Curse of the Nandi (Society for Paranormals Book 5), page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
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Chapter 1a
Chapter 1b
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 of Stuff
The House of Stone
Facts & Fiction
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About the Author
Copyright © 2015 Vered Ehsani
CURSE OF THE NANDI
Society for Paranormals: Case 5
By Vered Ehsani
from Africa… with a Bite
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Ghosts of Tsavo ~ the first book in the “Society for Paranormals” series, with over 200 rave reviews
That Night in Lagos ~ the prequel
from Africa… with a Bite ~ a compendium of African things that go bump in the night
For more information on how to get your 3 free books, go to http://veredehsani.co.za/free-books/
Copyright © 2015 Vered Ehsani
All rights reserved
Chapter 1a
Dear reader, I thought it prudent to provide a synopsis of my past adventures, to refresh the mind, invigorate the spirit and prepare you for the disaster that awaits. If you are already conversant in the comings and goings of the past few months in Nairobi, then by all means skip along to the next chapter.
As some of you may (or may not) recall, I arrived in East Africa with my aunt, uncle and cousins, not to mention a dead husband in tow. Life’s tragedy had bestowed on me resilience to change and challenge, so I approached the dramatic move with a certain curiosity and a conviction that I would no longer be employed in paranormal investigations. As it turned out, the African continent was riddled with all sorts of wildlife, of which the most interesting specimens would never be found mounted on a hunter’s wall.
Soon after setting eyes on the town which was little more than a construction camp, I quickly became embroiled in the matter of the Ghost Lions. These fascinating creatures were in fact twin shape-shifters with a fondness for goat meat. It was during that fiasco when I was introduced to Kam, the God of Lightning and all things troublesome, and my future husband Mr. Timmons, who at first meeting struck me as an irksome and dangerous man, an opinion I still at times maintain.
I then had to contend with a rampaging automaton that was possessed by the demented and vindictive Mrs. Cricket, the deceased wife of the bumbling but well-meaning inventor Dr. Cricket. Possession seemed to be the theme of the day, for my uncouth horse Nelly was likewise battling with a serpent spirit which she eventually devoured and in the process developed a peculiar obsession with flowers and flying.
Meanwhile, Dr. Cricket was possessed with the notion that I might actually be induced to marry him, and my cousin Lilly became infatuated with the dashing Mr. Tiberius Elkhart, a Popobawa whose singular crime was to abduct me in a failed attempt to deport me back to England. After a delightful skirmish in a cave with the evil Mrs. Cricket, we suffered through the ordeal of planning Lilly’s wedding.
No sooner had we sorted that mess out, my dead brother Drew arrived. As it turned out, he wasn’t as dead as we’d all presumed, and he revealed himself to be not only a werewolf, but the beloved of my best friend Priscilla White.
As if that wasn’t sufficiently unsettling, my nemesis also decided to pay me a visit. I’m not the vengeful sort, so I don’t quite appreciate the motivations of those who are. Koki, a she-demon from West Africa, was one of those vindictive personalities and had stalked me ever since I sliced off one of her legs. In my defense, it was either her leg or my head that was being removed, and she did have five other legs while I had only one head. Needless to say, there was a grand battle on the shores of Lake Naivasha that was proceeding rather poorly until Koki’s spider husband, Anansi the Trickster God, put a stop to it while reminding me of a promise I had never intended to make.
At some point, Mr. Timmons persuaded me to marry him. Before we could carry through with that madness, Lilly and I were kidnapped by a zeppelin-flying dwarf who shall be referred to as Nameless. The experience wasn’t as terrible as it sounds. Far more offsetting were the truths that I discovered concerning my beloved mentor, Prof. Runal, the Director of the Society for Paranormals. It appeared the wily old werewolf hadn’t been at all forthright about his involvement in the deaths of my parents and my first husband, Gideon.
While the Society was officially governed by three mandates that protect both normal and paranormal communities, there was a little-known fourth mandate that provided justification for murder. And between fending off Nameless and discovering inconvenient truths about my former employer, I yet again ran afoul of Koki and lost my left hand in the process. Dr. Ribeiro, a zebra riding Goan with a charming disposition, managed to prevent my premature demise while Dr. Cricket invented for me a rather clever contraption to replace my lost limb.
Along the journey, I discovered my mother was a witch (literally), and that in addition to being a witch myself, I was also part werewolf, which explained my odd, yellow eyes and my impressive night vision, not to mention my highly sensitive olfactory nerves and my wolf energy. More critical than that was the realization that for all that I had lost in my life, I had gained a circle of friends and family whose eccentricities and powers were only matched by their devotion.
And now, let us begin.
Chapter 1b
The first scream ended abruptly, which was fortunate for all but the source of the scream, as no one likes to be awoken in such a manner. It is safe to assume the brevity of the noise created was associated with the rapidity of the victim’s demise. Perhaps the screams would have persisted longer if the victim had caught more than a fleeting glimpse of the beast, or if the beast’s appetite had been less than voracious.
