Matanzas Moon: Ablaze

By Elizabeth Raven

After a wicked Halloween showdown with the vigilante ghost of a Voodoo Priestess, clairvoyant Bridget Quinn is hoping her life will finally cool off.   Winter never poses much of a threat to the Nation’s Oldest City where there’s no shortage of Holiday Spirits when the blazing Florida sun sets.    Again, the Ancient Ci

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ms. Tiki Unlimited, Inc
• Release date: Mar 7, 2016
• ISBN: 9780996715454

Elizabeth Raven

Elizabeth Raven is a wife, mother, and Veterinary Professional hovering in the shadows and moonlight of relentlessly sunny Jacksonville, Florida. Her Paranormal Romance Series, Matanzas Moon (Book 2: ABLAZE to be released in December 2015) is set in St. Augustine, FL integrating the authentic ghost legends of the Nation’s Oldest City into a lively, narrative driven plot. Daylight hours are spent indoors working, reading, cooking, or spending time with family, friends, and her four black cats. Otherwise, she can be found dancing, socializing or joining Ghost Tours whenever her imaginary friends let her out to play!

Book preview

Table of Contents

Cover

Dedication

Title Page

Copyright

Prologue

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

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17

18

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Bio

Matanzas Moon ABLAZE cover WEB

 DEDICATION

Thanks, love, and unending appreciation to my family and friends who have hung with me on  this rollercoaster of a journey!  

Your encouragement and support are treasured now as always. 

Special shout-outs to Chris, Colin, Carol, Lori, Jennifer, Savannah, Marte, Mary, Morgan, Tanner & Shelby, Danielle, Sue, Renee, Shar'Kela, Ashley, 

Erik, Robert, Karlie, Tabatha, Mom & Dad.  Million thanks for the feedback, research assistance, and for believing in me!  

Ablaze Title Page with ER

Matanzas Moon: ABLAZE

Copyright © 2016 Ms.Tiki Unlimited, Inc 

All rights reserved.

Though this work of fiction portrays authentic, historical  places, figures, and legends, the purpose is to entertain.  

No harm is implied  towards the existence, or memory of any beloved person, place, or thing.  

The author's intention is to celebrate magical cities and their fascinating lore.

Cover Art by Lori Follett at Wicked Book Covers.

Editing by Tabatha Rhodes at Spellbound Book Editing

Ms.Tiki Unlimited logo design by Aidana Willowraven at Willowraven Illustration and Design Plus  

Formatting and Interior Design by Ms.Tiki Unlimited, Inc.

hardback ISBN: 978-0-9967154-3-0 

 paperback ISBN: 978-0-9967154-4-7

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9967154-5-4 

 PROLOGUE

St. Augustine, FL:  Saturday, April 22, 1944

Striding through the grand entrance of Castle Warden Hotel, as he had countless times before, the proud man cast an imposing shadow over the reception desk as the blazing Florida sun pierced the lobby windows behind him.  Arrogantly ignoring the staff’s chirpy greetings, he raised his hand curtly to hush them from addressing him by name.  He grabbed the pen from the clerk, scrawling a jagged X instead of a proper signature in the guest book as he grumbled about such mundane formalities. For the exorbitant fees he paid per room, he demanded anonymity be included.

The soles of his freshly shined shoes clacked curtly as he marched up the grand staircase followed by a young bell boy grappling luggage.  Sneering, the surly guest rebuffed all attempts at polite conversation by the affable employee as they approached Room 13.  Once inside, the attendant set the luggage down and scurried away, large tip in hand.  

Finally free from the annoying nonsense of social interaction, Mr. X recalled his most recent conversation with Bette as he washed his hands and face in the bathroom.  As a wealthy steel tycoon in a rebounding economy bolstered by war-booming industry, he was unaccustomed to refusals, business or otherwise.  Bette’s aloof defiance enraged him.  Even the splashes of cool water heaved repeatedly on his face couldn’t quench the flames burning within him. 

These dalliances have become quite troublesome as of late, and his patience with disobedience was nonexistent.  How times have changed ... The young ladies these days had minds and ambitions of their own.  Bette was no different.  Young and silly, her head was floating in the clouds with modern goals that were diametrically opposed to his domineering objectives. Their rendezvous was delayed, again.  The trip from Jacksonville to St. Augustine was relatively short; even so, Bette claimed she couldn't join him until tomorrow.  He doubted she had any intention of joining him at all considering their last liaison ...

He marched across the room, retrieving the trunk sitting on the floor beside his luggage to inspect his precious cargo.  Unpacking the plush crimson fabric revealed an exquisite chalice nestled with an ornate candelabra and other items necessary for this endeavor.  A very special endeavor ... Even grander than before ... Because of Bette’s disobedience, it would have to wait.  Beyond inconvenient, this delay was most distressing given the astrological significance upon which it was planned.  Silly, stupid girl.

