Imprint: The Jade Dragon - Book One

By Elaine Sherman

When Rachel McKenna uncovers a Japanese katana her first day on the job at the Jade Dragon antique shop, she awakens an ancient spirit and two souls become one...

Rachel McKenna is a college student flunking her pre-law courses with dreams of making it big on the local art scene. A closet bookworm with an overbearing mother and no social life, she’s just one step away from becoming a college dropout.

Atsuhiko Abe is a former samurai from the golden age of a feudal Japan turned modern day art dealer. The victim of a four centuries old curse, he is in search of his ancestral sword to atone for the sins of his past and avenge the death of his beloved wife. When Atsuhiko answers the call of his familial sword, he is brought face to face with an ancient enemy, the spirit of his late wife Haruko, newly resurrected from the dead and Rachel McKenna, the innocent young woman Haruko has taken as a host.

Duty bound, Atsuhiko vows to protect Rachel from the reach of their shared enemy while seeking forgiveness from the ghost of his beloved. As fate draws them closer together in heart, body, mind, and soul, Atsuhiko and Rachel must learn to live with their newfound connection and emergent love while unraveling the secrets of a long-forgotten tragedy before history repeats itself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elaine Sherman
• Release date: Apr 10, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005632823

Elaine Sherman

Elaine Sherman is a writer of Paranormal Romance with an obsession for East Asian Mythology and forgotten lore.When not penning a novel, she enjoys watching old re-runs of Dark Shadows, catching up on the latest Manga and reading Indie books.Elaine holds a B.S. in Game Art & Design from the Art Institute of Las Vegas and earned an M.F.A in Creative Writing from Full Sail University.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The Jade Dragon

Present Day, Evanston, IL

Rachel McKenna stood outside the Jade Dragon antique shop; her face pinched. The Jade Dragon was a dump. Tucked away in a forgotten corner of downtown, the shop had seen better days. The bricks along the storefront had all but chipped and crumbled away. Patches of thick green moss spread throughout the exposed cracks like spider webs to further compromise the building’s integrity. She brushed aside a tuft of thick auburn hair, tucking it close behind her left ear, and reached into her back pocket to produce a half-crumpled yellow Post-it. Unfurling the rough edges, she scanned the handwritten message:

Rachel,

Ask for Sally Chen at this address:

The Jade Dragon at 941 Serenity Avenue

Look for the two stone lions out front. Don’t embarrass me.

—Josephine M.

Rachel noted the two stone lions out front and shoved the note back in her pocket. She managed to find the place with no problems, but now came the hard part: whether or not to stick it out. It wasn’t the first time her mother had used her corporate connections to find her a place to work. But after her last job as a file clerk at a top law firm, which ended in embarrassment, this was most likely the last of such a handout. It wasn’t too late to turn back, to just head home, forget the whole thing, and start scouring the Sunday ads again. A summer job at a run-down antique shop was hardly something that was going to pay the bills, but it would do…for now.

She headed up the dilapidated staircase, past the two Chinese stone lions stationed out front, and paused briefly to take in their craftsmanship. Both statues were intricately carved of a dark gray speckled marble, their mouths agape, locked in perpetual warning to all those who dared tread too closely. Each Lion’s signature mane was set in a series of tiny ringlet curls over broad shoulders, stopping just shy of a curved, bushy tail. She admired their classic style and continued up the stairs.

The lettering on the Jade Dragon storefront was in disrepair. Painted in thick lime green paint that was all but stripped away. Inside, a tattered black and white sign dangled on a thin cord and was flipped over to OPEN. The sound of barking dogs brought the quiet shop to life in a heartbeat as Rachel twisted the curved brass handle and walked inside. Bell chimes clanged overhead as the door swung open and she stepped over the threshold. The chimes echoed around the stuffy junk-filled room, and Rachel covered her ears, pulling the door shut and waited.

