Talking Bones Read online

  Talking Bones

  A Psychic Visions Novel

  Dale Mayer

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  About This Book

  Complimentary Download

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Excerpt from String of Tears

  About Simon Says…

  Author’s Note

  Complimentary Download

  About the Author

  Copyright Page

  About This Book

  Hiding out in the French Quarter of New Orleans only made sense for someone like Skylar Livingston. Owning a voodoo shop was just an added touch for fun. It also helped with her cover, plus gave space to the multitude of ghosts in her family. And her shop was close to the cemeteries, … a very necessary part of her … hobby.

  Gage Hawkins was tracking his uncle’s last movements before his disappearance—hunting a special set of tarot cards—which led to Skylar’s shop, Talking Bones. After a bad head injury that brought weird sights into his view, Gage could see this Talking Bones place and Skylar were special. He could only hope she had answers because he had a lot of questions …

  Skylar preferred the dead to the living most times, but Gage had her reconsidering. Until she realizes something is wrong in his world, and it’s quickly overtaking hers.

  When Gage’s uncle turns up dead, more than the undead are in Skylar’s world. … A killer is too …

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  KILL OR BE KILLED

  Part of an elite SEAL team, Mason takes on the dangerous jobs no one else wants to do—or can do. When he’s on a mission, he’s focused and dedicated. When he’s not, he plays as hard as he fights.

  Until he meets a woman he can’t have but can’t forget. Software developer Tesla lost her brother in combat and has no intention of getting close to someone else in the military. Determined to save other US soldiers from a similar fate, she’s created a program that could save lives. But other countries know about the program, and they won’t stop until they get it—and get her.

  Time is running out. … For her. … For him. … For them …

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  Chapter 1

  Skylar Livingston unlocked the connecting door between her upstairs apartment and that of her ground-level New Orleans shop, Skylar’s Heaven, and stepped inside her store that Friday morning. She walked rapidly to the back room and shut off the alarm. With that done, she entered her shop and opened the blinds to the front windows, letting light into her store. Taking off her sweater, she proceeded to the counter, where she flicked on the lights throughout, and only then did she fully open her eyes.

  With the shop fully lit, the spirits were much less prevalent.

  She called out, “Good morning, guys.”

  There was a weird wavering of the air, as multiple personalities greeted her. Every morning when she arrived, the ghostly apparitions were so bright that it was hard for Skylar to see where she walked, as she headed to the alarm system. The ghosts were an alarm system as well, but Skylar still felt the need to have a more traditional system in place.

  “Going to be a crazy day today,” Thomas said, by way of his greeting. He was one of many resident ghosts here.

  Checking around, she noted that nothing appeared to be wrong or different with the energy or the ambience in the store. No sign of an intruder. No sign of any problems, but she hadn’t fully checked in the back yet. She made a quick walk through to the rear area, where she put on a pot of coffee, relieved to see absolutely nothing new or different.

  In her world, boring and normal were perfect.

  With all of that in place and the coffee dripping, she headed back out to the main store area, unlocked the front door, and peered out the window. She still had fifteen minutes until opening, but the streets were already filling with tourists. That was both good and bad. She needed the income that the tourists provided, but she didn’t like some of the energy that they brought with them. As a matter of fact, she didn’t like anything about the commercialism or the necessity of making a living.

  But she hadn’t won the lottery and neither had she been born rich. So she worked.

  She yawned and quickly covered her mouth with her hand, wishing she could sleep in later in the mornings. But that would mean hiring somebody to open up the store for her and giving her those extra few hours. Then again, if she didn’t spend so much of her nights in the damn cemeteries, it wouldn’t be as big of a problem.

  Skylar brushed her long black hair off her face, noting that in her hurry she hadn’t brought a clip. She looked around, found a wooden stick and a hair pin from the olden days that she had marked at two bucks, then quickly twisted her hair up and fixed it firmly in place. Noting just how quick and efficient that was, not to mention stylish, she looked at the price on the rest of them and quickly changed it to seven dollars instead. She often found that, with things for sale in the store, if she doubled the price or made it even higher, the items sometimes took on a life of their own.

  Then her ghostly friends helped too.

  She knew that she could count on the effect of the spirits and their energy to set the mood inside, which was perfect for a voodoo shop, although it took a lot from Skylar to keep it energized high enough to bring in people.

  Whenever she recognized that some people were looking for a spooky experience, she would quickly lower her energy shield, so that the store had the ambience of something darker. She could cheerfully blame the ghosts for that, if any tourist was so interested.

  As she looked around, she saw all her regular ghostly crew.

  “You know that you can go home anytime,” she stated, something that she shared probably thirty to forty times a day. At least when the store was empty. The ghosts all just nodded, and not one moved.

