[Mystic Caravan Mystery 05.0] Freaky Places Read online

  Freaky Places

  A Mystic Caravan Mystery Book Five

  Amanda M. Lee

  WinchesterShaw Publications

  Copyright © 2018 by Amanda M. Lee

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. One

  2. Two

  3. Three

  4. Four

  5. Five

  6. Six

  7. Seven

  8. Eight

  9. Nine

  10. Ten

  11. Eleven

  12. Twelve

  13. Thirteen

  14. Fourteen

  15. Fifteen

  16. Sixteen

  17. Seventeen

  18. Eighteen

  19. Nineteen

  20. Twenty

  21. Twenty-One

  22. Twenty-Two

  23. Twenty-Three

  24. Twenty-Four

  25. Twenty-Five

  26. Twenty-Six

  27. Twenty-Seven

  28. Twenty-Eight

  29. Twenty-Nine

  30. Thirty

  Mailing List

  About the Author

  Books by Amanda M. Lee

  Prologue

  Twenty years ago

  “Hello, Poet. How is life, my favorite niece?”

  My Uncle Sidney sat on the front step next to me, ignoring the chilly bite of the air as he offered up a huge smile.

  I’d never liked him. It wasn’t that I was uncomfortable with him as much as I found him boring and fake. He always tried to go out of his way to talk to me, to listen to what I had to say, but there was never any real interest sparking behind his eyes. It was all for show … and we both knew it.

  Instead, it was more that he wanted to be able to say “I’m Poet’s favorite uncle” rather than “Poet is my favorite niece.” It was a weird differential, but one I picked up on all the same.

  “I’m fine, Uncle Sidney.” I watched him with careful eyes. He had a package in his hand, long and rectangular, and I was fairly certain it was a gift for me. As part of his desperate desire to be my favorite uncle, he often brought me gifts when he visited. He thought bribing me was the way to go. I liked many of those gifts, so I didn’t dissuade the practice.

  “You’re turning into a pretty girl.” He patted my dark head. “You look like your mother.”

  He was my father’s brother, so I didn’t know what to make of that. “Thank you.” It seemed the thing to say.

  “So, I brought you something.” He flashed a keen smile as he handed the package to me. I returned the smile, but there was something in his eyes when our gazes snagged that caused me to pause. I wasn’t sure what it was, but for a second I thought he was afraid of me. But that couldn’t be right. What did he have to fear from me? Sure, I’d started to manifest some rather interesting abilities of late – including being able to read minds every once in a while – and I knew my mother was worried that people would find out, but I would never purposely hurt a family member. Uncle Sidney had to know that.

  “What is it?” I tried to keep my voice light and airy as I accepted the package.

  “You have to look to find out.”

  That was all the prodding I needed. I ripped into the wrapping paper and removed the box, widening my eyes when I saw what looked to be a huge coffin-shaped container. “I don’t … what is it?” I shifted nervously on my seat. I wasn’t exactly worldly and knowledgeable – at least not yet, even though I pictured myself ending up that way – but I knew that giving someone a box shaped like a coffin was odd by almost everyone’s standards.

  “You’ll have to open it to find out,” Sidney prodded. “That’s how gifts work.”

  “Right.”

  I carefully balanced the box on my knees and lifted the top, widening my eyes to what must have been comedic proportions when I saw the miniature me in the box. It seemed my uncle had gone all out with this gift, visiting a ceramic doll maker and having a doll designed to look exactly like me.

  From the long black hair, to the big blue eyes, to the mischievous smirk, to the long skirt and simple shoes, the doll was me. It was freaky.

  “Wow.” I didn’t know what else to say. I wasn’t much of a doll fan. I thought my uncle should know that. There were no dolls in the house because they’d never been my thing. Stuffed animals were a different story, but dolls … I didn’t like dolls. Just because he had this one designed to look like me didn’t mean I was going to change my stance.

  “Isn’t she lovely?” Uncle Sidney beamed as he reached into the box and carefully pulled back the tissue paper to unveil the doll in all her glory. “I think she’s going to make a good friend for you. You’re an only child, but she can be a sister of sorts.”

  That sounded like a terrible idea. Still, she looked expensive. I didn’t want to hurt my uncle’s feelings, so I forced a smile for his benefit. “She’s … awesome.”

  “She is, isn’t she?” Uncle Sidney smiled so wide the rest of his face was obliterated by the blinding grin. “When I found the doll maker, I knew you had to have her.”

  Too bad he couldn’t have found a stuffed animal maker … or action figure maker … or even a board game maker. I was a big fan of board games. I especially liked Risk.

  “I love her,” I lied, hoping my smile came off as genuine instead of deranged. “I really, really love her.”

  “Good.” Uncle Sidney kissed the top of my head and left me on the front porch with the doll. I could hear him boasting how much I loved the little beast as he walked inside before requesting a glass of wine. He seemed ridiculously proud of himself.