Its needs somewhat appeased by the delicacy, the hunter lingered on the outskirts of the settlement, waiting, its hunched form clinging to the outstretched branch of a flame tree.
It didn’t have long to wait. A woman and her child hurried along the darkening path, their backs bowed under loads of wood. They glanced about in every direction but upward, as if at some level they intuited the risk of being out among the trees past sunset. Yet despite their care, they failed to recognize where the true danger lay.
A moon, heavy with light, hovered close by, a watchful and aloof spectator with no interest in the scene beyond a dispassionate curiosity.
Something howled, and the two humans and the beast startled at the sound. It was a foreign cry in this land, the call of another hunter who didn’t belong on these shores.
Dismissing the distraction, the creature crouched in readiness, unconcerned by the other, distant predator. An unearthly silence pervaded the air, for no other being would dare enter the space in which it stalked its prey. Less able to disregard the howl, the woman berated the child for its slowness as they approached the occupied tree.
Leaning forward, the beast readied its arms, long and muscular, each ending in three long claws.
The woman continued to shuffle along, even when her head was removed with two fierce strokes. Only after she passed from under the branch did her legs give way. Branches fell off her back with a great clatter that could barely disguise the child’s wail.
Satiated, the hunter emitted a sound reminiscent of a tortured demon, leaped to another tree, scurried down and raced off into the darkness.
Chapter 2
“Where is the brain?” I asked with little perturbation, for in my experience there were many people running about with no brains and they managed sufficiently well.
I handed my neatly packed travel bag to my new and not-dead husband, Simon Timmons. After all that I’d endured, I marveled that I finally had a live one — husband, that is — instead of a ghost. Speaking of which, I wondered to where the previous husband had wandered off, and fervently hoped he wouldn’t disturb my honeymoon.
“Exactly, Miss Knight,” Dr. Ribeiro enthused with his classic, side-to-side head waggle that only an Indian could truly master. “Then again, jellyfish are having no brains, Miss Knight, and they have been existing for 650 million years. So there is hope.”
Around thirty years of age and sporting a neatly trimmed beard, Dr. Ribeiro was as usual impeccably dressed in a three-piece suit and tie with a homburg hat made of light brown felt and a stiff, curled brim. Although he rode his zebra with great confidence, his demeanor had always impressed upon me his humility and sincerity. His warm, brown eyes had a calming effect, while his quaint Indian accent provided a pleasant distraction.
On that day however, I found myself more distracted by his offering than his endearing peculiarities. I peered again
“And in fact there is another head in the very same-same condition,” the doctor continued. “But one is very sufficient to be making the point.”
“And what exactly is that point, doctor?” Mr. Timmons asked as he tied everything in place on the back of the wagon. “That my bride should discuss brainless heads on our honeymoon?”
“Yes, yes, Mr. Timmons,” Dr. Ribeiro said, his smile shining through his facial hair. “In fact, that’s the very point. The villagers are claiming a creature called the Kerit performed this operation on an unwilling patient. And who else but Miss Knight should I be informing?”
“Quite right,” Mr. Timmons said, his gray eyes glittering. “What else would a newlywed wish to discuss save the culprit who steals brains? I think perhaps there are some people wandering about as brainless as that head.”
It seemed we were all of one mind on the existence of brainless people. However, before the doctor could enthusiastically agree to this, a voice pierced our conversation with a shrill cry of, “Jo-nas!”
“Ah, the remarkable and flamboyant Mrs. Steward,” Dr. Ribeiro gushed. “A most impressively fearsome specimen of the Englishwoman, if you aren’t minding me saying so.”
I didn’t mind at all, but didn’t bother expressing the sentiment. Meanwhile, Jonas shuffled around the corner of the house, gulping down tea from a tin mug and in no hurry to respond to the summons. He nodded at us, his wrinkled face creasing up in a smile.
“Jonas,” Mrs. Steward huffed as she flung open the front door and stepped onto the creaking veranda, her chins wobbling. “Jonas, get that zebra away from my flowers instantly.”
She pointed a pudgy finger at the offending creature who, to its credit, was nowhere near her precious and long-suffering rosebush.
Dr. Ribeiro didn’t bestir himself to inform the good lady that normal zebras, such as the one he rode, weren’t inclined to devouring flowers. Even if she’d bothered to listen, she wouldn’t have believed him. Her only direct experience with a zebra unfortunately involved a specimen possessed by a serpent spirit that had a predilection for devouring flowers and stamping hoof prints upon coffee tables.
Instead and with remarkable forethought, the doctor closed up the box containing the brainless head and proceeded to escort his zebra a reasonable distance away from my aunt’s wrath. Satisfied her roses were secured from pending destruction, Mrs. Steward directed her attention to Jonas.
“Jonas, you’re to accompany the Timmons…” At that, she paused and smiled, a movement that transformed her entire face into a spectacle of near-rapture. Turning her benevolent gaze to me, she sighed with the deepest contentment at having successfully wedded me off to a man who had no objection to marrying a widow. “On their honeymoon,” she finished.