  The frustration was crippling at times. “You all do that, seemingly agreeing with me, yet you’re all still here. Even though you have options.”

  Thomas whispered in her ear, “We are here because we want to be.”

  “You’re not connected to me though,” she murmured. “So you don’t need to stand watch, although it is appreciated.”

  “We are connected to you,” he argued, crossing his arms. He looked like somebody from Abraham Lincoln’s era, with a top hat and a black suit. He was tall and almost gaunt.

  She sighed. “Just because I rescued some bones—”

  “Yes, but we’re also here because we want to be,” he noted, “so you can’t chase us away.”

  She rolled her eyes at that. “My shop is getting more crowded all the time.”

  “That’s all right,” replied Dodi, a pale-faced woman on the other side of the counter. “We’ll just move to your apartment then.”

  Immediately Skylar shook her head. “No, no, no, please don’t do that.”

  The woman looked at her in surprise. “Why not?”

  “Because it’s nice to have a place that is only mine.” Although it wasn’t only hers. No way to explain that to this group of ghosts though.

  Dodi looked at Skylar for a moment and then gave a complacent nod. “I can see that for you, it’s true. I had nine children, so I wouldn’t know what that is like.
But I’m happy to give it to you.”

  “Nine children?” Skylar almost gasped at that. When she heard a noise from the front door, she turned toward it. One of the ghost kids, Chucky, called out in excitement, “They’re coming.”

  She groaned, plastered a smile on her face, and waited, while the door opened fully. Then her smile became real. “Hey, Tomo,” she greeted the tall, spare man walking toward her with a sheepish smile. “How are you doing?”

  He held up a plate. “My latest offering. I’m hoping you would try some.”

  She looked at the plate avariciously. “More beignets?”

  “More beignets,” he confirmed. “You know that they have to be absolutely perfect in order to compete with everybody else around here.”

  “You keep trying all you want,” she murmured, as she stared at the plate with three fat treats, “particularly if that will keep the samples coming my way.”

  He burst out laughing, his beautiful caramel-colored skin glowing, as his face split wide into a big grin. “You know that you’ll get all the beignets you want from my restaurant, when I finally get there—and for free.”

  She shook her head. “You can’t do it for free. You’ll have to play the game and charge for your goods, just like the rest of us.”

  “I wish I could hand them out for free though,” he replied in all seriousness.

  “I know you do,” she added gently, “but somehow we’re caught up in this commercial lifestyle, where I must have people actually pay for my products, so I can turn around and pay you for beignets.”

  “But, if I just gave them to you,” he started, “you wouldn’t—”

  “Then how will you pay your rent?” she asked, with an understanding smile. He really was a wonderful soul, just not the most realistic when it came to business. He wanted to believe in a world of sunshine and roses, where everybody loved everybody else and where they all took care of each other. Well, she wanted to believe in that too, but her life experiences had confirmed a whole different reality was out there.

  “I wish I had enough money,” he noted, “where I could just do it by donation.”

  “I wish you did too because I know that system does work in some places.” He looked at her with interest, as she shrugged. “I’ve heard of pilot programs that have popped up in different areas with that structure, but I would presume that you still need to have enough income on a regular basis to pay the rent.”

  He winced. “I don’t understand why that rent money thing keeps coming around every month.” She burst out laughing, and he shot her a quick, bright grin.

  Skylar continued. “See? Now that’s what I love about you—that humor, with a completely deadpan face, while you crack a joke like that.”

  He nodded sagely. “And you’re always happy to see me because I bring along the sunshine.”

  She gazed at him affectionately. “That is very true. The world will be a sadder place when you choose to leave it.” He looked at her in surprise, but she shrugged. “Don’t ask me. It’s just the way the words came out.”

  “Are you, like, sensing anything?” There was hesitation and worry in his voice.

  She stared. “Hell no,” she said out loud. “You know that’s not a part of what I do.”

  He nodded. “But I think you probably could if you tried. At least my grandma says so.”

  “Your grandma would accept anybody in the business if she thought she could get them to help with her clients and could make money off them,” she teased.

  That grin flashed again. “You do know her, don’t you?”

  “I know her very well,” she stated, with a smile. “You guys have been very good to me since I’ve been here.”

  “Too bad you haven’t been here longer,” he added cheerfully. “We would have been nice to you since then.”

  Skylar nodded. Nothing she could really say to that, but it was such a typical comment from him, and, thinking back, she wished the same thing.

  He looked around. “Well, here we go. Looks like the tourists are filling up the streets once again. You’ll have a wild and crazy day, from the looks of things. Good thing I brought you some fortification,” he noted, with one raised eyebrow.

