Devon Bookshop

E. Hall V.

Description

There are ghosts in The Devon Bookshop. Could there be angels? And witches? Matt is sure they don't exist. Acacia knows they do. Matt's dead aunt, Wiladelle, unhinged while alive is still unhinged, now dead and is set to cause problems for Matt and the people he cares about. Matt and Acacia's comfortable lives are thrown into disarray as first ghosts, then witches cause upheaval. Matt wants to bring order to the chaos. Acacia wants to protect the people she loves. Family, friendship and love will all be challenged as hostile witches appear one at a time, threatening everything Matt and Acacia hold dear. Luckily Acacia's beliefs are very different to Matt's and allies come forward to help with the battle. Are they up to the fight?

Sujets

• Fantasy (canción de Mariah Carey)
• Fantasy

Informations

• Publié par: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Date de parution: 15 novembre 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781803133836
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

Copyright © 2022 V. E. Hall

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

Matador
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Harrison Road, Market Harborough,
Leicestershire. LE16 7UL
Tel: [phone]
Email: [e-mail]
Web: www.troubador.co.uk/matador
Twitter: @matadorbooks

ISBN 9781803133836

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Matador® is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd


This book is dedicated to Angie Wells
with thanks for her support and encouragement.


Contents
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-EIGHT
THIRTY-NINE
FORTY


