Haaaack!" He croaked like an asthmatic frog. Then he choked and spat a green blob on the ground.

Ewww, Gram! Duran protested. The other kids rolled their eyes and looked bored. Gram's own sister, Nora, stood and walked away.

The power of suggestion - Burlie had to clear her throat before she could speak. Moving to a new town is rough, moving to one when you're coughing up blood is sheer hell. But Burlie smiled sweetly at the two. I heard you got expelled, Gram, she said to the youngest son of the infamous Diedrick family. Burlie's voice was raspy and tired, yes, but it had healed enough to be reliable, finally. We'll suuure miss your tales of fishing for seagulls.

It lacked wit. She tried again. And your face is off-center, Duran, she said to the girl.

Duran was wearing an anime-inspired Glamour over her face. Her eyes appeared impossibly large, her mouth and nose too small, her skin smooth as a cartoon's. An illusion couldn't slip but Duran touched her face anyway. Like Gram she came from a hell of a family but at the opposite end of the social rainbow.  She was a trust-fund brat of a Batt, of Bathatch Castle, but she didn't impress Burlie.

Burlie wasn't impressed with herself, either. What wit, Oscar Wilde, she groused. She looked down at her little sister as they walked on. Duuuh, you stink.

Lydia was game. No, you do.

You do.

You.

You!

I know you are but what am I?

Huh?

Duran, no master of repartee herself, raised her voice. God, Gram, what...a...bitch.

I know, right? Gram agreed, already distracted by some other shiny thing.

Burlie was annoyed. One good slap would get Duran off her back for good but engaging with a loser just made them feel important and caused trouble. Time to be a good example to Lydia. How pathetic, Burlie sighed.

Lydia nodded and zig zagged away after her own shiny thing.  Watch me swing! Watch me!

I'm watching. Out of the corner of her eye Burlie noticed Duran hopping to her feet. Oh, was there going to be a hair-pullin'? No, there wasn't.

Burlie gave Duran some small amount of attention. She didn't blink.

Duran thought about it, then she plopped down again and whipped out her phone. She held it up in front of her face. The equivalent of slamming a door shut. Triumphant, Burlie studied the girl as she'd study an odd slug.

Duran loved, loved, loved her phone and kept it in a leather case covered in golden studs but she never took selfies. Cameras and mirrors show the truth underneath Glamours.

Take me, take me into the night eternal, it suddenly blared. Duran startled and became genuinely interested in the glowing screen. She moaned loudly. "Ohmygod. Gram! Look! They've green-lighted Narcisco's Nightlove."  She shoved her phone under Gram's nose. This is the one where the Lady Aliana is finally Turned into Narcisco's Darkmate. Look. Looooook!

Gram batted the phone away and it clattered to the ground. Not another stupid movie.

You broke it! Duran screeched and she snatched her iStatus up again. Her freakishly enormous eyes almost crossed as she stroked her cracked screen and rapid-tapped buttons with her thumbs. You broke it, you asshole!

Another couple of kids picked up and left. Gram scowled after them. Burlie  wandered away, too. Lydia needed a push on the swings.

I'm telling my Mom! Duran howled.

NOT THE MOST CHARISMATIC couple in the world, the Winter observed, her nose tilting into the air.

Not much of anything, her friend agreed. But those two are interesting. They turned to watch Burlie leaving tracks in the slight dusting of snow that covered the brown grass of the playground.

Burlie gave Lydia a good shove. Ooh, that's cold. Stick your tongue to the chain.

Lydia pumped with her legs and gave Burlie a look from under her blonde bangs. No.

I double-dog dare you.

Nooo!

The Seasons laughed, but quietly. They watched the children play. And while Lydia was swinging as high as she could they saw Burlie slowly turn and look up at St. Barnabas's tall bell tower.

The wind blew back her wildly crooked dark hair. Her expression was closed and grim. The Spring eyed the tower and wondered what that sad story was. Then the girl seemed to shake it off as she turned her back on the church entirely and cheered when Lydia vaulted off her swing without breaking any bones.

And the snow drifted down as prettily as parachuting princesses.

Well, the Winter finally said. Time runs on.  And runs out. We have business here, this fine day in March. Up close the white of her kimono sparkled with the feathery patterns of frost.

Oh, the Spring blanched. Oh. Yeah, I guess we do.

I am ready.