  “Tourists are a blessed evil.” She shook her head.

  “I have to admit I do like to be with them, but then, at some point, it gets very draining, and I need my own space. That’s when I go bury myself in the kitchen and come up with new recipes.”

  “You go do that all you want,” she agreed. “I’m always happy to try out your experiments.”

  “Even the failures?” He groaned, with an eye roll. “That says something.”

  “Hey, I don’t get that much to eat these days,” she murmured.

  “If you’d ever get some sleep,” he admonished her, “you could get up earlier, in time to actually eat before you have to open.”

  “I could,” she noted, “but now you’ve saved me from starving yet another day.” When he frowned at her, she laughed. “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”

  “Have you really not eaten?” he asked.

  “Not yet, no, but the coffee’s still dripping.”

  He continued to frown, tapping his fingers on the front counter, as he glared at her.

  “I’m fine,” she murmured. “I really am.”

  “I’m not so sure that you’re fine, as much as you’re trying to convince me that you’re fine.”

  Again, another astute comment from him that she hadn’t expected. She patted his hand. “I get it, but it’s all good.”

  His response was stifled, as a crowd moved into her shop. She smiled at the crowd and greeted them. “Good morning.”

  As if sensing that he was preventing her sales, Tomo immediately left, so she could get to work.

  She was sad to see him leave. He was one of the few real friends she had here, among all her ghostly ones. She knew perfectly well that Tomo wouldn’t remain in this world much longer. Life, then death. It was the normal cycle of life, and she saw it time and time again. It was hard when they were young, and, just because she knew Tomo’s fate, she had no ability to change it. Therefore, she kept him happy, doing the things that he loved. Meanwhile, maybe he’d find a new treatment for the cancer eating away in his system.

  She hadn’t changed fate one bit over the last twenty years and highly doubted that she could manage to do it now. Her own grandmother would have told her to stop wasting time and energy on something she can’t fix or stop, stating that the spirits had their own reasons for what they were doing, and it wasn’t for Skylar to know.

  She’d even asked several of the ghosts in her shop for advice on how to help Tomo, but not one of her ghosts had a word of advice on how to postpone that final date with destiny.

  For that reason alone, she tried to keep Tomo focused on what was happening in his world, all to make him smile. Surely smiling had to be worth something.

  The smell of the beignets, still warm on her counter, tantalized her, even as she studied the customers who had just entered. “May I help you find anything?” she asked, casting another longing glance at the treats in front of her.

  “We’re just looking,” a woman replied, her voice upbeat.

  Skylar nodded and picked up a beignet, then quickly took a bite.

  Almost immediately came a gasp from one of her potential customers. “Oh my,” the woman told her, “we just came from that famous café down the road. Their beignets were absolutely wonderful.”

  Skylar immediately nodded. “Yes, they are.”

  “Do they deliver too?”

  “A friend of mine picked these up,” she explained.

  “Nice friend,” the woman stated jealously.

  Skylar kept her voice and smile soft, as she waited for them to peruse the store to see if they wanted to buy anything. Usually the early morning crowds were heading out for long days of sightseeing and rarely bought anything right off the bat because they were carrying everything they had with them. Whe
n they all tripped out with a smile, calling out for her to have a happy day, Skylar’s forecast had proven out because no one had bought a thing.

  She immediately walked to the back room, then grabbed her first cup of coffee and returned to the counter, lifting a beignet and taking a big bite. As she stood here, wiping the powdered sugar off her face, her front door opened with an odd surge of air. She froze.

  Only a few things would cause the wind to blow into her store like that.

  With buildings across from her shop and around on all sides, the wind ran down the street. It rarely came into her store. And, sure enough, her curious gaze followed the gust of air all the way from the front to the back of her store and again to the front, as a man stepped over the threshold of her entrance. She stared at him, and her heart sank. “May I help you?” she asked, forcing a smile she didn’t feel, while she studied the strong energy in front of her.

  “I’m looking for Skylar,” replied the man in a deep voice, his gaze intently studying her.

  She nodded. “Well, you found her. What can I do for you?”

  He observed her for a long moment, but she refused to give in to the uneasiness in her gut telling her to run, even though the power radiating off his frame was unbelievable. She didn’t dare make a comment or even let him know that she registered that something powerful filled him, because surely he already knew.

  “I need you to help me with something.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re looking for, but I just run this little shop here.”

  He burst out laughing. “That’s hardly all you do.”

  She frowned and replied in a much different tone, not liking anything about his. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand what you’re implying.”

  “I’m implying that you’re very talented in many other areas,” he stated, “and I don’t have time for the facade.”

  “That’s nice,” she noted. “And I don’t really have time for anything you have to say, with an attitude like that.”