Keeper of Lost Souls: Keeper Witches, #1

By Kristy Centeno

Bryn has survived high school bullies.

 

She's fought demons and won.

 

She's even learned to coexist with the permanent haunt of one of her arch enemies.

 

But she's never had to contend with a boy she was attracted too.

 

Much less one that was dead.

 

When Johnny Zhao's name pops up in her list of charges Bryn doesn't think much of him. Until their first meeting ends in near disaster.

 

It doesn't take long for her to realize Johnny isn't a conventional soul in need. He's much more powerful than any she's seen before. He's a coveted target, one that has much to offer demons.

 

Protecting him becomes a priority, one she takes very seriously.

 

Now if only she could convince him that he needs her help before his adversaries return to claim what they failed to collect the first time around.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Inkspell Publishing
• Release date: May 14, 2020
• ISBN: 9781949931709

Kristy Centeno

Kristy Centeno loves to spin tales of creatures that go bump in the night, with a sprinkle of romance to top them off. Her passion for writing stems from a lifelong enjoyment of reading and the pleasure derived from the magical worlds created by authors like her. She prefers her female leads strong, independent, and stubborn who will stop at nothing to save their loved ones and protect those they care for.Kristy currently resides in Pennsylvania with her five kids, a quartet of noisy parakeets, and a spoiled puppy. When she's not working or writing, she juggles her free time between raising a handful of minions and pursuing other career goals.

Book preview

Keeper of Lost Souls

Keeper Witches Series: 1

Kristy Centeno

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places, or events is coincidental and not intended by the author.

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If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as unsold and destroyed to the publisher. In such case the author has not received any payment for this stripped book.

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Keeper of Lost Souls

Keeper Witches Series: 1

Copyright © 2020 Kristy Centeno

All rights reserved.

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ISBN (ebook) 978-1-949931-70-9

(print) 978-1-949931-71-6

Inkspell Publishing

207 Moonglow Circle #101

Murrells Inlet, SC 29576

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Edited By Jessica Martinez

Cover art By Najla Qamber

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This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. The copying, scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions, and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials.  Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

Chapter One

Bryn

It was all over. I was free.

Graduation had reached its prolonged conclusion, marking the end of my high school experience at last. I no longer had to be confined to the same room with the same girls who made my school years a living nightmare. No more avoiding taking the bus to evade the constant hair-pulling and jabs directed at me. No more serving as their personal punching bag.

The pure elation I felt at coming to terms with the end of my high school years couldn’t compare to any positive emotions I’d experienced in recent times. Freedom was long overdue. Independence was just around the corner. I was happy to leave the most oppressing moments of my life behind me, along with anyone else I met during those four torturous years of high school hell.

I entered my bedroom, shut the door, took one good look at my surroundings, and sighed in relief. I could relax now. I could look forward to whatever the future had in store for me. Everything was about to change. Hopefully, for the better.

I removed my cap and gown, promptly tossing both on the twin bed behind me.

I’d done it. I marched across that stage and proudly received my diploma with my chin held high. That was one thing the Snotty Four couldn’t take away from me. No matter how hard things had gotten, I never allowed it to affect my academics—the one thing I had going for me at Franklyn High.

Now I could afford to take time to self-heal. To reflect. To gather myself and put the past as far back behind me as I could manage. If the gods were on my side, I’d never have to see my tormentors again.

How was graduation? a familiar voice asked.

Not even the annoying ring of her voice could take the positive reassurance that my life didn’t totally suck anymore.

Still giving me the silent treatment, huh? she said with a pinch of irritation. That’s fine, I can take a hint.

I honestly didn’t think so. She never knew when to stop. Or when to shut up, either. There were no boundaries she wouldn’t cross. Especially now.

Listen, freak. You can’t ignore me forever, she vented.

Oh, but I tried so very hard. To ignore her. To pretend she wasn’t there. If only I were lucky enough to never have to hear her shout at every opportunity, just because she still had a voice.

I demand that you answer me, she ranted.

There it was again. The princess syndrome. That irritating sense of entitlement from someone who believed the entire world revolved around their existence. There was at least one in every school, and to my utmost horror, I was permanently stuck with the ex-Miss Prom Queen from Franklyn High.

What do you want? I sighed.