ONE
The presence wasn’t sinister. She could tell that much. Why was it there? What did it want?
Matt interrupted Acacia’s thoughts, ‘I’ve done as much as I can. If you’re ready to call it an evening, let’s go upstairs.’
‘Okay. I’m ready.’
Matt switched off his office light, and walked over to his wife. He smiled at her. ‘Thanks for helping.’
Acacia kissed him lightly on the cheek.
They made their way to the door that led up to their flat above the bookshop. The presence had gone as soon as Matt had spoken. Acacia knew she wouldn’t be able to rest now until she found out who the presence was and what it wanted. She’d have to wait in the bookshop one evening while Matt was out playing darts.
*
Acacia seemed to radiate light everywhere she went, and people she talked to felt happier after seeing her.
Walking to the supermarket, she stopped to talk to an elderly man with a Labrador. He gave her chapter and verse of the dog’s morning. ‘He’s a very handsome dog,’ she said, stroking the dog’s head. ‘It’s a bit nippy this morning. Are you going to stop for coffee?’ Acacia pointed to a small coffee shop over the road. ‘He has a great selection of homemade cakes, and the coffee’s very good.’
‘I don’t think he’ll let me in with the dog,’ the man said.
Acacia saw the way he looked longingly towards the shop and could sense the man was lonely. Time in a coffee shop, surrounded by people, with his dog safely by his side, would probably make a big difference to this man’s day. She’d lived alone for a few years. She knew what it was like. ‘It’s a dog-friendly place. He’ll be pleased to see you both.’
‘Really? Are you sure?’
Acacia nodded. ‘He likes dogs.’
A smile on his face, the man said, ‘It’d be great to have a coffee and be able to take Milo in with me. We usually just go home after our walk.’
‘Give it a go,’ Acacia said, giving the dog one last pat as owner and dog headed across the road.
The man and his dog reached the coffee shop, pushed the door open and paused. Acacia could see he was asking if it was alright to go in with the dog. Then the man turned back to Acacia, and gave her the thumbs-up sign. She smiled and waved in return, then walked on.
Inside the supermarket, there was a flustered woman struggling with a wheeled shopping trolley. Acacia helped her out, the woman stuttering her thanks. Acacia made her way round the grocery aisles until she came to the milk, grabbed a pack, made the girl on the checkout laugh about something and stood outside watching the town as it got ready for the day. She said a cheery, ‘Good morning,’ to the road sweeper, who waved at her.
Acacia’s last port of call was the thirteenth-century church. The grey stone tower stood tall, a symbol of permanence and stability. It clearly said I’m here for the long haul. The people of Holsworthy had been attending services here for hundreds of years. Acacia walked past the tidy burial plots and headstones of the cemetery, opened the heavy wooden door and chose a seat on one of the benches, breathing in the sense of peace, the calm reassurance that all was well.
Looking at the stained glass windows she tried to find a message from the colourfully depicted scenes. But what she got was reassurance. No answers. She sighed.
Acacia was a Christian, in stark contrast to her parents, who had been what they called charmers . They refused to be called witches, hating the word, saying they only harnessed nature’s power. They did nothing negative. She knew that was true, but still it was at odds with her beliefs, wasn’t it?
She bowed her head in prayer and asked for guidance. She knew there was a ghost, or maybe ghosts, in the bookshop where she lived. She’d known it the moment she’d walked in. Being psychic and a Christian was an unusual mix, but life was full of contradictions. Should she try to communicate with the ghost? Did it need help to move on? She was hoping to get answers.
Acacia heard the heavy wooden door open and close, and the sound of someone walking to the row of benches opposite. She watched as a man bowed his head in prayer, hearing his voice but unable to catch the words. Acacia’s sense of peace remained. She bowed her head again, asking what she should do. Should she ignore the ghost? Should she try and help it? Then, as always, she got the answer in her mind.
‘The ghost you sense is no threat. He’s there because he wants to be there. He’d like you to talk to him. Follow your instincts.’
She said a quiet thank you. Then she got up and walked out of the church, pausing in the graveyard to read some of the headstones, always interested in how those around her lived – and had lived – their lives. She could smell the damp earth, still mingled with the fallen leaves of last autumn. Its compost was good, and flowers and grasses thrived. Not many flowers there at the moment, winter was still holding sway. It was that damp cold that seemed to seep through your clothes, but she knew once spring arrived many of the graves would be adorned by daffodils, tulips and other happy reminders that life goes on, and loved ones are remembered.
She walked back to the bookshop, heard the ‘ding-a-ling’ of the doorbell as she entered.
‘You were up and out early this morning,’ her husband, Matt, said. ‘Everything okay?’
She went over to Matt and kissed him. ‘Everything’s fine. I’ll make fresh coffee.’
Acacia was still thinking about the ghost as she approached the coffee area. She couldn’t mention it to Matt. He didn’t believe in anything supernatural, but she found that reassuring about him. He knew exactly what he believed. There were no grey areas in Matt’s life. Things were ordered, everything in its place. Acacia was the flaky one. She smiled to herself. Flaky was what Matt and his granddad called anyone who held views other than theirs. What would Matt say if she told him there was a ghost in his bookshop?
‘Did you mention coffee?’ Matt prompted.
‘Sorry, I was miles away. I’ll get some going.’
*
What was that?
Outside, the rain hammered on the bookshop windows, but Matt had tuned that out.
No. There was someone or something in the bookshop other than him. He knew it.
Matt’s fingers itched to turn on the light. But if it was an intruder, the light would alert him. Matt was sure he’d seen movement, and could smell cigarette smoke. He peered through the gloom, and thought he could make out a figure sitting on the sofa in the coffee area.
‘I’ve called the police. They’ll be here soon,’ Matt blurted out, but he got no answer. He edged around the first bookshelf, and narrowed his eyes trying to see in the dark. There was a faint glimmer ahead, but he couldn’t see what it was. Was it a torch? He listened for movement of any kind but heard nothing. He felt his way to the next bookshelf. The blinds were drawn, but he could see a faint glimmer from the street light outside. He made his way to the coffee area and peered round the bookshelf. There was a light coming from the sofa and a blurred shape, but he couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing. It didn’t seem solid.
He took a deep breath, and flicked the light switch, flooding the shop with light, revealing the opened box of new books he’d left by the poetry section. He saw it just in time and stopped himself tripping over it. He could still smell the cigarette smoke. He checked the windows and doors. All was secure. Where was the smoke coming from? He checked the sofa. Yes, the smell of smoke seemed stronger there. Was it from earlier in the day? Customers weren’t supposed to smoke in the shop. He thought he must have imagined the image on the sofa, but the smell of smoke was still there. That was real.
Matt heard someone at the front door, and he froze.
His wife Acacia’s smiling face appeared, peering through the glass. She was carrying a lot of parcels and looked happy, if rather wet, rain dripping off her hood.
‘Good shopping trip?’ he asked, unlocking the door, eager to put some normality back into his day, and forcing his breathing to slow down.
‘It was crazy busy, but I got some lovely curtains