Bone Dry_ A Soul Shamans Novel - Cady Vance Page 0,39

shook as she pointed to an article on the bottom half of the front page. The headline read, “Unexplained Death Rocks Small Town.”

“What’s this?” I asked, shifting the newspaper into the sunlight.

“Read the article,” she said. Her eyes were wide and full of the same fear I’d seen when we were escaping from the two shamans. I scanned the article quickly while Laura lugged a water cooler into her boat.

Police in Seaport, Massachusetts are investigating the unexplained death of Jonathan Collier, 49, who died at approximately 2:30 a.m. Friday morning. His wife reported her husband had been sleeping poorly and having fits of anxiety before collapsing this morning. His heart stopped shortly after. No signs of a heart attack have been found, but police do not suspect foul play.

The body was turned over to the Seaport County Medical Examiner’s office where an autopsy will be performed.

In what appears to be an unrelated crime, the Collier home was burglarized while Mrs. Collier was at the hospital. Several high-priced heirlooms were found missing.

Citizens of the town of Seaport are shocked by the sudden death of such a prominent figure. Mr. Collier was on the County Commissioner board and active in various schooner and golfing communities in the area. Funeral services will be held at Seaport Memorial at 2 p.m. on Sunday, September 22.

There was a small, grainy photo next to the article. Even though Mr. Collier was apparently prominent, I didn’t know him. I squinted, looked closer and sucked in a sharp breath that whistled through my teeth. It was the man from the BMW who had acted like he’d wanted to talk to me. I’d thought he just wanted to be nosy, but what if…

The world tipped to one side, and I found myself plopping hard on the bench behind me. The white-crested waves rushing against Laura’s boat blurred my vision. The crash filled my ears, and the back of my throat closed in tight, almost like I was getting seasick even though I was firmly on land with both feet pressed onto the wooden planks. I could see nothing but wavy darkness through the thin cracks between.

I looked up at Laura, who had paused in her boat prep and was now watching me under the flapping sail. The wind whipped at her ponytail, reminding me of the banishment at Brent’s house in those moments before we’d been kidnapped by the shamans. My mouth felt desert-dry, and the reality of the situation roared around me like angry waves, as if I were caught in a storm-filled sea. The water batted my body so hard I couldn’t swim away.

Even though my mind spun over all the possibilities, I could come to only one conclusion. Mr. Collier had been attacked by spirits.

Not only did he have a sudden unexplained death, he’d been having panic attacks and sleeping problems. And he’d wanted to talk to me. He must have heard about me somehow, the Queen of Weird. He hadn’t wanted to lob questions at me. He’d wanted me to help him.

If I’d helped him, he’d still be alive. If I hadn’t brushed him off, he’d still be breathing.

My fingers dug into my palms as I fought the guilt clutching my heart. I blinked. I couldn’t let myself cry even though my eyes itched with the threat of tears. There was no way I could have known, and I couldn’t let my mind go down that path. But it was the truth. If I looked at all the pieces of this puzzle, it meant I’d had a hand in his death. And if I didn’t help Megan or Jason or Kylie’s family friend, they’d be in their own coffin before I could take my next breath.

***

Everything was spinning more and more out of control. As I made the familiar drive to the local magic shop, I tried to work out if I was right about Mr. Collier. The wheels of my brain spun right along with my truck’s tires. I stared out my rolled-down window, breathed in the salty ocean air. Old Mr. Percy waved from the front door of his used bookshop where he was sweeping dust onto the wooden-planked sidewalk. Next door, kids were lining up at the homemade frozen yogurt stand, even with the temperature barely pushing sixty degrees.

When I parked in one of the magic shop’s parking spots, I stared at the newspaper for long, silent moments. Trying to find some evidence in the article that I’d read things wrong. Looking