So much for enjoying summer break before shipping off to college. I’d forgotten that I wouldn’t be completely free once school let out. Not from her at least.

She tossed her long blonde hair over her right shoulder and scoffed. You’re lucky I’m dead. Otherwise, I’d give you the beating of a lifetime.

I gawked at her, bored with her childish antics. Same old, same old. When was she going to grow up?

I raised my brow at the stupidity of my unspoken question. Marianne would always be stuck at seventeen. Maturing didn’t seem to be something she could do, either, as she wouldn’t stop acting like a spoiled brat.

Fine. I’m listening. What is it you want? Patience was one of my virtues, but damn if she didn’t push me to my limits—some days more than others. Talk.

I took off the three-inch heels Mom insisted I wear for the graduation ceremony and climbed on to the bed.

I just want to know how graduation was, she whined.

A master at manipulation, she’d become an expert at getting what she wanted, by either playing good cop, or bellyaching until she broke even the strong-spirited, leaving them no choice but to surrender—if only to get her to shut her trap. Hence, why I gave in so often.  

Why didn’t you go? I asked.

And leave the comforts of this place? She gestured around her as if there was something wrong with the scarcely decorated, yet clean bedroom.

My irritation intensified tenfold. Some people never changed. Not even when they were dead.

That’s exactly why I don’t believe your good-girl charade.

Realizing her pushy attitude was getting her nowhere fast, Marianne changed tactics. She ambled to the bed and sat on the edge, focusing her gaze on me.

I’m not used to this, she murmured after a few seconds of silence.

Though I knew it was probably very difficult day for her and I understood her ill mood, the fact that she could still make my life utterly miserable, even after death, was exasperating. It added to my bitterness, and I wasn’t the type to hold on to a grudge. It was how I survived high school. I let things go. I moved on. I excelled where others wanted me to fail.

I don’t think being dead is something one gets used to. It was the most comfort I could offer her. I wasn’t necessarily fond of her, but I didn’t hate her, either. Ours was a complicated relationship that went beyond rhyme or reason.

It’s been six months since the accident and I still walk around hoping this is nothing but a bad dream.

Damn. It was hard not to feel sorry for Marianne at times. Her death was a result of a bad decision that had irreversible consequences. Her drunken boyfriend Craig decided one tragic evening to participate in a race with his equally stupid friends. Marianne climbed into the passenger seat, thinking she was untouchable. That split-second decision cost her her life.

Craig lost control of the vehicle and smashed right into the nearest lamppost. The passenger side was destroyed. Marianne died instantly. Craig suffered major injuries and was in a coma for a week.

For his role in Marianne’s death, Craig deserved some time in prison. Being the eldest son of a prominent judge, however, spared him an extended trip to jail. He got off easy in my opinion, with barely a slap on the wrist and a fine. Rumor had it that he now spent his days drowning in a shallow pool of guilt and self-pity on his father’s estate, where he consumed alcohol like most people drank water.

Whatever the case, Craig was spared the trauma of being haunted by Marianne’s restless spirit and having to deal with it daily. I wasn’t that lucky. I first spotted her at her funeral, which I’d been forced to attend by my mother. We hadn’t been friends. Like, ever. She’d never been nice enough for us to even be civil toward one another other. In fact, she started the abuse that tormented me as a freshman, and never let up, not even after she died. Though nowadays her abuse was only verbal.

Marianne had been trying to contact her distraught parents without success. Once she realized I could see her, she  targeted me—much like she did most of my high school years—and I’d been stuck with her ever since.

Maybe that’s part of the problem, Marianne. My eyes locked with hers for a second before she turned away and focused her attention on the full-length mirror situated next to my dresser.

What is?

Your refusal to accept death is keeping you grounded to this plane.

How can I accept my death? I’m only seventeen! I’m too young to die!

I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re already dead, I argued, as I’d done so many times in the past months. Her denial only added to the problem.

I know that, she barked.

My life was an enigma even I didn’t understand. How could I go about explaining the reason for Marianne’s presence all these months? She was the only person I couldn’t help, and a big part of my everyday existence now, like it or not.

I don’t know what it’s like, because I haven’t gotten there yet. Given my bloodline, however, I suspected ending up in a body bag was just a matter of time. And luck. And maybe the right dose of magic. But I believe things happen for a reason. You can’t see it, but one day you might.

