Soul Searcher

By Angelina Kerner

Zara, a medium, is on a mission to save the lost souls. Mermaid magick has high stakes, but that doesn't stop her from diving into the unknown. Can she save the lost souls before the spell wears off or will she become a lost treasure at the bottom of the ocean?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Angelina Kerner
• Release date: Mar 22, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224478309

Book preview

As a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, it cast a brilliant glow upon the ornaments adorning our Yule tree, visible even from my bedroom. It felt like my sister and I lived in Washington state and not sunny California with how the weather had been acting up lately. The world lost its balance, and I blamed whoever was messing with the souls. 

My perception extended beyond that of many, and a tumultuous unease churned within the pit of my stomach. 

Who had the audacity to obstruct the departure of souls from our realm? What ominous force lurked beyond, casting a malevolent aura across the world?

As a medium, my talents ranged from reading the alluring and attention-grabbing tarot cards to seeing spirits and souls. 

The storm’s dance only enhanced the souls as they started their ascent. Now, don’t ask me why they ascended to the heavens because, frankly, it was much more complicated than the Heaven-and-Hell scenario. Over the years, it just happened. Souls went up, never down.

As another bolt of lightning illuminated the skies, I witnessed fortunate souls ascend, while the less fortunate ones plummeted toward the ocean to the west of my home.

My stomach tightened. 

The answer lay on one of the many ships who were unfortunate enough to be out and about in this weather—or in the deep waters. There was nothing I could do. It was killing me inside. 

Zara.

My sister’s voice jolted me from my reverie, prompting a swift turn of my head toward her captivating face. 

A fleeting half-smile graced my lips momentarily before dissipating into the somber realization that the past month had been an arduous journey for us both. The weight of regret and guilt still clung to me, a heavy burden stemming from the events that transpired during Selena’s last séance.

The haunting incident had left her requiring surgery, forever tethering her to a prosthetic right hand. The weight of her forgiveness weighed heavily upon me. How she managed to forgive was a mystery I struggled to fathom to this day.

Selena’s loss of her hand was a tragic consequence, spurred by a husband’s descent into murderous madness upon learning of his deceased wife’s desire to seek penance for her infidelity. In a flash of violence, he lunged at me with a switchblade from his back pocket. Amid the ensuing struggle, my sister rushed in to aid me.

The room echoed with shouts, grunts, and curses as the altercation raged. Ultimately, it concluded with him severing my sister’s hand. The grueling act, slicing through bone, shocked us all.

The assailant’s reaction was visceral—howls, retching, and eventual unconsciousness. 

Hastily, I dialed 911, summoning both the police and an ambulance. In an unconventional yet negotiated arrangement, we released him in exchange for funding the costly prosthetic arm. His financial responsibility came at the expense of a small fortune, considering he had children.

Concealing the severed hand beneath her billowing skirts, my sister began a slow process of adjusting to life with a prosthetic. Neither of us was accustomed to this new reality.

Yes? I inquired. 

Micca’s here, Selena replied. Her demeanor seems a bit unsettled. She’s pacing around the living room, and it’s raising some concerns for me.

Micca was a witch from a local coven. She didn’t need me, a medium, to read her fortunes, so I was curious why she ventured to our place and in such dangerous weather. 

I stood upright, readjusted my tousled bun, and gracefully departed from the veranda’s glass doors in my bedroom. I left the tempest in my wake as I strode purposefully toward the living room.

Micca looked like a pissed-off, drenched cat. She threw me a look that screamed help and sneezed.

Selena… I started to phrase my request, however, my sister already exited the room and returned quickly with a towel and clothing for our guest.

Micca accepted the towel, ignoring the clothing. The dark circles under her eyes and flickery gaze said everything I needed to know. Something of importance transpired and the poor gal wasn’t worried about catching a cold at this point. 

I’ll make us some chamomile tea, Selena announced before leaving down the hall back to the kitchen. 

Selena liked her herbs. The kitchen was like a second bedroom to her. I found her sleeping on the day bed occasionally while her herbs dried on the dining table. 

 Micca, darling. How can I help you? What stirred you into such a mess? I asked as I motioned for her to sit at my one-legged crystal ball table by the Yule tree. 

Oh, Zara. If it weren’t for what happened, I wouldn’t be here. I would still be grieving in my room, she replied, taking off her useless hat and coat. The sound of them falling to the floor made both of us cringe. However, it was only water. 

Micca was a beautiful twenty-five-year-old woman with brown skin, black hair with golden highlights, and two different shaded eyes–one green and one gray. In other words, she was gorgeous, and a favorite witch friend of mine. She had lots of hobbies, but one of her absolute favorites was getting tattoos. 

She had several exquisite pieces all over her body and each one told a story. I kept forgetting to ask what the hot-air balloon represented on her arm, but now wasn’t the time for such inquiries. 

At the moment, she was anxiously fidgeting with her dragon pentagram necklace. 

I allowed her time to gather her thoughts. I couldn’t say I’m sorry for your loss because she didn’t say she was grieving for a person. It could be a familiar. 

The circumstances demanded her to take charge. Yet, it was peculiar. Ordinarily, I’d witness a newly attached soul tethered to the grieving individual. However, in this instance, there was an absence—a void where there should have been a soul.

I surmised she was either mourning a magical plant, or the soul she grieved for hadn’t transitioned to the heavens but, instead, vanished toward the western horizon.

My stomach felt like it wanted to knot itself to death. 

Please, let it be a plant. Witches cared about plants as much as about people and familiars. Please, let it be a plant.

A lightning strike hit too close to home.

Micca jumped. 

I can close the blinds, I suggested. 

She shook her head no. I don’t know if you noticed…but umm, there’s talk between coven members about how souls aren’t getting to where they’re supposed to be.

I looked back at the window to see a soul going to the heavens. It’s not about a plant. Yes, I know.

What you may not know is that I have a brother, Micca continued and then corrected herself. Had one.

Please, share with me about him, I responded, my voice tender and filled with empathy. I gently shielded the crystal ball from her view, noticing her gaze repeatedly drawn to it.

I, of course, knew she had a hidden family member. The tarot cards revealed it to me when we met. They also warned me it was a secret close to her heart, which was why I never said anything.

He was a year younger and mentally ill. Micca sighed. No one had the training in my family to take care of him, so we put him in an institution. He liked it there… being with others who understood him. The people there were more of his family than us. Micca let go of her pentagram and rested her hands on