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    In Love With A Shadow
    In Love With A Shadow
    In Love With A Shadow
    Ebook110 pages1 hour

    In Love With A Shadow

    By Carmen Fox

    ()

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    About this ebook

    My job as a mortality consultant lacks excitement. Unfortunately, if your one notable talent is to “read” people’s life expectancies, your options are limited. Everything changes the day my father disappears. Suddenly, the world’s fate he used to guard falls into my hands, and dang, there’s no instruction manual.

    The impossibly attractive Max Remus asks to join my search for Dad, but his motives are far from transparent. Max’s existence is steeped in death—the dark kind my father always warned me about—yet I find his lifeless eyes oddly captivating.

    So much so that I can’t help wonder if our journey through the scorching heat of Africa and the cool silence of the Darkness might end up costing me more than my heart.

    This novella has a reading time of approx. 2 h. (Originally part of the Haunted By Love Charity Box Set)

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSmart Heart Publishing
    Release dateAug 28, 2019
    ISBN9781911573197
    In Love With A Shadow
    Author

    Carmen Fox

    USA Today Bestselling Author Carmen Fox lives in the south of England with her beloved tea maker and a stuffed sheep called Fergus. She writes about smart women with sassitude and will chase that plot twist, no matter how elusive.Expect to be kept guessing.

    Read more from Carmen Fox

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      Book preview

      In Love With A Shadow - Carmen Fox

      DEDICATION

      This book is dedicated to Nana, who resides in the Glory

      CHAPTER ONE

      ISensed impending death. The earthy scent of an end without a new beginning formed a bouquet in my nose that appealed as much as it disturbed. Yet the white man in the creaky chair on the other side of my desk probably had no idea he was to come face-to-face with his maker. Heart disease, I suspected. Maybe something else.

      Samuel Gardiner shifted in his seat, his tiny eyes darting from the newspaper articles on my wall to my Danceathon 2015 trophy in the lit display cabinet. The crinkle around his nose was subtle, but not subtle enough for me to miss his disdain.

      As I said, Ms...

      Call me Dabria, please.

      Very well, Dabria. As I told you on the phone, the matter is urgent. He drummed his fingers on the brown leather briefcase in his lap.

      For rush jobs, payment must be completed within twenty-four hours after I accept the assignment. My current smile, a routine facial expression I reserved for my clients, held all the warmth of a snake’s, if my father was to be believed.

      Fine. Mr. Gardiner adjusted his glasses. I expect results by tonight. You’ll have your money before then. Here’s the list of names. Gardiner slipped his hand into his expensive briefcase and produced a folded sheet.

      He’d struck me as a nice enough man when he’d first entered my office. The prominent gold ring on his finger went well with his impeccably tailored suit. The gray around his temples gave him an air of distinction. Forgettable, yet well-mannered.

      That impression had changed as soon as he opened his mouth. "I don’t usually consult people like you," is so not the way to flatter your way into my heart. If I’d had any self-respect, I’d have shown him the door right then.

      I didn’t, because the second he told me how much he was willing to pay, the cash registers in my head went cha-ching. My car could do with a new set of tires, my washing machine needed all sorts of encouragement to spin nowadays, and the game I had my eye on, Dragonworld IV—The Final Flight, didn’t come cheap, either.

      I skimmed the list. Some pretty big names here. May I ask what your plans are for them?

      These are five potential clients with multi-million payouts at stake. I’d like to know their life expectancy before we insure their lives.

      Makes sense. I folded the sheet. How did you find out about me?

      He glanced at me over the rim of his glasses. I know your father.

      Of course he did. Dad had too many hobbies and supported countless charities. Mingling with people was his way of staying grounded, he said. I myself had tried Legs, Bums and Tums, cookery classes, and volunteering at a children’s group, and all I ever had to show for my efforts were sore muscles, ten more pounds on my hips, and glue in my hair.

      The universe’s message had been clear: I was grounded enough.

      Okay. If there’s nothing else, I’ll get started immediately. I got up from my chair and held out my hand.

      His shake was limp and a little moist.

      With his briefcase clutched to his chest, he made a quick exit without closing the door. Wouldn’t want to catch germs from my door handle, probably.

      I banged my forehead on the keyboard and moaned. My ads were geared at bringing in fascinating clients. Instead, I got people interested only in figuring out how much death might be worth to them. People like Jenna David, a young woman about to marry an old movie star; Richard Adler, hoping to become a widower soon; and, of course, corporate men like Mr. Gardiner.

      Poor Dabria. My dad’s voice brought me back from my self-pity. Hard day?

      He stood by the door with his head tilted to the side. His face sported the trenches of laughter and folds of sorrow that marked a long life. He’d witnessed the deaths of statesmen and the fall of civilizations, yet the world would know no greater compassion than that which lay in his gray eyes.

      Hi, Dad. I rounded the desk and slung my arms around his neck. You’re back.

      Did you miss me?

      So much. And yes, my day’s been very hard. I fluttered my eyelashes at him. You know, if you really cared about me, you’d take me on as your trainee. Then I wouldn’t have to earn my living as a psychic.

      Nice try. He slowly shook his head. My world is ugly. But you, you are my light. I need you to stay far away from my work.

      Always the same answer. Good thing I didn’t take his rejection personally. Much. How was your conference?

      He swayed me in his arms. Believe me, if you met some of my colleagues, you’d understand why so many animals eat their young.

      I patted his shoulder. That bad, huh?

      The fight for influence is heading for its climax, but I try to stay out of it. And I’m not the only one.

      Really? Any gossip?

      I don’t know if it qualifies as gossip, but do you remember I told you that everyone expected the Council to shun the Shadow Walkers?

      Yes. You said it looked like they were consolidating their power, a direct threat to the Council. Did they change their mind?

      Worse. Before the Council could call for a vote, a Shadow Walker appeared and tendered the resignation of his kind.

      You’re kidding. They really resigned? I leaned my head back. Strike that. You saw a Shadow Walker?

      Saw is an overstatement. He was a man in a black robe. Young or old, I couldn’t say. A large hood covered his face.

      But you’re sure he was a Shadow Walker?

      That he was. Wrapped in black despair like the rest of them. He gathered me close, so his words reached my ears more by way of his chest than the air.

      I soaked in his familiar smell. But he wasn’t...

      "Family? Your mother was hardly family to us. The rest of them sure aren’t."

      A touchy subject even on good days. After all, my mother had committed that gravest of sins—she’d died on him.

      I pushed the top button of his shirt through its hole, avoiding his gaze. She had parents though, right? I could have uncles or aunts or cousins six-times removed among the Shadows.

      Her family passed away long before she did. But look what she left behind. He squeezed me. My little star.

      Dad, I said in a deliberately thoughtful tone. What does a Shadow Walker’s black despair look like?

      He pushed me by my shoulders to arm’s length. "It doesn’t look like anything. But it feels like nothing."

      Uh huh. I closed an eye and placed my palm against his forehead. Are you ill? You’re talking nonsense.

      He tousled my hair and went to stand by the window. You’re making fun of me.

      The sun caught the scar on his temple—not the only one on his dark skin, but the most noticeable by far.

      Always. My gaze fell on his dust-covered boots and the frayed hem of his coat. He could do with a shower, a change of clothes, and lots of TLC. "Can I expect to be making fun of you tonight over lasagna, say

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