That is so cliché, she said. Her gaze threw daggers at me from her side of the bed. Give me one good reason why I died at seventeen and only you can see and hear me. You, of all people.

Her nastiness curbed my desire to comfort her. She could be such a downer sometimes.

Look, I don’t know. But maybe you should be grateful that someone can hear and see you. You’re not entirely alone. You may not like me, but I’m here for you regardless.

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and stood, intending to storm out of the room and get away from her, but she reached out and curled her fingers around my right wrist before I could take more than a couple of steps toward the door. The contact was uncomfortable and as cold as a block of ice.

I’m sorry, Bryn. She squeezed my arm lightly. The act almost desperate as she added, Please stay.

Life could be very hard at times, but I imagined dying at seventeen wasn’t exactly a picnic. Not that she made it any easier for me to help her.

If only I could get through to my parents. The statement conveyed the deep sadness she very rarely allowed me to see. I felt my anger melt as I turned to witness the sorrow reflected on her pale face.

Most people can’t see— I stopped before saying the word ghost. It felt insensitive. Like a slap to the face. Or a punch to the gut to someone who was already down on her luck.

You can say it, you know, she muttered.

I...well...it’s kind of inconsiderate.

But it’s the truth. I’m a ghost. Been one for six months now.

Not wanting the conversation to go south again, I instead asked, Why do you want to get through to your parents?

In the six months since she had been hanging around me, this was the most she’d opened up. I was hoping it could lead to a way to help her cross over once and for all.

How come you’re so interested in a conversation all of a sudden?

Well, no offense, but you’ve been a bitch the entire time you’ve been here.

At this, she laughed. Under normal circumstances, we would’ve been great friends.

Too bad you didn’t think so when you were still alive. The comment earned me a scowl.

Marianne didn’t reply right away, making me think she had no intention to. Her eyes took on a distant look, as if she was gone. Distracted by the thoughts consuming her.

After a minute of deep silence, she finally said, There’re a lot of things I didn’t do then that I now wish I had.

Okay. This was good. She was sharing something personal. There was no screaming or insulting involved, just a cordial conversation between two young adults. I could work with that. She might finally be ready to repent all wrongdoing and decide where to go from here.

Like what? I sat back down on the bed, facing her.

She frowned. You actually want to know?

Why do you sound so surprised? Granted, we’d never been friends and her life had been as unimportant to me as many other popular trends teenagers were following nowadays. But if listening to her led to a momentary truce in addition to a path I could direct her to, I was willing to make sacrifices.

Because...I’m not your favorite person in the world.

I’m not yours, either.

It had been a long half a year. I resented that I’d been stuck with her for so long and resented even more that she continued to make my life hell after her passing, but I’d never really tried to help her. It was my job to help souls in need. I’d done nothing instead, letting my dislike for her dictate my actions.

True. She smiled. I’m partly at fault for that.

I furrowed my brow.

Okay, I take full responsibility. Are you happy? She glared at me.

Maybe if you tone it down. I’m trying to help you here, remember?

Her expression softened. Sorry. Purging the bitch in me is going to be hard work.

Battling with our differences was going to be equally as difficult for me. At least no one could accuse me of being impatient.

That’s okay. Keep going, I told her, brushing off the previous tension between us.

Marianne raised a finger to her face and tapped thoughtfully on her chin as she pondered her response. There’re so many things. Like...I would’ve taken my mom’s offer to go to Europe instead of going to that party with Craig, where, as you well know, I died.

That would’ve been a good choice. I said. But you can’t change the past.

She nodded. Unfortunately.

What else?

I would’ve spent more time with my little sister. Marianne readjusted her position so that she sat cross-legged and rested both elbows on her thighs. She always wanted me to play with her dolls, but I was too busy talking on the phone to care. Everything and everybody were more important than family time. I regret that now. I wish I could do things over. Fix things, you know?

I scrutinized her, reading the sincerity in those translucent eyes of hers. This was the Marianne I’d never gotten to see before. I was certain no one else had, either. This was the vulnerable Marianne. The lonely and scared Marianne. The Marianne who was too afraid to call out for help and lashed out at the world in an attempt to make others pay for her pain.

