Garden of Bone: Book 6, page 1
The NightShade Forensic Files: Garden of Bone
Copyright © 2018 by AJ Scudiere
Griffyn Ink. All rights reserved. No part of this document may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
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FIRST EDITION
Contents
Books by A.J.
Join Renegades
Foreword
Acknowledgments
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
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
About the Author
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Look for other novels by A.J. Scudiere.
Available in bookstores, online, and at ReadAJS.com.
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The NightShade Forensic Files
Book 1 - Under Dark Skies
Book 2 - Fracture Five
Book 3 - The Atlas Defect
Book 4 - Echo and Ember
Book 5 - Salvage (A Shadow Files Novel)
Book 6 - Garden of Bone
Book 7 - The Camelot Gambit (Available Apr 2, 2019)
Book 8 - Dead Tide (Available Oct 17, 2019)
Book 9 - Sabotage (A Shadow Files Novel) (coming 2020)
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Black Carbon
Book 1 - Mutation (Available Aug 6, 2019)
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Legends
The Landa Landa & The Aellai (Available Jan 22, 2019)
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FORTUNE (red)
FORTUNE (gray)
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The Vendetta Trifecta
Vengeance
Retribution
Justice
The Complete Vendetta Trifecta
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Resonance
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God's Eye
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Phoenix
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The Shadow Constant
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Stand Alone Novels by A.J. Scudiere: Resonance, God’s Eye, Phoenix, The Shadow Constant
Join A.J.’s Renegades here: www.ReadAJS.com
"There are really just 2 types of readers—those who are fans of AJ Scudiere, and those who will be."
-Bill Salina, Reviewer, Amazon
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For The Shadow Constant:
"The Shadow Constant by A.J. Scudiere was one of those novels I got wrapped up in quickly and had a hard time putting down."
-Thomas Duff, Reviewer, Amazon
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For Phoenix:
"It's not a book you read and forget; this is a book you read and think about, again and again . . . everything that has happened in this book could be true. That's why it sticks in your mind and keeps coming back for rethought."
-Jo Ann Hakola, The Book Faerie
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For God's Eye:
"I highly recommend it to anyone who enjoys reading - it's well-written and brilliantly characterized. I've read all of A.J.'s books and they just keep getting better."
-Katy Sozaeva, Reviewer, Amazon
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For Vengeance:
"Vengeance is an attention-grabbing story that lovers of action-driven novels will fall hard for. I hightly recommend it."
-Melissa Levine, Professional Reviewer
* * *
For Resonance:
"Resonance is an action-packed thriller, highly recommended. 5 stars."
-Midwest Book Review
Dedication
This one is dedicated to all the Renegades out there.
Thank you for joining me on this journey. I know you’ve been waiting to find out what happened to Emmaline … well, it’s here at last. But in typical fashion, I won’t leave you there. Donovan has a whole new complicated future opening up. And for those of you who are here for all of it, THANK YOU.
You are why I do what I do.
A special thank you to the Renegades who have been here since the beginning.
Acknowledgments
A book is the dream of the author. The author works hard to bring that dream into the world, but it’s never a lone effort.
The book you hold is the work of me, my sister (the management and publication side of things), my Beta-Readers (Victoria, Dana and Laura), my cover designer (JB Schroeder), and more.
People help with information—like the shops I went into on my trip to New Orleans two years ago. Editors point out typos and continuity issues. Even the ARC readers help with anything that slips through.
Thank you to everyone who helped.
1
Eleri stepped gingerly into the tiny shop on Royal Street, though the sign above the door almost too French-ly declared the address as “Rue Royal.” She was grateful for the smack of air conditioning. She hadn't yet acclimated to the New Orleans heat and humidity.
Eleri had made a subconscious decision to drive to Louisiana. Consciously, she’d argued with herself that she hadn’t wanted to fly and get stuck without a car or deal with the hassle getting a rental at the airport. Also, maybe—she now admitted to herself—she’d wanted to slow her progress into the city and toward the task before her.
