Spirit Eyes

A young child with psychic ability, ghosts who want the truth known, ghosts who want the truth buried-it all adds up to the Perfect Spiritual Storm.

Pearl, a happy, vivacious youngster adopted from China, is endowed with a gift for seeing other worldly spirits. Not happy with this power, she tries to understand the ghosts following her, instructing her, and even threatening her. Things go from bad to worse when she sees a spirit with a funny spider on its arm. Alarmed, her mother, Ruth, has her draw the spider, which is actually a Swastika.

How will Pearl and her mother fight the forces of good and evil? Will the frightening truths about their city, their home, their friends, and even their own family unite them, or create chasms that can never be repaired?

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Spirit Eyes

Copyright © 2013 Lynn Hones

ISBN: 978-1-77111-697-8

Cover art by Latrisha Waters

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

Published by Devine Destinies

An imprint of eXtasy Books

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www.devinedestinies.com

Spirit Eyes

By

Lynn Hones

To my sweet Sarah.

“I’m not kidding. I don’t believe in that stuff. Besides, I can’t get away right now. I’ve got a million things to do before we go.” Ruth couldn’t have been firmer, but relentlessly badgered by Laura, her resolve slowly melted away.

“Come on, it’s a stress buster. I’m doing it as a favor for a friend. According to her, this psychic is phenomenal.” Tilting her head, Laura plowed into Ruth driving a guilt-trip Trans Am. “I always come to your things. I’m going to make my low calorie, fat free crab dip.”

With a shake of the head, Ruth acquiesced. “If that’s supposed to be the make or break offer, you win, food trumps all.”

Laura tucked her own short, brunette hair behind her ears and slumped her shoulders as her appreciation coasted out of her mouth like riding a surfboard on a wave. “Finally.”

Outside Eberstark Corner Elementary School, they waited for their kids to dash out with their huge, turtle-like backpacks strapped to their tiny upper bodies. Ruth reminded her friend, “Don’t forget we’re flying to China in two days. It’s not going to be a late night, is it? Oh, and how much is it? We don’t have a lot of money to spare right now.”

“It’s my treat,” Laura replied quickly.

“Fine. I’ll be there. Should I bring anything? A dip, a potion, dead relatives?”

“Just be at my house at seven. You can be read first and then you can relax and chill.”

Her words floated in the air around them like tiny snowflakes as the school doors burst open and, one by one, children ran to their parents, artwork clutched in their small, sticky hands.

Ruth’s daughter, Lotus, handed her a paper. “It’s a picture, Mommy. It’s Daddy and you, and that’s me.” She pointed to the black haired beauty with the big smile. “And that’s a picture of my new baby sister, Pearl.”

Ruth knelt next to her child, reveling in the simple joys of childhood. “Oh, my, what a great picture,” she said. “You’re such a good artist. We’ll have to frame this and hang it in Pearl’s room so when she comes home she’ll know how much her big sister wanted her.”

“Are you sure I can’t go to China with you, Mama?” she whined. “I’ll be a good girl, and my new sister will be happy to have her big sister pick her up at the orphanage cuz I know how it feels.” She put her hands on her hips and tilted her head, her long hair cascading down.

“Oh, you remember when you were nine months old, huh?”

“Yeah.” She giggled as Ruth tickled her belly, her missing front teeth making her smile even more engaging to her proud mother.

“Mommy loves you so much, Lotus, you know that?” She held the warmth of her small child against her chest and kissed her chubby, rosy cheek.

“Yes.”

“And you know Mommy and Daddy love you even if we can’t take you to China with us, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Grandma and Grandpa are so happy to have you come to their house for two weeks, too. You don’t want to disappoint them, do you?”

“No. But they will make me not disa…disappointmented if they get me a puppy.” She gave an exaggerated grin, playing it up good.

“Lotus Jane Adler, what did I say about that?”

“Okay. It can be a fake one.”

“What am I going to do with you?” She bopped her lightly on the top of her head with the picture she rolled up and they held hands back to the car.

Sporting a retro orange caftan with plunging neckline, Laura swung her front door open with gusto.

Ruth burst out laughing. “Oh, for crying out loud, look at you.” She inhaled deeply. “And what’s with the incense? You have more than wine to relax us?”

Laura raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” She took her guest by the elbow. “Come on in. I’ll have you know I’m dressed for the occasion.” Laura twirled, and the dress billowed out. She looked like a gypsy in a dancing frenzy. “Ghostly encounters and all.”

“A séance!” Ruth said. “I knew it, this is a séance.”

“It’s not a séance. She’s a psychic—a medium. Get a grip.”

In the kitchen, Ruth greeted the other guests. “Now then, no offense to anyone else,” she said, “but, please, let me get this over with so I can get comfortably drunk. I need it.”

Led reluctantly to the basement, Ruth let herself be guided to a plush, cream-colored couch and sat.

“Get comfy,” Laura sang off-key. She hugged her around the shoulders from behind and walked out. A second later, an attractive woman of around fifty, her short, red hair and black, thick-rimmed glasses sending off a no-nonsense vibe, came in from another room. She, unlike her flamboyantly clad hostess Laura, was dressed in black pants and a white oxford shirt. Looking like she worked at the local insurance company, the psychic welcomed her with a slight bow of the head. “Hi, I’m Sheila.”

Ruth reached out and they shook hands. She instantly realized from the warmth of Sheila’s hand that hers was freezing cold.
Like the touch of a corpse
.
Gees, quit being so morbid
.

