Lured, Spirits of Savannah #2

By Kira Saito

Mayhem, madness, azaleas, dark secrets, lost love, spirits, and history that refuses to stay buried.

Halloween may be over in Savannah, Georgia but that doesn’t mean the spirits have gone back to their graves.
Sophie is determined to leave the craziness of Savannah behind her, but the city and its strange inhabitants are determined to make her stay.

Kidnapped by a twisted cult, Sophie manages to escape only to discover that she has helped release a deadly, ancient curse.

She enlists the help of the distant yet darkly handsome Liam, as well as the dashing and gentlemanly Jackson along with a host of other colorful characters-dead and alive to help her stop the chaos that is about to take the lives of select residents.

Join Sophie as she navigates the cobbled streets, regal houses, hidden passageways, and historic cemeteries of Savannah and go on an unforgettable adventure filled with magic, mystery, history, and love.
Can she stop the evil or will it consume her?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kira Saito
• Release date: Mar 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215977330

Kira Saito

Kira is a magic junkie and loves writing YA paranormal romances. Some of her heroes include: Jack the Pumpkin King, Willy Wonka, Larry David, Princess Tiana, the vampire Lestat, Andy and her Maltese Costanza.

Book preview

"Ef oona ent kno weh oona da gwuibe, oona should know eh oona kum from"

Gullah/Geechee

– if you don’t know where you are going, you should know where you come from.

English

Chapter One

Our Destiny is Written in the Stars and the Stones

To believe that I had slipped past the pearly gates had been a mere exaggeration on my part. When my eyes did open, I wished that they had remained shut and the entire party had been a nightmare, a mere bout of post-traumatic stress from the MET ordeal.

Sophie, Liam’s voice pulled me out of my shock. Reporters were looking for the opportunity to snap the perfect shot and paramedics rushed to whisk Ava away from the house. The music didn’t stop and the excited voices of the partygoers drifted up the stairs. Flashes went off around me in all directions and I felt as if I had been thrust right back into the nightmare that I had been so keen to escape.

It happened! One woman exclaimed with delight. I already posted it.

I knew this night wasn’t going to be a waste, another guest said. You cannot go wrong at Lady Mabel’s bash.

What the heck was wrong with these people? The poor girl had almost died. She’s going to be okay, right? I asked sitting up straight. My hand automatically went to my forehead where a nice pool of blood stained my fingers. Despite myself, I let out a low scream of panic.

Come with me. Liam gently took my hand and pushed through the crowd of excited onlookers and reporters. His hand was a warm and secure blanket.  It covered my clammy skin enveloping it whole.

Meanwhile, the excited cheers of the crowd grew louder. They weren’t at all disturbed by what had occurred. A sense of happiness and elation filled the air and whispers swirled around. But, she didn’t die. Does it still count if she didn’t die?  A burly red-haired man asked. He waved a camera which he used to rapidly take a succession of photos. It was much like the mid-2000s when the paparazzi were at the height of their glory days taking illicit snaps of Britney as she went about her business. I had felt sorry for her back then and even more so at this second.

Cut it out, Liam said. His voice was low, threatening, and commanding enough for the guy to stop attacking me with lights and the occasional rude comment or two.

Still blinded by the flashes, I allowed him to guide me through the madness until we reached a heavy oak door at the end of the hall. Liam took out a massive key and thrust it in the handle ushering me inside a giant cocoon of safety. A wonderland filled with books that lined the walls from floor to roof much like the beloved library that I had left behind in New York. They filled the heavy shelves, stacked neatly one on top of another. A gigantic wooden table sat in the middle of the room, it overflowed with papers, scrolls, documents, and sculptures from far-flung places which rivaled those Jonathan had traveled to with passion and vigor.

My father had always said when in doubt look up and you’d see a mystery waiting to be solved. At that moment, I wanted to forget everything and pretend that I was back in New York. So, I looked up. "That ceiling doesn’t belong in this house. It appears as if it was carved for the Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiore. It has the Dendera Zodiac painted on it in such a manner that it appears to be the real deal. The very same that was madly sketched by Vivant Denon as he accompanied Napoleon on that fateful journey in 1799."

On the temple of Hathor in the village of Dendera, Liam finished for me.

You know the story? I asked letting my guard down slightly.