I'm not, the Spring dithered. Lord knows, I don't like this part of the job.

The Winter smiled kindly. It's tradition. And all so very mystical and cyclical. She nudged the Spring with her elbow, a gesture she'd learned in the 18th century. And impermanent.

The Spring gave her friend a pained smile. I know you'll be back. But still. After almost a full minute of fidgeting she sighed and opened her bag. I guess it is my time and all. She rooted around. Ah. She pulled out a gardening trowel.

Appropriately, sad organ music from the funeral in St. Barnabas swelled over the playground.

Well, I'll...I'll see you. The Spring screwed her eyes shut and thrust the trowel home.

I'm over here, my friend.

Aw, damn it. Sorry. She tried again with one eye open. The Winter helped, stepping into the mortal blow with another of her sweet, amused smiles. There was a blast of cold air and she vanished into a rainbow swirl of ice crystals.

The snow turned to rain.

The Spring breathed out and stuffed the trowel back into her bag. She pulled out a handkerchief and wiped her face. She replaced the handkerchief with a silver compact full of russet brown powder. She took the shine off her nose. She dropped the compact back in and closed her bag with a loud snap! She adjusted her hat.

Well, that was done and now...

She was ready.

She spread her hands and the call of a robin was heard in the air.

Burlie! a terrified voice shrieked. The Spring almost dropped everything as she flailed and spun around. The little girl. Lydia. Could she see as well as hear? Burlie! Burlie! Over here! Look!

She was hopping and pointing at a huge crow. A raven? No, a crow, damn near the size of a turkey vulture. Its black wings were almost as wide as the girl was tall. It was dive-bombing something on the ground. The Spring winced as she realized it was attacking a kitten. Tiny, fuzzy, and dirty, no bigger than a candy bar. Lydia rushed forward. A wild flapping of wings made her scream and sent her running back. Burlie, help!

The Spring watched, her hand over her mouth again.

COMING! BURLIE RACED to the rescue, her hair streaming behind her. She wished she had a broom to swing, she was rushing a big, ugly bird, but she was confident. Go. The crow gave a loud caw! and leaped for her. She felt the wind of its wings. She stood her ground and felt feathers as she swatted it. The kitten ran in a wobbly beeline for a nearby shrub encircled with old bricks. Grab it, Lydia.  The crow flapped at her again and she covered her face with her arm. Stop that.

I got it. Lydia gently scooped up the kitten and was repaid with two rapid-fire bites to her fingers, tiny fangs sinking into her skin. She shrieked and dropped it. The kitten, a little less loopy now, zipped under the naked shrub. It wasn't much cover but it was better than nothing. Burlie, it bit me!

Aw, bad kitty, Burlie sympathized and swung a fist at the crow again. Look at me, world, she thought. Animal cruelty right here. The crow cawed again and lifted off the ground. It flew over her head to the shrub and the kitten mewed in terror. Burlie ran to the rescue again.

You leave him alone! Lydia shouted at the black bird. It made an ugly noise back.

It must really be hungry, Burlie said, wiping the wet out of her eyes. Rain? Aw, what happened to the snow? The crow landed a few feet away and shook itself. The water beaded on its black feathers. Don't worry, sis, I'll get the kitty.

Okay, Lydia sniffled. Tiny pinpricks of blood appeared on her hand and she wiped them away on her pants. It didn't mean to do it. It's scared.

That's right, Burlie said and ducked to crawl into the bush.

Hey, if the bird's hungry, let it eat, Gram appeared and pulled Burlie back by the collar of her jacket. It's nature's way.

Burlie saw sparks from sheer anger. Let go!

Gram didn't let go. He gave her a shake. Only the strong survive.

That leaves you out, Burlie said as she slapped his arm off her. Gram had a problem remembering who he could bully and who he couldn't. It was frustrating. Get back and stay back, she warned him.

He shook his arm and his eyes bulged at her with that stupid gorilla glare he tried on everyone. Or I'm calling Thorson, Burlie threatened.

You better not, he muttered but the gorilla was suddenly gone.

If there was anyone the Diedricks hated and feared more than each other it was deputy Thorson Ulric. A big, blond Viking of a dogman who could bend a shotgun barrel with one paw. Proven the night he hauled Granny Diedrick away for selling cough syrup with codeine by the bottle or by the case.

He's a good friend of my family's, Burlie tightened the screws.