Why hadn’t I notice her internal struggles with self-loathing before? Didn’t most teenagers fight similar inner demons? I wasn’t immune to bouts of insecurity, myself. Especially while Marianne and the Snotty Four picked on me. I just naturally assumed that because of her pretty face, decent figure, and her family’s background, Marianne’s life was flawless.

What would you do now if you could?

I couldn’t fix all the wrongs she’d done when she lived, but there was a chance I could remedy her present. If she got the opportunity to make things right, she might finally have inner peace.

"I...just...I wasn’t a model daughter. Or a good sister. I had it all, yet, it was never enough. I took my parents for granted. My sister. My grandparents. Everyone close to me. Despite being well-off, my family was very modest. I was the exact opposite. Now that I think back on my life, I’m disgusted with myself. I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth and I acted like the world was beneath me because of it.

I don’t get it. Really. I don’t. I was so unsatisfied with my life. Like...nothing was ever good enough. Like no one ever did enough for me. I wasn’t happy. And now it’s too late to tell everyone I loved that I’m sorry I was such a brat. That I appreciated everything they did for me. That I loved them very much.

I never thought I’d see the day when my heart would break for my bully, but something in me cracked for sure.

Maybe you can still do that, I blurted out before I could stop myself.

The spirit world wasn’t an easy business, but it had been the McCaskey occupation for hundreds of years. If there was a way for me to get a message across to Marianne’s family, I’d get it done. Or get arrested trying.

How? she asked, her eyes filling up with hope.

I’m not really sure. I’ll have to talk to Mom first. I can’t make any promises, though.

If you can help me in any way, I would really appreciate it. Her face lit up with enthusiasm.

If you wanted my help, you should’ve asked, I said, just now realizing that perhaps that was what she was asking for all along. Today, she finally found the courage to swallow her larger-than-life pride and say the words.

I...didn’t think you’d help me after the way I treated you and all. She lowered her gaze to the mattress.

I would’ve done something if you’d asked sooner. I assured her. There was only so much screaming a girl could take, and she’d put me through hollering sessions that would put a banshee to shame.

I wasn’t sure, she said, her voice low and uncertain. I was afraid you’d say no.

No offense, but how else was I going to get rid of you?

She laughed. Good grief. And I’ve been stuck with you all this time? I wish I’d known that earlier.

You have that backwards. I’ve been stuck with you, I bantered a little.

Laughing, she bounced off the bed and landed on her ethereal feet.  I was glad to see her not lose her mind for once over a little teasing and just let things go. Months ago, I couldn’t even think of joking around with her for fear that she’d freak out and go full-scale poltergeist in my bedroom. 

Thanks, Bryn.

But remember—

No promises, I know.

Marianne turned and strode over to the that wall faced the backyard. She normally left around midafternoon and didn’t return until late at night, or sometimes early the next morning. Due to our strained relationship, I never bothered asking where she disappeared to. I was just glad she was gone. Any break I could get from her was a godsend. She didn’t leave every day, but when she did, I took full advantage of her absence.

Curiosity piqued, I asked, Marianne, where do you go off to at this time?

She glanced over her shoulder at me. Home.

I scrunched up my face at her reply. Home? Why would she torture herself that way?

I go to spend some time with my family. They can’t see me. They can’t hear me but being around them brings a small measure of comfort.

I was overcome with sympathy. I couldn’t imagine being in her shoes, going through what she was going through. However, if our roles were reversed, my family could at least see me and know I was there.

Isn’t it painful?

Painful?

To be around those you love?

Actually, it’s soothing. Her blue eyes twinkled with something akin to cheerfulness.

Really? I asked with a hint of skepticism.

Really. She winked at me. But don’t you worry; I’ll come by later to annoy the hell out of you. It’s more of a routine by now, and if I don’t follow through, I feel like everything is off-balance.

I rolled my eyes. I can’t wait.

I’ll see you later.

Marianne faded away before I could form a reply, leaving me to think of a way to help fulfill her desire to reach out to her parents. No task I’d ever undertaken as a witch had been easy, but this one promised to beat me until I either broke or gave up.

Chapter Two

Bryn

Marianne’s translucent form vanished just as my bedroom door burst open. Mom walked in and paused by the full-length mirror. Her gray eyes scanned the room as if she was looking for something, her gaze bounced from one corner to the other as if she could see something I couldn’t. Her expression gave nothing away and I was left wondering at the sudden intrusion.