I would be a fool to stare at such an enigma and not have the slightest desire to know more about it. He coolly stared at the ceiling in wonder as if he yearned to know its deepest mysteries.

It’s the only circular depiction of astronomy that is to be found in all of ancient Egypt, isn’t that odd? It’s always struck me as being more of a key that was meant to transport the onlooker back into time. My father always described it as a big clock, one which was meant to keep track of the seasons. You see, up there, that’s the scarab beetle, it represents Cancer, the start of summer. Those there are the scales of Libra which are meant to represent the autumnal equinox. Then, over there is the sign of Aquarius which was meant to represent a time of trouble as well as blessings as it tracked the flooding of the Nile which took place every June. They took the stars seriously, much more so than we do. The ancients believed that they were stars and upon death, they longed to return to where they came from.

Liam let out a laugh. It was refreshing and delightful as the autumn wind. My anger and fear were quickly melting.

Sorry, I’m talking way too much. It just feels as if he’s in the room here, with me. The fact that this zodiac is here is too much to just be a coincidence. I feel that this room, this zodiac, this moment was created by my father. The room was a much-welcome distraction from yet another strange night.

It felt as if life was seeping back into my bones. The thrill of getting excited about anything ever again had seemed like a distant dream as little as a week ago, yet, here I was talking with this strange enthusiasm. Maybe this job and strange heritage was a blessing in disguise rather than a curse.

No, please, keep talking, it’s a privilege to hear an expert’s explanation of this vast puzzle. Mr. Jones has provided me with an endless list of his theories, but rest assured, they are much drier than your descriptions.

I gave him a grin. I have to continue. It’s a habit. There is so much controversy behind this one piece because it questions everything that the world believes to be true. I mean everything. French scholars estimated that the zodiac was much older than the biblical date of creation which did get the church flustered so they bribed the famous Egyptologist Jean-Francois Champollion to claim that the dates were wrong.

A plan to hide the reality of our existence and make us think that we happen to be no more than mere specks in this grand play. We may play a bigger role than any of us could imagine. Perhaps, our destinies are written up there in the stars and the stones. As much as we would like to change them we simply cannot. He walked towards the heavy curtain and pulled it aside. Then, he looked up.

I walked towards him and did the same. I looked up and there above us was a grand tapestry of stars, each one singing a tale, holding a secret. Together they weaved a story that the ancients had longed to solve yet never quite managed to.

I gave him a small, sad smile as I quickly glanced at his perfectly chiseled profile and then back up at the stars again. I felt guilty. This moment was inappropriate given all that had happened and yet, I didn’t want it to stop. He was akin to a statue that had been carved out of the finest stone.  You know, I thought I was the only one who had those types of thoughts. Those strange, out-of-the-box thoughts.

Such as? He tilted his head and peered at me for a few seconds as if I were more fascinating than the wonder above us.

The belief that there is more, much more than we are officially told. I take all that I study with a grain of salt. But when I was in Egypt with my father, it felt as if we were in another world. I’m boring you with silly childhood stories.

No, not at all.

Well, there were times he would leave me with my grandparents and wander off into the desert. He wouldn’t tell me exactly where he would go, but every time he came back there was something different about him. Something strange, foreign, powerful yet deeply troubled. He would stare at me from afar and observe me and sadness would fill his eyes. It was as if he had a secret that he swore he would take to the grave no matter how heavy the burden of not sharing it may have been. Those pyramids, the stones, the stars, the desert, they all did something to him. I am trying to explain it to you now, but I can’t. It was his energy, it changed.

Was he a protective man, your father?

Yes, he was super protective. I mean anyone who came into our home was welcome with open arms, but he would watch them carefully and he would make sure that he never allowed anyone in our lives who would threaten what we had.

And what was that?

I laughed as I walked towards a shelf lined with leather books and scrolls. It’s too hard to explain without it sounding weird. He embodied it all. The wisdom of a mother, the protection of a father, and the company of siblings. He didn’t want me to waste my life. If that makes sense. I mean you’re not from New York, it’s a city full of wonder and charm, but it has a dark side. A side of drug-ridden homelessness and hopelessness. There is much despair in life, Sophie, he used to say. I suppose he wanted to protect me from despair.