Mr. X slammed the receiver down after notifying the desk he'd dine alone in his room tonight. His mood was far too coarse for the  cordial repartee required to join the other guests.  In the seclusion of his room, Mr. X seethed, fretting over this missed opportunity. 

CHAPTER 1

St. Augustine, FL   November 2015

RIP? Bridget called out,  opening the door of Lunatique, her metaphysical store she'd entrusted in the dubious hands of her rascally friend for the past two weeks. The building is still standing ...  Walls and windows intact; no flood damage. No scorch marks. Good.  Good so far ...  

I'm back! She chirped as she inspected the shop for evidence of inventory depletion, structural damage, general disarray or any of a dozen different calamities she'd envisioned while suffering helplessly on the beautiful island of Oahu with Nick. 

Lunatique was Bridget's fledgling business, and she took a huge risk leaving it only a few months after opening.  Not keen on the idea, she would have refused under normal circumstances.  However, battling the ghost of a vengeful Voodoo Priestess in a perilous confrontation complete with a ritual human sacrifice would NOT be considered normal circumstances. At least, Bridget certainly hoped not! Regardless, Officer Nicholas Jason Maddox was irresistibly persuasive presenting his case favoring a romantic sabbatical.

Relieved and impressed by the well-stocked and orderly state of her charmingly unique shop, Bridget readjusted the strap of her carry-on bag, trudging upstairs to her loft. Besides, it was Tuesday.  The shop was usually closed Tuesdays and Wednesdays because they were typically slowest retail days in a tourist-driven community.  But she was seriously considering hiring seasonal help for the upcoming holidays when the Ancient City would be flooded with tourists and locals alike to enjoy the Nights of Lights celebration.  Considering the shape of her shop, RIP just may be the extra help she needed!  But, where is he?  She'd seen RIP's ghost-tour hearse parked out front when Nick dropped her off on his way to pick his dog up.  RIP's here some where ...

Standing on the top stair, Bridget spotted him sprawled across her futon couch with her TV remote resting on his shirtless, well-defined torso amid the maze of tattoos and three fuzzy, black feline barnacles.  She cleared her throat loudly, watching him twitch and pop upright launching cats in different directions.

I'm not the father, he protested adamantly. His arms hovered mid-air, groggily searching for an anchor.  

Not the father, eh? Bridget teased, dropping her bag to the floor beside the futon at his bare feet.  "Are you sure there aren't any little RIPlings running around out there?" An involuntary shudder quivered through her body as she considered the global implications of such pandemonium.

Who's to say? Squinting up at her ruefully, he rumpled his longish, blond-streaked spikes and continued, Please -- Try to contain your excitement.  Don't look so ecstatic at the prospect of being Aunt Bridget! RIP flashed her a dazzling smile, now mentally engaged as he shifted to a sitting position, patting the futon cushion for Bridget to join him.  

Well ...  Hey, Chica!  Welcome home! She collapsed beside him as the kitties converged around them. I got ya something, he said, playfully tossing a rolled T-shirt at her.  

Thanks, she said as she caught it,  unrolling to read the slogan.  It was a black babydoll style shirt with Stop Staring at My Orbs on the front.  "I think," she continued, socking him in the arm.

What?? RIP defended.  I need a reminder!

Whatever, she dismissed with a hand wave, setting the shirt aside.  Seriously, though ...  You did a really great job, RIP, Bridget admitted, reaching over to pet Tiki, her stud-finder princess cat always found on or around the hottest man within range.  Barnabas curled between RIP and Bridget as Mortimer rolled at their feet.  

I'm impressed!  The place is clean, organized, stocked, and foundationally sound!

You're surprised? RIP feigned shock, as though her reasonable doubts caused him mortal damage. Bridget shrugged guiltily.  After a few days, the cats and I mastered the Don't Effing Trip Me and I Won't Effing Step on You ballet.  Yeah, stairs seirously increase the difficulty factor for that maneuver!

Chuckling, Bridget nodded at RIP's enthusiasm as he continued, And look! His tanned, tattooed hands stroked Tiki and Barnabas while his toes reached Mortimer's belly.      

Triple Kitty Tickle-Time!

Thanks again for taking care of everything, Bridget said sincerely.  I really appreciate it.

Happy to help, RIP granted graciously.  I needed a change of pace, y’know.  Something else to focus on for awhile.  Nodding as he glanced around, he said, You've got a good thing here, Bridge. Good business model and fundamentals.  From  one  business  owner  to  another: well done.

