The Beguiler

By Jo Michaels

It’s one year until the apocalypse of 12.21.12 is supposed to take place.

Burning buildings, screaming babies, and death will surround us.

It will be the end of the world.

That can’t be allowed.

When six powerful women come together with one goal—to save humanity—they’ll get much more than they bargained for. They join forces and learn to use the gifts hidden within themselves to battle a monster feeding off something too many of us feel in our souls: Hate. But they must first learn how to forgive—themselves as well as others.

Hate is birthing a creature dwelling under Central Park in New York, and the fiend is eager to burst forth and sink his fangs into the Earth.

The Fury, The Visionary, The Beguiler, The Siren, The Prophet, and The Mystic are our last hope, and even they aren’t sure if they can win.

The end is coming, but with it, there may be a new beginning.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jo Michaels
• Release date: Nov 15, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463335925

Jo Michaels

Jo Michaels loves writing novels that make readers gasp in horror, surprise, and disbelief. While her browser search history has probably landed her on a list somewhere, she still dives into every plot with gusto, hoping "the man" will realize she's a writer and not a psychopath about to go on a rampage. Her favorite pastimes are reading, watching Investigation Discovery, and helping other authors realize their true potential through mentoring. She's penned the award-winning Pen Pals and Serial Killers series and the best-selling educational book for children, Writing Prompts for Kids, which has rocketed the kids that use it into several awards of their own.Most of Jo's books feature the places she's lived: Louisiana, Tennessee, and Georgia. That's given her a special amount of insight to what makes those locations tick. Her works are immersive and twisty, and she wouldn't want it any other way.

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The Beguiler

12.21.12 – The Hate Apocalypse – Book 3

By Jo Michaels

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The Beguiler

12.21.12 – The Hate Apocalypse – Book 3

By Jo Michaels

Copyright © 2018 Jo Michaels

All Rights Reserved

Published November 5, 2018

License Notes:

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be copied or re-distributed in any way. Author holds all copyright.

This book is a work of fiction and does not represent any individual living or dead.

Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

This book was previously published in 2013 with the title: Mystic-Shelia. Significant changes have been made to the story. Author retains all copyright.

Cover design by Jo Michaels

Typeset for print and digital formatting by Jo Michaels

The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by fines and federal imprisonment.

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Little Shelia Morgan stood in her living room, using her chubby, six-year-old arms to hold her teddy bear while she cried. Recordings of her dad’s violin music played in the background and people kept walking through the room and hugging her. It was making her more scared than she was when Aunt Ivy told Shelia she’d have to go live somewhere else because her parents wouldn’t be coming back again.

Aunt Ivy and Uncle Melvin didn’t come around very often. Shelia didn’t know why, but she’d been to visit them once and didn’t like it there. Their house smelled like old people, and Aunt Ivy hated kids. As Ivy sat in Shelia’s mother’s favorite recliner and chatted, the child watched with intensity. Aunt Ivy never smiled at anyone coming in and hadn’t shed a tear since the news of the deaths had come. Shelia couldn’t figure it out; even the police officer had cried when he’d given them the terrible news. She knew her mother and Ivy were sisters but had no idea why she wouldn’t be crying. It all seemed wrong somehow. All Shelia knew was, she did not want to go live with her Aunt and Uncle—not ever.

A nice lady from Child Services showed up after everyone left and offered to help Shelia pack her things. They chose seven outfits, two pairs of shoes, and a few photographs to put into the tiny suitcase. When the locks clicked, Shelia began to cry in earnest. It all felt so final, and the click seemed to lock it into place in a way nothing else had. She launched her little body at the social worker and cried into her shirt.

The woman pet Shelia’s hair and whispered, It’s okay, baby. I know you’re scared. You’re gonna be okay. Shh…

Shelia jerked back and looked the lady in the face. I don’t have to move with Aunt Ivy and Uncle Melvin, right?

No. I found you a really nice place to go where you’ll be very loved.

But Mommy and Daddy won’t know where to find me as angels, Shelia said, stepping away and wiping her nose on her sleeve.

They always know. But if it makes you feel better, we can leave them a note, okay?

Shelia’s head bobbed up and down.

Do you have paper and pencil? the woman asked.

Racing around the room, Shelia gathered her drawing paper and crayons. She sat down, and the lady helped draw a picture telling the angels where to find their little girl.

The lady held Shelia’s hand, and they walked out to the car where she was put in the back seat and buckled in. Aunt Ivy watched from the porch as they drove away but never lifted her hand to wave.

After a time in the car, Shelia saw they were turning up the driveway of a little blue house with a swing set in the yard. She was hustled out of the car and brought to the door.

The lady that answered was thin, tall, and pretty, wearing a flower-pattered apron over her t-shirt and jeans and no shoes. There was flour on her nose, and the scream of a baby could be heard from the depths of the house.

She smiled and squatted down so she was Shelia’s height. Hello there, Shelia. I’m Mary Alice. It’s nice to meet you.

Hi, said Shelia. She turned and grabbed the other lady’s pants, feeling shy.

Mary Alice stood up to talk to the social worker. I’m sorry to hear about her parents. We’re happy to take her in. I’m so glad you called me.

Yes, it’s a tragic story. Poor kid. She’s too little to even understand what’s going on. You have my number; call me if you need anything.

I will.

Turning and looking down at Shelia, the social worker said, You’re going to stay with Mary Alice. She’s really nice, and there are other kids here you can play with, too. Don’t be scared, honey. We told your mom and dad where they could find you. She peeled the child off her legs, turned Shelia and the suitcase over to Mary Alice, and left.

Shelia stood on the porch and cried, her teddy bear dangling from her hand.

Sweetheart, why don’t you come on in, and I’ll introduce you to the other kids.

Tilting her head back, Shelia looked up into the twinkling eyes of Mary Alice before taking her hand, sniffing, and nodding.

There’s a good girl.

In the kitchen, there was chaos. The baby was still crying, and two kids around Shelia’s age were running around, whooping and hollering.

Janet, Michael! You two stop that! You’re makin’ Cleo cry! Mary Alice said. She snatched the two mid-stride and deposited them in front of Shelia. This is Janet; she’s eight. This is Michael; he’s five. That, she said, gesturing to the baby in the highchair, is little Cleo; she’s just seven months. My husband’s name is Herb, and he’ll be home later. You can meet him then. Do you want somethin’ to drink?

Shelia shook her head and clutched her teddy bear to her chest.

Janet narrowed her eyes at Shelia and the bear.

Michael smiled.

Cleo wailed.

Mary Alice threw up her hands and said, "Okay. Ya’ll go outside and play. I gotta get this baby to stop screamin’ or I’m