Though she was hopeful for closure, there was no way this task would be a pleasant one. She was quite convinced it would not be a quick one, either. So she'd been breathing heavily, drawing in deep lungful of thick air since she’d finally pulled into town, several hours earlier. Like the task, the air felt oppressive and overwhelming any moment she stepped outside into the heat.
The little shop was not only cool, it was dark, and she'd ducked inside on a whim. Something whispered at the back of her brain to push the door open and come inside—although whether it was some kind of soul-deep psychic impulse or merely the need for air conditioning to escape the sun and heat, she couldn't have said.
A woman materialized from the back room, her dark hair twisted into neat, tiny knots all over her head. Her beautiful face smiled convincingly as her hands clasped together in a more elegant version of a classic shopkeeper's pose.
"Welcome to my store. Let me know if there is anything I can help you with." She said it with an accent Eleri couldn't quite place. It was both French and Cajun—straight-up New Orleans—and maybe, a little more.
Something flared in the woman's eyes as Eleri turned to face her. But then, just as quickly, it disappeared. The brief shock felt like recognition, and Eleri was left wondering if maybe she'd imagined it.
The woman left her then, seeming to dissolve into the woodwork as quickly as she'd appeared. Still, Eleri had no doubt of her ability as a shopkeeper to re-materialize the moment Eleri needed anything, or perhaps suddenly came up with a question. So far, she didn't have any.
Despite a hip and welcoming setting inside the store, which was both open and cozy, it was still just a typical voodoo shop in New Orleans—as best Eleri could tell. Mystic Vudu’s interior looked like a converted home. How they had managed that, Eleri wasn't quite sure, but it was something she remembered from previous trips to New Orleans.
The shop was divided into tiny rooms, each with a theme. The small front room was lined with books; a separate room a little further back held ribbon-tied fabric bags of various scents and potions. Another shelf in that room displayed lines of incense sticks bearing various labels for the scent and the associated magic. There were also candles, bowls, crystals, and every other thing someone might need for casting simple spells. Another cozy-feeling room held dolls and tchotchkes—pieces that supposedly already held the right portion of magic, just waiting for the buyer to pick them up and take them home.
Grandmere would scoff at these dolls, Eleri thought. Then again, Grandmere never would have set foot in this place. Regardless of the skills of the owner, Mystic Vudu was clearly set up for tourists and—at this moment—Eleri felt like one. On one shelf, nearly identical dolls, though all handmade, lined row after row, staring out at her through painted white eyes with big black centers. Tiny white dots represented the sparkle of light in the eye.
On a whim, she reached out to touch one. Each of the foot-high dolls wore a wrapped-on dress of cut fabric that had never been stitched or seen a needle. Twine held the cloth around the doll’s waist, as though it were a belt, and surely it held the whole doll together.
Though she had intended to pick one up and examine it, Eleri was shocked at the slight zing she received just from her initial touch. Instantly, she dropped it. Luckily, she’d barely lifted it and it fell back into place on the shelf, teetering first one way, then the other, before settling flat and staring at her with its cold, dark eyes once more.
Eleri stepped to the side, looking now at smaller versions of the dolls. These were only about five inches tall, with a tag attached to each one. In some cases, the tags were larger than the dolls, with the thick paper bearing the words of some old voodoo spell that Eleri did not recognize.
It bothered her—the feeling she had gotten from the doll—and she analyzed it, as Eleri was wont to do. It was easier to stay in here and breathe filtered, cool air and think about dolls and shelves, rather than think about the task that had brought her to New Orleans.
Did these dolls actually have some kind of magic in them? It wasn't impossible. She'd seen her great-grandmother do far more than add a zing to a poppet. Grandmere had given people things…tokens, spells, candles and more. In fact, that was how her grandmother mostly made her living: selling off pieces of voodoo to help people. Infertile couples, people whose homes needed protection, protection for a lost pet or person, things like that.