Their eyes met.  Bridget smiled weakly, unable to maintain eye contact with his amber-green gaze.  This was exactly what she'd been trying to avoid.  Much harder to accomplish now that she wasn't nearly five thousand miles away.

Only a few weeks ago, Bridget's heart dangled precariously between Nick's smoldering magnetism and RIP's rakish charisma. Choosing between them was one of the hardest things she'd faced so far in her 25 years of life.  It ranked closely with abandoning her vet school aspirations to open Lunatique in an unfamiliar and unavoidably haunted city.  With his seemingly infinite knowledge of all things paranormal honed by years as the owner/operator of R.I.P. Rydes Hearse Ghost Tours of St. Augustine, RIP Ryder helped Bridget understand and harness her dormant spirit-medium gifts.  Her kinship with him was a chief source of conflict and complications for Nick.

Luckily, the two rivals gained mutual respect while vanquishing the malevolent ghost, Missy Dean the Voodoo Queen.  However, the crystal clear boundaries between RIP and Bridget, established by her commitment to Nick, felt particularly blurry at moments like this.  Feeling RIP's body radiating beside her, she remembered the one and only kiss they'd shared.  Hot. Dangerously hot.

Sensing her uneasiness, RIP tactfully addressed the huge, pink elephant in the middle of the room.  So, where's Nick?

Oh! Bridget sprang up, grateful for the disruption.  He went to Travis's house to pick up Vader.  He's gonna grab a shower then head over to take us all out to dinner, she continued, squawking frantically as she ran to the bathroom to freshen up.  He'll be here any time now!

Amused, RIP watched articles of clothing fly from inside the bathroom, falling scattered on the rug as Bridget peeled the layers off to jump into the shower.  When he heard the door shut behind her he reached for the remote and passed the time with idle channel surfing.

A few minutes later Bridget emerged wearing a robe with her wet hair wrapped tightly in turban atop her head.  Steam billowed behind her as she rushed into her bedroom to change.  She returned to the bathroom dressed in a sleek pair of black riding pants and a taupe long-sleeved Henley shirt clinging appealingly to her long, willowy body. Bridget's damp hair hung in lazy russet ringlets as she plugged in her hair dryer, fired it up.

RIP increased the TV volume to drown out the loud whirring of what sounded like pneumatic tools used for heavy construction.  Though he admired the results, he was often baffled by the laborious beauty routines women endured in the name of vanity, especially for someone like Bridget whose natural splendor needed no further enhancements.

The clanking and blowing stopped, and she clambered to sit at her vanity table, just down the short hallway in front of RIP.  Slathering a creamy substance on her face, she craned her neck to get RIP's attention.  

Hey!  What time is it?

Six-forty, RIP answered nonchalantly, hoping his fascination with her wasn't as obvious as he suspected it was.

Crap, Crap, Crap! Bridget muttered to herself, rifling through her cosmetics for the perfect shade of eyeshadow.  After a quick dusting of shimmery powder on her lined lids, she grabbed her eyelash curler, clamping tightly. Can you listen out for Nick?  He'll be here any second!  She released the torture device and repeated with her other eye. 

Why, yes, Cleopatra, RIP joked.  Bridget paused with her mascara wand in hand to shoot him a quizzical look before tisking with annoyance and continuing her rushed routine. 

Holy Hieroglyphic Sphinx! He continued, watching her drag her lipstick tube along her velvety lips before pressing them together with a light smack.  The Ancient Egyptians didn't even do all this when they embalmed the Pharaoh!

"Not all of us are blessed with effortless good looks, like you!" Bridget rolled her eyes as she applied the finishing touches.  She rose from her perch, grabbing a pair of black leather knee-high boots. She stuffed her feet in and stood before him, fidgeting nervously.  

How do I look?

Gwendolyn? RIP gulped hard as Bridget's lovely image triggered the memories of his one true love.  "Eh ... You're skating right at slightly above average," his jovial fib a feeble attempt at redirection. He sighed with relief when he heard Nick's knock at the door. 

CHAPTER 2

Within the white picket-fenced courtyard of O.C. White's Seafood and Spirits, Nick pulled a chair out for Bridget to sit under the twinkling lights spiraling the jasmine-covered arbor.  He ordered a bottle of wine as they enjoyed the late sunset view of the  Matanzas Bay while waiting for the rest of the crew to arrive. 

After helping Nick bring Bridget's mountain of luggage up to the loft, RIP left to freshen up at home and would be at O.C.'s shortly.  Travis, Nick's partner at City of Saint Augustine Police Department, and his wife would be joining them, as well.

Bridget clung to Nick's Rochester blue striped shirt, snuggling under his powerful arm.  You sure you're comfortable sitting out here? Nick asked, concerned she was too chilly.  We could sit inside. Or I can get my coat out of the truck.