  I stared at the doll for what felt like forever. The longer I stared, the more I got the feeling that she was staring back. I didn’t like it one bit.

  “Is anyone home?”

  I had no idea what made me ask the question. It seemed like a stupid query. I asked it all the same.

  “Can you hear me?”

  The doll didn’t answer, but she seemed to watch me with the same wary curiosity I reserved for her.

  “I don’t like you,” I said, opting to be honest. “I don’t like how you look like me. I don’t like that you look like you have tiny little glass fingernails that can scratch out my eyes. Yeah, I heard that story from the girls at school. I know about the china doll that attacks and scratches your eyes out when you’re not looking. I won’t let that happen to me.”

  The doll didn’t answer. Instead it stared. I heard eerie laughter in my head. I convinced myself it was an echo from the doll’s head, and managed – with shaky fingers – to return the fragile plaything to the box before standing on wobbly knees.

  I stared at the doll and she stared back.

  She didn’t move, so I didn’t move.

  We shared the same space, yet it wasn’t exactly what I would call a comfortable visit.

  Finally, I heaved a sigh and stood, descending the porch steps so I could grab the basketball from the garage and shoot some hoops rather than stare at the creepy doll. I was halfway down the walkway when I felt a prickle between my shoulder blades. I told myself I was imagining things – that there was no way the doll was really watching – but I couldn’t stop myself from looking back.

  What I saw when I glanced over my shoulder almost floored me. There, in the middle of the pretty purple tissue paper, the doll sat, watching me w
alk away. It didn’t speak (thankfully) but it was very obvious that it was watching.

  My heart caught in my throat as I struggled to draw in oxygen. I could hear the pounding of my heart as I stared, and for a moment I thought I might pass out – which was a bad idea because I was convinced the doll would claw out my eyes if I didn’t stay alert – but somehow I remained on my feet.

  I watched the doll, a mixture of fear and trepidation threatening to overwhelm me.

  The doll watched back, something akin to mirth flitting across its face.

  We stared each other down for what felt like forever. When I finally spoke, it was with a bravado that I didn’t legitimately feel.

  “I don’t know what you are, but I’ll smash your face in as soon as my uncle is gone,” I warned. “I’m not afraid of you.”

  The doll didn’t speak, but I heard it all the same.

  You should be.

  My heart skipped a beat. “You listen here … .” I moved to stride back, perhaps to shake the doll and end things immediately. I didn’t get the chance, because my mother slipped through the front door and fixed me with a pointed look when she saw the determination on my face.

  “What are you doing, Poet?”

  I regained my senses, although only marginally. “I was just talking to my new friend,” I lied, faking a sweet smile. “Did you see Uncle Sidney made her look exactly like me?”

  “I did.” Mom pursed her lips as she glanced at the doll. “I know you don’t like dolls … .”

  Like them? I hate them. It turns out I felt that way for good reason. This doll was clearly possessed by the spirit of something evil, and it wanted nothing but to scratch out my eyes as I slept. “I don’t dislike her. I just … like other toys better.”

  “Uh-huh.” Mom wasn’t convinced. “Once your uncle leaves, we’ll put her in the closet and only drag her out when he comes to visit. How does that sound?”

  If she thought I was sleeping under the same roof with that doll – even if the doll was locked in a closet – she was sadly mistaken. Still, I didn’t think she’d take it well if I admitted my plans, so I merely shrugged. “That’s fine. I don’t care either way about her.”

  “It’s obvious you’re disappointed in her.” Mom lifted the doll, causing me to internally scream out a warning even though the doll didn’t move. “She’s quite lovely. She looks so much like you it’s a bit fascinating.”

  I found my voice. “And you don’t find that creepy?”

  “She’s just a doll.” Mom smiled. “You don’t have to play with her. I know you fancy yourself too old for dolls. This one isn’t really meant for playing anyway. She’s more of a fancy doll. Maybe we’ll get a nice stand for her and put her on the dresser so you can always look at her but not risk breaking her. How does that sound?”

  That sounded like pure torture. “I don’t think that … .”

  Mom didn’t give me a chance to finish. “It’s a doll, Poet. Your uncle went through a lot of trouble to have her made. You should be thankful.”

  I would’ve been thankful for a new Yahtzee or Monopoly game. That doll – that face – were not things to be thankful for. “I thanked him.” I was almost positive that was true. “I don’t know what more you want from me.”

  “You could at least fake some excitement,” Mom suggested.

  I stared at the doll. “I thanked him,” I repeated. “I’m never going to like her.” In fact, I was going to destroy her the first opportunity that arose … no matter what Mom wanted.

  “You don’t have to like her,” Mom said. “You like your uncle, though, and he went out of his way to have her made. You have to be nice to him, gracious. You need to be polite.”

  That sounded like the exact opposite of what I wanted to do. Still, I forced a thin-lipped smile. “I was polite.”