But, Eleri thought, Grandmere’s spells were one-off items. People came to her and requested specific magic. It was up to Grandmere to decide if she should sell it to them or not. Here, in the shop, the items were already on the shelves, already imbued with their magic. Light or dark, Eleri wasn't sure—, and she also wasn't quite ready to pick up another doll, heft its weight, and test its power.
Could just anyone come in here, grab a doll, and take it home—having no idea what they'd actually put on their bookshelf? She knew it was more than possible.
There'd been a time when she would have easily told you that she didn't believe, but that time had long since passed. Though her mother had raised her without any of her own religion, it hadn’t changed the outcome. What she was ran through her blood. Despite its power, it still hadn't saved her sister Emmaline, but it had left Eleri with her own skills.
For a moment, as Eleri stared at the tiny dolls lined up on smaller shelves, staring out at her in repetitive rows that formed eye-opening patterns and soul-catching fear, she thought of her mother. Did Nathalie have skills that she suppressed? Did she have skills that she didn't suppress yet had never shown her daughters? Eleri thought she might never know what powers her mother possessed.
She was reaching out to touch one of the smaller dolls, when she heard the sound behind her.
"Makinde," it whispered.
Eleri froze. Turning, she saw the woman again, though it didn’t appear she’d said anything.
At Eleri’s look, she asked, "May I help you?"
Eleri shook her head. The woman did not act as though she had just whispered the ancient word.
At that moment, she heard the chimes at the front door, followed by footsteps. At least two other people had come in. The woman smiled, nodded at Eleri, and turned toward her new customers. Maybe she had finally decided that Eleri had come merely to browse and not to buy.
But the word whispered at the back of her head.
Makinde.
Had it really been said? Or had she heard it because she was thinking of Grandmere, and of her mother Nathalie, and wondering just what she might find in New Orleans?
Spotting an archway to her left, Eleri wandered though it, anxious to leave behind all the little dolls. This room held dried herbs, hung upside down, tied with ribbons that clipped to twine strung all along the wall. Had they dried here? It looked like they had, though the perfect state of each bundle of herbs spoke of a shop again—and not an actual witchcraft operation.
Though clearly the herbs had been treated and dried properly, it had happened elsewhere. The herbs here were not in process, but on display.
In another area—again off to her left, as the house seemed to wind around and around on itself—she spotted a countertop. Despite the value of the pieces displayed, there were no glass cases here. Looking up, she was surprised to see no cameras, although many of the pieces on the shelf in front her of bore tags with three- and even four-figure prices.
Again, though her fingers twitched, she didn't reach out and touch. Instead, she looked around the room for anything hinting of a security system. Thinking like an FBI agent, if this were her shop, and these were her price tags, she would have had them in a glass case, or, at the very least, had security cameras to watch the patrons.
Then again, the zing from the doll left her thinking that maybe the shop was protected by something a little bit stronger.
This time, when she turned back to the counter, a knife with a bone handle caught her attention. Reaching out, she picked it up to heft its weight, but she was not able to make any assessment—the jolt that shot through her and the images that assailed her were sharp and petrifying.
She dropped the knife with a clatter and ran from the store.
2
Donovan's cell rang, and he pulled it out of his pocket, placing the phone to his ear before he saw who was calling. He expected it to be Walter, and he caught just a glimpse of her face on his screen before he answered with a smiling, "Hey."
Unfortunately, her response was entirely no-nonsense. "Donovan, we have a problem."
Well, shit, he thought. Eleri had left two days prior, planning to go to New Orleans and look for the remains of her sister. She had what she thought was her first solid lead. Westerfield had not yet given him an assignment, and he'd returned home, hopeful he wouldn’t get one. Crossing his fingers, he made a wish that Lucy could follow closely behind.
Though even his phone still said her name was Walter Reed, he was starting to think of her more and more as Lucy—her given name—during the time they shared together. It seemed more of who she was then. However, the voice on the phone, while clearly that of Lucy Fisher, was her ex-Marine, MARSOC, Special Forces, Walter Reed voice.