Shaking her head, she inhaled the crisp autumn air, savoring the salty-sweet bouquet of the Atlantic ocean mingling with Nick's Spicebomb aftershave.  This gives me an excuse to be close to you, she murmured, reaching up to straighten his tie.

No excuses required, Kitten. Nick smiled, kissing the tip of her nose before rising from his seat to greet Travis and Caroline.  Ever the gallant gentleman, Nick pulled a chair out for Caroline with a nod to Travis.

Welcome home, Miss Bridget! Travis boomed pleasantly. Scooting his chair up to the table, he reached a hand over patting her shoulder comfortingly.  Good to have y’all back!

It's good to be back!  Bridget beamed.  Their trip to Oahu was fantastic, but Bridget was happy to settle back into her business obligations and domestic bliss with Nick.  Thanks for taking care of Vader!

He was no trouble at all, Caroline assured, a smile stretching her plump cheeks and crinkling the corners of her eyes. Alberta, Gator and Tebow are going to miss him!

Chuckling, Travis agreed, He added some excitement to their lives, for sure! It was the damnedest thing to see that huge Doberman running the yard with a herd of little Shih Tzus yapping behind him. Then they'd all collapse in a dog pile together ...  If nothing else, Vader should be worn the hell out!

You're back just in time for Thanksgiving, Caroline hinted.  Do y’all have plans?

We figured we'd go see Bridget's family, Nick said; his large hand patted Bridget's thigh under the table.  She promised that her dad would watch the game with me.  Nick was an avid fan of the Dallas Cowboys, win or lose.

Sounds like a plan, Travis agreed, knowing what a big step this was for the couple who'd experienced more than their share of drama.  So your dad’s a football fan, huh?  What team?

Gators, of course! Bridget said.  

Good man! Travis said approvingly.  As a  Florida boy, born and raised, he approved.

But, Daddy likes to watch lots of other teams, too, Bridget added.  He actually watched Nick play for Texas A&M many times. He recognized his name immediately when I told him who I was dating.

Yeah. Ol' Sport here's pretty impressive, Travis agreed.  He, too, had watched Nick play for several years before working with him.

Nick was a sensational quarterback.  He commanded the field with intelligence, uncanny insight, and superb athleticism.  The sky was the limit until his career-ending knee injury happened late in his junior season.

That's what Daddy said, Bridget gushed, ignoring Nick's rolling eyes.  As much as Nick hated compliments, he secretly liked hearing them from her lips.  Y'know how ESPN shows classic games late at night?  Well, we caught one the other night, and it was so crazy! It was from Nick's sophomore year.  You aren't kidding!  He's phenomenal!  It's like he could read the minds of the defensive players ...  He anticipated their blitzes, and knew just what to do every time he had the ball!

It's called studying playbooks and reading defenses, Nick said, trying to diffuse her flattery.  Nothing special ...  Even a broken watch is right twice a day.  Unable to explain his lucky streak, he had to admit it was clearly a natural born talent.  Still, he refused to accept credit for something he didn't earn and couldn't control.   

OK, sure ... Bridget persisted.  But EVERY time? It's like you're a mind reader or something.

Now, let's not get carried away, Nick dismissed, opening his menu to change the topic.

Look  what  the  cat  dragged  in!  RIP bellowed, gesturing behind him at Jinx and Drake as they all approached the table.

Jinx!!  Bridget popped up to give her best friend a fierce hug.  I've missed you!!  She pulled back, still holding Jinx's dainty hands in hers to admire her friend's outfit.  Jinx was a paragon of elite gothic fashion.  Donning a charcoal Mary Magdalene jumper dress with velvet bows on the straps covering a white ruffled shirt, and black low-heeled Mary Jane's, Jinx was dressed very conservatively. After all, this was Tuesday night dinner with friends, not Saturday night dancing at the club.  Her platinum blond pixie bob bounced, buoyantly accentuating the delicate bone structure of her lovely alabaster face.   Bridget quickly introduced the newcomers.

Standing with a deferent smile, Nick bowed at Jinx across the table and turned to shake Drake's hand.  Nice to meet you, he offered pleasantly.  Nick was becoming accustomed to Bridget's peculiar style and friends.  Drake Ashmore, an amateur magician working days at the Theatre Magic Shop on St. George Street, was Jinx's boyfriend and RIP's best friend.  

His tall, slender frame, clad in head to toe black, struck a dashing impression complete with a wicked smile neatly outlined with a sinister mustache and goatee.  Noting Drake's heavily gauged piercings and numerous visible tattoos, Nick considered Bridget's plentiful body art adornments that he found so exotically appealing.  He wondered if she preferred more extreme aesthetics like RIP and Drake over his own classic, more athletic style.

The server came to greet them and take