BookOne
By
CandaceOsmond
Copyright © 2018Candace Osmond
All rightsreserved.
ISBN-13:978-1-988159-50-8
FirstEdition
DigitalVersion
Cover Design byMajeauDesigns
The characters, places, and events portrayed in this book arecompletely fiction and are in no way meant to represent real peopleor places. Although the province of Newfoundland isan existing location, the use of it in the book is for fictionalpurposes and not meant to depict true historicalaccuracy.
Tableof Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
About the Author
Chapter One
I never gave much thought to whether magicactually exists. But sometimes you just can't ignore the weirdoccurrences that weave their way into our lives. Like Deja vu orunexplainable coincidences.
Or thecold, stark feeling you get when you know something bad is going to happen. Thegoosebumps that scrape across your skin and the heavy pit thattouches the bottom of your stomach like a bag of ice.
The samefeeling that currently inhabited my body. I felt the insistentvibrations of my cellphone pressing against my thigh. Nothingmarked the day different from any other. But that first initialvibration, that first ring letting me know a call was comingthrough... it shook something inside me.
Only darknessawaited me on the other end.
I slipped ahand into my jeans pocket and pulled out my phone. The area codenumber on the screen verified my otherworldly hunch. With a deepbreath, I tapped the green button.
“Uh,hello?”
“Dianna,m’dear!” The old raspy voice on the other end sounded familiar, andmy mind scrambled to place it. “You’re a hard girl to trackdown.”
That ice-coldpit in my stomach felt like a frozen anvil as the cogs finallyclicked in my brain. “Oh, hey, Aunt Mary. How’s it going?”
“Oh, m’love,not good.” My great aunt let an empty pause hold the line. Finally,I heard her inhale. “I imagine you know why I’mcalling?”
I closed myeyes and tried to focus on breathing. “It’s Dad, isn’t it?”
“Yes,dear, he passed away yesterday afternoon. Poor soul.”
I pressed myback against the bedroom wall and let the weight of my body slideits way down to the floor where I curled into a crouching ball,still holding the phone to my ear. I tried not to let the sounds ofcrying or the sudden dry tightness in my throat come through in mywords. I didn’t want to show weakness during the moment I’d beenexpecting for years.
Myrelationship with my father wasn’t exactly warm and loving. He wasa cold and distant man, drifting further and further away from meas the years went on. He called once a year, at Christmas, just tocheck in. Three years ago, however, he told me that he wasdying. Cancer hadfound its way into his body and the doctors said it was only amatter of time. I was honestly surprised he hung on thatlong.
“Cool,okay.” I fought for words. “Thanks for letting me know, Aunt Mary.”Shakily, I stood up, cleared my throat and wiped my eyes,determined to keep it together. I would not cry for that man.
“Are youcomin’ home for the funeral? It’s on Friday.”
Just barelytwo days from now. I cringed when my brain immediately thought ofhow much work I had to do. Not exactly what someone should worryabout when a parent dies. “Well -”
“Now youlisten here,” my aunt began to scold, her thick Newfoundland accentcoming through in the hardest way, something that usually happenedwhen we were either angry or drunk. I strained to make out all thewords. “I know you and your father had a rough time since your momdied. But that’s no excuse.”
“I know,but Aunt Mar -”
“Nobuts!” She cut me off, making me feel like a child again. But Icould hear her relax with the heavy exhale that came through thephone. “Dianna, he’s your father. He was devastated when your mother died.He lost the love of his life.”
My freehand clenched into a tight fist and strained against the denim onmy thigh. “I was a child, Mary. He shut me out. Yeah, he lost her…but so did I.” I let that stew. “I loved dad, you know that. ButI’m here in Alberta now, and I have a life. A real life. The restaurant just promoted me tosous chef and-”
“Dianna,you can cook in any bloody restaurant in the country. There willalways be time for that. Besides, I need help going through theirstuff. You’re the last living heir to it all, you know that,right?”
I choked downthe bubble that suddenly formed in my throat. “You mean… he left itall to me?” I hadn’t even considered that possibility. My parentsweren’t rich, by any means. They owned a quaint little bakery thatbarely got by during the Winter months but thrived in the Summer,during tourist season.
But I wasn’tthinking of that.
We have astrong Newfoundland bloodline that came over from England andScotland, one that dated back to the 1600s. We had numerousproperties; some old, some new, some so old they should have beentorn down decades ago. But I remembered my mother collecting dozensof old trunks and antiques that had been passed down throughgenerations.
Stufffrom my dad’s side and hers. Stuff that I was obsessed with as akid. Swords, books, jewelry, and even pirates’ chests. Well, whatI thought were pirates’chests at five years old. Regardless, there were definitely thingsI wanted before the vultures of my distant family came and pickedover the flesh. If Dad had left it all to me, that at least boughtsome time before things began to go missing.
“Fine,I’ll make arrangements and come home for a few days.” I regrettedthe words before I finished saying them. But it was my weekend off, so all I had to do was findsomeone to cover a couple of shifts until then. “But that’s all Ican do.”
“Wonderful,” Mary replied, “Call me when you get your flightbooked. I’ll come pick you up.”
I let out adeep sigh. “Thanks, Aunt Mary. Bye.”
I hung up thephone and slipped it back into my jeans pocket. The warm morningsun seeped in through the partially closed window blinds, castingan eerie yellow and grey striped pattern across my dark bedroom. Iforced