A pair of Pomeranians emerged moments later, barking and yelping from behind the front counter, their clawed feet scratching the unpolished wood floors. In the blink of an eye, they were at her feet. Rachel kept still, letting them catch her scent as they sniffed at the bottom of her blue jeans.

An elderly Asian woman emerged from behind the front counter, hunched over in a dark blue tunic with salt and pepper hair, a mahogany cane in her left hand. Bracelets clashed at the hollows of her wrists. The old woman strode toward the front door to greet her customer and reached for a pair of eyeglasses from a side pocket. Her papery hands, sprinkled with age spots, were shaking as she placed them on the bridge of her nose. She squinted behind thick black frames until her chestnut brown eyes adjusted and greeted her new customer.

May I help you, young lady? she asked in her old, scratchy voice.

Rachel stared at the tiny woman, amazed at her small stature. She was barely over five feet tall on a best guess.

I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m looking for Sally Chen. My mother gave me this address about the shop assistant position available for the summer.

The old woman adjusted the rim of her glasses and took a step back, taking the girl in from head to toe, noting the oversized black t-shirt with a half-faded human skull, ripped dark blue jeans, ebony brown skin, and shoulder-length auburn hair. The old woman smiled wistfully.

I am Sally Chen, and you must be little Rachel McKenna. Oh, how you have grown! It’s been so many years! Why, the last time I saw you—and she held up her left hand to indicate a toddler’s size—you were this high. Tell me, how is your mother these days?

Rachel envisioned her mother seated behind an oversized desk in the heart of her downtown Chicago office. Her hands folded, face stern, ready to strike out some edict like a district courthouse judge. Josephine Ruth McKenna, Attorney at Law, was hardly the dotting mother, and just the mere mention of her name brought a torrent of unsettled emotion. Rachel offered a fond smile and pushed the image aside for the time being.

Fine, I guess. She made partner a few years ago and has more clients than she knows what to do with. I hardly get a chance to see her anymore to tell you the truth. I’ll tell her you said hello next time I do see her, Rachel replied.

The old woman lifted a brow in curiosity and adjusted the bridge of her glasses to rest just over the bridge of her nose, satisfied with the answer. You don’t remember me at all do you? asked Chen.

Rachel shook her head rather bashfully.

No. My mother has mentioned you before, once or twice, but I could never put a name to the face. I think I remember the shop now that I’m here, but it’s still all a bit fuzzy.

Chen nodded sadly.

Just as well, Chen concluded with a sigh, I suppose you were only a child then. It can be difficult to ask after such things, seeing as how so many years have passed and you are grown now. You were a handful as a child. You would run all over this shop, getting into mischief, grabbing at things, crying, and carrying on. You had a truly marvelous sense of adventure and now look at you. You have become a beautiful young woman.

Rachel blushed.

So, how did you meet my mother, Rachel asked as she looked around the shop, and how long have you been here?

One question at a time. Let’s just say many years on both counts. I’ll tell you everything you wish to know in time as we get reacquainted, but for now, I think there are some more introductions that need to be addressed, said Chen as she pointed at the two curious canines at Rachel’s feet.

Oh, Rachel muttered as she stepped away from the dogs.

These two lovely creatures, said Chen as she indicated to each dog with her cane, are all that’s keeping me sane in this old dusty shop. Rachel, I would like for you to meet Pono and Khan.

Rachel leaned down to meet the dogs at their level. They were sitting on their haunches now, almost on top of one another, as though they dared not be parted. Both dogs perked up at the mention of their names, and it was clear from their reactions which name belonged to which dog. Pono was the female and the smaller of the two, beige in color, with four black rings circling each of her paws, while Khan was noticeably larger with no markings and a deep rust-red coat. She allowed both dogs to get familiar with her scent and was surprised at Pono’s sudden curiosity as the female rubbed her nose rather playfully into her hand.

Looks like you’ve made a new friend. said Chen.