It sounds as if he loved you deeply, Liam said. There was something about the way he said it, a hint of a Scottish accent dominated the word deeply. Lisabeth would have appreciated his accent as she was a huge Outlander fan and resolved that Mr. Darcy would have to look like Jamie.

For a second I was pulled out of the room and transported into our study. I was twelve again. Jonathan would always hover around the room as I tried to focus on solving the algebra problem of the day or read the dreary poem that had been assigned by my English teacher. Little had he known that his sudden departure would be the one thing that would throw me into the very state that he was protecting me from.

Sophie? Liam pulled me out of my trance of self-pity.

Sorry, it’s just that he would be ever so disappointed with me for running off to Savannah in such a reckless manner, I blurted out. Enough about me, what about your parents? Do they live around here? Were they at the party? I know that Mr. Jones is your uncle.

Liam let out a low sigh. His chest heaved as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and between the walls of his heart. My parents died when I was very young. I don’t remember much of them aside from the fact that my mother always smelled like the Scottish woods a combination of Arctic poppy, malt, pine, and the sea. My father was a... He cleared his throat and it was clear that he wasn’t comfortable saying one more word regarding the subject.

But, Ginny said that your mom was always on her case and she was very how can I put it, negative. How would she remember if you don’t?  You’re twins, right?

He took a few seconds before he responded. Ginny thinks of me as her brother. I’ve always looked out for her and she thinks of me as someone who is like family.

Oh, she was very detailed in describing your grandma’s wake and how you like to hang out in the swamp and...

He tossed his head back and let out a low laugh. She likes to make up stories for the sake of her clients. They give her an extra tip or two for telling a haunting tale. I play along for her sake and to give tourists a bang for their buck. Ginny came to town when her daughter was young, she didn’t have a support group. I let her stay in the spare room in the bar until she got on her feet.

Oh. That’s very noble of you. I was half-disappointed yet not at all surprised that I had been lied to again.

Don’t move, Liam said as he stared at my forehead. He made a quick dash into the adjoining room.

Chapter Two

Deja Vu

MY FOREHEAD WAS STILL oozing blood. I took my mind off of it by paying attention to the room which sucked me in with an indescribable energy. Its walls held secrets that much I was sure of.  I stepped away from the window and a gust of wind caused the velvet curtains to dance in the air while the decadent scent of fall leaves married with the sweetness of fresh azaleas. Which was strange considering that they were out of season. Somewhere beyond a lone pianist was practicing into the night repeating Erik Satie’s Once Upon a Time in Paris until his or her fingers collapsed from utter exhaustion. There was an energy here, one which told the unspoken tales of love, loss, regret, and heartache. My head told me to run and get far away from here, but my heart was already letting this strange world into it.

Liam reappeared as quickly as he had disappeared and my eyes and thoughts moved back to him. He let out a low smirk as he handed me a crystal glass filled with a richly dark amber liquid. To take the edge off. I was a jerk before about the punch. There must be a reason why my bar is always busy, there is something about this town that can drive you crazy if you let it. He stepped closer and placed a warm towel on my forehead. The white cloth was immediately stained a crimson red.

I accepted the glass. It’s not a big deal. My eyes rested on his hand as it mopped away the blood. The ceiling had sucked me in so deeply that I had temporarily forgotten all about it.

Maybe you should sit down.

It’s alright. It’s no more than a slight headache that I am hoping will not turn into something more serious. I can’t bother with any more hospitals at this point in my life.

A toast. It’ll help with the headache. This lovely whiskey was the reason that people back in the day often lived over a hundred years. He raised his glass in the air as well as an eyebrow. Sincerity danced in his dark eyes. They radiated intensity and examined me intently undoubtedly searching for a hint of fear or perhaps a secret or two. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. I was going to approach this experience in a scientific manner which would then allow me to write about it for my final thesis.

Like your fake grandma, I teased. I took a sip of the liquid and the taste of roses and vanilla overwhelmed me.

Yes, that’s right. He gave me a small wink and his previous broodiness eased. I have to give credit where it's due, you were brave tonight. You saw something that we haven’t been able to see for years.

Yes, but I didn’t stop what happened to Ava.

Ava’s going to be okay, she’s much stronger than she looks, he said rather ominously. So who did you see exactly? He tilted his head and leaned forward making me feel as if no one else existed in the entire world. A soldier? A pirate? A painter?