“That’s terribly kind of you, but not necessary,” I protested but she waved my words away.
“Nonsense,” she said. “I do not intend to see you off unassisted. In addition, Lady Hardinge,” and at the mention of her noble in-laws, the radiance of her countenance further increased. “That benevolent gentlewoman is sending me a couple that I may employ here. The boy is an experienced gardener, and the girl has been taught how to cook proper food.”
Rather indelicately, Jonas snorted tea out his nostrils and mumbled words that bore a close resemblance to “White man’s junk,” as he tried to recover his breath.
Mrs. Steward peered down at Jonas, a disapproving tightness around her mouth. “On further consideration, perhaps you would wish to employ Jonas yourself? If these new people work out as well as that illustrious lady vows they will, I may have little need for a third.”
I glanced at Jonas with some trepidation, mortified as I wondered what impact such condescending words from his employer would have on him. A wide grin greeted my concern as he eagerly anticipated my affirmative answer.
“Absolutely,” Mr. Timmons said before I could, his own grin matching Jonas’. “A generous offer and gracious gesture, Mrs. Steward, as could only emanate from a laudable gentlewoman such as yourself. I’m confident we can find suitable tasks for Jonas. Can’t we, dear?” He turned his rascally expression to me and waggled his eyebrows.
Before Mrs. Steward or I could comment further on the matter of suitability, Jonas spun about, tea sloshing in his wake, and dashed away.
“Where are you off to, you scallawag?” Mrs. Steward demanded, her plump cheeks puffing out with exasperation.
“To pack,” Jonas shouted and he clicked his heels as he vanished around the corner of the house.
“Well,” Mrs. Steward said with a sniff, perhaps miffed by the unseemly eagerness displayed by Jonas to exit her employ. “I suppose that settles that.”
“I’m sure he’ll miss you excessively,” I said as I sought to console her.
“Really?” Mr. Timmons said, knowing what I was attempting to do and determined not to allow me. “I’ve never seen the bloke exhibit such a high degree of enthusiasm.”
I gave him a look of rebuke which he ignored as he took my hand and assisted me up into the wagon.
“Don’t forget to collect that horrible horse of yours, Bee,” Mrs. Steward said. “We have enough to contend with here.”
“Perish the thought,” I replied, for I couldn’t possibly leave a possessed horse unattended, now that Jonas wouldn’t be around to keep Nelly out of trouble.
“And don’t depart without Jonas,” my aunt continued, as if concerned we might alter our decision and leave her burdened with the little man.
“Don’t go without me,” the man in question called out as he limped back around the corner, a small sack over one shoulder, a bed roll under the other arm and a bright red blanket draped over his head.
“If only packing were so easy for the rest of us.” I sighed as Jonas tossed his meager worldly possessions into the wagon and scrambled up front. “And Nelly?”
“We’ll pick her up on the way,” Mr. Timmons responded. “She can follow along behind the wagon.”
“I’ll drive, bwana,” Jonas announced, clearly determined to prove his worth to us, his new employers.
An eyebrow raised skeptically, Mr. Timmons inquired while gesturing ahead, “And you know how to drive a pair of horses?”
Jonas shrugged. “They’re like oxen, only prettier.”
Dr. Ribeiro distracted me from whatever pithy advice my husband might have for Jonas by holding the hatbox up. “The head, Miss Knight. What to do? And let’s not be forgetting the Bubonic Plague.”
I had indeed forgotten entirely about the Plague. Then again, Dr. Ribeiro had raised the issue during my wedding, so I was hardly at fault for being distracted by other matters. Brainless heads, decapitated corpses and a Plague! At least I couldn’t complain of ever being without some mystery to occupy my mind. As I mulled over the predicament, the wagon lurched forward.
“We’ll have to discuss it when I return, shall we?” I responded as the horses broke into a gallop.
“They’re horses, man, not oxen!” Mr. Timmons shouted at Jonas as he reined the animals into a more leisurely pace.
My last view of my old home was Mrs. Steward gesturing at the box in Dr. Ribeiro’s hands, and then we rolled around a clump of trees.
Chapter 3
Flamingos, a small zebra herd and a solitary giraffe littered the lakeshore when we finally arrived that evening and stopped in a clearing amongst the yellow-barked fever trees. While I wished nothing more than to scramble off the wagon and collapse onto terra firma, I restrained myself. For how thoroughly unromantic would it be if I behaved as if I hadn’t just wed?
Mr. Timmons did his best to live up to the standard of a newly married man and, with a roguish grin, assisted me down while kissing my hand. The two horses snorted as I leaned against one; I imagined they were as equally relieved as I to have finished traversing the narrow, rough path down the Rift Valley’s escarpment from Nairobi to Lake Naivasha. Nelly seemed the least disconcerted by the tiring day and tore off clumps of leaves from a weedy bush.