Rachel laughed, pleased with the affection. Looks that way, she replied then offered her hand to Khan who seemed only vaguely interested. Moments later, he followed Pono’s lead.

Good. Very good, they both approve. I don’t think it would bode very well for any of us if they didn’t like you, dear, wouldn’t you say? joked Chen.

I guess it wouldn’t, Rachel replied as she brushed her hands along the hem of her jeans and stood up.

Now, Chen started, your mother tells me that you need a job for the summer? That you’re out on college break?

Yeah, but it’s just until the next semester of school starts.

"A college girl—your mother must be so proud."

Rachel shrugged and lowered her eyes.

What is your area of study there?

Law, Rachel replied dryly.

I see, Chen replied as she noted the artist’s sketchpad under Rachel’s left arm. Well, I have agreed to let you work here for the summer, and I expect you to be here on time and ready to work; do you understand?

Got it.

Just so you know, the job won’t pay much. I’m not running a major organization here. But the pay will be fair and worth your time as long as you’re willing to work hard.

Rachel nodded. I understand.

Good, now then I’ll give you a tour— Chen began, but was cut off by a knock at the back door. Chen pressed down on her cane and turned toward a clock hanging over the tiny office behind the front counter.

Trust that boy to always run an hour behind schedule. Now then, Rachel, you got here just in time. There’s a delivery today. It should have been here an hour ago, but no matter. If you like, you can put your belongings on the counter there or in the office and help unload the truck. That is, of course, if you want to start today?

Yes, thank you. I’ll just be a sec. Rachel replied as she crossed the room and dumped her book bag and sketchpad on top of the front counter right next to the cash register. She pulled back her hair and tied it into a ponytail with a black hair band from around her wrist.

Okay. I’m ready, Ms. Chen, said Rachel.

Please, you can call me Auntie Chen. I much prefer that.

Rachel nodded along, feeling awkward. She didn’t come from a big family and had no such familial ties, so it felt strange to call anyone not related by blood something so meaningful, but the more she thought about it, the more it seemed to fit. Sally Chen, she suspected, was old enough to be her grandmother, possibly even great-grandmother, so it wasn’t so bad, just not a level of familiarity she expected on the first day.

Auntie Chen headed toward the back door, calling the dogs along with her, and made a slight detour for the small office behind the front counter. She ushered the dogs inside then closed the door. All the while, Pono and Khan continued to bark. Oh, be quiet, you two. You act as if this is something new.

Rachel laughed and headed toward the small hallway leading to the back door. There were two doors just opposite, one to the left and one to the right. Curious, she veered toward the door on the right and reached inside. Dragging her hand along the wall until it encountered the light switch, she flipped it on. The hum of electricity flooded the fluorescent light mid-ceiling with a distinct buzz that sent a shiver down her spine. Inside was a dingy storeroom of mute gray cinder blocks, blacked out windows that faced the alley, and three rows of metal shelving overstocked with junk.

I see you’ve found my storeroom.

Rachel stepped aside to make room for her elderly employer who suddenly sprouted from thin air. We will be working in here today. This room is the heart of my operation, as you can see. But come on; let’s get back to it. There’s work to be done, and the daylight is fading.

Rachel followed Chen to the back door and watched the old woman work the latch with ease, only to struggle with the weight of the gray metal door.

Here, let me, Rachel offered and Chen stepped back.

By all means, young lady.

Rachel struggled with the door until it finally swung open with a loud creak. Then the two women stepped out into the alley. A dilapidated U-Haul truck was parked in the center of the alley with faded lettering along the right-hand side. The trucks back gate was wide-open, and the ramp had been pulled down. Rachel headed toward the bottom of the metal ramp, a hand on her hip, in anticipation of what to expect. The interior of the truck was packed full to the brim with more than half a dozen black plastic bags, upturned boxes, plastic crates, and various antiques in layers of decay.

What a bunch of junk, Rachel muttered.

What was that, young lady? Auntie Chen followed.