Gram, what are you doing over here? Now Duran was running at them.

Burlie stopped her charge just by pointing a finger. You stay back, too, she warned.

D'ran, piss off, Gram said as if his girlfriend was interrupting a private moment. The very thought made Burlie sick.

Duran's false face remained peachy-pink but her neck and hands became boiling red.

Another frightened yowl, from the kitten and her little sister, brought Burlie back to business. The damn persistent crow was at the shrub again.

Burlie attacked. Scat! Strong wings beat around her face, whipping her hair. Water scattered. Burlie protected her eyes with one arm and thrashed wildly with the other. She hit her target once and a black feather drifted to the ground. The crow squawked and flew to a low branch of a nearby tree to regroup. CAW! CAW! CAW! CAW!

Children, parents, dogs, everyone who was in the middle of abandoning the playground when the rain started, were all getting nice and wet as they gawked at the drama. Burlie waved at them before she hunkered down and stepped over the circle of bricks. The kitten was trying to hide behind the thin stump of the bush. Burlie shot her hand out and grabbed it, her fingers curling around its fuzzy warmth. Poor little thi...OW!

Baby-sized needle fangs and claws buzzed all over her fingers. Pain, pain, pain here and pain there and there and here again. Chomp, chomp, chomp. But Burlie didn't drop it. After a savage struggle she managed to pinch the scruff of its neck between the thumb and forefinger of her left hand while blood poured down her right. Lydia was staring in utter horror, waving her own wounded hand around in sympathy. Burlie gasped for breath.

When the sheer shock passed she held out her bloody fingers to her little sister. I've been mauled! It wasn't enough. Lydia was ready to cry as she looked at the kitten, the crow, the blood, the big kids still hovering nearby. It was a bit much all at once. So Burlie held the kitten high and lifted its little tail to check underneath. It's a boy, she announced and Lydia popped back to life.

Burlie, not in front of everybody. That's embarrassing.

Burlie smiled. It's a boy and he's a killer. The kitten, a tiny piece of fluff with paws no bigger than the tip of her little finger, was frozen, its blue eyes bulging as the skin of its face was stretched by her grip. Or the indignity.

CAW! CAW! CAW!

Oh, you can just shut up, Burlie muttered, trying not to drip red on herself.

Lydia was reaching out. Awww, kitty, kitty, kitty?

Not on your life. Burlie lifted it high again. Not safe. We're gonna have to  go to a doctor. Right now, she said.

We're not hurt that bad, Lydia said with scorn.

Cat bites can get infected. Our arms could drop off.

Ew!

Burlie was amazed by the quickness and the ruthlessness of the little fuzzbucket. He's a brave little thing, Burlie proclaimed and rubbed his tiny, grey belly with a bloody finger.

Someone pushed Burlie, hard, and she staggered into the bush. Bare twigs and branches scratched her face and she clutched the kitten to her chest.

Oh, my god, someone gasped.

Burlie fought her way out and realized Gram had done it. Gram? He was still here?

Drop it, he commanded her, snapping his fingers and pointing at the ground. His gorilla glower was back and strangely concentrated. His legs were wide apart and locked at the knees. "I told you to drop it. You do what I tell you. Burlie stared at him. Right now, beeyotch!"

Graaam? Duran whined.

Beeyotch? Seriously? Burlie didn't drop her prisoner. She turned to her little sister. Take this, Lydia. She passed the kitten over quickly and carefully. Hold him by the scruff. There we go.

Lydia took it and her eyes burned. You better leave us alone, she warned Gram. The kitten growled.

CAW!

Somebody call the cops, Burlie demanded of the witnesses still hanging around. She pointed at Gram. Call Thorson Ulrich. I want this creep arrested for assault.

Well, isn't this great, she thought, anger simmering nicely within her. Gram was a head taller than she was but he was skinny, stupid, and cowardly. She'd never, never seen him go back for seconds after someone had initially knocked him away. Well, he was screwed now. He was going to be arrested. Burlie was going to press charges. He could join his Granny in cellblock number nine.

Gram bounced on the balls of his feet like a boxer. He shook his lanky arms.

Burlie heard the beep beep boop of someone making a 911 call. A young man with a brindle dog on a leash also had his phone out and was filming. Everyone else continued to just stare. She knew some of them. She doubted they'd get involved, though.

Sometimes Burlie just plain