Entangled Souls

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Entangled Souls

 

A Novel

by

Kimber Waits

 

 

 

 

 

Entangled Souls

 

A Novel

By

Kimber Waits

 

 

 

 

Copyright © 2015 Kimber Waits

 

All Rights Reserved No part of this book may be reproduced, downloaded, transmitted, decompiled, reverse engineered, stored in or introduced to any information storage and retrieval system, in any form, whether electronic or mechanical without the author’s written permission. Scanning, uploading or distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without permission is prohibited. Please purchase only authorized electronic versions, and do not participate in, or encourage pirated electronic versions. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*
This is a fully revised second edition
*

 

Eighteen-year-old Halen Forester’s life is pretty much perfect – awesome friends, a spot on the cheerleading squad, and a new relationship with the hottest boy in school. But when her mother’s sudden death reveals a shocking family secret, her perfect world begins to spiral out of control.

Now, instead of going to senior prom, Halen discovers that she is the new Chosen One – destined to rule over her estranged father’s Hive of Breeders.

Maybe taking over the throne wouldn’t be so bad. She could stop stressing over finals and finding the perfect pair of skinny jeans. But on the other hand there is that whole ?devouring souls to survive” thing she’d have to get used to.

Unfortunately, her sister has plans of her own, like having Halen kidnapped so she can rule as the Hive’s new queen.

Halen knows she can’t allow Maven to take over the throne, even if it means sacrificing her own soul to save the people she loves.

 

Entangled is a young adult paranormal romance with mild language and sexual situations.

 

 

 

 

 

One

 

Halen Forester took a deep, cleansing breath before attempting to fight her way through the gnarled and twisted underbrush and timidly stepped out onto the soft carpet of deep green grass. She vaguely remembered visiting the small village as a child, surrendering to the sweet smelling magnolia trees that grew in her grandmother’s backyard, and being lulled to sleep by the ringing of the ancient church bells.

As a child, her mother had forbid her to speak of this place — to do so would have meant certain punishment — like losing her cell phone for an entire month punishment. Fortunately, she was no longer a child. She was eighteen, about to turn nineteen in two weeks, which meant she would no longer be held captive under her family’s overly-protective thumb. She planned to learn the truth about her family during this trip — no matter what the cost.

Man, she hated the freaking south. The southern humidity was a straight-up bitch, forcing her to use the hem of her black ribbed tank top to wipe the drops of sweat from her between her breasts.

Cautiously, she continued to move forward, terrified her flip-flop clad feet would come in contact with one of the many creatures who made their home in the murky waters of the swamp.

Halen shook her head in amazement. Nothing could have prepared her for the vision in front of her — not even the crazy stories passed down through her family for generations. Not one word her insane relatives had led her to believe could hold a candle to to this.

Sadly, not much remained of her ancestor’s once prosperous plantation. Henri Bourdon’s greed, coupled with his insatiable desire for immortality had led him to the depths of hell with no hope of redemption. He’d chosen to turn a blind eyes as one by one his beloved family vanished, falling victim to the unforgiving blackness of the swamp.

At one time massive willow trees engulfed the plantation in a misty luxuriance, while shady walkways gave quiet access to the main house. Today, delicate wild violets peeked through the angry saw briars, and kudzu vines clung to the disfigured statues, claiming the pathways as their own.

A light rain began to fall and lightning slashed through the night sky casting a fiery glow against the jagged shards of glass that was all that remained of the windows.

Halen moved away from the slave quarters as thunder rolled overhead. In the distance drummers pounded out a hypnotic rhythm.

She was definitely getting closer.

The distant drums seemed to possess a life of their own, each with its own distinct heartbeat, and yet, there was a unity to their sound that could capture the souls of those that believed.

A woman appeared from out the the shadows, a glistening black snake coiled around her thick shoulders, it’s forked tongue darting back and forth across her ample breast. Her white cotton gown billowed out, forming a sparking pool of snowy fabric around her thick brown ankles as she weaved around the intimate circle of petrified onlookers.

The woman’s voice seemed to echo through the night sky. Amidst the rising strains of her prayers, the drummers continued to beat out a sound so hypnotic, the ancient willows seemed to sway in unison.

Slowly, the woman removed a handful of golden cornmeal from an earthen jar, and with blood-red fingernails proceeded to draw images of death and destruction in the brick-red clay.