Nothing, Rachel replied and folded her arms.

Auntie Chen headed toward the driver’s cab, tapping her cane along the black asphalt, muttering curses in her native Chinese. The door on the driver’s side was left wide open, and hard rock music blared over the industry grade speakers inside as the driver emerged. A young twenty-something with dark blue eyes and shoulder length blond hair stuffed precariously underneath a green baseball cap. He was wearing a weathered old Metallica T-shirt that had seen better days and dingy blue jeans. His face covered in patches of dirt and oil like he’d been trapped under the hood of a car for too long. He was openly chewing gum with abandon and twirling a pen on top of a clipboard.

Hey, Ms. Chen, how’s it going? he asked, the tone of his voice pitched high, as though he were speaking to someone profoundly hard of hearing.

Don’t you use that tone with me, Paul Benson, you are late yet again, for the third time straight if I am not mistaken. I will be sure to inform your father just how much time is wasted in dealing with you.

Sorry, Ms. Chen, but I had trouble with the truck. If you want to blame someone, blame my father. I told him to take a look at it, he called back from over his shoulder as he noticed Rachel for the first time and his mood shifted. He straightened the brim of his cap and sauntered over, leaving Chen behind.

Hey. I’m Paul, Paul Benson and you are? He asked and offered his greasy, dirt-covered hand a bit eagerly.

Rachel stared at him and his rather unkempt appearance then shook his hand. Rachel McKenna. Nice to meet you, she replied.

Paul nodded, content with the introduction, and backed away as Rachel wiped her hands along the hem of her jeans. He didn’t seem to notice and went back to tapping his pen on the clipboard.

I’ve never seen you around here before. he said.

Oh, I just started today.

Really? What’s she got you doing in there? Making potions in the back office? He leaned in and whispered, but his joke fell flat. Rachel stepped back, shaking her head.

That’s in poor taste don’t you think? Rachel replied.

Wow, he exclaimed, ignoring her comment, I never thought that old harpy would hire anyone since she’s so damned determined to do everything herself around here. As much as she complains, she hardly lets me help her, so I don’t try much anymore. You must be something special for her to have hired you on.

I think we should start unloading, Rachel muttered in irritation. She is pretty peeved at you in case you hadn’t already noticed.

Paul smiled then headed toward the truck ramp. "Yeah, well, I’ve been making deliveries to crazy old Ms. Chen since I was fifteen, and I’ve never seen her take on an assistant or do anything else but rant."

She’s actually quite nice to me, Rachel offered.

Just give it some time, he whispered then started writing on his clipboard.

Auntie Chen emerged from the opposite side of the truck, her mood lighter, as she leaned on her cane and inched toward the two young people at the mouth of the truck. Rachel was standing on the ramp, her hands stuffed into her back pocket as she awaited instruction, ready to just get down to work and get the day over with.

Well now, Paul, why don’t you go ahead and make yourself useful and unload some of the bulky items there in the back. You did bring the dolly this time, didn’t you? snapped Chen.

Yeah, I got it, Ms. Chen, Paul replied as he headed off to secure the dolly from the underside of the truck.

"Rachel, go and help him, but don’t pick up anything too heavy. After all, that's what he’s here for. I’ll be in the storeroom if you need me, moving things about."

Oh, right, Rachel replied from over her shoulder and watched the old woman disappear back inside the quaint shop. She wasn’t too thrilled about being left alone on her first real project with a total stranger, but she decided to just go with it. Paul emerged soon after, towing a beat-up green dolly that wobbled more so than it kept to a straight line as he made his way up the ramp.

