Cougar's Eve
Cougar’s Eve Copyright © 2014 Kelly Ann Long
Also Available from Resplendence Publishing
www.resplendencepublishing.com
Cougar’s Eve
A
Magic Eve
Story
By KellyAnn Long
Resplendence Publishing, LLC
http://www.resplendencepublishing.com
Cougar’s Eve
Copyright © 2014 Kelly Ann Long
Edited by Michele Paulin and CJ Slate
Cover Art by Les Byerley
Published by Resplendence Publishing, LLC
1093 A1A Beach Blvd, #146
St. Augustine, FL 32080
Electronic format ISBN: 978-1-60735-764-3
Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
Electronic Release: May 2014
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental.
Eve Dubois is a Sensitive—as in, she can hear and talk to ghosts. Nicknamed the town’s “spook-kook,” the six-foot tall shy redhead would rather stay hidden in the shadows but life doesn’t always cooperate.
The first time Vale Arthur sees Eve, he knows she is his mate, but how can he tell her he is a were-cougar? Having been deeply raked over the emotional coals, Vale does not trust women easily. He wants to be with Eve more than anything in the world, but will he be able to put aside his painful past to give his heart to his mate?
For my wonderful husband, who supported me from the very beginning when this book was just a thought. Thank you for your constant encouragement, unwavering support and endless love.
Chapter One
“Do you ‘hear’ anything, Ms. Dubois?” Detective Ben Stone asked for a third time. He made air-quotes around the word “hear”. Detective Stone didn’t believe I could “hear” anything at all and thought it was a waste of valuable police department time for me to be here in the first place.
“Not yet, Detective Stone,” I replied patiently. “When a ghost is young, sometimes, he can be shy; we need to give him a minute to be comfortable around us.”
The detective rolled his eyes, mumbled something about not believing in all of this “mumbo-jumbo” and that he needed to get a bit of fresh air. Ben Stone was a short man, built like a bulldog, and occasionally had the temperament of one, too. When he grabbed on to something, he just didn’t let go. Evidently, he wasn’t about to change his mind regarding my sensitive abilities either.
The detective wasn’t very fond of me, which was largely because he thought of me as the town nut job. About two years ago, he’d even gone so far as to call me a charlatan. I didn’t really mind that he didn’t believe in my abilities—after all, there were plenty of skeptics in the world—but what I did mind was openly being accused of being a fake. I had no reason to make false statements, and I wasn’t self-centered enough to need or want all of the negative baggage attached to seeing ghosts.
My friend, who also happened to be the sheriff, Donald “Bud” LaGrange, had called for my assistance on this particular case. I was here because they had reached a dead end years ago, but new evidence had been introduced within the last week.
Usually, when a case was labeled cold, there wasn’t much hope of ever closing it. That they had gotten a break at all after so much time had passed was a rare opportunity indeed. Rather than waste a single resource available to the police in attempting to solve the case, the sheriff had asked me to go to the victim’s previous residence to try to contact the deceased’s spirit.
We had to walk carefully as we entered the skeletal remains of the house. Though a significant part of it had been stone, the floor had been wood and sections of it were dangerously weak. The roof was nonexistent, allowing a slight breeze to carry through the house, which, in ninety-degree heat, was a bonus.
Bud walked in front of me and put his hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry about him, Evie, I believe in you.”
“Thanks,” I smiled appreciatively. “He doesn’t exactly help create a welcoming atmosphere for scared little ghosts, you know.”
Bud nodded. “I’ll stand over there.” He pointed to what was left of the front doorway. “Hopefully, I’ll be able to keep Stone out of your way so we can get this over with as quickly as possible.”
I smiled at Bud. “That would be immensely helpful.”
Thank goodness!
Today, I was dealing with the ghost of a child who was around six years old. My method of communication was dowsing rods, which I used in my actual profession, contractual dowsing for building contractors, government agencies and insurance agencies. By using the rods, the spirit could visually talk with me and answer questions with an easy yes or no.
Each dowsing rod looked like a very tall letter L; the short part was the handle, the other swung freely. Some people use wire coat hangers, others specific kinds of wood carved into a rod more fitting to their hands. I preferred to use brass rods with a blue marble on each end to act as a pendulum.
I didn’t actually need the rods to communicate with spirits, but it helped a great deal if I had an audience waiting for answers, such as the deceased’s relatives or, in this situation, a disbelieving police detective. As the old saying goes, seeing is believing, and people were more likely to believe in rods crossing than take my word for an answer. Though I could sense every emotion the little boy felt, I knew this would only work if Detective Stone saw the results with his own eyes.
Child spirits could be very tricky; they could be shy and reluctant to talk if they didn’t feel comfortable, especially if the area was the location of his or her death or tragedy. They also became timid if someone made them uneasy. Like Detective Stone.
I took another deep breath and closed my eyes. “Colby, could you talk to me for a little while, please?” I asked out loud. I felt his presence then saw him peek around the corner of the remains of the wall.
After relaying my instructions to the child to answer my questions with a yes or no by opening the rods or closing them, I asked if he understood how to communicate.
