Soul Betrayed. Katlyn Duncan

Author Bio

       Acknowledgements

       Dedication

      Prologue

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

       Chapter Seven

       Chapter Eight

       Chapter Nine

       Chapter Ten

       Chapter Eleven

       Chapter Twelve

       Chapter Thirteen

       Chapter Fourteen

       Chapter Fifteen

       Chapter Sixteen

       Chapter Seventeen

       Chapter Eighteen

       Chapter Nineteen

       Chapter Twenty

       Chapter Twenty-One

      Chapter Twenty-Two

      Chapter Twenty-Three

      Chapter Twenty-Four

      Chapter Twenty-Five

      Epilogue

       Endpages

       About the Publisher

       PROLOGUE

      Jamie Blackhorn nearly jumped out of her skin as a hand appeared next to her. She ripped the headphones from her ears and stumbled back, nearly crashing into her easel.

      Her dad, Robert, grinned, his eyes on the pill bottle he placed on the table next to her where she mixed her paints.

      “God, Dad.” Jamie knelt down, picking up the brush she had dropped. “You scared the crap out of me.”

      “I called for you when I arrived home,” he said in an amused tone and rubbed his eyes wearily. “I picked up your refill.” He indicated the pill bottle and headed for the hallway. “I’m going to take a shower.”

      Jamie stood in her spot, her toes curled in her sneakers, still recovering from the fright. The ache in her arm, the one only a week away from being released from the cast, brought her back to reality. Soon enough she would be able to put that horrible night in the caves behind her along with burying the annoying plaster arm prison.

      She reached for the pill bottle, plucked a tablet out, and popped it into her mouth, then sipped on her water bottle and wrapped the strewn headphone cord around her good hand a few times before placing the coiled circle onto the table. Robert hated when she wore her headphones, something about keeping her awareness of the world, but she had enough awareness of her world plus the After. She needed an escape. Music and painting were a distraction from her freaky gift that she hid from everyone. All except her father when he requested her help on some of his cases. Just recently, he had been in danger of getting laid off due to budget cuts until his unit had been given a grant. She had no idea who would fund a paranormal research agency when there were so many other problems in the world, but she didn’t think too hard on it; his job kept a roof over their head and food on the table, even if most of the time it was pizza or Thai take-out.

      But not tonight.

      Jamie grabbed the pill bottle and the set of brushes she had been using and left her room. She padded down the hallway and knocked lightly on the bathroom door, calling out “I’m going to heat up your dinner, Dad.”

      Then she headed down the stairs and in to the kitchen. She balanced her brushes on the side of the sink and placed the pill bottle on the counter, opened the refrigerator and pulled out the casserole dish that she had prepared chicken parmesan in earlier. It was her dad’s favorite and since he had been preoccupied with work lately, she knew he would appreciate it. She’d found her mother’s recipe a few months ago and had made it at least once a week since then. This week’s batch had been the closest she remembered to the real thing. The best thing about the recipe was that she always felt as if her mother was there with her when she prepared it.

      Plating a heaped pile of chicken and pasta she placed it in the microwave and turned it on. She watched the plate circle a few times until her phone rang.

      Walking over to the opposite counter, where her phone had been charging, she looked down to see who was calling and recognized the number as Yera’s. Yera was a Percipio like her. She could see the After beings on the Living Realm, a gift they’d shared with each other willingly after their mutual Guard friend, Calliope, had exchanged their contact information. They had spoken only once before, but it had been nearly a four-hour conversation. Jamie had been thrilled to be able to talk to someone about her gift and Yera had been more than willing to listen. She’d even invited her to stay at her house for the summer to hone her gift. It had been a hard sell to her father but Jamie had won that battle.

      “Hi!” Jamie said cheerfully.

      “Ms. Blackhorn?” a male voice questioned on the other end.

      Had she mistaken the number? She looked down at her phone and Yera’s name was broadcast on the screen. “Speaking.”

      “Are you a relative of Yera Colehouse?” the man asked.

      Jamie’s arms were overrun with goosebumps and she heard her voice shake a little. “No, I’m just a friend. Who is this?”

      “This is Detective Branson. Yera had your number listed as her emergency contact.”

      Jamie gasped. “Is she okay?”

      “Have you seen her lately?”

      “No. Is she okay?” she repeated, her mind whirring.

      “As this is an open investigation I can’t give too many details but according to a friend she has not been heard from in quite some time.”

      The microwave suddenly dinged and Jamie pulled out the piping hot plate absently and placed it on the counter using a dish towel. “I was supposed to visit her soon.”

      Suddenly a rush of air filled Jamie’s ears. She stepped back from the counter, her movements slow and clumsy, and tried to grab for the counter, but the room tilted on its axis.

      “If you hear anything—“Detective Branson’s voice sounded very far away.

      The phone was lifted from her grasp, her weak hands unable to hold onto it and she turned to Robert. He was still in his suit and his hair was dry.

      “What’s happening?” Jamie slurred. She blinked a few times, the edge of her vision fuzzy.

      Detective Branson’s voice was cut off as her eyes darted to the pill bottle. She’d never had this reaction to her medication before. Her hand shot out, knocking the bottle over. Pills spilled across the counter.

      She tried to lick her dry lips, the effort proving futile as her body didn’t respond to her brain.

      Her legs gave out from under her and Robert caught her just before she hit the ground. “Just close your eyes,” he whispered. “It will be over soon.”

      Jamie blinked, dark spots blotting out her kitchen. She focused on her father. No. He wasn’t her father. He looked