  Mom searched my face for a long moment and then smiled. “Good.” She returned the doll to the box and stood. “We’re having cake in a little bit. Why don’t you come inside?”

  “I’m going to shoot a few baskets,” I countered. “I’ll come inside when I’m finished.”

  “Okay.” Mom nodded. “Keep the ball away from the doll.”

  “Oh, I will.” I watched my mother disappear into the house before letting my eyes track back to the doll. She seemed to be watching me from a slightly elevated position, although like before, I hadn’t seen her move. “Keep it up, freak,” I murmured when I thought I heard the laughter again. “The second I can manage it, you’re toast.”

  The doll didn’t look worried.

  Sadly, that only caused my stomach to revolt even more.

  “I’ll make you wish you’d never come to this house,” I warned, lowering my voice. “I’ll end you right here … and nothing will save you. This is my world, and there’s no way I’ll let you live in it.

  “You’re a doll,” I continued. “I’m bigger, stronger and smarter. This is my world and I’m not going to let you stay in it.”

  I meant it … but I didn’t get the feeling the doll felt the same way.

  1

  One

  Present Day

  “I’m glad to get out of here.”

  My best friend Luke Bishop hefted a box of outdoor equipment into the back of his truck, grunting as he flexed his muscles and settled the box toward the back of the truck.

  “I would have thought you liked it here,” I countered, wiping the back of my hand across my brow. We were in the middle of summer, which meant that places like Great Falls, Montana, were almost suffocating with heat and humidity. “This is wolf country, after all.”

  “Ugh. I knew you were going to bring that up.” Luke scowled. “I’ll have you know, the only good wolf shifter is … well, me … and I think the rest of my kind are a bunch of furry fiends with nothing on their minds but sex, drinking and more sex.”

  Those tended to be Luke’s favorite topics, so I wondered how he could differentiate himself from his wolf brethren – who had been constant visitors at the Mystic Caravan Circus during our weeklong stop in their territory – with a straight face. I knew Luke well enough to know that I’d have to watch what I said if I didn’t want to deal with a meltdown, though.

  “Yes, it was definitely a different experience for us, huh?” I tried to keep my smile placid rather than letting it go feral. “I can’t remember the last time I saw you do a keg stand before this.”

  Luke, his blond hair wet and slicked back with sweat, shot me a withering look. “I didn’t do a keg stand!”

  That wasn’t how I remembered it. “I’m pretty sure you did. I distinctly remember you rolling up and drinking straight from the communal tap. I believe you did some sort of dance afterward, too.”

  “You’re remembering it wrong.”

  I had a few magical abilities that ensured I had almost perfect recall when I wanted it, so we both knew that wasn’t the case. Yes, I’m Romani by birth and magical by proxy, which means I, Poet Parker, am not someone who can be easily swayed by simple denials and lies. Luke knew that, yet he persisted with his story.

  “You were too drunk to remember anything that happened,” Luke pressed. “You imagined things. I would never do a keg stand. In fact, keg stands are for college kids. I’m an adult.” He puffed out his bare chest, which he shaved diligently every day so he could look good without a shirt, and practically dared me to call him out.

  “Huh.” I licked my lips. “I guess I must be remembering things wrong.”

  “I guess you must.” Luke pinned me with a hard look. I could practically hear the mental admonishments even though his lips didn’t move. They were cold and full of warning. He wanted to put the keg stand incident behind him as soon as possible. I would allow it – for now – but I planned to remind him when we got to our next stop. What? It’s a best friend’s job to torture her platonic soulmate. I was merely holding up my end of the bargain.

  “Well, I apologize for getting confused.” I turned back to the packing and surveyed the remai
ning work. “I think we only have furniture left.”

  “You do, and you’re behind.”

  I shifted my gaze over my shoulder at the new voice, a smile flitting unbidden across my lips when I caught sight of Kade Denton. He, too, was shirtless. Unlike Luke, though, he boasted dark hair that was shorn close to his scalp and he had a smile that made me go weak in the knees.

  No, seriously. It’s a little embarrassing to admit it, but Kade can turn my stomach to Jell-O and my knees to marshmallow with a simple look. I tried to tell myself it was okay to feel this way because we’re dating, but I remained a bit embarrassed all the same.

  As if reading my mind, Kade shot me a hot look as he gestured for Luke to get in the back of the truck so he could start handing him furniture. “Hello, darling.”

  I pressed my lips together to keep from saying something stupid. Kade and I had only been dating a few weeks, so I convinced myself we were still in that heady “new relationship” space. I wasn’t being a complete ninny when I allowed my emotions to overtake me. That argument only worked fifty percent of the time.

  “Hi.” I felt stupid at my wide-eyed response, but that didn’t stop me from staring at him. What? He looks really good without a shirt, and once we start driving I won’t get a chance to see the phenomenon again until we land in Washington and start unpacking. That’s hours of driving that I’ll have to suffer through. I deserve a few minutes of hormonal overload.