I sipped the fiery liquor. "It is a tale as old as time, a tragically beautiful bride who wants others to experience the anguish of a broken heart so painful that words cannot express its despair. I stand amid the roar of a surf-tormented shore, and I hold within my hand, grains of the golden sand."

For a few seconds, he stared at me, but he wasn’t truly seeing me. He was lost in a shore of his own torment that was clear. Then, just like that, in a flash, he was back again. You’re too emotional, he said clinically when he came back from wherever he had gone.

What? His analysis of me forced me to take another sip of the golden nectar. After everything, that’s all you have to say? That’s what every masochist jerk in New York says when he cannot understand a woman or is threatened by her. Oh, she’s too emotional... The heat was climbing its way from my neck to my face and perhaps I was being exactly what he had accused me of. I couldn’t help but think back to Dr. Yeats and how he had screamed at me as if I were no more than a child.

It was not meant for you to take personally. This town, you, let’s just say some people will be more than happy to take advantage of you and your powers.

I took another quick sip. Okay, this is not a boarding school. We are past the Harry Potter stage of our lives.

Magic, he whispered. You have seen it, felt it tasted it and yet you cannot admit it. His eyes examined me, imploring me for answers.

My father would have appreciated you, I said softly. I felt tears forming, they threatened to rise to the surface.

He cleared his throat. Yes, I am sure that I would have found him fascinating.

Sadly, the sentimental moment was cut short by a scream so thunderous that it caused the silver candlesticks to shake. The lights overhead flickered and then disappeared altogether.

Liam grabbed a box of matches and quickly lit the candles that sat on the desk. Stay here. Do not leave this room.

But...  I protested.

Without another word, he opened the door and slammed it tight behind him leaving me alone in the room.

I took a seat on the soft couch with its opulent carved Rosewood frame, gold finish, and plush purple velvet. I took a fast sip of the delicious whiskey as the screams continued to seep into the room. The menacing grandfather clock read half past two. It was almost the witching hour. I wasn’t sure if the screams were those of drunken joy or perhaps all of the guests were being murdered by the ghost who I didn’t happen to catch. A gust of wind caused the curtains to be forcefully pushed aside. My body tensed in expectation of what would come next.

Before I had a chance to fully process what I was seeing, a hooded thug slipped through the window. He wore the same outfit that the thugs at the MET had worn complete with a cape, leather, and a sword in hand. Another thug slipped through the window and then three more. They stood tall and threatening five in total.  They surrounded me as I attempted to rise from the couch. They grabbed me by the arms, one on each side. Both annoyance and fear gripped me.

You are coming with us, said the leader who stood in front of me.

No, you are going to let go of me and explain why you crashed my party at the MET and why you broke into my home, and if you killed my father.

The leader laughed a throaty laugh. So many questions, but the cards are stacked against you. His accent was from a different time and place, so much so that I wasn’t able to recognize it. He would have made a perfect bard in a medieval tavern.

No, they are never. At that moment, my New York instincts kicked in and I kneed the thug on my right hard in the balls. Then I proceeded to do the same with the other thug. Shrieking in pain they released me but the leader and the other thugs were not impressed.  I didn’t care. I took out the pepper spray that I always kept in my purse and like a mad woman sprayed it in every direction until at least two of the men lay on the floor screaming in pain. Quickly, I grabbed a sword that one of the men had dropped and flung it madly in the air.

You assholes are going to allow me to leave this room. Okay! Then you can take whatever you want from here.

You filthy witch! Screamed the leader. His eyes changed from brown to deep demon red as he lunged at me causing us to both tumble to the ground. His weight on top of me was unbearable, I felt the life being sucked out of my lungs. I grasped desperately to take a breath. Don’t you know, that it’s you that is needed? It took us a while to figure it out, but once we did....

She must be kept alive. The master demands it. And shut your mouth. Who gave you permission to do or say anything aside from what you’re told? You know the code. It must be respected.

At the leader’s words, the thug released his grip. A spark of fear crossed his eyes and he did not utter another word.

Thankfully, the door flung open. Liam stood on the other side. He was not at all surprised by the scene. In a flash, he grabbed the hooded thug and placed the sharp blade of the sword against his throat. If you don’t leave this instant, I will cut him. You know the rules. You are not allowed to enter this house. It is written in blood, ash, and stone.

"Yes, while the rules are being broken now that