Illusions of Power: PARANORMAL ANTHOLOGY

By Robecca Austin, LAURIE HAZEL and CHRISTINE COLORADO

DREAM CATCHER, by Christine Colorado
When newly widowed Carolyn asks her friend Julia to help her find a new house, she gets more than she wanted. Even a sparkling dream-catcher can't keep the spirits from haunting her and her daughter Ginny. Julia offers to help them when Carolyn realizes it was Julia's plan all along.

THE BOWL, by Robecca Austin
When Shane lost his mother at age seven, he knew something was terribly wrong. When three women disappeared that same summer, he knew their quaint town on Dorton Island was in trouble.

Now, years later as Chief of Police, he is determined to uncover the secrets of Dorton Island, even if he has to rattle the dead. 

THE ANALYST, by Laurie Hazel 
When Adam first received Abigail for an initial consultation, she came to him like a beautiful present wrapped in fragile hysteria. She presented crippling anxiety and severe, selective, for-no-apparent-reason aphonia. Nevertheless, something had moved her enough to go find him. Symptoms like those were often a delight for him to unravel . . .

• Language: English
• Publisher: COLORFUL PEN PRESS
• Release date: Sep 10, 2019
• ISBN: 9781999003210

Robecca Austin

Robecca Austin is an author of romance and paranormal stories. She is the founder of www.ColorfulPen.com. A member of the Hamilton Mountain Writers Guild, two of her short stories, “Cold Table” and “The Bowl” won first prize and were published in collections by the Hamilton Mountain Writers Guild. You can find her outside enjoying nature and lots of sunshine when there are no bugs. Her days are spent battling Cystic Fibrosis, hugging family and writing her next novel. She lives and works in Canada.

Book preview

COLD TABLE

BY: ROBECCA AUSTIN

1

August 10th 1983,

New Orleans

It was almost 11pm when Kaleb Morrows left the white walls and sterile surfaces of the office in his funeral home. Death called, he smelled it. Old blood and aging skin. He felt the ache deep in his bones as they cried out for youth, life. Earlier, he had heard the cries of his wife two floors above him. Life for life. His ring chilled around his finger, a reminder of a contract from ages ago.

The door creaked shut behind him. He limped into the woods of the national park. Jabbing the cane’s dark tip into the thick moss, he leaned against it, peering towards the park’s running track. She was here, always running as if chased by something in the darkness.

She circled the track again, not stopping to take water. Her long stride, carried by adrenaline and determination. Kaleb’s heartbeat raced, his craving always increased before a Taking. Yet, deep in forgotten parts of his soul, he despised killing, and prayed this third life would be his last for a while. He touched his ring, rubbed the serpent’s head that was embedded into the metal in anticipation of youth not marred by the ills of the feeble or of old age.

He flicked the ring with his thumb, releasing the vapors from its chamber. A cloud of gray haze rose from its cocoon into air sugared by red maple and birch.

Life for life, he whispered.

Yours will be everlasting, the response came from deep within the swirling fog.

He took a step forward, waited. The woman reached her gym-bag then collapsed. The haze wrapped around her, caressed. Her back arched off the ground and Kaleb knew her deepest desires, secrets, dreams were being fulfilled. His lips tingled, she’d be sweet, not soured by anger or fear.

The proximity of her death meant he’d see her a second time. He’d draw her essence into his soul, and he’d have her after the coroner was done.  He couldn’t restore her life but he could restore her outer beauty.

2

August 8th

11:00 am

You hear that?

Sounds like music. Detective Cove wrinkled his nose.

Detective Renals nudged the door to the funeral home open, she looked at Cove. Howlin’ Wolf ... Smokestack Lightning.

His partner was a fan of blues, he pocketed that information for later, he hardly knew her. He stepped into the room, saw the mortician sitting at a small desk in the far corner. Cove never understood those who worked with the dead, then again, he’d dedicated his life to the living. In the middle of the room, his reflection shone in the metal surfaces as if the table, sink and hose were not only washed but polished. The smell was a different beast, no amount of bleach could take the embalming fluid tinged with copper and decay from the walls.

Mr. Morrows, Cove said when the mortician looked up. You still got Patricia Mavis’s body?

What’s this about? Kaleb unhooked his cane from the edge of the desk.

We’ve got to look at her and it’ll beat having to dig her up.

Kaleb walked over to a row of metal drawers, gripped the handle of one. Haven’t buried her yet. He pulled the handle, Patricia’s body slid out on the narrow slab, a thin white sheet covering breast to thigh.

Anyone else claimed her? Cove asked.

No. Kaleb shook his head, the glaze from his balding scalp revealed beneath his stiff comb-over. Just the old boyfriend.

Cove stood opposite the Mortician, Renals hovering at Cove’s side. Cove pulled blue latex from his back pocket, gloved up, placed one hand on Patricia’s shoulder and flinched.

The touch of death is a chilly one. Kaleb said, leaning on his cane.

Cove lifted the hair at the base of Patricia’s neck, and turned her body away from his partner. You seeing this Renals?

Your coroner miss something? Kaleb asked.

His rookie assistant did, Cove answered, then faced Renals. Two bodies with identical marks, no coincidence... they’re connected.

It’s a tiny mark, no peach in an apple basket. Kaleb limped closer, adjusted the sheet over Patricia Mavis’s body.

I still think it’s a chick-club gone wrong. Renals looked at the mortician. You’ve seen your share of bodies, ever seen this mark?

Don’t get paid to examine the dead, only to help their families say goodbye.

When they left the cold room, Renals’s fingers gripped Cove’s arm, halting him in the corridor. He didn’t even look at the tattoo.

Maybe he didn’t need to.

There’s something off about him.

Cove shrugged out of her hold, took a few steps, stopped and looked back at his partner. Haven’t you heard Detective, walls have ears.

3

August 8th

3:40 pm

Cove stood when a uniformed officer brought Catarina Blackwood, the woman he’d been waiting for, to his desk. Thanks for coming, this is my partner, Detective Renals.

Renals offered her hand but Catarina didn’t accept the shake. I make a point not to touch, too much energy.

Renals raised a brow. Which are you, witch or psychic?

Neither, I’m an empath.

Catarina’s been helpful in the past, Cove said,