Inching closer, Halen maneuvered her way through the crowd of terrified onlookers. The pungent smell of herbs and unfamiliar exotic spices assaulted her senses. Her skin, slick with perspiration, glowed in the moonlight. She shivered as the cool night air caressed her body.

Halen watched as a young dancer inched forward. Moving through the crowd, she spun on her heels, her translucent dress tangling itself around her thin coffee-colored legs. Faster and faster she twirled, until finally collapsing on the ground, her arms and legs flailing wildly.

“Man, I think that chick is possessed!” Halen said.

The elderly woman standing next to her grabbed Halen’s arm, the terror evident on her weathered face. Gently, she removed the woman’s hand, flashing her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. I’m sure this crazy backwoods demonstration will be over before we know it.”

Halen wrapped her arms around her own waist and shivered, wishing she could take back her words as she silently watched the priestess make her way around the growing circle of spectators.

In her arms, the priestess carried a majestic bird, its feathers a dazzling array of cool blues and vibrant shades of green and gold. With much ceremony, the priestess presented the bird to the young dancer, who proceeded to crush the creatures delicate wings with her thin fingers. She froze, then smiled at the crowd before ripping open the bird’s neck with her delicate white teeth. Blood oozed from the corners of the dancer’s mouth and down the pristine whiteness of her dress.

Heavy fog swirled around Halen’s feet, rapidly creeping up past her ankles until she felt as if she was drowning in the eerie mist. A meaty arm snaked out, grabbing Halen around the waist. Screaming, she whirled around to find herself standing face to face the mambo.

“This is for you, Miss Girl,” the priestess whispered, her hot spicy breath caressing Halen’s ear.

“W-what is it?”

“A juju — for good luck.” She closed Halen’s trembling fingers over the cold wet object. “Tomorrow you come see Madame Callie. Together we right this wrong.”

Halen stared at the woman, disbelief etched across her face. “How do you know?”

How could anyone know?

Too much time had passed. She couldn’t turn back the hands of time. No one could. Not even this Madame Callie chick and her crazy magic.

Halen watched the mambo’s back disappear into the darkness of the surrounding forest. She reluctantly opened her fingers one by one, exposing the bird’s cold and bloody talon. She released a scream, her body shaking with fear. She turned, ready to flee, desperate to forget the woman’s words, along with the talisman cutting into her delicate flesh. Halen’s heart slammed against her chest, thick bile rising up in her throat. The past was dead, buried deep within the damp soil and rotting leaves of the swamp.

Swirling fingers of fog as old as the swamp itself grew out of the mist, coiling around Halen’s ankles as she sank down into the gathering darkness. The air grew rancid, burning her lungs with each breath she took.

She was alone.

Alone with her demons and the lost souls her family’s curse had greedily fed upon for centuries.

 

 

 

 

 

Two

 

Halen tossed her backpack over her shoulder before leaving the air-conditioned comfort of her room at the Saint Royal Hotel and stepped outside into the sweltering summer heat. She quickly crossed the busy street to Central Avenue where the hot dog and cheese steak vendors lined the busy sidewalks making the air fragrant with their mouth-watering offerings. Her stomach rumbled in protest, reminding her that she’d forgotten to eat breakfast. Again.

Giving in to temptation, she removed a crumbled five dollar bill from her pocket and handed it to the bearded man standing behind the red and white striped food cart in exchange for a crispy bacon wrapped hot dog smothered in spicy mustard and tangy sauerkraut. No onions. She knew she’d pay for her gluttony later, but right now, it was going to taste oh-so-good.

Plopping down on the curb, she removed her calorie-laden lunch from its tin foil cocoon, savoring the warm, spicy juices as they washed over her taste buds. With her hunger satisfied, she removed the ripped piece of hotel stationary from her back pocket and checked the address.

Halen turned down a narrow side street, quickly leaving the city’s noisy tourist attractions behind. She quickly found herself standing in a remote area of the city that appeared ancient in its design.

The doors to the once prosperous shops were locked down and gray with long ago abandoned cobwebs. Windows were nailed shut and the rod-iron balconies were grimy and rusted from years of neglect. A few feet ahead, a window swung open to reveal a glimpse of opulent silver statues surrounded by the soft flutter of ivory lace.

Halen sighed and placed her hand over her rapidly beating heart in an attempt to calm her runaway nerves. Pushing open the heavy iron gate, she walked across the worn brick patio, marveling at the expanse of rich marble and the lush foliage of the dark tropical palms and pale-leafed banana trees.

Voodoo must be big business, she mused, climbing the pink marble stairs one by one.