Rachel came to a lonely pause at the top of the ramp, hands on her hips, irritation setting in. Just where the hell does she plan on putting half of this junk? She thought. Most of the ‘new’ antiques were broken, missing key components, or protruding haphazardly from plastic bags. She set off down the awkward zigzagging path Paul had prearranged for the purpose of the unload that offered some sense of direction. She held out her arms to keep balance as she neared a mound of styrofoam bubbles that had spilled onto the floor from an upturned cardboard box. Her right foot slid over the silken bubbles like a solid sheet of ice, and she veered forward with a tiny squeak, only to regain balance at the last possible moment. She stood there for a moment, slumped over, shaking her head.

Hey, you all right? Paul shouted over as he neared the scene.

Rachel nodded and pushed away from a collection of bulky crates. She wiped her hands on her blue jeans and regained her balance. Yeah, I’m fine. This truck is one giant disaster area. I can’t see how you got all this junk on here, let alone how we’re supposed to organize it in that crypt of a storeroom.

Paul laughed and shook his head. Well, that part is not my problem. You’re the new hire. Welcome to the crazy train.

Rachel shot him a nasty glare, but he just smiled back innocently and started lifting boxes. Like I said before, I’ve been making deliveries to Ms. Chen forever now, and I still don’t know how she sells off all this crap. Hmm, maybe she’s got, like, a giant ad on Craig’s List.

Rachel ignored him.

So, how do you know Ms. Chen? Paul asked.

Rachel began rummaging through the debris, searching for something of merit that was in one piece and worthy of being spared a trip to the city dump. She knows my mother from way back. Are you going to help me or what? Rachel shot back when Paul seemed content to just stand by, asking questions.

Yeah, start forking it over, doesn’t much matter to me.

Rachel picked up a small teardrop shaped clock radio that was sticking out of one of the plastic bags and held it up to her ear, surprised to discover it was still working. She cradled the clock, feeling sorry for it, and wondered where it came from or how old it was. The exterior was still in good shape with a faded brass finish and wood paneling.

This one works; the gears are still turning. She said and tossed the clock over to Paul who caught it and held it up to his ear. Yeah. I guess this one gets a new home then. He muttered then picked up an empty box and stuffed the clock inside. Rachel moved on to the next box, feeling overwhelmed all of a sudden when an icy sensation trailed over her neck and across her shoulders like someone dragging an index finger over bare skin and making her jump.

Did you just…throw something at me? she blurted out rather nervously.

Like what? he questioned, his voice thick with laughter.

Just, did you throw something or not, yes or no?

That’s a no. Why? he shot back, still holding the half empty box with the clock inside with both hands and shaking his head at the accusation. "If you’re done, we really should get this truck unloaded before old Ms. Chen comes out here and starts in on us both. She can be a cranky bird when it comes to her precious deliveries."

Yeah… Rachel muttered, but her tone trailed off.

She was certain that someone had just touched her, but if it wasn’t Paul who was standing only a few feet away, then who or what was it? She took a deep breath and let her head roll forward and ran her hands up and over the back of her neck, allowing the sensation to drift away, but it still made her skin crawl. It’s your imagination, girl. You’re stressed out and clearly not digging this job, she thought to herself. She had turned to leave when a hand wound over her right ankle, feather light at first then bold, as it clamped down in a cruel vice and yanked hard, drawing her backward into a towering pile of boxes.

Paul started up the tight winding path as an avalanche of boxes gave way to swallow Rachel whole. Rachel lay underneath in a sea of blackness, her senses adrift, muffled behind cardboard, paper, and plastic.

She reached for her ankle, now throbbing with pain, but was unable to reach it. The shuffled debris made movement impossible, and she sank back into the chaos. A tiny crack of light peeked through the darkness to her right, and she headed toward it when something pressed into her palm. Curious, she stopped to inspect it, running her fingers over the surface of something bound in fabric and something else she couldn’t quite identify: a hard metal, square shaped, followed by a narrow casing of wood.

Hey! Hang on! I’ll get you out! Paul shouted as he pulled the last remaining boxes to reveal a bewildered Rachel. Rachel shied away from the trailing afternoon light and took Paul’s hand as he guided her upright and back on two feet. Rachel flexed her right leg, holding on to Paul for added support.