“I’m Ruth.”

The psychic sat in a low chair opposite her, the coffee table between them. With swift efficiency, she removed several items from a large fabric bag.

“Don’t be nervous,” Sheila said. She placed a deck of cards, some crystals, and a prayer book on the table.

“I’m not—really,” Ruth answered. She was, however, plagued by a vague awareness that this was a terrible waste of her precious time.

“So, Ruth. Have you ever had a reading?”

“Um, to tell you the truth, no, because I don’t really believe in this stuff.” She eased her position and sank deeper into the cushions.

Instead of being insulted, Sheila, with a fleeting glimpse Ruth’s way, made it clear she’d heard it all before. “No problem.” She sat back. “Take what you want from it and leave the rest, but most of all, have fun.”

Her relaxed reassurance brought Ruth to a level of calm. Maybe it was the wine, the dark lighting, the soft music and the gentle rhythms of cards being flipped onto the table, but her muscles loosened beautifully. Every so often Sheila issued an “Ah-ha” or “Hmm” sound, but mostly she remained quiet. The cards themselves had strange, intimidating pictures on them, hostile and primitive, and she averted her eyes.

“Don’t tell me if I’m going to die tomorrow or anything, okay?”

Sheila smiled without looking up. “Don’t worry, I’d never do that.”

After a minute of more card flipping, Ruth struggled to control the urge to stand and say, well it’s been real, and walk away. Sheila stopped and surveyed Ruth’s face. “Do you mind if I do a psychic drawing?” Her perplexed gaze melted into intense scrutiny.

“I, I don’t mind.” With a lift of her shoulder and a quick shake of her head, she tried to appear nonchalant. “A psychic reading and a free portrait. It’s a win, win.”

“Good.” Sheila reached for a pencil and pad of paper next to her chair and passionately stared over Ruth’s head. She drew lightly with a pencil, sketching for quite a while. Ruth watched with curiosity. Sheila stopped. Apparently transfixed by the picture she’d created, for what seemed an intolerable amount of time, she finally turned it toward Ruth.

A Swastika met Ruth’s horror-ridden gaze.

“Are you German?” Sheila asked.

Ruth, her first impulse anger, told her she wasn’t.

“Anyone you know…were they in a concentration camp?” Sheila’s voice, matched her facial expression.

“No.” Ruth’s eyes narrowed. She found the psychic’s questions baffling.

“Really?” Her psychic brows uneven, Sheila shook her head. “Because you’re giving off a very strong vibe of World War II and of Nazi Germany.”

Ruth shrugged. “Mmm. I’m, uh, completely clueless why that is.”

“Did anyone in your family, a grandfather, or uncle fight in the war or…”

“No one. Sorry, but it seems like I’m not much help troubleshooting this issue.” The answer came across sterner than she’d meant, but she hated being compared in any way, shape, or form to Nazis or anything to do with them.

From the stunned expression that spread over Sheila’s face, she’d obviously expressed that clearly.

“I’m getting a strange reading from you,” she said. “This has never happened before.” Her glance met Ruth’s, earnestly. “Are you pregnant?”

“I guess you could say that. I’m what they call paper pregnant.”

“What’s that?”

She’s the witch doctor. Shouldn’t she know my husband and I are leaving in two days to adopt our second baby from China?
She felt justified in her thoughts. This lady needed to get a real job—and quickly.

“We’re adopting from China. We call it
paper pregnant
because of all the paperwork involved.”

“Now things are making more sense.” Sheila rubbed her hand over her forehead, visibly shaken.

“I couldn’t understand why I kept seeing images of Asian people around you. I mean obviously you’re not—Asian. Then I’m thinking of Japan in the war…”

“Nope, I’m not Asian, and no offense, but you don’t need psychic ability to see that. Nor do I know anyone from or with any connection to Japan,” Ruth said coldly. Ready to end this, reluctant to go further with this—fiasco—her tone, which she knew sounded quick and bitter, gave away her inner impatience, but she didn’t care. “Nope, Japan is a nada.”

“Your new daughter, I’m being told, and I say your new daughter, because an older Asian man steps forward and tells me you already have a daughter from China, will be different. He tells me he’s the new baby’s great, great grandfather. He says her ancestors surround her, and protect her. He informs me she will have spirit eyes, which she inherits from her birth family. She…” The psychic stopped. “Wow, this is intense. There’s someone or something that wants to come through and I…feel sick.”

“What, who is coming through?” Ruth’s interest piqued, just when the psychic wanted to pull the plug.

“I can’t really…” Sheila appeared confused, befuddled, as if she, or someone unseen, had thrown her a curve ball. With shaking hands, she picked up her macabre deck of cards, not bothering to put them away neatly, and packed them quickly away.

“If you don’t mind, I’m not feeling well,” Sheila said with an exhaustion-tinged bearing. “I’ll explain to Laura I have to go. Please forgive me.”

Ruth leaned back. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she said half in jest.

They stood and awkwardly Sheila took both Ruth’s hands in hers.

“Your new daughter, she will have a gift, a very special gift. She will possess spirit eyes.”

Ruth stared deeply into Sheila’s concerned face. “What are spirit eyes?”

“Your daughter will be very special. Just always remember that. She will need all the strength you can give her.” With that, she let go and turned. Ruth listened to the muffled steps of the psychic go up the carpeted stairs, and then into the large kitchen. She listened to quiet words exchanged and heard the door open and close.