Mom?

She had a habit of not knocking before entering my room. It was a McCaskey thing, I believed. We lived with targets on our backs. Silly things like invasion of privacy had no place in a world where a deadly enemy could attack at any moment. And without warning. Stopping to knock was a courtesy that didn’t exist in our household.

Bryn, can you please come out and help me set the table?

I scrambled off the bed and slid my feet into the turquoise flip flops I’d left next to the nightstand that morning.

Slip out of that dress first. We have to return it. Another of Mom’s quirks was that she often made demands rather than requests. But that wasn’t anything I wasn’t used to. In fact, it was comforting. She was the leader. I, the follower.

Mom exited the room without another word, leaving me to change out of the dress and into a pair of fuzzy green bottoms and a white tank top. I hurried into the kitchen not long after to find Mom and Grams busy adding the finishing touches to what smelled like cheese ravioli. My stomach growled at the sight of garlic bread and Caesar salad already on the table.

Dinner is ready, Bryn. Grams sprinkled a pinch of salt on the salad as I walked in.

Eager to get something in my stomach, I went about setting the table. I laid out the silverware next to the trio of plates and added three glasses beside those. I took a seat at my usual spot and waited for Mom and Grams to join me.

Dinner with the family was a routine, but one I enjoyed. Mom worked the graveyard shift, and Grams worked the eight to four, but we tried our best to eat together. It was a perfect way for me to unwind. To let the stress melt away after a long day of hazardous exposure to the Snotty Four and their never-ending tactics.

Grams joined me a moment later with a smile and a sparkle in her gray eyes. She filled all three of our plates with fluffy ravioli pillows and a serving of salad, then waited for Mom to sit before she proceeded to recite what she called the witch’s prayer. It was her version of thanking and requesting from the good lord upstairs, except she asked for our powers to be plentiful and our luck to hold until we were too old to fight back. I dared not interrupt or start eating until she was done. When I was sure it was safe for me to pick up my fork, I proceeded to dig in to the carefully prepared meal.

It might have been unusual to some, but this was my normal.

Talking to a ghost must have worked up quite an appetite, huh? Mom teased.

I paused with the fork midway to my mouth and glanced at her. Talking with Marianne always works up something.

She’s quite the brat, Grams added with a chuckle. I used to have a Marianne back in the day.

You did? I asked, surprised.

Oh, yes. She was hardheaded and as mean as a hungry grizzly. Grams laughed.

How did you get rid of her? I asked. Please tell me.

The same way you’re going to get rid of yours, she said, her voice taking a more serious tone.

There’s a way to help her then? Despite my previous resentment, I still wanted to help Marianne. She deserved that much consideration.

Marianne won’t move on until she redeems the wrongs she’s done.

Every speck of hope I’d been holding on to vanished at Gram’s declaration.

That could take forever.

Don’t be overdramatic, Mom stated.

Have you heard Marianne? She’s not exactly pleasant.

Oh, I’ve heard her. Mom took a sip of orange juice before lowering the glass back to the table.

But she needs our help. Marianne was young when she passed and she’s holding onto the world of the living because she hasn’t learned how to let go. By providing her with what she needs, Marianne will be able to cut her ties with this world and move on to the next, Grams finished.

Whatever it is, I’ll do it if it means she’ll cross over. How do I help her?

That, we will teach you, but right now there’s a more important matter to discuss.

Oh, no. This was it. The infamous talk. The one I’d been dreading for the past six months.

Okay. I plopped another ravioli into my mouth and waited for them to continue.

Your eighteenth birthday is five days away. For a Keeper Witch, that’s a very important birthday.

Yes. I knew exactly what it meant. I’d be an adult, which meant not only was I entitled to adult responsibilities in the real world, but in the world of the supernatural too.

I’m getting my first batch of charges, aren’t I?

I’d been dealing with ghosts since I was four, but things were changing now. These charges were going to become a part of me. Mine to protect. Mine to guide until they were ready to move on. Unlike the many spirits I’d encountered before, these were my responsibility. Solely mine. If something happened to them, I’d have to pay the consequences.

"Keeper Witches are often sought by ghosts, spirits, souls—whichever term you prefer. They know we can talk to them, interact with them. Some are looking for