Anything broken? he asked with elevated concern.

I don’t think so, she replied and pulled away.

Holy shit, you’re bleeding! Paul exclaimed.

A thin trail of blood crossed over her right eye, and she reached up a hand to curb the flow. The dark, sticky fluid filled in the gaps between her fingers while the rest dripped down to splash against the object in her other hand.

Wow. Where’d you find that?

Rachel held up her left hand, surprised to find a Japanese katana pressed firmly in it. She remembered sifting through the murky undertow beneath the boxes and grabbing hold of something, but she never imagined that it was a sword. The scabbard was painted a deep silky black, and the hilt was intercut with a diamond weave pattern of black and gold. Floral patterns resembling chrysanthemums were fashioned into the squared metal rim that separated the scabbard from the blade.

I must have latched onto it in the pile. It’s beautiful, Rachel whispered.

Yeah, hey hang on a sec. I have a first aid kit in the cab.

Rachel shrugged. Sure, it’s not like I’m going anywhere.

Paul slowly wound his way off the truck and bounced down the metal ramp, which caused the entire truck to rattle. Feeling light headed, Rachel reached for one of the empty plastic crates, turned it over, and sat down, crossing her legs in the narrow space as her attentions drifted back to the katana. She held it up to the light that drifted in from the mouth of the truck, amazed at how it shone like night encased in onyx. She placed the sword in her lap and wiped away another thin trail of blood when she heard the distinct sound of a woman crying.

A far-off wail carried over swooping winds and rustling leaves, pleading for help, begging for release. Rachel stared wide-eyed at the sword in disbelief as it became clear that the awful sound emanated from there. The wailing continued, and a pulse rocked the hollow of her chest while her hands desperately worked the hilt and blade free. Her smoky brown eyes clouded over in a hazy gray film, and she slipped into darkness.

Chapter 2

Pulse

Atsuhiko Abe let the sensation run through him. The pulse. A searing pain that erupted from just below the sternum like a hot knife. A horde of bitter memories flowed to the surface like blood through a crack in a warrior’s armor. Drifting up from the darkness toward the light of day, he shook in his seat and dug his fingernails into the leather rests. The coppery taste of blood filled him as he bit down on his lower lip and fought to control the disruption. The figure of a woman appeared from the depth of memory, her body surrounded by a thousand drifting snowflakes in a white kimono that was covered in blood. The snow danced along the tips of his fingers in the dream space as he reached out for her, but she shied away just as he mouthed her name and she screamed.

The spell was broken.

Atsuhiko’s emerald eyes went wide. It was happening again after so many years. It was only a matter of time. Sins did not remain locked away forever. He hardened his emerald gaze and put his mask of indifference back on. He was a businessman now and in the middle of an important meeting with the ranking members of his board staff. It was no place for ghosts.

There was only one other person in the world with knowledge of his true past, and she was standing at the head of the room. His business partner Celine Belcourt was in the midst of giving a presentation. An attractive blonde in her late thirties with eyes the color of the sea, smooth creamy white skin, and full lips, she was dressed in a dark blue business suit and pencil skirt. Her hourglass figure was distorted by the crackling light from the film projector. She turned back toward the conference table to face the businessmen gathered there as the last slide filled the screen, a still image of the Yume Art Gallery in downtown Chicago.

Celine noted her partner’s distress, a brow raised in silent question. Atsuhiko nodded, and she moved toward the conference room doors and turned on the lights. The men began to chatter in hushed tones, sorting through notes, shuffling paperwork, and straightening their ties.

Atsuhiko’s mind was already at work anticipating their questions when another pulse tore through him, and his mask slipped. He shut his eyes, no longer able to disguise his private dilemma. When he opened them again, all eyes were upon him, full of questions. The men were whispering. He studied each of them for a moment, matching their gaze with an air of authority, and each of them thought better of pressing him for the reason. He cleared