This was it.

There was no turning back now.

**

Halen flung open the door to her hotel room and rushed inside, falling across the king sized bed in an exhausted heap. Flipping over onto her back, she stared at the ceiling. She felt like she’d just lived through a horrendous nightmare.

It couldn’t be true. God, please don’t let it be true,” she pleaded.

It wasn’t humanly possible — was it? Then again, Madame Callie never said a word about him being human — not any longer.

Hot tears burned her eyes when she thought back to her meeting with the priestess. The woman’s words were straight and to the point. Her mother chose to will her entire estate to Halen, and nothing to her shrew of a sister, Maven. The house, business — the legacy of evil — all if it was her responsibility now, whether she wanted to accept it or not.

How in the world did her family expect her to wrap her mind around this mess? Every freakish story she’d ever been told as a child was proving to be true. She laughed, shaking her head. Man, we really are a family of freaks, she thought.

She spent the remainder of the afternoon watching
Paranormal State
on the
Biography Channel
while gorging herself on copious amounts of black licorice and cherry limeade. A loud knock on the door pulled her out of her sugar-induced coma.

“Speak.”

“Halen, may I come in?”

She winced at the grating sound of her sister’s voice. Holy crap on a cracker. She needed this like she needed a hole in the head. “What do you want, Maven? This isn’t a good time.”

“But I brought you an iced coffee.” Maven walked into the room. Sitting the cardboard cup holder on the narrow side table, she removed one of the clear plastic cups and offered it to Halen. “Here you go, drink this.” Maven’s sudden smile struck Halen as being even creepier than usual — if that was possible. “It will help you relax.”

No doubt about it — her nerves were definitely shot. Knowing that she needed to chill out and put the events of the day behind her, she accepted the frothy beverage, swallowing the cup’s contents in one unladylike gulp. Smiling, she wiped the foam from her mouth with the back of her hand. “Well. There ya go. I’m feeling better already. You definitely rock, Maven.”

“Honestly, even the lady right, Halen. Come on, I will help you to bed,” Maven said, turning her nose up in disgust.

“Don’t be an idiot. I had a coffee drink. I didn’t down a bottle of tequila. Unfortunately,” Halen protested, attempting to shake off her sister’s grip on her arm. “Let go of me and go back to your own room. I’m a big girl. I’ll be fine on my own. In fact, I would prefer it. Okay. Thanks.”

“Well, aren’t you just the sweetest little thing. Why, you’re so sickeningly sweet I have an overwhelming desire to puke every time I am forced to look at your perfect little face,” maven sneered. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve I wished you were dead and rotting in the ground along with the rest of our pathetic family — including our bat-shit crazy mother.”

Halen brushed her honey-blond curls from her eyes and attempted to form a coherent response, but found herself to drowsy to sort out her thoughts. The room spun out of control, forcing her to grip the dresser to steady herself. “You skank! You put something in my coffee, didn’t you?”

“Only a little sleeping powder — double dose, of course.”

“Why?”

Maven jerked Halen’s arm, dragging her to the bed. “Ugh, would you shut up already. You will understand soon enough.” She fixed Halen with a hateful stare. “And do not get any bright ideas. I will be right here by your side until you fall asleep.”

“W-why are you doing this? This is some crazy stuff — even for you.”

“Must you ask?” Maven asked.

Madame Callie appeared from out of the shadows. “You are the Chosen One. Mr. Bourdon is anxiously awaiting your arrival.”

Drifting in and out of consciousness, Halen managed one last attempt at an accusation. “You and this circus freak escapee planned this chiz from the get-go, didn’t you, Maven? This trip was never about the reading of mom’s will. It was all a ruse to get me away from home.”

“Really? Do you think? It should have been me!” Maven sneered. “How could those ancient fools choose someone as workaday as you over me?”

“Maven, listen to me,” Halen pleaded. “I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about. You can be the Chosen One…or whatever the hell you call it. All I want to do is go home.”

Maven sighed, pushing her unruly ebony ringlets over her shoulder. “Yeah, about that — it doesn’t exactly work that way. It’s like this — the only way that I can lea our family, as well as the Hive, is if you are dead. Dead and rotting away somewhere.” She shrugged her shoulders before continuing. “Ah well, such is life, I suppose.”

Maven sat down on the edge of the bed and waited for Halen to lose consciousness before giving Madame Callie her full attention. “Time for us to get out of here. It is getting late and Mr. Nickelson is due to arrive at midnight.”