Colby finally answered my question with a
yes
, and the rods swung wide in response.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” I said to him. “Do you know where your mother is?”
The rods swung out again,
yes
, then returned to their original position.
“Do you visit her?”
Another
yes
.
“I’m sure you miss her.”
Yes
.
“What about your dad? Do you visit him, too?”
The rods immediately crossed over each other, indicating a
no
.
I gasped as the boy’s emotions flared angrily then disappeared as quickly as they’d occurred. It was odd for a child to have the ability to create such tremendous discord, but I attributed it to missing his parents. Time didn’t pass for some ghosts, and the wounds of Colby’s tragedy might still be fresh to him, though to us, ten full years had passed. Continuing my line of questioning, I asked, “Do you want to visit your dad?”
The rods swayed wide.
“Are you scared to visit him?” The question was a bit leading, but it was easier to ask leading questions when attempting to get answers from a young, scared spirit. Besides, it wasn’t as though I would be testifying in court. Any evidence I provided was inadmissible, and there wasn’t a lawyer alive who would risk his or her reputation on the word of a “Sensitive.” I was here to point the police in a new direction, if there was one. It was up to Bud and the detective to obtain concrete evidence.
One rod moved and the other stayed in place. This usually meant the spirit didn’t know how to answer my question or that I hadn’t been specific enough.
“Is your dad in a place you can’t get into?” Sometimes, there were places ghosts couldn’t cross onto for several reasons. A person’s religious beliefs, the presence of another spirit or even certain metals inhibited spirits from going into certain areas.
The rods crossed.
No
.
I tried to think of a reason a child would stay away from a parent on purpose. “Is there someone with your dad that you are scared to visit?”
The rods swayed open.
Very interesting. It was especially unusual for a child to visit one living parent and not the other. Some don’t realize they’re dead in the first place and miss their parents so much, they can’t stay away from either of them for any length of time.
“Is the person you’re scared of a man?”
The rods crossed again. No, not a man.
“Is it a woman?” I had to be clear, even though there were only two choices.
The rods remained straight ahead. I wasn’t sure he would give me an answer, but then the rods slowly began to open.
I softened my voice. “It’s okay to tell me, Colby. No one here will hurt you. Do you trust me?”
The rods swiftly answered
yes
.
“Did the woman hurt you, Colby?”
The rods vibrated suddenly and with such force, one fell on the ground and one flew up above my head and landed behind me. I felt the child’s fear to the point that my own heart beat faster and a light sweat appeared on my skin.
I turned to pick up the rod behind me and noticed Detective Stone had come back into the room. He looked very uncomfortable as he shifted from one foot to the other. His face had gone pale, and a look of shock had taken over his features. It looked as if he wasn’t so sure I was faking at this point—served him right, too.
As I picked up the brass rod, I addressed the detective, “I need to calm the boy before continuing. Are there any specific questions you need for me to ask him?”
Detective Stone grimaced before he mumbled, “Describe her.” I could tell it was still difficult for him to accept that I was indeed talking with the poor child who had been killed.
I answered, “I might have to compare our hair colors; he might not understand blonde and brunette at his age.”
The detective cleared his throat and nodded once in affirmation, “Go ahead.”
I turned and faced Colby once again. “It’s all right, Colby. The woman can’t harm you ever again. You are safe now.” I waited for a moment before asking, “Do you believe me?”
The rods opened, and I felt the ghost calming again.
“Good,” I smiled. “Sweetie, I need to ask you about the woman’s hair. Is her hair red, like mine?”
The rods swung wide in affirmation.
Just to be sure he wasn’t confused, I asked him one more question. “Is her hair the same yellow as Sheriff LaGrange?” I asked as I pointed to Bud.
The rods crossed.
“Is it white or grey like Detective Stone’s?” I pointed to the detective.
The rods crossed before I finished the question. Obviously, the boy’s spirit was getting impatient with me, asking silly questions when he’d told me the correct answer already.
“Sorry, Colby, I just had to be sure. Thank you so much.”
I turned to face the police officers and asked, “Anything else?”
Bud and Detective Stone shook our heads simultaneously, and I turned back to the child’s spirit.
“You’ve been so helpful, Colby. If you would like, I could come back and visit you. Would you like that?”
The rods moved open with vigor in a definite
yes
.
“Good, I’ll stop by, and we’ll talk. Does that sound all right?”
He swung the rods wide enthusiastically. I felt the boy’s happiness, and I smiled. Ghosts were entities caught in between life and the afterlife. Most of the time, they were here to complete an unfinished task, and I believed Colby’s ghost was one of those instances. His task could very well have been completed today by giving the police a lead in his unsolved murder case. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to give the child some happiness by talking to him, as long as he respected the “stay out of my body” boundary. If he attempted to possess me, we would be done.
Fini
. Toodle-oo.
Quietly, I added, “When I visit, make sure to call me Evie, so I’ll know it’s you. Got it?” Unless a spirit responded correctly when I asked if they knew my name, I ignored them completely while I was properly shielded.